I'm the best there is at what I do, but what I do best isn't very nice.
HUGH JACKMAN as LOGAN HOWLETT aka WOLVERINE
X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) dir. Gavin Hood
Summary: Logan is a tough guy, especially when it comes to love. But who knows, maybe a flower can bloom on the wall of his heart?
Warnings: Use of "yn," swear words? Mention of Erik? If I missed any warnings, please let me know! Thank you.
Ever since Charles met Yn years ago on a mission (when he still went on missions), he knew he had to keep her close. Not that she needed to be under his protection/surveillance; unlike many mutants, her powers always seemed to be under total control (despite being extremely powerful).
Charles saw the greatness in Yn, and he knew it didn't come solely from her powers. She had a unique ability to make the world lighter. A different way of seeing the universe, transforming it from cold and dark to warm and friendly. A personality that was rare to find, someone so positive that she made everyone around her relax.
That's why he had to keep her close. That's why he followed her growth, even from afar, always making sure to be present in some way, with letters or telepathic conversations. He watched her grow and maintain her great positive energy, and when the time came, he invited her to join the Institute as Professor of Herbology. With her position, she would have a private facility within the Institute, a classroom, and a large space for her garden, including a climate-controlled greenhouse just for her. All of this seemed like a dream to Yn, and obviously she accepted. Even knowing that Charles was trying to hide his ulterior motives.
In her first weeks at the Institute, Yn focused on adapting and building relationships with everyone there. Some bonds were easier than others.
Her connection with Ororo was instant. Perhaps it was because they both felt their powers were gifts from a higher power. With Jean, it was a little strange; she was suspicious, but after a mental conversation with the other telepath in the house, she seemed to calm down. Scott stood by his beloved, sharing her opinion, only not letting his walls crumble at the same time as she did. Piotr, Anna Marie, Kitty, and Kurt were fascinated by her power, and of course, her welcoming personality was enough for the three of them to ensure she would truly stay. Pietro didn't seem so impressed by her presence, but he wanted to be absolutely sure she would be impressed by him, saying he guaranteed he could run around the world twice before she finished saying her own name.
And of course, not everyone was so welcoming. Logan was a prime example. Not that he was rude or anything, he just remained reserved, silently sitting in a corner while everyone else talked and got to know the woman. But Yn wasn't worried; she knew his story and was sure he would be suspicious of even the smallest detail.
Weeks after arriving at the Institute, those who previously distrusted her had grown accustomed to her presence, drawing closer and lowering their guard. Except for Logan.
Despite him, Charles could clearly see the change in the Mansion. Everyone seemed happier, even after returning from one of the most difficult missions in recent times. Yn didn't go on the mission; she stayed at the school with Charles, taking care of the children and keeping things in order. She prepared a delicious meal for when they arrived home, homemade food made with vegetables from her own garden and with the delicious seasoning that only she possessed. The exhaustion on everyone's faces was obvious, but the relief of being greeted by Yn's affectionate hugs was what brought a smile to their faces. Except for Logan, who seemed to avoid her embrace and run to his own room, letting Kurt hold her hug so as not to leave her hanging.
When she mentioned that she had made food for them, she could hear the relief and calm taking over with each spoonful they ate. With each bite they sighed, their bodies and minds instantly calming as they felt the food filling their stomachs, barely paying attention when she placed a generous amount in a soup bowl and slipped away.
It was daring perhaps, but everyone deserved to eat.
Three low knocks on the door were enough for Logan to hear. He had just gotten out of the shower, a failed attempt to clean the blood from his hands, but even so they still looked dirty.
He huffed; everyone knew he preferred to be alone, but for some reason, he decided to open the door.
"Hi… I brought you some food… You just arrived and must be exhausted and starving…" Her voice was so perfect. Logan wondered how every aspect of a person could be so perfect. From the moment he saw her, he knew she would be his downfall, which is why he stayed away. He knew what happened when he dared to think about having those feelings for someone. "I just didn't want you to go to sleep without eating anything…" Logan tried to say something, but it was as if the world spun faster. Yn simply left the soup in his hands and withdrew.
Logan looked at the food in his hands; it was warm but not hot enough to hurt him, and it smelled so delicious he almost fell to his knees. The taste, then, was indescribable. It was incredible. By far the best meal he had ever had.
He didn't want to admit it, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay away from her.
The next morning, Logan stood outside the mansion, ignoring the surprised looks directed at him. After all, he wasn't used to waking up early, much less after a mission. But he didn't care; he was focused on the greenhouse where Yn was with her students. She seemed so immersed in the subject, her hands gesturing as she demonstrated the growth of various plants, thanks to her obvious powers. He knew he shouldn't let himself get close; he knew he would be putting himself at risk by approaching like that, but his body begged for him. His inner animal could only think about her; he even stole a piece or two of clothing from Yn's basket, just to have her scent nearby.
"You know… I knew you'd like her the moment I brought her here." Charles' voice snapped Logan out of his trance about the woman. "I knew you'd like her, I didn't even need to read your mind to know that. I saw it in your eyes."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Logan huffed, shifting his gaze.
However, a scream triggered his animal instincts. Even with Charles telling him to calm down, Logan ran to the greenhouse, breaking one of its windows and falling right in front of the woman, claws out and in his typical attack stance. The children screamed, backing away, some trying to protect others, and some just screaming, until they fell silent. Everything was quiet, Logan could only hear his own breathing.
"Excuse me…" Yn murmured in a low, good-humored tone, walking around Logan and standing face to face with her students. "Here… See, she's harmless." she spoke affectionately, removing the caterpillar from the girl's hair, who was still terrified but was being comforted by her friends. " I think your scream scared someone here… " she commented with a laugh on her lips, looking over her shoulder towards Logan, who sighed heavily, retracting his claws and getting up from the ground. "That's it for today's class, tomorrow we'll pick up where we left off. " she announced, looking at everyone, watching them leave one by one until only she and Logan remained. She went around him again, kneeling on the ground and picking up the largest pieces of glass he had broken. She wasn't angry, she knew he hadn't done it on purpose, in fact, she had a small smile on her face.
"Sorry about… That." he said shyly. Logan looked around, he had never entered that greenhouse, never seen the beautiful flowers that had grown there. They were divided into sections, so their roots didn't mix.
"Did you like them? " she asked without turning to see where he was looking. "Each one represents someone important to me… The lavenders are Charles… They symbolize calm and mental clarity… I thought they suited him, don't you think? The orchids are Anna Marie… I thought the complexity of this delicate and complex flower represented her well. The magnolias are for Erik… I just think their name reminds me of him. " she commented with a silly laugh. " The Night-Blooming Jasmines are for Kurt. I don't need to say why, do I? These yellow ones, the Dandelions, are for Pietro; the way their seeds travel so fast reminds me of him. The Camellias are for Kitty; they represent resilience, but also delicacy… For someone who can break through walls or become as hard as stone, I thought they were similar. The Sunflower is for Piotr; they are so strong and at the same time, gentle and loyal. The Iris is for Scott… I don't think I need to comment on this one… "she heard his laughter, causing a slight increase in her heart rate." The roses are for Jean, they represent power and complexity. The lotus flowers, on the other hand, are for Ororo… They represent transformation and resilience…" she said, rising from the ground and throwing the shards of glass into a trash can to deal with them later. Logan tried to hide his saddened look at not having flowers dedicated to him, when the beautiful flowers caught his attention, strong and vibrant colors, large and delicate petals emerging from tall cactus, with thorns so sharp they cut the air. " Oh… These are for you."
"Cactus?" he didn't want to seem ungrateful, but his companions had such delicate flowers… Why did he have the cactus?!
"Well… Cactus are resilient, they survive the harshest conditions. " she said, walking towards him, standing right in front of him, seeing that he had a leaf stuck in his hair. Carefully, he removed the plant from the dark strands of his hair, not seeing his eyes light up at the gesture. "They are hardened fighters and they are fierce… But they are sensitive…"
"Are you saying I'm sensitive, Bub?" he questioned with a small smile appearing on his lips. He saw her cheeks blush slightly as she heard him say that.
"Well… The way you invaded my greenhouse to protect me from a caterpillar in Emily's hair, I'd say you're quite sensitive… Bub. " she teased, feeling shivers run down her skin thanks to his laughter. Logan had a deep laugh, and it wasn't at all exaggerated, but rather restrained and perhaps even shy.
"Maybe only because of you, Bub. "he replied, gently touching the woman's chin, forcing her not to take her eyes off him.
Yn's powers were always well controlled, but at that moment, everything went out of control. Her cheeks turned red, her heart raced like a rocket wanting to go into space. The flowers and plants around her began to grow, sprouting uncontrollably from the ground.
Cough-cough
"Miss Yn, is everything alright?" Professor Xavier's voice caught their attention. The woman was practically jumping in place, the flowers had stopped growing, the buds had returned to the ground, and the leaves had gathered.
"I'm sorry, Professor. It won't happen again," she assured him, taking a deep breath and avoiding looking at Logan at all costs.
"I highly doubt that," Charles joked, seeing the woman become even more embarrassed. Yn just quickened her pace to leave and try to compose herself. "Still don't know what I'm talking about?" the director teased.
"Shut up," Logan retorted, passing by him. The smile on his face faded, returning to his usual grumpy expression.
It was already night, and a heavy rain was falling on the mansion. Luckily, most of the students were already asleep, unlike the teachers who were gathered in the television room, watching something. Logan wasn't with them, but no one suspected anything, except for Yn glancing at the stairs every five seconds, hoping to see him coming down to join them.
"Why don't you go call him instead of staring at the stairs?" Ororo questioned, with a look that showed she knew exactly what was going on.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Yn replied, turning to the television to avoid Ororo seeing her cheeks turn even redder.
"Oh, you do know… The winds told me about it earlier today…" she retorted.
"I didn't know the winds traveled in wheelchairs," Yn retorted, getting up and walking towards the kitchen to get something to drink, as an excuse to avoid talking to Ororo. Then, in a fleeting glance, she saw the lights on in the greenhouse, and she was sure she had turned them all off before going in. "Ororo, is there any way to make the rain lessen? I need to go to the greenhouse and…"
"Are you going to talk about your crush on Logan?" - she asked, knowing full well that yn would rather go out in the rain than confess her feelings.
"You'll pay for this." she said, turning towards the door, huffing as she heard her friend laugh.
Yn went out onto the balcony cursing the heavy rain. Her feet quickly descended the stairs, running while avoiding puddles, only then entering the greenhouse. And then she saw that it really hadn't been her who turned on the lights.
"What are you doing? "she asked, not hiding her surprise at seeing him there, with his knees on the ground while nailing wood into the hole he had made earlier.
"I didn't want your plants to suffer from the rain… You ran here without an umbrella?! " Logan said, turning to her, running towards her as he took off his plaid shirt and put it around her, obviously worried about the fact that she was completely soaked.
"And you still say you're not sensitive? " she asked in a teasing tone, trying not to get completely breathless from feeling his arms around her body, trying to bring warmth to her skin.
"I said only for you, Bub." Logan replied, smiling as he saw her cheeks flush a little more. He felt his instincts screaming at him not to let her get away, to hold her forever, to love her as he should. But that damned voice screaming in his mind forced his instincts into silence. That damned voice reminded him of all the times he had loved and terrible things had happened.
However, that voice fell silent the instant Yn's soft lips met his.
There was still the taste of the beer he drank while fixing the hole; if Yn listened closely, she would also taste his cigar. She was sure that if she tried to describe it to someone, it would sound strange, but at that moment it was perfect, because it was Logan. Her hands touched his cheeks, moving upwards as she tried not to laugh at the tickling of his sideburns.
Logan awoke from his indecisive trance, returning the kiss as if his life depended on it. His hands held her body close to his. His animalistic side was leaping with happiness at feeling his own scent mixing with hers, thanks to his shirt around Yn; it was as if she were now his.
The kiss ended because Yn needed to breathe again. Logan tried to steal more and more kisses, only causing her to smile, unable to reciprocate.
Only then did they notice that it was no longer raining, and that the entire mansion was staring at them.
"I like the crown, Blossom." Scott teased Logan, earning a slap from Jean for ruining their moment. Only thanks to Scott's comment did Logan see his own reflection in the greenhouse glass; he was indeed wearing a flower crown, the same flowers that surrounded them both in the greenhouse, the same flowers that grew on the cacti, his flowers.
"Oh… Sorry, I didn't realize that" yn tried to apologize, raising her hands to take the flower crown from Logan, but he stopped her, taking her hands and kissing her palms before stealing some of her lips as well.
"Don't you dare take my flowers, Bub," Logan said, no longer able to hear that damned voice in his mind, since his whole body was surrendered to Yn and her beautiful flowers.
"Still don't know what I'm talking about?" Charles's voice echoed in Logan's mind, making him roll his eyes at the director.
"Shut up," he thought loudly so the man could hear.
"Things i find extremely attractive" trend for Logan Howlett edition
"c'mere." and then he pulls you into him without another word
Logan isn't the type to ask for affection. Not because he doesn't want it. Because wanting things has rarely ended well for him.
So instead of asking, he simply appears. You'll be sitting at the desk hunching over work, standing in the kitchen making coffee, or talking with one of the others when suddenly there's a large, warm hand wrapping around your wrist.
A gentle tug.
"C'mere."
That's it. No explanation. No discussion.
The next thing you know, you're pressed against his side while you continue whatever you are doing.
As though being close to you is as necessary as breathing.
And if anyone points it out? He'll grumble something under his breath. But his arm never leaves your waist.
the way he always knows where you are
His senses make it impossible.
He can hear your heartbeat from across the mansion.Recognize your footsteps instantly.
Pick your scent out of a crowd of thousands. You stopped asking how he keeps finding you. The answer is simple.
He's always looking. Not in an obsessive way.
Just... Instinctively.
The same way people notice sunlight. The same way they look for home.
You'll walk into a room and his eyes immediately find yours. Every single time.
As though the rest of the world fades into background noise for him the moment you appear.
standing slightly in front of you whenever danger appears
The funny thing is Logan doesn't even realize he's doing it. The second a threat appears, his body reacts before his brain does.
A stranger gets too aggressive? He's already stepped forward.
A mission starts going sideways? He's positioned himself between you and the danger.
Someone raises their voice at you. Suddenly, they're looking directly into the eyes of a six-foot-tall mutant scowling to thwir face.
And Logan genuinely won't understand why everyone's nervous. Because to him it's natural. Protecting you feels as automatic as breathing.
watching you while you yap about something you love
He doesn't understand half of what you're saying.
Honestly he tried.
You could spend twenty minutes explaining art techniques for your weekly lesson plan, books, random facts, or whatever obsession currently owns your attention. Logan won't follow every detail. But he'll listen anyway. Not because he cares about the topic. Because he cares about you.
The way your eyes light up. The way your hands move when you're talking. The smile that appears when you're passionate about something.
Eventually you'll stop mid-sentence.
"You're not even listening, Howlett."
And he'll shrug. "Sure I am."
He absolutely was not. But he was paying attention to every expression on your face.
"Okay then repeat 4 things i just said to you." You said.
"I'm going for a run. Will be back with donuts." He turn away.
"It's 11pm, old man. Running where? Dumbass be saying things to stop me roasting you."
"Okay, you want glazed donuts and sprinkled cinnamon rolls, got it and sit tight." He yelled across the hallway.
"Get me four glazed donuts!" You shouted back.
holding your hand when nobody's looking
Public affection isn't really his thing. At least that's what he claims. Yet somehow your hands always end up finding each other.
Under restaurant tables. On movie nights. During long drives. Walking through crowded streets.
His fingers slide between yours so naturally it feels unconscious. Maybe it is.
Sometimes you'll glance down and realize he's been holding your hand for ten minutes without noticing.
Like he's become so accustomed to your presence that letting go simply doesn't occur to him anymore.
jealousy he refuses to admit exists
Logan Howlett is many things. Subtle is not one of them.
The problem is that he genuinely believes he's subtle. You'll spend five minutes talking to another man. Nothing unusual. Completely innocent.
Then the man, Logan appears out of nowhere from spot he lurks. Standing behind you a couple of feet away. Arms crossed. Scowl firmly in place.
Pretending he couldn't care less and but won't leave his eyes of you.
Later:
"Who was that?"
"Just a friend."
"Hm, haven't seen him before."
"Ah, he's my college alumni."
Five minutes later:
"Seemed real interested in you."
And there it is. The world's most obvious case of jealousy.
the rare smile he only gives you
Most people know Logan's smirk. His sarcastic grin.His occasional amused chuckle. Very few people know his real smile. The genuine one.
The soft one. The one that transforms his entire face.
It's not dramatic. It's actually incredibly small. A slight curve of his lips. Warm eyes. Relaxed shoulders.
But every time it appears, it feels like discovering buried treasure. Because you know how hard-earned it is.
How many years of pain exist behind it.
And somehow... Somehow you're one of the few people capable of bringing it out.
falling asleep beside you
Logan doesn't sleep easily. Hasn't for a very long time. Too many memories. Too many wars. Too many ghosts.
Yet somehow he sleeps better beside you than anywhere else. Maybe it's your breathing. Maybe it's your warmth. Maybe it's simply trust.
Whatever the reason, you'll often wake up to find him closer than when he fell asleep.
One arm draped across your waist. His face buried against your shoulder. Holding onto you even in sleep.
when he says your name
Nobody talks about this enough.
The way Logan says your name. The roughness in his voice. The affection hidden beneath decades of sarcasm.
The way it sounds different from everyone else's. It was softer. Warmer. More careful. Like it's something precious. Something he never wants to damage.
And on the rare occasions he's truly worried? When your name leaves his mouth in that low, frightened voice?
You realize just how much you mean to him.
Because Logan Howlett has survived wars, tragedies, and centuries of heartbreak. But the thought of losing you? That's the thing that genuinely terrifies him. (Gawdd this reminds me of the last chapter of his fic series.)
loving you despite convincing himself he shouldn't
Maybe this is the most attractive thing of all. Because Logan spends a very long time trying not to love you.
He tells himself you're too good for him. That he'll only hurt you. hat everyone he cares about eventually gets hurt.
So, He creates distance. Builds walls.
Pushes you away. Again and again.
But every time he tries to leave, he finds himself turning around. Coming back.
Choosing you. Because eventually the truth becomes impossible to ignore. You aren't his another temporary chapter. You aren't someone he'll forget. You became his home.
And after spending most of his life wandering, fighting, and surviving.. Home is the one thing Logan Howlett could never walk away from.
The Best There Is (at Smiling?) // [logan howlett x reader]
WORD COUNT: 1.9k.
SUMMARY: You’ve spent months falling for Wolverine and his usual "gruff" attitude. You’re used to him never cracking a smile. But you had no idea he's been hiding the cutest dimple ever. Until today.
TAGS/WARNING: friends in love, forbidden love?? sprinkle of angst at the end. no smut and pure fluff! reader has no specified gender. sorta poetic writing because i happen to be a deep hoe (leave if you're not into corny shit pls.)
A/N: In my two years of loving this man, I never knew he had a fucking dimple yall. SPRINTED to write after 4 years of not having written at all. This man has me dead gone for him 😭 Also it's my first time posting on tumblr!! (hence the ugly divider LMAO.)
"You’ve gotta put that big-ass head to better use, kid."
Logan's voice broke through the not-so-unusual boom the garden held in the evenings: a mess of birds chirping and kids either running or floating through the air. A typical Monday in the X-mansion.
He was sitting alone on a bench, supervising a group of children huddled in a circle on the grass. They were playing some board game, and by the looks on their faces, they were taking it very seriously. Logan just sat there with his arms crossed, his eyes tracking the dice to make sure the bunch did not cheat.
Logan does not do babysitting… unless there's something in it for him. This time, the catch was Scott promising him a mini-fridge for his room. Stocked with his favorite beer and fully paid for. Anything was better than the supply of chocolate milk packets in the school's communal kitchen. Or a lukewarm soda, if he were lucky.
"This is not fair. Alex cheated Mr. Howlett. You're letting him go like that?" One of the kids snapped in pure frustration. Alex was not cheating; he just happened to be a tiny tactical genius, and it was driving the older kids crazy.
"I am letting him go because he ain't cheating," he clarifies. "Seriously, kid, you gotta try harder," Logan suggests. Clearly amused by the sight of the older kid whining, while the youngest absolutely demolished him.
"He is cheating."
"No, I am not."
"There is no way I am losing this."
"If you've gotta argue that hard, you're definitely losing." Logan sneers, unimpressed. He reaches out and grabs the complaining kid by the shoulder. Hauls him back an inch to get a better look at the board.
He gives it a short glance. "Yep," he sighs. "He's wreckin' ya."
The group erupts into a chorus of chuckles, and Logan shakes his head.
You, on the other hand, are anchored to a bench. You're close enough to catch their voices but tucked far enough into the shadows to stay out of his line of sight. It only made sense to watch him. It was no secret you were in love; everyone had caught on to that much by now. Everyone but Logan.
It's a strange sort of mastery. The art of loving Logan without him catching onto it. You've convinced yourself you're invisible, or perhaps he is just blissfully blind, both of you suffering from the cognitive rot that love tends to induce.
What follows, then, leaves your lungs gasping, even crying out for air— he smiles.
No, not that usual reluctant quirk of the lips that dies before it reaches his mid-face. This one is different. The curves reach the crater of his eyes, a glint appearing in his iris.
Right then a sharp, unmissable hollow carves itself into his right cheek.
Logan Howlett has a dimple.
The sight of it makes you choke. You did not think it was possible to fall any harder for him. But he has this devastating way of reminding you that he is more than just scars and mean jabs.
It's usually less painful to tear your eyes away when he's shirtless or seated in an extremely, illegally, sexy way. But right now? You don't want to. You desperately soak up the sight because heaven knows when you'd witness this miracle again. If only you could trade your mutation for one that could stop time right here.
A stray thought flickers through your mind: Does he even know he has a dimple? You know he avoids mirrors. And even if he saw it, he would not care. But to you, that dimple is the only one that has ever been worth anything.
The game nears the end. Logan's elbows settle on his knees, and his eyes squint as he finds some level of interest in the final moves. His smile is gone, tucked back behind that standard stern scowl. Instead, it leaves you with one of your own.
The whiny one loses, exactly as Logan predicted. The kid groans, dragging his hands down his face in a dramatic display before crawling toward Logan to beg for a rematch. But Logan is done. He's earned that mini-fridge, and he's getting the hell out of here.
"Yeah, no. No second chances." Logan says flat out. He grabs the kid by the shoulders, giving him a shake to drive the point home.
"Okay, but—"
"No ifs or buts, buddy. Better luck next time." Logan shrugs the defeated child off, stretching his legs as he stands. "Alright, everybody, head on to your class. As quick as possible..." he mutters the last part under his breath, a heavy sigh escaping him as his hands come to rest on his hips.
The kids follow the order and get up.
"Don't forget to clean up the mess," he calls out after them, gesturing to the grass. "And somebody better pick up these damn board pieces."
As the last of them vanish around the corner, he shakes his head. And there it is again. The life-threatening hint of a smile. He would sooner die than admit it, but he would not mind doing this again.
You try to look away and start walking before he realizes you have been staring like a total goner.
But fate had a different plan.
"Hey." His cold voice cuts through the silence behind you.
You freeze, your pulse hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. And you definitely stop breathing for a second.
He stands there, thumb hooked into his belt loop; one might think he just returned from a war zone.
"Logan," you manage, your voice sounding a little too thin to your ears. You rotate your posture towards him, drawing in your breath. "You look weary."
He huffs a dry breath, a cheap imitation of a laugh, and jerks his chin toward the clearing where the students were sitting just a few minutes ago.
"Yeah, well. Had a buncha kids to babysit," he grunts. He does not keep walking, though. Instead, he shifts his weight, eyes scanning the garden before landing on you. "You look like you're hiding out. Damned teenagers give you trouble today?"
"Naturally. Trouble follows when telekinesis falls into the hands of youngsters." Your breathing is back on track, your voice falling nearly back into place. Nearly. You are never in your right mind with Logan around.
He grunts in agreement and starts heading toward the school's back entrance. He does not ask you to come, doesn't even look back. He does not exactly bolt, either. His pace is slow, leaving an opening if you want to take it.
You find yourself following before you have even decided to. "I cannot believe you were babysitting, though. When did this change come about?" You tease, trying to lighten the air for your own sake mostly.
He tilts his head in your direction, expression somewhere between annoyed and amused, and his hands find their way into his pockets. "I wouldn't believe it either." There's a beat of silence where the only sound is the gravel crunching under his boots, and you realize he is actually staying in this conversation with you. "Scott owes me."
He pauses, his jaw working for a second. "He's gettin' me a fridge. A tiny one. Didn't even know those things existed, but better than that communal bullshit for a fridge we got."
"A minibar," you repeat, a laugh bubbling up despite the nerves.
Every step he takes forms a rhythm that perfectly matches yours. The proximity between you two makes your guts twist. "Tired of finding nothin' but those chocolate milk cartons," he mutters, eyes straight ahead. "Slim's gotta be the first one in line when they go on sale."
"It is a school, Logan…" you remind him, grin wide. "Growing bones. All that."
He scoffs unamused, as if you said something absurd. "They're mutants." He emphasizes. "Half of em' could grow bones by breakfast if they had to."
You choke on a laugh. He's hilarious without trying to be.
The two of you reach the massive oak doors of the back entrance that are unnecessarily dramatic for a school. Then again, everything here is extra. Mutants, danger, and near-death experiences before you could get your lunch to touch your taste buds.
"Are you coming in?" you ask, the question feeling a little too heavy for absolutely no reason.
He tilts his head, his teeth catching on the inside of his cheek as his arm cuts across your vision to hold the door open for you. "Nah."
The realization hits you then: he could've taken the shortcut across the lawn to the garage or the gym, but instead, he’d trailed along with you. Held a conversation, too. He's decided to be full of surprises today, evidently.
"Well?" He looks at you, eyebrow raised. "You gonna go in? I ain't exactly the type to hold the door open for somebody, y'know. My arm's gettin' tired."
You laugh, unsurprised, and step toward the threshold. "Right. The idea of Wolverine being a gentleman— someone punish me for even brushing the edges of that thought."
"Uh-huh. You got that right." He appears annoyed, though you know he really isn't.
You should head inside now. But you've always known his adamantium skeleton had magnetic properties that some-fucking-how only applied to you.
"It looks good on you, staying. I know Scott reeled you in with the mini-fridge, but I'm sure the kids liked having you around," you add for good measure right before you could leave.
For a heartbeat, his façade fractures. His eyes soften, losing that sharp, annoyed edge, and his jaw relaxes just enough for you to see the thought of that smile tease the surface again. But it doesn’t quite break free. The tension returns, as it always does, and he pulls his lips back into a line, as if he’s caught himself before fully giving in to your praise.
You want to tell him, point it out, and remind him that he just happens to have the cutest, most adorable dimple ever. You want to reach over and press your lips in that god-forsaken spot.
He takes it in. He doesn't move away, either, though you know he isn't one for compliments. Managing a sharp, controlled nod, he says, "Someone has to make sure they don’t burn the place down."
Yeah, sure, you think to yourself. Definitely not a soft spot for kids.
You let a soft smile take over your face, letting it do the farewell for you. You give a small nod and finally head inside. He lets go of the door handle, forcing a distance between the two of you. You stand in the hallway for a long moment. Your heart does that hopeless, uneven thud against your ribs again, a total mess of a beat that you can’t seem to settle.
You know how this goes. You know that even if he felt the same— even if the way he walked back with you and held the door open meant exactly what you hoped it did, he still isn't the type to reach out and get what he wants. Or who he wants. He’s the type to stay in the shadows, to push people away before they can get close enough to see the scars. It's burned deep into his mind that he’s a weapon, an animal, and not someone who deserves a soft place to just… fall into.
He probably doesn't realize that for five minutes in that sunny garden, he looked like a man who had finally found a reason to stop fighting. And you don't realize that he still stands there, waiting for your footsteps to fade, that buried dimple back on full display. This time, because of you. For you.
You held his hand, the fingertips traces along the rough, warm skin. Logan already went back to sleep after waking you up, yelling in his nightmare.
His other hand tucked under his head. Despite having the repetitive nightmare every week, he is dead asleep now after you soothed him. Rubbing his back, couple minutes later he started to snore. You chuckles as your own hand start to slow down caressing him, also drifting off to sleep again.
Godbless you for being his safe haven to come home to.
"Was? ...please ..she is beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines. She is beautiful, for the way she thinks, She is beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes when she speaks about anything she loves. She is beautiful for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She is beautiful, deep down to her soul ....
She is the love of my life"
The man: Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, John Price, Jason Todd, Sam Winchester, Higuruma Hiromi, Halsin, Astarion Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, Levi Ackerman, Simon Riley, Johnny Mactavish, Leon Kennedy, Aizawa, Dabi, Hawks, Rafayel, Cooper Howard, Logan Howlett, Aemond, Nikto,
Summary: Logan and you sneak in time with each other. You go to the nursery by yourself.
Warning(s): time skips, violience, injuries, Eli
Notes: Please keep sharing your thoughts and feelings! Feel free to share hopes, ideas, etc!
Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!
The next week passed in a blur. Classes, trainings, meetings, drills, therapy, repeat. Logan was constantly somewhere and you were constantly pulled in another direction. And yet, he still found you. Sometimes, it seemed almost accidental. You were arranging plants in the greenhouse, fingers deep in soil, when he leaned down. Before you could register it, his lips were pressing softly against yours. You froze, heart hammering.
He pulled back just enough to grin, rough and mischievous. “Sorry, Petals,” he muttered. “Couldn’t wait.”
Other times, it was in the hallways. A fleeting press of lips as he passed, careful not to draw attention. Though sometimes he failed spectacularly, and you ended up flushed as a couple of students stifled laughs nearby. Each stolen moment left you lightheaded and your stomach fluttering. You wanted more— needed more. But the world wouldn’t slow down for you. Some mornings Logan would steal a kiss in the kitchen before breakfast. Other evenings it would be on the couch in the rec room— something quick and soft.
You caught yourself thinking about Logan’s kisses at odd moments— while teaching and taking care of plants and helping students study. When you thought about the kisses, your fingers would twitch, your heart would race, and your lips would press together unconsciously as you remembered the feelings of his mouth against yours.
Logan noticed you thinking about it, though he really didn’t admit it. The way you would pause mid-sign to glance at him from across the room. The way your shoulders would stiffen, then quickly relax when he brushed against you. He loved that he was making you flustered so easily. But he also hated it. He hated that the two of you were so busy that each brief moment was leaving you flustered and he couldn’t fully act on it.
Some nights, you caught Logan staring at you over the edge of the greenhouse tables, hands resting idly on the table— eyes heavy with both longing and frustration. You would look away quickly, cheeks heating up.
The rhythm settled into an unspoken pattern: work, duties, responsibilities, and each other. Hands brushing in passing. A fleeting kiss. A stolen smile. It was equally maddening and electric. And yet, the stolen moments still didn’t feel like enough.
~~~
It was well after dinner and most of the mansion had gone to bed. Logan had a few things to do and had kissed you before slipping away. When he was done, he peeked into your room, only to find you not there. With a light chuckle and a roll of his eyes, Logan headed for the greenhouse. He opened the door and there you were— curled up on the floor in a soft mound of soil, arms wrapped around yourself. You were completely asleep.
“Seriously, sweetheart?” He muttered, crouching carefully beside you.
Logan reached down and gently brushed some dirt from your cheek. His lips twitched despite the irritation he felt towards your lack of self care. Slipping his hands behind your back and knees, he hoisted you up against his chest.
“Alright, little troublemaker,” he whispered. “Let’s get you to bed.”
As he carried you, Logan could feel your body relax slightly against him, your face turning into his chest. The walk to your room was quiet. Logan’s steps were slow and deliberate so as to not wake you. When he reached your room, he set you down gently on your bed. He paused for a moment, hovering over you. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the dirt clumps and leaves stuck to you.
“You’re impossible, honey,” he murmured softly, voice full of both amusement and tenderness. “And I don’t know how I keep gettin’ stuck looking after you like this… but I’m not complainin’.”
You stirred slightly in your sleep, your hand brushing against his arm. Logan froze, heart tightening. He crouched beside you, letting your hand rest over his fingers for a brief moment before sliding it away carefully. Then, leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your temple— a silent promise: he was here, and he would always care. He cleaned up what he could off of you without waking you.
Before leaving, he whispered, just barely audible, “Sleep, sweetheart. I got you.”
With one more kiss to your head, he stepped back, letting the door close quietly behind him, leaving you safe, warm, and undisturbed in your room.
~~~
The next morning, Logan found you already in the greenhouse. Your hands were covered in soil, sleeves rolled up. He paused at the doorway, arms crossed, watching.
“…You really never learn, do you?” he muttered.
You glanced at him briefly, a small, sheepish smile. You signed quickly, “Morning. Coffee?”
Logan exhaled through his nose sharply, half annoyed, half relieved that you weren’t mad that he had carried you out last night. He stepped closer. “You’re gonna wear yourself out if I don’t stop you.”
You gave him a look, almost challenging, and he rolled his eyes. Then, without warning, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, causing you to freeze.
“Seriously?” you signed, teasingly.
His lips twitched with a rare, sheepish smile. “Shut up,” he muttered under his breath. He knelt beside you, taking you in with careful, intentional eyes. “I can’t stop myself,” he admitted quietly. “Every time I see you like this… just working too hard… I gotta… I gotta do something.”
You tried not to giggle at how serious he sounded, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you.
Logan noticed, eyes narrowing just slightly. “…Don’t think you get to tease me after all that.” He pulled you up gently by the shoulders, guiding you toward the greenhouse door. “…We’re getting coffee. Then we figure out a real plan for today. No more solo dirt baths, understood?”
You nodded, slipping your hand into his as he led you out. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, slow and deliberate— a small contact that left your fingers tingling. And then, almost like it had become a habit, he leaned down and stole another kiss from your lips. It was quick and careful, but enough to make your knees weak. You looked at him, breathless. You wanted to sign something, but words escaped you.
“I know,” he whispered, “I’m pushin’ my luck.”
Your fingers curled lightly around his and shook your head. You didn’t want him to stop. Ever.
Logan let out a quiet chuckle. “Guess I can’t help myself.” He kissed you again. “Coffee, then let me do all the heavy lifting in the greenhouse today, alright?”
You nodded, enjoying how he cared a little too much.
~~~
More days pass with both of you constantly busy. Everything felt like it was constantly pulling you away from Logan. But he was still finding ways to spend time with you. Sometimes it was just his hand brushing yours while passing in the hallway.
“Lunch break?” he whispered with a kiss to your cheek before disappearing.
Other times, it was deliberate. He started planning things he coined ‘mini dates’--- moments that didn’t take hours but still left you flustered and giddy. A bench outside the mansion under the trees. A thermos of coffee he insisted on bringing just for you. A walk around the grounds when he knew you’d be free for ten minutes. A quiet corner in the greenhouse where he could lean close without being seen. One afternoon, he found you organizing seedlings and simply leaned down close to your face.
“Bet you can’t plant that without help,” he teased quietly.
You rolled your eyes and started to sign, but he caught your hands in his before you could finish, holding them close to his chest.
“Too slow,” he commented. “Need a hand?”
Before you could answer, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Later, in the hall, Logan passed by carrying a stack of books. He ducked slightly as if to avoid anyone seeing, leaned in, and brushed his lips against yours— just a soft graze, barely there, but enough to make your fingers twitch and your chest flutter.
“I see you,” he whispered, “don’t think I don’t.”
Sometimes, Logan was even bold enough to do it in front of people— a brief hand brush in the kitchen, a whispered comment in your ear during training, a thumb tracing the back of your hand while you graded assignments on the couch. Each time, your chest would spike, your thoughts scatter, and you’d have to remind yourself to breathe. Logan loved it— how flustered you got, how your reactions made it impossible for him to stop stealing small moments. So he kept doing what he can to spend as many fleeting moments together.
~~~
The mansion was quiet that evening. Most of the students were off in their rooms or studying, the hallways empty except for the soft hum of air vents and the occasional creak of settling floors. Logan found you in the greenhouse— again, fingers dirt-streaked, concentrating on some stubborn seedlings that were acting like toddlers.
“Hey,” he caught your attention. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Think you could take a break for, say, a couple hours?”
You paused, looking up at him, suspicion and amusement tugging at your features.
“Come on,” he stepped closer. “I’ve planned something. Just you and me. No interruptions.”
You signed quickly, a smirk curling your lips, “And I get to see what you’ve been scheming?”
Logan’s lips twitched. Maybe,” he reached for your hand. “Just trust me.”
He led you to the common room, but instead of the usual bustle, he’d cleared it: cushions on the floor, a small throw blanket laid out, a few snacks and a single lamp casting soft light across the room. Your chest tightened at the thought he took into this.
“Wow,” you signed.
Logan chuckled quietly, scratching the back of his neck, awkward in a way that made your heart flutter. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t faint.”
You stepped closer, hands still intertwined. Every brush of his fingers sent warmth through your chest. He tugged you gently down onto the cushions, guiding you to sit beside him.
“Figured we could just spend some time together,” he explained. “No schedules. No interruptions. Just us.”
You nodded, hands brushing over his arm as you settled against him. And then— as if drawn by the quiet intimacy— his lips found yours. The kiss was slow and gentle, not the rushed kisses in the hallway or the quick pecks of the greenhouse. This kiss lingered. Logan’s hands framed your face, thumb brushing your cheeks, with your chests pressed lightly against each other. Your fingers threaded through his hair instinctively, pulling him closer. He pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded.
“Been wantin’ to do that for a long time,” he whispered. “For a long damn time.”
You smiled faintly, hands still laced with his. ‘Me too,’ you mouthed.
Logan smirked as he leaned back in, capturing your lips again, deeper this time. The tension that had been simmering for weeks— stolen touches, hallway brushes, flustered glances, mini stolen moments— finally broke, replaced by something slow, tender, and electric. He shifted slightly, careful not to rush or overwhelm you. Every motion was deliberate, every kiss a question. Your hands explored lightly, tracing the curve of his shoulders, brushing along his chest. Every touch sparked more warmth than you expected. When the kiss ended, Logan wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap. He pressed a kiss to your neck. You pulled back enough to sign.
“Thank you,” you signed.
“Anytime, Petals,” he replied with a smile.
“You know…” you continued to sign, “I realized that I don’t have a nickname for you.”
“For me? I don’t need a nickname.”
“What if I want to give you one?”
“Okay, tell me your ideas.”
“Wolvie?”
“Not a chance.”
“Okay… Metal?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“I didn’t approve of Mute or Petals.”
“Point taken.”
You thought about it for a second more. You took one of Logan’s hands, running a finger around his knuckles as you thought. “Claws,” you signed.
“Claws?”
You nodded. “Claws. Final choice.”
“I guess I’ll live with it.” He gave you another kiss. “You know… I’ve been thinking about this. About us. About… every time I messed up with you.”
You shifted slightly, reaching for his hand and giving it a light squeeze to comfort him.
He caught the gesture, swallowed, and leaned in, brushing a kiss over your temple. “No, it’s not okay. I hate that I’ve let you deal with everything while I just—” He exhaled sharply, frustration mixing with something softer, “—while I was not paying attention.”
Your chest tightened. You wanted to say something, but you knew Logan needed to get everything off his chest. Instead, your hands reached up, fingers brushing his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. A silent touch meant to comfort him.
Logan leaned into it immediately, eyes closing as if that tiny gesture carried more weight than words ever could. “You think I don’t notice, huh? Every little thing you do. Every smile, every subtle shift when you’re nervous, everything.” He opened his eyes slowly, meeting yours. “I can’t— I can’t stand it when the world treats you wrong. And I hate that I used to do that too. You… you affect me more than I thought possible.”
Your heart beat violently in your chest. You leaned closer, fingertips grazing the line of his collarbone, and he mirrored your motion instinctively. Logan’s lips hovered near yours, close enough that you could feel the heat from his breath.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” he murmured. “But… I’m yours, if you want me.”
You swallowed hard, chest tightening, and reached out, letting your hand find the back of his neck. Your fingers pressed lightly, pulling him just a fraction closer. His eyes flicked to your lips for the briefest second before he leaned in, slow, careful.
Your hands moved instinctively as the two of you kissed, brushing his hair back, tracing along his jaw, finding that perfect balance of intimacy without urgency.
When he pulled back just slightly, foreheads resting together, he whispered softly, “You feel that? Us?”
You pressed your lips to his cheek as you nodded.
He chuckled quietly, warm and low, the sound vibrating against you. “I’m never lettin’ you go.”
~~~
The next morning, Logan was different. You caught him several times— leaning against doorframes a little too long, muttering to himself under his breath, and generally radiating that tense, barely-contained energy. During breakfast, he slid his hand along yours under the table, thumb brushing over your knuckles. Just a casual touch— at least he tried to make it look casual— but your chest jumped in response, heat creeping up your cheeks. And of course he noticed. He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear.
“Do you know how distracting you are?” he whispered, teasingly.
You made a face— half trying not to smile too wide, half embarrassed— as you swatted at him.
Later, in the hallways, Logan “accidentally” brushed against you again. This time, he let the contact linger slightly, enough that you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from signing something scandalous.
“You’re impossible,” you signed, trying to hide the smile.
“Yeah,” he murmured, “but you like it.”
Training was no different. Logan found a way to stay near you without interfering, leaning over your shoulder when you were practicing, whispering instructions that were so close to your ear you could feel his breath. Every time he did, the butterflies in your stomach surged. Even the students noticed. Every so often, Scott would give you a knowing look, or Kurt would tilt his head curiously, sensing the tension between you two. You were definitely embarrassed, Logan just grinned faintly, as if daring them to comment.
By evening, you were exhausted— mentally, emotionally, and physically. But Logan wasn’t done. You walked into the greenhouse to find him already there waiting. He was leaning against a post with a deliberate smirk.
“Hey,” he greeted, tilting his head. “You’re still flustered. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re a menace,” you signed.
Logan walked over to you, hands falling to your hips to pull you into him. “You love it.”
“Maybe.”
~~~
The next morning started quietly. You stood near the front door of the mansion, a tote bag slung over your shoulder, mentally running through your list for your run to the nursery in town.
Logan stood across from you, arms crossed, jaw tight. “I should be going with you,” he muttered for the fourth time.
You sighed softly and signed, “You have a meeting. An important one.”
He didn’t look convinced. His brow furrowed, nostrils flaring slightly as if he could smell danger in the air itself. “Still don’t like it.”
You stepped closer and took his hand— grounding him before signing, “I’ll be fine. I used to go by myself all the time.”
“Text me when you get there. And when you leave. And if anything feels off, you call.”
You nodded, smiling faintly.
He leaned in, stealing a quick kiss before you could react— rougher than usual, almost protective. “Be careful.”
~~~
The nursery smelled like damp earth and fresh growth. For a while, everything felt normal. You wandered through the aisles, touching leaves, checking soil quality, mentally planning new arrangements for your students. Plants leaned toward you, subtle recognition flowing through your power, their quiet hum calming your nerves. The shift came suddenly. The plants around you rustled uneasily, leaves trembling without wind. You noticed three men standing near the entrance, pretending to start browsing but watching you too closely. The symbol on their matching black jackets had recognition hitting you like ice down your back. They were members of Eli’s team.
“Well,” he said, voice smug, “look who decided to come out without her guard dog.”
You backed up instinctively, hands lifting into a defensive position. Vines near your feet stirred, responding to the spike of fear.
“I think we need to have a talk,” another added.
Your hands moved fast— snapping a tray off the shelf and sending it flying as a distraction while roots burst through the floor, tangling around their legs. The fight exploded into motion immediately. Leaves whipped around like blades, pots shattering, soil flying. You moved fast— faster than they expected— ducking, redirecting, and forcing plants to shield you. But there were more of them than you anticipated, and they knew your patterns. A blow caught your side, pain exploding through your ribs. Another grabbed your wrist, twisting. You reacted instinctively, thorned vines lashing out, forcing him back with a shout. You stumbled, vision swimming. Panic surged within you as memories clawed at your mind from Eli’s faculty.
The plants around you erupted violently, vines cracking through displays, forcing the men back long enough for you to run toward the exit— but something struck your shoulder from behind, sending you crashing into a display rack. You gasped silently as the pain flared. Your fingers fumbled into your pocket, pulling out your phone enough to press the added button on the said— the panic button. Relief flickered briefly as your phone buzzed in conformation— then darkness pressed in at the edges of your vision. You staggered toward the back of the nursery, collapsing to your knees as blood soaked through your sleeve. Plants crept toward you instinctively, curling around your body protectively, leaves shielding you from view as footsteps echoed somewhere nearby. Your breathing turned shallow. The last thing you felt before the world faded was the gentle brush of vines wrapping around you— holding you together and protecting you as best they could.
~~~
The panic signal hit like a knife through Logan’s chest. One second he was sitting at the conference table, half-listening to Scott talk strategy. The next— a sharp tone cut through the room from the communicator on his belt. Everyone froze. It was your emergency distress signal. Everything inside him snapped. His chair scraped violently backward as he stood so fast it nearly tipped over.
“Logan—” Scott started.
“She hit the panic button,” Logan panicked, already moving. “She’s hurt.”
Scott’s posture changed instantly. “Location?”
Logan didn’t answer— he was already moving, ripping open the door hard enough that it slammed into the wall behind it.
“Jean, get eyes on her through Cerebro!” Scott called, already issuing orders. “Storm, transport ready. Kurt, standby for extraction.”
Logan didn’t wait for coordination or strategy. He ran straight for the truck. The truck roared to life under his hands.
Every instinct screamed at him. His senses flooded with adrenaline, heartbeat pounding so loud he could barely hear the engine. He had told you to be careful. He should’ve gone with you. He should’ve cancelled the meeting. Logan slammed his hand against the steering wheel with a snarl, accelerating hard enough that the tires screamed.
“Hold on,” he muttered, voice rough, desperate. “Just… hold on, baby.”
The nursery came into view. The parking lot was a mess— broken pots scattered, soil smeared across concrete, a shattered window. Logan didn’t bother parking properly. The truck skidded to a halt sideways, and he was out before the engine died. The smell of your blood hit him first. His claws slid out before he even consciously decided. Inside, the damage was obvious— vines tearing through displays, thorned branches twisted around fallen men who groaned weakly on the floor. Logan barely looked at them.
“Y/N!” he called. Silence. “Y/N!”
He paused and heard a rustle. The plants near the back shifted, parting slowly as if recognizing him, revealing you. You were curled on the ground, blood staining your sleeve, vines wrapped protectively around your body like a cocoon. Logan’s breath caught violently in his chest.
“Oh, baby,” he whispered, the words breaking out of him before he could stop them.
He dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering for a second— afraid to hurt you further. Your eyes fluttered weakly, barely opening. Relief flooded your expression when you finally focused enough to see him.
“I got you,” he murmured immediately, voice trembling despite how steady he tried to sound. “I got you, honey. I’m here.”
One hand slid carefully under your head, the other brushing dirt and blood from your face. Rage simmered beneath the surface — quiet, lethal. He glanced over his shoulder at the men tangled in vines, eyes turning cold.
“They did this?” he asked softly, though the answer was obvious.
Your fingers twitched weakly against his shirt.
His jaw clenched. “Scott,” he growled into the comms. “Found her. She’s hurt. Send transport now.” A beat of silence. Then, quieter, softer— just for you, “You did good, baby,” brushing his forehead against yours carefully. “You fought. You called me. That’s my girl.”
His hands trembled slightly as he lifted you into his arms, holding you close— too afraid to loosen his grip, too scared you might slip away if he did. Behind him, the vines tightened around the attackers like silent witnesses to his fury.
Logan didn’t look back. A thin, broken sound slipped from you as the pain surged again.
“Stay with me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Don’t drift.”
Your eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. The ceiling above you tilted, blurry shapes moving in and out of focus— branches, shattered pottery, overturned racks from the nursery, Logan. His face hovered above yours, too close. His jaw was clenched so hard it trembled.
“I got you,” he murmured. “You hear me? I’m right here, baby.”
Somewhere nearby, voices shouted. Boots moved fast on the ground. Logan’s back up had finally arrived. But Logan never looked away from you.
“You pressed the panic button,” he continued, voice low and constant, like a lifeline. “Good girl. Knew something was wrong the second it hit.”
You blinked slowly as you focused on his words. Your fingers twitched weakly toward him.
He caught your hand instantly, wrapping his around it like a promise. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Hold onto me.”
Pain surged again— sharp and deep in your side and back. Your vision flickered. Logan’s head snapped down, eyes scanning you. That’s when he saw it, the wound. His breath hitched.
“Not now!” Logan snarled without looking back. “You’re hurt bad. Why didn’t you run?”
You tried to answer. You tried to tell him that you fought. But you couldn’t. You were struggling to stay awake.
“Hey— Stay with me,” he urged, voice rougher now, panic bleeding through. “Look at me, Petals. Eyes on me.”
You forced your gaze up. His expression cracked when he saw how hard you were struggling. And something broke inside him. A low, helpless sound escaped his chest— almost a growl, almost grief.
“I should’ve been here,” he muttered, furious at himself. “Shouldn’t have let you go alone.” His hand came up, cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing under your eye. “You don’t get to leave me. You hear me? You don’t get to go anywhere.”
Behind him, Jean’s voice was calm but urgent. “Logan, we need to move her now.”
He didn’t respond. He just stared at you like the world narrowed to nothing but your breathing. “You stay awake,” he murmured, dropping his voice low and steady again, anchoring you. “Sign to me if you can. Anything. Doesn’t matter what.” Logan lifted you up.
“Clear a path,” Scott ordered sharply.
Nobody argued. Even the younger X-Men stepped back fast, instinctively giving Logan space. Everyone could feel that Logan was holding control by his fingernails. The nursery blurred past in flashes— broken glass, dirt, scattered leaves. Logan moved fast, boots pounding hard enough to send vibrations through your body. Every step made pain spike and your breath hitched. His grip tightened instantly.
“Easy,” he murmured against your head. “I got you. I know it hurts. Just hold on.”
Your head lolled against his shoulder. He could feel how weak you were getting. The Blackbird loomed ahead, ramp already lowered. Storm stood at the entrance, eyes wide as she took in the blood soaking through Logan’s hands.
“Logan…” she whispered.
“Inside,” he snapped, not angry at her— just desperate.
Everyone moved quickly. The medical area was already cleared. Logan laid you down like you might shatter at any little movement. The moment his hands left you, your body felt cold. You tried to follow him with your eyes but struggled to. He stayed close anyway, hovering at your side, one hand immediately reclaiming yours.
Jean’s voice was calm but urgent. “I need space to assess—”
“No,” Logan said immediately. It wasn’t loud, but it was absolute.
Scott stepped forward carefully. “Logan, she needs treatment.”
“I ain’t leaving her side,” he said, jaw tight.
Jean placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m not asking you to leave,” she said softly. “Just let me work.”
He hesitated then shifted barely an inch, enough to give her access without letting go of you. You tried to focus on his face. Your hand barely squeezed his.
“I’m here,” he responded. “I’m right here.”
Your vision tunneled. Every sound stretched and warped— voices distant, hands moving quickly, the faint beep of monitoring equipment. You felt so tired and so heavy. Logan’s grip tightened as his eyes slid down.
“No,” he said immediately, voice sharp with panic. “Hey. Eyes open.”
You tried, but you didn’t have the strength.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Stay with me.”
Jean’s voice cut in quietly, “She’s losing blood faster than I want.”
Logan’s head snapped toward her. “How bad?”
Jean hesitated, just a fraction too long for Logan’s liking. Logan’s breath went ragged. His claws almost slid out— you felt the tiny tremor run through his hand before he forced them back with visible effort. Logan leaned over you, forehead nearly touching yours.
“Hey,” he murmured urgently. “Listen to me, Petals. You ain’t allowed to check out. Not now. Not ever.”
Your breathing hitched and pain flickered. His thumb brushed your cheek again and again, grounding, desperate.
“Look at me,” he begged quietly. “I need you to fight… You hear me? You always fight. Don’t stop now… I should’ve been there,” guilt tore through every word. “Should’ve known. Should’ve smelled something wrong. Should’ve—”
Your fingers twitched weakly in his grip.
Hope and terror collided in his eyes. “That’s it,” he said quickly, voice rough. “Yeah. Stay with me.”
Your breathing stuttered again. Jean pressed harder against your wound. Your pulse fluttered beneath Logan’s fingers. It was way too weak.
“Keep those eyes open, sweetheart,” Logan pleaded.
A monitor beeped steadily beside you. Then it stuttered, missing one beat. Jean’s head snapped up and your heart rate plunged. The monitor shrieked and then flatlined. Logan’s claws burst from his hands, the sound violent in the confined space. Everyone froze. His breathing turned ragged, animalistic— eyes burning, shoulders hunched like a predator ready to tear the world apart.
“She’s not dying!” he insisted.
Scott reached toward him carefully. “Logan—”
“I SAID SHE’S NOT DYING!”
The shout shook the jet. Jean began CPR as Storm grabbed the defibrillator. The two worked together, quickly getting a heartbeat back. Logan collapsed forward slightly, a broken exhale leaving him.
“That’s it,” he whispered desperately. “That’s it… good girl…”
Scott’s voice cut through the cabin. “Logan. We have new information.” Everyone turned. “I have the Professor on comms.”
Charles’ voice filled the cabin speakers, calm but deeply grave. “Logan, I need you to listen carefully. Eli has been speaking from his containment cell. He claims responsibility for the attack— and says Y/N’s injuries were not meant to kill her quickly. She was poisoned.”
Jean’s head snapped back toward you, scanning deeper with her telepathy. “…Oh God,” she whispered. “I’m detecting a foreign compound in her bloodstream.”
“What kind?” Logan demanded.Logan’s voice came out low.
“Eli claims it suppresses healing and destabilizes mutant abilities over time,” Charles explained. “He says the dose was… experimental.”
The Blackbird landed moments later and everything exploded into motion. Logan didn’t leave your side until they forced him to.
“Logan,” Hank said gently but firmly, stepping into his path. “We need sterile conditions.”
He didn’t move. Your hand slipped from his as they wheeled you through the doors. As soon as you were gone, he spun on his heel. He moved fast and dangerously.
Storm caught the shift immediately. “Logan, wait—”
But he was already down the hall, headed for containment. The reinforced doors to Eli’s holding area slid open with a heavy mechanical hiss. Inside, the man sat calmly at the center of the room like he’d been waiting. Like he knew exactly how this would go.
Eli smiled when Logan entered. “Well,” he said softly, “You got her back here faster than I expected.”
Eli leaned back slightly, relaxed. “I accelerated her evolution.”
Logan’s claws snapped out instantly. “You got about three seconds to start talking.”
Eli’s smile widened. “Oh, I intend to.” He leaned forward, eyes bright with unsettling excitement. “The compound destabilizes her control. Forces her plant abilities into overdrive while suppressing regenerative responses.”
Logan’s jaw clenched. “She’s dying.”
“Not dying,” Eli corrected again, almost amused. “Transforming. The human body resists what she truly is meant to become.”
“Where is the antidote?”
“I have it.”
“Where?”
“At my other facility.”
Every instinct in Logan screamed trap. “What’s the catch?”
“I’m released and she comes with me.”
Logan froze. “No.”
“She is the key to restoring balance. Her connection to plant life— her potential— it’s beyond anything you understand.”
“She’s not an experiment.”
“She’s salvation.”
“You don’t get to touch her again.”
Eli’s voice dropped, gentle and cruel at the same time. “She will die without the antidote. Let me go and hand her over without interference and she will live.”
“I’m not letting her go anywhere near you alone.”
“You’re not coming. Just her. Alone. I won’t risk interference while I finish what I started.”
“You really think I’d let you take her anywhere alone?”
“You don’t have a choice… She will save the earth, Logan. Her plant abilities can restore ecosystems, reverse decay, rebalance climate collapse. She just needs… guidance.”
“You mean control.”
“I mean destiny.”
Outside the room, Scott’s voice came over the comms. “Logan.” No response. “Logan,” Scott repeated, firmer. “She’s crashing again.”
Everything inside Logan snapped toward that single sentence.
His head turned sharply toward the door. For one second, raw fear replaced the rage. Then he looked back at Eli. “If she dies,” he said quietly, “there won’t be enough left of you to bury.”
Eli just smiled. “I’m counting on her survival.”
Logan left the cell and ran. The medbay doors slid open and the smell hit him first. Antiseptic and metal and underneath it, decay. The smell of something being wrong. Like plants growing too fast and dying too fast at the same time. He froze in the doorway. You lay on the table surrounded by machines and people, but none of that registered first. What he saw first was your skin. Thin green veins spread faintly beneath the surface like creeping vines. Small fractures of bark-like texture traced along your forearms before fading again. Leaves sprouted briefly at your fingertips before withering into dust. Your chest rose in shallow, uneven breaths as a machine screamed softly beside you. Jean stood near your head, eyes glowing faintly as she tried to stabilize your mind. Hank worked frantically over scans.
Logan stepped forward slowly. “Hey…” he said softly, voice rough.
Your head turned slightly at the sound, eyes fluttering. You weren’t fully conscious— just drifting— but your body recognized him. Your fingers twitched weakly and that nearly broke him. He moved closer, taking your hand carefully like it might shatter. It was cold, too damn cold.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he murmured. The lie tasted like ash.
Hank looked up, grave. “The toxin is accelerating her mutation cycles while suppressing cellular recovery. She is burning through herself.”
“How long?” Logan asked.
Hank hesitated. “Not long.”
“What did Eli say?” wondered Scott.
Logan didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at you, memorizing everything about you. “He has an antidote.”
“And?” Scott pressed.
Logan’s jaw tightened. “It’s at another facility.”
“And the cost?” Storm asked.
Logan inhaled slowly. “She goes with him.”
Chaos exploded instantly.
“No,” Scott said immediately.
“Absolutely not,” Storm added.
Jean’s voice was soft but firm. “Logan…”
“He wants her alone,” Logan finished.
Hank shook his head slowly. “That is unacceptable. We cannot allow her into the hands of her abuser.”
Logan’s hand tightened around yours. He felt your pulse stutter under his fingers. It was weak and fading.
Storm stepped closer. “We find another way.”
“There ain’t another way,” Logan snapped.
“There is ALWAYS another way,” Scott shot back.
Logan turned sharply, anger flaring. “You didn’t see her out there!”
Jean stepped between them, voice calm but firm. “She deserves agency in this decision.”
“She’s dying,” Logan said quietly.
That shut everyone up.
He swallowed hard. “I can smell it,” he added roughly. “Her body’s shutting down.”
Storm crossed her arms tighter. “And you trust Eli?”
“No,” Logan said immediately.
“So we do not hand her over.”
Logan’s voice dropped to something darker. “We don’t hand her over. We send her.”
Scott stared at him. “You cannot be serious.”
“I ain’t letting her die because we were too damn proud to make a hard call.”
Jean stepped closer, voice gentle. “Logan… is this for her survival or because you cannot bear to lose her?”
His jaw flexed. “…Both.”
Storm looked between all of them. “And if this is a trap?”
“Oh, it’s for sure a trap,” Scott commented.
Logan’s answer came instantly. “Then I walk into it.”
Scott exhaled sharply. “You are asking us to risk her life on the word of a man who tortured her.”
Logan’s voice cracked slightly. “I’m asking you to let me save her.”
“She may not survive the transport,” Jean said honestly.
Logan nodded slowly. “I know… but it’s the only option… I have to send her with Eli.”
