A step longer than the distance between us (2part)
Logan Howlett ( comics books version) x tall fem reader
The ceramic mug was still warm against the rough, calloused palm of his hand. Logan stared down at the amber liquid, the faint, comforting scent of peach and dried herbs cutting through the heavy aroma of stale whiskey and smoke that clung to his flannel jacket. He took another slow sip. It was sweet, but not overly so, with a grounded, earthy undertone that somehow managed to quiet the persistent, low-level growl in the back of his mind.He looked toward the empty doorway where you had just vanished. Even with the door closed and the hallway dark, he didn't need eyes to know exactly where you were. His enhanced senses mapped your movement with effortless precision. He heard the soft, rhythmic patter of your bare feet against the hardwood floors, a remarkably light stride for someone standing at an imposing six-foot-five. He caught the fading trail of your scent—that unique, intoxicating blend of sweet vanilla, fresh rain, and the faint, bitter edge of the chamomile you’d just brewed.And, underneath it all, he heard the steady, slightly hesitant skipped beat of your heart. Insomnia. He knew a thing or two about sleepless nights, though his own were usually painted with the blood and screaming ghosts of his past. Yours just seemed lonely.Logan grunted, draining the rest of the tea in one long swallow. He rinsed the mug, the clinking of the ceramic against the sink sounding loud in the dead quiet of the X-Mansion, and headed upstairs.Over the next few weeks, the shift between you two was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but glaringly obvious to a tracker like him.Logan began to notice the way you navigated the mansion. Despite your height, you had a habit of trying to make yourself small, drawing your shoulders inward as if apologizing for taking up space in the crowded corridors. Whenever Scott or one of the others spoke too loudly or aggressively during a briefing, you would tilt your head, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, your eyes darting downward in that familiar flash of self-doubt. You were a powerful mutant, a force to be reckoned with on the danger room floor, yet you carried yourself with the fragile grace of someone who feared breaking the world around them.But whenever Logan walked into a room, your scent changed. It lost that sharp, spiked note of anxiety and softened into something warm, like sunlight hitting autumn leaves.You never pushed yourself into his space. You didn't badger him with questions like the kids did, or look at him with the guarded, calculating pity that Jean and Hank sometimes wore. Instead, you offered small, quiet anchors.During a grueling, five-hour strategy session in the sub-basement, when Logan’s patience had entirely worn thin and his claws were practically itching to burst from his knuckles, he felt a shadow fall over his chair. He looked up, his fierce golden eyes meeting your gentle gaze. You didn't say a word. You just leaned down, tilting your head in that quiet, attentive way of yours, and carefully placed a small, neatly folded napkin on the table next to his map. Inside were two pieces of dark, bitter chocolate and a small sprig of fresh mint.
"Thought you looked like you needed a breather," you murmured, your voice a soft, low melody that barely carried across the room. Before he could even grunt a reply, you had already stepped back, offering a small, fleeting smile, and returned to your post near the back wall.Logan stared at the chocolate, his jaw clenching. He popped one into his mouth. The bitter cocoa and sharp mint cut through the suffocating tension in his chest. Across the room, he caught the sudden, tiny spike in your heart rate. You were watching him, holding your breath, waiting to see if he’d reject it. When he didn't, the relief in your scent was palpable, sweetening the air.The real turning point happened on a Tuesday night. A heavy thunderstorm was battering Westchester, lightning flashing violently against the high stained-glass windows of the mansion. The rest of the team was asleep, but Logan was restless. The atmospheric pressure always made his adamantium skeleton ache, a dull, throbbing reminder of what he was.He was pacing the perimeter of the second-floor library when he smelled you. You were sitting in a deep armchair tucked away in the furthest, darkest corner of the room, curled up with a thick leather-bound novel. A single, low-wattage lamp cast a warm glow over your features.Logan stopped in the archway, his heavy boots silent on the carpet. He didn't intend to disturb you, but the moment his shadow crossed the light, you looked up.For a second, that familiar, endearing flash of uncertainty crossed your face. You began to close the book, shifting as if to get up.
"I'm sorry, Logan. Am I keeping you up? I can take this to my room—"
"Stay put," Logan interrupted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He stepped into the room, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Told ya before, kid. Mansion's big enough for both of us."
He didn't leave. Instead, he walked over to the adjacent leather sofa and dropped his heavy frame into it. He leaned his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes, letting the sound of the rain lashing against the glass wash over him.For a long time, neither of them spoke. The silence between you wasn't awkward; it was heavy, grounded, and safe. Logan listened to the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing. He listened to the gentle flip of the pages as you read, the sound oddly soothing to his raw nerves.After about an hour, the storm outside began to wane, settling into a soft, rhythmic patter. Logan opened his eyes slightly, glancing over at you.You had stopped reading. The book rested in your lap, and you were looking at him, your head tilted slightly to the side, your expressive eyes filled with that deep, intuitive concern that defined you."Your shoulders are tense," you said softly, breaking the silence.
"Is it the weather?"Logan let out a dry, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.«Погода не ладнає зі старим тілом, люба. Метал і блискавка не поєднуються.»
You hesitated, your fingers tracing the edge of your book. For a moment, the scent of self-doubt spiked again, but you took a slow breath and pushed past it. You stood up, your tall, statuesque figure unfolding in the dim light. You walked over to the sofa, stopping just a few feet away, looking down at him with an expression so fiercely protective it caught him off guard.
"I... I know a pressure-point technique," you said, your voice cracking slightly before settling into a firm, gentle tone. "Hank taught me. It helps release tension in the upper back and neck. If... if you'll let me."
Logan looked up at you. Standing up, you towered over him while he was seated, but there wasn't a single threatening bone in your body. You stood there, hands slightly trembling, offering him a piece of comfort you weren't even sure he wanted.Logan exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his jaw. He rolled his shoulders and sat up straight, turning his back to you.
"Go ahead," he muttered. "Show me what ya got."He heard your sharp intake of breath, followed by the soft rustle of your clothes as you stepped closer. When your hands finally made contact with his shoulders, Logan involuntarily stiffened. Your hands were large, but your touch was incredibly light, warm, and remarkably gentle.
"Tell me if it's too much," you whispered, standing right behind the sofa, leaning over slightly to reach the base of his neck.
"Takes a lot more than that to hurt me, kid," he grunted, though the sarcasm lacked its usual bite.You began to work your thumbs into the tight, knotted muscles at the base of his neck. You were incredibly mindful of his hypersensitivity, moving slowly, applying just enough steady, firm pressure to coax the stubborn knots to yield. As you worked, you unconsciously leaned closer, and the rich, pure scent of vanilla enveloped him entirely, drowning out the residual ache in his bones.Slowly, the tightly coiled spring inside Logan’s chest began to unwind. His head dropped forward slightly, a low, contented sound vibrating deep within his chest—not a growl, but something dangerously close to a purr.He could feel the warmth of your body right behind him, the gentle, steady rhythm of your heart anchoring him to the present. You were so tall, so strong, yet your spirit was a sanctuary of quiet gentleness that he hadn't realized he was starving for.
"You're doing good," Logan murmured, his voice softer than it had been in years. "Real good."Behind him, he felt the subtle shift in your posture as you relaxed, your movements becoming more confident, your heart settling into a peaceful, happy rhythm. In the quiet, rain-slicked night, the vast distance that usually kept Logan isolated from the rest of the world felt like it had finally vanished.
The quiet of the library felt heavier now, but it was a comfortable weight. For a few long minutes, the only sounds were the fading patter of rain against the glass and the rhythmic, deep breath Logan drew every time your thumbs pressed into the tight cords of his shoulders.As the initial rush of adrenaline from your own boldness began to fade, reality started to creep back into your mind. You were massaging Wolverine. The literal deadliest mutant on the X-Men roster was currently sitting perfectly still beneath your hands, letting you press your thumbs into his neck.Your mind, as it usually did when things went too well, started to overthink. Were you pressing too hard? Was his skin supposed to feel this warm, or was he running a fever? You shifted your footing, trying to find a more comfortable angle, but because of your long legs, your knee caught the edge of the heavy wooden sofa frame with a dull, sudden *thud*.The sudden movement made you lose your grip for a split second. A hot flush of embarrassment rushed straight to your cheeks. *Great. Smooth.*
"Sorry," you muttered quickly, stepping back a half-inch and gripping the fabric of your cardigan. "I... I tripped over my own feet. I can stop if it’s getting annoying."
Logan didn't move, but his shoulders rose and fell with a slow, amused huff. He didn't turn around, but you could hear the smirk in his rough voice. "Calm down, kid. You didn't break anything. Especially not me. Get back here."The blunt, grounded nature of his voice instantly pulled you out of your spiral. It was so classic Logan that it made you let out a small, self-deprecating breath of laughter. You stepped back in, your large hands finding their place at the base of his neck again. This time, you let your movements be a little more natural, less clinical.You noticed the texture of his hair—thick and coarse where it met his collar—and the small, fading silver lines of old scars that your fingers brushed against. They weren't smooth; they were raised, a physical map of a history you could only guess at. A sudden wave of profound respect, mixed with a strange, protective warmth, washed over you. You weren't a warrior like him, and you didn't have his hardened shell, but in this quiet room, you realized you didn't need to be. You just needed to be a presence that didn't demand anything from him.As your thumbs worked out a particularly stubborn knot near his shoulder blade, Logan let out a long, ragged sigh. His head tilted back slightly, resting almost against your stomach as you stood directly behind him.The sudden proximity made your heart do a violent flip. From this angle, you could see the sharp line of his jawline, covered in thick stubble, and the way his eyelids fluttered shut in sheer relief. He smelled intensely of cedar, leather, and that underlying, sharp metallic scent that always followed him, all mixed with the faint sweetness of the peach tea you’d made him weeks ago.
"You're overthinking again," Logan murmured, his eyes still closed. "Can hear your brain ticking from here. Heart's racing too. What’s going on in that head of yours?"
You bit your lower lip, your fingers slowing down but not stopping. "Just... making sure I don't accidentally press a wrong nerve and get a claw through my hand." You tried to keep your tone light, a bit teasing, to cover up the fact that your pulse was drumming in your ears.Logan let out a low, genuine chuckle that vibrated right through his back and into your hands.
"Please. If I wanted to scratch ya, I would've done it when you brought me that mint. You're safe, darlin'. Rest of the world might have to worry, but not you."Hearing that word—*darlin'*—spoken in that low, gravelly register, sent a shiver straight down your spine. It wasn't standard flattery; coming from him, it felt like an earned piece of territory, a quiet acknowledgment that you had successfully bypassed his walls.Your hands gradually slowed to a gentle, stroking rhythm, smoothing over his shoulders one last time before you reluctantly pulled them away. Your palms felt warm, almost tingling from the contact.
"There," you said softly, clearing your throat slightly to find your voice. "That’s about all the amateur therapy I can offer for tonight."
Logan stayed still for a moment longer, enjoying the lingering warmth, before he slowly rolled his shoulders and turned around on the sofa to look up at you. With him sitting and you standing at your full height, the usual dynamic was flipped, but the way his amber eyes locked onto yours made you feel completely seen, exposed in the best possible way.He looked at your face, noting the faint, lingering pink on your cheeks and the way you unconsciously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear—a nervous habit he’d seen a thousand times in the hallways.
"Thanks," he said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a rare sincerity that made the vast library feel incredibly small. "Mean it. Haven't felt that loose in a long time."
You offered him a small, genuine smile, the awkwardness finally melting away into a deep sense of contentment. "Anytime, Logan. Just... try not to fight Scott tomorrow, or you'll ruin all my hard work."
Logan grinned, a sharp, dangerous flash of white teeth that somehow felt incredibly comforting. "No promises, kid. But for tonight? I think I might actually get some sleep."
