Summary: logan goes out with Wade and won't stop calling and texting your phone
CW: fluff | mention of alcohol | dirty talk | failed attempt at sexting | mature language | mention of sex | drunk logan |
Word count: Over 1k
Authors note: Hi, please be kind. I'm still trying to get back into writing. I didn't proofread this. My requests are open. Divider by @saradika-graphics
My work will always be 18+ Minors do not interact or read.
It was 2:00 am on a fucking Wednesday night and your phone was blowing up. Wade had dragged Logan out to have some "bonding time with peanut." Which was code for which of them could get drunk the fastest. It always led to the bar being completely drained of alcohol — usually with one of them coming home with a bruised eye (Wade).
Logan could drink, and so could wade. But he has such a high tolerance that the amount of alcohol he consumed in order to get completely drunk would probably kill the average man. Not good. That meant longer days spent working so he could pay off the tab. You didn't mind most of the time. Since he needed a break and have some fun every once in a while.
Your phone lights up next to your bed. You tried to ignore it, but it kept happening over and over. The loud buzz vibrating on the night stand. You groan and throw your pillow over your head. No use. The sound just kept getting louder and louder.
You sit up in bed and grab it, the bright light making your eyes water a bit. You look down, and your eyebrows shoot up. There were about 46 text messages, and over 10 missed calls. All from logan and a few from wade.
You open your text message app to read what the hell was so important that he had to blow your phone up in the middle of the night.
Lo 💕: miss you.
Lo 💕: Wades tupee is crooked, not telling him tho
Lo 💕: luv u ba.yb
Lo 💕: gonna fkc u wen I get home
Lo 💕: gonna have u soking my dick
Lo 💕: stop ignore me
Lo 💕: [image]
Your eyes were still trying to adjust to the screen of your phone as you read through every text message logan has sent. You sighed, looking at the picture he sent you. You could tell he was absolutely trashed. He was in the run-down bars bathroom. The lighting in there was dim, and the mirror was dirty. He was holding his semi hard cock in one hand and had the bottom of shirt in between his teeth. The sight alone had you squeezing your thighs together. His abs were flexed and a little sweaty, making his happy trail stick to his skin. You had to take a deep breath and calm yourself.
You clicked back and went over to the texts Wade had sent you. You were trying to get your mind off of the selfie logan sent.
Wade: don't worry pookie is fine.
Wade: he's got his tits out like a slut.
Wade: okay now he's fighting
Wade: Okay now he's fighting ME
Wade: I'm not even drunk. I've been having the bartender give me water the whole night 😈
Wade: is he in heat ??? All he's been talking about is fucking
You rolled your eyes and let out a breathy laugh. You knew the second wade got logan through that front door it was over. Just as you had that thought, the door went bursting open, hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang.
"Speak of the devil." You mumbled under your breath. You walked out and saw Wade throwing logan back onto the couch.
He turned to you. "Sunshine here decided to start hmmm his fourth bar fight of the night, so we got kicked out."
You ran your hand down your face and looked down at where logan was slumped over. "Bad night?"
"Nah, luckily, he got whiskey dick of the claws, so no one was shanked." Wade shrugged as he readjusted his toupee. You fought the urge to laugh when you remembered logans text from earlier.
You let out a sigh of relief that no one was actually hurt tonight. You don't know what you'd do if you had to bail logan out of jail. Knowing Wade, he'd probably would just break him out.
"Well thank you for taking him out tonight. He's been......kinda down lately." You spoke as your eyes were still trained on your boyfriend.
There was pause before he spoke up again. He knew how much his friend could get into his own head and overthink.
"No problem. I'm gonna leave you two alone before he wakes up and tells me how much he wants to eat your ass again." Wade gave you a sympathetic pat to your shoulder and quickly hauled ass out of your apartment.
He wasn't gonna stick around incase logan decided to whip out his cock. You couldn't blame him.
Your face got hot, and you groaned again. Logan always had such a way with words. The thought of him telling Wade anything about your sex life was enough to make you want to go hide under your blanket. Now you were wondering what the hell those two talk about when you or Vanessa were not around.
A low grumble sounded from logan as he woke up. His eyes were dropping, and his speech was slurred. He looked around, confused as to where he was until he saw you. He gave you a weak smile and patted his lap for you to sit.
"C'mere" logan hiccups. "Been missin' ya all night." He tried reaching for you.
You immediately slapped his hand away.
"Nuh, uh, I'm gonna make you some water, and you're gonna sleep on this couch until you're sobered up." You shook your head and backed away.
"Then maybe just maaaybe you can have me in the morning. Deal?"
Logan pouted and sunk deeper into his spot. You couldn't help but chuckle a bit. You couldn't deny the sad pout on his face was cute. He looked so annoyed with you, but he didn't have it in his heart to be mean. Never to you. No matter how drunk logan got, it still didn't keep him from having that soft spot for you.
"Why don't you stand between my legs and lemme eat your pussy then." He slurred again.
"Jesus christ." You muttered and went into the kitchen to pour him some water.
You'd think you would be used to his dirty talk by now. Yet he still managed to surprise you with it. If he wasn't drunk off his ass right now, you would have peeled off all your clothes and let him have you right there on that couch— letting him stuff his cock so deep in your pussy it made your legs tremble before he even started moving. You shake your head of those thoughts and continue getting him his water.
By the time you came back, he had already passed out. You sat the water down and helped him into a more comfortable position. Throwing a blanket over him, you placed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. Quickly, you went back into your bed to get some sleep. You're sure by morning he would be back to normal. He didn't get hangovers much. Maybe you'd take him up on all of his all of those offers once he's sober.
Pairing: DOFP!Logan x Mutant!Fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Length: 1.6K
Tags: fluff, angst, smut, reader can transform items via touch (only briefly mentioned), reader was killed by sentinels in old timeline, technically hurt/comfort, oral sex (f receiving), implied unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), pet names, mentioned jean grey, mentioned marriage prospects
This fic is for @rosenclaws as part of her one-year Tumblr anniversary writing challenge this. Prompt was “Tracing your features with their fingertip like you're a sculpture in a museum and they were not supposed to touch you, but god, they can’t help it” with DOFP Logan. I included that… and then went wild. Hope you enjoy!
Read on AO3
You had a date with Logan.
In fact, you’d been dating him for quite some time now. Sometimes you still couldn’t believe how deeply in love you’d fallen with the Wolverine of all people. And God, was it lovely. Sure, you adored the rest of your fellow X-Men as well; they were your found family, after all, but Logan was your love. Was he grumpy? Yep. Short-tempered? Absolutely. Did you find him smoking hot from his kitty ears—er, hair with its little gray streaks down to his feet? Completely. As far as you were concerned, that man was utterly and undeniably YOURS.
And you were his.
Even though the students at the school would make fun of you two being so sickeningly in love, of the way he’d track you down and follow you around the moment the school day was done, of how he’d unabashedly flirt with you until your cheeks were as red as strawberries, and of the moments when he’d wrap his arm around your waist. What they didn’t see or hear, though, were the moments he’d whisper into your ear the filthy things he’d planned to do to you later once you were alone. That always made your heart race and heat build between your thighs.
You shifted clothes around in your closet, trying to decide what you should wear for your date. Earlier, Jean had told you (without using her telepathy, she had to insist) that she was almost certain that Logan had an engagement ring in his possession. Your head was reeling at the thought.
Your daydreaming about a marriage proposal was halted by the sound of a knock on your door. You walked over and opened it up, and…
It was him.
Logan was standing in the doorway, staring at you like he’d seen a ghost.
To him, you were a ghost. Just not in this timeline.
You were there. In front of him. Alive. And just as beautiful to him as you were on the day he lost you to the Sentinels. He scanned your face, taking the sight of you in for the first time in person, not just in a dream.
He was frozen in place, not saying anything, his hands itching to touch your face, and staring at you.
And you stared back, confused as all hell.
Logan couldn’t resist anymore; a hand came up, his fingers barely grazing your cheek, like he needed to touch you to believe you were real.
“You’re here,” he managed to rasp out, his voice cracking a bit. “You’re really here.”
“W-what?” You asked, still bewildered about why he was acting so strangely.
Logan sighed. “You may wanna sit down, darlin’. There’s a lot I’ve gotta tell ya.”
When he was done, you were speechless for what felt like hours.
Logan was sitting in your bed with you, looking back at you, trying to gauge your reaction to his story before he finally sighed. “Y/N… say something, please…”
“I don’t know what I can say,” you admitted. “I mean, if we weren’t living in a world where I can transform items and you have claws, I don’t think I’d believe you.”
Logan chuckled a bit. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He leaned back slightly, his hazel eyes gazing into yours. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but—“
“I don’t think I could’ve gone on if I’d lost you,” you blurted out.
Your words tugged at his heartstrings. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You could never lose me,” he whispered. “God, I missed you so much.”
“Oh, Logan,” you placed a hand on his cheek. “I love you so much…”
“I love you too, darlin’. More than anything,” he murmured back, leaning into your touch. His hands moved to frame your face, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. “I missed you so much,” he whispered before pulling you in for a kiss that you quickly melted into.
The kiss started gentle, but it quickly turned heated. All thoughts of any date or marriage proposal went out the window. You were living in the moment.
Logan tightened his grip on you as your tongues got involved. He’d only dreamt about this for far too long—the taste of your lips, the feeling of your body pressed against his—and now it was real.
You could feel a familiar ache building between your legs as you kept kissing Logan, and you couldn’t keep a few soft moans from escaping you, sending shivers down his spine. God, he missed your moans, missed making you feel so, so good like this…
Logan pulled back, a string of saliva briefly connecting your mouths as he turned you on the bed so your legs hung over the sides. He dropped down to his knees in front of you, with his hands on your hips, his gaze hungry.
He then pushed up your skirt, his eyes locked onto the space between your legs. The only thing keeping him from your pussy was your pesky panties, which were already somewhat damp from your arousal.
“I’ve dreamt about this,” he told you in a husky voice that only made you feel more desperate for his mouth on you.
“Y-you have?” Your voice was shaky, your heart pounding. You knew you’d never be tired of being intimate with him, but the fact that he’d dreamed about it and longed for you after you died in the old timeline… You didn’t think you could fall any more madly in love with Logan, but there you were, doing just that.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down and taking in the sight of your pussy for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
“Every damn night,” he growled. “You have no idea how much I needed you, darlin’…”
“I’m here now,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair. “And I’m not going to die on you again.”
“Yeah, you’d better not,” he growled again, feeling goosebumps on his arms as he felt your hands in his hair. He spread your legs apart wide enough for the easiest access but not so wide that you’d be in pain as he devoured your cunt.
In a matter of seconds, Logan’s tongue was licking stripes up your slit, savoring the taste of you for a moment before licking your clit as well. When he heard your sexy moans and felt the way you gripped his cowlicks, he closed his lips around the erect nub, his mutton chops scratching so perfectly against your skin.
“Logan… holy shit…” You groaned at the feeling of him pleasuring you with his mouth like a man starved.
And he had been starved of you. For too damn long.
He kept going, his tongue touching every inch of that sensitive bundle of nerves, swapping between long, languid licks and little flicks. His fingers tightened on your thighs, holding you in place as he ate you out. Every moan and pant that escaped you only urged him on. He wanted, no, needed to make you come. After all this time, he needed this just as much as he needed air to breathe.
Your moans of his name only got louder as he kept on making you feel good.
He pulled back to catch his breath for a moment, just long enough for him to groan out, “Fuuuuck, baby, you sound so good moaning my name like that…”
When his face dove back between your thighs, his tongue began to circle your entrance before he pushed it inside of you, causing you to grip the sheets as tightly as you could as you could feel yourself already getting close. Your moans of his name turned into desperate gasps.
“Logan… Logan, Logan, I’m so close…”
“Are ya? Good girl,” he stopped to whisper. “You gonna come for me? Missed making you come.” His nose had pressed against your clit as his tongue resumed its licking inside of you, trying to hit you as deep as he could.
And then it hit you like a wave crashing over top of you. Logan felt your legs tremble around his head as you orgasmed, your nails scratching his scalp as you cried out his name one more time and bucked your hips up against his face.
He growled into you again, the sting of your scratches on his head only heightening his own arousal. He slowed his movements, letting you ride out your orgasm before pulling away. When he did pull away, he looked up at you in a way that made you feel like the Eighth Wonder of the World. A thousand emotions swirled around in his hazel eyes: adoration, joy, comfort… there was a solemnness to it.
Logan rose to his feet, joining you on the edge of the bed, cupping your face in his hands.
“I love you,” he whispered softly. “I love you, I adore you, I missed you…”
“I know,” you whispered, leaning in to give him another kiss. When your lips met, you could taste a bit of yourself on him, but that’s not what you focused on. What mattered to both of you the most in this moment is that you were together, and both of you knew you would both do everything in your power to make sure you wouldn’t be apart ever again.
When you broke apart, your eyes couldn’t help but shoot down to Logan’s crotch, where you could see his extremely obvious boner straining against his jeans. He noticed this and began to unbuckle his belt. Then, he got back up from the bed to yank his jeans and underwear down, leaving both of them pooling at his feet. He took himself in his hand, giving himself a few strokes as he looked over at you.
“This what you want, baby?”
You just nodded, feeling yourself getting hot again.
Logan smirked at you as he walked back over to the bed, pinning you down.
“Good, because that’s what you’re getting,” he growled before his lips met yours in yet another hungry kiss.
“you’re supposed to put this on everyday, lo, not just when you remember it’s there.”
you scold him as you do nearly everyday. you sit on logan’s torso, gently massaging the conditioner into his facial hair.
“i don’t have time to do this everyday.” logan retorts in a mumble, looking up at you as your focus remains on combing the product through logan’s dark tufts. his large hands encapsulating your thighs.
“if i have time to do this and more everyday then—“
“plus, i rather have you do it for me. even if it comes with you scolding me like you’re my wife or somethin’.”
you pause for a moment when he says that. finally looking into his eyes. “that’s only because you like me sitting here,” you reply. a small smile grows on his lips when he says that.
“i never denied that,” logan responds, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze. he then reaches up and tugs on the spa headband on his head causing the fluffy cat ears on it to shift. “so when can i take this off?”
“when i’m done,” you tell him once again, swating his hand away from it. his palm taking its seat back on your thigh. “it’s keeping things separated.”
“what, you gonna die my grey hairs away too?” he asks, referring to the white streak in his hair.
“mhm, nah, i like those,” you answer with a smile.
“yeah, you better.” he mutters as you return to combing your fingers through his beard.
summary: there are many things you and logan disagree in but not when it comes to things in bed.
warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, ex!logan, p in v, creampie, reader's in her early to middle twenties so her frontal lobe hasn't developed yet; don't expect any reasonable thinking on her side, angst (duh), non-mutant AU
wc: 1,9k
notes: the incredible @bpmiranda's got me with a very bad case of ex!logan fever :( plus after listening to karol G's album mañana será bonito and seeing i may or may not be obssesed with romeo santos, i got the song in the title on loop: as you can see, it's all very fitting ++ don't forget to check out her stories, they're so good istg!!!!
you shouldn't call.
"logan" you speak. his name burns in the tip of your tongue, like a secret you're not supposed to tell.
he shouldn't answer.
it's quiet at first on the other line, until a rough voice says i'm here, appearing to be distant, but who is he trying to fool? as soon as he saw the number pop on the screen, his fingers moved with a learned urgency.
you shouldn't keep calling.
"i need you" three words to cover those you actually mean; hanging in the spaces between the silence.
i miss you. i love you.
your hear a heavy sigh on the other end.
he shouldn't keep answering.
"princess..." logan pleads, "don't do this"
you know better than that, he wants to say, but keeps his mouth shut. just to hear your voice, just to-
"please, lo" you whine out. logan grabs his jeans with force, the fabric strained under his white-knuckled grip. it takes him a lot not to run to you right there and now.
"don't" but his voice cracks as much as his resistance.
"i've got the house" you whisper the prayer; a routine so sacred none of you seem to break it, "just for us"
"y/n" even saying your name is painful; like the most addicting and damaging drug to ever exist, "stop"
logan loved your stubborn heart, but there are times where he wishes you weren't like this.
"i'm sorry" and then he hangs up.
i'm sorry for not being who you needed. i'm sorry i pushed you away. i'm sorry i keep on coming back after i said i would leave you alone. i'm sorry i can't keep my promises.
you feel it around your neck―bruises in the vocals your voice has failed to scream; it chokes you with rage.
"are you stupid?" you ask yourself in the mirror.
what are you doing? why are you doing this to yourself? do you love him more than you love you?
you dial again, but this time, it's a girl who picks up.
"yeah?"
"hi. wanna go out?"
logan feels so out of place, but this used to be your favorite bar, and he's desperate for a drink.
listening to your voice has always made him weak, but after you broke up, it drives him crazy.
he empties another glass, feeling pathetic. this is how bad it's gotten: you've got him scouring the places you used to go, chasing your ghost, trying to get a glimpse of your silhouette or a whiff of the phantom of your scent, the lavender haunting him; getting under his skin.
a song beggins playing, and it's the same vinyl set from two years ago. the night he met you: a pretty young thing so out of place in an old bar like that, playing hard to get, only to end the night moaning over him, fogging his car's windows, saying his name in a way no one else had before. he still remembers the way your legs trembled but he held you, beads of sweat confusing themselves with the glitter on your skin. logan doesn't know what that is, but he's marveled, so in awe of you, everything of you: young, new, exciting.
but every new thing wears out, and the gap he swore wouldn't matter came crashing in years that built a distance between him and you.
so he did what he did best: ruin it. deny the feelings bubbling inside; let them consume his reasoning, pushing you like he had done with everyone who cared about him before.
when he broke your heart, he took a part with him. so you keep coming back, looking for it; trying to piece yourself together. and he let's you: because god knows you have a part of himself too.
he's so drunk he probably imagines the hint of lavender in the whiskey tinted air. he's so desperate to see you again, he's seeing your face among the crowd. he's definitely gone insane: hearing that laugh he misses every day.
"y/n..."
the music pauses: all you can hear is your name being said in that way like it belongs to him.
"...logan"
he walks in autopilot over to the table you and a group of girls are sitting. they're all beautiful―beautiful people attract beautiful people, but he's only got eyes for you.
"what are you doing here?"
he raises a glass he didn't know he was carrying, "having a drink".
your lips purse, and logan doesn't know if it's because you're laughing at him or sad.
"i see" but you divert your gaze, looking at your outfit's neck. the outfit you chose: a black dress that pushes your tits on top. they are on display, and logan feels played by you―his eyes trained on the strained fabric, tongue watering like it did when he would lick your sensitive nipples.
"i see too" he says in automatic, and one of your friends laughs. he looks away, thanking the low lights, or you'd see the red embarrassment on his face.
you stand up and walk over to him, and your friends sense it's time to leave the two of you alone.
"why did you hang up?" you throw the question so casually; the nerve you have.
"what do you mean?" it's the only thing that comes to his mind. very stupid, indeed.
you scoff, "delete my number, then"
"you keep on calling" he bites back.
"and you keep answering"
you never shut up. he hates that.
"i may have to stop"
you get closer, way too closer. so much, your hot breathe clouds his judgment.
"try to" you dare.
and he tries, he really tries. but not today.
not today when he takes you home, finally looking complete with you in it again. you had moved out after your last discussion, saying you'll never be back.
"you haven't changed a thing" you murmur in between kisses, and he can sense a bit of melodrama in his voice that makes him roll his eyes despite the dull ache on his chest.
he picks up your body swiftly, carrying you up to the bedroom.
"why would i?" he asks, voice so low and small you almost miss it.
"because you hate me" you avoid his eyes, even if your faces are too close, loosing all that corageous character of yours, "said you would get rid of it; of everything that reminded you of me"
but when he drops you softly on the matress, there's still that lamp you got him in the night table.
"i couldn't" he confesses.
i couldn't, he means, because i couldn't let you go.
but you both know it won't work out, something you knew right from the start:because toxic loves only fulfill basic needs. this isn't healthy, but he forgets it all as soon as you're moaning his name. still, he promises himself he will say goodbye to you this time, even if it's inside of you.
"shut up and kiss me, then" you're always pushing him around, making him do the things he desires to but doesn't want to do.
so he obliges, leaning in, the lavender so strong all over your sweet skin, poisoning his mouth on every kiss he leaves. he feels you squirm under him, goosebumps along your skin, prickling against his, so visible he can see and feel it even in the dim lit room.
"take it" logan doesn't look at you, but when he does, you feel him stare deep into your soul, "i know you want it"
he's sliding his dick inside you as soon as the sentence is over, the permission to take you and use you implicit. he robs a drawn-out groan out of you.
"so tight for me" he murmurs against your shoulder, sharp breaths and soft groans flooding your ears. his cock hits deep within you, hard thrust no one has ever been able to replicate, making you gasp for air, burying your face in the plush pillows now drenched in your sweat.
"you're so deep" you hiss, hot and overwhelmed, waves of pleasure hitting like water against cliffside rocks. "so big, lo" you whine, dizzy at the way your pussy stretches for him.
"just for you" he grunts out, and it's the truth. no matter how dark the room is or how many faces he avoids, he always looks into the eyes of the other women he fucks, his heart sinking when he can no longer pretend it's you, "fuck, squeeze a bit more".
hearing his deep voice, rough when you fuck, always making you soak, coating his dick in your juices. you grip tight, as tight as the nails that hold onto his shoulders, making him moan at the pain.
"like that, princess. good girl" you moan at the praise, "i know you could take me, all of me"
he grunts and pants, holding you tighter as his cock pumps faster, in sync with your now closer to happening orgasm.
before it, he slows down his thrusts, "where do you want me to cum, princess?"
he wants to, inside of you, but he can't do so, not when he promised he wouldn't ruin your life. but making you his, marking you as only his, makes his dick inside you twitch. fuck, he's so balls deep inside you all he can think is filling you up silly.
"inside me, lo" like you read his thoughts, and it always amazes and scares him; how deep inside his mind you are. never happened, not in his four decades of life. and that's part of the problem: he's closer to death than you are but it's only with you, young―blossoming with life, that he feels truly alive.
so how can he say no, when you plead and beg with those pretty doe eyes of yours? who could imagine such a sweet thing to be so needy. he feels like you could ask for his heart, and he'd carve a hole in his body for you―bleeding out of love; dying with a smile.
"such a greedy little thing, princess" he mocks, but his tone betrays him―dripping in adoration, "want me to fill you up all nice?"
a broken wail is what he takes as your answer, your mind in blank.
he finds himself letting go, way faster than he should; he just misses you and your needy dripping pussy that much. you can't hold back longer either, rush flowing through your veins, much more satisfying than the alcohol you had drank an hour ago.
logan paints your insides with layers of his hot cum, mumbling a soft:
"anything for my princess" he keeps going, panting as he's milked entirely dry, "anything you want, my girl"
your vision is still spotty, mind fogged: you're sure that's the reason the hurt hasn't settled in your heart yet.
then the silence comes, like it always does now.
"y/n" you always love when he calls you by your name, but you hate the way he's saying it now. like a goodbye.
"don't-" you plead, begging he shuts up. but he pulls out, and says:
"it's for the best"
you don't want what's best. you want him.
"can't believe you wore this dress" he traces the pattern of the tight clothes, damped in sweat, "you know it's my favorite. why?"
you fail to supress a smile, even if it's tired and almost sad, "i knew you couldn't say no".
the truth is, you know many things: like how this is never going to stop until it's destroyed you both.
i loved “i gotcha darlin’”!! how about anything similar? i just love comfort with logan! maybe he accidentally hurts reader and she knows but is still shaken up? rly ip to u tho!! <3
Fractured
Wordcount: 2.2k
Pairing: DOFP Logan Howlett x GN!Reader
Tags/Warnings: Comfort, angst, established relationship, kisses n lil fluff.
Oneshot: During a mission, your comms went out and you got separated from Logan. When he finally found you, relief overwhelmed him and he might've just held you a little too tightly.
A/N: Thank you for the request dearest anon! This took longer than I expected because I overthink of best scenario for Logan in this situation. Also I get too excited since this was my first request work omg omg. Hope you'll enjoy this <33 Pls feel free to send me more request.
“You’re staring,” you said, not even bothering to look up from your book.
“Can’t help it. You look suspiciously well-behaved.” Logan shrugs from his spot across the room, arms crossed over his chest like always.
You glance up at him, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
“Into what? A damn saint?”
You snort, tossing a pillow his way, which he easily dodges with a grin. “Jerk.”
He walks over, slow and smug, plucks the book from your hands like it’s nothing “You’ve been quiet.”
You lift a brow. “That bothers you?”
“Only when it’s you,” he says. “Usually means something’s stewin'.”
You huff, pretending to look away. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the peace.”
“Sure,” he says, stroking your hair. “That why you sighed seven times in the last two minutes?”
“Wow. You counted?”
“Didn’t have to. You got that specific kinda sigh when you’re tryin’ not to feel stuff.”
You glare at him, snatching your book back from his hand. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Right here’s fine.”
He sits next to you on the couch, close enough that your knees touch. And when you don’t pull away, he rest his palm comfortably on top of your thighs. He doesn’t hide the way he looks at you—like he’s trying to read something between the lines of your silence.
You try to keep it casual. “You ever think maybe I’m just boring today?”
“Not a damn chance,” he says, his voice low. “Even your quiet’s got teeth.”
You laugh, a soft, real one, and it slips something loose in your chest.
He leans in to press a kiss on your lips, slow and easy. No pressure. Just warmth and patience, the kind you never got used to having.
He rests his forehead against yours, warm breath brushing against your skin. “Whatever’s crawlin’ around in that head of yours... I’ll be here to squash it.”
The way he says it, like it’s simple. Like it’s obvious.
Because love is supposed to feel that way, safe. That’s what fictional books tell you. That’s what you eventually start to believe, that love is a sanctuary.
You press your lips together, steadying the sudden flutter in your chest. “You know I don’t need saving, right?”
Logan doesn’t move away. “Didn’t say you did. Just means I’ll be there if somethin’ tries to bite.”
You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betray you with a soft smile. “That include tonight’s mission?”
He grunts. “Especially tonight’s mission.”
You lean back just enough to meet his eyes. “You still think it's a setup?”
“Somethin’s off about it,” he mutters, his fingers giving a subtle squeeze to your thigh. “Recon without backup in a town full of anti-mutant chatter? Charles sayin’ it’s low-risk when it reeks of bait?”
“Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s just noise.”
He gives you a look that says you know better than that.
You sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’ve got your six.”
“You always do.” His voice softens again. “But this time, don’t play hero.”
You scoff. “I’m not the reckless one.”
He raises a brow, looking entirely unconvinced.
“…Okay, fine. I’m slightly the reckless one.”
“Darlin’, you’re the reason I get grey hairs.”
You chucked softly and leaned in, pressed a kiss to his cheek playfully, but sincere.
“You’d still follow me into hell, though.”
Your fingers slipped into his hair, toying with it gently. Those little clusters of grey at his temples suited him more than they should’ve.
He smiles, low and crooked. “Yeah. And I’d drag your stubborn ass back out.”
You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “You say that like it’s a chore.”
He leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “Nah. You’re the only kind of trouble I’d sign up for twice.”
That earns a soft laugh out of you, flustered. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and teasing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mm, and you’re blushing,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.
You shove at his chest, half-laughing, half-hiding behind your hand. “Shut up.”
But he just kissed you again, slower this time. And it’s unfair, really, how easy he makes it feel. Like love doesn’t have to be complicated.
You melt a little against him, breath catching when his hand cups your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek.
“I love you,” he says it in a breath, like it’s second nature.
You freeze for a second—only a second—but it’s enough for him to catch it, to see the color shoot up your neck like it always does.
He grins, cocky and soft. “You make that face every time. Drives me nuts.”
You laugh, flustered as hell. “I love you too, Lo.”
He strokes your cheek, eyes darker now. “Say it again.”
Before you can, his mouth is on yours again—hungrier this time. No teasing, no holding back. Just him and you and the heat between every breath you take.
You’d been gone too long.
Forty-seven minutes since your comms cut out. Forty-seven minutes of silence in his ear, static in his chest, and no sign of you in the wreckage.
Logan had torn through two floors already, left a trail of bodies and ripped steel behind him. He wasn’t thinking—just moving. Fast. Focused. Dangerous. That dangerous, primal part of him clawing closer to the surface the longer he didn’t hear your voice.
“Where the fuck are you…” he muttered, storming into another corridor, scanning every inch.
You weren’t supposed to be separated this long. The building had caved in halfway through the op—explosives too early, their team scattered. Your last words were “I’m fine, I’m just gonna—” and then nothing. Just silence.
His claws ached. His jaw locked.
Then he found you, leaning onto a wall behind you, holding your side in pain, catching your breath—covered in dust and blood and breathing too rapidly.
Relief knocked the wind out of him.
“There you are,” he rasped.
You were so relieved at the sight of him after the shit show you just went through—getting ambushed by a bunch of armed forces twice your size, now dropped on the floor with their fancy tools.
“Logan!” you exclaimed his name in relief.
“Are you okay?” He paced faster toward you, and you just nodded breathless. He was on you in seconds—slightly bending his posture to reach your height then lifting your feet's off the ground, hauling you close, arms wrapping tight around your frame, clutching you like something precious that almost slipped through his fingers.
He buried his face in your hair. He was breathing too hard.
“Jesus. You scared the hell outta me.”
He didn’t notice the way your body stiffened at first, not until a soft gasp escaped you—a sharp one, cut off like you tried to swallow it.
He pulled back just slightly, putting your feet back on the ground.
“What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. I’m okay.”
But you weren’t. He could feel your heartbeat going haywire, feel the tension in your muscles. And when you moved, just barely, the way your breath caught—he knew.
“Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?” His voice was low, torn between panic and guilt.
You tried to smile, barely.
“No, it’s just—I took a hit from something earlier. It’s not you.”
But you were shaking. He could see the way you were favoring your side, holding it like it might fall apart if you didn’t.
He realized it then. In his desperation to hold you, he'd hugged you too tight. And something shifted in your rib.
"Can I?" he asked, bringing his delicate fingers to your ribs, more careful this time. You nodded. He traced each rib carefully, one by one, until he found it—the one that made you flinch painfully. He pulled his fingers back immediately.
"Shit... one of your rib snapped. I can feel it.”" Logan muttered.
"Yeah," you rasped. "I can tell."
You blinked. It felt like your lungs were filled with wet cement, every breath grinding against something sharp inside you.
He stepped closer. "Darlin’, I’m sorry—fuck, I didn’t mean to—"
"It’s not you, Lo," you cut in automatically, even though… maybe it was. You didn’t want it to be.
Your body already ached all over, hands still trembling from the fight, but it wasn’t until he touched you, until his arms wrapped around you, offering that comfort you always craved then it shambles within second.
Maybe the rib was already fractured before he hugged you. Maybe it wasn’t. Who fucking knows. All you knew was that now, every breath came with the kind of pain that made you grit your teeth so hard, you swore they’d shatter.
"C'mon let's get outta here" Logan moved toward you again, like he wanted to fix something. You sidestepped him.
"I’m fine. I can walk." You didn’t wait for him to argue. You gripped your side and pushed forward, each step stiff, each breath shallower than the last.
He was stunned at first. You could feel him watching you. That look peeled your back without you turning.
"You’re limping," he said, quiet but firm.
"It’s nothing."
He caught up to you in two strides, his hand brushing your arm. You flinched.
And that was it.
His hand froze mid-air. His eyes locked on yours, not angry—wounded. Neither of you said anything for a beat.
"What just happened?" his voice dropped, low and rough.
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You didn’t even know how to explain it. How could you? That it wasn’t the pain, not really. It was the idea of him, capable of hurting you. Even by accident. Even just once.
You shook your head, as if trying to shake it off.
"I don't know, okay? Everything just fucking hurts right now. Do me a favor and stop making it worse."
Logan stepped closer, slower this time, hands raised like he was approaching something wild and bleeding. "I apologize, please... I'm sorry" he said, quieter now.
"I didn't mean to hurt you." he managed an eye contact.
You swallowed, looking away. "I know." And you did. But the knowing didn’t undo the feeling.
He reached out again, slower this time, letting his hand settle gently at your shoulder.
"Please, Logan, just... stop it. I'm fine..." Your voice cracked slightly as your eyes started to sting. You stepped away, making his arm drop to his side again.
"Don't do this. You're in pain. I won't just stand here and watch." he said, pleading, his eyes growing with worry.
Your silence clung to the air like smoke. Heavy. Suffocating.
You hated how he looked at you—like he was trying to hold you together with his eyes alone. Like he’d failed you. And maybe, just maybe, you hated that some part of you agreed.
“I can’t fix it if you won’t let me.” he said, barely above a whisper.
“It’s not something you fix, Logan. It just... happened.”
“I happened,” he said, didn’t even sound angry nor upset. Just... tired. Regret pouring out of him like a slow bleed.
“I held you too tight. I should’ve known better.”
You turned away, not because you wanted to, but because if you looked at him for one more second, the tears would win. And you were already so damn close to crumbling.
He stood there for a long beat, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to breathe.
“I love you. That doesn’t come with promises I won’t screw up. But it does mean I’m not going anywhere.” he stepped closer, as if not allowing you to slip through his finger, ever.
“I’m scared,” you murmured watching him stepping closer but this time, you stopped stepping back. “Not of you. Just... of what that moment meant. Of how easy it was.”
“I get it, sweetheart. I forgot what I’m capable of. Forgot how easy it is for me to break things… even the ones I care about most.”
Then, slowly, your body gave in—not all at once, just enough to lean back an inch. Enough for him to understand you weren’t pushing anymore.
But this time, he didn’t pull you into his arms. He didn’t dare.
Instead, his hand came up carefully, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. His fingers trembled just slightly as they rested against your cheek, his thumb stroking softly beneath your eye, right where the tears had started to fall.
He didn’t say anything. He just watched you with that look you hated and needed all at once—like you were breakable, and he was furious with himself for proving it true.
You blinked, and a tear slid down. He caught it with his thumb.
Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, warm and lingering. Holding you so gently.
A second kiss followed at your temple, softer, and something in your chest cracked open at the tenderness of it.
He didn’t make the pain disappear—not literally, at least. Your body still ached with every passing second. But if there’s one thing he did manage, it was to make you feel safe. Loved. He made damn sure you never felt anything less.
He didn’t give up on you. He never does. Not when you messed up, not even when he messed up, like now. He let you in, let you hear what was going on inside of his heart and head. And he showed it—with his words, with his touch, with everything he had to give.
And that—that was the kind of love fiction never quite got right. Because it wasn’t grand or perfect or poetic. It was patient. Steady and real.
