Work Text:
“Whoa, I mean, whoa! He’s drool-worthy.” A girl bit her lower lip, her gaze fixed on the larger cage fighter.
Dozens of lights were trained on the ring. Every single eye in the arena was glued to the reigning champion who stood proud daring the challenger to take another swing at him.
Harper contemplated his strange haircut which resembled two horns with starry eyes. “He’s a demon alright. It’s quite fitting,” she muttered under her breath, inhaling the smell of testosterone in the air.
The old woman sitting next to her cocked a disapproving eyebrow up.
Unabashed, she crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “What? I’m absolutely invested in the fight.” Her smirk widened when the woman huffed and glared at her. She winked and ignored what she said under her breath. No wonder, she was cursing the posh, British young woman who had invaded the cage fighting circles uninvited.
Her filters had long since wiggled out of her mouth, moseyed across the universe and perched themselves on the Fates’ treacherous shoulders.
She had never wanted to become the Mistress of Death and endure endless rebirths but here she was doing all that.
Ribald comments were about the only thing she could produce and control.
Last time she checked, it wasn’t a crime to admire exotic things, more so when the object of her fascination was a 6ft 2 Adonis with layers over layers of sculpted muscles. She loved muscles. Truly.
Her fingers traced her red lips as she studied every astonishing, delightful, exciting movement of the fighter. She wondered how much time he spent in the gym, not that her Dad cared about that. But Professor Charles Xavier—her adoptive father and mentor in this life—cared about nothing other than finding and protecting Mutants.
“He’s good,” she adjusted her glasses. “I’m notoriously self-involved.”
Was it her imagination or had he frozen for a second before his eyes narrowed—his hazel gaze upon her as if he couldn't believe his ears.
The look in his eyes, however, made her belly flutter with excitement.
She wondered what it would take to make him smile. Not a smirk, but a brief smile. A real smile.
“Hey! Be careful,” she shouted then winced when he took a jab on the jaw. “Sorry,” she muttered under her breath.
“Would you shut up already, young lady? Your comments are distracting the champion. Try to enjoy the show.” the old woman snapped.
Harper gasped and did a double take. “Who? Me?”
When the woman nodded she couldn’t help her grin. ‘’Merlin, don’t be a killjoy, Grandma.”
She didn’t need to look to know that the woman’s face had turned a disturbing shade of purple.
Duh .
It had been long since Harper Potter was done with uninspiring, uninteresting and dreadfully unfunny people. Life was boring as it was.
Somewhere out there, there was a tree working very hard to produce oxygen so they could breathe and enjoy life to the fullest. They should apologize to it for the wasted energy because they didn’t deserve said tree’s dedication.
Ungrateful Mortals.
When she apparated to Laughlin City, Alberta to do her father’s bidding, the last thing she expected was to stumble upon flyers of cage fighting.
She wasn’t interested in the sport, per se, but as soon as she saw the reigning champion’s picture she knew she found what she was after. It was him. The notorious Wolverine.
It wasn’t—definitely—that arched brow which propelled her to purchase a ticket and forgo waiting until he was done kicking his opponent’s arse.
It wasn’t the chiselled chest or the mutton chops beard, either. Nope.
There was nothing wrong with enjoying a night of no-holds-barred, striking, grappling and ground fighting. Before getting to business.
The crowd went wild when he landed a clean blow on his opponent’s temple. Judging by the sound the punch made, she was certain something was broken.
The champion leapt back and cracked his neck. Waiting dispassionately.
The crowd stood and started chanting. “Logan! Logan! Logan!”
The referee checked on the barely conscious challenger. He shook his head when the poor guy wobbled on his feet and then fell like a wet towel.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our defending champion of the Underground, the undefeated KING OF THE RING, Logan!”
The ringmaster tried to lift the winner’s arm but one glare made him take a step back.
Logan seemed to struggle, muscles straining as though barely able to keep himself from swatting an annoying fly away.
Trembling from the rush of adrenaline, Harper watched as he left the cage and disappeared into the dark corridor ignoring the crowd asking for his attention.
Well, all she needed was for him to pay attention. To her—Er….what she had to say.
She bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. “I can do this. It can’t be harder than subduing Deadpool or convincing Loki to behave.”
She met the old woman’s gaze, winked then stood gracefully.
It didn’t take long for her to find him sitting in the bar, sipping on a drink of a questionable colour. He had thrown a checkered shirt and a clean pair of jeans on.
Everyone seemed to steer away from his way as he lighted a Cuban cigar.
She sauntered forward, coming to a stop a foot away from his tall frame, and had the satisfaction of watching his eyes narrow warily. She took the stool next to him and grinned widely. Excitement swept through her when he arched a single eyebrow at her boldness—and blatant ogling.
He searched her face while his thumb caressed his chin so briefly. She decided it had been worth it. At least, she had his full attention.
“Nice game, Logan,” she chimed in happily.
He grunted and rotated the cigar between his fingers.
“I was—“
But as soon as the words left her lips, a mammoth of a man who seemed to come from a slow cooker lay a threatening hand over Logan’s shoulder. “What’s your secret?” he growled.
“If you value your life, scram,” Logan’s voice was about as raspy as sandpaper. There was a world of boredom in his expression.
Harper knew it wasn’t sorely her imagination. He seemed to grow taller. Every muscle seemed to ripple with barely suppressed aggression and became rock-hard and ready to strike.
The intruder didn’t seem to get the hint. “Or what? What can you possibly do? What’s your secret, freak?”
“I don’t have the patience or the crayons to explain things to you. Last warning,” Logan’s threat was as smooth as midnight.
Harper sighed.
One look into Logan’s frosty eyes told her he wasn’t bluffing. If the man didn’t leave at once, she had no doubt he’d become an organ donor in…
She was about to throw an Imperius wordlessly but he was surprisingly faster. It happened lightning-fast.
The man raised a fist but as soon as he did, three steely claws, some nine inches long, sprung from the flesh just above Logan’s knuckles.
The man gasped.
Harper’s eyes widened in appreciation as she examined the sharp claws. Her father was right. Wolverine was very unique indeed.
With a heavy sigh, She tried to bodily push the offender away but he didn’t budge. “Hello, did you hit the nail right on the head? Leave!” She hissed.
“We’ll talk later,” he staggered back and hurried toward the door. His fake bravado fooled no one.
“People like him are the reasons I hate my job,” she tsked.
She waited for a reaction and felt far from satisfied when he merely shrugged his broad shoulders as if to say, 'Don’t I know?'
“We need to talk, Mr Logan. I was sent by Professor Charles Xavier.”
He sat there, a full head taller, twice her weight—at least and packed with muscle. Her heart beat a dozen times when his gaze studied her, thoroughly.
“I know.” Was the simple answer.
"So, you’ll come with me?” She sent him a feline smile as she savoured the pleasure of watching surprise spread across his face. “Believe me, you won’t regret it.”
He snorted and took a last drag from his cigar. “You’re too bold for someone so tiny. I hope you don’t make a habit of antagonizing strangers.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “I can live with that. My friends used to whine that I should not be left in charge because I tend to get into so much trouble but my instincts are accurate.” She dragged her gaze up from his arms. “I know we’ll come to an understanding.”
His eyes widened a little as if she’d caught him off guard with that comment.
Harper decided she could make a habit of shocking him. She could only imagine the way people reacted as soon as they learned his true nature.
His voice was strained when he asked. “You sound so confident, Miss…”
“Harper Potter, the coolest girl you’ll ever meet,” she extended a hand.
His fist clenched before he took her hand in his much bigger one.
He seemed to savor the contact and for a moment she wondered how long had it been since someone—who knew his true nature—had touched him. It reminded her of a child she knew—a child no one wanted to hug or comfort.
However, broken wings could and did heal in time, and those scarred wings carried eagles to the top of the highest mountain
She would help him get past his nightmares no matter how much hard work it required.
Flipping her hair back over her shoulder, she smiled up at him. His serious expression wavered a little. Was it her imagination or did his eyes get darker?
“Would you like to leave this shitty place and go somewhere more private to…talk?” he cleared his throat.
Her lips curled when he lifted a brow. She wanted to erase the smirk of superiority from his face.
So, she leaned up, resting her arms on the table and whispered against his lips. “Who’s being bold now? You hardly know me. Just for your information. I’m a lady, you have to ask nicely.”
Despite his efforts, Harper detected the fleeting smile that tugged at his lips.
His breath kicked up a notch when she whispered in his ear. “But who knows. We might get there eventually.”
He tipped her chin up with a finger, narrowing her universe down to that single touch.
The dark promises in his fathomless eyes was as clear as the sun.
“I hope you’ll be ready by then, Harper Potter.”