"John goes missing. Like every time you use your Gift to track him down, it's hardly for his own sake. If it weren't for Dean, trembling under that too-big jacket on your stoop and working up the courage to even say Sam's name, you'd happily never think about their father ever again. Or what you're doing to Sam's life by pulling him back into the hunt.
If it was up to you, John Winchester would never be heard from again. But the boys need you. So, you go."
Season 1:
pilot - Like he does every few weeks, Dean appears on your stoop to ask for your help. As the youngest in a long bloodline of psychics, you were duty-bound to share your Gift with those who needed it—until Sam and Dean called dibs on you as kids. Damn John Winchester. But you just can't say no to your boys.
w*ndigo, part 1, part 2- John's coordinates take you and the boys to the nooks of Grand Junction, Colorado. Sam's mourning and Dean's messed up—so you forget to mention that the trees have eyes and the air can feel you breathe. Something's out there. Like the good ol' days, it's your job to figure out what.
dead in the water, part 1, part 2, part 3. Before Dean leads the three of you to a job in upper Wisconsin, you take a pitstop at the Proctor House in Eu Claire to visit your mother, Beth Proctor. It's been four long years since she's seen Sam, and you've spent even longer avoiding your responsibility there. If you're lucky, you and Sam can escape the night unscathed.
phantom traveler, part 0, part 1, part 2, part 3. The hunt for John is already getting colder, but all you and the boys can do is sidle up for the next job and keep looking. After an all-hunter Thanksgiving at the Proctor House, you're summoned to Pittsburg, where an old colleague needs help uncovering a disaster spirit with a body count.
bloody mary, rough draft.
bonus stuff:
Sam/pythia!Reader scrabble/wordle headcanons
some beautiful Sam/pythia!Reader art by @writingtheworks! (they!!! have!!! matching bracelets!!!!)
cute as fuck Sam/pythia!Reader art by @daiziesssart (with bonus romantic lighting + Impala)
Outside of our regularly scheduled programming can someone PLEASE help me find this supernatural fic - the readers last name is Proctor and has some kind of clairvoyant abilities and grew up with the Winchester brothers. The last I remember reading was the reader and the brothers going to the readers moms house (who MAYBE was named Beth?) and the inside was described to look like a 60’s diner. Please if u love me help me find it this fix was so good
Hi!! Might I just say: kicking my feet, giggling, blushing, twirling my hair, rolling around squealing, doodling hearts in my journal, buying a locket, floating off of ground carried by tiny wings, heart beats out of chest, etc. etc.
I'll actually kiss you don't try me.
But also shut up im in tears. I used to write a lot as a kid and it completely got away from me during college. Like ... full handwritten hundred page stories spanning across idk how many notebooks. I fr used to get grounded when my mom would have to buy me more because of my like fully illustrated stories. I am a little sad that I never did anything with it in hs or college, but shoutout my big fat obsession crush on Hugh Jackman for inspiring me to binge every x-men movie and then revive my childhood talent out of the ground #lazarus
So anyways, I love you and im booking our wedding at The Waterfall in Claymont Delaware for next weekend b there or b square
ok so far im working on this other fic and guys its already 10 google doc pages long ... i think im fr gonna write the whole thing and then edit it chapter by chapter.
Logan Howlett x Reader (afab pronouns used a few times)
Warnings: very sad, a little graphic, mentions of blood/gore, grown man brought to tears, TW didn't get to describe how sexy logan is sorry
a/n: ate my cheerios locked in to gossip girl and then wrote the saddest shit i could. also idk how to do a taglist but to my one fan heres ur shoutout xoxo @corvusmorte 🫶🏼
You tugged at the clips of your harness, trying not to hyperventilate. Sporadically swiping the heels of your hands across your eyes between each tug made your hands slick with tears. After a little bit, you couldn't even grip the buckles anymore.
Damn Logan's stupid metal bones, locking you into the chair.
You reached behind you to try and release the spring of the chair. If you could just pop it up, you would slide over to the console and could turn off the autopilot.
You hoped Logan survived the fall from the jet as you painfully leaned over the arm of the seat.
"Please, please, pleaseplease, please!" you whispered to yourself. The chair dug into your ribcage too much, and you couldn't reach the clip. You straightened up and let out a few panicked cries before trying to reach behind the chair from the other side.
You strained your neck to peak around the chair, shoulder straps tight to your chest. There has to be an emergency unlock or eject button on the chair for this harness, you thought before panickedly feeling all over the sides of the chair with your hands.
After running your hands over the metal to no avail, you resulted to sticking you legs out to try and reach the console. You groaned as you stretched your leg as far toward the controls as possible. When that didn't work, you tried to swing your legs behind the base of the seat. The straps and the curve of the seat prevented your foot from going very far, causing you to straighten with a frustrated cry.
You yanked again at the straps, somehow managing to get your heels onto the seat lip. You gripped the chair arms and pushed up in an attempt to snap the strap between your thighs. It was stuck fast.
You angrily swung your arms in an attempt to hit something. The straps under your shoulder shifted, and you immediately began to wiggle yourself out. Painstakingly, your right shoulder was freed.
You ripped your other arm out of the harness and again extended your hand to the clip behind the chair. Through the reflection of the windshield, your hand looked just close enough to the clip, but you couldn't feel it.
Readjusting, you took a deep breath. The cabin was nearly dark, and the loud sputtering of the engine made it hard to think. You couldn't turn the chair around and there was nothing in reach to grab.
Far from giving up, you tucked your ankles back to the chair lip and reached behind you again, still just barely too far away.
"Oh, yes!" you said, realizing your boots were high enough for you to take off and reach behind you with.
Boot one was undone and in your hands in seconds, dangling by the clip. You smack once, twice, and then three times before hitting the clip. The chair unlocked and started to slide forward, but a loud clang followed by the screech of tearing metal tipped the jet and locked you back in place. Your boot flew out of your hand to the back of the cabin.
Wind instantly roared behind you, and you turned to the hanger door falling open. Whatever hit you did damage. Realistically, this jet didn't have much more flying time left in it. You had half a heart to let the autopilot land.
However, you caught a glimpse of the army beginning to bunch itself up. If you could unclip the chair and turn off the autopilot, you could swing the jet around, steer towards towards the grouping troops, and ideally eject yourself out of the hangar before the jet exploded into the ground and took out the trucks and soldiers.
"Okay, okay" you reassured yourself, untying your other boot. You reached behind the seat. Before you could even think to hesitate, a glimpse of the school caught your attention.
The grounds were in flames and a large chunk of one corner had been blown off. You instantly smacked your shoe down, unclipping the chair's safety lock.
In an instant you shot forward to the controls. You smacked the autopilot switch and gripped the handles, jet dipping before you regained control. You angled the handles down and pushed the jet into a nose-dive. The ground came rushing at you fast and you felt your ears pop with the pressure change. Your vision blurred while you flailed for the eject button.
-
Logan hit the ground with a sickening crack. He blinked awake after a minute of regenerating, the familiar buzz of his limbs waking up starting to fade.
He unsheathed his claws before glancing up at the sky to watch the jet you were in begin to fly away. Relief was quickly replaced with urgency as the boom of a tank went off near him.
He stood just in time to watch a corner of the school crumble to dust. Rage bubbled up inside him, and he sprinted toward the source of the explosion.
Before he managed to get halfway to the clumping group of tanks and soldiers, the roar of the jet shoots over him. He skids to a halt as the jet barrels into the center of army.
The ricochet from impact knocks Logan onto his back. He groans while lifting himself off the grass, short circuiting at the sight of thick black smoke coiling from the crash.
He scours the sky for a sign of you, panic and anguish settling into him when he sees nothing. He clambors up and sprints to the smoldering jet.
Logan tries to shut his mind off as he rips away at the metal of the jet. The bay door is jammed shut awkwardly, and he can only slash through it so much.
He's able to get a grip of an opening, brute strength bending the metal away. He climbs through, sliding down the angled floor and into the crushed cockpit.
There's no sign of you inside. Logan has shredded through the controls and interior walls in panic. He doesn't want to hear himself say it, but he knows anything that happens to you is his fault.
"Logan!" He hears, and through the hole he ripped open in the jet is Scott.
"We found her."
-
When Hank had found you, you were gasping for air. You'd shot out of the back of the jet at the last second, flying through the smoke. The straps that clung to you may as well have saved your life, the metal of the chair breaking most of your impact.
Not all, however, as your landing caused you to roll harshly against the ground. You narrowly dodged a rock smacking you clear in the head, but the bounce of the seat slammed your leg into something very hard, and you felt it break.
The feeling of hands roused you from your daze, and you managed to blink your eyes open.
"Can you hear me?" You hear. "Hey, open your eyes. Can you hear me?"
You could blurrily make out Hank's face against the contrast of the trees. The warmth of his hand reaches your face, and you try to offer him a pained smile.
"Hey," you manage, not noticing the drop in Hank's expression when blood pools out of your mouth.
"Keep listening to me," He says to you, pulling on the straps of your harness. "I'm gonna get you out of here, okay?"
" 'Kay," you whisper, head lolling to the side when Hank lets go to rip the straps out from the back of the seat.
He slides his hand under your shoulders, pulling you up and tilting your head down against his chest.
"You still hear me, right?" He slides his other arm under your knees. "Still with me?"
"Uh-huh," you answer. Hank pulls up on you and begins to stand, but you cry out in pain. Your leg is on fire as it hangs loose in the air.
"What happened? Where are you hurt?" He panics, setting you flat onto the ground, arm still around your back.
"My leg," you gasp out, arms shaking violently as you bend to grip your calf. "Broken."
"Fuck," Hank says. "Hold on."
You hear a loud snap and feel pressure on both sides of your shin. He's taken two branches and braced your leg, using the broken straps of your harness to makeshift a splint.
"Best I can do," He says, moving to scoop you up again. "Ready?"
You nod, still trembling from the pain. He stands, and the pain in your leg makes you lightheaded. Hank is still talking to you, asking you questions that you can only answer with single syllables.
You're lucky you can't see his face. He isn't wearing his concern well. Blood outlined your teeth and cracked into your lips. The color had been drained from your face and your breaths were shallow. He wasn't sure if you were aware of your shredded uniform sleeves or the blood seeping from them staining his shirt.
Your breaths turned into wheezes, and Hank picked up his pace. The courtyard of the damaged school coming closer into view.
"Hey, keep talking to me. We're almost at the school, ok?" He shifts you gently, hoping the movement rouses you more.
"Huh," you wheeze, the whistling in your voice making Hank more nervous. Your ribs were definitely bruised if not broken. Your uncontrollable shakes alluded to a severe head injury - one he prayed wasn't worse than a bad concussion.
The two of you broke through the tree line. Surrounding sounds started to fade out of your hearing, but you tried hard to focus on Hank's voice.
He shouted out to someone, but you stopped making sense of voices.
"Hey, open your eyes," Hank says, careful not to jostle you too much as he scraps for your attention.
You tilt your head up slowly, trying desperately to keep your lidded eyes open.
"Can't," you mutter out. You feel sick and hot, each breath accompanied by an increase and then decrease of the dull pain in your chest. Everything hurt so much it almost began to cancel itself out. The effort you made trying to stay cognisant suckng the energy out of your body.
You don't hear him try to rouse you again, or the panic in his voice when he realizes you aren't responding.
You don't hear Ororo screaming across the grass at Scott to get Logan. You don't feel her hands against your neck as she checks your pulse.
You don't hear Jean shouting at Hank to take you to the lab. You don't hear Scott calling out to Logan. And you don't hear Logan calling out for you in a broken roar.
-
Logan stares at the floor outside of the lab. A dark cloud of fear and anguish settles over him. He has a way of thickening the air with negativity in these moments.
He can't look Hank in the eye knowing your blood is soaked through his shirt. Knowing he trapped you in that harness.
He counts himself lucky that he didn't find you crushed to the console of the jet, but that doesn't mean he isn't fighting off how very real that could have been.
Scott and Kurt had to hold him away from the doors when he raced after you. They later had to hold him up when he collapsed to his knees in despair.
He didn't look up when the hiss of the glass doors sounded or when Jean called Hank in to swap with her. They'd been at this for hours. Hank was terrified of you sustaining a significant brain injury, Jean more concerned about the hairline fractures in the ribs of your chest, caused by the harnesses Logan crushed to your body.
Jean sank in the seat next to him, letting out a shaky breath.
"Logan," She tried gently, knowing he wasn't capable of a response. "I know how you're feeling right now-"
"You don't," he cuts her off. The shake in his voice cuts through the air and he rubs at his eyes, hoping Jean can't tell that he's trying to rid the sensation of stinging behind his eyes.
"Logan, we know you crushed the buckles of her harness," she says gently. The breath he lets out is shaky and filled with a somber acknowledgement. He feels so guilty he might be sick.
"If you hadn't done that, she most likely would have died," Jean tells him, knowing this won't change anything besides offering him an ounce of peace of mind. "If she'd unclasped herself at any point, she would've flown out of the jet when the hangar was hit open. The clasps are designed to unhook on impact after ejection, and since her chute didn't activate she would've hit the ground much harder. I know you feel at fault here, but she's only bruised."
"If'd I'd just let her land the damn thing," he choked out, looking up to blink back the wetness in his eyes.
The door slid open again, Hank moving through slowly.
"Her eyes are open," he says, relief not present in his tone. "She might respond to you."
Logan meets Hank's eyes. He looks tired and defeated.
He looks away as he slowly pushes up from his chair, slowly and shakily passing Hank through the doors. Logan feels Hank's eyes burning into the back of his head. He gains no solace from knowing whatever Hank is thinking about him, Logan is thinking much worse.
He's afraid to step closer when he sees you. Your leg has been casted properly, resting over two white pillows. Your tattered uniform has been replaced with a grey t-shirt and shorts, a thin blanket laying over your one fully-exposed leg. He can see wires from EKG electrodes poking out from the bottom hem and collar of your shirt. An IV of saline is attached to the vein of your arm. Both have gause peaking out from your shirt sleeves, and Logan didn't have to see the blood soaking through them - he could smell it. A nasal cannula rested above your upper lip, blood still crusted between the cracks of your lips. You had two unbandaged scrapes on your face, one on your jaw and the other on your forehead.
You blinked and just barely turned your head to him. Immediately, he rushed over, gingerly touching your fingertips.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered to you, terrified to place his hands anywhere on your body. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."
He covered his eyes with his hand, breathing in a sniffle as he turned his head away from you. His thumb stroked over one of your fingers.
He felt you move and quickly faced you, eyes rimmed with redness. He watched you blink slowly, opening your mouth to try and speak.
You said his name in a raspy whisper. Logan clenched his jaw and hung his head, slipping his palm under yours. He felt the gentle squeeze of your hand and sunk to his knees in pain, head resting against the side of the bed. Guilt was corroding away at his insides. He felt the crushing weight of his actions in his neck and shoulders. The inside of his body felt weak and his stomach churned.
You turned your hand and stretched your fingers back, gently stroking at his forehead. He squeezed your hand and stood back up, bringing his other hand to the side of your face.
"I don't know how to protect you," he whispered, voice breaking.
"That's okay," you say back, eyes beginning to close again. You pull his hand to your stomach and thread your fingers together, his pinkie resting between your middle and ring finger.
Logan gently threads his fingertips through your hair, wanting so desperately to hold you in his arms.
"Don't go," you mutter, eyes closed. Your breath evens as you fall back asleep. Logan's breath remains shaky, the stinging returning to his eyes.
"I won't," he says softly, voice raw. He slides the chair from the end of your bed over to himself, sitting down. He rests his head between his arms, looking up at the rise and fall of your chest.
He won't leave, not anytime soon. If you wake up and want him gone, then he'll disappear. For now, he'll allow himself to relish in the fact that you're still alive.
WARNINGS: excessive use of italicisation, borderline dirty thoughts, makeout scene bc that's the best i can do, maybe ooc bc I fear I imagine Logan a little funnier than he actually is.
a/n: the ac in my room broke and inspiration struck after I doomscrolled through wolverine edits on tiktok ... chat i love men
It was hot. Boiling. Stifling.
You woke up at 2 a.m. drenched in sweat, sucking in a deep breath of hot, stale air. Grogginess fading, you stumble from your bed while pulling of your shirt and pajama pants. You open the door to the bathroom and turn the cold water on in the sink.
The heat was dripping down your back despite your lack of clothing. Overheating and still half-asleep, you stuck your head into the stream of cold water, splashing over your neck and across your shoulders.
You straighten to tie your hair up before turning the water off and running your still cold hands down your arms. The patter of thudding sounded outside your door, and you move to dress in a thin tank top and shorts.
You let your eyes adjust to the light as you began walking down the hallway of the mansion. A few children slipped out of their rooms in similar sweaty conditions to follow you down the staircase and onto the main floor.
Gathered by the professor's office were Scott, Storm, and Jean. The stray young mutants who trailed you settling around them.
"Goodmorning," You call out the the group.
"Do you know who turned this place into a boiler?" Jean asks. You both swipe sweat off your foreheads in sync while you shrug, shaking your head.
"Jesus, my glasses are gonna slide off my face," Scott complains, knocking his head against the wall in exasperation. He was shirtless, (rightfully so) wearing what you guessed were swim trunks.
"Charles is working on it," Jean put a hand on his shoulder, then quickly removing it to wipe his sweat off her hand and down the wall.
You turn to Storm, who was pulling the fabric of her tank top to fan herself off.
"Do we know where Bobby is?" You ask in search of the Iceman. You turned to scan the room, addressing the three students who followed you.
"Pretty sure him and Rogue took off before lights out," a young girl from the floor calls out. Her mutation rubberized her molecules, and her legs were in misshapen puddles - akin to flat stanley - due to the heat.
"Christ, it's fuckin' hot in here," a familiar voice groans loudly from behind you. "Nice shorts." Logan said to you before reaching your side.
"Alright fashion police," you respond in mock annoyance, offering a small smile at him. "Didn't know you worked this late."
He shot you a wink before turning away. When you caught full sight of him, your face froze and (if possible) more sweat rolled down your spine.
It was sickening how attractive he managed to look in what felt like the inside of an air fryer. Having clearly just woken up, his hair was perfectly tousled into a messier version of his normal tufts. His hair hardly looked damp despite the oiled-up glow he had on his face ...
And torso.
Fuck he was shirtless.
Although you've known Logan for the better part of a year, you unfortunately failed to experience him half-dressed. You'd been in close proximity frequently - sparring and other various training taking a large percent of that. You were friendly with each other, his acknowledgement of you with a nod whenever you walked in a room affirming he didn't hate you. You normally ate breakfast together, often offering the other the last portion of cereal or setting aside an extra cup of coffee for whoever entered the kitchen second. Within the last few months, however, after a particularly unfortunate mission gone wrong in almost every way, your friendship became more affectionate in those 'off the clock' moments.
Quick but firm hugs, slinging his arm over your shoulders, nudging each other with elbows or hips at inside jokes. He'd also been placing a hand on your back or shoulder every time he was in proximity to do so when moving behind you; in the kitchen, during briefings, even while you were grading papers in the library. He would touch your shoulder to let you know he was moving past you or going to sit next to you.
All that is to say you were aware - in theory - he was well built. He was taller and broader than you, so you made an educated guess. Theory proven, but well beyond expectations.
A month ago, you and Scott had stopped at a Texas Roadhouse an hour outside of the city after having spent two weeks clearing out a mutant experimentation lab in eastern Quebec. The plump and shine of the appetizer rolls (that you and Scott had both equally asked for seconds of) had absolutely nothing on Logan.
He damn near glistened. The dim light of the mansion sconces bronzed his skin, cutting him into an even more defined picture for you to look at. His chest expanded with each breath, shoulders and pecs slightly flexing in response. His hands lazed on his hips, if even possible causing the room's shadows to shade in the dips of his biceps and forearms. The veins of his arms just barely covered by the moisture-slicked hair covering his skin. If you had a fork and knife, you would throw them behind you to happily eat a piece of him with your hands.
You had to force yourself to swallow to shock your brain into looking anywhere else. You made an 'eaugh' sound and swiped your hands across your face. You meant it defensively, but you really were dripping into your eyes.
"I feel like I'm being waterboarded," you say disgustedly while wiping your palms on the back of your shorts. Feeling a texture that wasn't fabric, you turned your head. Glancing down, you understood Logan's earlier comment.
These shorts must have been from your freshman year of high school that somehow never got tossed or donated. They were a pair of (very) short, low-cut and dull pink velour Juicy Couture shorts with the word 'Juicy' spelled out in rhinestones on the ass. You actually felt like hurling as your body got even hotter.
You slowly turned your face away from the glittery stones on your booty to unfortunately glance in Scott's direction. His hands covering his mouth to block how obviously he was holding in a laugh.
"Scott, don't even look at me right now," you groan in exasperation, crossing your arms over yourself in attempted modesty. Scott's eyes glitter, and you snap "Keep your mouth shut" at him to no avail.
"Do your shorts say Juicy on your ass?" He snickers. "In rhinestones?"
He's cracking up now with his hands in fists over his mouth. Jean bites a smile away and looks down, shaking to stifle a giggle. You look across the room to the kids who are choking down laughter themselves.
"Oh my fucking God-uh!" you again groan out, covering your eyes. "I really liked Jersey Shore when I was in High School, guys, leave me alone!"
Storm bursts into a laugh that inspires the others to join in. You're cracking up too, mortification disappearing. You glance at Logan through your fingers, who surprisingly seems to be choking back a laugh himself.
"Storm, can't you make it snow or something to-", Logan clears his throat. "Save her from embarrassment?"
"Not how it works," She says. "I can't pull cold air or moisture out of this heat to create any snow." She looks at you and winks. "Sorry J-Wow, the shorts are staying on."
Scott about keels over with a snort before Jean thwaps him in the shoulder.
"If we bring you enough bags of ice, could you use that to cool the building down then?" Jean asks.
"In theory," Storm says. "I can stay here with the students to wait for the professor if you all don't mind searching for some. I'll need to conserve energy if I have to create a blizzard out of thin air."
"Copy. Divide and conquer," you say glancing at Logan again. The four of you turn to wander the mansion, but you stop to turn back to Storm.
"Also," you call back to her. "I'm so obviously Snooki."
Scott barks a laugh from the other corridor as you trot after Logan. He turns to meet you with a confused look on his face.
"What the fuck is a Snooki?"
---
Logan daydreamed about upper-cutting Scott with his claws unsheathed. He fantasized about throwing him down the stairs and curb-stomping him after. He imagined speeding over him on his own motorcycle and drilling him into the asphalt.
Right now, as your face flushed with embarrassment over your bedazzled booty shorts, he wished he had enacted any of those in reality so he had never, ever, heard Scott say a word about your ass.
Logan was used to waking up in a sweat, heart racing as he yelled out in anger (or fear, he couldn't tell which) from the nightmare that slipped from him the longer his eyes were open.
This time, he awoke uncomfortably hot and sprawled out diagonally above his sheets. He pushed himself up onto his knees and rubbed his eyes. He took a beat to wake himself up and stared at the clock on his nightstand blinking at 2:00 am.
He found it impossibly hotter in the hallway, swiping his palms on his pants every few steps. He regretted not scouring his room for shorts or even a pair of briefs. He moved down the stairs and rounded, following the sound of conversation. He dragged his sweaty palms across his pants again, groaning out; "Christ, it's fuckin' hot in here".
And then he almost tripped over his own feet.
You stood facing away from him, hands clasped on top of your head, in the tiniest clothing humanly possible. You wore a thin, strappy little yellow tank top that ghosted just under your ribs. In the dimmed lighting, your skin glistened, droplets of sweat gliding down your neck, your spine - fucking hell, was your sweat turning him on? - down your lower back, and -
Logan just about stopped in his tracks.
Impossibly tiny pink shorts clung to your ass, riding low on your hips. In glittering rhinestone, the word Juicy was bedazzled over the fabric. He felt like a dumb moth to a flame, trying to look like he wasn't seconds away from using his hands for some workplace misconduct.
"Nice shorts," he managed, trying to shake his head clear.
"Alright fashion police," you smirked up at him. "Didn't know you worked this late."
He winked at you, turning away to avoid staring at the beads sliding down your collar bone. Trying even harder to not imagine where the droplets would travel next.
Too focused on thinking about anything else in the world other than you, he blinked back into reality after Scott's voice grated his ears.
"Do your shorts say Juicy on your ass? In rhinestones?"
Whatever you or anyone else responds with falls on his deaf ears. The only thing he can hear is the pounding of his heart and the rush of blood. His face tightened and he clenched his jaw.
He coughed to clear his head and interject into whatever conversation he's too furious to tune in to.
"Storm, can't you make it snow or something to-", Logan paused, coughing again to catch himself from saying anything related to freezing Scott solid so he can shatter him to pieces. He settled on "Save her from embarrassment?"
Once again, Logan half-listened and half-internally plotted extreme violence, perking back in at the sound of your voice. He turned to you as you catch up with him.
"What the fuck is a Snooki?"
---
You declined to continue to explain trash TV to Logan. You settled on "It's entertaining to watch people be out of touch with reality", to which he quipped back a "That's stupid", effectively shutting you up.
The both of you wandered to the kitchen, you fanning yourself as Logan tried not to burst a blood vessel while holding to his willpower to not watch you tilt your head back and exhale while uttering whines of complaint. He decided the amount that his was sweating coupled with the lack of sleep made him delusional. That's why his brain kept trailing back to the same thought: you.
You pulled open the bottom drawer of the fridge, exposing the freezer. The rush of cool air fanned at your skin, and you signed in relief.
"Logan," you call, eyes closed. You waved him over and he leaned next to you.
"Oh my god," he quietly uttered out, eyes closing in relief. "Oh my god, this is better than sex."
You snorted and slapped your hand to your mouth.
"Logan, shut the fuck up" you giggle. He snickers back with you, shoulders shaking.
"Aw man," you groan, staring into the freezer drawer. Inside, there was an empty popsicle box, an half-eaten pint of strawberry ice cream, and an unwrapped ice-cream sandwich with freezer burn. You and Logan met each other's eyes with matching disappointed expressions.
You shut the freezer drawer, straightening up.
"I think there's a freezer in the basement lab," Logan says, sweat instantly beginning to drip down his neck.
"Aw man," you respond, lifting your arms slightly as sweat slides down you as well.
"Come on, bub," He moves around behind you. You feel the familiar ghost of his fingers against your back, but you recoil away at the thought of more heat against your body.
Logan yanked his hand away like he had been burned, gaze raking from you to his hand. You keep walking, not realizing how far behind you he's trailing.
---
He tries to shake it off, he really does. He feels stupid for letting something so small seep into his head and twist his thoughts around.
It's just because it's hot, he thinks to himself. Rationally, yes, he knows that is the answer. And yet he stupidly can't help but overthink every interaction he's had with you.
He masks it with a stony expression. The walk to the elevator is sticky and humid. When you both step in, he strays as far away from you as he can.
You've felt the shift in energy from him. He's pressed against the curved wall, arms crossed over his chest. It's palpable, but you aren't the type to pry when Logan is brooding.
He slips out of the opening doors first, relinquishing in the slightly cooler air of the lab. You trail after.
The air is awkward now. You fumble in your brain for the right words to say to him. 'Are you okay?' doesn't seem to cut it.
You've come to understand Logan. He has a complicated relationship with feelings and is awful at communication. If you don't notice the energy shift and bring it up, it isn't getting spoken about.
You follow him to a white metal crate pressed near a cabinet of saline. It's clasped shut and luckily on wheels. The precipitation on the outside confirming this is what you were looking for.
You place your hands on the corners of the crate to slide it from the wall, but Logan damn near rips it out of your hands. He shoves it across the lab towards the elevator.
You stare at him in shock and confusion. Your thoughts whir as you replay every moment from the entire day, convinced that he's pissed at you. He seems pissed. He's acting pissed.
You reach the elevator just as the door slides open. You're trying to decide if you should say something. Trying to think of a way to approach this in a way that will actually get him to talk. The air in the elevator is thick, more so with his shift in attitude than with heat.
Logan is locking himself inside his head. He can’t organize his thoughts and all he feels is stupidity. He can't understand why he's over analyzing, much less what he's over analyzing.
He doesn't know it's basically radiating off of him. Unaware that you've been staring at him to try and decipher what's wrong.
You utter out "Are you okay?" just to cut through the thick silence (and hopefully the wall he's locked himself in). You're sure he hears you, but the sliding of the door gives him the perfect opportunity to continue to ignore you.
Again, you trail after him. The wheels scrape against the hardwood, a testament to how hard he is pressing into the metal.
You're confused, sweaty, and almost on the verge of nonconsensual tears when you reach Storm and the other kids. The girl from the floor has turned into mostly puddle. Everything besides the tip of her shoulders and up are deflated to the wood. The other kids have spread to the floor themselves.
Logan shoves the crate towards Storm.
"Alright," he says curtly, once again crossing his arms. "Cool this shit down."
You fiddle with your fingers as Storm unlatches the metal. Her eyes gloss over to a milky white while she lifts the lid. The temperature drops almost instantly, and you begin to shiver.
"Done," She says, blinking away the glaze. "Charles said that-"
"Great," Logan cuts her off with a slam of the metal lid. He slides it around before moving back towards the elevator. You glance back and forth between Storm and Logan for a second. When you meet her confused expression, she gestures back towards him.
Ignoring the comfort of your sheets and lack of emotional drainage, you jog after Logan.
---
He huffs at you when you reach his side.
"I can push a metal box by myself," he says dismissively.
"Okay," you say, just to get something in the air. "Am I not allowed to come with you?"
You regret even speaking anyways as he scoffs at you, kicking the crate into the opening of the sliding door. It hits the wall with a loud clang. You flinch, but you're more concerned about him to not slip into the door at the last second.
You hug yourself as you start to shiver. Logan rolls his eyes, crosses his arms, and turns away from you to lean against the wall. For the third time tonight.
You are racking your brain. Screaming at yourself to say something, literally any words at all. It feels like you've been panic-searching your thoughts for anything to say for a while.
"Are we not moving?" You ask. You wait for an answer before repeating, calling him by name and moving to stand in front of him.
He huffs before standing straight. After a beat, he says "We're not."
"Shit, how should we -" You start, but are cut of by the metallic unsheathing of Logan's Claws. In a blur he rears back and slices through the door, scraping three parallel lines across the metal.
"Jesus Christ, Logan!" You snap out at him. The glare he gives you while his claws sink into his skin makes you back up into the wall.
"What the hell is your problem?" you say evenly.
He scoffs at you, muttering out "Don't know what you're talking about."
"You just sliced the wall open," You point out, gesturing to said wall. "And you're acting like you're pissed at me"
"You're imagining things," he says back, resuming his position against the wall with his arms folded.
"Oh, that's bullshit. You're literally sulking in the corner and you want to tell me that isn't happening."
Logan stays silent. You almost expect him to turn into the wall so he can pretend to not see you.
"Logan," you say, trying to catch his eyes. "Why can't you be upfront with me? It's very easy to say 'Hey, you pissed me off because of this' or 'Oh, something sparked a bad memory' or, I don't know, 'I don't want to talk about it' "
"I don't want to talk about it," he responds. You smack the back of your head into the wall behind you in exasperation.
"Oh my god, obviously that was just an example. Please just tell me what's wrong."
Logan raises his eyes to meet yours for just a second. You catch his gaze, and you can tell that he wants to tell you. When you quietly say his name he looks away.
"Logan, you’re being mean." Your eyes flick over him, trying to catch any more indication that he'll open up. He stays stoick, stubborn piece of shit. You decide to wait just a moment longer before giving up. If he's going to be this adamant about whatever happened, you aren't about to keep fighting him on it.
"Okay, you’re pissing me off and I give up" You spit, sinking to the floor. You draw your legs up and fold into yourself, the chill of the room sinking into your skin.
It takes a long, awkward amount of time sitting in silence before you her Logan speak.
"You're cold," he states.
"No, I'm not," you say into your arms. Shivering.
"You look cold," he once again states plainly.
"I'm not, stop talking to me."
"I thought you wanted me to talk," Logan retorts at you. You look up at him over your arms, seeing a smug look on his face.
"Yeah, if the words you say are 'Hey, I'm sorry I'm being a dickhead and shoving stuff around and slicing into walls and ignoring you. I'm just thinking about X,Y and Z, which is making me feel X,Y and Z,' and then I would say 'Oh my gosh Logan, I had no idea! I'm so sorry, I wish you told me so I didn't make a big deal out of it because I thought you hated me!" You snap at him, mocking his voice for emphasis.
He blinks at you, and you move your head back into your arms.
"I don't hate you," he says quietly.
"You're acting like it."
"I don't."
The softness in his voice makes you sigh. You decide to take it easy on him, and ask him to come to you.
"What?" he asks, hesitation evident in his tone.
"Can you come sit next to me, please?" You ask softly.
"Why?" he asks, and you roll your eyes.
"Because I'm cold and you run much warmer than I do."
He moves and sinks down beside you, thankfully. You scooch closer until your arm is against his. The warmth of his body radiates against yours.
"Can you please talk to me?" you break the silence. The smallness in your voice chips away at his resolve, but his pride is still in the way. He's embarrassed enough about being upset in the first place, he can hardly stand (much less find the words) to say anything to you.
"Look, I'll literally cover my eyes so I'm not even looking at you," you offer, covering your eyes with your palms. "Please, just tell me."
"It's stupid," Logan says, pride dwindling down.
"I don't care, I promise. Please, Logan," You plead.
He sighs loudly, searching for the right words. He stutters out a few syllables before managing a sentence.
"In the kitchen earlier, you flinched away from me. I don't know. Didn't feel great."
Your hands dropped from your face. He was staring down at the floor. He looked embarrassed, maybe downright ashamed. You gently placed a hand on his arm.
"Logan, I'm sorry. It was just so hot and I felt all gross and sweaty. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."
"Okay," he says, but his eyes never left the floor.
"And that's not stupid. I freak out over the tiniest things in the world."
"Yeah?" he huffs out a small laugh, finally turning to you.
"Yes, duh, I'm a girl. One time you didn't sit in the stool right next to me and I had to suck my tears back in and I thought about it for two days straight," you told him.
"Because I didn't sit next to you?" he teases, and you push off of his arm in mock annoyance.
"Yes, I'm not kidding. I remember once when you came back from a mission you ignored me when I said 'hi' to you on the stairs and locked yourself in your room for almost two days. I was genuinely convinced you wanted me dead and I couldn't function until you'd brought me toast because you thought I was sick."
"You weren't sick?" He raises an eyebrow at you.
"No! I thought you wanted me to jump into oncoming traffic!" You laugh at yourself, feeling ridiculous after replaying those few days back in your head.
"Okay, okay, I get what you mean. I don't want you dead, by the way. Never will." His face has relaxed and the tension in the air completely dissipated. You tilted to rest your head on his shoulder, relishing in his body heat and enjoying the comfortable silence.
"Seems like I get you pretty worked up, huh?" Logan smiles to himself, knowing he'll get a rise out of you.
"I'm not answering that," you snort, giving him a side eye.
"Are you kidding me?" He says in a deadpan.
"No! I'm not answering that," you sputter, forcing an even tone out of yourself. "Why'd you get so upset about me moving away from you?" You shoot back.
"I'm not answering that," he says, and you now shove him away jokingly.
"Oh, come on!"
You both start to giggle at each other, needing to look at anywhere except at the other. Weight has been lifted off both of your chests, being stuck in the elevator long forgotten.
"So," Logan speaks, letting the word hang in the air for a second. He wonders if the feelings he's completely sure are mutual should remain unspoken. "Are either of us gonna do anything about," he gestures to the both of you. "Or..."
"Oh man, I was wondering which one of us was going to take the bait first," you giggle out to mask the nervousness settling in your chest. "You almost had me, I never figured you'd say anything."
"Did I?" He asks. You turn to him and meet his gaze, smirking at him. You hum happily after a few seconds, turning away from him to lean on his arm once more.
"So," Logan says again, so you mock him and echo the word back.
"So," he tries again, obviously wanting a certain response from you. You bite, looking at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.
"Oh my god, you can just kiss me. I'm cold, I'm not moving my arms," you say to him, earning a short laugh from him.
Logan moves and scoops you into him, sandwiching your arms between both your bodies. You slide one of your hands up him so that your fingertips reach his collarbone. His nose is just touching yours, and he tilts, barely touching your lips.
"So," he whispers against you. You snort and shove his face away with your free hand.
"Okay, nevermind! Get away from me!" You giggle, Logan following suit.
You feel Logan's hand move to the back of your neck, and you blink at him a few times with a small smile. Finally, he leans down to kiss you. You snake your free hand up to the side of his neck and grasp onto a few tufts of his soft hair. He leans into your touch slightly, so your curl your fingers in response.
One of his arms releases you to brace the floor for support, the other moving to hold you tighter. His fingers splayed across your shoulder blade as you slip your other arm out. You slide your hand up the side of his abdomen, almost moaning when the feeling of his back muscles reach your fingers.
You both pull away for a second to breathe before diving back into each other. Logan pulls you towards him, hand that was on the floor now sliding down your side to squeeze at the flesh of your hips.
He pulls back from you and presses and open mouthed kiss just under your ear. You crane your head back in response while feeling your way up the front of his body. Your fingers dip over the curves of his abs and over his chest, and then slide over his shoulder and down his arms. You think about the glisten of his body earlier in the night, the shadows of his muscular biceps and forearms.
"You and these damn shorts," he groans between the kisses he's now leaving on your collar. You let out a breathy laugh.
"I'll take them off later, they don't even fit," you say, pulling his face up so you can kiss him again.
"I hope you'll let me help," he says into your open mouth, causing you to squeeze your thighs together as you heat up.
The shrieking sound of metal against metal surrounds you both, and you shove Logan off you to scramble to your feet. He moves besides you, claws unsheathed on instinct.
The door of the elevator slowly slides open, coming to a halt while it's halfway open. Charles and Jean were waiting from the outside.
"There you both are," Jean huffs out. "You've been gone for about an hour."
"What time is it?" Logan asks, moving out into the mansion floor and sinking his claws back into his knuckles. You follow behind, the chill coming back to your skin.
"About 4:30 in the morning," Charles replies, gliding away from the opening of the metal door. "I suggest you all get some sleep while it's still early." He looks pointedly at you and Logan before rolling to face Jean.
"Agreed. Goodnight you two," Jean says, moving down the hallway to her room.
You and Logan make your way up the stairs, still buzzing. You stop at his door while he opens it. He turns to face you. Once again, you're back to staring at each other hoping you both can understand what the other is thinking.
"Well, good night Logan," You sigh. He cocks an eyebrow at you.
"You're not coming in?" He says while leaning against the door frame.
"Oh," you begin, a smile nervously making its way to your face. "Well ... I ..."
"I gotta help you with those shorts, remember?"
You can't help the soft laugh that leaves your mouth. You move towards him and step just into the doorway.
"I'll take all the help I can get," You say up at him. He takes the opportunity to wrap you in his arm and move you both through the door.
He turns you both, pressing your back against the wall next to the doorway, shutting the door as he molds his lips into yours. His hand slides under your flimsy yellow tank top as you hear the click of the door lock.
More than likely, neither of you were getting much sleep tonight.
SUMMARY: You and Logan are being chased down by the military after a group of mutants attempted to set fire to the White House. The school instantly became a target. While trying to protect the school in a damaged X-jet, Logan decides your fate for you.
WARNINGS: Sad and a little graphic.
a/n: I am fr gonna do a pt 2 i just didnt want to make this super long like it will probably end up being
also again pls give me a break i just gotta free this shit from the straight jacket it's in inside my brain
Within seconds of news footage airing, the whirring of chopper blades surrounded the school.
Since jet takeoff, Storm and Jean had jumped out to help on the ground. Both diverted most of the attacks away from the jet. You and Logan had flown over the masses of machinery that were crawling toward the school. Tanks and trucks filled with armoured soldiers and explosives gathered just outside the tree line. The explosives packed under the jet had long-since run out, hardly making a dent in the wall of troops.
The sensors in the X-jet are whirring, alarms flashing red and blaring. Almost as loud as tornado sirens. You're gripping at the controls, straining at keeping the jet level while a thruster sputters out. A lurch knocks the cabin as another sensor drums on. You pull on a lever to the side of the console in front of you as a hasty attempt to divert power back to the fizzling thruster.
"I think the jet took a hit," Logan calls out loudly over the screech of the alarms.
"No fucking shit!" You call back shakily, head pounding and heart hammering. The windshield is fogged from smoke damage and beginning to crack on the left side.
"You need to fly out of here!" Logan calls again, his voice near monotone.
"Again, no fucking shit!" You whip around to face him and use the opportunity to flip off the interior electricity. The cabin is only illuminated by the windshield, but you can't see Logan.
"We need to land" you say to the shadows of the bay. You glance around, still white-knuckling the controls before calling out "Logan?"
"Let me out" he responds, walking out from the base of the hangar. "Drop the hangar and let me jump out. I can get past the front line and set off the explosives in the trucks"
"Are you stupid? You'll plaster to the ground on impact" you tell him, turning back to the windshield in time to pull away from a stray rocket.
He comes behind you and grips onto your shoulder, forcing you to look his way again.
"Open the hanger and let me jump out" He says firmly. "And then get the hell out of here."
"I don't think you understand how physics works, Logan! I can't bring this jet more than fifteen hundred feet above the ground. You will literally splatter to the ground if you jump from that high."
His grip on your shoulder tightens, saying "I'll survive."
You pull away from him to face the console. "Have you survived a fall from this high before?" You ask over the roar of the thrusters.
"Will you listen to me?" He yells to you, taking your face in his hands. "You need to get out of here. I'll regenerate, you won't! My bones are indestructible -" And you cut him off.
"Your tendons aren't adamantium!" You yell to him, smacking his chest with the side of your hand for emphasis. "Your muscles aren't adamantium and your organs aren't adamantium! The second you jump out of this jet you will get shot out of the sky. How do you know you'll survive getting literally blown up?"
You try not to cry, sucking in a breath in an attempt to stop the stinging behind your eyes. His face is firm. He pulls the straps of your harness so you face him fully.
"You won't survive if this jet gets shot out of the fucking sky!" Logan shouts. "Open the hangar and get the hell out of here!"
"There is no reason for you to jump out of this jet, you self-sacrificial piece of shit!" You're trying to yell firmly, but your breath is shaky and your vision starts to blur. Suddenly, the spring of the chair unlocks and Logan clicks on the jet's autopilot and pushes your chair away from the console, locking it feet away from the controls.
"Logan!" You go to unlock the clasps of your harness as he pulls away from you. He must've crushed the buckles while you were fighting, because you can't unclasp yourself. Panicking, you whip around to try and face him while yanking at the harness as hard as you can.
He's walking toward the hangar while the door loudly begins to unlatch.
"Stop it!" you beg. "I am not going to scour these woods for your metal bones to put you back together and hope that you regenerate!" You begin to sob, pulling at your straps fruitlessly.
He marches back toward you, shouting "And I am not going to watch your empty casket go into the ground!" over the wind. You can see the hurt and panic on his face. He looks furious, but you know how terrified he feels. "I am not going to lose you."
The hangar is wide open now. Crackles of explosions sound off in the background.
"Why do I have to lose you?"
The furrow in his brow softens a little. He moves closer to bend and cup your cheek with his hand. You grip tightly onto his uniform as he kisses you, hoping in vain that you're strong enough to stop him.
Logan pulls away to the sound of the hangar beginning to close. He pries your fingers off him, turns away, and jogs to the lip of the closing door. You watch him leap out as the groan of the door comes to a stop.
SUMMARY - You've been listening to the radio all night long, and can't believe your song comes on when you're luckily alone with Logan.
a/n - chat ... please be gentle this is a self indulgent one shot based off the sickening obsession i have with this man. i need him biblically.
Also, I'm imagining this to this song or Springsteen by Eric Church, but obviously use whatever song ur heart desires
unedited ! And lowkey out of character but idc
At the start of summer, the students of the "gifted youngsters" program begged Charles to let them set the grounds up for a small party as a celebration for the end of the school year, despite nearly all of them being permanent X-mansion residents.
You excitedly volunteered to help, sitting in the kitchen concocting a dessert recipe as Scott mixed punch. Within a few hours, the yard was lit with string lights hanging from tree to tree. Fold-out tables with sheets as tablecloths held plates of food and drinks. Closer to the mansion, a large speaker blared music from the radio.
You listened to the music, half listening to the conversation Storm and Charles were having and half trying to hide your sideways glances at Logan, who was very attractively manning the grill. You might've heard a question directed at you but Logan's white t-shirt was tucked into his jeans. The cut of his sleeves stretched against his biceps, one hand on his belt and the other flipping hot dogs with tongs. You wanted him to turn so you could shamelessly stare at his ass in his jeans. You were no better than a man.
"Didn't you bake these cookies?" Charles said, catching your attention. You hoped that was the first time he asked that as you looked down to him.
"Oh, yeah, I did", you answer (hopefully as nonchalant as possible). "I hope they don't taste terrible."
"Please, you are the baker sent from heaven" Storm sighed, taking a bite of one of your cookies.
"I told you, my mutation literally causes the spirit of Martha Stuart to take over my body" you snort. "She's the little rat in my chef's hat".
You earned a chuckle from Charles, a yellow paper plate of some of your baked goods resting on his legs.
"If I truly ever felt the mind of Martha Stuart at this school, I would send us into lockdown" He joked back, but you had glanced at Logan again and your mind left the conversation.
He was smiling warmly as he handed plates of burgers and hot dogs to a few surrounding kids. He turned to the table behind him to open another pack of buns, and you silently thought 'thankyouthankyouthankyou' as you shamelessly stared at his ass.
With an enormous amount of willpower, you returned to the conversation ahead of you as Logan unfortunately turned back to the grill.
♬ ♬ ♬ ♬ ♬
The lights dimly lit the courtyard under the darkening sky. You sat in the grass, legs outstretched and feet swaying to the radio still playing in the background. Hearing footsteps, you glanced behind you.
Logan was making his way towards you, beer in hand.
"Hey" he said, kneeling to sit beside you. He sighed as he turned to stretch his legs out before taking a long drink.
"Hey there, grillmaster" you smile, reaching to snag his beer.
"Headmasters orders" He groaned as you sipped his cold drink.
"Whatever Logan, you had a smile on your face the whole time"
"I think you were a little busy staring at my ass to notice my face" He teased and snatched his beer from you, a satisfied smirk on his face.
"Don't even flatter yourself" you said, turning away and hoping he didn't notice the blood rushing to your cheeks. "I was admiring your grilling capabilities".
He let out a quiet laugh as your face became even hotter.
"Only my grilling capabilities?" He said, and you felt him leaning closer to you. "Nothing else?"
You tried to ignore him despite goosebumps making their way up your arms. He taps your arm with his beer, trying to get you to look at him.
"You think you're hot shit, huh?" you say as a deterrent.
"And you don't?" he flirts, knocking you with the cold bottle in his hand again. You roll your eyes, deciding between groaning out 'Whatever, Logan', 'Spare me', or 'Fuck off'.
Before you even open your mouth, the radio catches your attention. You take a second to recognize the beginning of the song before gasping loudly.
"Oh my god, this is my song!" you light up, whipping around to face Logan and grabbing his shoulder. "The radio's been on all night, I can't believe it's playing!"
You scramble up to a crouch and grab at Logan's arms.
"Come here, Logan, I wanna dance!"
Before he can say a word, you yank on his wrists and pull him off the grass. Your song hums from the speakers as you pull him to spin to the beat. Logan rolls his eyes at you, but he can't ignore the smile that's on your face. You're holding each others' fingers, and he lets you push and pull at opposite arms.
You can't help but sing along, turning from side to side with the lyrics. A grin forms on Logan's face, and he decides to pull you closer and put his hand on the small of your back. You're too enthralled in the music to feel embarrassed, and you push your leg up to force Logan to dip you.
You pull away from him and spin yourself under his arm. You're jumping and swaying to the beat, unaware that Logan is enjoying himself enough to dance along as little as he can get away with.
At every chorus, you lift your hand in a fake microphone and sing into it. Logan sings along too, but quietly enough that you don't notice.
The last few notes of the song play out, and you slow to a stop and catch your breath. You look up at Logan, surprised to find him with an enjoyable look on his face. Your hands are still connected when you straighten up to say "Sorry, I just haven't heard that in while".
You start to let go of his hands, but his fingers tighten around yours. He's looking right into your eyes, the normal furrow in his brows gone and his features softened.
"Don't apologize" he says gently.
"Okay" you respond in whisper. His gaze is unwavering.
You blink with your heart thrumming in your chest. You can't tell if hours or only seconds have passed while you've been looking up at him. You're afraid to look away and ruin the moment, but you unintentionally glance down at his lips and notice that he's smiling.
With a newfound burst of confidence, you pull your hands from his to grab at his jawline. You tug him down and kiss him. Before you can pull back, his hands grip your back. He pulls you closer from his hand between your shoulder blades and other on the curve of your spine. He sighs into you before you pull away, and you meet each other's gaze once again.
"I hope they play that song again" Logan says to you after a beat. You can't fight your smile before you say "Me too".
He brings your face to his and whispers "You spilled my beer, asshole" before kissing you deeply. You push him away, smiling.
"Go get another one, I'll figure out how to play that song again"
