One time I was leaving a friend's place and an older lady with basically no English came up to me and communicated that she was very cold and needed a ride. She pointed to tell me where to go.
I got there and her daughter or granddaughter came out and was like omg her phone died we were worried
And then the older lady said something and the younger lady translated.
"She knew she could trust you because you have pink hair"
I thought it was funny at the time. But when I think back on it I think she was basically saying "you had a visible sign of not vibing with the system I was afraid of"
There is a great deal of truth there. Sometimes special moments happen purely by accident. But most of them happen because you make a plan and create the conditions to let them happen.
tags: baker!neighbor!reader, logan pov, soft smut & fluff, oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, manual restraints PiV, creampie, light angst, references to anxiety, guilt, memories of canon-typical violence/ death, logan handling his feelings in his own way
a/n: after finishing part iii, there were two ideas in the back of my mind (this, and then fixing [redacted]) so I am back with a little more š
Sometimes, it feels as if heās still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Breath held - bracing for a blow that hasnāt yet come, each time the cracks lengthen in his walls. Letting sunlight seeping through.
So sure itāsĀ waitingĀ on the horizon for him, as it always had done.Ā Has been, since that first night you spent together, all those weeks ago.
Finally allowing himself to exhale - for today, at least - in the darkened room.
Itās late when he twists the handle of the apartment door, easing it open. A habit now, how the keys drop into the ceramic mug on the table just inside, clinking against loose change.
His shadow stretching long across the wooden floor, cast by the light you left on for him in the kitchen. Fingers tug at worn laces, loosening boots that are left next to yours.
Funny how heās able to navigate this space now, without thought. The old fleece from Wadeās closet slung across the back of an armchair. His feet taking him to the edge of the couch, fingers idly brushing over the stitching of the folded quilt left out for him.
One heartbeat passing, and then another.
He moves on.
The bedroom door creaks on its hinges, as he nudges it open wider.
Light pouring in, letting him see where you curl on your side. The space next to you open - as if waiting for him.
As if you knew heād be coming.
All heās wanted to do since Wade turned the car around was get back to right here.
Something loosening in his chest. Fingers working at the buttons of his flannel, then dropping to the heavy buckle at his waist. Stripped down, when he draws back the covers, and slides next to you.
You murmur his name, curl into him. Canāt pretend there isnāt a tugging behind his ribs at the sound.
His fingers drift across skin, tracing the strap of your nightgown. You lips curve up, eyes cracking open.
āYou have a good day?ā
Logan pauses for longer than he should, turning the question over in his head. Chooses to ignore it, for now.
Chooses to let his head dip, to press his mouth to yours, instead. Letting his mind shut off, letting it go silent for a moment.
Focusing on this, instead.
The tug of your fingers as they slide into his hair. Pulling him close - keeping him there, the sluggish movements turning more lucid as he deepens the kiss. Pliant becoming demanding, and even after the day heās had, he canāt help the chuckle when your hand curls around his shoulder.
Urging, once more. Fully awake now, lips pressing against his jaw as he follows your whims. Settling between your thighs, cock stiffening with the way you nip at his neck. How you roll your hips upward, until he pins you to the bed himself.
āMissed you.ā Itās sighed out.
Something inside his chest thrums, his heartbeat kicking up a notch. The answer coming easily, without thought.
āMissed you too, sweetheart.ā
He means it.
Had left a little piece of himself behind when he left early this morning. The echo of your goodbye kiss lingering against his lips, as he had climbed into the car with Wade. Going north.
But he doesnāt want to think about that now.
Now, heās letting his senses take over, an old habit. Focusing on warmth of you beneath him. Eyelids fluttering shut with the sting of your teeth against his throat. A twitching smile as his hands wander - letting you try to mark him as he finds the hem, slips beneath.
Fingertips dragging over bare skin. Rucking the flimsy fabric up higher each time his hips lift. A low sigh when he finally presses against your bare skin, nudging himself against the soft juncture of your thigh.
Your scent washes over him, drowning out the layer of thoughts that have chased after him all afternoon. Vanilla and sugar and you - heās tried to taste it before, with the wet drag of his tongue.
Sometimes you smell like him, if heās lucky, in the early morning, still tucked into bed. Cigar smoke clinging, from where you sat with him on the fire escape. Where heās left himself painted across your skin.
Itās familiar. Itās as comforting as the pretty noises you make. Hungry for him, fingers tracing along his ribs. Slipping down the slope of his back, trying to tug you to meet him.
Logan is used to rushing things - wants to, after the day he had - but in the night, when he knows you don't have to get up early, it feels like time stands still.
He allows his movements to slow.
The mattress dips as he inches down it. Palms finding the curves of your tits, a soft squeeze against the giving flesh before heās finding the taut peaks in the fabric with his teeth and tongue.
The silk darkens, as you squirm. A whine is wrenched from your chest, as his mouth closes around you.
The tip of his tongue flicking across your nipple. His other hand drifting down, hiking your thigh higher around his waist.
āLet me-ā It comes from you in a rush, hands tugging at the fabric.
He wonāt ruin this one. Knows you like it - instead he balls the fabric from navel to sternum in his fist. Tugs, until your tits slip free.
āFuck, Logan.ā Itās laced with appreciation.
With need, as he sucks a mark against your skin. Another on the soft swell beneath, the pinch of his teeth soothed by the drag of his tongue.
Knowing what heāll find, when he finally moves down. The fingertips that trail down as he kisses your stomach, your hip - ghosting across your folds, coming back slick.
They slide between his lips. An amuse-bouche to the feast laid out before him - unable to resist the urge to taste you, fingers spit-slick when they return.
āās for me?ā He rasps, and a laugh slips from you - the soft, muffled sound dragging out into a moan as he traces your opening - sinking down to the knuckle.
āAlways for you.ā
It loosens a breath heās been holding all day. Coming out as a rough sigh - your thighs inching wider as he kisses your mound.
Hovering then, just shy of where you need him.
āReally did miss me, huh?ā
Canāt help it. Another unconscious nudge, seeking reassurance.
Your hips lift, seeking. Hands trailing down, fingers drifting over your tits, your stomach. Down to stroke your thumb against the bristle of his beard.
āEvery time you leave.ā
He leans into your touch. Eyes focused on the dark glimmer of your own, as he lets your fingers tangle in his hair. Let's you guide him, a low hum as he closes that final inch.
The tip of his tongue stroking against a spot he knows well, as your moan rips through the quiet. His name following with a soft whimper, and itās then that his eyes shut.
Focused on the way you smear across his tongue. The wet suck of his finger, sinking into molten heat. Trying to grip him already, clenching around what little heās given you.
A second teases. Slipping inside, as he tongues at your clit. As you pant, whining - nails pricking against his scalp. Thighs pressing into his shoulders, until heās hiking one over, and then the other.
His hips flexing, rutting himself into the mattress as you surround him. Fingers curling and stroking, until you leaking against him palm. Until the quiet room becomes a chorus, his name a sweet song on your lips.
āLogan.ā
Logan, Logan.
A name stamped on a piece of metal, but heās grateful for it now. Grateful for the way it rushes from you, as if youāve forgotten all else.
As he winds you up - your grip tightening, but it only spurs him on. Your breath shortens, as his free arm bands across your abdomen, leaving your hips to flex uselessly against his strength.
āFuck me.ā You urge. A hand kneading the flesh of your breast, the other circling around his wrist. Pleading, with the pinch of your brows, as your fingers flex against his iron grip, āNeed you, Logan. Want, ah-ā
āCome for me first.ā Itās close to a growl, his own fingers never stopping. Feeling how you stiffen beneath his arm, on the cusp of something heās more than happy to give you.
āWant her nice and ready for me.ā
You moan at the command. Head tilting back as your body obeys - the āyesā thatās chanted over and over, pitching higher each time.
Stringing out, and then breaking. Your back bows, as the pleasure alights within. Coming hard with rhythmic throb he can feel against his tongue, that tight pulse around fingers.
He doesnāt let up until youāre squirming away from the press of his mouth. Puffy and slick where you warm his fingers, your arousal already leaking down to the curve of your ass. Swollen with desire, and he swears he feels you clench one last time, when he slips them free.
Another kiss pressed against you, one that has you sighing. Wriggling out of the twist of your nightgown, hooking it around a finger until it pools on the floor below.
Still begging for him as he lifts himself up. Closing the space between you as he shifts forward, palms curving against your hips as he kneels between your thighs. Your eyes drunken with pleasure up close - soft and hazy, your smile coming easily.
His hips rock forward on their own in response, unable to help pressing himself against you. A sticky spot of need left behind, smeared against your skin.
Your fingers pinch against his forearms as you push yourself up to your elbows, eyes dipping down. He knows you can see what he can, as his own head tilts - the swipe of his cock against your folds.
How they part for him, when he teases you - slipping the fat head against your entrance. Knows you imagine it - youāve told him what you think about when heās away.
How itās never enough. Never him. Watched you show him how you fit your fingers inside yourself, but you can never reach the places he can.
He sinks into your heat with a slow thrust. Youāre heaven around him, tight and slick and familiar. Teeth clenched as you make room, until heās buried flush inside you.
Can feel your pulse around his cock, when his eyes close. When he lets all his senses narrow down to the space youāre joined.
Could never last, if he stayed that way. Would get pulled over far too quickly with the way you clench needily around him, trying to coax him to move.
And itās here, as you beg him for more, that he loses himself. Hands flattening against the mattress as he slips half-way out - the jolt it sends through you, when his hips snap forward.
The gasp it pushes from you, your eyes fluttering shut. A sharp pinch of nails again, but itās welcome - a low grunt, as he drives home again.
Again, and again. Leaning into the snap of his hips. Your hand reaching, drawing him down to you - mouth tipping up to meet his.
A groan, when you taste yourself against his tongue. Letting his sweep against yours, until youāre panting against his lips. The angle deep, with the way he hovers over you.
His hands fisted in the sheets, now. Using them for leverage, the bed creaking as he ruts himself into you.
A growl slipping from his chest when your fingers start to drift. Knuckles brushing the whorls of dark hair across his chest. Following the trail that leads down, past his abdomen.
The tips ghosting against your clit, just a tease before heās shifting - a hand curling around your wrist. Bringing it up, pinning it above your head.
āDonāt need it.ā It comes out ragged, when it passes his lip.
āJust me, right?ā
Logan can take care of you. Stoking the lot embers in your belly, coaxing them to a burning flame.
He needs this.
Needs to be the one to give it to you.
āJust you.ā The reply comes automatically. Your other wrist offered as you give him the control he desires, lifted to press into the clutch of his grip.
It makes his own muscles tighten. A deep clench, his cock throbbing inside you. Fingers pinching as he sees the way you give yourself to him.
Face tipped up, bare and stretched out beneath him. The pretty jolt of your tits each time his hips snap forward, and itās enough that heās closing those last inches of space.
Fitting himself against you, as his nose buries against your neck. Your thigh hooked over his hip as you chase his mouth, until youāre sighing against his lips.
Knows you can come like this, squirming beneath him, as his hips tilt. As he strokes against the places his fingers know well, your lips parting with a cry.
āCome on, honey.ā Itās murmured out. Mouthing at your jaw, the word rasped low in your ear, āOne more and then Iāll give you what you want.ā
His other hand drifting - elbow and knees taking the brunt of his weight. Down past your hip until his palm curves against your thigh, hiking your thigh up higher.
Opening you up further, when he bottoms out. His breath hot in your ear, panted out each time his heavy sack kisses against sticky skin.
Winding you up, higher and higher. Your body arching against his - toes curling, a heel pressing into the mattress for purchase.
āOh fuck, keep going,ā You beg, trying to meet him - unable to do anything more than take it when he has you pinned like this, āPlease, Iām so close-ā
āKnow you are,ā He answers with a rough sound - more growl than words. The flesh at your thigh denting with the press of his fingers, keeping you still so he can pound against the spot that has you seeing stars.
āāve got you. Come for me, sweetheart.ā
The whine that leaves your lips pitches high, the rushed plea dissolving into needy sounds. Muscles stringing tight, head tipping back as your breath grows short.
His eyes fixed on your half-lidded ones, your lips parted in pleasure. Feeling the crest of your orgasm - the flex of your wrists in his hand, the grip of your thighs as they press against his hips.
Itās different, like this. The pulsing clench around his cock, the press of your body against his. The rush that surges through him at the way you come undone for him - always him - how heās never been able to get enough.
Heās following soon after, with a snarl.
Unable to get a grip on his restraint. Usually can hold out, needing more.
Another. Another. Another.
Not finished until youāre boneless- pleasure-drunk - and only then does he give in to his own need.
But tonight heās wrenched over with way you tighten around him. Tendons flexing as the steady saw of his hips grows sloppy.
A punch of metal through flesh, as he throbs - that tightly-wound tension snapping as he spills himself deep inside you with a ragged groan, thrusts going shallow as the tight clutch of your cunt milks him empty.
All those muted thoughts inside his head fading to white noise. Drowned out by the panting of his breath, the thrum of his heart.
The rutting of his hips slow, as he comes back to himself. Always losing control around you. That tight leash slipping between his fingers, piercing through. The pillow tucked under your head shredded, looking as if torn open by a beast.
āShit.ā Logan grunts - as he comes back to himself, flesh knitting together, āSorry, sweetheart.ā
A groan, as he leans back - only to find his grip on your wrists had loosened. That your fingers lace through his now, careful of the tender spots between his knuckles.
āIāll get you another. Iām-ā Heās starting, but then youāre smiling.
āGood for it,ā You finish for him, breathlessly - face tipping up to meet his, āI know.ā
Still so soft and pliant. Legs still hooked around his waist as his lips press against yours - urging him to stay.
So, he does.
He still hasnāt moved.
Sometimes, it feels as if heās still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Breath held as he braces for a blow that hasnāt yet come, each time the cracks lengthen in his walls. Letting sunlight seeping through.
So sure itās waiting on the horizon for him, as it always had done. Has been, since that first night you spent together, all those weeks ago.
Finally allowing himself to exhale - for today, at least - in the darkened room.
Your nails drag against his shoulders, scratching at bare skin. A little furrow in your brow at the weary sound - unable to help the question that heās sure has been on the tip of your tongue all night.
āDid something happen at work today?ā
Itās met with silence, one minute bleeding into another.
You always seem to know. An innate sense, or far too observant - and if he wasnāt so sure you were human, heād be think you were like him.
His breathing low and steady as the hours replay in his mind again, a warm exhale against your throat. Still caging you in beneath him, your leg still hooked around his calf.
You donāt push him. He knows what heās like - that youāve learned itās easier to argue with one of the brick walls in your apartment, or to talk sense and logic with Wade, when he gets in one of his moods.
Only when the scratches of your fingers slow to a halt, does he answer.
Finds it comes easier, this late in the night. In this room - his tongue loosened like the rest of him.
āDidnāt go today.ā
Itās accompanied by the shift of his hands. Grasping at your waist with a low hiss as he eases from you - your body carefully untangling, as if youāre expecting him to leave.
Logan doesnāt know if he has the strength to, tonight. Instead, he only sinks back against the mattress - his arm sweeping out, tugging you close as you tuck yourself against his chest.
Not knowing where to start, or if he evens wants to - his teeth still pinching at the inside of his cheek. Eyes drifting to the glimpse of the city outside your apartment window. The moonlight that cuts across the angle of his face, a path that you follow with the tip of a finger.
Supposes he could start at this morning.
āWadeās been talking about X-Force again.ā Loganās fingers catch yours, flattening them against his chest. The words spoken to the ceiling, eyes still unseeing, āKeeps askinā me to join him.ā
You make a low sound at that.
āYou donāt have to, Logan.ā Thereās a twitch of your hand beneath his, āIām sure he means well, I can talk to him-ā
Thereās a bloom of affection in his chest, at how quickly you offer. Trying to protect him - as if you could put yourself between him and the ghosts of his past.
āThatās not what Iām getting at.ā His eyes drag to you then, crinkling, āThank you though, sweetheart. ās nice of you to offer.ā
Unconsciously curling his arm a little more tightly around you when he sees the way you look at him - so fiercely, eyes unblinking. Before he goes somber, loosening his hold on something heās held close to his chest for a long while now.
āBeen thinking about it.ā Logan confesses, quietly.
Youāre silent, processing his words. The weight of your gaze settling over him.
He gets it - heās felt the same. Hasnāt said it out loud before - no more than a non-committal sound, when Wade first brought it up.
āThink I liked being a part of something. Back in the void, it feltā¦ good.ā
He clears his throat, his gaze drifting from you again. The bob of his adamās apple as he swallows, fingers twitching against yours.
Had forgotten what it was like. Had rebelled even then - brushing aside the planning until Laura had found him by the fire. Even then he had wanted to discard it. Even as it festered in the night.
But even after everything, he couldnāt let them go alone. Not when he could help, this time.
āSo I went today. With him. He was headed up to the mansion, and I thought I could do it. Go in this time, but-ā
The sentence hangs, half-finished.
Itās not the first time heās gone back.
Went the week after he first started staying with Wade. Needed to see if it was still standing.
If the sky was still blue above, instead of being blocked out with ash.
His body had rebelled the whole drive. Had only gone back once in his world. That time no more than a blur and yet the memories had still crashed over him, threatening to pull him under.
Even with the reminder that this mansion wasnāt his rang in his ears, it hadnāt done any good. His mind was never one to truly forget. Spent two hundred years watching places, people change. Ones that once existed, ones that would never look the same - they all existed in him, somewhere.
And even after everything - even after those bouts of not knowing who he was - they still managed to survive, broken into bits and pieces. Tearing its way through his skin to be known.
So even if moss grew high, even as it sat there - overgrown - the memories flooded back.
His feet taking root, at the gate. Unable to make himself take another step further - held in place as if by a force heād encountered before.
Fleeing, like a scared animal.
But heād gone again.
And then again.
Drawn back - each time moving just a little bit closer.
Each time still a mile away.
Thought maybe he could do it this time, when he wasnāt alone. Pass over the threshold and inside.
Maybe theyād still be there.
Butā¦
āI couldnāt.ā He manages.
Logan knew they wouldnāt be. It had been another knife between his ribs, when he found out they were still gone. The Logan of this world with them, and maybe it was better that way.
Heās met a few that live inside, since. Those who still carried on didnāt bear the hatred that his world did. Didnāt know him like he knew himself.
Didnāt know what he did.
Had only told a few, and even they didnāt look at him the way he was used to - and he still wasnāt sure how he felt about that, either.
Ones like Wade - Wade who had noticed the way he stiffened at the steps to the Mansion.
Grown silent.
If it had been another day, Logan wouldāve had something sharp and unpleasant to say about that. But there was a ringing in his ears. Tunnel vision, narrowing down to the old brick.
The dread hadnāt crashed over him this morning. Had been right - Wadeās presence had muted it. Made it bearable, until his eyes had lifted.
Reading the old placard affixed to the stone. The name - worn away, but he knew each letter, the shape of them, by heart.
But it had him giving into the feeling that he shouldnāt be there.
āFive minutesā he had been told. Didnāt know how Wade knew exactly how long five minutes had taken, but he had been back exactly as three-hundred counted seconds had passed.
The afternoon plans dropped - taking him along for a haphazard amount of errands. Laundromat. Grocery Store. Arcade. Discount Outlet. Logan forced to follow, until heād been able to find himself again. Push down the memories, lock them away, as he always did.
Until it felt like it happened a week ago, instead of this morning. The endless chatter a balm, with its familiarity.
He tells you this now, slowly.
āThought I was done running.ā Logan sighs. A hand scrubbing a little too harshly across his face, pulled from yours, āGuess I was wrong.ā
Your brow knits. The look you give him is soft, empty fingers curling.
A breath - as if youāre unsure how he will take what youāve about to say.
But then itās slipping from you.
āI donāt think youāre running.ā It comes out quiet, but he can tell you believe what youāre telling him.
āItās okay that youāre not ready. You know that, right? Not everything has to be all or nothing.ā
Logan hums.
āMaybe,ā You start, carefully. Another breath, and he lets his hand return to yours when you reach for it - resting across his chest.
āMaybe you keep going what youāre doing. Maybe you keep trying. Another step each time.ā
Thereās an age-old urge to rebel - to push your kindness away. To lean into the voices heās brought over from his world.
But itās hard to, with his heart thrumming beneath your palm.
āIf you want me to, Iād-ā
It drops off - but heās certain he knows what you were going to say.
That youād be there.
Go with him, be by his side - if thatās what he wanted.
He doesnāt know how to take it, your offer. Voice pitching low and gruff, as he twists his chest towards you.
The words coming slowly, and he finds he means them.
āJust knowing youāre waiting at home for me is enough.ā
Home.
Thatās what this place has become, hasnāt it? Wadeās apartment. Yours. This room, with his things tucked among them.
āI will.ā You breathe, āAlways.ā
Itās a promise.
Itās one he thinks he might just believe.
His eyes flick down - and the dance begins once more, as leans into you. Done with words, for now.
The cracks deepen, as his hand slips up your bare shoulder. Cradling the back of your back, as your mouth meets his half-way.
Being the one to keep you close, this time.
Losing himself in you, once more.
Logan wonders sometimes what would have happened if Wade had pulled him into another world.
Would it have been enough, if they had been alive there?
But he might not have met you, there. Things might have not gone the same way, in the journey before. Another path taken, one where he had made it alone into the room with the Time Ripper.
Or worse, if he had been the only one to make it out.
Even those who worked outside of space and time had told him there was no going back.
He couldnāt fix what happened.
He could only move foward.
One step at a time.
Logan huffs, a breath of a laugh, as your own gradually slows. The second round and the late hour catching up to you, in the silence thatās gone soft, and the warmth of his embrace.
So many nights he thought about this. Certain he didnāt deserve it. Deserve you.
Always pulling away.
But tonight, your fingers lace through his. Heās tucked between your back and the wall of painted brick behind him, almost as if youāre protecting him.
Ears keen enough to pick up the faint clattering next door. A low murmur of voices, cadences heās come to know well.
Maybe once, he can believe heās safe.
Not everyone gets a second chance. He knows that now, and vows to grab onto it with both hands.
Sink his claws into it, if he has to.
And as his arm tucks around you like an anchor - he finally lets sleep take him.
if you've come back - thank you so much for reading. this series has meant so much to me, so it was very exciting when I was struck with inspiration for two more chapters of their story (exploring some ideas I hadn't yet been able to get to) š I am planning to post another part next week, and this will be holiday-themed!
