layla

“I’m asking because last night I heard you guys fighting, I mean you were raising your voices and then dad closed the door really hard. And it’s not the first time” Laura confessed and you felt bad that she had to listen to you argue. “Last week when I was outside playing with Franky I also heard both of you yelling”. 

“I’m sorry, baby. You should not have witnessed that, don’t worry. With your dad we’re okay” you caressed her hair to give her some calm to her mind.

”My friend Dani told me that it happened the same to their parents that are divorced now. So I’m scared that one day dad will leave us just like Dani’s dad” Laura told you with tears in her eyes just at the thought of her dad leaving her and her mom. 

That’s when your heart broke into a million pieces. You kept telling her not to worry, that you were having pointless arguments. You didn’t want to tell her about your problems at work and with your family because she’s a little girl, she should be worried about school and having fun as a kid and not about divorce and her dad leaving. 

So once you noticed she calmed down, you stayed in bed the whole morning and watched a movie together with Franky on Laura’s lap. The dog she adopted never leaves her side especially if he senses that she’s sad. 

And also you made up your mind that things needed to change, to stop these stupid fights with your husband. 

You told Logan about what happened in the morning when he left for his daily workout. Not wanting to tell him during the day because Laura is so concentrated on every attitude of both of you. That’s why you are telling him now that she went to sleep. Logan sighs like never before, like he was holding his breath the whole time you were talking, but never letting go of your hands together. “I know our daughter is smart and so empathetic just like you, so I get why she’s worried. I had to admit that I closed the door so hard, that’s on me. We need to stop fighting over bullshit, babe. We need to fix this, but I’m not leaving you guys”. Logan let go of your hand to stand in front of you squatting down holding your knees, “I’ll NEVER leave you, you hear me? We had been through so much worse, remember? And we made it because I fucking love you and I know you love me”. Logan reassured you too in case the same thought that Laura has is placed in your mind too.

You caressed his cheek and looked into those beautiful eyes of his, “I love our family, Logan. Like you said we made it through so much worse, I’m sorry I’ve been irritated lately. That’s on me, I’m going to do my best” tears flowing down your face. Logan quickly wiped them off. 

“Babe, I’m right here. I don’t know why but when you’re in a dark time you always felt free to cry and told me about it but this time it feels like you’re holding all of this sadness to bury it deep down. What 's going on? What changed?” Logan asked with curiosity because you’ve been together for years. 

“I don’t know, Lo. Maybe the hormones, maybe I don’t want to be a burden for you guys. Like I have to be strong for Laura, she’s my number one priority right now and she had an awful life before she found us so I don’t want to give her all of my shit, she’s a kid. Like I said, she should be worried about school and having the childhood she deserves” you poured your heart out to your husband. 

“My love you’ll never be a burden for me, you hear me? I need you to say it so that you understand. Besides, Laura needs to see us sad too, we can’t lie to her that life is all the time just joy. I’m not saying to tell her all of our problems, but that is valid if we feel some kind of way, we would be faking if we were smiling or just okay all the time”. Logan, the angry wolverine you used to know was gone the moment he met you back then in Charles’s mansion. Anger stopped being his only emotion, you made him feel in that same moment that he was always going to be able to show his real emotions and stopped playing this character of the angry and intimidating man. 

“I understand, Lo”. You finally gave him a smile. It is not fair for you to struggle alone and let go of this stress by fighting. You really need to start saying what’s going on, and Logan is always going to be there for it. Just by thinking of the huge difference of the fights you used to have in the past, a small laugh escaped your mouth. Logan looks at you surprised but happy that you got something off your chest. 

“What’s on your mind now, sugar?” Logan asked curiously. 

“I just remember the things we used to fight when we started dating, I mean we were younger and sometimes really stupid. And also the fights we used to have for mistakes we made on missions. We still fight when the other is on the field out there in danger, the worry about losing the other one always starts an argument…” you answered. 

“Yeah but those always ended up with a make out session…” Logan gave you a flirty grin, his dirty mind already enjoying the memories. To be honest, after a mission with or without an argument it always ends with both of you giving each other so much pleasure and comfort for being safe and sound. 

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! THAT WAS WAY TO DANGEROUS!!” Logan losing his mind because you almost got killed out there. 

“I HAD TO DO IT, I COULDN’T LEAVE THEM RIGHT THERE!!” you explained yourself why you came back to the field and risked your life. “IF I DIDN’T HELP THEM, NOBODY’S WAS GOING TO!”. 

God, your empathy is one of Logan’s favorite things about you, but more than once it has given him almost a heart attack. 

“NOT ALL THE TIMES WE CAN SAVE THEM ALL, I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND THAT. I CAN’T LOSE YOU, PRINCESS” Logan holding your shoulders steady.

Once you were back at the mansion, and in the privacy of your shared room, Logan wanted to keep talking about the risk you made, but you just wanted to take a shower to take off all of the work done. “Honey, I’m right here in one piece. I’m fine” you brushed his hair with your fingers to calm him down. Trying to get a smile from him. 

“I insist, I can’t lose you. You’ll be freaking out too if it was me in your position” Logan raised his brow knowing you’ll be worried too about him. 

“I know, I’ll be way worse hysterical” you admitted, but at the same time just trying to calm him down. Right now both of you need to relax after a hard mission. You kept brushing his hair until he stopped talking and just leaned into your touch. Both of you ended up taking a bath together and stayed all afternoon in the sheets making love. Other times the fights after missions didn’t seem to stop and led to angry sex. 

“Now that you said that, it reminds me of Laura explaining to me something she realized when she heard us fighting last night and…” you started laughing but also felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, honey. We didn’t mean to raise our voices, we didn’t mean for you to hear us but sometimes with your dad we had our differences. But everything is fine now, we talked about it and it’s okay now” you didn’t lie. One thing you and Logan hate is to go to bed angry, it’s also true that you didn’t want Laura to hear it.

“Yeah, I know you were fighting because it wasn’t the happy screams you and dad make at night sometimes”. Laura said with the innocent intention a kid has. You almost choked on your cup of tea.

You don’t know if it was because of her powers that she heard the happy screams she’s talking about, because the house is huge and her room is not that close to your shared room. And since she arrived, every time you have sex with Logan both of you are really aware that there is someone else in the house so you keep your voice low and always lock the door. You don’t want to traumatize your daughter.

Not like before having kids, or when Laura is staying the night somewhere else, that Logan asks you to be loud so the neighbors can hear his name.

“Are you fucking kidding me she said that?” Logan laughing at your face, red like a tomato. 

“Don’t laugh at that, Lo! It was so embarrassing to explain to her that it was a conversation for another day…” you hid your face in your palms, Logan still teasing you about your sudden shyness. “So I told her that her daddy was going to explain someday when she was older why adults make those happy screams” now you are teasing him because his face almost dropped. Already anxious about how he’s going to explain to his daughter how babies come to the world and all that stuff. 

“Nope, because she’s never going to grow up. She'll always be our little girl” he tried to convince himself about that. You gave him a pat on his back that he can handle that. 

“Our little girl is almost 12, babe. So you’ll have to have THAT talk sooner that you think with her. But don’t worry I’m sure you’re going to nail that because you are the best daddy”. You assured him.

God, you can picture in your mind the reaction of Logan when teenager Laura will bring her first partner. You’ll need to be there for him because your daughter is about to experience a lot of things and your husband will need your help. 

“Don’t be a brat with me please, sweetheart I’m begging you” Logan easily put you on his lap, brushing your hair out of your face. “What if instead of giving me more anxiety you help me get rid of that anxiety we’ve been dealing with lately?” he kissed your neck, his breath so warm against your skin. 

“What do you suggest, big boy?” his hand now traveling down your spine and you hold his face close to your chest, Logan leaving kisses on top of your clothed breasts. God, you miss this, you miss him being this closer. 

"Reeemmmy~" You smile, rocking back against him just slightly to make him groan and curse, before leaning forward to kiss him on the chin. He tries to catch you in a real kiss, but you don't let him, choosing to hover over his lips teasingly. "English, please, sweetheart."

"Je commence Cher, don't tease." Remy whines, leaning forward again. You let him kiss you this time, unable to stop yourself from giving into Remy's charms. You grind onto him a little more to hear him moan and gasp into the kiss, and his grip on your thighs gets a little tighter. He mumbles again in Cajun, and you shake your head at him. He'd been trying to teach you, but you still weren't quite fluent. You decide you should ask him to teach you bedroom phrases soon. It'd make this a whole lot easier- but you wouldn't lie, you almost enjoy teasing him like this.

"One more, Cher. Please. Please, give me another one." Remy finally grunts. He looks at you with those pretty eyes of his, all blurry with his pupils dilated. You can't help but lean in and kiss him a few more times. You lift your hips, before sinking back down onto his cock with a little more force this time. He gasps out a broken "merci! merci," tears starting to trail down his cheeks as you start to ride him again.

The grand estate your family owned was a sanctuary of opulence, yet it felt like a gilded cage. The late 1800s had bound you to a life of social expectations, where every decision was dictated by status and tradition. Amidst the grandeur of high society, you found solace in Logan Howlett— a man whose mutant abilities had kept him on the fringes of your world.

Logan, with his war-hardened past and retractable claws, was both an outsider and a confidant. Despite his loyalty and experience, his mutation made it impossible for him to be anything more than a distant companion.

Logan knew where he stood when it came to his place in society. He was more of a bodyguard than friend, someone to be kept at an arm's length yet close enough that it would be acceptable to use him as protection. That was how he met you, while in attendance at a ball hosted by your family, his sole purpose there was to act as a sort of security in case anyone came looking for trouble.

The lavish ballroom of the manor was alive with the clamour of high society. Chandeliers dripped with crystal droplets that cast a warm, shimmering light over the elegantly dressed guests. The air was thick with the fragrance of roses and lilacs, mingled with the faint scent of freshly polished wood and candle wax.

Logan stood near the entrance, his presence a stark contrast to the glittering splendour surrounding him. He was impeccably dressed in a dark suit, but his demeanour was understated, a professional reserve that set him apart from the guests. His role was clear: to remain unobtrusive, yet vigilant, a sentinel amidst the grandeur. His reputation as a skilled protector preceded him, but his mutant abilities were a closely guarded secret, known only to those who needed to know.

You, the lady of the evening, moved through the crowd with grace and composure. As the daughter of the host, you were the centre of attention, engaged in polite conversation and the ceremonial dance of high society. Your laughter was soft, your smiles carefully measured. Yet beneath the surface, there was a sense of confinement, a constraint imposed by the roles expected of you.

It was during one of these moments of enforced sociability that Logan first saw you. He had been scanning the room, his sharp eyes ever watchful for any signs of trouble. His gaze landed on you as you were approached by a particularly insistent suitor, whose eyes were filled with interest that seemed to linger a bit too long.

Logan’s instincts kicked in. He moved closer, positioning himself strategically within view but maintaining a respectful distance. He could sense the subtle shift in your demeanour, the polite but firm way you dismissed the suitor. It was a momentary flicker of discomfort, quickly masked by a practiced smile.

As the suitor finally retreated, you looked around, momentarily lost in thought. It was then that your eyes met Logan’s for the first time. The connection was brief but charged with an unspoken understanding. Logan’s gaze was steady and professional, but there was something more—an acknowledgment of the silent pressure you were under.

You excused yourself from the crowd and made your way to a quieter corner of the ballroom. Logan followed at a discreet distance, his curiosity piqued by the subtle display of restraint he had witnessed. It was clear that you were navigating a complex social minefield, and his role, though limited, allowed him a rare glimpse into your world.

“Do you need anything, Miss?” Logan’s voice was low, respectful, as he approached you in the secluded corner. His accent, thick and distinctly Canadian, cut through the formality of his tone, adding an unexpected warmth to his words. The question was more about offering a reprieve than an actual request for assistance. His tone was a gentle reminder of his presence, without overstepping the bounds of his role.

You looked up at him, surprised to find him so close. There was an air of authority about him, but it was tempered with a kindness that contrasted sharply with the stiffness of the evening’s festivities.

“Actually,” you replied, your voice soft but carrying a note of genuine curiosity, “I must say, I rather enjoy your accent. It’s quite refreshing to hear amidst all the clipped tones of London society.”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “Thank you, Miss. I’ve been told it’s quite distinctive.”

“It is,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something about it that’s rather charming. It makes you stand out, even in a room full of such grandeur.”

Logan’s gaze softened, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I suppose I’m not quite the typical guest at such events.”

“No, you’re not,” you agreed, “but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

There was a moment of silence, an unspoken connection forming between you. In that brief exchange, there was an understanding that transcended the formalities of the evening. Logan’s presence, though initially seen as a mere security detail, began to take on a different significance.

“I was merely taking a moment away from the crowd,” you say, as if you felt the need to explain your absence from being the lady of the party, the soft tone of your voice cut through the silence.

Logan nodded, respecting your need for space. “It’s quite a gatherin’ tonight. I’m sure it’s overwhelmin’.”

You smiled, a fleeting expression of relief crossing your features. “Yes, it is. The expectations can be quite… demanding.”

Logan’s gaze softened. “I understand. It’s my job to observe and protect, but I’ve seen enough of these gatherin’s to know that they come with their own set of obstacles.”

“And how do you find it, observing from the sidelines?”

Logan’s expression revealed a hint of a smile, though it was tinged with a touch of melancholy. “Sometimes, it’s a necessary role. It allows me to see things that others might miss. But it’s not without its own challenges.”

As the conversation drew to a close, you nodded to him, a gesture of gratitude and acknowledgment. “Thank you, Mr…?”

“Howlett, Logan Howlett.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Howlett. It’s nice to have someone who understands.”

Logan inclined his head, a respectful smile on his lips. “Anytime, Miss. If you need anythin’, I’ll be nearby.”

With that, you returned to the ballroom, the weight of the evening’s obligations settling back upon you. But as you moved through the crowd once more, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this brief, genuine interaction with Logan had introduced a new, albeit unexpected, layer to your world.

Logan, meanwhile, watched you from a distance, his thoughts a mix of admiration and cautious intrigue. The evening had begun with clear boundaries and roles, but this fleeting encounter hinted at the possibility of something more—something that could challenge the carefully constructed walls of society and expectation.

As the night wore on, both of you carried the memory of that brief exchange, a subtle acknowledgment of a connection that neither fully understood but both felt deeply. It was a moment of genuine interaction in a sea of pretence, and it marked the beginning of something new for the both of you.

The first signs of affection between you and Logan since that night were subtle, yet profound. Stolen glances, brief touches, and shared smiles were the only expressions of a deep and forbidden love. On cool, moonlit evenings, you would find secluded corners of the manor, where the walls could not judge and the moonlight could only witness.

The manor's gardens were hushed under the blanket of twilight, the moon casting a silvery glow over the manicured lawns and fragrant blooms. The night was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves and carrying the scent of jasmine. You wandered along the winding paths, seeking refuge from the stifling constraints of the evening’s festivities.

Logan had noticed your retreat and, with the quiet grace of someone who understood the need for solitude, followed at a discreet distance. His presence was a comforting shadow against the moonlit landscape, his footsteps barely making a sound on the gravel path.

You found yourself drawn to a secluded alcove, a small, hidden corner of the garden where the ivy-clad walls and the canopy of ancient trees offered a cocoon of privacy. You leaned against the stone balustrade, the coolness of the marble seeping through your silk gloves. The moonlight danced on the surface of the small pond before you, creating a shimmering mosaic.

Moments later, Logan emerged from the shadows, his eyes finding yours with an intensity that made your heart quicken. He had shed the formal demeanour of the evening, his posture relaxed yet alert, as if he too needed this quiet moment to escape the expectations placed upon him.

“I hoped I’d find you here,” he said softly, his accent carrying a soothing cadence in the stillness of the night.

You turned to him, a smile touching your lips despite the knot of anxiety in your chest. “I needed a moment away from everything.”

Logan stepped closer, the space between you closing as he approached with deliberate care. His gaze was tender, his eyes reflecting the moonlight with a warmth that belied the cool night. “You seemed lost in thought earlier. Everythin’ alright?”

You nodded, though the flicker of sadness in your eyes spoke volumes. You wracked your brain, trying to find the best way to speak without hurting him. You knew what your father expected of you when it came to your future, the guilt gnawed on you as you spoke, “just… trying to navigate the expectations placed upon me.”

Logan’s hand brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver up your spine. The contact was brief but electric, a silent exchange of the emotions that words could not fully capture. He looked at you with a mixture of admiration and concern, his fingers lingering near yours.

“I wish there was something more I could do, darlin’” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

You turned your hand to his, a gesture of both comfort and need. “Your presence alone means more than you know. It’s the only thing that feels real amidst all the pretence.”

Logan’s thumb gently caressed the back of your hand, his touch both reassuring and tender. “I wish things were different,” he murmured, his voice a hushed confession. “I wish I could be more than just a shadow in the background.”

A sigh escaped your lips, and you looked up at him with a mixture of longing and sorrow. “So do I. But the world is not as kind as we’d like it to be.”

In that moment, the air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken desires. Logan’s eyes searched yours, and you saw a vulnerability in him that matched your own. He took a deep breath, the weight of his unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the space between you.

“I don’t want to just be a shadow,” he said, his voice resolute but soft. “I want to be something real in your life.”

Your heart ached with the intensity of his words. You stepped closer, your free hand resting gently on his arm. “You are, Logan.”

He gave you a pointed look, “I want to be more than just some secret lover, I want to be able to shout from the rooftops that you're mine.”

You sighed with a heavy heart, “I know, I want that too. But we’re bound by the constraints of a world that doesn’t understand us, doesn’t understand you.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to your lips, his eyes heavy with emotion. “Then let this night be ours, if only for a moment. Let the world fade away and let us be here, together, beneath the moon.”

You nodded, tears glistening in your eyes. “Just for tonight.”

He closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the love and longing that had been building between you, a quiet declaration of the feelings that had grown in the shadows of the manor. It was a poignant symphony of love and yearning, each touch a silent plea for something that could never fully come to be.

As his lips lingered against yours, the sweetness of the moment was tinged with a sharp edge of guilt and sorrow. You had always known that this love was a fleeting dream, a delicate thread woven in the shadows of your constrained existence. The reality of what was to come loomed over you like a dark cloud, a future you could not escape but deeply resented. Each stolen moment with Logan was both a treasure and a torment, a painful reminder of what you had been forced to forsake. In the moonlit stillness, as you nestled against him, the weight of what was inevitable pressed heavily on your heart. You could feel the crushing burden of a future you could neither change nor fully embrace, and what you had with Logan was a beautiful tragedy.

As you pulled away, both of you breathed deeply, savouring the preciousness of the moment. Logan’s arms encircled you, holding you close against his chest. You rested your head against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

In the tranquillity of the moonlit garden, the world outside ceased to exist. For a brief, fleeting moment, there were no societal constraints, no expectations—just the two of you, lost in the gentle embrace of the night.

“I love you,” Logan whispered, his voice a soft rumble against your ear.

You closed your eyes, a tear rolling down your cheek, your heart swelling with both joy and sorrow at the words you wish you could day. “I know.”

“What if we could just leave?” Logan suggested one night, his voice a hopeful murmur against the backdrop of the crackling fire.

Your heart ached at the thought, your gaze darkening with a mix of longing and despair. “Leave? Logan, it’s not that simple. They would hunt us down. There’s no place for us in the world beyond these walls.”

“But have you ever imagined it? What it would be like if we were free to be together?” he asked, his tone filled with quiet yearning.

“Every single day,” you whispered, your fingers finding his and intertwining with them. “But we both know it’s impossible. Society will never allow it. To them, I’m nothing more than property, meant to be traded to the wealthiest suitor. And you… they see you as a weapon—a beast, not a man.”

Logan’s expression darkened with hurt, and suddenly, he was on his feet, his hands ripping themselves away from yours. “Is that what you think too?” His voice was tight, raw with pain. “Do you see me as just some animal, only here to protect you?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “No, Logan, I would never—”

“Then what am I to you?” he cut you off, his frustration bubbling over. “If we can’t run, if there’s no future for us, then why are we still pretending? Pretending that this is enough, that we’re not just stuck in a nightmare we can’t wake up from?”

His anger pierced through you, your heart pounding as you struggled to find the words that could make him understand. “Logan, that’s not what I meant—”

“Not what you meant?” he echoed, his voice sharp. “Wasn’t it you who made me believe there was a chance? That if we just held on, we could make this work? Yet you never said you loved me, not once.”

Your breath hitched, tears spilling down your cheeks as you saw the anguish in his eyes. All you wanted was to reach out, to hold him, to promise that you would find a way to escape together. Logan’s heart ached with the urge to pull you into his arms, to tell you that everything would be okay—that you’d figure it out somehow. But he held himself back, his face a mask of cold indifference, waiting for you to break the unbearable silence.

“I can’t,” you choked out.

“Why not?” he demanded, his voice rising with desperation.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “If I say it, it will only make things worse. It will only hurt you more.”

“Why? Why can’t you just tell me?” he pressed, his voice thick with emotion.

“Because I am to be married!” you finally shouted, the words tearing from your throat.

“What?” His voice was low and cold, but the pain in his eyes was unmistakable.

“I am to be married…” The words came out as a broken whisper, heavy with the weight of inevitability. You wished with every fibre of your being that you could take them back, that you’d never had to see the way his expression shattered into something you’d never seen before—something you never wanted to see again.

He turned away from you, and you hated yourself for not trying harder, for not fighting to make him stay, for not finding a way to make him listen.

The grand hall was adorned with flowers, the scent of roses heavy in the air as guests murmured in hushed tones, awaiting the ceremony. You stood in a small room adjacent to the hall, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The white dress, elegant and intricate, felt like a shroud—a symbol of everything you were about to lose.

A soft knock echoed through the quiet room. Your heart leaped in your chest as Logan stepped inside, his face a mix of sorrow and determination. He looked out of place in the lavish surroundings, a reminder of the life you truly wanted but could never have. You had asked to see him, to explain, though you weren’t sure if anything you said could ever make this right.

“Logan…” you began, your voice breaking as you turned to face him.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. “Don’t say it. I just needed to see you before…”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stepped closer, shaking your head. “You have to understand—this wasn’t my choice. I never wanted this, Logan. My father… he arranged it all. He would never have allowed us to be together.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Because of what I am,” he said bitterly, his eyes dark with pain. “Because society sees me as some kind of monster.”

You closed the distance between you, reaching out to take his hands in yours. “You’re not a monster, Logan. You’ve never been a monster to me. But the nature of your abilities… they see it as something monstrous, something that could never belong in my world. My father, society—they would never accept it, never accept us.”

Logan looked down at your joined hands, his expression torn between anger and heartbreak. “So this is it, then?” he asked quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re just going to let them take you away from me?”

Your breath hitched, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I don’t have a choice,” you whispered, the words feeling like daggers in your chest. “But I need you to know… I love you, Logan. I’ve loved you since the moment we met. And I’ll never stop loving you, no matter what happens.”

Logan’s eyes met yours, his gaze filled with a deep, unspoken anguish. He pulled you into a fierce embrace, holding you as if he could somehow shield you from the world, from the fate that was tearing you apart. “I love you too,” he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with the pain of a thousand unspoken words.

You clung to him, the two of you standing there, lost in the moment, the weight of your impending separation hanging over you like a dark cloud. You knew that this was goodbye, that once you stepped out of that room, your life would be dreadfully bound to another, and the future you had dreamed of with Logan would be nothing more than a memory.

Logan slowly pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “I’ll be waiting for you” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you tried to memorise every detail of his face, every line, every mark. “I’ll always carry you with me, Logan. In my heart.”

He gave you one last, lingering look before stepping back, the distance between you growing wider with every second. He opened the door and left without another word, the sound of it closing behind him echoing in the silence.

You stood there, the emptiness overwhelming as you tried to steady your breathing, trying to prepare yourself for the life you were about to enter—a life without him.

As the music began to play in the hall, signalling the start of the ceremony, you took one last, deep breath, and whispered into the empty room, “I love you, Logan.”

The grand estate your family owned was a sanctuary of opulence, yet it felt like a gilded cage. The late 1800s had bound you to a life of social expectations, where every decision was dictated by status and tradition. Amidst the grandeur of high society, you found solace in Logan Howlett— a man whose mutant abilities had kept him on the fringes of your world.

Logan, with his war-hardened past and retractable claws, was both an outsider and a confidant. Despite his loyalty and experience, his mutation made it impossible for him to be anything more than a distant companion.

Logan knew where he stood when it came to his place in society. He was more of a bodyguard than friend, someone to be kept at an arm's length yet close enough that it would be acceptable to use him as protection. That was how he met you, while in attendance at a ball hosted by your family, his sole purpose there was to act as a sort of security in case anyone came looking for trouble.

The lavish ballroom of the manor was alive with the clamour of high society. Chandeliers dripped with crystal droplets that cast a warm, shimmering light over the elegantly dressed guests. The air was thick with the fragrance of roses and lilacs, mingled with the faint scent of freshly polished wood and candle wax.

Logan stood near the entrance, his presence a stark contrast to the glittering splendour surrounding him. He was impeccably dressed in a dark suit, but his demeanour was understated, a professional reserve that set him apart from the guests. His role was clear: to remain unobtrusive, yet vigilant, a sentinel amidst the grandeur. His reputation as a skilled protector preceded him, but his mutant abilities were a closely guarded secret, known only to those who needed to know.

You, the lady of the evening, moved through the crowd with grace and composure. As the daughter of the host, you were the centre of attention, engaged in polite conversation and the ceremonial dance of high society. Your laughter was soft, your smiles carefully measured. Yet beneath the surface, there was a sense of confinement, a constraint imposed by the roles expected of you.

It was during one of these moments of enforced sociability that Logan first saw you. He had been scanning the room, his sharp eyes ever watchful for any signs of trouble. His gaze landed on you as you were approached by a particularly insistent suitor, whose eyes were filled with interest that seemed to linger a bit too long.

Logan’s instincts kicked in. He moved closer, positioning himself strategically within view but maintaining a respectful distance. He could sense the subtle shift in your demeanour, the polite but firm way you dismissed the suitor. It was a momentary flicker of discomfort, quickly masked by a practiced smile.

As the suitor finally retreated, you looked around, momentarily lost in thought. It was then that your eyes met Logan’s for the first time. The connection was brief but charged with an unspoken understanding. Logan’s gaze was steady and professional, but there was something more—an acknowledgment of the silent pressure you were under.

You excused yourself from the crowd and made your way to a quieter corner of the ballroom. Logan followed at a discreet distance, his curiosity piqued by the subtle display of restraint he had witnessed. It was clear that you were navigating a complex social minefield, and his role, though limited, allowed him a rare glimpse into your world.

“Do you need anything, Miss?” Logan’s voice was low, respectful, as he approached you in the secluded corner. His accent, thick and distinctly Canadian, cut through the formality of his tone, adding an unexpected warmth to his words. The question was more about offering a reprieve than an actual request for assistance. His tone was a gentle reminder of his presence, without overstepping the bounds of his role.

You looked up at him, surprised to find him so close. There was an air of authority about him, but it was tempered with a kindness that contrasted sharply with the stiffness of the evening’s festivities.

“Actually,” you replied, your voice soft but carrying a note of genuine curiosity, “I must say, I rather enjoy your accent. It’s quite refreshing to hear amidst all the clipped tones of London society.”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “Thank you, Miss. I’ve been told it’s quite distinctive.”

“It is,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something about it that’s rather charming. It makes you stand out, even in a room full of such grandeur.”

Logan’s gaze softened, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I suppose I’m not quite the typical guest at such events.”

“No, you’re not,” you agreed, “but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

There was a moment of silence, an unspoken connection forming between you. In that brief exchange, there was an understanding that transcended the formalities of the evening. Logan’s presence, though initially seen as a mere security detail, began to take on a different significance.

“I was merely taking a moment away from the crowd,” you say, as if you felt the need to explain your absence from being the lady of the party, the soft tone of your voice cut through the silence.

Logan nodded, respecting your need for space. “It’s quite a gatherin’ tonight. I’m sure it’s overwhelmin’.”

You smiled, a fleeting expression of relief crossing your features. “Yes, it is. The expectations can be quite… demanding.”

Logan’s gaze softened. “I understand. It’s my job to observe and protect, but I’ve seen enough of these gatherin’s to know that they come with their own set of obstacles.”

“And how do you find it, observing from the sidelines?”

Logan’s expression revealed a hint of a smile, though it was tinged with a touch of melancholy. “Sometimes, it’s a necessary role. It allows me to see things that others might miss. But it’s not without its own challenges.”

As the conversation drew to a close, you nodded to him, a gesture of gratitude and acknowledgment. “Thank you, Mr…?”

“Howlett, Logan Howlett.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Howlett. It’s nice to have someone who understands.”

Logan inclined his head, a respectful smile on his lips. “Anytime, Miss. If you need anythin’, I’ll be nearby.”

With that, you returned to the ballroom, the weight of the evening’s obligations settling back upon you. But as you moved through the crowd once more, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this brief, genuine interaction with Logan had introduced a new, albeit unexpected, layer to your world.

Logan, meanwhile, watched you from a distance, his thoughts a mix of admiration and cautious intrigue. The evening had begun with clear boundaries and roles, but this fleeting encounter hinted at the possibility of something more—something that could challenge the carefully constructed walls of society and expectation.

As the night wore on, both of you carried the memory of that brief exchange, a subtle acknowledgment of a connection that neither fully understood but both felt deeply. It was a moment of genuine interaction in a sea of pretence, and it marked the beginning of something new for the both of you.

The first signs of affection between you and Logan since that night were subtle, yet profound. Stolen glances, brief touches, and shared smiles were the only expressions of a deep and forbidden love. On cool, moonlit evenings, you would find secluded corners of the manor, where the walls could not judge and the moonlight could only witness.

The manor's gardens were hushed under the blanket of twilight, the moon casting a silvery glow over the manicured lawns and fragrant blooms. The night was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves and carrying the scent of jasmine. You wandered along the winding paths, seeking refuge from the stifling constraints of the evening’s festivities.

Logan had noticed your retreat and, with the quiet grace of someone who understood the need for solitude, followed at a discreet distance. His presence was a comforting shadow against the moonlit landscape, his footsteps barely making a sound on the gravel path.

You found yourself drawn to a secluded alcove, a small, hidden corner of the garden where the ivy-clad walls and the canopy of ancient trees offered a cocoon of privacy. You leaned against the stone balustrade, the coolness of the marble seeping through your silk gloves. The moonlight danced on the surface of the small pond before you, creating a shimmering mosaic.

Moments later, Logan emerged from the shadows, his eyes finding yours with an intensity that made your heart quicken. He had shed the formal demeanour of the evening, his posture relaxed yet alert, as if he too needed this quiet moment to escape the expectations placed upon him.

“I hoped I’d find you here,” he said softly, his accent carrying a soothing cadence in the stillness of the night.

You turned to him, a smile touching your lips despite the knot of anxiety in your chest. “I needed a moment away from everything.”

Logan stepped closer, the space between you closing as he approached with deliberate care. His gaze was tender, his eyes reflecting the moonlight with a warmth that belied the cool night. “You seemed lost in thought earlier. Everythin’ alright?”

You nodded, though the flicker of sadness in your eyes spoke volumes. You wracked your brain, trying to find the best way to speak without hurting him. You knew what your father expected of you when it came to your future, the guilt gnawed on you as you spoke, “just… trying to navigate the expectations placed upon me.”

Logan’s hand brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver up your spine. The contact was brief but electric, a silent exchange of the emotions that words could not fully capture. He looked at you with a mixture of admiration and concern, his fingers lingering near yours.

“I wish there was something more I could do, darlin’” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

You turned your hand to his, a gesture of both comfort and need. “Your presence alone means more than you know. It’s the only thing that feels real amidst all the pretence.”

Logan’s thumb gently caressed the back of your hand, his touch both reassuring and tender. “I wish things were different,” he murmured, his voice a hushed confession. “I wish I could be more than just a shadow in the background.”

A sigh escaped your lips, and you looked up at him with a mixture of longing and sorrow. “So do I. But the world is not as kind as we’d like it to be.”

In that moment, the air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken desires. Logan’s eyes searched yours, and you saw a vulnerability in him that matched your own. He took a deep breath, the weight of his unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the space between you.

“I don’t want to just be a shadow,” he said, his voice resolute but soft. “I want to be something real in your life.”

Your heart ached with the intensity of his words. You stepped closer, your free hand resting gently on his arm. “You are, Logan.”

He gave you a pointed look, “I want to be more than just some secret lover, I want to be able to shout from the rooftops that you're mine.”

You sighed with a heavy heart, “I know, I want that too. But we’re bound by the constraints of a world that doesn’t understand us, doesn’t understand you.”

Logan’s gaze dropped to your lips, his eyes heavy with emotion. “Then let this night be ours, if only for a moment. Let the world fade away and let us be here, together, beneath the moon.”

You nodded, tears glistening in your eyes. “Just for tonight.”

He closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the love and longing that had been building between you, a quiet declaration of the feelings that had grown in the shadows of the manor. It was a poignant symphony of love and yearning, each touch a silent plea for something that could never fully come to be.

As his lips lingered against yours, the sweetness of the moment was tinged with a sharp edge of guilt and sorrow. You had always known that this love was a fleeting dream, a delicate thread woven in the shadows of your constrained existence. The reality of what was to come loomed over you like a dark cloud, a future you could not escape but deeply resented. Each stolen moment with Logan was both a treasure and a torment, a painful reminder of what you had been forced to forsake. In the moonlit stillness, as you nestled against him, the weight of what was inevitable pressed heavily on your heart. You could feel the crushing burden of a future you could neither change nor fully embrace, and what you had with Logan was a beautiful tragedy.

As you pulled away, both of you breathed deeply, savouring the preciousness of the moment. Logan’s arms encircled you, holding you close against his chest. You rested your head against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

In the tranquillity of the moonlit garden, the world outside ceased to exist. For a brief, fleeting moment, there were no societal constraints, no expectations—just the two of you, lost in the gentle embrace of the night.

“I love you,” Logan whispered, his voice a soft rumble against your ear.

You closed your eyes, a tear rolling down your cheek, your heart swelling with both joy and sorrow at the words you wish you could day. “I know.”

“What if we could just leave?” Logan suggested one night, his voice a hopeful murmur against the backdrop of the crackling fire.

Your heart ached at the thought, your gaze darkening with a mix of longing and despair. “Leave? Logan, it’s not that simple. They would hunt us down. There’s no place for us in the world beyond these walls.”

“But have you ever imagined it? What it would be like if we were free to be together?” he asked, his tone filled with quiet yearning.

“Every single day,” you whispered, your fingers finding his and intertwining with them. “But we both know it’s impossible. Society will never allow it. To them, I’m nothing more than property, meant to be traded to the wealthiest suitor. And you… they see you as a weapon—a beast, not a man.”

Logan’s expression darkened with hurt, and suddenly, he was on his feet, his hands ripping themselves away from yours. “Is that what you think too?” His voice was tight, raw with pain. “Do you see me as just some animal, only here to protect you?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “No, Logan, I would never—”

“Then what am I to you?” he cut you off, his frustration bubbling over. “If we can’t run, if there’s no future for us, then why are we still pretending? Pretending that this is enough, that we’re not just stuck in a nightmare we can’t wake up from?”

His anger pierced through you, your heart pounding as you struggled to find the words that could make him understand. “Logan, that’s not what I meant—”

“Not what you meant?” he echoed, his voice sharp. “Wasn’t it you who made me believe there was a chance? That if we just held on, we could make this work? Yet you never said you loved me, not once.”

Your breath hitched, tears spilling down your cheeks as you saw the anguish in his eyes. All you wanted was to reach out, to hold him, to promise that you would find a way to escape together. Logan’s heart ached with the urge to pull you into his arms, to tell you that everything would be okay—that you’d figure it out somehow. But he held himself back, his face a mask of cold indifference, waiting for you to break the unbearable silence.

“I can’t,” you choked out.

“Why not?” he demanded, his voice rising with desperation.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “If I say it, it will only make things worse. It will only hurt you more.”

“Why? Why can’t you just tell me?” he pressed, his voice thick with emotion.

“Because I am to be married!” you finally shouted, the words tearing from your throat.

“What?” His voice was low and cold, but the pain in his eyes was unmistakable.

“I am to be married…” The words came out as a broken whisper, heavy with the weight of inevitability. You wished with every fibre of your being that you could take them back, that you’d never had to see the way his expression shattered into something you’d never seen before—something you never wanted to see again.

He turned away from you, and you hated yourself for not trying harder, for not fighting to make him stay, for not finding a way to make him listen.

The grand hall was adorned with flowers, the scent of roses heavy in the air as guests murmured in hushed tones, awaiting the ceremony. You stood in a small room adjacent to the hall, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The white dress, elegant and intricate, felt like a shroud—a symbol of everything you were about to lose.

A soft knock echoed through the quiet room. Your heart leaped in your chest as Logan stepped inside, his face a mix of sorrow and determination. He looked out of place in the lavish surroundings, a reminder of the life you truly wanted but could never have. You had asked to see him, to explain, though you weren’t sure if anything you said could ever make this right.

“Logan…” you began, your voice breaking as you turned to face him.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice tight with emotion. “Don’t say it. I just needed to see you before…”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stepped closer, shaking your head. “You have to understand—this wasn’t my choice. I never wanted this, Logan. My father… he arranged it all. He would never have allowed us to be together.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Because of what I am,” he said bitterly, his eyes dark with pain. “Because society sees me as some kind of monster.”

You closed the distance between you, reaching out to take his hands in yours. “You’re not a monster, Logan. You’ve never been a monster to me. But the nature of your abilities… they see it as something monstrous, something that could never belong in my world. My father, society—they would never accept it, never accept us.”

Logan looked down at your joined hands, his expression torn between anger and heartbreak. “So this is it, then?” he asked quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re just going to let them take you away from me?”

Your breath hitched, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I don’t have a choice,” you whispered, the words feeling like daggers in your chest. “But I need you to know… I love you, Logan. I’ve loved you since the moment we met. And I’ll never stop loving you, no matter what happens.”

Logan’s eyes met yours, his gaze filled with a deep, unspoken anguish. He pulled you into a fierce embrace, holding you as if he could somehow shield you from the world, from the fate that was tearing you apart. “I love you too,” he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with the pain of a thousand unspoken words.

You clung to him, the two of you standing there, lost in the moment, the weight of your impending separation hanging over you like a dark cloud. You knew that this was goodbye, that once you stepped out of that room, your life would be dreadfully bound to another, and the future you had dreamed of with Logan would be nothing more than a memory.

Logan slowly pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “I’ll be waiting for you” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, tears streaming down your face as you tried to memorise every detail of his face, every line, every mark. “I’ll always carry you with me, Logan. In my heart.”

He gave you one last, lingering look before stepping back, the distance between you growing wider with every second. He opened the door and left without another word, the sound of it closing behind him echoing in the silence.

You stood there, the emptiness overwhelming as you tried to steady your breathing, trying to prepare yourself for the life you were about to enter—a life without him.

As the music began to play in the hall, signalling the start of the ceremony, you took one last, deep breath, and whispered into the empty room, “I love you, Logan.”

Part One [Tumblr] (mutant!f!reader) 🩸🌧️

You wake in the middle of the night to armed men attacking your students. You face the fight of your long life, both for yourself and for the children you've raised.

Part Two [Tumblr] (mutant!f!reader) 🩸🌧️

Following the raid on the mansion, the X-Men stand divided.

You were no stranger to nightmares. Whether they were your own, making you toss and turn and wake up feeling exhausted, or Logan’s, leaving him shaking and panting. Yours were more infrequent than his. Every other night or so, your dreams were edged with that toxic darkness compared to his nightly torment. Anxiety-fuelled imagery that made your heart pump and your skin sweaty.

Tonight, it seemed, was your turn on the nightmare-express. Flashes of your life before joining Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters pierced your mind like a hot poker. Your father dying of polio, your mother abandoning you when your mutation showed itself, you begging for food on the side of the road for twenty years. 

In particular, one evening in the ‘50s decided to plague you. 

You, a 54-year old who appeared to still be twelve, were hunkered down in the abandoned building you called home. It was raining, humid summer air leaking in through the boarded up windows. Mildew spots covered the aged wallpaper. A distinct, old-house smell permeated the aged floorboards. 

You sat on your collection of moth-eaten blankets. An array of warm reds and cool blues created a cushy, makeshift bed that you spent your nights in. Pale orange filtered in from the streetlamps outside the abandoned house. You had tried your best to block out light by sticking newspapers to what windows weren’t covered by pine boards.

A group of men stood in front of you. Varying heights and weights. One had darker skin and cropped black hair, another had a neck tattoo and a cleft lip. Those two stood at the front of the pack of five. All wearing dark clothes and brandishing various household items as weapons. Steel pipes, wrenches, tire irons.

“You guys really don’t want to do this,” you squeaked out. You silently cursed your prepubescent voice. The man with the tattoo scoffed, squinted eyes peering around where you sat.

“And what’re you gonna do, pipsqueak?” he sneered. He smacked his palm with the pipe in his hands. The others moved to form a line next to him, blocking you from any exits.

“You’re not gonna like it,” you muttered under your breath. The man on the far right, blonde-haired and green-eyed, chuckled at you.

“You are the least threatening girl I-”

His words were cut short, breath caught in his throat. Your head was tilted as you focused. Dark eyes flooded red, blood overtaking the white, as your left arm raised toward the group.

Rough gurgles echoed from each man’s chest. Eyes wide with fear, skin flushing, lungs filled with liquid. Your lips spread into a knowing grin.

With one flick of your fingers, you made the men’s blood reach its boiling point. Explosions of crimson ichor burst from the five men. Skin split and flowered around large wounds. Bones cracked, limbs twitching and flailing.

One by one, each man fell to the ground. Bodies turned to sacks of flesh and organs. Blood seeped from the empty carcasses into the wooden floorboards.

Your smile remained stretched across your face. You hadn’t moved from your pile of blankets. Left arm covered to the elbow in blood, rest of your body clean, eyes returning to their normal ruby shade.

A piercing, world-shattering scream broke you from the shackles of your nightmare. You darted up, chest heaving, hands covering your ears to shield yourself from the noise. Glancing briefly at your own body, you were met with your adult self. Your wide eyes looked up and darted around your room.

The left side of your bed was empty. Sheets bunched up by your knees, pillow ruffled. Results of Logan sharing your bed. Yet the grouch was nowhere to be seen. You looked up to the door hoping to see him standing there.

Instead, your eyes landed on three heavily armed men. Covered in kevlar, bullet-proof vests, thick helmets. Each one having several guns attached at various points on their bodies. They were hunched over, hands over their ears, occasional grunts coming from beneath black, cloth masks.

Ignoring the scream that jabbed your eardrums when you lowered your hands, you scrambled out of bed. Your socked feet slid slightly on the hardwood floors as you dashed to the doorway. 

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the screaming stopped. You shook your head and blinked a few times. You took the chance you saw before you while the armed men reoriented.

A sharp jab to the front man’s jaw, his head ricocheting back, and a swift kick to his stomach sent him careening back between the other two. You couldn’t stop to check if he was out yet. You swiveled on your backfoot to the man on the right. Grabbing the sides of his helmet, you yanked his head down and connected his eye socket with your knee. You punched him in the temple for good measure as he fell to the floor.

The last man raised his machine gun to your torso. You paused briefly, eyeing the man up and down, then dropped to your knees as gunshots ringed over your head. You lunged forward at the man’s legs and knocked him to the ground. A strong kick to the face and he was out.

Breathing heavily, you clambered to your feet. Your gaze landed on the wooden door behind you. You expected to see bullet holes and splintered shrapnel. Instead, three small, white darts were embedded in the wood grain. You plucked one from the door to inspect it.

Right when the dart was lifted to your face, thick arms wrapped around your neck. Kevlar vest met your t-shirt clad back as the man who you’d failed to check choked you. Your breath came out ragged and strained. You tried to stomp back on the man’s feet, but he just stepped out of the way. Your vision was growing blurry around the edges.

“Stupid fucking mutant,” the man huffed in your ear, every word laced with malice and hate.

In a last ditch attempt, you took the dart still clutched in your fingers and stabbed it into the man’s arm. A string of pained curses left the man’s mouth as he released you. You stumbled forward, chest heaving to recover lost air, as you pivoted to face your attacker.

The man blindly grabbed at the dart in his forearm. He stumbled back, body connecting with the wall behind him, then started sinking to the floor. His head lolled to the side.

Huh, tranquilizers, you thought.

You hardly had time to assess your situation as you heard scuffling down the hall. Dozens of thick boots stepping quietly across the hardwood floor. When you listened closer, you heard the clatter of guns in gloved hands.

An involuntary growl left your chest. These men were here for the kids. Your kids. The kids you’ve helped teach and care for and raise. Flashes of fiery anger licked up your chest. You knelt and tore one of the machine guns filled with darts away from the unconscious men.

You kept low to the ground as you peered out of your bedroom doorway. A larger group of kevlar-clad men, about eight strong, were walking away from your room and toward the edge of the mansion. You nestled the stock in your shoulder and aimed at the group.

Muffled, quick shots echoed from the rifle as you shot at the men, each bundle of three darts connecting with a limb. Helmets clattered on the floor as the men collapsed. They had no time to register where the shots were coming from before they laid in an unconscious heap on the floor.

You threw the empty gun to the floor as you stood. You hated guns. Hated what they represented, the violence they caused, the people who wielded them. It was a very rare circumstance that placed a gun in your hands.

A chorus of children’s screams came from the hallway behind you. Terrified, heart-wrenching, utterly fearful. Pure, unbridled rage tugged at your chest. You could feel red coat the edges of your eyes. Blood seeping into the whites to make you look like some kind of demon.

You turned and walked briskly down the hall. Hands clenched in fists at your sides, pulse beating rapidly beneath your skin, eyes clouded in a flaming scarlet.

When you approached the next group of men, this group being six strong and standing outside Ryan and Addie’s room, your mind seemed to click off. All you could see was red, all you could hear was your own pulse in your ears, all you could taste was fresh blood coating your tongue. 

Your body wasn’t your own. Fingers twisted and manipulated the pumping blood beneath the men’s skin. Bubbling and boiling the flowing ichor until each man froze where they stood. Twitching and shaking, eyes crying scarlet and mouths leaking red. Another flick of your fingers and they exploded into clouds of steamed blood. Crimson coated your entire body, leaving you drenched in the men’s remains.

Six men. Turned into empty skins and abandoned organs. Blood seeping into the hardwood floor. Dead.

Your vision came back to you. Gasping breaths left your throat in short bursts. Warm liquid beaded on the sides of your face and dripped down your skin. Your clothes were utterly drenched, your hair plastered to your scalp, feet submerged in a puddle of red.

It had been so long since you’d lashed out like that. Mind going blank and fingers acting of their own accord. Since that night in the abandoned house, you’d kept your wits about you. Always resorting to hand-to-hand or to weapons if the need presented itself. You never used your mutation if you could help it.

You felt ashamed. These six men were just doing as they were told. They were only following orders. No one, not even the worst humans, deserved to die like that.

Before the panic could grip you in a chokehold, another group of booted footsteps came from down the hall. A small voice echoed in the back of your mind. The kids. Protect the kids. Whatever it takes. How could you refuse, when the children were your life? Your reason for being?

You splashed through the puddles of blood as you moved down the hall. Eyes flooded red, fingers twitching at your sides, anger gripping your chest in a vice. You weren’t yourself anymore. You weren’t the art teacher the children loved, the friend that the X-Men laughed with, or the lover Logan had grown to know.

All you were was a burning, churning whirlpool of fiery hate. Flames licked at your lungs, filling each breath with fire. Swirling images of corpses at your feet filled your stomach to the brim.

“There’s another one! Wait… holy shit!” yelled out from in front of you. You cocked your head as you observed this new group of men.

Ten strong, all clad in kevlar and vests, all pointing their rifles loaded with tranquilizer darts at you. You could see a shake in their hands as they took in the sight of you. Eyes flooded red, blood seeping through your hair and into your clothes, feet tracking crimson in their wake. If there was a physical embodiment of Carrie, you fit the bill.

“D-Don’t move!” called the trembling voice again. Guns clicked in gloved hands as the safeties were switched off. You could see every hand had a finger resting on a trigger.

Your right hand twitched, fingers curling, as a manic grin overtook your stoney expression. These men, these infiltrators, were giving you commands? Were demanding you stand down as they took your children away? These puny, insignificant men were instructing someone with the power to kill them in a single motion? The thought made you laugh under your breath.

“Or what?” you said back. Red dots centered on your chest as every man aimed at you. Another chuckle flitted through your lips, “Good luck with that.”

Dozens of gunshots ringed out through the hallway as dart after dart embedded in your chest. Clusters of white needles protruded from your blood stained shirt. You glanced down at the intrusions to your bloodstream. A tired edge overtook your mind as the tranquilizers pumped their chemicals into you. 

You gripped the darts and ripped them from your chest. A cacophony of clatters bounced back to the men as the darts fell to the floor. You shook your head to rid yourself of the chemicals threatening to knock you out. 

“Wanna try that again?” you asked, every word dripping in sarcastic confidence. 

Before the men could reload and obey your request, you raised your left hand to the group. Your senses focused on the blood pumping through their scared little hearts. Cortisol coursed through each man’s veins. Pathetic.

A twitch of your fingers made their hearts careen to a stop. Blood froze in their veins, oxygen being deprived from their lungs, eyes widening and limp hands clutching at their throats. It only took a few moments for them to collapse to the floor.

You breathed a humorless laugh at the mess of corpses in front of you. Who did they think they were, to challenge you like that? Especially after they saw that their darts didn’t work. You tilted your head side to side as you stretched out your neck.

“Vampire?” a small voice said from behind you. You turned to the source, fingers twitching in preparation. Whoever this new threat was, you’d deal with it quickly.

Regret filled your stomach like a lead ball when your eyes landed on Addie and Ryan. They stood, hand in shaking hand, feet soaking in the puddles of blood, wide eyes looking up at you. Your breath left your lungs in one sharp gust.

“Are you okay?” Addie asked, being the one who’d said your nickname before. She tucked a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. You sank to your knees before the siblings.

“I… Yeah, I’m okay,” you sighed. You squeezed your eyes shut, clearing your head of the hatred it was filled with. When you opened them again, Ryan stood before you. His blue eyes looked you over with a deep concern crinkling in the corners.

“You sure? You’re pretty bloody,” he said. You wiped at the blood covering your face. It was no use, your hands being equally drenched.

“Is it your blood?” Addie questioned from behind her brother. You shook your head.

“No. No, it’s not. Are you guys okay?” you asked, desperate to shift the attention from yourself. Both children nodded. You gave them both a once over. Their hair was ruffled from sleep, hems of their pajamas and white socks soaked in the blood covering the floor, wide eyes looking to you for reassurance. You cleared your throat, “Did those guys hit you with anything?”

Both siblings shook their heads. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Alright. Let’s get you to the passageway on this floor. Ryan, You’ll be right behind me. Protect your sister,” you instructed. The kids nodded their heads again. You stood before them, giving yourself a look up and down. 

You looked horrifying. Once white t-shirt and green shorts were drenched in thick blood. Your hair clung to the sides of your head. Rivulets of crimson leaked down your bare legs and arms. 

Yet, when your gaze met the kids’, they looked at you with nothing but adoration. How could they look up to someone as terrifying as you? Someone who just killed sixteen fucking people? What would that teach them?

You squared your shoulders, pushing your insecurities down as far as they could go, and started leading the kids back down the hall. Your knees were bent as you kept low to the floor. You would pause every few moments to listen to the mansion around you. More gunshots from the floor below you, screams of terrified children, grunts and yells from the men in kevlar. You kept your mind from wandering to that rage and continued to lead Addie and Ryan to safety.

Relief flooded your lungs when you saw a group of children, led by Piotr, standing by this floor’s escape passageway. You straightened your posture. Addie and Ryan ran ahead of you to reconnect with their classmates.

“How many do you have?” you called over the swarm of scared children. Piotr, an older student whose skin could turn to metal, looked up at you from directing kids through the narrow doorway. His eyes widened at the state of you.

“Uh… Twelve, I think,” he replied. He ushered Addie and Ryan through the door, then turned to you, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth. Your shoulders seized when you heard heavy boots across the hall from you. Piotr looked over his shoulder, having also heard the approach.

Logan turned the corner. White tank top bunched around his midriff, jeans torn around his thighs, dark hair mussed from its two points. He held a knocked-out Jones, a young brunet who could manipulate electrical frequencies, in his arms. His hazel eyes glanced at you then fixed on Piotr.

“Hey, take him. He’s stunned,” Logan said, handing Jones over to Piotr. The larger boy held Jones tight against his chest. 

Just as Logan was turning to you, Piotr called out, “I can help you!” Logan looked back at Piotr. He pointed down the passageway, then said, “Help them.”

Piotr nodded at Logan, ducking into the doorway and sealing the passageway behind him. Logan suddenly grabbed your shoulders in both of his hands. You met his frantic eyes, narrowed lids shadowed by his furrowed brow.

“What the hell happened to you? Why are you covered in blood?” he asked. 

“I’m fine, Lo. It’s not my blood,” you said, shrugging his hands off your shoulders. His indignant reply was cut off when you both heard movement around the corner. 

Logan shoved you behind him as you both approached the corner. He pushed on your shoulder so you could squat next to him. His sturdy arm held you against the wall at your backs.

“Stay here,” he breathed into your ear. You nodded once in acknowledgement. Logan nodded back, then turned his attention back to the approaching group. 

You focused on lifting the blood from your shirt. Beads of crimson drifted away from your body and floated in the air before you. Your fingers twitched and the beads crashed into each other. Blood cell on top of blood cell, stacking together and forming a sharp lance the length of your forearm. One last flick of your wrist and the iron in the blood hardened the lance. A solid, red, metal weapon fell out of the air and into your open palm. At least you were significantly less bloody now.

Logan watched you out of the corners of his eyes. An air of admiration crossed his face. 

The brief moment was interrupted as a combat boot landed by Logan’s knees. Logan’s chest rumbled a deep growl, his claws shinking out of his knuckles, as he lunged forward and stabbed his right claws through the toe of the boot. A pained cry fell from the kevlar wearing man. Logan leapt to his feet as he plunged his left hand into the man’s stomach, shoving them both around the corner and out of your sight.

You remained crouched, back leaning against the wooden wall. Loud pops of gunfire echoed around you. Real guns, loaded with bullets instead of darts. Sharp cracks pierced the air as bullets flew in rapid succession toward Logan. A few bullet casings landed, smoking, by your feet. 

Light beamed from the dropped flashlight that rolled into view. Spurts of blood coated the tool in red jets. You spun the lance a few times in your hands, waiting.

“Clear,” Logan called. You pushed yourself upright and rounded the corner. About a dozen men, all clad in the same dark kevlar, lay dead at Logan’s feet. His chest was heaving, eyes darting to and from each man’s face, fists still clenched with claws poking out between his knuckles.

“All good, Lo?” you asked. His claws fully retracted as he met your gaze. He gave you a sharp nod then turned on his heel. You picked your way through the bodies, accidentally kicking a few limbs here and there, as you followed after him. 

“You never answered my question,” Logan said. You caught up with him and met his fast pace down the hallway. The two of you jogged while you tried to ignore his question. A few moments passed, the clipping of Logan’s boots on the floor being the only noise between you.

“I snapped,” was your quiet response. Short, simple, to the point. And it was all Logan needed. He threw you another quick nod while you two approached the balcony overlooking the mansion’s foyer.

Bright lights shone on Rogue, Bobby, and John as they stood below the balcony. All in their sleep clothes, all looking absolutely terrified. A guttural yell came from Logan as he leapt over the railing and dived into the four men aiming rifles at the older students.

You were about to follow when the back of your head was grabbed, a rough hand shoving your face into the railing and knocking your forehead on the wood. Spiked pain shot through your head, your knees crumpling beneath you. The hand tangled in your hair remained.

“Got the bloody one,” the man gripping you called behind him. You scratched at his hand as you tried to free yourself.

Slicing claws through flesh and pained yells soared over the balcony from the floor below. Your dazed mind tried to comprehend what was happening around you.

Some of the kevlar-clad men stood around you. Five, or was it seven, surrounded you with the muzzles of their guns aimed at your woozy form. Your head was utterly spinning. Nausea flooded your stomach and sent you reeling. If it weren’t for the gloved hand in your hair, you’d be sprawled out on the floor.

“Vampire!” Bobby called. You could just barely see his face through the bars of the railing. Wide, blue eyes glanced between you and the men surrounding you. He threw a hand up in your direction, “Duck!”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You yanked your head away from the man above you and dove to the floor. Just as your hands covered the back of your head, a biting chill filled the air above you. Wave after wave of flowing ice coursed over the balcony. You shivered from where you laid on the floor.

“C’mon!” John yelled up at you. You peered at the men who held you captive. All of them were coated in a thick layer of ice, skin turned pale and blue, joints frozen in place. Living ice sculptures. 

You pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the sway in your motion, as you prepared to vault over the railing. Just as you had swung your leg over the wood banister the front door burst open, streams of LED lights illuminating the four mutants below you.

Logan motioned for you to stay where you were, looking you up and down, then ushered Rogue, Bobby, and John further into the mansion. Dozens of men followed in their wake.

You, not being one to listen to instructions very often, crept along the banister until you reached the stairs. Lucky for you, your socked and soaked feet wouldn’t make much noise on the hardwood. You snuck down the stairs while listening to the kevlar-clad men flood through the front door. When you reached the bottom you paused. Squatted, lance clutched in both hands, waiting for the last of the men to pass.

Once you saw a break in the stream of soldiers, you dashed between shadows while trailing after Logan. Keeping out of sight, ducking beneath flashlight beams, sneaking around corners. 

“You want to shoot me? Shoot me!” you heard Logan yell down the hall from where you were. You picked up the pace. Soaked feet slapping against the wood floors, clubbing soldiers on the head as you passed with the blunt end of your lance to knock them out, racing to try and prevent Logan and the others from getting hurt.

“Don’t shoot him!” a male voice yelled. You slid around the last corner and found a cluster of kevlar-clad men. All with their rifles and flashlights pointed at Logan down the hall. You froze in place, breath held. One of the men stepped forward, a flashlight held aloft in his gunless hands. He moved to stand in the middle of the rest of the men, “Not yet.”

You slipped behind one of the giant vases scattered throughout this hallway. Tucking yourself into the long shadows thrown by the large piece of pottery, your head just barely poked out to watch the scene unfold.

“Wolverine? Well, I must admit, this is certainly the last place I’d expect to find you,” the unarmed man said. He took a few more steps forward. Logan watched his approach, confusion written in his knitted brows. The lone man chuckled, “How long has it been? 15 years? You haven’t changed one bit. Me, on the other hand…” the man trailed off. He stopped a few feet in front of Logan and gestured to his own face, “...nature.”

You didn’t like this. The man in front of Logan gave you a bad feeling. Like shocks of anxiety pricking over your hypersensitive skin. You gripped your lance tighter in your hands.

Logan’s claws retracted back between his knuckles. Narrowed, hazel eyes analyzed the man standing in front of him.

“I didn’t realize Xavier was taking in animals,” the man said with a laugh. He adjusted the glasses sitting on the bridge of his wide nose, “Even animals as unique as you.”

“Who are you?” Logan asked. His hands remained clenched at his sides.

The man laughed again, “Don’t you remember?”

Logan stared at the man, mouth agape. He took a few steps forward.

You’d had enough. This man, whoever he was, wasn’t going to talk Logan into… whatever it is this guy was trying to do.

You darted out from behind the vase, lance brandished in your hands. Your head cocked as you sent the weapon soaring through the air. One of the kevlar-wearing men to your right gasped as the lance speared through his back and exited from the center of his chest. You focused on the lance as it flew from one man to the next. Sailing through the air until it pierced the men’s abdomens and sent them careening to the floor.

Every gun pointed in your direction. Some men holding rifles containing darts, others aiming real guns straight at you. You paused mid-step.

Your gaze met Logan’s. Recognition flashed in his widened eyes. He took another step forward, this time toward you.

Ice crackled on the walls of the hallway. Large snowflakes linked together as they stretched the width of the hallway and formed a wall. The ice solidified, creating a transparent, blue blockade between you and Logan.

“No, no!” Logan yelled from his side of the wall. He pounded desperately on the ice.

The unarmed man turned to face you. He was older, hair graying and beard wiry. Black glasses framed his squinted, blue eyes. You shifted your weight between your feet.

“Hello, my dear. You must be the one called ‘Bleeder,’” he said. Your posture stiffened at the name. You felt your jaw clench.

“I haven’t been called that in a long time,” you replied. God, if it weren’t for the guns pointed at you, you’d have skewered this man ages ago.

“And yet it was your moniker all the same,” the man said. His boots clicked against the hardwood as he approached you. Thick coat covering his torso, gloved hands clutched behind his back. He stopped a few paces in front of you. His hooded eyes passed over your blood-covered form, “I believe I have use of you. Take her.”

The familiar pop of the dart-filled guns rang out as you were peppered with white needles. Dozens and dozens of pinpricks filled your chest. You gasped, falling to one knee. The edges of your mind began to cloud with a foggy haze.

“Vampire!” you distantly heard Logan yell. You felt the floor sway beneath your feet. Your hands planted on the hardwood when you fell forward.

“That’s it. Off to sleep, Bleeder,” the man said above you. You threw him one last hate-filled glare, then collapsed as the tranquilizers overtook your senses.

————————————————————————

𝟯𝗥𝗗 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡 𝗣𝗢𝗩

It’s been a long night of parting. A long night of Logan watching y/n flirt with Scott like they didn’t just have an argument about her leaving her room in that dress. She knew what she was doing but shit didn’t know he’d be this mad.

“Shut the fuck up,” was all Logan growled when ripped the poor excuse of a dress off that he knew Scott would like on her. Now there’s no more dress for her to wear.

“Baby, I’m sorry — I was just playing around,” she said but he didn’t want to hear it. “You can’t just get mad at me and not talk. You were on a mission with Jane you chose to take. Y-You didn’t have to accept it,” so that’s what made her do what she did tonight?

“I've been over here, y/n. How many fucking time fucking times do I have to tell you before you stop sluttin’ around the mansion,” Logan said as he pulled her head back by her head, looking at her in the mirror of the bathroom he had dragged her to.

“That’s not fair — You can do things I don’t like, but when I-“ she tried saying before he pushed her head away, pissed off that she always has some excuse on why she acts the way she does.

“Logan,” she tried getting him to listen instead of fuck this one out like any other time. “Hey, I’m talkin-“ she went to say until he slammed into her with no preparation.

The girl fell forward into the counter, barely being able to take him. He stretched her hole instantly.

“Logan! Y-You didn’t spit on it,” she cried out in pain, but still pleasure. “You think you can get what you want whenever? You think I give a fuck about how you feel after you hurt me!?” He asked, fingers digging into her waist.

Y/n moaned loudly, legs shaking already. Logan let out a chuckle at how pathetic she was. “All that doin’ grown woman shit, and you can’t even take my cock. Fuckin’ pathetic,” he spat as a hand came down on her ass, harshly.

“A-At least slow down,” she begged, trying to make eye contact with him through the mirror. He finally looked at her glossy and begging eyes, but that only riled him up more.

Logan gave her a smirk before positioning his legs a certain way, grabbing and tugging on her hair roughly just to pound into her harder than before.

“L-Logan!” She cried out, hands flying up to the mirror in front of her, trying to keep herself up. “This cunt is mine,” he leaned into her ear. “Do you fucking hear me? You give this pussy up to me. No one else!” He said with a threat coming behind.

“If I ever catch you talking to him again, I’m gonna face fuck you till your voice disappears. Then you’ll have no choice but to shut up,” Logan’s mouth grazed across y/n’s ear.

She wanted to argue, but she couldn’t. Not when she was about to cum all over his cock and legs.

“Always want me to be nicer, but you push me. Every fucking day, you push me — Ima start makin’ this fun for me,” he spoke through his teeth, voice sounding like an animal.

Y/n’s eyes rolled back as her legs shook. Her hands curled as her walls tightened around his thick cock, barely being able to from his big he was.

“F-Fuck!” She cried out as she exploded. Logan pulled out, leaning back to watch it all come out. He loved watching her make a mess.

Any time they fuck, they sweat in less than a minute. Right now they’re drenched and his mind has gone wild. Seeing her wet body with droplets running down her skin made him want to rip her apart. She was so damn fine. She was his.

Logan took his cock in hand to push in her once again. He wasn’t done yet. He struggled with how much she was moving and how hard his heart was pumping.

So much adrenaline ran through his body that he was shaking. He was overexcited to break y/n.

“B-Be careful,” she said, feeling his tip graze against her tighter hole. “I don’t want to hear shit else come out of your mouth!” He yelled at her, upset that he was struggling to get back into her.

“Logan, be care-“ she went to say after Logan told her to shut up. That made him thrust his hips, plunging into her in anger. He quickly wrapped his hand around her mouth from her loud scream.

“You’re not gettin’ out of this,” he growled in her ear once again as tears streamed from her eyes. He had entered the wrong hole and he didn’t know. He’s always said anal seemed dirty. Now he’s pounding in that hole, wondering why she’s gotten tighter.

“Grippin’ my fuckin cock — God, you’re a desperate slut,” he said, hips slapping against her ass. The grip on her hair tightened and his nails dug into her skin as she tried pushing him off.

She wanted to use some type of power to warn him which hole he was in until he began fucking her in the right spot.

“Fuck!” She cried out pussy, basically screaming. Her hands flew to his hair, tugging and pulling him closer. She’s never felt so amazing. “Ah huh — You fuckin’ like it? You like that!? Wanna be a slut so bad, so I gotta drag and fuck you in this small ass bathroom,” he kept growling in her ear.

“Look at me - Look!” He snapped her head straight forward to look into her eyes. “This is who you belong to — Me — I’ll even fuck you on that his bed while he sleeps to prove to you both who you belong to,”

Logan felt himself growing close. He wanted to last longer, but he’ll live. He knew he could go multiple rounds. He’ll be caring her to his room to eat her cunt until she goes dumb.

“Gonna cum? Yeah, you gonna cum on my cock again? Do it. Fuckin’ do it, y/n!” She did as told and came hard with a loud cry, still being muffled by his hand.

Logan was confused though. She was shaking and moaning, but he felt nothing. He wanted to feel her juice coat his cock again.

He didn’t pay much attention to it since he was so close. “Fuuuck!” He growled, hips snapping faster as he spilled in y/n’s ass. The feeling was different to y/n, but she didn’t complain. She felt too good and she was too fucked out to tell him herself.

Logan grinned at her through the mirror, looking evil as he always does when he fucked her.

He pulled back, watching her eyes close in slight relief that the pressure wasn’t in her upper hole.

“Fuck, fuck I-“ Logan cut himself off, watching cum leaks from his ass. “Holy shit, I — Baby, Ian mean to- Shit,” he said, wanting to apologize but he looked at her, seeing she wasn’t complaining.

“That felt so fucking good…” he said under his breath. He never knew he’d say that or feel that way, but he did. He wanted more.

“Guess I’ll eat both tonight,” Logan said as he fixed himself up. Eyes on her ass leaking his seed. She looked perfect. He wanted to dive in right now, but these bathroom walls wouldn’t handle her moans. He wouldn’t be able to reach her mouth to shut her up.

“I’m full of surprises,” you teased. The two of you had been dancing around something deeper for years, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and witty comebacks. But tonight, with both of you playing the roles of a married couple, the lines between reality and pretense were bound to feel thinner than ever.

Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he took in the way the dress hugged your figure, the way your hair framed your face. You caught the look and for a split second, the playful atmosphere between you fell away, replaced by a charged silence that neither of you knew how to break.

The driver opened the door, jolting you back to your senses, and Logan stepped out, extending a hand to help you out of the car. You took it, your touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He held onto your hand for just a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. 

“Ready?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nodded, his grip tightening slightly on your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors to the mansion swung open, you were greeted by the sight of a grand ballroom filled with the elite of society. Men in tailored suits and women in sparkling gowns mingled under chandeliers, their laughter and conversations blending into a hum of affluence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, Logan could sense the undercurrent of danger, the same instinct that had kept him alive for over two centuries. The people here weren’t just the wealthy—they were the orchestrators of a new threat to mutants, a group so powerful that even the X-Men had to tread carefully.

“Stick close to me,” Logan murmured as you stepped into the room. “These people are more dangerous than they look.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, your arm looped through his as you made your way through the crowd. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But remember, we’re supposed to be madly in love.”

He let out a low chuckle, one that only you could hear. “Right. Madly in love.”

His words hung in the air between you, loaded with a meaning neither of you dared to acknowledge. The two of you moved deeper into the ballroom, and you could feel the weight of several eyes on you. It was no surprise—Logan’s rugged demeanor and your striking appearance made for a captivating combination—nevertheless, you both knew better than to let your guard down. This place was a viper’s nest, and any wrong move could cost you your lives.

“There they are,” you whispered, nodding subtly toward a group of older men gathered near the center of the room. “Our targets.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he focused in on them, recognizing the group from the briefings. “Time to make some friends.”

With practiced ease, you and Logan approached the group, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You introduced yourselves as a wealthy couple from out of town, interested in investing in the right causes. It didn’t take long before the men welcomed you into their circle, eager to impress and share their twisted ideals.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, was it?” one of the men, a tall, thin figure with silver hair and a sharp jawline, inquired. His eyes were cold and calculating, a predator sizing up his prey. “What brings you to our little gathering tonight?”

“Opportunities,” you replied smoothly, a hint of seduction in your tone. “My husband and I are always looking for the right people to align ourselves with. When we heard about your… endeavors, we couldn’t resist.”

Logan wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a show of possessiveness that felt all too natural. “My wife’s got a keen eye for business,” he added, his voice gruff yet persuasive. “And we’ve been hearing a lot about your group. Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

The man’s eyes flicked between the two of you, as if his suspicions still lingered. “Plans indeed,” he said slowly. “But only for those who share our vision. Tell me, Mr. Daniels, what is it that you despise most?”

“Weakness,” Logan growled, his eyes meeting the man’s without flinching. “In this world, you’re either strong enough to survive, or you’re not. And I don’t have time for the ones who can’t keep up.”

A smile that didn’t seem to each his eyes spread across the man’s face. “I see we understand each other.”

You felt Logan’s hand tighten on your waist, his body tense with barely contained aggression. He was playing the part, but you knew how much he hated being in the company of people like this—people who would kill without remorse, all to maintain some sense of superiority.

“And what about you, Mrs. Daniels?” the older man continued, turning his attention to you. “Do you share your husband’s views?”

You met his gaze with unwavering confidence, channeling all the poise you had. “Absolutely. There’s no place in this world for those who refuse to evolve. We believe in survival of the fittest.”

That seemed to do the trick, the men in the circle nodding approvingly. “Well said, Mrs. Daniels. You two might just be exactly what we need.”

Another man in the group, stockier and with a thick, gray beard, leaned in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And what do you think of the mutant problem?”

You exchanged a brief glance with Logan, knowing that this was the moment of truth. If you said the wrong thing, it could blow your cover, but if you were too vague, they might not trust you enough to share any details of their plans.

“I think they’ve had their time,” Logan said, his voice dripping with contempt. “And it’s time someone put them in their place.”

The stocky man’s eyes lit up with approval, his grin widening. “Exactly what we like to hear. You see, we’re not just talking about containment anymore.” He paused, “We’re talking about eradication.”

Your stomach turned at the cold-blooded tone in his voice, but you kept your expression neutral. “Eradication, you say?”

The silver-haired man nodded. “A necessary step. Mutants are a threat to the natural order, and if we don’t act now, they’ll overrun us. But we have a plan—one that will send a message to the world.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his fists itching to unsheathe his claws and tear through this evil group of people. But he forced himself to stay calm, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he managed to get out through gritted teeth. 

“We do,” the silver-haired man replied, his eyes gleaming with malice. “And with the right support, we can make it happen. Imagine a world free of mutants, where humanity can thrive without fear.”

You hummed in faigned agreement. “Tell us more,” you prompted, leaning in as if genuinely interested. “How do you plan to pull this off?”

Glances were exchanged among the men, a clear sign of their satisfaction with the interest you seemed to show.

“It’s quite simple, really,” the stocky man began. “We’ve been gathering resources and allies from around the world. The most powerful minds, the wealthiest families—all united by a common goal.”

“And once we’ve secured enough support,” the silver-haired man continued, “we’ll make our move. We’ll target key mutant populations, taking them out in a way that will serve as a warning to others. Public displays, executions—whatever it takes to make them fear us.”

You kept your voice steady, despite the chill that when down your spine, as you replied, “That’s… quite an undertaking.”

The men chuckled, mistaking your hesitation for awe. “It is. But it’s necessary. And with people like you on our side, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Logan smirked. “Count us in.”

The men smiled, delighted with what they believed was newfound support. Logan hated every second of it—despised having to play along with these monsters. But he knew you both had to get more intel before you could make a move. The mission had to come first, even if it meant playing nice with the enemy.

“Excuse us,” you said smoothly, grabbing Logan’s hand and glancing at him with a look that said it was time to go. “We need to discuss a few things, but we’ll be in touch.”

The men nodded, distracted by their own plotting as you and Logan stepped away, moving toward one of the less populated hallways. As soon as you were out of earshot, Logan exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I need to tell Scott what we just heard,” you murmured, your voice low. “They’re planning something big, and we don’t have much time.”

Logan nodded, his hand squeezing yours as you walked down the hallway. “I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

You found a secluded spot near a corner, pulling out the small communicator you’d hidden in your purse. Quickly, you began to relay the crucial information to Scott and Hank back at X-mansion, your voice hushed but urgent as you detailed the plans you’d overheard. Logan stood nearby, his senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the hallway for any sign of trouble.

It was too quiet. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood up, instincts prickling with the sense that something was wrong. He turned to you, about to suggest wrapping things up when he heard it—a faint noise, like the subtle shifting of fabric, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced hearing.

Logan’s eyes darted toward the source of the sound, muscles tensing as he spotted movement down the hall. “We’ve got company,” he growled, just loud enough for you to hear.

You quickly finished your transmission, tucking the communicator back into its spot in your purse. “How many?”

“Too many,” Logan muttered, his claws itching to come out. “We need to move. Now.”

It was too late. A group of security guards rounded the corner before either of you could make a break for it. Their eyes locked onto you with suspicion, and you could see the realization dawning in their expressions. Logan immediately stepped in front of you, his body a solid wall of protection.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” one of the guards said, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip. “Who are you?”

Logan forced a grin, trying to buy some time. “Just lost our way. We were headin’ back to the ballroom.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed, evidently not buying it. “I don’t think so. You two don’t seem to belong here.”

Another guard stepped forward before Logan had time to respond, pulling out a device that emitted a faint, ominous hum. The man waved it over you, and Logan’s heart sank as the device beeped loudly, flashing red.

“Mutants,” the guard spat, his voice filled with disgust as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grab you. “We’ve got ourselves some freaks here, boys.”

A wave of panic surged through you, but you shoved it down, focusing on the cosmic energy you could feel crackling at your fingertips. Summoning all your strength, you went to swing a fist, aiming to land a powerful, energy-charged punch straight into the guard’s face.

But just as you made your move, another guard from your other side grabbed your wrist mid-swing and your other arm, twisting them behind your back with brutal precision. The cosmic energy fizzled out instantly, your powers rendered useless by the anti-mutant handcuffs that snapped around your wrists with a harsh click. The cold metal bit into your skin, and you felt immense fear crawl its way through your body as you realized how vulnerable you were without your powers, or the use of your arms.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” the guard sneered in your ear, his grip on your arm painfully tight as he shoved you forward. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s eyes widened in fury as he saw the guard cuff you, his body trembling with the effort to keep his rage in check. “Let her go,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous.

The guard only grinned, tightening his hold on you. “Or what, freak? You gonna bark? Gonna bite?”

Logan’s claws shot out with a metallic shink, the sound echoing through the hallway. He took a step forward, the feral side of him failing to suppress itself as he glared at the guards with deadly intent. “Last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

Instead of backing down, the guards reacted with eager viciousness. The one holding you shoved you hard against the wall, his leg sticking out to block your own, pinning you in place. Some others stepped forward, one landing a brutal punch to your stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of you. The world tilted, and pain exploded in your ribs as another guard’s boot connected with your side.

Logan saw red.

Something primal surged within him, the instinct to protect you overwhelming every other thought. With a roar that shook the walls, he launched himself at the guards, his claws slicing through the first one with a sickening crunch. Blood splattered across the floor as Logan tore through them with a ferocity that was terrifying to witness.

He moved like a whirlwind of rage, his claws ripping through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The guards didn’t stand a chance against him, but even as he fought, more of them swarmed in, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“Logan!” you cried out, your voice choked with fear and pain as you struggled to get free. The guard holding you down slammed your head against the wall, and stars burst behind your eyes as the world blurred.

Logan spun around, his eyes wild as he saw you slumped against the wall, blood trickling from your nose, eyes fighting to stay open. The sight of you being beaten, helpless and vulnerable, sent him into a frenzy. He slashed through another guard in his way, his claws dripping with blood as he tried to tear through their ranks.

However, his efforts were futile, the guards were relentless. Their numbers never dwindling, if anything, more and more seemed to join the fight. They piled onto him, using their advantage, holding him down to the ground. Logan fought with everything he had, but even he had limits. He could feel the weight of them pressing down on him, could feel his strength waning as they forced him to the ground.

“Logan!” your called his name again, breaking through the chaos. He could see you being dragged from the scene, your wrists bound, your eyes locked on his as they pulled you farther and farther away.

“NO!” Logan roared, his voice breaking as he thrashed against the guards holding him down. He had to get to you—he had to save you.

Yet the more he fought, the more they pressed down, their combined weight and force overwhelming even his enhanced strength. They slammed his head against the cold floor, pain exploding through his skull as his vision began to fade. The last thing he saw before everything went dark was your terrified face, the way your lips formed his name, and the cold, cruel hands dragging you away into the shadows.

And then, nothing.

----

Logan woke up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant sound of beeping monitors. His head pounded, and every muscle in his body ached as if he’d been through a war—and in some ways, he had. Groaning, he tried to sit up, but a firm hand pressed him back down.

“Easy, Logan,” came Hank’s calm, reassuring voice. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Logan blinked, his vision slowly coming into focus. He was in the med bay, the familiar white walls and harsh fluorescent lights greeting him. Once he finally came to his senses, and he remembered the events that had transpired the previous night, he realized none of that mattered. The only thing he cared about was you.

“Where is she?” he demanded, his voice raw as he struggled against Hank’s hold.

Hank’s expression softened with a mixture of pity and concern. “She’s… Logan, they took her. We’re doing everything we can to track her down, but—”

Rage and panic jolted through Logan like a bolt of electricity, drowning out Hank’s words. His eyes burned as he wrenched himself free from Hank’s grasp, his voice a gruff, dangerous snarl. 

“How the hell did you get me out but leave her behind? You’re telling me you saved my sorry ass and couldn’t save her?”

Hank hesitated, his expression pained. “It wasn’t like that. We were overwhelmed. There were too many of them, and you—”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses!” Logan roared, his voice echoing off the walls as he slammed a fist down on the bed. The metal frame groaned under the force of his anger. 

Charles Xavier wheeled into the room, his imposing presence immediately felt. He spoke calmly, trying to cut through the fog clouding Logan’s mind. “Logan, we did everything we could. It was hard enough getting just you. We had no choice but to retreat. If we hadn’t, we might have lost you both.”

Logan’s glare could’ve burned holes through steel as he turned to Charles, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t give a damn about me! She’s out there, alone, with those bastards, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I should’ve been able to protect her.”

Logan’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to contain the whirlwind of emotions tearing through him. Guilt ate him from the inside out. The thought of you suffering because he wasn’t there to protect you… “You–We…We left her behind,” he muttered, his voice cracking with the weight of his words. 

Charles’s voice was firm but compassionate as he addressed younger mutant. “You need to rest and regain your strength. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to get her back—but you can’t do that if you’re broken.”

Jaw tightening, Logan leaned his body forward, holding his head in his hands. His temper was boiling, he wanted to tear everything apart until there was nothing left, but he knew, deep down, that Charles was right. And as  much as it killed him, he had to bide his time, to heal and prepare for what was to come.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Hank, get out,” Logan growled, his voice low and deadly. “Get out before I lose it.”

Hank exchanged a worried glance with Charles before reluctantly nodding. “We’ll find her, Logan. I promise.”

After Hank left the room, Logan sank back onto the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from exploding. His eyes bore into Charles’s, who remained, silently offering his support. “When we find her,” he said, his voice low and full of promise, “there’s no holding back. I’m done waiting, done with all the excuses. She’s mine, and I’m not letting anything or anyone take her away from me again.”

----

The first thing you felt was the cold—icy, unforgiving, and seeping into your bones. Your head pounded, a dull, persistent ache that made it hard to think, let alone move. When you tried to lift your hands, you realized they were restrained, heavy iron chains biting into your wrists and pulling your arms taut above your head.

You jumped to your senses, sharp and immediate, as you forced your eyes open. The world was a blur at first, everything spinning and distorted. Then, as your vision cleared, the reality of your situation hit you like a slap in the face.

You were in a cell. The walls were made of rough stone, the floor damp and filthy. There was barely any light, just a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering occasionally and casting long shadows that danced across the room. Your dress—the one you’d worn to the gala—was torn, the delicate fabric shredded and hanging off you in tatters.You could see your own blood between the patches that revealed your skin. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and a deep sense of dread settled in your stomach.

You tried to pull against the chains, but your limbs were weak, your movements sluggish. They must have drugged you—this realization making your heart face, fear clawing at your throat. You had no idea how long you’d been out, no idea where you were or what they planned to do to you.

A sound from the other side of the cell caught your attention—laughter, low and mocking. You turned your head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through your skull. Two guards stood just outside the bars, their faces twisted in cruel amusement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them sneered, his voice dripping with malice. “The mutant bitch.”

The words stung, but you refused to show it. You forced yourself to sit up straighter, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you could muster. “Where am I?” you demanded, your voice hoarse and shaky.

The guard laughed again, louder this time. “You’re in hell, sweetheart. And there’s no way out.”

His companion, a stockier man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward, his eyes raking over you with a look that made your skin crawl. “The boss is real interested in you, you know. He’s got plans,” he smiled, “Big plans.”

You swallowed hard, fighting to keep your composure. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, it ain’t about what we want,” the scarred guard replied, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “It’s about what you can do. For us. You mutants think you’re so special, so powerful. But look at you now—all chained up and helpless.”

He reached through the bars, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shot through your scalp, but you bit your lip, refusing to cry out. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

“Let go of me,” you hissed, your voice trembling with barely restrained anger.

The guard’s grin widened as he leaned closer, his breath hot and foul against your skin. “Make me, sweetheart. Oh, wait—you can’t.”

He laughed again, muttering to the other guard about how satisfying this was, and you felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat. You could feel the energy within you, your power that usually simmered just beneath the surface, always ready to be called upon. But now, it was like a distant echo, muted and weak. The chains—they must be suppressing your abilities, keeping you from using your mutation.

“Your little tricks won’t work here,” the first guard taunted, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Those chains are special, made just for freaks like you. No powers, no escape.”

You were trapped, powerless, at the mercy of these men and whoever their leader was. You knew you couldn’t let them see your fear. You couldn’t let them break you.

“I’ll get out of here,” you said, your voice steady despite the terror gnawing at your insides. “And when I do, you’ll regret this.”

The guards exchanged a glance, then burst into laughter, the sound grating and harsh in the confined space.

“Big talk for someone who’s all chained up,” the scarred guard said, releasing his grip on your hair with a rough shove that sent you sprawling back against the wall.

“You’re not getting out,” the first guard added, his tone more serious now. “No one’s coming for you. Your friends probably think you’re dead already. It’s been days.”

For a moment, your resolve faltered. What if they were right? What if the team thought you were gone, or worse—what if they couldn’t find you? But then you thought of Logan, of the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he’d fought for you before. No, they wouldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t abandon you.

“They’ll find me,” you said, the conviction in your voice surprising even you. 

The guards didn’t laugh this time. The scarred one scowled, stepping back from the bars. “Keep dreaming, mutant. You’re ours now.”

With that, they turned and left, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until they faded into silence. You were alone again, the cell’s walls pressing in from all sides. Yet despite the fear, despite the pain, you held onto that sliver of hope, that image of Logan and the others coming to your rescue.

You weren’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. The drugs were still in your system, making it hard to concentrate, but you wouldn’t let that stop you. You started to tug at the chains again, testing their strength, trying to find any weakness, any way to break free. 

It was agonizing, and with every movement, the metal dug deeper into your skin, drawing blood. But the pain kept you focused, kept you from slipping into despair. You had to keep going. You had to believe that Logan would come for you.

And when he did, you would be ready.

----

Weeks had passed since that fateful night at the gala, weeks that had felt like an eternity to Logan. Each day that you remained missing was another day of excruciating uncertainty, each hour that ticked by another reminder of his failure to protect you. The mansion, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, had become a suffocating prison where he was forced to wait and hope—two things he had never been good at.

Charles Xavier had been relentless in his search, utilizing every resource, every connection, and every ounce of his telepathic abilities to track down the organization that had taken you. The X-Men worked tirelessly alongside him, scouring the globe for any trace, any whisper, that could lead them to you. Logan had been a constant presence in the war room, his patience worn thin by the endless dead ends and false leads. He was ready to go after them with nothing but his claws and a vendetta, but Charles had insisted on a plan, a strategy that wouldn’t just rescue you but would dismantle the threat for good.

Finally, after weeks of frustration and relentless searching, he had found something—a lead that could change everything.

Charles had been in his study, surrounded by a tangle of maps, files, and reports, his mind stretched to its limits as he sifted through the chaotic swirl of information. Then, in the quiet hours of the night, he’d found it—a faint, almost non-existent mental signature, hidden deep within the shadows of his mind. It was the psychic equivalent of a whisper, a delicate thread that, when tugged, revealed a location: a remote island, far off the coast, where the organization had set up a secret base.

This base, as he’d quickly pieced together, was where they were holding you, along with other mutants they had captured. It was heavily fortified, nearly impossible to reach by conventional means, and shielded against most telepathic detection. The mental signature he’d found had slipped through only because it was so faint, a brief lapse in their otherwise impenetrable defenses.

Charles had spent days verifying the information, cross-referencing it with the intelligence they had gathered over the weeks. Every detail lined up—this was it. This was where they had taken you, and this was where they would launch their attack.

With the location confirmed, Charles knew he had to get the team to together and act. Act fast.

----

Time had lost all meaning in the cold, dark cell where you were held captive. The days and nights blurred together, an endless cycle of hunger, pain, and hopelessness. The cold stone walls, once foreboding, had become your only companions, and the silence was a constant reminder of how alone you were. 

You dress had been taken a hours after you awoke, replaced with a rough, beige prison uniform that itched against your skin. The fabric was thin, offering little protection against the freezing temperature. Your wrists and ankles ached from the tight cuffs they kept you in most of the time, the metal leaving angry red marks that never seemed to fade. 

They barely fed you—just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to give you any real strength. The meals were a cruel joke, infrequent and consisting of nothing more than stale bread and murky water that tasted like rust. 

What made it truly unbearable wasn’t the food itself; it was the way you were forced to consume it.

Chained to the wall, your arms shackled above your head, you couldn’t even feed yourself. Every day, like clockwork, one of the guards would enter your cell, a twisted smirk on his face as he carried a small, dented tray of food. He’d kneel beside you, holding the bread just out of reach, as if daring you to try and grab it.

“Hungry?” he’d taunt, waving the bread in front of your face. “You look like you could use a bite.”

You would glare at him, your stomach growling with hunger, but you refused to beg. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperate you were. In the end, your body’s needs always won out, and you would reluctantly part your lips, letting him shove the stale, crumbling bread into your mouth.

The guard never made it easy. He’d push the bread in too far, making you gag, or he’d hold it just out of reach, forcing you to strain against your chains, the metal digging painfully into your wrists. When it came time for the water, he’d tilt the cup too quickly, spilling most of it down your chin, leaving you with just a few precious drops to quench your thirst.

“Pathetic,” he’d mutter, wiping the spilled water off your face with the back of his hand in a mockery of kindness. “Can’t even eat without help.”

You’d swallow the bread, the dry crumbs scraping down your throat, doing your best to keep from choking. The water that followed was barely enough to wash it down, leaving your mouth dry and your hunger only partially sated.

It was a humiliating, degrading experience, one that left you feeling even more powerless than the chains ever could. And that was exactly what the guards wanted. Each meal was an exercise in control, a reminder that you were at their mercy, that they held all the power.

Somehow, that still wasn’t the worst of it all.

Guards came daily, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always with that same twisted grin on their faces. You had learned to anticipate their visits, to prepare yourself for the taunts, the jeers, and the beatings that inevitably followed. They seemed to take pleasure in your suffering, their laughter echoing off the walls as they delivered blow after blow, leaving you gasping for breath on the cold, hard floor.

Every time they came, they’d mock you, their voices dripping with contempt. “Where are your precious X-Men now, huh? Guess they forgot about you. Must be nice knowing no one cares enough to come get you.”

You would bite your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. But inside, the doubt began to creep in. How long had it been? Weeks, maybe more? Surely they would have found you by now. Surely Logan was out there, tearing the world apart to find you. But as the days dragged on and the beatings continued, it became harder to hold onto that hope.

One day, after an especially brutal session where they’d left you bruised and bleeding on the floor, you found yourself laughing—a bitter, hollow sound that startled even you.

“What’s so funny?” one of the guards sneered, looking down at you with a scowl.

You lifted your head, your gaze locking onto his, something defiant sparking in your eyes despite the pain. “Do you guys get off on seeing people in pain? Is this a fetish or something?”

The guard’s expression darkened with disdain, and he stepped forward, delivering a swift kick to your side that made you gasp, the air rushing out of your lungs. “Shut up!” he barked.

You coughed, tasting blood on your lips, but you couldn’t stop the words that tumbled out. “Is that all you’ve got?” you rasped, pushing yourself up onto your elbows despite the throbbing in your ribs. “I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this.”

The guard’s face twisted into a snarl, and he raised his hand to strike you again, but the other guard grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Enough,” the second guard said, though his voice was more cautious now. “We’re not supposed to kill her. Not yet.”

They left you there, crumpled on the floor, your body aching. As much as it hurt, as much as the beatings wore you down, you clung to that small act of defiance. They hadn’t broken you. Not yet.

----

The tension in the war room was suffocating, the air thick with urgency and dread. The X-Men had gathered around the long, sleek table, the holographic map of the enemy compound glowing in the center, casting an eerie blue light across their faces. Scott stood at the head of the table, his expression stern as he outlined possible infiltration points, while Jean, Ororo, and Hank listened intently.

Logan sat at the far end, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He hadn’t wanted to be here—didn’t want to waste time with plans and strategies when all he could think about was her. But he knew that going off on his own, especially in his current state, would only end in disaster. So he forced himself to stay, to listen, even though every second felt like a waste.

His hands clenched into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. He could barely focus on Scott’s words, his mind consumed with images of you—frightened, abandoned, injured. The thought made his blood boil, his claws itching to extend and tear through anything in his path.

“Logan,” Jean’s voice cut through his thoughts, soft but firm. “Are you with us?”

He glanced up, meeting her concerned gaze. He knew she could feel his turmoil, his barely restrained anger, and that only made him more frustrated. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he snapped, his voice rougher than he intended.

Ororo shot him a warning look. “We need to stay focused, Logan. Losing your temper won’t help her.”

Logan gritted his teeth, biting back the retort that rose to his lips. He knew she was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Just tell me when we’re movin’,” he growled, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m not sittin’ around any longer while they’ve got her.”

“We all want to find her, Logan,” Scott said, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone. “But we have to do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we could get her killed.”

“And if we wait too long, she’ll be dead anyway.” 

“Logan,” Hank interjected, trying to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s right. We have to be smart about this. We’re dealing with people who have resources, power, and a deep-seated hatred for mutants. They’ll be expecting us.”

Jean’s voice cut through his thoughts again, this time in his mind, her telepathy reaching out to him. Logan, I know how much she means to you. We’re doing everything we can to bring her back. Trust us.

He shot her a glare, not appreciating the intrusion, but he didn’t push her away. Jean had always been the one who could reach him, even when he was at his most stubborn. I’m not lettin’ them keep them from me any longer, Jean, he thought back, his mental voice raw with emotion. 

You won’t, Jean replied, her mental tone firm but soothing. We won’t let that happen. But you need to stay with us, Logan. We’re stronger together.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, breaking his stupor.

Charles exchanged a glance with Scott, who nodded and stepped forward to explain. “We’ll approach under the cover of night. Ororo will create a storm to mask our presence, and we’ll use the Blackbird to drop in undetected. Jean and I will handle disabling their telepathic defenses so we can get a read on the situation inside. Hank will take out their communications to prevent them from calling for reinforcements.”

“And me?” Logan growled, his eyes locked on the island’s location.

“You’ll be leading the assault,” Scott replied, his tone grim. “Once we’ve neutralized the outer defenses, you and I will go in together. Our primary objective is to get her out—everything else is secondary. We can always go back to finish the job."

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides, his claws itching to be released. “When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Charles answered from where he sat at the table, his voice firm. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Logan remained by the map while the team dispersed and began to prepare, his eyes fixed on the small island in the middle of the vast ocean. This was it. After weeks of waiting, weeks of imagining the worst, he finally had a chance to make things right.

He could almost feel the cold metal of the anti-mutant handcuffs around your wrists, the bruises on your skin from the guards’ brutality. The thought made him see red, but beneath the rage was something even more powerful—a fierce determination to see you safe, to get you out of there and back where you belonged.

Logan would lead the charge, and God help anyone who stood in his way.

As the team assembled, suited up and ready for the mission, Charles wheeled over to Logan, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll bring her home, Logan. And we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

Logan nodded, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “We will,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “And when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on her.”

With that, the team boarded the Blackbird, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they soared into the night. The storm Ororo had summoned raged around them, the skies dark and foreboding, as they approached the island. Every second brought them closer to the moment of reckoning, and Logan’s focus sharpened to a razor’s edge.

“I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’,” he murmured under his breath, the words a promise to himself as much as to her. “Just hold on.”

----

“Approaching the drop zone,” Ororo’s calm voice came over the comms, though the storm she controlled outside was anything but calm. Lightning split the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs of the remote island below, their destination hidden within the darkness.

Scott’s voice cut through the tension. “Alright, everyone. Remember the plan. Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the outer defenses. Hank, take out their communications. Logan and I will lead the assault inside. Our primary objective is to find her and get her out.”

Logan barely nodded, his eyes locked on the ramp as it began to lower. The cold wind whipped through the interior of the Blackbird, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the earth below. And underneath it all, Logan could smell them—guards, weapons, blood. 

“Ready?” Scott asked, glancing at Logan.

Logan’s reply was a rough, feral growl. “Let’s do this.”

With a sharp nod, Scott activated the drop sequence, and Logan was the first out, dropping into the storm with the grace of a true predator. He landed in a crouch, claws out, eyes scanning the perimeter. The island was as fortified as they’d feared, with high walls, watchtowers, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.

But none of that mattered to Logan. He had one focus, one goal: finding you.

The rest of the team landed behind him, moving quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Ororo raised her hands to the sky, intensifying the storm, the wind and rain becoming a blinding force that concealed their approach. Lightning arced overhead, briefly turning night into day, revealing the outlines of guards scrambling to respond to the sudden onslaught.

Scott gave the signal to move in, and the team split up, each member heading to their designated targets. Jean and Ororo focused on the outer defenses, disorienting the guards with telepathic illusions and powerful gusts of wind. Hank slipped into the shadows, his agile form disappearing into the underbrush as he made his way to the communications hub.

The Wolverine moved like a shadow, traversing the rain-soaked night with a deadly silence. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened as he approached the main compound. The guards were on high alert, but they were no match for the X-Men. He watched as Jean’s telepathy turned their own weapons against them, as Scott’s optic blasts tore through their defenses.

But as the team advanced, the guards regrouped, their numbers swelling as they poured out of the compound. They weren’t going down without a fight. Logan spotted a heavily armed squad taking position near a turret, their weapons trained on the team. They opened fire, a barrage of bullets slicing through the air.

“Jean!” Scott shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Jean extended her hands, a telekinetic shield flaring to life just in time to deflect the incoming fire. The bullets bounced off harmlessly, but the force of the attack made it clear this wasn’t going to be easy. The guards were better prepared than expected, their movements coordinated, their strategy clear: delay the X-Men as long as possible.

Logan growled in frustration, his claws itching to tear through the enemy lines. “We need to move, now!” he snarled, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Ororo nodded, her eyes glowing white as she summoned a powerful gust of wind, sending the guards sprawling. Scott seized the moment, firing a series of blasts that took out the turret and sent the remaining guards scattering. Still, even as they advanced, more guards appeared, swarming from every direction.

Hank emerged from the shadows, his blue fur slick with rain as he tackled a group of guards attempting to flank the team. He moved with agility and precision, disarming them with brutal efficiency before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Logan pushed forward, his senses locked on the main compound. Every muscle in his body was taut, ready to react, as he closed in on the entrance. But the resistance only grew fiercer the closer they got. A squad of heavily armored guards appeared, their rifles spitting fire as they advanced in formation.

“Ororo, cover us!” Scott ordered, his voice sharp.

Ororo unleashed a torrent of lightning, the bolts crackling through the air and striking the guards with dead-set accuracy. It was almost like a scene from the gala, the guards coming in endless waves, their numbers never faltering. 

Logan’s patience snapped. He shot forward, his claws slicing through the rain, his cry echoing across the battlefield. He crashed into the line of guards, tearing through their armor as if it were paper. Blood splattered the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the rain as Logan carved a path through the enemy.

Scott and Jean were right behind him, their combined powers devastating the remaining guards. But the compound was heavily fortified, and as Logan burst through the first door, a new wave of guards met them head-on.

These were the elite, the best of the best, and they fought with a cold, calculated precision that made them more dangerous than the others. Jean’s telepathy was their saving grace. She reached into the minds of the guards, sowing confusion and fear, turning their own thoughts against them. But the strain was visible on her face, the effort of controlling so many minds at once taking its toll.

“Jean, hold on!” Scott called.

“I’m… trying,” Jean gasped, her voice strained.

Logan knew they couldn’t keep this up. They had to find you, and they had to do it fast. He slammed his claws into another door, splintering it into pieces, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guards inside. He ducked, rolling to the side as Scott’s optic blasts provided cover, the two of them working in tandem to clear the room.

“Move!” Scott shouted, and Logan surged forward, his claws tearing through the last of the guards in the corridor.

The air was thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but Logan didn’t care. He could hear it—the faint sound of muffled cries, the rattling of chains. His heart pounded in his chest as he moved forward, faster now, driven by the desperate need to reach you.

Then he saw it: two hulking mercenaries guarding a heavy steel door. They were well-armed, and this time, their eyes held no uncertainty. These were the final line of defense, the ones meant to stop anyone from getting to you.

They opened fire, the bullets ricocheting off the walls, but Logan was too fast, to eager to be reunited with you. He ducked and weaved, his claws gleaming as he closed the distance. With a guttural roar, he leaped at them, his claws slashing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The guards crumpled to the ground, lifeless, as Logan stood over them, his chest heaving with exertion.

Without wasting a second, Logan slammed his claws into the door, the metal screeching as it gave way under the force of his rage. He ripped the door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it weight nothing. Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of damp stone and fear. And there, in the dim light of the small cell, he saw you—chained, battered, but alive.

You were slumped against the far wall of a small, dank cell, your wrists bound with the anti-mutant handcuffs, your body bruised and battered. The sight of you, so broken and vulnerable, made Logan’s heart twist with desperation and longing. All of his fury immediately flooded out of his system. He crossed the room in two strides, his claws retracting as he knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch your face.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You stirred at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open as you tried to focus. When you saw him, a weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he soothed, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

He quickly reached for the handcuffs, his claws slicing through the metal with ease. The moment they fell away, you felt a sudden gush of power surge within you, like a dam breaking, your abilities rushing back after being suppressed for so long. You slumped forward into his arms, too weak to hold yourself up. Logan’s heart broke at the feel of your frail body against his, but he held you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Can you walk?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, though it was clear the effort cost you. “I… I think so.”

Logan helped you to your feet, his arm supporting you as you leaned heavily against him. Every step was a struggle, but he was right there with you. Making your way out of the cell, the sounds of battle grew louder, the chaos of the X-Men’s assault reaching its peak.

“We gotta move fast,” Logan muttered, his voice tense. “But I’m not lettin’ go of you. We’re gettin’ outta here together.”

Logan kept a firm grip on you, his entire focus on getting you out of this hellhole. The whole island around you was in shambles, the wall of your prison shaking with the force of explosions and the sharp crack of energy blasts. The X-Men were relentless, cutting down the remaining guards with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Scott and Hank’s voices echoed through the comms, issuing orders and coordinating the team’s movements.

Everything faded into the background— the sounds of battle, the flashes of light, the scent of blood and smoke. All Logan could concentrate on was the fragile feel of your hand in his, your fingers moving shakily against his rough skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to keep going.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice rough but tender. “We’re almost out. Just hold on a little longer.”

Your fingers tightened around his, as if letting go would mean losing him again. The two of you moved as one, your bodies pressed together as you navigated through the debris and destruction. The storm outside mirrored the one within himself, but as long as you were with him, he knew he could weather it.

When the exit finally came into view, the cold night air hit you both, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the compound. The Blackbird was waiting, its ramp lowered, and the sight of it brought a surge of relief so powerful it nearly buckled your knees. But Logan was there, his arm wrapped securely around you, practically carrying you up the ramp.

Finally in the jet, the familiar hum of the engines filled the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging outside. Neither of you cared about the storm. Or the battle left behind. The only thing that mattered was that you were together.

Logan guided you to a seat, but instead of sitting beside you, he pulled you into his lap, holding you as close as he could. You didn’t resist, your arms wrapping around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. In many ways, he was.

Hank approached, concern etched across his face, but Logan barely glanced at him. His focus was entirely on you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that had begun to fall—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being safe, of being with him.

“You’re safe now,” Logan murmured, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you clung. Each touch, every whispered word, acted like a balm to the wounds you had endured. You could feel the tress in his muscles, the way his heart pounded against your chest,.

“I knew you’d come… but you guys took a lot longer than I was expecting,” you whispered, trying to bring a hint of your usual humour into your voice, “made me look a little stupid in front of those guards.”

Logan’s arms tightened around you. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He continued to kiss your hair, his rough, calloused hands gently cradling your face as he wiped away your tears. Neither of you wanted to let go, the fear of losing each other again too fresh, too real.

Logan’s lips brushed against your temple, a tender, lingering kiss that conveyed more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, his voice rough with emotion. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you again.”

You nodded, unable to speak, but your grip on him tightened, your heart finally beginning to calm as you rested in his arms. For the first time since your capture, you felt safe. Truly safe. And it was all because of him.

----

Returning to the mansion after the rescue was a blur of activity, concern, and overwhelming relief. You were rushed to the med bay the moment you touched down, surrounded by familiar faces, each one filled with a mixture of worry and hope.

The sterile white walls of the med bay felt oddly comforting now, compared to the cold, damp cell you’d been held in. You were laid gently on a bed, Hank and Jean immediately setting to work, checking your vitals, assessing your injuries. Their voices were calm and reassuring, but you barely heard them. Your mind was still reeling, your body still trembling from the whole ordeal.

Logan never left your side. Even as Hank and Jean moved around you, speaking in low tones about your condition, he was there, remaining grounding force. He held your hand through it all, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. Whenever your eyes fluttered open, his were there, locked on yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that made your heart ache.

Hank and Jean made sure you were well-fed, insisting on regular meals to help you regain your strength. Plates of warm, nourishing food were brought to you, and though you had little appetite at first, Logan’s gentle encouragement coaxed you to eat. He would sit with you, holding your hand while you slowly nibbled at the food, his deep voice murmuring soft words of reassurance and comfort.

“Just a little more, darlin’,” he’d say, his tone comforting. “You need to get your strength back.”

You would nod, taking another bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you, bringing with it a sense of safety and normalcy that you hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. 

Nights were the hardest. The darkness brought with it the memories of the cell, the guards, the pain, and the fear. You often woke in a panic, your heart racing, the shadows of the past closing in around you. But every time, Logan was there, pulling you into his arms, whispering reassurances until the terror subsided.

Logan, for his part, was dealing with his own demons. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened when he thought you weren’t looking, the way his eyes would darken when he heard you gasp in pain or when your hand would tremble as you reached for something. He was haunted by what had happened, by the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect you from the start. You knew he was carrying a heavy burden of guilt, and it tore at your heart to see him so troubled.

He tried to hide it, of course—tried to be strong for you. However, in the quiet moments, when the mansion was still and the only sound was the soft beep of the heart monitor, he would let his guard down. He would sit beside you, his head bowed, his hand holding yours as if afraid you might slip away if he let go. And in those moments, you could see the depth of his pain, the way it ate at him from the inside.

In one occasion, after a particularly vivid nightmare had left you shaky and breathless, Logan had pulled you into his lap, holding you close as he murmured words of comfort. And as you cried, he held you tighter, his voice breaking as he whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

You had pulled back just enough to look up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault,” you hadresponded, your voice hoarse. “You saved me. You found me.”

He had shaken his head, his grip on you tightening as if trying to anchor himself. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” you interrupted, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did everything you could. You saved me, Logan. You brought me home.”

His eyes had closed at your words, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t lose you,” he had whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” you had promised, your voice soft but firm. 

----

When you were finally discharged from the med bay it felt like a victory, a hard-won battle that left you both relieved and eager to reclaim your life. Your strength had returned, slowly but surely, and now, after weeks of healing and recovery, you were ready to start training again. The thought of moving your body, of pushing your limits, filled you with a renewed sense of purpose. 

But there was one thing you hadn’t counted on—Logan.

Ever since the rescue, he had been by your side, a constant, unyielding presence. At first, you appreciated it—his steady support, his silent vigilance, the way he seemed to always know when you needed a comforting word or a strong arm to lean on. Yet now, as you stepped back into the training room, ready to test your limits again, his presence was starting to feel more like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

“Logan,” you said, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice as you stretched, your muscles still tight from the weeks of inactivity. “You don’t have to watch me like a hawk. I’m fine. Really.”

He didn’t respond right away, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving you. The intensity of his gaze was almost suffocating.

“I know. You’re strong,” he finally said, “But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and let you push yourself too hard.”

You sighed, rolling your shoulders as you turned to face him fully. “Logan, I’m not made of glass. I need to do this. I need to get back to where I was. The fight isn't finished”

He pushed off the wall, his expression hardening as he took a step closer to you. “And I’m not sayin’ you can’t. I just… I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Something in his voice made you pause, the frustration fading away as you looked at him more closely. There was a tension in his posture, tension that hadn’t been there before, and the way he was looking at you—it wasn’t just concern. It was something deeper. 

“Logan…” you began, softer now, “I’m not alone. I’ve got the whole team behind me. I’ve got you.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, letting the moment pass between you, and then he exhaled deeply, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. “You know, when you were gone… I told Charles I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

His words caught you off guard, and your brow furrowed in confusion. “Hold back?”

Logan took another step closer, his eyes searching yours, as if he were trying to find the right way to explain. “I told him that if we found you, if we got you back safe… I wasn’t gonna keep my feelings locked up anymore. I’ve been doin’ it for too long, and when I almost lost you… it made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t care as much as I do.”

You knew what he was trying to say. The charged energy between you, all the banter, it was never just friendly. It was more than that —something neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud, but it was there. You’d never been just teammates, and deep down, you both understood that.

He reached out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m in love with you,” he confessed, his voice low and rough, filled with all the emotion he’d kept bottled up for so long. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. But after what happened, after almost losin’ you….” 

He let his voice wander. Your heart pounded in your chest, the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You’d always sensed the undercurrent of something more between you two, something that made every shared glance, every sarcastic quip, feel like a promise unfulfilled. Hearing Logan finally admit it, finally put words to what had always been there, made your breath catch, your mind soar with joy.

“I know,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’ve always known. But I was afraid to push, afraid to break whatever it was we had. I’ve felt it too. I always have.”

Logan’s eyes widened slightly at your confession, relief flooding his features, the hard lines of tension softening as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the two of you just stared at each other.

Then, as if pulled together by the same magnetic force, you and Logan surged forward simultaneously. The distance between you vanished in an instant, and your lips met in a fierce, passionate kiss that spoke of all the pent-up passion and unspoken words you’d both kept buried for so long. 

His hands roamed your body with an urgency that bordered on desperation, as if he were making sure this was real—that you were truly there, in front of him, kissing him. His fingers traced the curve of your back, the line of your shoulders, and then tightened their grip as he pulled you even closer, his touch firm and possessive. Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding onto him with just as much need.

The kiss was everything—relief, passion, love—all rolled into one overwhelming, breathtaking moment that made your head spin and your knees weak.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for breath, Logan didn’t move away. His forehead rested against yours, but the distance between you seemed to close even further, if that were possible. His hands gripped you tightly, as if you were the only thing anchoring him to reality. He was consumed by you, by the feel of your body against his, by the taste of your lips, by the sheer relief that you were here, safe, and his. His breath was ragged, his heart pounding, and when he opened his eyes, they were filled with a raw, burning intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“God, I don’t want to let you go,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. His hands roamed your back again, as if reassuring himself that you were really there, that you weren’t some illusion that would slip away the moment he loosened his grip.

You smiled softly, though your heart was still racing from the intensity of the moment. “I don’t want you to let go either, Logan,” you whispered back, your voice steady. “But… I still need to be independent. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

His gaze tightened a smidge, you could see that he was torn between the overwhelming urge to protect you and the understanding that you were right. His eyes searched your face, as if trying to reconcile his deep-seated fear with the reality of who you were.

“I just… I don’t know how to give you space,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Not after everything that’s happened.”

You smiled gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to step away,” you reassured him. “But you do have to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We’re in this together,” you kissed him again, “They’re still out there. The mission isn’t over.”

Logan’s hands tightened on your waist for a moment, as if his instincts were against the idea of giving you any distance at all, against the idea of you throwing yourself back in the fight. But then, after a long pause, he slowly, reluctantly nodded. “I’ll do my best,” he said, his voice rough but sincere. “I can’t promise I won’t want to keep you close… but I’ll try to give you the space you need.”

Your heart warmed at his words, recognizing the struggle he was willing to endure for your sake. “That’s all I’m asking for,” you replied, your voice tender as you leaned in for another kiss, this one longer.

[END OF PART ONE]

-----

That wasn’t the plan that you had all agreed to—you were supposed to go together. Being the only two members of the team with regenerative powers, the two of you were the only ones who stood a chance at stopping that maniac and maybe surviving. But you were supposed to work together, to split their attention and their assault between the two of you. He was supposed to make the final blow and kill them, while you stood a safe distance back and used your telekinetic shield to keep them pinned down. 

Logan wasn’t a praying man, but he begged whoever was listening that your shield had held up against the full brunt of their attack and the collapsing building. 

The sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears drowned out the faint calls of the rest of the X-Men behind him. Ororo was the first to catch up to him, effortlessly floating above Logan as he clambered over the rubble. She hovered above, scanning the site for any sign of you.

An overwhelming barrage of smells and sensations bombarded Logan’s senses as he stood atop the broken wall and tried to spot you. Broken electrical wires danced and crackled all around him, and burst water pipes sprayed arcs of water above him. 

Finally, Logan caught a faintest whiff of your scent and followed it towards the back of the ruined building. He felt a surge of hope and relief when he realized your scent was leading him towards a partially intact corner of the building. The ceiling was collapsed at an angle, still attached to the upright wall on one side. 

Your scent grew stronger as he neared the collapsed roof and your name came tumbling out of his mouth, the sound broken and panicked as he rushed over the last pieces of rubble to get to you. 

There was no answer.

He finally made it to the other side of the leaning roof and immediately spotted your curled up form on the ground, against the back wall. 

“Storm! Back here!”

Logan ran to you and dropped to his knees, hovering his hands over you uncertainly. If it wasn’t for his senses picking up your faint heart beat and shallow breathing, he’d have assumed the worst based on your appearance: you were beaten, bruised and bloody— your suit singed and burnt in several places, exposing your still damaged skin below.

He noticed the wall behind you— cratered and cracked where something had slammed into it…most likely you.

Ever so gently, his hand came to rest on your face where your mask had partially ripped off. 

Ororo landed close behind him but she didn’t interrupt. 

“You did it kid,” Logan chuckled nervously as his thumb stroked over your bruised cheek. “Time to get up now, darlin’.”

He knew you hated when he called you ‘kid’ but he couldn’t help himself. He loved how riled up you got, arguing that you were a grown-ass-adult and that just because he was an old man didn’t mean you were a kid. 

He wished you’d open your eyes now and lay into him about it, call him an old man again and tell him to try to keep up. 

“Logan, we should try to—”

“Kid?” Logan cut off Ororo’s words when he noticed you shift gently. Your eyes fluttered beneath your closed eyelids and your lips parted with a soft, pained sigh.

And then you opened your eyes. 

“Hey,” Logan grinned and stroked your cheek again, but his relief was short lived.

Your eyes widened in terror and your face warped into a mask of pain and fear. 

“No!” you gasped weakly and swatted his hand away from your face. “Please!”

You flipped onto your stomach and desperately tried to crawl away from him despite your injuries. Logan called your name again but you didn’t seem to hear him. 

“It’s alright, it’s me!” he tried to calm you and reached for you again. “You’re okay, you’re safe now—”

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” You spun around with your arm extended towards him, and your telekinetic shield pulsed to life in front of him. 

Logan squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact as the electric blue light rippled out towards him and hit him square in the chest… 

But he barely felt it. 

What would have normally sent him flying backwards across a room, now felt akin to a gentle shove against his chest. It didn’t even knock him off balance.

You on the other hand, collapsed back to the ground, fully unconscious once more. 

————————

Logan didn’t like feeling helpless. 

The longer he sat in his room, the more he felt that silent desperation twisting into anger. At least anger was familiar. But getting angry wouldn’t help anyone now, least of all you.

You were still unconscious— had been for hours now. Charles hypothesized that whatever had gone down in that warehouse had exhausted and drained you so deeply that your regenerative powers were maxed out. But nobody could tell him when you’d wake up again or what your state of mind would be. 

A low growl of frustration rumbled in the back of his throat and he stormed out of his room. Better to go check in on you than sit around worrying.

The infirmary was empty when he arrived, much to his frustration. They shouldn’t have left you alone like this. What if you woke up and needed something? What if you needed help? Logan pulled up a chair beside your bed and settled in, kicking his feet out in front of him. 

He kept himself busy on his phone, reading and listening to music. Occasionally he’d glance up and watch you breathing steadily for a few moments before turning his attention back to his device. 

Hank showed up an hour later to check in on you and tried to convince Logan that you didn’t need constant supervision. That earned him an angry earful from Logan, and Hank finally threw his hands up in defeat and gave him a sympathetic nod before excusing himself.

Logan remained by your bedside for the next few days, only leaving to eat and shower and teach his classes. 

On the second day, he went up to your room and brought down a few of your books, along with a bag of your favorite snacks in case you woke up hungry. He made sure to read to you through the day and when he wasn’t reading, he’d play some music for you—including that godawful shit you liked that you claimed was music. 

Logan fully intended on being there when you woke up, and in the end he was… though that didn’t go according to plan either.

—————————

A quiet rustling sound roused him in the middle of the night, and your name came spilling from his lips before he was even fully awake.

Logan sat up straight and found himself staring right into your wide eyes.

“You’re awake,” he announced dumbly.

You stared at him, blinking slowly and looking around the dimly lit infirmary. 

“What…” you mumbled hoarsely, and cleared your throat before continuing, “what’s going on? Where am I?”

“You’re safe now, everything’s alright,” Logan replied gently. “You’re home, back at the mansion.”

He stood up and took a step towards you, but you recoiled and stopped dead in his tracks as a cold fear pricked at him.

“I—I—don’t…” you stammered as your eyes filled with unshed tears, and you gripped the bed sheet at your chest. “I don’t know this place. Who are you?” 

Logan’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled heavily. “Fuck.”

Charles scoffed while turning his wheelchair back to the table, looking at the tray with food. “Because i am stuck in this stupid tank!” He exclaimed irritatedly while looking around the big old building.

“It’s for your own safety Charles.” You sighed softly as you started cleaning a bit. Charles scoffed again and began eating.

“I’ll be back in a bit okay?” You told Charles who ignored you. You sighed as you walked to the door and exited the tank.

You went back to the other building to find Caliban cleaning the dishes.

“Do you need help?” You asked while tapping him on the shoulder. He quickly turned his head and smiled when he saw you. “No it’s fine, i got it.”

“Okay.” You smiled back and took a seat at the table. “How is he?” Asked Caliban softly.

“He’s okay. He is very angry about the fact that we locked him up in that big tank, though.” You sighed while rubbing your forehead.

“I’m sure he is.” Spoke a low voice from behind you. Both you and Caliban turned around to see Logan entering the old building.

“You look like shit.” You said while looking Logan up and down. “Thanks bub.” Logan muttered while handing Caliban a white bag with medication for Charles.

“He needed these six hours ago.” Said Caliban while opening the bag. “This isn’t enough, you know?”

“I’m working on it.” Grunted Logan as he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer.

“Haven’t you had enough? You reek of alcohol.” You said with a disgusted look on your face. Logan shot you a glare while walking into the kitchen.

“Your turn.” Said Caliban as he held up the white bag in front of Logan. “I’ve had a rough night.” He added.

Logan scoffed and snatched the bag out of Caliban’s hand while setting his beer down on the table.

“Poor you.” He said through gritted teeth before storming away. “Logan wait!” You yelled as you quickly went after him.

“What is it?” He asked with a sigh. “What is going on with you?” You ask as you followed him back towards the tank where Charles was staying in.

“Nothing.” Logan muttered while speeding up his walk. “Hey stop!” You said angrily as you pulled him back by his arm.

“What!” Logan half yelled as he turned back to you. “Talk to me Logan! You’re acting differently. You’re almost never home and when you are, you smell of alcohol and you look like shit!”

“Well newsflash bub, i’m dying!” Logan said loudly before kicking the ground. “Fuck!” He sighed while rubbing his forehead and turning away from you.

“You are not dying Logan. We will find a cure.” You spoke softly while placing a hand on his back. You could feel him tense under you which made you sad.

You and Logan went way back. From the moment Logan first stepped into the X-Men Mansion, you and him forged an unbreakable bond. Your shared passion for missions and training, created a foundation of trust and companionship, which quickly evolved into a deep friendship.

You were always there for each other, offering advice or simply lending an ear when needed. The connection between you two was more than just professional, it was personal. You cared for Logan and Logan cared for you.

But your relationship was confusing some would say. You’ve had feelings for Logan for years but you never really acted on it. Mainly because you weren’t sure if he felt the same. So seeing him now, so battered and withdrawn, was a piercing pain for you. You could see the hurt etched in his eyes. Your heart ached to reach out and mend his wounds but Logan doesn’t let you. He never does. Not since the Westchester incident last year.

“There is no cure.” Logan sighed before walking away. “Logan…” you tried but he ignored you and kept walking.

“Fuck you Logan.” You mumbled before heading back to the main building.

“And how did it go?” Caliban asked as he sat down at the table. “Not good.” You sighed before something caught your eye.

“What’s this?” You asked before crouching down to pick up a small card from the floor.

You inspected the card while sitting down opposite of Caliban. “Look at this.” You handed Caliban the card and watched how he inspected it as well.

“Alkali Transigen?” Asked Caliban out loud. “Does that say anything to you?” You asked as Caliban handed the small apparently business card back to you.

Caliban shook his head. “Then Logan must have dropped it.” You said before putting the card in your pocket.

Suddenly an enormous pain spread through your body and mind as everything around you began to shake.

“F-fuck…” You managed to say as you held your head, hoping the pain would go away.

“It’s Charles…a-another attack.” Caliban stuttered, feeling the pain as well.

“Logan.” You immediately said as you did your best to get up.

“Stay here!” You said before teleporting towards the tank.

“Logan!” You yelled through the pain as you saw him on his knees, screaming while Charles was laying on the floor, his head going left and right because of his seizure.

“Get back!” Logan yelled as he slowly turned around to see you.

“No!” You said as you tried your best to move closer to Logan and Charles.

The pain was getting worse and moving became more difficult, but in the end you managed to get to Logan and Charles.

“W-where is the needle?” You yelled as Logan kept his head down because of the pain.

“H-here.” He grunted as he handled you the needle. You snatched it out of his hand and slowly leaned forward towards Charles.

“Fucking hell this hurts!” You yelled before inserting the needle into Charles’ chest and emptying the serum into his body.

Soon the shaking and pain disappeared completely which caused you to fall back against Logan.

“I got you.” He whispered as he held you. Both of you took very deep breaths, trying to calm down from the horrible seizure.

“You okay?” Asked Logan as he turned you around and cupped your face with one of his hands.

“Yes i’m fine.” You breathed as you placed your hands on his shoulders. “That was dangerous what you did.” Logan said as he got up from the floor, helping you up as well.

“I was trying to help you!” You said defensively. “I know and i appreciate it. But don’t do it again. You could’ve seriously gotten hurt.” Logan said before moving towards Charles.

“What…” You breathed as you looked at Logan.

“How long have i been here?” Charles asked as he opened his eyes. Logan sighed and carefully lifted Charles up in his arms and laid him down in his bed.

You watched how Logan tucked Charles in while they talked about mutants.

“You always thought we were part of God’s Plan. But maybe we were God’s mistake.” You heard Logan say.

“Logan…” You warned while stepping closer. You watched how Charles grabbed Logan by his face while staring into his eyes.

“What a disappointment you are.” Charles said before Logan pushed away his hand.

You closed your eyes upon hearing Charles’ words. You felt bad for Logan. You could feel the anger rise in him.

Not only could you teleport, but you could also feel other people’s emotions or read their minds. Now, you never used your mind reading on Logan, thinking it wouldn’t be fair to use it on him, but you still could feel his emotions and it pained you.

“When i found you, you were pursuing a career as a cage fighter. A warm capper to a life as an assassin.” Charles continued. You saw how Logan stood up from the edge of Charles’ bed and grabbed the tray you brought in earlier.

“You were an animal. But we took you in. I gave you a family.” Charles said while following Logan with his eyes.

You slowly took a few steps closer to Logan. “Logan.” You said softly, but he ignored you.

“And they are gone now.” Said Logan to Charles before heading for the exit of the tank.

“Logan!” You said a little louder while following him.

“Logan…What did you do? What did you do? Answer me! Why are we here? No one should live like this. Drugged in a fucking tank!” Charles yelled as he watched Logan leave.

“It’s for your own good.” Logan said before leaving the tank. You quickly went after him and closed the door behind you.

“Logan wait! You said as you teleported in front of him, causing Logan to roll his eyes.

“Don’t listen to what he said. He didn’t mean it. You’re not a disappointment Logan.” You said while looking at him.

Logan scoffed while nodding. “Sure.” You watched how he walked past you and disappeared into the main building leaving you alone in the yard.

~

Lying in bed, you stared at the ceiling, your mind a storm of memories and grief. Thoughts of Logan, Charles and the fallen X-Men swirled around you, their faces haunting the darkness. The weight of their absence pressed heavily on your chest, each loss a sharp pang of sorrow.

Suddenly, the quiet of the night was disrupted by soft painful grunts coming from the room next to you. Logan’s room.

Concerned, you got up and quietly knocked on his door before opening it. Inside Logan was carefully cleaning and tending his claws and the wounds that were caused by them. His face was a mask of concentrated anguish

“Can i help you? You asked softly. Logan’s tired eyes met yours and he nodded without saying anything. As you moved to assist him, a profound silence enveloped you both, a shared understanding of the pain and the need for solace.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” You spoke quietly before pressing a cloth with alcohol on Logan’s knuckle.

Logan growled lowly while closing his eyes for a moment. As soon as the bleeding had stopped, you put some soothing ointment on his knuckles before wrapping them in bandages. “And done.” You sighed while taking hold of both of his hands.

“Thank you bub.” Logan grunted while looking at you.

Logan’s gaze lingered on you with a mixture of profound gratitude and sorrow.

He wanted to thank you for everything you had done for him—your unwavering support, your friendship, and the love he had always felt but never fully acknowledged.

His heart ached with the desire to hold you close, to kiss you and let you know how deeply he cared.

But the weight of past losses held him back.

He couldn’t bear the thought of drawing you more into his tumultuous world, knowing that everyone he loved seemed destined to be taken from him.

The fear of losing you, just as he had lost so many before, anchored him in place, leaving him to silently wish for a closeness he could never fully allow.

“What is it?” You asked with a small smile, noticing how intensely Logan is looking at you.

“Nothing.” Logan said as he quickly looked away. You hummed and got back to your feet.

“If you want to i can help you sleep.” You said while holding up your hand. Logan knew immediately what you were talking about. In the past, when Logan was unable to sleep due to his nightmares, he would go to you so you could clear his mind for him because of your abilities. You would just take away all of his bad thoughts and hold them for a moment so Logan could get the sleep he so desperately needed and deserved.

But Logan shook his head with a slight smile. “It’s okay, but thank you.” You gave him a small nod before heading towards the door.

“Good night Logan.” You smiled before leaving his room, closing the door behind you.

When you got back to your room, you went back to bed and continued staring at the ceiling. You grabbed the small business card you found earlier from your nightstand and inspected it once again.

Tomorrow you would ask Logan what this was and how he managed to get his hands on it.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @swthxrry

(A/N): FIRST CHAPTER! i am so looking forward to sharing this mini series with you all! It basically follows the plot of the movie Logan but i changed a few things for the story’s sake.

I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter!

‘Ugh, why does it have to be him to train me? He’s so fucking distracting.’ You groan, trying to focus on your powers and the target, but the feeling of Logan standing close to you makes your core throb. “Do you mind standing back?” You growl as you turn slightly to glare at the giant man. You swear you see him staring at your ass, but when you blink, he is staring directly at you.

Logan smirks, takes a step back and leans against the wall. He pulls a cigar from his pocket, continuing to stare you down. “Don’t have to get your knickers in a twist, sweetheart.” He places the cigar in his mouth, and your eyes focus on how he lights it, feeling your cunt tingle at the action. “Now, c’mon. Show me what ya got.” 

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you try to calm your desires. You lift your arm, eyes rolling back as you feel the water begin to form in your palm. Your eyes narrow, focusing on the target. Logan watches the water form into sharp spikes, huffing in approval as they shoot through the air and pierce through the wooden target. You feel shivers run through you as you hear Logan whistle. Your ears pick up him moving closer, feeling close to snapping and fulfilling the need to hold him down as you bounce on his thick cock.

A growl leaves you as you feel him rest a hand on your shoulder, and you grab hold of it, flipping him. You get down and straddle his lap. The both of you huff as your core rubs against his bulge. Logan lies back, hand behind his head as the other rests on your hip, your eyes focusing on the cigar dangling from his lips. Your dark, lustful eyes dart up to his. “Why do you keep getting into my personal space?”

He huffs, sending a puff of smoke toward your face. “I like how aroused you get when I do.” His eyes slowly drag down your body, sucking on the cigar as he does. The hand on your hip moves to your core, and his cock twitches as you moan. A sharp gasp escapes you as he rips a hole through your pants, growling as he comes in contact with your bare cunt. “You’re such a whore, wearing nothing while you train with me.” 

Your hands quickly make work of his belt, undoing and unzipping his jeans before pulling out his throbbing member. A needy whine leaves you as you feel how heavy he is in your hands, your eyes wide. “How the hell is this going to fit inside me?” Your hands slowly move up and down his base, his red and angry tip leaking large amounts of pre-cum. You bite your bottom lip, feeling Logan rub your swollen clit before a squeal leaves you as he lifts you and plants you straight onto his cock. “Oh– Fuck!” Your eyes roll back.

Logan grunts, hands gripping your hips as he slams you down. His thick, bulging member slides in and out of you rapidly, balls slapping your ass as he picks up speed. “Jesus, fuck. You know how much of a fucking tease you are. Always fucking shaking your ass in my face or pushing your tits together.” Logan bends his knees, and a groan leaves him as your dripping cunt clenches around him. His hand comes up, ripping the shirt from your body, and he growls as your breasts begin to bounce in his face, squeezing them, twisting and flicking your nipples as his cock pierces you before his hand moves up and wraps tightly around your throat. 

Your half-lidded eyes stare down at him as you bounce, your body moving harshly with his. His cock feels enormous inside you, and you can feel slick gathering at the stretch. Your hands rest on his chest, gripping his shirt tightly as you throw your head back and scream. Logan’s dark eyes begin to move around the room, watching as water rises from nowhere. Some of it touches his flesh causing pleasant tingles to shoot through him. 

He growls, gripping your body and flipping you around. His large form covers your tiny one as he begins to pound harder and faster into your puffy cunt, watching as your eyes roll to the back of your head and your breasts bounce wildly. “Fucking whore.” He lifts a hand, wrapping around the cigar in his mouth, sucking in the deliciousness before blowing a puff of smoke in your face. “You like when an older man destroys your cunt?” Your head moves up and down rapidly, hands gripping his arms. “Of course ya do. Whores don’t care bout nothing but cock.” 

You pant and moan, feeling your high approaching. “P–Please! I need to cum. Please let me cum!” Your legs wrap around his thick form, and the feeling causes your cunt to pulsate around him, sucking him into you deeper. “Oh– Jesus! You feel so fucking huge! So good!” Your back arches as you cling onto him, not daring to cum without his permission. 

Logan’s thrusts grow feral, and he stares into your dazed eyes as he moves his hand down and connects it with your swollen clit, rubbing slowly with his rough thrusts. “If I let you cum. You’re mine. Understood, sweetheart.” You nod, whines leaving you. Logan rubs your clit faster, his thick tip hitting the sweet spot inside you. “I need an answer!” The growl that leaves him sends shivers through your body, intensifying the feeling much more.

“Yes! Yes! I’m yours, fuck! Please!” 

“CUM!” 

Your toes curl, eyes rolling back as your juices squirt out of you and cover the man above. He grunts, leaning back and grabbing your thighs. His fingers dent your flesh, pulling you flush against him as he pounds harder into you. Logan can feel his cock throb and his balls tighten as his end approaches, and the thought of filling you to the brim with his seed sends him over the edge. “FUCK!” He roars, hot white spurts shoot out of his large mushroom tip and deep inside you, he punches the floor as his claws come out. His head is thrown back, the cigar still dangling from his beautiful pink lips as he empties inside you.

Logan slowly pulls out once he’s done, glaring down at you as he smokes his cigar. His large hand taps your leg, that’s still lazily wrapped around him. “C’mon, let’s go to my room so I can split ya on my cock some more, maybe make a mess of ya while I’m at it, and brand you, so everyone knows your mine.” He growls, picking you up with one arm as he heads off in the direction of his room.

thank you for reading!

He sat on the old bed, watching you as you finished folding his last shirt, that’s when you finally took a look at his hand.

“No,” Logan stopped you from grabbing his hand. Your ability to regenerate was failing like his, he certainly didn’t want you to get hurt. “I’ll do it.”

You weren’t going to take no as an answer. Ignoring Logan, you kneeled in front of him and took his hand in yours. You mentally prepared yourself for the pain. Without hesitation, you wrapped your hand around the claw that was stuck and pulled. Blood started pouring down the palm of your hand, but you didn’t care. The pain in your body seemed to fade into the background as you focused on the claw.

You could hear groaning coming from Logan, which made your heart ache more. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. . .” You whisper to him as the claw moved forward.

After what seemed like forever, you finally got the claw to its place. You stumble back, your body filled with exhaustion and pain, but all you could think about was how Logan felt. You looked up at the old man, the relief and love you saw in his gaze were both heart-wrenching and comforting.

It took a couple a minutes, but the claws eventually disappeared back into his hand. Logan winced as they went back in.

After wrapping your hand in some bandages, you took Logan’s hand again. The bloody knuckles, the wounds, the suffering . . . You didn’t want this life for him.

“I hurt you.” Was all Logan could say as he saw the bandage on your hand.

You ignored the comment, instead you wiped away some of the blood form his knuckles with a rag he had on the table beside the bed. After cleaning up the blood, you let him know you were okay by placing kisses where the claws had just come out.

“It’s okay,” you whisper to him, almost sounding like you were about to cry. “It’s okay.” Even as your own strength ebbed away, you knew your greatest comfort was simply being there for him.