#worst!wolverine

Nerves coiled in his stomach every time. Still, he persisted, returning your sly comments, your teasing smiles, your barely-there touches. It was simply exhilarating - this game of cat and mouse.

So, when he showed up this morning, tools slung over a shoulder, mischief glazing his eyes, one thing was clear: trouble had certainly arrived. "Well, aren't you gonna let me in?" he'd drawled as you were suddenly, inexplicably, speechless.

Heat prickled his skin as he worked; the flannel stripped off without a second thought. Logan toyed with a bolt, biceps flexing with each turn until the wrench finally gave way. Even as your sharp gaze missed nothing - the slight tremor in his fingers, the slackening grip on the screwdriver - he remained stubbornly focused.

The lemonade you'd offered burned his throat with every swallow. He watched you tilt back, the ice in your glass clinking as you drank. A single droplet slid down your neck, his eyes fixed on its slow descent.

And then, snap.

It wasn't gentle, not at all. His tongue fought yours with a wild desperation, hands finding purchase on your hips until you were locked in place.

Logan had often imagined this. You, kissed by the warm glow of his bedside lamp, arching your back as he fucked you senseless. You, branded by his teeth marks, grinding against his abs till your cum smeared across his happy trail.

You. You. You.

But they were mere fantasies - well, until now.

Because somehow, in the stillness between one breath and the next, you're spun around. Logan's hand claims your chin, his thumb a shackle bruising your lower lip, forcing your gaze to the nearby mirror.

His fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the fabric bunches at your hips, and anticipation - tempting as the taste of forbidden fruit - stings between his legs.

Flush against your back, the jeans do little to conceal his arousal. Yet, he takes his sweet time, kneading the plump cushions of your thighs, savouring every whimper spilling from your lips.

It's almost lazy. The way his fingers pump in and out, a slow, mocking rhythm that just drips of cocky satisfaction - and the bastard has the audacity to pause.

"Eyes on me, darlin'," he rasps, leaving a fleeting kiss below your ear. It's enough, apparently. Dark lashes flutter in surrender as heavy lids part, finding him in the reflection. "Good girl."

His other forearm brushes your side, only briefly stealing your attention, before snaking beneath your shirt. The swell of your breast barely fills his palm, and he nearly loses it all right there.

Rough, calloused skin caresses your nipple. Logan rolls it between his index and thumb, toying the delicate bud until it hardens beneath his touch.

He could laugh, really.

And so, he does - something close to a growl that wakes goosebumps across your flesh. Even as you're writhing against him, hardly standing straight, he doesn't relent. Only deeper, only faster - his fingers thrust into your cunt.

"Fuck Lo– you're a lil’ shit, you know that?"

But he's heard the name you moan when you're playing with yourself. Late-night showers, hot water pounding down your back as you explore your body. Quiet afternoons on the couch, soft cushions muffling your gasps as you lose control. In bed, in the sun, in the shadows - whenever the mood strikes, it seems, he's on your mind.

"How 'bout you hm? Think I can't hear through these fuckin' walls?"

It's far from a threat, yet your laugh amuses him. Carefully, he brushes your hair aside, trailing his nose along your neck. And for a second - a single, pussy-drunk second - he's convinced you've doused yourself in every aphrodisiac known to man.

So he doesn't think twice.

His teeth close around your nape. Sharp and possessive, the bite makes you groan in pleasure. His tongue follows immediately, soothing the reddened bruise now begging to be kissed.

Mesmerised, Logan grins as your head slumps back on his shoulder, the world caught in a dizzying waltz as you lock eyes, your cum coating his hand while a sinful trail glistens down your thighs.

One lick.

That's all it takes; your sweetness lingers in his mouth as his fingers pop free, nice and clean. Logan twirls you between his arms until you're finally face to face. A visible bulge stretches the denim as you draw closer, your grip tightening around the contours of his biceps.

In the mirror, you're simply breathtaking.

His hands settle on your ass, playful squeezes shaping the soft curves beneath his touch. Giggles tumble from your lips, light and airy, as you melt against him.

"Since when do neighbours fuck like this?" you tease, kissing his jawline.

And suddenly, you're swept off your feet. Something like affection shines through his eyes as he nudges your bedroom door open.

"Think we're past that now, honey."

the same logan howlett never takes the bait. 

you begin to suspect that perhaps he simply doesn't think you're attractive, or worse, that he thinks you're a creep. doesn’t take long for you to stuff your girl crush into your chest cavity.

it was when you were cradling your laundry basket back to your room when you caught a glimpse of logan trying to open the locks to his apartment, back from his morning run. 

you pad closer to ask him if he needs any clothes washed. logan’s back is still turned from you while he searches for the right lock. 

“need any clothes washed, logan? i’m starting a load up for the day.” you question all while eyeing the movement of back muscle underneath his sweat-soaked shirt.

he finally turns to you and starts to respond, “uh- don’t think so—” before he stops his sentence midway when he sees what you’re wearing. 

“‘s that mine?” his voice sounds hoarse in your ear. 

oh, yeah. it’s his customized t-shirt that is long enough to cover your shorts. the t-shirt wade and blind al got him for his birthday as a half-fuckin’ joke. the one that has his name in bold at the back of it. you notice he’s staring lowly at the fabric—waiting for your answer.

you look downwards, “o-oh, yeah. sorry. i was doing laundry and found this in the hamper. my clothes are already in the wash. hope that’s… okay?” 

you sound docile and small as though a deer caught in the headlights. christ. what were you thinking, wearing your neighbor’s shirt without his permission. the same neighbor that may think you’re a weirdo. you try to hide your humiliation by shifting—playing with the hem of his t-shirt.

within three big steps, he’s on you. the sound he makes is somewhere between a growl and a snarl, almost animal-like.  how or when you both ended up on the floor of his living room is unknown to you. you're on your knees, rubbing your cheek against the carpet as his gaze burns between your legs. only left in his shirt. your shorts and panties are scattered all over the place. when you move your hips backwards, you're silently pleading with him to do something—anything.

he gives the flesh of your bottom a heavy slap that has your hole clenching around nothing, “be good now, doll.” is all you hear before the sting leaves a burning red mark. he calms you down by placing his palm over the back of your his shirt.

you hear a noise behind you before you feel the head of his tip onto your folds—making you release a high-pitched whine into the air. logan, too, groans at the contact, kneading the fat of your hips before he presses forward painfully slow. you whimper into your own palm, another hand reaching back to touch him, feeling warm all over. your pussy pulses trying to fit his large girth inside your heat.

“i know, bunny. ‘m almost there. thaaaa’s it.” you’re crying with relief when you feel logan’s balls meet your skin—a sign that he’s all the way in.

logan lets out an animalistic sound seeing you speared open on his cock, his name across your back, and you babbling stuff like “so b-big, logan…” 

he pulls back just to sink in again, slowly. logan sets a pace that has you trying to buck your hips back to meet his hips. he lays a large palm in the middle of your back, just under the word ‘logan’, keeping you pinned down on the carpet.  giving you no choice but to take what he gives you.

“f-fuck. such a pretty fuckin girl. gonna give ya’ what you deserve, yeah?” it manages to get hotter when he bends his right leg to slide in deeper, reaching your sweet spot. “rite’ there, logan…!” you slur mindlessly. 

he only chuckles at the act before taking both of your smaller wrists into one of his hands—pressing them tightly at your back—forcing you into an arch.

“needed this real bad, huh, sweet’art? don’t ya' worry. always gonna be here from now on. no need to fucking wear those tiny tops t’get my attention again.” 

“mhm!” you reply without a second thought. too oblivious to the fact that you’ve been drooling all over the carpet and to the fact that you’ve been caught. logan gives a deep relief sigh at how compliant you’ve become just from his thick cock.

your high comes hard and fast leaving you sobbing out phrases of please and logan. logan is not far behind—burying himself deeper as he can—and comes inside with a profound ‘oh fuck.’

he trails kisses on your face until he reaches your lips. logan pulls himself out with an obscene sound and watches his cum stream down your thighs. leaving small traces on the floor that he knows he’ll have to clean later before his roommate yells in his ear. 

The mere sight of Logan stepping onto the landing as he arrives home makes your breath stop and his eyes find yours immediately, a dark smirk tugs on the corner of his lips as he leans against the staircase railing to watch you fumble with your keys. “Have a fun girls night?” He asks conversationally.

You look at him over your shoulder and try to even out your breathing before nodding slowly and saying, “Yeah, I - uh - we had a nice time.”

“Hm,” Logan pushes off the railing after a moment and saunters over to you. “Not too drunk, are you?” He asks, standing right behind you and taking your keys from you to finally unlock your door. Your body is tense against his and you slowly shake your head.

Fuck, you think to yourself, should’ve left earlier.

Now, you’re sitting on his lap in your living room. Your hands are holding tightly onto his flannel, you’re squirming and gasping softly as his lips and tongue trace over your pulse. He gets off on this, on the sweet innocence that trails behind your anxiousness, he gets off on how clueless you are to the things he thinks about doing to you. “Ow, wait - ” You whimper in a brief panic when he bites too hard on your collarbone, wanting to push him away, but he doesn’t like when you fight him. Your approach has to be sweet and gentle, you don’t want to upset him. “Please, baby, slow down for me?”

Logan groans softly at the nickname and he kisses over the spot soothingly. “Sweet little thing,” Logan’s hands smooth down your back and grip firmly on your hips. “You’re my sweet girl,” You brace onto his shoulders as he begins grinding you onto the erection in his jeans. “Aren’t you? You like this, right, sweetheart?”

And you nod, giving him a soft, uneasy smile before bringing him back to your lips for a nervous kiss. It’s easier to give in, leaves you aching less because he doesn’t mind exerting his mutant strength over you. But if you play him the right way, you can get him to ease up a bit.

You’re not quite sure when it started. This unorthodox situationship. Perhaps the night when you and Wade fell asleep in the living room. His was a sugar and cocaine induced sleep while you simply knocked out from exhaustion. When you woke up, you found yourself in Logan’s bedroom, his head between your thighs making the most obscene noises you had ever heard. The feeling of his tongue was hot and wet, swirling around your clit and drinking your arousal while growling and swearing about how fucking sweet you taste. “Logan, no! This isn’t - no - stop!” You had cried out when the shock subsided any sleepy confusion, the pleasure and shame overcoming you mixed into a feeling you didn’t know quite how to name. “Logan, it’s not right!”

It had surprised you to wake up like this. Your best friend’s roommate pleasuring you, tasting your cunt like it was some midnight snack. Your body convulsed with both fear and pleasure and the questions started swarming your mind. How long had you been in here alone with him? How long had he been going down on you before you woke up? Was this all that he had been doing? You didn’t feel like you had been fucked, and you were certain some sort of ache would remain after sex with Logan.

“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” Logan had growled, only to pin your legs more firmly onto his shoulders while you struggled to push him away with no avail. “Been dropping hints for too damn long, you’re so fucking clueless.”

And you couldn’t fight him off, couldn’t stop yourself from reaching an orgasm even though you knew this wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way - there was no courting, no proposal of a relationship, just feral dominance and ownership. Logan scared you when he became impatient like that - he was so rough and mean. If you had to be with him, you much preferred that he was sweet and gentle.

Like right now.

“C’mon, baby, let me feel you.” He begs, his nose nuzzling into your neck as one of his hands slips between your bodies. His fingers brush over the crotch of your gym shorts and you shudder at the feeling. His fingers are so thick, so long. You’re not a virgin, but you don’t doubt that taking Logan would feel as if you were. “Just once, she feels so warm. Just the tip, yeah?” Logan already lifting you up and walking to your bedroom decidedly and you feel a surge of panic as you cling to him and rake your mind for an excuse.

“Logan, I’m - it’s not a good night, baby.” You try, gasping as he drops you onto your bed, he hovers over you, removing his flannel and undoing his belt as he looks down you at with dark, hungry eyes. “Why don’t we - let’s just kiss, yeah?” You say hopefully with a little nod of encouragement as you reach a hand out to him. Logan looks at you for a moment before taking your hand and following your lead as you part your legs and let him ease between them. “Mm, you feel so strong.” You whisper in a shaky voice, hoping that feeding into his need for praise will help.

“Yeah?” He smirks, kissing you softly at first, and you nod, returning the kiss and cupping his jaw so he’ll stay where he is and not try to venture any lower. “You’ve got no idea.” He whispers, one of his hands squeezes your thigh tightly making your breath hitch and he chuckles, but seems content to carry on with your make out session. And for that you’re thankful.

You’re not ready. Not yet. Not if you can delay it a little longer.

There isn’t ever a pattern to Logan’s urges. You just know when he looks at you a certain way or when he shows up at your apartment door with that easy smirk that sends a chill down your spine. Some times, it could be days before he ever looks at you. Those days, it’s easy to forget you’ve got someone looking at your every move. Logan knows your day to day schedule not by being neighborly, but by being obsessed.

You didn’t think much about it when you let a co-worker walk you home. It was more out his own need to know that you made it home okay since a few of you had to stay late. It was a gentlemanly offer rewarded by a chaste kiss on the cheek and nothing more. To Logan, it was a challenge. The moment you saw him stalk up the dark staircase, your blood ran cold and you put some space between you and your co-worker. “I’ll see you at work.” He says, giving you a friendly wave, only mildly surprised to have turned and seen Logan leaning against the railing. “Oh, hey, have a good night, man.”

“Night, bub.” Logan says, surprisingly calm.

The moment your co-worker has disappeared down the stairs, you and Logan are staring at each other like prey and predator. Your heart is pounding in your chest, even though you have done nothing wrong. Your lips part as if to say something, as if to defend yourself, and Logan is towering over you in three long strides. His hand is forceful on your jaw and you can’t stop yourself from gasping fearfully, pushing at his abdomen to keep distance between you. “You fuck him?” He asks coldly and your eyes well up as you shake your head. “Then why’re you cryin’, sweetheart?”

You can’t stop the tears from falling and you look up at him pleadingly. “Because you scare me, Logan.”

His eyes soften if only be a fraction. “You’ve got nothing to be scared of, baby.” Logan pushes open your apartment door and guides you inside. “I take care of my things,” He says while pinning you to your now closed door, locking it before holding your hips tightly. “And you’re mine, aren’t you?” You give him the smallest nod, a sign of submission, and he chuckles before pressing a kiss to your nose and whispering. “My girl.” His hand bunches up the length of your skirt until he can slip his hand beneath the fabric and his fingers press against the crotch of your panties. You shudder and remind yourself not to struggle, but his jealousy is clearing working him up.

“Oh,” You gasp when his fingers slide past your panties and into your pussy. “Logan!”

“Why don’t you kiss me like that?” He growls, his stubbled cheek pressed against yours as his weight keeps you pinned to the door. “What’s that asshole got that I can’t give you?” His fingers curl deeper and you cry out from the foreign sensation.

Your mind is spinning between fighting him and appeasing him, but it’s obvious any form of a struggle will be useless. Logan’s far too strong. “Lo, baby, I promise I’m not with him.” You whisper, cupping his jaw and making him look at you. “You believe me, right?”

Logan’s nostrils flare as he tries to control himself. With his fingers struggling to burrow into you, he knows you’re not having sex with anyone else. His chest falls and rises as he looks down at your wide, anxious eyes and he gives you a small nod. His fingers push deeper and a small whimper leaves your lips. “You’re too damn tight.”

“It’d probably hurt if you did anything to me right now.” You whisper, slowly easing his hand out from between your thighs. The loss make your shudder and you clench your legs together as you bring his hand to your waist. “You don’t want to hurt me, right, baby?” You bring his lips to yours slowly and sniff as you kiss him. “Don’t hurt me.”

Logan picks you up in one smooth motion as he leads you to your bedroom and you tremble as he lays you down gently. Your eyes widen as he unbuckles his belt and you shake your head. “I’m not going to hurt you,” He whispers, pulling your skirt off and ripping open the front of your blouse, making you gasp. “But I can’t promise it won’t hurt.”

“Logan, please,” You cry as he pushes his pants down enough for his cock to spring out. “Please, baby, don’t do it this way.” You beg, pushing softly on his chest as he lines himself up to you despite your pleas. “Just - make love to me, be gentle. You don’t - there’s no reason to be jealous. I’m here, with you, right?”

Logan suddenly takes your hands and pins them above your head with one hand. His body is thrumming with jealousy and with desire and there’s nothing that can stop him right now. “‘M sorry, sweetheart.”

With that, his cock pushes through you and you whimper at the feeling, the intrusion. It’s too much, too quickly, and your hands push on the hard planes of his chest. “Please.” You moan involuntarily as his hard shaft begins pumping in and out of your tight cunt, the resistance only spurring him on.

“Just relax, it’ll feel good,” Logan groans, dipping his head down and capturing your lips in a possessive kiss. “Fuck, you feel real good, baby.” His body shudders and you whine from the way his hands grip your hips and angle them to receive his consistent thrusts deep into your core. “I’ve wanted you like this for months.”

Your arm wraps around his shoulders while the other hand remains on his chest, fingernails digging into his skin as he takes what he’s been chasing for months now. And the way you’re laying underneath him, a mess and pleading for him, it’s an all-consuming feeling for Logan. Like finally scratching that itch that’s been bothering him for hours. It feels too good to stop, too good to take precautions. “I’m not on - I’m not - ” You struggle breathlessly, your hands clutching onto his shoulders while the tension in your lower belly forms. “Logan, pull out, please.”

“No.”

The sudden feeling of his release - thick, warm, and plenty - it makes you squirm and, perhaps worst of all, pulls you over the edge to your own peak. You tuck your head into his chest and sob as he continues, pumping deep and deliberately into your full pussy. The squelching noise of your mixed arousals betrays you when you plead him to stop and Logan buries his face into the crook of your neck, telling you to be his sweet girl and take it.

So you do, because there’s no sense in fighting.

You are his.

I do not know what came over me, but here is the result! Let me know what you thought kind readers!

"You didn't have to do all this, y'know."

There's a lot of truth to the statement, sure. You didn't have to drag him out to the middle of nowhere after midnight, when the sky is full of light, distant universes calling like something out of Shakespeare.

Didn't have to hold his hand like it might break, like he doesn't even exist in any wild imagination or dream state.

Certainly didn't have to tell him when his eyes are heavy, his heart is full. Not really the kind of news you tell someone out in the middle of December in Westchester, when the air moves with a cold better reserved for Frigidaire's and the Arctic Circle.

"Logan, you're going to be a Daddy."

It still snaps between you like a frayed wire.

A current submerged in gasoline and fire, maybe, threatening to burn hot and eternal between your ribs like it's something you can actually fathom, and not some wistful idea trapped between the pages of storybooks and this-is-what-I've-always-dreamed-of.

He's still motionless, like someone has grabbed that Adamantium spine of his with an iron fist and has welded him to the floor. Even from the darkness between the two of you, you can feel his pulse, steady. Alive. Full.

Boots unlaced, jeans rumpled from falling asleep half-clothed and dirty from the Institute's cavernous garage, elbow-greasing on that damn bike he hasn't stopped obsessing over since Bobby brought it home from Thanksgiving.

"Gotta be right, otherwise the kid'll kill himself,"

"Think he knows that, Lo. You aren't his father, you know."

He'd looked at you with an expression full enough to capture the moon.

"'Mebbe not, but someobody's gotta care if the kid lives or dies."

Logan was already a father in so many ways. Difficult to think about, really — like time spinning backwards in a spiral, trying to reset the universe. Everything about this big, burly man you got to call yours screamed the exact antithesis of fatherhood, of domesticity.

Logan was one to break the rules before bending them, to uninvent them when they needed inventing. He encouraged reckless behavior, scoffed at basic logic.

Nothing about him was parental.

Thinking back, he was exactly everything you'd never imagined in being the father of your child. A chess match of the ages, really, putting in check everything you once thought about yourself—a woman who wanted stability, security. Tenderness. Constancy. None of which Logan Howlett has irreverently been known for, all of which are foreign languages to every little thing that makes him so, irrevocably, him.

More of the type to say walk it off, kid, than offer feel-better kisses, Logan had been carved from a life buried in the grave long before you'd even been a thought in the universe. Your paths had crossed by the chanciest of happenstances, the margin of error that was ignored because it was so minute—it shouldn't have happened.

He should've been long gone by the time you arrived at Xavier's front door, all wrapped up in your shiny new doctorate and opportunity, flowers in your hair and a sundress that rivaled the sun.

"You must be new."

"Well, you could say that," you could still remember the first sight of him, how it had blossomed in your chest like something delicious, something terrible. A bad idea wrapped up in good ones, all the things a girl like you should've kissed off for Lent. Shoved into the unmentionable place that God forgives.

"I believe Charles is expecting me."

"Professor doesn't see students during class hours," Unimpressed. Logan's forefront MO.

You'd grinned at him, brow popped.

"How about doctors of botany and microbiology?"

And the rest, as they say, was history. Or water under the bridge. Whichever suited.

His breath comes in visible small clouds, stable in the cold air between the two of you. Unrocked, like this hasn't just shattered the Wolverine's world in literal halves.

You wiggle your toes inside your shoes, pulling your heavy coat around your shoulders. Snow creeps in around your ankle, cold and sharp. You smile at him thinly, trying to ignore the numb in your feet, that painful burn of too-cold fingers.

Coat open to a bare chest, he blinks once. Twice. All at once he releases a heavy sigh, one that rattles his frame. A big hand comes to rub along the back of his neck, and you can see the visible line of his jaw flick with tension as he considers your words, heavy between the two of you.

Something dips a little in your belly, a light feeling that curls your toes. You'd just started feeling it this week—Hank had thought you were a little over ten weeks. Too early, usually, to feel anything.

Mutations, though, were fickle—complicated the hell out of everything.

Your smile is soft, head tipping just a little to gauge a reaction.

"You can say something, Logan."

His eyes snap to yours. Indecision, something akin to fear, crosses his face. Even in the dark, even when something so beautiful has graced the space between the two of you.

It's expected, you knew he'd react something like this. You'd only been sleeping together for a few months—a progression neither of you had expected, but a natural occurrence to closeness and chemistry that neither of you could put a finger to.

You'd fallen into his bed after breaking up with your boyfriend of three years, mostly for comfort. For something solid, that felt right. Energy had already been snapping between the two of you for weeks, he'd been unusually close, in the way that Logan never was unless he wanted something.

A natural, willing shoulder to cry on. Too natural, too right.

Like magnets tethered inexplicably together, bound to make contact, things had just.... grown. Developed, snowballed into something so raw, so right that rebound hadn't even entered your vocabulary.

One of those I fall, you fall harder situations.

He'd fallen first; well before the night you'd gone to bed with him and had your world cracked open like a sieve.

You'd fallen harder, as inseparable as breath.

You couldn't live without him. He couldn't let you go. Two orbits, locked forever in the gravity of something neither of you had thought to name. Well beyond dating, in a sense—more fated, if one paused to think beyond it.

It was like he'd always been there, rooted in your chest—an unexplained part of you that hadn't manifested until the lights had been flipped.

You watch him swallow. A breath, words—it's impossible to say, honestly. He's more closed than a tomb. More ancient than stars, in many ways. Unreadable as hieroglyphics lost to the space time continuum.

He huffs out a gruff laugh. It's thin, bleeding almost.

"You're sure."

It hangs there, full in the darkness. Like a moon pulling tides to itself, it demands a response without ever even sounding like a question to begin with, just sitting there. Waiting, between each of his breaths.

His fingers subconsciously twitch a little, like they itch for a fight, or something to hold. How he isn't cold you'll never fully understand, mutation aside—it's below zero, at least. And he's standing in jeans and a leather jacket with nothing on, like this is a movie and not real life.

You nod, once. "I'm sure," you take a step closer, not hesitant but aware. "Hank's definitely sure," your eyes widen a little and you chuckle, as if it's supposed to be funny. "Sure fire deal, Logan. I'm having your baby."

His jaw sets, and he blinks. Once.

For long heartbeats he doesn't say anything, just considers you standing a little closer, before his hand reaches for yours. He slips his fingers through yours softly, tugging you a little closer, until the air between you is warm, full of your shared breaths.

His gaze follows the line of your jaw, as if taking the time to memorize your skin, and how it looks in the night, under the weight of confession. You watch him swallow his next thought, before his tongue skates his bottom lip, maybe searching for words—which would be a first. Logan never hesitates to say what he wants to; it isn't his style.

"You want me to be happy," again, it isn't a question—it's a thought. Throw out into the universe with all the locomotive impact his less-than-graceful personality allows. "But you ain't upset that I'm not."

You consider the statement, before looking to your joined hands. "I'm not," you answer, after a minute. "Not expecting you to be happy, Logan. Not like we talked about this."

"Haven't. At all," he inserts, quickly. With a strength that snaps his eyes to yours, firmly. "Not exactly topping my list of life priorities right now, sweetheart."

That makes you snort, pulling back a little at his tone. "Oh, right, because getting knocked up definitely was on my six-month post grad life plan?" He tugs you a little closer, an arm softly sliding into place around your waist. "I didn't know how to tell you."

He snorts. "So, you drag me outside when it's cold as fuck?" he shakes his head, leaning his head against yours softly, drawing you to his chest, his eyes skirting around the garden. "Makes sense. Garden's your place, anyway." He doesn't add anything, just a low hum in his chest.

Tears pull at the corner of your eyes after he doesn't say anything else, and you gently lean your head back to look up at him. "You regret anything?"

His eyes find yours, immediately. "I supposed to?"

You blink, a little surprised. "It's just a question," you hesitate, just enough to make your heart skip once against your ribs. "If you do, I'd get it." You blow out a breath. "Not exactly the way to start off whatever the hell this thing is between us." You chuckle, brokenly. "Guess friends with benefits is off the table now, huh?"

He chuckles, amused at the idea. "Haven't been just friends for a bit, have we, baby?" He tips your chin up with a finger, pointedly. "Haven't exactly pinned it down, but you've been my girl pretty hot and heavy for the couple of weeks, at least." The corner of his mouth ticks up, in a crooked grin. "And I know you've been pinin' over me since we met." His grin is almost dark, nearly wicked.

You roll your eyes, shoving at his shoulder. "Wishful thinking!" You try to back up, playful offense snapping up your brow. "I was still with my ex when we met!"

"Yeah, that wasn't long for nothin'," he smiles, grabs your wrist and pulls you close, a deep chuckle rumbling up from between his ribs as his hand smooths over your hip, content to keep you there in the snow. "Always was gonna be you, though. Just didn't know how to say it."

That snaps your brow up, impressed. "You come up with that by yourself?" She smile, affectionate, fingers curling into the line of his jacket. "I don't regret it, Logan," you look down between the two of you, to the small life that's beginning to catch, "Not for a second."

He hums, nodding. Tipping your chin up a bit, you see him try to fight a smile—can't quite get there, though. There's a lightness in his eyes he'd probably deny until death, but it's there, at the corners. Wistful, maybe. Promising. Soft.

Being friends with superheroes (plural) was bringing a new host of issues. Namely, an accelerated heart rate and trouble forming your words in front of Wade’s new roommate. Wade had warned you that his new acquisition was prickly when he’d stopped over to invite you to the Welcome Home Pizza Party Palooza, according to the hand drawn invitation he’d proudly presented you. He’d lured you in with promises of meeting his new dog before dropping the bomb that there was an introduction to his roommate included in the package deal. You’d already agreed, and Wade was too busy rambling about how you were being moved up to from side character status for you to intercede with a made up reason you could no longer attend. 

You historically didn’t do well with meeting new people, and someone who was likely to snap at you at some point throughout the evening, by Wade’s estimations, was an even bigger hurdle. Even though you had worked yourself up enough to feel slightly sick to your stomach, you’d arrived at the party, armed with flowers for the new roommate and a mini bouquet of dog treats for Mary Puppins. Wade and Al’s apartment was full of familiar faces when you’d arrived. You were caught up in a conversation with Peter and Yukio for a few minutes before they’d asked about the flowers all but forgotten in your hands. You admitted they were a welcome home present, and Peter kindly pointed out where Logan was standing across the room. You’d thanked him, and made your way across the room. 

When you reached him in the kitchen, you stood quietly behind him, working up the courage to make your presence known. Ultimately, it was unnecessary, because he quickly turned around and greeted you with a crinkly-eyed smile that made your heart flutter against your better judgement. You’d shyly handed over the flowers, stuttering through the explanation of owning the shop down the street and apologizing preemptively if he didn’t like them, expecting a strong rebuttal. He certainly looked like the type of man to rebuff the offer of flowers in fear of appearing unmanly or some other nonsense. Instead, he took the flowers from you gently, thanking you. He turned away, searching through the cabinets before pulling out a novelty beer stein decorated with My Little Pony characters with a huff. Logan made quick work of depositing the bouquet in the beer stein, but he frowned at his work, clearly unhappy with the vase options. “So you’re the florist that he’s obsessed with.” 

You smiled to yourself, glad to hear that Wade wasn’t only kind to your face. “Are you kidding me?” Speak of the devil. Wade slung an arm around your shoulders, depositing your typical drink of choice in your hand. “More like worship the ground you walk on. I may be Marvel Jesus but I’m your disciple. The things she can do with a chrysanthemum.” He moaned in a way you had never heard someone while talking about a flower, of all things.

Logan shook his head, but before either of you could respond, Wade noticed Vanessa coming through the door and was at her side in an instant. You’d stood with him in the kitchen for a few moments, silent but comfortable. It wasn’t long before Althea had called everyone to the table, where you took your usual seat next to Althea and Vanessa. The evening had been comfortable and you couldn’t help but notice how naturally Logan and his daughter Laura fit into your strange little family. 

The next day, you’d stopped by their apartment armed with another bouquet, this one beautifully arranged in one of your favorite vases you kept in stock. You couldn’t shake the image of how disappointed Logan had looked with his options the previous night. Al had ushered you inside quickly, letting you know that the rest of the roommates had left her in the name of picking up some necessities for Logan. You’d dropped the vase on the kitchen counter, ruffled Mary Puppins’ hair and saw yourself out. 

Logan had come by to thank you at the store, startling you where you were working in the back. You’d fumbled one of your vases, sending it crashing to the ground. Logan was quick to usher you onto a stool, locating a broom and making quick work of the glass. You’d insisted you could take care of it, but he’d shot your down insisting that he would heal right up if he managed to cut himself and he didn’t feel like a trip to the ER. It should have stung, but there was a lightness to his voice and a twinkle in his eyes that instead had you fighting down the hear rising to your cheeks. 

After a few weeks, it was routine for you to stop by a couple nights a week after work, armed with a fresh set of flowers for the vase and some take out. Logan very well could have taken some home with him, as often as he was stopping by, but somehow you’d always get to talking and forget to bundle some up for him. He was immensely helpful around the shop, able to reach things on high shelves and move heavy pallets you would get in much more easily than you were able to. Wade’s stool had quickly become Logan’s but you didn’t much mind. 

Your hand had settled on the doorknob to their apartment, when two familiar voices faded in through the closed door. It was instinct to pause, you hand’t really meant to snoop. But the words hurt all the same. “I really am fond of her, but she could really stand to let up on how often she’s hanging around me.” Your heart started to hammer, frozen in the hallway. 

“I hear you peanut,” Wade was quick to respond. “Cling-ville USA, population her, amiright?” 

“Fuck off, you’ve been obsessed with her as long as I’ve known you.” Your heart sunk. Isn’t that what Logan had said, the first night you met? Wade was obsessed with you? As quietly as you could, you dropped your hand from the doorknob and backed away down the hall, hoping that their conversation was loud enough to drown out the sound of your retreating footsteps. You’d retreated down the hallway, quickly shooting Wade a text that you weren’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to make it. 

You hadn’t seen them since. You knew it shouldn’t have mattered, but it stung. You’d moved their stool into the far back corner of the shop because as silly as it sounded, it made you sad to look at him. Thankfully, there had been a steady stream of customers to keep you busy for a while. But now, you were dead and your thoughts were drifting when the bell on the front door rang. You sent a silent thank you to the universe and rushed out to the front of the store. But the customer waiting for you was the only one you were reluctant to see. 

You hated to admit it, but the image of Logan standing in the middle of your showroom, shoulders slumped and one of the most regretful looks you’d ever seen on anyone was almost enough for you to forgive him on sight. Close but no cigar, one could say.   

“Hey, sweetheart” he said sheepishly, hands shoved into this pockets. 

If this is how he was going to play it, so be it. “Hey, Lo. Where’ve you been?”

“Laura needed some help at the mansion, and they roped us into a mission. Meant to call but,” he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “Got a bit busy.” You nodded, doing your best to remember that you were mad at him. Stopped by for some flowers, if you have a minute.”

You nodded curtly, shocked that he wasn’t bringing up the obvious tension. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “What kind are you looking for?” 

“Eh, whatever you think says ‘Sorry, I fucked up’ the best” he shrugged, making his way behind the counter. 

“Who else did you piss off?” You asked, arranging a few more pieces of greenery into the bouquet he had requested. Even if you were frustrated and moody, you couldn’t bring yourself to make something you weren’t proud of. 

“Where’s my seat sweetheart?” He asked, before taking a pause. “What do you mean who else?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. 

“What do you mean ‘where’s my seat’?” You mocked, doing a poor imitation of his gruff voice. 

“Okay, you’ve gotta catch me up here, sweetheart because I clearly missed something.” 

“Wouldn’t wanna cling on too hard, are you sure you want me to do that?” You snarked, dropping the bouquet on the table and storming over to him, poking your finger into his chest. “I heard the both of you complaining about me last week.” 

Logan’s hand wrapped around yours, drawing it closer to his chest. “I was coming in here to apologize for being gone for a week. But I’m happy to double the order to make up for the confusion. If my math is right, bub, you overheard me complaining about that fucking dog insisting on sleeping on my bed. Even after I told Wade to keep her out of my room.” 

“You love her.” 

“Yeah, you know me too well sweetheart.” 

You smiled up at him, soaking in the warmth of having him this close, when something clicks in your head. “Are you telling me that you waltzed in here and asked me to make my own apology flowers?” If you hadn’t already decided he was off the hook, the way his mouth turned down into a little pout would have sealed the deal. 

He hesitates for a few moments, eyes glancing around the shop seemingly in search of an answer. “Didn’t want to give the business to someone else.” He shrugged, bashfully.  

Against your better judgement, a few giggles slipped past your lips, which had been firmly pressed together. A few more, and then you were laughing so hard you were having trouble breathing. You leaned your head against his chest, taking measured deep breaths to curve the laughter “I can’t believe this,” you gasped, wiping a few tears away that had spilled onto your cheeks.  You grinned up at him through the tears, taking in the way his eyes warmed when he smiled. 

“Could have been worse,” he shrugged, mischief making his eyes sparkle. “Could have gone with Wade’s suggestion.”

“I have to know.” 

He slipped both his arms around you, pulling you in close. “Wanted me to jump out of a cake.” 

You snuggled in close, leaning your head on his chest. “I would like to see it.” 

———

“Who do you think you are?” Y/n looked up into the man’s eyes with anger, upset that he wouldn’t let her leave the apartment to go out with her friends. She goes out every weekend, and every weekend, he tries to stop her.

“Wade’s gone, and you’re out again — What are you hiding, y/n?” Logan asked, knowing whatever she did was none of her business. “I’m the legal age to drink and club, and you’re in my business about it? — Let me go,” y/n tried taking her arm away.

“You don’t pay for the bills here. Wade does, and-“ Logan tried making up some story about how disrespectful she would be to do what she wants. “And, Wade doesn’t give a shit. What now? I’m a grown woman. I could have a whole family if I wanted to, and you’re trying to trap me in the apartment like I’m some teen,”

“You don’t need to be out there, y/n,” Logan said, knowing what she goes out there for. He couldn’t stand it. Usually, when he teased women and they played hard to get, they didn’t just go out and party. Y/n did, and he couldn’t handle that.

“Get off of me, or I burn you,” y/n threatened as her body temperature heartened. “I’ll heal, and I don’t think you want to deal with me after I do,” Logan threatened as he moved his face inches from hers.

Within seconds, the man let go of how hot her skin was getting. Y/n instantly turned around and left to get out and away from the man who was trying his best to control her.

Fast-forward several hours, y/n finally returned from the nightclub she had attended with her lady friends. Many hours of drinking and plenty of hours of kissing random men had accrued that night.

That only made Logan’s blood boil as he watched every second of it pass by. He debated on lashing out at her every time she went to the bathroom, but when she went, she was always with a girl-friend.

The older man had to suffer for hours as the woman he’d been dying to have, had been kissing other men.

He couldn’t understand why y/n was so stuck up. Last he checked, women lived them rude and cocky. What happened in this timeline?

“Finally home,” Logan spoke in the corner of the darkroom as y/n stumbled into the apartment. She instantly rolled her eyes and sighed as she kicked off her shoes, barely being able to open her eyes or stand correctly.

“Gonna at least speak to me? Or are you too pissy drunk?” Logan asked, knowing which one it was. “That’s what I thought,” the man shook his head as he got up to walk toward her, but she paid no attention and made her way to her room.

“You didn’t even lock the door!” Logan shouted after her, but she ignored him, barely able to think about anything that was happening around her. Once she left the club with loud music, that was it for her.

Logan locked the front door and straightened up the shoes she kicked off on the front mat before he made his way toward her room. The man went to open her door, but she had locked it to shut him out for the night.

Logan sat in his room for a good hour, thinking about the way he should handle y/n. Should he kick her door down and yell at her? Should he talk to her from outside of her room? Should he wait to bring it up tomorrow? Or should he never speak of tonight?

Through the hour, he also thought about those men she let touch all over her and explore her mouth. He swore he’s never been too pissed off about a woman in his life.

It’s almost like she knew he was there to rub it in his face, and if that was the case, and he were to ever find out, he wouldn’t know how far he’d get upset.

All the men she kissed tonight waited for her, like some dog. It’s like Logan could see them a mile away. Why did she choose them, and not him? Logan was the real man here, not them.

“Fuck that,” Logan growled low as he pushed off of his bed and made his way out of his room. The man walked down the small hall before kicking y/n’s door open, causing her to jolt a bit in her sleep.

“Get up,” Logan demanded, but she barely understood him. She was still drunk, and now half asleep and in her dream. “What?” Y/n asked low as she saw the huge man make his way towards her.

“Up!” Logan demanded again before he ripped her cover off. “Hey-“ y/n went to say before Logan grabbed and pulled her up until she was seated in her bed. “Logan, what’s the deal?” Y/n asked, always irritated as he shifted her bottom to the edge of the bed.

“I want you to tell me if they mattered,” Logan spoke, only confused y/n. “What-“ y/n tried saying before Logan ripped her panties off. She had only worse panties and a bra to sleep in tonight instead of a nightgown like she usually wears. She was far too drunk to go through her drawers and find one.

“Hey,” y/n said as she went to push Logan’s fingers away that she rubbed across her heat. “You’re not even wet — They couldn’t have been that good, then,” Logan’s delusion fully kicked in before he stuck to fingers deep into y/n’s mouth.

Y/n tried pulling away and shaking her head, but Logan continued until his fingers were soaked with her saliva.

“Don’t bitch if it goes in dry then,” Logan said before he pushed two fingers at her entrance. “Hey, no-“ y/n went to stop him, but her voice cracked out as her hands stayed in shock right next to her thighs.

The young lady gripped her sheets as Logan curled his two fingers inside of her. “At least you’re empty — Maybe you’re not such a slut after all,” Logan said as y/n whined at the instant feeling of her stomach tightening.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Am I too big? — Fuck, I haven’t even put my dick in you yet,” Logan chuckled as he began to push his fingers in and out of her heat, focusing on her moans and the way she gripped around him.

“L-Lo-L-Lo,” y/n stuttered as she tried her best to keep herself up. “Lo-Lo-Lo — Fucking pathetic,” Logan mocked the girl as he looked into her eyes. She could barely hold them open as Logan played inside of her.

“No more,” y/n cried low as she felt herself near, upset that she wasn’t pushing the man off. She was strong enough to get rid of Logan, but something in her didn’t want him to stop this.

“You didn’t tell those little boys to stop — What makes you think I’ll fucking stop? Huh? — Ian stoppin’ princess,” Logan assured y/n, only making her roll her eyes, fully turned on by the way he was treating her.

For so long, y/n has been waiting for Logan to show just how cocky and asshole-like he could get. Finally, tonight, he decided to let it out.

With her being drunk, she couldn’t love this even more. There was nothing she could do about the way she was about to gush all over him.

“I’m gonna cum,” y/n said low as she fell back onto her mattress, getting ready to give Logan what he was trying so desperately to get from her. “There you go — Relax that body — Give it to me, Bub,” and with that, she did.

Y/n’s body locked up for a few seconds before shaking. Logan couldn’t help but laugh at her to taunt the way she got because of him. “Look at how I get you,”

Logan licked himself after he pulled out of y/n, making sure to get a treat for himself. That had triggered his mind to pick her up and take her to his room to continue eating her out.

“Get those fucking hands away from me, or I’ll make you count till ten,” Logan threatened after y/n tried pushing his head away from her heat. “No more — Please,” y/n begged the man as she took deep gasps.