#logan angst

[orbmanson7]

Also a Logan doodle page, of course

Can you tell I made this one around the same time as another similar doodle? Pfft

[atrwriting]

I SAID WHAT I SAID

[eufezco]

LIKE THE FIRST TIME

it has been a long time since you and logan had sex. you should show him that despite everything he hated about himself, you still craved him.

logan x afab!reader (smut, angst) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!). gif credit to @/asgardswinter

it was a shitty place where you were living with logan. it was always dirty, no matter how many times you cleaned it, it was noisy, because despite being in the middle of nowhere, the train tracks were very close to it, and it was the least home-like thing in the world. both of you were working your asses off to get out of there as soon as possible.

in your free time, you helped caliban with the housework and took care of old charles xavier while logan spent the whole day out, driving and having to deal with one of the things he hated most in the world, people.

he always came home late, tired, with his whole body aching. some nights you would fall asleep while waiting for him and even though logan asked you to do it, to not to wait up for him, most times you stayed up so just to make sure he arrived safely. you waited for him curled up in bed. when he was a minute late, your heart began to beat faster and you imagined the worst. but then he would come into the room, dragging his feet and with his head bowed down.

—how was your day?

logan grunted as he sat at the foot of your bed, you felt how the mattress sagged with his weight.

—did something happen?

you crawled to him and rested your chin on his shoulder. he let out a sigh of relief when your arms wrapped around his body and you hugged him from the back.

—just a tired fuckin' day, that's all.

you hummed, understanding. —well, now you are home so you can finally relax. would you like something to eat?

logan shook his head as he let it fall back and rest on your shoulder. he just wanted to stay like that a little longer with his body between your legs and his eyes closed. he placed one of his hands over yours resting on his stomach as you hugged him. one of his big hands was enough to cover both of yours.

—i've missed you, lo. i always miss you when you are away.

you placed a kiss on his neck. the first thing he did when he entered the house was to get rid of his shirt, keeping only the white tank top he was wearing underneath. his broad shoulders were at your disposal, his muscular arms and warm skin as well.

logan swallowed when he felt your lips on his neck. you noticed so you placed another kiss there.

—i miss you too. every second i spend away from you, i miss you.

you hummed, your heart gave a small jump of joy. while your love language was words of affirmation and you were always reminding him how much he was loved by you, logan was more of an act of service man. removing makeup from your face when you got home and were too tired to do it yourself, washing your hair and massaging your head when you showered, and leaving your coffee ready when he went to work earlier than you. hearing those words come out of logan's mouth meant the whole world.

your hands traveled down his abdomen until they reached the hem of his tshirt and easily slipped under the fabric. you felt his perfect abs under your fingertips and the hairs growing below his belly button as well. he took a deep breath, it had been so long since the last time he had allowed you to touch him like that.

you took your hands out of his tshirt and moved one of them to his neck to make logan turn his head resting on your shoulder and look at you. you connected your lips with his, his bushy beard pricked your face as you kissed him, but you didn't mind, it had been so long since you and logan had kissed so passionately that you could take it.

your tongue slipped past his lips and logan moaned, allowing his to go inside your mouth as well. you moved on the bed, putting one leg on each side of logan's body and sitting on his lap, all this without stopping kissing for a second. his hands now rested on your lower back, yours were on the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

his cock got rock hard the moment you sat on his thighs and you started to roll your hips timidly against his crotch. you felt his growing bulge rubbing against your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. god, how bad you needed to feel him.

your hands slid down from his neck, caressing his entire torso, until they reached again the hem of his tshirt. you tried to pull the white tank top over his head, but logan stopped you. his lips parted from yours and he shook his head.

—it's okay. i want you, logan. i promise everything is fine.

you held his cheeks so he would look you in the eyes.

he was getting old, there was nothing left of the young and charming boy you met at charles' academy. his body had changed, his hair and beard were becoming whiter every day, and you were still young and full of light while he was fading away. yet you still loved and desired him, like the first day you craved his body. you found him just as hot, even hotter now, but you didn't want to force him to do something he wasn't going to enjoy.

you kissed him so he could stop worrying. —let me take care of you. i want you, lo, i need to feel you —.you mumbled against his lips. he let out a grunt when he felt you pressing your pussy harder on his bulge.

your hands traveled the same path down his chest one more time until you reached the edge of his tshirt again. you expected him to take your hands off him again but he not only allowed you to keep going but he also lifted his arms so you could pull the white tank top over his head.

—fuck —. you let out in a mix of moan and gasp. his body was breathtaking. your hands were quickly attached to his chest, hairy, hard under your touch, warm, with each of its muscles perfectly defined. abs, pecs, perfect broad and muscular shoulders, and wide strong arms, with veins running from his shoulder down his arms to the back of his hands. you ran your fingers along the thick scars that marked his body. —fuck, you're so hot.

with his hands on your back, logan gently pushed you to keep rubbing yourself against him and you moaned, he was harder if possible and you were so wet that you knew that your panties would be completely soaked. you kissed the crook of his neck while his fists clenched, clutching at the tshirt of his that you were wearing as your pajamas. logan fought against his instinct, against the animalistic way you were making him feel, but his grip became so tight that he ended up ripping the fabric.

—it was one of your favorite tshirts.

—don't care.

and logan kissed your lips as he ended up tearing the fabric completely and threw it on the floor. you grabbed the back of his head when his lips moved down your neck and collarbone. your nipples were already painfully hard when logan cupped one of your tits and wrapped his mouth around your sensitive bud.

all of a sudden you got up from his lap and he had to let your nipple go. he was worried about the way you had moved away from him, had he done something wrong?

now you were standing in the middle of the room, in front of him, only wearing your panties. your body was the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever witnessed, with scars very similar to his, with all those things you hated about yourself. was that how you felt about him? if it had not been for the pain in his whole body he would have fallen off the bed on his knees in front of you.

he huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes once you started swaying your hips from side to side while you slid your underwear down your legs. you laughed too, you felt stupid, but at least you had managed to make him smile. you two weren't the type to do those things, things were always more animalistic, more passionate, rougher. you walked towards him and leaned in to kiss him as your hands worked on the zipper of his jeans.

—you're beautiful —. he whispered.

logan helped you to straddle him again. you held your body over his thanks to your knees on the bed. with one hand you grabbed his hard cock resting impatiently against his stomach. he gasped because of your firm grip and squeezed your hips when you lined it up against your aching entrance.

you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan. you never forgot how big he was, the thickness of his cock, the patch of hair on its base, and the veins running along his shaft, but you did forget about the way it stretched you open, about the sting that his dick going deeper inside you caused.

—careful —. logan mumbled against your lips.

you kept taking him, closing your eyes shut and biting your lower lip, hissing every time you took a centimeter more inside of you. you rested your forehead against his and whined when his cock finally bottomed you. —i need a moment.

logan nodded. one of your hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit while his hands lovingly caressed your back. it had been so long since you had sex. logan wouldn't let you touch him, he was disgusted by his own body and he was afraid that you would see him the way he saw himself. that's why that night you decided that you would make him feel so good that he would never doubt the way you felt about him or his body.

you started by slowly rolling your hips as your fingers worked on your clit. his jaw tightened while he felt your body moving with his whole cock inside. his big hands on your hips helped you to move, setting a pace and keeping you from going faster so you wouldn't hurt yourself.

—that's it, take your time —. he said. young logan wouldn't have given you a second to get used to it, he would have fucked you mercilessly and you would have loved every second of it. but now, his eyes were focused on where your bodies became one, enjoying how your pussy adjusted to his size thanks to your fingers rubbing your clit.

he moaned once you lifted your body just a little and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again. your cries and his moans mixed in your mouths. all his body jerked every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

—you make me feel so good, logan. always have, fuck—. you purred in his ear. his hands, previously resting on your hips, slid all the way to your ass your hands and squeezed it. in those little details you could see how he was gaining confidence, which encouraged you to keep moving without changing your pace. it was slow, passionate, intense and intimate.

between moans and cries, you kept worshiping him, telling him how much you had missed feeling him inside you, how your fingers were no comparison to his cock, how you didn't want to share these moments with anyone other than him. there was no one like him. you didn't care about his scars, his moodiness, the gray of his hair, there would never be another one for you but logan, you did not want another one.

you were close, he could feel it in the way your walls were squeezing his cock and he knew he wouldn't last longer. logan wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you against his hard chest, and your fingers knotted into his hair. he groaned, your little jumps became irregular, your legs began to shake. logan hugged you tighter and sunk his teeth into your shoulder, getting a little choked cry from you.

—cum inside me, lo. fill me up, please, i need it. let me have it, please.

oh god, your words were driving him insane and after how well you had treated him, who was he to deny your wishes?

logan held your body down on his cock as he came, hugging you tighter against him. you buried your head into the crook of his neck, moaning into his skin while your legs shook and your pussy clenched around him. it was too much. as he released himself inside you, his claws came out and trapped you between them and logan's body, you had no escape. he groaned when he felt the pain of the adamantium ripping the skin off his knuckles mixed with all the pleasure of cumming inside you.

—shit —. he immediately put the claws away when he realized. —i haven't hurt you, have i?

you shook your head, still coming down from your high. he exhaled with relief. once you had caught your breath, you straightened your back, still sitting on his lap and feeling his cock getting soft inside you. you brought his hands to the front.

—are you okay? that probably hurt —. you caressed his knuckles.

—felt too good to even think about it.

you smiled proudly and kissed him. when you broke away, he noticed the mark of his teeth on the skin of your shoulder. —'m so sorry, fuck.

—don't be. i wish you had bitten me harder.

he shook his head, keeping himself from laughing. —you're a freak.

[kieraelieson]

Early morning thoughts:

Does Logan know the difference between being listened to and being obeyed?

Cause like, I'm sure if asked 'should Thomas obey you?' he would say no of course not. But if pressed, I think he would have the logic of 'I am logic, I am objectively correct. If one hears a correct answer, of course one would repeat it. If Thomas does not do what I have suggested, Thomas must not have really Heard me.'

Cause in the last episode, Logan was Hella listened to! They were asking his input and involving him and following his advice all the way along!! Until the end where ultimately Thomas took in all the information from All his sides, and decided what he wanted to do. Which wasn't Logan's suggestion. And clearly, Logan seems to feel like all his effort was a waste, cause after all that they still didn't do what he said listen to him.

And this conflation of being listened to and being obeyed is a Common thing. Especially among parents, who believe they have the correct answers for their children's every problem.

But being listened to is Not being obeyed. You can Have the very best answer, and someone can listen to you all the way through, and even acknowledge that you could have the objectively best answer! And then they can proceed to Do a different thing, because they have decided that it would be better for them personally.

If young Thomas's parents were the type to mix these two up, Thomas/Logan may well have picked this up in their development. It follows a form of logic, after all. It just ignores that people have a variety of reasons for wanting to make their own mistakes, or wanting an outcome that isn't the 'objective best'.

It would be super cool if this were addressed in the show.

[nerdy-emo-royal-dad]

Logan not wanting to appear in the episode at the very start and EXPECTING his input to be rejected gave me such a sick sense of satisfaction that I will now crave for every episode moving forward

[nuggetpool-hi]

Animal 2/2

And other half!!! Has less effort than the first one bc I'm not patient!!!

[daily-analoceitmus]

Need more of Logan shunning himself for his humanity.

I want him to push himself beyond sleeping because as a side, they don't have the same needs as humans. I want him to use necessities as rewards. He can go to the kitchen and grab a snack IF he finishes this first. He's allowed to go to sleep for an hour IF he completes this task. I want him to deny himself basic human needs.

Furthermore, I want more of him apologizing for feeling things, good and bad. I want more of him denying himself vulnerability. I want more of him denying himself comfort because he shouldn't want nor need that, he's not human. I want him to force himself to be more neutral about things that make him happy and berate himself for feeling such even if he doesn't express it. I want him to beat himself up for lashing out or breaking down

Similarly, I want someone to call him out. I want someone to ensure him that it's alright to need things. I want it to be a process to untangle him from the perfect robot he's trying to force himself to be. I want them to have to work in stages. He can work on allowing himself to feel after he's learned that it's ok to go to bed sometimes.

I want someone to teach him to be human again. It's alright to need a break. It's normal to want affection. You're not failing anyone for being upset. You're human. You're human. You're human.

💙

[lokinks]

"Don’t Walk Away." (oneshot/angst)

pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant fem!reader summary: After Logan walks out following a painful fight, you wait– but he never comes back. When he finally does, it’s too late. word counts: 4k (i think i went overboard with this) warnings/tags: angst, tension, door slamming, walking away, breaking relationship, xmen team, imagines, logan, depression implied. a/n: Get ready. Yeah… it’s sad. I felt bad writing it. You’ll feel bad when reading it. We suffer together. Hug a pillow. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, but... i did. (This one i wrote based on my series, sort of like a... alternate timeline? Yep.)

Logan masterlist

The door slammed harder than it needed to.

It echoed down the hall like a gunshot, loud and final, a punctuation mark at the end of a sentence neither of you wanted to write. The picture frame beside the door tilted, its glass rattling slightly in the aftermath.

You stood frozen.

You could still feel the warmth of the argument you’d just had, still hear the sharp edge of Logan’s voice, the way it cracked when he raised it—not because he was angry, but because he didn’t know what else to do with the fear he wouldn’t name.

The hurt sat heavy in your chest, buzzing under your skin, threatening to spill over in something ugly.

But you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not like this.

You moved—fast, barefoot, your footsteps sharp against the hardwood—and caught up to him halfway down the hall.

“Logan,” you called, breathless. “Don’t walk away.”

He didn’t slow. Didn’t even glance over his shoulder. His fists were clenched, shoulders set like stone, every step purposeful. Like if he just kept moving, he wouldn’t fall apart.

You reached out, your fingers wrapping gently around his arm. He stopped abruptly, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

Then, slowly, he turned.

And the look in his eyes knocked the wind out of you.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was scared.

Tired.

Wounded in a way he didn’t know how to speak.

You dropped your hand from his arm, suddenly unsure if touching him was a kindness or a pressure.

“You’re seriously just going to walk out?” you asked, your voice unsteady. “After everything we just said? After everything?”

He let out a short, humorless breath through his nose. “What’s the point in staying if we’re just gonna say shit we don’t mean?”

“Don’t do that,” you snapped. “Don’t act like this doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.”

“Of course you matter,” he bit out. “That’s the goddamn problem.”

You stared at him. “Then talk to me, Logan. Tell me why you keep shutting me out. Why you act like letting me in is going to break you.”

“Because it will,” he shouted.

The silence that followed felt like a dropped knife.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing two steps back, like he wished he could take it back but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

“You think I don’t want to let you in?” he said, voice low now. Strained. “You think this is easy for me? Waking up every day wondering if today’s the day I come back covered in someone else’s blood—or worse, yours?”

You blinked, stunned.

“Logan…”

“You don’t get it,” he went on, shaking his head. “You see me patch up cuts. Heal fast. Walk away from explosions. But you don’t see what it does to me when it’s you lying on that medical bed. Or when I smell blood before I even find you. I can’t…” His voice cracked then. “I can’t do it. Not again.”

The air between you thickened.

You had never heard him say it like that before. Never seen him tremble on the edge between fury and fear.

“I’m not asking you to stop being scared,” you said quietly. “I’m asking you not to run from me because of it.”

He looked away.

“That’s what you do, Logan,” you said, stepping closer. “You run. Not physically—but emotionally. Every time we get too close. Every time things feel too good. You retreat. You start pushing me away. You pick fights, shut down, act like I’m the one who crossed a line, when all I did was care.”

He didn’t deny it.

Which somehow hurt more.

“I’m not like you,” he finally muttered. “I don’t know how to hold on to the good things. I wasn’t built for this.”

“This,” you echoed. “You mean me.”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

You could feel it—the tearing at the seams. The place where something between you was starting to snap under the weight of everything unsaid.

“Do you know what it feels like?” you asked, voice shaking now. “To wake up next to you, reach out for you, and feel like you’re already halfway gone? Like you’re just waiting for an excuse to disappear before I can ask you to stay?”

His eyes flickered.

“And then you do things like this,” you said, gesturing around you. “You storm off, slam doors, put walls back up that took me months to tear down. You love me like it’s temporary.”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you.

And that was the worst part.

Because he did love you.

You saw it.

Even now.

Especially now.

And yet—he still said the words that broke you.

“Maybe this was a mistake.”

The hallway went still.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart sank like it had slipped from a rooftop.

You opened your mouth—but nothing came out.

Logan looked away first. That same look of regret—sharp, fleeting, almost embarrassed, passed over his face like a shadow.

But he didn’t take it back.

He didn’t reach for you.

He didn’t say your name.

He just turned. Walked down the stairs with heavy, echoing steps. Each one further and further away from the person he said he didn’t want to lose.

And he didn’t look back.

You stood there long after he disappeared, frozen in the hallway with your arms wrapped tight around yourself, trying to hold together the parts he’d left shaking.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring at the place he used to be.

But when you finally moved, you didn’t go after him.

Not this time.

Because maybe, just maybe… you were finally starting to believe him.

He didn’t come back.

Not that week.

Not that month.

Not the next.

You didn’t ask where he went.

Didn’t need to.

He was just gone.

And you didn’t fall apart. Not right away.

The first few days, you floated. Said little. Moved through your classes. Smiled when someone greeted you in the halls. Nodded politely when Storm or Hank offered help with paperwork. You even helped Jubilee rewire a lighting rig in the art wing. You were fine. You were fine.

But then the quiet crept in.

It started small—forgotten breakfast, sleeping through your alarm, missing team briefings. You stopped sparking when you were excited. Your light didn’t flicker anymore when someone made you laugh. Mostly because no one did.

The mornings you used to share with him — half-asleep murmurs, coffee on the nightstand, the weight of his hand curled around your ribs — became cold and hollow. The coffee thermos stayed where you left it, untouched. The flannel he used to wear hung unmoved on the back of your chair, collecting dust.

And you…

You began to disappear.

It wasn’t dramatic. Not at first.

You just… stopped trying.

Stopped staying for conversations after meals. Skipped training sessions. Drifted to the edge of group missions and volunteered for recon work that kept you alone. You took comfort in solitude — the old kind. The one that used to keep you safe before anyone ever knew your name.

Before him.

You stopped sitting on the counter in the kitchen.

Stopped passing the couch you used to fall asleep on, legs in his lap.

And eventually, you stopped letting anyone see you at all.

You shut yourself away — sometimes in your room, sometimes not even there.

Sometimes, you vanished inside your forcefield. Curled tight inside the shimmering veil of energy that kept the world out. A flicker of pale light barely visible through closed doors and dormitory walls. Like a heartbeat under ice.

Safe.

Silent.

Untouchable.

People noticed.

Ororo knocked gently the first time. “I made tea,” she offered, voice soft at your door. “Come sit with me for a while?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your light shimmered and dimmed, and you pressed your back harder to the wall, arms wrapped around your knees. You didn’t want comfort. Comfort meant cracking open. Comfort meant remembering.

Jean came later, reaching with her mind instead of her voice.

You blocked her. Softly. Kindly. But you vanished the moment she reached in. Slipped through her grasp like light between fingers.

They all tried. Alex, with his warmth he often to hide. Scott, with awkward attempts at distraction. Even Charles, with his quiet, measured concern. But it was like trying to reach someone underwater. You were already too far down.

And every time they got close…

You blinked out of sight.

Faded like static.

Light dimming more with each attempt.

They didn’t know it, but they were mourning you in real-time.

Not because you were gone.

But because you were still here, just… unreachable.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, you’d sit by the window. The wind would rattle the panes. The mansion’s lights would flicker in the distance. You’d press your fingers to the glass and stare into the dark like maybe, maybe—

He’d be out there.

Coming back.

Coming home.

But the snow just fell.

The nights just stretched.

And your powers curled inward, dull and quiet, barely responding when you tried.

You didn’t cry. Not really.

It was worse than that.

You were fading.

And no one—not even you—knew how to bring yourself back.

He came back.

Rugged. Tired. A mess.

The kind of mess that doesn’t come from a mission gone wrong or a fight he barely walked away from. No, this one ran deeper. His beard was overgrown, eyes sunken with sleepless nights. The leather jacket he always wore was torn at the shoulder, boots scuffed and coated in dust like he hadn’t stopped anywhere long enough to care.

He looked like he’d been outrunning something he never could shake.

And maybe he had.

The bike roared up the long drive like it always did, snarling into the still air of late afternoon. The students heard it first — peeking through the windows, whispering across the halls.

“He’s back,” they murmured.

But you…

You didn’t move.

Didn’t rise from the corner of your window seat.

Didn’t look up.

Didn’t glow.

There was no flinch, no spark of light beneath your fingertips. You didn’t reach for the window, didn’t press your hand to the glass the way you used to every time he left for more than a few days.

Because this time, he didn’t just leave.

This time, he broke something.

And he stayed gone long enough for you to believe maybe that was the point.

Logan stepped through the front doors like a man uncertain of his own welcome.

He saw Ororo first. Her expression was kind, but tired. She offered no embrace, just a small nod. “She’s upstairs,” she said.

He nodded back but didn’t move right away. His eyes flicked down the hallway as students watched him, hushed, too cautious now to tease. Jean leaned against the banister, arms folded tight over her chest. Her gaze was sharp, disapproving. Logan caught it but said nothing.

He looked for you.

Hoped for you.

But your light was nowhere to be found.

He found you hours later.

In the small room off the library — the one with the dusty old skylight and overgrown ivy pressing against the glass. You used to bring tea there, curl up with a book, fall asleep against his chest when the afternoons were too warm to waste.

Now, you sat in the far corner, legs folded beneath you, face turned to the window. Not glowing. Not sparking. Not even blinking when the door creaked open behind you.

He stood in the doorway for a moment. Watching.

Waiting.

You didn’t turn.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even breathe differently.

“…You knew I was back,” he said, voice rough from disuse.

Still, nothing.

The silence stretched between you, too quiet to be peace.

And he realized then — this wasn’t anger.

This was absence.

You were there. You were whole. You were sitting not ten feet from him.

He stepped in slowly, as if noise might startle something loose. His boots thudded softly against the old wooden floor. When he sat, he chose the spot beside the old armchair. Far enough not to crowd you. Close enough that you could hear the tension in his breath.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said. “What I said. That day.”

You still didn’t move.

He shifted, uncomfortable. “I… I was angry. Scared. That’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth.”

You finally blinked.

And it wasn’t relief that passed over your face. It wasn’t even sorrow.

It was tiredness. Bone-deep. Familiar.

The kind you wore years ago — before he ever came.

Before Rogue dragged him into this strange place and the mansion welcomed them both without hesitation.

Before Charles had quietly asked you to help orient him. Back when you were wary of everyone.

You remembered the moment he saw your forcefield for the first time — how he reached out toward it without flinching. How you warned him it burned, and he just grinned and said, “So do I.”

He earned your trust by not pushing. Just lingering. Letting you have space. Letting you inch closer every time you wanted to. It took time — years, maybe — but one day you looked up and realized you were no longer alone.

You shared everything.

Coffee.

Rooms.

Silence.

Mornings.

Laughs.

Ghosts.

And now…

You didn't even flinch when he walked back into your world.

Because part of you had already learned how to live without him.

And the part that hadn’t?  Was too afraid to reach again.

“I missed you,” he said, softer now.

That made your head turn — just slightly. Enough to see the bruised edges under his eyes. The slump of his shoulders. The shake in his hands when he tried not to let them tremble.

“You didn’t come back,” you said.

Three months of absence, after he crushed you with five words.

“I couldn’t.” His voice broke. “I thought if I stayed gone, you’d be better off. I thought I ruined it.”

You nodded once. Almost like you agreed.

“That’s the difference, Logan,” you said, voice hoarse. “You left to stop hurting me. I stayed. And it hurts anyway.”

He closed his eyes.

There it was — the fracture.

The part of him that thought leaving was love. And the part of you that had once believed staying was enough.

He didn’t sleep that night.

Didn’t even try.

The bed felt wrong — like it had been empty too long and no longer remembered him.

Your scent was gone from the pillow.

Your books were gone from the shelves.

Hell, even the photo that used to sit on the nightstand — the one Jubilee took of you both at that god-awful summer picnic — had been flipped face-down. Dust settled on its back, it had been that way for months.

Logan sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

The silence wasn’t peaceful.

It was punishment.

He’d faced death. He’d lost people. He’d endured centuries of pain he could barely remember clearly anymore. But nothing — nothing — sank in quite like this: being back in the mansion, back in the place where everything started with you… and knowing he might have already ended it.

Because you weren’t just angry.

You were gone in a way he’d never seen before.

The next morning, he stood outside the Danger Room watching you from the observation deck.

You were training with Scott. Fast. Sharp. Controlled.

Every move calculated. Not flashy, not showy — just clean. Clean in a way that told Logan you were keeping everything on a tight leash. Your powers flickered across the room like light being cracked in half, forcefields pulsing like a heartbeat just beneath your palms.

He used to be able to read you in those movements.

Used to know when you were letting off steam or testing your limits.

Used to train beside you, shoulder to shoulder, growling sarcastic bets between rounds.

But now?

Now he couldn’t tell where you ended and the armor began.

He didn’t realize Jean had come up beside him until she spoke quietly.

“She waited for you,” she said, without any softness. “Longer than she should’ve.”

He didn’t respond.

“You weren’t the first person to walk away from her,” Jean continued. “But you were the first she let in enough to miss. And then you left. Like the others.”

“She’s strong,” Logan muttered.

“She shouldn’t have to be,” Jean snapped.

Then, more gently, “You didn’t just leave. You disappeared after telling her you didn’t want this anymore. You didn’t call. You didn’t write. You didn’t even check in with Charles.”

He clenched his jaw. “I thought it was better.”

“Then you didn’t know her at all.”

Later that day, he caught you outside — alone, for once — in the courtyard where the ivy grew high up the stone walls and the sun painted dappled shadows across the brick.

You were sitting beneath the big oak tree, a sketchbook in your lap, the charcoal still in your hand but unmoving.

You didn’t look up as he approached. But you didn’t walk away either.

That was something.

He sat across from you, cross-legged, silent for a long time.

Then, finally, he said, “I never told you why I said it.”

You didn’t answer.

He continued anyway.

“I got scared. Of how much I needed this. You. It felt too good. Too... permanent.”

Your fingers paused on the edge of the paper.

“I’ve lost everything I ever cared about. Over and over. Every damn time. You came along and it felt like maybe that curse was finally over. And that scared the hell outta me.”

A breeze passed between you, rustling the pages of your sketchbook.

“I figured if I ended it myself, it’d hurt less than waiting for fate to rip it away.”

You finally met his eyes.

And god — the ache in them nearly knocked him over.

“But it still hurt,” you whispered. “Didn’t it.”

He nodded, voice gravel. “More than anything.”

A beat.

 “But I think I hurt you more.” He adds.

You swallowed. “You did.”

Another silence.

Then he did something rare — something raw.

He bowed his head.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said. “But I want to try. Even if it takes the rest of my life.”

And this time…

You looked at him.

Really looked.

There was no forgiveness in your eyes.

Not yet.

But there wasn’t hate either.

And for Logan — the man who had ruined everything good in his life more times than he could count — that sliver of hope was more than he deserved.

But he’d take it.

And earn the rest.

Day by day. Step by step.

If you'd let him.

You stayed.

Longer than anyone expected you to. Even after he came back.

Even after the night you passed him in the hall and didn’t speak.

Even after the way his eyes followed you, quiet and aching, every time you left a room.

You stayed — because for a while, it felt like the right thing to do.

You had students. A role. People who counted on you.

Charles gave you space, never pushed. He always had a way of watching without judgment, of letting your silence say more than words ever could.

But grief… grief didn’t come fast this time.

It came slow. Quiet. A drip of ache that never stopped.

It hollowed you out little by little, until one morning, you looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize what stared back.

Your glow — the soft energy that had once pulsed around your skin like starlight — barely flickered now.

You hardly used your powers anymore unless it was required. No more floating lights through the corridors, no more laughing sparks through the kitchen late at night. No more shimmering shields pulsing to music in your room.

You faded.

Not all at once.

But over time.

Even Jean stopped knocking on your door. Jubilee left notes instead of dropping by. Kurt gave you soft looks but never forced a hug.

Logan was always nearby.

But never close enough to matter.

You held it together for as long as you could.

Nearly a year.

Long enough for the others to stop watching you so closely. Long enough for Logan to assume the storm had passed. Long enough to learn how to smile again, even if it never quite reached your eyes.

But you felt it every day.

The weight of staying.

The echo of him in every hallway.

Your powers didn’t flicker anymore — they pulsed constantly, like your body no longer knew how to rest. The forcefield lingered under your skin, always on, like you were ready to vanish at any second.

You weren’t healing.

You were enduring.

And it was killing you.

The decision came quietly. There was no single moment. Just a slow accumulation of grief and silence and things that never got said.

One night, when the house was still and the moonlight lit the bookshelves in silver, you walked into Charles’s study.

You knocked.

He looked up immediately, saw the way your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

He knew.

Of course he did.

You sat across from him in the old velvet chair, legs curled up beneath you like you used to as a student. And for the first time in months, you let yourself speak — slow, steady, deliberate. An hour passed. Maybe more.

You talked about exhaustion.

About feeling everything and nothing all at once.

About how it was no one’s fault, not even Logan’s anymore.

About how staying felt like sleeping in a memory.

And waking up hurt too much.

The hour you spent in his study felt like closing a chapter with a lifelong friend. There were no arguments. No desperate pleas to stay.

Just sorrow.

And understanding.

Charles didn’t interrupt.

He only listened.

“I can’t breathe here anymore,” you admitted, voice steady. “I thought I could wait it out. Thought I could outlast the ache. But it’s not going anywhere.”

Charles didn’t interrupt. He didn’t offer advice. Just listened the way he always had — calm, kind, clear-eyed.

You looked down at your hands.

“I used to love this place. Not just because it gave me a home. But because it gave me people. Him.”

And when you finally said, “I think I need to leave,” he simply nodded.

He nodded, eyes damp but warm. “Then go where you can. You’ve given enough.”

Charles sighed softly, and for the first time in years, you saw the weight in his expression.

“I’m not leaving angry,” you added. “I’m just… done trying to survive in a space where I’m not living anymore.”

“You don’t owe anyone an explanation, my dear,” he said. “But thank you for giving me one.”

“Will you say goodbye?” he asked softly.

You swallowed. “Not to him.”

“To the others?”

You nodded, eyes burning. “Yes. They deserve that.”

The morning you left was quiet.

Just like you.

You didn’t tell Logan.

Not directly.

By the time he heard about it, the room was already packed. Your few belongings neatly folded, sketchbooks boxed, no trace of him in your keepsakes. You’d left the photo Jubilee had taken — the one you once flipped down — right where he could see it.

Face up. Like a gravestone.

The others gathered to say goodbye. Jean hugged you a little too tightly. Ororo didn’t let go for a long time. Kurt offered to portal you anywhere you wanted — but you told him you needed the drive. Needed the time. The quiet in between.

You didn’t cry.

Not when Rogue asked if you’d ever come back.

Not even when Charles watched you walk down the steps of the mansion like he had the day he first welcomed you in.

And when the car started, when the gates opened, and the mansion began to fade in the rearview mirror… There he was, standing at the front door.

Only then did your hand shake.

Just once.

Before you reached up to turn up the radio, eyes on the road ahead.

You left nothing behind except what no longer belonged to you.

Not your hope.

Not your heart.

Not the part of you that used to wait by the window every time you heard the sound of a bike.

Because that version of you didn’t survive the words he didn’t meant to say.

And this new version?

She wasn’t coming back.

---

Taglist: @pipo246 @vivi-ale @mcrdvcks @snowyminty @fluff-lover @tezooks

sorry for the angst. Please hydrate, hug a blanket, and resist the urge to text anyone with a beard and commitment issues named Logan Howlett. xoxo

(づ￣ 3￣)づ