#lonesomebub

As Harley trudged her way towards Logan’s place she tried to think of a good excuse for the state she was in. A few bruises, a small cut here and there, and then a large gash down her back. And maybe a broken rib or two. She’d be able to take care of the other wounds but as often as she tried to reach the middle of her back to scratch an itch she knew she would need help taking care of that one.

“Oh this? I was just mindin’ my own business when these thugs jumped out at me!” Harley spoke aloud to herself as she tried on that flimsy excuse for size. She shook her head, knowing he’d be able to see right through it. Maybe he could smell the lie. Or her face could have given it away. If she was going to say something that stupid she’d have to wear a mask.

The truth was Harley had gotten in that fight on purpose. She was slowly starting to lose reasons for Logan to come over besides the fact that she missed him. That she wanted him. The sex was a plus, but lately she just wanted his presence. And sex. But there was no way in hell she’d tell him something like that.

I swear I've seen him somewhere before. At first, Mary Jane thought he was a bouncer, but that guy had been taller. Stocky build aside and stubble, the more she stared, the more she realized there was no resemblance.

"Oh...sorry, didn't mean to stare. I was trying to figure out if I knew you" or if he had rejected her at the entrance because the name she had dropped had burned MJ in their social circle.

The only time London had ever missed a Movie Night at the Mansion was when she was away on a mission. Otherwise, she always made a point to show up.

Usually she got there early enough that she didn't have to struggle to find a seat. But this particular night, she'd finished training late...

After a whirlwind shower, she pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then rushed out of her room, bare feet padding quickly along the hardwood floor. But even though she'd hurried, by the time she'd arrived, the room was, well... packed.

A soft muttered curse escaped her as her golden cat-like gaze trailed over the darkened room in search of any available seat. It took her a moment, but when she found one, it was on a couch closer to the back of the room...

Next to...

Oh, fuck.

Her heart leapt into her throat the second she laid eyes on Logan, and for a split second, she almost considered just turning around and leaving. That would certainly be easier than trying to deal with the very inconvenient, almost debilitating crush she had on the man.

Yes, they were team mates, and yes, they worked together on an almost daily basis. But she hadn't ever had the opportunity to be in this kind of close proximity to him. And honestly? She wasn't sure how well she'd be able to control herself if she sat next to him longer than a few minutes.

But she was already here...

Running her tongue along her elongated canines, London deliberated for another second before making up her mind. Then, she side-stepped around the seats along the edge of the room until she reached the couch he was occupying.

She didn't bother asking if he was okay with her sitting there, she just sat. But as her bare arm brushed his, she had to stop herself from sucking in an audible breath.

Okay, so the couch was a lot smaller than she'd originally thought... No big deal.

[ text ]: img

From @lonesomebub

send ✔️ and my muse will tell you what they like about your muse

With the adrenaline still rushing through his veins from the fight, the Cajun found it hard to acknowledge Logan's presence with more than a roll of his eyes and drag of his cigarette, card flipping anxiously between his bloody fingers. Sentinels. Ever the pain in the ass but they never seemed to stop coming. No matter how many of them they destroyed, more would eventually crawl out of the belly of Earth to eventually hunt mutants.

It made him wonder if Magneto was right; there would never be peace.

“Relax. Your brother has done worse ta me.” Another long, slow drag, releasing the smoke through his nose as Remy turned sharply on his heel to continue with his pacing. The gash over his shoulder blade was deep and needed stitches, but he couldn't care less about it. Blood dripped down his back and inside of his sleeve, over his fingers with the card flipping between them, leaving evidence in his path. Not that he noticed.