â ao3
* = smut/18+ only
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
will byers stan first human second
Aqua Utopiaïœæ”·ăźćșă§èšæ¶ă玥ă

Discoholic đȘ©

wallacepolsom
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Today's Document

#extradirty
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

⣠Chile in a Photography âŁ

PR's Tumblrdome

ellievsbear

Andulka

@theartofmadeline
Show & Tell
Cosmic Funnies
i don't do bad sauce passes

Origami Around
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from Ireland
seen from Malaysia

seen from Norway

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia
seen from China
@hyper-fixates
â ao3
* = smut/18+ only
Time After Time* (15.2k)
4 times you end up in Loganâs bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.
Visions of a Life* (5.7k)
What does an animal do when heâs sick? He goes away to die.
oneshots:
marking + biting*
dofp/70s!logan + oral*
enemies
low honour!arthur x virgin!reader (oneshots):
part i* / part ii*
Ghost x Soap:
The Death of Peace of Mind* (1.9k)
Camboy!Soap AU - Simon is Soapâs most dedicated and loyal subscriber.
König:
Tears of Blood* (3.0k)
König reveals a very compelling detail about himself while you prepare him for tomorrowâs deployment.
Nightcrawler* (6.3k)
Bruce confronts his feelings after you put him back together. Again.
under construction
under construction

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Hey, swinging by to say that your writing is fire! đ„ I've been making my way through your fics and I can just tell that you love men very much. It really comes through in your descriptions and what you choose to write about. Not all fic writers can capture what is truly appealing about a certain male character but you nail it. Thanks for sharing your stories đ
hahaha this is so sweet, thank you! đ«¶ thereâs a very specific formula i use for my writing and characters, so iâm very glad itâs been able to come across in the way that it has for you.
iâve been working on checking off the rest of the characters on my masterlist before coming back to someone iâve already written for, so stay tuned for more man-loving nonsense i suppose đ„°
thinking about logan x reader who fucking haaaate each other đ€
(specifically x1 logan <3 he may be crazy, but he is free)
tags/warnings: no reader pronouns/descriptions or gendered language, mutant!reader, explicit language, toxic behaviour, biting, descriptions of blood/violence, logan needs to be humbled, nonsexual teasing, freaks are matched (let me know if anything was missed!).
The hard pop of skin breaking under your teeth makes your adrenaline skyrocket at the immediate metallic taste of blood.
The gravelly yell ringing in your ears and the tangy blood filling your mouth just makes you bite down harderânot looking for bone, but looking to unlock as much pain as possible in the man behind you.
Your hands circle tighter around his arm, trying to hold it in its place around your neck as you mar his forearm out of pure hatred.
âHeyâthatâs enough!â You hear Jean yell from across the room, her voice echoing in the space.
You open your eyes, ignoring Loganâs desperate attempts to shake your mouth off from behind.
His warm blood has almost completely filled your mouth, so you have to let him go anyway. You drop your hands and feel Logan rip his arm from you with a growl.
A generous amount of blood splatters on the floor with wet pittering sounds, remnants dripping from your lips.
You smile, turning around to see Logan slick with sweat and out of breath, arm already healed from the small punctures of your teeth.
Charles is going to learn that pairing you two together as sparring partners was a mistake, even if youâre the only ones who can match each otherâs strength. Itâs no longer productive to your training or the morale of the team.
Logan is a lost cause that Charles needs to forget about. Thereâs no saving him, thereâs no fixing him, and thereâs no place for him in the X-Men.
Heâs made it known he could give less of a fuck about being here or being on the team. He only shows up to training to give you a hard time and push every single one of your buttons, and youâve had enough.
You take a couple steps closer to Logan, feeling some blood slide down your chin; you want to take whateverâs left in your mouth and spit it in his face.
You come close enough to feel the heat emanating off him. The heat you caused. The heat you made his body work for from getting itself that riled up. You.
You leave only a few inches between you. Anger burns deep in your chest, making your ears ring.
âDonât ever pull that shit again,â you say quietly so only he can hear, your bloody smile appearing again for a moment. âOr itâll be your face next time.â
He should know by now that youâre not a bluff.
Loganâs face softens into something more sinister, amused by your threat. He likes knowing he pisses you off this much. He likes knowing he can do it so easily.
Logan leans in to whisper back. âIf you canât get out of a little headlock, youâre probably not fit to be on the team.â
Your eyes are wildâyou can feel them darting anywhere they canâevery part of Loganâs face, the walls of the Danger Room behind him.
âIâm out, arenât I?â You swing your arms to the side to show your freedom from his hold.
âStop. Stop.â Jean comes up from behind you, placing a hand on your chest to pull you away before you can say, or do, something.
âNoâno, he knows better,â you hiss. âItâs fucking bullshit. No hard contact. No choking,â you recite the rules Charles has laid out for sparring sessions with a fierce glare at Logan.
âJust leave it,â Jean sighs. âItâll sort itself out.â
âI believe âno bitingâ is on that list too, bub. Youâre no saint either.â A smug smile pulls at Loganâs lips, and you impulsively spit at him when you finally take a step back.
A dense glob of his blood mixed with your spit splats over his bare chest, missing his face. Too bad.
His eyes meet yours, brows pinched so deeply you think they might become one. You laugh, letting Jean guide you back to the locker room with that crazed look still in your eyes.
âCharles will deal with both of you later,â Jean says loud enough for Logan to hear, cutting him off from whatever insult he was about to hurl at you.
Jean is no doubt already talking to Charles. The question is if Charles will actually do something. You figured drawing blood might catch his attention and encourage him to solve thisâŠnonsense.
Logan needs to learn his place before you end up ripping his claws out of his arms and jamming them into his throat.
You see Logan flip you off as Jean ushers you through the locker room door. You quickly blow him a kiss in return as the door swings shut.
THE LAST OF US â 01 x 03, âLong, Long Timeâ
Visions of a Life
Old Man!Logan x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).
Explicit content (18+)
Word count: 5.7k
Tags/warnings: age-gap due to loganâs mutation (readerâs age not specified), established relationship, mutant!reader, not canon-compliant, fluff, domesticity, explicit language, dry humping, brief unprotected sex, angst (and iâm not joking), soft!logan, groping, a few uses of âbabyâ, mentions & allusions to death (no one dies tho), descriptions of blood (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).
Summary: What does an animal do when heâs sick? He goes away to die.
Notes: this was supposed to take a different route, but it just didnât feel right as i went alongâŠforgive me for being a bit of a LIAR đ
The dry Texas heat faded with each kilometre you travelled. The desert slowly turned into rangelands, and the rangelands eventually became the frozen, snow-covered ground of Alberta.Â
The trip was only a couple days, and the stark change in weather almost made your bones nearly seize and shatter when you stepped out of the truck and were met with the sharp winter wind.Â
The cold definitely made Loganâs bones ache more than they already do.Â
Not even his red flannel and jean jacket can offset the negative temperature in the slightest.Â
âHmâŠwow. Cute,â you say in succession, taking a few slow steps toward the quaint cabin.Â
Itâs all dark, smooth wood that stands out amongst the bare, white birch trees and blue spruces that are covered in a light dusting of this morningâs snow.
The second thing you notice is the quiet.Â
Itâs so quiet. No neighbours, no highwaysâjust silence, and the slight rustling of the wind through the tree branches.Â
Youâre deep in the bush, a spot near the south-west border that gives a partial view of the Rockies.
âGrab your bag,â Logan says as he shuts his door, the sound cutting violently through the still air.Â
Itâs almost eerily quiet. No chirping birds, no chittering squirrels, no howling wolves in the distance. Just you and Logan. Isolated.Â
Itâs everything heâs been yearning for since living in Mexico and spending more than enough time working in El Paso.Â
Itâs what heâs been missing desperately ever since living down southâAlbertaâhis real home. Yet itâs a place that holds no significance to you.
âYes, sir,â you remark with a lazy, mocking salute of your hand, smirking at how Logan glares at you harmlessly as he walks by you to the cabin.
Logan decided itâs time. Time to come back. Time to be realistic about your future, or lack of, together.
He decided that heâs done fighting himself, and that thereâs nothing left for either of you in Mexico even if itâs all youâve come to know.Â
He refused to let himself die in the desert and leave you with nothing but sand. There was no comfort there. No semblance of a promise.
The light snow crunches under your steps back to the truck, your breath swirling in small clouds around you. You yank your bag out from the backseat and slam the door as Logan did, hearing the sound echo into the wind before dissipating into nothing.Â
If you focused hard enough, you could probably hear your heartbeat. Thatâs how silent it is.
âCreepy,â you mumble to yourself as you follow the imprints of Loganâs footsteps back to the cabin.
You go up the few rickety stairs, stomping your shoes clean on the equally rickety deck, and open the squeaky door.Â
Itâs definitely not a space thatâs meant for more than two people.
Itâs one level, open concept, and surely not heated by a furnace. The living room is directly to the leftâyouâre basically already standing in itâand a small kitchen is off to the right. The single bedroom straight ahead is the only room besides the bathroom thatâs hidden behind walls and a door.Â
And thatâs it. Simple. Efficient. No walls, no doors, save for the bedroom and bathroom. Itâs surprisingly intimate.Â
âPlease tell me thereâs heat,â you lament, watching Logan dust off the few surfaces of fixtures and furniture as you toe off your wet shoes.Â
Logan gives you a look. âThereâs a fireplace.â He gestures to the barren, ash-filled pit that sits at the bottom of the chimney in the corner of the room.Â
Above it, a mantle with a little T.V. âCable?â You wonder aloud. This place is already more luxurious than what you had in Mexico, but at least in Mexico you didnât have to worry about freezing to death in your sleep.
Logan limps along to the bedroom with his bag. âSatellite.âÂ
You suck your tongue against your teeth, following Logan to the bedroom. When you step through the doorway, you almost cackle.Â
âOh for fucks sake. We are never gonna fucking fit on that, Logan. Oh my God,â you moan in disbelief at the size of the bed. âYouâre probably not even gonna fit on it.â Your voice pitches a little in exasperation.Â
The mattress was maybe a twin. Maybe. Itâs propped up on a thin metal frame that creaks and groans as you experimentally lean forward on your hands and bear some weight on it.Â
âI do.â He tosses both your bags on the outdated armchair in the corner of the room.Â
Your entire lives are in those bags. You only brought what you needed and what could fit. There wasnât much to bring along from Mexico besides clothes and the necessary toiletries anyway. Anything else can be found and replaced back in town if needed.
He steps back to the bed next to you. âRelax. Thereâs always the couch,â he points out. âWe donât have to sleep together.â
You have never slept apartâhe knows thatâand thatâs definitely not going to start now. This time is precious.Â
You briefly recall the worn couch sitting in the middle of the living room in front of the fireplace: itâs a brown and red plaid pattern, probably from the 80s, and four cushions long.Â
This cabin was stuck in time just as much as Logan likes to say he is.
âHelp me grab some wood to get a fire going,â he says, giving the top of your head a chaste kiss. âItâs supposed to snow again tonight.â He slips past you out the doorway, the warm, lingering touch of his hand on your shoulder sends a shiver through your body.Â
You saw a decent stack of pre-cut logs piled in the other corner of the living room when you came in, and you wonder whoâs been taking care of things here while Loganâs been down south.Â
The wood looked fresh, but the dust on the coffee table and window ledges suggests no oneâs been here for months.
You figure that dust is the least of Loganâs worries right now.
ââââ
The fire crackles and pops softly, the bright light from the T.V. illuminating the dark room as you comfortably watch the Flames game horizontallyâon Loganâfrom the outdated couch.Â
The warmth from the flickering orange blaze in the chimney blankets you both, almost trying to melt you together like wax.
Logan lies on his back, legs spread to accommodate your body as you lay stomach-to-stomach, using his chest as a pillow while he uses the well-worn armrest as his.Â
Itâs the middle of the second period and the game is tied 2-2. You can feel yourself drifting in and out of sleep even though the analog bird clock hung next to the T.V. shows itâs barely 11 p.m.Â
You know Logan isnât asleep because heâs tracing a finger slowly up and down your spine. Thatâs whatâs putting you to sleep, but the obnoxious ads pull you back into consciousness when the game cuts to commercial each time.Â
Despite the volume of the T.V., you can still hear the rattling in Loganâs lungs with each breath he takes.Â
The ear thatâs pressed against his chest picks it up easily; itâs otherwise undetectable if you arenât right up against him.Â
You donât want to forget that this isnât, in fact, a fun little vacation that youâll both return to Mexico from. This is where Logan will spend the rest of his days with you. There is no going back to Mexico, no future anywhere but here within these walls.Â
Logan will die here. Like he wants toâat home, with you, surrounded by snow.
âAre you tired?â You say quietly. Your eyes arenât even open as you ask.
A small chuckle makes your head vibrate. âIâm always tired,â he rasps, his voice rumbling deeply in his chest against your ear.
âWant me to put you to sleep?â You offer, thumbing the material of his flannel, eyes still closed.
He shifts, adjusting his neck. âNo. Iâm fine,â he explains, and youâre curious to see if he will fall asleep as easy as you can make him.
All it takes is a touch of a finger and a whispered command for him to slip into near unbreakable unconsciousness that lasts throughout the night.Â
You hum. âIf you need it, just wake me if Iâm asleep,â you reassure.Â
Almost every night in Mexico youâd knock him out cold, only you didnât have to use a punch to do so. The press of your finger against his temple was enough. If he was in better health maybe it would take a bit more concentration and demanding, but itâs quick, nearly effortless.
Somnous is all you need to sayâsleep. And his body canât resist the surge of the pseudo-sedative that comes from within you.
ââââ
A chill that youâve never felt before wakes you. Itâs one that can only come with negative temperatures seeping back into the cabin.
Your body tenses and you peel your eyes open. The faint glow of red coals pulsing in front of you quickly tells you that no one made it off the couch last night, that no one slept on that sad excuse of a bed in the next room.
You and Logan are right where you left each other.
Logan breathes steadily under you, that rattling in his lungs still present even in sleep. It never wavers. It will never go away.
You try to carefully peel yourself off of him, stifling a groan as your limbs stretch and twist for the first time in hours. The tightness in your shoulders makes you clench your teeth.Â
A few pops and cracks release from your joints, and then youâre free from Loganâs warmth. From the looks of it, he seems comfortable, but you know heâs going to complain about his back and neck as soon as he wakes up.
Thankfully, youâll help him with that, just like his sleep. Just like you do with everything else.Â
Remedium, youâll mutter as your fingers trace along his temple. Relief. Â
You can fix the superficialâa sore neck, a headacheâbut you canât fix something thatâs as embedded and chronic as whatâs killing him.
Youâre the cure. The cure for everything except whatever is festering inside him. He says itâs the adamantium, that itâs poisoning him, but you canât say for sure.Â
The early morning sun, all pinks and oranges, shines brightly through the large windows around the cabin. Then you see the snow falling.
You tip-toe to the window across from the couch. Itâs been snowing since 3 a.m., but you werenât awake to see it start.
Thick, fluffy snowflakes wisp around in the light wind and you lean closer to the window to get a better look at the scene outside.
You arrived late in the afternoon yesterday, missing the morning snow that blanketed the ground and decorated the trees.
Loganâs seen many winters come and go, and youâll see just as many after heâs gone. Well, maybe not as many.
A deep groan fills your ears. âAhâfuck,â Logan growls, pulling himself to sit up from the couch.
You skip excitedly over to him, bending down to cradle his head in your hands and press your thumbs against each temple, your lips meeting the top of his head in a brief kiss.
âRemedium,â you whisper into his hair, and he makes a satisfied sound in response as his body adjusts and fixes itself.
You move down to kiss his forehead, ruffling a hand through his bushy grey hair before pulling away and going back to the window to watch the snow spiral and churn in random shapes and patterns. Â
A grumbled âthanksâ is heard over your footsteps. Heâs probably not even fully awake yet.Â
âLook at the snow. Look,â you say in awe when you hear him shuffling along the creaky floor behind you.
It doesnât look like anything special to Logan. Heâs seen every type of snow, every type of storm Alberta has to throw his way; however, this may be the most mundane snowfall heâs seen that he can remember.
âWhat about it?â He says. He doesnât know whatâs got you so excitable.Â
You look at him over your shoulder. âIâve never seen a snowfall before,â you explain. âThe snowflakes are so fat,â you chuckle as he comes to rest a hand on your lower back, peeking through the window over your shoulder at the snow dancing in the wind.
âMhm, itâs nice.â He still doesnât get it. âGo get ready. Thereâs more wood coming in a bit,â he dismisses with a gentle kiss to your cheek, dense beard poking into the plush skin.
He goes to the bedroom. You should follow, but you keep watching the snow.
In the moment, you donât realize that while this is your first snowfall, itâs probably Loganâs last.
ââââ
The man who brings the firewood is also the one whoâs been âlooking afterâ the cabin for Logan.
Theyâve known each other for years, decades, and the man has been doing monthly check-inâs despite Logan not even being in the country.
Logan muttered something about cage fighting, explaining how he knows the man and the bar he owns in town.
You make a face, one filled with curiosity and confusion. âCage fighting?â
âIt was a long time ago,â he defends, tossing the last logs onto the now vast pile in the living room. You now understand why the room is as big as it is.
âStill keeping secrets, huh?â You joke, wiping your hands on your sweater.
A new fire burns strong in the chimney, preparing the cabin for the wind storm thatâs meant to hit in a few hours.
âItâs not important.â Logan unbuttons his flannelâtoday itâs a dark red one; truly Canadianâand strips to his white tank-top underneath.Â
Itâs almost jarring to see him in anything other than a white dress shirt and blazer.
He throws the flannel on the back of the couch, overheated from the fire and throwing logs. A vicious cough catches in his throat for an exhale or two before it finds its way out.
âYou okay?â You ask calmly, walking up to him and rubbing a hand up and down his bicep. His skin clammy and damp from sweat.
âIâm fine.â Another aggressive cough. âIâm fine,â he emphasizes, mostly to reassure himself.
You both know heâs not okay. Thatâs why youâre here, after all. But you canât stop yourself from asking.
ââââ
The wind storm knocked out the power.
The raging fire will probably be your only source of light for the rest of the night and into the morning. Â
So, without power, thereâs not much to do. But, you and Logan sit on the floor with him resting against the front of the couch. You sit between his legs, feeling the heat of him on your back while you watch his arms reach over and around you to set various sized coins on the coffee table to entertainâand educate, as he would sayâyou.
âThat oneâs so big,â you point out, reaching for the gold coin.Â
Logan wants to make a joke so badly, but he settles for a small smile at what little he can see of your perplexed expression from the side, resting his chin on your shoulder every couple minutes and occasionally pressing little kisses to your neck and jaw just to remind himself youâre actually here.
You pick up the gold coin and turn it over in between your fingers, watching it shine in the firelight.Â
The bird on the face of the coin is unfamiliar, and itâs dated â2000â on the back below the Queenâs face.Â
âItâs a loon,â Logan clarifies. âOne dollar.â
âItâs pretty.âÂ
âWe call it a âloonieâ,â he explains, âand this is a toonie.â He picks up the other large coin, one thatâs silver with a gold center.Â
You take it from him. âA polar bear?â You observe the face of the coin. âThereâs polar bears in Canada?â You turn your attention to him, nose almost grazing his.
âYouâŠdidnât know that?â
âWhy would I know that?âÂ
Logan chuckles, snaking an arm around your waist. âWell. Itâs where most of the population lives,â he defends, his hazel eyes almost looking as confused as yours.
âGood to know,â you mutter, placing the coin back on the table.
He shakes his head. âQuarter, nickel, penny, dime.â Logan identifies the rest of the coins for you, pointing to each from biggest to smallest.
âThe dimes are cute.â You push the thin, silver coin around on the table.
His tattered wallet sits on the corner by your arm, and something peeks out from the bill slot that you paid no mind to before.Â
âYou have Canadian bills?â You ask as you pinch the thing between your thumb and forefinger, snatching it before he could answer or stop you.
You unfold the worn thing with ease, holding it with both hands and expecting to see a historic figure or a bold number printed somewhere, but thereâs neither.
The paper is a little thicker than a bank note yet itâs almost the same size, but it has Logan with a young girl plastered on it in black and white.
An old photo, folded up and kept in his wallet as a reminder of something, or someone.
âWhoâs that?â You question, analyzing the picture with a seizing heart.
Logan doesnât answer right away, but he doesnât move to take the picture from your hands.Â
Itâs him, decades younger, giving the young girl a piggyback. An uncharacteristic smile on his face that youâve never seen before while the girl peeks her head out beside his for the photo.Â
âMarie. She was a kid I, uh, helped, I guess.â The deep timbre of his voice is enough to tell you that heâs suddenly forlorn. âOne of Charlesâ students.â
âYouâre soâŠyoung,â you consider quietly, eyes filling with adoration and fondness at the boyish Wolverine in your hand.Â
You never knew what Logan looked like in his younger years, and it never occurred to you to be curious about that. Youâve grown so used to your Logan that nothing before all this mattered much to you.
Still, there was someone else who got to experience the younger, more spirited version of Logan that only exists in pictures now, and you long to have been that lucky someone just to be able to have had more time with him.Â
But this is your Logan; scarred, aching, dying. This Logan was meant to be yours.Â
The Logan that stares at you from the wrinkled picture is barely recognizable against the one behind you, yet heâs still somehow the same. Itâs like seeing a ghost after saying you donât believe in them: you donât really know how to explain it.
âAnd your hair isâŠâ You squint at the photo, as if that will help you to find the right word to describe the quaffed points peaking from his head.
âFucking ridiculous?â He finishes.Â
You laugh. âWell, I was maybe gonna say majestic. Or even sublime,â you correct.Â
The photo is creased along the edges and down the middle from being continuously opened and refolded, and you wonder how old it isâif itâs older than you.
âYeah, well, that was a long time ago,â he exhales, stealing the photo from your fingers and folding it back up, making sure to bury it completely back in the wallet this time.
âWhere is she now?â You know you shouldnât ask but the curiosity is clawing at you. What you know of Loganâs past is extremely limited, but thereâs a reason for that. Youâre hoping he can at least give you this.
Loganâs shoulders grow taut. He debates lying, but he doesnât. âDead.â
ââââ
âLogan?â
No answer.
âLogan,â you say more firmly.
No answer.
âJames,â you throw at him, watching his head quirk to meet your voice.Â
âWhat?â He barks, quickly averting his attention back to whatever holds his attention in his lap.
You hesitate in the bedroom doorway, afraid of what you might see if you take another step, but you already know what itâs going to be. It was only a matter of time before Logan fell back into himself.
Logan sits on the creaky, old bed with his back to you, a tremble in his shoulders that no one else besides you would notice. He hates that you notice.
You lightly tiptoe around the bed and drop into a squat between his legs, resting a hand on his knee.
Three adamantium claws occupy the space between you, blood slowly dripping from his knuckles and staining the wood floor. His eyes stay on the claws, but you keep your gaze on his face anyway.
His fist shakes, either from the pain of pulling his claws out or the atrophying muscles.
âThereâs no reason to keep doing thatâŠthatâs not what we came here for,â you gently scold, watching him take a shaky breath while you try to control your own.
You came here to escape the pain, even if youâll inevitably face something far worse down the road.
He does this when he feels helpless. You donât know what it achieves, but he seems to believe it does something other than marring his skin even more and making his forearm burn with white-hot pain from metal sliding against his aged tendons and ligaments.
âPut them away. Please,â you encourage, squeezing his knee comfortingly.
Logan closes his eyes. He doesnât nod or say anything as the claws retract back into his skin, albeit at a snails pace. You worry that one day theyâll just get stuck in or out forever.
You canât influence his body to physically repair itself or heal fasterâyou can only provide a barrier to the pain while it subsides on its own.
You stand, hand reaching for his temple to whisper the magic word like always, but Loganâs bloodied fingers wrap around your wrist.
His eyes finally meet yours. âNo. Leave it,â he dismisses, sliding his hand up into yours and smearing the warm blood between your joined palms and linked fingers.
Itâs futile to argue against him, so you let him have this; the pain he hasnât been able to shake for years, the pain you canât entirely stifle and fade, the pain he would never wish upon anyone, the pain he will only escape in death.
ââââ
âI can let you go,â you cry softly.Â
He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger when he feels your hot tears fall against his bare chest one after the other.Â
Itâs one of those morningsâwhere everything just hits you out of nowhere. One of those times where reality has set in.Â
Logan doesnât say anything because he knows thereâs nothing he can say to comfort you. He will die. And nothing can change that.
You lie on him, your cheek to the middle of his chest, unable to stop the silent, persistent tears.
The rickety bed, in fact, holds both of you, and a soft cotton blanket does little to save you from the frigid morning air that has snuck into the cabin yet again.
âI canât do it,â you whimper quietly, shaking your head against him. âI canât.â
He wraps both arms around you tightly, squeezing around your shoulders so snuggly that your lips form one of those sad, downturned smiles you make when youâre overwhelmedâhappy or sad.Â
âWe donât really have a choice, baby,â he mutters against your head.Â
A gentle finger traces along the textured, angry scars over his bicep. Thereâs one thatâs older, almost entirely white from the trauma to the skin. A small, round one sits directly above itâmost likely from a bulletâand you know itâs more recent from how raised and pink it is.
It feels wrong to have Logan comforting you over his death when itâs him who will be the one dying, but he hasnât shown any panic or sadness over it.
Heâs ready to die. For some reason, that hurts you more.
Maybe he will make it long enough to see the first flowers of spring; those that are strong enough to brave the Canadian frost.Â
Maybe, somehow, he will get better. Heal himself from the inside out.Â
Maybe he wonât end up buried underneath the birch trees.
ââââ
You both barely left the bed today.
You let each other mourn, and Logan didnât protest. He let you take the time to process what you were feeling. It felt good for him, too.
He reluctantly had to get out of bed to stoke the fire a few times, and now heâs gone to do so again before you call it a night. An early night. Youâre worn out. From crying, from feeling, from everything.
The wind has picked up again, howling and whipping harshly against the cabin. Itâs supposed to snow in a few hours, but you donât feel excited for it like you did a few days ago.
âThat should burn all night,â Logan says as he comes back in the room.
You shuffle over on the bed for him. You donât really fit, but you make it work by half-lying on each other. Either your upper body lays on his chest or his upper body has you almost tucked underneath him while he spoons you.
âThank you,â you murmur with your eyes already closed, ready to forget about today.
The bed frame groans as Logan shuffles in beside you, slipping an arm around your midsection to pull you to tight against him.Â
Despite the cold, and the fact that you both should definitely be wearing fleece pyjamas or something, youâre both almost entirely bare. Itâs just habit. You usually opt to wear one of his tank tops while he just keeps his briefs. Itâs familiar. Itâs comforting. The skin-to-skin reminds you both that youâre real.
Tonight, however, you chose his white t-shirt. As if that will do you any better. Logan runs fairly hot on his own, so you ultimately trust him to keep you warm either way.
He nestles into you, curling his body around yours. He slots a leg between your own and situates you so that your ass is pressed against his front. You know it doesnât mean what you think it does, but you canât help yourself from jokingly wiggling back and forth against him a few times just for funâjust to lighten the solemn mood.
Logan kisses your shoulder, the hand around your midsection squeezing the flesh of your stomach through the shirt affectionately while pushing you tighter against him.Â
âYeah, yeah. Get some sleep,â he dismisses. He knows youâre just fucking with him.
You giggle quietly, interlacing your fingers with the ones he has against your stomach and turning to look over your shoulder at him. âLove you.â
His face softens. âLove you.âÂ
You pucker your lips dramatically. He gives you an eager kiss, placing small pecks gently down along your cheek and jaw when you break away to smile.Â
Logan will never deny you of his attention when you ask for it.Â
ââââ
Something pushes you out of a heavy sleep. You figure it was maybe the wind or a dream, but you feel it again. Something literally pushes you.
You blink a few times, trying to wake yourself up. Loganâs arm is still thrown around you, but itâs now fallen down over your hip. The weight of it keeps you in place.
Another push.Â
Loganâs hips shove against your ass. You furrow your brows.Â
You know heâs sleeping without needing to look or ask, so what the fuck is he doingâ
A more delicate thrust rolls against you this time, then you realize. âOh, Jesus Christ,â you sigh.
âLogan.â You poke his thigh. No response.
âLogan,â you growl, reaching back and pushing a hand against his firm stomach to shake him a bit.
A series of grunts and groans are his response. He pulls back from you a little, hand tightening against your hip.
âMm. What?â He mumbles, eyes still closed.
âStop trying to fuck me in your sleep,â you hiss through a breath, repositioning yourself against him.
âIâm not,â he says, nuzzling up to your back and ass again, half-asleep.
You roll your eyes even though he canât see it. âYes, you are,â you counter.
Itâs probably just some sex dream that got him a little too excited. The thought makes you smile.Â
It has, in fact, been longer than usual since youâve fucked, the last time being in the truck when you pulled over at a rest stop in Montana, and you wonder if heâs starting to feel the effects of that.Â
By the time you reached Montana, you were both antsy and restless. The days, and even nights, were naturally spent just sitting in the truck for hours on end with nothing to doâno way to stimulate or tire your bodies.
The final night in the state was the breaking point. You had unburned, pent-up energy and cramping muscles that needed to be worn out if you wanted to survive the last day on the road before you got to the border.
So you pulled over and fucked in the passenger seat.Â
Logan let you bounce on his cock until the lactic acid in your thighs made you cry out in pain and you physically couldnât ride him anymore.
He made you drag it outâfor both of your sakes. He wanted your hearts to pump hard and your lungs to sting with each inhale. He wanted your bodies to be fucked into a state of relaxation afterwards.
So, he didnât help you ride him like he usually does. He didnât help guide you by your hips up and down his cock. He let you do it all by yourself while he licked and sucked over your collarbones and teased your clit with his fingers.
You both came hard, laughing at the fogged-up windows while cleaning yourselves up with those rough, brown napkins everyone has in their glove compartment for some reason.
Then you continued on, satisfied.
All of this has kind of thrown off your sense of normality. Sex went with that. Itâs hard to be horny when youâre sad all the time.
You suppose you donât need to wonder if heâs feeling the effects of no sex because youâre feeling them for him; his hard cock rests in his briefs against your ass, and you debate doing something you know youâre gonna do anyway.
Just like earlier, you circle your ass over him lightly, hopefully just enough for some payback for waking you up. You assume heâll tell you to knock it off.
âBaby,â he mutters against the back of your neck tiredly, and you can tell heâs in need of a release.
You smirk. âHm?â You rub harder over him.
He subtly joins in with your movements, rocking in time with you. His cock feels warm and heavy against your ass.
âGood dream?â You ask, a smile evident in your voice.Â
Logan grabs at the meat of your thigh, measuring his thrusts. âItâsâŠbeen a while,â he deflects, but you know that just means heâs in need of an orgasm.
âI know. Iâm sorry,â you apologize, swallowing a gasp as he ruts harder.Â
âNot your fault,â he breathes, too preoccupied with kissing your neck softly. His beard tickles you, grazing against the slope of your neck with each kiss he drags over it.
His broad, warm chest keeps you from drifting off too far. Your cunt pulses and aches from the tease of his cock, undoubtedly soaking your underwear as he rubs along the space thatâs just shy of your cunt. This is somehow more erotic than if he was actually fucking himself over your pussy between your thighs.
The bed creaks with his shifting weight, filling the silence in the room as the wind still beats against the cabin.
Itâs never mindless, chaotic sex with Logan. Technically, this isnât even sex.Â
He always gave you an appropriate fucking. Not too much, not too little. It was always just exactly what you both needed at the time of doing it. This feels no different.
You can feel your underwear sticking to youâit no longer slides with his desperate movements. Youâd be content with finishing whatever way Logan wants. These days, you take what you can get.
âToo tired.â For sex, he means. âJust wanna feel you.â He caresses his hand along your thigh appreciatively.Â
You grab his wandering hand. âThatâs okay,â you soothe.
His hips have slowed to a gentle rock, intent on taking a bit of the edge off without wanting to fully commit to chasing an orgasm and needing a clean-up.Â
Logan isnât really one to drop everything for sex. Maybe he was like that at some point, but thatâs not who he is now.Â
Heâll gladly blue-ball himself for some sleep. He knows youâre not going anywhere.
You let him feel you up for a bit, and his movements stop altogether after a few gropes to your chest and thighsâpurposefully avoiding anything directly below your bellybutton.Â
He rests behind you tightly, pelvis somehow closer than before. You still throb a little, but the warmth from Logan gradually pulls you back to a state of exhaustion. Â
ââââ
Itâs never been lost on you that you are the only one to have experienced a full, complete relationship with Logan.Â
You didnât die, or get killed. You didnât leave him or grow old. You are the only one to have this moment. The seemingly immortal Wolverine has someone at the end of his life when he thought he never would.Â
He never expected to be the one to go first. It was always the other way around. Thatâs how it was always supposed to be.Â
Yet, there is a spot slowly thawing for him underneath the white birch trees.
hereâs the photo reader pulled out of loganâs wallet <3

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
my contribution to the cornplating of the xmen films: logan is a leftie :)
i fear that x1 logan would love to call sex âpound townâ
let me offer some subtle foreshadowing for this oneshot :)
that headcanon was made to be written for dofp/70s!logan cause those kitty ears do be voluminous, but feel free to insert whichever logan you prefer!
tags/warnings: 18+ â afab!reader (no pronouns/gendered language), oral sex (reader receiving), munch!logan, explicit language, fingering, teasing, use of âbabyâ once, edging, light biting (let me know if anything was missed!).
Logan is ever the perfect example of a walking contradiction.
A rough voice but gentle words. A soft touch but purposeful fingers. A guarded nature but a caring heart.
He juxtaposes himself. Every characteristic, every feature, has a partner in crime that shows you his versatility as a person and as something more.
The full, styled tufts of his hair graze the inside of your thighs with every deep lick up your slit.
Your legs rest over his bare shoulders while your heels slide up and down his back in restless pleasure; you have to dispel the tension in your muscles somehow.
âYouâre shaking, baby,â Logan mumbles against your clit, readjusting the grip he has wrapped around the tops of your thighs.
Heâs got you locked down. His hands slid along your hips and around to the top of each thigh, peeling them apart and keeping you tight against his hungry mouth. You couldnât move in the slightest even if you tried. And youâve tried.
A light gasp is ripped from you as his lips catch your clit. âItâs j-just, ah, a lot,â you breathe, eyes fuzzy with bliss.
Everything between Loganâs warm tongue to the ends of his hair brushing up against the tender skin along your thighs has introduced your body to new lengths of perception its never experienced before.
Heâs been toying with you for half an hour. Half an hour of fleeting kisses, firm licks, and harsh sucks to your clit with the occasional finger or two pumping slowly inside you to back you away from the edge youâve been chasing.
Heâd take his mouth off of you, slipping his index or middle finger, or both, inside you as a reprieve; it would calm your impending orgasm but still keep you excited enough to soak his fingers for the few minutes heâd be pumping them into you.
You think heâd be able to get off on the sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers aloneâa subtle squelching that puts just how desperate you are on display.
Logan pulls away from your pussy, turning to smear wet, messy kisses along the inside of your left thighâthis does nothing to soothe your aching cunt. If anything, it makes it worse. Feeling him right there but not where you want him.
âYou want a break?â He asks, still scattering kisses while he loosens his grip on you, rubbing his hands comfortingly around your hips. You grab two of his fingers and squeeze them in your grip lovingly.
You arch into the touch slightly with a protesting groan. You donât have the energy to lift your head to meet his playful hazel eyes, so you speak to the ceiling. âNoâkeep going. It hurts,â
Everything is on fire. Everything is throbbing. Your cunt is sore, tired of the teasing, but you want more of it. You want to drip through his sheets, coat his tongue, and feel the tips of his hair caress the sensitive skin inside your thighs.
âMhm, I know, I know.â He gently nips at the skin adjacent to your cunt along the crevice of your thigh, not trying to break skin or leave a mark.
Your swollen clit gladly welcomes his clever tongue back. He gives three broad strokes before sliding down to your hole, lightly prodding it in quick motions that makes the tip of his nose bump against your clit.
âAh, fuck. Fuck,â you whine, nearly wanting to start kicking against his back.
He buries his face so deep in you that his hair brushes your thighs with each keen mouthful of your pussy. Up, down, up, down.
You barely hear his moans over your own, but you know theyâre there. You can feel them. They travel right through youâthey vibrate against your clitâand you start clenching around nothing.
You want to clamp your thighs together, but his strong hands keep you open, and thereâs nothing you can do but take it.
Itâs a whole different level of euphoria when you arenât able to control your pleasure. Logan knows that, and he likes to abuse that knowledge.
Your lungs canât seem to get enough air to make up for how fast Loganâs stealing it from you with every stroke of his tongue.
He wraps his warm lips entirely around your clit, sucking just enough for your muscles to tense as he flicks the bud soothingly with the tip of his tongue.
Youâre basically crying out with every exhale, wrapped up in tingling, sharp pleasure that has your lower body burning and every part of your cunt begging for relief.
âOh, please. Please, please, please,â you chant, sliding a hand through his hair and grabbing a handful to anchor yourself.
He grunts, giving a hard roll of his tongue that has you coming on his sheets.
Thankfully, Logan doesnât push you any further, even if he likes to most of the time. He gives mercy to your cunt, removing his mouth but letting a curious finger slide along your slit and down to your hole to feel how much cum heâll get out of you.
He pushes in an inch or so, feeling your walls fluttering and pulsing.
You might be numb down there now. You nor your body acknowledge his wandering finger.
You lay with your eyes closed as you try to control your rapid heartbeat. A careful hand glides up along your side to your chest before stopping at the base of your neck.
You crack your eyes open to see Logan leaning beside you, gaze tracing down your quivering body.
âNice work,â you say, a satisfied smirk pulling at your lips.
He raises a brow. âYou do something long enoughâŠyou get good at it.â He shrugs, matching your wicked smirk.
A hundred-something years of experience, you remind yourself.
He lets himself fall on top of you, his damp facial hair chafing against your throat as he presses firm kisses along your jaw in praise.
Two fingers press into your cheek, turning your head towards his. You let your neck roll to the side.
His lips catch your own. You let him work your mouth open, tasting the remnants of your cum as he drags his tongue over yours enthusiastically.
âIâm so fucking hard right now,â he says against your lips, giving you a rather forceful kiss before you have to pull yourself away to laugh.
Logan is someone that will always give you both sides of himselfâhard and soft, rough and gentle, stern and loving.
You feel very lucky to get it all.
hi me again, I TOTALLY AGREE soft Logan is best Logan, but i still love when hes a little mean <333 I will literally devour anything you write about him bc its just so perfect <333 Im specifically bonkers about og X-men trilogy and dofp past Logan bc,,,, rrrgghh i love him,,, anyways,, yeah your writing is amazing thank you for your service đ«Ą
~ đȘČ
no like. those logans make me soâ
thank you for being so sweet buggie. ily x
fucking insane about your writing its the best Logan fanfic ive ever read,,,, this man has consumed me body and soul :â)
Was wondering if maybe you could write something inspired by Sailor Song by Gigi Perez? That song has me in a chokehold and just reminds me of him sm
Anywho, keep up the amazing work youâre literally the best, so glad to find someone who views him the way I do lmao
With love, ~đȘČ
the old man logan fic iâve been working on very much reminds me of that song, so hopefully thatâll work for you whenever i post it! :)
and thank you for the love đ«¶ iâve gotten so many comments/reblogs about my characterization of logan and itâs so cute seeing readers giggling and kicking their feet from a logan that is soft and sick with loveâŠcause letâs be real: he would be. all the time.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
i think itâs such a testament to just how good hugh looked in days of future past that we donât acknowledge how 70s!logan wouldâve looked closer to this:
hi!! thanks for responding so in-depth to my question about time after time <3 i'm a nosy ass person so i guess my mind didn't even compute the fact that reader and logan would just be at a mutual agreement about not using her powers and instead learning and sharing when they're comfortable. and that is honestly just so beautiful!!!!!
thank you again so much for sharing that fic with the world - it was amazing!!! i hope you have a wonderful week n_n
wow hi! <3 youâre too kindâŠfrom someone whoâs also an extremely nosy person, i feel you and do not mind it at all :)
i purposefully left the parts about reader potentially seeing loganâs past ambiguous, so i never expected anyone to just âknowâ what wouldâve happened between them with that beyond the fic đ„° so do not worry!
the logan in my mind wonât let reader see anything, but maybe the logan in someone elseâs mind will, and iâm completely fine with that <3
i just loved that you cared enough about it to ask in the first place :,) and came back with thisâŠso so generous. thank you again and again for your love and support.
Time After Time
Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).
Explicit content (18+)
Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again
Tags/warnings: age-gap due to loganâs mutation (readerâs age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when heâs close (đïžđïž), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of âbabyâ once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).
Summary: 4 times you end up in Loganâs bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.
Notes: this falls somewhere in between âwhich could mean nothingâ and âwe can fix each otherâ 𫥠(written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)
Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.
You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasnât completely dreamless.
You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.
Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know thatâs not the case. Your heart feels like itâs being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.
No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart thatâs working so hard with each beat that it hurts.Â
âFuck. Fuck,â you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to whatâs happening.
 Panic. Itâs all panic.
You canât do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.
Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment youâre fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.
There is no choice. Your mind doesnât give you one.
The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.
You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff.Â
You look to your window and see that the sun hasnât even started to rise yet. Youâll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but thereâs not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and thinkâŠthen think some more.Â
Youâre confident the professor isnât even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but sheâs been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.
A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One thatâs only two doors down, one over from Storm.
Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didnât do a good enough job.
You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used toâ
âUh. Are you okay?â
You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.
âHuh?â You blink a few times, disoriented.
Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. âAre you okay?â He asks again, offering a look of concernâor maybe confusionâthat you havenât seen often. A look thatâs never needed to be directed towards you.
You come back to yourself. âButâIâŠdidnât knock,â you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door.Â
He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. âI could smell you before you passed Stormâs room,â he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh.Â
You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.
âYouâreâŠawake?â Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly youâre standing outside Loganâs room at 4 a.m.
âSo are you,â he counters with a curious look. âSo let me ask again. Are you okay?â He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck youâre outside his room at 4 a.m.
âIâm not sure how to answer that,â you say, and itâs the truth.Â
You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Loganâs door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweatsâthanks, Charlesâthat canât fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.
Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.
âCanât sleep?â He questions, but he knows heâs right.
âYeah.â You donât know why youâre making it Loganâs problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy whoâs seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.
Itâs not that heâs not a good, nice guy, but you donât know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.
You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same âteamâ, but itâs nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. Heâs a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.
He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.
âI donât think I can help you,â he says wearily. âIâm no better. Clearly.â He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that youâre both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.
âOhâno, Iâm not looking for help. I think Iâm beyond that at this point,â you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesnât follow. Tough crowd.
âI, uh, donât actually know what Iâm looking for,â you offer.
You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck youâre here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?
âIâm not really used to Storm being gone for so long,â you admit. âI just feelâŠall over the place, I guess.â
Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. âI can hear you sometimes,â he says, a knowingâalmost sympatheticâlook on his face. âWe have the same problem.â
You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didnât think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldnât come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.
He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.
You donât move right away. Could this be a false awakening? Youâre not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didnât expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured heâd offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didnât exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.
You force your feet to carry you into Loganâs room. Itâs not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed.Â
âWere you, uhâŠsleeping before I came?â You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.
He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.
âTrying to,â he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.
Fucking duh. âSorry if I disturbed you,â you wince to yourself.Â
You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. âI had to get up anyway.â His voice is still gravelly from sleep.
It feels like youâre invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. Thereâs nothing to make this special.
âIâm fucking exhausted,â you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.
âTry to sleep. If you want,â he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. âItâs easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.â Itâs gruff, but heâs sincere. Â
Maybe the professor is awake after all.
You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?
âOh, wowâŠuh, sure.â It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.
âI have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,â he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.
A shy âthanksâ is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.
Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. Theyâd probably kill you specifically to get it. Itâs not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all studentsâ desires. He knows it, too.Â
âSee you later,â he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.
Should you be offended that he didnât stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he canât. He couldnât. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now youâre justâŠaloneâŠin Loganâs room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.
Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike.Â
You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.
Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: âWe have the same problem.â
Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. Itâs suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change.Â
Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.
Even the Wolverine isnât an exception.Â
ââââ â ââââ
The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.
Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila.Â
âNo more, no more. I canât.â Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.
Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.
âYouâre a bad influence,â she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
âNoâIâm under the influence,â you counter, a playful smile on your lips. âThereâs a difference. You still have your own free will.â
Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. âWe have training tomorrow,â she slurs. âCharles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.â She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.
âHeâll be lucky if we show up at all,â you mumble.Â
The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleepâlike you both should be.
You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like youâre spinning through time and space, and youâd be lying if you said it didnât feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.
âAm I interrupting something?â
You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.
You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. âFuck, donât do that,â you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.
âDonât do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?â Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.
âDoesnât anyone sleep in this place?â He mumbles to himself.
âAnd with that, Iâm done for the night,â Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. âIâll see you tomorrow.â Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.
âSee you, Logan,â she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.
Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, youâre all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.
As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But youâre not sober, and thatâs the problem.
âNot gonna follow Storm?â He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.
A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. âI donât think I can make it down the hall,â you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and itâs not even fully done working its magic yet.
Logan raises a brow. âWant some help?â Thereâs no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you donât know what the fuck to expect from him.
Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?
Itâs been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned heâs burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering whatâor whoâcould have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldnât suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.
âI didnât know wolverineâs were chivalrous,â you tease.
The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that youâd expect a guy like him to not care about.Â
Youâre not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.
âNot overly,â he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. âI like to think Iâm special,â he says quieter.
âMaybe you are,â you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.
The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. âWow, okay,â you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?
A warm hand presses between your shoulders. âWoah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.â Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.
His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.
Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.
âAre you okay?â He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.
You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstormâitâs usually too late to do anything once you notice it.Â
âI drank a lot,â you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.
He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lightsâhis usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesnât look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.
Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that youâve had a generous amount of tequilaâand are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. Thatâs new.
âCan you walk?â He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. âOr will I have to carry you?â He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders.Â
Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.
âIâm not gonna tell you no, but it feels like Iâm floating in a bubble that wonât stop spinning,â you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. âI might fly away.â You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again.Â
âYeah, youâre fucked up,â he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else whoâs concerned for your well-being would.Â
âHey, kitty catâIâm perfectly buzzed,â you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.
ââKitty catâ? Really?â He snorts. âI think youâre past your bedtime by three drinks,â he remarks back with equal levity.
âThen take me to bed if youâre so concerned,â you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point.Â
Truthfully, youâre probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesnât need to know that. You just know that you canât control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.
âMaybe I will.â You donât see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that youâve seen pointed towards Scott too many times.Â
He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back.Â
Oh, so itâs gonna be like that.Â
An excitedâor maybe shockedânoise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.
The trip to your room isnât one that should take long, but each sway from Loganâs steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.
Youâre fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.
The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. Itâs hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Loganâs look of determination to get you in your bed.
He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart.Â
He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesnât stop you from staring.
Youâre now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.
âLogan,â you start before you can fully process the foolish thing youâre about to say next.
He rounds the bed back to the side youâre huddled on, looking down on you. âYeah?â The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet thatâs lingering in the room.
You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. Theyâre replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldnât be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila.Â
You suddenly feel very awake.
âHey, hey.â Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than youâve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. âWhatââ
âBathroom,â you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea.Â
He doesnât say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room. Â
You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.
âFuck,â you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.
Exhaustion hits you like a truck. âLoganâŠâ you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor.Â
He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.
âJustâŠhelp me back to bed,â you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.
He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroomâsteering you from behind.
âIâm gonna get you some water,â he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. âEven though you did this to yourself.â
âFuck off,â you groan.
You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before heâs next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. âDrink. All of it,â he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.
You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you thereâs no room to object.
You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. âThanks.â
You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like youâre travelling through space and time.
The clothes youâre in are close enough to pyjamas. Thereâs no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.
He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly youâll manage that fills you with anxiety.
You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.
This is Loganâs room. Are you just that drunk that you couldnât tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?
You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back.Â
âWhy am I in your bed?â You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.
âYou canât take care of yourself tonight,â he says. âYouâre too drunk.â He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.
You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.
âAh. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,â you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.
You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isnât so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.
A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. âI think you still have some tequila to sleep off.â
Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. Itâs not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.
âIs itâŠsafe? To share a bed?â The most coherent thought youâve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures.Â
Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than theyâve been all night in this moment.
Youâre sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.
âYouâre just gonna have to trust me.â His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.
You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room.Â
Logan wouldnât put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldnât risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasnât absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also donât really know his demons.
You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. âWhy havenât you been given a new mattress?â You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.
The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.
âForgot to ask,â he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.
From his tone you can decipher that he actually means âcanât be bothered.â Itâs a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesnât see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.
There has to be less than an arms length between you two. Itâs a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe itâs all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of whatâs actually happening.
âThanks for everything,â you whisper as if someone else will overhear.
âGet some sleep,â he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.
You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before.Â
You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your positionâif they felt scared, if they even knew.Â
He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough.Â
There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet thereâs something that hasnât allowed the same to be done for his mind.Â
ââââ
The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.
You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.
You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan.Â
You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.
Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. âWhat the fuckâŠâ he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.
âWhat time is it?â Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.
He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. âSeven-forty.â
You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 oâclock.
âFuck!â You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.
Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he wonât be able to. He doesnât work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room.Â
The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasnât eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesnât want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that heâs getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he canât offer you any flattery in his mind.
Another distant âfuckâ escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe thatâs your hangover talking.
âThanks again. Iâll see you around,â you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.
âGood luck with Charles.â Itâs a genuine advisory. Fuck. Youâll be so incredibly lucky if he doesnât give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.
You take a deep breath in and slip out of Loganâs room. Thereâs not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.
ââââ â ââââ
âI was told itâll take a day to fix,â Storm explains with a shrug. âYouâll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.â A contrite look passes over her face.
You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they werenât supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasnât on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reasonâto avoid mishaps like this.Â
Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.
âItâs fine. Itâs just one night,â you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You donât love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. Itâs already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast.Â
Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. âThe living room is always free,â she suggests with a remorseful smile.
But you donât want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isnât exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.
âNot a fucking chance,â you laugh. âIâll be fine,â you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jeanâs room at the very end of the hall.
You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.
âFuck,â you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.
Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, youâre going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.
You donât have much of a choice; youâre not comfortable having it be anyone else. Itâs only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel heâs the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision. Â
You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.
You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.
âYou start to miss me or what?â A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why youâre here. Again.
You blink at him slowly in hilarity. âHa, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?â You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. âMy windowââ
âI know what happened,â he interrupts. âFigured youâd go for the couch in the living room.â He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion.Â
âI think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,â you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.
He makes a face that tells you âtouchĂ©â and you smirk in satisfaction. âIf you donât mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise Iâm not trying to make this a habit,â you sigh. Spending the night in Loganâs bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently.Â
âI donât think it would be a bad habit,â he argues. Oh. âCâmon.â He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.
âThanks,â you squeak. He wants you here?Â
He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed thatâs clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.
âDo you have an early morning?â You ask, slipping under the blanket.
âNo. Charles was feeling nice for once,â he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charlesâ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.
âNot an early bird?â You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.
âFuck no,â he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. Itâs self-deprecating, but itâs still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you heâs thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.
The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.
âPeople like us donât usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,â he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.
He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.
People like us.
âYou mean mutants,â you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.
You see his brows pull together. âYeah.â He has a point.
You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats.Â
The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.
Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but youâve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.
You pull the blanket tighter against you. âI donât think youâll hurt me.âÂ
He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. âWhat?â He stops toying with the dog tag.
âYour claws. I trust you.â You didnât feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe youâre reassuring yourself.Â
He hasnât had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative thatâs been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, itâs his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.
You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.
Logan knows he shouldnât make promises he doesnât know heâll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.
A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did thatâand why.Â
You assume itâs his way of saying âthank youâ for your trust when you probably shouldnât be putting that much into him.
âDoes it hurt?â You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.
He knows what youâre asking. âEvery time.â He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little.Â
Thereâs a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know youâre one in the same in a way, and thatâs a connection that Logan hasnât let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.
To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves.Â
âWhat are you?â He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. âTelekinetic? Psychic?â His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.
It never occurred to you that he didnât know your mutation, or that youâve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasnât the one who told you.
âHa, close.â Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently heâs listening. âPsychometric,â you correct, watching his forehead crease.
âSounds like math,â he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. Heâs close enough that you can feel the heat heâs putting off.
You laugh quietly. âNo, itâs extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,â you explain.
You watch his eyes narrow and you know what heâs thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. âI need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,â you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. âThe heart remembers everything,â you clarify.
The catch? The personâs memories and past stay with you after you see them. Itâs become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone elseâs. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then itâs part of you. Forever.
âI havenât looked. I promise.âÂ
âGood. You donât need to see that shit,â he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isnât sure what heâs looking for, but heâs a little startled for the first time in a while.
âIâm sure Iâve seen it all,â you state. Itâs probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.
âNo, you havenât.â A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow.Â
âThen Iâll count myself lucky,â you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and youâre definitely not entitled to it.
A faint smile appears on his lips, then itâs gone just as quick. âGet some sleep,â he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours.Â
Itâs a complete repeat of last time.
Something twinges in your heart, and you donât like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? Heâs just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And thatâs what you should expect: nothing.
The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. Itâs heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.
From above you two might look like youâre transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are.Â
ââââ
Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someoneâs space when they arenât there.
Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.
âThank fuck,â you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.
If you ever have to spend another night in Loganâs bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says âyes, weâre fucking!â, even if it isnât true. You could deny it all you want, but it wonât stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if itâs behind a closed door.
ââââ â ââââ
âAre you fucking Logan?â
You almost swallow your tongue. âSorry?â Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.
âAre you guys sleeping together?â Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.
Youâre sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. âWhy would you think that?â Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.
âThings travel fast around here,â she deflects with a cheeky smile. âAnd, you know, Logan isâŠLogan.â She shrugs.
You donât even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?
âIt wasnât like that,â you grumble. âHe was doing me a favour. As a friend.â It hasnât even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced youâre fucking.Â
You havenât even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.
âRight.â She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can.Â
You roll your eyes. âIf anything was happening, youâd be the first to know,â you point out.Â
She looks back over to you. âI know,â she says with another, more sincere, smile. âYou two would be cute, though.âÂ
You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does whatâand whoâhe wants, when he wants.Â
ââââ
A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.
Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious.Â
There was never any lighting. Thatâs just what the pain feels like.
The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute.Â
You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leaveâthe blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.
You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isnât in the cards right now. Youâre shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.
Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.
You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.
You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesnât hurt.
Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.
âHey, hey, itâs me. Itâs me.â Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.
You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.
âL-LoganâŠâ you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.
He looks like someone who shouldnât be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.
âItâs just me,â he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse.Â
You feel disoriented. âWhâŠhowâŠâÂ
âI heard you,â he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.
âWhat do you need?â He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.
You look at him for a moment. Heâs got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.
âI want it to fucking stop,â you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.
You donât want him to see you like this, even though itâs a commonality between you two. Itâs too intimate. Youâd take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.
Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Loganâs bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.
âTell me what you need,â he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.
âYou.â You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.
He doesnât flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.
âCâmon. Letâs get you out of here,â he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.
An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.
He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.
He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.
You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.
Youâre sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms.Â
His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. âFace me,â he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely.Â
You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck.Â
Itâs nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then thatâs what heâll do.
âGot anything to say?â He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day.Â
What does he want to hear?Â
You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. âI have nothing to say,â you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck.Â
You donât necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you donât want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.
âBullshit.â He almost rolls his eyes. Thereâs no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He wonât pry, but he doesnât believe you.
An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You donât want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else.Â
âI justâŠâ You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but wonât. âWant to sleep. Here,â you sigh. âI donât wanna go back.â You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly.Â
Itâs already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.
His mouth quirks up briefly at that. âWhat happened to not wanting to make that a habit?â His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.
Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.
âSpecial circumstances,â you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.
âSeems like you get into those a lot,â he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.
He steps around to the other sideâhis designated spotâand slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. Youâre not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.
The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.
Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.
But didnât he the last two times? Itâs hard for you to remember, but youâd certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his diâ
âItâs rude to stare, yâknow.â Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first.Â
The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.
You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldnât give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.
âOh, yeah, like youâve ever cared about modesty,â you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.
Itâs not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isnât shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. Youâve seen and heard enough over the past few months.
You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows youâre right. Heâs just glad youâre a little lively and alert.
âWill you be okay for the rest of the night?â He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.
âI should be fine,â you say confidently. âThe challenge will be getting back to sleep.â You laugh in exasperation.Â
Itâs always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. Youâre pumped full of adrenaline and thereâs not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.
You havenât found anything to help with it. Yet.Â
âThereâs not many people thatâll understand what you go through,â he starts, voice rough with fatigue. âBut I do.â
You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. âHow do youâŠhelp it.â Youâre not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions.Â
âYou donât. It just has to run its course.â He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction.Â
It wasnât meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but heâs not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, thatâs not always true.
Although you donât know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will.Â
You sigh lightly. âWeâre quite the pair.âÂ
A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. âI think weâre just fucked up insomniacs,â he suggests with a breathy exhale thatâs close enough to a laugh.
You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see whatâs haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but youâve learned that doing so usually isnât worth the price youâll pay after. If whatâs in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it wonât do you any good either.
âI sleep pretty good with you,â you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.
He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.
âTry not to knee me in the stomach tonight,â he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.
You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didnât think you drifted that much when you slept.Â
âNo promises,â you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.
ââââ
Your eyes acheâto open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but thereâs something else weighing down on you.Â
A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.
Youâre still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but thereâs something dense and hot resting over your back.Â
You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist.Â
The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.
Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection.Â
You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. Itâs endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.
But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.
You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. Itâs already 8 a.m.Â
You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.
A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesnât fully wake him. He knows itâs just you.
Itâs the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didnât necessarily have to.
It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. Thereâs something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together.Â
You want to be the only one.
ââââ â ââââ
Thereâs a shadow thatâs been following you around the mansion.Â
As soon as you stepped out of Loganâs room that morning a few days ago, it started.Â
This shadow likes to be nosy about what youâre doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.
No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and thatâs how you noticed heâs basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest.Â
Heâs always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.
âNo smoking in the courtyard,â you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest.Â
You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight.Â
Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.
He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. âBlow me,â he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.
You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. âYeah, you wish!â You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldnât let himself miss it.
Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside.Â
You have become, by definition, friendsâŠin a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires.Â
Itâs evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. Itâs surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. Itâs become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.
You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Loganâs bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that youâll be faced with. There arenât many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why youâre together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.
That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and youâre not sure how much farther it can go.
ââââ â ââââ
âHowâve you been sleeping?â
âFine. You?â
âCould be better.â Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.
You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.
âHow so?â You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.
A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. âYou could be there,â he provokes, his eyes bright.
Itâs your turn to raise a brow at him, but you canât stop your smile. âOh?â
He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.
This isnât the first time heâs done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.
âCome on,â he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. âYou scratch my back, Iâll scratch yours.â He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.
Fuck. Thatâs good.Â
That may be exactly what you did for him, but itâs now a figure of speech for something else entirely. Itâs almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what youâve been patiently waiting for.Â
You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. âHow sweet,â you hum.
His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. âYou start to miss me?â You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.
âSmart-ass,â he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. Youâre almost at the same height like this.Â
âSave me the left side,â you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. Youâre so close, and heâs already so warm against you just like this.
âAlways do.â
ââââ
You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard itâs pounding against your ribs. Itâs almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.
Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.
It feels like youâre doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.
Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.
âAh, welcome back.â His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair.Â
You shake your head, pursing your lips. âKnock it off.â You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?
Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. âYou enjoy it,â he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as youâre in.Â
âMaybe,â you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.
âOh, really?â You scoff. Heâs biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what youâll do next. Heâs never gone that far before.
âIâm sorry, that was rudeâhow can I make it up to you?â He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.
This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasnât given you much up until this point right now. Youâve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you.Â
In this moment, he isnât the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. Heâs just Loganâfor you.Â
You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. âGet in the fucking bed,â you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. âAnd do what you promised earlier,â you stare pointedly at him.
He owes you that âyou scratch my back, Iâll scratch yoursâ favour he decided to pull out to get you here.Â
âMm, alright, alright,â he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. âI thought of a pretty good idea for it,â he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.
Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. âOh? Whâwoah!â
You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly.Â
He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know whatâs coming. Whatâs been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips.Â
The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.
The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. Itâs just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room youâve become too familiar with.
âLoganâŠâ you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesnât take much to excite him.
âHm?â He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on.Â
You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.
âWhatâs the idea?â Your voice wavers.
You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.
âSomething Iâve wanted for a while,â he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you.Â
Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you.Â
His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body.Â
âShow me, then.â You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.
Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.
The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.
Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.
Itâs all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.
âLogan,â you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.
Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.
He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. âHold on,â he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what youâre askingâor trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.
Then the world is tilting.
He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily.Â
Logan groans. âFuckâI can smell it. I smell you.â He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips.Â
âTasteâŠif you want to,â you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.
Loganâs eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. âOf course I fucking want to, butâfuckânext time. I promise.â He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip.Â
âLetâs just take things easy,â he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.
A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.
âIâll hold you to it, then,â you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.
âI hope you will,â he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesnât want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that wonât entirely ruin you for tomorrow.
He doesnât know what you can or cannot handle, but heâs going to find out.
The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. Itâs a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverineâs just run hot.
His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of whatâs underneath.
You watch himâpalming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.
âItâs rude to stare.â He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.
You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you.Â
He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. âThen stop showing me your dick,â you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.
You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But itâs alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.
He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.
âHow about I find somewhere to put it?â His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.
âIt would be a damn shame if you didnât,â you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.
âGood.â He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.
He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.
The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.
âCâmon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,â you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much.Â
Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. âIs that a promise?â He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.
âTry it and find out,â you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.
He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.
âHm, guess no lube is needed,â he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.
You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. âJesus fucking Christ, Logan,â you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You donât want to be that aware of your naked self right now.
He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.
But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.
âAlright, stay with me,â he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance.Â
âO-okay,â you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. Youâre not even really sure what heâs saying. Â
He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but youâve become lost in the feeling of him all over you.Â
Heâs in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.
He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying.Â
The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine.Â
âA-ahâfuck. Fuck, Logan,â you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.
He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in.Â
âJust a bit more,â he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.
Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasnât really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.
You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end.Â
Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.
You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.
âFuck. Already feels too good,â he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.
You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. âBest of luck,â you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.
He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but thereâs still some mischief in his hazel eyes. âOh? Yeah?â
You hold each otherâs gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.
Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then itâs Loganâs turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over.Â
Itâs a pace that isnât quite pure, mindless fucking, but itâs also not somewhere near earnest love-making. Itâs something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere.Â
The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you donât know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.
A helpless groan slips through Loganâs lips. âWhere have you fucking been, huh?â He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body.Â
Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. âTwo doors down,â you giggle, understanding thatâs not quite what he was asking.
âFucking smart-ass,â he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You donât think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.
The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess youâre making all over him. Itâs smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep heâs been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.
Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure heâs fucking himself in to the base. He doesnât deprive you of anything.Â
He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.
âH-hah, Logan,â you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.
You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.
You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.
âFu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,â you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard heâs driving into you now.
He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. âCanât always control it,â he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress.Â
You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that thatâs the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now youâve seen both sides.
âItâs okay,â you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. âKeep goingâŠkeep going,â you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.
You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shouldersâyouâre tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.
âKeep squeezing me like that and youâll get whatever you want,â he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.
You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.
âJustâinside.â You canât even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Loganâs ears perk up.
He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.
Youâre both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You donât want it to be. You hope it isnât.
He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forwardâonly slightlyâbringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.
His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.
You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan toâ
âFocus, baby. Focus on me,â he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. âCome onâŠcome on, I know youâre almost there,â he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.
The burn in your thigh from the stretch canât overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.
You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.
He doesnât pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead.Â
Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension theyâve been caught up in.Â
You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.
He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, thoughâone where heâs completely possessed by bliss.Â
You probably look like you survived an animal attack.
âAre we even?â Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.
A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. âI think I still owe you,â you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.
Youâll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what heâs done for you, what youâve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that wonât stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all.Â
âWeâll figure it out,â he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest.Â
You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesnât work. He enjoys it anyway.
âDo I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?â You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.
Logan blinks. âYou can stay every night.âÂ
A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries. Â
Youâmaybe foolishlyâtrust him. You trust that he wonât accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but youâve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.
Healing isnât linear, and you canât expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point.Â
You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.
Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. âCan I have the left side?â Rhetorical, again.
Logan chuckles against your mouth. âAlways.â
oooh this fic!!! loved the dynamic between logan and reader <3
Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you. Even the Wolverine isnât an exception.Â
we starting off STRONG - like they are two souls who know how the other feels and what they're going through!!
the scene in the kitchen with storm, then logan carrying her to the room like !!!!
The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.
small detail but i like it b/c we often forget that his adamantium-filled body is heavy af HAHA
âIf you donât mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise Iâm not trying to make this a habit,â you sigh. Spending the night in Loganâs bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently. âI donât think it would be a bad habit,â he argues. Oh.
loooove that line exchange!!! so many great line exchanges with them omg
reader's power reveal was so interesting!! never have heard of it and it's so unique!!!! i really would love to know if one day reader does accept his energy and how that interaction would work out. would it be tough between them once she sees everything, experiences it, feels it to her core? i believe that they'd get through it, but i can imagine it may be tough. if someone ever asked you this (or if you're willing to reply to this?), i'd love to know!!!
when storm asks if they're fucking LMAOOOO
when logan comforts reader !!!!!!
PAINNNNN, but also omg logan is the best ahhh he just knows what to say and how to react and ughhhh
the change in their dynamic after that one night like helloOOOOOOo and then they finally do it!!!!!!! the smut was delicious and extended like i loved the pacing and details so much
âDo I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?â You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window. Logan blinks. âYou can stay every night.â A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.  Youâmaybe foolishlyâtrust him. You trust that he wonât accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but youâve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck. Healing isnât linear, and you canât expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point. You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you. Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. âCan I have the left side?â Rhetorical, again. Logan chuckles against your mouth. âAlways.â
such a great ending ahhhhh i loved this so much!!! this was such a fun read it didn't feel like 15k thank you for this amazing fic op <3
thank you so much for reading and taking the time to write such a sweet, kind reblog đ it was so fun to see your thoughts and reactions! <3
iâll gladly answer your question about whether reader eventually sees loganâs past or not :)
to preface: when i was outlining everything, i initially had planned for reader to accept his energy on the 4th night after the panic attack to hopefully build on their emotional connection and have them âbondâ more, but i quickly realized that it seemed way too out of place considering the implications of what just happened. it didnât make sense to have them want to see loganâs past/trauma at that moment when i previously revealed the âcatchâ to their mutation:
âThe personâs memories and past stay with you after you see them. Itâs become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone elseâs. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then itâs part of you. Forever.â
i couldnât create/find a motivation to justify reader doing that after having them express how badly utilizing their mutation has traumatized them. it didnât seem right or âethicalâ to make reader (want to) suffer more and have logan be âokayâ with it for the sake ofâŠwhat, exactly? shock value? trauma bonding? it didnât sit right with me and seemed lazy đ
i couldnât figure it out, especially when i had logan express how he didnât want them to see anything during the 3rd night anyway, so i scrapped it along with any thoughts of having them see his past in the fic.
however, to answer your questions (i talk too much), iâm comfortable in saying that logan would never let reader use their powers on him, and reader would be okay with that. i donât think he would ever forgive himself for letting themâsomeone he loves and cares forâtechnically inherit his trauma and memories when he himself has a hell of a time dealing with them. he doesnât see the need for it.
of course, reader will always be curious about what theyâd see if they did get a chance to look, but logan verbally sharing bits and pieces over time is enough to scratch that itch for them. they know it would do more harm than good, and it took them a long time to accept that fact when theyâve been able to just look in on anyone and anything wherever, whenever.
i think it would never really be discussed again after that 3rd night when logan says reader doesnât âneed to see that shitâ. itâs more of a âsilentâ agreement that was made after everything (âeverythingâ = whole fic lmao) that there will never be the possibility or discussion again of them seeing his past through the use of their mutation. logan will share the parts he wants to, when he wants, and not leave it all up to a limitless power that hurts his partner.
although i am the author and the âalmighty forceâ over this fic, i still want readers to make whatever conclusions they want about their relationship (and how it progresses with the presence of an invasive mutation!). ambiguity is a truly beautiful thing when it comes to logan, i believe. so, i will always encourage readers to headcanon their little hearts away with whatever i write! :)
hopefully that was informative enough (but definitely way too rambly) and fills in some gaps for you <3 i really appreciate how much you cared for this story! i could probably talk about these absolute idiots and this fic foreverâŠ
hello! i stalked your blog and the only remaining thought(s) in my head:
1. i wanna eat you (affectionate)
2. i REALLY wanna give your brain a kissi bcs i fw your vibe hard
okay bye <3
weird way to propose but my answer is yes anyway !
AUTHORR! BLESS ME WITH MORE LOGAN X READER AND MY LIFE IS YOURSS đđ
i have some old man logan + âjust the tipâ coming next đ

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Time After Time
Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).
Explicit content (18+)
Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again
Tags/warnings: age-gap due to loganâs mutation (readerâs age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when heâs close (đïžđïž), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of âbabyâ once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).
Summary: 4 times you end up in Loganâs bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.
Notes: this falls somewhere in between âwhich could mean nothingâ and âwe can fix each otherâ 𫥠(written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)
Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.
You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasnât completely dreamless.
You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.
Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know thatâs not the case. Your heart feels like itâs being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.
No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart thatâs working so hard with each beat that it hurts.Â
âFuck. Fuck,â you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to whatâs happening.
 Panic. Itâs all panic.
You canât do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.
Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment youâre fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.
There is no choice. Your mind doesnât give you one.
The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.
You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff.Â
You look to your window and see that the sun hasnât even started to rise yet. Youâll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but thereâs not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and thinkâŠthen think some more.Â
Youâre confident the professor isnât even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but sheâs been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.
A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One thatâs only two doors down, one over from Storm.
Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didnât do a good enough job.
You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used toâ
âUh. Are you okay?â
You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.
âHuh?â You blink a few times, disoriented.
Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. âAre you okay?â He asks again, offering a look of concernâor maybe confusionâthat you havenât seen often. A look thatâs never needed to be directed towards you.
You come back to yourself. âButâIâŠdidnât knock,â you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door.Â
He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. âI could smell you before you passed Stormâs room,â he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh.Â
You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.
âYouâreâŠawake?â Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly youâre standing outside Loganâs room at 4 a.m.
âSo are you,â he counters with a curious look. âSo let me ask again. Are you okay?â He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck youâre outside his room at 4 a.m.
âIâm not sure how to answer that,â you say, and itâs the truth.Â
You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Loganâs door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweatsâthanks, Charlesâthat canât fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.
Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.
âCanât sleep?â He questions, but he knows heâs right.
âYeah.â You donât know why youâre making it Loganâs problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy whoâs seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.
Itâs not that heâs not a good, nice guy, but you donât know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.
You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same âteamâ, but itâs nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. Heâs a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.
He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.
âI donât think I can help you,â he says wearily. âIâm no better. Clearly.â He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that youâre both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.
âOhâno, Iâm not looking for help. I think Iâm beyond that at this point,â you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesnât follow. Tough crowd.
âI, uh, donât actually know what Iâm looking for,â you offer.
You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck youâre here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?
âIâm not really used to Storm being gone for so long,â you admit. âI just feelâŠall over the place, I guess.â
Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. âI can hear you sometimes,â he says, a knowingâalmost sympatheticâlook on his face. âWe have the same problem.â
You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didnât think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldnât come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.
He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.
You donât move right away. Could this be a false awakening? Youâre not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didnât expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured heâd offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didnât exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.
You force your feet to carry you into Loganâs room. Itâs not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed.Â
âWere you, uhâŠsleeping before I came?â You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.
He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.
âTrying to,â he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.
Fucking duh. âSorry if I disturbed you,â you wince to yourself.Â
You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. âI had to get up anyway.â His voice is still gravelly from sleep.
It feels like youâre invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. Thereâs nothing to make this special.
âIâm fucking exhausted,â you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.
âTry to sleep. If you want,â he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. âItâs easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.â Itâs gruff, but heâs sincere. Â
Maybe the professor is awake after all.
You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?
âOh, wowâŠuh, sure.â It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.
âI have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,â he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.
A shy âthanksâ is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.
Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. Theyâd probably kill you specifically to get it. Itâs not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all studentsâ desires. He knows it, too.Â
âSee you later,â he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.
Should you be offended that he didnât stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he canât. He couldnât. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now youâre justâŠaloneâŠin Loganâs room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.
Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike.Â
You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.
Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: âWe have the same problem.â
Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. Itâs suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change.Â
Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.
Even the Wolverine isnât an exception.Â
ââââ â ââââ
The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.
Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila.Â
âNo more, no more. I canât.â Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.
Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.
âYouâre a bad influence,â she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
âNoâIâm under the influence,â you counter, a playful smile on your lips. âThereâs a difference. You still have your own free will.â
Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. âWe have training tomorrow,â she slurs. âCharles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.â She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.
âHeâll be lucky if we show up at all,â you mumble.Â
The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleepâlike you both should be.
You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like youâre spinning through time and space, and youâd be lying if you said it didnât feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.
âAm I interrupting something?â
You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.
You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. âFuck, donât do that,â you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.
âDonât do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?â Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.
âDoesnât anyone sleep in this place?â He mumbles to himself.
âAnd with that, Iâm done for the night,â Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. âIâll see you tomorrow.â Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.
âSee you, Logan,â she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.
Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, youâre all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.
As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But youâre not sober, and thatâs the problem.
âNot gonna follow Storm?â He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.
A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. âI donât think I can make it down the hall,â you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and itâs not even fully done working its magic yet.
Logan raises a brow. âWant some help?â Thereâs no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you donât know what the fuck to expect from him.
Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?
Itâs been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned heâs burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering whatâor whoâcould have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldnât suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.
âI didnât know wolverineâs were chivalrous,â you tease.
The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that youâd expect a guy like him to not care about.Â
Youâre not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.
âNot overly,â he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. âI like to think Iâm special,â he says quieter.
âMaybe you are,â you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.
The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. âWow, okay,â you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?
A warm hand presses between your shoulders. âWoah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.â Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.
His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.
Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.
âAre you okay?â He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.
You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstormâitâs usually too late to do anything once you notice it.Â
âI drank a lot,â you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.
He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lightsâhis usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesnât look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.
Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that youâve had a generous amount of tequilaâand are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. Thatâs new.
âCan you walk?â He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. âOr will I have to carry you?â He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders.Â
Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.
âIâm not gonna tell you no, but it feels like Iâm floating in a bubble that wonât stop spinning,â you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. âI might fly away.â You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again.Â
âYeah, youâre fucked up,â he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else whoâs concerned for your well-being would.Â
âHey, kitty catâIâm perfectly buzzed,â you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.
ââKitty catâ? Really?â He snorts. âI think youâre past your bedtime by three drinks,â he remarks back with equal levity.
âThen take me to bed if youâre so concerned,â you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point.Â
Truthfully, youâre probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesnât need to know that. You just know that you canât control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.
âMaybe I will.â You donât see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that youâve seen pointed towards Scott too many times.Â
He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back.Â
Oh, so itâs gonna be like that.Â
An excitedâor maybe shockedânoise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.
The trip to your room isnât one that should take long, but each sway from Loganâs steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.
Youâre fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.
The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. Itâs hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Loganâs look of determination to get you in your bed.
He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart.Â
He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesnât stop you from staring.
Youâre now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.
âLogan,â you start before you can fully process the foolish thing youâre about to say next.
He rounds the bed back to the side youâre huddled on, looking down on you. âYeah?â The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet thatâs lingering in the room.
You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. Theyâre replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldnât be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila.Â
You suddenly feel very awake.
âHey, hey.â Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than youâve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. âWhatââ
âBathroom,â you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea.Â
He doesnât say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room. Â
You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.
âFuck,â you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.
Exhaustion hits you like a truck. âLoganâŠâ you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor.Â
He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.
âJustâŠhelp me back to bed,â you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.
He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroomâsteering you from behind.
âIâm gonna get you some water,â he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. âEven though you did this to yourself.â
âFuck off,â you groan.
You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before heâs next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. âDrink. All of it,â he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.
You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you thereâs no room to object.
You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. âThanks.â
You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like youâre travelling through space and time.
The clothes youâre in are close enough to pyjamas. Thereâs no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.
He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly youâll manage that fills you with anxiety.
You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.
This is Loganâs room. Are you just that drunk that you couldnât tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?
You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back.Â
âWhy am I in your bed?â You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.
âYou canât take care of yourself tonight,â he says. âYouâre too drunk.â He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.
You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.
âAh. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,â you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.
You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isnât so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.
A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. âI think you still have some tequila to sleep off.â
Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. Itâs not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.
âIs itâŠsafe? To share a bed?â The most coherent thought youâve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures.Â
Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than theyâve been all night in this moment.
Youâre sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.
âYouâre just gonna have to trust me.â His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.
You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room.Â
Logan wouldnât put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldnât risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasnât absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also donât really know his demons.
You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. âWhy havenât you been given a new mattress?â You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.
The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.
âForgot to ask,â he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.
From his tone you can decipher that he actually means âcanât be bothered.â Itâs a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesnât see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.
There has to be less than an arms length between you two. Itâs a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe itâs all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of whatâs actually happening.
âThanks for everything,â you whisper as if someone else will overhear.
âGet some sleep,â he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.
You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before.Â
You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your positionâif they felt scared, if they even knew.Â
He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough.Â
There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet thereâs something that hasnât allowed the same to be done for his mind.Â
ââââ
The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.
You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.
You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan.Â
You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.
Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. âWhat the fuckâŠâ he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.
âWhat time is it?â Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.
He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. âSeven-forty.â
You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 oâclock.
âFuck!â You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.
Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he wonât be able to. He doesnât work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room.Â
The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasnât eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesnât want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that heâs getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he canât offer you any flattery in his mind.
Another distant âfuckâ escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe thatâs your hangover talking.
âThanks again. Iâll see you around,â you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.
âGood luck with Charles.â Itâs a genuine advisory. Fuck. Youâll be so incredibly lucky if he doesnât give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.
You take a deep breath in and slip out of Loganâs room. Thereâs not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.
ââââ â ââââ
âI was told itâll take a day to fix,â Storm explains with a shrug. âYouâll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.â A contrite look passes over her face.
You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they werenât supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasnât on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reasonâto avoid mishaps like this.Â
Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.
âItâs fine. Itâs just one night,â you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You donât love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. Itâs already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast.Â
Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. âThe living room is always free,â she suggests with a remorseful smile.
But you donât want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isnât exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.
âNot a fucking chance,â you laugh. âIâll be fine,â you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jeanâs room at the very end of the hall.
You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.
âFuck,â you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.
Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, youâre going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.
You donât have much of a choice; youâre not comfortable having it be anyone else. Itâs only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel heâs the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision. Â
You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.
You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.
âYou start to miss me or what?â A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why youâre here. Again.
You blink at him slowly in hilarity. âHa, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?â You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. âMy windowââ
âI know what happened,â he interrupts. âFigured youâd go for the couch in the living room.â He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion.Â
âI think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,â you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.
He makes a face that tells you âtouchĂ©â and you smirk in satisfaction. âIf you donât mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise Iâm not trying to make this a habit,â you sigh. Spending the night in Loganâs bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently.Â
âI donât think it would be a bad habit,â he argues. Oh. âCâmon.â He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.
âThanks,â you squeak. He wants you here?Â
He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed thatâs clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.
âDo you have an early morning?â You ask, slipping under the blanket.
âNo. Charles was feeling nice for once,â he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charlesâ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.
âNot an early bird?â You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.
âFuck no,â he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. Itâs self-deprecating, but itâs still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you heâs thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.
The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.
âPeople like us donât usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,â he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.
He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.
People like us.
âYou mean mutants,â you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.
You see his brows pull together. âYeah.â He has a point.
You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats.Â
The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.
Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but youâve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.
You pull the blanket tighter against you. âI donât think youâll hurt me.âÂ
He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. âWhat?â He stops toying with the dog tag.
âYour claws. I trust you.â You didnât feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe youâre reassuring yourself.Â
He hasnât had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative thatâs been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, itâs his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.
You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.
Logan knows he shouldnât make promises he doesnât know heâll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.
A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did thatâand why.Â
You assume itâs his way of saying âthank youâ for your trust when you probably shouldnât be putting that much into him.
âDoes it hurt?â You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.
He knows what youâre asking. âEvery time.â He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little.Â
Thereâs a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know youâre one in the same in a way, and thatâs a connection that Logan hasnât let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.
To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves.Â
âWhat are you?â He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. âTelekinetic? Psychic?â His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.
It never occurred to you that he didnât know your mutation, or that youâve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasnât the one who told you.
âHa, close.â Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently heâs listening. âPsychometric,â you correct, watching his forehead crease.
âSounds like math,â he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. Heâs close enough that you can feel the heat heâs putting off.
You laugh quietly. âNo, itâs extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,â you explain.
You watch his eyes narrow and you know what heâs thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. âI need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,â you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. âThe heart remembers everything,â you clarify.
The catch? The personâs memories and past stay with you after you see them. Itâs become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone elseâs. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then itâs part of you. Forever.
âI havenât looked. I promise.âÂ
âGood. You donât need to see that shit,â he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isnât sure what heâs looking for, but heâs a little startled for the first time in a while.
âIâm sure Iâve seen it all,â you state. Itâs probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.
âNo, you havenât.â A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow.Â
âThen Iâll count myself lucky,â you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and youâre definitely not entitled to it.
A faint smile appears on his lips, then itâs gone just as quick. âGet some sleep,â he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours.Â
Itâs a complete repeat of last time.
Something twinges in your heart, and you donât like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? Heâs just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And thatâs what you should expect: nothing.
The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. Itâs heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.
From above you two might look like youâre transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are.Â
ââââ
Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someoneâs space when they arenât there.
Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.
âThank fuck,â you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.
If you ever have to spend another night in Loganâs bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says âyes, weâre fucking!â, even if it isnât true. You could deny it all you want, but it wonât stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if itâs behind a closed door.
ââââ â ââââ
âAre you fucking Logan?â
You almost swallow your tongue. âSorry?â Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.
âAre you guys sleeping together?â Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.
Youâre sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. âWhy would you think that?â Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.
âThings travel fast around here,â she deflects with a cheeky smile. âAnd, you know, Logan isâŠLogan.â She shrugs.
You donât even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?
âIt wasnât like that,â you grumble. âHe was doing me a favour. As a friend.â It hasnât even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced youâre fucking.Â
You havenât even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.
âRight.â She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can.Â
You roll your eyes. âIf anything was happening, youâd be the first to know,â you point out.Â
She looks back over to you. âI know,â she says with another, more sincere, smile. âYou two would be cute, though.âÂ
You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does whatâand whoâhe wants, when he wants.Â
ââââ
A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.
Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious.Â
There was never any lighting. Thatâs just what the pain feels like.
The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute.Â
You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leaveâthe blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.
You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isnât in the cards right now. Youâre shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.
Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.
You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.
You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesnât hurt.
Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.
âHey, hey, itâs me. Itâs me.â Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.
You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.
âL-LoganâŠâ you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.
He looks like someone who shouldnât be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.
âItâs just me,â he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse.Â
You feel disoriented. âWhâŠhowâŠâÂ
âI heard you,â he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.
âWhat do you need?â He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.
You look at him for a moment. Heâs got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.
âI want it to fucking stop,â you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.
You donât want him to see you like this, even though itâs a commonality between you two. Itâs too intimate. Youâd take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.
Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Loganâs bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.
âTell me what you need,â he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.
âYou.â You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.
He doesnât flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.
âCâmon. Letâs get you out of here,â he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.
An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.
He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.
He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.
You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.
Youâre sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms.Â
His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. âFace me,â he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely.Â
You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck.Â
Itâs nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then thatâs what heâll do.
âGot anything to say?â He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day.Â
What does he want to hear?Â
You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. âI have nothing to say,â you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck.Â
You donât necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you donât want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.
âBullshit.â He almost rolls his eyes. Thereâs no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He wonât pry, but he doesnât believe you.
An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You donât want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else.Â
âI justâŠâ You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but wonât. âWant to sleep. Here,â you sigh. âI donât wanna go back.â You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly.Â
Itâs already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.
His mouth quirks up briefly at that. âWhat happened to not wanting to make that a habit?â His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.
Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.
âSpecial circumstances,â you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.
âSeems like you get into those a lot,â he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.
He steps around to the other sideâhis designated spotâand slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. Youâre not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.
The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.
Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.
But didnât he the last two times? Itâs hard for you to remember, but youâd certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his diâ
âItâs rude to stare, yâknow.â Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first.Â
The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.
You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldnât give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.
âOh, yeah, like youâve ever cared about modesty,â you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.
Itâs not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isnât shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. Youâve seen and heard enough over the past few months.
You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows youâre right. Heâs just glad youâre a little lively and alert.
âWill you be okay for the rest of the night?â He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.
âI should be fine,â you say confidently. âThe challenge will be getting back to sleep.â You laugh in exasperation.Â
Itâs always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. Youâre pumped full of adrenaline and thereâs not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.
You havenât found anything to help with it. Yet.Â
âThereâs not many people thatâll understand what you go through,â he starts, voice rough with fatigue. âBut I do.â
You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. âHow do youâŠhelp it.â Youâre not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions.Â
âYou donât. It just has to run its course.â He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction.Â
It wasnât meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but heâs not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, thatâs not always true.
Although you donât know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will.Â
You sigh lightly. âWeâre quite the pair.âÂ
A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. âI think weâre just fucked up insomniacs,â he suggests with a breathy exhale thatâs close enough to a laugh.
You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see whatâs haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but youâve learned that doing so usually isnât worth the price youâll pay after. If whatâs in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it wonât do you any good either.
âI sleep pretty good with you,â you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.
He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.
âTry not to knee me in the stomach tonight,â he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.
You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didnât think you drifted that much when you slept.Â
âNo promises,â you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.
ââââ
Your eyes acheâto open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but thereâs something else weighing down on you.Â
A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.
Youâre still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but thereâs something dense and hot resting over your back.Â
You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist.Â
The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.
Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection.Â
You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. Itâs endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.
But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.
You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. Itâs already 8 a.m.Â
You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.
A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesnât fully wake him. He knows itâs just you.
Itâs the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didnât necessarily have to.
It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. Thereâs something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together.Â
You want to be the only one.
ââââ â ââââ
Thereâs a shadow thatâs been following you around the mansion.Â
As soon as you stepped out of Loganâs room that morning a few days ago, it started.Â
This shadow likes to be nosy about what youâre doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.
No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and thatâs how you noticed heâs basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest.Â
Heâs always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.
âNo smoking in the courtyard,â you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest.Â
You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight.Â
Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.
He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. âBlow me,â he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.
You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. âYeah, you wish!â You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldnât let himself miss it.
Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside.Â
You have become, by definition, friendsâŠin a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires.Â
Itâs evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. Itâs surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. Itâs become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.
You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Loganâs bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that youâll be faced with. There arenât many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why youâre together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.
That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and youâre not sure how much farther it can go.
ââââ â ââââ
âHowâve you been sleeping?â
âFine. You?â
âCould be better.â Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.
You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.
âHow so?â You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.
A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. âYou could be there,â he provokes, his eyes bright.
Itâs your turn to raise a brow at him, but you canât stop your smile. âOh?â
He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.
This isnât the first time heâs done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.
âCome on,â he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. âYou scratch my back, Iâll scratch yours.â He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.
Fuck. Thatâs good.Â
That may be exactly what you did for him, but itâs now a figure of speech for something else entirely. Itâs almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what youâve been patiently waiting for.Â
You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. âHow sweet,â you hum.
His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. âYou start to miss me?â You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.
âSmart-ass,â he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. Youâre almost at the same height like this.Â
âSave me the left side,â you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. Youâre so close, and heâs already so warm against you just like this.
âAlways do.â
ââââ
You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard itâs pounding against your ribs. Itâs almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.
Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.
It feels like youâre doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.
Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.
âAh, welcome back.â His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair.Â
You shake your head, pursing your lips. âKnock it off.â You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?
Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. âYou enjoy it,â he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as youâre in.Â
âMaybe,â you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.
âOh, really?â You scoff. Heâs biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what youâll do next. Heâs never gone that far before.
âIâm sorry, that was rudeâhow can I make it up to you?â He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.
This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasnât given you much up until this point right now. Youâve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you.Â
In this moment, he isnât the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. Heâs just Loganâfor you.Â
You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. âGet in the fucking bed,â you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. âAnd do what you promised earlier,â you stare pointedly at him.
He owes you that âyou scratch my back, Iâll scratch yoursâ favour he decided to pull out to get you here.Â
âMm, alright, alright,â he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. âI thought of a pretty good idea for it,â he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.
Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. âOh? Whâwoah!â
You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly.Â
He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know whatâs coming. Whatâs been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips.Â
The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.
The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. Itâs just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room youâve become too familiar with.
âLoganâŠâ you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesnât take much to excite him.
âHm?â He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on.Â
You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.
âWhatâs the idea?â Your voice wavers.
You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.
âSomething Iâve wanted for a while,â he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you.Â
Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you.Â
His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body.Â
âShow me, then.â You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.
Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.
The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.
Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.
Itâs all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.
âLogan,â you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.
Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.
He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. âHold on,â he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what youâre askingâor trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.
Then the world is tilting.
He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily.Â
Logan groans. âFuckâI can smell it. I smell you.â He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips.Â
âTasteâŠif you want to,â you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.
Loganâs eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. âOf course I fucking want to, butâfuckânext time. I promise.â He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip.Â
âLetâs just take things easy,â he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.
A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.
âIâll hold you to it, then,â you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.
âI hope you will,â he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesnât want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that wonât entirely ruin you for tomorrow.
He doesnât know what you can or cannot handle, but heâs going to find out.
The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. Itâs a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverineâs just run hot.
His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of whatâs underneath.
You watch himâpalming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.
âItâs rude to stare.â He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.
You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you.Â
He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. âThen stop showing me your dick,â you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.
You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But itâs alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.
He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.
âHow about I find somewhere to put it?â His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.
âIt would be a damn shame if you didnât,â you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.
âGood.â He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.
He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.
The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.
âCâmon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,â you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much.Â
Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. âIs that a promise?â He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.
âTry it and find out,â you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.
He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.
âHm, guess no lube is needed,â he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.
You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. âJesus fucking Christ, Logan,â you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You donât want to be that aware of your naked self right now.
He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.
But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.
âAlright, stay with me,â he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance.Â
âO-okay,â you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. Youâre not even really sure what heâs saying. Â
He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but youâve become lost in the feeling of him all over you.Â
Heâs in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.
He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying.Â
The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine.Â
âA-ahâfuck. Fuck, Logan,â you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.
He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in.Â
âJust a bit more,â he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.
Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasnât really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.
You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end.Â
Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.
You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.
âFuck. Already feels too good,â he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.
You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. âBest of luck,â you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.
He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but thereâs still some mischief in his hazel eyes. âOh? Yeah?â
You hold each otherâs gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.
Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then itâs Loganâs turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over.Â
Itâs a pace that isnât quite pure, mindless fucking, but itâs also not somewhere near earnest love-making. Itâs something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere.Â
The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you donât know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.
A helpless groan slips through Loganâs lips. âWhere have you fucking been, huh?â He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body.Â
Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. âTwo doors down,â you giggle, understanding thatâs not quite what he was asking.
âFucking smart-ass,â he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You donât think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.
The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess youâre making all over him. Itâs smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep heâs been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.
Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure heâs fucking himself in to the base. He doesnât deprive you of anything.Â
He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.
âH-hah, Logan,â you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.
You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.
You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.
âFu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,â you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard heâs driving into you now.
He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. âCanât always control it,â he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress.Â
You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that thatâs the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now youâve seen both sides.
âItâs okay,â you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. âKeep goingâŠkeep going,â you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.
You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shouldersâyouâre tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.
âKeep squeezing me like that and youâll get whatever you want,â he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.
You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.
âJustâinside.â You canât even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Loganâs ears perk up.
He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.
Youâre both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You donât want it to be. You hope it isnât.
He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forwardâonly slightlyâbringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.
His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.
You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan toâ
âFocus, baby. Focus on me,â he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. âCome onâŠcome on, I know youâre almost there,â he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.
The burn in your thigh from the stretch canât overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.
You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.
He doesnât pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead.Â
Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension theyâve been caught up in.Â
You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.
He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, thoughâone where heâs completely possessed by bliss.Â
You probably look like you survived an animal attack.
âAre we even?â Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.
A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. âI think I still owe you,â you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.
Youâll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what heâs done for you, what youâve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that wonât stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all.Â
âWeâll figure it out,â he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest.Â
You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesnât work. He enjoys it anyway.
âDo I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?â You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.
Logan blinks. âYou can stay every night.âÂ
A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries. Â
Youâmaybe foolishlyâtrust him. You trust that he wonât accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but youâve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.
Healing isnât linear, and you canât expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point.Â
You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.
Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. âCan I have the left side?â Rhetorical, again.
Logan chuckles against your mouth. âAlways.â
i will never forgive them for not giving logan his kitty cat hair in originsâŠ
it wouldâve slayed so hard with the lumberjack look :(
