#X-Men fanfiction

[shellshocklove]

moanin' & groanin' | logan howlett

pairing/AU: lumberjack!logan howlett/wolverine x inexperienced!female!reader

summery: working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap (in the way that his mutant abilities prolongs his life), swearing, use of pet names, smut, car sex, praise, a little dacryphilia, logan's got a dirty mouth, soft dom!logan, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), handjob, fingering, a little manhandling, unprotected sex (don't do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: um hi! this is my first ever logan fic. i really hope i got him right! not beta read, and barely edited so any mistakes are my own. happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The pages crinkled under your fingertips as you turned another page. Over the top of your book you could see your father's men milling about, getting the timber ready for another outgoing truck. Day in and day out they worked like flannel-covered ants. 

He wasn't here, your father, leaving you to hold down the fort, or office to be precise, as he  ran errands. "I'll be back before lunch," he'd told you, a hand passing through the sleeve of his tan Carhartt.

The office felt bigger when he wasn't here, like his neuroticism took up twice as much space as he did himself. You looked around the room. It was small, more like a hut than anything else, raised up on cinderblocks. A tiny kitchen lined the front wall, the refrigerator had given out once this month already and something smelled like it had died in there, the white florescent light under the wall cabinets gave you a headache, and the tap drip drip dripped. The table and the mismatched chairs, your father had found at a fleamarked years ago, before you were born most likely, and they wore the wear and tear of years of use. 

Every available surface was covered in papers, and the wooden shelves on the wall dipped in the middle from the weight of the binders. When you were little you'd been afraid the wood would break in two, but they were still standing (hanging?) – maybe they'd stay like that for the rest of eternity for all you knew. Your father's office had only one desk, which made your job as occasional office manager and full-time problem solver, problematic. 

Your father would sit in his chair on one side, while you'd steal one of the mismatched chairs and occupy the other end. If you'd had your way, you wouldn't be working here. The timber business interested you just as much as your father was interested in the disco they played on the radio. "If it ain't the king of rock I don't want to hear it," he usually said and switched the channel. 

But the town was small, and no one was hiring. The summer after you'd finished high school you'd dreamt of moving to the city, but the money had been tight and your father needed you. At least the work, if your father didn't meddle, was relatively easy: answer the phone, type out the invoices and salaries, keep an eye on logistics, and make sure whatever breaks gets fixed. 

The radio hummed at a low volume, one of the singles from Tapestry, as you turned another page of your book. Leaning back in your father's office chair, you glanced at the clock over the door. He should be back by now. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the door swung open.

"Did you need something?" you asked, your book dipping down in your lap. 

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as he walked into the office on heavy steps, that damn cigar hanging out the side of his mouth. "Nice to see you too, princess," he poked jokingly, tugging at his gloves, one finger at a time, and tucking them into his leather belt. 

He sported the same outfit he usually wore; bootcut jeans, a white t-shirt under his flannel and a thicker wool-lined jacket. He must've been sweating in here with that on.

Autumn had claimed the trees and ground months ago, but this morning the frost had covered the ground and bit at the apples of your cheeks. Your breath had come out in swirling plumes when you'd locked yourself in this morning; the first glints of the sun peeking through the windows as it rose over the mountains. The first thing you'd done was crank the heater, and now as you approached midday, you'd shed your sweater long ago while the windows had fogged with condensation. 

The smallest of frowns tugged at your brows, as a heat prickled up your neck to your cheeks. Logan made you a little nervous– not in a bad way, but in a way where your thoughts would wander in his presence, conjuring up scenarios of him and yourself in… comprising positions. Okay, maybe it was in a bad way. But who could blame you when he walked around like that?

He'd arrived only a few months ago, at the tail end of the summer, looking for work. He was strong, stronger than any of the other men working for your father, and although the work was hard, it seemed like he never tired. You didn't know much about him and he kept mostly to himself, hidden away in a cabin up in the mountain, but sometimes you'd see him down at the local bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. More than once you'd seen him chatting up Kayla Silverfox, and more than once you'd wished it was you in her place.

"Oof," Logan groaned as he opened the fridge, grabbing his packed lunch and closing it as fast as he could. You appreciated him for that; whatever had died in there should stay in there.

"Yeah," you said, "I'm not cleaning that again, not even for a million bucks."

"Can't blame ya." 

He looked to the table for a second where the guys usually ate their lunches, before he decided to take your usual chair at your father's desk. As he sat down, you pushed the ash tray to his side of the desk, earning you a short smile in thanks as he rested his cigar. It wasn't unusual for him to talk to you on his breaks. 

So, why did you heart beat so fast in your chest?

Because it was the first time you'd been alone.

"So, where's your old man?" he asked and bit into the sandwich he'd packed in an old newspaper.

"Running errands– he should be back soon…" you trailed off.

Logan hummed non-committedly. "So, you're in here sittin' pretty readin' your book while we're out in the cold slavin' away– maybe I should become the boss' daughter."

"Well, it's not easy," you sighed, feigning confidence, "and you gotta be pretty first of all," you front teeth dug into your bottom lip as you tried to hide your nervousness.

"That's true," he grinned, "I ain't got nothin' on you, princess."

Logan held your gaze with intent, and it was like something in the air shifted. It happened sometimes with Logan, like he had this power beaming from him that sucked you in. Erratic wings fluttered in your stomach, and you had to drop your gaze.

"So, how's the book?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Eh," you shrugged, dog-earing the page your were on, before throwing the beat-up paperback on the table. "Too many plot twists– first they're on earth, then there's this virus spreading– so they have to move all of humanity to the moon, but then there's this species that lives under the surface of the moon who they start a war with, but one of the main characters are in love with a moonie– that's what they call them– so, now they're in love and trying to stop the war and…" you shrugged again.

Logan chewed slowly as he nodded his head. "Sounds complicated," he decided, making you let out a small laugh.

"I guess so."

A grin washed over Logan's face at your small laugh, and you felt his gaze roll over you, over your exposed skin. When he looked at you like that, like a predator drooling for a meal, you felt a small damp spot stick to your panties. You watched as his nostrils widened, his jaw clenching shut as a pulsing vein protruded from his neck.

"So, science fiction," he started, clearing his throat, "Didn't know you liked that," he continued between the last bites of his sandwich

"Some kid at the library recommended it," you shrugged, "so I thought I'd try it out. And it's not like it's that far from the truth– we've got mutants."

Logan crumbled the newspaper hard and quick, the sharp sound making you jump. "Yeah," he said, and stood to his feet, "That's true."

He grabbed his burnt out cigar, and threw the ball of newspaper in the trash. You started to wonder if you'd said something wrong, but then he said, "Your father's back," and not even a second later you could see your dad's old truck pull up outside the window.

How did he even know that? 

"Logan– wait," the words just fell out of your mouth before you could even think them through. He hovered by the door, raising a questioning eyebrow at you. 

You could be brave– Just say it! 

"Come by later would you? Before you leave for the day– I have something for you."

A gush of cold air blew in with the arrival of your father. He almost crashed right into Logan on his way out, nearly knocking him down the wooden steps. You thought you could glimpse a small nod from Logan, but he was out the door so fast you couldn't be sure. 

The rest of the day went by slowly as a growing anxiety gnawed at your neck. With your dad back you slipped out to borrow the car, driving into town to pick up some lunch at the local diner. It was routine at this point, something you did without thinking, but today your thoughts couldn't stay still. You were pulling up outside the office when you realized you'd driven the whole way with the radio off.

What was even your plan? 

You wished you were better at this. You could pretend, sure, put on a brave face to hide the nerves from surfacing, but how do you get a man like that to go for a girl like you?

You felt non the wiser when the sun had dipped below the mountains and he finally knocked on the office door. Your dad had left thirty-minutes earlier, stranding you at work with no way to get home. 

If this didn't go well, you didn't look forward to walking home.

"What 's it you wanted, princess," Logan asked, leaning against the frame of the door with one knee popped. Your eyes couldn't help but run down the length of him – his broad shoulders, the bulge hidden below his big belt buckle, and the veins of his exposed arms as he slung his jacket over his shoulder.

"Oh, um," you tried to shake your thoughts, and you rummaged the desk for the envelope. "Here," you said as you found it, stretching your hand out for him to take it.

He pushed off the door frame with a raised eyebrow, the cold air from the open door taking with it the warmth of the office. "What's this?" he questioned, taking the envelope from your hand. 

"It's your check– for this month's work," you explained.

His raised eyebrow pulled into a frown, "This is a week early," he questioned, "and I usually get these sent in the mail."

"Oh, I-I just thought I'd give it to you personally this time," you lied, fitting a shrug at the end for good measure, trying to sell how completely normal and nonchalant you were.

Logan raised a skeptic eyebrow at you, and you suddenly felt really really stupid. In your chest your heart could compete with a hummingbird's.

"Really?" he said with a smile before he dropped his chin, "Can I appreciate a little extra something in here, or…?" he trailed off, waving the envelope.

Letting out a shaky inaudible breath, you tried in your flirtiest voice, "Maybe if you give me a ride home…"

...................

The lights from the town below looked like stars scattered over the night sky, the yellow light of the roads connected them like on a string. You knew that Logan knew where you lived; the town was small, and even with the short time he'd spent here, it wasn't hard to get familiar. He'd stopped at the lookout point, about half-way up the mountain road. It was nice in the daytime, with a nice view of the town, the mountain and rivers, but at night it attracted a different kind of crowd: lovers. It was cheesy, and cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason. 

The Led Zeppelin tape whirled, and the music stopped. 

Suddenly you felt nervous, fingers picking at a loose tread on your sweater. Logan leaned forward to flip the cassette, and his truck filled with a sound of organ, like you were back in church. When he leaned back he slung his arm over your seat. You watched how he spread his legs, getting comfortable, as his eyes found your face.

Under the wool, your heart picked up its beat.

In a brave move you shifted closer, the leather seat moaning under you, as a pleased smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His big palm snaked around your shoulder, curling you closer to him until his lips caught your own. You only hesitated for a second before your hand found his neck, where your fingers tugged lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck. 

A low growl huffed against your lips, and he deepened the kiss, pressing himself roughly against you as he licked into your mouth. You couldn't help the small whimper escaping you. His touch was rough, almost impatient, but tender all at the same time, and you felt yourself fall apart.

The air stuck to your skin, clammy and sticky with arousal and now you started to get impatient. With a loud smack you broke apart, your lips raw and spent from use as you caught your breath. A rough hand cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb skated gently over your skin as he tilted your head towards him.

"Such a pretty little thing," he mused. His eyes had gone dark, pupils huge and filled with lust; yours must've looked about the same as they rolled down his body. He shifted closer to you, pushing you closer to the door, and you got a better view of the bulge hidden behind his jeans.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, clogging up the sounds around you like you were underwater, pushing at your thoughts at the back of your mind. Logan moved with such ease, each touch natural and easy, like he'd done them a thousand times. Not like you, with only your short-lived high school boyfriend under your belt. 

"Hey," he shook your head gently, "Where you goin', bub?"

"I'm sorry," you whispered, a heat coating the apples of your cheeks. 

He shook his head, his face surprisingly tender for someone so rough, "Tell me, baby."

"I'm just…" you trailed of, trying to find your words, "I'm a little nervous– I haven't done this much," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"That's sweet, bub." The pad of his thumb rubbed the pet name into your skin as he leaned forward to catch your lips in a soft kiss, "But I wouldn't worry that pretty little head of yours 'bout it."

His breath was hot against your own, and an ache started to spread between your legs. The hand on your cheek travelled downwards to tug at your jacket, and you parted only for a second to rid yourself of it, but before you could lock your lips with his again he grabbed at your hands.

"I'll teach ya," he told you and guided your hands to his broad form. 

He let you touch him as he shucked off his jacket, your fingers dancing over the soft flannel. He was solid beneath your fingers, hard muscles from hard work. A patch of dark hair curled at his chest, peeking out beneath his white shirt, and you found yourself wondering where it lead.

Curling his hand around your wrist, he guided your hand lower; down over his chest where you could feel the solid form of him. His bronze belt buckle burned you like ice, but the heat of him as he pressed your hand to the hard bulge beneath the buckle burned even brighter.

"You feel that?" He looked you straight in the eyes. He pressed your hand down harder and you could feel the shape of him against your hand, hard and thick, and big. You barely managed a nod through the wave of heat coating your cheeks. 

"That's because of you, princess." His voice was low, almost like a growl, as he started to guide your hand to rub over the thick length.

"Me?" you questioned, breathless. 

"Yes, you," he chuckled, a heavy hand petting at your head. "D'you want to take it out? Stroke it f'me?"

"Please," you begged, looking at him with moony eyes through your lashes.

"So polite f'me," he mused, his hands tugging at his belt before he popped the button on his jeans. Slipping off your shoes, you crawled up into the seat, sitting back on your knees as you watched him pull at his jeans. Peeking out from under the denim, you could see a dark patch of hair.

Logan was in no rush, revealing only an inch at a time of the base of his cock, making a show of it as the tension rose. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you, and it made you brave, reaching a trembling hand forward, you helped him tug at the fabric.

At last his cock sprung free.

You felt your eyes widen at the sight, as you involuntarily squeezed your thighs together. Even with your limited experience, you knew he was bigger than most. The thick length of his cock bobbed from the weight, hanging heavy between his legs. At the tip of his fat head, a drop of precum pearled, almost invisible in the dark truck. 

"Come here, bub." He widened his legs as he reached out a strong arm for you, curling you into his shoulder. 

"Put your hand on it," he ordered, "like this," he grabbed at your wrist and guided you hand towards his mouth. You let him move you around, eyes blown out and wide as you couldn't take your eyes off his impressive cock. 

A wet blob of spit pulled you from your thoughts, it drew the slightest frown over your face until he guided your palm, now coated in his spit, to his cock.

Under your palm his skin was silky soft, but hard and firm at the same time. You found yourself mesmerized at the sight of your hand around him as you familiarized yourself with the heaviness of him in your hand. 

"There ya go–" he cut himself off with a groan as you formed a fist around the head of him. Your fingers struggled to reach around him, but it didn't seem like Logan minded much when you moved downwards smearing his spit over his shaft in an experimental tug. 

"That's it, good girl, just like that."

A warmth bloomed in your chest at the praise, wrapping itself around your heart. You wanted him to say it again– to be good for him. So, you reached forward with your other hand, wrapping it around the base as the other formed a fist around the head. Another pearl of precum beaded at the tip, and you took the opportunity to skate your thumb over it, massaging it into his spit.

A growl seemed to get caught in Logan's throat, and still riding off your high that the praise had sown in you, you started to pump his cock in slow strokes. A slick sound escaped under your fists with each stroke, and you watched how his head fell back in pleasure.

"Am-am I doing it right?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

At the sound of your voice, Logan sat up straighter, a heavy hand falling over your back to pull you closer. "You're a natural, princess."  

You couldn't contain the smile from coating your lips as he brought you in for another searing kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. It clouded your mind, and you forgot what your hands were supposed to be doing. 

Logan's hand travelled down your body, his big palm grabbing at your ass. "Take of your pants," he ordered against your lips, "Panties too," underlining his order with a couple of light slaps to the flesh.

Shuffling out of his hold, you fingered at the button of your pants, pulling at them and your panties as quickly as you could. Goosebumps prickled over your exposed skin, the air suddenly frosty without Logan's touch – but that didn't last long.

The calloused pads of his fingers trailed up your thighs, pressing down into the flesh as he pulled you closer to him. "Come sit in my lap, princess."

He didn't wait for you to move, instead he manhandled you how he wanted. Spreading his legs wide apart he fit you between his legs, your back pressed against his hot chest with his hard and leaking cock caged against your ass. 

"I'm gonna touch you now, baby, okay?" his deep voice whispered in your ear.

"Okay," you peeped, heart pounding in your ears at this new proximity. 

He spread your legs, putting your wet and neglected cunt on display, hooking them over his knees. When his palms danced over your inner thighs, you felt yourself sink deeper into his chest, deeper into the safe scent of pine and man. 

"Need to get you ready f'me, bub– stretch this tight cunt out for my big cock," he cooed.

You ached for him, a sticky wet feeling between your legs as you wished so badly for him to finally touch you. His touch was light, but teasing, drawing circles along the thin flesh, circling closer and closer to where you needed his touch the most, before he pulled away. 

"Please," you whined, grabbing at his arm.

His breath felt hot against your neck, and you could feel the grin he pressed against your skin. He let you guide him upwards to hover his large palm over your mound, but he wouldn't let you have it. Instead, he pushed at your sweater. His hand spread across the skin beneath your belly button as prickled goosebumps followed the rough pads as they ran across your skin.

"Y'gonna feel me right here, bub?" he teased, "So deep inside your tummy?"

A whine caught in your throat and you felt like an exposed nerve. Arousal pulsated throughout your body, threatening to pull you apart unless he did something soon. Your neglected cunt dripped with an ache only he could sooth. 

"Yes, please, Logan," you whined, tears threatening to spill.

His thick beard scraped against your cheek, and you almost trembled from anticipation as he slid his hands downwards. He raked his fingers through the curls of your mound, and a gasp fell from your lips when he finally pushed at your clit.

A wide smile reached across your face when he started to circle his fingers, tight with the perfect amount of pressure. Your hips bucked to meet his touch, your cunt eager and dripping for more of him. His other arm clasped around your middle, keeping your still and steady in his lap as he had his way with you.

A bold finger dipped lower, running through your folds and teasing at you entrance. A slick sound filled the car as he played with your cunt, circling his fingers around your hole, dipping a teasing finger inside you just to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it just as quickly. 

"Such a messy pussy," Logan murmured in your ear, the deep bass of his voice vibrating into your skin. "Listen."

The sound as he played with your pussy was obscene, lewd, and so dirty you felt a heat crawl up your chest. A breathy gasp escaped you when he finally split you on his finger, and a satisfied smile coated your lips as he started to move it inside in a steady rhythm, prodding every so often at that spongy spot inside, the spot your own finger couldn't reach.

"F-feels s-so good," you managed to stutter out. 

The heel of his palm pressed against your clit with every thrust, teasing at your insides and conjuring moan after breathy moan from your lips. He guided you closer and closer to the edge, and you wanted so badly to fall. When he pulled out to slide another finger inside you, you felt a tear roll down your cheek with satisfaction.

"I can feel that pussy clenching me– you close, bub?" he poked, never stopping his fingers.

Your head rolled back, resting heavy on his shoulder as you nodded franticly, mouth parted slightly, humming out small breathy whines. You were so close, the tension in your stomach twisting and aching for release.

But then he pulled his fingers, dragging them up over your mound leaving a wet trail in your curls. You couldn't help the disappointed sigh as more tears pressed their way down your cheeks.

"Shh," he hushed you, "you're okay, bub." 

Under you, you felt him move, his strong muscles flexing as he shifted you on his lap. When you felt the blunt head of his cock slide between your folds, an eagerness came upon you. You grinded against him, making a small chuckle rumble from his chest. Logan slapped his heavy cock against your folds, coating his big cock in your slick arousal. 

The first stretch of him knocked the breath right out of you, the fat tip of him splitting you in half as he helped you guide yourself down on him. You had to remember to breathe, your hand fumbling for something to hold on to. 

"Fuck," you whimpered, eyes wide, "I-it's so big– it's t-too big."

His hand wrapped around your middle held you in place, keeping you still on his cock as you adjusted to the first inches of him inside you. 

"It's not too big, princess, you're doing so well f'me," he praised, "just a little more, bub– you can do it."

With a wet whimper you lowered yourself, taking a couple more inches of him, as Logan pressed more fluttering praise into your skin. He let you take your time, easing yourself down on him at your own pace. When your thighs were finally flushed with his, he was so deep inside you, you jolted, trying to move back up, but Logan's hands held you down. You felt him in your tummy, like he'd said, his cock reaching so deep you were shaking.

"Sit still, get used to it," he told you, as you tried to catch your breath, "You're being so good f'me."

And somehow the burning stretch of him soothed away into a pleasurable pressure, one you couldn't help but chase. With an experimental rock of your hips, you felt the fat head of him prod at your spot, making you mewl. And when you started to swivel your hips, Logan groaned in satisfaction, meeting your movement with small thrusts.

Slowly, he picked up his rhythm, strong hands shifted to dig into your hips, holding you in place for him to move you as he wished. In your ear, you heard him growl, deep and animalistic as he fucked up into you.

It didn't take long until your breath came out fast between moans as the pressure built, and built, and built. 

"Logan," you moaned, tethering right on the edge.

Another growl escaped his chest, as his strong arms hooked under your legs. He pressed them tightly to your body as he picked up his pace, bucking wildly into your eager cunt. You could feel him throb inside of you, and you couldn't help but clench at the thought of feeling him spill inside you, claiming you.

"Don't stop, please, don't stop," you begged, tears streaming down your face like two winding rivers, "I-I'm gonna come."

A hand slid between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, coaxing you closer and closer with winding circles. 

"Come on my cock, baby, come all over that big cock."

It was hot, and blinding. Euphoric shocks pulsed through your body, as you fluttered and gushed around his cock. Logan's grip on your legs tightened as you shook violently with your orgasm – a million stars exploded behind your eyes.

"Oh, that's it, bub, such a good girl," he praised between heavy wet pants against your ear.    

Fucking you through your ecstasy, Logan chased his own high at a relentless pace, and all you could do was take it, reduced to a ragdoll in his hands. In your ear he muttered nonsense interlaced with praise, telling you how good you felt, and how perfect you were for him.

With a deep groan he pulled out quickly, tugging at himself until he spilled his thick spend on the truck floor. With bleary eyes you watched how it pumped in quick spurts, dripping down his hand and soiled the knuckles in his own sticky cum. 

Behind you, Logan breathed hard, nudging his nose against the column of your neck to press soft kisses to the hot skin. 

A pair of bright headlights beamed down the road, pulling you from the moment with its blinding light. Logan helped you shift off his lap, reaching to hand you your discarded clothes before he tucked himself back into his jeans. 

The cassette whirled in the car radio, and you couldn't remember when the music had stopped. Logan shifted back behind the wheel and an eerie silence grew in the distance between you.

"How 'bout I take you somewhere to eat?" he posed.

You smiled, "I could eat."

...................

hopefully this was okay? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[techwrecker]

Handful of Roses

Summary: It’s you and Logan’s anniversary and he can’t even be bothered to show up. You’re left alone, wondering where he could possibly be.

Genre: Angst ⇒ Fluff

Tags: SFW, minor swearing, angst & fluff (duh), fem!reader, no use of y/n, reader calls logan bub sarcastically, logan is still a mutant, sickeningly sweet ending,

Word Count: 1.6k

Request: "Logan forgets a special event? Angst to fluff. Maybe a birthday, anniversary or special date night."

A/N: Tysm for the request! I really hope you enjoy it!

Other: dividers by @moosgraphics & @saradika (tysm!)

The congealed pasta slid into the trash bin with a solid thud. Hours of your hard work gone to waste.

Tonight you and Logan were supposed to be celebrating your one year anniversary. When you suggested the idea to Logan, he wasn’t too keen on going out to a fancy restaurant, so you compromised by promising to fix him something at home. You had made him swear he would be home by 7 to eat. You wanted him for the evening— all to yourself.

And yet.

You checked the time on the stove— 8:45 p.m. You had half a mind to lock Logan out. If he was going to break his promises, you were going to make him pay the price for it. Your heels clattered against the floor as you made your way to the front door. Just as you were about to turn the deadbolt, a tiny piece of your heart shot a plea of forgiveness through you. You hesitated, weighing the pros and cons.

On one hand, Logan deserved exactly what he had coming. You wanted to drive home your frustration. If he wanted to act like an animal, then he could sleep in the dog house.

But then again, staying in the house alone made you nervous. The house you shared was out in the middle of the woods and your mind tended to run wild with dangerous scenarios at the slightest sound. Usually, Logan was home before dark to protect you from your overactive imagination.

You decided to be nice to him. Especially since the rain was really coming down outside and storms made you nervous. And despite how angry you were with Logan, you didn’t want him to come down with anything.

You withdrew your hand from the door. The figure-hugging dress you had put on just for him was starting to scratch at your skin. This was the last straw. You let the plates clatter into the sink, not caring if they shattered or not and stormed off to the bedroom to find your fuzziest pajamas.

You gathered the pajamas and a towel and headed to the shower, turning the temperature gauge as hot as you could stand. You hoped the boiling temperature would take your mind off the disappointment Logan left you alone with.

Unfortunately, as soon as the water had saturated your hair, and turned your skin a flaming red, you burst into tears. You sat down in the bottom of the tub, wrapping your arms around your folded body to console yourself. Salty tears mixed with the water for some time. You weren’t sure exactly how much time had passed since you had gotten in, but your fingers had already pruned by the time you calmed down enough to stand up again.

You knew Logan cared about you, so why did he have to forget stuff like this? It was important to you— you wanted it to be important to him, too. Your life was sucky before he came into it. Was it really too much to ask for him to acknowledge the wins with you? For a man who had walked the earth for over 200 years, a one year anniversary is probably just a drop in the bucket. But to you, it meant the world.

You turned off the water and toweled off. The vibrations of the front door slamming closed shook the walls.

“Hello?” You heard Logan’s voice call out. “Y’home, darlin’?”

You nonchalantly dried your sopping hair a few seconds longer before pulling on your pajamas. You wanted to make him sweat a little. Logan’s footsteps were thudding about the house, looking for you. You waited in the bathroom, arms crossed.

After a few more minutes, a gentle knock sounded against the door.

“You in there?” His voice was soft and tender. It was the voice he used whenever he pleaded cutely for hugs and kisses. Your expression softened out of habit. Not fair.

Your mind brought you back to reality. His manipulative tactic only fueled your anger. You ripped the door open. “Yes, Logan. I-“

Logan’s appearance cut your spiel short. He was filthy. Sloppy mud was splattered from his boots to the chest of his t-shirt, his jacket was soaked through, and his face was covered in dark grease— a giant, walking contrast to your soft, pink appearance. He extended his arm to you, a wilted and nearly bare bouquet of roses in his fist. His forlorn expression reflected the misfortune of his appearance. You almost felt sorry for him.

“Before you say anything,” he rushed out. “I want to tell you that I can’t apologize enough, darlin’. These are f’r you.”

“What the hell happened?” The hot tears threatened to well up again. “You were supposed to be here hours ago,” you said, shakily.

“I know, I know. The goddamn pickup quit on me after work tonight. Nobody in town had the part I needed.” He paused, expecting you to cut in. You kept silent and let him continue his excuse. “I had to walk home in the friggin’ storm.” He raised his arms in exasperation.

It explained why he was late, but not why he was absolutely covered in mud. At most, his boots would have been caked.

You jutted your chin out, gesturing to his mud-covered body. “And that? You’re gonna be late and track mud through my clean house?”

“You’re gonna laugh at me.” He looked down at the floor, avoiding your eyes.

You crossed your arms and set your expression in a slight frown. It was difficult to be intimidating in pink, fuzzy pajamas and slippers, but you did your best anyways. “Try me.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, clearly embarrassed. “I slipped.”

“What do you mean, ‘you slipped’?”

“On the walk home. Tripped on a tree root and fell face first. I tried savin’ the flowers but…” He let the twiggy bouquet speak for itself.

You thought for a moment. It was difficult to imagine your stoic Logan tripping on anything, much less falling into mud and trying to save delicate roses in the process. A tiny smile crept onto your lips. You took the few flowers that were left out of his hands and took a whiff. Logan visibly relaxed his shoulders as you accepted his gift.

“I figured once my truck is up’n’runnin’, we could go out to celebrate instead.”

You lit up, eyes jumping from the roses to meet his gaze. “Oh, Logan! You mean it?”

“‘Course, darlin’. How else ‘m I supposed to make it up to my favorite girl?”

How were you supposed to stay mad at him when he looked at you like that? His deep hazel eyes contained nothing but devotion for you with a smile sweet as honey.

“I guess I’ll make an exception— just this once,” You gave in to his appeal.

He made a move to envelop you in a hug, but he was met with your index finger pressed to his chest before he could wrap his dripping, disgusting arms around you.

“Nuh-uh. I don’t think so, bub. You gotta get cleaned up before you come any closer.”

He looked down at the clothes sticking to his body. “Oh— right.”

You sidestepped around him, giving him a wide berth trying to avoid touching the mess of a man. He left the door open as he peeled the clothes from his body. He had no shame about his body and you didn’t mind one bit. Making your way to the kitchen, you found a delicate glass vase under the sink. It fit the handful of roses nicely. Despite the rough journey, the roses that did make it out were somehow still perfectly picturesque.

The roses reminded you of your relationship with Logan. It’s not exactly like he was the easiest person to live with. In fact, you had bought more sheets in the past year than you ever had in your entire life. His nightmares could get awfully terrible. You would hop out of bed and run to the other side of the room— not because you were scared of him. But because you knew he would never forgive himself if he hurt you, even unconsciously. It was one of the little ways you were able to try and protect him— by protecting yourself.

But when you were with him, it was hard to imagine being anywhere else. Logan adored you. Every fiber in his being did everything it possibly could to please you. You knew he would always love you.

The shower shut off, hazy steam rolling from the bathroom into the hall. You pulled out a bag of popcorn to make while Logan got dressed. As the kernels began to pop, you heard his heavy footsteps carry him to the bedroom. The opening and shutting of drawers told you he was about finished up.

You were monitoring the popcorn when now-clean Logan wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“Hiya, darlin’.” His voice was low and relaxed. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and nuzzled into your neck. His soapy scent somehow made him more attractive.

“Hi baby,” you said, bringing your hand up to caress the side of his head. His hair was still damp, but you didn’t mind. “I’m glad you’re home. I missed you today.”

“I miss you every day,” he said into the crook, his warm breath brushing against your skin. He lifted his face to meet your gaze.

You tilted your head to give him a gentle kiss, lips tenderly pressing together. His scratchy facial hair grazed your face. The sensation kept you grounded— reminded you that he was real and he loved you.

He cupped your face, turning you toward him slightly. He searched your eyes and found only love in them.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.” He pulled you tight against his chest, letting his strong arms swathe you in his adoration. “I love you.”

You melted into him. What would you ever do without your Logan?

“I love you too, Logan.”

Taglist: @arthurcerverogf @gdsvhtwa vwa @rosiahills22 @lonewolflupe

Join the taglist! || AO3 || Thanks for reading!

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - BLAST FROM THE PAST

A/N: And something new, that I've been working on for some time. The ending sucks, but I tried. Maybe it won't make sense, I don't know. It was supposed to be spicy, but I didn't know what to put there.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: angst, some fluff

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 5400+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - BLAST FROM THE PAST

Logan needed some time off. Was it from the students? The missions? He didn’t know. But he longed for some peace. A weekend away would be perfect. A week would mean the world to him. And yet, he’d never asked for that. Deep down, he liked teaching the students. He enjoyed the missions even when he was grumpy about it. 

He leaned against a pillar at the entrance, inhaling the cold wet air. The had been pouring for hours. It was a matter of minutes before the first thunder would start. With midnight slowly approaching, the scenario in front of him was very peaceful. It was exactly what he needed, even if it was only for a few moments. 

Logan took a cigar out of his pocket, lighting it up. No one would bitch about it now. When he took the first drag, his mind wandered to Jean. He would think about her here and there, always wondering… what if? What if she chose him? What if she never dates Scott? But it wasn’t like that. It sucked she chose Scott. It’s been a long time now. It was time to get over it for good.

Out of nowhere, he scoffed. There was only one person who would stupidly comment on it. Logan perfectly pictured his best friend beating his ass for acting like a fool. Like a love-sick puppy, she’d say. And would laugh, even now. 

Logan frowned. Now, his mind was preoccupied with the images of his best friend - Y/N. They met over two years ago. Or was it longer than that? It was at a time when he was cage-fighting for money. He wasn’t a teacher or an X-man. He barely knew who he was. He was blessed with that woman, to be honest. She sneaked into his life and nestled somewhere in his heart. 

He chuckled when he remembered how she would mock him. They had a similar sense of humour. She was a powerful mutant, also on the run from everything and everyone - even herself. Life with her by his side was easier. Their paths separated a few times, only to be brought together by some miracle. 

But then Rogue came and his life changed. The last time he met her was, again, a total coincidence. Because that’s what the universe had decided to do. Logan was on a mission with Storm, looking for more mutant children to be saved and protected. Turned out, Y/N was on her own mission, to help them. The meeting was short, amusing and before he blinked, she was gone. 

He kept wondering what his life would be if they stayed together. What if she was here with him? What if he stayed by her side and never set foot here? 

He took another drag, the taste lingering in his mouth a bit more than before. Logan’s eyes scanned the surroundings. The driveway to the school was empty. He didn’t sense any danger. And yet, he frowned. Something seemed off.

There was a scent lingering in the air. It was distant, mutant-like. Taking another sniff, Logan tilted his head. Odd. The scent was familiar. Too familiar. With every breath he took, he was sure he knew that person. That’s when his eyes captured a figure limping through the rain forward. He straightened his back, eyes wide. Could it be…?

“Am I delirious?” he heard the well-known feminine voice. “Is that the grumpiest man who ever lived?” 

Logan chuckled. Of course, she would greet him with words like that. “Y/N?” What the hell was she doing there? “Holy shit, is that you? How the fuck?” he asked in disbelief. 

“That’s how you greet your good friend?” she asked, chuckling. Y/N came closer, trying to keep her weight off her right foot. “I was expecting confetti and champagne.” 

The cigarette was immediately abandoned. Logan walked into the rain. It took him five large steps to approach her. His big arms wrapped around her body in a tight hug. “This has to be enough.”

“A warm hug from you? Worth it,” she laughed as she pressed her drenched clothes against his dry one. She rested her head against his hard chest, smiling. “But seriously, what the fuck are you doing here? Of all places?” 

Logan looked at her, eyes travelling from head to toe. She was a mess. “I think I should be asking that question, don’t ya think? Come on, let’s get your ass inside before you catch fucking pneumonia or something.” Before she could reply, Logan dragged her inside the school, away from the cold rain. 

“Holy shit,” he heard her gasp when Y/N stepped inside. She kept twisting and turning on her heel, scanning the interior. Her mouth was open while trying to take it all in. “Don’t tell me you fucking live here, Howlett,” and she punched him in the bicep. “Have you won the lottery?”

He held a chuckle and shook his head. “Still got that mouth on you,” he stated. 

“And yet, you still love me,” she had gifted him with a bright smile. That quickly turned into a scowl and a gasp. 

Logan noticed before she was limping. Now, under the light, he saw her swollen ankle. “What happened there, kid?” he pointed at her foot. 

She looked down, eyeing her injury. “Shit,” she mumbled. “On my way here, I slipped on a fucking mud and twisted it. Otherwise, I am fine.”

He could smell the lie on her, but for now, he decided to ignore it. She would sing eventually. Logan knew her damn well. Fuck, he couldn’t believe she was standing before him, here at school. Either this was the universe bringing them together or there were more lies behind those gorgeous eyes. 

Her feet moved. She kept turning around, looking at the interior. “Fancy. So, this is where you live now? What is this a school?” She stopped and turned back to him. “Don’t tell me you are a teacher.” 

Logan watched as she wrapped her arms around her body. The wet clothes were hugging her figure in the right places. “I know it’s hard to believe but that’s what I am now.” 

She chuckled. “From a fighting cage to becoming a teacher. That’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming. What do you teach?” 

“Ethics,” he said seriously. When he noticed how she raised a brow, he continued. “Believe it or not, I’m very good at it. I’ve got a way with words. You’d be surprised.” 

“Did you lose your mind again while we were separated?” she asked. “There’s no fucking way you, of all people, are teaching ethics. That’s… unethical.”

That’s when he started to laugh. He got her good. “Nah, I’m kidding, kid. I teach combat training or PE and history.” 

Y/N rolled her eyes, exhaling loudly. “Fuck, you got me there.” Her whole body shivered. “S-so, how the hell did you end up being a teacher? Last time, we didn’t have that much time to chit-chat. You were saving the same kids as I was.” 

Logan’s eyes couldn’t watch how he kept shaking like an abandoned puppy. With long strides, he went to another room and reappeared with a fluffy blanket. He threw at her. “Here.” 

“Thanks,” she smiled. She wrapped around her, sighing contentedly.

“Y/N?” 

“Yeah?”

“Why the fuck are you here? And don’t give me some shitty story. Tell me the truth,” he said strictly. He crossed his big arms over his chest, flexing them. 

Y/N brushed the wet strands of hair from her face, her lips shivering. “I was sent here,” she said simply. Logan opened his mouth to demand more. “This might sound crazy, although, in our world, nothing is fucking crazy. Someone contacted me - no, that’s not the correct word. Someone connected with my mind. A telepath, a powerful one. He, I remember it was a male voice, helped me come here.” 

Logan shook his head in disbelief. “Charles,” he mumbled. “He’s the founder and headmaster of this school. He’s the one who contacted you.” 

“Well, shit,” she was surprised. “I was not expecting that. Does he know we know each other?” Y/N sneezed loudly. And then again. “The better question is, why me?”

Logan wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you some dry clothes.”

“Is it okay that I’m here? It’s the middle of the night,” she had to ask while walking up the stairs, following her friend. 

He snorted. “Don’t play timid now, Y/L/N. This shit doesn’t work on me.” 

One simple glare and he had to laugh. “Damn, you know me too well. But seriously, everyone is asleep and I feel like an intruder.” 

Logan took her to his room and closed the doors silently behind them. “You are a fucking annoying intruder, but I don’t mind, darlin’,” he grinned at her. “Welcome to my room, don’t fucking sit anywhere with those damn wet clothes.” Logan moved to his closet and took out a shirt with long sleeves and some boxers he never wore. Again, he threw the clothes at her like he did with the blanket, making her curse. 

“I’ll be swimming in those clothes.”

“Shut up and be grateful.” Logan pointed at the second door in the room. “That’s my bathroom - change, shower, do whatever you need.” 

“Careful with your words, mon ami,” she winked at him. “Thank you, Lo’. I appreciate this.” 

“Save it, kid.” 

Y/N showed him her tongue on the way to the bathroom, grimacing before closing the door behind her. 

Alone in Logan’s bathroom, she smiled. Damn, she missed him. He was the only man who treated her like an equal. They shared the same humour, the same views. He was a strong mutant and so was she. 

Sighing, Y/N undressed from the wet clothes, hanging them on a heating rack to dry. Her ankle still hurt. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Bruises covered her body. Some of them still hurt like a bitch. 

One quick shower later, she felt better, warmer. Although, she smelled like him. It made her smile. She had to use his shampoo because there wasn’t anything else. In the end, it was better than nothing. As predicted, his clothes were too big for her. One of her shoulders was exposed, the boxers were low on her hips. 

Logan was still in his bedroom when she walked out. First, their eyes locked. Then, his eyes travelled south, scanning her figure and his clothes hanging on her. Has she ever worn his clothes before? He dryly gulped. “Yeah, you are swimming in my clothes,” he chuckled. “Now, get in the bed.”

“Woah, first buy me dinner you ass,” she laughed. “I’m not that easy.”

One glare and she was laughing even more. “Of course, you are the one with a rotten brain,” he commented. “One night we’ll share. We will figure out the rest tomorrow after you meet the rest of the X-men.” 

“I mean, we shared a bed once. It was during a winter, a shitty snowstorm got in our way,” Y/N grinned like a winner. “I was surprised when you cuddled me.” 

Logan rolled his eyes. “You were cold and asked me to help you,” he reminded her. 

“But you decided to do it,” Y/N grinned at him. “If you’d like, you can cuddle me tonight, too. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Damn you, woman,” he growled. “Just get in the damn bed and shut your noisy, annoying mouth.” 

“Again, you love me,” she winked at him and climbed into the bed, taking the right side. Luckily, the bed was big enough to accommodate them together. “So comfortable,” she sighed contentedly. “You are treated well here.” 

“Benefit of being a teacher here,” he chuckled. “Sleep, Y/N. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” 

Her eyes were heavy. She didn’t have the energy to give him some witty comment. She simply turned her back to him, cuddling to her pillow, drifting into the realm of dreams. 

At least for a few hours before she was up again, surrounded by darkness and gentle snoring. She turned her head to see the silhouette of her friend deep asleep. Sighing, she slowly left the bed, legs bringing her to a big window. The rain never stopped. It kept pouring on the grass, the wind swaying the trees. Her whole body ached. She had a couple of rough months behind her. Now, she was safe. 

Y/N didn’t slip on the mud. She was on the run for several days in searing pain. Her wrists remembered the cuffs around them, not letting her move. What mattered now was the fact that the dark times were gone and she was in a place where she had someone she knew well.

Logan shifted in the bed, turning on the other side, still asleep. At least he was able to do that now. Maybe his mind was in a better place, healed. He deserved it. 

Y/N rested her elbows on a wooden window sill and put her head on her hands. Watching the rain was better than sleeping at this point. It soothed her, washed away the pain, the distress. 

In the morning, when she came out of the bathroom, Logan was sitting on his bed, frowning. “Already grumpy?” Y/N asked with a teasing smile. 

“You didn’t sleep,” he glared at her. 

“I did,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “Not the whole night, but at least a few hours.” There was no point in lying.

He shook his head. “Staring at the rain is better than resting in the bed?” he asked. “I knew damn well you were standing at the window for hours.” 

“You are a damn spy,” she said dramatically. “Fine, I was up. So what?” 

“You should have rested, kid.”

“If you knew I was up, why didn’t you say anything?” she challenged. 

A sigh escaped his lips. “You are a pain in the ass, ya know that?” He huffed. “I figured you needed a moment to collect your thoughts, as you like to say.”

Without a word, he stood up and locked himself in the bathroom. Y/N rolled her eyes. Grumpy Logan in the morning was a blessing. She fixed the clothes on her body, sighing at how loose everything was. Her own clothes didn’t smell good. They needed a good wash. 

Her ears registered noise coming out of the hallway. The voices shaded into each other. The students were up and ready to start their day. At first, she thought there’d be only a few kids. By the sounds of it, there had to be way more. How many kids did they save? 

Once Logan was out, he was already in his jeans, just putting on his white tank top. It was only a second but Y/N got a perfect glimpse of his hard abs and a path of hair. Her eyes moved up to his face. 

“I’m taking you to Charles,” he said. “Since he was the one who brought you here.” 

Y/N showed him a thumbs-up. A second later, she stopped. “Wait, I can’t meet him like this,” she pointed at how she was dressed. Logan's clothes were too big on her body. Also, it would look… weird. What would the people around here think? 

“Give me a minute,” he said and left the room, leaving Y/N standing there alone. 

Logan came to a different room, knocking on it. It took ten seconds for the person to open the door. His eyes met with Rogue’s. “It’s too early to give me any pep-talk you have in mind,” she said, annoyed.

“I need a favour,” he said. 

That piqued Rogue’s interest. “Alright, what is it?” 

“I need to borrow some female clothes,” he said, not looking at her. He wanted to avoid that teasing look on her face. “Before you start asking shit… I have a friend here and she needs some clothes to wear.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest, grinning. “A friend you say? Is it really just a friend, Logan? What happened to her clothes? Are they torn?” 

He glared at her. “Will you help me out or nah?” 

Rogue bit her lower lip, trying her best not to laugh at him. “What is her sizing?” she asked. 

Logan described her body type. He didn’t give her too many details. Just enough so Rogue had a picture of her. “I think I have something here. Can I meet her?” she asked. 

“You are nosy, ya know that?” he tilted his head, patience wearing off slowly. “You’ll meet her later, okay? I have to take her to Charles. He was the one who brought her here.”

“Huh?” she was confused. “Hold on,” and hid in her room where she tried to find some clothes that would fit Logan’s mysterious female friend. Once she handed him the clothes, she put a teasing smile on her face. “I wanna meet her.” 

“Later, kid,” he waved a hand. He went back to his room. 

When he entered, Y/N was sitting on the bed, looking at her nails. He threw the clothes at her. They smacked her face. “Here, put this on.” 

She raised a brow. “Whose clothes are these? Please don’t tell me your girlfriend’s, that would be fucking weird.” 

“They belong to a student I saved some time ago,” he explained. “She’s a good kid. She also has a big mouth. You two would be great friends,” he chuckled. 

Y/N made a face. “Kinda hard to believe, but okay.” Taking her clothes, she went back to the bathroom to change. To her surprise, the clothes fit her nicely. They were simple sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Once she got out, Logan’s bed was perfectly made. 

He noticed some bruises on her arms but decided not to comment on it yet.

Logan took Y/N through the vast hallways of the school to the lower levels where Charles had an office. Some students eyed Y/N from head to toe, not knowing what to think of her. There were whispers here and there, pointing their fingers in her direction. 

“I feel like I am a zoo animal,” she snarled a little. “I’m surprised they are not taking pictures of me, yet.” 

“Give it time,” he teased. 

“Fucking great.” 

Logan knocked on the office door three times before entering. For the first time, Y/N was able to see the man who connected with her mind. He was old, bald, in a wheelchair and dressed fancy. 

“Y/N,” he said her name with a smile. “I’m glad you are here. Please, sit.” Then, he turned his eyes to Logan. “Thank you for bringing her. I’ll speak with her alone.” 

The Wolverine didn’t comment on it. He gave him a nod, patter Y/N’s shoulder and left the Professor and his friend alone in the office to talk. 

Typical Professor. He’d keep his secrets to himself until things when to shit. Logan hoped he’d give him an explanation. And if not him, he would hear it from Y/N. 

Damn that woman. They had known each other for many years before he became a teacher at this school. They were close, sometimes wondering how close they would be if… He shook his head. It was useless to think that way. Yes, she was fucking sexy and beautiful. He would be lying if he said the opposite. It made him question things back in the day. Even now, when he saw her face this morning, there was a question lingering in his mind. What if..?

“Where is she?” Rogue startled him. “I wanna see her.” 

“Jeez, kid. You are acting as if you want to catch Santa during Christmas,” he said. 

Logan and Rogue walked into the kitchen. He made himself a coffee while Rogue got cereal and milk. She had that teasing smile on her lips, waiting for something juicy from Logan.

“I’m curious. Is she pretty?” 

He almost choked on the coffee. “Shit,” he mumbled and coughed. 

“Well, she must be if you are acting this way,” Rogue smiled. 

“What do you mean, kid? I act normally. The damn coffee went down the wrong pipe,” he glared at her and put the mug on the counter. 

“Whatever you say, Logan,” she giggled. “How come you never told me about this friend of yours? Or shall I call her a crush?” 

“Have you ever told me about your friends?” he asked back. “And what am I, five?”

She put a full spoon of cereal in her mouth and shrugged. “This is different,” she said after swallowing the food. “I can confidently say I know you well, Logan. But since this morning, there is this different energy coming out of you.”

“How is this different?” 

“It’s you we are talking about,” she said. “The grumpy guy who doesn’t let anyone in. And suddenly, there is a woman that is supposedly his friend. Ask anyone, they’d say it’s… unusual.” 

His ears registered the sound of wheels and Y/N’s gentle voice approaching. He took a deep breath, preparing for their entrance. It seemed Charles had decided to give her a tour. When they entered the kitchen, Logan noticed how Rogue’s eyes widened when her eyes captured Y/N at the door in her clothes. 

And they both smiled at each other. Fuck. Rogue and Y/N would be a deadly combo for him. He would never hear the end of their nagging and teasing.

“You’ve met Logan,” Charles chuckled. “This is Rogue. Logan saved her some time ago.” 

“Hi!” Rogue said cheerfully, too cheerfully for Logan’s liking. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“You will meet more people as the day goes by,” Charles said to Y/N. “Some of them are on a mission in Salt Lake City. They should be back in a day or two.” 

Logan turned his gaze to Y/N. “So, you are staying?” It sounded rougher than he intended to. He would be glad to have her here, with him. “Wow, wasn’t expecting that,” he added. 

She shrugged. “I think it’s time to lay low. My life has been hectic for years. Now, I got the opportunity to have some sort of stability - in a matter of speaking.” 

“If you excuse me,” Charles said politely, “I have a class to teach. We will speak together more this afternoon. We’ll arrange a room for you and some clothes since you don’t own anything.” 

“Thank you.” 

 . . .

Y/N sat alone in a room they assigned her. Some would say it was small. To her, it was luxurious and vast. She never had a room like this. As a kid, she would share the sleeping space with other kids. And then, she would travel from place to place, sleeping wherever it was possible - benches, couches or in a van when she was with Logan. 

She thought about the time she would spend time with him. How they would share his van. That man had a kind heart. He wouldn’t let her freeze to death when he found her. And since that day, their friendship blossomed. 

That man. Shit. Was there a time when she imagined his hard muscles under her hands? Yes, many times. When they were together, she could never cross that line. It was rare to have a good friend in her life who was willing to take her in like a stray. She wouldn’t want to screw that up. 

A knock brought her back to reality. Rogue came inside her room with a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “Hi,” she greeted Y/N. 

“Hi, uh, Rogue, right?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. “Is it okay to come?”

“Sure,” Y/N pointed at the spot next to her on the bed. “So, you are the girl who gave me some clothes to wear,” she tugged at her sweatpants. “Thanks. That was very kind.” 

Rogue kept the smile. “I know what’s like not to have any clothes. They gave me everything when I got here. I have a bed to sleep on, food to eat and friends.” 

Y/N nodded. “That’s good.” 

“So, what’s up with you and Logan?” she asked boldly, making Y/N snap her head up and look at the girl.

“We are friends,” Y/N said, unsure what Rogue meant by it. “We’ve known each other for years. We separated a while back and now, the universe has brought us together,” she explained. 

“Universe,” Rogue grinned. 

The door opened without knocking. Logan walked in as if it was his room. “Sure, come on in, this room is a public space,” Y/N commented with a smirk plastered on her lips. “What do you want?” 

Logan glared at Rogue. “What are you doing here, kid?” 

“Getting to know your friend,” she smiled at him. It was followed by a wink. 

“Don’t you have classes?” he questioned. 

Rogue huffed, annoyed by him. “We’ll talk later,” she waved a hand as she was leaving Y/N’s new room. She gave Logan one last teasing look before she left. 

“You are such a dad,” Y/N laughed at Logan. “Strict hand, not taking any shit.” 

Logan poked her forehead, making her laugh. “Have you hurt your head, kid? You are talking shit.” 

“What? You don’t like being called a dad? How about ‘daddy’?” she put a wicked smile on her face, waiting for his reaction. When his eyes widened and his nostrils flared, she started to laugh at him. 

Logan shook his head. “I think it’s time for you to start singing, Y/N.” His voice got deeper. The teasing was gone. He demanded answers. “I talked to Charles. He didn’t want to tell me what happened to you, or the exact reason why he found you. In his words, you should be the one to tell me.” 

Y/N eyes lowered. She knew it would eventually come. Her eyes trailed over the few bruises that were on her arms. “I was locked in a mutant testing lab,” she whispered. 

“What?!” Logan’s voice raised. “How long?” 

She rolled her eyes from one side to the other, counting the days. “Over a month,” she said. “I got information that they had some kids locked there and I wanted to get them out. My goal was to take them to an underground network that helped mutants. Unfortunately, they captured me and locked me with them.”

“Y/N,” he sighed. 

“Don’t,” she glared at him. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened. Don’t be over-protective when you were here, living your life.” 

She was right. He wasn’t with her. He didn’t have the right to act this way. “What happened there?” Logan’s voice sounded more neutral. The anger behind it subsided. 

Y/N started to play with her fingers, picking up dirt under her nails that wasn’t there. “They experimented on us, abused us,” she shrugged. “I wanted to get us away, but I only made it worse.” 

“What happened?” he demanded this time. 

“I blew up the whole place!” she raised her voice. Her eyes met his. “Many people died. I wanted to get them out and I… I killed them, Logan.” 

Y/N’s mutation was a dangerous one. She was able to blow things up. Because she lacked control over the mutation, no wonder things went quickly south. “I didn’t want to,” her voice broke. “I’ve never done anything like that before.” 

“Holy shit,” Logan shook his head. “How many dead?” 

“I don’t know. I panicked and ran away,” she admitted. “Everything was on fire.” 

There was silence between them. Logan wasn’t commenting on it. Y/N didn’t want to talk more about it. It was too fresh. The wounds didn’t heal. She killed many people, including mutants. 

“So that ankle,” he pointed at her leg. She wasn’t limping that day, but it was still a little swollen. “You didn’t slip on a mud.”

She shook her head. “No. All injuries were from…” her voice faded into nothing. Y/N’s head lowered, not daring to look at Logan. She tried to hold back the tears and not to cry. She felt ashamed of lying, not telling the truth to the one man she kind of trusted. “Can’t believe the Professor wants me here after everything.” 

“This is the problem,” Logan started to talk. “You never told me when something went to shit. Whether it was you being attacked as it happened at the Canadian borders when we travelling together. Or when your powers got out of control. Now, it’s still the same. Here I thought you could trust me.” 

“I’m sorry,” she jumped in. “I didn’t want to seem like a damsel in distress or a weak mutant that doesn’t have things under control. Plus, it’s not something I wanted to brag about when there were casualties.”

“And again, you didn’t have your mutation under control,” he spat. Logan was upset and he didn’t understand why. “Why do I have a feeling that you cannot trust me? After all those years? You think I’d judge you? Come on, princess.” 

“I trust you.” 

“Do you?” 

She opened her mouth to argue. Logan stopped her by raising a hand. “Don’t even try.”

The anger mixed with dread. Logan cared for her more than he ever realised. However, he was upset that she didn’t trust him enough to tell him what happened. She had to lie just to present herself as strong and brave. 

He went out to smoke and calm down. Why couldn’t she admit that she fucked up and was injured? Stubborn woman. 

. . .

Logan and Y/N didn’t talk for the rest of the day. She stayed in her room, hidden from the world while he dealt with students. Also, he wanted to know more information from Charles. He gave him a better glimpse into what happened. It seemed some mutants got away before Y/N blew up the whole building. 

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me anything about it,” he said. 

Charles sighed. “I understand you two share some past. Your paths separated for some time and things changed. You can’t blame her for not trusting you enough.”

Logan frowned at him. “You know awfully a lot, Charles.”

“Sometimes your mind is too loud, opened for telepaths like an invitation to an open house,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Then don’t snoop around,” said Logan. 

Charles took a deep breath, ready to speak, when his face went stoic. He knew something was off. “She wants to leave,” he announced. “Rogue is talking to her at the entrance door.” 

“Fuck,” Logan gritted his teeth. His legs took him out of the office and straight to the front door where Rogue was talking to Y/N. The woman had new clothes on her and a backpack. She was serious about leaving. 

“Stay,” Rogue said. “You need to talk it out.”

Y/N shook her head. “I have to leave. Too many ghosts in the closet,” she shrugged. 

“You’re not goin anywhere,” Logan lurched forward. “You just came here and I ain’t letting you go that easily.” 

“Logan,” she sighed. 

“No,” he shook his head. He grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her back inside the mansion. “I get that you re upset about what happened, but we can talk about it and deal with it together.” 

“Logan, it’s not that easy, I killed all those people…”

He huffed. “Y/N, stop it, okay,” he shook his head. “We can help you here. We can make you understand your mutation better. You will train with us, how to use it, how to control it. What do you say?” It seemed as if he was pleading now. 

She opened her mouth, ready to ramble some more. Logan reached for her, grabbing her by the neck and pressing her body close to his. His lips found hers in a kiss that took her breath away. 

Rogue’s mouth almost dropped to the floor, but she was glad that Logan made the step. She knew that man liked Y/N. Because she didn’t want to ruin the moment, she slowly stepped away from them, giving them space. 

When Y/N slowly pushed away from Logan, she was speechless. Like a fish on a dry land, her mouth was opening and closing without making a sound. 

“Stay,” Logan said softly. “Come on, princess. Let me help you, give you a safe place.” 

She bit her lower lip. “Will it come with more kisses from you?”

He snorted. “As much as you want, darling.” 

[datauthorress]

okay but, imagine feral! logan snuggling you at night. especially when its cold outside. you have a habit of getting cold very easily and logan is aware of this, so when you guys are getting ready for bed and you're lying there on your side and you're cold because there's a blizzard roaring outside. logan, hyper aware of whatever you're feeling, presses up against your back and moves his arms around your smaller body. his body is literally like a furnace and the heat that radiates from him is nothing but amazing.

logan nuzzles the back of your neck and you sink back into him, stealing his warmth. he's so warm and you never want to leave his embrace. and when he starts purring? that's even better.

[sunflowersteves]

um so getting fucked by logan in public place...i mean getting fucked by logan-

(please know the way i'm salivating over this man is downright sinful.)

author's note || babes,,, i feel u. this man is in my dreams 24/7. i lov u for requesting this <3

summary || basically, you defend Logan and he quite literally goes feral.

warnings || fluff, some angst, anti-mutant rhetoric, SMUT [minors dni], P in V sex, praise kink, public-sex, desperation

Logan was used to being alone. It was second nature for him to blend into a crowd and survey the bustling fullness of the night. Usually, he hightailed to the back of the bar, his eyes studying carefully while he nursed the beer in his hand. 

When Logan met you, though, some things changed a bit. Instead of being at the back of the bar, he usually sat right next to you. While he wasn’t much for PDA and often abstained from it, he still let the hardness of his thigh rest against yours. It was such a simple touch, but you knew how much Logan needed to breathe in your presence. It soothed him. 

Tonight was like any other Friday night. You both wanted to go to the bar for a little bit of fun before another mission killed the atmosphere. Logan usually has a beer in his hand and his other subtly resting against your back. His eyes would bore into yours as he watched you talk about your day. It was always something he looked forward to. The ways that your eyes would sparkle underneath the illuminating bar lights. 

The bar was packed tonight, though. Bodies were practically on top of one another—playing pool, dancing to the stereo, or attempting to chat up someone to take home. Your idea to go to the bar had not just been your own. You could hear Logan’s heartbeat race as someone kept bumping into him—despite the very menacing aura rolling off of him. 

So, in response, you were currently nursing a whiskey all by your lonesome. It wasn’t that you were lonesome, it was much of the opposite. Logan had stepped out of the bar for a quick smoke, wanting to calm the nerves that pricked his skin. Logan needed a breather. He never wanted to leave you by yourself—although he knew you were completely fine. He just didn’t want to. You smiled at him with one of those breathtaking ones that caught his breath. 

“Go. I’ll still be here.” You whispered. God, he loved you. It was so evident, yet the years of having a broken heart shattered his ideas of loving someone again. The pain was etched across his chest, back, organs—everything. Add the number of people surrounding him, caging him in had reached an overwhelming capacity. So, he stepped out toward the back and dragged his cigar across his lips. He let the nicotine softly quiet the aches in his chest. 

You sipped the bitter taste of Jim Beam, your body almost shuddering at the hot feeling of liquor going down your throat. You felt the buzz already—not having much of anything to eat despite Logan asking if you had eaten. He handed you a granola bar in the car. He already knew the answer to his question. During a heated discussion with Scott, you had completely forgotten to eat some lunch. 

Logan was as caring as always—rubbing a hand across your wrist to ask if you had anything to eat today. However, your thoughts of him were screeched to a halt from a presence coming straight toward you. 

“Where’d the big guy go?”

Your eyebrow quirks up at the sensation of a tall silhouette behind you. You didn’t respond, though. You and Logan were used to the comments—usually, fans wanting pictures with the well-known X-men. Those you didn’t mind. Men like these, though? The ones that taunt you for your differences, the ones that make your skin itch.

“C’mon. That mutant scum isn’t here anymore. No need to act so tough.” 

You huffed out of your nose in disgust. There was a sizzle underneath your chest that made you want to scream in anger. You held your ground, though, knowing that it wouldn’t help very much. You knew men like these. Any use of your powers could end up with a call to the police and another article about how “violent” mutants are.

Although, not budging made the stranger even more pissed than he was. “You’re too pretty to be with a beast like him. Didn’t you hear, anyway?” This man just wouldn’t stop fucking talking. “The Wolverine hurts anything he touches. He’s a fuck up. A low life. A fucking animal—” 

Now that comment is what made you turn your head. You had heard enough before you slammed your glass on the bar counter. The man beside you jumped in surprise. A scowl on your lips, nostrils flared. “What the fuck did you just say?” 

Logan’s eyebrows twitched as he heard the snarl in your voice. He burnt out the cigar on his skin—slightly wincing at the sizzle of his skin. Worry surged through his chest at the mere idea of your discomfort. A primal need to protect the thing he loves was fogging his brain. The leather of his jacket was straining against the bulge of his muscles as he sauntered back through the bar. His shoulders were taunted back, surveying the bar as everyone’s head turned to you and some guy. 

His eyes widened at the sight before him. You had bunched the collar of the man, lifting him off the floor. Your eyes were wild with anger, your teeth clenched tightly as you spoke to the stranger. “If you ever talk about the Wolverine like that again, I’m going to cut off your head and feed it to your fucking wife—” The boom of your voice echoed through the bar. It was so silent that a pin could drop. 

You could handle comment after comment thrown at you. That, you knew quite well. However, you knew how Logan actually felt about the comments. They called him an animal. A beast. They forced him into something he was always scared of. Himself. You knew him differently. He was Logan. He would make you a cup of coffee every morning, adding a sprinkle extra of cinnamon that he knew you loved. He left fuzzy blankets in his room after the first time you spent the night with him. You commented how itchy his sheets were and ever since, he silently wraps you up in one with an arm attached to your waist. He would place a protective arm in front of you during missions—always assessing the danger to make sure that you would never get hurt. He was so much more than anything they portrayed him as. He was human and everyone—including the team—sometimes forgets that. 

“Darlin’—” You felt your shoulder visibly relax as his large hand enveloped your soft skin. “They’re not worth it.” 

Your heart was beating fast against your ears. You did everything in your power to not throw the man across the room. Your teeth snarled at him—the guy visibly winces, expecting the worst. You slowly lowered him to the ground and let go of his collar. 

“Fucking mutants.” He spits before backing up as far away from the two of you as possible. You turn to move again and the guy gets startled and jumps in fear. Logan squeezes your shoulder to try and ground you once again.

He sees you visibly relax, some regret etched into your features. He knew that you didn’t want to cause a scene but you couldn’t help it. He knew that feeling quite well—when it came to you, he was the same. 

“Let's go home.” 

Logan was silent as the two of you walked out of the bar. You cringed at the pure stillness of the night. You didn’t mean to do more than you should have. It was just an instinct, especially as the vexation flowed through your veins. 

You stop in your tracks for a moment. You opened your mouth to say something which prompted his steps to a halt, as well. “Logan, I’m—” He never let you finish. He grabs your shoulders and shoves you against the brick wall of the bar. You let out a gasp, but it’s quickly swallowed by his mouth on yours. 

His heart is beating fast, echoing against his ears. For once in his life, someone had protected him. Someone had stood up and defended him. Sure, Charles has done that many times, but not from an act of pure love. Charles believed in him. You loved him. 

He has this feeling in his chest. He wantonly has an itch to devour you. He wants to lick the sides of your body and ravish in the pure essence of you. He’d never had this feeling before—this animalistic, pure affection was pounding against his chest. 

“You just couldn’t help it, huh, princess?” He grunted against your ear. His hands caged you in, one resting beside your head and the other deliciously attached to your hip. His teeth nipped at the skin below your ear. “You just wanted to defend your old man, hmm?” He hummed. 

The hand on your hip lowered to your thigh and squeezed the plush flesh. You were wearing a pretty dress tonight, one that you knew he would rip off later. You just weren’t expecting it now. “I just—” He breathed in the smell of your shampoo and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I couldn’t let him talk about you like that, Lo.” 

You let out a whine as he growled against your ear. He was insatiable—unhinged. Something was brewing beneath his stomach that he had never felt before. “Oh, pretty girl. You wanted to protect me?” His lips were at the shell of his ear. You nodded. You almost felt shy now, a direct contrast from earlier. 

Your leg moved to wrap around his own, curling right around his hip. He smirked at the sparkle in your eyes. “Yeah, I know, baby. God, you’re just so fucking good to me.” You were both losing your patience from the pliant kissing and stumbling of limbs. You both were desperate and wanting of one another. 

His lips lowered down your neck. The hand that was caged against the side of your head was now pressed up against your breast. You whined, “They can’t—” You gasped as he squeezed the plush flesh. “They can’t say those things. Made me—” He smiles, lips curling into a little smirk. He moves his arm down to your aching cunt. “Made me see red, Lo.” 

Your hips buck into his hand, the wall scratching against your shoulders as you’re shoved more into the brick. “Yeah? Wanted to hurt him, baby?”

He groaned into your ear at the thought of blood covering your hands from destroying the man trying to insult him. It only fueled more of his fire. He couldn’t take it anymore—mouth still sticking to yours in a gruesome dance across your lips. The saliva spread to his beard, messy and filthy. 

“Wanted—ah—wanted to see him pay.” His hand fully dipped between your panties, bunching up your dress as he lifted you up against the wall. It happened swiftly, yet your mind burned with want and need.

“Fuck. You’re so wet.” He teased your slick entrance, making your legs instinctively pull him closer. “Logan, please.” 

He could smell the way you were leaking for him, spreading the slick around with his fingers. He let out a growl and swiftly unbuckled his belt. He couldn’t wait any longer and neither could you. 

“Can’t wait to fill you. Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy.” He moves your panties with his thumb and swiftly glides in his wide girth. You moan in unison, but you swallow his own and yours with a long kiss on his lips. Your tongues swirl together and you could’ve sworn he pulled you even further. You could feel every inch of him inside of you. He moaned at the stretch of your cunt wrapped around him. “Feel so good, pretty girl. Gonna—fuck—gonna make you mine.”

Your head hits the back of the wall and you start to feel fuzzy in the head. “Lo–” You whine. “Love you.” You whisper into the night air. Something hits Logan in the chest and he can’t help but snap his hips into you even further. 

It makes you see stars, but all Logan can think about is how much he loves you. His chest was burning with something different—something more primal than he had ever felt. It made him want to drool, place his head against you, and live there forever. 

“Love you too, baby.” He grunts. He wanted to do this properly—to be a gentleman. He wanted to take you out to dinner, make sweet love to you, and then tell you those three little words. It completely went out the window when you defended him—when you stood up for him like no one else has. You completely had his back and he couldn’t help but let the happiness burst through his veins. “Love you so fucking much. You know that, baby?”

He makes you turn your head towards him to look him in the eye. You nod immediately, but that isn’t enough for Logan. “Need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“You love me. I know you love me.” He groans and pumps his cock straight onto your cervix. It makes you squeal at the sensation and he feels the slick run down to his balls. The cold night air made goosebumps on your skin, though, your mind not even noticing. 

“Fuck, I love the way you sound. Don’t be shy, baby.” You fully moan, more than likely the sound echoing across the bar parking lot. “That’s it.” You both were beginning to feel dizzy with love and lust. He couldn’t stop staring into your eyes. He was too immersed in them and he never wanted to look away from them again. 

“Fuck, Logan!” 

“Let go, baby. Let me feel you.” The coil finally snapped as you unleashed the precipice of your orgasm. Your body shuttered against him, all while he was singing praises in your ear. You clench around him so hard that in one thrust, he’s filling you up to the brim. He slowly pumps his salty cum into you, your body convulsing with pure ecstasy. 

You start to giggle in his arms about the whole night. Logan couldn’t help but smile too. You were just too contagious. 

“Let’s go home, Lo.”

He couldn’t help but smile brightly at the thought. He couldn’t suppress the pure joy like he normally could.

“Yeah, okay.” He whispers.

You were home to him. 

He never had to do anything alone anymore. He certainly didn’t have to deal with the demons attached to his hurt heart.

He finally had you.

[uglypastels]

Logan x reader where the reader is scott's younger sister and they're in a secret relationship because she's younger/obviously doesn't want her brother to know. Maybe Scott tries to set her up with someone else or she gets hurt on a mission or something because she got too cocky and everything comes to the surfaces. Sorry I know that's now very descriptive🙈

no don't be sorry this was perfect, if not giving me too much to word with lol. this is so great I wasn't really sure how to incorporate all the elements, but I hope what I managed to do was still good. I certainly had a lot of fun writing it lol. also, apologies if there are some dumb mistakes/errors. i am so sleep deprived but just really wanted to post this before going to bed.

warning: Smut 18+ only. MDNI. no condom [wrap it before you tap it pls]. p in v. fingering. swearing. degradation ["slut" is used]. accidentally almost public stuff. quickie. sub/dom dynamic. un/intentional cockblocking.

~ X-Men Requests Open ~ Masterlist ~

‘Oh my god,’ you moaned out as Logan pressed you against the wall of the small janitor’s closet. It was too cliché to even think about it. And who would have ever expected the Academy to have a janitor’s closet? If you thought about it, it was almost as if the universe wanted you to take this opportunity and hook up with him in the little cubby.

The second you saw him that morning in his loose-fitted long-sleeve and those boot-cut jeans, the only thing you could think about for the rest of the day was how much you needed him. You had managed to survive past noon, and then you had to go and stumble into the garage and catch him working on his motorbike.

His long-sleeve was discarded to reveal the white, now slightly dirty, tank top. His arms were toned and tanned. You watched him just long enough for him to notice your presence, then to grab the towel hanging from his back pocket and wipe his hands clean. 

‘C’mere, Princess,’ he called you over with two fingers, and you almost felt like you had gained the ability to float so quickly had you made your way over to him. Next thing you know, he had picked you up, his hands firmly on your ass, yours in his hair, and your lips colliding in a passionate crash of a kiss. 

‘Fuck, I missed this,’ you moaned out in a desperate moment to catch a breath with your chest already heaving. ‘Missed you.’ You kissed the corner of his mouth, getting the most satisfaction at how a smile formed in the spot where your lips touched him. Neither of you could help yourselves. The urges you felt were nearly animalistic, but when you were around him, you also felt like you were up in the clouds, feeling light as a feather and giddy like an idiot. The need for him was coursing through your veins. 

‘Mmm, I know, sugar,’ his voice came deep from his throat in a growl full of yearning. ‘Gonna let me have my way with you, yeah?’

All you could respond with was a desperate moan. So caught up in the delicious feeling of his body against yours, that you nearly missed the beeping announcement of the garage doors opening. You would have gone on unaware of anything going on around you if it wasn’t for Logan pulling away and setting you back on the ground. It was like a switch flipped on inside your brain, and just in time, as the doors opened and a car drove up as you took your precautionary steps away from Logan, who had gone back to working on his bike. 

The car halted in its designated parking spot, and you weren’t surprised to find your older brother, Scott, stepping out of it. Only he would have such perfectly unfortunate timing.

‘Hi Scott,’ you tried to sound chipper about bumping into him, and absolutely not like he had just interrupted a much-needed make-out session with your boyfriend that he knew nothing about. How you had managed to keep it a secret for all these months, you had no idea. 

‘Hey,’ he smiled politely you way, as he had already made his way to the exit. As always, you couldn’t see his eyes through the red glasses he wore, and yet you could tell exactly where he was looking at with that judgemental look of his. But Logan didn’t pay him any attention, which might have even been the bigger insult than if he had quipped something your brother’s way. You knew he wanted to, though, but you also knew that he didn’t want to insult your brother right in front of you. 

You waited for Scott to walk out of the room, but to your surprise, your brother turned around to you. ‘Are you coming?’

‘She was about to.’ You heard Logan mumble under his breath as he… You weren’t sure what exactly he was doing with that bike with the screwdriver. You never understood much of mechanics.

‘Uhm, yeah,’ you responded, ‘I uhh– I just wanted to ask Logan something. I’ll just be a moment.’

‘No, I’ll see you later, bub,’ Logan caught you off guard. ‘This might still take a while and I don’t want to keep you waiting.’

‘Oh, ok.’ You pushed the disappointment off your face before you started walking to the exit where Scott stood, still none the wiser. As soon as you walked into the corridor, you made up an excuse to go the other way and walked as fast as you could without making it necessarily suspicious if he had glanced your way.

The hours that followed went by painfully slow. You kept your eye out for Logan, but he was nowhere to be seen all afternoon. Dinner had come and gone, and you were returning to your room, already having made your peace with the fact that today was simply one of those days where fate kept you apart.

And exactly at that moment, Logan turned the corner.

‘Where the hell were you all day?’ you questioned, annoyed, but no matter how angry you pretended to be, the grin on your face at the sight of your boyfriend was quite clear in meaning.

‘I did have stuff to finish on my bike.’ He took a few large strides your way, ‘and then some kids needed help with something.’

‘Aww, that’s sweet.’ You leaned into him, your chin on his chest, as you looked up into his eyes.

‘Don’t act too surprised, Princess.’ His arms immediately wove themselves around your waist, and you slowly leaned for a kiss. It was risky to do this in an open hallway where anyone could walk in, but in the moment, you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to feel him, all over you. The desperation for it grew with each second and was ready to explode. 

That was all in theory, of course, since as soon as you heard any threat, the risk-taking daredevil part of you immediately hid, and you were looking for an escape route. It was two pairs of footsteps this time that echoed through the hallways. You cursed under your breath. 

Just your luck to be standing next to a door. Trying its limits again, you pulled down at the door handle and sighed with relief as it opened. You quickly slipped inside, pulling Logan in behind you by the hand. He closed the door back behind him just in time as the footsteps, which you now recognised to be Scott and Jean’s, along with their voices, moved across the spot where you had just been standing.

‘Are they—’ but your question never was finished, as your lips were caught in a haste kiss. It was pitch black in the tiny room, but you heard Logan pull the lightbulb cord. The next thing you know, the faint yellow light illuminated what you now recognised to be the janitor’s cubby. A closet large enough to fit a large shelfcase filled with cleaning products, buckets, and towels. But Logan needed no time to orientate himself. He was already all over you. One hand pinning your leg up against his upper thigh, leading you against the wall. 

‘Oh my god,’ you moaned out as you felt the pressure and structure of the room against your shoulders, Logan’s chest against yours. His hand stroke up and down your leg, squeezing at the soft flesh of your ass.

‘Wanna be my good little girl?’ Logan growled into your ear.

‘Yes,’ you whined, desperate for more than just his kiss. ‘Fuck, yes.’

‘Want me to fuck your tight little pussy, sugar? Just like you’ve been begging me for? What you say, you little slut?’ At the sound of his words, all of yours simply escaped you and so you could only respond in a series of moans and whines. All sounds that brought Logan immense joy and arousal. ‘Yeah, thought so.’ It had been a very conscious choice you had made that morning by wearing a skirt. Not that you had expected to end the day in this closet, but you were sure it would end somewhere in Logan’s grip. And so you were fully prepared. 

His fingers smoothed over your panties, pressing over your slit, feeling the material get soaked through just that one simple touch. But it wasn’t enough. For either you or him. He kept toying with you for a few more minutes, never crossing the material barrier of your underwear, long strokes up and down, pushing in closer, almost as if nothing was there to separate you. 

‘Please,’ you cried out, ‘baby, please. I need–’

‘What do you need, sweetheart? C’mon, use your words?’ God, you hated when he got so cocky. You could never take much of his teasing. Then again, you weren’t in here to exactly last long. 

‘Need your fingers. Please.’ 

‘Good girl,’ he kissed your forehead, snapped the band of your underwear to make you whine so prettily as he loved, and pulled the panties down your legs. 

Another filthy moan left you as his fingers slowly filled you up. The expletives rolled off your tongue in the rhythm of his thrusts. He kept a steady pace, and one that left you shaking against him. So much so that soon enough, he had to hold you up by the arm, pinning you down even harder. One leg propped up high for even easier access to his favourite part of you. 

‘Such a good slut, taking anything I give you, anywhere I want you.’ His voice could practically get you over the edge alone, and he knew that well enough on his own, and so he kept talking. ‘Can’t wait to get my hard cock in you, Princess. Gonna fill you up so good. Fuck. Just you wait—’

‘No, please,’ you cried out.

‘What’s that? My girl can’t wait a few more minutes for her cock?’ He kissed your neck so ferociously it was more like his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, and the sensation left shivers down your whole body. He raised his mouth up to directly speak against your ear.

‘So fucking desperate. Wish you could see yourself now. Just know you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?’ He punctuated the question with one final deep thrust of his large fingers. ‘You gonna cum? No, no, no. Not yet. You’re gonna let me have my fun first, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes.’ was all you managed to say. Then his lips clashed with yours in another of your sloppy kisses. Your hands found themselves in his hair for the second time that day, and you already felt yourself falling into bliss, and that was all without even the feeling of his length finally pushing deep in you. If only you could scream the pleasure you felt. But for now, in the closet, you would make due by digging your nails into his shoulder. That, in turn, only got Logan more riled up as his thrust grew in pace. He hit all your right spots evenly, hard and deep. If he kept going like that, and you were sure he would, you didn’t know just how much longer you would last.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna–’ your voice was breathy and out of focus, as all that was on your mind was him inside you. 

‘Yeah, c’mon, sweetheart, come for me. Come all over my cock.’ he growled the words with the same intensity and desperation for release you felt.

You were so close. Just ready to burst. Moment away when—

When suddenly, a knock on the other side of the door halted the both of you. In a sudden moment, everything washed away with the power of a tsunami. Leaving nothing behind but emptiness.

Someone cleared their throat. Someone who you could already recognise from that simple gesture. 

‘Alright, it’s past curfew, lovebirds, knock it out.’ You could hear in your brother’s voice just how uncomfortable he was by catching two, what he assumed to be students, clearly hooking up. Your guess was that the room had not been as soundproof as you imagined a cubby to be. Or you were that much louder. 

You looked up at Logan, who had already started zipping up his jeans. There was another firm knock on the door.

Well, if Scott had already felt embarrassed, you were about to make it ten times worse.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[rhaenyratargcryen]

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | logan howlett/wolverine

masterlist ❈

summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) i recently rewatched x-men (2000) after seeing dp&w (twice) and haven't had time to rewatch the others. i know at the end of the first movie, logan leaves the school - so i feel like this would take place, hypothetically, either after he returns/before x2, or between x2 and x-men 3. idk it's not that deep seriously just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out, abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man with…mutton chops, you think? You snort. They haven’t been in style for centuries.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment. 

This man will not take a fucking hint. 

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one. 

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

—————

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him. 

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.” 

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom. 

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

—————

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is. 

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

—————

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. There’s a war brewing, they all say. A war none of you had ever asked to be a part of, but have no choice in joining. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers. 

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go. 

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

—————

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work. 

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes. 

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own. 

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me. 

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent. 

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further.  “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation. 

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up. 

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel. 

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.”

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure. 

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face. 

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck. 

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat. 

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.” 

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care. 

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there. 

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

[rainydaydreamsideblog]

(X-Men) Logan Howlett x Reader: The Injury

Logan is angry with you for taking a hit in battle that was meant for him

Word Count: 839

Warnings: vague reference to injury

“Hey!  Kid. What was that about?” he demanded.  “Did’ya hear me?  I said, what was that about?” His expression was nothing short of utterly ticked off- which was pretty par for the course for Logan.

You simply stared straight ahead, pursing your lips.  If you could cross your arms in your current state, you would. It just so happened that your injury was still too sore even with the pain meds Jean had given you.

He scoffed at your defiant silence and shifted his weight to the other foot, hip jutting out in a casual stance as he ran a hand down his face in exasperation.  Even so, as irate as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his voice.  Not when you looked so, well, fragile as you sat there in the medical wing bed.

If it had been him taking the hit, the wounds would have been gone for hours already by now.  Instead, you would be spending the next few days recovering here at the minimum.

It just didn’t add up.

“Were you trying to be some hero?”  He started pacing toward the other side of the wing, glancing out the window. You were never quite sure why he did that from time to time, but you guessed that he was checking the surroundings for danger out of habit.  “Do I need to remind you that I heal instantly, and you don’t?”

“It’s just-” you started to snap, but stopped yourself, shaking your head.

“It’s just what?” he questioned impatiently.

You whipped your head around to meet his gaze furiously.  “I don’t see you that way!  You’re not a punching bag!  Just because you can heal, it’s not your job to take all of the pain all the time!”

Logan took a few steps closer, blood pressure lowering as he processed what you were telling him.  Your gaze lowered to study your folded hands as the silence stretched on.  

His voice quieted in a familiar, almost gentle, husky tone. “It’s not your job to take everyone else’s pain all the time.”

  It made your heart nearly melt into putty inside your chest.  He never failed to have that effect on you each and every day in the halls of Xavier’s School.

Your own voice lowered to a whisper. “I know.  But when you have an ability like mine…it becomes hard to watch people get hurt.  Especially the ones you care about.”  You shook your head.  “I can absorb the pain and hurt of everyone else, Logan. But not yours.  For once, I just… I wanted to.”

He was a man who could recover from the worst of injuries within minutes.  You were a woman who could absorb the damage from others at a cost to your own health.  His own ability worked too fast for yours to be effective on him.  And since you were to absorb from others, there was no way for you to heal yourself…Well, not one that you were willing to take, anyway.

The bed dipped as Logan took a seat at the edge, his back to you.

“I’d be over it by now, you know,” he said.  “I hate seein’ you in here for the others as it is.  You don’t need to add me to the list.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrugged, biting back a wince.  “Too bad.”

“Look,” he released a sigh, turning to meet your gaze again.  You found yourself absolutely captivated by his brown eyes as they bore into yours.  “Next time, just let me handle it. I’d take a few seconds of that over watching you sit in here for days, or worse.  Got me?”

You hesitated, and he lifted a brow, tilting his head.

Finally, you nodded in defeat.  “Okay.”  It wasn’t a bargain you wanted to strike, but how could you argue?  “Still, it would make it easier on me if you didn’t get yourself hurt as much.”

At that, he gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, sure.”

“Oh, and while you’re here…” You bit your lip, looking down.  “Um, would it be too much to ask you to cover my classes for me today?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Professor already asked me.”

You smiled warmly at his and Xavier’s thoughtfulness.  “I see.  Thank you.”

“Just focus on gettin’ out of here.”

Logan gave your shoulder a pat, extra careful not to disturb your injury, and stood up.  He strutted out of the med wing and paused to give you one more warning look- a final reminder to get well.  You nodded, holding back a smile.

A little while later, Storm visited to see how you were doing.  She brought some things from your room to occupy yourself with as you recovered.  You thanked her profusely and happily grabbed the first book, which was one you were already halfway through, and resumed reading.

Still, your mind kept wandering back to your interaction with Logan.  Sometimes, you wished you could just tell him how you felt… But you weren’t ready to take that risk. 

Not yet…

[holylulusworld]

Undefeated masterlist

Summary: Professor Xavier entrusts you with the mission to locate a certain mutant.

Pairing: Alpha!Wolverine x Omega!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, cage fights, gruff Wolverine, A/B/O dynamics, scenting, fights, being on the run, mutant powers, possible fluff/smut in future chapters

Undefeated (1)

Obstinate (2)

Inseparable (3)

Vulnerable (4)

Unleashed (5)

TBA (6)

[ichorai]

as it was ; logan howlett.

track seven of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; logan howlett x mutant!scientist!gn!reader

synopsis ; you first met logan as weapon x, wiped clean of any memory of his past life. he had nearly killed you then. and now, almost two years later, he’s pressing kisses over the very same scars his adamantium claws had inflicted.

words ; 9.1k

themes ; angst, fluff, action, mutant au, scientist au

warnings / includes ; descriptions of violence and gore, death, blood and injuries, alcohol, smoking, emotions™, logan calls you 'bub' and 'darlin', reader has the ability to manipulate matter, reader is a scientist, based on marvel comics presents: weapon x issues #72-84, mentions of the brotherhood and the rest of the x-men, charles is your bff :D, not accurate x-men timelines </3

main masterlist.

You pressed your knuckles into your tired eyes, wincing when bright colors exploded behind your eyelids. Gingerly, you blinked to adjust back to the brightness of the laboratory’s artificial lights, stifling a wide yawn with the back of your palm.

It was your shift to watch him. Weapon X.

Everything was deathly silent, other than the rhythmic beeping of the machine in front of you. The machine that told you he was still alive. Still breathing.

You shifted in the leather chair, swallowing the uncomfortable lump in your throat. 

The man—was he even a man anymore?—laid motionless and limp within the vat. His features, softened with unconsciousness, were still rugged and intimidating, nearly hidden by the hundreds of wires sticking out of his form. 

They brought you in just a week ago, so you were still getting used to everything here. The other scientists in the facility had told you that the man was a volunteer for the Weapon X project—that he needed to be given an adamantium skeleton or his own mutation would kill him from the inside out. Being a mutant-in-hiding yourself, you felt a certain calling to help him out.

So if you were helping this man recover, why did it feel so wrong? 

Biting the side of your cheek, you slipped out of the chair and strode up to the vat, resting a hand on the glass barrier. It was cold beneath your fingertips. 

You could’ve sworn you saw his foot twitch—

The door to the lab whooshed open, and the head scientist, Dr. Cornelius, strode in, shooting you a humorless look, wordlessly telling you that your shift was over. 

Pursing your lips, you pulled yourself away from the glass, sparing the man in the vat one last glance before stepping back to the chair to gather your things. 

“Anything interesting to note?” the old man asked you. 

You clicked your tongue against your teeth. “Nothing at all for the past couple of hours, Doc. He’s responding exceptionally well to the chemical bath.”

He made a disinterested noise, as if the prospect of things going well bored him, before sinking into another chair and heaving a large sigh. 

Hesitant, you stepped forward to ask, “Doctor? Sorry, I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions.” It was about time you knew just what was going on here—there was definitely something that he wasn’t telling you.

The man lifted his gaze to you, seeming annoyed already. “What is it?” A scowl threatened to play by the corner of your lips, but you forced on an indifferent expression. 

“I just… I keep thinking about him.”

“Who? Logan?”

His name was Logan. He had a name. Well—of course he did. You suddenly felt sick.

“Yeah. I keep thinking about what we’re doing to him.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but wisely chose to remain silent, goading you to carry on.

The machine beeped. You glanced at the unconscious man in the vat. 

“Before I came here… was he—was Logan—here? And I don’t mean him as Weapon X. I mean it like the man before this. Was he here?”

“No,” Cornelius replied, far too quickly for your liking. He averted his gaze, focusing on the machine in front of him. “I don’t know. What are you asking here, kid?”

This time, you didn’t bother to suppress the frown budding across your face. “I mean,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, “did Logan sign up for this?”

“I already told you,” Cornelius gruffed out, “he volunteered.”

“And why should I believe you? Why have you named him Weapon X if all we’re trying to do is cure him? Why did you have to erase his memories? Why have you been forcing him to fight wild animals in the forest? Are you making me attach adamantium to his skeleton because you want to help him, or because you want to manufacture a mindless killing machine?” Your voice had raised several notches in volume, and the doctor seemed to recoil at your words. Sucking in a breath to calm your erratic pulse, you spoke again, “You’re not telling me something, Cornelius.”

The doctor, stunned into silence, took several moments to gather what he wanted to say. A rebuttal was just on the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would be fruitless. 

You’ve figured it out.

And he would have to kill you for it. 

“Was he abducted? Kidnapped?” you asked again, voice strained.

“Congratulations,” the doctor sneered, slowly rising to his feet. “You’ve put together the puzzle pieces.”

Bile rose in your throat. “Logan was forced into this. He didn’t want any of it. You… you’re trying to make a monster but—you’re the real monster here.” Slowly, you started backing up. “You were using me. You knew that I wouldn’t help graft the adamantium to his skeleton if I knew the truth. You’re insane. You’re sick.”

With a mangled cry, the doctor lunged forward, knocking you to the ground as his palms found your throat. Pain flourished through your spine as it thudded against the sleek tiles of the floor, a strangled sound crawling from your lips. You clawed at his hands at first, desperate and losing air far too quickly. 

Then, you grappled at his face, scratching at his cheeks until blood welled in tiny droplets from the red marks you drew. This only seemed to enrage him further, fingers pressing harder into your trachea. Dark spots danced about your vision and you gasped for breath, eyes misting over with unshed tears. 

Fuck. You needed to do something. Quick.

Maybe… your powers—

No. No, you’d find another way. You refused to lose control of yourself ever again.

The chair was right beside you. If you could just… hook your foot around one of its legs and tip it forwards…

Your mouth fell open as your lungs begged for mercy, limbs growing weaker with each passing second. You gave it your all to jerk forward, just enough to shift you down and catch the chair with your foot and yank it forwards. 

The heavy metal seat tipped forward slowly, before giving in to its own weight and crashing on top of Cornelius. The bald man howled with pain, and his grip loosened on you momentarily. You hiked your knees upwards and slammed them into his stomach, shoving him away with a yell. Your chest heaved raggedly, greedily swallowing as much air as you could take. 

The doctor was quick to recover from his initial shock. You thought he’d lunge for you again, but instead, he brandished a walkie talkie and yelled, “CODE RED, GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW! CODE RED!”

Without a damned clue what ‘code red’ meant, you rushed forward and slammed the emergency lockdown button on the control panel. A haggard sigh of relief left you when thick metal slabs slowly lowered down over the doors.

Cornelius, infuriated, grabbed the back of your head and shoved you down, slamming the side of your face into the plethora of buttons. A loud groan of pain ricocheted across the laboratory, blood seeping from one of your nostrils and slipping into your mouth, running a metallic copper taste along your tongue. He did it again, and again, and again, far too quickly for you to even begin to react. Faintly, you registered a whooshing sound in front of you—one of you must’ve accidentally hit the button that released Logan from his chemical bath. 

You spat blood over the buttons with a snarl, reinvigorated, shooting your hands out to stop him from bashing your face in once more. Twisting your body, you kicked at his knee as hard as you could, which made Cornelius collapse forward. You messily drove your fist into his eye socket, pushing him back, away from the control panel. The doctor fell onto the ground and you kicked at his skull with the heel of your shoe. 

There was blood dripping down your chin. Your nose was throbbing. You were disoriented, vision splitting into blurry duplicates. Dizzy, you dropped to your haunches, crawling as far away as you could from Cornelius.

Noises were coming from the other side of the lab. Where Logan was.

Wincing, you were just about to turn to look before Cornelius’ hand wound around your ankle, yanking you to him with surprising strength. He punched you in the shoulder first, trying to aim for your face. You flailed your limbs, attempting to kick your feet, but he had trapped your legs between his. A struggling whimper shook your lips, breaths coming in fast, staccato beats. The second time he punched you, he hit you dead on. Your vision went dark for a good ten seconds. You could tell one of your eyelids had already swollen shut.

Desperate and panicked, you lurched upwards and bit into whatever you could. You sank your teeth in until red squirted straight into your other eye, and copper flooded your mouth once more. An ear-piercing scream rattled through the lab.

As you furiously wiped away the dark ichor from your eyes, you realized that he wasn’t screaming because of you—not really, at least.

He was screaming because there were three adamantium claws protruding from his abdomen.

And just behind him was Logan.

A terrified garble tore through your own throat. A string of nonsensical words fell from you—ranging from cries for help, prayers to whatever god would listen to you, and incoherent sobbing as pure terror ripped through you, whole and consuming.

There were still wires hanging off of the man’s starkly naked form, dragging against the ground behind him. His skin glistened with the residue from the chemical bath, droplets still falling from his damp hair and rolling over his defined muscles. With a near animalistic growl, he threw Cornelius’ lifeless corpse to the side, his adamantium claws streaking down both your arm and your side in the process. Another wail erupted from you and you curled into a fetal position, cradling your injuries and fruitlessly trying to put as much pressure as you could against the wounds. Blood seeped from you, staining the once-pristine floors with a growing pool of liquid rubies. You were light-headed, tilting your head up to look at Logan standing in front of you. Horror painted your insides with a thick, tar-like substance. 

He made no move to hurt you any further, only regarding you with dark, distant eyes, like he just could just barely recognize your face. He remembered you.

You wanted to plead—beg him for mercy.

You cracked your shaking lips open, but the words lodged firmly in your throat, a sob rippling through your lungs. Hot tears streamed down your bloodied cheeks in fat dollops. 

The mutant surprised you, then. 

He spoke.

“I am…” he croaked out, seeming slightly miffed. It took him another couple of seconds to articulate his next words. His brain had been fried over and over again, the English language was something he had nearly completely forgotten. “I am… dead? I remember… death. Dying.”

You were shaking uncontrollably now. Whether it be because of the terror, or because of the insurmountable blood loss, you weren’t quite sure. Most likely both. 

Voice warbling, you croaked out, “No, Logan. You’re not dead.”

His dark pupils darted to the pool of blood by your side, then moved down to his own hands and claws, practically soaked red. His chest heaved. 

Slowly, you raised a trembling hand to point at the winding metal staircase at the back of the laboratory. “Run, Logan,” you hoarsely whispered. “They’ll be here any minute. You have to go before they catch you again. Go upstairs—there’s a rear window you can escape through.”

The man narrowed his eyes at you. 

He stalked away wordlessly, leaving only droplets of Cornelius’ blood in his wake. 

The tension melted away from your body instantaneously. The urge to cry laid heavy on your conscience, but you shoved down the tears and slowly pushed yourself to your feet, placing pressure on your wounds as you staggered onto your feet. With a grunt, you limped to Cornelius’ corpse, kneeling down to rip his belt and shirt off. 

A low groan rumbled from your chest when you tied the belt over the deep gash Logan had inflicted on you, wrapping his shirt tightly over the leaking wound on your waist. Whether it was an accident or a purposeful move, you had no clue. Immediately, blood seeped through the fabric. You decided not to pay it any mind. 

Faintly, you registered shouting from the other end of the barricaded door. You were running out of time. 

Huffing a curse, you struggled to your feet and stepped over Cornelius, bee-lining for the metal staircase. Upstairs, you could see the droplets of blood Weapon X had left behind. You swallowed heavily, before following them to the open window. 

“Fuck,” you coarsely spat out, glancing down to see snow blanketing the ground nearly at knee-length. Trembling already, you hopped off the windowsill and onto the fire escape’s ladder, gingerly placing each foot on the lower rung until you were near enough to jump down.

The wind whispered frost into your ears as you looked forward, into the dark forest. 

They would kill you if you went back inside. It seemed like you had no other choice but to follow Logan. He was your best chance at survival.

Your sigh misted into an opaque fog as you followed the trail of blood on the snowy forest floor. 

It’d been hours. 

You had lost nearly all sensation in your feet, numbed by the frigid cold. You supposed that was one upside of the frost—you could no longer feel the pain of your wounds, despite the large blooming of crimson seeping through Cornelius’ shirt. The lids of your eyes were heavy, drooping closed every few seconds before struggling back open. You wrapped your arms around yourself lethargically, struggling to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

Logan was only a couple minutes in front of you. At least—you thought he was. Hell, he could’ve been five hours away by now, considering how out of it you were. 

You swallowed your throat, dry and scratchy from the whipping wind of the forest. 

Not even ten steps later, you found yourself tipping forward, succumbing to the exhaustion. 

The snow was suddenly flush against your cheek, the world now angled vertically. Black spots danced about your sight. You only barely registered the pain of hitting the ground, a wooden stick poking uncomfortably against your leg. You couldn’t be bothered to move. You couldn’t feel anything—yet it felt like you were burning alive. Perhaps it was the blood loss. Maybe the shame of failure. Or it could’ve simply just been the fact that you’ve been wading around in the snow for hours. A small breath slipped from your lungs and your eyes fell shut. 

A nap wouldn’t hurt… would it?

Just as the corners of your vision waned dark, the shadow of a figure loomed over you. 

The last thing you felt right before you succumbed to the cold were a pair of warm arms winding around you.

Lights—far too many, far too bright. Your heavy eyelids narrowed as soon as they blinked open, and you gingerly turned your face to the side to avoid the glare of the harsh luminosity. 

There were a couple things you registered in your early stages of rousing. You were no longer cold, bundled in several layers of woolen blankets on what you presumed to be an infirmary bed. You could feel the slight pressure of a proper bandage around your waist, which still throbbed but wasn’t nearly as painful as you remembered. 

And there was a man in a lab coat beside you.

You stared at his back as he busied themself with colorful pills and bottles. Your throat was so dry, it took you several moments to muster yourself to croak out a warbling, “Hello?”

The man seemed to jump out of his shoes, turning abruptly with wide eyes behind thick, rectangular spectacles. “Oh, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” He shuffled to your side, watching you with evident concern.

You winced as you propped yourself up on one arm, slowly pulling yourself to sit up on the bed without putting too much weight on your wound. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

He pursed his lips. “That’s unfortunately quite expected—you’ll be feeling that way for a little bit before you get better. You took quite the beating out there—I tried my best to patch you up but I’m afraid the lacerations you got on your abdomen and arm will scar forever. Those bruises on your face, however, will be gone in a week, two tops.” The man paused, as if wanting to ask you a question, but thought better of it, shaking his head. “I’m gonna call somebody here to come talk to you. And I’ll go get you some water and food. Is that okay?”

Still reeling over everything, you nodded slowly, watching as he strode out of the infirmary. 

Not a minute later, you heard the smooth rolling of wheels against tile. A bald man on a wheelchair swiftly entered the room, greeting you with a genuine smile and a bow of his head. 

“You must be Doctor L/N,” he said, stopping just by your bedside. “I’m Charles Xavier. Now, I’m sure you have many questions—so let me try to answer them. You’re currently in Xavier’s School of Gifted Youngsters. I sensed your distress through my own telepathic mutation and had some of my X-Men go pick you and Logan up.”

At the mention of Logan, your muscles tensed, and your gaze snapped upwards to meet his. 

“Logan… he’s here?”

Charles tilted his head, thinking back to the burly, pacing man in his office. “Yes, quite.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly. 

A wisp of a smile graced Charles’ lips. “He’s fine. A bit disoriented, but his memories are steadily returning. You, I’m more worried about. I know you’re a mutant, Y/N.”

Something dangerous flashed behind your irises. “I’ve never purposefully used my powers on anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. What happened to Logan—was because I was foolish enough to trust bad men.”

“I’m not blaming you, Y/N. You thought you were doing the right thing. Besides, the group who tricked you have been apprehended by the X-Men. They won’t be conducting anymore experiments on mutants,” he said, not unkindly. “I wanted to give you the liberty to explain what your mutation is… and if you can control it.”

“It’s only happened once before,” you whispered, fiddling with your nails anxiously. “I can manipulate matter, I think. Rearrange atoms and molecules in space. Once I start, I can’t control it—so I don’t ever intend to use it again.”

Charles regarded you for a moment, before nodding. “That’s quite the commitment. Would you mind me asking why?”

You hesitated, your teeth worrying into your bottom lip. “The first time I found out about my powers, someone died because of me. There was a car crash and my friend tried helping me and I… I panicked—” Tears quickly blurred your vision and you hiccuped, stopping to furiously wipe them away. “Shards of glass flew everywhere and…”

You trailed off, releasing a frustrated sigh. 

“The cops ruled it as an accident, but I knew it was my fault. I moved out of town, started doing research with a university in molecular biology in hopes of finding out more about myself, when I got an offer to work with this company that ‘helped’ mutants. They lied to me. They were experimenting on them—and I should’ve known better. I thought I was saving Logan’s life.”

Charles hummed in thought, before shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. It was an accident—you didn’t know how to control your powers. But we can help you with that. If you stay, that is.”

Mouth parting in surprise, you leaned forward slightly in confusion. “You… you want me to stay here? After everything I’ve done? What will Logan think?”

“He knows it’s not your fault. There’s a reason he didn’t kill you—and a reason he carried you through the snow until we found the two of you. The deal is still on the table—just think about it. You’d make a valuable asset to our team.” A genuine smile etched over his face before he asked, “Would you perhaps want to see Logan?”

“No!” you exclaimed, a little too quickly. Charles’ eyebrows rose. Arms wrapping around yourself, you gently shook your head, repeating in a quieter tone, “No, thank you.”

The man observed you rather pensively before humming, “Alright, then. I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Thank you.” Despite the tautness of your tone, Charles knew you were wholly grateful. He bowed his head, and wheeled out of the infirmary room, leaving you with your thoughts.

To none of his surprise, leaning against the wall right next to the door, was Logan.

There was a cheap cigar wedged between his lips, hands clutched over the dog tags around his neck. He cocked his head to Charles as a greeting, gruffing out, “Are they alright?”

It was rather amusing to see such a brooding, stoic man lose his wits over a person he barely knew. Logan cared about you, and that made Charles all the more curious.

“I think Y/N’s going to be just fine.”

Logan huffed in something akin to relief, blowing out a puff of opaque smoke. After a long stretch of silence, Logan queried in a strained voice, “Can I see them?”

“It’s best if you give Y/N some time. They’re still a bit rattled over everything,” said the professor, patiently. “Have you gotten your memories back?”

“I think so. I remember most of my life before getting kidnapped. I taught self defense here, right?” Logan muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t entirely sure of himself. When Charles grinned and nodded, Logan spoke again, hesitant. “I remember Y/N. Their face, watching me through the glass. Talking about curing me—helping me. I remember the doctor there trying to kill them once they found out the truth.”

A low growl rumbled within the grizzled man’s chest, and he slumped further against the wall. “What are you going to do with Y/N now?”

“Well, that’s up to them. They are a mutant after all—I offered them a place here. Whether they stay or not is not for me to say.”

This seemed to pique Logan’s interest. “Y/N’s a mutant?”

“Yes,” Charles stated matter-of-factly. “Though, they don’t use their powers because it’s far too dangerous. Which is why I proposed that they stay so we can help. Now, if you excuse me, Logan, I’ve got to grade some papers. Have a good night.”

“Yeah,” replied Logan, distant. He saluted Charles with two fingers as he wheeled away. “G’night.”

The rest of the X-Men warmed up to you rather quickly. Hank would joke around with you while he did your daily check-up, and Jean, Ororo and Anna introduced themselves with sweet smiles and baked goods that they made just for you. They’d stay with you in the infirmary until late at night, playing boisterous rounds of Uno and exchanging stories of their own childhood mishaps with their mutation. Kurt Wagner was a delight to speak to—you quite enjoyed your conversations with the lively teleporter. Scott Summers was a handsome fellow, who had acquired a broken arm from a training accident, which gave him a good excuse to hang around you. Charles often visited you as well, each time asking once again if you were planning on making your residence here permanent. He even offered you a job to teach the kids here some science—which you kindly declined.

The friendly nature of the mansion and the people residing there really made you want to stay. 

But you knew you shouldn’t. 

Especially not when Logan was so clearly avoiding you—it was a tell-tale sign that you were definitely overstaying your welcome.

You’d only seen him a small handful of times since you arrived. Lingering in the hallways, passing by the door, and once in Charles’ office when you dropped by to ask him a question. He had stalked away with nary a sound, not even bothering to spare you a glance.

So it was quite the surprise when he stepped into the infirmary while you were packing a small duffel bag with travel necessities nearly two weeks later, practically bristling at the thought of you leaving. Leaving when he hadn’t even said a single word to you. His jaw clenched.

“L… Logan?” you asked, nearly dropping the shirt you were holding out of shock. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

He stared at you for a long while, unsure of what to say. The man was on his way to a bar for a beer or two before he caught sight of you practically flying across the room in a rush to pack. He was not prepared for this conversation at all. A part of him wished you could just read his thoughts like Charles could, because his mind was running a mile a minute. There were just too many things he should’ve said, too many things he waited too long to say. And none of it seemed to want to come out.

So he opted to heave out a grand sigh, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, not once breaking eye contact with you. You had awkwardly resigned to folding the last few pieces of clothing, stuffing them into the bag. 

The action prompted Logan to husk out, “You’re leaving.”

It was more of a statement than a question. Your muscles tensed at his voice. He seemed angry—frustrated—and you weren’t entirely sure if it was directed towards you, or himself.

“I have no place here,” you whispered, words nearly lost to the deafening silence. 

Logan’s brows furrowed. “This is a school—a home for mutants. You belong here.”

Fixing him with a curious expression, you zipped up your bag, shaking your head. “It’s not fair to you, Logan. I can’t just keep pretending that me being around doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“So you’re leaving because of me.” Logan pushed off the wall, stalking towards you until he stood just in front of you. This close, you could smell the faint cigar smoke on him, accompanied with a fresh pine-like aroma. He smelled like the forest, like sitting in front of a fire place with a mug of coffee cradled in your palms. A lump formed in your throat, grip tightening on the strap of the bag.

“I’m leaving for you,” you corrected. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did all those awful things to you. I know it doesn’t absolve me of anything but—I really did think I was helping you. Oh… and thank you. For coming back and saving me.”

The hardness to Logan’s features seemed to soften just a bit. He watched you keenly, studying the genuine tenderness to your eyes, the way your lips screwed to the side in a fruitless effort to stave away the tears. 

“Hey,” he said, stepping even closer. “I forgive you, bub. I forgive you, alright? Stop beating yourself up. Charles told me you thought you were helping me—and I believe it. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, the man truly responsible is dead, thanks to you. You helped me escape, remember?”

Your eyes flickered from the ground to meet his. “Of course I remember.”

A low rumble resonated from Logan’s chest. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing for damn near killing you. I found you passed out in the snow and I—I was terrified. I carried you, worried to death the entire time, thinkin’ you were going to die on me. But Charles found us—and you lived. We both lived. I want you to stay. Hell, if you want to leave, then go ahead. The door’s wide open. But don’t let it be because of me.”

He watched as your shoulders trembled ever so slightly, then sagged as you loosened your hold on the duffel bag. Relief seeped through his bones. For a moment, he was scared you were really going to leave.

Without another word, Logan nodded, stepping back. He turned to walk out of the infirmary, itching for nice, cold beer. Or two. Probably five. Oh, who was he kidding. He could blaze through twenty bottles and barely feel buzzed.

“Logan,” you called out.

He stopped by the doorway without turning.

“Thank you,” you croaked, wiping away a stray tear. A happy one. Maybe you could even ask if the job Charles had offered you was still on the table. 

A minuscule smile played by the corner of his lips. He ducked his head, and strode away.

ONE MONTH LATER.

The snow was thicker than ever before. Nearly everybody was outside, either making rotund little snowmen with carrots for noses or playing a game of dodgeball. You caught sight of Kurt teleporting just above Rogue to dump a large armful of snow atop her head. You huffed out a laugh from behind the window when she started spewing out a long string of curses, cheeks tinted red from the cold.

Movement from your peripheral vision made you turn your head to look out the other window. You were met with the lovely sight of Logan hauling lumber nearly double his size from just over the hill, a layer of snowflakes icing the top of his dark tresses. You shook your head, wondering why he hadn’t asked anyone for help.

Ever the lone wolf, he was.

Commotion from the other window made you turn once more, watching with a snort when the kids began pelting Logan with dozens of snowballs, laughing with unbridled glee. The chuckles died away when the burly man dropped all the wood he was carrying, rolling up his sleeves with a wolfish grin. They screamed, scurrying away whilst hiccuping with laughter. 

“Quite chilly outside,” Charles’ voice broke out from beside you. “Come have a hot chocolate with me.”

“If this is your way of bribing me to grade your classes’ papers, I’ll have you know I’m not easily swayed,” you teased, though fell into step beside him as he led you into his office. “I’ve got my own class to attend to.”

Despite only knowing Charles for around a month now, the two of you have grown very fond of each other. He was like a big brother to you—just as the rest of the X-Men had gradually become your family. 

The professor scoffed. “That was one time! I just wanted your expertise, was all.” He gestured to the array of mugs on his desk, then to the thermos right beside them. “Please, help yourself. Paper grading wasn’t really what I wanted to discuss with you. I have another proposition to make you.”

You arched a brow while pouring the both of you a generous serving of thick, creamy hot chocolate. “Always with the propositions, Charles,” you said, sipping on your drink with a hum. “What is it?”

“I want you to join our missions.”

The lighthearted nature of your conversation visibly seemed to sour. “What?” you asked, placing your mug down. “Charles, I thought we made this clear—”

“You don’t use your powers, yes. I’m well aware. Let me rephrase. I want to help you… er, reacquaint yourself with your abilities. Just to try it out. And perhaps if all goes smoothly, you’d make a remarkably valuable member on our team. I promise, if we try it out and things go south, I’ll let it go. Never speak a word of it to anybody.” There was an earnest tone to his voice, hopeful and contagiously optimistic.

Your finger traced the rim of the mug, pursing your lips in thought. “Just to try it out?”

He nodded. “Just to try it out. I’m curious for you, Y/N. Haven’t you ever wanted to be able to control your powers?”

“More than anything in the entire world,” you murmured quietly, voice cracking. 

It took me a while to control my powers, too, Charles said, but his lips weren’t moving. It took you a moment to realize that he was speaking to you telepathically. The key is patience. And I do believe with enough time, you can gain control of yours as well. Imagine how many children who are struggling with their own mutations you’d be able to help if you had a grasp of your powers. 

“You’re one hell of a motivational speaker,” you snarked after a moment to mull over his offer, despite the smile fiddling at the corner of your lips. “Alright, Charles. You convinced me. When do we start?”

The large, antique grandfather clock in your office merrily trilled thrice just as the hands turned to three in the afternoon. You glanced away from the homework papers you were grading, before filing them away for you to finish off later. You were in need of a long overdue break. Rising from your chair, you groaned softly as your bones popped with the stretch, rolling your shoulders to ease the mild tension. 

Training all night with Charles yesterday certainly took both a physical and mental toll on you.

You needed to get out of your office for a bit—take a walk to clear your head. As you donned your coat and a dark yellow beanie to tuck just over the top of your ears because they grew particularly cold in the harsh winters, you strode out the doors. 

Before you could make your way to the snowy outdoors, you passed by one of the training rooms, where you heard a familiar gruff voice.

Logan was teaching a group of about a dozen kids—self-defense class, if you could recall. He was moving his arms about animatedly, demonstrating with a dummy that seemed to be a brush away from falling apart. The kids were watching with rapt fascination, gasping in unison when Logan speared the poor thing straight through the abdomen. 

A small grin splayed over your features as you leaned against the doorway.

A young boy raised his hand, asking, “When are we gonna be able to practice?”

Logan sheathed his claws and crossed his arms. “I’ll let you practice with your own dummies next week. But for now you just watch and learn—Y/N? What’re you doin’ here?”

Blinking at suddenly being shoved into the spotlight, you sheepishly stepped forward and waved to the kids. “Just wanted to see what all the fuss is about with Mr. Howlett’s famous self-defense class. Heard it’s the students’ second favorite class.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan chuckled, arching an eyebrow to the rest of the class. “And what would be their favorite, then?”

You grinned. “Mine, of course.” The kids groaned in protest, though laughing at your blatant sarcasm. You waved them away with a roll of your eyes. “Oh, hush. You guys love science.”

Snorting, Logan propped his fists onto his hips and directed a roguish grin towards you. “It’s not a competition—even though they obviously like me better.” He turned back to the dummy with a nod. “Anyways, where was I—er, yes, Rogue?”

The student’s arm was stuck up in the air, an excited grin painted over her lips. “Why don’t you and Professor L/N try dueling each other? I’m sure it’d teach us a lot more than that dummy,” Rogue drawled in her thick Southern accent. The rest of the students murmured their agreement, bobbing their heads to the idea. Besides, they were all curious about your infamous mutation—they’d never seen you in action before.

Immediately, your stomach dropped and you were quick to shake your head just enough for Logan to see. His features seemed to soften with understanding. 

“That’s enough, settle down,” Logan gruffed. “Professor L/N came here to watch, it would be unfair to spring an entire demonstration on them without any warning. The dummy’ll do just fine. Look, it’s in tip-top shape!” His burly fist wrapped around the dummy’s throat.

And the head popped right off.

Logan blinked, stunned. The class burst into laughter. You joined them, hiding a smile behind your palm. Logan watched you keenly, before a crooked smile broke through his rough features, chuckling lowly under his breath.

“I’m sorry about them,” he said, making his way to you once he had dismissed all his pupils (though not before assigning them a butt-load of homework that made all of them groan exasperatedly). “I know you weren’t expecting that.”

Waving his words away, you were quick to shake your head. “No, no, it’s alright. I’m just… not entirely comfortable with using my powers yet. Charles and I are still working through it—I’m not really at the stage of combating an experienced mutant as yourself. Anyways, I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of school-related errands to run.”

You crossed your arms with a hesitant quirk of your lips to assure him that you were okay, watching him keenly as he tried to mirror your expression. It came out more as an awkward stretch of his mouth, so he dropped it soon after. 

Logan sucked on the rooftop of his mouth, before stoutly nodding, and turned around to walk away. You’d mentioned he probably had school-related errands to run. Hah. As if Logan ever worked outside of the classes he taught. All he had in mind was to head over to a bar and drink as many beers as the barkeeper would allow him. 

By the time he reached the doorway, Logan abruptly stopped in his tracks. He could feel your eyes watching him go, practically searing the skin on the back of his neck.

“God damn it,” he whispered quietly beneath his breath. He couldn’t just leave you alone. Not when his class thrust you into the spotlight like that. Definitely not because he felt an irrepressible urge to spend more time with you. And especially not because he thought that little grin of yours was so darned cute. Of course not. 

He turned back to you with a set expression, jaw clenched tight. If you didn’t know any better, he appeared to be angry. Or constipated. One of the two.

Either way, you were surprised to hear him addressing you by the doorway, in a brusque tone.

“The school day’s over. I’m heading out to grab a drink. You wanna come with?” 

It took you a moment to respond, a little too frazzled to formulate a coherent thought.

“Yeah,” you finally answered, slightly breathless. Logan pointedly looked away when you beamed at him. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

His thigh was pressed up against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off of him through his jeans. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, which leaned against the bar’s countertop, palms cradled around his tenth (or was it his eleventh?) frosty mug of beer.

You were slowly nursing your fifth drink, snorting into the rim when Logan made an off-hand comment about how stupid Scott looked on one of their most recent missions. 

“I take it you don’t like him?”

“Who?” Logan asked, turning his head so he could look at you. Beneath the dim amber-glow of the bar’s lighting, your skin appeared flushed, eyes just a tad brighter. You were too damned close to him. 

Nose wrinkling, you nudged his shoulder with yours. “Scott, dummy.”

His eyebrow rose. “Why, do you want me to like him? Do you like him?”

The questions made you splutter beer all over the counter as you choke-laughed, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “You’re not answering my question, Lo.” You began giggling again, before downing the rest of your mug, swaying slightly on the leather stool. Logan had half a mind to clamp his palm over your thigh to keep you from tipping over. 

“I like Scott, yeah. He’s nice. I know he has a thing for Jean though—I’ve been trying to convince him to ask her out but Scott keeps saying it isn’t the right time. Jean likes him all the same, too. They’re just really stupid.” A fond smile grew on your lips and you began laughing once more. 

Logan watched you in amusement, just before ordering another beer for himself. You were a giggly drunk, Logan realized, as you buried your face into your hands as uncontrollable laughter shook through you.

“Alright, that’s enough drinks for you. What’s got you crackin’ up, bub?” Logan sighed in part-exasperation and part-mirth when you leaned back so far your stool began to capsize. He was quick to shoot his arm out and yank you back forward. This only made you laugh harder, for reasons unbeknownst to him. 

“I just—” You had to pause to heave a breath through your cackling. “Your hair just looks so funny—why does it stand up like that?” 

God, you were so drunk. Your hand reached out to pat down the tufts of hair sticking upwards, but missed the mark and instead brushed over his jaw, slightly prickly with day-old stubble. 

Logan watched you carefully as your laughter died away, a strange look shadowing your once gleeful one. His eyes flickered down to your lips, which were parted ever so slightly in thought. “You look much younger than you used to—back in that tank.” 

Gently, he captured your wrist and stroked his thumb over your palm once, before setting it back down by your side. “Let’s go home. You’re drunk.”

“Yes, sir. ” You mock-saluted as he helped you off the stool and offered his arm when you nearly toppled over your own feet. 

You swayed to and fro when walking back to the mansion, hiccupping between every giggle as you told Logan about this one time Kurt teleported into the kitchen and scared you so badly you hit him with a frying pan. Logan let himself laugh at that one.

By the time the two of you reached your room, a good night was right on the tip of his tongue before it was yanked away from him when you grabbed him by the shirt collar and tugged him towards you in a drunken fashion, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your system. A startled noise fell from his lungs, and the corner of your eyes wrinkled as you smiled. You swiftly planted a soft kiss to his cheek, nose slotted right against his cheekbone. He was frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react. 

“You’re a sweetheart. Good night, Lo,” you murmured into his skin with a lopsided smile. 

You were drunk. So very drunk.

Logan had to remind himself of this when you pulled away. You wouldn’t have done that if you were sober. 

The door groaned as you pushed it open, moonlight spilling over your features. You promptly slammed the door in his face, and he heard you giggling behind it just a second after.

He wasn’t able to snap out of his reverie until an entire minute later. 

“G’night, bub,” he mumbled, knowing full and well that you were probably passed out on top of your bed by now. No doubt you’d have a raging hangover tomorrow. He shook his head, before heading off to his own room, a warm sensation clawing at his chest.

The familiar voice of a certain professor rang out across the kitchen, and you groaned at the sudden noise. The hangover headache pulsating through your skull wasn’t nearly as bad as it was when you had initially woken up, but it was still there. And Charles most certainly wasn’t helping.

“Morning,” he exclaimed with a knowing smile, eyeing you with a look you misliked. You grumbled under your breath, before shoveling a spoonful of scrambled eggs into your mouth so you didn’t have to respond to him. Charles didn’t seem to mind, continuing his amiable chatter. “I noticed you weren’t in last night.”

Humming in confirmation, you lifted your mug to guzzle down more apple juice. 

“Funny coincidence,” Charles quipped, wheeling up right beside you. Without even looking at him, you just knew that his eyebrows were raised suggestively. “Logan was also nowhere in the mansion yesterday.”

You scowled, then set the mug down. “We just had a couple drinks together.”

“Mmh, right.” Charles narrowed his eyes, clearly in disbelief. “Well, nice to see that the two of you have… warmed up to each other. I’ve got to head back now but don’t forget about our session at three—just because you’re hungover doesn’t mean you can skip out on me.”

A discontent noise erupted from your lungs and you stuck your tongue out at his back when he turned away. 

“I saw that,” said Charles, amusement lacing his tone. “Well, I didn’t actually see it. I know you did it, though.”

And with that, he left. 

You groaned, before lowering your head to rest against the cool kitchen countertop. 

A moment later, a voice disrupted the rare-found quiet. Logan. 

“You alright, bub?”

When you lifted your face up, you blinked away the colorful blurs spotting your vision, Logan coming into view. He was wearing a simple white tank top tucked into a pair of faded jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. You eyed his biceps warily, which glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. You swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat. 

“I’m good. What’re you up to?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Logan replied sheepishly. “Was in the training room all night.”

He leaned against the doorway, a mild smile itching at his lips upon observing your disheveled state. Your hair was mussed, wearing a simple wrinkly white shirt and a pair of grey shorts. The expression on your face told him that you were still working off the hangover.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, patting the seat beside you.

Logan pursed his lips, before moving towards you. “Yeah,” he said, swinging his leg over the chair. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The cold of the porcelain sent a shiver up your spine as you slumped against the toilet seat, grumbling under your breath. Logan watched you keenly as he dampened a towel, bunching it up in his hand, kneeling down in front of you. 

Your first mission as an X-Man was nothing short of disastrous.

You’d warned Charles—told him you weren’t ready to use your powers in an uncontrolled setting—but he’d assured you that you’d be fine. Besides, the rest of your teammates were there for you.

Except the Brotherhood had taken down everybody else and you were the last person standing—and you lost control of your powers. Again.

It wasn’t until Logan stumbled towards you, pushing through the tornado of glass shards whirling around your hyperventilating form, barely even noticing the cuts appearing over his skin. His healing factor was quick to weave together the broken skin—all that mattered was getting to you. Your explosive powers were enough to severely alarm the Brotherhood, and they thankfully retreated soon after your outburst, though he doubted they’d stay away for too long. 

Logan had grabbed you, pulling you close until your face was flush against his chest, cradling you atop the cold, hardened dirt, mumbling sweet nothings that you couldn’t really make out into your hair. When the air stilled, you pulled your face away, tear-stricken and bloodied. 

The incident was far too similar to the first time you used your powers—when your best friend’s life was taken as a consequence. 

A single, searing tear meandered down your face at the memory, and you bit down on your lip to quell the sob rising in your throat. 

“Hey, bub.” Logan took your chin between his fingers, grounding you back to reality. It was just him and you—in a small bathroom. He was close, so close that you could see the buzzing lights reflected in the burnt umber of his irises, or how he had a small, faded birthmark just beside his left eye. He tilted your head up so you’d meet his concerned gaze. “It’s okay. You did good. You drove ‘em away. We would’ve all been in hot shit if it weren’t for you. Storm was knocked unconscious, Kitty and Rogue had their powers stripped away, Scott was no match against Quicksilver, and the rest of us were this close to being ripped apart. You did good.”

Your stomach lurched uneasily. “Feels more like I fucked everything up. I told Charles I wasn’t ready.”

Instead of a reply, Logan merely sighed, shaking his head. Softly he swiped the damp towel across the bloody gashes on your face, his fingers on your chin moving to cup your other cheek. His palm was cold against the flushed heat of your face.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered, the usual gruff tone of his voice nowhere to be found. “Wish you had the healing factor instead of me.”

“Nah,” you replied softly, wincing as you leaned forward, closer to him. The large slash over your abdomen from a broken metal pipe Magneto sent hurtling your way burned with every shift of your body. “You’d be dead a thousand times over if it weren’t for your healing factor. And I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

The towel on your cheekbone paused for a second. Logan scrutinized you for a moment, before returning to the task at hand. “Yeah, I guess I’m glad, too.”

A comfortable silence thickened between the two of you, only interrupted by your quiet groans of pain, which were always followed up by Logan’s sheepish apology.

“I still haven’t graded the kids’ homework papers—they’re expecting it back on Monday,” you gritted out, hand shooting forward to grip Logan’s shoulder, nails digging into his collarbone when he moved down to clean up the shallow wound across your torso. 

He quirked an eyebrow towards you in amusement. “You’re crazy, you know that? Almost died today and all you’re thinkin’ about is grading papers. Pfft.”

“That’s not all I’m thinking about,” you weakly protested, smacking his hand away when he playfully pinched your thigh.

After wiping away all the crusted blood and dirt on your brand new X-Men suit, he was satisfied to see that your gash wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. He hauled himself onto the edge of the bathtub so he was sitting right across from you. “Yeah? What else are you thinking about?”

“You.” The single word came out as nothing but a low mutter. 

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or worried,” he replied with a roguish grin, pupils darting between your eyes and your raw-bitten lips. 

You huffed out a laugh. “Maybe both.” His forehead leaned against yours as you breathed him in, relishing in his calming presence. “I really like you, Lo.”

Those five words were what spurred him to push forward, slanting his lips onto yours, stealing your breath away. You made a small noise of surprise, before practically melting into him, looping your sore arms over his neck and tugging him all the closer. He kissed you slowly, careful about where to place his hands, because your body was littered with fresh scars. He settled on just above your waist, smoothing his thumbs out over the back of your ribs, as if to constantly reassure himself that you were here. You were okay.

His nose bumped into yours, and it hurt to smile—oh, it practically burned with each kiss—but you smiled into him anyway. Because for Logan, it was worth the pain.

“Ow,” you lightly complained when he accidentally knocked his knee against your busted one. “Watch it, old man.”

A growl caught in his throat. “You know, I was gonna say I really liked you, too, but I don’t think that applies anymore.”

You burst into a fit of laughter, clutching at your stomach a second later, moaning out with pain. “Don’t make me laugh! You ass!”

He could only smile at that, roping you towards him once more with his fingers anchored over your jaw. This time, the kiss was hot and heavy, more confident. Your hands ran through his hair, gently tugging at his roots, which made pleasant shivers spider down his spine. It was needy with want, his kisses wandering from your lips to the apples of your cheeks, to your trembling throat. 

The hand on your back was only starting to traverse downwards when the door flung open, revealing a smug Rogue and an awfully mortified Kurt just behind her.

“I knew it! I knew y’all were a thing!” Rogue called out, clapping her hands excitedly. “Scott totally owes me twenny bucks!”

She scuttled away gleefully, leaving the blue elf staring at the two of you with wide, amber eyes, completely still.

“You can close the door, Kurt,” you hesitantly told him, before Logan could snarl out something unsavory. You were uncomfortably perched halfway between the toilet seat and Logan’s lap, with his hand flush over your ass. 

“Er… right… I’ll just use the bathroom upstairs,” he breathily stumbled, before teleporting away in a hazy cloud of sulphuric fumes. 

“Damn elf didn’t close the door. Of fuckin’ course.” Logan groaned, pulling himself away from you with a scowl. “You alright, darlin’?”

An embarrassed grin replaced the initial shock of being found. “Yeah, I think so. You?”

“Worst night of my life. The entire school’s gonna know by tomorrow,” Wolverine grumbled, before fondly glancing towards you. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, though.”

You hobbled up with his support, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to his cheek. “You think the entire team bet money on us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Logan chortled as he helped you out of the communal bathroom, heading upstairs to your bedroom. “Charlie bet a hundred bucks on us. I heard him talking to Storm about it.”

You side-eyed him with amusement. “So did he win?”

“Nope,” Logan said, popping the ‘p’, looking far too smug to be ripping away a hundred dollars from his old friend. “Thought neither of us would have the balls to confess until next month.”

“You’re sick,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “Did you kiss me just to spite him?”

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” countered Logan, shoving the door to your room open with his shoulder. “Professor losing a hundred bucks was just the cherry on top, you know?”

You sank onto your bed, dragging Logan with you, barely giving him enough time to slam the door shut. “Yeah,” you mumbled, pulling him into yet another kiss. “You’re awful, Lo.”

“Love you, too.”

Placing your hand on his chest, you pulled away hesitantly, unsure if you heard him right. “Yeah?”

Logan smiled, all warm and genuine. “Yeah.”

[panbotter]

Hey so in reference to my previous ask, can you do one were the reader is having trouble controlling their powers (you can decide those) and either Kurt or Erik comfort them after a bad day and end up confessing to the reader. You can ad smut if you want but if not that's totally fine too☺️.

Your Existence is Grand

Erik Lehnsherr x gn!reader

Erik notices you having a rough day with your powers and decides to shower you with praise.

(This is my first fanfic literally ever so feedback appreciated, but also... Sorry for any mistakes!!!!)

Trigger warnings: cursing, suggestive themes (I don't know what else to write here, pls let me know if there's anything else I should add!)

The air around me begins buzzing and crackling, becoming charged with electricity and I sigh, deeply frustrated before I reach for the metal doorknob in front of me and receive a shock so strong that all the muscles in my arm cramp up painfully. I curse under my breath, forcing my arm to bend and stretch the tense muscles as I walk into the lounge, getting a glimpse of the others outside. Some might say I’d been gifted with a particularly powerful mutation, that it made me strong and intimidating. That I am admired for it, as if it’s a blessing to be grateful for.

But in this god-forsaken world, all I could see was a curse that plagued my body. I never bothered to understand the science behind it, as much as others might have tried to explain it to me. Something about the electricity in my body behaving abnormally, affecting the air around me and in turn, other electronics or conductors of electricity, turning me into a walking hazard around power lines, or thunderstorms. Let's not even mention the sheer amount of electrical fires I’ve caused. Sure, it sounds cool. But the reality is basically hell.

One of the ‘best’ parts about my mutation is that it is terribly unstable, especially when you’re constantly surrounded by electricity no matter where you go. Everyone else who charges up some static then touches a piece of metal receives a little sting from a silly little shock. It might be a little funny or perhaps surprising! Maybe it happens when you touch fingers with someone else and you shock each other, what a cute moment!

Try getting fucking electrocuted every single time.

Nowhere near as cute, nor as fun.

Some days are worse than others and the more restless I become, the worse it is for me in the end. But unfortunately, I can’t lay in bed immobile for an entire day to lower the voltage my body is producing, resulting in my current conundrum. Avoiding the rest of the X-Men in order to avoid any potential accidents, especially with Jubilee. Fireworks and a highly-charged mutant body surrounded by a bunch of high-tech only spells out bad news. Luckily, it seems like most of them were outside on the basketball court. That’s what I thought, at least.

“I take it you’re having a bad voltage day?” the voice of none other than Magneto startles me out of my thinking. It’s been more than a few months of him living here with us, but his presence is still unexpected. I had a hard time training the knee-jerk defensive reaction out of my body for the first few days, my body becoming charged up so quickly that I wouldn’t even have the chance to blink before I shot a bolt of electricity at him.

He was quick to show that a little spark didn’t do much to him, given that he was essentially a walking magnetic field.

I turn to him, his large form standing at the entrance to the lounge, “What makes you say that?” I turn back to watch as Scott and Logan start another argument, their voices muffled by the glass.

“The air keeps crackling and I have a hard time believing there’s a storm inside the building” he approaches until he pauses at my side. I chuckle a little, giving a wince once I feel my sore muscles constrict. He turns to watch me.

“Hm, I don’t know, maybe Storm has had enough of those two at each other’s throats” I try to joke but my voice falters, as my heart begins to race again and the sound of the air buzzing around me becomes overwhelming. Tremors begin rippling across my muscles, a mixture of them cramping and relaxing too fast for me to keep up with. Losing the strength in my legs, I stretch a hand out toward the glass in front of me to hold myself up but I miss the glass by a couple inches. Erik’s hands are quick to grab onto my arms before pulling me into his chest, supporting my weight as the crackling noise fills my ears and I let out a pained shout. My body releases a strong burst of electricity, most of it absorbed by Erik’s magnetic field, whilst the rest causes the power in the building to go out. I pant loudly, trying to catch my breath, feeling like my heart might’ve stopped in the middle of that.

The lights flicker around us before the power in the school hums back to life. Erik’s hands are still around me, I realize before beginning to step away, but his hold on me tightens. He pulls me back against his chest and I try to fight back the heat that’s slowly creeping up to my face. This is a bit embarrassing. I’ll admit it, I had grown to like Erik in the time he’d been with us, not to mention I had quite a few run-ins with him before I ever joined the X-Men. He always seemed so… Powerful, he always felt safe to be around. As radical as the Professor may claim he is, he always seemed… Right. You could hear the passion in his voice when he spoke of mutantkind and it made you want to side with him, to be loyal and to follow him to the ends of the Earth.

He had a powerful presence, and as I am now discovering, a powerful touch. One of the very few people who could come near me without fear of being electrocuted. My muscles had begun to twitch in the aftermath of the shock. These are the unfortunate moments where I wish I could be rid of my mutation. I could barely hold myself up and here I was in Erik’s arms.

“You should be resting” his voice was stern, but there was a hint of concern in there. I raise my gaze to meet his, feeling a bit of shame.

“I can’t just lay in bed all day, the world is still turning, there’s things to do…” I muttered.

“Precisely, the world is still turning and it will still continue to turn if you are at rest. You, on the other hand, are not a planet and you need to care for yourself”

I stare into his eyes, feeling them pierce through my soul. He always seemed to be right about everything… I chuckle under my breath as I regain some strength in my legs, straightening back up.

“I’m sure you must be tired of having to run after all of us like a babysitter” I joke as his arms come to rest on my shoulders once I’m stable on my feet.

A glint crosses his eyes, “I do wonder how Charles managed, and then I remember he’s a telepath, so it must’ve been quite easy for him” he replies with a smirk gracing his face that makes me laugh a little.

“He still struggled, you shouldn’t compare yourself to the Professor”

He begins to lead me toward the couch behind us, helping me take a seat before joining me. I still feel a hot streak of shame across my stomach, having him help me. Burdening him.

“Sorry, by the way… You’re right, I should be a little more considerate of others” I mutter.

Erik turns to look at me as I avoid making eye contact, “I don’t believe those were my words…” his hand reaches out toward my chin, gently turning my head to face him, “I only ask of you to rest and care for yourself, forget what the others may think”

I blinked up at him, “The Professor always wanted me to push past my limits, so that I can perhaps get stronger… Control my powers better”

“In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have to restrict your abilities, you could rule this planet with a wave of your hand, what you have is something to be proud of, not ashamed” he places his hand against my cheek and I find myself leaning against his warm touch, “Your mutation is a blessing, not a curse”

I scoff, “Sure doesn’t feel that way, I can’t even live among humans without shutting down an entire city’s power”

“Your powers shouldn’t be hidden, controlled, or restricted for the sake of humanity” he says the word with disdain, “but those are my beliefs, your existence is grand mein liebling”

My heart thumps against my chest loudly at his words. It feels… Intimate. How could he speak such high praise toward me?

“I see you hurt and I watch as you restrain yourself around others, as your mutation basically eats your body alive and it pains me…” his eyes gaze across my face, pausing at my lips before trailing back up to my eyes, “It pains me that you live in a world where you feel you cannot rest, where you feel you must hide the power within you”

“Erik…” I whisper, almost afraid to shatter the moment between us, “What are you… What are you saying…?” I peer into his eyes, seeing something brewing behind his gaze. Could it be possible that he’s… No, there’s no way.

“What do you believe I’m saying?” he whispers softly, leaning in toward me. I jump as a few sparks fly out from where he has his hand on my cheek. I can’t help my eyes dropping to his lips before rising back up to his eyes.

I feel the tension rise and in a desperate attempt to avoid it, I joke, “If I was delusional, I might think you’re trying to confess to me right now” I laugh a little to dispel the tension. His gaze was still just as intense so I failed, but I tried my best.

A smile graced his features, “Yes… Perhaps if you were delusional, you might see that I am actually confessing my feelings for you right now” he says it so casually I almost think he’s playing along with my joke, but as my eyes widen, so does his smile.

“Are you…?” my voice wavers a little. I feel my heart drop, realizing he’s probably joking with me. I turn away from his hand, lightly pushing his chest to put distance between us.

“Is this some sort of joke? Come on, Erik… You know that’s… It’s unrealistic” I mutter, a man like him would never love someone like me, that’s not how it works… Maybe in the movies, or in a fairytale perhaps.

“Mein liebling, perhaps I haven’t been clear enough with you” he wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me in close, closer than before, “do you prefer a visual demonstration instead? I can give you that, you only need to ask” he smiles before slowly leaning in, giving me enough time to back out if I wished, but I find myself leaning in, eager to feel his lips against mine.

As soon as our lips locked together, sealed at last, a burst of electric sparks flew out from our lips and I giggled into the kiss. I mean, how ironic is that? I felt real, literal sparks and fireworks from the kiss and it made my lips tingly. Erik smiles into the kiss before deepening it, his hand rising up toward my hair while the other trailed down my back and I found myself desperate to be closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, clumsily climbing over to sit on his lap. We part right as I begin losing my breath and he trails a burning, tingly trail of kisses down my jaw before he stops by my ear.

With a whisper that blew across the nape of my neck, “I see more than just greatness in you, so much more…” The words are charged with intention, passion, and sincerity. I shudder as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I bite back a moan as he continues kissing down my neck. I take a sharp breath in as he begins sucking on a tender spot before I suddenly realize what we’re doing…

Where we’re doing it.

I turn slightly to peek at the windows, making sure the others are still thoroughly distracted with playing before I feel Erik bite my skin and a moan breaks out, “Wait! Erik… We’re… In the lounge…”

He lifts his head, and the dark look in his blue eyes makes me clench my legs in anticipation, “We’ll just have to be fast… And quiet… Can you do that?” He taunts me with a question I don’t even get the chance to answer before he lays me down on the couch, climbing over me, “I’m just helping you relax, that’s not a sin, is it?” He looks down at me with a hungry gaze and I feel my cheeks burn.

“I guess not”

“Show me what else you can do with these sparks of yours”

[dpimagines]

Hot Date (Blind Date pt. 2)

First and foremost, I want to thank everyone for the amazing show of support for Blind Date! I've never received so much support and appreciation for a fic, EVER! Words cannot express how grateful I am.

SYNOPSIS: Your second date with Wade went well, so now it's time for the third. (And what could be considered the fourth.)

WARNINGS: Smut, reader has been cheated on in the past, everything else is standard Deadpool antics.

Your second date went just as well as the first — most of the words you asked for him to provide were swear words, hilariously enough. It’s not that you’ve never heard them before, though. You lose words if you haven’t heard them in a while, not to mention how loudly curses are often said. 

Now, it’s time for date number three, known in popular culture as the make-or-break date: you’ll agree (or disagree) to be exclusive, it’s socially acceptable to start having sex, all that fun (terrifying) stuff. You’ve had some casual coffee and lunch hangouts between your second date and now, but tonight will be your third official date.  

He doesn’t have any expectations, of course. He could tell from what you said on the first date that you’ve been hurt in the past.

 Who could bring themselves to hurt you? Wade thinks as he daydreams about your shy smile, your variety of laughters to offer him, your soft cardigans and sweaters, the silly faces you make at babies in public, and the sharp glares you give strangers when they stare at him for too long (oh, and the ones he gives them when he catches them staring at you.) 

He even finds his thoughts wandering to the way you speak to him — sure, you can’t pick the tones of the words, but your choice of them is all yours. You’re kind, clever, and honest in your words, in everything you do. 

Oh, shit, he realizes, his stomach dropping. I’m in love. 

You’d insisted on planning your date this time around, since he’d planned the previous two. You told him you’d be having a picnic and to make sure he dressed warm since fall is on its way and the nights are growing colder. He assured you that his healing factor made him run hot, but you insisted that he at least bring a jacket. 

He texts you, confirming you’re still on for dinner. You reply positively, but reading your text only has him missing your eclectic voice, or, rather, voices. Over the past few weeks, more and more of your words have been taken from him, but he still loves to hear the random country or British accent, the occasional shout… 

Your suggestive exclamations have completely faded from your vocabulary, interestingly enough. Wade may be softening up a little due to his relationship with you, but his more perverted side can’t help but wonder if it’s because you’ve started to prefer your imagination over what videos on the internet have to offer. Do you think about him? He definitely thinks about you, especially his hypothesis on the way you’d sound. Low, masculine grunts shifting to high-pitched, over the top whines and back, all for him.

Someone smacks him upside the head. 

“You’re daydreaming again. Why don’t you just go see her? She’s just as sickeningly obsessed with you,” Ellie complains, coming around the couch and plunking down on the opposite end. 

“Really?” he wonders. You’re super nice, sure, and you’ve agreed to continue seeing him despite, well, everything about him, but…

She rolls her eyes, smacking her gum. 

“Dude, yes. It’s annoying. She’s working right now, but I bet she’d appreciate the company. You remember where her office is, don’t you?”

Wade nods, getting up and taking off towards it. He has to keep himself from running, he’s so giddy. 

He knocks on your office door. 

“Just a minute,” you reply from inside. 

You open it, smiling once you realize who’s come to visit. 

“Hi, Wade,” you greet him. 

“Who’s that?” he asks. The voice with which you said his name is entirely unfamiliar. 

“Oh, I’ve been experimenting with AI voices,” you explain. “I figured it’d be WEIRD for you to keep hearing Ellie and Yukio say your name when it’s me.”

“A little weird, yeah, but it doesn’t bother me too much.”

You turn a little pink, your smile widening awkwardly. 

“Oh, you meant-! Yeah, no, that’d be kind of uncomfortable. I appreciate the effort. Sorry to bug you like this, I- Well, speaking of Ellie, she caught me daydreaming about you and told me I should just come see you.”

“Remind me to thank her later,” you reply. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you, too, I mean, of course it is, or I wouldn’t have come, well, um…” He’s gotten better about talking around you, but he still trips all over his words. “Yeah. What are you up to?”

“I’ve actually had some down time today, so I’ve been working on-” You stop, grimacing as your happy blush deepens to an embarrassed one. You’ve lost the words. 

“Wanna show me?” he asks, grateful for the excuse to learn more about what you do. You nod, leading him to your desk. You sit down in the office chair and roll over, leaving him room to stand beside you. He looks back and forth between your monitors – on the one off to the side, a video of one of the Xavier’s School classrooms with subtitles by you; on the center monitor, a document with notes and practice questions. 

“A study guide,” he realizes, reading the title of the document. 

“Yes, a study guide,” you repeat. “Thank you. I noticed a lot of the students struggle when school starts up again, so I thought I’d take the time to put one together for the classes that don’t already have one.”

“That’s so awesome! Seems like you’re pretty busy, though. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree. 

And later, you do. Wade wanders around the courtyard looking for you, finding you sitting on a blanket with electric tealights spread all over it. The sun is just barely starting to set, but the extra light is nice nonetheless, not to mention how adorably romantic it all is. 

He jogs over to you, sitting next to you and finally taking in what you’ve put together. It has to be every kind of cheese known to mankind, like, eight different kinds of deli meat, and an insane amount of Club crackers, not to mention the strands of juicy green grapes curled in the corners, avocado slices, and even a pomegranate! 

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you tell him. “I was inspired by our conversation the other day about charcuterie boards and how we wish we could just eat them as meals. I also remembered what you said about your healing factor and how hungry it makes you.”

“No, no, this is perfect,” he breathes. No one’s ever done something so nice for him before. “Uh, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

Your face goes pale, eyes widening. You’re bracing yourself for something, but what? Oh, no. You think this is going in the exact opposite direction from where it is. 

“No, it’s good, I mean, maybe. I just wanted to know if you were cool with the idea of us being exclusive. Y’know, not seeing other people? Going steady?” His elaborations get weaker as you stare at him, still wide-eyed. You lips part, and you…

You cackle wildly, gasping for air. You try to stifle it, holding onto his shoulder as the laughter completely overtakes you. Is the idea of being with him so humorous to you?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say once your hysterics wind down. “Wade, do you really think I’d be seeing anyone else?”

“Well, you’re very pretty… And nice… And funny…” he explains. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Well, one: I really like you. I’ve never felt so strongly about someone before. Two: you are the only one interested in me.”

“I just can’t believe that. Either thing,” he replies. 

“You better believe it, because my answer is yes, Wade, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Awesome, that’s… Awesome. Cool,” he stumbles over his words. He wants to say more, but you’re smiling so widely that he’s concerned for your cheek muscles. You’re even more beautiful to him when you’re happy.  It puts a lump in his throat. How can you possibly be interested in him? You’re not just devastatingly beautiful, you’re a good person. He tries to be, but he feels like the scum of the earth next to you. 

“I’m starving, let’s eat!” you playfully scold him, gesturing to the board. He takes in the platter once more, and finds his eyes watering at the amount of thought you must’ve put into this. “Well, you can’t eat with that thing on. Come on, it’s just us, and…” You trail off.

“Need help?” he offers. You shake your head. 

“Just feeling shy,” you admit. 

“No need to be shy around me, I’ve seen and heard it all,” he assures you. 

“I guess that’s part of the reason why. I can’t say the same,” you reply, your cheeks turning a little pink as your smile becomes sheepish. 

Wade finally takes his mask off, figuring it’s an equivalent exchange for your show of vulnerability. You grin, scooping some brie onto a cracker before adding a chunk of turkey and passing it to him. He gratefully accepts it, pulling you closer to him and pressing a kiss to your temple. He leaves his arm around you, and you adjust your posture, getting comfortable in your place by his side. You put together a cracker of your own. 

The two of you go on like that for a while, creating combinations of cheese and meat on crackers, some bordering on sacrilege, before he finally finds his words again. He always seems to be at a loss for words when faced with you. 

“I don’t mind, y’know,” he starts. “I mean, that you haven’t been in a lot of relationships and all that entrails. Sorry, I meant entails. I usually talk more about entrails.”

You giggle. 

“Are you sure? I just don’t want you to be bored,” you reply. “You’ve had a very exciting life so far. I like the simple things… Like picnics at sunset.”

“I’m learning to appreciate them a lot more. Don’t get me wrong, there’s definitely going to come a day when I drag you onto a beach vacation, or to an even swankier restaurant than De Luca, or whatever… But I like this, too. I like it a lot.” And I love you, he thinks. It’s way too soon to be saying something like that, isn’t it? “Besides, exciting doesn’t always mean fun. When we’re together, I have fun.”

“Me, too,” you agree bashfully. “What I was wanting to say before was that I think you’re beautiful. I like your face and your hands.”

“Kinda specific,” he remarks, trying to avoid the compliment. 

“They’re all I’ve seen. Well, other than your voice. I like that, too.”

“It sounds better coming from you,” he deflects once more, but you don’t fight him this time, instead blushing. “I like your voice. I know you don’t feel like it’s yours, but it is to me. The way you speak tells part of your story, just like an accent does.” He’s tempted to admit hearing your words in his voice satisfies his possessive streak, but despite how cute you are when you’re nervous, he doesn’t want to frighten you.

When you don’t respond, he’s worried he’s somehow done it anyway. He looks up from the platter to see your hand clamped over your mouth, a tear rolling down your cheek. 

“Fuck, Y/N, I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m so-”

You shake your head fervently. 

“That’s the nicest thing someone’s ever said to me about my voice,” you clarify, sniffling as you awkwardly chuckle, trying to laugh it off. “I’m sorry for getting emotional.”

“Never be sorry for that,” he insists, squeezing you closer to him. “The only thing I dislike about what you just said is that no one’s ever said something so nice to you about one of the things that makes you… You. I love you, so that really bothers me.”

Your mouth falls open, and once he realizes what he said, he wants to stick his foot in his. 

“I’m-”

“I love you, too,” you tell him. It’s all in his voice. 

Wade can’t help but kiss you. When it comes to you, he normally tries to be a gentleman and ask first, but the adoration in your eyes, the red tint to your cheeks, the hint of a smile on your parted lips… It’s all too much. You kiss him back just as eagerly, your lips moving against each other until you’re on your back with him slotted between your legs. You cling to him for dear life, your hands clutching his hoodie like if you let go he’ll float away. 

He can’t believe how good your body feels against his, his hands laced in your hair as your chests press together like your hearts are trying to touch each other. 

The two of you break for air, both with awestruck smiles and flushed faces. 

“Do you… Want some help with that?” you ask, face turning redder. He scrambles to sit up, suddenly aware of his pre-dick-ament. You sit up, too, though much more gracefully.

“Have you ever..? Sorry, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. I just want to do right by you.”

“Fair enough… I have, but only once. It didn’t go well. After that, it was just-” You pause, but he doesn’t offer to help this time, not wanting to rush you. You blow air out of your mouth. “Until I gained some self-respect and broke up with him.”

His jaw drops.

“Well, that’s not entirely true. He cheated on me and then I dumped him.” 

“Someone cheated on you?! I guess what they say is true, then – it doesn’t matter how gorgeous you are or what all you do for somebody, if they’re a cheating piece of shit, they’re a cheating piece of shit.”

Your smile is bittersweet as you respond: 

“At least I know I’m good at-” You blow air out of your mouth again. “Even if I don’t have practice with other things.”

“I believe you, but I’m not taking you up on it this time around. First time’s definitely going to be all about you. You deserve it,” Wade informs you. “And, uh, I think I want to wait a little longer before that,” he adds, surprising even himself. “Not that you’re not totally hot – I really like you and Little Wade does, too, but…”

“You don’t have to give me a reason. We should wait until we’re both ready,” you assure him, putting a comforting hand on his knee. He kisses you again, more chastely this time. 

“Thanks,” he says.

“I’d like some advanced notice, anyways, so I can make sure I’m adequately stocked,” you reply– flirtatiously, but in an intentionally goofy way based on the way your eyebrows waggle –tapping on your neck in the general area of your vocal cords. He can’t help but laugh at that, and you join in, making his volume double. 

“Don’t worry about that. I mean, if it’d make you more comfortable, go for it, but… I don’t need you to do that, seriously,” he insists. 

“Well, I’d rather not wail just because you kissed my neck and that’s the closest thing I have to an appropriate sound.” 

“Fair enough,” he concedes. “Now, let’s polish off the rest of this charcuterie board.”

“I can’t eat another bite. Have at it, I’ll just cuddle with you if that’s okay.”

“More than,” he assures you. You lean on his shoulder as he finishes it off. He babbles throughout, but eventually your lack of response becomes concerning. 

Wade turns his head to find that you’ve fallen asleep. He’d sit perfectly still all night just to make sure that you weren’t disturbed, but you had a point earlier. It’s pretty chilly, you could get sick if you slept out here without anything but your jeans and sweater to keep you warm. 

“Y/N,” he hums, stroking your face. You stir, face scrunching in distaste for being awoken. He giggles. “It’s time to head back in, cutie.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” you groggily grumble, though your tone doesn’t reflect that, reaching for the basket as you sit up. 

“I got it,” he says, gently batting your hand away. “Go on up to your room, I’ll meet you there once I’ve got this picked up.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. 

“Yeah, hon, I’ve got it.”

You get up from the blanket, ambling back to the house sleepily. Wade tosses the grape stems to the treeline hoping some bird or something will enjoy it before he pushes the board off of your picnic blanket. He folds said blanket, tucking it into its matching basket. He carries both the board and the basket back to the house, eventually catching up with you due to your slow pace. 

You open your door, and he follows you in. 

“Where do you want them?” he asks, looking around. Your room is cluttered, but not necessarily dirty or messy, just filled with things: pictures, curios, crystals, dried flowers… Pretty things. Fitting, he supposes, because it’s your room. 

“Where ever is fine. I’ll deal with it in the morning,” you answer. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Thanks for dinner, it was great.”

“You don’t have to go. Just because we’re not sleeping together doesn’t mean we can’t sleep together,” you offer. “It’s late.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude,” he says, kicking himself for giving you an out and appreciating himself for it at the same time. 

“Very sure,” you assure him. “I have some- Some tee shirts a man can wear.”

“Men’s?” he offers. You nod gratefully. 

“It’s what I usually wear to bed,” you explain, tossing him one before pulling another out of your dresser, shucking your pants and taking off your sweater while still turned around. Wade yelps, turning around himself. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” you remind him. He swiftly gets into the tee shirt you offered him, feeling the heat in his cheeks. Even your back is pretty, goddamn it. 

“Haven’t seen you,” he says as he turns around, eyes still downcast as he joins you under the covers. 

“I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal for you, I’m sorry.” 

“Didn’t you hear me earlier when I said I love you?” he half-jokes. 

“Yeah, I did, which is why I’m insisting on cuddling,” you declare. “I love you, too, and I want cuddles in exchange for it.”

“Is that so? I like sleepy you. She’s demanding, I’m into it.”

“Oh!” you squeak. “Not too demanding, I hope.”

“Not even a little,” he assures you, pulling you into his arms. 

It’s the easiest time he’s had falling asleep in a long time. Possibly ever. 

When he wakes, you’re still beside him, but you hover, propped on your arm as you gaze at him with downright eerie fascination. 

“Your scars move,” you say. “I didn’t notice it before, but it’s faster when you’re sleeping.” 

“Yeah, part of the whole cancer constantly fighting itself thing,” he mumbles, sheepish under your scrutiny, no matter how gentle it is. The next thing he’s hyper-aware of is the pain in his groin. 

You follow his gaze. 

“You weren’t exaggerating,” you remark, a smug, pleased look on your face. “Are you sure you don’t want any help with that? It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“How about tonight?” he offers. This is the second time you’ve offered yourself to him, so he doesn’t want to turn you down. It’s not that he feels pressured, though. Rather, he’s coming to terms with the fact that you really want him like that – not even just that you’re attracted to him, but you trust him that much despite being hurt so badly before in what was clearly a long-term relationship, maybe even your only one. “Is that enough notice?”

“Plenty. It’s a weekend, so I have all day to listen to-”

“Don’t wear yourself or your vibrator out,” Wade cuts you off, excited to inform you: “I happen to think of those as teammates, not competition.”

You smile, blushing. 

“Understood.”

“Is it alright if I go ahead and head out? I’m supposed to meet Logan and Laura for breakfast.”

“Of course. What time do you want to meet up later?”

“Do you want to get dinner first?”

“Shit. I’m supposed to have dinner with Ellie and Yukio, Yukio’s dads are in town and- Well, I guess that means I don’t have all day. How about seven, to give me time?”

“Sure, but-”

“I know. I want to, it’ll make me feel better.”

“If you insist. See you later, cutie.”

“Later,” you echo. 

Later rolls around and you have your headphones on. 

“Fuck me harder,” the voice actress whines. 

“Fuck me harder,” you echo, biting your lip at how illicit it sounds. Hopefully he likes it. You practice the little moans and gasps you’ve heard, making sure they sound right and aren’t too different from each other. 

There’s a knock at the door. Surely it’s him. You stop the audioporn track, setting your headphones and phone aside. You peek under your skirt at the black lace-trimmed panties you’re wearing. You don’t have much red in your underwear collection, so hopefully he’s happy with the mismatched set you’re wearing, your previously-mentioned black bottoms with a red bralette. 

You answer the door. 

“Wade,” you say, unable to hold back the grin on your face. He’s quickly become your favorite person with his outrageous sense of humor, his constant stream of new words for you to say– one of your favorites is chucklefuck, you even repeat it to yourself when you’re alone just to make sure you don’t lose it –his textured skin, his radiant smile, and… Oh, crap, he’s been talking, hasn’t he?

“I’m sorry, I got lost in thought. What were you saying?” you ask, cringing at yourself. 

“I was just saying that if you’re starting to psych yourself out, we don’t have to do this. Guessing I was right.”

“Not at all. I really want you,” the last bit comes out as a moan, and you remember the exact context in which you heard it. Maybe Brat Begs for Her Master’s Cock wasn’t a good decision, it was especially wordy – you’re probably going to have to sort that out of your vocabulary for the next week. You just wanted to make sure there was enough kink in your repertoire – Wade’s reputation precedes him. 

“Well, if you’re sure… Let’s get to it, I guess.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, concerned. He nods, and you pull him into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. “It’s been a while, how exactly do we get started?”

“Hm, a little something like this,” he hums fondly before pressing his lips to yours. You love the way he kisses, it’s so overpowering that it feels like nothing else exists, just him and you. You melt in his hands, needy little whimpers forcing their way out of you as they caress your jaw before wandering down to your waist, a few teasing, curious touches along the way driving you wild. 

His lips trail down to your neck and you gasp as his tongue swirls against your skin. 

“Not too long,” you warn him, the last word in breathless excitement.  

“Of course,” he assures you. “Can’t have a few hickeys ruining your reputation.”

You nod, and he places his next kiss in the curve between your neck and shoulder. He carefully introduces his teeth to the equation and your knees almost give out as a high-pitched whine leaves your lips. You clutch his back for purchase, and he leads you backwards into the bed, the two of you laying there together like you were yesterday evening. He’s right there between your legs and you can feel his excitement growing as you paw at him, needing to be even closer than you already are. 

He unbuttons one button of your blouse before looking to you for permission to continue. 

“Yes,” you agree, and despite the tone itself being over-the-top, he only smiles as he reveals your body to him. 

“Red,” he murmurs. “Just for me?”

“Just for you,” you concur, only the last word being a moan due to his interference. “You were supposed to let me say that,” you half-heartedly complain. He chuckles. 

“I kinda like it more when it’s in my voice. Reminds me that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you agree. “I’m all yours.”

“You spoil me,” he replies fondly before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your breast. He takes his time, not even pushing one of the thin cups aside until you’re whining and rocking against him. He flicks his tongue against your nipple and the sensation sends sparks through you. You arch into his mouth with the same high-pitched moan as before. He chuckles, switching to the other. 

You’re already shaking and you have no doubt that you’re embarrassingly wet. Hell, even last night’s makeout session, which hardly qualified as one, left your underwear damp. He urges you up, helping you out of your shirt. He goes to take off your bra, but you stop him. 

“You wanna stop?” he asks, his hand quickly making its way to cup your face comfortingly. 

You shake your head, nudging him off of you so you can take off your skirt. 

“Just for me?” he asks again, looking pleasantly surprised. 

“Just for you,” you repeat. 

“You’re so thoughtful. It’s one of the things I love most about you,” he informs you. 

“You can take it off now. Or them, whatever you choose.”

He snickers. 

“Let’s start with the bra for now,” he decides, reaching behind you for the clasp. He fumbles around, looking for it for a bit until you’re both laughing. You pull the bralette over your head for him. It then hits you then that you’re mostly naked and he’s mostly clothed. You pout, batting your eyelashes as you look him up and down. 

He gets the message and huffs out another laugh, getting off the bed to take off his shirt and jeans. 

Holy fuck, he’s ripped. If you weren’t bright red before, you are now. You should’ve expected it, what with his metabolism and super-strength and all that, but… Wow! 

“That bad, huh? I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“No,” you quickly disagree. “You look amazing.”

“You, too,” he replies, his eyes lighting up at the erotic tone of your last spoken word. 

“Come back,” you urge him. It’s getting to the point where every other word or so is a moan. He doesn’t seem to mind, if anything, he likes it. 

“Say it again. ‘Come.’”

“Come,” you reply, unamused. “You forgot the rules, didn’t you?”

“Oops,” he says with a giggle. “That’s alright. ‘Cause the next time you say that word, it’s gonna be because of me. It being in my voice will only be a reminder of that fact.”

You shudder, leaning back and opening your legs up a little more as a reminder that he should really rejoin you in bed right now. His nose twitches and his eyebrows furrow. 

“Wade?”

“I have… An enhanced sense of smell.”

“Oh, is it… bad? I mean, I took a shower and drank water and all that, but-”

“No, baby, you smell so good, just… Really strong, like...” He presses his hand to your most private place and you can’t help but squeak – between everything he’s said and done, the content you were consuming before his arrival, and how long it’s been… You’re unbelievably sensitive. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

“What?” you ask. 

“You’re so… I like foreplay, sure, and you deserve it, but aren’t you getting frustrated? If you need me, you should tell me.”

Once you get over your breathlessness at the last thing he said, you explain yourself:

“I like what we’re doing. Why would I stop you?”

“Aren’t you aching down here?” he wonders, pressing his hand firmer against you for emphasis. 

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you tell him, a little embarrassed at the variation in your moans. 

He smiles, though, caressing your thighs in a teasingly gentle way.

“Then maybe I should go ahead and show you the real reason they call me the Merc with a Mouth. You’re not the only one who knows how to give a blowy.”

He hooks his fingers in your panties and drags them down your legs with your attempted assistance as you try to move them in helpful ways. He props your legs open before finally rejoining you in bed, this time with his mouth… Oh, his mouth, it’s…

A symphony of pleasured sounds flows out of you, some cheap and overexaggerated and some a little more realistic. 

“Good girl, tell me how much you like it,” he says, before returning his lips and tongue to you just as swiftly as they left. 

“I fucking love it,” you reply, gasping for air. “No one’s ever done this to me before.”

He’s got his face buried between your thighs, moaning and groaning as he tastes you. When your eyes aren’t clenched shut from pleasure, you see him grinding his hips into the comforter for friction. Holy shit, he really likes this, doesn’t he? 

Your legs are trembling uncontrollably as fire courses through your veins and you feel yourself getting higher and higher.

“I’m close, Wade, I’m gonna- Gonna come,” you tell him. He holds onto your thighs, keeping you right in place as you unravel, forcing you to take what he’s giving you. The sounds you’re making are chaos, you think, but you realize as you come down that that’s what he thrives on. 

“It’s too much,” you whine as you start to get overstimulated, when it feels so good it hurts. He hesitantly pulls away, panting a little himself. 

“How was that?” he asks.

“Amazing. Couldn’t- You- Tell?” 

He grins. 

“Wanna keep going?” 

“Fuck me,” you implore him. “Please.”

“Yes, ma’am! Let me see here…” he fishes in the pockets of his discarded jeans, finding a condom. He holds it up, and like a magic trick, the interconnected packets fall down, leaving you both with a whole ribbon of them. After tearing off one, he tosses the others onto the bed beside you. “I doubt we’ll go through all those tonight, but I’d appreciate it if you kept the rest in the nightstand.”

You nod, still catching your breath from the previous round as he rolls it on. 

“I’m gonna use my fingers first,” he informs you. You nod, your breathlessness now in anticipation of what he’ll do next. He gently pushes one inside you. It feels bigger than it really is as he carefully slides it in and out before curling it right against-

He smiles in response to your pleasured exclamation. 

“You sound so pretty, honey,” he hums, “Ready for another?” 

“Yeah,” you agree. He repeats the same motions as before but with a second finger. “Holy fucking shit, so good.” 

“We’re barely getting started,” he reminds you, but he doesn’t seem displeased with your eager sounds as he adds a third finger into the mix. 

“So full,” you moan. “I don’t know if I can take it.”

“You know just what to say, don’t you, baby? I know you can take it, though. You're such a good girl, aren’t you?” 

“I try,” you reply. 

“You succeed,” he confirms. “Do you still want-”

“Yes, please, I’m ready,” you cut him off, starting to get impatient. His fingers feel absolutely incredible, but you want more, you want all of him. You’ve never been so greedy before, but you just can’t help it. Just as you're his, he’s yours. No one’s ever really been yours before and you want to experience it for all that it's worth. 

“Alrighty, then. You should be careful, though — I’m trying to be all nice and gentlemanly and all that, but if you keep looking at me like that I might lose control.”

“Would that really be such a bad thing?” you half-flirt, half-wonder, propping yourself up to look at him once he removes his fingers from you. He’d never hurt you in a way that you didn’t want him to, not intentionally. Would it really be so bad for him to give in to his baser urges and just pound you until you cry and then some? You don’t think so.

“Oh, I get it, you’ve been holding out on me. I guess I should’ve known, the geeky types are always total freaks in the sheets,” he remarks. 

“I wanted to be gentle with you, too,” you explain. “I know you’re just as nervous as I am, just for different reasons.” 

“Not that different,” he admits. “Are you really sure?”

“Mhm,” you hum, trying to meet his downcast eyes. “I want you. Really… I’ve really never felt this way before.”

“Me, either. Don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“Then fuck me instead,” you tease, knowing he doesn’t like to linger on the deeper subjects for too long. 

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he agrees with a smile, lining himself up with your entrance. You’re really glad he used his fingers first, because there’s no way his member would even be close to fitting inside you if he hadn’t. He eases in, checking every inch or so to make sure you’re still comfortable. 

You're still propped up on your hands, your eyes flicking between his face and his dick as it sinks further and further into you. You lift one hand and bring his forehead to yours, your labored breaths intermingling as he enters you. You keep your hand on the back of his neck, stroking him — you’re not sure if the motion is supposed to comfort you or him, but it feels good. 

“Is it okay for me to move?” 

You nod into him, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. It feels so good to connect with someone like this, to connect with him like this. 

He slides back and forth, it’s mind-boggling to watch something so large disappear into you. 

“You feel so good, baby, fuck,” he groans.

“You feel so good,” you echo, eyes scrunching shut as he picks up the pace. Your other hand rises from the bed and now you’re holding onto him as he thrusts, hitting that amazing place deep inside over and over again. You’re once again making mismatched sounds of ecstasy, his own grunts and groans working their way into your lexicon and making them even more diverse. 

He wraps an arm around you, helping you to stay balanced. 

“Touch yourself for me, sweetheart, I wanna feel you like that, please, please make yourself come all over my cock,” he nearly begs. 

“Yes, sir.” You remove your hand from where it was bracing on his neck, leaving the other draped around his shoulders as you start to stroke your clit. 

“Oh, fuck, shit, you-“ You feel him twitch inside of you. “Just a second, I… Oh, god.”

“You weren’t kidding,” you reply as he carefully pulls out, tying off and disposing of the condom before getting another one ready. 

“Honestly, I was, but- I mean, the refractory period is legit. I am so sorry, seriously, you- You just pushed a button that hasn’t been pushed in a while, goddamn, I- Say it again, please, if- If it’s not too much to-”

“Sir,” you repeat, grateful that he remembered the rules this time so you can elicit the right response from him. 

“There we go. Right as rain,” he says, jostling his re-hardened member in his hand comedically before rolling on a new condom. “Still-”

“Please,” you cut him off. “Please fuck me, Wade.” It’s all in his voice. You love the sound of his voice, but damn him for talking so much after you put all that effort into making sure you had a good catalogue for tonight! 

He cups your face and kisses you once again before entering you once more. You touch yourself as he thrusts in and out of you, no longer able to watch as your eyes clench shut — it’s everything you need and it’s too much. Fuck, it’s too much, you feel like he’s gonna break you, or you’re gonna break yourself. 

“That’s my good girl, you feel even better when you do that, squeezing around me just right,” he pants, continuing his erotic rambling. Every word gets you closer, even the ones you can’t process due to just how good this feels. 

“It’s- I’m- Come, gonna come again, oh, fuck, ah, please, Wade…” Your voice is steadily becoming more from him than what you watched earlier, but that only increases his fervor. 

“Love it when you talk in my voice, love the way you love me,” he replies, just as locked-in. That’s how he sees it? It almost brings you to tears in the best way, you’re so touched.

“Oh, god,” you murmur, just as he did before, but you really wanna scream it as you claw his back, desperate to cling to something physical as you reach the pinnacle of bliss. 

He stills as well, pushed as deep inside of you as he can go as you come down. You fall back into the bed, thoroughly worn out. 

He pulls out once more, repeating the same actions as earlier when taking care of the condom. He takes the unopened packages from beside you and tucks them into your bedside table. 

“Wanna go again?” he offers cheekily. 

“We don’t all have healing factors,” you remind him with a sigh. “Fuck, that was… Amazing.” 

“Was there anything you didn’t like?” he asks.

“No. What about you?”

“Getting overexcited and- Well, y’know.”

“I thought it was sweet,” you reassure him. 

“Anything you liked in particular?”

“What you said about when I talk in your voice,” you admit. “You?”

“I meant it,” he quickly says, like he’s scared you thought it was just pillow talk. “I could list a lot of things that I liked in particular, but I really- I loved it all.”

“Me, too.” you reply. You hold open your arms and he eagerly takes his place there. 

The two of you take a while to fall asleep, giddiness and excitement still buzzing in the air at your newfound love, but eventually you make it there.

[techwrecker]

platonic Logan howlett x kid reader where Logan takes the kid under his wing because the reader didn’t have like, parents anymore???

Intentions (Mutations)

Summary: After living on the streets for years, Logan takes it upon himself to make sure you're taken care of after your mutation develops.

Genre: Fluff?, light angst?

Tags: SFW platonic!logan, gn!kid!reader, not really fluff but not really angst, logan goes dad mode again

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: N/A (please let me know if I missed any!)

A/N: Thank you for sending in the ask! I hope you enjoy what I have! This is the longest piece I've written yet. Please keep in mind, that I jumbled the already incoherent timeline a little bit- I hope that's okay! Let me know if there are any grammar/spelling errors please. as always, reblogs, likes, & comments are always appreciated ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

AO3//Taglist Sign-up

Other: dividers by @moosgraphics & @bunnysrph (tysm!)

The man standing at the mouth of the alley wasn't the usual kind of grungy, scoundrel that you were used to seeing. He was wearing a slick leather jacket over a pristine, white undershirt. His facial hair was well-kept and stylized unlike the scraggly, long beards that most around here men touted. His hair was seemingly done with a little tuft sticking out atop either side of his head. He could have just had bedhead or hat-hair, but they were too pointed to not be intentional. Ever since you were a kid, your intuition had never led you astray.

'''D'jya hear me, kid? I asked what the hell are y'doin' out in the cold all alone for." His voice was rocky and gruff, but it wasn't slurred or subdued by the weight of yellowed alcohol. You were surprised he even spotted you, huddled up against the frozen dumpster in the alley.

"Got nowhere else to go." You shrugged, attempting to retain the illusion of being unconcerned despite the wicked chill seeping beneath your layers. It wouldn't be long until the bite of winter dug its way deep into your body, carving you out and rattling your bones.

Living on the streets alone wasn't easy, especially in the winter. It had been about three years since your parents disappeared. You were yet but a tender 11 years old. At first, it was nice not having anyone around to make you get up early and go to school. But the days turned to weeks. Crying yourself to sleep night after night snuggled in deep between the fluffy pillows and lifeless covers of your parents' bed became your routine.

Eventually, the police came around after negligence reports by the school. You knew if you stayed alone any longer, you'd be taken away by force, sent off to live with strangers. Something in your stomach made it turn, telling you to run away. That bad things would happen if you stuck around. So, you packed up what your tiny frame could carry and struck out on your own, leaving the only home you had ever known.

"C'mere." He beckoned you out of the shadow with one hand and stuck it back in his jacket pocket. "Y'r gonna freeze if you stay out here any longer."

Under normal circumstances, letting strange men call you towards them late at night was a death wish, but there was something deep in your gut that told you it was safe to trust him. Besides, anywhere had to be better than in an odorous alley behind a slimy bar.

You shuffled to your feet, gripping the threadbare blanket tighter around your shoulders. You were just about to outgrow it. The ragged edge barely touched the tops of your feet anymore. Despite the trusting feeling that had wedged itself in your mind, you kept one eye on the man as you hoisted your grimy backpack onto your shoulder.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, y’know," you said, cautiously getting closer to him.

"Yeah, well, you're also not supposed to be outside when it's 20 below."

You were now within arms reach of him. He lifted his arm out of his pocket, toward you. Instinctually, you flinched, using the backpack as a shield to cover you from any contact he might attempt.

"Relax, 'm not gonna hurt ya." He lifted his hand back in a surrendered position. "Just wanted to carry y'r pack for ya is all."

You peeked back around at him. Gingerly, you slid the backpack off your blanketed arm. You extended it to him, grip still secure on the strap. The man grabbed the other strap, but you didn't let go.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why’re you helping me?"

"'Cause I’mma bleedin' heart for the youth a tha nation, that's why," he retorted sarcastically.

You tugged the pack slightly back towards your chest. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. Letting go of the strap, he stuffed both hands back into his pockets.

"Listen kid, y' remind me of someone 's all. I just wanna make sure you’re taken care of." He shrugged.

You stared at him silently, assessing him. Delicate flurries of snow started to fall from the sky. They nestled gently on the tips of his tufts creating a light blanket. The icy fluff reflected in the harsh streetlamp, mimicking a halo. You looked into his eyes. There was a genuine sincerity in them. That trusting feeling was pulling at your conscience again.

“‘Kay… but I’m watching you, old man.”

It wasn’t a joke, but he gave a little chuckle and shook his head, amused. He mumbled something under his breath you couldn’t quite make out. Something about ‘christ’ and ‘regrets’.

“Whatever y’say, bub. You’re the boss here.” He started walking off down the street, expecting you to follow suit. You shrugged the heavy bag back onto your shoulder and started after him, slightly trailing behind him, just beyond his reach.

“So what’s your name?” You asked.

“Logan,” he said simply, not even bothering to look behind his shoulder.

Logan. It was a surprisingly mundane name. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“Just Logan?” If you were going to let the stranger lead you to an even stranger location, you should at least know his full name to give the police if things went south.

“Yeah. Kid, I don’t got all night. Get a move on.” He sounded annoyed.

But it was his fault you were tagging along in the first place, you thought. Whatever. 

You picked up the pace in a light trot to catch up with him, careful not to slide on the now-slick sidewalk. You were walking side-by-side with him now, but using up twice the effort to stay in step. Logan was tall, taking long strides to get to the unknown destination quickly. 

As you walked, you admired the frosty blanket beginning to layer the frozen city. Pale drifts of snow piling in corners glittered under bright street lamps, reflection shifting with every step. It may have been freezing, but even you had to admit, the untouched, pure snow was beautiful. The street was a silent beauty.

“So who is it?” You probed carefully.

“Hm? Who?”

“The person I remind you of. Who is it?”

“Oh, uh,” he started. “Her name’s Laura.” His voice softened at her name.

“Laura. Pretty. Is she your daughter?” Your intuition prompted you to ask.

“Yeah,” he replied shortly. Apparently, he was a man of few words. He let his head hang for a moment, watching his feet drag through the graying slurry. You watched as he inhaled sharply and lifted his head back up, staring straight ahead stoically, not paying you any mind.

The rest of the trip was made in freezing silence. You were still at his side, but slightly out of his arm’s reach. He was still a stranger, after all. It turned out his apartment building was only a few blocks from where you had been hunkered down. 

His keys jangled as he pulled them out of his pocket. The lock clicked open with a solid thunk. Warm, yellow light spilled out from the doorway onto the concrete steps and frozen metal railing. Logan gestured with his arm, prompting you to step in first. You didn’t like it when people stood where you couldn’t see them, but the comforting glow of the apartment was beckoning you in. He stepped through the threshold after you and shook out the snow that had nestled in his tufts of hair. They were starting to droop slightly as the snow melted in the warmth of his home.

He slipped his arms from his jacket and tossed it on a nearby table. You took in the space he called home. It was obvious that he lived here alone, a bachelor. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the plaid couch in the corner of the living room. Much like your blanket, it was becoming threadbare with pieces of stuffing starting to poke out from the arm rests. It was calling your weary, frozen name. You tore your eyes away to put together the rest of the space. A worn-in recliner propped toward a small television set, a coffee table covered in various newspapers, a few amber beer bottles and crushed aluminum cans. The space wasn’t grimy, just a little cluttered.

“Are y’hungry?” He was walking away, further into his home, toward the kitchen. You stood there, unmoving. It had been about three years since you had set foot in a nice, proper home. You were almost brought to tears.

“Yeah. Always.” 

Logan gave you a small smile and began pulling out ingredients.

You walked toward the kitchen, keeping your snow-crusted boots on and still bundled by your blanket and backpack. Though Logan’s home was exceptionally warmer than outside, the chill of the snow had taken root in your chest and had spread its way through your appendages. It would take you a while yet to thaw.

“How d’ya feel about grilled cheese?” The skillet was already warming on the stovetop and Logan had begun spreading butter across the two pieces of bread. Your mouth watered at the sight. The familiar pang of hunger ripped through your stomach. You almost wanted to tell him to nix the stove altogether so you could eat as soon as possible.

“I feel excellent about grilled cheese,” you said instead, gently tugging on one of the chairs at the small dining table. You sat cautiously on the edge of the seat. There were deep scratches gouged across the wooden tabletop. This was not typical wear and tear.

What on earth could have caused that? You wondered. Upon seeing the scratches, your over-active intuition strangely made you feel more at home. Apparently, there was more to this Logan guy than meets the eye.

He peeked at you from his peripheral vision, gauging your reaction to the gouges. You gave him a shrug. 

“Accidents happen,” you said, making yourself sink further back into the chair. You played it off as if the scratches were only a water ring made by an overly condensated glass sans coaster. Overcome with exhaustion and finally warming up, you decided to let yourself relax a little.

He smiled, like you had stumbled upon an inside joke he held only with himself. Though mostly humorous, the smile held a dash of contempt inside it.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Not knowing what else to say, you took in the rest of the apartment. The windows were covered with yellowing slatted blinds, chips and cracks scattered throughout. The checkered linoleum floor probably hadn’t seen a mop for months. You couldn’t judge him too harshly though. In fact, you weren’t in a place to judge him at all. He led you off the street with pure intentions and into a warm home. 

The delicious smell emanating from the stove curled its way to you, tugging at your already-growling stomach. Logan reached into the skillet and flipped the sandwich with his bare hand. It was not a delicate pinch at the corners and he didn’t even wince or make any indication that the sandwich was hot at all. Strange.

“How’d you do that?” Your curiosity got the better of you.

“Magic.”

“Magic isn’t real. C’mon, tell me how you did it,” you begged.

“How ‘bout this,” he started. “Let’s make a deal. You ask a question, I ask a question. A trade off.”

You weighed the pros and cons. If the only exchange for satiating your curiosity was him prying into your own life, you came to the conclusion that it would be worth it.

You realized you were desperate for somebody to want to care about you. All you had known for the past few years was solidarity and seclusion. You had been in a constant state of fight or flight mode ever since running away from your parentless home. You just wanted somebody to want to look after you again.

“Okay, deal.”

“Great. I’ll start.” He set the plated sandwich down in front of you and took the other chair at the table. It creaked as he sat, as if it were straining every splinter to carry his weight. He certainly had a sturdy frame, but he was not by any means a big man. Strange again.

“Thanks,” you finished. It came out flatly, but you were genuinely grateful.

“Y’r welcome, kid.”

Careful so as not to scarf it down too quickly, you held the golden, crispy sandwich delicately between your dirty fingers, pulling it apart. The hot, gooey insides webbed between the pieces. Logan watched you take the first bite, letting you savor the first real meal you’d had in who knows how long before he asked his first question. It was cheesy, savory bliss. You could have cried, it was so tasty. It trailed warmth down your torso as you ate, taking bigger and faster bites. Before you knew it, you were licking your greasy fingers clean.

“Want another?” Logan asked.

“Yes please.” You were still starving. “Does that count as your question?” 

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Does that count as yours?” 

“Guess not.” You smiled back at him, sheepishly.

He took out two more pieces of bread and began on sandwich number two. You could tell he had done this before, taking care of young kids. He had a paternal instinct and it showed. He was slightly standoffish, but not so much that it was completely awkward. There was no ulterior motive behind his actions, you felt he just truly wanted to take care of you.

“‘Alright, bub. Why are y’on the street?”

You knew this question was coming, and yet your heart still skipped a beat, soaked with anxiety.

“I sort of ran away, but it’s not what you think.” You paused, seeing if he would interject. He didn’t make an attempt, so you continued. “I didn’t run away because I wanted to. I ran away because I had to. My parents disappeared and the police started coming around and I didn’t want to-”

“Hold on,” he cut you off. “Your parents disappeared and your bright idea was to run away? That’s probably the stupidest thing you coulda done.”

Embarrassment and annoyance prickled your cheeks. Logan was still a stranger to you, but you felt oddly compelled to defend your actions, to make him see your side.

“Yeah, well it’s better than being an orphan and forced into foster care. Placed with a family who couldn’t care less about you than the dirt on the ground!” You shot back.

The apartment was suddenly more than warm enough. It was almost sweltering. You twisted your shoulder out from under the strap of the backpack and shrugged off the blanket, letting it fall behind you. You felt a little dizzy as your heart pounded, loud against your chest. You were already weak from scraping together food all the time. Burning sweat began to bead against your hairline and coat your palms.

Logan turned his back to you, facing the stove. “Still seems stupid t’me. How long’ve ya been livin’ like this?” His voice was muffled, like cotton balls had been shoved in your ears. 

Suddenly, a chorus of pounding, pulsing sounds arose and started to drown out everything else. It surged to such a volume, you instinctually pressed your hands against your ears in an attempt to dampen it. It did nothing. The noise was inside your head. There was no stopping it. Your vision started to blur and you blinked hard, trying to rid the fuzz and dizziness with no avail. You opened your mouth to yell and felt the muscles in your throat move, but you couldn’t tell if any sound escaped. Your conscience was slipping, but the grip of the noise wouldn’t let you go. It was only getting louder, more painful. 

You must have made some kind of sound because a fuzzy, Logan-shaped form was moving toward you, seemingly in slow motion. You were slipping out of the seat in pain. He caught you in his muscled arms, right before your head hit the ground. He was yelling something at you, but you couldn’t make out what it was. His lips were moving desperately, his eyes frightened.

Logan was the last thing you saw before your mind surrendered to the stress of the noise, finally descending into unconsciousness.

Your eyes tried to open, fluttering against the bright, white lights on the ceiling. It was too bright to open them fully, but you adjusted fairly quickly. The room was made of sleek metal with a circular door on the opposite wall. It wasn’t a hospital, but it had the feeling of one. It was more unfamiliar and eerily quiet aside from a monitor’s steady beeping. The bed you were laying in looked like it came straight out of an exam room. You looked down at yourself. A tube was sticking out of the crook of your elbow, drips of a translucent liquid sliding into your veins.

The pounding noise in your head had ebbed to a dull ache instead of the throbbing pulse it was before. How much time had passed between Logan’s kitchen and now? Where was he? Had he just abandoned you in this strange room by yourself? You felt your heartbeat quicken in anxiety and as it did, the ache grew stronger. There must be a connection between the two. You had so many questions and nobody was around to answer them.

Just as you were about to start freaking out, the round door opened with a swoosh, the panels disappearing into either side of the wall. You sat up, startled. An older bald man in a wheelchair, a smartly-dressed woman with deep red hair, and the slightly-more-familiar Logan came into the room. The pounding noise and your heartbeat slowed back to normal at the sight of him, but three more louder, of sync beats took its place. The noise got louder as they got closer. Wincing, you wanted to cover your ears, to prepare for the worst. You didn’t want to pass out again or have to endure the painful drumming against your head.

“Ah, welcome back to the world of the conscious,” the bald man said, getting closer to you. His physical voice could barely be heard above the noise, but it somehow reverberated in your mind. “You gave our Logan quite a scare. That is a very difficult thing to do.” There was a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

You looked to Logan. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, still in the same outfit you last saw him in. Dark denim, white undershirt, boots. Maybe hardly any time had passed at all.

“Thanks… what happened?” You asked the trio. Your voice was hoarse from sleep. You couldn’t tell how loud, or quiet, you were being.

The woman reached over to the side table and poured a glass of water for you. Her face was beautiful and kind. She smiled sweetly at you. You took the cool glass from her and let the water soothe your throat.

“Your mutation began to manifest and you passed out,” she explained. Her lips were moving, but like the man, her voice echoed in your head, quieting the thrumming in your ears. “We aren’t quite sure what power your mutation will present itself as yet, but whatever it is, we’re here to help you.”

You looked from her to Logan, confused. The slight scowl on his face wasn’t encouraging.

“Where am I?”

“My dear, you are at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. I am Professor Charles Xavier and this is Jean Grey. Logan very wisely brought you here last night,” the man in the wheelchair said. “To our lab.”

Your eyes flickered between the strangers. The familiar feeling crept back into your gut. Your intuition told you he was telling the truth.

“If you’ll let me,” he continued with a soft smile. “I would like to utilize my mutation for your benefit. Jean and I are telepaths. I can enter your mind which might help us deduce what exactly your mutation is.”

No wonder you could hear their voices echoing in your head over the clashing, thrumming rhythms. They were projecting them into your mind.

You must have looked uneasy, because Jean placed a hand on your gown-covered shoulder, attempting to reassure you.

“It doesn’t hurt, but you will feel his presence in your mind. We just want to help you,” she said.

Again, you looked to Logan, anxious for his reassurance. Upon catching your eyes, his expression softened and he nodded slightly, giving you the go-ahead to let them help you.

You fiddled with the top sheet, nervous. It crinkled under your touch. Only hours ago you had been trying to survive the freezing temperatures alone in the dark.

They were all looking at you, expectantly. Without Jean or the Professor in your mind, the volume of the beats returned, still discordant with one another.

“Okay,” you agreed, meekly. You did not want a repeat of what happened last night. The pain was too much to bear again.

You watched the Professor close his eyes. He knit his brows together, slightly, in concentration. There was a mental push in your mind, like somebody was knocking on the door, asking to be let in. You obliged. As he began combing through the files of your brain, searching for answers to whatever your new-found ‘mutation’ might hold, you noticed one of the rhythms sped up a hair quicker. Logan’s scowl returned, eyes laced with concern.

Jean was right, it didn’t hurt, but it did feel a bit like an intrusion. However, you knew it was all for your benefit and would be for the best in the long run. You kept your eyes on Charles Xavier the entire time, hoping your own concentration on him would be helpful in some way. After a few, long, minutes, the Professor retreated from your mind and opened his eyes again.

“Well, my dear, it seems you have a mental ability as well,” he began. “You have the ability to hear heartbeats that are in close proximity to yourself, and in turn deduce the intentions of another person.”

“That’s what the pounding is? Heartbeats?”

“You can hear all three of ours currently, correct?” he asked.

“Yes.” For some reason, it felt like you were violating their privacy. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and your hands returned to folding the sheets between your fingers.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, you know. You’re special. Like us,” Jean said, smiling gently. She grabbed a metal clipboard with complicated-looking charts attached to it, flipping over the pages until she found the form she was looking for. She took the pen from behind her ear and jotted something down. You assumed it was a description of your ‘mutation’, or ‘power’, or whatever they call it.

“Why is this happening to me?” You asked quietly into the air, to nobody in particular. Your eyes were still trained on your nervous fingers. The burning in your face grew stronger, an angry red. Hot tears stung your waterline and the tip of your nose prickled with emotion.

Logan unfolded his arms, causing you to watch him through tear-filled vision cross the room and sit on the edge of your unfamiliar bed. His heartbeat grew louder as he got closer. You could see his lips moving, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was look at the Professor, silently asking for help. You watched him say something to Logan, probably telling him you couldn’t hear anything over the constant noise in your mind. The Professor closed his eyes again and again, the rhythms quieted to a hush. You looked back to Logan, the Professor still concentrating.

“You’re a mutant, kid. Simple as that,” he said, eyes full of tender but resolved concern. “But ‘m gonna take care of ya. Make sure y’r comfortable here.”

“H-here?” Your teary eyes went wide, your own heart speeding up anxiously. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna attend the school here with Jean an’ the Professor an’ me. You’ll learn how’da not let your power control you.”

“You’re a mutant too?”

“Especially him,” Jean cut in.

Logan gave her an irritated look, but raised both fists in front of his face. In a split second, long, metal claws shot out from between his knuckles into the open. You gasped. He carefully brought them down, letting you inspect them. You lightly pressed a delicate finger against the tip of one of the claws. It was freezing cold and razor sharp. A scarlet drop of blood fell from your fingerprint, staining the sterile sheet. He retracted the claws and you watched as the slits quickly stitched themselves back together.

It suddenly all became too much. The tears involuntarily spilled down your pink cheeks, overcome with the developments. Mutations, telepaths, claws … nothing made sense anymore. 

The quiet sobs wracked your small frame and as the emotions overtook you, the thrumming rhythms returned, making it all so much worse. Logan pulled you into his arms in a tight hug, pressing your head to his chest. His loud heartbeat was steady and strong. Reliable and solid. It overpowered everybody else’s rhythms, drowning them out. He let your tears soak through his once-pristine undershirt as you processed everything, his thumbs smoothing circles against your covered shoulder blades. You tried to focus on his grounding touch, tried to bring the tears to a halt. After what felt like an eternity, they finally slowed.

Finally, you pulled away from him. His heartbeat was still the only one you could hear. You looked around the metal room, swiping at your eyes. It was empty except for you and Logan. Jean and the Professor must have left some time ago, but you hadn’t heard their heartbeats soften.

He let go of you completely and picked up the chart Jean had been holding. He quickly scribbled something and flipped it to face you. ‘Feel better?’ he wrote.

You smiled and nodded, almost laughing at his solution to communication.

“Thank you, Logan,” you said. He only smiled in response, knowing you couldn’t hear him. “Now what?”

He held up a finger, asking for a moment, and reached toward the side table. He picked up a device that looked like a small disk, a couple inches thick. Pulling on either side revealed a metal wire that retracted back into the device when the disks were brought together again. The insides of the disks had padding in them. He brought it around behind your head and placed either end over your ears. 

Silence. Quiet. Peace.

You let out a sigh of relief. Logan’s pounding heartbeat was brought down to a manageable pulse. Even the rushing sound of the air conditioner and low hum of the electricity flowing through the lightbulbs couldn’t be heard anymore.

“Better?” He asked. 

You heard him! His voice was no longer fighting to be heard amongst the drum of his heartbeat. It was loud and clear. You burst into a smile.

“Yes,” you said, reaching back across the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck enthusiastically. He almost lost his balance against your grateful hug.

“C’mon, let’s go find Charles. Y’r gonna love it here.”

You let Logan lead you out of the lab and into the unknown for the second time in twenty-four hours. But this time it was different. You now knew that the trusting, gut-feeling you had about him was your mutation sensing his intentions all along. You knew he was going to make sure you were taken care of and continue to do so long into the future. It’s just the kind of man he is. The caregiver, the protector. He’s Logan.

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - A LITTLE GAME

A/N: New Wolverine one-shot. I tried and... I don't know. I like the beginning and then it's like.. okay? Let me know your thoughts.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant female reader

Warning: I have decided not to give proper warnings. I don't want to spoil the story. BUT please, only 18+. Minors DNI.

Words: 4000+

Important note: HughJackman!Wolverine (so he's tall!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - A LITTLE GAME

Everyone was looking for her - Magneto’s brotherhood, the X-men, the Avengers and god knows who else. They all wanted her - for good, for bad, to use or to kill. She became the biggest threat in a matter of seconds. That’s why Logan had to be the one to find her first.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get her for months. She was sneaky, using her power to hide from the whole world, even from him. Leaving the continent would be too risky. She had to stay in the States, right? Maybe Canada? 

It all happened so fast. There was a moment where he questioned everything. In the end, he wanted to fight for her… with her. Was there still a chance he’d find her? She could be anywhere. Surprisingly, Logan never lost hope. 

One day, Logan got a tip from some random skanky woman who approached him in a New York dive bar. He was drinking his daily dose of whisky, head lost in thoughts. He had her picture, looking at it. Such an innocent yet powerful being. His heart ached.

“I know her,” the woman approached him out of nowhere. She leaned against the bar, smiling. Her eyes were locked on the photo. “Pretty girl.” 

Logan’s eyes found hers, frowning. “Where is she?” he asked angrily. 

She chuckled. “Now hang on, sugar,” she sat next to him, exposing her long smooth legs. The miniskirt didn’t leave anything to the imagination. Logan’s eyes travelled from her legs, all the way up to her face, but he was not interested. “How about a drink first?”

He reached for his drink. It went down his throat in a second. He smashed the glass against the bar, shattering it. His eyes darkened. The adamantium claws got out, pressing them against the woman’s throat. Logan was not in a mood to play around.

People gasped. They were afraid. A mutant in a bar threatening other humans was unacceptable. Guns were loaded and pointed at him. Logan didn’t care. 

The woman yelped. Fear crept into her eyes. “Tell me where she is or you won’t be able to see the sun rise again,” his voice was low, intimidating. 

“S-strip club, down the street,” she managed to get out of her throat. Her body was visibly shaking. “I saw her there. She was there an hour ago. P-please, don’t hurt me.” 

He didn’t say anything. The claws retracted back under his skin. Logan was out of the bar in seconds, heading down the street to the club where the woman said she spotted the one he was looking for. His heart beat fast. Was he finally about to get her? It’s been months. 

Everyone wanted the most powerful mutant on the planet. Some wanted to use her, others wanted to destroy her. Logan wanted to get to her sooner than the rest of the world. All he desired was to protect her.

She’s more powerful than Jean ever was, said Charles to him not long ago. They didn’t have a name for her. No one knew where her power reached, or what her limits were. Jean’s dark side was destroyed with the help of the Scarlett Witch. With Y/N, they didn’t know what to expect. Was she worse than the Dark Phoenix? 

Expect the unexpected, said Charles to Logan once he decided to bring her back.

Logan’s eyes locked on the big pink neon sign of the strip club. He sighed. Of course, she would hide somewhere in plain sight. Who would try to find a woman like her in a place like this? She was the kindest teacher. Innocence was her second name. Everyone would expect her to flee the country, or hide in the mountains. No, she hid under their noses in the city that never sleeps.

Expect the unexpected. Well, shit, he didn’t expect this at all. 

He entered the club. The heavy smell of cigarettes and sweet perfumes hit his nose. The lights were flashing as the girls kept dancing around the poles. They slowly undressed for the crowd of hungry eyes. Men were holding bills in their hands, roaring and whistling, ready to throw them at the women.

Drinks were poured into glasses and onto women’s exposed breasts. Some wished to lick them, to feel their flesh and alcohol on their tongues. 

Some ladies brushed their hands against Logan’s shoulders and arms to get his attention. The fake smiles and lustful gazes did nothing for him. They talked to him and tried to seduce him. He remained focused on his goal. His eyes travelled around the place, trying to glimpse Y/N. 

Flashes of images hit his mind. He remembered it all - the laughs, the drinks, the simple days back in the X-mansion. The day when their lips first touched, he knew he was a goner. 

Logan huffed, anger rising inside of him. Would she sell her body to all those creeps in here? Would she dance for them to make money? The thought of other men touching her body made his blood boil. Logan was sure that if he saw a man touching a piece of Y/N’s skin, he would slice his arm with his claws. 

There was no sign of her. Was the woman from the bar lying to him? Was this a trap? Logan’s fists clenched. He had to be careful. Even a place like this could be dangerous. God knows who’d own this place. 

Somewhere in the haze, he noticed the familiar eyes watching him. Their colours sparkled in the flashing lights. She was like a goddess, walking around the mist and colours with her long satin robe flying around her. Logan could smell her from afar. The scent was overpowering his senses. 

One blink, she was gone. Was he hallucinating? He sighed. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. Or was it her?

Logan.

Her voice rang in his ears. He could smell her more as if she was closer than before. Logan’s body twisted and turned, trying to find her in the crowd. He was sure she was here, watching him like a hawk. 

There was a lingering touch on his shoulder. It moved from one side of the shoulder to the other, fingers lightly pressed against his flannel shirt. He could feel the electric touch that belonged to her. 

 “Y/N,” he breathed her name. No one would be able to hear him over the loud music. “Stop the games.” 

He heard a group of women laugh. His eyes moved to them. They gave lap dances to some businessmen. Their hands were all over their bodies.  

Again, his nose caught Y/N’s scent. It was so close, closer than before. When his eyes looked forward, he could see her in her full glory. He cursed. Was he supposed to be aroused or upset?

First, he noticed the exposed legs and high heels on her feet. Then there was the dazzling dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Her breasts were about to pop out of that damn outfit. And then there was the damn satin robe. Fuck! Her dress was provocative. Compared to the other strippers, Y/N was wearing more than the rest of the ladies in the club. 

What happened to the woman who radiated pure innocence? This was someone else, someone new. Did she have a dark side that decided to wake up from its slumber?

Still, his jeans felt tighter than before. 

His legs moved towards her. Logan got through the dancing women who tried to reach for him some more. They wanted a piece of him. When was the last time a man like him walked into a place like this? His eyes and mind were only on one woman. 

“Don’t run,” he said to himself. He knew Y/N would hear his words. 

Logan knew the game wasn’t over when he heard laughter inside his head. He was close until he wasn’t. She was gone once again. “Dammit, Y/N. Stop this.” 

Again, he felt a pair of hands on his shoulder. This time they pushed him down. His ass ended on something soft, comfortable. It was a chair. Where did that come from? 

“Want a dance?” He felt a hot breath close to his ear. The touch remained. Logan knew this wasn’t a trick. She was behind him. “I can help you relax.”

Logan had enough of her shit. He swiftly grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him. He was impatient. Her face appeared in front of his. He lost his breath for a second. The red lips, the glitter in her hair… he wanted to devour her. There was a smirk plastered on her face. 

“Strip club?” Logan growled. “What the fuck?” 

Y/N lazily climbed on his lap, pressing her core onto his forming erection. She bit her lower lip and rested her hands on his broad shoulders. “What’s the matter, Lo’? Don’t you want to have some fun?” she titled her head, raising a brow. 

He gritted his teeth. “I’ve been looking for you for months,” he said, angry. “And I find you here? Of all places?” 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” she blinked a few times. “Who would have thought that little ol’ me would hide here?” 

His hands gripped her hips tightly. He inhaled her sweet perfume. He needed to get straight to the point before he’d lost his mind. “Why did ya run?”

Y/N glared at him. “What kind of a stupid question is that?” she pushed her body from his a little. She had to get a better look at him. “All of you turned against me. One mishap and I became the villain.” 

Y/N’s mutation evolved into something no one has ever seen before. It brought the attention of other groups that wanted her neck, or power. The Professor admitted she represented something beyond explanation. Inhuman was the word he used? It was new, dangerous. Fingers were pointed, threats had been made. Everyone pushed until she ran from the X-mansion and left everything behind. Now everyone was after her - the X-men, the Avengers and Magneto. Fuck, she even heard that the government wanted her. God knows how many organisations and bounty hunters were trying to get her. Rewards were made. The numbers had seven figures or more. 

Logan’s eyes widen. One of his hands sneaked behind her neck, pulling her closer to him. “I didn’t.”

“Fuck, right,” she rolled her eyes. “When you found out what I could do, you stepped away. I can remember the betrayal in your eyes. Or was it fear? Were you afraid, Logan?” her nose brushed against his. “Were you scared of me or this?” she pointed between them. And then, she pushed away from him. 

His right hand gripped Y/N’s hair and pulled on it, exposing her neck. Logan pressed his nose to it, inhaling her sweet scent. “Don’t ever say shit like that,” he threatened. “I was never scared of what was going between us.” 

Y/N moved her head and pressed her lips to his ear. “Or did you realise you still wanted Jean?” She hit a sensitive spot. There was a history between Jean and Logan. Y/N knew damn well nothing ever happened between them. The redhead’s eyes were only on Scott. And yet, she had to dig into it. 

Logan’s hand moved to her neck, squeezing it. He made her look at him. Even in the dim lights, his eyes darkened. He hated those words that had escaped those pretty red lips. “Stop it,” he growled. “You mean more to me than she ever did.”

Y/N rolled her hips slowly, grinding on his noticeable bulge. Logan moaned with every movement she did. The grip on her throat never loosened. With the flashing lights and changing colours, the tension between them thickened. 

“You are lying,” she challenged him. 

He squinted at her. “You know damn well I don’t lie, princess.” 

Y/N grabbed him by his stupid flannel shirt from all the irritation. “You never reached for me after everything that went to shit!” 

“You destroyed a skyscraper in New York,” he told her with a calmer tone. “A fucking skyscraper. Your mutation evolved with a snap of the fingers. No wonder the shock, the fear or everyone’s need to get their hands on you.” Logan pulled her face closer to his. Their lips almost touching. “Before I could collect my thoughts, process what the fuck had happened and get to you, you ran away.” 

She squinted at him. “You pulled away from me,” she blamed him. 

“I didn’t,” he tightened the grip on her throat. She moaned. “I’ve been looking for you for months - months! You think I’d do that if I pulled away? Do you think I’d pick Jean over you? Don’t think so little of me, princess.” 

A rain of flashing lights started. Logan had the perfect chance to see her face. The red lips, the sparkle in her eyes. He saw the whole universe in them. 

“Why here?” he had to ask. “Of all places, why did you hide here?” 

She showed him her bright smile. “You’d never expect a good girl hiding in a place like this. It kinda worked.” 

And then she snapped her fingers. The people around them stopped moving. They became living statues. The music kept going, the lights still flickered and changed. Logan’s eyes widened. His head moved from side to side. Powerful, that’s what Y/N was. And beautiful. Sexy. Dangerous. Good. Her heart was still good. He had to believe.

Waves of anger flashed through his body. It was still a play. If she wanted to play, he would obey - under his rules. “Tell me, baby girl,” the hand from her throat slid down to her breasts. The other hand joined. They squeezed them through the fabric. It made her hips roll some more. “Did you let any of the guys here touch you?” he tilted his head. 

Her head tilted back as she enjoyed his big hands on her chest. His nose found her pulse on her neck, pressing his lips to it. He sucked a mark on her neck. “Baby girl, you are mine and only mine,” he growled into her ear. 

“What makes you think I’m yours?” she tried to fight back.

“If I was anyone else, you’d use all your powers to get rid of me. Maybe even kill me. You didn’t,” he stated.

“I’d never kill anyone for fun, Logan,” she said. “You know that damn well.” She leaned closer to his face. “I’d never hurt you.” 

Their lips met in a kiss that brought colours to their minds. Each colour represented a different plea. I miss you. I need you. I want you. I love you. It was messy, it was sweet. Their tongues danced and explored. It was needy, it was deep. It’s been months since they last shared a passionate kiss. 

It brought tears to Y/N’s eyes. As much as she wanted to be strong, in front of him, she couldn’t. He was like a home she never had. Her heart ached that she had to leave him. But what was there to do when they all turned against her? She believed Logan did too. 

Logan felt he was falling. Everything around him felt light. And then his back fell onto something soft. The chair under his ass was gone. He grunted, breaking the kiss. There was a bed under his body. “What the shit?” he was confused. “Where are we?” 

“Champagne room,” said Y/N who sat on top of him, still fully clothed. The only thing missing was the satin robe. “For some privacy.” 

He raised a brow. “And here I thought you’d wanted to give those living statues a show.” That’s when he heard laughter from behind the walls. The people were moving again. 

Y/N’s thumb swiped over Logan’s lips. They were stained from the red lipstick she wore. Before she retracted it, he pressed a kiss to it. “Since when did you learn to teleport?” he asked. “Last time I checked, you didn’t know how to do half of what you did today.” 

“Just a mind trick, no teleportation,” she said. 

Logan wrapped his arms around her waist and abruptly jumped on his feet. He held her tightly until he smashed her back against the nearest wall. She lost her breath for a moment. “I’m not fucking you on that disgusting bed. God knows how many people fucked on it before us.” 

“Shame,” she shrugged. “I thought you liked it dirty.” Y/N’s legs clenched around his waist. 

Logan’s lips were back on hers in a hungry kiss. When one of his hands reached down to her covered heath, she moaned into his mouth. “There’s the pretty sound,” he chuckled. His lips moved to her neck where he kissed and nibbled on her skin until he left another mark there. That’s when his fingers found the strap of her thong, ripping it off her in one harsh pull. 

He looked into her eyes, grinning like a devil. “I can feel how wet you are for me, pretty girl.” His middle finger had buried deep inside of her. “Did other men make you this wet?” 

Y/N whined. “I’d never let any other man touch me, Logan,” she confessed. 

He tilted his head. This time, two fingers slipped inside of her, fucking her with them. “Then why hide in a strip club?” He curled his finger, hitting a sweet spot. 

“Ah! I knew no one would ever come looking for me here,” she gasped every time his fingers brushed against the place that made her toes curl. “Fuck, fuck!” 

“Is that so?” he kept questioning her.

She tried to swallow the moans. “I’ve protected the girls from the perves,” she cried. 

“God, you are dripping.” His fingers left her core and went straight to his mouth, tasting her. “Pretty princess, you taste divine,” he smirked. Immediately, his lips pressed against her in a messy kiss. 

His body pressed hers even more onto the wall as one of his free hands went to his jeans to get out his painfully hard dick. He pressed the tip against her entrance, pushing it slowly in. 

“Ah, shit,” she cursed. Her mouth was wide open as she felt every inch of him. 

Once he bottomed out, his lips kissed her gently. “Taking my cock like the good girl you are,” he praised. 

“Logan,” she moaned his name. “Please, fuck me.” 

He pulled out slowly, leaving just the tip in. “Since you asked so nicely,” and he thrust back into her, making her squeal. She clenched around his cock with every move he made. “Doing so good, princess,” he praised her. “Taking me so well.”

It was fast, intense. Before she knew it, Y/N felt her orgasm approaching. One of his hands was already between their bodies, circling her clit. “Fuck, so close,” she mumbled incoherently. “Logan… Logan, please…” 

“Hold it, Y/N,” he ordered. “I’m almost there too.” 

“I… c-can’t,” she whined. Tears appeared in her eyes. The pleasure was surprisingly intense. Many feelings wanted to burst out into the open. Their lips pressed together in a sloppy kiss. He kept pounding into her as they tried to swallow each other’s moans.

What if this was for the last time? What if this would be their goodbye?

Her insides clenched around his cock as she reached her peak. Her breath quickened. She became a moaning mess while he kept fucking her through her orgasm. 

“I’m gonna fill you up, pretty girl,” he announced, staring into her eyes. His breath got lost as the release came, painting the insides of her walls white. The thrusts slowed down until he remained buried inside of her while his cum slowly dripped down his dick. 

Logan’s eyes found hers in a post-orgasmic haze. “So pretty,” he grinned. He watched as she tried to catch her breath. “My beautiful baby girl.”

Slowly, he pulled out of her. Y/N gasped once she felt empty. Carefully, Logan pulled her from the wall and put her legs on the floor. He held her tightly. “Fuck,” she cursed. 

“You good?” he asked. 

Her eyes lifted, meeting his. She smiled at him. “Yes,” she nodded. 

Logan put back his jeans while she fixed her already short, slutty dress. There was silence. With each passing second, it got heavier and more awkward. 

“I love you,” Logan confessed his feelings. One of his hands reached for her cheek, stroking it with a thumb. “I love you, princess. Goddammit, I fucking love you.” 

Her eyes kept scanning his face. These words were never said before. This was new. Y/N’s heart wanted to burst from Logan’s confession. Now that he reciprocated the feelings, she knew she’d do anything for him. 

“Come with me, please. I don’t want you to stay here, of all places,” he frowned. Even though they fucked in a strip club, he wasn’t fond of it.

She sighed. “Everyone wants to get me, Logan,” she said sadly. “Once I leave, the hunt will begin - the Brotherhood, the Avengers, the government. I can’t go back to X-mansion. That’s the first place they’ll check. I can’t endanger the kids.” 

This is what he was looking for. She was still a good woman. “So staying in a strip club is better?” he questioned. “Or are you trying to say you don’t want to be with me? Is that it?” 

Her eyes widen, mouth open. “What? No, no,” she grabbed his big hands, holding them tightly. “I love you, Logan. The only thing I want is to be with you. How can I do that when the world is against me?” 

“You are the most powerful mutant on this planet,” he said. “You can do anything you put your mind to.”

“And that makes me dangerous,” she stated. “Fuck, I put down a whole skyscraper with my powers. It was not my intention to do it, but it happened. People were hurt while I tried to save them. Fuck, Logan, the United Nations are now questioning whether mutants can be trusted again. It’s all my fault.” 

Logan shook his head, not wanting to accept she wouldn’t leave this place. He had to take her home, where she belonged. The school needed her. Everyone in the X-mansion was worried about her. “Baby,” Logan’s arm sneaked around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “We’ll figure something out. I won’t let any of those fuckers take you away from me. I’ll do everything to keep you safe and protected.” 

Her eyes sparkled with tears. “Oh, Logan,” her hand reached for his face, fingers grazing the mutton chops. She chuckled a little. “You are the only man who can pull this off,” she winked at him. “It suits you.” 

“So, what do ya say? Come home with me. That’s where you belong.” 

“Promise me this, Logan - you’ll be on my side, no matter what happens. Please, promise me this,” she pleaded. “Because, genuinely, I am terrified. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I will if someone tries to get to those I love.” 

He could see it was important to her, to have someone standing by her no matter what. “I promise, princess,” he kissed her knuckles gently. “Fuck, if I could, I would promise you the world.” 

How could this grumpy, dangerous man be such a sweetheart to her? It made her knees weak. He was in love and so was she. “Quick question, how will we get back to X-mansion?” 

Logan licked his lips. “I have a bike parked at a bar where a woman gave me a tip you work here,” her winked at her. 

She made a face. “Yeah, Wendy, she texted me about you,” Y/N winked at him. “I’m mad that you wanted to kill her.”

“Fuck her,” he growled. “Did she write you she was hitting on me?” he raised a brow. 

A simple glare was the answer he needed. “So, does that mean you’ll come with me?” 

“Yes,” she nodded. 

His lips crashed with hers in a loving kiss. Logan’s arms wrapped around her waist, hugging her tightly. “That’s good, baby. Also,” he pressed his lips to her ear. “That little game you played with me when I arrived - hot.” 

Y/N smiled. “It wasn’t planned. I needed to find out your true intentions.” 

“Through the art of seduction?” 

“Something like that.” 

[datauthorress]

Can we please have more feral Logan 🙏🙏🙏🙏

I heard you wanted more Feral! Logan. :]

~

Over the course of a few days, you found yourself a couple of hemorrhoids. Well, not literally, but two human-shaped ones. Logan and Laura seemed to follow you around (well, more so Logan following you around and then Laura following him). Logan seemed interested in everything you did, whether you were pulling weeds from the flowerbeds, using your telekinesis to put groceries away or even just reading on the couch in the living room. Laura was young, so she required more sleep and when she was sleeping, Logan was hot on your heels.

It was seriously like having an actual cat following you everywhere.

You were the only one he let get close, the only one who he seemed to trust with his and Laura’s needs. You really wanted to find out more about his past, where he came from, who he was, but Logan didn’t quite trust Charles yet and Charles refused to push him into something that may be traumatizing for him.

If you were standing in the kitchen helping make dinner, Logan was crouched next to you. Either watching you from over the counter or had an arm wrapped around your leg.

You realized quickly he was touch starved.

While in bed, Logan was either pressed up against your back or resting with his head on your belly or chest. Laura was usually laying on top of you, or up against Logan.

And neither of them were light.

Logan was pushing 500 pounds due to his metal skeleton and once he was on top of you or against you, it was hard to move. Or move him. He was pretty set on where he was once he was comfortable.

He enjoyed head scratches and just under his chin and whenever you would run your fingers through his hair, that deep, reverberating rumble would start making its way through his frame, always starting in his chest. Laura had the same kind of rumble, but it wasn’t as deep as Logan’s.

He greatly enjoyed your presence, and you enjoyed his as well, but you desperately wanted to find out more about his past.

“Logan,” you would call, and he would move over to you, to which he rested his chin on the knee of your bad leg, his hands on the outside of your thighs. You reached forward with a hand, thumb stroking at his cheek. He started purring softly, tilting his face into your touch. “I wish I knew more about you. It would be easier to try and help you recover your memories.”

Logan hummed underneath his breath, tilting his face into your touch. Lips parted and a curious tongue peaked out, before it traced the length of your thumb. You felt your cheeks flush pink, as you watched Logan make his way to the tip of your thumb before his teeth gave a soft nip at the flesh.

And then, he spoke. He called your name ever so softly, his voice deep and gravelly, as if he hadn’t spoken in so long. It was the first time you heard his voice outside of his growls or purring and it made a smile break out onto your features.

“Yes,” you said softly. “That’s my name.”

Logan rumbled, his lips curling up into a soft smile.

[a-boca-do-inferno]

carpe diem (erik lehnsherr x human!reader)

summary: There is just no escaping Erik Lehnsherr, is there?

warnings: angst, fluff

words: 1.0k

She had no idea what she was doing here, with a fist up ready to knock on his—alleged—door. She wasn’t proud to admit it, but he was still the only one who she could always count on, despite their differences and inevitable fallout. It seemed pathetic, masochist even, how every trouble she encountered herself into eventually forced her to come running for his aid. 

It had been months since the last time she saw Erik Lehnsherr, especially after he secluded himself in some hole, pretending to be retired. (y/n) knew him better than that, of course, and she obviously didn’t believe that crap for a second. At the first sign of danger to his mutants, he would go back to being Magneto without a second thought. And that was his biggest blessing, as much as it was a curse. She often told him that.  

Maybe it was the main reason why they didn’t work out. He needed someone able to put up with his cause, to be passionate about it like he was. But for better or for worse, she couldn’t do that. At the end of the day, she was as human as they come, and Erik’s rage for her species stood out above any feeling he might’ve held for her many a time. They just weren’t right for each other, and she’d accepted it—that is, until she saw his face again, glancing at her in astonishment even through his usual stern demeanour. 

“(y/n)”, Erik states, with no particular intonation.  

“Hi, Erik”, she tries to smile, but fails, nonetheless. Suddenly all the hurt and all the anger made way to her chest again, and her lips just couldn’t take the faking. Not that time. “I’m here to ask for your help.” 

“Are you alright? What happened?”, he sounds concerned, and he should be, since the world was now too dangerous even for humans.  

She cleared her throat, closing her fist. “I have a friend who... She was captured. She is a mutant too.” 

“Where is she?” 

“I don’t know, that’s why I came here”, she sighed, hugging her own body. “I can’t find her on my own, and well, you are the person to come to for these things. Or so people tell me.” 

“Mm”, he mumbles, and his blue eyes seem to avoid hers at all costs. “I will find her, don’t worry”, Erik adds, with a hint of reassurance to his tone, almost as if he himself couldn’t hold that pose for long.  

They stare at each other for a millisecond before she sighs again. (y/n) wants to kiss him, walk up to him confidently like she always did when they were together, take him into her arms and feel his touch, his breath, his love. Oh, how she missed him. She had lied to herself all this time, masking despair with rage, putting into her head they were past any possibility of reconciliation, only for it all to collapse now, at the first sight of his bright eyes. 

Suddenly, there were no mutants or humans anymore, simply two bodies struggling to stay away from each other. Truly, like a magnet. And as if reading her thoughts, Erik uses his powers to pull her by the buckle of her belt slightly, in a silent invitation. As ever, he read her face like a book. Sharp inhales, restless eyes, hairs on end; they all told him everything he needed to know. She was still his, and he was still hers. He nudges her forward again, a little less subtle this time, and her cheeks blush helplessly as the space between them gradually shortens.  

“Don’t be shy, Liebling”, there is the glimpse of a tease in his tone, however serious his expression may still be. Erik looks down on (y/n) with a tiny smile, a bit of cockiness too, and she can’t help but roll her eyes amusingly. He inquires, drawing her closer. “What?” 

“Stop that”, she murmurs weakly, as his grip on her belt keeps pulling her to him. He responds by drawing her even nearer and pressing their bodies together at once, which makes a soft sound leave her lips, resemblant to a gasp. “Erik”, she breathes out, appalled and pleased by his boldness at the same time.  

“Yes?”, Erik purrs, gripping at her sides softly.  

He wants to kiss her, it’s clear, but he was never known for being a man who couldn’t control his urges, so he continues to stare, waiting for a response. His long fingers rub her hips in a slow, intimate, familiar movement. (y/n) shuts her eyes at his touch, laying her head on his chest, almost giving in. She was never a fighter when it came to Erik, anyway. And she knew she was losing this battle.  

“You know we shouldn’t”, (y/n) whispers against the fabric of his shirt, and she can feel the vibration on his chest as a gravelly laugh reaches her ears.  

“Yet we already are, my love.” 

And just like that, any time spent apart was gone. (y/n) kissed him at last and he kissed her back eagerly, pushing her to the nearest wall he could find. The kiss is desperate, full of passion and but a tad of anger as their hands move somewhat frantically, not knowing exactly what to grab first. There is pause when they break away only to go deeper into each other’s mouths, his pale palms flying to her soft hair, pulling it lightly. (y/n) moans in his lips, melting completely, shamelessly, because no matter how much she tried; there was simply no escaping Erik Lehnsherr.  

“Baby”, her words are a sweet whisper, and his ever somber features light up instantly at this. 

“I missed you greatly, my dear”, he whispers back, entirely taken by his own emotion, still holding her waist.  

“So did I, Erik”, (y/n) smiled, staring at him with all the love she repressed before. They shouldn’t be doing that, not again, not after everything, but it was difficult to be rational when flowers seemed to grow in her chest whenever he looked at her. “So did I.” 

Erik brought (y/n) into another kiss, this time deeper and gentler, cupping her face. Nothing mattered anymore, not when she felt like this in his arms. It was the rightest thing to ever be wrong. And so, she let herself fall victim to Erik Lehnsherr’s magnetic powers once again, nothing in her even remotely hinting at regret for doing so. Perhaps later she could worry about everything else.  

For now, his lips were enough.