𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏, claws of a mutant

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SEVEN,
claws of a mutant.

SEVEN,claws of a mutant

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A PART of you didn't want to believe that logan was a mutant. but there was no going back once you felt the sharp pain radiating from your cheek as a velvety liquid oozed from the gash.

having come in mere inches from getting three razor blades thrust through your cranium, you stood there in stunned silence, fear coursing through your veins. in that crucial moment, your body's fight or flight response failed to kick in as it should have. although you weren't exactly scared of him, it would be dishonest to pledge that you felt no fear.

his intense stare, with furrowed brows and an expression that seemed capable of inflicting harm, bore into your very soul with an unmistakable display of fury.

his heavy, strained breaths caused his chest to rise and fall with the intensity of a frightened animal. strangely enough, it seemed he was the one who held fear, not you.

the words you wanted to say got lodged in your throat, making you unable to speak freely. upon realizing what he had done, his claws retracted, and the flesh from where they had emerged healed instantaneously. he gradually gained control of his senses, glancing in your direction with a look of deep remorse looming in his dark brown iris'.

"i'm sorry.." he panted out, "i'm so sorry (y/n)," he must've noticed the terror swimming in your gaze as you stood there, stunned like some helpless prey looking in the eyes of a predator. you were scared.

fear overtook your senses, making the words almost incoherent in your head. and logan was the same. with glistening beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, you could tell you weren't the only one scared to death — so afraid that you couldn't even muster up the words to ask what exactly he was.

the sincerity in his words was palpable as he uttered, "i didn't mean to." however, his words did little to change the situation at hand. when he reached out to wipe away the blood oozing from the gash before it could spread further, you flinched back.

the past few moments weighed heavily on your mind as you envisioned those claws thrusting through your cranium. his expression bore a hint of understanding, followed by sadness.

he didn't try to explain himself, knowing there was no justification for being a mutant. an exasperated sigh filled the lingering silence. feeling unwelcome, he rose from the creaky mattress and walked to the window. despite wanting to stop him from leaving, to call out and get him to stay, you found yourself unable to utter a single word.

under his breath, he softly muttered an apology that felt like a heavy weight on your heart. you desperately hoped he wouldn't leave — that was the last thing you wanted. but despite your inner turmoil, your body seemed to betray you.

your feet remained rooted to the spot, and your throat felt dry as if you hadn't taken a sip of water in ages. it couldn't end, not like this. after a nagging voice in the depths of your mind overrode your instincts, your foot thawed from its frozen state. you moved toward him, unable to express your profound regret or shout at him to stay. but the instant you took that step, it was already too late.

he fled through the second-story window and into the dead of night. you were filled with a sense of dread, as if your heart had dropped into the pit of your stomach.

you hurried to the open window and glanced outside. the wind whipped the snow in all directions, but through the flurry, you could distinctly see the silhouette of a man walking away, seemingly untouched by the harsh weather.

a sigh escaped your parted lips with relief at the sight of him uninjured. you felt conflicted, torn between the impulse to go after him and apologize and the instinct to stay put, unsure of what he was capable of. however, all rational thoughts were swept away as you impulsively grabbed a coat and dashed out the door before you could process what you were doing.

you stuffed your arms through the thick sleeves and braced yourself for the harsh winds. immediately, the blizzard hit you full force, whipping your fragile body back and forth without a care in the world.

as you spent more time outside, the thought of reaching for a flashlight or gloves didn't even cross your mind despite the increasing numbness and coldness creeping into your fingers.

navigating through the blinding whiteout, mixed with the ominous void of darkness, made it impossible to see the path ahead. the task at hand was to reach the barn. having grown up on the property, there was a sense of confidence in knowing the way, albeit with some uncertainty.

despite your worries, you pressed forward, unable to turn back now. that was until your shoe got caught up in some foreign object, which resulted in you face-planting into the light blanket of snow beneath. you winced in pain, holding your now-skinned hand close to your body for warmth.

despite the temptation to lie down and accept the fact that you had no idea where you were heading, you remembered the purpose that brought you out there in the first place. you understood why he hid his ability.

in this world, mutations were seen as some sort of illness that needed a cure, and people feared them because of their differences. at least now you know why they called logan " the wolverine."

you pushed through the blizzard; the once gentle snowflakes felt like razors against your skin. the thought of never reaching the barn flashed through your mind quite a few times. finding your frozen husk toppled over in a pile of snow would definitely give your parents grief. but there was no use wasting your precious time thinking about such pointless topics. you were going to make it to that barn, even if it's the last thing you do.

after what seemed like an eternity of trudging through the desolate emptiness with little progress to show for it, hope appeared to be a distant spark as the biting cold began to grip you.

yet, despite enduring what felt like an eternity of freezing temperatures, you eventually stumbled upon it — the immense relief that engulfed you when your hands came into contact with the weathered plywood was like nothing you had ever felt.

your fingers glided across the rough, splintering wood, making sure not to lose your way as you approached the front of the old barn.

the flickering light from the burnt-out barn cast eerie shadows as you swung open the creaking door, allowing the chilly night air to breach the inside, carrying the scent of the surrounding fields. and there, now standing at the back of the barn, was logan.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃, wolverineWhere stories live. Discover now