#wolverine imagine

[bohemianblasphemy]

Could you write some headcanons for Wolverine? I'm kind of starved for him lately. 🥺

A/N: ooo this is new! I hope these are okay as I’m not as well versed in x men! xx

SFW:

- He is the definition of tough and mean on the outside, soft on the inside.

- I just have this vision of a cabin, an open fire, Logan sitting as your head lays in his lap as you look up at him, fingers gently raking through your hair… it’s cozy, loving, content.

- Loves when you steal his clothes. You stole his wife beater one time and he thought you looked too good in it he couldn’t be mad. He couldn’t help but want to take some photos of you in it too.

- He is the big spoon but sometimes you wake up to him nestled up in your side, the morning sun on his face…

- Is jealous type, but as soon as you give him that silent reassurance that you’re his, and only his he relaxes… slightly.

- Kisses are slow and meaningful. He takes his time to really feel you… it grounds him, keeps him in the now.

- But of course, he has his trauma, issues- and he’s still quite quiet about them. However he will chip away at everything that has happened to him, veeery slowly. He doesn’t want to scare you away, thinking he’s too far gone too beloved again. But having you there listening, not moving, no indication of you leaving… he knows that you’re the one.

NSFW:

- man is a freak and a half. There’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do for you, as long as your pleasure is there that’s all he wants.

- It’s big. And thick.

- BITES. Not too hard but BITES.

- Teases you with his fingers just dipping below your panty line, barely grazing your cunt before he pulls away, giving you a smack on the butt.

- Mating press is his favourite position. Your legs on his strong shoulders, looking down at you as he pounds into you, watching your tits bounce… it’s one of his favourite sights.

- Growls. That’s it, that’s all.

- Massive dirty talker. Always telling you how good you feel around him, how you taste, how good you are for him.

- Wants you to be loud for him.

- “Yeah sweetheart, that’s it… take all of it just like that… lemme hear you.”

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 14

Logan x empath!reader

It's a blessing and a curse, feeling others' pain. More so when you can take it away, albeit at the expense of your own peace. One-night stands were a usual for you. That's all this was supposed to be. But, seeing someone in so much pain, you couldn't leave him like that. You just couldn't. Besides, it's not like you'd ever see him again.....right?

CW: Trauma, Nightmare, Assault Mention, Death Mention (Parent and stranger), Reader Backstory (finally right?)

Masterlist

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Early - March, 2006

You find yourself in a dark hallway. The walls are made of bricks and there's trash surrounding you on the floor. The ceiling is the night sky, blending seamlessly into the tops of the walls. The stars remain stagnant, unmoving, and the moon is full but lacking in detail.

You hear your name. You whip your head around, looking for the source.

"Hello?" You call out.

There's no answer, not technically. The voice just calls out your name over and over. Then, another breaks through the silence.

"Hey, sweetheart."

No.

Your heart jumps to your throat when you hear the voice, and you break into a sprint down the hallway, pulse ringing in your ears as you rush to get away. But, try as you do to move your feet, there’s no burn in your legs and the hallway passes by at a glacial pace.

The breath is knocked out of you when you're shoved into a hard surface. Hands locked at your sides, you feel the hard, rough surface of a tree behind you, and your eyes dart around to see you’re surrounded by endless forest. 

"Where you going?"

You look up to the figure, but a black void of scribbles and shadow sits in place of what should be a man’s face. You panic when he leans into your neck and hands travel down your body. You scream. You call for your roommate, your father, Logan, anyone to come save you. Or, you try to. Your throat strains, but your cries are a quiet echo in your ears.

No, no, no, no, no.

Just as the figure's hands make their way towards the hem of your dress, you're released. A body lies in front of you...dead. You sink to the ground, back pressed firmly against the tree. A flash of recognition crosses your mind as you stare down at the stiff pile of a corpse before you, limbs twisted in every which direction. It’s on the ground and somehow in the driver’s seat of a car at the same time. Tears stream down your face as you take in the black leather jacket he wears, the one all too familiar to you. There's blood. There's blood everywhere. His face is slashed by glass and his left side crushed by the car door. It's horrific. You want to scream. You want to.

A voice, low and gruff, calls your name, and your head shoots up to see Logan standing before you, eyes full of disdain and distrust.

"What did you do?" Their tones are low and monotonous.

You stumble over your words, desperately scrambling to explain yourself. It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. You’re sorry. Sorry you didn’t do more to help, that you didn’t know. You beg for him not to–

"What did you do to my head?"

The words sit heavy in your chest as any thoughts from before die in your throat. "I didn't mean to," you say in a pleading tone. The world around you devolves into a black and white spiral. "Logan, it was an accident. I'm sorry!"

Your words fall on deaf ears as Logan turns his back to you before walking away. You rush to your feet to run after him, not wanting to be left behind. Not again. But, something holds you firmly in place.

"Wait, come back!" You fight and kick at the hands that hold you down, thrashing around violently. "Let go! Logan!"

He keeps walking. You scream for him to come back. You scream, over, and over, and over.

"Stop!" Your eyes fly open as you bolt into an upright position, the sound of your voice waking you. The world around you is cold, and you can feel the dampness of your body as you struggle to bring yourself back to reality. A hand grabs your shoulder and you let out a labored wheeze before whipping around, still ready to fight.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's just me." Logan hovers above you, sitting back on his knees as he holds his arms out cautiously. 

“Sorry…” You sigh heavily before wrapping your arms around yourself and averting your gaze. 

He grabs your shoulder in a gentle grip, and it finally dawns on you that the hands that held you down in your dream were him. He was trying to wake you. A wave of nausea and shame floods your system. It’s not until his arms envelope you that you relax a little, letting your head fall against his shoulder. He's here. He's still here. 

Wait, why is he still here? You expected him to be gone once you fell asleep. That’s how it was supposed to work. That’s the kind of person you expected him to be in the end. You’d be lying if you said the very thought that he might actually be interested in you beyond sex was just too scary to acknowledge.

"What's going on, pretty girl?" He rests his cheek against your temple, trying to look at you. But, you keep your face firmly hidden in his chest. When you don't respond, he asks again. "What happened?"

"Just a nightmare."

A beat passes between the two of you, and his fingers drum lightly against your shoulder as he thinks. "You never talk about yourself. Why?"

"I'm not really that interesting," you say breathlessly, hoping a joke will ease the air. 

"You were screaming." He pulls away and grabs your chin, ensuring you look him in the eye. Your eyes go wide as the worry in his chest flows into your mind.

"I was?"

"You talk in your sleep, doll," he reveals. "I hear you down the hall all the time."

"Oh..." Shit. Had you been keeping him up at night, too? You didn't remember most of your nightmares. The feelings remained, but the visions never stuck around. Except for that one. It remained clear as day. It always did. Even now as you stared into space you could see the blood, feel the chill of the air, the terror in your chest.

But, you hadn’t told anyone, too prideful to let anyone else shoulder the burden. No one was supposed to know. Especially not here. Another wave of nausea, stronger this time, washes over you, and you want to melt through the bed into the floor.

Logan’s brows furrow, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. "What's goin on, doll?" 

You swallow thickly. You knew you'd have to tell him one day if things kept up the way they were. You just expected, hoped, that it would come later. Or, maybe never. Slowly, you take a deep breath.

"Most of my dreams are nightmares. Some of them have my dad. Most of them have..." Your throat closes when you try to explain further. You don’t want to think of the figure in the alleyway. You shake your head before continuing. "My dad died in a car crash when I was twelve. We were in Vancouver for a vacation. I wanted to stop by this restaurant I saw earlier that day. But, we got to an intersection and...i-it was like the car came out of nowhere." You begin messing with your nails as you explain, picking at any imperfections. Logan sits quietly, silently urging you to continue. "I still don't remember how it happened. It was all so fast. One minute I was in the passenger side of the back seat, the next I felt my body go weightless, and when I opened my eyes, I was laying against the door with shattered glass around me. I was fine, obviously. My mom, miraculously, got a concussion and some pretty bad scratches, but nothing serious. My dad...they think he died on impact. The jacket, it's all I have left of him. I mean, I might’ve stolen it when my mom wasn’t looking. But, she had everything else, so I didn’t feel too bad."

Logan shifts his position to face you better. His hand remains on your shoulder, rubbing small circles in it with his thumb.

"You know," you continue, voice cracking slightly. You clear your throat, looking at the jacket on the coat rack. "I can still see his eyes all glassy. Just staring into the void. Still see mom's bleeding head. She was knocked out completely, thank God. I just wish I was that lucky. I still get chills when I hear an ambulance siren, and it took us forever to get back in a car after that. But, it was over ten years ago," you laugh, humorlessly. "Feels like I should be over it."

"No, we both know that's not how that works," he chuckles. 

You nod. "My powers manifested not long after that. I was pretty confused why my emotions were going so haywire. Took me a while to realize I only felt in control when I was alone. I couldn’t really talk to my mom about it. We were never that close, but something shifted after the crash. Like suddenly I wasn't her kid anymore. And,” you shift your legs to rest in your chest. You blink rapidly as memories, many buried deep in the back of your mind, claw their way to the surface. “It was so weird because it was never consistent. She always got so mad or scared if I was in danger. Like, I ran away once and I got the biggest earful about how I had scared her to death and to never do that again. Then, she would treat me like I belonged in the house again, only for it to go away after a few weeks. I got into a lot of trouble that way. Just so she’d look at me like she used to." Despite the halfhearted laugh that emanates from your throat, you squeeze your eyes shut when they start to burn. You still can't look Logan in the eye, but you can tell he's still listening, still being patient. You feel comforted by it. "I didn't realize I could block out others' thoughts until high school. Didn't even know I could trade my emotions with people until halfway through college when my roommate got dumped. Her and I don't talk anymore."

Logan lets out a small hum in response. The room goes quiet for a little bit while you let him process the information he's been given. You know he's been through a lot, but taking on another's turmoil is usually stressful regardless. You don't want to overwhelm him. But, a thought sits in the back of your mind, demanding to be addressed. You shake your head free of it when the alley starts to manifest in your mind again. He doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t. No one does. Right?

"I think about my mother a lot," you say, breaking through the silence of the night as you push the thought deeper down. "All alone up there in that small town. She says she's fine, but obviously I know better. I know she wants me to come visit but…” You stare out the window in search of the right words. It’s not that you can’t visit. But, how would you? Could you walk into that house like everything was normal?

“I wish I knew the full extent of power back then. Maybe I could've helped to ease her pain, even just a little." You feel weight in your chest. “I never really was able to shake off the guilt. I kept thinking–I still think ‘Why him? Why me? Why did I get to live?’ I shouldn’t have suggested we go out. It felt like it was all because of me. It's part of why I left at all. I think I knew she thought the same.”

"You were just a kid," he says, tone easy. "You lost him, too." And, maybe he's right. 

You'd spent your whole life blaming yourself for how your mother treated you. It never quite occurred to you that you may have been just as helpless. More so even given your age at the time. Perhaps that’s why you could never forget the resentment she had for you. 

"That's what you dream about?" His voice is low, like trying not to scare a small rabbit. 

You shake your head. "There's usually someone else. I don't remember his face but..." You drag your hands up and down your legs. You have to breathe deeply to keep from breaking down. You can feel your heartbeat in your arms, your legs, your head. You're terrified of what he'll say. “I don’t even know why they’re in the same dream.” Your voice cracks, and you hide the lower half of your face in your knees.

Your hand is taken in a strong grip as Logan brings it to his lips. "I'm here." 

You want to believe him.

"Logan, I..." You feel your throat close as your voice breaks. "I killed someone." Your eyes flicker up to his face, preparing for a reaction.

But, his eyes are steady and trained on you, urging you to continue.

"I was twenty. I was walking home from a frat party. Went to a lot of those in college. But, my boyfriend at the time, he and I got into a fight over some girl he was talking to outside the house. I could tell he was lying about not having feelings, so I dumped him then and there and walked home alone. I was rounding the corner of an alleyway when I heard some guy calling behind me. I tried ignoring him, but he wouldn't go away. Then, I ran. He caught up. Then he…” The words stop tumbling from your mouth as you get closer to the incident, still too scary to verbalize. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. He wouldn't let me go, so I panicked. Then, everything went black. When I woke up, the police were there, and I was on the ground. I think someone heard me scream and called them. When I looked around…" Your eyes go wide and your lower lip shakes as the scene conjures itself in your mind. "He was just lying there on the ground. He wasn’t moving. I just kinda sat there in shock. When they questioned me, I told them what happened before he just, I don’t know, collapsed? They stopped contacting me when the autopsy came back inconclusive. ‘Sudden brain death’ they said. But, I knew what really happened, and it scared the shit out of me."

Logan's thumb rubs over your knuckles in a repetitive motion as he listens intently.

You look up at his face to see it rife with  worry. You find it becoming harder to breathe. "I can control people's brain functions, Logan. It doesn't stop at emotions. I basically flatlined the guy."

You're pulled into Logan's strong arms. He cradles your head against his shoulder, keeping you there with a firm hand while the other wraps around your waist. You only barely noticed you were crying before. But, now that you have, you can't stop. So, you let it out. You bury your face into his shoulder, and your hands grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin.

"It was an accident. I didn't mean to..." 

Logan is quiet. He doesn't say anything; just holds you close, just like you did for him all those nights ago, rocking you back and forth slightly as quiet sobs wrack your body. You feel his fingers glide through your hair, twisting it around every now and then.

“I’m so sorry for what I did. It was an accident. I swear.”

“I know, doll.” That’s all he says. Whether he knows or not that you're apologizing for what you did to him this time, you don’t care. You feel comforted by his presence regardless.

Finally, breaking through all the pain and grief you had buried deep inside you, breaking through the regret and horror, you feel a warmth radiating from him that you can't quite place as the weight around you that’s followed you for so long finally lifts. It wraps around you, making Logan's hug seem stronger, more comfortable. It’s here that, for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

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Taglist:

@chubbyhedgehog

@zombiemutt2530

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Getting a little paranoid about my content warnings😅 But, hey! We finally know what happened. Hope I handled this ok. I might’ve borrowed a bit from my experience, so hopefully it’s authentic enough without coming off as over the top or stereotypical. Downsides of having no beta reader I guess

Idk, if anyone has thoughts on it, let me know

Pro tip: Don’t edit depressed. Not very productive

[thatweirddeadgirl]

ill make this into a fic later but i love reader who doesn’t immediately get back together with a character in fics <33 i love angst in general

something something dofp!logan being sent to the past and after talking with charles and hank he immediately goes out to find reader who he had left.

he finds you at your job (diner) and tries to convince you to wait for him just a bit longer and promises that he didn't mean to leave you, he just got caught up in shit and wasn't able to contact you (he actually got scared of commitment and left without saying shit) yadda yadda.

but you're not having any of that and refuse to listen to him which causes you both to argue in the middle of your job.

you tell him one last time that you don't wanna be with him because you don't wanna be stuck with a man who's a coward and that shuts him up real quick.

you hit him with a "i never wanna see you again" before telling them to gtfo your diner.

meanwhile charles and hank:

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 12

2k words

Logan x empath!reader

It's a blessing and a curse, feeling others' pain. More so when you can take it away, albeit at the expense of your own peace. One-night stands were a usual for you. That's all this was supposed to be. But, seeing someone in so much pain, you couldn't leave him like that. You just couldn't. Besides, it's not like you'd ever see him again.....right?

No CW warning this time

Masterlist

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Early - February, 2006

You shuffle through your papers as you walk down the hall, something for Storm to look over before she heads off to DC with Charles. As per his orders, you’ll be subbing for her science classes while she’s away.

Your feet fall heavy and loud against the hardwood floor, but you slow to a stop when you hear a faint voice, almost like it's in the back of your head.

“There’s nothing wrong with giving people options.” It’s Charles’s voice. He’s calm, like he’s trying to reassure someone.

“They shouldn’t want options!” You hear Storm’s voice, clearer and a little louder. “This is who we are. That should be ok. That should be enough.”

You make your way down the hall, checking the volume of your heels as you begin to round the corner into the next corridor. The voices come from behind a door at the other end. Strangely, they sound clear as day, almost as if they’re right in front of you. Trying your best to process the new phenomenon, you stand by the corner and listen to the conversation.

“For some it may not be. That’s ok.”

“I feel like we have bigger concerns to worry about.” Another voice, male and younger cuts in. “I don’t like the sound of Hank’s new donor. Where are they getting all that DNA? No mutant is willingly offering to out themselves like that.”

“It’s not impossible. But, yes, highly unlikely.” Charles’s voice drops low with concern. “My sources have informed me of recent activity from Essex Clinic.”

“You’re not suggesting that–”

“Not explicitly. But–”

The other male voice cuts in, “If it is Essex that’s Hank’s donor, we’ll need to be on high alert.”

“Scott, Hank’s not stupid enough to take Essex as a donor though.” Storm sounds nervous, almost frantic.

“Maybe he doesn’t know–”

“Whatcha doin?”

You let out a surprised gasp as you turn to see Bobby and Kitty behind you. Kitty wears a suspicious grin.

“Oh! Um…I…” You can’t help but stumble over your words. Your face heats up at the very idea that you’ve been caught eavesdropping. Would they know you were eavesdropping if you’re at the other end of the hall?

“What’s in your hand?” Bobby glances at the stack in your hand.

“Just some papers I have to drop off with Storm.”

“Oh! That reminds me,” Kitty yells before Bobby shushes her with a scolding look. She chuckles. “Did you hear the real reason they’re going to DC?”

“I didn’t hear a reason at all.” You tread carefully.

An odd wave of anxiety washes off of Bobby. A faint line of sweat starts collecting at his hairline while he sucks a corner of his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Apparently, there are some mutants that have been vanishing off the streets, and the number’s been crazy under-reported–Ow!” She yells when Bobby nudges her side, maybe a bit too hard.

“Kitty. It’s almost three.”

She stands there in stunned silence for a moment, seeming to realize she’s overstepped a bit. “Right. Sorry.” She turns to you. “I have training with Colossus soon, but I’ll catch you guys later.”

You feel Bobby relax as she makes her way down the hall, waving goodbye before rounding a corner. You turn to him with an inquisitive look. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” He says it a little too quickly.

“You sure?”

“Well…” He hesitates for a moment before he looks around for any possible listeners. “A lot of those under-reported mutant disappearances are supposed to be kids. We heard the professor on the phone with someone talking about it a few weeks ago.”

“Why under-reported?”

He looks around again. “Do you know about Essex Clinic?”

“I’ve heard of it,” you mutter.

“Well, the guy that runs it has a lot of rumors around him. Like, his name isn’t his real one, rumors that he’s a really dangerous mutant, rumors that if one of us walks into the clinic, we don’t exactly walk out and all trace gets wiped. But, it all got wiped from the news. I don’t think most people remember it anymore.”

“I see.” You take a short moment to think, rubbing your lower lip with your knuckle. Scott’s words from earlier echo in your head. “I think that if it is something like that, whether it’s this guy or someone else, if Charles is worried about it, then we should probably be on high alert. Don’t let anyone go anywhere by themselves, ok?”

He nods.

You think the conversation is over, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, you catch his hand flexing and unflexing by his side.

“Is that all?”

“No. I wanted to ask…” his gaze falls to the side. A hint of embarrassment seems to cloud his head. “Are you seeing any new people?”

“Of course! My door’s always open to you guys.”

“Ok. I wasn’t sure cause I know you’re already seeing Rogue and…” His voice trails off, but you think you catch what he’s implying.

“Everything between me and my patients stays strictly confidential.” When he doesn’t respond, you lower your eyes, hoping to catch his gaze. “Is everything ok?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about my relationship with Rogue. And then about life in general. And then how this new guy came to the mansion last year. And,” he looks at you with the eyes of a scared kid, and it dawns on you how young they all still are, young enough to still discover new things about themselves. He leans in close and, with a muttering voice, says, “I don’t think I really like….” The next words seem to get caught in his throat.

Gently, you place a hand on his shoulder and offer an understanding look. “I have open slots for Tuesday and Friday mornings. You can let me know what works for you.”

“Right…” He chuckles as he backs away.

“Don’t worry. We’ll sort things out.” You begin to walk away before he calls for you one more time.

“Am I a bad person for this? Or for what I did to Rogue?”

You give a sympathetic smile and shake your head. “We’re all human,” you say. “Most people aren’t that black and white.”

He nods before you walk away towards Storm’s door.

You try to ignore the feeling of doubt in your mind. It’s not that you don’t believe your words. But, it’s easier to mean them when directed to someone other than yourself.

~~~

Scott barks orders left and right, everyone running to their designated post. The simulation runs smoothly, each of you weaving through the soldiers with ease, save for Logan and Remy, who cut down any that get too close, reducing their guns to metal ribbons if needed. You, Storm, and Cyclops work to close in on the objective. While they’re tackled at the entrance, you slip past the guards with relative ease and smile as you get eyes on the goal. It's almost too easy. Just grab it, and get to the door.

That's when you feel a yank on your hair and a barrel shoved to your temple. Strings of shouts and curses leave your mouth as you claw at the arm holding you in place. You begin to panic as the timer falls increasingly low in front of you.

You attempt to steady your heart and not panic, but it’s difficult when the figure is borderline cutting your air supply. Just as your stamina is running low, you feel the grip around your neck loosen as the body falls to the ground behind you. Before you can look behind you and get a glimpse, strong arms pull you to your feet, steadying you.

“You alright, doll?” Logan’s hands still clutch your shoulders tightly as his eyes scan you for injuries. They’re hard and dark, but under all that seems to be a twinge of worry.

You barely manage a nod before a blaring alarm sounds through the air.

“Simulation over,” the robotic voice yells over the speaker. “Object: Lost.”

“Shit.” The world around you dissolves back into its original grid pattern, and you roll your eyes before slumping over, forehead hitting Logan’s chest. “Sorry.”

Logan doesn’t react immediately, instead opting to rub your shoulders with his thumbs. Finally, he lets out a deep sigh. 

“Come on,” he prompts. Logan wraps an arm around your shoulders as you both head for the exit and into the team locker room.

You try to find it in you not to curse yourself out for the major flub as you slip off your suit and shove it in your locker, leaving you in your shorts and tank. It’s just a drill. Just practice. No one’s in danger, and no consequences will come of it. It’s fine. You’ll get it next time. You–

“What the hell was that?” Scott storms over to Logan. “You should’ve grabbed the objective.”

“And what? Leave her in danger?” Logan slams the locker shut before facing Scott. A flicker of heat can be seen behind his eyes.

“You could’ve helped her after grabbing it!”

“Or, she would’ve been dragged away while I was distracted. You know the simulation doesn't hold back. If this were a real mission–”

“But, it’s not a real mission,” Scott cuts in. “You’re placing too much value on the wrong things. This is how people get hurt.”

“She almost got hurt. I don’t leave people behind. You know that.” Logan growls, low and threatening, as he inches forward, sizing Scott up. 

You can feel that familiar boil start to rise in Logan. Quickly, you look between the two for a solution. You need to do something fast to mediate the situation. But what?

“What? Like when…” Scott goes to make a retort before his tone suddenly shifts, and a flash of recognition sparks in his face. That shit-eating grin you hate so much spreads across his lips. “What? You don’t trust her, Logan?”

“Watch it.” Logan glares at him. You feel the cord in his head, again, practically see it, as it stretches tighter and threatens to snap.

“I’m just saying. She probably had everything handled.”

“She was stuck.”

“She’s a big girl, Logan. She can take care of herself,” Scott teases. Now, he’s really just fucking with Logan. “I get you like playing knight, but she’s probably better without you. Shit! From what I heard, you’ve nearly killed her already.”

“Hey, now listen here, bub-” Logan cracks and grabs Scott by the collar, lifting him off the floor.

“Logan!” You grab his wrist and he freezes. “It’s not worth it.”

Logan’s attention snaps to you, eyes wild. Then, to Scott again. Begrudgingly, he releases him as a low groan sounds from his chest.

Scott stumbles back before turning his attention to you. Pointing an accusatory finger, he commands, “Control your pet.” Then, he rushes out the door.

You take a deep breath as Scott walks out the door, trying to suppress the anger his little jab stirs within you. You turn to face Logan with a hand on his shoulder. “Temper on you, huh, Lo?”

“I’m fine.” When he notices the reluctance on your face, he grabs your hand and squeezes it. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“Nothin’. Just didn’t like his tone. That’s all.” He tries to force a smile, but you still feel the agitation in his head. You’ll need to tread carefully.

“You can’t snap like that. You know that, right?”

“If I need a lecture, doll, I’ll let you know.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you. Tension's bad for a team.” Your voice goes up an octave in an attempt to minimize a bad reaction. You feel your pulse race as you wait for his response.

But, then he smirks and leans in closer, his breath ghosting your ear. “I’m a big boy, doll. I can take care of myself.” The boil simmers and actually dissipates into something taught, almost mischievous in nature as he shoots you a wink. “Anyway! I think I owe you dinner."

“You do?” You blink, a little dumbfounded.

“Yeah. Been sleepin' better cause of you.”

You chuckle a little at the sudden shift in tone. “I mean, I’m not gonna turn down food if it’s offered.”

“Great.” He grabs your hand and drags you out of the locker room and up the stairs.

You sigh with relief as everything returns to normal.

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Taglist: @chubbyhedgehog

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Eleven chapters and no one told me there was a grammar mistake in the summary? Guys...

Definitely not my best chapter. Writing B plot and connective tissue is hard

I'm actually excited for the next chapter. Won't be long. Maybe a week at most?

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 11

2k+ words

Logan x empath!reader

It's a blessing and a curse, feeling other's pain. More so when you can take it away, albeit at the expense of your own peace. One-night stands were a usual for you. That's all this was supposed to be. But, seeing someone in so much pain, you couldn't leave him like that. You just couldn't. Besides, it's not like you'd ever see him again.....right?

Chapter CW: Honestly, same thing as all the heavy chapters. Mentions of death and trauma

Masterlist

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Early - February, 2006

You lay in the back of the truck between what must be five layers of blankets. Logan takes rhythmic swigs from his Whiskey bottle, cigar in one hand, as he does a not so serious retelling of his first mission with the team.

You learn about a shapeshifter that had been impersonating them all, and at some point Scott was certain Logan was this assailant. Logan, ever the creative, chose a sure-fire way of proving he was he real deal.

"That explains why he didn't react when I called him one," you slur.

"Wait, why did you call him a dick?" He asks, leaning back on his elbow.

"Because he's a dick!" You yell. "The guy's hated me from the moment I got here."

"Yeah, well..." He takes another drink. "Join the club."

"What's with that anyway? Like, what happened?" You lie down, facing him, as you attempt to make your head stop spinning. A bottle of Yellowtail and a glass sit nestled above your head.

"Lover boy couldn't handle his girl liked me more."

You furrow your brow and bring your arm to rest under your head. "I thought you said you and Jean weren't close."

"We weren't." He looks at you with a smirk. "Doesn't mean she didn't like me."

You chuckle. You figure, for all his faults, there is a kind of charm to Logan's rough exterior and blunt way of talking. After all, something had to draw you to him that night. Then, the hidden sweet side, the one that looks after Rogue, that protects the team despite his loner personality, that invites you out when you’re clearly distressed…

You notice you're staring at him and roll onto your back with a sharp sigh. Hopefully he didn’t notice.

You stare up at the stars. In the middle of the woods, with so little light pollution, the stars are on full display, a sight you haven’t seen since leaving your mother's home in rural Canada. It's hard not to smile at the sight, the quiet, the way your head feels so much lighter than a few hours ago — or maybe that's the alcohol — and the way the trunk's walls shield you from the wind. You feel a sense of peace you haven't felt in a long, long time.

"Why is the moon so lonely?"

Thinking Logan's in the midst of setting up some horrendous dad-joke, you respond with a cheeky grin. "Why?"

He takes in a deep breath, almost like he's steadying himself. "She used to have a lover."

That gets your attention. You furrow your brows and prop yourself up on your stomach and elbows. 

A thousand-yard stare plagues his face as he looks up to the sky.

"His name was Que Qu'atsu. Him and the moon used to live in the spirit world together. Every night they would wander the skies. But, another spirit, a trickster god, was jealous and wanted to keep the moon to himself." You listen intently, utterly entranced, as he tells the story, motioning occasionally with his eyes and head. His tone is nonchalant, but there’s a heavy undercurrent of resentment. His gaze never leaves the sky. "The trickster told Que Qu'atsu that the moon asked for some flowers, and he told him to come to our world to pick her some wild roses. But, Que Qu'atsu didn't know that...once you leave the spirit world...you can never go back." He sounds as though he's practiced the story before. You watch as his eyes furrow, and a strong wave of sorrow fogs his mind. "Now, every night he looks up at the sky and howls for her. But, he can never touch her again."

There's a long moment of silence between the two of you. You digest his words and their possible meaning while he stares at the sky lost in thought. Then, he cracks a smile.

"Kukukachoo got screwed, right?" He looks at you, and you let out a breathy laugh at his terrible joke, and it was terrible, but he seems to laugh harder, more forceful than you. He catches his breath and lets out a sigh. "'Que Qu'atsu' means 'Wolverine'."

You smile solemnly. "How'd you learn that story?"

"Kayla," he finally answers after a short reluctance. "My girl. My… She would’ve been my wife." The world seems to get darker, and a weight settles in your chest when he says that. You can't tell if it's a weight in his or yours. Both, maybe?

"What was she like?"

His face contorts, and his mouth opens and closes as he looks for the proper words. "She was..."

You sit up and pull your knees to your chest and wrap the blanket around your shoulders while you wait. You're eager to know, but you force yourself not to push. He doesn't need that. Not now.

"I met Kayla after quitting Stryker's force. I moved back to Alberta, got a job as a lumberjack, and I met her during one of my trips to town. I couldn't say why at the time, but I just felt drawn to her. There was this sense of electricity every time she touched me. We got to know each other, then we moved in together. We lived together for six years, tried to have kids, but..." He trails off, and the sadness in him only grows, serving to break your heart a little. "Maybe she was fine with it, being a school teacher and all. One day Victor came to find me. Made me think he killed her. So I went with Stryker. He said he could help me kill Victor."

He goes silent, and you take the chance to ask the question. "You said he wanted to make the ultimate weapon. Was that you?"

"No, actually." He chuckles humorlessly. "He was engineering one of our old colleagues. He wanted my DNA to make him indestructible. I don't think he counted on me turning against him."

"And Kayla?" You tread cautiously, trying not to sound too prying in tone. "You said you thought she was dead."

"Yeah. Turns out she was working for Stryker, too. Fucker wanted her to keep tabs on me while I was gone. Kayla could control people's minds as long as she was touching them. Guess I’ve got a type for psychics,” he jokes.

“Yeah, maybe try to avoid those.”

He looks at you, with a puzzled smirk. “Why would I do that?”

You try to ignore the way your breath hitches when his pupils dilate. But, you can’t stop the way your lower lip sneaks under your teeth.

He continues. “But, yeah. That's how she got me. I don't blame her though. Styker had her sister locked in a damn cage. Besides..." His eyes glaze over, and he closes them quickly. 

You can’t help the frustration at his unwillingness to be even a little bit vulnerable. 

"She told me it was fake at first. But, soon it became real for her, too. When we were escaping, she came back to find me." He moves his hand to grab the chain from under his shirt. "My tags..." He holds them up in front of his face, seeming to examine them closely. "It's all I have left of her. Chose the name Wolverine cause of her..." His gaze turns distant as he stares at the sky, tags reflecting the moonlight.

Your heart aches for him. All that pain, and just one person. Your mind flashes back to how Remy explained the events of the island, how there was a woman lying in the gravel. That must've been Kayla. Then, the pain he must've gone through, that you put him through, when he finally remembered everything… You can't imagine it. "You miss her terribly, huh?" Your voice cracks a little.

"Everyday..."

"I'm sorry, Logan."

"Why? You didn't do anything." His tone is dismissive, and you falter.

You always hate when people say that. But, for some reason, it cuts deeper coming from Logan. You stare at the side of his face when an idea hits you. You start to speak, but your throat tightens. He might reject the idea.

He looks at you with a questioning look. "What?"

"I just," you hide your face getting red, "I'd l-like to help you. Maybe I could," you mutter. "But you're...stubborn, and annoying, and an asshole-"

"Jesus, baby, don't flatter me too much." 

You chuckle. 

"What? You think you could make me forget her?" It's said in jest, but there's a skepticism behind it.

"No!" You cry, defensively. "No. I'm not Charles. I'm definitely not Jean. No, I'm definitely not her..." you trail off as Logan looks at you with furrowed brows. You shut your mouth and give him a tight smile. "All that to say...no. I can't make you forget. Frankly, I don't think that you should."

He seems to relax when you say that. 

"But, maybe I can make it easier to handle? Like make it so it doesn't hurt so bad? It would take time though. And your cooperation, of course. Without that...it won't get worse. But-"

He sits up and scoots closer to you. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well," You cross your legs, working to steady yourself once you notice the proximity of his face, inches from you. "People have mental blocks that prevent healing. I think in your case, it could be a level of pride and anger.” You tense upon realizing how bad it sounds, and you can’t help but cringe as the words clumsily stumble out. “I can target certain emotions to take away or replace them with my own. If I take away what's blocking the processing, or replace it with something more bearable, maybe it could open the gate to let you grieve properly. Think of it like…” You pause in search for the right words. “Like…hotwiring a car? I'm not sure how much help it'll be for the wars. That kind of trauma can be extremely complicated. But maybe for Kayla...or your family? It might offer you closure, at least."

Logan takes a moment to concentrate on your face, seeming to take in everything you say. "You sure you can handle that?"

"I'm offering, aren't I?"

He nods. "Ok."

"What?"

"Let's do it."

You blink your eyes and your mouth falls open. "Right."

~~

You sit across from Logan on his bed, legs bent under you, leather jackets long abandoned by the door. 

You hold out your hands. "Are you sure?"

"For the last time, yes." He groans. 

Maybe you did pester him a little much on the drive back to the mansion. But, you wanted to make sure he knew what he was in for. 

He takes your hands in his, smooth and unmarred, almost like a child's. "We gonna start?"

Your eyes dart up to meet his. You hadn't noticed until he opened his mouth, but you were rubbing your hands over the softness of his knuckles. "Right," you stammer. "Ok...Choose something. Anything. You don't have to tell me. I’m gonna do the same."

He lowers his gaze.

You feel the anger slowly bubble up as his face presumes its usual stoic position. He's holding back. That much you can tell. But, it’s fine for now.

You inhale quietly through your nose as you work to conjure up your own pleasant memories. Interestingly, your usual ones don't come up. All you see in your head is Logan's face from just a few hours ago. The stories you swapped, the brightness of the moon, his fleeting vulnerability. Begrudgingly, you let it go as your body heats up and your vision tunnels, bordering on red.

Logan's hands are yanked from yours, and he breathes heavily, eyes glassy.

"Shit," you mutter. You're at a loss. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. "Sorry, I'll leave you be." You shift to the edge of the bed, but Logan grabs your wrist in a gentle grip.

"Wait." His voice is stiff in a way you've never seen before. He doesn't look at you. But, you settle back down, when he utters a small, "Please stay."

"Would it help if I didn't look?"

"Yeah. Please."

"Try not to fight me, ok?" You hold your hands out to him, eyes firmly shut this time. 

The weight of the air around you sits heavy on your shoulders, and you take that as your sign to get back to work. You focus on your breathing as you take away the anger first, isolating it in it’s own private bubble. Heat creeps up your neck, faster and much stronger this time, and you fight with your hands to keep them from shaking. Your forehead tenses as you take in his pride next and whatever keeps him from moving forward and letting him feel. Despite every fiber in your being telling you that it's too much, telling you to pull away, you repeat your usual mantra in your head to steady yourself. 

Put it away. Deal with it later. 

You just breathe. Soon, the reactions slow. All you feel is sorrow and a heavy ache in your chest. You push it away behind a door in your mind as the transfer stops.

You bring your focus to the backs of your eyelids before taking in the sensations around you. Logan's hold on your hands is noticeably tighter. You hear his labored breathing from in front of you. Hot air hits your hands. You grip his hands tighter as you open your eyes. Logan sits across from you, eyes draped shut.

"Logan?"

He doesn't move.

Your face contorts into one of worry as you stroke your fingers across the backs of his hands. "Logan I-"

You're cut off when he lets out a heavy sigh. "What was on your mind, doll?" He chuckles. But, you hear the way his voice cracks.

You snicker quietly. "Not important. Will you be ok?" You put a hand to his shoulder, hopefully coaxing him to look up. You feel him shudder with every breath.

"You said it wouldn't hurt." His voice is strained as he speaks.

"I said it would be easier, but that it would take time. You need to let yourself feel if you want it to go away. I didn’t say it would be instant." Your tone drops, a solemn air falling over you. "I wish that's how it worked. If I could take it all away like that I would."

Logan slowly raises his head to meet your eyes. Your heart breaks when you see his face, crestfallen and glassy-eyed. Your thumb moves on its own, stroking his shoulder in an attempt to comfort. Logan leans into your touch slowly before his head falls again, finding a place on your shoulder.

Your body stiffens at the sudden proximity change. You swallow the lump forming in your throat and cautiously, almost like trying not to scare a deer, bring your arms to wrap around his shoulders. When he relaxes further into your shoulder, you hold him tighter, and he lifts his hand to grab your upper arm in a steadying hold. 

He's shaking. “I left her there,” he mumbles. “I left her alone on that damn beach.”

You feel something begin to soak your shirt and fall onto your leg. "I'm so sorry, Logan," you croak solemnly. "I'm so sorry."

He doesn't respond this time, just moving his arms to wrap around you, pulling you closer.

He tugs at the fabric of your shirt, threatening to tear it. And, you wait for him to stop shaking, wait for him to let out everything that hurts.

You pull your head away to look out the window at the moon. You don’t know what it is, but something sparks in you, a determination you hadn’t felt in a long time. In the time since you and Logan had mended fences, he had grown into something different to you. Something to protect.

~~

You blink rapidly as the sun pours into the room. You stretch out your arms as you sit up, wondering for a moment what you're doing on the floor. It's not until you see Logan sound asleep in the bed next to you that you remember.

"I can't guarantee you'll sleep ok tonight."

"I'll be fine. Are you gonna be ok?"

You shrugged, "Been through it before. What's one more night?" 

He looked apprehensive.

“Should I-”

“Stay.”

It didn’t sound like a request. Not that you were protesting.

"Morning, doll," Logan croaks out, sitting up in bed when he sees you.

"Hiya." You plaster on a smile, and try not to giggle at how ridiculous his hair looks. His cat ears completely ruined. "How'd you sleep? I didn't hear you last night."

"Yeah uh...I think I slept pretty well, actually."

Your mouth drops open and pulls into a smile. "Really?" 

He nods. 

"That's great!" Come to think of it, you slept surprisingly well despite what you had absorbed the previous night. You cross your legs under the covers, resting your arms on your knees. "If you think it's helping, we could do it again if you need. If things get too bad, again, I mean."

He smiles, clearly still in a daze from sleep as he props his head on his hand. It’s cute. "It's up to you. How do you feel?"

You avert your eyes to the side. You don't remember your dream last night, but the feeling of peace still remains. "I think I slept pretty well, actually."

"Does that mean you don't need coffee this morning?"

"Nah. I didn’t say that."

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Next chapter's gonna be a minute. It's the only one I haven't written, yet.

Did I have a taglist? I can’t remember. I don’t think anyone’s asked yet right? Why do I remember being asked once?

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 10

2k+ Words

Logan x empath!reader

It's a blessing and a curse, feeling other's pain. More so when you can take it away, albeit at the expense of your own peace. One-night stands were a usual for you. That's all this was supposed to be. But, seeing someone in so much pain, you couldn't leave him like that. You just couldn't. Besides, it's not like you'd ever see him again.....right?

Chapter CW: Vague trauma mentions (Geez I was in a dark place when I started this)

Masterlist

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Early - February, 2006

You sit in the chair across from Charles, picking at the jagged edges of your nails. Frustration boils under your skin as Charles pushes you to, once again, focus better. It's harder to do, now. But, it doesn’t make sense. More than enough time has passed for the emotions you’ve absorbed from Logan to go away. And yet, you can’t help but notice an unfounded mental decline and an increased doubt in your capabilities. The kids are doing fine. Remy hasn’t mentioned any issues while looking over your lesson plans together. Yet, an increased need for perfection has nestled into your brain, gnawing away at it day by day.

You let out a deep breath through your nose. "I can’t do this, anymore."

"You won't. You have a mental block, it's not the same thing." He leans forward, meeting your hardened gaze. "I understand why you have these walls up-"

"No you don't! No one in this fucking place has any idea what I've been through or what it's like!" You challenge. "It doesn't matter what I'm capable of. You treat me like I’m supposed to have some higher purpose, but I can't do it."

"You must. You can't spend the rest of your life in fear of what you can do." His voice begins to raise, and you feel your palms begin to sweat. "Fear of your power will only lead to pain."

"It already has! I can't use it further than what I already do. People get hurt." Your voice climbs above his.

"You must stop seeing it as a liability. It will only be an issue if you don't hone it properly-"

"I don't want to!"

"Why?"

"I just don't!" You slam your hands on the table as you stand from your chair, panting heavily. Tears threaten to stream down your face. Your lower lip shakes as visions of the man, visions of your father, visions of a teenage you alone at a lunch table flow through your mind's eye. You can't do it. You won't do it.

You grit your teeth, mind seething with anger and terror as you look up. Charles hasn't reacted. Your shoulders go slack as he stares forward, eyes blank. He doesn't move.

You take a step back. He's not breathing. Your body goes stiff as you stumble backwards, grabbing the chair for support. Realizing what’s happening, you take a long deep breath before beginning to back away. Charles sputters, gasping for air and holding his chest as you exhale. Electricity runs through you while he struggles to regain his composure. 

"I'm sorry." Your voice is meek as you back up towards the door, eyes never leaving Charles.

He looks up. "Now, dear,” he says, lifting his hand in an attempt to calm you. “Listen to me."

You bolt out the door and through the foyer. 

"It's alright!" He calls behind you. 

You don't look back as you run towards your room. You ignore the stares of the people you pass.

You think you hear your name, a low, steady voice, but you block it out, instead slamming your door shut before locking it. You press your back to it as you slide down to the floor. A flurry of thoughts rush through your head as you stare out the window. It's your fault. Why is it always your fault? What if you held on longer? What if you hadn't calmed down in time? What if you killed Charles? 

Maybe it's time to pull out of lessons.

~~

The sun begins to set outside when you find yourself in front of Charles again. You stand in the corner of the meeting room with your arms crossed, far away from the others.

"I need you all to listen very carefully," Charles says addressing everyone. You can't help but flinch when he speaks. "I've been called for a meeting in DC by a former colleague. Storm and Cyclops will be accompanying me."

"Meeting for..." Kurt says from his hunched position on the couch. 

You can't help but think he looks like a cat the way he sits. You ou smirk at the thought.

Charles takes a moment to think before speaking again, clearly apprehensive about what to say. "I'm sure you've all heard talks of the mutant cure in the works. As of now, the public only knows it to be rumors with no concrete evidence behind it. But, truthfully, it's been in the works for years. When I met Secretary Hank McCoy, he tried using my sister's DNA to nullify a mutation's effects..."

"I always took you for an only child, teach," you hear Remy say from across the room, next to Storm. Your arms tense when Charles chuckles lightheartedly, almost like you hadn't just stopped his brain from functioning a few hours prior.

"Yes, well she was adopted. But, that's a story for another day. All this to say I'll need the rest of you to help look after the mansion while I'm gone."

Your eyes flick over to Logan only to find him staring at you from his position at the door. He has a look on his face you can't quite make out. Passively, curiosity and what seems to be concern waft off him, but you don't bother checking further. Not that you want to, anyway. You figure you're done using your powers for the day...or the week...or however long you decide.

Charles wheels his way to his desk before taking out a large folder. In it is an enclosed a piece of paper. "I'll need some of you to take over teaching classes while the rest of us are gone. I've made arrangements for who will take over what, based on your capabilities. I trust you'll work with each other to…"

Charles’s voice fades into the background of your mind as you wait for your cue to leave. The second it comes, you hurry through the mansion and out the back door.

The chilly February air greets you, and you trot down the stairs to sit by the nearby pond that overlooks the trees ahead. A blanket of white encases the field, and you watch as groups of kids play in the snow, a sizeable portion pelting snowballs at each other. 

You sit cross-legged on a bench and pull your jacket tighter around you, fidgeting with the leather texture as you stare out at the woods. You replay the events of the past couple months in your head. What were you thinking? Try as you have to convince yourself for years that you have it under control, that your power isn't dangerous, deep down you know better. Maybe it's not too late to walk back your decision to be part of the team.

"You doin alright?" A gruff, indifferent voice jolts you from your thoughts.

You look over to see heavy boots sunk to the ankle in the snow before your eyes trail up to see Logan’s face. You avert your gaze back to the frozen water under you, hoping to get across the message you don't want to be disturbed. He ignores it. 

"Look," he says, shifting his weight and making crunching sounds with every rock. "I don't know what happened with you and Chuck today. But, I'm sure he doesn't hold it against ya. He only pushes cause he cares."

You scoff. What the fuck did he know?

"I know what it's like, not knowing what you're capable of. I get it."

"See that's just it," you snap. "You don't fucking get it. Most people don’t know what it's like to know what everyone is thinking all the fucking time and be scared of what you're capable of. I let my guard down for one second and people get hurt. I don’t have friends. All my relationships turn to shit. Hell, my own mother–" You feel your eyes begin to sting and you shut them, hiding your face.

Logan sighs and sits down. "If you want to talk-"

"I really, really don't." Your voice breaks as you try to speak. You close your eyes as you breathe deeply, concentrating on the things around you. You feel the sharp coldness of the stone beneath you, the contrasting warmth of your slightly oversized jacket, the sharpness of your freshly cut nails, the sound of Logan's breath next to you, the scents of pine and cigars that persistently cling to him... Your body jolts as a strong gust of wind blows by.

Logan wraps an arm around your shoulders before pulling you into his side. 

Your heart stutters. "Lo, you don't have to-"

"It's fine."

You sniffle and lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder before returning to playing with your nails, picking at any imperfections. You didn’t notice the way he towers over you, even when sitting, until now. But, there’s a small comfort in being next to someone so much larger, a comfort you haven’t felt in very a long time.

"Logan..." You look up at him when he hums in response. You steel your nerves before asking the question that's burrowed into your mind for the past couple weeks. "Were you and Jean close?"

He stiffens under your gaze, and his aura heightens into unease. "No. Not really."

"I see..." You feel your body relax at his response, but you continue fidgeting with your nails. "Can I ask what she was like?"

"What makes you so interested?" He lets out a breathy laugh.

You shrug. "I think..." You search your head for the right words. It wouldn't do to say you were somewhat jealous of the hold Jean has over him. But, another part of you wishes she was here. Maybe you could’ve finally found someone who understood. "...I just hate feeling like the only one."

He nods. "She was alright. I think I was a headache to her, but she was still nice enough, anyway. She was crazy powerful. She looked in my mind once. I don't think she liked what she saw. But, she clearly knew more than I did. I tried getting her to tell me about it, but Scott interrupted. I didn't really ask again after that. But, whatever she saw wasn’t enough to scare her off. She was never cold towards me, or anyone really. I think she was just like that. She loved everyone around her." He looks down at you.

"Did you like her?" 

He hesitates before saying, "Yeah. I did." His face pulls into a faint smile and his eyes soften. You feel a small warmth drift your way, accompanied with a feel of resentment. “I don’t really think about her anymore. She didn’t want me, anyway.” A dim sense of calm bleeds over him. You would’ve thought that fact would upset him. But, he seems content. He clears his throat as he lifts his gaze to you. "Come on," he stands up. "I think we should skip practice today."

You blink rapidly, registering his words. "What?" You bite the inside of your mouth to hide a smile. You thought about asking earlier after retreating to your room, but some part of you figured he would push you to show up anyway.

"A lot's happened. I think you could use a break." He holds out a hand to help you up, and he almost yanks you to your feet making you stumble a little. His hands wrap around your waist to steady you. "I have a better idea, anyway." He gestures with his head for you to follow him.

You walk in silence, close behind him, until you stand before the garage, the large door sliding open. There's a large array of cars before you. "These are Scott's," you state. You heard from Rogue that Scott liked using his cars for equation practice in his math class. Also, something about an engineering elective?.

"Yep." Logan strides to the wall and grabs a ring of keys off a cork board.

"Do you make a habit of stealing Scott's shit?" You poke, following him to stand in front of a pick up truck.

"Only for people I like, doll."

You bite your lip, hiding a smile, while he hops into the driver's side. You quickly go to get into the passenger side, asking "So, where are we going?"

"Liquor store, Target, then a special spot."

"Special spot?" You snoop through the glove box while Logan starts the car, internally celebrating when you find Johnny Cash and Eagles CDs inside. "Can we use these?" You hold the CDs up to Logan's face.

He raises a brow. "Aren't you a little young for those?"

"Logan, I was born in '78." You laugh. How warped is his perception of time? Your chest warms as he just chuckles in response. You pop in Johnny Cash first.

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I kinda hate the story title now. Oh well

Also realizing how dark of a place I was in when I started this. Good news is I've come out the other side and know where to take the story now :)

So much has changed. Like she was originally gonna be jealous of Jean constantly but now I’ve taken a more complex approach. I’ve also completely changed how it was supposed to end. Writing is exciting

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

i saw you were open for requests and I had an idea in mind‼️‼️

a shy!reader who is just a ball of sunshine and horrendously down bad for Logan, while Logan is just grumpy as shit (myb Worst!Wolverine??) and basically hates the reader. Lets just assume that they are roommates, and one night, the reader was just being nice or something and Logan absolutely snapped at them for no reason and kicked them out of the apartment. And he never realized how much he cared for them until he had to nervously wait for them to come home, praying that they are ok. (bonus points if its raining outside cuz we love angst) And ofc fluffy ending if you're up for it :)

(Absolutely fine if you choose to ignore this, i understand and also feel free to change any parts of the prompt if you feel like doing so. Love you and wish you all the best <3 ).

A/N: I HAVE A PART TWO!!!! Please tell me you want a part two 🥺As always if you like my work please like, comment, and reblog! It means the world and keeps me motivated. Thank you so much for the request, sorry it took a while for me to get to it

The apartment was always felt a little warmer when you were in it. Logan hated how quickly he noticed how cold he felt now that you were gone. You were quiet. Sweet. A little skittish, like a bird that never realized the cage was open. You said “good morning” like it was a sacred ritual and left little sticky notes reminding him to eat or drink water sometimes with doodled smiley faces that made his chest tighten.

You never took up space. You never yelled. And you never stopped being kind, even when he gave you nothing but his usual gruffness and grunted responses. You called him “Logan” like it was a soft word. Like it meant something.

And tonight, you’d offered him a cup of tea. That was it. Just a warm mug, he glanced down at it and noticed it was your favorite one. It was held in your hands, cradled so softly it seemed like you were holding pure crystal and that gentle smile graced your face like always. You’d said, “Thought you might want something to wind down. It’s chamomile.”

He snapped.

“What the hell is this, huh? You think I need you mothering me like I'm some lost cause? I’m not a damn project!” You blinked. Just once and flinched like the words physically hit you.

“N-No, I just--I didn’t mean...”

“You never mean anything, do you?” he snarled. “You’re always flutterin’ around here, bein’ nice like it’s gonna fix something. Just… leave me alone.”

Your breath caught and Logan noticed how you physically seemed smaller after his words flooded your ears. You looked like he’d struck you. And then without another word you slipped on your shoes and left. The door clicked shut. Not slammed. Just clicked. Quiet as always.

An hour passed. Then two.

Logan paced. Growled. Poured out the tea in the sink and slammed the mug on the counter, the handle breaks off from the bluntness and his eyes followed it as it fell to the floor. Guilt immediately filled him. Shit. Where the hell did you go?

He thought about calling. He didn’t. You were grown, surely you were fine. Anxiety was clawing at him as he kept glancing at the door like he could will you through it. But you weren’t made of metal. You were made of warmth, of sunlight and gentle hands and those stupid little sticky notes. He kicked out one of the brightest lights he's ever seen into the cold night like some sort of trash.

At some point, guilt and anxiety bloomed into fear. And that fear bloomed into panic. What if something happened? What if you're hurt? What if you don’t come back? What if someone takes you?

The lock clicked. He's entire body jumps at the noise. You stepped in, clutching a paper bag from the 24-hour corner store. You looked damp, and cold, and small. “Hey,” you said softly, not meeting his eyes. “I got you those protein bars you like. Thought… you might want some for the morning.”

Logan didn’t speak. Couldn’t. You gave him a little smile much more broken than usual and quickly moved past him toward your room.

“Wait.”

You froze.

He stepped closer. “I didn’t mean it. What I said.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“You--you should’ve yelled back or somethin’. Thrown somethin’ at my head.” You laughed once; soft, tired, broken. “I don’t like yelling.” Logan stared at you. The way your shoulders curved inward. The way your hands trembled slightly, still holding that dumb bag of snacks. “I didn’t deserve that tea,” he said. “No. You didn’t,” you said gently. “But I'll make it anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. You finally looked at him. “I missed you,” he said. “I was only gone a few hours.” You responded with a confused chuckle. “Felt longer,” he shrugged before quietly muttering, “So much longer.”

Silence again. Then, softly: “You want tea now?” you asked. “Only if you sit with me while I drink it.” You smiled. For real, this time. Later, the two of you sat on the worn couch, your knee barely brushing his. Logan nursed the tea like it was pure crystal. "I'm sorry I broke your mug..." He mumbled guilty. You shake your head against his words. "It's just a mug."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, tentative at first—then fully. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t growl. He just sat there, letting the warmth bleed back in. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he mumbled. You hummed. “So are you.” Logan reached over, laced his fingers with yours. Maybe he wasn’t good with words. But he could be good with you. Eventually... Maybe. As long as you kept making him warm.

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[itsmemuffy]

Playing House (part one)

Part Two

Contents: 18+ MDNI, Old Man!Logan x fem reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, descriptions of bodily harm, tending to wounds, non-sexual nudity, alcohol use, faux infidelity, domesticity, lots of kisses 💋

Summary: A mysterious not-so stranger finds himself at your doorstep time and time again.

Author's Note: I've decided this version of him signs his initials after each text like a boomer. Also this is my first Old Man!Logan fic ♡

It was an especially dark evening. Not a cloud in the inky, bottomless sky with the newly minted moon neglecting to offer even a sliver of additional light. The night air was completely still, absent of the slightest breeze. And to your delight, the road home was also completely clear of traffic.

It has just so happened that tonight you had gotten off early from your job. A blessing considering you had been pulling a lot more double shifts as of late. As you turn the corner to your block, you roll down the window and let the crisp air fill your lungs. It was the first time this week you made it home before midnight.

By now, you should of taken notice of how the world completely stops whenever he comes around. You mistook the calm before the storm for tranquility.

Everything was lined up for a peacefully boring evening. Dinner was in the oven, candles were lit, and you were already on your second glass of wine when you decided to put on a movie. You chose one you had seen a dozen times before- something predictable to cement the mundanity of this night in with yourself.

The sound of the television drowned out the crunch of your gravel driveway underneath rolling tires. Then, out of nowhere, a notification pops up on your phone:

here. -LH

The river of blood flowing through your veins feels as if it has stilled. Your heart then skips a beat when you hear dragging footsteps at your front door. Logan doesn't knock. He never knocks.

You can chastise the man for showing up to your home at odd hours of the night, but he always waits until you see his message and let him in. From his point of view, this is the only thing seperating himself from a stray dog pawing and scratching at your door.

Logan could wait at your doorstep all night– and has.

Some nights he's luckier than others. There have been instances he would show up to your home at midnight only to sit on the porch until you woke up to use the bathroom at four in the morning. Logan thanks his lucky stars that you checked your phone when you did.

There was no consistency to his visits, either. When he inevitably left, you never knew if it was going to be days or weeks until you saw him again. A few rare instances it would be well over a month without seeing him. This was usually due to something outside of Logan's control. He kept his reasons to himself, leaving you to wonder if the separation was killing him as much as it killed you.

It was.

You had eachother's number, but there was a line- an unspoken boundary- you both shan't dare cross. His life was his own as was yours. From the moment you met, you immediately knew he was a man of many secrets. Still, you found yourself drawn to him.

At first it might have been the sense of danger that lit a fire within you. Between the cycle of work and home, an attractive older stranger was a welcome addition to your monotonous life. You couldn't help but open up that opportunity to let Logan have a spot in it. When you let him know if there is anything you need, you know where to find me, you didn't expect him to take you up on that offer.

The man was reserved, closed-off and kept to himself. Yet here he was, at your mercy time and time again- quietly begging for you to nurse him back to health like a sick puppy.

As soon as you opened the front door, the wide frame of a man slumped forward into your arms. Logan was never one for the dramatics, so you immediately recognized this as something serious. After you struggled to hold up his weight for a few seconds, you collapse with him to your knees. He stayed in your grasp under the buzzing porch light as you both sit in the doorway.

Minutes pass and it lends him enough strength to partially support himself. Joints creak as you force him to stand. Logan held on weakly with an arm around your shoulders as you traversed on wobbly steps toward the living room.

You all but throw him on the couch. Internally, you wince as he crudly flops on his back into the cushions. If you had the strength to support his crushing weight, you would of handled him quite a bit gentler.

It wasn't until you had him inside did you see the state he was in. Maroon patches of dried blood shared space with the lively red on his white button-up. Smears of clay earth stand out against the black backdrop of his slacks.

He leans into your tender touch as you gently maneuver him out of his filthy clothing. Logan watched with blurred vision as you urgently unbuttoned his shirt. Each slight movement intensified the sharp pangs within him, but the feel of the soft pads of your fingers as you care for him was enough to reduce it to a dull ache.

Dark liquor he had gulped down on the way to your place sloshed around in his belly as you turn him to tug down his pants, hitting Logan with a wave of nausea. It took all of his concetration to not hurl on your floor. He remembers a time where he could drink without consequences. Nowadays, his binging always came with a price. Foolish enough to think this indulgence could be his secret, he was ignorant to the fact that you immediately recognized the whiskey on his breath.

You strip him down to his boxers. The familiar softness of the fleece blanket you draped over your couch made contact with his skin as you position him more comfortably. Logan's heart painfully squeezes as you leave his side. A feeble hand grasps at your wrist when you get up.

"I'll be right back, dear," you kneel down to kiss the back of his hand. "I'll be quick, I promise." Logan can't remember the last time someone promised him anything.

He lay limp on your couch, awaiting your return. The flashing colors on the TV screen reflect off his eyes, but Logan doesn't register a single scene from the movie. He is much more focused on tracking your movements. His ears perk up as he hears the metallic clang of the washer door open and close. Your footsteps bring you to the kitchen sink and the faucet runs for a moment.

You return to his side and he immediately felt lighter as you worked a damp washcloth across his chest. The warm water relaxes his muscles as you clean up his wounds. You move to his face where the abrasions are shallower. After accessing the damage, you take a step back.

"What the hell did you get yourself into this time?" You try not to sound accusatory but there was no way he couldn't detect the concern in your voice.

Logan only groans in response. He hasn't said a word to you since he intruded on your night alone. He didn't need to.

"Nevermind. Don't tell me, I don't wanna know," you stand up again, anxiously wringing the rag in your hands. "You're still filthy, I'll run you a shower."

He's left alone again on your couch. Even in his underwear, he feels uncomfortably hot. The affects of his inhebreation starts to fade from his mind, leaving Logan to squirm and shift as his body processed the alcohol.

You let the shower head run for a minute, testing the temperature with your hand. Once the water has reached a desirable warmth, you leave Logan to remove the rest of his clothes and wash himself. He's more mobile now, his regenerative ability assisting him at snail's pace. You let out a sigh of relief but you know that a deeper, more constant pain is working its way beneath the surface.

A timer rings out from the kitchen, startling you. By now you have completely forgotten about dinner. You use the time he's spending in the shower to prepare him, and only him, a plate. Somehow you've lost your appetite.

From the hall, Logan opens the bathroom door. His broad form emerges from the steam like something out of a movie. A towel is wrapped snugly around his waist and beads of water hang off of the dark hair clinging to his chest. There are times you second guess what exactly it is that is keeping you tethered to him. This is not one of those times.

Young and foolish, meet old and reckless.

You dress him in an oversized band tee and colorful novelty boxers- the only articles in your wardrobe that would fit Logan. He begrudgingly puts them on and you remind him you can't wash his clothes any faster.

"Didn't want to come home to your wife all bloodied and bruised, huh?" You chide with a hand on his arm, pulling him into you.

Logan exhales, surrendering into your embrace like he always does. "Fer the last time, don't got'ta wife," he grumbles, voice muffled by your shoulder. His beard prickles at your skin and you giggle at the sensation.

The truth is, you knew very little about Logan's personal life. He told you he took care of his father and that it wasn't the kind of place to take a girl like you home to. Maybe you were foolish enough to believe him. Still, you liked to bust his chops about it.

"Hmm... sure," an obvious smirk creeps across your face as you pull away to look at the man before you. "Would she mind if I kissed it better."

You could never hide what you were thinking from him. That was one of his favorite things about you- an earnestness that the world so often stole from people.

Logan lets out a reluctant chuckle that vibrated against your chest. "I suppose what she doesn't know won't hurt 'er," large hands start to run up and down your back, restoring his own vigor with every second spent in your arms.

He is always willing to participate in your little games. Logan used you like a drug. Just your presence was enough to take his mind somewhere else and now he's found himself starting to get drunk again. By the time your lips are on his, he was already too far gone.

You prepared for a kiss that was tender but quick, not wanting to push Logan in his current physical state. He catches you by surprise when he holds you to him, keeping your mouths locked together until he gets his fill. He takes turns between capturing your top and bottom lip, needily sucking at them between every shallow kiss.

Only do you break the embrace when you need to catch your breath. You lead him to sit back down on the couch, placing a pillow at his back. Once you make sure he's settled, you make yourself comfortable next to him.

Evident in the way you look at him, Logan refuses to meet your eyes with his own. It's almost too much for him to handle- how your eyes follow every inch of exposed skin, struggling to make the ever so dire decision of where on his flesh to worship first.

You lean in and decide to start at his neck, soft lips working at his throat in a flurry of delicate kisses. He maps the trail you are making until you reach with the sensitive spot behind his ear. This is where you run your tongue over and you swear you could feel him shiver.

"Don't tell her I've been feeding you," you nudge the previously prepared plate towards him on the coffee table. "I would be furious if another woman was cooking for my husband."

Logan sighs. The way you've been at his service tonight has been making him slightly uncomfortable. Deep down he knows he doesn't deserve this. He can't handle disappointing you, so he continues to play along.

"Better stop with 'at, wifey says I've been puttin' on some weight," he protests with a glint in his eye. "I reckon she may be gettin' suspicious."

There was a hint of truth hidden in the charade. Charles has been making the occasional comment about his physical state. He made note of the way Logan was filling out his shirts nicely again as opposed to hanging loosely off of him like some sort of biology classroom skeleton.

"Are ya just gonna watch me eat?"

"No I, um..." you looked to the side to avoid his gaze, "I had a late lunch. Spoiled my dinner."

There was no way you were going to vocalize how seeing him in pain affected you- how it twisted up your gut in a heavy knot. Any time you spent with Logan was sacred. For just a single night at a time, no outside concerns should come creeping in.

"How about we get some sleep, yeah? I think that's what be both need more'n anything," Logan affectionately tucked strands of hair behind your ear. He noticed your disappointed expression and took pity. You lived for when Logan complimented your cooking. "Looks delicious, hon. Can't wait to have sum in the morning."

The morning. Oh how you dreaded it. With the sunrise came another day of letting him go. You pushed that concern into the back of your mind, eager to crawl into bed after the long day you've both had.

He places his plate on the counter and waits for you to lead the way into your bedroom. No matter how many times you've let him in, Logan has a creeping fear that one day you'll change your mind and banish his tarnished soul to the couch where he belongs. You start down the hall, looking back at the man and beckoning towards him.

You look like an angel but with his luck, you're probably the devil in disguise- leading him to where he'll be damned for eternity. This doubt dissolves as soon as he finds himself in your bed. Surrounded by everything soft, engulfed by your scent. Yeah, this must be heaven. Suppose he had died tonight, succumbing to his injuries. He would count himself lucky if this is where he ended up.

He watches you from the far side– his side– of the mattress. You stand before your dresser, peeling each article of your work clothes off one by one. The presentation is clumsy as you are eager to change into something more suitable to sleep in. Still, Logan was observing with great interest.

Nothing the finest gentleman's club could offer would compare to the domesticity of you stripping to climb into bed with him. He ignores the slight stiffening between his legs. The man knows he is too tired and weak in his current state to do anything about it. Instead of letting his pride take the hit, Logan counts his blessings. Maybe in the morning he'll be rested enough to take care of your body like you have for him.

You change into a big shirt and a colorful pair of cotton panties- a uniform similar to your temporary lover's. The fact that Logan was wearing your clothes excited you in a way you didn't expect. Sure, just the thought alone incited a warm, fuzzy wave of arousal. More than anything, however, it gave you hope that maybe he was yours. Perhaps the name of your favorite band across his chest was symptomatic of something more.

Your elbows and knees sink into the bed as you crawl your way towards him. He lays on his back and observes you with baited breath. Anticipating your next move always filled Logan's stomach with butterflies. Never in his sober state would he ever come close to acknowledging this feeling, but he's drunk off of your affection. If only he could bottle this sensation and savor it when he was alone.

Dark, hazel eyes stare up at you when climb over him and hold yourself up above his body. You maintain the eye contact, waiting to see who cracks first. After only a few seconds, the corners of Logan's lips twitch upwards and he turns his head to the side to hide the evidence. Knowing he got caught, he lets out a small burst of laughter through his nose. You won in record time.

You lower yourself to lay on top of him where you felt his heartbeat against your own, eventually becoming one integrated rhythm. He strokes your hair as you lay on his shoulder, short nails gently scratching at your scalp.

Despite the events of today putting him through the ringer, he drifts off into the most restful sleep he's had in a long time. Logan knows deep down what this power you hold over him is. This is the kind of safety that could only be achieved by someone loving you as much as you love them.

Yeah, this is love.