winterwolvie

Ley || 39 || multifandom || welcome to the circus ☕️Buy Me a Ko-Fi ☕️

[winterwolvie]

Hi! I'm Ley, welcome to my world.

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Real Person Fic AEW WWE (no new stories) Marvel Criminal Minds

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[winterwolvie]

Gotta Be Somebody

Pairing: Worst Logan x Baker!OC (Ash) Word Count: 7.2K Summary: It isn't easy adjusting to being in a new world. But maybe--just maybe--it might be easier with a few sweet treats and a kind baker. General Warnings: Wade is hard to right for okay, fluff (kinda) a/n: This has been sitting in my drafts since Deadpool and Wolverine came out. I don't know if I'm completely happy with it, but here it is in the world. Should I make this a series?? If you want to join any of my tag lists, fill out the form here.

Being in a new world had been an adjustment for Logan. In his world, he’d been a joke. The reason the X-Men had been wiped out of existence. A drunk who just couldn’t live with the guilt of letting his friends die unless he practically blacked out. But here—in this world—their Logan had been a hero. He’d saved the world more times than could be counted. So many still mourned his loss. Everyone looked at him—this Logan from another world—and saw a cheap imitation of the man who’d been the Wolverine.

Logan tried to stay out of the way, spending much of his time up on the roof of Wade’s apartment building. Those first few weeks had been more than he could manage. He couldn’t sleep from the nightmares and the unfamiliar surroundings. Wade would sometimes find him sitting on the edge of the roof, feet dangling over the edge. A cigar and bottle of whiskey at his side. Wade would make quips to lighten the mood, but most of the time, he was convinced that Logan was just trying to will himself to jump.

It had been so long since he’d known anything like happiness. The last few decades had been nothing but pain and sorrow. But something like happiness caught hold of him when he saw a flyer for a motorcycle for sale. Logan spent every penny he had on a barely used black and silver Harley. It felt like it had been years since he’d found the kind of freedom and centeredness that only came from the roar of a bike and the wind in his face. 

He finally felt as if some long-forgotten part of himself had finally come back to the surface. 

After a while, Logan got sick of sitting around drinking himself stupid while Wade ran his mouth and Blind Al cranked the TV up as loud as it would go. Within a week, he’d gotten a job on a construction crew. It was nice to feel useful. Like he had a purpose again. Like he wasn’t as much of a complete fuck up as he felt in his old world. 

It had been so long since he’d had the chance to do something productive—something good—with his hands. For so long he hated looking at them, thinking of how many of his friends he might have saved if he’d been with them, of how many people he’d killed in his rage and revenge after they were gone. But it was easier now. Easier to feel like he was worth something when there was a hammer in his hands, splinters in his fingers, and something new appearing from his effort. Logan had almost forgotten how much he’d enjoyed building and creating. It had been far too long since he’d given himself permission to enjoy anything. 

More than once he’d taken scraps of wood home. He’d carry them up to the roof with his pocketknife and a bottle of beer and sit under the fading light as he carved away one sliver at a time until something beautiful came into view. It had been decades since Logan had been able to calm himself enough to be patient and deliberate. Once upon a time, he’d been content to sit on the roof of the mansion with a beer and shape statues, chess pieces, little charms that he’d give to Rogue, Storm, and Jean. But that was before… before he’d lost everyone he’d ever cared about. When the last scrap of peace and joy had been ripped from his soul by the root.

The first few things he did were shit. His hands were clumsy, as if they’d forgotten how to sweep the blade along the wood in a gentle caress. The carefulness of his touch and the focus of his actions had disappeared the moment he’d started killing in revenge. He hated the way that he was constantly reminded of every wrong he’d done in his long life. Logan figured it was only fair for karma to let him create things with purpose but nothing with beauty and fragility.

But he wasn’t ready to stop trying.

“Careful, Needle Dick,” Wade said one evening as he came up behind Logan on the roof. “Don’t chop your finger off.”

Logan grunted around the cigar between his teeth as his roommate plopped down on the ledge beside him. Without a word, he flipped the knife in his hand and jabbed the blade deep in Wade’s thigh, twisting it as it hit bone. “Fuck off.”

Wade laughed as blood seeped into the leg of his sweatpants. Logan removed the knife and wiped the blood and gore clean on Wade’s clothes. “Oooh, foreplay in public? Sugar bear!”

“I will rip your tongue out your ass if you keep talking.”

“I love it when you get angry.”

Logan had to fight the urge to stab his roommate again. It didn’t matter how long he’d been sleeping—like absolute shit might he add—on the couch in Wade and Blind Al’s apartment, he’d never get used to having a friend. The last time… 

Shaking his head, Logan drew a deep breath of his cigar and turned his attention back to the slowly shaping block of wood in his hand. He couldn’t quite figure out what he was going to do, but it looked to him like he was starting to make a little statue of some kind. He’d see what it ended up as at the end of it all. 

“It wouldn’t kill you, you know,” Wade said after a while. “Trust me. Tried it. Got the commemorative hospital bed pan.”

Cocking a brow, Logan twitched his attention toward the other man. “It’d still hurt.”

Wade rolled his eyes dramatically. “There’s my masochistic little peanut.”

“Wade, I fucking swear to God…”

“Hey, hey! Back off the murder bridge there, buddy.” 

Logan snarled and stood up, shoving the knife into his pocket. “Like I said. Fuck. Off.” He put the cigar out on the brick wall as he walked toward the fire escape. Somehow his head started to throb every time Wade came around.

But—he’d never admit it—Wade was the only one who looked at him without disgust.

***

“D’you want to grab a drink?” one of the guys said at the end of the day. Logan thought his name was Doug, but he couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t like he paid much attention to anything other than the tools in his hand and the task in front of him. “There’s a bar a block from here.”

For a moment, Logan just stared at him, stunned into silence. He wasn’t exactly the friendliest guy on the crew, keeping to himself. He did his job and then went home. He wasn’t much for hanging out. And he definitely didn’t drink in a group. He was much more for a beer all alone.

“Uh,” Logan grunted. He focused on the plank he was measuring on the table. “Yeah, sure, bub.”

That was how he found himself sitting at a table at a dive bar with five other guys from the crew. He was three beers in and, surprisingly, found himself enjoying their company. The one who invited him was Dave. He was funny. John was the guy who did drywall with him. He was a lot like Logan, quiet and observant. Mike and Hal were brothers. Mike was sarcastic. Hal was smart and quick witted. Adam was new and basically a kid. Barely old enough to drink.

“You’re somethin’ else, Logan,” John said after they’d put back at least a six pack each. Topped off with two or three shots of whiskey. 

Logan grunted and leaned back in his chair. It groaned beneath his weight. “Not the first person to tell me that.”

John raised his hand, gesturing to the bartender for another round of shots. He put his forearms on the table and knocked his knuckles against the scarred wood. It surprised Logan how easy it was to talk to him. For a moment, deep in the conversation, Logan had a flash of Charles Xavier. How he was about the only person on the planet who’d been able to talk to him, to deal with his rough and gruff personality. 

Maybe John could be something of a friend. 

Maybe.

And as it turned out, he was. It became a sort of tradition. A few nights a week, the six of them would walk down from the site and sit at the bar for a few hours. Sometimes, they’d pay attention to the game on the TV in the corner. Whatever the game happened to be. The bartender got used to the group of them, so much so that he started having a table and a round of beers waiting when they walked in. There wasn’t really a kitchen, so Dave usually grabbed sandwiches from the shop two doors down.

Logan found himself getting more and more comfortable around them. He wasn’t jovial by any means, and no one would ever call him the life of the party. But he laughed a little easier, told a joke or two after a few shots of whiskey, and started to think he could open up. A millimeter at least.

He stopped to have lunch with them in the middle of the day instead of working. He listened and learned that Dave had a wife and three daughters. John was getting married. Mike had a girlfriend, and they were getting serious. Hal was thinking of joining the military to pay for college. And Adam, well, he was just a kid with his first real job. Just trying to make it in the world. 

“Here,” Adam said one morning, holding an open box out toward him. When he flipped it open, Logan’s senses were piqued by the scent of cream, fried dough, sugar glaze, and jam. Inside was a baker’s dozen fresh, hot, and gigantic donuts. Logan’s mouth actually watered. “Take a few. They’re really good.”

Logan noticed the logo on the box. It was from a bakery on twenty-third. The one a few blocks from the apartment. He passed by the place every day on his way to work, his enhanced sense of smell picking up the scent of warm bread and sugar dusted cookies in the early morning air. More than once he’d been tempted to stop for some breakfast, but he’d never been able to convince himself to go in. 

He reached into the box. Before he knew it, he’d scarfed down three. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled around the last remnants of the third. “Get those away from me.”

Adam chuckled. “Go on, take ‘em. Not like I can’t go get some more. I know a couple of the bakers. Gives me a few extra every now and then.”

Logan raised a brow. “She cute?”

This time, Adam nearly fell over laughing. “Well, yeah. He’s really cute.”

He patted his large hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Good for you, bub. Good luck.”

Before he walked away, Adam nudged the box back in Logan’s direction. “Finish ‘em off. If you ever stop in, ask for Ash and tell them you know me.”

“That your boyfriend?” Logan had already turned back toward the band saw, pulling a pencil from his pocket. 

Adam tossed his answer over his shoulder. “No, that’s my sister.”

Before he could stop himself, Logan chuckled under his breath. He might have gotten comfortable having a beer with the guys after work. But he definitely wasn’t taking that bait.

***

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, peanut,” Wade said as he dropped down on the ledge beside Logan. “People are going to start to talk.”

“How can they,” Logan grunted back, “when you never shut your fucking mouth?”

Wade laughed. “It’s part of my charm.”

Logan sneered and stayed quiet. He hoped that if he didn’t engage with him that Wade would get bored and go back to the apartment, leaving him in peace. He focused on the slowly forming carving in his hands. Over the last few days, it had started taking shape. A long, sleek silhouette. Defined head with little tufts of ears. Giant paws with long, razor claws.

“What’cha making?” Wade said, laying his head on Logan’s shoulder. He growled and Wade sat back. “So grumpy lately.”

Ignoring his mouthy roommate, Logan took a long look at what he was creating. He carefully nudged the tip of the blade into the wood, digging out the shape of an eye. Maybe he’d done it unconsciously, but the animal that was coming to life beneath his fingers was a wolverine.

“Here,” Wade said after a moment of silence. He handed over a beer and something wrapped in a napkin. It was warm and smelled faintly of vanilla. 

As the bigmouth got up and started walking away, Logan put down his knife and pulled back the napkin. It was a square of pastry. The crust was layered and crumbly, the filling on top made of some kind of cream and dotted with blueberries and slices of strawberry.

“Where’d you get this?” he called after the other man.

“Bakery on twenty-third. Hits the sweet tooth just right.”

Logan hesitated before taking a bite. The flaky crust melted in his mouth, overflowing with the taste of honey butter. The filling was just this side of sweet and had an undercurrent of vanilla and something else he couldn’t quite place. Juicy blueberries exploded on his tongue as he bit through them. 

“Thanks,” he finally said, tossing the word over his shoulder. With any luck, Wade would be too far away to hear. 

***

Logan tugged on his leather jacket and checked his jean pocket for the keys to his motorcycle. He was tired of being cooped up in the apartment or stuck on the roof. It wasn’t like he wanted to be around anyone, but he just didn’t want to be there. He thought he’d just go out for a ride. Something to clear his head, let him catch a breath. So much had happened since Wade had dragged him into this new world, and Logan really hadn’t had a chance to think about all the changes that had come into his life. 

He lit a cigar and swung his leg over the bike. The engine roared to life as he popped the kickstand up with the heel of his boot. The moment he rolled away from the curb it was like his brain finally settled. The strange tightness in his chest loosened. It was a small taste of freedom.

The wind whipped across his face as he turned toward the highway. All he wanted was to race at eighty miles an hour and finally figure out everything. Or at least a few things. He just needed to feel more like himself. The Logan he’d been before everything had gone to shit in his old world. Before his friends were butchered and he’d lost himself in booze and violence.

He rode toward the sun, feeling the light sting his eyes behind his sunglasses. It wasn’t lost on him—the irony of the hero riding off into the sunset. But Logan Howlett was no hero. No matter what he’d done for Wade and this world, he wasn’t a good man. The ghosts of his past were too tightly anchored into him to let him be anything else. 

Logan pulled off the highway into a gas station. He stretched as he walked inside, going straight to the food section. He grabbed a beer and soda from the fridge and a pre-made sandwich before going to the counter. 

“Fifteen on the bike,” he said gruffly. 

After filling the tank, he moved his motorcycle over next to a worn and splintered picnic table. He groaned as he sat down, muscles stiff from the ride. Without a second thought, he cracked the top of the beer and chugged down half of it in one go. His stomach growled, and he ripped the wrapper off the sandwich. 

Within five minutes, Logan had devoured the entire sandwich and finished off the beer. He wasn’t usually one for soda, but he figured it would be a good idea to have something after the alcohol. Even if his mutation caused his body to burn off weak booze like beer within a few minutes anyway.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to bring his brain into focus. Being in this world was different. Difficult. Strange. The stares and whispers had faded after a while. Some people still looked at him askance when they realized who he was—who he looked like anyway. The guys on the crew were slowly becoming friends, even if he was more than a little hesitant. He’d find himself looking forward to the nights at the bar, a game on the TV, talking quietly to one or the other of them. They didn’t care that he was from somewhere else, somewhere completely different. To them, he was just Logan. Gruff, rough, and grouchy, but still Logan. 

He reached into his pocket, fingers closing on the little wooden carving he’d made. He hadn’t planned on creating a replica of the animal he was named after. But somehow, looking at it made him feel… nostalgic in a way. For the time when he’d been proud of that name. The man he’d been back then. 

He thought of Jean. Marie. Charles. Scott, Bobby, Hank. The face of every friend he’d let down raced through his mind. He remembered cradling Jean and Marie in his arms as they took their final breaths. His chest ached, the wails of his grief echoing in his ears. Logan didn’t want to think about what happened after that.

***

It was late in the evening, the sun just starting to dip toward the horizon at his back when Logan pulled up to the curb outside that quiet bakery on twenty-third. The now familiar logo stood out on the awning above the door and decal on the window. He cracked his neck from one side to the other as he dropped the kickstand on the curb. He could see a handful of people inside, the sign on the door saying they closed in an hour. Logan pulled his sunglasses off as he pulled open the door, his nose immediately assaulted by the delicious scents that permeated the air. 

He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and studied the display case. Logan walked slowly along the counter, his hazel eyes scanning the names written in neat script on little cards in front of each item. Muffins that were the size of his hand. Those pastries with vanilla cream and fruit that Wade had brought. Croissants sitting under glass domes, some drizzled in cinnamon sugar and others stuffed with chocolate, cream, and custard. Parfaits and cookies. Brownies filled with chunks of dark chocolate. Tiny individual bundt cakes with icing drawn down the sides. Three- and four-layer cakes with thick slabs of buttercream icing in between. Donuts and slices of pound cakes and breads. His stomach grumbled as he looked at the food in the display. 

“Hi,” said a voice from across the counter. Logan had seen the ripple of movement through the glass as someone approached. “What can I get you?” 

The young guy across the counter had thick bronze hair and a wide smile. Logan straightened up and tucked one hand in his pocket. “Yeah, I’ll take two of those pastry things,” he said, pointing to what he wanted. “And a couple of brownies. You know, just give me the last four you’ve got.”

Logan watched the guy grab two boxes and fold them open, lining them with some bakery paper. He let him put the pastries in one of them and close it before speaking. “A buddy of mine sent me down here. Name’s Adam. He told me to ask for Ash.”

A blush ran over the guy’s cheeks. Logan’s enhanced hearing picked up on the stutter and rush of the other man’s heart. This must be the guy, Logan thought as he tried to hide a smirk. He was sure to give Adam shit about this the next time they were all at the bar. 

“She’s not here,” the guy said as he placed the brownies in the other box. “She doesn’t work weekends.”

Logan shrugged. It didn’t matter one way or the other to him. The guy reached back into the display case and grabbed the last two cookies on a tray and tucked them away with the brownies. 

“Thanks,” he said as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Anything for a friend of Adam’s.” Logan handed over the cash to pay for the food. He took his change and dropped it in a tip jar by the register. “I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

As he walked to the door, Logan was pretty sure he heard the guy say, “And Ash, too.”

***

“Oh, look at this,” Wade said, flipping open one of the boxes on the counter. “Did you actually bring us a gift, baby girl?”

Logan rolled his eyes from his position on the sofa. He growled. “Just stuff your face and shut your mouth.”

Wade grabbed one of the brownies and crossed the room, plopping down on the cushion next to him. “Commanding, I like that.”

Silence settled for a few minutes while Wade gobbled down the dessert. He licked his fingers after he finished, the sound obnoxious in what was becoming an enjoyable quiet. It was almost more than Logan could do to stop himself from unleashing his claws and stabbing his roommate straight through the face. 

“Hmm, you should go in on a weekday,” Wade said after a beat. “Might meet the sweet little thing that makes those.”

Logan took a swig of beer and kept his attention on the TV. He wasn’t about to take the bait. 

“You’d like her,” his roommate tossed out. “She’s a female me.”

“A pain in my ass?”

“A Texas sized ray of sunshine.”

“Never shuts up?”

“Funny. Gorgeous. Adorable. Smart.” Wade ticked the characteristics off his fingers.

“Whoever said you were gorgeous is a fucking liar. And drunker than I am.”

Wade laughed. “You should have seen me before I got scrotum face. I was breathtaking.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose and wished he had a bottle of Jack Daniels. With some Jim Beam as a chaser. He had to get his own place. He had enough money. Maybe he could talk his way into an apartment. It was hard to have a credit score when you were from a completely different world. 

“You need to get out there, peanut. Love won’t find you stuck in here.” 

“And who the fuck said I was looking for love, shit for brains?” Logan was getting annoyed. It was becoming harder to keep his temper under control. “I’ve got my motorcycle, a steady job, a solid supply of beer, and a roof over my head. Even if it is with an old blind woman and an asshole with perpetual word vomit. I’m fine.”

Wade pressed his hand against his heart. “Aww,” he teased. “That means a lot to me. But I won’t be yours forever. Vanessa and I are this close to getting back together.” He held his finger and thumb just a few millimeters apart.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Logan practically chuckled as he chugged the last of his beer.

***

“You got a girl, Logan?” Mike asked after three drinks at the bar a few nights later. “You never talk about yourself or anything.”

Logan leaned back, the wood creaking under his weight as he shifted. He crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his teeth. Something deep inside him knew that this conversation had been coming for a long time. Maybe more so after what Wade had been going on and on about every time there was a new box of desserts from the bakery on the kitchen counter. 

“No,” he replied, picking at the label on his beer. Logan Howlett wasn’t a man who was ever really nervous, but the conversation was getting too close to the many things he’s lost in his old world. Everyone he’d ever loved. “Not for a while. Just trying to get back on my feet after… everything. Besides, no time since I’m always either on the job or here drinking with you.”

Mike laughed and pointed in his direction. “You need a girl. A good woman to take care of you.”

“He’s not wrong, Howlett,” John tossed out. “I mean, look at your sorry ass. You’re pitiful on your own.”

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle as he picked up a handful of peanuts and chucked them across the table at the other man. “Yeah, well,” he raised his hand toward the bartender for another round, “no good woman would have me in the first place.”

“That’s it, boys,” Mike said, slamming his palm on the table. “We gotta find this man a girl.”

“Try it and you’ll have to have my boot surgically removed from your ass, boy.”

The men around the table laughed, throwing good natured barbs back and forth. Another round of beers thudded against the table as Mike got up and fed money into the old juke box in the corner.

Logan watched the rest of the crew with curious eyes. He couldn’t explain the thoughts running through his mind. Wade’s words mixed with Mike’s. With John’s. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like friendship for anyone. There was Wade and Blind Al, but that was different. These guys were as close to what the X-Men had been for him before it had all gone to shit. 

They were his family. All of them. Even that loud mouthed red bastard.

***

The bell over the door chimed as Logan stepped inside. The bakery was warm and smelled like melted sugar and fruit, a faint aroma of coffee beneath it all. People milled about, sitting at the tables set up against the walls. The display case was still full of pastries and treats, some that were new and others that had become favorites over the past few weeks. 

He strolled along the display, trying to decide what he wanted this time, when he heard her voice. 

“Hi! What can I get you?”

It took a moment for Logan to realize she was speaking to him. When his gaze finally focused, he felt his breath catch in his throat. She had eyes so deeply blue they were almost purple. Her red and gold hair swept over her shoulder in a braid that tickled her collarbone. Her face was a soft oval. A smudge of what looked like cocoa stroked up her cheekbone. 

She looked at him expectantly, the smile still bright on her lips. Logan couldn’t help but look at them. Watching the way they curved in a full sort of way.

He cleared his throat when he realized he was staring. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he said as he turned his attention to the display. “Yeah, I’ll… um… I’ll have four of the brownies. Two of those cookie sandwich things. And…”

She moved behind the display, gently sliding the case open and carefully pulling out the trays of sweets. He watched the way she moved. It was smooth. Fluid. Almost as if she were dancing.

“You know,” she said, drawing his attention once again. She leaned against the top of the display, pointing a pair of tongs at him with a smile. “If you’ve got a sweet tooth, you might want to try these. Sweet cream and candied fruit on a butter pastry. Dusted in sugar and cinnamon.”

Logan groaned out loud. “How many you got?”

The girl laughed, flashing white teeth and an even brighter smile. “I’ve got three left.”

“I’ll take them.” 

A pleased shade of pink slipped over her cheeks as she packed up the rest of his order. Logan felt like he was reeling. Like the world had gone a bit off kilter beneath his feet. The girl standing behind the counter was beautiful and overwhelmingly vibrant. It was as if she glowed from within. As if there was something completely otherworldly about her. She seemed so amazingly full of life. 

And way too young, his thoughts whispered gruffly.

She tucked each of his purchases into small boxes and then into a bag with the bakery’s logo on it. Her brow furrowed a bit as she tapped into the tablet, totaling up his order. He was suddenly fascinated by the way her nose scrunched a little and how the light streaming through the windows made her hair turn copper gold.

A sudden gasp snapped him back to attention. She grinned at him over the register.  “Keep coming around, and you’ll make sure this place stays in business! Only other person who spends anything close to this kind of money here is my brother. And that’s after he gets the family discount.”

“Your brother?” The words fell out before he could stop himself. Logan felt like he’d been punched in the chest. Once he made himself objectively pay attention, he could see the resemblance. “Are you Adam’s sister?”

Her blue-purple eyes brightened. “Yes! Do you know him?” She swept her gaze over him. He felt a strange sort of preening pride settle in his chest at her inspection. After a few seconds of tense quiet, her smile returned, lighting up her face. “Logan? You have to be Logan!”

The sound of his name from her lips almost knocked him over. He forced himself to breathe. To not make a complete fool of himself. He smiled, feeling heat creep up his neck. His hand came up, scratching nervously at the back of his head. The way she stared at him made his stomach drop somewhere down behind his knees. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone just looked at him like that.

“Yeah,” he replied, hoping that he sounded smooth. “I take it he’s mentioned me.”

She nodded before turning her gaze back to the register. “Maybe once or twice,” she teased before tapping the screen and reading out a new total. “Any friend of Adam’s…”

Logan practically grinned back as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He passed over enough cash to cover it, then dropped another twenty in the tip jar along with the change she handed back. Taking the bag in one hand, he held out the other.

“It’s nice to meet you…” he trailed off even though he knew her name already. He just wanted to hear her say it. 

“Ash,” she replied, taking his hand. Her fingers were warm and gentle against his roughened palm. “It’s good to meet you, too, Logan. Come by any time. And I’ll make sure to send some sweets your way when Adam grabs a box for the guys.”

The heat burned along his face as he practically grinned back at her. “You don’t have to do that, but I’m not going to turn it down!” He teased her, surprising himself when he winked. For a moment, his fingers itched to gesture her closer. To reach out and wipe the smudge of chocolate powder from the soft, round curve of her face. For a moment, he was paralyzed by the thought that he might do it. Instead, he rocked back on his heels and tapped the counter with the tips of his fingers. He sucked in a deep breath before gutting up and gesturing to the side of his own face. “By the way, Ash, you’ve got a little something on your cheek.”

She straightened up, swiping her hands over her face while crimson crept up toward her hairline. “Thanks,” she whispered back, voice shaking with embarrassment as she rubbed the end of a cloth over her face.

He smirked. “Don’t mention it. Was kind of adorable to be honest.”

She smiled at him as he took a few steps backward toward the door. He turned on his heel and walked the rest of the way with his heart thumping in his chest. What the fuck was that about? Jesus, if he didn’t know any better, Logan would have thought that he was flirting. And flirting with a girl who was far too young and pure to even be in the thoughts of a man like him. His face felt hot as the bell chimed over his head.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Logan said to himself as he walked toward his bike. He shook his head and clipped the bag to the seat in front of him. The roar of the engine calmed his heartbeat for just a moment. Once he pulled away from the curb, the only thing he could think about was not dropping the bag. 

***

Logan always had a headache by lunchtime. It didn’t matter that he wore three sets of ear protectors—the foam ones inside his ears, another small pair that wrapped over his ears, and then a pair of large headphone-like noise dampeners—because his super senses always picked up every little sound on the job. The continuous grind of machines flooded his hearing, digging into his brain and making his head throb. The table saw set his teeth on edge. He cringed each time the nail gun went off. The constant hammering made him want to rip his eardrums out.

He tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Logan turned his head and saw Mike with his ear protectors down around his neck, looking at him as if to say he’d been trying to get the older man’s attention for a while. 

Clenching his jaw, Logan stripped off the safety gear so he could hear Mike’s voice. “Yeah?” he said loudly to be heard over the sawing in the background.

“Take a break, Logan,” he said with a pointed look. “Come have lunch with us.”

He fought to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He wanted to say no, that he had plenty of work to do, that he could eat later. But before he could open his mouth, his stomach grumbled. Mike smirked at him and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

With a scowl, Logan stuck his hammer into his toolbelt and tugged his gloves off with his teeth. “Fine,” he grumbled, chucking his ear protectors on the bench nearby and following the younger man out of the half-finished room. 

The others were already spread out sitting on a pile of lumber, digging into their food. Logan grunted as he tugged his bag out of the shared cooler. He was starving, but he’d barely had time to throw a sandwich and bag of chips in. God knew he’d be starving again by the time the end of the day rolled around. 

“What are you looking at?” he grumbled as he sat down with them. 

Adam couldn’t help but smirk as he passed a familiar white bag to him. Logan’s eyes went wide, and he was certain he was turning red. His name was written on the outside in looping black ink. “Was told to give you this. And threatened with bodily harm if I didn’t deliver it in one piece.”

He could feel the others watching him as he opened the bag and peered inside. There was something written in a gentle hand on the lid of the box. He drew it out slowly, making it a point not to look at the others. He knew Adam was going to be insufferable. And he could sense Mike and Jon trying not to laugh.

Logan felt his breath catch in his chest when he read the top. 

I’m trying something new. Maybe you can taste test it for me? Ash

Adam’s voice cut through the complete surprise clenching his chest. “Met my sister, didn’t you, Howlett?”

Coughing, Logan glared over at him. “I went to the damn bakery you’ve been going on about. Only a matter of time until I ran into her, now, isn’t it?”

“Said you spend as much as me,” he continued, teasing. The others were clearly trying to keep a straight face. “She was up at five this morning making sure that was done.”

He flipped open the box and felt his mouth water as the still-warm scent hit his nose. It was a cloying scent of something sweet overlayed on a faint tang of sourness. The dessert was made of alternating layers of what looked like jelly and cream. A glob of dark red jam sat on the top.

“Fork’s in the bag,” Adam chuckled. “C’mon, Howlett, I’m supposed to report back.”

Logan snarled in Adam’s direction as he fished out the fork. He cut off a corner, making sure to get some of the jam. The flavor that exploded in his mouth was like nothing he’d ever eaten before. The jelly had a citrusy crispness to it. The cream was thick, and he thought he could taste cottage cheese. The jam on top was sweet and filled with chunks of fresh raspberries.

He groaned quietly. “Fucking hell, this is good.” He pointed to the dessert with his fork and looked at Adam. “What is it?”

“No idea. Ash refused to tell me. I’m just supposed to tell her if you liked it.”

Logan took another bite, trying to stop the words that were bubbling out of his chest. “She work this evening? Because I’m going to buy a tray of it.”

When Logan looked over at him, Adam had his phone in his hand. The sound of ringing hit his sensitive eardrums. It was only then that it dawned on him what was happening. 

“C’mon, you don’t have to—”

“Hey,” Ash’s voice came filtering into the suddenly quiet air. “So how’d he like it?”

Adam chuckled. “Why don’t you ask him, A?”

“What?!” The word came out in something akin to a squeak. It was clear that Adam had caught his sister off guard. 

The phone was passed down along the line until it was pushed into Logan’s hand. He cleared his throat nervously. “Hey, Ash,” he said nervously. “What is this you sent? Because it’s absolutely fucking delicious.”

Warm, pleased laughter filled the space around him. “I’m glad you like it. I thought you might be able to tell me if the flavors worked. It’s not too sour?”

Logan chuckled and dug his fork into the dessert again. “It’s good. But what is it?”

“Quince and cream with raspberry jam.” Ash sounded pleased.

“I know two of those things.”

She laughed again, and it was easy to imagine that she was grinning. “I’ll introduce you to quinces sometime then.”

If Logan had been paying attention, he would have seen the way Adam, Mike, and Jon exchanged pleased smirks. 

***

Wade looked sideways at Logan as he dug around in the fridge for something to eat. Logan sat at the table with a Styrofoam container in front of him, a fork dangling from his fingers. The scent rising from the container was sweet and warm. Wade stepped up beside him and reached toward the pastry.

“What d’you have here, Peanut?” He leaned forward to get a better whiff. 

A loud snikt echoed in the kitchen as Logan’s claws shot from between his knuckles, impaling Wade through the wrist. “Don’t.”

Sighing dramatically, Wade pulled his arm free and grabbed for a towel to stop the bleeding before it got everywhere. “I was only looking! Sweet Marvel Jesus—I mean, me. What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“Don’t touch my food,” Logan snarled, cutting a sideways glance at Wade. He finally let himself take in his roommate’s curious and confused expression. “Just… don’t mess with it.”

Wade leaned his hip against the table, trying to hide a grin. “Okay. Okay.” He looked Logan over before pointing to the container in front of him. “You’ve got a sweet tooth lately. I wonder…”

He tapped his fingers against his bottom lip, shrugging as he moved back toward the fridge. Logan grunted.

“Spit it the fuck out, Wade.”

“I just wonder…” He pulled out a pizza box, popping open the top and giving it a dubious glance. “Is that sweet tooth of yours for the food or for the pretty little baker behind the counter?”

“It’s not like that,” Logan replied quickly. “Ash just sends new stuff she’s trying to the job. Wants us to tell her what we think. And it’s good, okay?”

Wade looked him over, shit-eating grin on his face. He leaned against the counter. “If that’s what lets you sleep at night. After you jerk off thinking about bending Ash over the counter every time you go in.”

Logan stood up, face red and claws still dripping with Wade’s blood. “One more word, Wade. I swear to God, one more word and I’m going to rip your goddamn head from your shoulders.”

“Jeeze, Logan,” Wade added, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’re denying it pretty hard for a guy who doesn’t want to get underneath that cute little apron. But you do you. Just send me a post card from Egypt while you’re floating down De-Nile.”

***

Logan stood outside the bakery with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His pulse thrummed under his skin as he watched through the window. Ash worked behind the counter, pulling pastries from the case and put them carefully in boxes. Her hair was tied back, little tendrils of it falling loose around her face. She laughed. 

She was beautiful. 

He took a breath and pushed off his bike. The bell tinkled over the door as he walked in. The scent of cinnamon and sugar wrapped around his enhanced senses. But underneath it all there was something soft and floral. A barely there fragrance that spiked whenever Ash moved. His breath caught behind his ribs for a moment.

Then she looked up and saw him. Her eyes widened and a smile spread over her face. “Logan! Hi,” she said, voice light and warm. She crossed behind the counter to come closer, wiping her hands on her apron. “What’ll it be today?”

He looked from her to the case full of tarts and muffins and all other sorts of sweets. He bit the inside of his lip as he looked. After a moment, he nodded to himself and leaned in. His eyes drank her in–her flushed cheeks and bright smile and eyes that were warm and welcoming. Logan cleared his throat. 

“Depends.”

Ash giggled softly and leaned against the case, propping her chin on her folded arms. “On what exactly?”

Logan felt himself smile. “On if the baker will let me buy her a coffee or dinner sometime.”

He cringed. It wasn’t the smoothest. His younger self would have been suave and cocky, but that had been a man who hadn’t watched everyone he ever cared about burn to the ground. But it was honest. And it was real, even if he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. 

“Hmm,” Ash said, smiling even more. “One condition then.”

He felt his lungs constrict. His stomach started to fall to his toes. “And that would be?”

“You tell me what you thought of that cherry and lemon custard tart I sent yesterday.”

Logan’s breath whooshed into his lungs. He huffed out a laugh. “I think I saw God with the first bite. And I might have licked the paper clean.”

She beamed. “I close up at six.”

“I’ll be here at 6:15.”

Tag List:

@princessanglophile @lillybahng

[ramonameisel]

New ask game for writers

1. Favorite place to write. 2. Favorite part of writing. 3. Least favorite part of writing. 4. Do you have writing habits or rituals? 5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most. 6. Favorite character you ever created. 7. Favorite author. 8. Favorite trope to write. 9. Least favorite trope to write. 10. Pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about. 11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish. 12. How do you deal with self-doubts? 13. How do you deal with writers block? 14. What’s the most research you ever put into a book? 15. Where does your inspiration come from? 16. Where do you take your motivation from? 17. On avarage, how much writing do you get done in a day? 18. What’s your revision or rewriting process like? 19. First line of a WIP you’re working on. 20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on. 21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s. 22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you? 23. Single or multi POV, and why? 24. Poetry or prose, and why? 25. Linear or non-linear, and why? 26. Standalone or series, and why? 27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished? 28. And who do you share them with? 29. Who do you write for? 30. Favorite line you’ve ever written. 31. Hardest character to write. 32. Easiest character to write. 33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing? 34. Handwritten notes or typed notes? 35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story ________. 36. A spoiler for story _________. 37. Most inspirational quote you’ve ever read or heard that’s still important to you. 38. Have you shared your outline of your story ________ with someone? If so, what did they think of it? 39. Do you base your characters of real people or not? If so, tell us about one. 40. Original Fiction or Fanfiction, and why? 41. How many stories do you work on at one time? 42. How do you figure out your characters looks, personality, etc. 43. Are you an avid reader? 44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten. 45. Worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten. 46. What would your story _______ look like as a tv show or movie? 47. Do you start with characters or plot when working on a new story? 48. Favorite genre to write in. 49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end? 50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had. 51. Describe the aesthetic of your story _______ in 5 sentences or words. 52. How did writing change you? 53. What does writing mean to you? 54. Any writing advice you want to share?

[winterwolvie]

Never Enough

Pairing: Old Man Logan x Reader Word Count: 8.4K Summary: Living in the smelting plant with Logan long ago became more prison than home. And sometimes, the only way to escape a prison is to take matters into your own hands. General Warnings: angst, depression, allusions to emotional neglect or abuse, Logan is really mean for a while Trigger Warnings: abortion/forced miscarriage (not by Logan), this gets dark, so please be careful! You are responsible for your own media consumption a/n: I don't normally write fics this long for a single shot, so bear with me with the transitions. Plus, this is the first thing I've written in a really long time. If you want to join any of my tag lists, fill out the form here. Dedicated to Lex, who talked me into this. 🫂🫂 @princessanglophile

The smelting plant was quiet in the way that noise could be quiet. There was the faint hum of the various appliances that Logan had found and dragged out into the middle of the Mexican desert. A fridge that was just about the only thing in the little kitchen that worked without complaint. A stove that was essentially four hot plates that he’d somehow wired together into the same outlet. With it being an old industrial plant, I wasn’t too worried about the breakers. A fire… maybe, but only if I used all four of them at the same time. There was a little toaster oven that he’d found at a rummage sale. Fans that did nothing to cut into the heat of the desert. Fans that just moved the dust and dirt around mercilessly. 

It was late. It was dark out, the shafts of light that usually illuminated the little room Logan had turned into what amounted to a living room muted into moonlight. Most of the windows had been boarded up long before Logan Howlett came out to the desert. Before the Westchester Incident and Transigen. Before the centuries had started to catch up with him. Before the adamantium that had made him nearly indestructible became the thing that was destroying him. Before the limo driving and having to care for an Omega level mutant with dementia and the ability to destroy the brains of everyone nearby if he forgot to take his medication. 

A plate of food sat in the toaster oven to stay warm. I’d had it ready hours ago–when I expected Logan home. But he still wasn't here and I hadn’t heard a word from him. Something that was becoming all the more common lately. He would stay out for hours. Days sometimes when he knew that Charles had enough medication to keep him seizure free. No phone call. No explanation. Only frustrated words and angry eyes that made it clear that he didn’t want me there. If he even spoke to me at all. If he even bothered to look in my direction. Most days… most days he took a bottle of whiskey deep into the plant and I didn’t see him again until I tried to rouse him to eat something. Anything. 

With a sigh, I put two plates of food and some drinks in a basket. Then I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and stepped out into the cool night. The sky was bright with stars overhead. At any other time, I would have stood beneath the velvet expanse and counted the winking balls of light like diamonds. But now I hurried across the sand to the water tank that had become both home and prison. At least, I thought, feeling guilty as soon as I did, he’s not alone. He’s got Caliban. And I don’t have to bear the emotional weight of this alone.

The old metal door groaned in protest as I levered it open. Deep shadows hugged the outer edges of the circular space. My chest ached every time that I came out here. With sadness for what Charles had become. I’d never known him as anything other than the frail man in the hospital bed, but I’d heard stories. Caliban had shared tales of Charles Xavier, leader of the X-Men and champion of understanding and acceptance. I wished I’d known him then. But it wasn’t just an ache for Charles. It was an ache for Caliban because he was just as much a prisoner here as I had become. It was an ache for me because I felt as if I carried all of this on my shoulders. 

It was an ache for Logan, who had lost the only family that he had ever known all in a single moment. And now he had to take care of Charles, a daily reminder of everything that he’d lost. Everything he’d once been. I could understand why he was bitter. Why he was angry. It wasn’t just the pain of adamantium slowly poisoning him. Or of 200 years landing on him all at one as his healing factor failed thanks to Transigen and their X-gene suppressant in the food. 

He resented Charles. And although I know he’d never admit it, he was waiting for him to die. Maybe even hoping for it. Because at least then he would be free of the reminder of a time when he was happy. When he was healthy and useful. When he had a family that had accepted him for every part of himself–the good and the bad. 

The sound of shuffling feet to the left drew my attention. I glanced over to see Caliban emerge from the shadows. Sometimes I was still struck by the chalky paleness of his skin and the bright, ice sharp blue of his eyes. Even when he smiled kindly–like he did just then–it was unnerving in a way that made my spine tingle. 

“He’s still not back?” he asked, voice soft in the cavernous space. There was pity in his eyes. Pity and an understanding that I’d come to be grateful for in the time I’d been out in the middle of nowhere. I’d lost track of how long it had been since the last time I’d spoken to anyone beyond the inhabitants of the smelting plant. 

“No,” I said. I hated how my words broke in the middle, cracking like eggshells under too much pressure. “No call either. For all I know he’s holed up in some motel fucking some drunk bachelorette who flashed him from the backseat.”

Caliban opened his mouth to speak. Probably to attempt to reassure me that Logan wouldn’t hurt me like that. But we both knew better. Sometimes it felt as if Logan’s purpose in life was to bring me to tears. 

“How is he tonight?” I asked, changing the subject as I followed Caliban into the main room of the water tank. Charles lay in the pilfered hospital bed in the center of the room. A pair of lamps stood at the head of his bed–one on either side–and cast a sickly yellow glow over everything. He looked so fragile. Thin with wisps of white hair and skin that was mottled with bruises that appeared out of nowhere. Most of the time, his eyes were far away. Looking at someone or something that none of us could see. In the moments when he was lucid, those same eyes were scared or frustrated. Angry in a way that he didn’t understand. 

“Agitated,” Caliban replied quietly. “Like he knows something’s wrong. Or that something is going to happen.”

The mutant gave me a knowing look, eyes flickering over my body. I swallowed hard. An ache started behind my ribs. Conversations floated through my mind. Decisions that couldn’t be taken back once it happened. 

“Charles, look who’s here.” Caliban moved around the bed to move a hospital tray over the bed. “She’s brought you supper.”

The older mutant looked at me for a long moment, eyes struggling to focus. To come back from whatever memory or world he’d been lost in. I watched him blink, watched the recognition flicker just long enough for him to say my name. But then the moment was gone and fear bled into his features. He sank back against the pillows, gaze darting between me and Caliban. 

“How are you feeling, Charles?” I asked softly, stepping closer to him slowly. I’d learned early on that sudden movements and loud noises made him agitated. I sat the basket on the little tray, carefully withdrawing the plates of food. I handed one to Caliban before unwrapping the aluminum foil from the other. It wasn’t anything fancy–just some vegetables cooked to nice softness and a bit of shredded chicken in some honey that I’d been able to convince Logan to bring back months ago. When he was in a good mood.

When he loved me enough to do small things like that for me. 

“Jean, what have you done to your hair? It looks horrible.” Charles said the words with a venom that made me feel simultaneously hurt and sad. 

Caliban and I looked at one another. We’d argued before about what was best to do in moments like these. Should I play along? Or should I remind him who I really was? Sometimes I couldn’t help but let him talk to me like he must have to those people he’d loved so much. I didn’t know anything about them–-not really–but it seemed to calm him down just to talk.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” I said quietly. “I’ll make sure to fix it back the way it was before I come to see you again.”

Charles scoffed. “Don’t let Logan see. He’ll hate it. You know how he gets with you.”

My heart clenched behind my ribs as I looked up at the other mutant in the room. Jean Grey was the one person from Logan’s past that I didn’t want to know about. It felt petty to be jealous of a dead woman, but between the way Charles talked about the two of them and the wistful look Logan got in his eyes whenever she was mentioned I just couldn’t bear it. 

“He’s already seen it. And told me exactly what he thinks.” 

It grew quiet for a long moment. When I looked back to Charles, his eyes were lucid. Knowing. There was a faint, clumsy pressure against my temples as the older man looked me over. His eyes flicked up to mine, brow furrowing as he said my name. 

“Give him a chance to prove you wrong,” Charles said out of nowhere, reaching for my hand. He said my name again, eyes dragging back down to settle on my stomach. I had to fight the urge to wrap my arms around myself. “Give him a chance to be better. To make a choice with you. To choose you.”

I reached out slowly, brushing my fingertips against the back of his hand. “It’s alright, Charles. Everything is going to be just fine soon enough. I promise.”

My thoughts turned and churned as I sat on the edge of his bed, careful in how I helped him eat. In those fleeting lucid moments, he looked at me with sad eyes. Each time, I forced my lips to twitch upward in a strained smile. He called me by my name and kept going on about mistakes he’d made and the ones he wished he’d never even contemplated until it was too late. 

“Don’t realize it too late,” he said. “Don’t wait too late just because Logan makes it difficult.”

I sighed softly as I helped him try to feed himself. He hated feeling like he was helpless–lucid or not–so I did my best to let him have whatever autonomy I could. “He makes everything difficult,” I said, forcing a laugh that was empty and uncomfortable. 

Charles looked down at my body and then back up at my face. “What you’re thinking… what you and Caliban are planning… don’t do it. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

I shrugged. “We’re not doing anything, Charles.” The words were hollow. Unbelievable. I sighed softly and stayed quiet as he finished eating. I glanced over his head to see Caliban in his corner, plate empty and hands working over a small tin box. “I promise.”

He watched me with eyes that were slowly slipping away from lucidity. The fork trembled in his hands, food dropping down onto his shirt. My heart broke as I reached out to gently take the fork from him. I wiped the food from his shirt slowly, afraid to startle him as his mind started to go. 

“Don’t do it,” he said one last time before his voice faded away and his stare unfocused.

I swallowed down the ache in my throat as I leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Goodnight, Charles.”

I packed the empty plate into the basket before standing up to tuck the blankets around his shoulders. He looked so small. Fragile. Nothing like the man I’d been told about.

My heart ached as I crossed the room toward Caliban, my soul heavy with the lie I’d told Charles in the last few minutes of his lucidity. The guilt sat heavy behind my ribs. It bled like acid through my veins.

“Is that it?” I asked tentatively as I packed his plate away with the other. Caliban sat there on a little stool, the box in front of him. It was battered and worn, the metal peeking through scratches over the red paint.

Caliban was quiet for a long moment before nodding. “Yes. I got everything last night.” His pale hands clutched the box as if he was afraid to let it go. As if he was second guessing the whole thing. Maybe he was afraid of what Logan was going to do if he found out that he’d helped me.

I reached out to put my hand on top of his. It was always surprising at how warm he was. “I want to do this, Cal,” I said tentatively. My fingers slipped, moved to pull the box from his hands. “He won’t know anything about it. Not about you.”

He laughed, nervousness and something like terror slipping into his gaze. “He’ll know. And the moment Charles is gone, I’ll have adamantium ripping my guts open.”

A heavy weight settled in my stomach. I pressed my palm against it, feeling sick. “He doesn’t care enough about me for that. You’ll be alright.”

Before he could respond, the quiet was broken by the sound of the gate squealing open and then closed again. Headlights swept over the barren desert, the light slipping through the rusted gaps in the corrugated metal of the water tank. Tires crunched over dirt and gravel until the car turned off. The door opened, there were a few groans of discomfort, and then the door slamming shut. Limping footsteps soon disappeared into the smelting plant. 

“He’s back,” Caliban said as if I hadn’t just heard the limo pull up outside.

I nodded, taking the box and slipping it into the basket. “It’s alright, Cal. I promise.”

Without another word, I turned to slip out of the tank and crossed the empty space back to the smelting plant. The dirt from the limo still wafted in the air, choking me as I took a shallow breath. Everything in my body seized up, bracing for whatever was going to happen when I entered the plant. Sometimes Logan looked through me. Ignored me as if I didn’t exist. Other times he raged, yelled and said the most hurtful things.

I couldn’t remember the last time that he’d touched me with gentleness. When he’d had a kind word for me. 

He was at the little kitchen table when I walked in. There was blood seeping down his collar. His lip was split open. My first instinct was to go to him, to check his wounds and clean them up with a steady hand. But I knew that would only make things worse. Logan hated pity. Almost as much as he hated me. 

I stepped past him in silence. Busied myself with washing the plates from Charles and Caliban’s dinner. I left the box in the basket as I turned toward the toaster oven to retrieve the still warm plate I’d saved for him. My hands shook as I sat it on the table within his reach. Steam rose slowly from the food, the savory scent of honey chicken filling the small space. Masking–just for a moment–the scent of dust and age and rust. 

“Don’t,” Logan said, his voice a gruff snap that felt like a smack to the face. “Don’t fucking baby me.”

He already had a glass of whiskey in front of him, bottle open next to it. I could only imagine that he’d already had one glass. He’d probably finish the bottle by the end of the night, wherever he ended up. 

The air seized in my lungs at the venom in his words. I blinked, biting my lip hard so that I didn’t say anything. Instead, I just nodded and turned my back on him. I put a small pot on one of the hot plates and waited for it to boil. While I waited, I drew the tin from the basket and pried it open carefully. Aging or not, Logan still had better hearing than most. I knew he heard the sound, but I also knew that he wouldn’t care enough to ask. 

Inside was a collection of leaves and berries that were so dark red they were nearly purple. The scent was a strange mix of bitter and sweet. I felt a clench of anxiety as I pulled out a chipped cup and shook some of the mix into it. My blood thundered through my veins as I watched the water steam and boil. Before I could think better of it, I dumped the entire container into the cup. Plucked one of the berries from it and took a bite. The taste was almost sickenly sweet. Saliva flooded my mouth as my stomach clenched the way it did just before I vomited. I clenched my teeth until the sensation faded away. Then I ate the last of the berry before pouring the boiling water into the mug. 

The steam was strangely fragrant as I swirled it with a spoon. I pressed down on the leaves on the bottom of the cup. Squished the berries until they popped open, dark red juice swirling in the darkening tea. Logan let out a huff behind me. A sound that meant he was already getting tired of me being in the same room. Sharing the same air. My heart squeezed even though I expected it. I’d grown used to him resenting the fact that I drew breath.

Without another word, I picked up the cup and the tin, hiding the latter beneath my shirt. My stomach flipped at the warm metal against my skin. There was a heavy pang in my chest as I realized that this was happening. I pressed the tin against my stomach and said a silent apology. To the little life that had settled in my body. The life that would be gone within a few hours.

It had happened one night when Logan came home early. He had flowers–wilted from being in the limo for hours on end–and had soft words and tender touches for me. He hadn’t been in as much pain that day. He’d wanted me to sit with him while he ate the dinner I’d saved for him. Then he pulled me to the bathroom. He took me in the shower, up against the wall with a ruthless tenderness that made me sob into his shoulder. Then again in our narrow bed, thrusts deep and heavy. Hitting spots that made me see stars and fall apart beneath him. 

Things had gone right back to the way they had been–the silence, being ignored, words that were sharp and angry and designed to wound–as if that night had never happened.

I’d missed one period, but hadn’t worried about it. My cycle had been irregular for most of my life anyway. But when I missed the second one, when I spent several mornings every week hanging over the toilet from the moment I woke up, I got concerned. I didn’t have access to any pregnancy tests, so I just had to guess. As my body started to change slowly, it became more certain. 

I was pregnant with Logan’s baby. There had been a brief moment of happiness. Of wonder. Of a hope that maybe–just maybe–this would bring him back to me. That he would see me. Would know me again. But I knew with a devastating certainty that none of that would happen. That he would look at me with anger. Disgust. Because I’d put another burden on his shoulders. Another thing that he had to deal with. That tied him down to this place. To me. 

Because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the moment Charles passed away, Logan would disappear. Without a word, without goodbye. He would leave me all alone in a derelict smelting plant in the middle of the desert without a phone or a way to get to El Paso to find my way back to the world. Caliban and I would have to walk into the desert and hope that we were going in the right direction to get somewhere that we could get help. 

I sipped the tea as I walked quietly deeper into the smelting plant to the room where we slept. Most nights he didn’t even come to bed. He slept passed out on the worn-out couch out in the living space. The tea was bitter as it slid over my taste buds and down my throat. It was heavy in my stomach, but I was sure that it was more nervousness than anything else. Neither Caliban nor I knew what would happen once I drank the tea. 

Just that it would end the pregnancy that I somehow wanted even if the man who I loved hated me. And would hate the life inside me even more. 

The bedframe creaked as I settled on the mattress that had seen far better days. I leaned back against the pillows and closed my eyes, tears burning against my eyelids as I drank the tea quickly. The bitterness stung my tongue as I finished it. I scooped the mashed berries from the cup and ate them as well. When I was done, I put the cup on the floor and turned onto my side. The blankets were worn and soft, even if they were a little thin. One was an old, frayed quilt that Logan had found in a second-hand shop. I’d loved it when he brought it home. I still did, even if it made me long for the man who had once loved me enough to find small little gifts for me. 

Now it was just another reminder that I wasn’t welcome here anymore. In his life. His heart. 

My head throbbed as I closed my eyes. My throat burned. I fell asleep slowly, fitfully. Wrapping my arms around my body as I sank into an uncomfortable doze.

***

I had a vague awareness of the mattress dipping behind me. The movement dragged me out of the barely-there sleep that had hovered over me for God knew how long. Three things happened at once. First, the heat of Logan’s body sank into my skin. It was an ever-present inferno that made me suddenly hyper aware of how cold I was. I was shivering so hard that it felt like my teeth were going to start clacking together. Second, his rough, calloused hand brushed against my back. It was an accidental touch. Logan never touched me anymore. Not if he could help it, anyway. He must have been drunk. But the touch made my skin burn, made me realize how my clothes were stuck to my skin with sweat. And third, pain wrapped around my hips like barbed wire. It was a clenching pain that was a hundred times worse than my worst period cramps. 

A low moan of pain rolled out of me. I shifted, agony ripping through my womb and out through my hips. My thighs were slick with something wet and hot. My head felt like it was about to burst open, nausea tore through my stomach as vomit rushed up my throat. I heaved and leaned over the edge of the bed, emptying the contents of my stomach with heavy, acidic gags and coughs. My body cramped so hard that it sucked the breath from my lungs. 

I cried out as there was a rush of something thick and heavy against my underwear. I shuddered, shivers running through my whole body even as I continued to sweat through my clothes. My hair stuck to my forehead as I heaved again.

The mattress dipped as Logan rolled toward me with a grunt. I clutched at the pillows and blankets as if that would keep me anchored to my body. As if it would stop the pain that was still burning through me. I moaned into the pillow as another cramp punched the breath from my body.

Logan’s voice was rough as he said my name. I felt him hover over me as he propped himself up on his elbow. He growled as he reached out, hand closing over my upper arm. He shook me twice, saying my name again in that way that he had when he was frustrated. When he just wanted me to go away. 

He sat up even more, his fingers pushing the blankets down off my sweating body. The room turned a sickly yellow as he reached over me to turn the bedside lamp on. 

“Shit,” he growled as he rolled me onto my back. I wailed, pain stabbing sharp and angry into the space between my hips. Logan came into view over me. My vision was blurry and distant as his shape appeared. “Hey, hey. Hey! Look at me.”

He tapped my cheek roughly before shaking me again. He called my name as his hand skimmed over me as if checking for wounds. When his palm skimmed over my stomach I arched away. Just the touch made another spike of pain roll through me. 

Logan’s hands continued their exploration. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit,” he swore. I felt his fingers against my thighs. Felt them slip against the skin. When he brought his hand up, the light caught the deep crimson that stained his fingertips. 

Blood.

Even through the pain, something like relief flooded through me. “It worked,” I sobbed out, breath catching deep in my chest. It didn’t matter that I was bleeding, that I was wracked with pain that made my heart beat out of rhythm in my chest. All that mattered was that the tea had worked. It was over.

I felt the blankets get ripped back. The bed creaked loudly as Logan heaved his adamantium-heavy body to sit up. My head turned away from him, hand pressing the pillow to my face as I moaned in a fresh wave of pain. Every fraction of movement made another sluggish trickle of blood slick against my thighs and soak into the sheets beneath me. I knew the mattress was ruined. Nothing would get the blood out of it.

It was just another reason for Logan to hate me. Another thing to add to the pile of my sins and transgressions.

“Shit,” he growled, getting out of the bed with a finesse that he rarely displayed anymore. He disappeared from the room without another word. 

My fingers curled into the sheets. Into the flesh of my stomach, pressing down as if I could expel the last of the agony from my body. I gasped in a breath as tears slipped down my face back into my hair. I didn’t understand why I was crying, but it felt like an exorcism of sorts. A release of pain and loss and longing. A goodbye to the life that I had once so naively hoped I could have with Logan Howlett. Long ago before the desert had become my prison.

Far off in the plant, I heard the door slam open. Footsteps moved fast and frantic through the cavernous space. And suddenly there were hands on my body again. Cool, trembling fingers that brushed my hair back and felt at my clammy, overly warm skin. A hand that pressed tenderly at my stomach, lifting when I let out a moan of discomfort.

My eyes blinked open, struggling to focus on the shape that hovered over me. The light from the lamp cast the body in shadow for a moment before it shifted. Caliban came into focus as he leaned over me, eyes wide and terrified as he swept over me.

“Did you…?” he asked quietly, voice pitched low enough that Logan wouldn’t hear. Caliban glanced to the side, saw the tin sitting on the floor by the bed next to the puddle of vomit. “How much?”

I groaned softly. “All of it,” I mumbled, voice slurred as if I was drunk. The pain made my head feel fuzzy. “It worked, Cal.”

He said my name quietly as he leaned closer. “Did you eat the berries? You weren’t supposed to eat them.”

“What the fuck is wrong, Caliban?” Logan snarled from somewhere across the room. “What’s wrong with her?”

Caliban shifted to turn more toward Logan. “I don’t know,” he lied. “Help me clean this up. Go get a tub of warm water and some towels. Clean clothes and sheets.”

I groaned, hands weak as they lifted to push at Caliban’s shoulders. His cool fingers wrapped around my wrists and put them back down on the bed. “Get rid of it, Cal,” I moaned softly as my thighs shifted. Tears welled up again as I tried to reach for him. “Take it out and get rid of it.”

He turned his attention away from me. “Go, Logan. I’ll do what I can.” Caliban looked back at me, sadness on his face. He said my name gently, speaking as if he didn’t already know what had happened. “I’m going to see what’s wrong, okay?”

The room was quiet for a moment before a set of heavy, limping footsteps faded into the bathroom nearby. A faucet squeaked and water splashed into the sink. As soon as he was sure that Logan was occupied and unable to hear, Caliban carefully stripped off my pants and underwear. He didn’t look, didn’t bother to examine. He just wrapped the cloth in a tight bundle and pressed it against the floor where the vomit still pooled. He gently rolled me onto my side and pulled the sheets from the edge of the mattress and tucked them between my legs to clean up some of the mess.

“Burn it,” I said, voice soft as the pain started to ebb. Or at least I’d begun to be numb to it. My chest was tight and my limbs trembled uncontrollably, but the pain had faded into the background. “Burn all of it.” 

Caliban moved. The room echoed with the screech of the window being forced open. A sickening thump followed. I took a deep breath, another wave of relief washing over me. It was over. It was over.

“You shouldn’t have eaten the berries,” he said firmly, voice low even if Logan was in the next room. “You were only supposed to drink the juice mixed with the tea.”

I ached but smiled weakly. “Doesn’t matter now,” I murmured. “It’s done. If something else happens… he won’t miss me.”

His hands were gentle as he brushed sweaty hair back from my face. His words were painful when he whispered them. “But I will. Charles will.”

My eyes fluttered shut. Something like guilt–like sadness–settled in my chest. The truth was that I hadn’t thought about Caliban and Charles when I’d taken that first bite of the poisonous berries. I’d only worried about the ache of loneliness that had been picking me apart for so long I’d forgotten when it began. I’d only worried about how the thing inside me would only make Logan despise me even more. That it would only give him another reason to give me silence or sharp words designed to slice me to the depths of my soul. 

I’d only worried about somehow getting free of it all. 

Light spilled over the room as Logan came back from the bathroom, a tub of steaming water sloshing in his hands. He brought it around the bed to the side closest to me. Caliban kicked the tin under the bed before Logan could see it. The tub thumped against the bedside table, water splashing over onto the floor. 

“What the fuck happened? What’s wrong with her?” Logan’s voice was angry when he spoke. “Why’s she fucking bleeding?”

“I don’t know. But help me get her cleaned up.” Caliban dipped a cloth in the water and began wiping the blood from my legs. The water was warm and he was gentle as he cleaned the evidence of my transgressions away. My mind drifted as he talked to Logan, as the two of them changed my clothes and then the sheets. They moved me as little as possible, fresh waves of pain rippling through me with every tiny motion.

I lost track of time. Eventually I was resting against the pillows, bedframe squeaking as Caliban tucked folded towels beneath my hips. I took one deep breath after another as he said something about getting me some water. The moment I was left alone with Logan, I closed my eyes and faced the wall. Trying to breathe. To stuff down the feeling of loneliness that hit the moment the only friendly face in the desert disappeared.

“Are you okay?” Logan asked, voice low and gravely. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or frustrated. Or just done with me. None of it surprised me. 

My throat worked as I swallowed. “Does it matter?”

The bed dipped. Groaned. His figure loomed next to me. But he didn’t touch me. Didn’t reach out or try to comfort me. He just sat there. 

“I asked, didn’t I?”

My throat burned. I wanted to cry, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in tears. “You don’t have to pretend to care.”

The words settled into the space between us. Falling like silence over the desert night. It was as if the chasm that had grown between us was suddenly wider and deeper. Uncrossable. Too big to bridge. Too deep to walk. It was permanent. It was inevitable. 

I sighed and tightened my fingers in the sheets. Anything to hold myself together. Because I promised myself a long time ago that I refused to beg him for his attention or affection. I didn’t want his pity. I’d grown too used to his apathy. His loathing. 

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Logan spat. The words were edged with something that I couldn’t name. Something confusing. 

“Exactly what it sounds like,” I said flatly. “Don’t pretend you care about anything more than the fact that you need to find a new mattress.”

The silence hit like a bomb. Exploded so completely that even the hum of the plant disappeared. My blood rushed in my ears, static filling my head as my stomach turned. I clenched my teeth against another rising tide of vomit. Sweat still slicked my face, soaked into my hair. I felt it gather in the hollows of my collarbones. My breath was gentle, shallow. 

Maybe I should have been frightened. But I wasn’t. I knew that one way or another, I wouldn’t have to bear the weight of Logan’s hatred for much longer. There was a good chance that the bundle of bloody clothes and… and that life wouldn’t be the only thing that ended up buried or burned in the desert that night. 

“Goddamnit,” he swore. He spat my name like it made him ill. It hurt more than it should have. More than I wanted it to. “Why are you always so fucking difficult? You’re bleeding in the damn bed and you have an attitude.”

Part of me wanted to laugh. Leave it to Logan Howlett to pick a fight at a time like this. But it was so very him that it was almost endearing. I shouldn’t have been surprised. He didn’t do emotions well. According to him, he never had. God forbid he change that for me. 

“I’m fine,” I said wearily. Breathing was too hard, too much. My mouth was dry. How long was it going to take Caliban? 

Logan’s footsteps were heavy as he came around the bed. He hovered for a moment before he sank down on the edge of the mattress by my feet. For a fraction of a second, his hand hovered in the air as if he wanted to touch me. But the moment went before it could truly be. 

“You need to go to the hospital.” He said the words like they were important. Like my comfort mattered. Like he cared. 

I huffed a sound that could almost have been mistaken for a laugh. “There’s no point.”

He growled low in his chest. “No point? The bed looked like the fucking hallway from The Shining. You’re going to the goddamn hospital.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

My eyes drifted closed. The room was too warm and too cool at the same time. My body was heavy and lethargic. Weight settled on my ribs as surely as if someone had piled cinder blocks over top of me. The faint sounds of the plant retreated. Came to me as if from far away–as if I was deep under water. I took a breath that felt like a sigh. But my lungs didn’t fill. Whatever air reached deep into the organ was pushed right back out again from the weight on my chest. 

A sound slipped past my lips as I tried to take another breath. A deeper breath. The static in my ears grew louder. Shrill as if someone had turned the world’s volume up as far as it could go. Then it went quiet. 

***

Waking up was difficult. Like swimming against the tide in an ocean of quicksand. My body felt like it didn’t belong to me. It didn’t move when my thoughts commanded it to. When I tried to lift my hand, the only thing that happened was a twitch of my fingers. A sterile scent burned my nose. Something that smelled like plastic was pressed tight against my nose. The scent was too sharp. Too clean.

I groaned, my head turning to the side as stiff fabric rustled beneath me. Moving took too much energy. My brain didn’t work. My body didn’t obey.

The sound of my name drew me a little further toward wakefulness. I blinked, the light stabbing into my eyes. When the world shifted into focus, I recognized the broad form slumped over in the chair beside me. Logan sat leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his head held in his hands. His face was haggard. Eyes bloodshot. 

The beeping of a machine drew my attention. Awareness seeped in slowly. A cuff around my arm. A cool plastic tube taped to the back of my hand. A heavy plastic monitor on my forefinger. I groaned.

“I said no hospital,” I said, voice breaking as if I hadn’t used it in ages. 

The chair scraped against the tiled floor as Logan moved closer. His hands shook a bit as he reached for me. Fingers gentle as they pressed against my wrist, callouses brushing over the steady pulse there. 

“Yeah, well, you were bleeding out in our bed. Your stubbornness was less important than your life.” Logan’s voice was rough. When I turned my head toad him, I saw the lines of exhaustion on his face. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot.

A lump formed in my throat as I watched him. There was something in his eyes that I hadn’t seen for longer than I could remember. My chest ached in a way that I couldn’t understand. All I could think about was why. Why was he suddenly looking at me like this? Like I mattered. 

“Our bed?” I replied. It was the smallest thing to latch onto, but those two words were somehow monumental to me. 

He leaned in, brow furrowing as he looked at me. Logan opened his mouth as if to say something, but he seemed to change his mind. Instead he rested his forehead against the back of my hand as his fingers wrapped around my own. I watched him as if I’d never seen him before. 

“Logan? What’re you doing?”

He took a breath against my skin. “Worrying about you. Am I not allowed to do that?”

I swallowed hard, chest feeling like it was about to crack open. My fingers twitched. “Didn’t think you’d care. You haven’t for so long.”

Logan huffed softly. I watched his mouth turn down. His jaw clenched. “If you didn’t try to fucking fix me–” He stopped with a frustrated groan. Then he took a breath, squeezed his eyes shut. He sat that way for a long moment before he looked up at me. His features contorted until it looked like whatever he was about to say pained him. “I know.”

Those two words–the acknowledgement of his neglect–were enough to snap the fragile structure of what was left of my heart. It cracked open in a way that made my chest seize. The monitor beside my bed beeped loud and quick.

“I–I’m sorry,” he said softly. I’d never heard his voice like this. Remorseful. Self-aware in a way that recognized his mistakes. “I’ve been an asshole. For way too long.”

My eyes squeezed shut. The world felt too heavy. Too real. I opened my mouth to speak, but Logan’s voice cut me off as he said my name. It was tender, quiet in the way that someone spoke when they were about to say something painful.

“The doctor said you’d have died if I hadn’t brought you in. You… you were pregnant. And it’s… it’s gone.” He squeezed my hand as if he’d never touch me again. “They said you had a miscarriage. But they can’t see why.”

“Me,” I confessed. 

His fingers flexed, tightening against my hand. “What?”

“I’m why.” I felt nauseous. I couldn’t look at him. “Me.”

Logan said my name with confusion. With something like dawning horror. “Did you know?”

I nodded, eyes closed as the first tears slipped silently down my cheeks. “I knew you wouldn’t want it.”

The silence stretched until it felt as if all the sound had been sucked from the world. As if the universe had become a vacuum. When he spoke again, his voice was impossibly soft. Hurt. “What did you do?”

My breath came out broken. “Got rid of it.” For the first time since I’d confided in Caliban what I planned, I felt regret. Something like shame. 

“You… why didn’t you tell me?”

I turned away from him, afraid of how to go on. How to explain to him what I’d felt. Why I’d done what I’d done. The absolute desperation that had gripped me. I cried as if purging something from deep within me. 

“Because it would have been just another reason for you to hate me. And…” I gasped for breath, the monitor beside me beeping faster. “I couldn’t bear it. You already resented me just existing. And I knew that you didn’t want me to start with. This would just have made everything worse.”

The world narrowed. It shrank until it felt suffocating. Logan looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. His gaze held so many things. Disbelief. Anger. Horror. Confusion. 

“You can leave me here, Logan,” I said quietly, looking away from him to stare at the wall. My voice caught at the realization that this could be goodbye. And no matter how much pain he’d put me through–no matter how much he’d made me feel small and unwanted–I still loved him. I loved him more than I thought was still possible. “I’ll be okay.”

For just a moment, everything stood still. And I was sure that Logan would leave. I knew it in my bones. And it hurt more than I wanted to admit. But then, without warning, he moved closer. His hand hovered for just a moment before he reached for mine. His calloused fingers wrapped around mine, thumb brushing over the back of my hand. 

A few seconds of silence bled into the space between us before he whispered my name like a prayer. Like a benediction. “I know I’ve been shit to you. I didn’t do it on purpose. Not in the way you think. I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.”

My eyes squeezed shut as he wrapped my hand in both of his. I let myself feel it. To want it. Because the truth was that I had been craving his touch for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to have his hands on me with tenderness. Something shot through my nervous system at the feel of his warm hands over mine. I took a breath that caught behind my ribs. 

“I hate how much I need you. I hate how much I don’t want to need you. Because needing people… when I need people, they…” Logan paused, chest rising and falling as if he’d just fought an army. His fingers tightened in reflex. “Nothing good happens to the people I need. And I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”

“Lo…” We both froze at that single syllable. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d called him that. “I’ve felt… I’ve been so alone. Can you imagine what it’s been like for me? The only human? The only woman? But more than that… I haven’t spoken to anyone else but you, Caliban, and Charles for almost a year. That plant… that desert…”

I swallowed hard, fighting down the urge to pull my hand away. “It’s a prison. And you’ve been my jailer for so long.” My eyes burned. I blinked fast, trying to push the tears down. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not about this. “If you don’t want me anymore, just say so. I’d rather be alone somewhere else than be forced to watch you loathe me more every day.”

Logan leaned forward, pressing his forehead to my shoulder. He wrapped one arm around me, draping it over my waist. His thumb ran slow sweeps back and forth along my ribs. Soothing and grounding. I didn't know if it was for him or for me. Either way, the touch of his hand was enough to make me sink into him. 

“I’m an old man, sweetheart,” he groaned against my collarbone. “Older than anyone has the right to be. And I’m dying slowly. Painfully. The thing that made me indestructible for so long is now what’s killing me. I’m in pain all the time. And the pain makes me angry.

“I’m as far from the man I used to be than I’ve ever been. And I hate it. I hate hurting and feeling weak. I hate that I can’t do the things for you that a man should do,” he continued. “You’re young and beautiful and have a life ahead of you. I… don’t.”

“Logan, look at me,” I said, voice soft and gentle. Tentative in a way that I hadn’t felt in so many months. “I’ve only ever wanted a life with you. Even when you stopped wanting it with me.”

“Never said I didn’t want a life with you, sweetheart,” he replied.

The air left my lungs slowly. Completely. With an ache that was so deep that it branded into the fibers of my soul. “You didn’t have to say it.”

“I know. I know I fucked up more times than I can count. Probably more than I have in the last 200 years. But I… I loved you. More with every breath. And it scared the shit out of me. Still does. But God help me, being without you scares me even more.” Logan finally reached out, his fingertips brushing along my cheekbone with a featherlight touch. “I never should have made you feel unwanted. Because you are.

“I want you so much it hurts. I need you. Needing makes me weak. Needing is what got me to Charles’s school. Needing is what made me stay.” He paused. He didn’t talk about the time before unless he absolutely couldn't help it. And even then, it was in a clipped tone that made it clear that he didn’t want to relive that part of his life.

I leaned toward him, needing the comfort of his hands and his warmth. Wishing that I could take his pain away. Even as I was burning with pain of my own. I swallowed hard, trying to catch my breath.

“Needing is what got people killed,” he continued. His thumb stroked the soft skin beneath my eye. He leaned in until his forehead rested against mine. He whispered my name as he cradled my face in trembling hands. “I’m broken. I’m centuries old and so full of pain and regret and hatred that I’m just poison. I… God help me, if something happened to you because of me…”

At that moment, I saw him. As he was, not as my hurt made him out to be. “I wish you talked to me,” I said quietly, one hand coming up to rest on his forearm. “You pushed me away so hard that I… I didn’t care what happened to me.”

He let out a breath that seemed to come from deep within him. As if his heart had cracked open inside his chest and everything within him came pouring out. His hold on my face tightened, holding me as if he was afraid I was going to disappear. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I–” His voice broke and, for the first time since I’d met him, Logan Howlett cried. Not dramatically, but a silent flow of tears down his weathered cheeks. “I don’t know how to fix it. I made you do this. You being here… it’s my fault. You could have died because I was a stubborn, angry drunk who didn’t know what I had in front of me.”

My thumbs brushed the tears from his cheeks. “I’m here now, Lo,” I breathed. The words were fragile, just like this thing that still existed between us. I didn’t know what would happen. If I would go back to that life in the smelting plant in the middle of the Mexican desert. Or if I would stay in whatever town we were in and try to start a life separate from everything out there. But I knew that I loved him. Even after everything.

Logan pressed his lips to my forehead. The kiss lingered, warm and bleeding hope. It was love. It was an apology. It was a plea for forgiveness. 

I closed my eyes and leaned into him, my own heart spilling need and a love I still didn’t understand. 

“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay.”

[winterwolvie]

Rebrand Update

So, changing a username is way more difficult than I expected. But I'm getting through it. As of right now (January 25 at 12:27 EST), I've completely updated the links on my AEW, WWE, and Marvel masterposts. I'll be working on my Real Person one next. Then the Miscellaneous one. I hope to have everything completely updated by the end of the week.

If you see anything I've missed, please let me know!

Be on the lookout for the Old Man Logan story. It's coming in the next day or two.

[winterwolvie]

I am having trouble reading your work. Somehow it goes to let me love you loki username and says no data found. Have you switched ids perhaps?

Hi! Yes! I've just changed my username and am working my way through fixing the links on the pages. Please bear with me. We're supposed to get a really bad storm this weekend and it might make it harder to get through.

My AEW Masterpost is completed. I'm working my way through the WWE next. Then my Real Person fic, and finally the Miscellaneous one.

[winterwolvie]

Miscellaneous Master Post

***1000 Follower Celebration Character Q & A***

***Character Q&A Round 2***

Magnus Martinsson (Wallander)

Bones and Glass (OC!Leyna/Multichapter/COMPLETED)

Creature (Lisa Frankenstein)

Peach Rings and Poetry (Lisa Frankenstein/One Shot/COMPLETED)

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)

Days Gone (OC!Lissa Thompson/Multichapter/ABANDONED)

Severus Snape (Harry Potter)

Second Time’s A Charm (Hermione Granger/Multichapter/ABANDONED/Marauders Era AU/Time Turner AU)

The Eleventh Doctor (Doctor Who)

Impossible! (Unnamed!OC/ One Shot/COMPLETED)

[winterwolvie]

Marvel Masterpost

Loki Laufeyson

The Concubine’s Wish (Unnamed!OC/ One Shot/COMPLETED) The Maiden’s Desire (Unnamed!OC/ One Shot/COMPLETED) The Gods of Mischief (No Reader/One Shot/COMPLETED/AU Rockstar!Loki)

Logan/Wolverine

Never Enough (Unnamed!OCxOld Man Logan/One Shot/COMPLETED) Gotta Be Sombeody (Baker!OC Ashx Worst!Wolverine/One Shot/COMPLETED)

[winterwolvie]

WWE Masterlist

Seth Rollins

Shield Saga --Hounds of Justice [1] (OC!Llane Black/Multichapter/COMPLETE) --An Ending Within [2] (OC!Llane Black/OC!Leighton Black/Multichapter/ABANDONED) Irresistible (OC!JoJo/Multichapter/COMPLETE/a request for @stellargirlie)

The Shield (Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins, & Dean Ambrose)

Grand Mountain Series --Lips of An Angel [1] (Unnamed!OC/Multichapter/COMPLETED/Polyamorous Shield) --Welcome to Oblivion [2] (OC!Addy Holloway/Multichapter/ABANDONED/Polyamorous Shield)

Dean Ambrose

Waking Up in Vegas (OC!Mera Reynolds/Multichapter/COMPLETED) Birthday Blues (Unnamed!OCxJon Moxley/One shot/COMPLETED)

Jeff Hardy

My Girl (Unnamed!OC/ One shot/COMPLETED)  

[winterwolvie]

When I'm Gone One-Shots

When You Say You Love Me (one shot, Tom/Annie)

When I See Your Face (one shot, Tom/Annie)

When I Felt Your Hand (one shot, Tom/Annie)

When I Knew You (one shot, Tom/Annie)

When Nothing Happens (one shot, Tom/Annie)

When You Needed Me (one shot, Tom/Annie)

When You Were Mine (one shot, Tom/Annie)

When Life Takes A Turn (one shot, Ben/Annie)

When I Kiss Your Lips (one shot, Ben/Annie)

When I Hear You Speak (one shot, Ben/Annie)

When Secrets Are Kept (one shot, Ben/Annie)

When I See You Smile (one shot, Ben/Annie)

When I Love Everything About You (one shot, Ben/Annie)

When Things Just Fit (one shot, Ben/Annie)

When You Make a Promise (one shot, Ben/Annie)

When We’re All Together (one shot, Tom/Annie, Ben/Wren)

When You Belong With Me (one shot, Tom/Annie pre-When I’m Gone)

When Time Flies (one shot, Tom/Annie pre-When I’m Gone)

Shh.. Don’t Tell Mum (one shot When I’m Gone/Back to Best drabble)

20 Things You Didn’t Know About Tom and Annie

[winterwolvie]

AEW Masterlist

Kenny Omega

In A Day or Two (OC!Shaye WalkerxKenny/Multichapter/COMPLETE/Elite Universe) The Christmas That Wasn't (OC!Leigh Keene/Multichapter/ABANDONED)

Matt Jackson/Nick Jackson (Young Bucks)

Too Late Tales (ReaderxMatt, ReaderxNick-Y/N used/One Shot Series/ONGOING/Polyamorous/Elite Universe) Everything Has Changed (OC!Shaye Walker/Multichapter/WIP/Elite Universe AU) Head Over Feet (OC!Danielle KylexMatt/Multichapter/WIP/Elite Universe AU) Between Me and You (NickxReaderxKenny/One Shot/COMPLETE) Behind the Scenes (OC!Melody Park/One Shot/COMPLETE/gifted to @merchfreak)

"Hangman" Adam Page

Take Me Saga (OC!Emily King/One Shot Series/ONGOING/Elite Universe) The Christmas That Wasn't (OC!Allie Maxon/Multichapter/ABANDONED)

Chris Jericho

Nowhere to Run (OC!Kat Prince/Multichapter/WIP)

Blackpool Combat Club (Jon Moxley, Bryan Danielson, Wheeler Yuta, Claudio Castagnoli)

Yours To Tame (OC!Morgan Knox/Multichapter/WIP/Polyamorous)

Wardlow

... Ready for It? (OC!Mattie Jackson/Multichapter/WIP/Elite Universe)

[winterwolvie]

Real Person Fic Masterlist

Tom Hiddleston

When Series (OC!Anthea Gattis/Multichapter & One Shots/COMPLETED) --When I'm Gone --When I'm Gone One Shots Save Me Series (OC!Maggie/Multichapter/COMPLETED) --Save Me --Safe and Sound --A Thousand Years (One-Shot) --My Little Girl (One-Shot) Broken Series (Unnamed OC/One Shot Series/COMPLETED) --Broken Dreams --A Letter to His Love A Soft Sweet Sound (OC!Cassie/Multichapter/COMPLETED) Beauty in All Shapes (OC!Ashleigh/One-Shot) Wildest Dreams (Unnamed OC/One Shot) Still Into You (OC!Meg/One Shot) The Broken Road (OC!Sasha/One Shot) Simple Nothingness (TomxReaderxBenedict/One Shot) The Purpose of a Heart (OC!Rebecca/Multichapter/Regency!AU/ABANDONED) The Secret to a Successful Nanny (OC!Leigh/Multichapter/ABANDONED) Rewrite the Stars (OC!Eva/Multichapter/Circus!AU/ABANDONED)

Benedict Cumberbatch

When Series (OC!Anthea Gattis/Multichapter & One Shots/COMPLETED) --When I'm Gone --When I'm Gone One Shots Cruel Fates (OC!Ley/Multichapter/COMPLETED) Simple Nothingness (TomxReaderxBenedict/One Shot)

Chris Evans

Seasons of Love Series (OC!Tatiana Dalca/Multichapter Series/WIP) --Winter in Boston (COMPLETED) --Spring in Constanta (COMPLETED) --Summer in New York (WIP)

[winterwolvie]

Coming soon!

let-me-love-you-loki ➡️ winterwolvie

Bear with me as I update masterlist(s)

[winterwolvie]

So... I'm writing again... I'm 4K into an Old Man Logan story. Got a Lewis Pullman Prologue too. And a Worst!Logan something too.

And the Bucks' return to neon and the Superkick Party has inspired another Too Late Tale.

So be prepared. We're going to lovingly blame @princessanglophile for all of this.

[winterwolvie]

In The Bag

pairing: Florence Pugh x afab!Reader

warnings: use of Y/N, suggestive content

Some days I wondered how I'd gotten so lucky. The sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, watery from the low grey clouds that hung in the sky. I turned on my side to watch her sleep. Florence's eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she dreamed. Her hair was a mess against the pillow, the short locks mussed. Her expression was calm.

She was beautiful. Perfect. Mine.

I reached out to run my fingertip down the length of her nose. My thumb stroked her cheekbone. The full curve of her bottom lip. I smiled softly as my chest ached with a warmth I didn't expect. Sometimes it hit me in the chest how much I adored Florence. How much I thoroughly loved her.

"It's too early," Florence murmured, even as she turned into my touch. Her voice was thick and deep with sleep. She grinned as she scooted closer.

I laughed softly, leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose. Then the apple of her cheek. "Never too early for you."

My hand slid over her hip, skimming up the flare of it to her waist. Fingertips slipped beneath the soft fabric of her t-shirt to brush against warm skin. I pressed my palm along her ribs, swept my thumb along the underside of her breast. She hummed, her chin tipping upward as I ran my fingertips down her spine.

"I've got a flight to catch," she murmured just before our lips met. I tugged her close, lips moving against hers. My tongue slid against the seam of her lips. When she sighed, I deepened the kiss. She broke the kiss with a soft gasp. "Y/N, I have to get ready."

I groaned. "Fine. Fine." I kissed her one more time before she rolled out of bed. The t-shirt she wore fell down to her thighs. Her hair was everywhere. She was perfect.

"Hey, Flo?" I said, doing my best to keep my voice neutral. "Did I leave my wallet in your backpack?"

She yawned. "I don't know. I'll check."

I watched as she crossed the room to the chair in the corner where her luggage waited. She unzipped the front compartment and stilled. She turned to me, her hand clutched around a black velvet box. I was already down on one knee.

Florence slammed her hand on her mouth, her brown eyes filling with tears. I took the box from her hand and turned it around, opening it so she could see the ring inside.

"Marry me, Flo," I said softly.

She nodded, her hand shaking as she held it out for me to put the ring on her finger. "Did you really put the engagement ring in my backpack!?"

[winterwolvie]

The Cover Up

pairing: Sebastian Stan x Plus Sized!Reader

warnings: use of Y/N, mentions of body image problems, mildly suggestive

The sky was high and bright blue. The water was loud as it rushed against the coastline in white-capped waves. A cool breeze blew in over the sea, whipping my hair and my cover up around my body. People milled about on either side. Lounging in beach chairs or stretched out sunning on towels in the sand. They splashed in the surf and went running into the water with shouts of surprise at the temperature.

Romania in summertime was warmer than I expected. It was practically Mediterranean. Constanta on the Black Sea was beautiful. "Come on," Sebastian said as he tossed his shirt onto the towel. He stood there in his black swim trunks and sunglasses, a gentle smile on his face. He pushed his hair back with one hand while the other reached for me. "Let's go for a swim."

I wrapped my arms around my waist, holding the cover up tightly closed. "I'm okay just staying here on the beach. You go."

Sebastian stepped closer, his large hand resting on the curve of my hip as he closed in on my space. He hovered, fingers digging into the fabric. I looked away. He followed.

"Hey, look at me," he said firmly. When I didn't immediately meet his eyes, he took my chin gently between his finger and thumb. "There you are. You're beautiful."

My breath caught. My chest ached. I wanted to cry. "Seb--"

He shook his head. "Don't Seb me. Take this off and get in the water with me." His hands went to the tie of my cover up, tugging purposefully at the strings to pull the knot loose. Sebastian slipped the fabric open and let his hands brush along my belly and my ribs. They settled on my hips.

I sighed as he leaned in, breath warm against my skin as he left lingering open-mouthed kisses against the curve of my jaw and the side of my neck. He nipped gently, licked the spot.

"C'mon, Y/N, come get wet with me," he purred in my ear.

I blushed, bit my bottom lip, sighed. "Okay. But all the way in, not on the shore or anything. Completely underwater from my shoulders down."

Sebastian grinned against my throat. "Hmm... agreed. People can't see me getting my hands on you then." He pulled back long enough to scoop me up in his arms. He strode to the water, carrying me as if I weighed nothing.

"Ever got off in the sea with a hundred people nearby?" he murmured as the water spashed against his waist. He finally let me down in the water. It was cold around my ribs.

"No," I whispered shyly.

He slid one arm around my waist and pulled me in toward. "Oh, this is going to be fun..."

[winterwolvie]

Good Luck Glasses

pairing: Lewis Pullman x Reader

warnings: use of Y/N

I walked a few steps behind Lewis. It was still strange to be out in public with him. Not just because I was basically a nobody, but because I wasn't the kind of girl he'd dated in the past. I wasn't a model. I was just... me.

He must have realized I wasn't beside him anymore, because he stopped and turned back toward me. His ball cap was pulled low, and he was wearing a pair of dark aviators. The corner of his mouth tipping upward. He was handsome. Beautiful even. When he smiled, he was practically angelic.

"Are you stalling, Y/N?" he asked, reaching out his hand toward me. "You look like you're going to the gallows."

I took his hand, lacing our fingers together and squeezing. His skin was warm against mine. The scent of him--light cologne and soap--settled in my lungs and dragging my heart into a calm rhythm. I leaned toward him and rested my forehead against his chest with a nervous smile.

My chest relaxed just a little. "It's Danny," I admitted softly, my voice shaking a little bit. "He's your best friend. His approval matters. Like... a lot."

Danny Ramirez was Lewis's best friend. His roommate. Probably the one person whose opinion meant the most beyond his mom and dad. And now we were walking toward a restaurant to have dinner with him. It felt like the world was about to change.

Lewis grinned and pulled off his aviators. He grinned even more as he wrapped his free arm around my shoulders. "He's gonna love you, little bit," he said, lips brushing against my temple. "And if he doesn't... I'll just have to set him straight about it."

I let out a slow breath as my anxiety released a little more. I leaned back to look up at him. "You're amazing, Lew. D'you know that?"

"Convinced you to date me, didn't I?" he teased. Then he slid his sunglasses onto me with a wink. But then his eyes softened just a little. "You make me want to be amazing, Y/N. Now... rock those aviators and keep being you. Danny will love you."

I looked up at him through the tinted lenses of his favorite sunglasses. The ones that made him look a little roguish and insanely handsome. The ones that make my heart skip a double beat when he pulled them down his nose and winked at me. They were his good luck glasses.

He was my good luck everything.

With one last breath, I nodded and squeezed his hand. Then took a step forward, leading the way to the restaurant where Danny Ramirez waited. Maybe Lewis was right--honestly, he probably was. I smiled.

"Let's do this."