SCARS - WOLVERINE X READER FF

TWENTY NINE

Dinner was tense. Logan's eyes never left Hank, and the air around us felt charged with an unspoken rivalry that only Logan seemed to notice. Hank, completely oblivious to the simmering storm at the table, chatted casually with me, his demeanour shy and full of nervous energy.

"So, do you think you'll go back to the mansion when you're done?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

Hank hesitated, his gaze lingering on me a moment too long. "Of course," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But it won't be the same without you."

I smiled lightly, brushing it off as his usual awkwardness, but Logan's jaw clenched, his grip tightening on his fork until his knuckles whitened. I felt his stare burning into the side of my face, but I didn't turn to look at him.

"Well, I'm officially full up," Hank said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. Hank placed his hand on my arm for a second, a fleeting touch but enough to make Logan's patience snap. "The food was great, thank you, Y/N."

Before I could respond, Logan's voice cut through the room, cold, quiet and unyielding. "Get out."

Hank froze, looking puzzled, and I could feel the mood shift sharply. "I'm sorry?" he asked, looking between us, clearly startled. 

"Logan," I muttered through gritted teeth, my voice laced with confusion and frustration. 

Logan ignored me, his eyes fixed on Hank. "I said, get out," he repeated. "Or do you not speak fucking English?"

Hank stammered, looking at me for reassurance, but Logan began to rise from his seat, the threat clear in his every movement. "I'm— I'm sorry," Hank muttered, scrambling to his feet. "Thanks for dinner... I'll just... yeah."

He hurried out, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to leave. The door slammed shut, and the room fell silent.

I turned to Logan, still in shock. "What in the ever living fuck was that about?".

Logan didn't answer, instead he picked up the dirty dishes and headed towards the sink. I followed, my anger bubbling over. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

He sighed, setting the plates down with a loud clatter. When he turned, his face was all furrowed brows and simmering frustration. "What do you want me to say?"

"Well, you can start by telling me what the hell your problem is." I demanded, my voice rising with every word.

Logan's eyes narrowed, his expression dark. "I don't like people touching what's not theirs to touch," he said, the words coming out casual but laced with meaning that cut deeper than he intended.

"He just needed our help."

"I don't give a shit." Logan snapped, cutting me off. "Plus, we helped him once, we're not helping him again."

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. "You're so heartless sometimes," I fired back, crossing my arms.

Logan's laugh was dark, bitter. "Heartless?" He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration rolling off him in waves. "You think I'm heartless? It took every goddamn ounce of self-control I had not to flip that table and shove my fucking claws down his throat."

His words hung in the air, and the tension was thick enough to choke on. He looked down, shaking his head, as if the memory itself was making him even angrier.

I opened my mouth to speak but Logan stepped forward, closing the distance between us in one swift motion. His hands cupped my face, and his lips crashed into mine, the kiss rough and desperate, fuelled by all the jealousy and possessiveness he'd been holding back.