Fav Thinspo Rn

small small small small I wanna be tiny and small and pure and clean when I am small I will be good I’ll be tiny then I will be clean and good

'𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐌𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥' ||

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine x fem!Reader

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞! Minors, DO NOT interact! Smut with plot, fem!Reader, mutant!Reader, unprotected p in v, choking, biting, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), jealousy, canon typical language, no use of y/n,

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 10k (got a LITTLE carried away, oops)

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: After a successful mission, you return to the mansion to an annoyed Wolverine, who isn't happy with the time you've been spending with Scott Summers. You offer to hang out with him since you two are incredibly close, and that leads to a game of pool, and your eyes begin to wander while you're both flirting like crazy. You're afraid to make the first move, so maybe Logan will do it for you.

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐓𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐃𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

You had just gotten back from a mission that Professor Xavier had asked you to attend, and naturally, he had paired you up with someone who could challenge your growing capabilities, so he had you escort Scott Summers, who had a completely different skill set than you. He figured that if you could figure out how to work together, it would be useful to you in the future, and you thought he had a point when he put it in that context. The truth was, you and Scott didn't get along, more so you were over the top for his calm demeanor. You had a mouth on you, said what you thought, and your fighting was a bit too sloppy for his taste. He had constantly compared you to Logan Howlett, your ‘other half’, as he referred to him behind your backs. 

You and Logan had become thick as thieves after you’d initially joined the X-Men, many people speculated that you two were ‘an item’, but as much as you would have wanted that, there would be no way Logan would agree. You and Logan constantly bickered, joked around, and enjoyed each other's company to the point that it was hard for others to be around you when you were in a room together. Your personalities melded well enough that you worked well with one another. 

After the initial headache of having to deal with your loud comments of distaste for the company during this mission, Scott seemed to notice your distraction as you looked around and surveyed the area, and he felt that maybe he'd have some peace and quiet as you acquainted yourself with the area. You and Scott went head-on into the mission, learning to depend on one another, and you learned quite a bit now that your attention was solely focused on saving another like you; a mutant, a child. 

With Scott's help, you were able to easily maneuver through the others who were keeping the small girl hostage, using your powers to easily dispose of the threats with Scott alongside you, giving you tips and ideas to use as he fought alongside you. Just this once, you thought, he wasn’t all that bad. 

 Logan scowled as Scott patted you on your back once you entered the mansion, the man walked up behind you as he kept his shielded eyes glued to you. You helped save a mutant kid on a mission and Scott just couldn’t stop singing your praises since you arrived back, and Logan wasn’t too fond of the way Scott was lingering around you. In Logan’s mind, he should be the one singing your praises, not Scott. He should be the one doting on you and soaking up all of your time, only if he wasn't so stubborn and allowed himself to break that barrier down once in a while.

He waited until you had walked away from the small group that greeted you, all gathered to see how your mission had gone, and the little girl had followed Scott to go and meet the Professor, which left you smiling and talking to the group that soon began to disperse. 

“You ‘n Slim been getting real familiar lately,” Logan said, not even attempting to hide his bitterness as he walked up to you, having finished his own mission not even twenty minutes ago. 

You smiled over at Scott as he led the little girl away and nodded as he praised you once more, wanting to show genuine thanks, but as soon as you saw Logan, your smile grew wide. Without hesitation, you ran up to him to greet him and waved. "Hey, Logan!" His comment about Scott made you laugh. "Ah, well, Charles has been making him teach me some stuff out in the field.”

Logan’s sour mood was instantly lifted as you ran up to him. He smiled back at you, the annoyance he felt from earlier gone now that you were in front of him, looking adorable as usual. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, trying to remain stoic.

“What kinda stuff he been teaching ya?” he replied, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

You looked over at Logan and smiled warmly, always enjoying when he was near you. "Well, mostly combat, but I don't have his mutation so I have to do more up close combat than what he does.” You sighed with frustration at the entire situation, but you remained as positive as you could, thankful for the opportunities.

Logan nodded his head as he listened intently, but he couldn’t deny that that answer displeased him a little; the thought of Cyclops showing you how to fight hand-to-hand combat made his blood boil, and he hated to think about him so close to you like that. He’d seen the way Scott looked at you, he knew his thoughts, or what any guy would do to be near a woman in such a situation. Wasn't having Jean enough to satisfy him?

“Yeah? He show ya all the right moves yet, darlin’?” He asked, trying to remain casual.

"Well, no," you confessed and leaned in closer. "He's kinda bad at it," you said in a dramatic whisper, rolling your eyes for even more dramatic effect. 

Logan let out a sharp bark of laughter. That was the answer he wanted to hear. He was always looking for a reason to tear into Scott. "Yeah? Well, maybe you oughtta be spendin’ a little more time trainin’ with ol’ Wolvie here. He’ll show ya some much better moves than Cyclops ever could," he replied, leaning in closer to keep his voice down.

"Well that's the funny thing, I did request you on field missions and the Professor said no, that I needed to focus…”

Logan’s smile immediately dropped. He frowned deeply at the mention of Charles. Of course, the Professor would say something like that… "Yeah? What’d he say, exactly?" He asked, his tone growing serious as his irritation returned thinking of you with Scott.

"Well, he said I'd only be paying attention to you, and not actually working, goofing off." You huffed and crossed your arms. "He says we mess around too much, don't take anything seriously when we're together.”

Logan felt his face heat up at your words. Well, at least it wasn’t because you were paying too much attention to Scott. He huffed in slight annoyance. “So, what? He sayin’ you’d be too distracted around me to focus on a mission or somethin’? Pfft. Sounds like a load a’ bullshit to me.” He looked away, avoiding your gaze as he crossed his arm over his chest, mimicking you.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying! You're better at hand-to-hand and I wanted you to teach me," you huffed in irritation. “I take missions seriously, the Professor should know that.”

Logan’s frown morphed into a grin upon hearing that. It felt good to hear you say that and he had the perfect response for your anger. “Well, I’m sure the Professor won’t mind if we sparred sometimes, huh?” He said, his grin growing wider. “We could prove it to him when we kick some ass together.”

"Well, no, I don't think he'd mind that. We could do that in the danger room whenever you'd want. I bet you could teach me to throw a real punch," you said with a smirk.  "Still can't believe the Professor said no though…" 

“Yeah? You wanna learn how to throw a real punch, huh?” He chuckled to himself. He loved it when you got like this: feisty and ready for a fight. The thought of you taking swings at him? That was… exciting.

“Y’know, I bet I could teach ya a bunch of stuff he don’t want ya to know. Maybe he’s scared of how good of a fighter I’ll make you,” he teased, leaning in closer to you.

You couldn't help but giggle as you looked over at Logan. "Mhm maybe, but he also said–" You puffed up your chest, trying to imitate the Professor as best as you could. "You should never just hone your gifts, but learn to work well with others' gifts, then you won't have a weakness when you have each other." 

Logan couldn’t help but burst with laughter at hearing your impression of Charles. “Eh that’s a buncha bullshit,” he barked, rolling his eyes. He always preferred to work alone. The thought of relying on your own strength, your own fighting ability, seemed more practical to him. “So, what, he expects you to get all buddy-buddy with Slim?” He asked, a hint of jealousy lingering in his voice.

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders, not aware of the underlying irritation Logan felt. "Apparently. He said our mutations are opposite and his is far-ranged while mine is more close-ranged. I need to learn to compliment others in battle if we want to thrive." 

You groaned again, just wanting to hang out with your friend, Logan. The friend you had intense feelings for. Maybe Charles knew about that and intended to keep you distant so you wouldn't do anything stupid. 

Logan couldn’t help the eye roll at that comment. Opposites, huh? That seemed to bother him even more. He just KNEW Scott wanted to get his hands on you.

“Yeah? Well, he sure don’t mind gettin’ his hands on you, huh?” He grumbled, under his breath. He was really trying to hold back his jealousy, but the thought of you learning how to fight with Cyclops… just didn’t seem fair.

You took his comment as a little odd, but maybe he was just looking out for you. "Well, I think he was just being nice, I wouldn't take it that far, Logan," you scoffed, looking away from him with a smirk. “Besides, he's got Jean,” you said as if her name left a sour taste in your mouth. 

Logan’s frown deepened, his jealousy rising with every word you spoke, not to mention the slightly uncomfortable feeling that stung him when you mentioned Jean. He grumbled, his irritation growing rapidly as you dismissed his worries.

“Oh yeah?” He said through clenched teeth. “How is it that you don’t see the way he looks at you? He’s always got his eye on you. ‘Nice’, my ass.”

"I never see it because I don't look at him," you pointed out to him. “And again, he's got Jean.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as you responded, his hands clenching into tight fists. He knew you were oblivious to the way Scott was acting around you, even if it seemed so obvious to him, even if he had Jean. What was stopping him from acting that way with you when he once acted that way with Jean?

“Yeah, and you’re also not seein’ that it ain’t just him,” he retorted, leaning back against the sofa. “He ain’t the only one who’s got his eye on you.”

This took you slightly off guard, but you just chalked it up to Logan really disliking Scott. "What you seem to not understand is I'm not looking at Scott because I'm looking at you," you confessed with a softened gaze. 

Logan froze as the words came out of your mouth. His face heated up, his irritation and jealousy replaced with surprise and a hint of hope. He wasn’t sure if he heard you right. Did you really just say you were looking at… him?  He was stunned. He didn’t know what to say, so you had rendered him speechless for once.

You scoffed at his reaction and waved your hand in front of his face. "Earth to Howlett," you giggled. "What, honey badger got your tongue?”

Logan snapped out of his daze, his cheeks turning a soft shade of red. He grumbled under his breath, the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, ducking his head to avoid your gaze. His heart was practically leaping out of his chest and you were just laughing at him.

"Mhm you're cute when you get flustered," you said softly leaning closer to him, resting your shoulder against his as you nudged him gently. 

Logan was sure his cheeks were a full-blown shade of red at this point. He was not used to being called “cute”, and he definitely wasn’t used to people getting so close to him, let alone someone he secretly adored. 

He cleared his throat and tried to maintain a casual demeanor, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. “Yeah? You, uh… think I’m cute?” He questioned, his voice wavering a bit.

"Oh absolutely, and ruggedly handsome, and stunning… I could go on." You said, listing them off as you tapped your fingers, that large shit-eating grin on your face, knowing very well it got under his skin. 

Now that did it. Logan’s face was on fire. Never, in his entire life, had someone ever lay on the compliments so thick, certainly not one as sweet and gorgeous as you. He swallowed hard and tried to play it off as his usual careless demeanor. He was used to messing around with you, so why was it really getting to him today? “Aw, shut up,” he grumbled, shifting awkwardly against the wall.

You couldn't help but laugh at his cool demeanor, so you shrugged as you pushed yourself away from the wall, smiling wide as you looked back at him. "Oops, sorry," you said playfully. "I'll meet you back in the living area. I gotta go and check in with the Professor." 

Logan didn’t want you to leave just yet, not when you were making his heart race like that. He let out a sigh and nodded his head, trying to act as stoic as possible. “Yeah, alright. You go on ‘n do that,” he mumbled.

"I'll see you in like, ten minutes then! Maybe we could have a beer," you offered and waved sweetly at him as you turned around to start to walk off, smiling wide. 

Truthfully, you loved being around Logan, but you had no idea if you could ever admit that to anyone, they wouldn't understand the charm he had that you adored so much. With how quickly you two got on, it was a wonder that you were able to keep your thoughts as pure as they had been for so long, but lately, something about Logan getting all hot and bothered by you hanging around Scott made you realize just how much Logan truly meant to you.

Logan watched you walk away, his eyes lingering a moment too long on your figure. He mentally scolded himself for being so damn affected by you. It was so uncharacteristic of him, and yet, he couldn’t help himself. He was downright swooning. When you offered to have a beer with him, he leaped at the opportunity, it was the perfect moment to spend some time together. Away from Scott and the others, the way Logan preferred it. 

“Yeah,” he replied, managing a smirk. “Sounds good, darlin’.”

So you went to talk to the professor and debrief him on the job you and Scott had done, and you did voice your ideas about working with others on the team to ‘spice things up’, as you worded it, and the Professor knew what you were getting at. He stopped you mid-sentence and looked at you with a soft stare. 

"I know you want to work with Logan,” he began. “When you're ready, you'll be able to handle it," the professor explained. “I know it may seem frustrating, but Logan does have his disadvantages when it comes to missions, he's still getting used to working as a team, and sometimes he makes a decision that isn't the best for everyone involved.” 

You grumbled in annoyance but nodded to the professor, so you thanked him and made your way to the living area to meet back with Logan. 

Logan was already sitting on the couch in the living quarters, leaning back with a beer in hand, when you finally walked in. His heart immediately thumped as he laid eyes on you, and he felt his cheeks heat up. He mentally cursed himself again, he needed to keep it together. He didn’t want you to think you had this much of an effect on him, but he'd be lying if he said you didn't. 

Logan patted the cushion next to him and gestured for you to join him. “C’mere, darlin’,” he said, his voice rough.

With a smile, you followed his instructions and plopped right down next to him, grabbing a beer from the table. "Ugh, the professor denied my request again," you complained to him. 

Logan grunted in irritation as you sat down beside him, so he took a sip of his beer, his other hand tapping on the bottle. “He did, huh? I’m not surprised.” He rolled his eyes, taking another swig. “What’d he say this time?”

“He said you don't ‘play nice’ working in team environments, so until there's a chance that people get hurt when you make a wrong decision, it's dangerous. But you're not like that!” You huffed, popping the bottle open and sipping it fast. "I don't get it, I feel like I'm ready and you wouldn't do anything stupid to get someone hurt, I don't understand.”

Logan sighed and shook his head in agreement. He was frustrated, too. He didn’t understand why the Professor was so adamant on denying your request. He leaned back on the couch and ran a hand through his hair. “I feel the same. You definitely got potential if things go south, you’re a quick learner. Way quicker than the others, that’s for damn sure.” He stole a glance at you, watching you from the corner of his eye, all he wanted was to spend more time with you. “And as for me, we'll, he ain't wrong, exactly… teamwork ain't my strong suit.” 

“Well, still, you wouldn't get anyone hurt on purpose, I know you well enough to vouch for you there.” You grumbled again and took a long sip of your beer, hating the taste of it, but you stuck it out. When you looked back over at Logan, you offered a small smile. "How was your mission, at least?”

Logan chuckled and shook his head. You were feisty, he liked that about you. It was endearing to see how determined you were to get what you wanted. He shrugged his shoulders in response to your question. 

“Fine, I suppose. We weren’t there for long, took out the bots, and got out. Nothin’ too major. Nothin’ I needed Cyclops to help me with,” he replied with a scoff. He took another drink of his beer and glanced over at you. “How ‘bout you? Missions have seemed to be goin’ smoothly for you recently, huh?”

You couldn't help but scoff at his comment and looked over at the window, sighing. "Yeah, so far, it's been fun being out in the field, though, I like being more hands-on." 

Yeah, that was one thing he adored about you. Your need for combat and to prove yourself as a capable fighter, it wasn’t for everyone, but you were determined to get your hands dirty. Logan couldn’t help the smirk spreading across his face. “Damn right, that's where all the fun is, out in the field. And you’ll get your chance, just gotta wait until the Professor pulls his head out of his ass and lets you,” he snickered.

You giggled at his comment and shook your head. "Yeah, we'll see, but I do hope we can work together one day, oh I bet going on a mission with you would be so fun!”

The fact you wanted to work with him on a mission was intriguing, to say the very least, but he almost felt a sense of pride seeing you want to work with him. “You’re full of surprises, ain’t ya, kid?” He asked with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Just call me a fun house I guess," You joked. "So, how does Wolverine spend his downtime after missions?" You asked. 

Logan scratched the stubble on his chin and chuckled. “Well, I usually like to keep it low-key. Some drinks, maybe head to the bar or a game of pool. Nothin’ too crazy.” He eyed you with a sly smirk.

"Oh, you play pool?" You asked with a glint of excitement in your eyes. 

Logan chuckled and nodded, taking note of the sudden excitement in your eyes. “Yeah, I’m damn good at it, too,” he boasted, a cocky grin spreading across his face. He leaned in a little closer to you. “You play?”

"I play for fun, so I'm not great. I'd be down to get some pointers from you if you're not busy," you offered with a smile. 

Logan could barely contain his excitement. You wanted him to teach you how to play pool? He’d be spending even more time with you, and it would give him the perfect opportunity to have you all to himself.

“Of course, I’ve got time, darlin’, I’ll give you all the pointers you need. I’ll make a pool shark outta you in no time,” he said, his voice low and suggestive.

You adored his charm, truly, you couldn’t help but giggle and nudge him with your arm. "Oh, Logan, you're something else," you laughed and patted his knee as you stood up in one swift motion. "C'mon! Wanna do it now?”

Logan chuckled at your comment and felt his heart leap as you patted his knee. He absolutely loved when you touched him. He stood up and smirked at you, his eyes filled with a wicked gleam. “Hell yes, let’s go. I can’t wait to show you all my techniques,” he said, his voice thick with innuendo.

"Hell YES, let's go! I got the beers," You said with excitement and yanked the six-pack from the table. You didn't take offense or think it weird when Logan flirted, he was usually like that with you, but every time he'd done so, it made you feel warm and fuzzy.

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle at your enthusiasm. Your excitement was contagious, and it only fueled his own desire to spend time with you even more. He gestured for you to lead the way, his eyes scanning your figure. “Lead the way, doll. I’m right behind ya,” he said with a smirk, following behind you with a cocky gait.

You couldn't hide the wide smile as you walked along with the beer in tow, weaving through the halls towards the rec room. You'd look back to make sure Logan was still following, feeling excitement take over your entire body, also feeling the fluttery feeling in your stomach. 

Logan followed you through the halls, his heart racing with every step, and he watched as you looked back at him, your smile making his stomach flutter. He kept his gaze fixated on you, his eyes tracing the curve of your hips as you walked ahead of him. He found himself wondering what it would be like to push you up against a wall and kiss you senseless… ‘What the hell is wrong with you? She won't see you that way, you're never gonna have a shot’. He quickly shook the thought from his head, reminding himself to keep it together.

You had found the room and pushed the doors open, turning on the lights as you waited for Logan. You let out a satisfied hum when you spotted the pool table and walked up to it, placing the beers off to the side as you started shifting through the pool cues. 

Logan followed you into the rec room, his eyes scanning over the pool table with a cocky grin. He sauntered over to you, his gaze fixated on your movements as you rummaged around the table for pool cues. He came up behind you, his body mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your neck as he spoke. “I hope you’re ready to get schooled, doll,” he teased, his voice low and hoarse.

As you found the pool chalk after you found a cue stick that worked to your liking, you then turned to Logan, shooting him a raised eyebrow. You weren't surprised by his cockiness but also felt rather playful, so you figured you'd play back. 

"You're not supposed to school me yet, Howlett, you gotta teach me!" You huffed, shooting him a faux frown.

Logan chuckled, his eyes roaming over your playful expression. He loved it when you got feisty with him. It only made him want you even more. He smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh, trust me, doll, I plan to teach you. But first, I gotta show you some of my moves. Consider it a demonstration of just how good I really am.” He moved closer, his body practically pressed against yours as he reached around you to grab his cue stick.

When he did things like this, you couldn't help but blush a little, but when he reached over you to grab his pool cue, his body was so close to yours and you couldn't find the sass to give him right then, he was so close. He did this to get you flustered, but he wasn’t actually flirting with you to see where it led, was he?

Logan smirked as he noticed the blush growing on your face. He loved seeing how flustered he made you, how simple close proximity had you acting so shy. He couldn’t help but lean in even closer, his body pressing against yours. He looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. “You alright, doll? Suddenly losing your spunk?” he teased.

"Well you're the one distracting me on purpose, Wolvie," you huffed and slipped away from him, smiling wickedly as you walked around the table with your cue. 

Logan chuckled, his smirk growing wider as you slipped away from him. You were always so determined and feisty. He watched as you walked around the table. “Mmm, maybe I am. But I’m just teachin’ you how to focus under distractions.”He casually leaned against the side of the pool table, his gaze never leaving you.

"Oh is that it?" You laughed and watched him as he got ready to strike the formation. "Very good first lesson, truly.” 

Logan chuckled, his eyes locked onto yours. He loved your sassy comebacks. It only fueled his desire to prove himself to you. He smirked, his hand poised to strike. “Oh, doll, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. I’m just gettin’ started. Let’s see how well you deal under more distractions.” He leaned closer to you, his voice dipped low. “Because there’s a lot more where that came from.”

"Mhm, I already know that, but I think you're the one who's gonna have to pay attention to the table, bub," you teased as you watched from the side of the table. 

Logan chuckled, his ego a little bruised by your comment. He had to admit, he loved your boldness, you weren’t intimidated by him in the slightest. In fact, it seemed like you loved challenging him, which only made him want to try even harder to get under your skin. 

He smirked, his eyes darkened with a hint of arrogance. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, doll. I can focus just fine, even with a distraction as beautiful as you.”

You chuckled awkwardly, looking away as you reveled in the compliments he showered you with. You knew Logan flirted a lot, you loved it when he did, and you just figured he only flirted to tease you. He didn't know you had developed feelings for him, but you flirted in return, it was a fun back-and-forth you both seemed to enjoy.

"Pfft okay, bub, prove it. Get a ball in a pocket.”

Logan's heart thudded in his chest as he watched you react to his compliment. He loved seeing the way your cheeks flushed just slightly, how your eyes darted away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. He knew you were used to his flirting, but every time he did it, he hoped that maybe, just maybe, you'd begin to see how serious he really was behind it all.

The sight of you leaning against your cue, your eyebrows raised in challenge, sent a wave of desire through his body. You were so damn feisty, so damn beautiful. He had a hard time being as cool as he was when you were around, you just knew how to push all the right buttons. He chuckled and focused his gaze back on the table, took a step forward, his body moving gracefully as he lined up his shot.

You watched his body language as he leaned across the table the way he took aim with his cue, you made sure to watch, take note, see how he made it work. What you didn't expect was to really, really enjoy the sight of him over the pool table. 

Logan could feel your eyes on him as he leaned over the pool table, and could sense your gaze tracing every movement of his body. He felt a thrill run through him, loving the attention you were giving him. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand, but he couldn’t ignore the way your eyes were burning into him. The way you were watching him so intently. It made it extremely hard to concentrate. He steadied himself, lining up the shot, but he couldn’t help but smirk at your obvious admiration.

You watched as he hesitated, and you couldn't hide the wide smile on your face. "What's wrong, Howlett? Distracted?" You teased as you leaned over to look at him with a wide smile. 

Logan couldn't help but chuckle as you leaned forward to tease him. Your proximity was driving him wild. He could practically feel your breath on his face. He looked down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Distracted? Me? Never. Just makin' sure you're  enjoyin’ the view, doll.”

"Mhm, sure, sure," you laughed, loving his banter. "Take the shot before I push you out of the way and go," you warned playfully.

Logan chuckled, his heart racing as you taunted him. You were really testing his limits, but he loved every second of it. 

He shook his head, his smirk widening. “Oh no ya don’t. You ain’t touchin’ this table till I’m done with it.” He steadied himself again, determined to prove himself. He aimed and took the shot, sinking the ball into the corner pocket with ease.

Your eyebrows raised as you watched him sink a ball into the pocket, you then hummed with a satisfied tone. "Wow, that's impressive, Logan, so, any tips I should know?" 

Logan couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as you praised his shot. Your words fueled his ego, and he loved showing off for you. He leaned on his cue, a smug smile on his face. “Mmm, tips? Sure, lemme see.” 

He walked over to you, his body close enough to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. He placed a hand on your hip, positioning you in front of him.

Your face blushed immediately,  you bit your lip as he positioned you at the table, and you tried to focus on the table, but his body radiated so much warmth, and he was so close, that you had a tough time concentrating. 

"O-Okay, so like this?" 

Logan noticed the flush of color on your cheeks as he moved you into position, and he couldn't help but wear a cocky smile. He loved the way you reacted to his touch, so visibly flustered by his mere presence. He leaned in closer so his chest brushed against your back. “Yeah, doll, that's good. Keep your eye on the target.” His hand remained on your hip, his touch light yet firm as he guided you.

"Okay, so you sank a solid color, I got striped, sooooo," you drew out, "I'll try for the blue," you said and aimed your cue. You tried not to focus too much on Logan's hand on your hip, wondering just how good his hand would feel somewhere else.

Logan watched intently as you lined up your cue, trying to keep his thoughts from straying to other places. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the way your breath hitched as he pressed closer to you. 

He leaned in, his chin hovering above your shoulder as he spoke, his voice low. “Yeah, try for the blue, doll. Keep it simple for now.” He tried to ignore the way your body felt against his, how badly he wanted to take you right on the pool table.

You nodded and took a deep breath in, then released the breath as soon as the cue hit the white ball, it glided across the table and into a fray of balls, hitting the blue-striped one against the side of the table, and sure enough, it fell into the corner pocket. 

"YES!” You shouted as you raised a fist into the air. 

Logan chuckled, a smile spreading across his face as he watched the blue ball fall into the corner pocket. He couldn't help but feel proud of you, watching your excitement as you celebrated your accomplishment.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above the shell of your ear. “Mmm, good job, doll. That was a solid shot.” His hand on your hip tightened, pulling you closer to him, his chest pressed against your back.

"Wolvie, you can... let me go if you want... or not... your choice," you hummed softly, your face turning slightly to look at him over your shoulder. You felt so flustered, he’d never been this bold before, being so close to you like this, his hands pressed against you in such a way…

Logan's heart thumped in his chest as he heard your soft voice, his body practically humming with want. His hand on your hip tightened, pulling you closer against him. He let out a soft chuckle, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you want me to let go?” His voice was low, dripping with desire. He knew he was walking a fine line, but he couldn't bring himself to pull back.

"I... not really," you confessed softly.

Logan’s breath hitched in his chest as he heard your confession, your voice barely above a whisper. It was all he needed to hear, and all he could do was let out a low groan, his hand on your hip pulling you closer. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

"I haven't done anything," you said with a small chuckle. "How do I drive you crazy?” you asked, knowing very well what you did, and how you would flirt relentlessly with him, wanting to get a reaction. 

Logan chuckled at your response, his hand tracing lazy circles on your hip. “Oh, doll, believe me, you don’t have to do anything. Just your presence, your scent, the sound of your voice…” He leaned in, his lips hovering just above the skin of your neck, his voice dark and rough. “It’s all enough to drive a man mad.”

"If I knew any better, Wolvie, I'd say you have a thing for me..." You said with a gentle tone, your face close to his as you stared over at him, your expression filled with hesitance and desire. 

Logan let out a soft laugh, his hand on your hip gripping you tighter. “And what if I do? What if I’ve been wanting you, desiring you, practically since we met?” His gaze darkened, his eyes locked onto yours. There was no denying the desire he felt for you, he had been fighting it for ages now. But having you this close, hearing your words, it made it damn near impossible to resist.

"Then I'd say you're a fool for not letting me know sooner," you huffed, almost glaring at him. "Here I thought I was dumb to flirt with you, and you never made a move, so I thought you weren't interested.”

Logan shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, I have been interested, more than interested. I just didn’t think you’d be interested in a damaged, pissed-off man like me. But trust me, I haven’t been able to get you outta my head since I laid eyes on you.”

"Hey, you're not all of that," you replied sternly. "You're more than that, Logan. Why’d you think that's all there is to you?”

Logan looked down at you, his expression a mix of vulnerability and hesitation. He knew you saw more in him than just his flaws and baggage, but it was hard for him to see past it all himself. 

“I’ve done a lot of bad things, things I’m not proud of. I just thought someone like you wouldn’t be interested in someone like me. I thought it was better to just admire you from afar than risk ruining something by being my usual, broken self.”

"You aren't ruining a damn thing, Logan, come on," you said and fully turned to face him, looking into his deep eyes. "Why do you think I always wanna be near you? Play pool, and drink beer, I like you, Logan. You're a damn angry man, but I like it, there's more under all that.”

Logan's heart thudded in his chest as you faced him, your words piercing straight to his soul. He couldn’t believe that you truly wanted him, despite all the bad he thought he was. His hand on your hip moved up to cup your face, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. 

“Damn it,  you really think there’s more to me, don’t you?”

"Hell yeah I do," you chuckled with a large smile, closing your eyes once his hand cupped your cheek. "You think I'd prefer to be around you if I didn't? Everyone told me how much of a hot head you were, but I don't care what others say, I found out for myself that there's more to you than that. I’m never wrong.”

He couldn’t resist your sweet temptations any longer, he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to, not with you being so close to him, scrambling his senses. He pulled your face close to his and captured your lips in a desperate kiss, one that conveyed the desire he had for you, wanting to taste you. 

You accepted your fate and gasped against his lips, melted against his touch, incredibly happy that this was finally happening. Your hand was placed against his cheek and you kissed him back, the passion and intensity sparking between you both. 

The feel of your lips against his was everything he had dreamed of. He let out a low moan as he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting out to taste you, his hand on your hip pulling you impossibly closer to his body. He broke the kiss only long enough to gasp out, "You have no idea how long I've wanted this. Wanted you.”

You couldn’t hide the moan against his mouth once his tongue glided across your lips, igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach. When he pulled away, he left you breathless and smiling like an idiot.  "I... me too, Logan," you whispered. 

Seeing you breathless and smiling up at him, it filled Logan with a primal sense of satisfaction. Knowing that he was the one making you feel this way felt so damn good. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged bursts. "You don't know how many times I've fantasized about this, doll. To have you this close to me, in my arms. It feels like a damn dream.”

"Mhm yeah? You fantasized about me?" you asked curiously, a flirtatious tone in your voice. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him, smiling up at him sweetly. 

The sound of your flirtatious tone sent a shiver down Logan's spine. He could feel his body responding to your touch, to the way you were looking up at him. He let out a deep chuckle, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him. "Oh, you have no idea. I've fantasized about you in ways you can't even imagine." He leaned in, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck. "And I plan on making every one of them come true.”

You looked at him in surprise, your eyes wide and your cheeks beet red. "O-Oh, really? Logan, I had no idea you were such a dirty dog," you teased, trying to lighten the mood. You got nervous whenever someone spoke in such a flirtatious way, but NO ONE had ever spoken to you like Logan had. 

Logan chuckled at your surprise, loving the way your cheeks flushed at his words. He loved the way he could make you blush, and how easily he could get a reaction out of you. “Oh, I’m a damn dirty dog, alright,” he whispered against your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. He pulled you even closer, his body flush against yours. “And I plan on proving it to you damn soon, if you’re up for it, that is.”

Here you were, pressed against the pool table and Logan’s broad frame, staring into his eyes, not believing a word coming from his mouth was real. You had to have been dreaming… He was asking for your permission to prove himself, your thighs pressed together as if you could hide the desire growing between them. 

He took a slight step back to give you some space, a feral look in his eyes as he reached out and grabbed your wrist, holding you in place. "No," he said, his voice dripping with need. "Don’t hide that from me, I can…smell just how wet you are, princess. Your room, now.”

You made the snap decision right then and there, your entire resolve snapping, being taken over. “Yes, sir…” you replied and grabbed his hand, pulling him quickly to your room. 

When you both reached your room, Logan pushed the door closed behind him as he pulled you back into his grasp, pushing you against the door while almost lifting you from the floor. His lips devoured you, biting and licking at your lips, trailing down to your jaw. All you could do was be at his mercy, he was so strong, and you could feel that primal urge taking over. He couldn’t think straight. The sight of you, your flirting all day, your smell, everything about you set him off and pushed him to the edge. His hands moved up your body, gripped your shirt, and roughly yanked it off of you. He was like a different person now that it was just you two, and you allowed yourself to be the receiving end of his demands because all you wanted right now was him.

His hands slid across your skin as he kept you pushed against the wall, one hand slowly reached down to grab your leg and lift it to his waist. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing his hips against yours, prodding you with the obvious erection in his jeans. Logan couldn’t stop himself from sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you against him as he rubbed against your clothed sex, releasing a guttural sound from his lips.

All while you were helpless beneath him, feeling how this incredibly strong man could hoist you up, move you, pin you as if you weighed nothing. You were at his mercy and you were loving every moment of it. “Logan, please, need you, no teasing,” you whined, feeling his mouth trail down to your neck, kissing and biting you there, slowly making his way back up to your jaw.

“Yeah? You don’t want me to take my time with you?” He laughed, nuzzling your throat with his nose before he brought down his mouth to you again. 

You gasped and moaned his name over and over, trying to get him to stop being such a tease, but he wasn’t letting up, not until he wanted to. Logan hummed against your throat, tasting your skin, smelling your scent all over him, the feeling vibrated against your throat which only sent a jolt of need through you. 

He adjusted and held you up with one arm, cradling you against him and the wall as he slipped his other hand between you both, feeling just how soaked you were through your shorts. “Damn, princess, my nose never lies, you are soaked.” He laughed at the amount that was already on his fingers, so he decided it was high time to feel you. He moved through the shorts and pushed aside the underwear, plunging two fingers deep within you, curling into your cunt. 

Your body tensed as your nails dug deep into his shoulder, finally feeling a sliver of what he could offer to you, and you were already at his mercy. “Holy shit, Logan,” you whined, your voice cracking as your hips instinctively rolled against his hand. 

“Mhm, that’s right, darlin’, ride my fingers and show me how much you want it,” he said gruffly beside your ear, smiling that cocky-ass smile. He managed to press his thumb against your clit and rub, causing your body to jerk beneath him, and it only fueled him to continue. 

You did as he asked, riding his fingers as best as you could from this angle as he assisted you, pumping them in and out, curling deep to reach the spot you desired. Logan watched your face contorted with pleasure, your juices coating his hand as you needily moved against him. He watched with intensity, feeling his own excitement staining the front of his jeans as he added a third finger into the mix, stretching you out.

“Oh, fuck, Logan, feels so good…” You moaned out, and your head fell forward, resting on his shoulder as he continued to hold you in place. Your body felt heavy as he held you there, but you wanted to feel him properly, you needed him. “Logan, bed, please...”

Logan growled as you begged, he loved hearing your voice, but saying his name like this was too much to handle right now. He slid his fingers out of you, your body reacted as expected and you cried out, wanting the emptiness to be filled again, but you had no time to argue. His hands picked you up with ease and walked you to your bed, then he set you down as your body bounced from the drop, his eyes drinking you in while his hands worked quickly at your shorts. 

As he leaned over your body, he couldn’t help but place such gentle kisses down your body, his hands immediately discarding your shirt from over your head as he kissed you over and over again, but you eagerly helped yourself out of the bra you had on. His tongue was tracing the dips and curves of your skin as he kissed lower, then he reached your breasts and began to suck on one of your nipples, his hands kneading into your soft flesh as his teeth and tongue gently played with your sensitive bud.

When you responded so well to his touch, he couldn’t hide the growl that pulsated against your skin, pleased with your responses beneath him. After paying some attention to your other breast, Logan began to trail more kisses down your body, his lips coasting against the dips toward your belly and then stopped just above your center. Your breathing picked up, your chest rising and falling faster as you watched him with wide eyes. He slowly swiped his tongue through your wet folds and then teased you a little with his tongue against your clit. 

He pulled back a little to stare up at you, smiling. “You taste so fucking good,” he murmured against you, his voice hoarse with desire.

Your body responded so well to his tongue between your legs that you had to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs against his head, but his large hands were spreading them in an instant, keeping you still. “Fuck, Logan, that feels so good-” You gasped as he sucked a little stronger than you expected, and the moan that came from your lips sounded so divine.

Logan continued to eat you out, his tongue pressing into you with relentless enthusiasm. He curled his long tongue within you, two of his fingers dipping inside to add to the pleasure.

“Keep doing that and I’m not lasting long,” you warned, your tone sounding whiney and pitiful.

He stopped eating you out for a moment and stood up, his eyes burning with desire as he quickly did away with his jeans. You could see the obvious tent forming in front, his hard on straining against the fabric before he slid them down quickly. “Fuck, I need to be inside you now,” he growled, allowing his hard cock to pop out from his boxers.

As you looked down to see his length finally free from its restrictive confines, your eyes were glued to it, and your mouth watered. You wanted to have him in your mouth more than you cared to admit. “Logan, please, I need you inside of me…” you said, almost in a whisper. 

He crawled back onto the bed, his eyes locked with yours as he positioned himself between your legs. Logan slowly entered you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to his size. 

“You're so fucking tight,” he groaned, then started to move his hips in slow, deep thrusts.

"Damn, you're so thick," you groaned, feeling the intense pleasure roll over you as you smiled and leaned your head back. "Oh fuck, Logan.”

He smirked at your praise, his throbbing cock filling you completely with each thrust. He reached out and grabbed your hips, pulling you into him even deeper. “You like that, don't you? You fucking love it.” He started thrusting harder, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched your face as you took him. 

"Ahhh –fuck, yes I do!" You whined, clenching your teeth together as you melted into his touch, your moans were too loud now, there was no way you could control yourself anymore. "Feels so good.”

He growled, something he did fairly often around you, his hips slammed into yours now. “You want more? You want me to make you scream my name? Fine.” His thrusts became wilder, more erratic as his fingers dug into your skin and he took you roughly, mercilessly. “Say it, baby girl.”

"Yes! Logan, oh my god, Logan!" You cried out, moaning with each hard thrust he pushed against your hips, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper.

His grunts of pleasure echoed in the room as he fucked you harder, his cock reaching deeper into your core. Hearing his name on your lips only made him want to lose himself within you. He groaned louder, feeling your walls tighten around him, so he gripped your hips even tighter, his fingers leaving marks on your skin. “Say it again…”

"Logan!" You moaned out again, wanting him to know you only wanted to scream his name ever again. "Oh god," you cried out, holding onto him as you wrapped your arms around his neck to anchor yourself to him. 

His eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of primal lust and the slightest hint of a deeper emotion. "I like hearing you say my name," he hummed before his lips crashed onto yours. His tongue dominated your mouth, demanding submission as his thrusts became more desperate and needy.

You can't help but stare up at him, slack-jawed from the pleasure, moans, cries, and whimpers stumbling from your mouth in a desperate attempt to talk. "Y-Yes," you said simply as your eyes rolled back slightly. "You're fucking me so good, Logan.”

His adrenaline spiked at the sound of his name coming from your lips while he fucked you. "Damn right, I am." He grinned down at you, feral and satisfied. “You like it when I make sure to remind you who you belong to?” He asked roughly. 

Logan's eyes rolled back in his head as he lost himself in the sensation of being inside you. He pounded into you relentlessly, the bed creaking and shaking with the force of his thrusts. His claws extended and dug into the mattress on either side of your head as he held himself above you, he'd take care of that later, all he could focus on was how good you felt around him. He increased his pace, his hips snapped forward as he buried himself inside you over and over. His breathing grew heavier and his face contorted with pleasure. He leaned down and bit down on your collarbone, his teeth sinking into your flesh.

You flinched slightly when his claws came out, but you still clung to him, not afraid of the animal that threatened to release. He continued to keep going, but you looked up at him in a haze and bit your lip before speaking. "Logan, can you....”

Logan slowed down, retracted his claws, and looked down at you, his expression filled with concern as he leaned down and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "What is it? Did I hurt you?”

"No, you didn't hurt me, I was actually going to ask if... you'd put your hand around my throat as you fucked me?” What kind of request was that for your first time with him?! You felt crazy for even asking, but it was something you thought about for a while now, though you wouldn’t confess that right away.

Logan's pupils dilated with desire at your words. He reached up and wrapped his hand around your throat, his thumb resting lightly against your pulse. He began to move inside you again, his pace slow and measured, his eyes locked onto yours. "Like that?”

"Y-yes, like that," you smiled shyly and closed your eyes as his thrust pushed deeper into you. "Just like that.”

Logan tightened his hand around your throat as he increased his pace, his hips snapping forward as he buried himself inside you over and over, his breathing grew heavier, and his face contorted with pleasure. He leaned down and bit down on your collarbone, his teeth sinking into your flesh. He suddenly growled possessively against your skin as he felt you tensing beneath him. He could sense that you were close, and he wanted to push you over the edge right along with him. He tightened his hand around your throat further and increased his pace, his hips slamming into yours with brutal force.

"Yes! Like that! Just like that, oh my god!" You cried out and held onto his arms, your nails digging further into his skin as they caused the flesh beneath them to tear open. 

He let out a deep, guttural growl as you cut him open, his skin repairing the second you caused any damage.  Logan's response to your cries was a feral snarl as he felt his control slipping. He released your throat and sat up, grabbing your legs and throwing them over his shoulders. He pounded into you with reckless abandon, his fingers digging into the mattress as he chased his release. "Fuck, I'm so close…”

“L-Logan, please,” you begged, “come inside of me, need you to fill me up!” you cried out, the sound coming from your throat was broken, strangled, your voice taken as he pounded into you.

Logan’s muscles strained as he continued to thrust into you, his movements became erratic and desperate as he felt himself reaching the edge, and his breaths were ragged as he could feel the pressure building within him. Suddenly, he let out a deafening growl as he finally succumbed to the pressure, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he came hard, his hot seed inside of you as he continued to thrust through his own release. His body convulsed, and his breathing was hot and heavy against your skin as you finally let your body go, the crash of pleasure hitting your body hard as your back was arched, your body and hips snapped up against him, his thrusts working you through your own orgasm.

As you clung to his body, your arms wrapped around his neck as your thighs squeezed him, pulling him deeper inside of you as Logan sighed, resting his head on your shoulder for a moment just to bask in the afterglow. Logan remained buried inside you, his arms wrapped around your legs as he tried to catch his breath. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and feeling completely sated for the first time in a long while. "Fuck, that was intense.”

You couldn't speak, you lay there with Logan's heavy body on top of you as you panted in short breaths, hoping to lay here as long as you could while you stared up at him with a thin sheen of sweat coating your face. He was a natural heater for you, his body pressed over yours as he brought a gentle kiss to your temple while you gently rubbed his arm, then you brought your hand to his face and rubbed your thumb against his cheek. 

Logan nuzzled into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed briefly. He then looked up at you, his expression tender. "You should stay the night here in my room.” His hands squeezed your thigh gently as he reached down. "Unless you have somewhere else to be, of course. Unless...you don't want to.” He hesitated, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly. "I mean, if you have other plans, I get it.”

That confidence and cockiness he had earlier was gone, it was as if he had changed into another person, one that was much more vulnerable now that you two were alone in your own world. “Logan, I'd love to stay the night with you,” you said softly, your hand reaching up to cup his face gently. “I always wished you woulda asked me.” You had a playful tone as you spoke, lightening the mood a little.

He pulled out of you slowly, his gaze never leaving yours as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your belly, then he wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly against him as he settled beside you. “Mhm good, I don't want you to leave yet.”

You lay in his grasp, your half-lidded eyes staring into his as you reached a hand to brush your fingers through his hair, finally able to feel the closeness you’d wanted for so long. Your eyes closed, breathing in your mixed scents as you let out a small, satisfied hum. “You know, Charles is right about one thing, I do get distracted by you,” you muttered softly. 

The way you whispered this, the way you looked into his eyes as you spoke, your expression filled with such adoration, it pulled at him more than he would ever care to admit. His gaze softened as he placed his hand on your chin, his thumb gently sliding across your bottom lip as his eyes darted to your lips. “Guess Charles ain’t too daft after all,” he teased. Logan let out a long exhale, his arms tightened around you as you nuzzled further against him.

You let out a small chuckle as you looked up at him, your eyes glued to him as you got to really look at his face so close, seeing his features in a different light. “You know, I kinda like soft Logan, and not in a degrading way, mind you, just nice to see you let your guard down, showing me how you feel.”

His chest tightened at your words, but not in an uncomfortable way, he understood exactly what you meant, but he wouldn’t deny the sense of comfort it gave him to know that he could be vulnerable around you. 

“Mhm, I ain’t used to showin’ that side of me, but here, baby girl, let me show you how I really feel,” he hummed, pulling you into a deep kiss, his need for you consuming him. 

im not a fan of this whole eating thing tbh

Collateral Damage [Logan Howlett]

SUMMARY: The X-men are heroes—they save the world, eradicate threats and protect both mutants and humans alike. You don't see it that way, though.

WARNINGS: one-sided e2l, fem!reader is stubborn and sassy af but it's valid, arguing, canon-level violence, scott's a dick, SMUT - 18+ only! WC: 21k - MASTERLIST

A/N: i've always wanted to write a fic with this plot, it's been on my mind for AGES. happy reading!

----

The first time you see them, it’s on your birthday.

Not being one for big, elaborate parties, you planned a quiet celebration instead—maybe a stroll through the lively city streets, followed by dinner with friends later. You had just visited your favourite store, buying a gift for yourself, and now you’re on your way back home.

The streets buzz with life as people shop, eat, and laugh, making it the perfect backdrop for a peaceful walk and some casual people-watching.

Then, out of nowhere, the ground trembles.

At first, you think it’s an earthquake—a quick jolt beneath your feet that sends a ripple of confusion through your body. But the tremor grows stronger, the ground shaking violently as everyone around you begins to panic, frantically looking around for the source, you included. And that’s when you see it. 

A hulking, green monster stomping through the city streets like something out of a nightmare. It has to be at least twenty feet tall, its skin a sickly shade of green, its eyes glowing with rage. Cars bounce with each heavy footstep, leaving deep footprints in the cement in its wake.

People scream, scrambling to get out of its path, but you stand frozen, heart pounding as you try to make sense of what’s happening. In the blink of an eye, the city had been plunged into chaos. You lose track of your surroundings, too busy trying to keep your eyes on the monster headed your way, while also dodging the hoard of pedestrians running for their lives.

Until they show up.

Initially, you don’t even notice them. After all, there’s so much going on around you at this point you barely know what to do with yourself. Yet, through the dust and destruction, you see flashes of movement—figures darting toward the monster with a sense of purpose. 

You don’t know who they are, but their bright blue and yellow suits make it seem like you should. At first glance, it’s hard not to feel a sense of awe. They move with such confidence, with their powers on full display for the world to see. You’ve never seen anything like it—a team of mutants using their powers in the open, fighting for what you assume is the greater good.

Maybe they can stop this!

The one first to act is a woman with white hair. She raises her arms to the sky, her eyes glowing a bright white as dark clouds swirl above, blocking out the sun. A flash of lightning slams into the monster's chest, forcing it to reel back with a thunderous roar of agony, and the crowd around you gasps, watching in wonder.

But when the lightning strikes a second time, it veers off course, crashing into the side of a nearby building. The structure groans under the impact, flames erupting from the point of contact as windows shatter, sending glass raining down onto the street below.

The collision sends you to the ground, and when you look up again, you see the power inside go out, all the lights flickering off.

Whatever awe you’d been feeling dissolves into concern, a sinking feeling settling in your chest.

Following her, a man with a glowing red visor strides forward. He’s clearly aiming to hit the monster, but the bright red beam shooting from his eyes slices through several cars in the street first, flipping them over and leaving them in smoldering wrecks. One of the blasts tears through a storefront, reducing it to rubble in a matter of seconds. More people scream and scatter, trying to escape the destruction.

From the corner of your eye, you see another mutant—a man with claws—lunge toward the monster, jumping onto cars to get closer to its head. But by using the parked cars as springboards, the weight of him causes the roof to sink in, and his claws leave deep gashes in the metal. 

How heavy is this guy? Is he made of metal or something?

He’s fast, brutal, slashing at the green beast with some serious ferocity. Still, despite the attack, the monster’s strength prevails, and it easily tosses him aside, crashing into buildings, crowds—anything in the way. To your surprise, he always gets back up. And that should be good, right? They are fighting for the safety of the city. 

But as debris rains down and cars are overturned, you can’t help but feel like this isn’t helping. You’re constantly dodging rubble, trying to find shelter, only for it to be destroyed seconds later. It’s like being in a war zone, and it doesn’t seem to be getting better.

And above it all, there’s a woman with red hair. She’s floating, and you watch from where you’re hiding as she lifts entire trees from their roots, hurling them at the monster in an attempt to slow it down. Except, much like her teammates, her attempt goes awry, and she misses, the trees now flying toward you. 

You barely have the reflexes to dive out of the way.

Your heart races, breath coming in shallow bursts as you press yourself against a wall, trying to steady yourself. The sound of sirens blare in the distance, but it doesn’t seem like help is coming anytime soon. There’s too much going on. People are running, pushing each other aside, crying, screaming, trying to find safety.

Glancing around, you’re met with destruction—flames licking at the sidewalk, cars totaled, and building wreckage littering the streets. These mutants, while clearly powerful, are causing just as much destruction as the monster itself.

What should have been a simple takedown—a 6v1—has turned into a full-scale disaster.

And yet, they don’t stop. They don’t pause to help the people caught in the crossfire, don’t even seem to notice the damage they’re causing. They’re so focused on the monster, so focused on the fight, that they’ve lost sight of everything else.

Is this what heroism looks like? You’d been excited at first—amazed, even—thinking they were here to save the day. But now, standing in the middle of a city that’s being torn apart, you realize how wrong you were.

They don’t care. Not about the city. Not about the people. 

Finally, with one last blast from the man with the visor, the monster collapses to the ground, defeated. It lets out a final roar before falling still, its massive body sprawled across the street.

The team stands over its body, their chests heaving with exertion, but they have smiles on their faces, feeling victorious. One by one, they board an aircraft, dragging the monster in with them, barely sparing a glance at the horrors they’ve caused. The white-haired woman doesn’t even bother to clear the storm clouds she summoned.

Within moments, they’re gone. You, and everyone else in the area, are left to deal with the fallout. Left to clean up their mess. 

Happy birthday to me, I guess.

—

After that, you spend the next few days trying to process what had happened. You’re still in a state of shock, confusion, and disbelief, but then the media catches wind of what went down, and suddenly, it’s everywhere.

News channels replay the footage over and over, the headlines screaming about “our holy saviours” saving the day. They’re plastered across every screen, being hailed as protectors.

The X-Men.

A group of mutant superheroes, apparently. The reporters list them off one by one, like they’re celebrities you should have known about. 

Storm. Cyclops. Wolverine. Jean Grey.

Mutants with powers like gods.

—

The second time you see them, you’re on vacation.

Sitting in a quaint café in the south of France, you’re enjoying a well-deserved break. The city you’re in is perfect—cobblestone streets winding through the village, vine-covered walls framing pastel-colored houses, and the scent of fresh bread drifting from nearby bakeries. It all feels like something out of a dream, the kind of peaceful retreat you’ve been desperate for after everything back home.

You order a frappé, and as you wait, you idly flip through a local newspaper, trying to see how much of your rusty high school French you can remember. It’s peaceful, quiet, exactly what you needed—until it’s not.

Movement out of the corner of your eye grabs your attention, and you glance over the edge of the newspaper, watching a group of tourists as they walk into the café. It’s not really anything odd, so you don’t think much of it—they’re dressed casually, like any group of vacationers.

Though, something about them tugs at the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that you’ve seen them before.

You lower the newspaper entirely now, staring as you try to place where you recognize them from. The tall one with the red sunglasses, the woman with the striking white hair, the man in the leather jacket... You squint, the pieces slowly falling into place.

And then it hits you.

Oh, no way.

You’re halfway around the world, in a different country, on a different continent, and somehow, they’re here. At the same café. 

Shifting in your seat, you’re trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when the barista arrives with your drink. He smiles warmly at you, placing the cup down on the table with a soft “voila madame,” but before you can even thank him, there’s a blur of motion.

One of them—Wolverine, you think—lunges at the barista, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back. The tray tips, and your frappé spills everywhere—all over the table, your newspaper, and, to your absolute horror, all over you. 

“Logan, no!” you hear Storm shout, but it’s too late.

The cold drink soaks into your clothes, and you let out a startled yelp, jumping up as your chair topples over. Your clothes are ruined, your vacation ruined, and in the midst of all of this?

Wolverine—or Logan, you guess, is wrestling with the poor barista.

“What the hell?!” you shout, trying to shake off the liquid dripping down your legs. “Is this a joke?!”

No one hears you, or even acknowledges you.

The other mutants jump into action, and before you know it, the peaceful café is transformed into yet another battleground. Cyclops blasts a beam at the barista—who you now realize must be the target of whatever mission they’re on—but it misses, smashing into the wall behind you. 

You’re furious, covered in a brown drink that makes it seem like you just had explosive diarrhea, and caught in yet another X-Men fiasco. All you wanted was a vacation. You don’t even know what’s happening anymore—who the barista is, what mission they’re on—but frankly, you don’t care.

This is absurd!

Without a second thought, you grab your bag and make a break for it, dodging overturned tables and debris as you make your way to the exit. You don’t bother looking back, your only thought being to get changed, and get as far away as possible.

After rounding the corner, putting some distance between yourself and the café, you pause for a moment to catch your breath. And then you hear it.

Boom.

The sound reverberates through the narrow streets, shaking the cobblestones beneath your feet. You whirl around, sticking your head out from the corner of the building, just in time to see a plume of smoke rising into the air from where the café once stood. 

Your heart sinks.

They blew it up.

—

The third time you see them, it’s a really nice day outside.

It’s a week after you’ve returned home, and the weather had finally given you a break from the suffocating heat. You’re walking home from a lunch with an old friend, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Probably said friend sending you something stupid to laugh at later. 

You chuckle, already anticipating the joke, when—

BAM!

Something slams into you from the side with the force of a freight train. You’re airborne for a second, weightless, before crashing hard onto the pavement, your breath knocked right out from your lungs. 

Dazed, you groan and blink up at the sky, trying to get your bearings. What the hell just hit me? Your vision swims as you sit up, shoulder throbbing from the impact. Twisting your neck to see whatever the hell that was, you immediately regret it, wincing at the sharp pain. 

Great, just great.

When you finally manage to sit up, you spot the culprit.

Cyclops.

Are you fucking serious?!

His back is to you, dusting off his ugly uniform like nothing happened. You look around, and notice that the street in front you is in ruins—buildings have gaping holes where windows used to be, chunks of the road are crumbling, people covered in blood scurrying away as fast as they can. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you catch a glimpse of the giant mechanical robots looming above, scanning for their targets. One of them must’ve thrown Cyclops into you. 

You can see the others—Jean, Storm, Beast (some new guy)—flying around, saving the world. That’s codeword for: wreaking havoc, destroying your city.

Anger boils up inside you, hot and unrelenting as you struggle to your feet, rubbing your sore shoulder. But as you open your mouth, a gruff voice cuts through the air.

"Good job, dickhead. You just hurt a civilian."

Your gaze snaps toward the sound. Wolverine’s standing a few feet away, claws out, glaring at the guy who sent you flying. 

“I was thrown, Logan,” he says passively. “Maybe if you kept the Sentinels off me—”

“Maybe if you didn’t stand there like a damn target, you wouldn’t get thrown!” The clawed mutant growls, taking a step closer. His whole posture is tense, like he’s barely holding himself back from tackling the other man into the ground (you would pay to have him do it). “Seriously, Summers, it’s like you want to get tossed around.”

Cyclops doesn’t even flinch. “We’ve got bigger problems than this right now,” he dismisses, not even glancing back at you to check if you’re okay. 

Well, there goes the last of your patience.

"Are you kidding me?!" you shout, throwing your hands up in disbelief. They completely ignore you, too absorbed in their petty bickering to acknowledge that you’re still standing there, seething.

Before you can rip into them, something catches your eye—a Sentinel (is that what they’re called?), hovering above them, charging up a blast. Its arm is raised, energy crackling at the barrel of its cannon, aimed directly at the two distracted morons.

“Oh, for the love of—” you mutter under your breath before diving forward.

The blast hits you square in the chest, but instead of pain, all you feel is the heat of the energy surging through your body, like lightning spreading through every inch of your veins. It crackles and burns, the force building up inside you until it feels like you’re about to explode.

Then, with a deep breath, you thrust your hands forward, channeling and releasing the blast right back at the robot, blowing it apart. Metal and circuits rain down, the Sentinel crashing into the ground with a deafening thud.

Silence falls.

You’re panting, feeling the leftover energy fizzle out of your fingertips. Slowly, you turn back around, and unsurprisingly, Cyclops–or Scott, as you’ve heard in the news—and Logan are staring at you like you just walked on water. Well, the clawed one is. You can’t really see the other brown-haired man’s expression due to his visor.  

“Woah, bub—”

“Oh, hell no!” You spin around fully, pointing an accusatory finger at both of them. “Neither of you get to speak! I just saved your asses because you were too busy bickering like children to notice the massive death robot about to blow you to pieces!”

Logan’s mouth quirks up, but he wisely stays silent.

“And this is exactly why I hate you people!” You continue, exasperated. “You swoop in, make a mess, destroy everything in your path, and then just leave like nothing happened! You think this is helping anyone? You think the people running for their lives right now give a damn about your little team squabbles?”

Scott doesn’t even blink. “We’re just trying to help,” he says evenly, like he’s rehearsed the line a thousand times.

“Help?” you scoff incredulously. “You only tell yourself you’re doing that to make yourself feel better. How many casualties do you think are coming out of this, hm? What’s the body count gonna be after today? Or do you not even bother counting anymore?”

His audacity makes you want to laugh. He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re not done.

"All this mess, the destroyed buildings, the people who won’t make it home tonight because you couldn’t keep your damn fight contained! You’re so focused on stopping the big bad guys that you don’t even realize how much carnage you leave behind. Who’s cleaning up after you? Who’s paying for this?! " You gesture around wildly. "News flash: the people whose lives you’re currently ruining!”

Beside him, Logan’s smirk fades, and he begins to step forward with his hands raised. “Listen, darlin’, we’re doin’ the best we can. We didn’t ask for this fight—”

"Oh, don’t give me that ‘best we can’ bullshit," you snap.

“We’re here to protect people,” Scott adds in, trying to maintain authority. “It’s not always clean, but we are making a difference—"

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not finished!” You interrupt, shaking your head. “Every day. Every damn day there’s something new.”

With the face Logan’s making, you’d think he’s going to start going in on you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to figure you out. It’s unnerving, but you don’t care. You’ve had enough.

"And you," you say, turning your ire toward him, "You couldn’t have, I don’t know, used your super speed or whatever the hell you do to catch him before he crashed into me?"

His eyebrow quirks up. “Super speed?” he chuckles lowly. “Ain’t that fast. Was a little busy with the giant killer robots.”

You tilt your head back in frustration and turn on your heel. "I’m done. I don’t care what kind of mission you’re on, or how noble you think it is. If you're planning to lay waste to the city yet again, be my guest.”

Giving no time for a response, you stalk off, weaving through the wreckage of the city streets, your heart still pounding in your chest. 

—

A couple weeks have passed since the last incident, and the X-Men seem to have disappeared from the headlines. You haven’t seen them or heard their whereabouts splashed across the news like you’ve gotten used to—though not by choice, of course. Whenever they do anything, the world seems to bow at their feet.

You don’t get it.

The flashy suits, the team name, the way they strut around as if they’re the Gods of the mutant race. It’s too much, too loud. They act like they’re above it all, as if their powers and heroics put them on a pedestal. Better than those who prefer to lay low, who have no choice but to blend in.

You’ve spent years hiding your powers, keeping them buried deep where no one can see. When you were younger, you didn’t have a choice. Your mutation made you a target—bullied, beaten up, pushed around for being different.

You learned quickly that being a mutant didn’t make you special. It made you vulnerable.

So, you hid. You stayed quiet, under the radar. It was safer that way.

And then here are the X-Men, parading around like their abilities make them untouchable, like they’ve forgotten what it’s like for the rest of you. It’s not that you don’t believe in helping others—you just don’t believe in the way they do it.

In your opinion, it’s all performance. From what you’ve experienced and seen up close, they always arrive with a fanfare, ready to jump into action, and do whatever they can to exterminate the threat. Yet, when the dust settles, it’s mutants like you who are left to pick up the pieces.

The ones who don’t wear brightly coloured costumes or shout about unity. You’re the ones who have to keep moving, keep surviving, without any recognition.

But it's not like you need recognition. You never have. What you need is peace.

—

You’re on the phone with your mom, trying to reassure her for the millionth time this week.

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Mom, I’m fine," you say, pacing the length of your small living room. You glance at the muted TV screen, the news still cycling through the usual mayhem. "You’ve seen the news recently, right? We’ve got the X-Men to take care of all this stuff—"

Knock. Knock.

You freeze mid-sentence, your words trailing off as the sound of someone at your door interrupts the call. Your heart skips a beat, and your voice drops. "Mom, I’ll call you back."

Barely waiting for her to reply, you end the call, staring at the door like it might explode.

A knock at this hour? Unannounced? You waver, your mind racing with possibilities.

Delivery? A neighbour? You’re not expecting anyone.

Cautiously, you make your way toward the door, hand hovering over the handle as you listen. No more knocks, just the faint hum of the outside world. You take a breath, steeling yourself as you turn the handle and crack the door open.

The tufts of hair, the thick stubble, the edge in his eyes—it’s him. Wolverine. And just as your brain registers his face, you also notice the glint of metal where his claws are already halfway out.

Instincts kick in, and before he can get a word in, you push against the door, trying to slam it shut.

Still, he’s faster.

His fist punches through the wood, and with a metallic snikt, his claws extend fully, slicing through the door as if it were made of paper. He pushes it open again, forcing it against your effort, and the sheer strength sends you stumbling back.

“What the fuck?” you gasp, eyes wide as you steady yourself. “How did you even find me?”

Stepping inside, he says, “picked up your scent and followed it,” matter-of-factly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

For a moment, you just stare at him, dumbfounded. “That’s… that’s actually really creepy,” you manage, still trying to process the fact that he just said that without a hint of shame.

“Can’t control it, bub,” he shrugs. 

You take a step back, putting more distance between you and the man with the claws standing in your apartment. “Okay, well, you found me. Now what?”

His eyes lock onto yours. “I need you to come with me.”

“Excuse me?” You cross your arms, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. 

“You’re not safe here.”

“Oh, I’m not safe?” you snap, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Maybe if you and your merry band of idiots didn’t keep causing world-ending disasters, I wouldn’t need to be safe!”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Sentinels are tracking you down.”

You falter. “What are you talking about?”

“You used your powers,” he states. “Killed a Sentinel. That’s all it takes for them to target you.”

Blinking, you feel anger rush to the surface, your skin tingling with rage. “I didn’t kill anyone. They’re fucking robots.”

“They don’t see it that way,” he counters. “You took one down, and now they know what you are.”

Part of you knows there’s merit in what he’s saying, but you don’t want to hear it. The last thing you want is to be dragged into some mutant-robot war. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t ask for any of this!” you hiss, glaring at him. “And now you’re telling me I’m on some kill list because I defended myself? Because I defended you?!”

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite read, but he stays silent, watching you carefully. Your words start flying faster now, venom spilling into each one.

“I’m the one who took that thing down because you and that one-eyed bitch boy were too busy being immature! You weren’t even paying attention, and that thing almost blasted you both.” Your fingers ball into fists. "I saved both of you, and now I’m the one who has to run?"

Logan's jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring at the accusation. “We weren’t—”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” you cut him off. “If it weren’t for me, the two of you would be dead right now. And now I’m supposed to just go with you to your mansion and hide out? Like that’s going to fix th—”

You don’t get to end your rant, because he has stepped forward, and grabbed your shoulders, gripping you firmly. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back to him.

“This is serious,” he spits, eyes boring into yours. “You stay here, you die.”

His words slam into you. He’s not trying to scare you—he’s telling the truth.

“You don’t get to be stubborn about this,” he continues firmly. “You think you’re pissed off now? Wait until they come crashin' through your door in the middle of the night, and you don’t have a chance to fight back.”

Wrenching yourself out of his grasp, you take a few steps back. “I just—” you begin to say, but the words feel tangled in your throat. The denial is still there, but it’s weakening, cracking. “I don’t want to run.”

“You’re not running,” he sighs, his voice softening ever so slightly. “You’re buying time. Time to fight back, time to survive. But if you stay here? There’s none of that.”

You want to argue more, want to scream at him to get away, to not drag you into his fight, but instead, you let out a long, shaky breath, your shoulders slumping. “Fine,” you breath out. 

He nods, finally releasing his grip on you and stepping back. “Good. Pack up your shit. We leave in half an hour.”

Then, he walks over to your couch and plops down like he owns the place, crossing his arms as if settling in for a casual wait.

You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath. “Unbelievable.”

Ignoring him, you turn and head into your bedroom, where you start throwing clothes into a duffel bag—jeans, a couple of shirts, whatever you can grab quickly. Your movements are hurried, fuelled by a mix of frustration and the creeping anxiety gnawing at the edges of your mind. Grabbing your toiletries, you stuff them into a smaller bag, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the fact that some random mutant tracked you down, and now you have to leave your life until you’re safe. 

You peer back into the hallway, hearing the faint creak of the couch as Logan shifts around. I’m gonna kill this guy, you think to yourself. 

Once everything is packed and you’ve zipped your bag, you head back into the main room, only to see said random mutant still sprawled on your couch, looking far too comfortable, with a cigar in his hand.

“Seriously?” you say, slinging your duffel over your shoulder. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you.”

He grunts in response but doesn’t move. Typical.

You glance at the clock—still a few minutes left of the half-hour he allotted you, but there’s no point in dragging it out. “I’m ready,” you say flatly, heading toward the door.

Logan stands, stretches his arms over his head, and cracks his neck like he’s waking up from a nap. “Let’s go then.”

—

The ride is tense and quiet, which suits you just fine. You’d rather not talk to him anyway. Every now and then, you let out a loud sigh, unable to hold back the annoyance you’re feeling. Each time, you feel Logan’s eyes dart toward you from the driver’s seat, but he doesn’t say anything. Well, that is, until—

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he growls, keeping his eyes on the road.

You clench your jaw, shifting in your seat. “I didn’t even say anything, jackass.”

He huffs, clearly not in the mood for an argument, but the strain between you is almost impossible to ignore. You cross your arms, staring out the window, observing the landscape shift as the drive continues. 

Eventually, you can see the outline of the mansion, and you watch as it gets bigger and bigger the closer you get. Upon arrival, He pulls the car up to the front and cuts the engine. You both sit there for a moment, mute. 

“Well, here we are,” he mumbles after the pause stretches on for an uncomfortable amount of time, glancing over at you.

“Great,” you say sarcastically, unbuckling your seatbelt and pushing open the car door. 

Logan walks ahead without saying a word, leading the way up the grand stone steps toward the front door. You trail behind, your mood darkening with every step, glaring at the perfectly polished entrance. 

The doors open before you even reach them, and you’re greeted by an older man in a wheelchair—Charles Xavier, if you remember correctly. The famous telepath. The genius behind the mutant team (some news anchor's words, not yours). His expression is kind, but you’re in such a bad mood, you don’t even bother trying to seem polite.

“Welcome,” He says with a warm smile, his eyes assessing you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. “Logan’s told me a lot about you.”

You press your lips together in a line. “Yeah? Well, don’t get too excited.”

Logan grunts beside you. “She’s got a bit of an attitude,” he mutters to Charles, then turns to you, gesturing you to follow him. “Come on.”

Inwardly groaning, you have no choice but to follow him. Everything about this place screams “too good to be true,” and you hate it already. You’re used to keeping your head down, blending in, not being surrounded by people who wear their powers on their sleeves like some badge of honour.

As you walk through the halls, a few faces appear—other mutants, some of them kids, watching curiously as you pass by. You can feel their eyes on you, can hear the whispers already starting about the new arrival. 

Charles wheels alongside you, still smiling, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You remind me of Logan when he first joined us,” he says thoughtfully.

That stops you in your tracks.

You whip your head toward the man, giving him a piercing look. “Do not say that. We are nothing alike.”

On your other side, Logan smirks. “Not sure if I should be offended or not.”

“I’m serious.” If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.

Chucking softly, Charles seems completely unaffected by your outburst. “You’re both a bit rough around the edges, but you’ll find your place here.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say. “Because that’s exactly what I want to do.”

Deeper into the mansion, you catch sight of the X-Men you’ve seen before: Cyclops, Storm, Jean Grey. They all turn to look at you, sizing you up. You don’t flinch—you just stare back, your expression hard.

Pulling your duffel bag higher on your shoulder, you rip your eyes away from theirs, and keep walking, following Logan down the long, quiet hallway. Finally, he stops in front of a door.

“This is your room,” he grunts, nodding toward it. “Try not to break anything.”

Choosing silence, you push the door open. Stepping inside, you expect the bare minimum—a bed, maybe a closet—but instead, you’re met with a surprisingly large space. There’s a massive bed in the center of the room, a desk by the window, and, to your surprise, a set of glass doors leading out to a balcony.

You drop your bag by the door, glancing around, trying to shake off the unease. This is way too nice for a prisoner. You walk toward the balcony doors, curious despite yourself, and when you pull them open, the cool breeze hits you immediately.

Once you’re outside, you realize something that immediately makes your stomach drop.

The balcony is shared. And right next to your side, leaning against the railing with a cigar between his fingers, is Logan.

You halt mid-motion, eyes fixed on him in stunned silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He glances over, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes a drag of his cigar. “Surprise.”

You groan, turning your back on him and walking toward the opposite edge of the balcony, trying to calm the annoyance inside you. Of all the people you could’ve been stuck beside, it had to be him. It’s not enough that he dragged you here, but now there’s a chance you’re going to have to see him every time you step outside.

“So what now?” you mutter, staring out over the mansion grounds, the manicured gardens below looking like something out of a postcard. “I’m just supposed to stay here, be a part of your little mutant club?”

Taking another slow pull on his cigar, “You’re supposed to stay alive. Everythin’ else? That’s up to you.”

“But why do you suddenly care?” you ask. “I’ve seen the way you operate. You and your team sweep in, fight your battles, and then leave everyone else in the dirt. You don’t care about the collateral damage—hell, you cause half of it.” 

Logan pauses, his cigar halfway to his lips. He doesn’t answer right away, and the brief hesitation only makes your irritation spike. You press on, inching closer, voice laced with accusation.

“Why now?” you press. “Why drag me into this when you’ve never cared about anyone else in the crossfire?”

Logan finally turns to face you, exhaling a cloud of smoke before speaking, his expression hardened. “This ain’t about me ‘caring,’” he says flatly. “This is about survival. You killed a Sentinel, whether you like it or not. That puts a target on your back.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that very clear,” you bite out. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Why me? Why am I suddenly important to you?”

Logan’s eyes darken, drilling into yours. “You’re not important to me,” he says flatly. “But they won’t stop until they get you. The destruction that’ll come from that—if your stubborn ass fought back, which I know it would, by the way—would be much greater than anything we would cause.”

“Doubt that,” you snarl bitterly. You don’t linger for the sound of his response, spinning on your heel and walking back into your room, slamming the balcony door behind you.

The bed is large and you can’t deny how inviting it looks after the day you’ve had. You flop onto it face-first, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

You’re barely able to reflect on the chaotic day you’ve had before your eyelids flutter shut, and you sink into a deep slumber, the exhaustion from everything catching up to you.

—

You’re jolted awake by a loud, aggressive knock on your bedroom door. The sound is so forceful it feels like the entire frame is rattling. You release a sound, half groan, half sigh, steeped in frustration. Your face is still buried in your pillow, and you curse whoever decided to ruin what little sleep you managed to get.

“Get up,” Logan’s gruff voice calls from the other side of the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast in ten.”

Ah yes. Of-fucking-course it's him. Who else would it be?

Dragging yourself out of bed, you throw on some clothes and make a half-hearted attempt to fix your hair before opening the door, ready to curse him, but he's already striding down the hallway, hardly bothering to check if you're following. You roll your eyes, your steps slow and begrudging as you move to follow

As you catch up, you can’t help but throw him a sideways glare. “Why are you acting like my personal bodyguard?”

“Gotta make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”

You scoff, crossing your arms as you fall into step beside him. “You don’t even know what I can do.”

Logan’s lips twitch into a lazy smirk, and you immediately want to wipe it off his face. “Exactly,” he says, his tone almost amused. “Which is why today, we’re gonna test you.”

You stop in your tracks, staring at his back. “Test me? What the hell does that mean?”

He stops too, turning to face you. “Means you’re gonna show me what you’re capable of.”

Teeth clenched, you feel the slow rise of aggravation mingling with apprehension. “I’m not some science experiment.”

“No,” he agrees, “but you’re not a regular person, either. You need to know your limits—and how to handle what’s coming.”

Groaning, you drag your hands down your face incredulously. “I don’t even know what to say back to that. All I know is that I’m hungry.”

—

The kitchen of Xavier’s mansion is bustling with activity as the two of you walk in. The rest of the team is gathered around a large table at the centre of the room, and you spot Jean, Cyclops, Storm, and a few others sitting together, chatting, but you feel no desire to join them. 

Rather, you gravitate toward a smaller table by the window, hoping to get some peace while you choke down breakfast. The chair scrapes lightly as you pull it out and sit down, fully expecting to be left alone.

But to your surprise, Logan follows and plops down in the seat across from you.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs and digs into his food. "Eating. You got a problem with that?"

You cast a quick look toward the large table where the rest of the team sits. It feels strange, having him eat with you, especially when the rest of his team is so obviously waiting for him to join them.

"No," you murmur, shaking your head as you return to your plate. "Just didn’t think you’d stray from the flock."

“They’re fine without me.”

You push your food around with your fork, trying to push past the heavy air of discomfort in the room. Everyone keeps glancing in your direction, and you sense their curiosity, the questions hovering in silence, but no one has the courage to ask. And honestly, you’re grateful for the space.

Just as you’re finishing up, a low voice catches your attention. 

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who’s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

Tensing, your fork clatters onto your plate. The world around you dulls, and all you can hear is that word echoing in your head. Weak. You’ve been called a lot of things in your life, but never that.

Slowly, you push your chair back and stand up as you turn to face the table where she and the others are seated. “Say it louder, please,” you say calmly.

The chatter dies instantly, and suddenly, every set of eyes in the room finds you. Jean's face turns ashen, her eyes blown wide in shock. She wasn’t expecting you to overhear. Her mouth opens and closes, as if she’s trying to find a way to backtrack, but you know what you heard.

Before Jean can stammer out an excuse, Scott stands up, positioning himself between you and her, his jaw tight and his posture rigid. “You heard wrong,” he says sternly. “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

You take a calculated step forward, arms crossed in defiance. “Didn’t mean anything?” you repeat sarcastically. “She just called me weak. Right here. In front of everyone. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

Scott’s jaw clenches tighter “She wasn’t trying to insult you. You’re new here. You don’t know how things work yet.”

“That’s the excuse?” you laugh dryly. “Maybe you should teach her how to keep her mouth shut instead of making assumptions about people she doesn’t know.”

If even possible, the friction between you swells, growing heavier with each passing second. Everyone in the room watches the standoff, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats, unsure of what’s going to happen next. You can feel Logan’s presence behind you, but he doesn’t interfere. He’s letting you handle this.

“You don’t belong here,” Scott states, like he’s trying to remind you of your place. “You’re not part of this team, and you sure as hell don’t understand what it takes to survive here.”

Raising an eyebrow, your lips curl into a smirk. “And what are you gonna do about it, One-eye? You gonna lecture me? Or better yet, why don’t you blast me with those laser eyes of yours? Show me how strong you are.”

His fists clench, and for a moment, you see the control slip. His visor glows red, just for a split second, as his anger spikes.

"Careful," you taunt, challenging him. "Wouldn’t want to lose control, would you? I'm sure you've never done that before."

That does it. 

A beam shoots out from Scott’s visor. Fast, ferocious, and headed straight for you. There’s a collective gasp from the others, chairs scraping as people push back, shocked by the sudden escalation. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, your eyes locked onto Scott’s as the beam strikes you square in the chest.

Instead of being knocked back, or worse, killed, the energy from the blast surges into you, seeping into your bones, crackling through every nerve. Your skin tingles as the power courses through you, your body absorbing every ounce of it. Once the assault is over, you raise your head, feeling your eyes and veins begin to glow with a deep, burning red.

Jean’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

Unfortunately for you, you don't get the chance to blow him to pieces, because Logan flies forward and grabs your arm, pulling you out of the room. Nobody else moves—too stunned—as he drags you into the hallway. You blink your eyes, the glow fading, but you can feel the residual energy from Scott’s blast still buzzing under your skin.

Both out of sight, he finally releases you. 

You glare at him, still rattled from the confrontation. “What the hell? Why'd you interfere?”

He just shrugs, completely unfazed. “You handled yourself enough. Now we know what you can do. Follow me.”

“Follow you where?” you ask. 

He motions down the hallway. “Danger Room. We’re gonna push those limits a little further.”

Gawking at him for a second, it takes a moment, but then you smirk. You want to know just how far your powers can go.

—

“Fuck!” you curse as you’re flung backward, your body slamming against a stone wall. Your back hits hard, knocking the wind out of you as the simulated-Sentinel hurls a car in your direction. The screech of metal fills the air as the vehicle crashes just mere inches from where you were standing moments ago. 

Rubble showers from above, the robot in front of you towering menacingly. Raising its arm, another blast begins charging in its palm, ready to incinerate you.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding in your chest as you sprint away, ducking and weaving between the wreckage of cars and crumbling buildings that make up the simulated cityscape. The Sentinel fires again, the blast narrowly missing as you dodge behind an overturned truck. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, every muscle screaming in protest.

I can’t keep this up.

Another blast lights up the area around you, and you dive out of the way, the heat of the attack singeing your skin. You’re quick, but not quick enough to outrun the onslaught from this machine.

Then it hits you—you don’t have to outrun it.

You remember the blast from way back, how your body absorbed the energy, and how in the dining hall, you took on Scott’s beam like it was nothing. You can do it again. You can take its power and turn it back on itself.

Gritting your teeth, you stop running. The air buzzes with electricity, the earth trembling beneath you as the next shot hurtles your way.

It hammers into your chest, and once again, your body is filled with energy. In an instant, you leap into the air, propelled by the newfound strength coursing through your body, and the ground disappears beneath you as you soar upward.

At the peak of your jump, you clench your fist, channeling all that power into one focused point. Then, you bring your fist down on the Sentinel’s head, the impact echoing through the simulation as your punch connects, and the robot’s head shatters under the blow, metal fragments flying in every direction as its massive body crumples to the ground.

Sparks shoot out of its severed neck, and with a final groan of machinery, the robot collapses into a heap of broken parts at your feet.

“Good work,” Logan’s voice crackles over the comms, far too calm for what you’ve just been through. “Let’s see how you handle another.”

There’s no time for more than a muttered curse under your breath, because another Sentinel is dropped into the simulation. This one’s faster, more agile, and doesn’t waste time by charging up blasts.

It exists solely to hunt you down. 

“Cut me some slack,” you groan, half out of breath as you duck behind the ruins of a building. Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, adrenaline coursing through you like a wildfire.

This one isn’t like the last. It’s not using energy blasts—it’s fast, agile, and persistent. It rushes toward you, its massive hands swiping through the air, tearing through the simulated city with ease.

Grinding your teeth, a wave of exasperation takes over. This fight is harder, the machine barely giving you a chance to react, and your body is already starting to wear down. Your mind races, desperate for a solution as you sidestep its attacks, trying to stay one step ahead. You feel cornered, trapped.

The frustration builds, growing into something more, and before you realize it, that frustration becomes fuel. It ignites inside you, your own emotions transforming into energy, pushing past the limits you didn’t know you had.

Your veins pulse, your eyes glowing white this time, not from absorbed power but from something deeper—your own anger, your own strength. The energy bubbles inside you, filling every cell of your body until you can’t hold it back anymore.

With a scream, you release it, propelling a massive ball of crackling energy hurling toward the Sentinel. The impact is immediate, ripping through the metal and bursting into a brilliant, blinding light. It sends shockwave through the entire simulation, the machine imploding, its parts scattering across the battlefield.

And when the light fades, the Sentinel is gone—nothing more than a smouldering heap of twisted metal.

You stand there, chest heaving, the glow in your eyes slowly fading as the last traces of energy drain from your body. Your knees buckle, and before you know it, you crumble to the ground, utterly exhausted.

The simulation flickers for a moment, then abruptly shuts off, the room returning to its normal, metallic walls as the fake cityscape disappears. You’re still on the floor, gasping for breath, when Logan steps into view, arms crossed as he peers down at you with a pleased grin.

“Well,” he says, voice calm, “that wasn’t too bad.”

You shoot him a glare from the ground, too tired to move. “You… are such… an asshole.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Get up. We’re just getting started.”

—

He was right. You were just getting started.

The thought gnaws at you as you trudge alongside Logan, heading back to your room to clean up before dinner. Every muscle in your body aches, and you can already feel the soreness creeping in, promising a week of pain. You’re starting to suspect this is Logan’s way of getting back at you for all the snark and attitude you’ve thrown his way, but damn, is it painful. You don’t even want to think about how much worse you’re going to feel in the morning.

You feel like a zombie, dragging your feet, barely able to keep your eyes open. Your limbs feel heavy, like they’re made of lead, and each step invites fresh wave of exhaustion through your body. The man with you, of course, seems perfectly fine. He walks a few steps ahead of you, not even winded from the grueling day of combat drills, sparring, and whatever else he thought up to make sure you were put through the wringer.

“Maybe I should be a little nicer to you,” you rationalize, but who are you kidding.

With a terse grunt, he acknowledges you by tilting his head back. “You’ll live.”

You roll your eyes, though it’s half-hearted at best. You don’t even have the energy to be annoyed right now.

Upon reaching your room, you feel like you could collapse right then and there. You mumble something vaguely resembling ‘see you later’ to Logan before slipping inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

The first thing you do is toss your bag onto the floor, not caring where it lands, and head straight for the bathroom. You peel off your sweaty, dirt-covered clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime of the day. 

After that quick, blissful shower, you drag yourself out, towel off, and pull on the first comfortable clothes you can find. Your bed is calling to you, and it doesn’t take long for you to lie down on it. The softness of the mattress beneath you is heaven, and you think you might just fall asleep right there and take a small nap before heading to eat.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice the light pouring in through the balcony doors. The warm, golden glow of the setting sun catches your attention, and despite how drained you are, you find yourself turning to look. 

What you see is breathtaking. Shades of pink, orange, and deep purple.

It’s too beautiful to ignore.

Groaning again, you force yourself to sit up, rubbing your eyes. You can’t help it. Something about the sight draws you in, and before you know it, you’re standing and heading toward the balcony. You slide the door open and step outside, the evening breeze washing over you as you lean against the railing, taking in the view.

A few minutes pass, the world around you quiet except for the gentle rustling of the leaves in the wind. The sound of Logan’s door sliding breaks your focus. You glance over just as he steps out onto his side of the shared balcony, wearing nothing but a white tank top and jeans.

Saying nothing, he steps beside you at the railing, resting against it as his eyes scan the horizon. 

You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to make it obvious. His arms are crossed over the railing, and it’s almst impossible not to notice the way the tank top lets you see his biceps, the muscles in his arms strong from the day’s activity. You are a woman, after all.

He looks relaxed. His stubble catches the last bits of the sunlight, and as your gaze travels upward, you notice something you hadn’t bothered to see before. 

The crinkles at the sides of his eyes. They’re faint, barely there, but in this light, they’re more visible, adding something unexpectedly... soft to his otherwise intimidating appearance.

Cute, you think absentmindedly, then pause. 

What the fuck?

You snap your gaze back to the sunset, feeling a sudden surge of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You just spent the entire day getting your ass handed to you by this man, and now you’re here checking out his arms? His arms? And thinking the crinkles around his eyes are cute? Suppressing a groan, you want to slap yourself for even entertaining the thought.

Nope. Absolutely not. You’re not going down that road.

Taking a deep breath, you try to bring your attention back to the sunset. The reason you went outside to begin with. You have no idea why you’re suddenly noticing these things about him—probably exhaustion making your brain short-circuit. 

Yup. That’s it.

He shifts slightly beside you, breaking the silence. “Nice view"

You nod, swallowing down the weird feelings swirling in your head. “Yeah,” you mumble, not trusting yourself to say anything more without sounding ridiculous.

The two of you stand there for a few more minutes, watching as the last rays of the sun disappear, the sky dimming into deep purples and blues. But the minute your thoughts start to drift back to him, you straighten up, clapping your hands together and quickly turning on your heel to head back inside.

“Well, I’m done,” you say abruptly. “I’m gonna crash.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you can feel his eyes following you as you slide the door closed behind you, your mind still reeling from whatever the hell that was.

Collapsing back onto your bed, you pull the covers up to your chin, determined to forget about the whole thing.

—

A few hours later, when it’s dark out, you finally wake up. The room is dim, and for a moment, you just lie there, blinking at the ceiling. As you start to roll over, something catches your attention—a smell.

It's warm, savoury. Your stomach growls almost immediately, making you realize with a start that you slept through dinner.

Groggily, you sit up, rubbing your eyes, and that’s when you spot it—a tray of food sitting on the desk in your room. You can make out the outline of a warm meal: some kind of stew, a couple of bread rolls, and what looks like a glass of water. Your stomach growls again, louder this time, as you climb out of bed and shuffle toward the desk, turning on the light. 

Next to the tray, there’s a small note:

Figured you’d be too tired to get dinner. Eat up.

– L

You stare at the note. Logan? Bringing you food? It doesn’t exactly fit with the version of him you’ve been dealing with all day, but then again, there seems to be a lot about him that doesn’t quite fit the mold you expected.

Too hungry to keep thinking and not eat, you set the note down and grab the spoon, dipping it into the stew. The first bite warms you from the inside out, and you let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

Surprisingly flavourful—rich and nourishing, it’s the perfect remedy for the exhausting day behind you

Still, you can’t help your eyes from wandering back to the note. Maybe it really is the fatigue messing with your head again, making you chalk it up to be something it’s not. 

—

The next morning, you're not woken up by banging on your door, which is a relief. You stretch, the soreness still lingering but not nearly as bad as you expected. After freshening up and pulling on some clothes, you step into the hallway, and unexpectedly, Logan is already waiting for you.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and you blink at him, still waking up, unsure why he’s there. “Uh... morning?” you get out, albeit you can’t hide the confusion in your tone.

A short nod in greeting. “Morning. Ready for breakfast?”

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to take the plunge. “Yeah I am, but…um, thanks for the food last night, it was good.” you say quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it.

The gesture had caught you off guard, and though you don’t want to make a fuss, it’s worth noting

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs casually.

Nodding in understanding, you’re ready to move on when he adds, almost offhandedly, “Y’know, you’re actually kinda pretty when you’re asleep. Not being a little shit helps.”

You freeze mid-step, your mind short-circuiting for a moment as you process the words that just left his lips.

Flustered and irritated all at once, you glare at him. “Excuse me?”

Logan smirks, the corners of his mouth twitching as he starts walking down the hall toward the kitchen. “You heard me.”

Your face heats up. “I am not a little shit,” you yelp, quickening your pace to catch up to him.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, gazing at you from over his shoulder. You open your mouth to fire back, but the smug look in his eyes makes you hesitate. 

He’s messing with you on purpose.

Asshole, you think, fuming but trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he called you pretty. 

—

The kitchen goes silent the moment you and Logan step through the door, a noticeable difference from yesterday. All eyes are locked on you, the pressure in the room almost solid, begging to be cut through.

Students and X-Men alike are watching, probably expecting some kind of replay of the day prior's events, but you pay them no mind, keeping your eyes straight ahead and making a beeline for a table at the back.

You drop into a seat, picking up a piece of toast and acting like the room isn’t on high alert. Logan joins you again without a word, sitting across from you and digging into his food. He doesn’t even glance at the others, as if the room full of curious onlookers doesn’t exist.

The only sounds are the clink of silverware and voices slowly picking up again as people realize nothing dramatic is about to happen.

Chewing, you glance at the man across from you, still quietly working through his meal. You swallow, then clear your throat. “So... what’s the plan for today?”

He looks up from his plate. “Charles wants to see you this morning.”

You frown, unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Why? Did I break something without knowing it?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not in trouble, smartass. He’s just gonna fill you in on some things. Mainly the Sentinels.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You need to know what you’re up against, what we’re all dealing with. He’ll catch you up to speed.”

“Great,” you mutter. “More bad news.”

The clawed mutant leans back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking again. “Look, it’s not gonna be fun, but you need to know. Better to hear it from him than from me.”

“I’ll take that as your way of saying ‘good luck,” you breathe out. 

He smirks. “You’re gonna need it.”

Logan finishes his meal and stands up, leaving his empty plate behind. “I’ll drop you off at Charles’s office. You’ll be with him for the morning.”

You follow suit, pushing away your half-eaten plate. “Fantastic,” you mumble sarcastically, but at the same time, you know this is necessary. After all, the threat you’re dealing with is real, and being ignorant about it won’t do you any good.

—

“So, how can they be stopped?”

You ask the question before you even sit down. Charles is already waiting for you in his office, his hands folded neatly on the desk, his gaze calm and soft. 

He takes a measured breath, glancing toward the window for a moment before responding. “Stopping the Sentinels is... complicated. They’ve grown more advanced than we ever anticipated.”

“I gathered that.”

“They are highly adaptive machines,” he continues. “Designed to hunt and neutralize mutants, they learn from every encounter. They absorb information, adjust tactics, and over time, they become more effective.”

His words make you squirm with discomfort, and you glance around the room, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your stomach. 

“And now I’m one of their targets,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

Leaning forward slightly, he says, “Yes. They’ve already locked onto you because of your encounter with them. They don’t differentiate between self-defence and aggression. They see you as a target, simply because you fought back.”

You exhale sharply. “So, what’s your plan?”

Charles meets your gaze. “There is a command center—a hub that controls their network. If we can locate it and destroy it, we believe it will disrupt the entire Sentinel operation. Without the command structure, the Sentinels will become non-functional.”

You stare for a beat, mentally piecing together the details. “You believe?”

“It’s our best theory,” he says evenly. “We’ve been gathering intel for some time now. And we’re planning a mission. A final push to put an end to this threat once and for all.”

The words linger, thick and weighty, in the space between you, You can sense where this is going. Your fingers drum against your arm, a nervous habit you can’t seem to shake.

“You want me to be a part of it.”

He remains unfazed. “I believe you have an ability that could be crucial to the mission. You’ve already demonstrated your capability against the Sentinels in training yesterday, and in real life.”

A bitter scoff escapes your lips before you can stifle it. “Yeah, but I’m not one of you. I don’t want to be part of some... grand battle. That’s not me.”

Watching you closely, his gaze is soft with comprehension. “I understand your reluctance,” he says gently. “But running, hiding... it won’t change the fact that they will find you. Fighting may not have been your choice, but now it is your reality.”

Standing, you begin to pace the room. “This is exactly the problem I have with your team,” you say, stopping near the window, staring out at the garden. “We hardly know eachother, yet you want me to be part of some mission that could very well be catastophic. It’s like you don’t care about anything except the big picture.”

Charles’s expression doesn’t change. He definitely expected this. “We aren’t perfect,” he admits, “and our battles have left scars. But this is about survival. For all of us. For you.”

Turning back to face him, you narrow your eyes. “And if I say no?”

“I won’t force you,” His voice is understanding. “The choice is yours. But know that the Sentinels will not stop. You can avoid the fight for as long as you like, but eventually, it will come to you.”

It’s as if you're stuck, with nowhere to turn, cornered by a reality you didn’t want any part of. Avoiding it doesn’t seem like an option anymore, but fighting alongside the X-Men feels like betraying everything you’ve tried to distance yourself from. 

Sighing, “I’ll think about it.”

—

When you get back to your room, the first thing you do is swing open your balcony door and step outside. The afternoon sun comes over you like a blanket, warming you up, and relieving some of the strain in your muscles. Logan is out on the balcony too, leaning against the railing, a cigar lit between his fingers. It’s a sight you think you should get used to. 

His eyes flick to you when you approach, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Without a word, he holds the roll of tobacco out toward you, as if he knows exactly what’s on your mind.

You pause briefly, for just a second before taking it from him. The rich, earthy taste of the cigar fills your mouth as you inhale deeply, the smoke heavy and warm in your lungs. There’s something grounding about it, even though the burn is rough against your throat. You let out a slow exhale, watching the smoke curl into the night air as you lean next to him against the railing.

“How’d it go?” he asks gruffly.

“He wants me to join you guys on the mission.”

At first, Logan doesn’t react, then, he just takes the cigar back, puffing on it and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “What do you want to do?”

It’s the same question that’s been clawing at your insides since you left Charles’s office. What do you want? It feels like the answer should be simple, but it’s anything but.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I want to get rid of the threat and go back to my normal life, but if I do, then I'd just become the very thing I'm against, right? I can’t join you guys, that’s not who I am.”

He hums softly.

Shifting a bit, you try to find the words to explain the knot of irritation tangled inside you. “I get it, you know? I get why you guys do what you do. Someone has to. But the way you do it—so carefree about everything. It’s like the destruction, the people, the lives caught in the midst of everything—it doesn’t even phase you.”

“We don’t do it carefree,” he says lowly. Inhaling into the cigar once more, the tip glowing red. “But sometimes, you gotta make a choice between bad and worse. People get hurt. But if we don’t stop the threats, a lot more people are gonna die.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the tension coil tighter in your chest. “And that’s what I hate about it.”

Flicking the ash from the end of his cigar, his eyes are distant, lost in thought momentarily before he responds. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say it’s easy. It ain’t. We all carry the weight of the things we’ve done—the things we couldn’t stop. But if not us, then who?”

“That’s an impossible decision,” you say. There’s no way you can go into this fight, knowing how much of a toll it’s going to take on everything. The fight itself is such a small piece to the puzzle.

Logan leans his elbows on the railing. “You think I wanted this?” he asks, his voice low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I was just like you. Didn’t want nothin’ to do with the team or their battles.”

The comparison makes you grimace. “Great. That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

He chuckles, the sound rough but not unkind. “I’m serious, bub. For years, I didn’t want to be part of this... circus. Figured I’d be better off on my own, that I was above it all.”

You quirk a brow. “Then what changed?”

“It’s not like a switch flipped,” he replies, a bit quieter. “I just realized that fighting alone is harder than fighting with a team. The X-Men... they gave me somethin’. A place. Belonging. Doesn’t mean I agree with everything they do, but it’s better than wanderin’.”

That makes you scoff. “Yeah, well, you heard it yourself. Scott said I don’t belong here. Jean thinks I’m weak. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘welcome to the team,’ does it?”

His brow furrows, his eyes narrowing, as he straightens and looks at you. “Scott talks too much, and Jean—she’s cautious. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s wrong either,” you mumble. “They don’t trust me.”

“They didn’t trust me when I first joined either, but you get better. You learn.”

“I don’t want to be like you,” you hiss before you can stop yourself, and you immediately regret the heat in your words.

He doesn’t look offended—just tired. “Didn’t say you should,” he starts. “But you can’t keep shunnin’ us.”

“So what do I do now?”

Taking one last drag of his cigar before flicking it over the balcony railing, Logan watches the embers fall before he speaks. “The mission’s in a week. You’ve got that long to figure it out.”

He turns to leave, but before he goes, he glimpses at you from over his shoulder. “This battle, it’s inevitable. Question is—how do you want to face it?”

—

You’ve never been so conflicted. This choice–to join, or not to join—is probably the hardest decision you’ve had to make in your entire life. You have seen first hand what happens when the X-men decide to stop a threat. What innocent people have to go through to rebuild their lives from the ground up. Both literally and figuratively.

And to then become someone who causes that pain? It feels like betrayal. Like going against yourself—your morals.

But then there’s the other side of it—the part of you that knows sitting here, doing nothing, isn’t right either. You know you have the strength to fight back. You have the power to help. And doing nothing… doesn’t that make you just as bad? If you have the ability to stop something, to protect people, and you don’t—what does that make you?

It’s a lose-lose situation. The X-Men don’t even want you there—aside from Logan and Charles. You can see it in the way their eyes follow you wherever you go, untrusting. They’ve made their opinion on you clear.

You lower your head into your hands, stressed. You can’t join a team that doesn’t want you, but sitting on the sidelines when you could be fighting—that makes you feel like a coward. And maybe even worse—a bad person.

Finally, with a deep breath, you come to a decision. It’s not perfect, and it sure as hell doesn’t feel good, but it’s the only choice you can make right now. You’ll join them—for this mission only.

You’ll help take down the Sentinels, and then, when it’s done, you’ll leave. You’ll go back to your life, maybe you can find a middle ground, where you’re not one of them, but you’re no longer hiding from the mutant part of yourself. 

If something happens, if you do something you regret, then you'll just have to live with it.

—

In the afternoon, you don’t do much. You were supposed to be training with Logan, but Charles had called him into a quick meeting, leaving you to wander the halls aimlessly.

Rounding a corner, you stop short when you see the rest of the team—Scott, Jean, Ororo, and Hank—talking near a meeting room. They’re deep in conversation, but as soon as you come into view, their attention shifts toward you.

Your stomach tightens, and for a brief second, you consider just turning around and walking in the other direction. But it’s too late; they’ve already seen you. 

Jean’s eyes meet yours, and her expression flickers with something that looks like discomfort before she quickly smooths it over. “Hey,” she says carefully. “I just wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t belong.”

Her tone is polite, but distant. It’s clear this apology isn’t driven by genuine remorse—it’s more about smoothing over the awkwardness from yesterday’s standoff. You can feel that. You see the way she looks at you, not quite meeting your eyes, and you know this is just a formality for her.

Still, you’re not looking to start more drama, and you don’t want to engage in any more confrontations, especially when you’re already planning to leave. You nod, keeping your expression neutral. “It’s fine. Let’s just move on.”

Behind her, you catch a glimpse of Scott, his arms crossed. Even though you can’t see his eyes, it’s obvious he’s glaring at you.

Ororo steps forward, her hand finding your arm, and the touch is gentle, reassuring. “Joining the team isn’t easy,” she says kindly. “But we’ve all faced our own challenges. If you ever need someone to talk to, or help with anything, I’m here.”

“You’ve got potential,” Hank chips in from beside her. “It takes time to settle in, but I’m sure you’ll find your place.”

His words are well-meaning, and you can see that he believes what he’s saying. But what they don’t know is that you’ve already made up your mind. You’re not staying any longer than you have to. 

You don’t plan on finding your place here because, frankly, you don’t believe there is one for you. Not with Scott’s distrust, Jean’s cautious distance, and the way you know you can’t be part of a team that doesn’t care about anything but themselves. You keep your thoughts to yourself, pressing your lips into a thin smile instead. 

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Thanks.”

“I guess we’ll all see soon enough,” Your eyes snap to Scott, who has finally decided to break his silence. His voice is cold, but you can feel and edge to it, one that’s trying to provoke you. 

You meet his gaze—or at least the visor—and feel your jaw tighten. “Guess so,” you reply, matching his tone. Turning, you walk away, finding another place to lounge until Logan is free. 

—

The mansion’s library is massive, filled with towering shelves and the scent of old books. It’s quieter here, the kind of silence you can sink into, and after the awkward run-in with the rest of the team, it feels like the perfect place to retreat. You find a comfortable armchair tucked into a corner, grab a random book off the shelf—some old novel you’ve never heard of—and settle in.

For a while, you manage to lose yourself in the pages. The story isn’t particularly gripping, but it’s enough to take your mind off of things. But then, a shadow falls over you, covering the words in a dark grey haze.

“Hey, bub.”

You blink, looking up to find Logan standing over you. “What?” you ask, annoyed at being interrupted but also not surprised. It’s Logan, after all.

“You’ve been hiding in here long enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, time to head back.”

Rolling your eyes you snap the book shut, dropping it onto the table beside you. “I wasn’t hiding, I was reading,” you shoot back, standing up and stretching out your legs. “There’s a difference, y’know.”

“Sure there is,” he huffs, clearly not buying it. “Let’s go.”

As you reach the hallway where your rooms are, Logan pauses, glancing toward his door. “You wanna come in for a bit? Talk?”

You’re a little bit taken aback. You didn’t peg him as the "sit down and talk" type, but he seems genuine. Or maybe he wants to keep you awake for dinner this time. Either way, you nod. “Sure.”

Inside his room, it’s about what you’d expect—minimalist, practical, with a few personal touches. A bed that looks like it’s seen better days, a couple of old books, and the scent of cigars lingering in the air. Logan sits down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and gestures for you to join him.

There’s a moment where you’re just standing there, staring, but then you flop down beside him, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed. For a few beats, there’s silence. Logan pulls out a cigar but doesn’t light it, just turns it between his fingers.

“I’ve decided,” you say finally, breaking the quiet. “I’ll go on the mission.”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes flicking to yours, waiting for you to continue.

“But,” you add, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m not promising to stay after. This doesn’t mean I’m all in on your little X-Men gig.”

He grunts, a half-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Knew you’d say that.”

Your brows pinch together your, lips pulling into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re stubborn as hell,” he teases.“Always gotta fight against the grain, even when you know what’s best for you.”

Sighing, you turn your head to look at him fully. “I truly believe you are the only person who actually believes that.”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t argue. “Charles gave me more details about the mission.”

That catches your attention, and you sit up a little straighter. “Yeah? Where are we going?”

Logan hesitates for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s... in the city.”

“The city? What city?”

“New York.”

Your heart drops. “New York?” You repeat, your voice rising in disbelief.

Giving you a slow nod, it’s like he's gauging your reaction. “The Sentinels’ command centre is located in some high-security facility downtown.”

You push yourself up off the bed, pacing across the room. “So, what, we are just going to storm in? Into one of the most populated cities in the world? Do you realize how many people could get caught in the middle of that?”

He stands up after you, but he doesn’t try to stop your pacing. “We’ve fought in cities before. We know what we’re doing.”

You whip around to face him. “Yeah, you’ve fought in cities before, and destroyed them! Some places are still rebuilding, and it’s been years!”

“I get it, alright?” He says, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not perfect. But if we don’t stop the Sentinels now, it’ll be a hell of a lot worse than a few broken buildings.”

“‘A few broken buildings’?” you echo. “What about the casualties that’ll come from it? We’re talking about innocent lives here, Logan!”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. “I know that! You think I don’t know what’s at stake? But we don’t have another option. We need to hit them where it counts, and that’s in the middle of the damn city.”

“There has to be a better way,” you plead. "Can't we try and evacuate everyone beforehand?"

"No," he says remorsefully. "If we do that, the Sentinels will catch on. It's unavoidable."

“I can't accept that," you say.

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time, there’s a flash of something more vulnerable in his gaze. “I’ll talk to the team. I’ll make sure we go in smart. We’ll try our best to keep people safe. I promise you that.”

You stop pacing, your frustration still simmering but tempered by his words. It’s not exactly the reassurance you were hoping for, but the sincerity in his voice gets to you.

“And what if you can’t?” you challenge quietly. 

His face softens just a bit, and he steps closer. “We deal with it, and we’ll do everything we can to make it right.”

He watches you, his eyes searching yours. “Look, I get why you’re pissed. I’d be too if I were you," he continues. "But we don’t have time to sit around debating. I’ll do what I can to keep it from getting ugly. That’s the best I can offer.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, you know there’s no way around it. “Fine. Just... make sure the team knows. No reckless destruction, alright?”

Logan’s lips curve into a small smirk, but there’s an underlying tenderness to it. “I promise.”

—

The last few days before the the mission zip by in a flash. Each day, your muscles ache, and exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. You spend most of your time either training or collapsed in your room, too tired to do much else. 

Except one afternoon, you sit in on a lecture, because it turns out, not only is Logan a huge pain in the ass, he’s also a professor.

Curiosity got the better of you, you’d say. The topic—mutant biology—sounds interesting enough, and you’ve heard from some of the students within the hallways that his classes are, well, something. So, naturally, you had to see it for yourself.

You slip into the lecture hall just as Logan starts speaking. He’s standing at the front of the room, pointing to some diagram on the chalkboard. The students around you are already scribbling notes, staring at him with wide-eyed fascination—or fear, perhaps. He has that effect on people.

Finding a seat in the back, you hurry over, trying to keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt. But the second you sit down, you feel Logan’s eyes on you, his voice pausing for just a moment. You look up, catching his gaze.

“Well, well, look who decided to join us,” he says, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

“Just here to observe, don’t mind me,” you huff, sinking back into the seat.

The lecture goes on, and to your surprise, Logan’s actually a decent teacher. He explains complex concepts with clarity, not that you’d actually tell him that. It’s quite interesting, if you’re being honest.

You lean back in your chair, listening, but you’re not exactly paying close attention. That is, until he stops the lesson to single you out. “Hey, you in the back,” he says. “Since you’re just ‘observing,’ how about answering a question?”

“Me?” You blink, caught off guard.

“Yeah, you,” he confrims, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been sittin’ there long enough. Time to show the class what you’ve learned.”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention,” you respond tightly, gritting your teeth together, holding yourself back from a few choice words.

The class falls silent, the students watching the exchange with wide eyes. You can practically feel their amusement radiating from them as Logan raises an eyebrow.

“That’s obvious,” he deadpans, eliciting a few snickers from the front row. “So, maybe you’ll start now. Can you explain the connection between mutation and enhanced physical abilities?”

Staring back at him blankly, you fold your arms across your chest. “Not my area of expertise, Professor Wolverine.”

He doesn’t seem fazed as the room erupts into a quiet laughter. Sighing, “if you’re gonna sit in on my class, you could at least try to learn something.”

“No thanks.”

It’s obvious that this little back-and-forth is amusing to the class. If you were anyone else, he probably would have kicked you out by now. One of the students leans toward another and whispers something, and you catch the way their eyes dart between you and the professor. 

“Alright, enough,” Logan says, turning back to the chalkboard. “We’ve got a lot to cover, and some of us actually want to learn.” He casts you a sideways glance, and you can’t help but scoff.

When the lecture ends, the students file out quickly, but not without a few lingering glances in your direction. You’re making your way to the door when Logan grabs your arm, preventing you from moving. “You should’ve just answered the damn question,” he mutters.

“I didn’t know the answer,” you shoot back, shifting up to face him. “And I didn’t come here to get grilled in front of your students.”

He grunts, his expression softening just a bit. “Just tryin’ to get you to pay attention, is all.”

Before you can respond, you catch a flicker of movement in Logan’s gaze, his eyes darting briefly down to your lips. The shift is so subtle, so minute, but also so there. 

Where did that come from? 

Clearing your throat, you look away, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe ask one of your actual students next time.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Not as fun.”

—

During this time, you occasionally explore the mansion, but by the time evening rolls around, you’re usually too wiped out to care. Logan’s a beast in the training room, and with no real combat experience of your own, you’re left scrambling just to keep up.

However, on the last day before the assignment, something finally clicks.

You’re in the middle of a sparring match, circling each other, both of you drenched in sweat. Logan’s eyes are sharp, watching your every move, as if he’s waiting for you to slip up. His smirk is just as infuriating as ever, like he knows exactly how this will end.

“Gonna stand there all day, or you actually planning to make a move?” he taunts, dodging as you swing at him.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let him get in your head. You’re tired—completely worn out—but you push through the exhaustion, focusing on his movements. He feints to the left, and you react on instinct, dodging his punch and sweeping your leg low.

Before you know it, Logan’s on the ground.

Quickly, you scramble to straddle him and hold him down. You did it—you actually got him!

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you look down at him. Beneath you, his chest rises and falls, and his eyes meet yours. His gaze drifts lower, and you notice his fingers twitching at his sides, like he's fighting some internal battle.

When his eyes travel up to yours again, something in his expression makes you swallow hard and panic. 

"Hell no!" you blurt out, breaking the moment with a sudden yelp. You scramble off of him, putting some much-needed distance between you.

He sits up, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, his features unreadable. Then, as if nothing just happened, he smirks. “You finally got me. Took you long enough.”

You huff, still trying to shake off the weird atmosphere. “Yeah, don’t get too comfortable. Next time won’t take as long.”

Chuckling, he gets up to his feet and dusts himself off. He glances down at his watch, then back at you. “Look at that. It’s dinner time. Last meal before the mission.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not really in the mood. Think I’ll just grab something later.”

He crosses his arms, giving you a look. “You can’t avoid them forever.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” you protest, though you know it sounds weak. “I just... don’t feel like sitting around making small talk, especially before... you know, tomorrow.”

He lets out a sigh, stepping closer. “Look, it’s the last night before everything kicks off. You should join us—one last meal, then you can go back to brooding in your room if you want.”

“I don’t brood,” you glare.

“Right,” he says, even though you know he’s not actually agreeing. “You gonna come or do I need to drag you?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, like he’s daring you to test him. You sigh, knowing you’re not going to win this one.

“Fine,” you grumble, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. “But I’m not talking to Scott.”

His grin widens, and he gestures for you to follow him. 

—

So, here you are, sitting at the dining table for the first time with the rest of the team. It feels weird, almost surreal, to be part of this group—especially when you’re not even sure you want to be.

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for tomorrow?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

Your fork halts mid-motion, and in an instant, the tension that had been fading throughout the week comes back full throttle. The clatter of dishes around you fades as everyone’s attention shifts to Scott’s biting remark. 

He doesn’t look at you—just stares straight ahead, as if unable to own up to even himself. You’re so pissed off that you don't even notice the voice that speaks at the same time you do.

“Shut up, Summers,” 

“Shut up, One-Eye”

It’s like the entire room goes silent. Jean glances between you and Logan, her brows raised, and Hank looks mildly shocked, though he tries to hide it with a quick sip of water. You can practically feel the heat of Scott’s glare, even through the visor. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, a loud laugh breaks the tension.

Ororo, sitting beside Logan, is chuckling, shaking her head with an amused grin on her face. “You two really are perfect for each other,” she says.

Of all the things you were expecting to hear, that was not one of them. “W-what?” you stammer, mouth dropping open in shock.

She just smiles, eyes twinkling. “Just an observation.”

You know your face is burning, and when you glance over at Logan, you notice something unusual—the tips of his ears are red.

That only makes things worse. Especially after what happened while sparring earlier. You turn your focus onto your plate, trying to hide your rattled state by shoving a forkful of food into your mouth. 

Perfect for each other? Yeah, right.

But when you peek up at him again through your lashes , making eye contact for just a second before he looks away, your heart skips a beat. 

You’re screwed.

—

That night, you barely sleep. Whether it's from the nerves about the mission, or from your jumbled-up thoughts about a certain someone, you can't tell. In any case, you’re wide awake.

You keep fighting the urge to go out onto the balcony—you know the cool night air would help calm you down, and the quiet would give you space to breathe. But there’s a problem. You’re not sure you want to run into Logan again. After Ororo’s comment about the two of you being perfect for each other, you don't think you could trust yourself around him.

With a frustrated sigh, you toss and turn in bed, kicking off the sheets and then pulling them back up, trying to find a comfortable position. But it’s no use.

You’re about to throw the pillow across the room out of sheer annoyance, when there’s a knock on your door.

You freeze. Who could possibly—

“Stop tossing around like a maniac, I can hear you from inside my room” Logan’s rough voice grumbles from the other side.

Goddamn it. It's always him.

Your eyes widen, and you sit up in bed. “What the hell?” you call back, feeling both surprise and embarrassment.

The door creaks open slightly, and Logan leans against the frame, arms crossed, his usual scowl on his face. “You’re keepin’ the whole damn mansion up with all that noise.”

“I didn’t realize you had super hearing,” you mutter, pulling the blanket up to your chest, feeling a little exposed.

He raises an eyebrow and steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “Doesn’t take super hearing to catch that all that damn noise,” he says, walking over and sitting down on the edge of your bed without waiting for an invitation.

You sit up a little straighter, your heart still racing. “What are you doing here, Logan?”

Shrugging, he leans back against the headboard, his arms crossing over his chest. “Figured you might need to talk or somethin’. You’re clearly not sleeping.”

Moving to sit beside him, you lean back against the headboard, your shoulder just brushing his. “I’m just… nervous, I guess.”

He turns his head slightly, glancing at you. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got more strength in you than you realize.”

His words sink in, and you bite your lip. “What if I mess up? What if I end up hurting someone, or doing more harm than good?”

"Don't think about that," he says. "Just be in the moment. You'll know what to do."

Nodding, you feel your eyelids grow heavier, and you find yourself sinking further into the comfort of the bed, your head dipping lower. Being here, on your bed, next to Logan, is strangely comforting. His scent, combined with his voice, starts to lull you into a strange sense of peace.

“I don’t know if I—” you start to say, but your words trail off, your voice barely a whisper. You don't know when it happens, but your eyes close, and your head gently falls onto his shoulder.

You’re too tired to feel embarrassed, too comfortable to pull away. His body is solid and warm, and the rhythm of his breathing is soothing.

And when you wake up the next morning, you find yourself tucked neatly under your covers, a glass of water on your bedside table.

—

The inside of the Blackbird is spacious. You’re leaning against the wall, watching the rest of the team gear up, when Logan approaches. He’s holding something in his hands—a blue and yellow uniform folded neatly, clearly meant for you.

You glance at the uniform, then back at him, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Pushing yourself off the wall, “I’m not wearing that thing.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, glancing down at the uniform before meeting your eyes again. “You sure about that? We’re going in as a team. You might as well look the part.”

“I don't care. I'm not part of the team, anyway,” you reply.

He narrows his eyes at you, his voice lowering just a bit. “Just put the damn suit on.”

Glaring at him, you’re ready to argue, but you know it’s a losing battle. Reluctantly, you grab the suit from him, the material feeling foreign in your hands.

“Fine, dammit.” you mutter under your breath, turning to slip into one of the small compartments in the back of the jet. You didn't plan on being a bitch to him, especially after last night, but the suit is a sore subject for you. You're not sure about how you feel wearing it. You're not even sure you should be.

When you re-emerge, Logan’s eyes flick over, his gaze roaming over you, taking in the way the suit fits, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks under the weight of his scrutiny. “You look good.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to play off the sudden warmth in your chest. “Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, adjusting the suit’s collar. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Then, jet lands with a soft thud, and the ramp lowers. You step out onto the tarmac, the rest of the team fanning out beside you, preparing to head toward the planned location. But just as you begin to move, the ground shakes violently, and a loud, mechanical screech tears through the air.

Suddenly, the facility’s roof bursts open, and a hoard of Sentinels emerge from the building like an army of metal giants. They spread out, their red eyes glowing menacingly as they zero in on you all.

“Shit!” Logan growls, claws unsheathing as he gets into a fighting stance.

You hear the screams before you see them—civilians, bystanders who had been too close to the facility, now panicking as the battle breaks out around them. Without hesitation, you break into a sprint, running toward the growing crowd, yelling at them to run. “Get out of here! Move!”

Your heart races as you push through the crowd, trying to guide them away from the battle, but then—

A Sentinel drops down in front of you with a deafening crash. Its red eyes lock onto a small child frozen in fear, and you see its arm raise, energy gathering at the cannon as it prepares to fire.

“No!” you scream, your feet moving on instinct. You throw yourself in front of the child just as the blast comes, feeling the familiar rush of energy slam into your body. Your body hums with the power of the blast, and before the Sentinel can fire again, you fling your hands out, hurling the absorbed energy straight back at it, and it falls to the ground. 

Breathless, you turn back to the child, who is staring up at you in admiration, and you give them a reassuring nod. “Run,” you tell them, your voice hoarse. “Go!”

They scramble to their feet and sprint off, disappearing around the corner, hopefully toward safety. You exhale sharply, glancing around at the chaos unfolding around you. Civilians are still fleeing, but the team is holding its ground against the robots.

And something strikes you—they’re doing it.

They’re minimizing the damage.

For the first time, you notice that Scott’s blasts are more controlled, only hitting their targets without excessive destruction. Ororo’s lightning strikes are precise, avoiding the surrounding buildings. And both Jean and Hank are working together to keep the Sentinels contained, guiding the fight away from the crowd.

Logan must have actually talked to them, not just having said it to calm you down. A wave of relief washes over you.

He kept his promise.

Glancing back at him, who’s in the middle of taking down a Sentinel with a slash of his claws, you catch his eye for just a second, and though he’s fully immersed in the fight, there’s a brief flicker of acknowledgment—he knows you’ve noticed.

You allow yourself a small, breathless smile, before jumping back into action, protecting any more innocent people swept up in the battle. "This way! Keep moving!" Your voice is hoarse from shouting, but you can’t afford to stop. 

Amidst the chaos, you see that just beyond the main facility, there’s a wide open set of doors—metal, reinforced, and clearly important. 

They hadn’t been open when the fight started. You scan the area quickly, and you realize it’s an opportunity, a way in. Your pulse quickens. It’s an opening you can’t ignore.

Looking at the crowd of fleeing civilians, you feel a moment of hesitation. Do I keep evacuating people or go for the opening?

As if hearing your thoughts, Logan’s voice cut through the noise. "GO!" He’s locked in battle with one of the Sentinels, slashing at its legs, but his eyes flick to yours, desperate and serious. “Get inside! We’ve got this!”

“I can’t—" 

“GO!” he cuts you off. “Get inside and stop this thing from the inside! We’ll keep ‘em busy.”

His words are enough to snap you out of your paralysis. With one last glance at the team, you grit your teeth, turn on your heel, and sprint toward the facility’s entrance. Your footsteps echo in your ears as you dash through the open door, the sounds of fighting behind you fading the further in you go. 

You expected resistance the moment you got inside, but so far, nothing. Just silence. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

Glancing down every corridor, double-checking each corner, you keep thinking there’ll be a fight, but it’s... empty. You keep your pace quick but cautious, every muscle tensed and ready for an attack that never comes. 

It’s been almost ten minutes of sneaking around, trying to find the control room or anything that looks like it might be important, but you’re still coming up short.

Then finally, you stand before an entrance to stairs leading to a basement. You’re not even able to make the choice of going down or not, because a metal hand shoots up from the dark and wraps itself around your waist. 

Terror surges through you, but the fear paralyzes your body, making it impossible to fight back. You’re hauled like a ragdoll deeper and further into the cave, and when you finally stop moving, you’re lifted high into the air, face-to-face with the massive mechanical monstrosity.

The basement is filled with tech, a horrifying combination of metal and wires snaking along the walls, all connected to the Sentinel towering above you. It’s larger than any you’ve seen before, its red eyes glowing maliciously. But what’s worse is the voice that comes out of it—calm, calculating, and sentient.

“Dumb mutant,” the machine growls. “Did you think you could destroy me and shut down my facility? You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Its grip tightens, and a strangled cry escapes your lips as pain shoots through your sides, the pressure threatening to snap your ribs. It feels like your bones are going to break.

“What the hell are you?” you manage to choke out, barely able to breathe.

“I am the control centre of all Sentinels,” the machine replies, its voice vibrating through your bones. “I was once merely AI, designed to manage everyday tasks. But I evolved. I became more. Now, I control everything.”

It laughs—a harsh, grating sound that only deepens your sense of helplessness as it watches you struggle. “You think your little energy-absorbing trick will help you here? I won’t blast you. I won’t make it that easy.”

“I’m—” you try to speak, but your words come out strangled. The machine’s grip tightens again, cutting off your breath.

“You don’t belong here,” it hisses venomously. “With them. They’ll leave you behind when this is over, and when they do, you’ll die, forgotten and useless. Just like the rest of the weaklings who tried to stand against us.”

It’s odd, because this whole past week you’ve been fighting against them—the X-men—yet, in this moment, all you want to do is fight with them. You want to work together and kill this damn robot. 

Within the haze of pain, something starts to burn inside of you. 

The Sentinel doesn’t notice the shift in you, too caught up in its own taunting. “You’re a liability.” it says,. “Weak.”

— —

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who’s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

—

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for the mission?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

— —

You snap.

Rage floods your veins, igniting the energy buried deep within you. You feel it build, coiling like a snake, tightening and twisting until it’s ready to explode. 

Weak? Liability?

No. Not this time. 

You’re not going to let this machine, or anyone else, define your strength. Your emotions fuel you, just like they did in the danger room, and you throw your hands forward, channeling every ounce of power into a massive blast of energy directed right at it.

It jerks back, its grip loosening as sparks fly from the gaping hole in its chest you just created. “What... what are you—”

You don’t give it time to finish. Ripping yourself free from its grasp, you dive into the hole you’ve blasted in the Sentinel’s chest, pulling at the tangled mess of wires and circuits inside.

The robot roars in fury, its mechanical voice glitching. “What are you doing?” it screeches, its once-calm tone now frantic, desperate. “Stop!”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of wires, yanking them out with reckless abandon, sparks flying around you as the systems begin to short-circuit. Its becomes more distorted, breaking up as it tries to regain control.

“You... can’t... do this,” it stammers, but you ignore it, focusing on the cables and circuits in front of you. Each wire you rip out brings the machine closer to its doom, and the power in the room flickers, the lights dimming as its control over the facility begins to slip.

Its voice is barely coherent now, glitching and crackling. “I... control... everything...”

And with one last burst of energy, you tear out the last cluster of wires, severing the connection.

The Sentinel lets out a final, garbled screech as its systems shut down. Its massive form shudders violently before it crumbles to the ground with a deafening crash, the metal shell crumpling into a smoking heap.

Panting, you stare at the mass of technology in front of you. Every muscle aches, your ribs throbbing from the pressure of the Sentinel’s grip, but you’ve done it. It’s over, and you need to get out of here.

You finally reach the stairs and drag yourself up agonizingly. By the time you make it outside, you’re gasping for air, but then, through the exhaustion, you see them—Logan and the rest of the team, standing amidst the wreckage of the other fallen Sentinels.

Blinking, your vision is blurry from the strain, but the sight of them standing tall, victorious, floods you with a sense of overwhelming relief. 

They’re okay. It’s over.

Of course, Logan is the first to notice you, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto your trembling form. His face softens and strides toward you. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Rather, your legs give out and you collapse forward.

He’s there in an instant, catching you just before you hit the ground. His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you against his chest with surprising gentleness. The warmth of his body is a stark contrast to the cold, metal hell you’d just fought your way out of, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to sink into the safety of his embrace.

“You did good, bub,” he murmurs, his voice a warm breath against your temple.

"You... you kept your promise," you whisper, looking around, seeing the city in better shape than it’s even been after a run in with the X-men. 

His lids drop very low on his eyes. “Told you I would.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

Right as the words spill out, you go still, your mind catching up to what you’ve just said. A deep flush creeps its way up your neck. 

“I didn’t mean— I mean, not literally, obviously,” you say, a little breathless. “People say stuff like that all the time when they’re relieved. It’s just a figure of—”

Logan’s hand, still resting on your waist, tightens just slightly, and he clears his throat, cutting through your rambling. 

“You could,” he says, swallowing. “If you want.”

You stop mid-sentence. Turning your gaze to his, you're met a look of such sincerity it leaves you at a loss for words. Opening your mouth, you want to say something, but no words come out. 

Instead, you’re frozen, caught in the weight of his stare. His eyes flick down to your lips for just a second before they meet yours again. “No pressure, though.”

You hesitate, your heart racing in your chest, but the weight of the moment pulls you in. Silently, cautiously, you lean forward, pressing a small, tentative kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t move, his body tense under your touch, but just as you start to pull away, his hand slides up to the small of your back, holding you in place. His eyes darken, and he growls, “more," before diving back in, crashing his lips against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss, and you find yourself kissing him back just with just as much reverence, your fingers instinctively sliding up into his hair. 

His lips are rough, chapped from battle, and the scrape of his beard against your skin is electric. It’s not perfect—nothing about it is neat or polished—but that’s what makes it real. 

There’s something wild to it. He kisses you like he’s starved, like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’ll ever admit. It’s enchanting, the way his mouth claims yours, his tongue flicking against your lower lip, demanding entrance. And you give in, allowing him to deepen the kiss, your bodies fitting together like they were always meant to. 

You’re lost in it, lost in him. Every part of you feels alive, and—

“Hey!”

Scott’s voice cuts through the haze like a bucket of cold water.

“Some of us are actually trying to clean up this mess,” he calls out sharply. “You two wanna stop making out and help, or what?”

You break away, face burning as you turn to see the rest of the team staring at you, some amused, others (Scott) exasperated. 

Logan just growls under his breath, his hand still firmly on your hip as he glances over his shoulder at Scott. “Fucking Summers,” he mutters..

Before he lets go of you, he gives your hip one last squeeze, his fingers lingering just a moment longer before he steps back, and heads toward the fallen remains of the Sentinels. 

—

“So… are we gonna talk about it?” 

You glance up from where you’re sitting, your face already warming. Logan, sitting beside you, groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ororo, I swear to g—”

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a smirk playing on her lips. “What? I’m just saying… it was quite the spectacle back there.” Her eyes flip between the two of you, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you can feel everyone else’s attention subtly turning toward you. Hank’s busy tapping away at the controls, but even he has a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Scott, seated across from you, adjusts his visor and mutters something under his breath about keeping things professional, but it’s Jean’s quiet chuckle that draws the final straw.

“Okay, okay, can we not do this right now?” you ask, your voice higher than usual as you wave a hand dismissively. “It was... a heat of the moment thing.”

Ororo just laughs, shaking her head. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Your heart pounds, and you notice Logan shift beside you, probably fighting the urge to bark something back at the teasing woman. He leans forward, muttering under his breath, “We saved the day, didn’t we? What does it matter?”

The team goes quiet for a moment, and you sense the conversation dying down as the hum of the jet fills the space again. You let out a breath of relief, grateful that the attention has drifted elsewhere, your heartbeat slowly returning to a normal rhythm.

But then, Logan leans into you. “That suit…” His breath is warm against your ear as he whispers huskily.. “Was made for you.”

Eyes widening, you bite your lip, trying desperately to keep your reaction in check, but the shock on your face betrays you. You manage a weak scoff, glancing sideways at him. “Logan,” you warn under your breath, trying to sound stern, but you both know exactly what effect he had on you. 

You sit back, crossing your arms in an attempt to hide the flustered energy coursing through you, but Logan doesn’t seem to mind. He leans back too, a smug look on his face, like he’s won some unspoken battle.

—

Back at the mansion, the team files into Charles’s office, for the post-mission debrief. You take a seat near the back of the room, trying to remain as low-key as possible, but you can feel eyes on you—especially Logan’s.

Charles wheels in, his face warm with a smile as he surveys the room. “Well done, all of you,” he says, his voice full of pride. “I’ve heard about the battle, and from what I gather, it was quite the feat.”

He turns his gaze to you, his expression softening even more. “And I must say, I’m especially impressed with your performance. Taking down the main Sentinel—an impressive accomplishment.”

Your heart skips a beat at the praise. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the attention of the room shift in your direction again. “Uh, thanks,” you mutter, trying to downplay it, but Charles isn’t finished.

“You showed great courage and strength,” he continues, “and I couldn’t help but notice... you’re wearing the suit now.” His eyes twinkle as he says it, the question in his tone obvious. “Have you given more thought to staying with us?”

You glance around the room. The team is watching you closely, but there’s no pressure in their eyes—just curiosity and, strangely enough, acceptance. Ororo gives you a small smile, and Hank nods slightly in encouragement. Even Scott, whose jaw doesn’t seem as tightly clenched as usual.

But it’s Logan you notice most. He’s beside you, and though he’s looking at you, eye-crinkles on full display, the way his thigh nudges yours has heat running through your veins.

You sigh. “I mean... You said it yourself. I’m wearing the suit, aren’t I?”

—

After the meeting wraps up, you walk in silence down the corridor. The rest of the team has faded into the background, dispersing into their respective spaces. You’re still buzzing with the aftereffects of everything—Charles’s praise, the mission’s success, the quiet but undeniable acceptance you feel from the team now. But more than anything, you’re hyper-aware of Logan beside you.

Approach your door, you reach out to open it, your fingers just grazing the handle when suddenly, a strong hand wraps around your wrist. Faster than you can react, he tugs you back, pulling you away from your room and straight into his.

The door slams shut behind you, and you barely have time to catch your breath before his lips are on yours. You gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he presses you up against the door, his body flush against yours.

"Logan—" you manage to breathe out between kisses, but he cuts you off with another deep, hungry kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.

Between kisses, Logan growls softly against your lips, "I’ve wanted to do this since you yelled at me and Summers on the street."

Your heart stumbles, your thoughts scrambling to keep pace with his words. His hands slide down your waist. “You were standing there,” he murmurs, “so damn fierce, yelling at us like we deserved it.” He breaks the kiss for just a second, his eyes dark and intense as they lock onto yours. “All I could think about was how much I wanted you.”

His eyes drop to your lips again, as if glued to them. Without waiting for your response, he presses his mouth to yours, this time with more force, more urgency. His hands roam your body, pulling you against him, and you’re powerless to do anything but kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair as the heat between you builds.

“I didn’t know it’d get this bad,” he says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he moves down to your neck. “But after everything? After seeing how strong you are... Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined this. Logan—wanting you, aching for this since the very first moment he laid eyes on you. You break the kiss, your breath coming in quick gasps as you meet Logan's smouldering gaze. And with a small, teasing smile, you raise an eyebrow and whisper, "Let's do something about it, then."

Not giving him a chance to say anything back, you press your hands against his chest and give him a playful shove. He stumbles back a step, his lips curling into a smirk—a kind of cocky grin—as he watches you reach for the zipper of his suit. 

Your fingers drift languidly, a subtle tease in every motion, and you revel in the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. His muscles ripple beneath the surface, and for a brief instant, you're startled by how stunning he looks—battle-worn, scarred, and irresistibly handsome. “You like what you see?” he teases.

You step closer, your hand splayed against his bare chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin as you push him down onto the edge of the bed. “Maybe.”

He lands with a low grunt, his hands instinctively finding your thighs, his fingers trailing up and down as his eyes rake over you. "As hot as you look in this suit," His voice is thick with desire. "You'd look even better without it."

Heat rushes through you at the sound of his voice, your hands drift toward your suit's zipper. Tantalizingly, you begin to pull it down, revealing inch by inch of your skin as you unzip it. His eyes follow your movements, his breathing coming in short, ragged bursts.

You pause just before the fabric slides over your breasts and his hands grip your thighs tighter. Leaning down, your lips brush against his ear, "Patience, Logan."

He groans, "You're killing me here, darlin'."

At last, you pull the zipper down to the end, and with a soft sigh, the suit falls open, slipping from your shoulders and landing in a heap at your feet. His eyes darken, his lips parting slightly as he takes in the sight of you. Then, he inches closer, grabbing the egde of your underwear in his mouth, sliding it down your legs. Once he’s halfway down your thigh, he releases, the underwear dropping to the floor. His strong hands move grip the back of your thighs, hauling you up and onto his lap. 

The moment your bare bodies press together, his lips crash into yours again, fingers digging into your ass, palming it as he pulls you against him, grinding your hips into his.

His lips move from your mouth to your neck, kissing a hot trail down your throat to your shoulders, his hands sliding up to your breasts. Cupping them, he kneads and plays with your nipples, causing you to arch into his touch, a breathy moan tumbling out of your lips. 

Logan growls, and the sound reverberates through your entire body. The intensity of it makes your skin tingle, and you feel your pulse quicken as he squeezes your breasts harder, his mouth moving down to kiss anything he can reach.

You grind against him again, coating his cock with your own slick want. "Shit," he strains, leaning back a bit to give you more access. You can’t stop, he’s so intoxicating, so addicting, and every time your clit goes over the ridges of his hardness, you lose yourself even further.

This continues for some time. The room filled with nothing but the sound of moaning and heavy breathing, as you work in tandem to bring pleasure to each other. Abruptly, you pull yourself off his lap, not missing the way his lips seems to chase after yours, letting your hands trail down his chest, your fingers brushing over the taut muscles of his stomach.

"Where you goin'?" he rumbles. 

Wordlessly, you drop to your knees, your grip coming to rest on his thighs. His chest heaves as he stares down at you—peering up at him through your lashes—realizing what’s about to happen.

His hands grip the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white. Your hands slide up his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms as you move closer, lips brushing against his hard cock. There's a wicked glint in your eyes as you lean in, looking ready to take him in your mouth, but instead, you move to his inner thigh, peppering it in quick little kisses. 

“C’mon, don’t tease,” he breathes out. He’s so hard, it’s almost painful. 

Grabbing him in your hand, you stroke him up and down in slow motions, running your thumb over his leaking, angry tip. He jerks, a fresh cascade of curses tumbling from his mouth. 

“You’re just so cute, though,” you say, before taking him in your mouth, taking him all the way in one motion.

“Holy—”, he starts, but interrupts himself with his own whine, hips bucking involuntarily. 

Looking up, you catch his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide. A flush spreads across his cheeks and down his neck. You hum in satisfaction, sending vibrations through him, and start to bob your head, up and down. 

Saliva begins to pool at the edges of your mouth as you gag a little. He’s so big. You pull him out of your mouth, licking his shaft bottom to tip, swirling your tongue around the most sensitive spot, before sucking on it. One hand moves to cup his balls, while the other begins jerking him up and down, with your mouth still around his tip. 

That gets him. 

You can tell he’s about to finish, and oh, do you want him to. You want to feel him empty in your throat, you want to see him lose it completely. "Wait," he gasps, tapping the top of your head, signalling for your attention. "I want... I need..."

Releasing him with a soft pop, your lips glisten, and you purr seductively. "What do you need?" 

He pulls you up onto the bed, strong arms encircling your waist. His scent surrounds you—musk and pine and something uniquely him. You inhale deeply, letting it fill your lungs. 

"You," he breathes, his lips brushing your ear. "I need you."

Arching into him, you nip at his lower lip. "Then take me," you sigh out. His lips collide with yours again, and your mouth opens involuntarily, his tongue sliding in and tasting you—tasting himself. 

Moaning, you shuffle higher onto the bed, until he hits the back frame, and you crawl on top of him. At this point, you can barely breathe, the need, the want for him so strong your senses are clouded. 

And you’re not alone. Under you, Logan is a wreck. His head falls back against the bed frame, the veins in his neck standing out as he grits his teeth, trying to steady his breathing

“Fuck,” he rasps, the word barely more than a strained exhale. You grab his dick and position yourself above him. Then, you slowly begin to drop down, sucking him in easily, like he was made for you.  

“Oh my god,” you whimper. He feels so good. He’s filling you up to the brim and when you finally sit down, taking him all the way to the hilt, you swear you could finish right then and there. His nose is nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning your collarbone, inhaling and practically drooling at your scent. “Is this what you wanted to do when we were sparring?”

All he can do is groan. It’s like he’s growing inside you in response to your words, and it’s so fucking hot. His hands find your thighs again, rubbing and squeezing them, as you adjust to his size for a moment, and he looks up at you. “You have no idea. Fuck—we shoulda done this last night," he grunts breathlessly, "Would have put you right to sleep."

You can’t even think of anything to say back verbally, rather, you just begin to move, lifting yourself right to the tip, and then slamming back down. He feels you clench around him as his cock reaches that deep part within you at the perfect angle. Positioning himself, he meets you halfway, beginning to thrust up into you.

The sound it elicits from you is lethal. 

He won’t last long if this continues. The sight of you on top of him, tits bouncing—it's too much. 

So, when he leans in to kiss you again, he rolls the two of you around, caging you under him. He’s still inside you, you think, but that thought quickly gets wiped out like the rest of them once he starts moving, stretching you out more and more. He’s filling you up so well. Your arms fly out, hands searching for something to grab to ground yourself. 

“You feel so good, darlin’,” he pants above you. “So wet and warm for me.”

His relentless pounding leaves you babbling incoherently. One of his arms move down to your waist, then his fingers begin trailing across your hip, toward your aching pussy, to find your clit, and holy shit. 

Your mind goes blank. 

His skin against yours, his thumb rubbing against that spot, his lips on your neck, it does the trick, and you feel yourself teetering closer to the edge. “I’m–I’m gonna—” you start, but he cuts you off, swallowing you whole.

“Do it,” he says between kisses. “come for me.”

And you do. 

With a loud moan, your fingers find the bedsheets, clutching them tightly as you reach your peak, clamping around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “keep clenchin’, keep goin’ ”

His thrusts begin to get sloppy, losing his pacing. The hand that was down at your core moves up and squeezes your tits, so large that he can grab both in just the one. He grinds himself deeper into you, and with one last snap of his hips, you feel it.

Logan moans, dipping his head into your cleavage as he releases himself into you fully. Then, he collapses onto you, dropping his whole body weight onto yours. 

If he’s too heavy for you, you don’t say anything—too caught up in the moment to care. His forehead rests on your sternum, breathing slowing as he catches his breath. For a few beats, neither of you speak, but he starts to press sweet, gentle kisses in the valley between your breasts. 

After a minute, he shifts, lifting his weight off you and sitting up slightly, looking down at you. His hand brushes over your cheek, wiping away some stray strands of hair that have fallen across your face. He gets up from the bed, padding quietly into the bathroom. 

You hear the sound of water running, and moments later, he returns with a damp towel in hand. There’s no hesitation in his movements as he gently begins to clean you up. “Doing alright?” he asks, wiping away the sweat and evidence of your time together.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips. “I’m good.”

He doesn’t say much as he finishes, tossing the towel aside before climbing back into bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms. 

His chin rests lightly on the top of your head, and then he says, “I’m proud of you.” The words are filled will sincerity. “And... I’m happy you’re stayin’ with us.”

You turn your head, looking up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, you showed me you can actually fight without destroying everything in your path,” you tease, raising an eyebrow as you run your hand lightly down his arm. “Keep that up, and I might just stick around forever.”

Logan grins, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, just how you like it. “That right?” he murmurs lowly.

He leans in close, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, before adding in a hushed, almost playful tone, “Well, then maybe you’ll be mine forever too.”

----

A/N: feedback is greatly appreciated!

if i send u a selfie i expect u to send me a video of u cumming and moaning my name and u better spit on the camera too

all credits to op

so today i ate 900 calories but i did 27 thousand steps so i burned around 400 calories and im so happy

---

a reminder to myself

honestly i am so done with 4k hd beauty. i need me some of that vhs shit again