Undercover Flames [Logan Howlett]

Undercover Flames [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It was supposed to be easy: infiltrate the gala, gather intel, and report back. But when a mission takes a deadly turn, Logan is forced to confront his deepest fears as he races to save the woman who means more to him than life itself.

PART ONE OF TWO (part two here)

Warnings: Angst, kidnapping, canon-level violence, Logan goes feral, graphic descriptions, lot's of fighting, feels

WC: 10.8k - MASTERLIST

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A black limousine pulls up to the grand entrance of the sprawling estate, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway. The mansion ahead is bathed in golden light, a beacon of opulence against the darkening sky. Inside, Logan’s gaze shifts to the woman beside him, his fellow teammate and the only person who can keep up with his banter. You adjust the diamond necklace around your neck, the gemstones glinting in the dim light. Logan has seen you in countless situations—on missions, during training, in the midst of battle—but tonight, in that floor-length black gown, you look like someone who belongs in this world of wealth and power. You look beautiful.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Howlett,” you quip, catching him staring. A smirk plays on your lips as you adjust to fix your hair.

Logan grunts, pulling at the collar of his tuxedo. “Never seen you so dolled up before. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you tease.

The two of you have been dancing around something deeper for years, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and witty comebacks. But tonight, with both of you playing the roles of a married couple, the lines between reality and pretense are bound to feel thinner than ever.

Logan’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he takes in the way the dress hugs your figure, the way your hair frames your face. You catch the look, and for a split second, the playful atmosphere between you falls away, replaced by a charged silence that neither of you knows how to break.

The driver opens the door, jolting you back to your senses, and Logan steps out, extending a hand to help you out of the car. You take it, your touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He holds onto your hand for just a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nods, his grip tightening slightly on your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors to the mansion swing open, you’re greeted by the sight of a grand ballroom filled with the elite of society. Men in tailored suits and women in sparkling gowns mingle under chandeliers, their laughter and conversations blending into a hum of affluence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, Logan can sense the undercurrent of danger, the same instinct that has kept him alive for over two centuries. The people here aren’t just the wealthy—they’re the orchestrators of a new threat to mutants, a group so powerful that even the X-Men have to tread carefully.

“Stick close to me,” Logan murmurs as you step into the room. “These people are more dangerous than they look.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, your arm looped through his as you make your way through the crowd. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But remember, we’re supposed to be madly in love.”

He lets out a low chuckle, one that only you can hear. “Right. Madly in love.”

His words hang in the air between you, loaded with a meaning neither of you dares to acknowledge.

The two of you move deeper into the ballroom, and you can feel the weight of several eyes on you. It’s no surprise—Logan’s rugged demeanor and your striking appearance make for a captivating combination—nevertheless, you both know better than to let your guard down. This place is a viper’s nest, and any wrong move could cost you your lives.

“There they are,” you whisper, nodding subtly toward a group of older men gathered near the center of the room. “Our targets.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he focuses on them, recognizing the group from the briefings. “Time to make some friends.”

With practiced ease, you and Logan approach the group, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You introduce yourselves as a wealthy couple from out of town, interested in investing in the right causes. It doesn’t take long before the men welcome you into their circle, eager to impress and share their twisted ideals.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, was it?” one of the men, a tall, thin figure with silver hair and a sharp jawline, inquires. His eyes are cold and calculating, a predator sizing up his prey. “What brings you to our little gathering tonight?”

“Opportunities,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your tone. “My husband and I are always looking for the right people to align ourselves with. When we heard about your… endeavors, we couldn’t resist.”

Logan wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a show of possessiveness that feels all too natural. “My wife’s got a keen eye for business,” he adds for extra persuasion, “And we’ve been hearing a lot about your group. Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

The man’s eyes flick between the two of you, as if his suspicions still linger. “Plans indeed,” he says slowly. “But only for those who share our vision. Tell me, Mr. Daniels, what is it that you despise most?”

“Weakness,” Logan growls, his eyes meeting the man’s without flinching. “In this world, you’re either strong enough to survive, or you’re not. And I don’t have time for the ones who can’t keep up.”

A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes spreads across the man’s face. “I see we understand each other.”

You feel Logan’s hand tighten on your waist, his body tense with barely contained aggression. He’s playing the part, but you know how much he hates being in the company of people like this—people who would kill without remorse, all to maintain some sense of superiority.

“And what about you, Mrs. Daniels?” the older man continues, turning his attention to you. “Do you share your husband’s views?”

You meet his gaze with unwavering confidence, channeling all the poise you have. “Absolutely. There’s no place in this world for those who refuse to evolve. We believe in survival of the fittest.”

That seems to do the trick, the men in the circle nodding approvingly. “Well said, Mrs. Daniels. You two might just be exactly what we need.”

Another man in the group, stockier and with a thick, gray beard, leans in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And what do you think of the mutant problem?”

You exchange a brief glance with Logan, knowing that this is the moment of truth. If you say the wrong thing, it could blow your cover, but if you’re too vague, they might not trust you enough to share any details of their plans.

“I think they’ve had their time,” Logan says, false contempt bleeding from his words, “and it’s time someone put them in their place.”

The stocky man’s eyes light up with approval, his grin widening. “Exactly what we like to hear. You see, we’re not just talking about containment anymore.” He pauses, “We’re talking about eradication.”

Your stomach turns at the cold-blooded tone in his voice, but you keep your expression neutral.

“Eradication, you say?”

The silver-haired man nods. “A necessary step. Mutants are a threat to the natural order, and if we don’t act now, they’ll overrun us. But we have a plan—one that will send a message to the world.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his fists itching to unsheathe his claws and tear through this evil group of people. But he forces himself to stay calm, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth.

“We do,” the silver-haired man replies, his eyes gleaming with malice. “And with the right support, we can make it happen. Imagine a world free of mutants, where humanity can thrive without fear.”

You hum in feigned agreement. “Tell us more,” you prompt, leaning in as if genuinely interested. “How do you plan to pull this off?”

Glances are exchanged among the men, a clear sign of their satisfaction with the interest you seem to show.

“It’s quite simple, really,” the stocky man begins. “We’ve been gathering resources and allies from around the world. The most powerful minds, the wealthiest families—all united by a common goal.”

“And once we’ve secured enough support,” the silver-haired man continues, “we’ll make our move. We’ll target key mutant populations, taking them out in a way that will serve as a warning to others. Public displays, executions—whatever it takes to make them fear us.”

You keep your voice steady, despite the chill that runs down your spine, as you reply, “That’s… quite an undertaking.”

The men chuckle, mistaking your hesitation for awe. “It is. But it’s necessary. And with people like you on our side, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Logan smirks. “Count us in.”

The men smile, delighted with what they believe is newfound support. Logan hates every second of it—despises having to play along with these monsters. But he knows you both have to get more intel before you can make a move. The mission has to come first, even if it means playing nice with the enemy.

“Excuse us,” you say smoothly, grabbing Logan’s hand and glancing at him with a look that says it’s time to go. “We need to discuss a few things, but we’ll be in touch.”

The men nod, distracted by their own plotting as you and Logan step away, moving toward one of the less populated hallways. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Logan exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I need to tell Scott what we just heard,” you murmur quietly, “They’re planning something big, and we don’t have much time.”

Logan nods, his hand squeezing yours as you walk down the hallway. “I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

You find a secluded spot near a corner, pulling out the small communicator you’ve hidden in your purse. Quickly, you begin to relay the crucial information to Scott and Hank back at the X-Mansion, your voice hushed but urgent as you detail the plans you’ve overheard. Logan stands nearby, his senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the hallway for any sign of trouble.

It’s too quiet.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, instincts prickling with the sense that something is wrong. He turns to you, about to suggest wrapping things up when he hears it—a faint noise, like the subtle shifting of fabric, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced hearing.

Logan’s eyes dart toward the source of the sound, muscles tensing as he spots movement down the hall. “We’ve got company,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You quickly finish your transmission, tucking the communicator back into its spot in your purse. “How many?”

“Too many,” Logan mutters, his claws itching to come out. “We need to move. Now.”

It’s too late. A group of security guards rounds the corner before either of you can make a break for it. Their eyes lock onto you with suspicion, and you can see the realization dawning in their expressions. Logan immediately steps in front of you, his body a solid wall of protection.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” one of the guards says, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip. “Who are you?”

Logan forces a grin, trying to buy some time. “Just lost our way. We were headin’ back to the ballroom.”

The guard’s eyes narrow, evidently not buying it. “I don’t think so. You two don’t seem to belong here.”

Another guard steps forward before Logan has time to respond, pulling out a device that emits a faint, ominous hum. The man waves it over you, and Logan’s heart sinks as the device beeps loudly, flashing red.

“Mutants,” the guard spits, his voice filled with disgust as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to grab you. “We’ve got ourselves some freaks here, boys.”

A wave of panic surges through you, but you shove it down, focusing on the cosmic energy you can feel crackling at your fingertips. Summoning all your strength, you swing a fist, aiming to land a powerful, energy-charged punch straight into the guard’s face.

But just as you make your move, another guard from your other side grabs your wrist mid-swing and your other arm, twisting them behind your back with brutal precision. The cosmic energy fizzles out instantly, your powers rendered useless by the anti-mutant handcuffs that snap around your wrists with a harsh click. The cold metal bites into your skin, and you feel immense fear crawl its way through your body as you realize how vulnerable you are without your powers, or the use of your arms.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” the guard sneers in your ear, his grip on your arm painfully tight as he shoves you forward. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s eyes widen in fury as he sees the guard cuff you, his body trembling with the effort to keep his rage in check. “Let her go,” he snarls, his voice dangerously heavy.

The guard only grins, tightening his hold on you. “Or what, freak? You gonna bark? Gonna bite?”

Logan’s claws shoot out with a metallic shink, the sound echoing through the hallway. He takes a step forward, the feral side of him failing to suppress itself as he glares at the guards with deadly intent. “Last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

Instead of backing down, the guards react with eager viciousness. The one holding you shoves you hard against the wall, his leg sticking out to block your own, pinning you in place. Some others step forward, one landing a brutal punch to your stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of you. The world tilts, and pain explodes in your ribs as another guard’s boot connects with your side.

Logan sees red.

Something primal surges within him, the instinct to protect you overwhelming every other thought. With a roar that shakes the walls, he launches himself at the guards, his claws slicing through the first one with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters across the floor as Logan tears through them with a ferocity that is terrifying to witness.

He moves like a whirlwind of rage, his claws ripping through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The guards don’t stand a chance against him, but even as he fights, more of them swarm in, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“Logan!” you cry out, the fear and pain you feel palpable as you struggle to get free. The guard holding you down slams your head against the wall, and stars burst behind your eyes as the world blurs.

Logan spins around, his eyes wild as he sees you slumped against the wall, blood trickling from your nose, eyes fighting to stay open. The sight of you being beaten, helpless and vulnerable, sends him into a frenzy. He slashes through another guard in his way, his claws dripping with blood as he tries to tear through their ranks.

However, his efforts are futile, the guards are relentless. Their numbers never dwindle, if anything, more and more seem to join the fight. They pile onto him, using their advantage, holding him down to the ground. Logan fights with everything he has, but even he has limits. He can feel the weight of them pressing down on him, can feel his strength waning as they force him to the ground.

“Logan!” you call his name again, breaking through the chaos. He can see you being dragged from the scene, your wrists bound, your eyes locked on his as they pull you farther and farther away.

“NO!” He roars, his voice breaking as he thrashes against the guards holding him down. He has to get to you—he has to save you.

Yet the more he fights, the more they press down, their combined weight and force overwhelming even his enhanced strength. They slam his head against the cold floor, pain exploding through his skull as his vision begins to fade. The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is your terrified face, the way your lips form his name, and the cold, cruel hands dragging you away into the shadows.

And then, nothing.

----

Logan wakes up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant sound of beeping monitors. His head pounds, and every muscle in his body aches as if he’s been through a war—and in some ways, he has. Groaning, he tries to sit up, but a firm hand presses him back down.

“Easy, Logan,” comes Hank’s calm, reassuring voice. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Logan blinks, his vision slowly coming into focus. He’s in the med bay, the familiar white walls and harsh fluorescent lights greeting him. Once he finally comes to his senses, and he remembers the events that transpired the previous night, he realizes none of that matters. The only thing he cares about is you.

“Where is she?” he demands as he struggles against Hank’s hold.

Hank’s expression softens with pity and concern. “She’s… Logan, they took her. We’re doing everything we can to track her down, but—”

Panic jolts through Logan like a bolt of electricity, drowning out the rest of what Hank is saying. His eyes burn as he wrenches himself free from Hank’s grasp, his voice a gruff, dangerous snarl.

“How the hell did you get me out but leave her behind? You’re telling me you saved my sorry ass and couldn’t save her?”

Hank hesitates, his features morphing into a pained look, “It wasn’t like that. We were overwhelmed. There were too many of them, and you—”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses!” Logan cries, his words echoing off the walls as he slams a fist down on the bed. The metal frame groans under the force of his anger.

At that moment, Charles Xavier wheels in, his imposing presence immediately felt within the confines of the small room. He speaks calmly, trying to cut through the fog clouding Logan’s mind. “Logan, we did everything we could. It was hard enough getting just you. We had no choice but to retreat. If we hadn’t, we might have lost you both.”

Logan’s glare could’ve burned holes through steel as he turns to Charles, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t give a damn about me! She’s out there, alone, with those bastards, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I should’ve been able to protect her.”

His fists clench, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to contain the whirlwind of emotions tearing through him. Guilt eats him from the inside out. The thought of you suffering because he wasn’t there to protect you… “You–We…We left her behind,” he mutters, voice cracking.

Charles’s voice is firm but compassionate as he addresses the younger mutant. “You need to rest and regain your strength. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to get her back—but you can’t do that if you’re broken.”

Jaw tightening, Logan leans his body forward, holding his head in his hands. His temper is boiling, he wants to tear everything apart until there is nothing left, but he knows, deep down, that Charles is right. And as much as it kills him, he has to bide his time, to heal and prepare for what is to come.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hank, get out,” he growls, “Get out before I lose it.”

Hank exchanges a worried glance with Charles before reluctantly nodding. “We’ll find her, Logan. I promise.”

After Hank leaves the room, Logan sinks back onto the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from exploding. His eyes bore into Charles’s, who remains, silently offering his support.

“When we find her,” he says, his voice low and full of promise, “there’s no holding back. I’m done waiting, done with all the excuses. She’s mine, and I’m not letting anything or anyone take her away from me again.”

----

The first thing you feel is the cold—icy, unforgiving, and seeping into your bones. Your head pounds, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think, let alone move. When you try to lift your hands, you realize they are restrained, heavy iron chains biting into your wrists and pulling your arms taut above your head.

You jump to your senses, sharp and immediate, as you force your eyes open. The world is a blur at first, everything spinning and distorted. Then, as your vision clears, the reality of your situation hits you like a slap in the face.

You are in a cell. The walls are made of rough stone, the floor damp and filthy. There is barely any light, just a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering occasionally and casting long shadows that dance across the room. Your dress—the one you’d worn to the gala—is torn, the delicate fabric shredded and hanging off you in tatters. You can see your own blood between the patches that reveal your skin. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a deep sense of dread settles in your stomach.

You try to pull against the chains, but your limbs are weak, your movements sluggish. They must have drugged you—this realization makes your heart race, fear clawing at your throat. You have no idea how long you’ve been out, no idea where you are or what they plan to do to you.

A sound from the other side of the cell catches your attention—laughter, low and mocking. You turn your head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through your skull. Two guards stand just outside the bars, their faces twisted in cruel amusement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them sneers with malice. “The mutant bitch.”

The words sting, but you refuse to show it. You force yourself to sit up straighter, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster. “Where am I?” you demand, your voice hoarse and shaky.

The guard laughs again, louder this time. “You’re in hell, sweetheart. And there’s no way out.”

His companion, a stockier man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward, his eyes raking over you with a look that makes your skin crawl. “The boss is real interested in you, you know. He’s got plans,” he smiles, “Big plans.”

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your composure. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, it ain’t about what we want,” the scarred guard replies, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “It’s about what you can do. For us. You mutants think you’re so special, so powerful. But look at you now—all chained up and helpless.”

He reaches through the bars, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shoots through your scalp, but you bite your lip, refusing to cry out. You won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Let go of me,” you hiss.

The guard’s grin widens as he leans closer, his breath hot and foul against your skin. “Make me, sweetheart. Oh, wait—you can’t.”

He laughs again, muttering to the other guard about how satisfying this is, and you feel a wave of nausea rise in your throat. You can feel the energy within you, your power that usually simmers just beneath the surface, always ready to be called upon. But now, it’s like a distant echo, muted and weak. The chains—they must be suppressing your abilities, keeping you from using your mutation.

“Your little tricks won’t work here,” the first guard taunts, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Those chains are special, made just for freaks like you. No powers, no escape.”

You are trapped, powerless, at the mercy of these men and whoever their leader is. You know you can’t let them see your fear. You can’t let them break you.

“I’ll get out of here,” you say, keeping your voice level despite the terror gnawing at your insides. “And when I do, you’ll regret this.”

The guards exchange a glance, then burst into laughter, the sound grating and harsh in the confined space.

“Big talk for someone who’s all chained up,” the scarred guard says, releasing his grip on your hair with a rough shove that sends you sprawling back against the wall.

“You’re not getting out,” the first guard adds, his tone more serious now. “No one’s coming for you. Your friends probably think you’re dead already. It’s been days.”

For a moment, your resolve falters. What if they are right? What if the team thinks you’re gone, or worse—what if they can’t find you? But then you think of Logan, of the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he’d fought for you before. No, they wouldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t abandon you.

“They’ll find me,” you say, the conviction in your voice surprising even you.

The guards don’t laugh this time. The scarred one scowls, stepping back from the bars. “Keep dreaming, mutant. You’re ours now.”

With that, they turn and leave, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until they fade into silence. You are alone again, the cell’s walls pressing in from all sides. Yet despite the fear, despite the pain, you hold onto that sliver of hope, that image of Logan and the others coming to your rescue.

You aren’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. The drugs are still in your system, making it hard to concentrate, but you won’t let that stop you. You start to tug at the chains again, testing their strength, trying to find any weakness, any way to break free.

It is agonizing, and with every movement, the metal digs deeper into your skin, drawing blood. But the pain keeps you focused, keeps you from slipping into despair. You have to keep going. You have to believe that Logan will come for you.

And when he does, you will be ready.

----

Weeks pass since that fateful night at the gala, weeks that feel like an eternity to Logan. Each day that you remain missing is another day of excruciating uncertainty, each hour that ticks by another reminder of his failure to protect you. The mansion, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, has become a suffocating prison where he is forced to wait and hope—two things he has never been good at.

Charles Xavier is relentless in his search, utilizing every resource, every connection, and every ounce of his telepathic abilities to track down the organization that has taken you. The X-Men work tirelessly alongside him, scouring the globe for any trace, any whisper, that could lead them to you. Logan is a constant presence in the war room, his patience worn thin by the endless dead ends and false leads. He’s ready to go after them with nothing but his claws and a vendetta, but Charles insists on a plan, a strategy that won’t just rescue you but will dismantle the threat for good.

Finally, after weeks of frustration and relentless searching, they find something—a lead that could change everything.

Charles is in his study, surrounded by a tangle of maps, files, and reports, his mind stretched to its limits as he sifts through the chaotic swirl of information. Then, in the quiet hours of the night, he finds it—a faint, almost non-existent mental signature, hidden deep within the shadows of his mind. It’s the psychic equivalent of a whisper, a delicate thread that, when tugged, reveals a location: a remote island, far off the coast, where the organization has set up a secret base.

This base, as he quickly pieces together, is where they are holding you, along with other mutants they have captured. It’s heavily fortified, nearly impossible to reach by conventional means, and shielded against most telepathic detection. The mental signature he finds slips through only because it’s so faint, a brief lapse in their otherwise impenetrable defenses.

Charles spends days verifying the information, cross-referencing it with the intelligence they’ve gathered over the weeks. Every detail lines up—this is it. This is where they have taken you, and this is where they will launch their attack.

With the location confirmed, Charles knows he has to get the team together and act. Act fast.

----

Time loses all meaning in the cold, dark cell where you are held captive. The days and nights blur together, an endless cycle of hunger, pain, and hopelessness. The cold stone walls, once foreboding, have become your only companions, and the silence is a constant reminder of how alone you are.

Your dress is taken hours after you awake, replaced with a rough, beige prison uniform that itches against your skin. The fabric is thin, offering little protection against the freezing temperature. Your wrists and ankles ache from the tight cuffs they keep you in most of the time, the metal leaving angry red marks that never seem to fade.

They barely feed you—just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to give you any real strength. The meals are a cruel joke, infrequent and consisting of nothing more than stale bread and murky water that tastes like rust.

What makes it truly unbearable isn’t the food itself; it’s the way you are forced to consume it.

Chained to the wall, your arms shackled above your head, you can’t even feed yourself. Every day, like clockwork, one of the guards enters your cell, a twisted smirk on his face as he carries a small, dented tray of food. He kneels beside you, holding the bread just out of reach, as if daring you to try and grab it.

“Hungry?” he taunts, waving the bread in front of your face. “You look like you could use a bite.”

You glare at him, your stomach growling with hunger, but you refuse to beg. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperate you are. In the end, your body’s needs always win out, and you reluctantly part your lips, letting him shove the stale, crumbling bread into your mouth.

The guard never makes it easy. He pushes the bread in too far, making you gag, or holds it just out of reach, forcing you to strain against your chains, the metal digging painfully into your wrists. When it comes time for the water, he tilts the cup too quickly, spilling most of it down your chin, leaving you with just a few precious drops to quench your thirst.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, wiping the spilled water off your face with the back of his hand in a mockery of kindness. “Can’t even eat without help.”

You swallow the bread, the dry crumbs scraping down your throat, doing your best to keep from choking. The water that follows is barely enough to wash it down, leaving your mouth dry and your hunger only partially sated.

It’s a humiliating, degrading experience, one that leaves you feeling even more powerless than the chains ever could. And that’s exactly what the guards want. Each meal is an exercise in control, a reminder that you are at their mercy, that they hold all the power.

Somehow, that still isn’t the worst of it all.

Guards come daily, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always with that same twisted grin on their faces. You have learned to anticipate their visits, to prepare yourself for the taunts, the jeers, and the beatings that inevitably follow. They seem to take pleasure in your suffering, their laughter echoing off the walls as they deliver blow after blow, leaving you gasping for breath on the cold, hard floor.

Every time they come, they mock you, their voices dripping with contempt. “Where are your precious X-Men now, huh? Guess they forgot about you. Must be nice knowing no one cares enough to come get you.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. But inside, the doubt begins to creep in. How long has it been? Weeks, maybe more? Surely they would have found you by now. Surely Logan is out there, tearing the world apart to find you. But as the days drag on and the beatings continue, it becomes harder to hold onto that hope.

One day, after an especially brutal session where they leave you bruised and bleeding on the floor, you find yourself laughing—a bitter, hollow sound that startles even you.

“What’s so funny?” one of the guards sneers, looking down at you with a scowl.

You lift your head, your gaze locking onto his, something defiant sparking in your eyes despite the pain. “Do you guys get off on seeing people in pain? Is this a fetish or something?”

The guard’s expression darkens with disdain, and he steps forward, delivering a swift kick to your side that makes you gasp, the air rushing out of your lungs. “Shut up!” he barks.

You cough, tasting blood on your lips, but you can’t stop the words that tumble out. “Is that all you’ve got?” you rasp, pushing yourself up onto your elbows despite the throbbing in your ribs. “I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this.”

The guard’s face twists into a snarl, and he raises his hand to strike you again, but the other guard grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Enough,” the second guard says, though his voice is more cautious now. “We’re not supposed to kill her. Not yet.”

They leave you there, crumpled on the floor, your body aching. As much as it hurts, as much as the beatings wear you down, you cling to that small act of defiance. They haven’t broken you. Not yet.

----

The tension in the war room is suffocating, the air thick with urgency and dread. The X-Men gather around the long, sleek table, the holographic map of the enemy compound glowing in the center, casting an eerie blue light across their faces. Scott stands at the head of the table, his expression stern as he outlines possible infiltration points, while Jean, Ororo, and Hank listen intently.

Logan sits at the far end, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He doesn’t want to be here—doesn’t want to waste time with plans and strategies when all he can think about is you. But he knows that going off on his own, especially in his current state, would only end in disaster. So he forces himself to stay, to listen, even though every second feels like a waste.

His hands clench into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. He can barely focus on Scott’s words, his mind consumed with images of you—frightened, abandoned, injured. The thought makes his blood boil, his claws itching to extend and tear through anything in his path.

“Logan,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Are you with us?”

He glances up, meeting her concerned gaze. He knows she can feel his turmoil, his barely restrained anger, and that only makes him more frustrated.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snaps.

Ororo shoots him a warning look. “We need to stay focused, Logan. Losing your temper won’t help her.”

Logan grits his teeth, biting back the retort that rises to his lips. He knows she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Just tell me when we’re movin’,” he growls, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m not sittin’ around any longer while they’ve got her.”

“We all want to find her, Logan,” Scott says, “But we have to do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we could get her killed.”

“And if we wait too long, she’ll be dead anyway.”

“Logan,” Hank interjects, trying to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s right. We have to be smart about this. We’re dealing with people who have resources, power, and a deep-seated hatred for mutants. They’ll be expecting us.”

Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, this time in his mind, her telepathy reaching out to him. Logan, I know how much she means to you. We’re doing everything we can to bring her back. Trust us.

He shoots her a glare, not appreciating the intrusion, but he doesn’t push her away. Jean has always been the one who could reach him, even when he’s at his most stubborn. I’m not lettin’ them keep her from me any longer, Jean, he thinks back, his mental voice raw with emotion.

You won’t, Jean replies, her mental tone firm but soothing. We won’t let that happen. But you need to stay with us, Logan. We’re stronger together.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, breaking his stupor.

Charles exchanges a glance with Scott, who nods and steps forward to explain. “We’ll approach under the cover of night. Ororo will create a storm to mask our presence, and we’ll use the Blackbird to drop in undetected. Jean and I will handle disabling their telepathic defenses so we can get a read on the situation inside. Hank will take out their communications to prevent them from calling for reinforcements.”

“And me?” Logan growls, his eyes locked on the island’s location.

“You’ll be leading the assault,” Scott replies without hesitation. He can sense the violent need rattling within Logan’s bones—craving to avenge you. “Once we’ve neutralized the outer defenses, you and I will go in together. Our primary objective is to get her out—everything else is secondary. We can always go back to finish the job."

Logan’s fists clench at his sides, his claws itching to be released.

“When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Charles answers from where he sits at the table. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Logan remains by the map while the team disperses and begins to prepare, his eyes fixed on the small island in the middle of the vast ocean. This is it. After weeks of waiting, weeks of imagining the worst, he finally has a chance to make things right.

He can almost feel the cold metal of the anti-mutant handcuffs around your wrists, the bruises on your skin from the guards’ brutality. The thought makes him see red, but beneath the rage is something even more powerful—a fierce determination to see you safe, to get you out of there and back where you belong.

Logan will lead the charge, and God help anyone who stands in his way.

As the team assembles, suited up and ready for the mission, Charles wheels over to Logan, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll bring her home, Logan. And we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

He nods, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “We will,” he says, a dangerous growl clawing its way out of his throat, “And when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on her.”

With that, the team boards the Blackbird, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they soar into the night. The storm Ororo has summoned rages around them, the skies dark and foreboding, as they approach the island. Every second brings them closer to the moment of reckoning, and Logan’s focus sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’,” he murmurs under his breath, the words a promise to himself as much as to you. “Just hold on.”

----

“Approaching the drop zone,” Ororo’s calm voice comes over the comms, though the storm she controls outside is anything but calm. Lightning splits the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs of the remote island below, their destination hidden within the darkness.

Scott cuts through the tension. “Alright, everyone. Remember the plan. Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the outer defenses. Hank, take out their communications. Logan and I will lead the assault inside. Our primary objective is to find her and get her out.”

Logan barely nods, his eyes locked on the ramp as it begins to lower. The cold wind whips through the interior of the Blackbird, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the earth below. And underneath it all, Logan can smell them—guards, weapons, blood.

“Ready?” Scott asks, glancing at Logan.

His response is a rough, feral growl. “Let’s do this.”

With a sharp nod, Scott activates the drop sequence, and Logan is the first out, dropping into the storm with the grace of a true predator. He lands in a crouch, claws out, eyes scanning the perimeter. The island is as fortified as they feared, with high walls, watchtowers, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.

But none of that matters. He has one focus, one goal: finding you.

The rest of the team lands behind him, moving quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Ororo raises her hands to the sky, intensifying the storm, the wind and rain becoming a blinding force that conceals their approach. Lightning arcs overhead, briefly turning night into day, revealing the outlines of guards scrambling to respond to the sudden onslaught.

Scott gives the signal to move in, and the team splits up, each member heading to their designated targets. Jean and Ororo focus on the outer defenses, disorienting the guards with telepathic illusions and powerful gusts of wind. Hank slips into the shadows, his agile form disappearing into the underbrush as he makes his way to the communications hub.

The Wolverine moves like a shadow, traversing the rain-soaked night with deadly silence. He can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened as he approaches the main compound. The guards are on high alert, but they are no match for the X-Men. He watches as Jean’s telepathy turns their own weapons against them, as Scott’s optic blasts tear through their defenses.

But as the team advances, the guards regroup, their numbers swelling as they pour out of the compound. They aren’t going down without a fight. Logan spots a heavily armed squad taking position near a turret, their weapons trained on the team. They open fire, a barrage of bullets slicing through the air.

“Jean!” Scott shouts.

Jean extends her hands, a telekinetic shield flaring to life just in time to deflect the incoming fire. The bullets bounce off harmlessly, but the force of the attack makes it clear this isn’t going to be easy. The guards are better prepared than expected, their movements coordinated, their strategy clear: delay the X-Men as long as possible.

Logan growls in frustration, his claws itching to tear through the enemy lines. “We need to move, now!” he snarls, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Ororo nods, her eyes glowing white as she summons a powerful gust of wind, sending the guards sprawling. Scott seizes the moment, firing a series of blasts that take out the turret and send the remaining guards scattering. Still, even as they advance, more guards appear, swarming from every direction.

Hank emerges from the shadows, his blue fur slick with rain as he tackles a group of guards attempting to flank the team. He moves with agility and precision, disarming them with brutal efficiency before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Logan pushes forward, his senses locked on the main compound. Every muscle in his body is taut, ready to react, as he closes in on the entrance. But the resistance only grows fiercer the closer they get. A squad of heavily armored guards appears, their rifles spitting fire as they advance in formation.

“Ororo, cover us!”

Ororo unleashes a torrent of lightning, the bolts crackling through the air and striking the guards with dead-set accuracy. It’s almost like a scene from the gala, the guards coming in endless waves, their numbers never faltering.

Logan’s patience snaps. He shoots forward, his claws slicing through the rain, his cry echoing across the battlefield. He crashes into the line of guards, tearing through their armor as if it were paper. Blood splatters the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the rain as Logan carves a path through the enemy.

Scott and Jean are right behind him, their combined powers devastating the remaining guards. But the compound is heavily fortified, and as Logan bursts through the first door, a new wave of guards meets them head-on.

These are the elite, the best of the best, and they fight with a cold, calculated precision that makes them more dangerous than the others. Jean’s telepathy is their saving grace. She reaches into the minds of the guards, sowing confusion and fear, turning their own thoughts against them. But the strain is visible on her face, the effort of controlling so many minds at once taking its toll.

“Jean, hold on!” Scott calls.

“I’m… trying,” Jean gasps, her voice strained.

Logan knows they can’t keep this up. They have to find you, and they have to do it fast. He slams his claws into another door, splintering it into pieces, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guards inside. He ducks, rolling to the side as Scott’s optic blasts provide cover, the two of them working in tandem to clear the room.

“Move!” Scott shouts, and Logan surges forward, his claws tearing through the last of the guards in the corridor.

The air is thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but Logan doesn’t care. He can hear it—the faint sound of muffled cries, the rattling of chains. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves forward, faster now, driven by the desperate need to reach you.

Then he sees it: two hulking mercenaries guarding a heavy steel door. They are well-armed, and this time, their eyes hold no uncertainty. These are the final line of defense, the ones meant to stop anyone from getting to you.

They open fire, the bullets ricocheting off the walls, but Logan is too fast, too eager to be reunited with you. He ducks and weaves, his claws gleaming as he closes the distance. With a guttural roar, he leaps at them, his claws slashing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The guards crumple to the ground, lifeless, as Logan stands over them, his chest heaving with exertion.

Without wasting a second, Logan slams his claws into the door, the metal screeching as it gives way under the force of his rage. He rips the door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of damp stone and fear. And there, in the dim light of the small cell, he sees you—chained, battered, but alive.

You are slumped against the far wall of a small, dank cell, your wrists bound with the anti-mutant handcuffs, your body bruised and battered. The sight of you, so broken and vulnerable, makes Logan’s heart twist with desperation and longing. All of his fury immediately floods out of his system. He crosses the room in two strides, his claws retracting as he kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch your face.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You stir at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open as you try to focus. When you see him, a weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

He quickly reaches for the handcuffs, his claws slicing through the metal with ease. The moment they fall away, you feel a sudden surge of power within you, like a dam breaking, your abilities rushing back after being suppressed for so long. You slump forward into his arms, too weak to hold yourself up. Logan’s heart breaks at the feel of your frail body against his, but he holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Can you walk?”

You nod, though it’s clear the effort costs you. “I… I think so.”

Logan helps you to your feet, his arm supporting you as you lean heavily against him. Every step is a struggle, but he’s right there with you. Making your way out of the cell, the sounds of battle grow louder, the chaos of the X-Men’s assault reaching its peak.

“We gotta move fast,” Logan mutters tensely, “But I’m not lettin’ go of you. We’re gettin’ outta here together.”

He keeps a firm grip on you, his entire focus on getting you out of this hellhole. The whole island around you is in shambles, the walls of your prison shaking with the force of explosions and the sharp crack of energy blasts. The X-Men are relentless, cutting down the remaining guards with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Scott and Hank’s voices echo through the comms, issuing orders and coordinating the team’s movements.

Everything fades into the background—the sounds of battle, the flashes of light, the scent of blood and smoke.

All Logan can concentrate on is the fragile feel of your hand in his, your fingers moving shakily against his rough skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggle to keep going.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he rasps, urging you, “We’re almost out. Just hold on a little longer.”

Your fingers tighten around his, as if letting go would mean losing him again. The two of you move as one, your bodies pressed together as you navigate through the debris and destruction. The storm outside mirrors the one within him, but as long as you’re with him, he knows he can weather it.

When the exit finally comes into view, the cold night air hits you both, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the compound. The Blackbird is waiting, its ramp lowered, and the sight of it brings a surge of relief so powerful it nearly buckles your knees. But Logan is there, his arm wrapped securely around you, practically carrying you up the ramp.

Finally in the jet, the familiar hum of the engines fills the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging outside. Neither of you cares about the storm or the battle left behind. The only thing that matters is that you’re together.

Logan guides you to a seat, but instead of sitting beside you, he pulls you into his lap, holding you as close as he can. You don’t resist, your arms wrapping around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. In many ways, he is.

Hank approaches, concern etched across his face, but Logan barely glances at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that have begun to fall—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being safe, of being with him.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cling to him. Each touch, every whispered word, acts like a balm to the wounds you have endured. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his heart pounds against your chest.

“I knew you’d come… but you guys took a lot longer than I was expecting,” you whisper, trying to bring a hint of your usual humor into your voice, “made me look a little stupid in front of those guards.”

Logan’s arms tighten around you. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He continues to kiss your hair, his rough, calloused hands gently cradling your face as he wipes away your tears. Neither of you wants to let go, the fear of losing each other again too fresh, too real.

Logan’s lips brush against your temple, a tender, lingering kiss that conveys more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, over and over again. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you again.”

You nod, unable to speak, but your grip on him tightens, your heart finally beginning to calm as you rest in his arms. For the first time since your capture, you feel safe. Truly safe. And it’s all because of him.

----

Returning to the mansion after the rescue is a blur of activity, concern, and overwhelming relief. The moment you touch down, you’re rushed to the med bay, surrounded by familiar faces, each one filled with a mixture of worry and hope.

The sterile white walls of the med bay feel oddly comforting now, compared to the cold, damp cell you were held in. You’re laid gently on a bed, Hank and Jean immediately setting to work, checking your vitals, assessing your injuries. Their voices are calm and reassuring, but you barely hear them. Your mind is still reeling, your body still trembling from the whole ordeal.

Logan never leaves your side. Even as Hank and Jean move around you, speaking in low tones about your condition, he’s there, a grounding force. He holds your hand through it all, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. Whenever your eyes flutter open, his are there, locked on yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart ache.

Hank and Jean make sure you’re well-fed, insisting on regular meals to help you regain your strength. Plates of warm, nourishing food are brought to you, and though you have little appetite at first, Logan’s gentle encouragement coaxes you to eat. He sits with you, holding your hand while you slowly nibble at the food, his deep voice murmuring soft words of reassurance and comfort.

“Just a little more, darlin’,” he says, his tone comforting. “You need to get your strength back.”

You nod, taking another bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you, bringing with it a sense of safety and normalcy that you hadn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Nights are the hardest. The darkness brings with it the memories of the cell, the guards, the pain, and the fear. You often wake in a panic, your heart racing, the shadows of the past closing in around you. But every time, Logan is there, pulling you into his arms, whispering reassurances until the terror subsides.

Logan, for his part, is dealing with his own demons. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way his eyes darken when he hears you gasp in pain or when your hand trembles as you reach for something. He’s haunted by what happened, by the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect you from the start. You know he’s carrying a heavy burden of guilt, and it tears at your heart to see him so troubled.

He tries to hide it, of course—tries to be strong for you. However, in the quiet moments, when the mansion is still and the only sound is the soft beep of the heart monitor, he lets his guard down. He sits beside you, his head bowed, his hand holding yours as if afraid you might slip away if he lets go. And in those moments, you can see the depth of his pain, the way it eats at him from the inside.

On one occasion, after a particularly vivid nightmare leaves you shaky and breathless, Logan pulls you into his lap, holding you close as he murmurs words of comfort. As you cry, he holds you tighter, his voice breaking as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault,” you say, as many times as you need to, if it means he’ll stop feeling this way. “You saved me. You found me.”

He shakes his head, his grip on you tightening as if trying to anchor himself. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” you interrupt, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did everything you could. You saved me. You brought me home.”

His eyes close at your words, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, and you mean it.

----

When you’re finally discharged from the med bay, it feels like a victory—a hard-won battle that leaves you both relieved and eager to reclaim your life. Your strength has returned, slowly but surely, and now, after weeks of healing and recovery, you’re ready to start training again. The thought of moving your body, of pushing your limits, fills you with a renewed sense of purpose.

But there’s one thing you hadn’t counted on—Logan.

Ever since the rescue, he’s been by your side, a constant, unyielding presence. At first, you appreciated it—you truly did—his steady support, his silent vigilance, the way he seemed to always know when you needed a comforting word or a strong arm to lean on. Yet now, as you step back into the training room, ready to test your limits again, his presence is starting to feel more like a shadow you can’t shake.

“Logan,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice as you stretch, your muscles still tight from the weeks of inactivity. “You don’t have to watch me like a hawk. I’m fine. Really.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving you. The intensity of his gaze is almost suffocating.

“I know. You’re strong,” he finally says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and let you push yourself too hard.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders as you turn to face him fully. “I’m not made of glass. I need to do this. I need to get back to where I was. The fight isn't finished.”

He pushes off the wall, his expression hardening as he takes a step closer to you. “And I’m not sayin’ you can’t. I just… I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Something in his voice makes you pause, the frustration fading away as you look at him more closely. There’s a tension in his posture, tension that hadn’t been there before, and the way he’s looking at you—it isn’t just concern. It’s something deeper.

“I’m not alone,” you assure him. “I’ve got the whole team behind me. I’ve got you.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, letting the moment pass between you, and then he exhales deeply, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “You know, when you were gone… I told Charles I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

His words catch you off guard, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Hold back?”

Logan takes another step closer, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right way to explain.

“I told him that if we found you, if we got you back safe… I wasn’t gonna keep my feelings locked up anymore. I’ve been doin’ it for too long, and when I almost lost you… it made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t care as much as I do.”

You know what he’s trying to say. The charged energy between you, all the banter—it was never just friendly. It was more than that—something neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud, but it was there. You’d never been just teammates, and deep down, you both understood that.

He reaches out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses, his voice deep and hoarse, filled with all the emotion he’s kept bottled up for so long. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. But after what happened, after goin' through all that…”

He lets his voice trail off. Your heart pounds in your chest, the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You’ve always sensed the undercurrent of something more between you two, something that made every shared glance, every sarcastic quip, feel like a promise unfulfilled. Hearing Logan finally admit it, finally put words to what had always been there, makes your breath catch, your mind soar with joy.

“I know,” you confess back, “I think I’ve always known. But I was afraid to push, afraid to break whatever it was we had. I’ve felt it too. I always have.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, relief flooding his features, the hard lines of tension softening as if a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the two of you just stare at each other.

Then, as if pulled together by the same magnetic force, you and Logan surge forward simultaneously. The distance between you vanishes in an instant, and your lips meet in a fierce, passionate kiss that speaks of all the pent-up passion and unspoken words you’d both kept buried for so long.

His hands roam your body with an urgency that borders on desperation, as if he’s making sure this is real—that you’re truly there, in front of him, kissing him. His fingers trace the curve of your back, the line of your shoulders, and then tighten their grip as he pulls you even closer, his touch firm and possessive. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him with just as much need.

The kiss is everything—relief, passion, love—all rolled into one overwhelming, breathtaking moment that makes your head spin and your knees weak.

When you finally break apart, gasping for breath, Logan doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against yours, but the distance between you seems to close even further, if that were possible. His hands grip you tightly, as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s consumed by you, by the feel of your body against his, by the taste of your lips, by the sheer relief that you’re here, safe, and his. His breath is ragged, his heart pounding, and when he opens his eyes, they’re filled with a raw, burning intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“God, I don’t want to let you go,” he whispers.

His hands roam your back again, as if reassuring himself that you’re really there, that you’re not some illusion that will slip away the moment he loosens his grip.

You smile softly, though your heart is still racing from the intensity of the moment. “I don’t want you to let go either,” you whisper back. “But… I still need to be independent. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

His gaze tightens a bit, and you can see that he’s torn between the overwhelming urge to protect you and the understanding that you’re right. His eyes search your face, as if trying to reconcile his deep-seated fear with the reality of who you are.

“I just… I don’t know how to give you space,” he admits, “Not after everything that’s happened.”

You smile gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to step away,” you reassure him. “But you do have to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We’re in this together,” you kiss him again, “They’re still out there. The mission isn’t over.”

Logan’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, as if his instincts are against the idea of giving you any distance at all, against the idea of you throwing yourself back into the fight. But then, after a long pause, he slowly, reluctantly nods. “I’ll do my best,” he murmurs. “I can’t promise I won’t want to keep you close… but I’ll try to give you the space you need.”

Your heart warms at his words, recognizing the struggle he’s willing to endure for your sake. “That’s all I’m asking for,” you reply, your voice tender as you lean in for another kiss.

[END OF PART ONE]

-----

A/N: Phew! Part one done, and part two is on the way -- it'll be up by the end of the weekend. Please comment or send me a message if you'd like to be tagged in the next part. Hope you liked the story!

archives l Javier Peña

Summary:  you shouldn't have met him there

Warnings:  +18, smut, angst, swearing, sex without protection (don’t do that!),

A/N: I don't have much to say. I'll just leave this here. please be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

"Shit!"

You cursed quietly as the cardboard box you were trying to take off slipped out of your hands and fell to the archive floor, spilling its contents. Folders with carelessly written names, scattered pages of typescript, photos - all of this now lay under your feet.

You had been sitting in this dark and musty room for almost an hour, trying to find the documents you needed. But the number of shelves and bookcases made this place a real labyrinth. Your eyes slid over the names and places that the files lying on the floor referred to - still not that one.

Another dark alley didn’t look inviting, but you had no other choice. You strained your eyes when suddenly you heard a strange movement, and then a voice that sent shivers down your spine.

"A lonely woman in a place like this." someone tsk-tsked approaching you "I guess they don't teach you anything in this office, do they?"

You sighed with relief when you saw the familiar face of a man leaning against the shelf next to you.

"Javier. You shouldn't be sneaking around like that." you hissed. "What are you doing here anyway? It's late."

"I had some paperwork." he replied, his dark eyes shamelessly gliding over your figure. "I saw you left your stuff. I thought I'd look for you."

"Mhm. For what purpose?"

You saw the tip of his tongue as he licked his lips with it. "I haven't seen you in a while." he noted.

"I'm here all the time." you mumbled and averted your gaze to the shelves in front of you. Although you could see the letters that formed the descriptions of individual boxes, you didn't understand anything from them. The room suddenly seemed even more stuffy to you.

"I haven't seen you at my place." he clarified.

Something tightened your insides. You knew perfectly well what Javier meant. You knew it all too well…

For the past few months, you and Javier Peña had a certain relationship. It all started after one of the more brutal arrests. You were both stressed and overstimulated, and then something snapped and without knowing how you ended up in Javier's apartment fucking him on the couch.

No. You knew exactly how you ended up there. You weren't drunk, and neither was he. But then you had a few drinks and felt terrible guilt. Javier absolved you, and showed up at your place a few days later. And you fucked again, this time in your bed.

It was just sex. 

To get rid of the pressure and stress. And Peña had a lot of it in him. Sometimes it was rough and strong, sometimes he used the time to play with you, like a predator before devouring its prey. But you didn't complain.

Only when you noticed that you were waiting for the familiar knock on the door, that you were searching for him with your eyes in the office, that you were sensitive to the sound of his voice - that made you think.

That's when you backed off. "This is the last time." You told him as you put on your panties. "I met someone. He's a nice guy. He works at the embassy." Javier snorted. He didn't believe that you could leave him. Not when his cum was still dripping down your thigh. But you left his apartment, the door closed, and that was it.

He saw you with that guy. Once in one of the bars. And he knew that you saw him too. That evening, for the first time in a long time, he took a hooker home. But she wasn't you.

You became his obsession. You were within arm's reach, and yet he couldn't touch you. And then he realized that it hadn't been just about sex for a long time.

He could see that you were confused. Your fingers were nervously tapping some rhythm on one of the shelves, your eyes were avoiding his.

"We talked about it." You finally answered.

"Yeah, I know. You have someone." Javier snorted "A nice guy from the embassy. Did you tell him about us?"

"There was no 'us'."

"So you didn't." A smirk spread under his mustache, and you felt like punching him in the face. "You're a naughty girl."

"Oh, stop it!" You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. "Don't act like a kid who lost a toy. You have plenty of them!"

Peña tilted his head, watching you carefully, processing your words. There was something hypnotizing about him. You saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed, his chest heaving with his steady breath. His eyes, dark as night, were still watching you, and you were slowly afraid to move.

Finally, you were the first to speak. "Listen, I don't know what you've got in mind, but I'm not going to get into this. I'm in a healthy relationship with a cool guy, you're not going to interrogate me now."

"A happy relationship?"

"W-What?" you stuttered, surprised.

"I'm asking if it's a happy relationship." Javier raised his eyebrows slightly, repeating his question, "You know, satisfying. Exciting. Arousing."

He said each word in a way that hit all your senses at once.

"A healthy one." You repeated, and he smiled again.

He took a few lazy steps toward you, his fingers sliding over the boxes on the shelves.

"So you're not getting wet just thinking about him?" his voice lowered and you felt warmth creeping up your neck "Don't you feel that pleasant shiver when he's close? Does he know what he has to do to make you come in just a few minutes? How long did it take us, hermosa? Four, or five?"

"You're an asshole, Peña!" you hissed.

"I am." he shrugged "But you felt good with me, didn't you? You were in my bed like that lazy kitten stretching in the sheets. Your thighs covered in hickeys. You had chaff instead of brains from how many times I let you come."

Every word he said struck those chords inside you that made your legs go numb. Peña was a devil in human skin and he decided to possess you. He was so close that you could smell the remnants of his cologne and cigarettes. This must have been what hell looked like. You were damned.

"I'm happy, Javier." you said quietly "He treats me well."

Warm fingers brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, running over your warm cheeks to your chin.

"That's good." he mumbled. "If he treated you badly I would have to kill him, cariño. But was I bad to you? Tell me."

Finally you looked into his eyes, almost defiantly. Javier wanted to kiss you right then, but he held back.

"So you tell me how you treated me, Javier." you said. "Who was I to you? A pussy on two legs that you had whenever you wanted?"

"That's funny." he laughed quietly. "You don't say anything about the evenings when you came to visit me." you swallowed loudly. "You were so horny then. So unsatisfied. You let me do such things to you..."

"Shut up!"

A sly smile appeared on his face again. You were already in a losing position. But suddenly Javier softened.

"Do you love him?"

"Please."

"Do you?"

"It's not that simple."

"Oh, it is. You see, baby, if someone asked me if I loved you..." your heart stopped beating for a moment, you listened to his words with horror "...I'd tell him to fuck off." You couldn't help but snort, and Javier smiled but didn't stop talking "But if I asked myself, do you know what I'd answer? I'd say you're a thorn in my side. You've dug yourself under my skin. You've made yourself at home in my heart. I'm pissed off when I see you with him. And when I think of him fucking you..."

His hands tightened on your hips. You were so stunned by his words that you didn't protest when he pulled you closer.

"Tell me that if I slip my hand into your panties, I won't feel how wet you are. This pussy knows she’s only mine. And I want you, all of you."

"Javier, please..." your lips brushed against his.

"What are you asking for, cariño? I'll do anything for you. Just tell me."

Tears pressed into your eyes. His words filled your head, reaching for everything you didn't want to feel. Fear followed right behind the desire, how much Javier had imprinted himself on your heart.

"Don't destroy me, Javier." You whispered as the first tear rolled down your cheek. "I couldn't be just your girl for one night anymore. It was killing me... The thought of never owning you."

"I've been just yours for a long time, hermosa. And I'll never stop being."

His lips crashed against yours so hard that you could barely catch your breath.

Your fingers slid into his hair as you pressed yourself even closer to him. God! You missed him so much. It was torture to work with Peña in the same place, when looking at him you remembered how his head was between your legs giving you orgasm after orgasm.

And now his tongue was deep in your mouth again, his hand tightened on your breast, but your moan was drowned out.

You felt the shelf behind you, and Javier's body pressed you against it hard, spreading your legs with his thigh. The hard bulge in his pants rubbed against you, making you feel hot in your core.

His lips slid down your neck, nibbling and kissing the sensitive skin. Your blouse and  bra were pulled up to free your breasts. Hot lips sucked on your nipple. You rolled your hips to feel the friction, something to give you relief, because you couldn't hold it in anymore.

Javier overwhelmed your senses, and your body begged for him intensely.

"Just as I thought." he mumbled as your breast slipped from his lips and his hand dug into your panties. "You're wet. So juicy, hermosa. Just for me."

"Please, Javier, I want to feel you." you stuttered with difficulty.

You could see in his eyes that he was already on the edge. He was barely holding himself back from destroying you right now, in a second. But as your hands began to unbuckle his belt, he began to pull up your skirt.

"I want to feel that tight pussy again." he panted as he grabbed your thigh tightly and rested it on his hip, opening you up for him. "You were rude to take her away from me, you know? I was starving to taste her again." he pushed your panties aside and his fingers ran over your folds "Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me to ruin this beautiful pussy, hermosa."

"I want you, Javi." you whispered "I'm only yours."

"That's right. Only mine."

With one quick thrust, his hard cock slid inside you. You moaned loudly at the sudden stretch. Javir pushed himself all the way to the base, filling you up like only he could. You were pinned to the shelf behind you by his body, but you didn't mind.

Peña began to move hard. His hand gripped your thigh, and the other helped you stabilize. With each subsequent thrust, you felt like he was going deeper. His lips found yours, but they were just kisses stealing your precious breath.

"Fuck, you take me so well. You're made for me, baby." he panted as he pressed his face against your cheek "I want you all to myself again, to fuck you the way you like. To hear you scream my name until - shit - I fill you to the brim. You like that, don't you? You love the way my cum leaks out of you."

"I... I didn't let him." you replied, tightening your fingers in his hair "He never... I never let him cum inside me. Only you, Javi... Only you."

"Fuck! I knew it!" he kissed you hard, his movements quickening.

You couldn't pretend anymore. You were on the edge, and Javier wanted to push you off with great pleasure. His cock moved inside you, hitting the spot you needed.

"Cum for me, cariño! I want to feel you. I want to feel that pussy squeeze me. Shit! I’ve got you, baby!"

An animalistic moan escaped your throat, your nails digging into his shoulder. But Javier didn't feel any pain. He only felt you, saw only you. He saw your body trembling with the pleasure he gave you. Now his thrusts were stronger, but he didn't need much to come.

"Fuck, you're only mine. Only mine." he panted, hiding his face near your neck as his seed poured inside you.

You felt a twitch as he spurted the last drops, and then he stopped. This small space was filled only by your breath. You felt the sweat running down your back, Javier's hot body. And then he pulled out, leaving you strangely empty.

You adjusted your clothes as he buttoned his pants, and after a moment you felt warm hands cupping your face, his lips finding yours again. He kissed you slowly, tenderly, gently. Like a lover, not the man who had just fucked you in your office archives. Although maybe it was the same thing.

He rested his forehead against yours leaving you in a sweet distraction "I don't want you to slip away from me again." he whispered "Never again."

"I won't do that." you replied "I'll always be a thorn in your side."

"The sexiest I know."

He kissed you again and you knew what you had to do. You were scared but you knew that together you would do it. And after this all you had was each other.

And that was good.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

mm thinking about simon riley and the conflict of wanting to keep reminders of you with him but also wanting to make sure nobody knows about you!!

Simon is a man who- admittedly- can’t help the small trickle of pride that fills him whenever he looks down at the band around his finger.

He loves the damn thing. Not as much as he loves seeing the matching one on your own hand, but that’s different.

He loves it, really. He does. But he just can’t bring himself to wear it when he’s out on the field.

He won’t deny that part of the problem is paranoia. That paranoia has long since crept through the cracks of his skull, lingered in his brain. He knows nobody will see it, but there’s never a guarantee.

He’s seen what soldiers will do to break someone down. Hell, he’s seen what his own team has done- how easily someone he loves could be dragged into his work. That’s the very last thing he wants.

Out of his team, it’s blatantly clear that Simon has the most anonymity. But he’s not stupid. He knows how far technology can go, how deep people will dig. He knows exactly how someone could chip and chip away at the barriers he’s put up, only to send his whole operation crumbling down.

He’s torn. At night, when he peels his gloves off for just that moment. Just long enough to feel the metal that sits there, warmed by the heat of his skin. That’s the moment when he wants more than anything to keep it on.

But he won’t allow himself to be so careless. How many times has he seen the same brassy silver and gold on a hostage’s finger? How many lovers were dragged into the dirty work of the muppets they married, all because of a simple ring?

It’s the same thing with dog tags. I’d doubt Simon would have them in the first place- it’s too much information, too easily accessible- but if he did, he’d never let you wear them. Why don’t they just put a flashing target sign over your head if he’s going to be so obvious?

He’s made too many enemies for himself. Too many men who would be eager to see his name around your neck, to use you as leverage. He would never forgive himself.

And photos? Oh, how he wishes. He wants to be like Johnny, who pulls on the ragged corners tucked into his pocket whenever he gets homesick. Like Gaz, who only has to tug off his hat to be reminded of who he’s going back to when everything’s said and done. But he’s not stupid, he’s not careless. Those are the two things he’ll never allow himself to be.

The poor man has wiped every photo of himself off of every document that he could. Why would you be any different? Don’t you know how easy it would be for someone to track you down, if only they got a glimpse of your face?

How many times has he watched Laswell pull the same information? How often does Price look over her shoulder, thinking about how he could use it to their benefit?

No ring, no tags. No photos. The Sergeants call him delusional- they’ve seen how fiercely he will fight for his own team, and they know he would do the same for you, only in tenfold.

His Captain might understand. They both have years of experience, have both born witness to the horrors people are willing to commit; the horrors that they themselves have watched unfold at their own hands.

And God forbid Simon ever gets a tattoo that gives you away. I imagine he has some already, and while he might get one in reminder of you, it would be something only he would understand. It almost makes him angry at the men who do have such tattoos, the senselessness of it all. He damn near gives Johnny a concussion from now hard he smacks him across the back of the head when the Sergeant brings it up as a drunk suggestion.

It’s not to say Simon isn’t proud of you. There’s nothing in the world he adores more, is there? He’d chose the title of your husband over the title of Lieutenant any day… as long as it’s off the field.

Think of it as him protecting you. That’s what it boils down to, at the end of it all. His need to keep you safe, to keep you far away from his work, even if he is a little paranoid. Everything he does, it’s done for you. <3

“Yer’ Sergeant is a dumb bastard, Price.”

“You didn’t have to hit him so hard, ya’ muppet, the man can hardly walk straight.”

“Just tryna’ set him right. If he gets that tattoo, I’m gonna cut it off of ‘im myself.”

“Fine, but I’m sure as hell not writing the report on it.”

“‘The missus will thank me for it. You know she will.”

oh how i want him to fuck me, i wish logan howlett was real

My Girl (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! So sorry this took so long. Here is the secret relationship/breeding kink fic. I honestly really like this one...and I hope you guys do too. Was listening to "Juna" by Clairo while writing it, but went with "My Girl" for the title. ENJOY!

Summary: You and Logan have been in a secret relationship for months, but everything comes to a head when a new mutant visits the Institute, and won't leave you alone...Logan shows him, and you, who your man is.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Thigh riding, Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), breeding kink, praise kink, possessive!Logan, jealous!Logan, unspecified/implied!Age Gap, established relationship, creepy!OC who hits on reader and doesn't lay off, minor violence, afab!/fem!reader, fluff/feelings, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it?

Word Count: 5,313 this is why it took so long also, smut right under the cut...

You remember the first time he fucked you, vividly. 

It was late at night, after a mission. You almost died in his arms. And that was what broke that thing inside him, the burden of time that he carries, that deep-seated pain that made it justifiable to stay away from you. He had held back for so long—had done his all to resist falling for you. He was screwed from the beginning, and he knew that. But he had become so terrified at the thought of losing you that he hadn’t realized it could happen all the same if he stayed away—if he forced himself to remain a friend. 

So, when he fucked you that first time, that first night, he fucked you like it’d be the last—the only time. 

“Goddammit, so fucking perfect,” he mumbled, his lips bruising yours, shoving himself deep inside—as deep as you could take him. “Needed you this whole time. Can’t live without you.”

“Logan,” you whined, his hips snapping against yours. “D-don’t stop, please.” “Never gonna stop, pretty girl,” he promised. “Can’t go back. Can’t be anywhere but here.”

For months now, you’ve been together—but nobody knows. There’s no doubt about commitment—nothing casual about the relationship in the slightest. You start and end every day in Logan’s bed. You’ve talked about running off together, getting married, and settling down. For the first time in his long life, Logan sees a future where he’s happy—genuinely happy. 

The sun peaks through the curtains. You curl yourself into Logan’s chest. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you tight against him, even in his sleep. You listen to his breathing as the fall breeze creeps through the open window. Everything is calm and quiet in the morning, when everyone is still tucked away in their bedrooms, sound asleep. 

Logan groans, tugging you closer to him, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Go back to sleep.” His voice is heavy, laden with exhaustion. “Too early.” He kisses the spot just under your ear, and you moan involuntarily, feeling extra sensitive in the haze of the morning. He smiles softly against your neck, and kisses you again, his teeth grazing your skin. You moan louder this time, intertwining your legs with Logan’s. “Love those pretty little noises you make.”

“Feels good,” you murmur, his thigh slotting between your legs, pressing against your core. You can’t help but grind down on his thigh, rocking your hips back and forth. “Need you, Lo,” you beg. 

“You’re gonna ruin me,” Logan husks, his palms warm against your bare skin as he slips underneath your shirt—which is really his. 

He’s slow in the morning, pressing soft kisses on your bare shoulders, letting his touch linger longer than normal. He likes the peace of it all—waking up to each other, smelling you next to him, feeling the other side of his bed warm and full of you. When he fucks you, early like this, he takes his time. 

His fingertips trace the curves of your stomach, falling into your dips, gripping your flesh. Logan breathes you in, his lips softly melting into yours. “Still too early?” You mumble between soft, lazy kisses. 

“Never too early to want you,” Logan husks, dragging his thigh against your core again. “Always need you.” You can feel his erection through his boxers. “Gonna take care of my girl. Gonna make you—”

There’s a knock at the door. “Logan?” It’s Scott’s voice on the other side. He knocks again. “Logan, you in there?”

Logan tries to ignore him, his fingertips dragging down your sides, bumping into the hem of your panties as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down the hollow of your throat. You let out a breathy moan as Logan bites down on your pulse point. He smiles under your jaw at the soft sound, content that you can’t hold back. 

“Logan,” you whisper, running your hands up his arms, to his shoulders, your fingertips finding the nape of his neck. “He’s not gonna stop.”

Sure enough, Scott knocks again. “Logan, I know you’re in there,” he calls, banging on the door now. “Wake up. We have some tech guy on his way.” 

Logan groans into your neck. “Why do you need me, Summers?” Logan licks your collarbone teasingly, hiking your t-shirt farther up your body. 

“He’s…a mutant,” Scott explains. “He can speak with machines, computers, code—you name it, he can do it. He’s gonna fix some stuff around the mansion. Charles asked me to make sure you’re awake just in case…” Scott trails off.

Logan finishes Scott’s sentence. “In case everything goes to shit?” 

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Scott huffs, likely shaking his head on the other side of the door. “But yes. In case things don’t go as planned. I’m also looking for—"

But Logan cuts Scott off, saying your name for him. 

“Yeah, I can’t find her. Do you know where she might—”

“On a run,” Logan chimes in, and you suppress your laughter by pressing your face into his chest. “She’ll be back soon.” Logan’s arms wrap around your back, holding you against him. 

“Alright,” Scott says, shuffling, slowly stepping away from the door. “If you see her, let her know what’s going on, okay?”

“Trust me bub,” Logan husks, his fingers digging into your flesh, tickling you. “I’ll make sure she knows.” 

Scott mumbles something unintelligible as he walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he disappears down the stairs. 

Logan’s lips are attached to your neck again, sucking playfully. “Where were we?” He teases, his nails grazing down your back. His palms settle on your ass, squeezing your flesh tightly in his hands. 

You moan, your chest flush with his. “Logan,” you whine. “We need to get up,” you insist, your hands pushing against Logan’s broad shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscular biceps. “Can’t stay in bed anymore.”

Logan grunts, his thigh still nudged between your legs, rocking into your core. You want him, and it’s tempting to let him take you right here, right now. But you can’t. And he knows it. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips and pulls you tightly into his chest. “Later,” he promises, his lips finding the shell of your ear. You smile at the thought. There was always a later with Logan.

You snuck out of Logan’s room, unnoticed, as always. It was still early—too early for the ruckus of a morning at the mansion to begin. You got ready for the day and slipped downstairs. You’re still shocked at just how oblivious the rest of the team is. Truly, no one knows about you and Logan. 

You’re in the kitchen now, nursing a cup of coffee, waiting for the day to start. Familiar, heavy footsteps approach, and you smile before you can even see his face. 

“Hi pretty girl,” Logan coos, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your front. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his chest and the strength of his heartbeat. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and walks over to the coffee pot. 

Scott enters the kitchen as Logan takes his first sip of coffee—one second earlier and he would have seen Logan holding you. “The guy is here,” Scott announces from the doorway. He looks at you and smiles. “Oh! Hey! How was your run?” He asks cheerfully. 

You almost spit out your coffee, remembering what you were actually doing this morning. “Great!” You say, doing your all to hold back your laughter. “Surprisingly relaxing.” Logan snorts and plays it off like he’s sniffling.

Scott smiles, none the wiser, and nods, cocking his head towards the hallway just outside the kitchen. “Come meet the tech guy!” He backs out of the doorway and into the hallway. Logan settles his coffee cup—which reads #1 Professor—next to yours on the counter and gives your waist a quick squeeze as you hop out of the chair. You walk shoulder to shoulder into the foyer. All the signs of your relationship are there—out in the open—and yet, still, no one seems to catch them.

You step into the foyer, and there’s Scott and the Professor by the front door, chatting with a younger man—who’s about your age. The man’s eyes find yours, and he smiles softly. “Hi there!” He calls, waving. “I’m Mark!” He strides away from Scott and the Professor and towards you. “But you can call me Techno.” He smirks and winks, extending his hand out, waiting for you to take it.

Logan grabs his hand instead, gripping it tightly, catching Mark off guard. “Wolverine,” Logan growls. “And you can’t call me Logan,” he adds, gritting his teeth. “So, you turn on computers, bub?” 

Mark grimaces, wrenching his hand from Logan’s grasp. “A little more than that,” he asserts, closing his eyes and bawling his fists. You look up as the lights flicker, and televisions turn on and off. Your cell phone rings in your pocket, and you pull it out. The screen reads: Incoming Call from Mark.

Your lips part. “How did you…” You trail off. 

Mark shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “My powers essentially let me communicate with electricity and tech,” he explains. You can practically hear Logan seething beside you. 

“A technopath,” Charles offers as he rolls over to join the three of you with Scott in tow. 

“Exactly,” Mark says, nodding to Charles. “Makes it easy to put my number into pretty girls’ phones.” Mark winks at you, and you press your lips into a straight line in response. 

You shake your head. “I’m not inter—”

You’re cut off by the sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing. “These,” Logan pauses, lifting his claws to Mark. “Make it real easy to hurt creeps who put their numbers into girls’ phones without asking first, bub.” 

Mark rolls his eyes, and the corners of your lips twitch up. You try to force down your smile, try to slow the rhythm of your heart. You secretly liked when Logan got possessive over you. He was inherently protective, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on just a little. 

“Let’s stay on course,” Charles reprimands, guiding Mark to the hallway to the left with a wave of his hand. “Let me show you some of the machines I’d like you to work on.”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor Xavier,” Mark says harshly, his eyes locked on Logan as he backs away to follow Charles and Scott.

Logan lowers all but his center claw, giving Mark the middle finger as he turns around. “Don’t mind Logan,” Scott says as they disappear into a room, the door shutting behind them.

“Logan,” you whisper, now that everyone is gone. “Don’t worry,” you assure, bringing a hand to his shoulder. 

He turns to look at you. “He’s a fucking creep.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

 It is not going well, or fine.

Mark is something of a nuisance. He’s only been here for an hour, but he has already created multiple excuses to talk to you, to pull you away from whatever task is at hand. 

You’re in the middle of teaching an English class, discussing Mrs. Dalloway with a group of older students. “So, what are we to make of Clarissa and Sally’s relationship?” You ask the students, to no avail. 

This was your hardest class of the day—especially given the fact that you’re not even a decade older than most of the students. You had joined the X-Men in your early 20s, your powers having shown themselves a bit later than in most mutants, and only a few years have passed since then. Convincing the students who have been here their whole lives that you deserve to teach has been nothing short of a challenge. 

So, when Mark butts his head in on your class, annoyance burns through your body. You take a deep breath and swallow down your frustration. 

“Hey!” He chimes, his head poking through the open classroom door. “Mind if I take a look at your computer really quick?”

The class perks up, more focused on you than they were just seconds ago. You fake a smile, nodding and pushing yourself off the front of your desk so that he has space to access the computer. 

He slips behind the desk and smiles widely. “You didn’t have to move,” he remarks. “Would’ve been nice to have you close.”

You want to gag. You turn away from the students, whispering so they can’t hear. “Listen,” you chide, narrowing your eyes. “I am not interested, so could you please—”

“What are you doing in here, asshole?” Logan’s voice echoes against the walls of the classroom. For the first time all year, the class is paying incredibly close attention. “The Professor told you to check the computers in the lab down the hall.” Logan fully enters the room, striding over to Mark, his hands bawled into fists at his sides. “Beat it, bub.”

“Whatever,” Mark mutters, his head down as he exits the classroom. The bell rings, and the class stands, grabbing their things and filing out the door. 

You groan. “Please read the next twenty pages for tomorrow!” You shout over the hubbub and shuffling of students. “I know it’s a challenging novel, but I think you guys can…” The students are gone before you can finish your sentence. “Handle it.” 

Logan smiles sympathetically, closing the distance between you and him. His presence is comforting, warm, everything you’ve ever needed. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “Sorry,” he apologizes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Didn’t mean to make your class harder than it is already.”

You take a deep breath, your annoyance fading away. “You helped,” you whisper. “Mark is the one who ruined things,” you insist. “He won’t leave me alone.”

Logan chuckles. “You don’t like him?” He teases. “Don’t like a guy your own age flirting with you?” He’s egging you on, trying to joke, but you can tell part of him is a bit serious. 

You shake your head. “Only like you.” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat and Logan grunts. 

He reluctantly pulls away, the palms of his hands dragging down your arms, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Gotta get to my class,” he husks, his fingers slipping, tugging longingly as he steps to the door. “Meet me after?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. You’ll be outside his classroom door before the bell rings, waiting for him.

You nod, and he smiles, his hands gripping the doorframe like some invisible magnet is pulling him away, and he’d give anything to spend another second with you. He slips down the hallway, and into his classroom. 

You spend the next thirty minutes or so grading papers, waiting for the period to end so that you can walk across the hall to Logan’s class. Another few minutes pass, and you start to collect your things, readying yourself to meet Logan. Your heart thumps in your chest at the thought, even after all the months you’ve spent together. 

You grab your bag and head to the door, closing it behind you and locking up. You cross the hall and stand outside Logan’s door. He’s teaching a younger group of kids—ten to eleven-year-olds. You would trade places with him in a heartbeat if you could. The younger students loved you. There was no question of respect, no doubt of your power. But Logan was given the class as a challenge—Charles wanted to test his patience. 

And, honestly, seeing him with the children did something to you. You loved watching the way he doted on them, carefully explaining material in a way they’d understand. He was an excellent teacher, and one day, you’re sure, he’d make an even better father. You find yourself falling into fantasy: Logan, late at night, a baby—your baby—on his chest. You can see it now—him changing a diaper, teaching the child to walk. Your heart squeezes in your chest, your eyes falling closed as you daydream about the future—your future together. 

You’re so distracted that you don’t hear Mark walk up to you—don’t feel his hand grab your shoulder.

You yelp and jump. “Oh my god,” you mumble, turning around and coming face to face with him. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand lingering for far too long on your shoulder. He finally peels away, his arms falling to his sides. He leans against the wall, trying to appear casual and cool. “What are you doing tonight?”

The bell rings before you can think of a polite way to shoo Mark away, and the students exit Logan’s classroom, happily shouting greetings in your direction. You stood outside Logan’s door every day, and the students were always excited to see you.

A few of them run up to hug you, complaining about Logan’s gruffness. When they hear Logan’s footsteps approaching the door, they bolt down the hallway, their laughter booming against the walls. 

Logan steps out into the hall, and he groans audibly when he sees Mark next to you. But Mark ignores Logan, his eyes trained on yours. “Got plans?” He asks again. 

You roll your eyes. “Dude, I’m not interested!” You groan, too irritated to pretend to be nice. Mark smirks and parts his lips, ready to persist like the creep he is.

Logan steps in front of you, his claws already out. “Listen, bub,” he growls, his claws just inches from Mark’s chest. “If you don’t fuck off and stop harassing my girl, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Mark scoffs. “My girl? What are you, her father? You can’t possibly be dating her.”

You can see the anger in Logan’s eyes, the honest rage. “Lo,” you soothe. “Don’t do it.” But you know it’s too late. His decision is already made.

Logan shoves Mark against the wall, his claws pressed against his throat. “I’m her fucking boyfriend, bub,” he grunts as Mark squirms helplessly under his hold. 

“Oh, her boyfriend?” He teases, despite the fear in his eyes. “Aren’t you too old to be a boyfriend?”

Logan shoves him harder into the wall, and Mark yelps pathetically, like a small dog. “More serious than that,” Logan asserts. “Guessing you wouldn’t know anything about that though, would you?” 

“Alright, break it up!” Scott’s voice echoes from down the hall. He runs over, Jean and the Professor by his side. Rogue and Gambit follow close behind. But Logan doesn’t budge, the tips of his claws almost digging hard enough to draw blood. 

You bring your hand to Logan’s shoulder. “He isn’t gonna hurt me,” you whisper to Logan. “I could handle him easily if he tried.” You slide your hand to the nape of his neck, trying to soothe him, to relax him. “Nothing’s going to happen, okay?” 

Logan retracts his claws and lets go of Mark, who stutters away from Logan and into the center of the hallway. “I’m getting the fuck out of here!” Mark shouts, but Logan doesn’t react. He simply intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“You okay?” He asks, his thumb brushing circles into the side of your hand. 

You arch a brow. “Are you okay?” You smile and lean into him. 

“So…” Scott trails off, interrupting. “You two are…”

“Together.” You finish his sentence, your eyes still on Logan’s. You can feel the tension in his shoulders stretch down to his hand. He’s rigid, still on edge. You know he needs to get out of here, needs to be alone with you. 

“How long has this been going on?” Scott asks, genuinely caught off guard. “Did anyone know about this?” 

You turn to the team to see heads shaking side to side—save for the Professor. “I did, of course,” Charles confesses. “But I felt it was best left a secret until the two lovebirds decided otherwise.”

Rogue shakes her head, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “I can’t believe you never told me!” 

“Told you what?” Jubilee calls from down the hall, approaching the group. She blows a bubble as she stands next to Rogue, her eyes trailing down to where your and Logan’s hands connect. Her eyes widen and her bubble bursts. “No way!” She cheers, jumping up and down. 

“Settle down,” Charles laughs, extending his hand down the hall to where Mark was just moments ago. “Scott, make sure our technopath friend makes it out the door alive.” Scott nods and heads down the hall. Charles turns to you and Logan. “As for the two of you,” he pauses, winking. “We’ll discuss more at a later point.”

You smile in understanding, and Logan squeezes your hand—another sign it’s time to go. He’s still worked up about Mark; he needs to get this out of his system, needs to relieve all the built-up tension. 

“Got something I need to take care of,” Logan says to the group, tugging you down the hallway.  

He strides through the mansion, practically yanking your arm out of your socket. “Logan,” you whisper, trying to catch his attention. You’ve never seen him like this—rage and jealousy like fire in his eyes, dripping from his pores. He leads you up the stairs and towards his bedroom, and it suddenly dawns on you what exactly he needs to take care of. 

Logan pushes the door open and slams it closed the second you’re inside. His hands are immediately on you, grabbing at the pillowy flesh of your ass, pinning you to the door. His lips find yours—hungry and rough, the wiry hairs of his beard scratching your face. He tastes you, his tongue seeking more of you as it swipes across your lower lip. You open your mouth, inviting him in, your tongue tangling with his.

Logan hoists you up without breaking the kiss, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his erection straining inside his jeans, pressing against your heat. He grinds into you as one hand slips under your top and drags up your back, holding you tightly against him. 

“Need you,” he mumbles against your lips. “Always fucking need you.” He tears you away from the door and towards the bed. He throws you onto the mattress and climbs over you, slowly, like an animal stalking its prey. “Tell me you need me, pretty girl.”

“N-need you,” you stutter as he settles on top of you, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“I’m not too old for you?” Logan teases, one of his hands loosening its grasp on your arm and trailing down your body, settling on the hem of your shirt. “You don’t wanna be with anyone else?” He hikes up your top, pushing it above your breasts. 

You can feel the heat pooling between your legs. “No,” you whine, arching your back as his fingertips play with the bottom of your bra. “Only wanna be with you,” you breathe as Logan slowly, teasingly pulls your bra up. “Please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Logan smirks, finally tugging your bra and top over your head and casting them to the floor. “Gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” Logan soothes, palming your breasts with his free hand, rolling your nipples under his thumb. 

“Fuck,” you moan as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

Logan hums, his fingertips trailing across the valley of your breasts, doing the same on the other side. Logan pinches harder, and you moan louder this time. “That’s it,” he coos, his lips finding your pulse point, sucking roughly. “Don’t be quiet, darlin’,” he demands. You whisper his name, your voice whiny and needy. “Show me how much you need me. Keep making those pretty little noises, baby.”

“Feels good,” you whimper as his hand traces down your stomach, to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in his fist and yanking it up to your waist.

He chuckles darkly. “You wore this just for me?” He asks, his thumb hooking inside the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. “Wanted to make it easier for me to fuck you?”

“Fuck, yes, just for you,” you pant, watching as Logan lifts himself off you, tugging his t-shirt up and over his head. He dexterously unclasps his belt buckle and throws the leather to the floor. He balances on his forearm as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, pushing them down his thighs along with his boxers. “I’m all yours, Lo,” you promise as he presses his forehead to yours.

Logan’s hand glides down your side, slipping between your legs and finding your folds. You moan as his fingertips prod at your entrance, spreading your slick. “Fuck, all this is for me?” He pinches your clit before swiping through your folds again. “You’re soaked already, princess.” His fingertips brush your clit, tracing achingly slow circles into the bud. 

You rock your hips against Logan’s touch, searching for more friction. “Logan, need you,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I’m yours.”

“All mine?” He whispers, his touch suddenly disappearing. You groan at the loss of contact. “Say it again, pretty girl,” he demands, guiding his cock to your folds. 

“All yours,” you answer, trying to move your hips lower to feel just an inch of him. “Please just—”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he slams into you, down to the hilt with one thrust. He throbs against your walls as he works you open, his hips still, his cock splitting you in two. “Fuck,” Logan grunts. “So fucking tight. Perfect little pussy. Wanna stay right here forever. Maybe I won’t even fuck you. Maybe I’ll just make you sit on my cock.”

But you need him to move, need him to take you. “Logan, f-fuck me,” you choke, trying to move your hips. His hand grips your waist, stopping you from sliding up his length. “Please, move,” you plead. 

“So impatient,” he chides, kissing you bruisingly, biting your lips. He finally pulls out and slams back in, bottoming out again. His hand slides down your waist and slips between your legs. “You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you the way I want?” 

His hand is just above your clit, inches away from where you need him most, waiting for your answer. You nod emphatically. “Yes,” you say with pleading eyes. “Anything. You can do anything just please—oh fuck!” Logan pinches your clit and starts his machinations, swirling around the bud. He pulls out and pumps back in, setting a ruthless pace. 

His hips snap against yours, taking all of you with reckless abandon. His lips swallow your moans, consuming you, drinking you in. Of all the times he’s fucked you, it’s never been quite like this. There’s a hunger in Logan’s eyes that you’ve never seen before, an undying need you’re not sure can be satisfied. Something feels different about this time—more intense, fervent, and feverish. 

Logan thrusts in and out of you, bottoming out with every pump, still stretching you out. His fingertips stroke your clit roughly, your walls already fluttering around him. He curses under his breath, his chest heaving against yours. 

“Look at you,” he groans, fucking into you. “So beautiful like this. Always so beautiful.” You can feel his cock twitching inside you. “Wanna make you mine, sweetheart.”

“I-I already am,” you stammer, his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles into your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. “Always gonna be yours.”

“Want more than that,” Logan grunts, his hips rocking, his pace quickening. He’s so deep inside you—hitting exactly where you need him most with every thrust. 

“Whatever you want,” you pant, your chest pressing flush to his. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” He growls at the shell of your ear. “You gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me stuff you full of me?”

“Yes, please,” you cry out as he pumps in and out, shoving himself as deep inside as he can possibly fit. You feel so full, so complete. Nothing compares to having Logan this close, to having him be so connected to you. You’re already coming undone underneath him, falling apart. “Want you to stay inside.” And then the words fall from your lips without a second thought. But you mean it, and you want it more than anything…

“Wanna have your baby, Lo.”

Logan groans at your words, his cock throbbing with need. “Fuck, don’t tease me like that, sweetheart.” 

“N-not teasing,” you stammer. “I mean it.”

“Shit,” Logan growls, his skin slapping against yours, your words spurring him on. He’s letting himself go, letting himself plunge deep inside you, fast and hard. “Such a good girl,” he praises, his length dragging against your walls, pushing deeper still. “You gonna let me fuck a baby into you?”

“Yes!” You cry out, the fire burning in your belly spreading up to your spine, coursing through your veins. Your walls flutter around his length, squeezing him tightly.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Logan coos, rutting into you, his hips stuttering. “Want you forever.”

You throw your head back as his fingers swirl around your clit. “You have me Lo, always gonna have me.” Your walls clench down around him, and the tension snaps. Electricity shoots up your spine as your orgasm crashes into you. It’s intense—more intense than anything you’ve ever felt. Pleasure washes over you in waves, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck.

Logan is right behind you, whispering a string of praises as he finishes inside you. “Did so fucking good for me. Always so perfect, beautiful.” His thrusts slow until he’s still inside you, but he doesn’t pull out. “Don’t wanna move, princess,” he husks, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“You don’t have to,” you say, your voice hoarse. Logan rolls you onto your side, hoisting your leg up and over his hip, keeping himself deep inside your cunt. You close your eyes, your heartbeat finally steadying, your chest still heaving in time with Logan’s. 

The silence is comfortable, calming. You listen to Logan’s breathing as he runs his hands up and down your back. “You okay?” He asks, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. 

You hum. “I’m perfect,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. “Do you really…” You trail off, suddenly nervous to ask the only question on your mind, despite everything that just happened. 

“Yes,” Logan answers immediately. “I meant it. Wanna be a family. Wanna be with you forever.”

You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his back. You can feel his cock growing hard inside you as you move to get more comfortable. “I want that too, Lo,” you sigh. “More than anything.” You smile against him, thinking about your future, thinking about how all this started because some asshole wouldn’t leave you alone. You can’t help but giggle at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You look up at him. “You’re crazy, you know that?” You joke, your smile widening. “You could’ve hurt that guy.”

Logan’s smile widens too. “Just crazy about you,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He flips you onto your back and hovers over you, his cock still deep inside you. “Should’ve kicked his ass.” You bite your lip, waiting for his next move. “You’re my girl,” he groans, sliding out of you slightly. 

“Yours,” you breathe as he thrusts back in. “All yours.”

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