cryptictongues

[cryptictongues]

I’ve never been super into somnophilia but this was hot (and dare I say a tad sad???). Something about passion deriving from love and hardship makes me CRAZY!!!

Also stating the fact old man Logan would definitely be a possessive partner in this sense. If he can control one thing, it will be the way he makes you fall apart and he can’t get enough.

Thank you for sharing!!!!

k06. free use + somno | use your love

old man logan x f!reader

rated e - 2.4k

tags: free use, possesive!logan, somno, kitchen sex, car sex, masturbation, oral, spitting, light encouraged choking, cock warming, creampie, feelings

There’s already a throb in his cock when his fist twists the doorknob. Some sort of conditioning. The unspoken way that he knows that you’re his.

Plucking at this deep, possessive streak that he never knew he had, until he started losing everything. Everyone.

Or maybe it just feels good to admit that he wants something. To allow himself to take something that’s offered so freely. To finally feel something, after months - years - of tamping everything down.

(Or - you and Logan have a certain, unspoken arrangement.)

There’s a certain sense of relief knowing that you’re waiting for him.

An outlet for the frustration that simmers inside. A prickle under his skin, teeth gritting a little too hard. Another night of playing nice. A chauffeur for dickheads that he would’ve threatened to stab through, a lifetime ago.

Back when things didn’t matter, the way they did now. Before the weight he carries. When a brawl at a bar would an inconvenience at best - that ache of pain that healed with a breath - instead of something that would have him down for days.

Never liked killing, deep down. Just never had to worry about it like this before.

Achingly aware of how he’s slowed. The groan of his joints, the pull of his muscles. Knuckles swollen, as he grips the steering wheel, pulling up in front of the smelting plant.

It’s still early. Still needing his headlights to navigate the backroads, eyes narrowed in the pale, rising sun.

The crunch of his steps against gravel is the only sound, as he heads inside.

There’s already a throb in his cock when his fist twists the doorknob. Some sort of conditioning. The unspoken way that he knows that you’re his.

Plucking at this deep, possessive streak that he never knew he had, until he started losing everything. Everyone.

Or maybe it just feels good to admit that he wants something. To allow himself to take something that’s offered so freely. To finally feel something, after months - years - of tamping everything down.

Putting Charles first. Grieving silently. Keeping secrets.

It’s familiar, how he finds you. Even as the days grow shorter, the desert heat lingers. The thin sheets twisted around your legs.

An invitation, in the way you’re already stripped bare - a glint of silver between your breasts.

He always looks for it.

That silent sign you’ve come up with. An encouragement to take what he wants, when he wants it.

Only once had you taken his dog tags off, since he gifted them to you. He can still remember your glare as you ripped them from your throat, slamming them down on the bedside table.

He had pissed you off. Said something shitty. Leaving you to fume.

But you had still come back to him, in the night. Letting him write out apologies between your thighs. Murmured in your ear, as he ground himself into you.

Forgetting by morning. You always were forgiving. Knows you deserve better, but he’s been an old dog for a long time now.

Hard to change, even though he tries.

He lingers now in the doorway, for just a second.

Should eat something, can’t remember the last time he did. Something packaged, taste secondary to the fuel that he needs more than ever, as he slowly knits himself back together.

Used to taking whatever he could find, before you.

There’s leftovers in the fridge, but all he can think about is how he bent you over the counter as you waited for the timer to wind down.

How you laughed and squirmed as his chest pressed to your back, when he surprised you. Slipping into stifled moans, as his fingers dipped beneath your waistband. His mouth against your throat, lips pressed against the flutter of your pulse.

The food tastes better when he remembers the way you had cried out his name, his cock hilted inside of you. Almost burnt dinner, with how distracted you were.

But that will have to wait, now that he’s seen you.

Would love to wake you up. Hear the morning-early rasp of his name. The scratch of your nails against his shoulders - ones that might linger for hours instead of seconds.

Finds that he doesn’t mind getting a little marked to, as long as it’s you that’s doing it.

But you look so sweet, sleeping on your side, and he loves the little moans you make as he tries not to wake you up. Tongue fitting between the cleft of your thigh as he hikes your leg a little higher. Bending himself down to the mattress - ignoring the dull ache in his back - so he can fit his mouth fully against you.

He’s become greedy, over time. Resource-guarding affection, teeth bared in a snarl.

Needing that proof that you want him. Still so focused on all your little signs, even if you’re his to take.

Another lick, feather-light. Resisting the urge to press himself flush. Work his tongue into your pussy, until he can taste himself from last night.

Knows he has your sleep schedule fucked up. Finding moments in the liminal space at dusk and dawn. His edges softened with sleep.

Heavy-limbed, as your ass pressed against his front, earlier. Squirming, teasing, until he had pulled you astride him. Looking every bit an angel with the way the setting sun haloed around you, his eyes half-lidded as his morning dawned.

“Go on, sweetheart,” He had rasped, voice low, “If you need it that bad, then ‘m sure you can put in a little work.”

His salvation glinting between your tits with each bounce - your moans pitching high as your nails bit into his chest.

It’s returned, now. Palms curving where your thigh meets your ass. Cupping and squeezing, angling you until he can taste your dampness against his mouth.

Always so fucking responsive. Your hips flexing in their sleep, when he dips down to tease at your clit.

Letting your dreams swirl in and out, winding with pleasure as the taste of you swells against his tongue. Skin turning slick beneath the spit that he lets drop from parted lips.

Making sure you can take him. You always can, always do. But his cock throbs at the thought of slipping so easily into you, the wet and warm heat that awaits him.

Another bitten-back groan as his mouth covers you again, and it’s then that you stir.

He meant to give you a little more time. Let you come from just his mouth, wake from your dreams with a shout as you pulse against his tongue.

Hands squeezing your thighs, keeping you in place for a little longer. The sleepy cadence of your breath turning short, sharp, as you’re brought back out.

His name mumbled out in your sleep, and it’s enough that he’s tugging at his belt, loosening the buttons.

Layers peeled off and kicked down at the edge of the bed, leaving them to them crumple on the floor.

Hand rough as he fists his cock, another drop of spit smeared across before his thighs nudge yours wider. You shift easily, belly-down, with the guidance of a rough palm against your hip.

And for a moment, he just looks.

Admires.

A hand coming down heavily against your ass. His palm molding to flesh, soft skin giving as he tugs you open.

Pretty little holes that he can’t get enough of stuffing full. A rough groan in his chest as his other hand works faster, squeezing at the leaking head. A thumb shifting down to press at your folds, until he can see you clench in your sleep.

Empty. He can fix that.

Angling himself down, until he’s nudging at your hole. Smearing himself against spit and slick, watching how the tip just eases inside you. How you clench instinctually around him.

A soft sound pulls from you then, as he sinks a little deeper. Watching how you stretch tight around him, as he disappears into your wet warmth.

Pulled from sleep by the time he’s pressed flush, your fingers digging into the sheets as your back arches.

Awoken from a pretty dream, only to find it true. Already you’re trying to take more. Eyes heavy-lidded as your head turns, trying to see him in the golden blush of dawn.

“Feel so fucking good, sweetheart.”

Fingers splay out against your waist. Dimpling your curves as he squeezes - a reminder that you are only flesh and bone, beneath him.

Heat and warmth and rushing blood in your veins, as he inches out, only to drive deep.

“Logan.” You squirm, each rock of his hips dragging you out of your haze.

Your ass sways, as he sets the pace. The syrupy-slowness gone, when you use your leverage to meet his thrusts. Face buried in a shared pillow as you muffle your sounds.

"Lemme hear ‘em." He husks, pitching forward - a low rumble as he keeps you pressed flat against the mattress, “Come on baby, wanna hear what I’m doing to you.”

Another rut of his hips, as his forearms settle on either side of your ribs. A hand slipping beneath, cupping a soft breast as his nose skims up the base of your neck.

Inhaling you, how his own scent clings to your skin. Melding with the sweet musk of your arousal - he’d bottle it up, if he could.

You moan, at the squeeze of his hand. At the heavy slap of his balls against your clit, sticky from the arousal that drips from you.

Calloused fingers pinching at your nipple, as the beast inside him growls, whines, then goes silent. That anger ebbing, with the way you clench down each time he slips from you, as if trying to keep him inside.

Another whine, when his elbow plants by your arm, his hand spanning loosely beneath your jaw. The ball chain cool against his skin, where the silver hooks around his thumb.

An urge to taste you again, and he does - a groan at the way your lips part so quickly for him as he angles your face to his.

The moan he swallows when his tongue brushes yours, how he knows you’re close with the way you string tight beneath him.

“Fuck, I missed you.” It’s breathed out against his lips, your fingers mapping his. Encouraging his hold to tighten around your throat, until you’re fully anchored in his grasp.

Almost an embrace. Could be, if he let himself soften. Instead, his hips snap harder against the soft flesh of your ass, and he hears the whine it pulls from you.

“Just like that. Don’t stop.” Your nails prick the back of his hand, your voice strained, “Oh my god, I’m so close-“

Doesn’t think there’s anything that could drag him away. Spearing himself again and again, the head of his cock grinding against a spot that makes your eyes roll.

A spot that has you panting, murmured pleas that turn into broken moans.

Doesn’t know when you got him so wrapped around your finger, but he’s curled firmly around each knuckle. A growl in his throat, his own release nipping at his heels.

Holds back just long enough to feel you tremble beneath him. The way you arch into his weight, loosening the moan you held back before. Brought over the edge by the rocking weight of his cock, the pinch of his fingers.

Pride washes over him, as you leak around his cock. The tight pulse thrumming as he fucks you through the waves of pleasure, soaking in your pitched-high cries. His life went to shit years ago, but even in the throes of exhaustion he’s never grown tired of pulling them from you.

He can do this, at least.

“Fuckin’ choking me, sweetheart.” He grunts, that tell-tale tightness in his belly. An urge to pin you down, hips pounding until he’s finally spilling inside you.

Letting the fire in his veins burn off the last of the thorns that sank into his skin throughout the day.

You let him.

He lets himself - face buried in your neck ask he finds that rough pace again. The slick slap of his hips as you pant beneath him.

“Please, Logan.” Your voice buzzes against his palm, “Wanna help you. Use me-”

Been using you a long time. Dependent now on the reassurance. On the way you look at him, touch him - so fucking soft. Soft beneath him now, as his groan pitches low.

“Gonna fucking come, baby.”

It’s gravel-rough, teeth gritting as you tighten around him, “Gonna keep it inside, yeah?”

“Yes.” You beg. Tugging at his palm until it loosens, until you press your lips to his skin. Across his knuckles, tongue dipping between - slipping against sensitive skin.

It’s dangerous, being that close.

It makes him come - hand wrenching away just as his claw threaten to prick through. Just able to hold them back, as his hips drive flush against yours.

A ragged moan muffled against your skin as Logan holds himself deep - letting your walls milk his orgasm from him. Fingers pinching into skin, as he keeps you in place, still enough that you can feel each throbbing pulse as he fills you.

He missed you too.

Always does.

The hours away are spent going over memories like snapshots. Ones that cling to him, his limo.

The echo of you on top of him, in the backseat. A payment you didn’t have to make - he’d take you anywhere - but you were all too willing to.

Eager to prove to him you could take it, as your nails bit into his suit. Still dripping out of you, pooling against soft fabric, when your face nuzzled into his lap as he drove you back home.

Knuckles pinched white around the steering wheel, as you kept him warm in your mouth.

Didn’t have time to take you a second time before he had to leave, but it didn’t stop him from fitting those fingers inside you - making you squeal as he fucked himself deeper, just before his evening began.

Stroking himself to the thought, each and every night he was away. Never could get enough.

It all leads back to this.

His arm bands around your stomach. Still nudged flush, as he eases you both onto your sides.

He’ll eat, later. Fingers drifting, as they dip. Not ready to go again just yet - he’s slowed, in his old years.

But his fingers can still fit against you. Swirling against slick skin as you moan, until he can feel you clenching down around him again.

Drifting off after, with his cock still buried deep. With his cheek cradled against the top of your head, an arm slung across to keep you close.

Never had enjoyed sleeping. A means to an end, everything he pushes down loosening - flashing vividly behind closed eyes.

Not until you. Not until this.

The nightmares going hazy, then quiet, when he wrapped in you the way exhaustion curls around him. A day, finally ending.

Hoping that if he dreams, it will be of you.

Just can’t get enough.

Even now, still using you.

thank you so much for reading!! 💖

[cryptictongues]

DOMESTICATED LOGAN STANS RISE!!!!!!!

This was just so wholesome. As a found family fiend, this made me emotional. Logan finding two people who showed him what love truly feels like is such a gift. Also enjoyed the angst too I love how everything came together for them in the end. Thank you for sharing!!!

in this home / logan howlett

PAIRING: logan howlett x f!witch!reader

SUMMARY: after the avengers disbanded, you were left with no direction. what happens when you save a certain mutant from the brink of death and invite him and his daughter into your home? (or rather, co-parenting and falling in love with Logan to give him and Laura the life they never had)

WC: 9.1 k

WARNINGS: SLOWWWWW burn, use of y/n, witchcraft (mcu style. i started this during agatha), hopelessness, mentions of death, injuries, nightmares, reader nearly getting killed, guns, a wannabe murderer, violence, blood, angst but also fluff!!

logan masterlist | inbox | masterlist

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

What most stories fail to discuss is what happens after the day is saved. They complete with a delicate happily ever after, wrapped in a bow and shipped off to the Void where the characters, presumably, live in domestic bliss for the remainder of their days.

You wish that were the case.

What they don't discuss is the mourning once the adrenaline has worn off- a gnawing grief that brings you to the knees in the middle of cooking dinner and a pain in your chest that renders you dizzy. They don't discuss they days you feel numb, sitting in the driver's seat of the car with nowhere to go.

You had spent years devoted to the Avengers. In a way, all you knew was saving people. But with Thanos defeated, fifty percent of the population returned to their loved ones, and the team disbanded, you were left with nowhere to go.

Some say if people no longer talk about a thing, it ceases to exist. With your name out of papers and no longer slipped into children's nighttime prayers, you wondered if maybe that were true.

Certain people, however, kept you from fading into the abyss as you knew it.

It was a Sunday morning and the cafe you sat in was packed. Between Sam Wilson being late and the awkward shuffle to steal a table the moment another couple sat up, you had almost gone home.

The conversation had been pleasant but you drifted in and out of focus, not being able to forget what this same conversation would have been like before.

Glancing out the window, you felt as if you were trapped within an aquarium.

The sharp, fluorescent lighting above had given you a migraine and the sounds of innocent forks scraping cake off their plates sounded like nails on a chalkboard in your ears. The passerbys laughing with their friends on the sidewalk shook you as if you were in a snow globe- as though everyone was living, moving... going someplace-while you were bound.

Sam's hand waved in front of you, breaking you from your thoughts.

"You could work for the government?" Sam suggested. He leaned back in his seat and pointed two thumbs at himself. "You've got an in."

You snorted. For several reasons, you'd have to decline but you imagine that sharing the same skillset as Wanda Maximoff would not go over well with the government.

Bringing a piping hot cup of coffee to your lips, you shook your head.

"No thanks."

Sam waved his hands in the air as if to brush off the suggestion entirely.

"Alright," Sam said, tapping his finger against his chin as if to think. "What about dating? My sister met her boyfriend on Tinder. Have you tried that?"

You raised your eyebrow at him as if to ask, "really?"

"I'm serious!" Sam defended. "Some lovin' could be good for you."

Besides the fact that that sentence alone made you throw up a little in your mouth, you couldn't think of anything less appealing.

Not to be a snob, but you weren't sure if the bright-eyed men holding fish in their photos and promising to let you steal their sweatshirt were right for a woman like you. In the past few years you had become a reclusive storm with trauma a mile long. Sprinkle in the fact that you were a former Avenger who dealt with the threat of danger and uncertainty daily, that was a recipe for disaster.

Who could deal with a life like that?

You shuffled in your seat.

"Can we change the subject?" You asked, clearing your throat.

Sam looked at you for a moment before leaning in. His arms laid crossed on the table as his voice lowered.

"Listen, I get. I do." He said, glancing at the passerbys. "But when Tony left you that land, he didn't want you to sit around and be alone forever, okay? You're alive and you've got some pretty cool wizard-"

"Witch-"

"Whatever, powers." Sam finished. "You think Nat or Steve would want you to sit around and mourn them?"

Despite how you failed to meet his eyes, instead opting to look at the dregs of your coffee at the bottom of its glass, his words hit you deep.

He was right.

"No," You said. "but I don't know what to do, Sam. What's next for me?"

Sam leaned back in his seat and shrugged.

"The whole damn multiverse is open." He sighed, lifting his own mug up to his lips. "You'll find something."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

A divination witch set you on your path.

Since breakfast, you hadn't been able to shake off your conversation with Sam. After your fellow Avengers' deaths, it had almost felt wrong to do something for yourself. Why did you get to live while the others perished?

But now you wondered how upset they would be to find out you had become a living ghost. You couldn't bear their disappointment.

It took you three fake fortune tellers before you found a proper witch in a hole in the wall shopfront. The pleasantries were short before her power overcame her.

Her eyes rolled back as the candles scattered about flickered. The light above you flashed as the bulb exploded, raining glass over your head. With a pen in hand, she scribbled on the paper in front of her. You listened to the etching of lead against paper while shielding yourself from the falling pieces of glass.

In an instant, as if you had imagined it, the lights fell back to their usual dim appearance, the rumbling stopped and she cleared her throat, suddenly composed.

She handed you that same piece of paper and sent you on your way.

Now, as the sun set beyond the horizon you skimmed the paper once more. Your candles had been lit and the aroma of the potion that had used up most of your stores wafted throughout the space, gurgling in its cauldron. Your symbols had been etched on the floor, written with your fingers dripped into the prior substance.

Now all that was left was the setting sun.

Check.

It was now or never.

With a deep breath you sat on the floor. The wood creaked beneath you as you did, as if your home could feel the weight of the spell you were about to cast- the future you were about to create. You crossed your legs into an all too familiar position and laid your hands palm-up on your knees.

The beat of your heart quickened in your chest, uncertainty threatening to take hold. You took a shaky break and cleared your throat. The silence of the room made it echo in your ears.

You closed your eyes.

"Oh maiden, mother, crone,

Show my path

written in thy stone."

The floor rumbled beneath you. A breeze filtered in through the opened window and brushed against you, raising your skin. You heard the sound of wood creaking, churning as if the house were renovating itself- expanding and rearranging the makeup of your walls. Finally, and most odd of all, you heard a lock click.

You turned around.

A door had appeared in your once solid wall.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

So this is what it feels like.

When Logan opened his eyes, he was greeted by a warm, inviting light. The evening sun had begun to peak through the windows of the bedroom, leaving shadows on his arm from where the blinds stood, weakly shielding him from its rays. A jazz song hummed from the distance, luring Logan with its melodic keys.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of pain. The last Logan remembered, he was impaled by a branch- body beaten beyond return. Laura was holding him, the children were safe, and for the first time, he learned what it was like to die.

After all the stories that he had heard, Logan thought that this was it. What comes next. Peace.

It took a bit of effort for him to get his eyes open- something he had experienced more than a handful of times after a particularly strong night drinking. At first, all he saw was light. Blinking a few more times a familiar figure came into clarity:

"Laura?"

His voice was raspy and he felt his vocal chords scrape against one another, dry. Just as he had made out Laura’s figure, she ran from the room.

Logan rubbed at his eyes with his left hand as he gripped the sheets with his right.

"Laura?" He called again. "Kid?"

Finally gaining clarity, Logan discovered that he was in a bedroom. The rocking chair that Laura had been in moments before sat facing him and continued to creek forwards and back after she had left. Throughout the room, various books and bottles littered every surface.

Before he had time to process, you came bolting into the room with Laura at your heel. The mutant rubbed at his eyes, as the image of the two of you wobbled in his vision. Logan, upon your entrance, attempted to lift himself up with a groan.

"Hey... hey." You cooed, gently easing Logan back into bed. "Easy tiger. Relax."

Laura took her place at his side as your soft hands laid against his bare chest.

"Relax?" Logan asked, a dry laugh escaping his throat. "Listen lady, I thought I was fucking dead. Where the hell am I?"

If there was one thing that Logan was terrible at- it was relaxing. And also probably mathematics if he really thought about it, but after nearly dying and being tasked with saving a dozen kids, relaxing was about the last thing on his mind.

He was tempted to fight back. Afterall, you were a stranger and it was rare that one of those had the best intentions with him. That was until he saw Laura- safe and clean and, most importantly, calm- looking up at him with her doe eyes.

The last time he saw her this calm was with Charles. He felt a pang in his chest.

"She fixed you." Laura said as she glanced between Logan and yourself. "She's magic."

Logan furrowed his eyebrows, pulling his eyes away from Laura to look at you.

One of your hands remained on Logan's chest while the other flipped through a spell book on the bedside table. Your hand was gentle against his skin, encouraging him to relax without forcing him into the pillow. Your face was scrunched, focused on the passage below and yet, you seemed perfectly calm. It was odd almost. Logan couldn't remember the last time a person, especially a mutant, had been relaxed in his presence.

A part of him, albeit a one that often failed in the fight for dominance, was relieved to relinquish himself to you. He had fought, and fought, and fought, and fought. And, god, it didn't matter how many times Logan's body healed himself- he was tired. Exhausted.

If it weren't for Laura, after two hundred years, he was ready to die in the middle of that forest.

"Where am I?"

Shifting your attention back to logan, you placed your hands on your hips- leaving the spot on his chest where your hand had once been cold.

You and Laura exchanged looks and the girl giggled quietly.

"Well, the short answer is upstate New York." You responded with a flair, watching as his eyebrow arched. "More specifically? You're in a different universe."

Huh?

Logan glanced between you and Laura. A silence hung in the air as you both looked at him with playful grins on your faces.

Logan had been unconscious for about a week while his body healed. In that time, you had watched over Laura- explaining the different universes, your magic, and the way those with abilities were perceived in your world. By now, this had become home. Logan, however, would need a bit more convincing.

When he realised the both of you were being serious, a congested laugh left his throat.

"Oh c'mon." Logan chuckled in his gravely voice. "I must've hit my head real fucking hard-"

"-She's not lying!" Laura interrupted, squeezing Logan's arm enough to draw blood. "It's safe. Look."

Laura picked up his hand and held it in front of his face.

His wrinkles had vanished, elasticity restored in his skin. His scars had faded into nonexistence. The spot where Laura had just drew blood healed quickly, erasing any trace of injury. He watched the edges of his skin lace together again, born anew.

“How…” Logan began, noting how the callouses on his hands had seemingly disappeared. “How in the hell did you do that?”

You smiled.

“A magician never reveals her secrets.”

Logan continued to stare at you incredulously, his mind racing, trying to make sense of the matter at hand. Despite you never having done something this drastic before, you had seen this look your fair share of times and understood it well.

As the sun continued setting in the distance, the light peeking in had become more faded by the minute. With a wave of your hand, you shut the blinds, and the candles littering the space had alit at once with a resounding "whoosh".

Logan, more confused than ever, tugged at the bedsheet that had laid over him, kicking his feet over the side of the bed with a humph.

Laura had told you that he would be difficult... stubborn even. The life that he had lived, albeit longer, was not unfamiliar to yours. It was hard to trust and more difficult to accept comfortability. Even after being comatose for a week, in autopilot fashion he was onto his next mission. Despite you not affording the same grace to yourself, you weren't going to let that happen to him.

“Laura, honey,” You said. “Why don’t you let your dad and I talk a bit, okay?”

The child glanced between you and her father before nodding and making her way from the room. The door shut behind her with a click.

The air in the room felt thick. You could feel Logan's eyes burning a hole right through you.

You cleared your throat.

"Look, I'm sure you've got a lot of questions-"

The man ran one of his hands through his tussled hair while the other scratched his overgrown beard. As messy as he was in this state, a deeper part of you couldn't help but think of him as the definition of rugged.

"You think?" Logan quipped sarcastically. "Where's the rest of 'em?"

The other mutant children.

"They're here too." You said, crossing the room to your rocking chair. "I'm part of this sort of ... uh... organization.. for people like us. With special abilities. When I ended up in your universe and came back here, I contacted some people I knew and they've adopted them. We're starting a school for them too, but otherwise they're going to grow up like any other kid. Not soldiers." You crossed your legs, allowing the old wooden chair to creek back and forth. "They deserve it."

Logan couldn't help a scoff that escaped him. A light, tired smile fell to his lips as he thought of a new school for mutant kids. The old Logan would have laughed, but with the death of the professor remaining a fresh wound, it felt like a relief.

You did what he couldn't.

"A school, huh?" He asked.

You smiled.

"A school."

For a moment, silence hung in the air. The only sound was the persistent creak of wood emanating from your rocking chair.

"Logan, I-" You pierced the silence.

"I'll take the kid and get out of your hair in the morning."

And there it was.

What you had been fearing the past week.

"Logan," You treaded carefully, fearful that one wrong movement would send him out the door. "Don't. I'm serious when I say that I want you here. I... it's been nice."

He looked at you quizzically. As if a cartoon lightbulb had flashed with an animated ding! above him, the answer came.

"That uh... what did you call it? Organization?" He pondered, looking at you solemly. "Let me take a guess- it's not around anymore?"

A silence hung in the air once more.

"Let me take a guess," You said just above a whisper. "Yours isn't either?"

His unresponsiveness answered your question.

"Right, well," you said, ceasing your rocking. "If you want to go, I won't keep you here. I'll help you out in whatever way you need to get your life started. But between us... I like the company."

You pushed yourself to your feet.

"I'm going to go start dinner." You announced, slipping towards the door. "Think it over and let me know."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Laura was perched in front of the television while you sat planted behind her, braiding her damp hair. The blue light of the television reflected off of her face as she absentmindedly shoved popcorn into her mouth— focused solely on the screen.

Above the crunching of popcorn kernels you heard Logan's sock padded feet make their way into the room.

His hair was still wet and you could tell that he had tried to tame it by brushing his fingers through either side, sticking it up.

Logan smiled when he was greeted by you and Laura dressed in pajamas watching some princess movie on the television. Although he would never be caught dead in pants with ice-skating penguins on them, instead adorned in the matching gray sweatpants and t-shirt you laid out on the bed for him, he found it.. comforting. One would even say "cozy" and "domestic" if they had it in their vocabularies, to which Logan did not.

All he knew was this was a far cry from what he had been experiencing the week prior.

"Hey," You smiled up at him, nudging your head to the next room. "Dinner's in the dining room. I'll be there in a minute once I finish up her hair."

He wanted to argue about how you didn't need to make dinner for him or, better yet, spend the effort to come keep him company, but Logan knew better.

And, to be completely transparent, he didn't want to say no.

Logan instead nodded and pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning against. He moved towards the dining room, grabbing a handful popcorn from Laura's bowl as he went past.

"Hmph!" She snarled, snatching it back.

Logan shrugged and shoved a few kernels into his mouth, "Taxes."

You giggled as you watched the two of them interact, tying off Laura's hair.

"All good to go, missy." You announced.

In the dining room, the candle that you had left burning on the table illuminated Logan's face. The warm tones of the flame highlighted the curve of his nose and the reddened blush on his cheeks from the warmth of the space. An old jazz song played on the record player as Logan leaned back in his seat, taking a sip from the glass of whiskey you had left for him on the table.

When he heard your footsteps, Logan looked up and tipped the glass towards you.

"How'd you know?"

You shrugged, pulling out the chair beside him.

"Lucky guess."

Leaning forward in his seat, Logan placed the glass back down on the table. The silence between you was comfortable- your feet resting on the rungs of his chair as the melody from the record filled the room.

Logan leaned forward and took a bite from the plate you had laid out, humming as he did.

"You made this?" He asked, mouth full.

You leaned forward, inspecting his plate.

"Well yeah," You responded warily. "Is it okay? I've just been cooking for myself the past few years so it might not-"

"You kidding?" He responded with a chuckle that came from deep within his chest. "I can't remember the last time I had a home cooked meal."

You smiled.

"Well I don't remember the last time I had someone to share it with."

The comment came out before you had the time to quite think about it. You had only really met this man hours ago and here you were, feeding, clothing him, and having an air of intimacy surrounding you both that was owed to a pair who had known each other far longer.

To your relief, a crooked smile rose to Logan's face as he shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence, Logan eating his meal as you relaxed into your seat, letting the music soothe you. The noise from the television playing in the other room periodically carried into the one you sat in but you, and unbeknownst to you, Logan, found solace in it. The company, the warmth of sitting close to someone, and the mashup of various sounds were a comforting reminder that you weren't alone.

After a moment, Logan cleared his throat.

"I'll go find some work tomorrow."

"Logan, you really don't have to-"

He shot you a look- eyebrows raised and lips drawn in a thin line- that told you that he was firm in this.

"Listen," He said. "I appreciate all this, but if the kid n' I are gonna stay, I need to do something, alright? Let me help."

You nodded, biting back your smile at his decision to remain.

"There's a lumberyard up the road if that's your thing." You said bringing a glass to your lips. "The owner's always complaining he can't find new guys out here."

Logan scooped up another bite with his fork.

"That'll work."

"Good." You said with a smile. "Then it's settled. Your new life starts tomorrow."

Or was it today?

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

At the end of the first week, Laura's nightmares began.

Her screams- not of her usual rage, but of sadness... fear- would pull you and Logan from your slumber. You'd rush from your bedrooms on opposite ends of the hall towards Laura. His hands would reach for the knob first, but you'd be at her bedside in an instant, brushing past him.

He'd flick on the light as you brushed her hair from her forehead, cooing her awake.

"Laura, honey, it's a dream." You said, shading her from the light as she opened her eyes. "We're right here."

We.

It was the first time that you referred to you and Logan as a pair. A team. The other half that made you whole.

It became the same pattern every night. You'd wake up to her cries, rush to her aid, then read with her until she fell asleep. With you both within reach, she'd fall peacefully back to sleep- staying that way until the morning.

This night, when you went to tuck Laura in, however, you never made it back to your beds. With either of her hands, she held onto one of your wrists, urging you to stay with her as she fell asleep. The look on her face could melt even the Wolverine's heart, how did you stand a chance?

You and Logan made room for each other at the edge of the bed, sitting side by side with your backs against the baseboard. There were whispered sorrys and mumbles of discomfort as elbows collided with ribs and knees with shins.

"Kid did this on purpose." Logan grumbled.

Before you could ask why, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, alleviating the discomfort as you melted into his side.

"There."

At first you stiffened, in unfamiliar territory with the man you had only just met a week ago, but as you heard Laura's breathing turn to snores, you relaxed into his chest.

You could hear how his breath rattled in his chest, your head rising and falling with each inhale. You couldn't help but smile at the fact that Logan smelt like the body wash and shampoo you had left in the bathroom specifically for him. But not the conditioner. You should have guessed.

The nightlight in the corner spun, casting silhouettes of horses around the room. It looked as if they were running, chasing after one another but never able to reach the finish line.

The light ran over Logan's face, highlighting the scruff he had missed from that morning. His head had tilted back against the board, his eyes closed shut. You thought that if he had been normal, you would have noted razor burn on his neck.

With Laura's snores and Logan's eased breathing, you felt your eyes begin to lull, luring you into the sleep you so desperately craved. Laying your head on Logan's chest completely, you surrendered yourself to the wave of exhaustion.

Logan felt your head fall lower on his chest and your body go limp in his arms. As your breathing slowed, your hands fell into his lap and your leg draped over his.

He wanted to laugh. Really, he did, but the idea of waking either of his girls up stopped the laugh in its track, it falling to a scoff that just barely escaped his lips.

If only the man he was two weeks ago could see him now- tucking his daughter into bed and falling asleep with a woman in his arms all without a single worry in the world. Maybe he was dead and somehow made it to heaven.

But then he remembered his imagination couldn't make up a woman like you. One who took him in without a second thought, who worried about if he ate enough, who bought him new clothes because "they reminded me of you". Logan hadn't been able of conceiving normalcy. That, he left to you.

But he was still learning you then.

It was in that moment that his heart skipped a beat for the first time as your face nuzzled into his neck, hair brushing against his cheek. It was such a shocking feeling- one he hadn't known in decades- that his hand flew to his chest.

Then he realized- it was you. You did that to him.

Fuck.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

After a month, Logan got his own vehicle: a truck with a front bench seat. Although it was old and a bit beat up, he took pride in it. And besides, you would’ve been lying if you said your ears didn’t perk up every time you heard that rusty door slam signaling his return from work.

Without thinking, all three of you had fallen into a routine. Laura, who had been playing in the front yard after school, would run up to her father, roping him into whatever she had been getting up to that afternoon. You, hearing the truck's engine turn off and the playful giggles of Laura, would find yourself on the porch watching the two of them- shawl wrapped cozily around your shoulders as you brought a hot drink to your lips.

And whether it was while he was drawing the most awful scribble you've ever seen in chalk, or roughhousing on the front lawn, you'd manage to catch Logan's eye.

What you didn't know, was that Logan had his own routine. He'd join Laura in whatever she doing, but when he heard that squeak of the hurricane door opening, signalling your arrival to the scene? He was like a dog. Logan would pause whatever he was doing, looking up to meet your eyes.

Only when you gave him the same, warm smile that he thought about morning, noon, and night, did he find the permission to continue what he had been doing prior.

He'd go back to passing the ball to Laura, giving her pointers on her throw, or pushing her on the tire swing he'd set up a week earlier; but now he had an added pep in his step knowing your watchful gaze was on him. It wasn't daunting, but peaceful, warm, and comfortable. It made him want to be better... do better.

It was always in him, but your faith in Logan is what brought out his potential.

Jean always said he had a soft spot for women. The same bitter resolve Logan reserved for the rest of the population would dissipate in the presence of the opposite sex- a remanent of a bygone era maybe. Maybe.

When the sun began to set- "God damn daylight savings," Logan would grumble- all three of you would begin to head inside, the warm glow of the house inviting the three of you in. Sometimes Logan would hold the door open for you, insisting he be the last to go in and lock up.

You figured it was chivalry. He knew it was the care and concern that had grown for not only Laura, but you.

Alternatively, you'd sometimes catch him before he crossed the threshold. You'd watch Laura skip out of earshot, and gently grab Logan's arm.

The feeling of your touch against his skin was foreign yet familiar, but most certainly welcomed. The absentminded rub of your thumb against the fabric of his shirt was enough to make his heart sink in his chest. Then, you'd look up at him with thankful eyes, peeking beneath your eyelashes and he'd wonder whether he'd physically be able to restrain himself much longer.

You'd comment on something you watched him do and remind him how good he was. But once, in a moment Logan would never forget, as the two of you watched your girl run inside, you snaked your arm around his back.

"We're lucky to have you, you know?"

Logan, stunned, wasn't sure what to respond, but luckily you didn't give him the space to.

"Now, what are we thinking for dinner? I'm starving."

Still, he waited for your foot to cross the threshold before he allowed himself to enter.

That night when Logan went to sleep, the interaction played over and over in his mind. He could feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as he fell asleep to the lullaby of your soft voice reminding him that you were his.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

After how many years does a person stop remembering their own birthday?

For Logan, it was complicated but he stopped considering the day very early on. When there was no one there to celebrate with and you had the "gift" of never ending regeneration, was it worth commemorating another year in a seemingly endless life? Especially with one such as his, he wondered...no. was sure.... that there wasn't anything worth celebrating.

It was like any other day: Logan woke up, ate breakfast, went to work... but unlike the rest of them, when he slammed his truck door shut after a long day on the job, Laura wasn't playing outside despite the sun's rays still peeking through the trees. Shrugging it off, he grabbed his bag from the bed and made his way inside.

On most occasions, Logan would have stopped.

Logan would have heard the hushed whispers between you and Laura, her giggles spurning you on to do the same. He would've noted the click of the lighter on the other side of the door, but in the complete opposite of Wolverine fashion, he had gotten comfortable.

"Just like we practiced-" Your hushed voice whispered from the other side of the thick wood.

Raising his eyebrow, Logan opened the door.

On the other side, you and Laura stood with a homemade cake in your hands. The candle on top- a "1"- flickered brightly as your voices rang out singing happy birthday.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you.."

Logan could count on one hand the number of times he had cried in his very long life, but seeing the two of you standing in front of him, he felt pressure grow behind his dark eyes. Your smile, bright as ever, welcomed him in and he couldn't help but admire the way that the flame made your eyes sparkle.

You had the option of anybody- anyone in the multiverse- and you chose him to share this family and home with. Although Laura may have encouraged you, Logan knew that this was your idea. The cake, the song, the candles, the banner hanging above the door- it had your scheming written all over it. You were warm and kind and, Logan would admit, so beautiful that in that moment, he got choked up. Never had he been shown care like this.

"Happy birthday dear Logan-"

"-Daddy..."

"Happy birthday to you!"

In one hand you brought the cake close to the burly man. With the other, you brushed a stray tear from his cheek.

"Make a wish!" Laura shouted, tugging on his arm.

Pulling himself back into the moment, Logan ruffled his daughter's hair.

"Well I don't know, kid." He said. "Doesn't seem like there's much to wish for."

"Oh c'mon, Lo." You said, brushing his hair from his face absentmindedly. "There's gotta be something."

And something there was. Rather, someone.

The Logan that had existed three months ago was a changed man. To be clear, he was just as stubborn and hotheaded as always, but the unshakable doom, gloom and overall nihilistic manner about him had shifted.

Once, Charles had told Laura that Logan was ready to die... wanted to die. Now, he would never let anything happen to him, not for his own sake but for yours and the mutant girl the two of you shared.

He wanted to wake up in the morning and smell the bitter coffee you brewed for him in the kitchen before work. He wanted to go to work and have the men tease him about his "missus" they knew nothing about. He wanted to come home at the end of the day to hear your laughs and jokes at his expense. Most importantly, he wanted to fall asleep at night knowing it would be the same tomorrow.

Logan, the lone wolf, the Wolverine, in his vulnerability had found a safe haven in Laura and you.

You, who gave yourself freely and optimistically. It almost felt wrong how he wanted more from you, but how could he help it? You gave him a taste and he wanted more.

Taking a deep breath- and rolling his eyes for show- Logan blew the candle out with a wish in mind.

"What's your wish?" Laura asked, bouncing on her toes as the smoke flitted through the air.

Logan, a bit embarrassed but not wanting to admit it, was preparing to mess with Laura about wishing for something completely asinine, but to his relief, you stepped in.

"He can't tell you, silly." You said, placing your hand on Laura's back to guide her towards the kitchen. "If he tells you, then it won't come true."

Glancing over your shoulder, you shot Logan a wink.

God, he was fucked.

Logan and you followed Laura into the kitchen, dragging a few feet behind.

"Didn't wanna know what I wished for?" Logan asked.

The Logan of long ago- the one who had the time and heart to devote to a woman- had slowly appeared the more time he spent with you. It's as if in the warmth of your love, the harsh exterior had melted away.

Sometimes Logan wondered if you were right that first day when you told him the old him was dead. Then, a moment like this would happen and he would be reminded that it was always in him, waiting for the right condition, or person, to bring it forth.

"I don't know what you're talking about," You said, smiling. "I meant what I said. I don't wanna know. I want your wish to come true... don't you?"

Logan in that moment wondered whether you had peeked into his mind. Had you fished out his deepest desires and decided to dangle them in front of his face?

You hadn't given him time to ask. Instead, you left him standing in confusion in the foyer as you rushed into the kitchen.

"Laura!" You shouted, "Do not stick your hand into that cake! Laura-"

Shaking his head in disbelief at what his life had become, a dry chuckled escape Logan's throat.

"Jesus."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

Considering the portion of her life that she had spent locked up in comparison to being free, you were proud of the progress that Laura had made. She picked up incredibly quick on the way things worked. She knew not to steal, how to use a fork and knife, to wait until the little green man appeared to cross the street- she was quick, intelligent, and incredibly perceptive.

One part she still struggled with, however, was managing her anger: a trait she had inherited from her father.

It was a minor concern. The life that you and Logan had created for her was one that made the likelihood of outbursts scarce- only a heated argument with Logan over something as silly as a game would be able to bring her claws out... metaphorically of course.

"Logan, she doesn't know what property tax is." You'd say after she stormed off with a stomp and growl. "Give her a break."

"That's not how the game goes." Logan would argue. "If the kid wants to survive out there, she's gotta know how the world works."

"It's Monopoly, Logan!"

However, as with any child, you couldn't always control when those outbursts occurred.

The three of you had had a nightmare of a weekend. A short trip that had otherwise gone smoothly, went up in flames last minute when all flights were canceled due to an impending blizzard. Rather than stick it out, with Logan needing to get back to work, the two of you decided it would be best to road trip back home.

For the most part it was fine. Intermittently Logan would scold Laura for kicking his seat absentmindedly and you'd all argue over whether to use air conditioning or windows, but besides that it was perfectly fine. Normal even. Which was rare for two immortals from a different universe and a witch.

When Laura begged to pull over for a snack, how were you supposed to know that it could go so wrong?

As you browsed the aisles, occasionally picking up a snack, skimming the back and placing it back where it came from., Laura had drifted from your side. A beverage in the back had caught her eye without you realising and by the time you noticed her departure, it was too late.

When you heard her sweet voice turn to cursed growls that resembled her fathers, you were across the store in an instant.

An old man stood before her with a hand wrapped around one of her wrists.

"Woah!" You shouted, standing between the man and Laura. "What's going on here?"

"Your brat kid stomped on my foot, that's what!" The man growled. "You oughta teach that girl a lesson!"

Although you had created a gap between her and the man, that comment had you throwing Laura behind you entirely. A part of you that had been buried for years- an aggression you barely recognized- came to the surface.

"Don't talk to my daughter like that!" You shouted, shoving your finger in his face. "You have some fucking nerve-"

All of the commotion piqued Logan's ears from across the shop. The unfamiliar pitch of your voice had Logan tossing his keys on the counter and quickening his pace to you.

"Oh good," The guy said. "Maybe you can tell your bitch of a wife to-"

In the past few months, Logan had become a man that the old Logan- figuratively and literally- would have never recognized. He was cool, calm, and collected. His outbursts were few and far between and never, ever violent.

But, hearing that bite in your voice? Seeing the fire in your eyes? And, worst of all, some man call you that? No Logan would have let that slide.

A part of him- a primal one that called to action when needed- came out then.

Before he had even had time to process the implication of what the asshole said, Logan had grabbed the collar of his shirt with a growl and slammed him against the freezer. Bottles rattled on their shelves as the collective hiss of a spare few crashing on the floor echoed throughout the convenience store.

"We got a problem here, bub?” Logan hissed.

The confidence of the man whose feet were now dangling in the air had deteriorated. The fear in his eyes was palpable as he gasped for air.

“No!” He gasped. “Everything’s fine!”

“Yeah?” Logan asked, shoving the man up higher, eliciting a whelp. “Why don’t you apologize to the lady then.”

“I’m- ah!” He hissed. “I’m sorry!”

Logan's face burned red as he held him high. A visible vein protruded from his neck.

"Logan." You called. "He's not worth it. Let him go."

The man's shoes scraped against the glass doors he was pressed against.

"Let's just go home."

Logan glanced to where you stood with Laura shielded in your arms. On any given day of his other life he would have beat that man to a pulp for insulting the only two people breathing who mattered to him. He would of let his conscience take a back seat while his fists led, the only consequence being a stinging in his knuckles for a brief moment.

But now, there was stuff- or rather, people... his girls- at stake. Any confrontation with the law could put the dynamic you had in jeopardy. His ego wasn't worth the price.

Logan dropped the man to the floor and wiped his hands against his jacket. Before he could allow himself to turn back and get himself into trouble, he placed his hand on your shoulder and gently guided you towards the door.

"C'mon, let's go."

Later, as the sun set beyond the horizon, Laura laid asleep with her head in your lap. Had she been anyone besides the daughter of the Wolverine, you would have argued for seatbelt safety. However, seeing her content face nuzzled in a sweatshirt on your lap- her feet kicked up onto her father's- how could you say no?

Logan lazily hummed along to an old tune playing on the radio, one arm leaning out the window.

He cleared his throat.

"Daughter, huh?"

His eyes were trained on the road but you saw a hint of a smile at the edge of his lips.

"Am I your wife?"

If he had been the old Logan- before the endless pain, before the wars, before the deaths of his loved ones- he would have told you he loved you right there.

I wish you were.

But he wasn't. Despite his appearance he was an old, disgruntled, traumatized, burdened man. Logan didn't have the same confidence he did decades ago where he could say it, mean it and not worry about the consequences.

And your love, romantic or not, was not something he was willing to gamble.

But God he wanted you.

"If you were my wife, I'd treat you helluva lot better." He said. The smile had disappeared, replaced by a stoic, knitted line.

The fingers of yours that had been running through Laura's hair stopped. Your breath caught in your throat as you glanced out the window, watching the trees on the side of the highway blur past you.

"You treat me pretty damn well, Logan." You said, trying to sound humorous but ultimately falling flat. "I envy the woman who gets you."

This should have been the moment that it changed.

This should have been the moment that Logan pulled the car over to the side of the road and told you that he didn't want to pretend to be a family anymore- three people who were falling into the roles assigned to them- he wanted you to be a family because you were one. It wasn't pretend. It wasn't a facade. You were a family in every sense of the word.

Because he was yours, you were his and Laura belonged to you as much as Logan.

When the guys at work asked about his missus, he wanted to say your name. The lines had been blurred, but he wanted to straighten them out beyond where they had begin- where they were meant to be. You with him, him with you, you all together.

How could he think about another woman when his world revolved around you?

But then Laura stirred in your lap and his built-up confidence crumbled.

She yawned, curling herself into your lap.

"Are we home yet?"

Pulling your eyes from the road, you smiled and resumed brushing your fingers through her hair.

"Almost, honey."

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

"Logan!"

Your sharp cry woke Logan from his slumber with a start. Before he had entirely processed that it was your voice calling for help, he had flung the sheets from his body and threw himself out of bed.

"Y/n?" Logan shouted, his sock covered feet hitting the floor.

Below, he heard a shatter. He could make out the sound of distinct pieces of glass sliding across the floor as you screamed his name.

"Get off of-" He heard your muffled voice grunt from the floor below. "Logan, help!"

Hearing your pleas, Logan threw open the bedroom door and ran down the stairs- skipping three steps at a time. He felt his heart pounding against his chest so aggressively that he was sure he would be able to see the imprint of it on his skin had he looked in a mirror.

Despite his descending the staircase at a rapid pace, your voice became more distant the closer he got.

Then, he heard the back door swing open.

Logan dodged his way through the threshold of the living room, running over the shattered vase that littered the floor. Drops of blood stained the rug. The television that had been on when you fell asleep on the couch hours earlier was still playing reruns of your favorite show.

Logan quickened his pace. He felt the chilled breeze hit his skin coming from the backdoor left ajar. When he crossed from the kitchen onto the porch, he froze.

He could hear the rhythmic buzz of the electric collar around your neck- suppressing your powers- from where he stood. Your socks were wet from the freshly melted snow that stained where you stood on the grass. A deep red gash drew blood from your forehead, dripping down your face and over your cheeks.

Behind you, a man stood with a gun to your back.

"Who the fuck are you?" The stranger called, shaking you 'til you lost your balance.

You fell to your knees in front of him with a cry.

"I'm gonna be the guy who kills you if you don't let her go." Logan growled, fists balled up at his sides.

His voice echoed amongst the trees and as sturdy as it sounded, the feeling of his fingernails digging into his palms was the only thing that kept Logan from shaking.

You- precious, kind, loving- you were on your knees powerless, preparing yourself for your own demise. Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes as you heaved, no doubt from the fight you had just lost in the living room. Logan realized that for the first time in the months he had known you, you were scared.

You were like a fortress in a storm- sturdy, powerful, confident- but now it was as though a battering ram had been taken to your resolve, leaving you destroyed. There was something about that knowledge that terrified him even more- if you were scared, he had every reason to be terrified.

"Oh I'm not letting her go," The guy laughed. "The Avengers ruined my life. This used to be the Avengers Compound base and she's going to die here like the rest of them. You can kill me all you want, but she," He pulled your hair, "is going out with me."

As he tugged your hair, your face raised to meet Logan's. By now, tears stained your cheeks, running down your neck and into the hem of your shirt.

Finally, when life was going the way you wanted- in the way you felt you deserved- it was coming to an end.

The only comfort brought was that Logan was here with you.

"Logan-" You cried, a sob lodged in your throat.

Logan could feel his heart shatter into a thousand pieces at your soft, yet broken voice.

Holding back his own emotions for your sake, he breathed shakily.

"Sweetheart... I'm gonna fix this. Just-"

"I love you." You sobbed, hands tied behind your back. Your chest rose and fell with a wheeze as another cry escaped you. "God, I loved you so much it hurt. I wanted us to-"

Past tense.

Just like that, the dam broke.

Tears that had been burning behind Logan's eyes fled the corners, blurring his vision. His fists loosened their grip as one moved to balance himself on the railing. All the while, his chest burned with the fire of a thousand suns.

"Don't talk like that." Logan huffed, blinking back tears.

Then, Logan heard the click of the bullet falling into place.

"Show's over." The stranger announced. "Say hi to your friends for me."

People often wonder what thoughts go through your head the moment before you die. Some say their life flashes before them, others disappear without even knowing. You?

Oddly enough you wanted to remind Logan to clean up the glass in the living room before Laura could step on it. That you had bread rising in the kitchen that he should bake, or remember to throw out before it got moldy. That the deed to your land was in the safe in your office. The combination was your birthday.

But all you could manage was an-

"I love you."

You think that covered it.

You could hear his index finger fiddling with the trigger behind you. You swore later that you could even make out the sound of his knuckles popping as they bent into position.

Both were interrupted by a whiny slishhh as two shimmering claws shot from his torso.

Laura.

Like a gun going off at the races, Logan broke into a run across the yard. When you were feet away, he slid onto his knees in the wet grass and pulled you into him.

If his brain hadn't been so fogged, Logan would have worried that he hurt you from how tight he squeezed you. His calloused fingertips tangled themselves in your hair as your forehead found its home against his own. His other hand gripped your shirt for dear life, feeling the chill of your skin through the cloth.

His warm breath enveloped your face as he held you tighter- fearing what would happen if you escaped his reach.

Soft cries escaped your lips as he peppered your forehead in kisses.

"You're safe now, I got you." He said, more for himself than you. "I love you too, darlin', I'm right here."

Logan heard the earth crunch beside him as Laura wordlessly kneeled beside you both and slipped into your embrace.

.:*

After the first responders had come and gone, it was 3am.

You and Logan put Laura to bed together. When you leaned over to tuck her in, her arms wrapped around you, pulling you into her. Her fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt as her face hid in your shoulder.

For the second time that evening, tears burned in your eyes. This time, not out of fear of the unknown but peace at the future revealed.

You brushed her hair back and kissed her forhead.

"I love you." You said, quelling the shake in your voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

She pulled away and allowed you to tuck the blanket up to her chin.

"Sweet dreams."

As you handed her the stuffed animal you had gifted her the first day, her voice spoke out barely above a whisper.

"I love you too, Mommy."

And the dam broke. As if sensing your composure, Logan reached out and laid a hand on your shoulder.

"Night kiddo."

Logan ushered you from the room, carefully closing the door as you exited. He took your hand in his and led you to your room.

His hands were just as you imagined them- callous and rough. But they didn't scare or deter you. No, they were a physical manifestation of his perseverance. The hands he would use to love, provide and protect you. They had to be strong, they carried the weight of the world in his hands. It was a comfort and privilege to be loved by them.

In your room, Logan turned the lamp on and guided you under the covers. He pulled the covers over your form and as he did, you snatched his wrist in your hand.

"Stay."

It wasn't question, an order, or a command.

It was a plead. A begging on your knees.

"I'm not goin' anywhere."

His voice was dry, tired.

Moving to the other side of the bed, he carefully slid into the space beside you.

"C'mere."

He stretched his arm over your back and eased you into his side. Like a woman stranded in the ocean and he your life raft, you slipped your arms around him and held him as if your life depended on it. You nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent for the first time.

Although it was new, the intimacy felt familiar. Whether because of your dreams made real or that you both had fallen into the place destined for you, you weren't sure. But the ease lulled you to surrender to your exhaustion.

"I love you." You mumbled into his neck, your vision fleeing from focus as your eyes drooped.

Logan breathed in deeply, stroking his face with your knuckles as your breathing slowed.

"I love you too, darlin.'"

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

This has been in the drafts for months and i'm SO excited to finally put it out into the world. replies and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I would love to know what you all think <3 laura's perception of reader and logan are very much based on the end of logan where she calls logan daddy (i wanna SOB) and i did edit a few chunks out to limit the word count aflkdjal, anyway thank you for reading!! -cass

[cryptictongues]

made one of those buddy quizzes if you're interested in taking it!

[cryptictongues]

Currently drafting an Old Man Logan fic! My brain cooked so hard while I was flying this past week and I can't get this specific scenario out of my head 🤭

[cryptictongues]

OH GOD IVE BEEN SHOT BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE THEN SHOT AGAIN

Lub this is just fantastic! Everything about how you wrote Logan’s inner demons is so good-I felt like I was in his brain. His characterization in this is just FLAWLESS!!! Also I’m so glad the reader can just feel so deeply. It compliments Logan’s dialogue so well.

This was one of the best fics I’ve read in a while. Thank you for sharing!!!

Come A Long, Long Way

SYNOPSIS: His days are long and his nights are longer. He comes to you during those hours when the rest of the world stills, lured in by something almost like fate. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader 

WC: 12.2k

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, scars and healing; gratuitous sexual tension; mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption; dirty talk; frottage; nipple play; surprise appearance by Charles; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; sex with feelings; cowgirl; mating press; creampie; brief mentions of Laura; happy ending because I said so

A/N: The idea for this story came to me through a song--My Fair Lady by Kaleo. I was struck by this verse: I'm weary from my travels // I've come a long, long way // I haven't felt a woman // Since last that I was here // Oh, won't you bring me whisky // And run your fingers through my hair? // Oh, won't you whisper sweet words // Oh, so softly in my ear? I thought, "Wow, that's so Old Man Logan" and this is what I birthed from that. This may be one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I sincerely hope you think so too. Huge, huge thank you to @yxtkiwiyxt for betaing this for me and making the final draft what it is; you helped end this in such a beautiful way. Thank you to @saradika for the use of her graphics. And as always, I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

He shouldn’t care about the car pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights blinking as the rain pours down. 

For three days, Logan’s entertained a rowdy bachelorette party, chauffeuring them from bar to bar, dinner to dinner. The scent of cheap perfume and desperation still linger inside the limo, the drunken, whispered advances still burn against his skin. 

He’s tired. Exhausted down to his very marrow and he wants nothing more than to crawl onto his sagging mattress and steal whatever amount of sleep his shattered mind will give him. 

So, no. He shouldn’t care about the car. 

But he finds himself easing off the gas, the limo starting to slow as he nears. He feels drawn, like a month to a flame, as if some unseen force has wound itself around his sternum and is pulling him forward. 

Pulling him to you. 

As the limo approaches, he spots you crouched down by the front left tire, struggling with a lug wrench, the tool slipping in your rain-soaked fingers. He can almost hear the curses spilling from your lips as you glance up and look towards where he’s sitting. 

Logan knows you can’t see him, not well anyway with the headlights shining directly upon you and the rain pouring down in sheets, but he swears you find his gaze, your eyes seeming to pierce down directly to his soul. He feels the flutter of something deep in his chest and he feels exposed, like a raw wound that hasn’t quite healed. 

For a moment, he hesitates, and wonders if you’re a siren, out here in your element to lure him to his death. Then your gaze drops and the thought dissolves but only just. Before he can talk himself out of it, Logan’s throwing the car in park and opening the door. 

The rain is frigid, the cold biting at his skin as the downpour soaks him down to the bone. You glance up at him as he approaches, your fingers loosening around the wench but still keeping it firmly in your grasp. Straightening up, you push wet strands of hair out of your face, your fingers trembling from the cold. 

“Need a lift?”

He doesn’t know why he asks. What he should do is swap out the old tire for the spare and let you go on your way. But those eyes of yours are piercing him again, the hook you’ve sunk deep in his sinew pulling taut once more and Logan feels compelled to take you home. 

For a few moments, you continue to silently assess him, your gaze flitting between your car, the limo behind him and back to his now soaked frame. Then, you stand and open the driver’s side door, tossing in the wrench and pulling your purse close to your chest. You follow him to the limo and climb into the backseat as Logan slips back in behind the wheel. 

He glances back at you through the rearview mirror, watching as you lean back into the seat, your wet clothes clinging to every curve of your body. Which is another thing he shouldn’t care about and yet…

Clearing his throat, he turns up the heat. “Where you headed?”

“North. About twenty miles or so.”

Logan nods and shifts the car into drive, heading back down the road as the rain continues to come down. Several minutes pass in silence, save for the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers. Finally, your voice breaks through the silence, soft and lilting. 

“Got a name?”

“Who’s asking?”

A half smile tugs at your lips as you slide from the seat and slip into the row directly behind the partition. Logan can feel the damp of your skin as you lean into his space, the scent of rain flooding his nostrils almost intoxicating. You say your name and wait for him to respond in kind.

“Logan,” he answers, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, Logan?” you ask, his name dripping from your lips like honey and just as sweet.

Logan stiffens, his grip tightening on the wheel as your words cut through the night. There’s no pity in your tone, which he’s silently grateful for, but an unsettling mixture of curiosity and understanding.

At the best of times, he doesn’t like anyone trying to scratch below the surface, to worm themselves into all the soft and vulnerable bits he tries so desperately to hide away. Now that he’s older and feeling every bit of his age, the weight of his bones threatening to drag him down with each step, he likes it even less.

“It’s not kind to anyone,” he answers, turning his head just enough to glance sideways at you. 

You tilt your head slightly, a wordless noise humming in your throat. “Maybe,” you concede, voice soft, like you’re mulling over his words. “Except your life has carved itself into you a little more than most.”

He wants to be annoyed, to slam his foot on the brake and send the limo careening into reverse back towards your broken down car. But something stirs in him, thrumming in time with the pulse beating in his veins—a spark of irritation mixed with that pull that’s been gnawing at him since he first saw you. 

“You a therapist or somethin’?”

You chuckle softly, the sound low and intimate, as you lean back into the seat, finally putting some space between you. “No. Just intuitive.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you through the rearview mirror with a scowl. “Intuit less. Just tell me where I’m goin’.”

A soft, chiding “tsk” falls from your lips and you shake your head, but Logan doesn’t miss the smile playing on your lips. You give him directions to your house and for moment you both sit in silence but the air remains heavy with unspoken tension. 

Logan pulls off the highway, beginning to wind through the smaller streets of the town as he gets closer to your place. The thought of this ride ending, of you leaving this car, both thrill and disappoint him. 

“You believe in fate?”

The question cuts through the silence, pulling Logan’s focus back to you. He glances at you briefly, your expression thoughtful as you wait for him to answer. 

“No,” he finally says, voice flat. 

A soft hum escapes your throat. “Unsurprising. But don’t you think, Logan,” you begin, leaning back into his space, “that maybe fate is what brought us together?”

You have that knowing look in your eye again, a sly smile tugging at your lips. As if you’re in on some cosmic secret he’s not privy to. It unnerves him. 

But it intrigues him, too. 

“I think a broken down car brought us together.”

“Or maybe life decided to be kind to you,” you challenge. “To bring me to you.”

Logan turns into a quiet subdivision as your words rattle around in his brain. The rain has mostly subsided, but is still falling in a gentle drizzle as he pulls up in front of your house, a single porch light illuminated in welcome. It looks small, yet homey, the kind of place he could have seen himself in once if life had been kinder to him. 

“You should come in,” you say as you gather your belongings. “Get out of those wet clothes.”

Your eyes meet his again through the review mirror, a mischievous glint in your gaze and an even more sinful smile on your lips. 

It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone. The thrill of finding a partner for the night having lost its luster around the time his bones started to ache. More often than not, his sexual escapades involve his own calloused hands and memories from when he was a younger man. 

“Think about it,” you offer as you open the door and slip out of the limo. “Door’ll be open.” 

Logan sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, contemplating whether or not to follow you into the house.

Your offer is tantalizing, ripe for the picking, and the baser part of himself wants to accept—follow you into sin. You’ve already injected yourself into his veins, he might as well see the high through. 

The rational part of his brain knows he should leave, throw the limo in reverse and tail it back to the life he’s carved out for himself in the desert. Experience has hardened him, left him unable to, or maybe unwilling to, open himself to others. He doesn’t need whatever it is you think you can offer him, no matter how alluring and sweet your words may be. 

The weight of his wet clothes against his skin begins to feel almost suffocating and with a low curse under his breath, Logan steps from the limo and follows the path you took up the porch and into the house.

A trail of water leads from the front door to a small laundry room just off the foyer and then damp footprints lead deeper into the house. He can hear the low rumble of a dryer as he steps further into the space, the squeak of his shoes against the hardwood doing nothing to hide his approach. 

Logan finds you in the kitchen, lights dimmed low, standing in only a pair of mismatched underwear, the damp fabric barely concealing what’s underneath as you gently swirl a glass of whiskey. A second, untouched glass sits next to your hip on the counter. 

“You seem like a whiskey man,” you say, your smile curving around the glass as you take a slow sip. “Did I get it right?”

Stopping in the doorway, he flexes his hands at his sides, and wills himself to move—forward, backward, he’s not quite sure. The muted light catches along your curves, the damp sheen of your skin enticing, the dark outline of your nipples and curls between your thighs acting like a beacon. Logan can feel himself hardening against his slacks. 

He can smell you—bright and earthy and wholly intoxicating. Your heartbeat echoes in his ears, quick, but steady, betraying no fear. 

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it by now,” you say and he has half a thought to wonder if you can read his mind. 

A sly smile spreads across your face as his eyes finally meet yours, a knowing edge to your expression that further sets him off balance. 

“What’s happenin’ here?” Logan finally rasps, his voice low and rough. 

You give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as you grab the glass next to you and take a step towards him, your movements slow yet deliberate. He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot as you approach him. 

“That’s up to you,” you reply, handing him the glass. “You can get out of those wet clothes and enjoy this whiskey with me, or,” you pause to step closer, “you can walk back out that door and pretend like you weren’t curious about what’s waiting for you here.”

Logan’s fingers grip the glass in his hands just a little too tight as you stare up at him, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary. You’re challenging him, daring him to act, and he knows the minute he breaks, he’s done for. He won’t be able to stop. 

You risk another step closer, leaving barely a breadth of space between you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can smell the rain on your skin, as your closeness overwhelms his senses. He wants to drown in you. 

“What’s it gonna be?” you ask in a whisper, your fingers trailing along the edge of his belt buckle. 

Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin. His free hand moves on instinct, wrapping around your wrist, halting your teasing fingers before they venture any further. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying and threatening to snap.

“You sure this is what you want?” His voice is low, all gravel and grit as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened by a hunger begging to be fed.

Your lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as you press yourself fully against him, soft and warm. Rising up onto the balls of your feet, you drop your gaze to his lips before flicking your eyes back up to his and ghosting your mouth along his jawline. “Stay with me,” you whisper, sliding your hand up his chest. “Just this once.”

Logan’s restraint snaps. The glass tumbles from his hand, shattering against the floor, but neither of you seem to notice. His hand moves to the small of your back, wanting to press you impossibly closer as his lips crash into yours, hot and demanding. 

You respond in kind, a whimper dying in your throat as your fingers tangle in his damp hair, urging him closer. A growl tumbles from his lips as he trails his mouth down your neck, nipping and tasting as he goes, his tongue finding your pulse point and sucking. His hands roam freely, his calloused fingers sliding over your smooth flesh, palming your hips and gripping you as if you’re the only thing grounding him to earth.

He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You’re a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole. 

You gasp as he nips at a spot just below your ear and he smirks against your skin, the sound spurring him on. “Tell me where your room is, or I’m fuckin’ you right here on the table,” he husks, his voice thick with desire, breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips swollen and eyes dark, you reach for his hand and wordlessly lead him past the living room and down the small hallway to your room. Once inside, he pulls you back towards him, mouth slanting back over yours, stealing the very air from your lungs. 

His cock is almost painfully hard as he walks you towards the bed, only pulling his mouth away from yours as your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Instead of sitting back on the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt, easing them open before sliding the fabric from his shoulders. There’s an eagerness to your movements, your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle as he sheds his undershirt and tosses it somewhere behind him. 

Logan watches with a hooded gaze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as you shove his pants down his legs, barely getting them past his knees before you’re reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements and you gaze up at him, licking your lips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We have all night.”

A shiver runs through you and then his mouth is on you again, hungry and all-consuming. He drinks you in like a man parched, lips and teeth mapping the curve of your jaw, the solid edge of your collarbone as your pretty little moans and gasps fill the air. You tilt your head back and offer yourself to him, your hands grasping at his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle to keep him close.

His hands are rough against your skin as he slides them up your sides, tracing the soft, damp skin below the band of your bra. Unfastening the clasps, he trails the fabric down your arms, his eyes darkening as he finally takes in your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice dripping with raw want.

Any final restraint he has evaporates and he kicks the last of his clothes off before tightening his hands around your waist and setting you down on the bed. Logan steals the gasp from your mouth as his body covers yours, easing himself between your thighs and thrusting once against your clothed cunt.

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to wet the skin. “Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.” 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a growl, his teeth bared. A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?”

Logan lets out a deep, guttural sound, something between a growl and a groan before he slots his mouth back over yours and follows you into temptation.  

“Figured you’d try and sneak out.”

Logan whirls around at the sound of your voice, claws slowly unsheathing from between his knuckles. Blood wells up from the wounds, dripping between his fingers as he finds you dressed in an oversized shirt, the hem just concealing the edge of your panties. Your expression belies no fear as you take in the metal jutting out between his skin, your eyes alight with an acceptance he’s not use to. 

Fear, disgust, repulsion, but rarely acceptance. 

Slowly, he retracts his claws as you move further into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to grab and moisten a washcloth before coming to stand in front of him. Logan instinctively pulls away from your touch, but you’re undeterred, taking his hands in yours and wiping the blood away from his skin. Your movements are gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing slits.

Washed of blood, you finally glance up at him. “You can stay, you know.”

“I’m not the stayin’ kind, sweetheart,” he mutters.

One of those slow, knowing smiles tugs at your lips as you release his hands and Logan actually mourns the loss. “We’ll see,” you say with a shrug, stepping back just enough to put space between you. “I don’t think fate is done with us yet.”

Your words hang in the air like smoke, curling around him and pressing into his skin. He wants to argue, the words burning on his tongue, but he doesn’t. Because despite his earlier claims that he didn’t believe in fate, he can’t deny the unnatural pull you have on him. A pull Logan doesn’t necessarily dislike.

At his silence, you lean up and press the faintest of kisses to the corner of his jaw. “I’ll leave the light on for you,” you whisper into his skin.

It’s then he knows—he won’t be able to stay away. 

Logan shows up at your door again two weeks later. 

He’s been driving around some bigwig CEO, chauffeuring him from conference to conference during the day and dropping him off at random hotels during the night. When he gives Logan the address to tonight’s hotel, Logan knows instantly he’s in trouble. Just his luck the hotel is in your town. 

Pulling off the freeway, he feels that familiar tug behind his ribs. His hands itch with the want, the need, to turn the wheel towards you instead of the address on his GPS. Since that night, you’ve haunted him, your face showing up in his dreams, waking with the sensation of your softness burning into his skin. 

Logan knows he could stay at the hotel or sleep in the back of the limo like he’s done so many times before. But as he slowly inhales at his cigar and waits for Mr. CEO to stop fingering his mistress in the back seat and get the fuck out, the need to be near you only grows stronger. 

And damned if he knows why. 

He doesn’t need a relationship, or whatever the hell this is. Enough of him has been spread to others, for better or worse, and he’s already worn thin. The last remnants of any family he has are hanging off a very precarious ledge and he can’t bear the heartache of more loss if he opens himself to you. 

But as much as Logan keeps telling himself he’s closed off, fortified against anything new, he can feel himself bleeding through the cracks. 

By the time he finally turns down your street, it’s well past a respectable visiting hour. Most houses are dark for the night, but not yours. The front porch light illuminates just like it did two weeks ago and the dim lights of the kitchen shine through the pulled blinds. You’re up and a frisson of anticipation shoots through him. 

He parks the limo and stamps out the cigar before walking up your driveway. As he approaches the door, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. While your final words to him were open ended, did that give him the right to just show up in the middle of the night? 

You open the door as he contemplates and when his gaze finally focuses on you, he relaxes. A well worn robe is tied around your waist, your hair tied up in a messy bun, your face cleaned of makeup and yet you’re more alluring to him than you were that night in the rain. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he confesses, stepping just a bit closer towards you. 

A slow, soft smile spreads across your face. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” you reply. You open the door to allow him entrance and he steps in after you. 

Logan follows you into the kitchen, where you already have a glass of whiskey ready for him. Handing him the glass, you nod your head towards the living room. “Come. Relax for a bit.”

He follows you into he living room, the single lamp casting a soft glow within the space. You settle onto the sectional, tucking your legs beneath you and turning yourself towards him as he joins you. For a moment, neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t awkward—it’s comfortable, like it always is around you. 

“You look tired,” you say, finally breaking the quiet. Your voice is soft, a sense of familiarity laced in with your words, as if you understand the magnitude of his fatigue.

Logan huffs as he swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Honey, I’m always tired,” he replies. “Comes with the territory.”

You give a small hum, your head tilting to the side as you assess him. “You’re in pain, too.”

Logan freezes at your words, his eyes flicking up to your face. His gaze locks with yours, sharp and guarded, like you’ve peeled back a layer he wasn’t ready to expose. And yet, you’ve been doing this since the beginning. Finding the cracks in his facade and wedging yourself in until the gap widens, uncovering the raw nerves underneath.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his tone challenging.

You gaze remains steady and calm, holding a softness that unnerves him more than the question itself. “Because it’s written all over you,” you say simply. “I see it in your scars, in the way your hands are always clenched, as if steeling yourself against a blow that’ll never come.”

Logan exhales a low, humorless laugh before taking a long sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. “Don’t even notice it anymore,” he lies, shifting in his seat. 

Your mouth tugs into a gentle frown as you shift, crawling closer to where he sits. You pluck the glass from his fingers, swallowing down the rest of the whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. Logan watches as you swing your legs over his lap, your robe riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of your thighs. 

The weight of you against his lap sends a rush of arousal down his spine and he can feel his cock stir in his slacks. If you notice, you ignore it, instead reaching for a small bottle of lotion on the end table and squeezing a dollop into your palm. You rub your hands together twice before reaching for his right hand. 

Your thumbs dig into the meat of his palm, a low groan slipping from his throat before he can stop himself. You bite your lip, but Logan can see the sly smile beneath. 

“You help take care of everyone else,” you begin, rubbing the lotion further into his calloused palms. “Who helps care for you?”

Logan feels flayed open, that pull that spins him into your orbit only growing stronger as you see down to his very soul. Caliban swore you weren’t a mutant but Logan still couldn’t shake the idea that you were something more. 

“What are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, watching you concentrate on his hand. 

You slide your fingers along the pink, puffy lines between his knuckles, a slow hiss escaping between his teeth as you massage the tender flesh. He wonders if you know how sensitive his skin is now, how each time his claws come out it hurts just a little bit more than the last time. 

“I’m human,” you reply, positioning his hand to focus on the back, tracing the fine scars there. “Same as you.”

“I ain’t human.”

Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand. 

Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where your fingers are resting against him. You touch him like you’re unafraid, undeterred by the metal in his bones and the sometimes primal rage that courses through his blood. His killed—for the sake of war, self preservation, and for reasons not so innocent—but you can somehow still see past that, to some soft part of him that still lingers. 

Logan itches to touch you, to pull you closer and—

“You can touch me,” you say, as if pulling the thought from his head. “I like when you touch me.”

Logan slides his palms up your thighs and around your hips, pulling you flush against his lap, your clothed center pressing against the fly of his slacks. He doesn’t miss the gasp that falls from your lips or the shift of your hips as you try and press closer. 

That thrum of aliveness begins to churn in his veins as he slowly unties the sash of your robe, allowing the fabric to fall to the side. You’re bare underneath and Logan can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the center of your chest. 

“You dress like this jus’ for me?” he asks, dragging his lips towards your breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth, working into a taut peak beneath his tongue.

Your fingers wind themselves into his hair, holding him close. “Yes,” you breathe, a whimper falling from your lips as he moves to your other breast. “Only for you.”

A surge of possessiveness rushes through his veins and Logan can feel the prickle between his knuckles, his claws threatening to unsheathe at the thought of you with another man. Instead, he doubles his focus onto you, his beard scraping against your skin as he licks a hot stripe across your nipple. “Damn right, only for me,” he growls. 

You shift your hips in response, seeking more friction against the hard length of his cock pressing against you. Logan groans, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips, urging you to move against him. The soft, wet heat of your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties and his slacks sets his control on a razors edge. 

Logan leans back slightly to lock eyes with you, your pupils blown wide with want, your skin flushed with desire. You find his gaze, hazy with pleasure, but focused and then you smile at him, bottom lip pinned between your teeth. 

“And you, Logan,” you whisper, your hands sliding down the column of his neck, “you’re only for me.” 

That hook you’ve lodged in him sinks deeper and he’s too far gone to care. The mystery behind your presence in his life is one he’s willing to spend the rest of his days unraveling so long as you stay right here, continuing to bewitch him with the beauty of your soul. 

Your allure was more potent than any pheromone, more intoxicating than any aphrodisiac. In his waking moments, Logan found his thoughts drifting to you more often than not and the frequency between his visits grew shorter and shorter until he found himself lured into your embrace almost every night. 

He was good at lying to himself, writing off these visits as nothing more than comfort—the need to find warmth in a world that so seldom offered him that luxury. But that lie grew bitter, warped in the liminal space between midnight and dawn where you stripped him down to his very bones, saw through the gruff and grit he wrapped himself in. Saw him as something more than the sum of his sins. 

Logan couldn’t hide from you and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Those carefully crafted walls that surrounded him cracked and crumbled, turning to dust at his feet. In that mysterious way of yours, you always knew what he needed—a warm meal; your tender, healing touch as you helped him stitch the worst of his wounds; the soft, pliant feel of your skin on his as you kissed him deep, the kind of kiss that burned like wildfire and whiskey.

God help him as your gravity pulled him in closer, your orbits circling tighter and tighter, destined for an inevitable crash. 

“What am I to you?”

Those five words root him where he stands, flaying him down to his very marrow. Logan should have expected this question, should have known that eventually you’d ask. 

He wants to tell you the truth, speak those words that burn against his tongue, begging to be said.

He wants to tell you of his need to find you when the days are long and the nights are longer. When the weariness he feels in his bones aches more than usual and seems to bleed into his very soul. 

When he needs to feel something more than the hollowness that seems to grow inside his chest. The slow carving away of his humanity that’s been scraping closer and closer to emptiness for years. 

When he needs to be wrapped in warmth and set afire by something almost like love. Like home. 

But he says none of this as he gazes over at you sitting at the kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest. You look small sitting there, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen before. 

And instead, he remains silent, praying you’ll let the conversation slide. But he knows better. 

You glance up at him, your gaze piercing straight through the heart of him and then you devastate him with three simple words. 

“I love you.”

The air punches from his lungs and for a moment it feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Your words tear through him, cutting deeper than any knife, and his hands curl into fists as you slice him open. 

“Don’t,” Logan rasps, his voice rough, barely more than whisper. He avoids your eyes, knowing that if he looks and sees the sincerity in your gaze, it’ll be his undoing. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Your voice cracks with emotion as you push away from the table, your arms wrapping around yourself. “What about those words can’t you hear?”

His jaw clenches and for every step you take closer him, he takes a half step back, as if he’s trying to distance himself from the truth beginning to swirl between you. You can’t love him. Loving someone has brought him nothing but misery and pain, loss and suffering and he’ll be damned if he drags you down that road. 

So, instead he lies, the words bitter in his mouth. 

“This ain’t love, sweatheart,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “This is fuckin’.”

You inhale sharply between your teeth and your expression twists into disbelief, the beginning of tears welling in your eyes. “Fucking?” you bite back, your voice trembling but still firm. “You think after all these months that this is just fucking?”

Logan doesn’t answer. And he doesn’t move. He simply stands there, jaw clenched so tightly he could shatter bones. He can’t say yes. If he does that, if he voices that lie into existence, he’ll have to spend the rest of his days remembering the look in your eyes right now—destroyed. 

Your breath starts to shudder as you continue to step closer towards him. And he can feel you, warm and comforting, even though you shake with barely contained anger. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all this is,” you demand, your voice thick with emotion. “Tell me that when you come to me in the middle of the night, broken down, bloody and bruised, it’s just fucking. Tell me that when I touch you, hold you, love you, that it means nothing.” 

He remain silent. 

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” Your trembling voice matches the shake to your hands, your fury pouring off you in waves. “You really are a coward, aren’t you?”

Logan nostrils flare at the insult and he can feel the prickle of his claws between his knuckles. He knows his rage isn’t with you, but himself. And yet he can still feel his lips curl into a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he growls. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you seethe, your voice now raw, pain bleeding through every syllable. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you lie.”

His jaw clenches impossibly harder and he swears he can taste bone. Then, he finally meets your gaze head on, eyes flashing. “You think this ends well between us? You think I get to have somethin’ like this? Like you?” Logan’s voice cracks in a way that he loathes. “I can’t—”

The crack of your palm against his face is deafening. He barely moves from the impact, but emotionally you’ve landed him on his ass. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, unblinking.

Logan stands there, immobile, as he processes the sting of your slap. It doesn’t hurt, not physically. It’s the fact that you did it, the fact that you’re standing in front of him, chest heaving from the effort of your breathing as if you just ripped yourself open for him.

“Get out of my house,” you seethe, your voice softer than before, deflated.

Your words shouldn’t sting as much as they do. They shouldn’t wreck him and make him feel like he’s been ripped apart limb from limb. He should relish them, the push, the shove. He should revel in the confirmation that you’re finally seeing him for what he truly is—something undeserving of all the warmth and love you’ve given him. A stray animal that never should have been fed.

Logan swallows, his throat tight as he gives you a small nod. And then he does the only thing he knows how to do. 

He turns. And he walks.

His legs feel like lead, each step a feat and his brain is screaming at him to turn around. To fight. To beg. To plead. To say something, anything. 

But he doesn’t.

Logan exits the house, the front door slamming shut behind him. As he steps off the front step, the porch light above him clicks off, plunging the house into darkness. Your guiding light is gone, lost in the storm of his destruction.

Of all the wounds he’s ever taken, of all the scars that mar his skin, nothing has ever bled quite like this.

Charles watches with sharp eyes as Logan enters the old water tank and shuts the door behind him. The older man is in his wheelchair, tending to his plants as Logan walks around the place, picking up random bits of trash and the tray from breakfast. 

A soft “tsk” falls from Charles’ lips and echos in the small space. “Will you ever learn, Logan?” Charles’ voice seems tired, weary. 

Logan pauses and looks over at him, irritation already prickling along his skin. “Stay outta my head,” he snaps, slamming the tray down on a nearby table. 

He doesn’t need this, doesn’t want Charles sifting through his mind, seeing those pieces of you he so deeply cherishes. Pieces he doesn’t deserve. Pieces he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have within his grasp again. 

“She loves you,” Charles continues, seeming to ignore his request. 

Logan strides over to where Charles is sitting, unable to keep the ire from boiling over. He wants to sweep all the plants to the floor, destroy the one creative outlet Charles has, retaliate for the way he presses into the fresh bruises on his mind. “I’m begging you, just—”

Charles lifts the spray bottle beside him and directs the spray in Logan’s face, showering him in a fine mist of water. Logan freezes, water dripping from his face as his lips tighten in a thin line. He grits his teeth, an ache already blooming in his jaw. 

“What the fuck was that for?” he growls. 

“Are you a cat?” Charles asks, lowering the bottle. “No? Then stop being such a pussy.”

Logan stares at Charles, the vulgarity of the of man’s words leaving him temporarily speechless. He scrubs a hand down his face, wiping the rest of the water off with the sleeve of his shirt, scowl deepening. 

“You’re pushin’ it,” Logan warns. 

Charles simply smirks, finally setting the bottle down on the table. “Someone should. God knows you won’t push yourself. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath and steps back from Charles, sitting down on the bed across from him. The old metal springs groan beneath his weight. He wants a bottle of whiskey, to quiet the thoughts in his head, at least temporarily, and fall into a drunken stupor. Anything but flaying open his feelings, especially his feelings about you. 

“What are you so afraid of?” Charles asks gently. “That she’ll see all your broken pieces?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Charles raises his eyebrow. “No? Logan, she’s already seen them. She knows what you are and she’s still here.”

“That’s not the point!” Logan roars, his voice echoing off the metal walls. His breathing comes out in short gasps and he knows he needs to rein himself in. Not only for himself but for Charles. It doesn’t take much to trigger a seizure these days and he doesn’t need the stress of this conversation to become a catalyst. 

Charles remains quiet, expression calm and Logan hangs his head, his voice softening into something raw. “It’s not about what she knows. It’s about who, about what, I am. I don’t deserve her.”

Bracing his elbows on his legs, Charles leans forward, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “She knows all that, Logan. And she chooses you. Every night you come to her, she chooses you. How can you not see that?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but the weight of Charles’ words hang heavy against his shoulders. He looks down at his hands, seeing the callouses and crisscrossing scars. His body is a physical map of violence, each faded pink line a story of pain, regret and death. 

But you’ve never seen them that way. You’ve only ever looked at them with reverence, traced your fingertips along each one and wondered about their stories. Made him feel whole instead of broken and used. 

“You have a choice to make, Logan,” Charles says, interrupting the silence. “Let her in…or keep running. Don’t make her choose for you.” 

For days, Logan’s mind is plagued by replays of his last moments with you and his conversation with Charles. His already sleepless nights are further tormented by dreams of you, the devastated expression on your face haunting him.

The memory of your face, the crack in your usually steadfast voice, the tremor in your hand after you struck him. They all play in a nauseating loop in his brain, punishing him in a way he’s never felt before.

His life reverts to autopilot—drink, fight, drive, but nothing quells the gnawing ache in his chest. He couldn’t stay in the smelting plant with both Caliban and Charles staring at him, watching his every move as if he were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Charles was running out of medications, a few days supply left at most, and Logan knew he was better off leaving Charles in Caliban’s care than his own.

Now, he sits on the edge of a dingy motel bed, the scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his clothes. His eyes are dry and heavy with exhaustion and his skin is itching with that familiar want to be near you. It started as an annoying tug, but has now grown into a maddening want.

He knows he should ignore it. But he was never that strong.

Before he can talk himself out of it, convince himself that this is an astronomically stupid fucking idea, he’s on his feet, keys in hand and driving down those lonely roads towards you.

It’s late when he reaches your house, like it usually is, and he half expects the porch light to remain dark, a cold, bleak reminder of how badly he’s fucked up. Instead, he finds that single porch light illuminated, shining like a beacon of hope. Logan walks up onto the porch, but you don’t open the door like you’ve done so many times before. 

He contemplates leaving, turning around and getting back in the car and drinking himself into a semblance of sleep. But then he hears you, your heartbeat echoing beyond the wooden frame, as steady and as comforting as it’s always been. Logan pauses, wondering if he should try the knob and come inside—if you’ll even let him.

If you even should.

With a sigh, he lowers himself to the ground, his joints aching in protest as he rests his back against the door. “I’m not good at this,” he finally says, hoping you’re listening. “I’ve been alive for too long. Seen too much shit.” Logan pauses, his words burning in his throat. “I’ve lost too many people.”

He hears you shift behind him, your head thudding softly against the door as you listen. His relief is almost palpable knowing you’re there, that you’re at least willing to listen to him. Leaning back, Logan closes his eyes and exhales a heavy breath. “The only way I know how to keep people safe is to push ‘em away. And I need to keep you safe.”

The words feel foreign leaving his mouth, as if they’re uncovering a truth he’s long kept secret. He feels exposed in a way he’s not used to, raw and honest, and the truth of his words burns. Logan can still hear you on the other side of the door, your breathing slow and steady, yet laced with something—hesitation, maybe, or hurt. It makes his chest ache in a new and unfamiliar way. 

“I’m tired,” he continues, his voice softer. “I’m so fuckin’ tired, sweetheart. Tired of fightin’ when all I want—” Logan swallows hard. “All I want is you.”

The porch light hums above him, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets, but the silence that follows is almost deafening. 

Logan doesn’t deserve you, he knows that. You should turn him away, tell him to leave, to kick him back to the desert to lick his wounds alone. He doesn’t know how to be someone’s partner, their lover. He’s not sure if he ever has, really, too hung up on all the ways he paints himself as a bad man. Someone unworthy. 

Except with you, he finds himself wanting to fight. To prove he’s not as hard and unyielding as the metal bones inside him. That somewhere deep inside him there still lingers warmth and affection and the capacity to love. 

He’s bracing himself for the worst when he hears the faint sounds of the lock turning. The door creaks open and he shifts to look up at you. One of your well used blankets is wrapped around your shoulders, your hair tousled from sleep and your eyes are red and wet with unshed tears. Logan’s heart thuds heavily in his chest as you stand there and he turns to face you, pushing up onto his knees. Your expression is carefully masked, betraying little of your underlying emotions, and he carefully crawls forward, testing the waters of how close you’ll let him get.

His knees ache as he kneels on the hard concrete, but he’d crawl through glass if you asked him to. Slowly, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he nuzzles his face into the softness and warmth of your belly. Your comforting scent floods his senses as he waits for your anger, your rejection.

Instead, you sigh, a long pent up breath released in a steady exhale and your fingers sink into the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close to you. “You’re an asshole,” you finally say, though your tone lacks any venom or spite.

Logan feels it then, the tension slowly easing from your body as you allow him to sink further into your frame. His heart lurches his chest, the faintest flicker of hope fluttering against his ribs.

“Yes,” he mumbles into your shirt.

“You hurt me.”

He pulls back as you gently push at his shoulders and sink down to the ground in front of him. But you don’t push him away any further and instead, lace your fingers through his. “I should tell you to fuck off,” you continue, your eyes focused on where you’re touching him. “But I can’t.”

His voice comes out in a whisper. “Why?”

Your eyes meet his and your gaze pierces straight through his soul. “You know why.”

And he does. In truth, he thinks he’s always known, long before you ever spoke those three little words out loud. Words so simple, yet so profound. Words he rarely speaks, while others casually toss them around. Words he has rarely felt, but with you feel as natural as breathing, as the sun rising in east.

Words he’s still afraid to say, despite everything, despite every cell in his body screaming at him.

You look at him like you know, because of course you do. You’ve always known him, in that uncanny way of yours since he first saw you standing in the rain. So instead of ire or disappointment at his lack of response, you simply squeeze his hand, grounding him to your reality. 

“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady. “Not yet.”

Logan looks at you, his brows furrowed. He can’t fathom what he’s done in this life to deserve you, your patience, your unwavering belief in him. “You make it hard not to,” he finally rasps, his voice rough and uneven. “Love you, I mean.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, raw and jagged, much like him. It’s close to what you want to hear, but not quite. And yet he sees something warm and bright blossom on your face. 

You lean in, raising your free hand to lightly trace the curve of his jaw, scratching at the scruff there. “You’re a man of action, Logan,” you say, pressing in closer, your breath mingling with his. “Wanna show me instead?”

This—this is a language he’s fluent in. 

Using his lips, tongue, hands and cock to write on your body all the words he cannot say. He’s mastered your shape, the way your hips curve beneath his palm, the softness of your belly and breasts, the heat between your thighs stoked hotter only by him. He knows exactly where to press, where to nip and suck and tease to elicit all those pretty little moans and gasps of pleasure. 

Logan’s already drawn one orgasm out of you, his fingers still thrusting against you as you ride out your high, your thighs shuddering against his forearm. You’re flushed and breathy as you reach for him, urging him up from between your thighs.  

You pull him close, fingers sinking into his hair as you lick into his mouth, not caring that your slick still stains his beard and lingers against his tongue. He swallows your gasp as he knocks your knees apart and slots himself between your legs, his cock heavy against your belly. 

He wants you. In all the ways he can think of and not just like this, naked and pliant beneath him. He wants your sleepily whispered hellos each morning and your softly murmured goodnights each evening. He wants the warm, weighty press of your body against his as you sit on the couch beside him sipping whiskey. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. 

As his kisses grow more fervent, you grow impatient and push at his chest, urging him back. “Lie back,” you command softly, your breath damp against his lips, “Let me take care of you.”

He wants to protest, deny you this request. This is supposed to be about you, about using his body to show you all the things his words can’t say. He’d spend the whole night between your thighs, using his mouth, tongue and fingers to worship if you’d let him. But there’s something in your gaze that forces him to comply and he gives in, rolling onto his back. 

You straddle his thighs, your slick cunt sliding along the length of his cock. Logan groans and his hands reach for your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he encourages you to move. “This is s’pose to be about you,” he husks as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth. 

“Oh, it is,” you answer, licking your lips as you brace your hands on his chest. “Who else can get you hard and needy beneath them?”

A low growl escapes from his throat. “No one.”

A wicked smile curls at your lips as you drag your heat along him, the blunt head of his cock nudging your clit with every slow, deliberate rock of your hips. The sensation has his control unraveling and he slides his hands along your thighs to palm the curve of your ass. 

You press into his touch, continuing to roll your hips as you lean forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw. “You see,” you murmur, “this is for me.”

Reaching between your bodies, you grasp him in your hand and line him up. Slowly, almost tortuously slow, you sink down on his cock, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. A sharp inhale escapes him as your warm, tight walls surround him and Logan knows this feels different. 

This isn’t merely fucking anymore, the melding of flesh for the pure sake of pleasure, of briefly escaping the nightmare of his life, of finding solace in sin. You’ve somehow managed to bleed yourself into him, to wrap yourself around his heart. 

You feel as if you’re a part of him, lodged deep between his ribs and that if he were to try to remove you, he’d kill himself in the process. A part of him knows this feeling has always been there, back when you first entered his limo. The feeling threatens to choke him, to fill his love soaked lungs until all he can breathe is you. 

He loves you. 

Pure and unfiltered and it terrifies him. 

“I—fuck, I,” he chokes out, the words caught in his throat. “I feel—”

Your hands run over his chest, up along his collarbones, your fingers blazing a trail over his skin. “I know, Logan,” you whisper, your hips rocking languidly against his. 

He grips your thighs, almost tight enough to bruise, helping guide your movements, but also prove to himself you’re real. Logan’s chest heaves as he watches you ride him, your hips rocking harder, faster, dragging moans out of both of you. You lean back just enough to change the angle, driving him deeper and he bucks his hips, meeting your thrusts with a force that has you crying out his name.

And yet it’s not enough. He needs to wrap himself around you, twine his fingers through your hair and hold your mouth to his until he’s completely consumed you. His hands slide up your back towards your waist and he pulls you down against him, mouth hot and insistent against your neck as he continues to fuck up into you. 

In one fluid motion, Logan grips your thighs and flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, cock still sheathed deep within your cunt. You arch beneath him as he sets a brutal, devastating pace, the raw intensity of his movements stealing short, gasps breaths from your lips with each thrust. A shiver ripples through you as he draws a nipple into his mouth, his name tumbling from you like a prayer.

“Fuck, there it is,” he growls. “I love all those little sounds you make.”

His choice of word isn’t lost on either of you and your eyes meet his as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint red crescents as you cling to him. “Logan,” you gasp, your voice trembling as he hits that soft spot deep inside you. “More.”

“You want more?” he rasps, gripping your thighs and pulling them higher around his waist. The new angle has you crying out, the sound echoing in the room as he continues to slam into you with a force that has the bed creaking beneath you.

“Ah, fuck, yes,” you moan, your head tipping back. 

Logan takes advantage of your offering, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin in a way that’s sure to leave a burn come the morning. There’s a possessiveness to his touch, a need to claim you, to prove to you that this is all he needs—your embrace, your warmth, your love.

“You’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he growls against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies and finding where you’re joined. He can feel himself pounding into you, your combined arousal coating his fingers as he finds your clit and begins to rub in tight circles. “So goddamn perfect. You were made for me, sweetheart, you know that?”

Your cunt flutters around him and he knows you’re close, your thrusts against him growing erratic. He feels his own impending release, but he needs you to come first, needs to feel you shatter against him. His fingers press more firmly against your clit and with a breathy moan, your body tenses, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashes into you.

“That’s it,” Logan groans, his own thrusts faltering as he feels you tighten around him, pulling him in deeper. “Look at you, comin’ so pretty for me.” He slows just enough to prolong your release, his thrusts deliberate as he draws out every ounces of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him. 

It’s overwhelming—the sensation of you beneath him, around him; the cling of your fingers to his shoulders; the warm, damp breath against his neck; the absolute perfection of this moment right now. In all his years on this earth, he’s never experienced anything like this. The desire to completely consume someone, body and soul, and be consumed return. He wants his dying breath to be your name.

Something inside of Logan snaps, and as you try and catch your breath as you come down from your high, he presses your legs higher, folding you beneath him in a way that has his cock pressing deeper than before. The change has you whimpering and he looks down to find your expression as wrecked as he feels. He pauses his thrusts just long enough to grasp both your wrists and pin them above your head before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you with an almost ruthless intensity.

“I love you,” he growls, his thrusts growing erratic, his control quickly unraveling with every whimper and cry of his name. “God, I fucking love you.”

For a few moments, he doesn’t even realized what he’s said. Then he looks down at you, your gaze trained on his face and that soft, knowing smile of yours on your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, “I know. I’ve always known.”

Logan lets out a rough, shuddering breath, his entire body trembling with the weight of his confession. Any response he has dies in his throat as he presses his forehead to yours, his entire body wound tight. He’s so fucking close, can feel his orgasm coiling hot and tight in his gut, but it’s more than your warm heat drawing him in—it’s everything. 

“Tell me,” he grits out, his hips chasing, chasing, chasing that release.

You lean up as much as you can with your hands still pinned above you and lick an open mouthed kiss against his lips. “I love you, Logan.”

And that’s all it takes. He groans into your mouth as he finally lets go, his body tensing as his release crashes into him. He spills himself deep inside you, shallowly thrusting into your cunt as his rhythm slows.

Logan releases your hands, and for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing, of heartbeats slowing, the two of you tangled in the aftermath.

Logan’s restless and unable to sleep despite your smaller frame tucked alongside him, the weight of your head resting against his chest. From his periphery, he can see his phone illuminating with unread texts, no doubt from Caliban urging his return. Charles has been deteriorating faster than Logan cares to admit, his mind gone more often than not, raving about new mutants. He needs drugs faster than Logan can procure them.

His mind churns, the reality of the outside world looming closer and he contemplates slipping from your grasp when you shift, curling yourself further into him. You don’t speak, not yet, but he can tell you’re alert, floating somewhere in that space between sleep and full wakefulness. Your fingers start to move of their own accord, the gentle pressure of your fingertips tracing over an old scar along his ribs, mapping out an old battle he no longer remembers. 

Beside him, his phone buzzes again and Logan sighs.

“Sounds important,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

He wants to keep ignoring it, stay wrapped in the quiet cocoon you’ve thrown around him, but Logan knows he can’t. It’s a cruel reminder of the chaos that plagues him beyond the sanctuary of your embrace. 

“You can go to him, Logan,” you continue, fingers never stopping their slow path along his skin. “I know you’ll be back.”

“How,” he starts, licking his dry lips, “how do you always know?”

Logan’s asked versions of this question before. You’ve always brushed him off, given a coy answer and steered the conversation towards something else. For a moment, he thinks tonight will be the same.

But then you answer.

“I can feel you,” you answer softly, your breath warm and damp against his skin. “I just—” You pause and turn to look up at him and then disentangle yourself from his embrace. “Stand up,” you urge, nudging at his side until he complies.

He blinks at you in confusion, but you just smile at him, soft and sleepy, and gently cup the side of his face. “Now, close your eyes.”

Logan does as he’s told, chasing after your touch as you step back from him, settling somewhere beyond him on the bed. “I’m going to move and you tell me where I am.”

The soft rustle of bedsheets follows and then, stillness. You’re quiet, but he can sense you, just off to his right, but too far away to touch. “My right, but farther back in the room.”

You move again, keeping your movements light. Again, he pinpoints you, this time towards his left, closer, but still too far away to grasp. “Left.”

A final movement, this time even closer, your proximity flooding his senses, sending a rush of warmth down his spine. Logan reaches out, finding the curve of your hips, hands tucking underneath the shirt you had slipped on earlier in the night, splaying his palms against your back. He opens his eyes and meets your gaze, alive in the predawn glow.

“How did you know?” you ask, looping your arms around his neck.

Understanding dawns on him, the answer so simple, yet so profound. Pinpointing where you were had nothing to do with his heightened senses and everything to do with just you—the way you’ve molded yourself to him like a second skin. “I could feel you,” he answers. “I could—I just knew.”

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. Logan sighs into your mouth, his eyes fluttering close as you press your forehead to his. “It’s like that,” you whisper. “This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until…there you are.”

His phone continues to buzz, growing more insistent as the soft blues and grays of the morning bleed into more golden hues. With a reluctance you both feel, Logan peels himself away, finally answering the phone with an irritation he doesn’t bother hiding. 

You watch him go, standing on the porch with the light casting a halo around your head. Your smile is gentle, but stained with worry and yet you remain stoic, the steady pillar holding up the fractured remains of his life.

As he drives away, he catches one last look at you in the rearview mirror and he’ll spend the next few months wishing he told you—he feels you too. 

The last one hundred miles have dragged on for eons, the road before him stretching into an almost infinite distance. Logan finds himself darting his eyes towards the dashboard clock, growing increasingly frustrated when the numbers move only a few minutes at a time, the slow passage of time seeming to taunt him. 

It’s been months since he saw you last, though no fault of his own. His memories are hazy—a swirling fog of confusion, pain and burning fever. He’s not even sure how he survived, whether it was modern medicine or sheer stubbornness. Or something more. 

You believe in fate?

Your words echo in his mind, soft and sweet, and he feels a familiar pang of longing in his chest. 

Fate or not, something kept a spark alive in him, pulsing through his veins with each sluggish beat as he slowly and painfully healed. His wounds are still pink and tender to the touch, more of his skin marred by death and destruction. 

As he turns into your subdivision, the night quiet, a cold, creeping anxiety snakes along his spine. What if you’ve given up on him? Figured this last absence was the real deal, all his idle promises of staying away finally coming to fruition. 

But as Logan drives down your street, he sees it—the single porch light illuminating in the night. Acting like the beacon it’s always been, leading him safely to land. 

To you. 

Logan pulls into the driveway and shifts the truck into park. Turning in his seat, he glances back towards the young girl curled up on the backseat. Laura’s face is relaxed in sleep, her hands tucked protectively under her chin. She fell asleep several hours ago, the soft rhythm of the tires against pavement lulling her to sleep. 

Logan’s been many things in his life. Son, brother, fighter, friend. Lover. He never thought he’d add father to that list. While he can’t quite find it in him to call himself that just yet—even though Laura readily and easily calls him dad—he no longer denies the protectiveness he feels towards her.

Easing the door to the truck open, Logan steps out and gently shuts it behind him, loathe to disturb her just yet. 

Here he is showing up at your door like he always has—late, quiet, and carrying a heavy weight he feels only he can shoulder. His hand is poised to knock, knuckles clenched, but he pauses, unsure if he even has the right to be here. 

But then there you are, the front door opening to reveal your tired but relieved face, months of worry etched into your skin, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears. 

“Logan,” you breathe, pulling him gently by the wrist and leading him inside. You don’t ask why he’s there. He suspects you already know. 

The air inside the house is just as he remembers. Warm and inviting and laced with the faint, comforting smell of you. Logan inhales deeply, letting the scent settle somewhere in the parts of him that still feel alive, that thrum with the memory of your touch. 

Your fingers still linger against his wrist and he can feel the heat radiating from your body, but you’re not close enough. And yet, he’s afraid to reach out, pull you into his arms. Afraid of the pity or obligation you’ll feel to comfort him, to allay all his fears.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently cup the side of his face, your nails scratching along his jaw. Logan flinches slightly, his body so used to pain these past months he’s almost forgotten the tenderness of your touch. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes, a ragged breath falling from his lips and his head dips forward. 

“C’mere,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then he slides his arms along your back, pulling you against him. You feel real and solid and alive pressed this close. Never one for overt physical touch, Logan’s surprised by how much he missed this—the simple act of just holding you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, his breath warm and damp against your skin. 

He doesn’t say anything, unsure where to even begin. The weight of his grief, his weariness, feels heavier than any burden he’s ever shouldered before and it’s almost desperate the way he clings to you. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. If you were to let go, he’d fall apart. 

Logan doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the hot trail of tears against his cheeks. You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as you hold him. 

“I couldn’t feel you, Logan,” you whisper into his neck. “Several days of just…nothing. I thought that—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat, but he knows what they are just the same. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your eyes glistening with tears that match the ones rolling down his weathered face. Your expression is marred with pain, raw and unfiltered, but also with a bright flicker of relief. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice rough with emotion. “I got dragged into some bad fuckin’ shit. I almost…we—”

You quiet him with a soft brush of your fingers against his lips. “It’s okay, Logan,” you whisper. “Tell me about it later. I’m just happy you’re home.”

Home. 

Logan gaze softens at your words, but guilt gnaws at him. He doesn’t deserve this—your unwavering faith in him, the patience you’ve shown him, the light you’ve been in his dark, endless nights. But here you are, giving him everything he’s never asked for but so desperately craved. 

“C’mon,” you murmur, dragging him from his thoughts, “Let’s get you settled.”

It’s well past two in the morning by the time Logan finally carries Laura into the house, tucking her comfortably into the guest bedroom. Turning from the bed, he finds you there, leaning against the doorframe. You reach for him, in that soft, gentle way you always do, and lead him into your bedroom. 

He doesn’t protest when you sit him down at the edge of the bed and begin undressing him. Kneeling before him, you unlace his boots and peel off his socks, setting them aside. With a slight press to his knees, you force his legs wider, slotting yourself between them. 

Despite the late hour, the weariness and fatigue tugging at his bones, Logan feels his cock twitch as your fingers brush underneath the hem of his shirt. 

It’s been so long since he’s felt you. 

He dreamt of you, in those fevered moments where he didn’t know where one part of his body began or ended. When his entire existence had been boiled down to raw nerves and sluggishly knitting flesh. Through the haze of pain, he wondered if he’d ever feel your kiss again, feel the frantic press of your fingers into his shoulders, feel the warm, wet heat of your cunt stretching around him. 

You toss the shirt aside and he can feel your gaze lingering over the new scars, the pink, raised lines of flesh that are still healing. With a reverence he’s not worthy of, you trace your fingertips along the three jagged scars from where X-24 had ripped into him. 

“What happened to you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper as you move to trace more of his scars. 

Logan tells you then about Pierce and the Reavers, about Laura and the other mutant children. His throat grows tight as he continues, relaying the loss of Caliban, Charles and the Munsons, and the final confrontation between himself and his clone. 

He tells you how Laura saved him. How her and the other children brought him to safety over the Canadian border. How he spent the next months fighting with every fiber of his being to knit himself whole. 

For you. 

You lean into him as he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries to shove down the memories of everything he’s lost. Your touch is light against his face as you trace the angle of his jaw, and reach up to press the lightest of kisses against his lips. 

Logan exhales into your mouth as you kiss him again, soft and tender and warm. You seem to breathe him in, imbue life into his weary flesh and reignite the spark he’s kept alive for you. 

He wants to do more—to pull you into his arms, to taste you, to fuck into you until he can’t breathe. But exhaustion pulls heavily on his bones, threatening to sink him. 

Logan knows you can feel his hesitancy because you keep kissing him softly, punctuating each press of your lips with whispered reassurance. Your fingers card through his hair as you lean back. “Just let me hold you?” 

Your voice cracks at your request and Logan can only nod, unable to deny you. You help him shuffle out of his pants before coaxing him further into the bed. He moves slowly and he knows you don’t miss the creaking of his joints, the soft groan of discomfort. 

Coming to rest on his side, you tuck into him, throwing a leg over his hips and pulling him close. He sighs into your touch, the weight of the last few months pressing just a little bit less as you press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. 

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper into his skin, soft and damp. 

Logan feels his heart clench at your words. He’s hurt you. He knows that. Not just inadvertently with his most recent disappearance, but all the other times, too. Those times when he ran, afraid of what your words and touch meant. Afraid to accept what you’ve always so freely given. 

His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying across your back. “You kept the light on,” he husks, unable to keep the break out of his voice.”

Your lips quirk into a soft smile. “I always will, Logan.”

[cryptictongues]

Logan is terrified of flying so you fuck him to calm him down making him a Mile High Club member

[cryptictongues]

Deserves more notes let’s be real

Waves and Whiskey

Wordcount: 1.5k

Pairing: 70s Logan Howlett x F!Reader (no use of y/n)

Oneshot: Spending your afternoon with Logan in a beach

Tags: Fluffs, swearing, teasing, established relationship, suggestive content (MDNI)

There's nothing better than waking up to the warm sun peeking through the sheer curtains, casting that amber glow you’ve been yearning for after the long, depressing cold season.

You’ll probably hate the sun in a week, but for now, this is the first morning in months where you wake up to sunlight. You blink a few times, shaking off the sleepiness. The best part? It’s Sunday.

Exhaling, you stay on your stomach, hands clutching the soft fabric of your pillow. The thought of a warm morning already excites you—until you hear that familiar noise. You shift your head to the other side of the bed.

Logan, lying on his back, his pillow too high causing him to snore like a bear.

A sheepish smile tugs at your lips as your second wonder of the morning hits and you couldn’t be more grateful. You always take your time staring at his rugged features, those ridiculous mutton chops, his eyelashes, his nose. The way his muscles relax, his chest rising and falling, bare under the soft morning light.

You shift closer, rolling onto his side, bringing a finger up to trace the thick veins along his bicep. The snoring that would’ve pissed you off in the middle of the night somehow feels more tolerable in a morning like this.

You know exactly how to wake him up, starting with a kiss on his bare shoulder. Your lips trail up to the crook of his neck, sucking at his sensitive skin—not that it ever leaves a mark, no matter how hard you try.

Within minutes, you earn a low grumble from him, but he still refuses to open his eyes.

“Five more minutes,” his hoarse voice greets you as he shifts onto his side, facing you. Undeterred, you continue your kisses, now trailing along his bicep.

“Lo…” you murmur, sucking at his skin. He grumbles a lazy huh.

“Guess what…” You rest your arm on his waist, waiting for his half-hearted response.

He groans in acknowledgment.

“It’s sunny outside,” you whisper in his ear, your breath sending a shiver down his spine. Finally, his eyes crack open, finding your face just inches from his.

He glances at the window, then back at you.

“Fuck the sun,” he mutters, voice deep and laced with sarcasm, his palm sliding to the back of your head, fingers massaging your scalp.

“Ah-ah,” you tease, stroking his beard. “You promised.”

“No…” He shakes his head muttering your name hoarsely, realizing exactly where this is going.

“Yes, you did.” You grin triumphantly. Logan had technically agreed to go to the beach if the weather ever turned nice—not that he had much choice in the matter. A promise is a promise.

“Fuck me…” He groans, shutting his eyes before rolling onto his back, pulling you with him to settle on top of him.

You chuckle, pressing a few more kisses to his chest as an idea forms in your mind.

“I’ll fuck you up this morning,” you whisper playfully, eyes gleaming with mischief, “but then we’re going to the beach.”

Your words caught him by surprise but then he smirks, already knowing where this is going as your kisses trail lower. You can feel the bulge on his boxer starting to grow.

“I guess we have a deal,” he rumbles, keeping steady eye contact as his fingers gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

And the morning keeps getting better as your third wonder of the morning came naturally.

The waves crash against the shore beneath your feet, the breeze making your hair whip uncontrollably to the side, while your sundress flutters with every gust, driving Logan crazy as he chases after you.

With each step, your feet sink into the soft, warm sand, leaving a deep trail momentarily before the sea cleans them spotless. The beach isn’t crowded—just a few distant figures scattered along the shoreline, couples walking hand in hand, some kids chasing seagulls, and an older man sitting on a foldable chair, watching the ocean with a book in his lap.

The scent of saltwater and sun-warmed sand fills the air, mixing with the distant sound of laughter and crashing waves.

You're running fast, arms pumping, laughter bubbling up and stealing the air from your lungs, making it harder to breathe.

Logan is only a few steps behind you. Oh, you’re in trouble.

Just minutes ago, he had been enjoying his walk, a full bottle of whiskey opened in hand, sunglasses perched on his face—a clear sign of how much he despised the sun.

The sun was already dipping low, painting the sky in warm hues of orange and pink, so you couldn’t understand why he was still wearing them.

When you asked, he simply muttered, "Sunset looks better with these on," tapping the brown-tinted aviators—the same ones he always wore.

And you? You had been walking behind his broad shoulders when a mischievous idea formed in your mind. You crept closer, barely an inch away, and then, without thinking of the consequences, you tapped your knee against the back of his.

If only you had known how dangerous that was.

Logan stumbled almost comically, his balance sucking and betraying him. Worst of all—his whiskey tumbled to the sand, spilling more than half of it.

Your laughter burst out uncontrollably as he muttered a string of curses. You moved in front of him, trying to get a good look at his face, but then… he did the thing.

He took off his sunglasses and tossed them to the ground.

That was your cue.

You bolted.

But you didn’t even last two minutes. Logan was fast. Before you knew it, his hands were around your waist, lifting you off your feet as you kicked and squirmed in the air, gasping between soundless laughter.

"Where d’ya think you're goin’, huh?" he growled playfully in your ear.

"It was an accident! I swear—I didn’t mean it!" you giggled, breathless, as his arms slid under your thighs, hoisting you into a bridal carry.

"You’re lucky you’re wearin’ this sundress," he muttered, scanning you from head to toe, voice thick with something unreadable. "So fuckin’ distracting."

You looped your arms around his neck, momentarily fooled by how effortlessly he carried you, how light and gentle his touch felt. If only you knew what wicked plans were running through his mind.

He kept his eyes locked on you, pulling you into that hypnotic stare of his—those perfectly shaped hazel eyes holding you captive. You were so caught up in it, too busy teasing him about how much you knew he liked this sundress, that you didn’t even notice where he was headed.

By the time realization hit, it was too late.

The second the cold water hits your skin, you let out a loud gasp, flailing in Logan’s arms.

"You bastard!" You shove at his chest, but he’s too busy laughing, the deep rumble of it making your frustration even worse.

"You had it comin’, sweetheart," he drawls, holding you tight so you can’t escape.

Your sundress clings to you, dripping wet, and the waves keep knocking you both around. Logan, of course, stands like a damn rock, completely unfazed while you’re barely keeping your balance.

"You think this is funny?" you huff, shoving wet hair out of your face.

He tilts his head, pretending to think. "Yeah, kinda."

You narrow your eyes. "Okay." And before he can react, you cup a handful of seawater and splash it right into his face.

Logan exhales sharply, shaking the water off with an annoyed grunt. "Oh, you’re askin’ for it now."

You don’t even get a chance to run before he grabs you again, pulling you flush against him. His grip is strong, firm, and stupidly warm despite being soaked.

"You good?" he mutters, a little softer this time.

"Yeah," you grumble.

"Good."

Then he leans in and kisses you—quick at first, like he’s making sure you won’t slap him for it. But you kiss him back, gripping his shoulder to steady yourself. The ocean sways around you, but it’s nothing compared to the way your head spins when he deepens the kiss.

The taste of whiskey lingers on his lips, mixing with saltwater and something distinctly Logan. His hand slides up to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your wet hair, and for a moment, you almost forget the whole revenge plan—Until a wave slams into you both, knocking you off balance.

Logan grunts, catching you before you can go under, but the damage is done—he's coughing up seawater between your startled laughs.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Logan grumbles, wiping his face.

You’re dying of laughter, clutching his arm for support. "That’s what you get, dumbass!"

He side-eyes you. "Oh, you think you’re funny."

"I am funny."

He huffs, but there’s amusement in his eyes. "C'mere."

And just like that, he pulls you in again, kissing you hard, like he’s making sure you don’t get any more bright ideas.

You do, of course. But for now, you’ll let him win this round.

[cryptictongues]

Me realizing they will get to fall in love HARD ALL OVER AGAIN

Over and Over Again || DOFP!Logan x Reader

Summary: Logan wakes up in 2023 in a brand new timeline. In this world you're still alive and you're married, but he doesn't remember a thing.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending

wc: 3.5k

a/n: damn bro these song fics keep getting longer and longer lmao. Anyways here is my third instalment of a fic based on “Would You Fall In Love With Me Again” from Epic the Musical. I hope you like this one too! If you wanna read the other two you can find them here and here

Yesterday everything made sense. Yesterday you woke up next to your husband Logan, made coffee, graded a few essays, trained with Logan in the danger room, and then went to dinner. You kissed him good night and turned out the light to go to bed. Today? Your whole fucking life is being flipped upside down.

You knew something was wrong the moment you saw Logan standing barefoot in Charles' office. He had this look on his face. A mix between confusion and grief. A longing in his eyes that just didn't make sense when you had kissed him good morning only a few hours ago.

"You're alive?" Logan says breathlessly, his eyes widening as the words leave his mouth.

Realizing his mistake immediately. But he couldn't help himself. Not when the last memory he had of you was holding you as you died.

"Charles, what's going on?" You asked in a panicked voice. Logan, this Logan, your? Logan, reached out for you but you stepped back. You don't know why but you just did it. Though it's hard to see the hurt in Logan's eyes when you do.

"My dear," Charles says softly, his eyes darting from you to Logan.

"I think you should sit down for this."

You aren't the only one to be called into Charles office. Standing around you was Ororo, Jean, Scott, and Hank. Before you stood Logan with his arms crossed as Charles weaves a wild and frankly impossible story.

This Logan is not the man you knew.

He's from an alternate timeline where the X-Men were being hunted and eradicated, the world being over run by these things called the Sentinels. How everyone in this room was dead in Logan's world. The last chance they had was sending his consciousness back in time to stop the chain of events and according to Charles he had done it. He had saved the world and everyone in this damn mansion. But at the cost of his own memories, his own life in a way.

"Jean, please stay. I want you to help in attempting to get his memories back. The rest of you thank you and please do not tell anyone else about this." Everyone starts to move but you.

You stay seated in your seat, unsure of what to do. Do you go up to him? He's still your husband after all, but is he? You feel his eyes staring into your head as you finally make your move and get up. Walking right up to him.

"Hi, Logan." You say softly.

"Hi." You bite your lip nervously as you try and think of something to say. There's this awkward tension between the two of you. Something you haven't felt since you first met. Though you guess this is technically a first meeting. It's really confusing.

"Logan, shall we begin?" Charles cuts through your thoughts. You don't want to leave, in fact you have a million questions that will pour out once you figure out how to talk to him. But it's going to have to wait.

"I uh...I'll find you after." He mumbles, his hand moves to cup your face but he stops before he can actually touch you.

"Yeah, I'll see you after." You smile awkwardly and gently grab his hand, giving it a small squeeze before leaving. Logan wants so badly to hold on, to tighten his grip and never let you leave his side. But he can't. So he just lets you go.

You waited. Hours passed and you heard nothing from Logan or Jean or Charles. Every hour you'd pass by the office, hearing muffled voices coming from the other side of the door. It was tearing you apart just waiting for them to be done. But that's all you can do.

By the time the sun goes down you give up on waiting for Logan. Slinking to a small corner of the mansion. What if something horrible happened? What if they can't get his memories fixed and he'll never remember what your life was like together. How you met, how you fell in love, how he proposed, your first dance. Did he truly forget it all? You rest your head in your hands as you listen to the grandfather clock tick and tick.

Or...does he remember it all. Does he remember it and regret it? You're dead in his timeline. So what if you two were never meant to be together, what if he remembers both timelines and...he doesn't want you anymore.

You trudge back to your room, wanting to just sleep. Maybe when you wake up tomorrow this will all be some insane dream. Unfortunately you forgot that you share a room with Logan. As you open the door you see him sitting on the bed. A cigar in his hands as he stares out the window. Though he quickly turns around when he hears you.

"Hi, again." He says, snuffing out the cigar.

"Hi." Fuck can you say any other word but hi to his man?

"How did it go with the professor?" You ask, wringing your hands together behind your back. Logan shrugs and the look on his face doesn't give you much hope.

"Not great." You just nod, unsure of what to say next.

"I um, Chuck set up another room for me so...I'm gonna sleep there tonight." Logan winces as he sees your face fall. He doesn't want to be apart from you but it's what's best. He needs to sort out his...well everything. Besides, he's practically a stranger to you now.

"Oh." You squeak out.

"If that's what you want." It's not.

Still Logan just nods his head and stands up, grabbing a few things and silently slipping past you.

"Room 246. I'm in room 246." He tells you, staring at you one last time before leaving you alone in your bedroom.

You sleep like utter shit. You're so used to having Logan by your side that being alone just fucking sucks. You miss him so much. You contemplated going to his room but you didn't think he wanted you there. Logan has another session with Charles in the morning. You only see a glimpse of him before he disappears into the office. You wonder if he feels just as miserable as you do.

The next week is filled with the same tension and unbearable awkwardness. It's like he's a ghost. Only there when you turn around, out of the corner of your eye. You hated it. God it was awful, you longed to be next to him. For him to hold you again, kiss you. You don't even know why he's avoiding you. Logan had always been difficult when it comes to opening up but Logan, your Logan was getting better at it.

It's well into the night and you're still sitting in an empty classroom. You don't really sleep in your bed anymore. It reminds you too much of him. There's a couch near your desk anyways. With Logan in memory recovery you have been covering his classes. You sit in silence as you grade the latest test when you hear heavy boots approaching you.

"It's late," You look up to see Logan leaning against the doorframe.

"I know, but I need to get this done." You gesture to the stack of tests next to you.

"You need to sleep, I've noticed you haven't been doing that much." Your heart skips a beat, has he really been keeping tabs on you like that.

"I'll be okay Logan, really." You say gently. But your answer isn't good enough for him. You watch as he walks over to your desk and grabs half of the tests and a red pen.

"Logan It's fine really," You argue but he doesn't listen.

"What if-" You stop yourself before you finish the question.

"What if my history is different? Don't worry sweetheart I went back to the 70's not the civil war." The nickname rolls of his tongue with ease, he doesn't even realize he said it until he sees you get shy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Logan apologizes, silently kicking himself. He never should have come here. He just. He just really misses you.

"Don't apologize, It's just been a while since you called me that." You try to hide the soft smile by propping a paper up to block your face. Time passes, the only sounds being the scribbling of pens.

"Damn, Was I that bad of a teacher?" He asks as he crosses out a whole paper in red pen. You giggle and Logan looks up, a smile on his face as he hears that sweet sound.

"You're not a bad teacher, you're the favorite actually. Though sometimes you play favorites." You tease, remembering how easy Jubilee could get out of being late just by bringing Logan coffee in the morning.

"Favorites? I doubt that." He snorts, Logan isn't exactly the fresh faced happy go lucky teacher that you bring an apple to. In fact he never considered himself much of a teacher of anything.

"It's true, you're tough on them but they just love you." "That doesn't sound like me." Logan jokes, though he quickly regrets his word choice when he sees your eyes cloud with sadness.

"I..." He sighs, great he fucked this up already.

"It's okay, sorry I just, I'm still getting used to all this." You offer him a small smile but he can see right through it. You're still his wife after all and he knows you.

"How are you? This must be a lot for you." You ask, turning the conversation away from you.

You've been so focused in your own grief that you hadn't given what he must be feeling much thought. You start to feel guilty, I mean this can't be easy for him either. Logan sets the red pen down. Sighing as he runs his hands through his hair.

"I'll be alright sweetheart," He doesn't want you to worry about him.

"Please, talk to me." You reach your hand out.

Your left hand. The one with the wedding band still sitting on your finger. Logan's breath hitches as he recognizes that ring. It's a little worn from the years of wear but he knows it. He bought that ring for you a long time ago.

"I feel like a ghost. I remember my old timeline and Jean and Charles have been able to unlock bits and pieces of this one but it doesn't feel real." He admits.

"Do you regret it? Changing the timeline?" You ask and Logan shakes his head.

"No." Not at all. In fact even with all this confusion he would do it again in a heartbeat. Anything if it means you're alive. You start to ask another question but a yawn cuts through your words.

"Alright, it's bedtime now." Logan says with little room for argument. He gets up and heads to the door but you don't follow. He turns around to see you laying out a blanket on the couch.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You jump at the harshness of his voice.

"I've been sleeping on the couch the last couple nights." You say casually.

Though to Logan it's like a knife to the heart. Not on his watch. You roll your eyes seeing the look on his face, that protective grumpy look.

"It's comfortable and my room is too far, I'm just going to take a short nap. You grumble. You always were stubborn and Logan knows there's no changing your mind.

"Fine." He shuts off the lights and walks over, sitting on the edge of the couch putting a pillow on his lap.

"Logan..."

"Come on, just a nap right?" You're too tired and if you're honest too selfish to pass this up.

To be this close to Logan again is a dream. You settle down with your head in his lap groaning as your head sinks to rest on his big thighs. Logan drapes a blanket over you, his hands coming to rub your back in a gentle soothing motion. It doesn't take long before you're out like a light. Drifting to sleep faster than you have all week.

When you wake up you're not in your classroom anymore. In fact you're in a bed with the covers tucked in and the sunlight streaming through the window.

"Just a nap right?" You mimic in a high pitched voice as you get out of bed. It becomes very clear the moment you spot the clothes in the corner of the room that this isn't your bedroom.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's it is. You take one of the pillows and hug it to your chest. The smell of Logan's cologne wraps around you. Fuck you missed waking up next to him. You gently set the pillow down and swipe one of the shirts sitting on the floor before darting back to your room.

"Good morning sweetheart, sleep well?" Logan asks as you walk into the kitchen.

"Yeah, I haven't slept that well in a couple days." You sigh as he hands you a cup of coffee.

You take a sip and to your surprise it's perfect, just how you like it. Before you can say another word Logan is already gone. The hope in your chest deflating just a little bit. But last night was the closest you've been since he came back. It's a step in the right direction.

It's another week of dancing around each other. You talk more, laugh more. He still sleeps in a separate room but you find yourself spending more time together. It's little things that you notice first. That he still hates pop music and he drinks black coffee. His favorite brand of beer is still Molson. In small ways it's like you have him back. But then you see that he picks the salt and vinegar chips over plain and it all comes crashing down again. How stupid is that? Heartbroken of his favorite chip flavor? But to you it's just a reminder that he is different. But does that even matter?

You find yourself drifting to sleep in your bed this time, holding onto Logan's shirt as a way to soothe you to sleep. But you're quickly pulled from dreamland by a loud knock on your door. It's frantic and quite startling. You throw the covers off and stumble to the door, throwing it open to see who's bothering you so late.

"Logan?" You ask half asleep, rubbing your eyes as you see him standing in front of you. You notice the fearful look in his eyes and it seems to snap you awake. You step aside and let him in.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I just needed to see you." He's tense and his eyes keep darting around the room, like he's waiting for an attack. Seeing you is slowly helping his brain but every time he closes his eyes his nightmare replays in his head. He looks down at his hand and swears he sees blood.

"Logan, come here." You take his hands, covering his palms with yours and guiding him to the bed.

"I don't want to bother you sweetheart," He mumbles, his resolve breaking pretty quickly as he lays his head next to yours.

"Tell me about it, your nightmare." He furrows his brows in confusion, how did you know?

"I know that look." You cup his face and smile. It feels so right to be next to him right now. Logan sighs, his hand covering yours as he just soaks in being next to you. That nightmare felt so real, probably because it was.

"It was the day I lost you. In my timeline."

"The sentinels?" You ask but he shakes his head.

"No you...you died before they were even created. Probably for the best. It was a mission. A simple one that went to shit so quickly." It was all Logan's fault. He woke up every day knowing that if he had been faster, been better. You would still be alive.

"They took advantage of my super senses, they overwhelmed me with noise and smells. I tried to fight through it I really did, but I was too weak." Logan feels you wipe his cheek, a tear he didn't even realize was falling.

"By the time it was over, you were fatally wounded. I held you in my arms. I begged you not to go. Not to leave me but it was too late." Your eyes cloud with tears as Logan tells his story.

The absolute grief in his voice, god how horrible. You don't know what you'd do if Logan died, how you'd even continue on. Yet this man kept fighting, kept saving peoples lives. Even when he wanted to give up and walk away.

That's the Logan you know. He'll always be the hero he never thinks he is. So what if there's a few differences. At his core Logan will always be the man you fell in love with.

"I'm so sorry," You whisper, you crawl onto his chest and hug him tightly.

Your face buried in his neck. He holds you tight. Breathing in the smell of your shampoo. He holds you for a long time before loosening his grip on you. The urge to stay like this forever is strong but there's a nagging in the back of his head. He's over stayed his welcome.

"I should get back to my room." He gently lays you back on the bed and moves to get up.

"What?" You ask in disbelief, scrambling to grab onto his arm.

"Please don't go Logan. Please the last two weeks have been horrible without you. I miss you, I miss my husband." You beg, tears falling down your cheeks.

"Sweetheart I'm not the man you married." He wipes away your tears.

"I miss you too. So fucking much. But it's best I keep my distance."

"Logan please! What do you mean you're not the man I married?!" You grab his shirt and pull him close to you. Logan grabs your wrists firmly but gently.

“You were my guiding light, the only thing that kept me going in the right direction. When I lost you, It felt like I lost myself." He tries to pry your hands off of him but you stand firm.

"I stayed with the team, I fought and killed and maybe they called me a hero. But it was never the same. I lost my way."

"But you saved the world, you're still my hero." Logan just chuckles sadly.

"I didn't give a fuck about the world." He confesses. He did care. Sort of. He knew that he was the X-Men's only hope when he got sent back. But his real motivation, his true motivation was you.

"Sweetheart, I may have saved the world but I did it for you. It’s always you.” He did it for the chance that he could save you, that somehow going back to 1973 would undo everything, that you'd be alive. He would sacrifice everything if it meant you got to live another day.

So when he woke up and saw that it had worked, he had never felt such relief. But the way you looked at him, you were scared. So uncertain. He couldn't just pick you up in his arms and kiss you like he had dreamed of. You were married in this world but he understood that he had essentially replaced the Logan that you knew.

So he kept his distance. The more he learned from Charles the more the other Logan sounded better. This Logan never had to stab Jean or watch his friends die one by one. How could he ever compare? He'd rather you be alive, even if it breaks his heart.

"I love you Logan, I love you so much." The words flood out of your mouth, unstoppable as you finally get the chance to see the truth about Logan.

"You're mine. Always. We belong together. Our love transcends timelines, universes, and all that bullshit."

"Don't you love me?"

"Of course I fucking love you don't you ever doubt that." He snaps.

He pushes you away because he loves you, he doesn't think he's worthy because he loves you so fucking much. He'd kiss the ground you fucking walk on if you asked.

"Then listen to me Logan." You grab his face and smash your lips on his, kissing him desperately.

Logan groans as he wraps his arms around your waist. You fall onto the bed, Logan propping himself up with his elbows. You tug on his hair, messing it up as you comb your fingers through it. You pull apart breathlessly, almost brought to tears from just getting to kiss your husband again.

"You're it for me Logan, forever." You mumble as he rests his forehead against yours.

"I love you too sweetheart, I missed you so much." He cradles your face in his hand, legs interlocked as the sheets become a tangled mess.

"How long has it been since you saw me?" You ask, Logans eyes filling with tears as he listens to your heart beat against his chest.

"Over 50 years." As the moon shines through the window the only thing on both of your minds is how lucky you truly are to have found a love like this.

To be destined to be together in every timeline, every world. It's you and Logan.

[cryptictongues]

OH IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE 😩👆🏼

The actual Valentines sequence was so cute (even with Logan being a horndog, which I MEEEEEAN was very hot 😵‍💫)

Also so glad you mentioned that Stryker and Victor are just dead so nothing bad can ever happen again!!!!!

Love that you were able to turn this into a Valentine’s fic! Thank you for sharing with us!!

Crossfire (logan howlett x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader Word Count: 6.8K Rating: E

Summary: You, a member of Team X, find yourself growing disillusioned with the team's ruthless methods and long for a life of peace and simplicity. You’ve fallen for Logan but fear asking him to leave with you, believing he would choose to stay with his brother.

Warning: origins!logan, mutant reader, friends with benefits / situationship, the fic literally starts with logan fucking you in a bar bathroom (oops), semi-public sex, dirty talk (filthy logan), light oral sex (f – receiving), unprotected p in v, language, flashback and descriptions of explicit smut, descriptions of violence, mutual pining (idiots in love), angst, terrible miscommunication, pet names, flirting, feelings, smutty discussions (and logan always whispering filth in your ear), one tree hill quote

A/N: This is my submission for my own Loveuary Challenge also hosted with @lubdubology. I’m kinda scared to be posting this because I haven’t posted a Logan fic in forever. I swear I’m alive. Thank you to @pedroscurls who pushed me to finish this story (that I started in November) and provided words of encouragement.

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging thots.

+ Logan Howlett / Wolverine Masterlist

Lagos, Nigeria

"Watch how good you look takin’ my cock," Logan ordered, his jaw tightening as he continued to fuck into you from behind and pushed your sensitive breasts into his hands.

The team had found a bar to grab some drinks at; it all happened in a flash. Suddenly, Logan had shoved you into a bathroom, hiking up the hem of your skirt to push your lacy panties down to your ankles. He fell to his knees on the dirty floor and buried his face between your thighs, moaning into your pussy as soon as he tasted you.

"Logan!" you whined with your eyes rolling into the back of your head. He ran over your clit with his nose before continuing to drag his tongue between your folds, licking and sucking at you furiously. It wasn’t even a minute in, and you could feel your orgasm building.

"I—" you threw your head back as he hungrily continued to lap and suck at your hole. "I want you to be inside of me when—I—"

But it was too late; his talented tongue made you come in a matter of moments, as you thrashed around and screamed out his name.

"Good fuckin’ girl, you taste so sweet," he talked you through it with murmured words and continued praise. You shuddered. It had been two weeks since you had last felt him, and while you appreciated that he had made you feel good, you needed to feel the stretch of his cock more.

"Pl—ease, I need you inside of me now,"

He could sense your desperation as he gazed up at you, rising to his feet and turning you around so you would face the mirror. You heard the jingle of his belt and the sound of his jeans being unzipped, and your eyes locked with his in the mirror as he plunged inside your slick cunt, commanding you to watch in the mirror as he took you.

You looked completely insane, watching yourself as he had you completely impaled on his cock. Your mascara had begun to run, leaving dark smudges beneath your eyes, and the corners of your mouth curled into a satisfied smile, while a few strands of your hair were sticking to your forehead. His pace was unrelenting and hard, and he shoved your top up so he could watch your tits jiggle. His hand ran up your back as he grabbed your hair in his hand, pulling you up roughly until your back was flush against his.

He licked your mouth from the side, his hand finding its way to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. You responded instinctively, tilting your head to meet his tongue, tangling messily in between your shared moans. You pulled away, foreheads resting against each other, eyes locked and then he pressed you forward until your hands landed on the bathroom sink. Logan pulled out halfway and then slammed back into you, filling you to the absolute brim, as you choked on your own gasps, your body jolting forward with every devastating thrust.

As you looked into the mirror, his hazel eyes were dark and filled with primal desire while his hands gripped your ass and hips, squeezing hard. His usually sharp, focused brows were slightly furrowed, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Let me hear you, baby. I know you can take it hard," he let out a low groan, leaning in to press his mouth against your shoulder, and you could feel the soft flick of his tongue against your skin.

"Don’t fucking stop—you feel so good. Logan. Please. I need—" your voice broke on the last word, and you could hear the lewd wetness of your pussy filling in the tiny bathroom.

You were so fucking close. Your breathing became erratic, and he could feel it; he always knew when your walls were about to clamp down on him.

"Come on, baby, give it to me," he gritted out through clenched teeth as you rocked your ass against him more. "This tight little pussy feels so fuckin’ perfect," You could tell he was struggling to keep it together.

"Oh fuck!" you cried out, and you gripped the sink with dear life as he continued to slam into you, your vision becoming spotty.

"Come for me right now," he gasped, clenching his eyes shut. You nodded frantically, and suddenly, white-hot stars exploded behind your eyelids as you came with a hoarse cry, barely able to see straight as he fucked you through it. He could feel you constricting tightly on him, which caused his end, and you felt his spend spill inside of you, while hearing a filthy groan escape his lips.

"That’s it, you did so well, so fuckin’ good," he cooed, continuing to pump the last of his release deep into your cunt. Your head fell back on his shoulder as he kissed your neck, taking your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, and tugging at them as you came down from your high.

"Mmhm," you nodded dumbly as he slipped out of you.

"Damn baby, you made me make a mess," he drawled, grabbing a paper towel to clean up your combined releases from between your trembling legs. He shuffled back, tucking himself back into his jeans.

Logan murmured your name as he pulled you in for a quick, yet incredibly delicate kiss on your lips. "I’ll leave first, okay?"

"Okay," you paused, seeming to search for the proper words to say before continuing. "I need to make myself more presentable anyways," you said, ducking your head shyly.

He chuckled softly, then grinned at you, before pulling you in for a searing kiss and stepping out of the bathroom.

As you bent over to pull your panties up, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had to give. The more you and Logan shared intimate moments, the more you craved understanding what it all meant. Maybe Logan didn’t think you were ‘girlfriend’ material. You had just fucked him in some dingy bar bathroom—it wasn’t exactly romantic.

Maybe he would never see you as anything more than just a friend—that he sometimes fucked.

It happened almost a decade ago, when your powers were first discovered.

You were in university, and it was supposed to be just another day in the physics lab. In a moment of distraction, a surge of energy erupted from within you, you felt it before you saw it—a violent tug that pulled everything in the room toward you. Papers flew off desks, glass beakers shattered, and a blinding light engulfed the room. You tried to regain control, to rein in the force that was spiraling out of your grasp, but it was too late—as the world around you erupted in an explosion of glass and metal.

The lab was swallowed by a whirlwind of debris and the high-pitched wail of the alarm piercing through the chaos. Your classmates screamed, ducking for cover as the room was engulfed in flames. The sheer intensity of your abilities was overwhelming, your hands trembling at the realization of what you had accidentally done. The lab was in shambles, the pieces of equipment scattered like fallen leaves.

The story of the 'explosive mutant' had reached the university administration, and they wasted no time in their response.

'Expulsion' they declared, the word hanging in the air like a death sentence. The finality of it was suffocating.

When your parents discovered this, they didn’t let you come back to live with them. They had never been supportive of your powers since you discovered them at 10 years old. They disowned you and it was a decision that felt like a betrayal, a rejection of the child they had raised.

You ended up working at a casino for a couple of years, where you were barely scraping by, counting cards and trying to stay under the radar. One evening, as you were finishing up your shift, your future boss Remy LeBeau approached you with a proposition.

"Angel, you got skills, but this place ain't gonna pay you what you're worth," he said. "I run a club down in the Quarter. We could use someone like you behind the bar. Pays a lot better than this joint, and you won't have to keep looking over your shoulder." His offer was tempting, and the promise of better pay and a bit of stability was hard to resist.

So, you took a leap of faith and joined his strip club—not as a dancer, but as a bartender, pouring drinks for slimy men. You felt protective of the girls and would use your powers to create an invisible barrier that kept the dancers safe from overly eager men. It was a subtle art, a flick of your wrist or a focused thought, and the effect was immediate and disorienting for them.

When Stryker recruited you about six months ago in New Orleans, you knew that he saw you as a piece of ass with a unique mutation. You were just a tool—another weapon in his arsenal, and you were the only woman on the team, so you reluctantly took on the role of the 'seductress' whenever it came to missions. You learned how to distract, how to manipulate, and how to play into the desires of men. But with each interaction, you felt a piece of yourself slip away.

All the men on the team had hit on you except Logan. However, they knew not to mess with you because of your mutation. You had a gravity mutation—you could control gravitational forces, allowing you to increase or decrease gravity in a localized area. You could make others feel crushingly heavy or light, disrupt their movements, or even create gravity wells to trap them.

The first and last time Agent Zero grabbed you inappropriately, you increased the gravity around him, making him feel as if a ton of bricks had suddenly fallen on him. He dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, unable to move. The other men watched in shock as you calmly walked away, leaving Agent Zero struggling under the immense weight.

After that, none of the men ever hit on you again.

Life on Team X was a whirlwind of missions, adrenaline, and constant movement. The nature of your work kept you on the road for weeks at a time, darting from one location to another with hardly a moment to catch your breath.

Sharing cramped quarters in various locations and makeshift camps didn’t really allow time to develop personal relationships, let alone the cultivation of anything resembling intimacy. The men often sought solace in fleeting encounters with women they met along the way—strangers who could provide a momentary distraction. You watched as they engaged in one-night stands and listened as they traded stories.

Logan had always been different from the other men on the team. He carried an air of mystery about him, and while the other men on Team X wore their escapades like badges of honor, Logan remained tight-lipped. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had been fucking other women, but he never spoke about them. It wasn’t that he lacked interest; you’d catch him glancing at women from time to time, his gaze lingering longer than what would be deemed casual. But whenever the topic came up and the men asked him about it, he’d deftly change the subject or offer a sly grin, redirecting the conversation without revealing anything.

You found yourself drawn to him, not just because of his insanely good looks, but because he saw you for who you were—beyond your powers and the persona you were forced to adopt. The others often made crude jokes or pushed boundaries, but Logan never crossed that line with you. He treated you as an equal, a teammate rather than an object.

One day, everything changed between the two of you. It was a mission in Argentina gone awry, the kind that left everyone on edge. Later that night, after the mission had concluded and the adrenaline of the day began to fade, you found yourself back at the makeshift camp. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and sweat, and the distant sound of the city buzzed in the background. The team had dispersed, seeking their own forms of release from the stress, but you remained at the campsite trying to process the day’s chaos.

Logan emerged from the shadows surprising you since you thought he had joined the men at the bar, and as he approached, you could see the sweat glistening on his brow. Your heart raced at the sight of him, and the intensity of his gaze as he locked eyes with you. It was as if you both realized you were alone together for the first time ever.

One thing led to another, and he cupped your face and pressed his lips against yours. You felt a cold drop of rain fall on your cheek as he deepened the kiss. You realized it had started drizzling, and feeling the coolness of the rain mixed with the warmth of his embrace created a sensory overload for you.

Suddenly, the sky burst open with a loud roar, drenching both of you and drowning out any other noises. You both pulled away from the kiss and started laughing. He smiled and took your hand, leading you back to his tent.

You both jumped into the tent, your clothes soaked, and he pulled you effortlessly into his lap. You looked down at him and stroked the scruff on his jaw while you heard the pounding of the rain thudding against the tent. His tongue invaded your mouth, and his hands were rough against your hips. You grabbed fistfuls of his wet locks as his lips moved down your throat. You breathed him in, his skin damp and earthy. The scent of shampoo lingered in his hair, a clean and crisp aroma that mixed with the natural, musky scent that clung to him.

"I don't think I can put into words how badly I want you right now," he murmured. The sensation of the rain pelting against the tent amplified his comment. His hands were everywhere, and a long moan escaped you as he grabbed your ass and leaned forward to bite the bottom of your lip.

Despite the storm raging outside, the inside of the tent felt like a storm had formed as well. You pulled his hot, wet lips back onto yours; his lips parted, and he let out a breathy groan into your mouth as you felt him straining against his pants. Your hands roamed his chest and shoulders, urging him closer as your tongues moved together more intensely. You felt your body ache just from kissing Logan.

You both knew this would change everything. But Logan didn’t hesitate to devour your cunt, taking you apart with his tongue and watching you collapse against his mouth—twice. He didn’t hesitate to bury himself deep inside you, and you didn’t hesitate to tighten hard around him as his release pulsed inside you—the catalyst for your next orgasm—as you whined his name, and he swallowed down your moans.

You went back to your tent before the other men came back and thought it would never happen again. It had clearly just been a release of all the pent-up emotions that had simmered under the surface.

But, whenever, you and Logan would find yourselves completely alone. It would lead to raw, passionate, and immaculate sex. And— you two simply never discussed it.

As the days turned into weeks, you both maintained a façade around the rest of the team. Whether it was sharing a meal in silence or exchanging knowing glances across a crowded room. But, in the quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, the barriers broke down. You would steal kisses and share whispered secrets under the stars, and it felt like a slice of normalcy in a life filled with chaos.

One evening, in a desolate part of Brazil, you and Logan found yourselves once again alone.

"Do you ever think about leaving?" you asked, as you sat cross-legged across from him. The fire crackled, and you could see the lines of worry etched on his face.

"What d’you mean?" Logan replied, his brow furrowed, arms crossed over his chest. He was always so guarded; it was hard to read him.  

"I mean… this life. Team X. Stryker," you said. "It’s chaotic. Dangerous. And we’re just playing with fire."

Logan shifted, his gaze intense as he leaned closer. "Y’think I don’t know that? I’ve seen what this life does to people. Hell, I’ve lived it." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration seeping into his tone. “But it’s all I know. It’s all I’ve ever known."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in the space between you. "I get it," you replied. "But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with it,"

He sighed, frustration flickering across his face. "I’m not okay with it either,"

Your heart raced as you weighed your next words, the unasked question clawing at your throat like a caged animal, desperate to be free.

You wanted to ask him if he would ever leave with you, to find something normal, something that felt real. But the fear gripped you tightly, a cold fist around your heart. What if he didn’t want that?

"Yeah," you murmured.

Logan's gaze softened, the firelight flickering shadows across his features. He leaned back slightly, the tension in his body easing just a fraction as he spoke. "If I did leave… I’d probably head up to the middle of nowhere," he said, his voice low and reflective, as if he were painting a picture only he could see. "Somewhere fuckin’ remote, away from everythin’…"

Your breath caught in your throat, the idea taking shape in your mind like a vivid dream. You could almost feel the crisp mountain air and hear the gentle rustle of trees swaying in the wind. Logan continued. "I’d find a cabin. Just be in the wilderness and shit. And just… enjoy the quiet."

You could sense the deep yearning in his voice, a longing for solace that mirrored your own. "That sounds… beautiful," You leaned forward, your chest pounding as you let the question slip out before you could second-guess yourself. "What’s stopping you?"

His gaze snapped back to you, sharp and searching. "It’s not that simple. I’ve been fightin’ for so long, I don’t think I know what peace looks like anymore."

He was quiet for a moment. "There are also things I can’t just leave behind. People…" His voice trailed off.

"Victor?" you ventured cautiously, knowing the complicated relationship he shared with his brother.

Logan sighed, running a hand over his face. "Yeah,"

You wanted to tell him that you would join him, but you were scared. A wave of fear washed over you. The fear of being hurt or rejected, and the fear of losing yourself in the intensity of your own emotions.

Logan’s expression shifted, uncertainty battling with something that resembled desire. He reached out and took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "You’re so beautiful,"

You wanted to roll your eyes, scoff, or say something sarcastic, but you decided to accept the compliment. Because in this moment, you did feel beautiful, all thanks to him.

So, instead, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

And what you didn’t know at the time was that Logan meant you when he said he couldn’t leave people behind.

Logan stood listening intently as the briefing unfolded. Stryker’s voice droned on, outlining their next mission at the Diamond Facility like it was just another day at the office. But Logan knew better. He was tired of this life—the brutal missions, the high stakes—but more than that, he was weary of the people around him… including his own brother.

Victor's reckless abandon, fueled by a twisted sense of fun, constantly put everyone at risk. He thrived in the chaos, feeding off the violence like a parasite. It was unsettling to watch, especially when Victor's antics often came at the expense of others—innocents caught in the crossfire. Logan had always had a code, a sense of right and wrong that kept him grounded, but Victor and half the team didn’t seem to care.

This didn’t feel like a team—it just felt like a collection of broken pieces, each one more flawed than the last.

But then there was you.

You were different. You brought a lightness to his life that he hadn't realized he craved. You had a kindness that was refreshing in a world full of cruelty, and you understood the weight of your powers and the consequences they held.

As the conversation shifted to the mission, Logan felt a knot tightening in his gut. He could see the flickering holographic images of the Diamond Facility that was in an isolated valley.

"We go tomorrow," Stryker said, his tone flat. "There are villagers who are withholding information. If they don’t cooperate, we kill them."

Logan watched you take a deep breath, steeling yourself before speaking up. "Wait a minute," you said, challenging Stryker. "Killing innocent villagers isn’t what we signed up for. We can’t just… execute them for information. It’s wrong."

Agent Zero, leaning casually against the wall, scoffed. "What’s the matter, princess? This is the job. Besides, they’re just collateral damage."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you shot back. "These are people, not fucking pawns on a chessboard. We’re not just some mercenaries for hire."

Wade leaned forward, his trademark grin fading. "Look, I get it. But sometimes, you’ve gotta make tough calls. It’s about the mission, babe,"

"It’s about the mission?" you echoed incredulously. "What about our conscience Wade?"

The back-and-forth continued, voices rising and falling as doubt crept into the conversation. Logan felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He watched as John, Fred, and Chris chimed in, each wrestling with their own moral compasses, caught between Stryker’s orders and your plea.

Stryker’s voice cut through the rising tension. "This isn’t up for discussion. You’ll follow orders, or you’ll face the consequences. You all know what I expect from you."

"But this isn’t right," you insisted.

Victor rolled his eyes. "You need to get your head in the game. This isn’t a fairy tale,"

Logan stepped forward, "Maybe it’s not a fairy tale, but it doesn’t have to be a nightmare either," His jaw tightened as he recalled the latest mission. The way Victor had tortured their enemy for information, the screams echoing in the alleyway—it was a sound that haunted Logan even now. He had stepped in to stop it, to remind Victor that they weren't animals, but it felt like he was shouting into a void.

"Look, Stryker," Logan began, his voice low but firm, "we can’t just steamroll over innocent lives because it’s convenient for us. There has to be another way. We can get the information we need without resortin’ to killin’ people."

Stryker’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Logan with irritation. "You’re a soldier, and you will follow orders."

"Maybe I’m tired of bein’ a fuckin’ soldier," Logan shot back, feeling the weight of his own frustration boil to the surface. "You think just because we have these mutations, we can play God?"

Agent Zero smirked, crossing his arms. "You’re sounding a lot like her, Logan. What’s next? You want to start a support group for these villagers? Maybe sing them a lullaby?"

Stryker’s jaw tightened. "Enough. You’re all going to the Diamond Facility tomorrow and you’ll do what needs to be done. That’s an order,"

The silence that followed was heavy, and he could feel the weight of his teammates’ uncertainty.

The world you lived in was anything but normal. Team X had its own set of rules and expectations, and the deeper Logan fell for you, the more he realized how much he had to lose.

As Logan stepped inside your tent later that night, he was met with an unexpected sight.

You were packing your things.

His stomach sank as he took in sight of you hurriedly stuffing clothes into your duffel bag, the fabric crumpling under your hurried movements. The flickering light from the small lantern cast shadows on your face, accentuating the tightness around your eyes, the way your brow was furrowed in concentration. He could feel an unsettling sense of dread creeping into his chest.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and cautious, as if he were approaching a wild animal. "What’s goin’ on?"

You paused, glancing up at him, and for a brief moment, the world outside the tent faded away. In that instant, he saw the conflict swirling in your eyes, the vulnerability that lay beneath your bravado. But then, you turned back to your packing, and his heart raced, sensing that something was deeply wrong.

"I’m leaving, Logan,"

"What d'you mean, leavin’?" he asked, trying to process the gravity of what you were saying. "You can’t just—"

"I can’t stay here anymore," you cut him off.

Logan felt a rush of emotions crash over him. The tent felt smaller, the air heavier, the shadows deeper. You were leaving?

"Wait. You can’t just leave. Not like this."

You paused, turning to face him fully. "Come with me. Let’s just get the hell out of here."

He shook his head, the words catching in his throat. "I can’t. I can’t just leave." He watched as your expression shifted, frustration flaring in your eyes.

"Why not?" you pressed, crossing your arms defensively, your stance challenging. “What’s stopping you?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, ready to spit out a dozen excuses, but the truth was, he didn’t have a good enough reason. The excuses rose to the surface, but they felt flimsy against the backdrop of your conviction. He thought of Victor, of Stryker, of the missions that had become his life. But none of it mattered in this moment.

"Cause’…" he began, but the words fell flat. He could see the disappointment in your eyes, the way your shoulders tensed, and it only made it worse.

“Because you’re a fucking coward,” you shot back, your voice sharp and cutting, slicing through the air between you.

"Coward?" he spat, incredulity mingling with anger. "You think I’m the coward here? You’re the one runnin’ away, leavin’ your team hangin’ when we’ve got a mission to fulfill! You can’t just pack up and fuckin’ bail because it’s gettin’ too tough for you."

"I’m not running away! I’m saving myself. I don’t want to be trapped in this cycle, Logan,"

Logan swallowed hard, his throat dry. "And you think leavin’ is going to change that? You think walkin’ away will make it all go away?"

You scoffed, your eyes blazing. "Staying here, fighting for a cause that doesn’t give a shit about me? Killing innocent people? No fucking thanks. I want to live, Logan. I want more than this."

"And what? You think you’ll find a better life out there? You think it’ll just be fuckin’ sunshine and rainbows, princess?" His voice rose, anger flaring.

He had never called you that before. He knew you hated it when the other men call you that.

"I don’t know! But I won’t find it here!" your voice breaking slightly.

His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. "And what bout’ us? You gonna throw everythin' away? All the shit we’ve been through? Just walk away and pretend it never happened? I thought we were friends."

Logan had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, never allowed anyone to breach the walls he had so carefully constructed around himself. But standing there, watching you pack your life away, he felt those walls begin to crack. The truth was, he didn’t want to admit that the person he was fighting for was you. You had become more than just a teammate.

"Us?" you echoed, the word heavy with unsaid implications.  "I’m just the girl you fuck sometimes to pass the time."

Logan felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut, a visceral reaction that stemmed from a deep-seated frustration.

You looked away. "That’s what this was right? It was just sex,"

Logan felt a surge of anger bubble up inside him, but it was laced with a deep sense of hurt that he couldn’t quite shake off. He felt reduced to nothing more than a fleeting indulgence. He wanted to shout, to make you understand how much you meant to him—for more than just physical comfort. But the words stuck in his throat.

"Yeah, that’s just what this was," he replied bitterly, each word feeling like gravel in his throat. It was as if he were trying to convince himself more than you.

You flinched at his tone, the sharpness of it cutting deeper than he intended. He saw the way your shoulders slumped for a brief moment.

"You’re choosing to stay, Logan. You’re choosing this life. I’m just choosing to not be a part of it anymore."

As you zipped up the last of your belongings, Logan felt an ache in his chest, a desperate longing to reach out and pull you back. But he feared that if he did, he would only prove your point—that he was just another part of the cycle you were trying to escape.

Logan’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face coiling like springs. "I’m not gonna chase after you,"

“I never thought you would,” you said as the words slipped from your lips, tears spilling over, tracing silent paths down your cheeks.

As you moved past him and left your tent, Logan felt a piece of himself slip away, knowing he was letting you go for the sake of your own freedom—even if it meant shattering his own heart in the process.

3 Years Later – Canadian Rockies, Alberta

Colorful decorations adorned the walls—paper hearts and streamers crafted by your students added a festive touch to the otherwise ordinary space. As the day progressed, you noticed the usual chatter was punctuated by giggles and the rustling of paper bags filled with sweet treats. You were pleasantly surprised to find a small pile of candy grams waiting for you when you walked into class today. Each one was a colorful note adorned with stickers and heartfelt messages, reminding you of the appreciation your students had for you. You couldn’t wait to read them.

'Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same' was written on your chalkboard. Towards the end of class, you turned to your students, who were a mix of eager and disinterested faces, and posed the question, "What do you think this means?"

Your class had just finished reading the most recent chapter assigned for Wuthering Heights. A hand shot up from the back of the room. "When Catherine says this, I think it’s about finding someone who understands you, right? Like, two people who just click on a deeper level?"

"Exactly," you replied, nodding. "It suggests a connection that goes beyond the surface. It’s about shared experiences, emotions, and even struggles,"

Another student chimed in, "But what if those souls are different? Like, how can two people be the same if they have different backgrounds or personalities?"

"That’s a great point," you said, leaning against the desk. "It doesn’t mean they’re identical; it means they resonate with each other. Sometimes, two people can be completely different but still feel a profound connection,”

One girl in the front row raised her hand, "So, like, being connected on a spiritual level? Like, you just feel it?"

"Sure, something like that," you replied, feeling a warmth spread through you. "It’s that unexplainable bond that can exist between people—friends, family, or even romantic partners. It’s a sense of familiarity and understanding that transcends words."

The lunch bell rang, signaling the end of class. "Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!" you called out cheerfully, watching as they gathered their things and exchanged giggles and good wishes. Some were already discussing their plans for the day, while others eagerly showed off their homemade cards and treats.

Just as you were about to tidy up the classroom, one of your students, a shy boy named Liam, approached you. He hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushed, before pulling a handmade card from his backpack.

"I, um, made this for you," he stammered, looking down at his feet. "I hope you have a nice day."

As Liam handed you the card, his cheeks turned a vibrant shade of crimson, and he quickly shuffled out of the classroom, mumbling a shy "Happy Valentine’s Day!" over his shoulder before darting through the door.

As you turned around to read Liam's card, you felt a light pressure against your back. Someone wrapped their arms around your waist, hooking their chin over your shoulder, and you could feel the warmth of their body against yours.

"Sounds like you got a secret admirer," a teasing voice chimed in, playful and slightly laced with jealousy.

"Just some sweet notes from my students for Valentine’s Day. It’s nothing,"

"Nothin’? C’mon, admit it. You love all that mushy stuff."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Maybe a little. It’s sweet. I never got stuff like this in high school from anyone,"

"Sweet, huh? You know what else is sweet?” you felt hands grip your ass to pull you as close as possible. "When that pretty little pussy was sittin’ on my face this mornin'..."

"Logan!" you shrieked at his vulgar words and turned around to playfully slap his chest.

It had taken Logan about thirty minutes after you had left the tent to realize that he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life if he didn’t come after you. The night air was thick with the scent of pine and earth as Logan moved quickly through the shadows, his instincts guiding him like a compass. He followed the trail of your scent, an invisible thread that pulled him closer.

As he caught up with you, you had turned, surprise flickering across your features before it melted into something deeper.

Logan cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek. The intensity in his gaze spoke volumes, the unspoken words lingering in the air. He leaned in, capturing your lips with his, a kiss that held the weight of all the things left unsaid.

When you finally pulled apart, the look in his eyes was fierce and tender all at once—a vow that transcended words. You felt the warmth of his palm slide into yours, fingers intertwining like roots growing together, and a new path unfolded before you. Together, you stepped forward into the unknown.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months as you travelled the world together. Each destination was a chapter in a story that felt like it had been waiting to be written. In the canyons of Petra, Logan whispered those three precious words in your ear for the first time—and fed you his cock beneath the vast expanse of stars.

You both learned that over the years, Team X had slowly been killed off. Including Victor. And apparently, Stryker had died in some bad mutant facility experimentation gone wrong.

You finally felt safe. So, eventually, the allure of a quieter life called to you, and you found yourselves drawn to a quaint town in Alberta. The cabin you chose felt like a piece of the dream you had both imagined—a sanctuary nestled among towering trees, where the air was fresh and the pace was gentle. The walls of your cabin bore witness to quiet mornings, shared meals, and the comfort of just being together. You had found a rhythm in teaching and Logan had found steady work at the lumberyard.

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Didn’t hear you complainin’ much," his lips slotted over yours urgently. “In fact, you were beggin’ for it… and makin’ a mess all over my cock."

You carded your fingers through his hair and pulled your lips from his to sprinkle kisses down his jaw. You loved it when Logan stopped by randomly in the middle of the workday to say a quick hello—or do other things in the privacy of your classroom.

Logan cleared his throat. "So, I know originally we were gonna cook at home… but I actually booked a reservation someplace outside of town,"

Your eyes widened. "You’re trying to celebrate Valentine’s Day?"

He scoffed, a low rumble in his chest. "No, I’m just tryna eat some damn good food," his trademark scowl firmly in place. "and it happens to be on this commercialized fuckin’ day," he grumbled, fighting against the urge to admit how much he enjoyed having you as his Valentine year after year.

You gave him a fake pout. "That’s too bad. I was going to try and wear something special underneath the new dress I bought for tonight, but I guess, I won’t."

You always bought these sexy little numbers for this silly holiday. Last year it was some purple, lacy lingerie outfit that was basically see through. Your perfect breasts and your pretty pussy had been available for his eyes to devour. The outfit had lasted approximately three minutes before he ripped it off with his claws. So maybe he did like this holiday.

"Oh, you’re gonna play it like that, huh?" he grumbled, his voice a low growl, though it lacked the bite he usually intended.

You shrugged biting your bottom lip.

"You keep tauntin’ me, and I might just have to take you right here," he said through gritted teeth, grabbing your jaw. You whimpered when his mouth crashed down on yours, slipping his tongue past your teeth, and your fingers tightening around his neck.

"Missed you," you managed to whisper between kisses. You felt crazy saying that—you had seen him a few hours ago. It was only noon.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, and you could see the way his pupils dilated. "Missed you too," he murmured, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips.

"Logan, did you ever imagine that this would be your life?" you suddenly asked, almost sounding drunk. He had that effect on you. "Planning to go to a Valentines Day dinner?" you added with a shit-eating grin.

He paused, letting the question sink in, but not before rolling his eyes at you. "Honestly? No." He shook his head. “But I’m glad it is. You, me, our life here—it’s everything I didn’t know I needed. You've shown me what peace looks like, sweetheart,”

Things had changed so much in just a few years. It was all a far cry from the chaos that used to define him. But you were the one constant in this new life, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Tears began to cloud your vision, and he pulled you in for a tender kiss.

"Hey," he murmured against your lips, "I almost forgot."

You raised an eyebrow, curious.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope, its edges slightly crumpled from being tucked away. "Here," he said, extending it towards you. "Somethin’ for you. You can add it to your little collection on your desk,"

"My collection?"

"Yeah, all those sappy notes from your students and whatnot,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "Thought you’d appreciate another one."

"You wrote me a note?" you asked, as you carefully grabbed the envelope.

He grunted softly, his arms encircling you. "Yeah, well, don’t go makin’ a big deal out of it,"

Just as you were about to open the envelope, a soft knock echoed through the classroom. You exchanged a glance with Logan, who raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of playful annoyance at the interruption.

"Come in!" you called.

The door creaked open, revealing a student standing in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Howlett," the student stammered, their gaze darting between you and Logan. "I didn’t realize you weren’t alone. I just wanted to talk to you about PSAT prep quickly."

Logan shot you a knowing look, his lips curling into a sly grin. "That’s okay," he replied smoothly, his tone casual. "I was just bout’ to head back to work anyway." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your wedding ring, before pulling away.

You kissed his cheek and quickly redirected your focus to the student. "No problem at all! We can talk about that right now. What do you need help with?"

As the student stepped further into the room, Logan shot you a wink before slipping out the door.

That night when your husband picked you up for your date—you two were late for dinner. You gave Logan a sneak peek of what was underneath your dress. His note had gotten you hot and bothered…

A/N: I thought I would borrow a few words from Shakespeare. 'Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.' Baby, I’m terrible with words. But, I hope you know that my feelings for you are unwavering. You are my refuge, my strength, and my reason to keep fighting. No matter what changes may come our way, my love for you remains steadfast. -Logan

No pressure tagging folks that signed up for Loveuary / some moots / origins!logan girlies: @princessanglophile. @flowersforbucky. @slushycoookie. @buck-star. @rosenclaws. @themareverine. @mcrdvcks.  @eupheme. @lostinlovingrevery. @hellfire10005. @logaenhowlett. @eloquentlytired. @cryptictongues. @logansbaby. @healmydesires. @pandapetals. @steviebbboi. @coocoocachewgotscrewed. @crownofdecitreadingrespectfully. @sidkneeeee @absxntmxnded. @cyberdva. @retrosabers. @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes. @marvlstark. @mina2000alex. @coffeecigsandcommentary. @pastelpinkflowerlife. @tomhockstetter7-111. @my-mind-is-incognito. @silversprings-mp3. @mostly-marvel-musings. @unlikeable-female-character. @marshmallowmusing. @sleepycevans. @lostinlovingrevery. @lostfleurs. @shybluebirdninja. @undeadfly. @gallifreyansass. @moonpascaltoo. @starabellaa. @1800-fight-me. @thevoicefromanotherworld. @hauntingoldhouses. @frenchie-simone. @abschaffer2. @batson-thebrain.

[cryptictongues]

Manifesting a Valentine

pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader rating: PG-13 (mildly) word count: 2.6K summary: You wonder what Logan is to you. Whitney Houston manifests that answer for you. warnings: this is just straight up fluff, gender-neutral reader, kissing

This is my piece for the Loveuary Writing Challenge created by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt, which was a wonderful thing they both set up. I got assigned 2000s Logan with the song 'I Will Always Love You' by Whitney Houston. I had a lot of fun writing this, especially since I took a different approach to it. All I will say is my inspiration was this video right here.

Enjoy!

Please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog’s content is NSFW.

[AO3 link]

There is dust dancing in the air, swirling in the fumes of disinfectant. They float and falter, only to seemingly disintegrate as they hit the wooden floor. There are piles of clothes, some in need of folding and some waiting to take a ride in the washing machine. Papers and books are pushed into a corner, waiting to return as you organize your writing utensils and silly trinkets.

You need to stop pushing off the task of cleaning your room, but it can’t be helped. Juggling being a teacher to a multitude of students and going on missions for Charles as an X-Man, your free time is slim to none. By the time the day is over, all you want to do is flop onto your bed and sleep until morning breaks. The idea of being more productive than you already were was exhausting to think about.

Yet here you are on a Friday evening, Walkman blasting music into your headphones as you run the rag across your desk, the wood sparkling from cleaner that smelled of citrus. 

A hodgepodge of tunes played one after the other as the CD spun, all being love songs for the season of February. Some were simply romantic and joyous, while others played the melancholiest of sounds. It didn’t matter what kind of love song it was; you loved them all.

Valentine's Day was always a holiday you adored. Growing up, your family would always use it as an excuse to get together. While it has always been viewed as a time for romance, your family saw it as a time to celebrate the familial side of love. It created a cherished feeling for the season, especially with having a family that loved you no matter what. Even when all you saw was romance, your heart was happy.

At least, that was the case until a certain man came into the forefront of your existence.

Logan Howlett was something else. The first time you saw him, he was walking down the hall with the Professor getting the grand tour. You didn’t think someone could look so attractive in a jacket with the school emblem on it, but damn. The skin that pulled against his exposed collar bones made you want to sink your teeth into him. 

It started as a small crush for a while. Even as an adult, you’ve always been fairly reserved around people unfamiliar to you. So, like a fly on the wall, you would look from afar, studying him closely. You would drink him in as he made himself more comfortable and it wasn’t until you accidentally made eye contact with him that your lives started to tightly intertwine.

You could feel your face heat up as you thought about how close you two have gotten. You wouldn’t say the two of you are inseparable, but it’s pretty damn close. Every time you come back from an errand, he is there waiting for you. Every morning, he is waiting for you in the kitchen to have breakfast together. Most evenings after the school day is done, he is meeting with you in your room to enjoy his cigar while you wind down with your secret stash of wine. It's become apparent to you that you are his go to, and it would be a lie to say he isn’t yours as well. You enjoy his company, which has transformed your feelings into something far greater.

You wouldn’t know what to call your relationship with him. You know it’s nothing super serious, but you feel the potential for it to be. You see how different he is with you; how his crass attitude seems to change into something much more sincere and open. You think he is much like you; the more he opens up, the more he shows he cares. Even so, you aren’t sure he would allow himself to indulge in the idea of belonging to someone. 

The thought alone dampers your mood slightly, causing your shoulders to sag slightly. As much as you love this time of the year, having Logan so close yet not quite in your grasp makes your heart crazed. You crave his companionship, and oh what you wouldn’t give to have it. 

You wonder if he has Valentine's Day plans but knowing him you highly doubt it. You’d bet money that he doesn't even know the 14th is tomorrow, the days and months meshing together. Maybe you’ll do something for him anyways, like buy him some quality cigars or good whiskey to hide with your stash of alcohol. Maybe you could run out tonight and grab something. 

In the midst of your thoughts, you hear Whitney Houston’s rich voice travel through your ears, causing you to perk up.

“Oh yes!” You whisper with excitement. “I haven’t heard this song in a while.” 

You twirl over to your door, cracking it to help air out the fumes of disinfectant and wood polish. You grab the broom and start to sweep, humming along to the song until it’s too hard to resist opening your mouth.

“And IIIIIII will always love youuuuu,” you sing out, enunciating Whitney’s range as you brush away the remnants of dust and junk that found itself stranded on the floor. 

There was something about this song that always drew you in. It’s a love song, yet it’s bittersweet. It’s a song that truly encapsulates loving someone so much that you must set them free. Maybe you love it because it’s a way for you to empathize, or it’s preparing you for the day you may have to let someone go with love. A small part of your mind wonders if you are already doing that with Logan, but it quickly vanishes; it’s just you and Whitney.

You can’t help but sing into the broom, dancing in circles that slightly scatter your dust bunny piles, but you could care less. When the sax solo plays, you hold the broom up front with fingers moving sporadically along the wooden handle. You make noises trying to replicate the sound of the alto, dipping back and forth recreating movements you’ve seen saxophone players make. You’re in the zone now; immersed in a dream as you sing along without a care in the world. Little did you know, there was someone watching you from your door.

Soon enough, you find yourself on your bed, broom being held like a mic stand, dipping down into a low bow before the climax of the song hits. You take a deep breath, preparing to unleash the iconic phrase and pitch from past your lips.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII EEEEEEE IIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOOOUUUUU,” your back goes back in an arch, lungs working overtime as air rushes out. You can’t hear yourself, and you know rather than the beautiful sound of Whitney Houston, you probably sound insane. You didn’t care though. 

Well, you didn’t until your eyes landed on your now closed door, a body leaning against it with a smug grin on the face of the person who has infiltrated every part of your daily life. 

Oh God… Logan…

“So, this is what you’ve been up to all evening.” 

The broom drops from your hands, falling to the floor with a clank as your embarrassment permeates the room. 

“Um… how long have you been standing there?”

He pushes off the door, hands behind his back as he continues towards you. “Long enough to see that stellar sax solo of yours.”

If your face could get redder, you’d be a maraschino cherry.

“So stellar in fact, I think I need a listen.” 

“I’m not performing for you again,” you huff. “This is so embarrassing.” 

“While I’d love to see and hear you again, I was talking about what you were listening to, sweetheart.”

You pause, looking at him confused. “You’ve never heard of Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’?”

“Should I?”

“Um yes!” You proclaim, arms shooting up into the air. “It’s one of the best love songs ever written and performed! Are you telling me you don’t listen to music?” 

He is standing in front of you, and he’s tall enough to be leveled with your chest. His face tilts up, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s looking at you: both light-hearted and full of adoration that shows through the crows feet. It makes your heart race.

“Not many love songs play in a dingy, underground fighting ring,” he grins, raspy tone pleasant to your ears. “Come on, sit down. Give me a listen.” 

You hear rustling behind him but quickly shift attention when he sits down, putting whatever’s in his hands out of your line of sight. You move to sit down beside him, removing your Walkman from the pouch on your hip. Your left leg is almost touching his right one, the heat begging to transfer with one touch. You remove your headphones, moving to put them over Logan’s ears, the band pressing down the points of his hair.

You giggle at this. “There go your cat ears.”

You go to shift the track back, and as you get ready to hit play, you feel a cushioned headphone against your ear. You turn and Logan’s face is very close to yours.

“What are you doing, Logan?” 

“About to give this song you love so much a listen, but I want you to listen with me.” He smirks. “Is that okay, sweetheart?”

He’s going to be the end of me. What’s with him tonight?

You can’t speak so you nod, pressing play to let the song take its form. His eyes closed as he listened, allowing you to watch his facial movements as he reacted. You could see every crease and divot shift as he listened intently. You looked for key reactions during certain parts of the song, your lips quirking up when a smile appeared on his face.

A chuckle rumbles from his chest when the saxophone solo starts, your eyebrow raising in response. “What’s so funny?”

He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head as the song enters the third verse. You see him lock in, smile fading slightly as the song rolls on. You wonder what he’s thinking; what is Whitney telling him? It isn’t until she belts out the final chorus that his smile returns tenfold, making the butterflies fluttering in your belly go crazy.

The song fades out, and before the next track can play you press pause. There is a beat of silence before you pull away from the headphone, looking at Logan with a curiosity to know what his brain is churning. 

“Soooo, what do you think?”

Logan looks to ponder, his fingers messing with the hem of your shirt. You feel the rough skin of his fingertips graze your tummy ever so slightly, causing a shiver to run down your spine. This moment is so intimate and for the first time you are seeing a vulnerability that Logan has never expressed before. 

“I think…” he draws out, eyes lifting to meet yours. “I think I understand why you danced like no one’s watching, especially during the sax solo.”

You groan, face going into your hands with words muffled as he laughs. “You are so unserious. That’s all you got from this?”

“Oh, trust me. I got a lot more than you probably bargained for.” 

You peek from between your fingers, hands becoming hot from the blood rush in your cheeks. You feel his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands into his. “Did you know there is a Wolverine Alto Saxophone?”

You gawk at him, pushing against his hands playfully. “You’re so full of shit.”

“They don’t make them anymore. Fairly rare and a little hot headed but…” Logan brings both your hands to your hips, his own flipping on top with a slight grip that causes you to squeeze your flesh. “I’m sure the right player could handle it just fine.”

“Logan, are you flirting with me?” Your heart is racing, your mind controlling its speed as it goes 100 miles per second. 

“Is it working?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Because if it is, I think you should play me sometime.”

Your breath comes out shaky, nerves racking your body. This is the closest you have ever been to being with him. You are so close to having an answer as to what you two are; what you two could be. You wonder what has gotten into him. What pushed this on? 

A laugh comes from under your breath. “You are something else, you know that?”

“Hmm,” he hums, moving closer to you so his face is mere inches from yours. “What can I say? I can’t help myself.”

“Is that so? And why is that?” You challenge, hoping for him to say what you want to hear.

“I’ve got someone in my life who likes to press my buttons without even trying, and I think I wanna start pressing theirs too.”

“Wow,” you breathe out. “You’re good.”

“Yeah? Then show me.” His lips are almost on yours, a smirk plastered on his kissable lips. “Show me how good I am.”

You nod, leaning fully in to press your lips to his. He groans against your mouth; a sound so delightful it makes your skin raise. You remove your hands from under his, moving to his biceps to ground yourself. You can finally feel his grip on you, and it’s secure. He kisses you with a purpose, his movements precise, and it draws you in. It creates a gravitational pull between the two of you, your hands pulling on him and his own pulling your hips. Next thing you know, he is almost on top of you. 

“Mmm,” he purrs. “You taste so sweet, baby.”

You pull away slightly, his lips chasing yours for a moment before you steady him. “Yeah? Well, you’re fun to play.”

His shoulders shake as he chuckles, going in for another round before he pauses. “Before I forget…”

He sits back up, reaching behind him as he grabs something that crinkles. You try to peek over his shoulder, curiosity getting the better of you, only for him to face you once more. Your eyes go wide as you see the bouquet of daisies in his hand, white tissue wrapping keeping them together. 

You are in awe. You can’t remember the last time someone got you flowers. “These are for me?”

“They sure are,” He smiles with crinkled eyes. “Had to get flowers for my Valentine.”

You look down bashfully, tongue drawing over your lower lip, tasting remnants that are so him. “I didn’t think you’d care about Valentine’s Day.”

“You said you love Valentine’s Day. Seems right to celebrate my baby’s favorite time of the year.”

My baby…

He hands you the flowers, and you cradle them in your arms. They are lively and simply beautiful; a fresh, sweet scent floating up to your nose. Everything about this moment is sweet, and the flowers make it even sweeter.

“Soooo,” you draw out. “Does this mean you want to make things official?”

“Official?” He takes the flowers from your hands gently, placing them on the floor before pulling you onto his lap. You yelp as he squeezes you to him, vibrating with the urgency to be close. “I sure like the sound of that.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling yet another wave of shyness at how he holds and looks at you. It’s something new, and it blossoms in your chest as he slowly rocks you with kisses against the side of your face. All you can think is that you love him, and you can’t help but think he loves you too.

Thank God for love and Thank God for Whitney Houston. 

[cryptictongues]

Manifesting a Valentine

pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader rating: PG-13 (mildly) word count: 2.6K summary: You wonder what Logan is to you. Whitney Houston manifests that answer for you. warnings: this is just straight up fluff, gender-neutral reader, kissing

This is my piece for the Loveuary Writing Challenge created by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt, which was a wonderful thing they both set up. I got assigned 2000s Logan with the song 'I Will Always Love You' by Whitney Houston. I had a lot of fun writing this, especially since I took a different approach to it. All I will say is my inspiration was this video right here.

Enjoy!

Please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog’s content is NSFW.

[AO3 link]

There is dust dancing in the air, swirling in the fumes of disinfectant. They float and falter, only to seemingly disintegrate as they hit the wooden floor. There are piles of clothes, some in need of folding and some waiting to take a ride in the washing machine. Papers and books are pushed into a corner, waiting to return as you organize your writing utensils and silly trinkets.

You need to stop pushing off the task of cleaning your room, but it can’t be helped. Juggling being a teacher to a multitude of students and going on missions for Charles as an X-Man, your free time is slim to none. By the time the day is over, all you want to do is flop onto your bed and sleep until morning breaks. The idea of being more productive than you already were was exhausting to think about.

Yet here you are on a Friday evening, Walkman blasting music into your headphones as you run the rag across your desk, the wood sparkling from cleaner that smelled of citrus. 

A hodgepodge of tunes played one after the other as the CD spun, all being love songs for the season of February. Some were simply romantic and joyous, while others played the melancholiest of sounds. It didn’t matter what kind of love song it was; you loved them all.

Valentine's Day was always a holiday you adored. Growing up, your family would always use it as an excuse to get together. While it has always been viewed as a time for romance, your family saw it as a time to celebrate the familial side of love. It created a cherished feeling for the season, especially with having a family that loved you no matter what. Even when all you saw was romance, your heart was happy.

At least, that was the case until a certain man came into the forefront of your existence.

Logan Howlett was something else. The first time you saw him, he was walking down the hall with the Professor getting the grand tour. You didn’t think someone could look so attractive in a jacket with the school emblem on it, but damn. The skin that pulled against his exposed collar bones made you want to sink your teeth into him. 

It started as a small crush for a while. Even as an adult, you’ve always been fairly reserved around people unfamiliar to you. So, like a fly on the wall, you would look from afar, studying him closely. You would drink him in as he made himself more comfortable and it wasn’t until you accidentally made eye contact with him that your lives started to tightly intertwine.

You could feel your face heat up as you thought about how close you two have gotten. You wouldn’t say the two of you are inseparable, but it’s pretty damn close. Every time you come back from an errand, he is there waiting for you. Every morning, he is waiting for you in the kitchen to have breakfast together. Most evenings after the school day is done, he is meeting with you in your room to enjoy his cigar while you wind down with your secret stash of wine. It's become apparent to you that you are his go to, and it would be a lie to say he isn’t yours as well. You enjoy his company, which has transformed your feelings into something far greater.

You wouldn’t know what to call your relationship with him. You know it’s nothing super serious, but you feel the potential for it to be. You see how different he is with you; how his crass attitude seems to change into something much more sincere and open. You think he is much like you; the more he opens up, the more he shows he cares. Even so, you aren’t sure he would allow himself to indulge in the idea of belonging to someone. 

The thought alone dampers your mood slightly, causing your shoulders to sag. As much as you love this time of the year, having Logan so close yet not quite in your grasp makes your heart crazed. You crave his companionship, and oh what you wouldn’t give to have it. 

You wonder if he has Valentine's Day plans but knowing him you highly doubt it. You’d bet money that he doesn't even know the 14th is tomorrow, the days and months meshing together. Maybe you’ll do something for him anyways, like buy him some quality cigars or good whiskey to hide with your stash of alcohol. Maybe you could run out tonight and grab something. 

In the midst of your thoughts, you hear Whitney Houston’s rich voice travel through your ears, causing you to perk up.

“Oh yes!” You whisper with excitement. “I haven’t heard this song in a while.” 

You twirl over to your door, cracking it to help air out the fumes of disinfectant and wood polish. You grab the broom and start to sweep, humming along to the song until it’s too hard to resist opening your mouth.

“And IIIIIII will always love youuuuu,” you sing out, enunciating Whitney’s range as you brush away the remnants of dust and junk that found itself stranded on the floor. 

There was something about this song that always drew you in. It’s a love song, yet it’s bittersweet. It’s a song that truly encapsulates loving someone so much that you must set them free. Maybe you love it because it’s a way for you to empathize, or it’s preparing you for the day you may have to let someone go with love. A small part of your mind wonders if you are already doing that with Logan, but it quickly vanishes; it’s just you and Whitney.

You can’t help but sing into the broom, dancing in circles that slightly scatter your dust bunny piles, but you could care less. When the sax solo plays, you hold the broom up front with fingers moving sporadically along the wooden handle. You make noises trying to replicate the sound of the alto, dipping back and forth recreating movements you’ve seen saxophone players make. You’re in the zone now; immersed in a dream as you sing along without a care in the world. Little did you know, there was someone watching you from your door.

Soon enough, you find yourself on your bed, broom being held like a mic stand, dipping down into a low bow before the climax of the song hits. You take a deep breath, preparing to unleash the iconic phrase and pitch from past your lips.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII EEEEEEE IIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOOOUUUUU,” your back goes back in an arch, lungs working overtime as air rushes out. You can’t hear yourself, and you know rather than the beautiful sound of Whitney Houston, you probably sound insane. You didn’t care though. 

Well, you didn’t until your eyes landed on your now closed door, a body leaning against it with a smug grin on the face of the person who has infiltrated every part of your daily life. 

Oh God… Logan…

“So, this is what you’ve been up to all evening.” 

The broom drops from your hands, falling to the floor with a clank as your embarrassment permeates the room. 

“Um… how long have you been standing there?”

He pushes off the door, hands behind his back as he continues towards you. “Long enough to see that stellar sax solo of yours.”

If your face could get redder, you’d be a maraschino cherry.

“So stellar in fact, I think I need a listen.” 

“I’m not performing for you again,” you huff. “This is so embarrassing.” 

“While I’d love to see and hear you again, I was talking about what you were listening to, sweetheart.”

You pause, looking at him confused. “You’ve never heard of Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’?”

“Should I?”

“Um yes!” You proclaim, arms shooting up into the air. “It’s one of the best love songs ever written and performed! Are you telling me you don’t listen to music?” 

He is standing in front of you, and he’s tall enough to be leveled with your chest. His face tilts up, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s looking at you: both light-hearted and full of adoration that shows through the crows feet. It makes your heart race.

“Not many love songs play in a dingy, underground fighting ring,” he grins, raspy tone pleasant to your ears. “Come on, sit down. Give me a listen.” 

You hear rustling behind him but quickly shift attention when he sits down, putting whatever’s in his hands out of your line of sight. You move to sit down beside him, removing your Walkman from the pouch on your hip. Your left leg is almost touching his right one, the heat begging to transfer with one touch. You remove your headphones, moving to put them over Logan’s ears, the band pressing down the points of his hair.

You giggle at this. “There go your cat ears.”

You go to shift the track back, and as you get ready to hit play, you feel a cushioned headphone against your ear. You turn and Logan’s face is very close to yours.

“What are you doing, Logan?” 

“About to give this song you love so much a listen, but I want you to listen with me.” He smirks. “Is that okay, sweetheart?”

He’s going to be the end of me. What’s with him tonight?

You can’t speak so you nod, pressing play to let the song take its form. His eyes closed as he listened, allowing you to watch his facial movements as he reacted. You could see every crease and divot shift as he listened intently. You looked for key reactions during certain parts of the song, your lips quirking up when a smile appeared on his face.

A chuckle rumbles from his chest when the saxophone solo starts, your eyebrow raising in response. “What’s so funny?”

He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head as the song enters the third verse. You see him lock in, smile fading slightly as the song rolls on. You wonder what he’s thinking; what is Whitney telling him? It isn’t until she belts out the final chorus that his smile returns tenfold, making the butterflies fluttering in your belly go crazy.

The song fades out, and before the next track can play you press pause. There is a beat of silence before you pull away from the headphone, looking at Logan with a curiosity to know what his brain is churning. 

“Soooo, what do you think?”

Logan looks to ponder, his fingers messing with the hem of your shirt. You feel the rough skin of his fingertips graze your tummy ever so slightly, causing a shiver to run down your spine. This moment is so intimate and for the first time you are seeing a vulnerability that Logan has never expressed before. 

“I think…” he draws out, eyes lifting to meet yours. “I think I understand why you danced like no one’s watching, especially during the sax solo.”

You groan, face going into your hands with words muffled as he laughs. “You are so unserious. That’s all you got from this?”

“Oh, trust me. I got a lot more than you probably bargained for.” 

You peek from between your fingers, hands becoming hot from the blood rush in your cheeks. You feel his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands into his. “Did you know there is a Wolverine Alto Saxophone?”

You gawk at him, pushing against his hands playfully. “You’re so full of shit.”

“They don’t make them anymore. Fairly rare and a little hot headed but…” Logan brings both your hands to your hips, his own flipping on top with a slight grip that causes you to squeeze your flesh. “I’m sure the right player could handle it just fine.”

“Logan, are you flirting with me?” Your heart is racing, your mind controlling its speed as it goes 100 miles per second. 

“Is it working?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Because if it is, I think you should play me sometime.”

Your breath comes out shaky, nerves racking your body. This is the closest you have ever been to being with him. You are so close to having an answer as to what you two are; what you two could be. You wonder what has gotten into him. What pushed this on? 

A laugh comes from under your breath. “You are something else, you know that?”

“Hmm,” he hums, moving closer to you so his face is mere inches from yours. “What can I say? I can’t help myself.”

“Is that so? And why is that?” You challenge, hoping for him to say what you want to hear.

“I’ve got someone in my life who likes to press my buttons without even trying, and I think I wanna start pressing theirs too.”

“Wow,” you breathe out. “You’re good.”

“Yeah? Then show me.” His lips are almost on yours, a smirk plastered on his kissable lips. “Show me how good I am.”

You nod, leaning fully in to press your lips to his. He groans against your mouth; a sound so delightful it makes your skin raise. You remove your hands from under his, moving to his biceps to ground yourself. You can finally feel his grip on you, and it’s secure. He kisses you with a purpose, his movements precise, and it draws you in. It creates a gravitational pull between the two of you, your hands pulling on him and his own pulling your hips. Next thing you know, he is almost on top of you. 

“Mmm,” he purrs. “You taste so sweet, baby.”

You pull away slightly, his lips chasing yours for a moment before you steady him. “Yeah? Well, you’re fun to play.”

His shoulders shake as he chuckles, going in for another round before he pauses. “Before I forget…”

He sits back up, reaching behind him as he grabs something that crinkles. You try to peek over his shoulder, curiosity getting the better of you, only for him to face you once more. Your eyes go wide as you see the bouquet of daisies in his hand, white tissue wrapping keeping them together. 

You are in awe. You can’t remember the last time someone got you flowers. “These are for me?”

“They sure are,” He smiles with crinkled eyes. “Had to get flowers for my Valentine.”

You look down bashfully, tongue drawing over your lower lip, tasting remnants that are so him. “I didn’t think you’d care about Valentine’s Day.”

“You said you love Valentine’s Day. Seems right to celebrate my baby’s favorite time of the year.”

My baby…

He hands you the flowers, and you cradle them in your arms. They are lively and simply beautiful; a fresh, sweet scent floating up to your nose. Everything about this moment is sweet, and the flowers make it even sweeter.

“Soooo,” you draw out. “Does this mean you want to make things official?”

“Official?” He takes the flowers from your hands gently, placing them on the floor before pulling you onto his lap. You yelp as he squeezes you to him, vibrating with the urgency to be close. “I sure like the sound of that.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling yet another wave of shyness at how he holds and looks at you. It’s something new, and it blossoms in your chest as he slowly rocks you with kisses against the side of your face. All you can think is that you love him, and you can’t help but think he loves you too.

Thank God for love and Thank God for Whitney Houston. 

[cryptictongues]

Jordy!!! happy valentine's day from me and iggy!! i hope today is especially sweet! 💓🍫💐

ANGEL <33333 happy (late) Valentine's day from me and noctis!! i hope you had a wonderful day yesterday :3

[cryptictongues]

BRO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GUILTY AS SIN | Logan Howlett

❥ summary: the entire time you’ve known logan howlett, you’ve tried to keep your distance, your longings locked. then, one night, all that effort goes to waste when you’re confronted by your feelings.

word count: 8.5k

pairings: logan howlett x fem!mutant reader

content warnings: 18+ CONTENT MDNI, masturbation, dirty thoughts, light choking, multiple orgasms, oral (f + m receiving), spitting, sixty-nine sex position, scent kink, like one spank, underwear stays on! tiny hint of arousal from crying? p in v sex, creampie

❥ a/n: this is a repost from my previous account! please enjoy anyway<3 also, going through this again made me realize once again, im a slut!!!!! this is absolutely filthy!!!! readers mutation is vague but her hair color changes to red with emotions and red light/energy she manifests in her hands! title and fic inspired by guilty as sin by taylor swift

— ⋆˚୨♡୧⋆｡˚⋆

THE SHEETS are chilled, crisp to the touch enough that shivers tickle their way across exposed skin as a figure tosses and turns in the unmade bed. The window had been left open, and as a result, cold air had poured into the room.

Despite the fact that goosebumps adorn your body, it feels as though you’re on fire. Huffs escape parted lips, a charged hum zipping through your veins that only intensify each time you shift. You’d been trying to sleep for the past couple hours, trying to ignore the need thrumming through you, but have only managed to fail.

You turn on your side for possibly the twentieth time, but the position only serves to worsen your state as the flesh of your thighs squeeze unintentionally, a wave of brief relief sent to your throbbing cunt. Tears brim your lashes and heat coils in your tummy and fuck, your body is humming with lust and everything was so, so sensitive.

This is all Logan’s fault.

The man has been gone less than a week and yet, your body is practically vibrating with need, trembling with desire.

The feelings you harbor make you feel shameful and guilty for a handful of reasons.

Logan is not your boyfriend, he’s not even a friend. While he’s cordial with the others in the mansion, he’s remained cold and indifferent towards you.

You pretend it never bothered you, when he pointedly ignored your greetings in passing or refused to partner up with you during a mission. You didn’t understand what you’d done to upset him, to warrant his treatment of you as though you were the most annoying person on the planet.

So, logically, your heart should not race at the mere thought of him. Nor should your cunt throb and soak your panties whenever images of his sweaty form cloud your mind.

Though, you’re only human and Logan fucking Howlett is a man worth embarrassing yourself over, especially when he looks like he does.

A memory comes forward, one that has your cheeks hot with desire, your chest rising a little faster than before.

A couple weeks ago, it was late and with the way sleep evaded you, you’d been wandering the halls, in hopes of tiring yourself out. Except, when you’d walked down one of the hallways, you froze at the sight of Logan shirtless in his room, the door left ajar.

A towel covered his head as he scrubbed away the wetness in his hair, and you desperately hoped he hadn’t noticed your presence. Water dribbled down his muscular body, and your eyes greedily watched each droplet descend down. What really had you drooling, however, was the thick, prominent vein on his stomach that crept down into the waistband of his gray sweatpants.

When you had barely caught yourself from releasing a moan, you dashed back to your room right away. You were wide awake still, but for a completely different reason. All you could think about was tracing your tongue along the vein. If you’d fucked yourself that night to the thought of him, no one had to know.

So, if you gave in to desire tonight, it wouldn’t be the first time, but it certainly wouldn’t make you feel any less guilty.

Waves of warmth dust your cheeks, lips bitten until they’re swollen and spit slicked. Your breasts ache from inside the confines of the pink, lacy shirt— each labored breath you inhale have perky nipples brushing the material, sending zips of pleasure down your spine. Your hole aches so badly to be filled, and it clenches around nothing as need slicks the gusset of your panties. Your clit, puffy and neglected, throbs with pure, sizzling lust.

Another wave of butterflies floundering in your belly from the memory of Logan’s hairy chest has you giving in— a shaky hand slipping from its place on your stomach down, down, down until cold fingers meet the mess between your thighs. A gasp sounds, fluttering around the room as you brush over your clit. Even through the material of your underwear, the slight pressure of your fingers has you mewling.

Flashes of Logan dance behind closed lids, your imagination running wild while you messily swirled over your clit. You want him so, so bad, in every way possible.

You’re plagued with thoughts of him; his pretty hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the tufts of his brown hair— the muscles that are constantly on display, his thick thighs that you want to ride until you come all over him, and the huge bulge that is ever present in those flattering jeans of his (and if it was a reoccurring fantasy of yours to ride that delicious bulge over his jeans until you both come from just dry humping, again— no one had to know).

Him hovering over you, dog tags swinging in your face as he fucks you hard. Him picking you up and taking you against a wall, lips trapped in a messy, wet top lip kiss. Him prying your thighs open as he licks up your pussy, tongue dipping into your hole to lap up all the desire pooling, his lips wrapping around the swollen bud and sucking violently. Him holding your face lovingly as his hips thrust his cock deeper down your throat, groans spilling at the gag you’d let out.

You’re split between wanting to sink down onto his cock and rut your swollen nub against the curls nestled the base of him and stuffing his dick down your throat, swallowing around him until he comes and coats your throat with his spend.

You don’t even bother to remove the damp underwear, instead circling your clit over the material— and oh, fuck. The roughness of the lace mixed with the soft rubbing of your fingers has moans tumbling from parted, wet lips.

Your unoccupied hand slips under the tiny shirt covering your chest and only settles until a nipple is pinched between determined fingers, rolling the pert bud in tandem with the swirl of your other hand on your sex.

Ecstasy nearly envelopes you and if you were more coherent, you’d be embarrassed by how fast you’re about to reach your peak. But, as it is, your brain is completely preoccupied and the only thing on your mind is lessening the pressing desire that ebbs deep within you.

And fuck, you’re so fucking needy for Logan that you try to pretend it’s his fingers abusing your clit, his fingers tugging at the sensitive buds of your chest. You want his tongue between your thighs, licking up your desire and sucking your puffy clit into his pretty mouth. You crave the burn that would tickle your most sensitive area.

You’re suddenly overwhelmed, the fantasies swirling behind your closed eyes far too much—the mix of your filthy thoughts and your fingers rubbing your nub has your legs shaking as more wetness dampens your slit.

“Logan, Logan, Logan—“ the chant of his name falls from you, the feeling of your orgasm washing over you, threatening to pull you under the tall waves of pleasure.

With your eyes scrunched shut, ears ringing white noise, and hips humping your hand pathetically, you’re a writhing mess against the sheets.

Your hair scattered around your pillow shifts from its natural state to a dark, glimmering red. Even with your eyes shut, you can feel the vermillion light whirling at your fingertips, begging to be released. Even with years of practice, your mutation is not one of subtlety.

Searing bliss coils in your lower tummy, your button tingling with the after effects of the orgasm that had just slammed into you. You sigh, because even though you just came, you feel far from satisfied. Your body buzzes with sweltering hunger, all the way down to the tips of your toes. Even if you fuck yourself dizzy with another orgasm, you know it won’t satiate your body.

Before you can slip your fingers inside your wet hole, a loud knock echos through your room.

You still, hoping that if you ignore the noise, whoever it is knocking will simply go away. But when another rhythmic thump comes a few seconds later, you huff.

It’s well past midnight at this point, so who in their right mind would be going about and slamming their fists on your door?

Apparently, you haven’t moved fast enough when the person has the nerve to knock for a third time. A growl, tinged with annoyance, slips out as you fling yourself up and off the bed.

You stomp to the door, ready to tell the person on the other side to fuck off. But when you open the mahogany door, all the anger simmering beneath your heated skin disappears, along with your breath, as your eyes take in the sight before you.

Logan Howlett stands before you, seemingly angry as a frown etches deep on his face. He glares at you, hazel eyes swarming with something unknown.

No matter how many times the man has graced you with his glare, it makes you shiver each time as if it were the first.

And little do you know, all of your craziest, fatal fantasies are about to come true.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡.

The moment Logan steps into the Mansion, finally back from the shit show of a mission Charles had sent him on, he tenses immediately.

His fingers clench into fists, tight enough that the skin threatens to turn white. The adamantium claws nearly poke through his knuckles as he inhales.

That sweet, sweet scent swarms his heightened senses, the intoxicating smell swirling strong enough that his heart speeds up, his stomach flutters, and his cock twitches within the confines of his jeans.

Logan can fucking smell you, a heady aroma that’s so completely you, teases him and threatens to break the barrier he’s put up since he met you.

He shakes himself loose from the metaphorical hold you have on him, and begins the journey to his room, trying to block out how delicious you smell.

Except, as he gets closer to the hallway he shares with you, he feels his control slipping, especially as your smell grows stronger, though now it’s tinged with something else— something sensual, sugary, and addictive.

Logan curses— you’re aroused, your scent giving you away completely. The idea of you panting as your pussy drips slick between your thighs has him clenching his jaw hard, fingers flexing and unflexing in an attempt to harness control back.

Though, that goes completely out the door as his body leads him right outside your door, unconsciously drawn to the very essence of you.

There was a reason Logan has kept the carefully crafted distance between you. The minute he was introduced to you, a new member of the x-men and teacher for the school, he knew he was fucked.

From the first look shared between you, he knew.

A pretty smile had graced your lips, eyes filled with joy as you greeted him, a hand outstretched as your hair swayed with your movements. In your pretty, little outfit (a pink, lacy dress that kissed the tops of your thighs matched with baby pink pumps) he thought you looked like a princess.

He’d stayed frozen, however, because he was assaulted with the fucking smell of you. It was nothing like he’d encountered before, and he’d been around for over a century. Your scent was so fucking sweet, vanilla and honey permeating his nostrils and right then, he’d wondered if you tasted as sweet as you smelt.

He knew that he had to keep his distance, otherwise he’d become addicted to you in every sense. If he let himself, he’d worship the very ground you walked on. He couldn’t risk having the walls he’d spent so long building to crumble.

And suddenly, he was angry that his body had reacted this way to someone he’d never even met. He was angry he wanted to press sweet kisses on your face while also wanting to fuck you against the nearest surface until you screamed.

So, with that, he’d made up his mind.

He’d simply glared at you, refused to acknowledge your existence and stormed out of Charles’ office. Since that day, he’s tried his hardest to pretend you don’t exist— if only to ease the way you constantly haunt his thoughts.

He pretends it didn’t kill him to see how your face crumbles at his rude behavior, but he can’t help it. Because if he treated you how he wants, like the princess you are, he’d never let you go.

A sudden noise shakes him from the depths of his mind, the scent of you growing stronger by the second.

“Logan, Logan, Logan,” your honeyed voice whines, and right then, the telltale snikt! sounds immediately.

What the fuck? He thinks, his mind running a mile a minute at the revelation that not only are you seemingly fucking yourself, but you’re also moaning his name.

Logan growls lowly as his claws reveal themselves, cutting through the skin of his knuckles. His body feels unnaturally hot and his cock is now uncomfortably hard in his jeans, pre-cum bubbling at his tip and staining his boxers.

With the wafts of your pretty scent and sounds of your lithe whimpers, he knows he can’t resist you any longer.

His hand rises, claws retracting as his heavy fist slams on your door. He grows impatient and knocks again when there’s no movement, and just as he’s about to speak, the door swings open.

And the sight of you, face coated with a sheen of sweat and chest heaving, has him throbbing.

Tonight is the night his control finally snaps, despite months of work put into it.

Logan is going to fucking ruin you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡.

You gulp, a hand resting on the door frame as you stand frozen because honestly, what the fuck?

You deduce that the universe hates you because why would the man you’d been thinking of while fucking yourself be right in front of you?

It only dawns on you when Logan’s gaze swipes over your figure that you’re clad only in your pink, lacy top and the matching underwear, the latter wet with both your arousal and release.

You shrink beneath his eyes, heat simmering hot on the apples of your cheeks, and your mouth opens and closes but no words followed.

“Uh— Logan, hey!” Your voice is shaky, and whether it’s from the power of your release or the nerves that bumble within your veins at the man before you, you can’t tell. All you know is that you want the ground to swallow you up whole.

Logan doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at you in a way that you don’t understand. You assume he’s just gotten home from the very long mission, and you were confused as to why he’s at your door, especially considering how badly he despises you.

“I heard you.” His gruff tone is coated in something darker than you’ve ever heard before. For a moment, you’re lost, brows furrowing before your eyes go comically wide.

And— oh, oh.

“Can smell you, too.”

Heat licks at your whole body, embarrassment threatening to envelope you. Tears of horror tickle your lash line, because this is probably the most painful moment of your life. Not only does the man hate you, but now he’s heard you moan his name as you came all over your fingers? How pathetic are you?

You open your mouth, an apology heavy on your tongue. Though, before you can even speak a single word, Logan slams his mouth onto yours.

He holds your head softly, a deep contrast to the rough way his lips melt over yours. A moan slips from your open mouth, the feel of his lips sucking at your bottom lip intense and so, so good.

Your arms wrap around his neck, fingertips tangling themselves in the hair at his nape like you’ve wanted to do since the day you met him.

“Logan—“ you whimper against his mouth, trying and failing to understand what the fuck was happening as he slips his tongue inside your wet, warm mouth. “Logan.”

He ignores you, grunting against your spit, slicked lips as his hands travel down your curves, until they find purchase of your ass, gripping hard. A choked gasp falls from you as he suddenly pulls at you and picks you up effortlessly in his strong arms.

The idea of him picking you up with no hesitation has your hips moving forward without your control. Vaguely, you feel him move past the threshold of your door, slamming it shut before pressing your body up against the wood.

Logan switches between licking your tongue and sucking meanly at your lips, until they feel full and swollen with his attention. You’re pliant— almost willing to let him do anything he’d like to you.

Almost.

As good as his tongue feels dancing with yours, confusion still settles over your mind. Maybe this is a dream and if so, you never wanted to wake up.

“Wait—wait.” You pull back, the questions swirling inside too pressing to be ignored any longer.

“Huh, baby?” Logan groans, teeth pulling at your bottom lip before sucking the swelled skin into his mouth.

Babybabybabybabybaby— the pet name clouds your senses for a second, a rush of arousal pooling at your hole. You want to cry at how that simple word makes you feel.

“Stop that.” You mumble, pulling your head back and lips out of his reach.

Logan stares at you, unresponsive but waiting until you speak whatever is on your mind. Honestly, he wants his tongue to be buried deep in your cunt right about now, but details.

“What the fuck? What’s happening?” Breathless, the question settles between you, causing Logan’s brow to raise.

“Well, my tongue was just in your mouth—“ you slap his chest, face turning warm at his bluntness.

“Not that. I’m— why are you here? Why are you kissing me? Especially like that when you can’t stand me?” Your voice is quiet, insecurity tinged between the words. Nimble fingers grasp the dog tags that rest on his chest, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

At that, Logan’s face scrunches up, confusion floating about his irises.

“What are you talking about?” If it wasn’t for the genuine way he asked, you would’ve smacked his chest again at how clueless he was.

“What do you mean? You’ve made it very clear how you feel about me; you’ve despised my entire existence the moment we met!”

Frustration settles over you heavily, enough to snap you out of the lustful spell Logan has inflicted upon you. You slide down his body, ignoring the quiver of your cunt when you make contact with his jean clad bulge. You push at his chest, needing distance to ensure you actually get your words out and don’t end up back with his tongue down your throat.

“I don’t hate you.” Logan grunts, staring at you as you pace the wooden floors of the room. Vaguely, he’s listening, but he can’t be blamed for the way his eyes focus on the way your ass shifts with each step, the plush skin so inviting as the lace cups each cheek. “What’re you on about?”

You huff. Logan’s beginning to piss you off. The vague answers are getting on your nerves enough that you feel yourself snap.

Your hair suddenly turns bright red, a scarlet blossoming over the strands until they coat them completely. Your emotions could never be concealed, not with the way your hair turns different variations of red when you’re angry, furious, determined, aroused.

“You’ve been a dick to me, treating me like shit for no reason and now you think you can waltz in here and kiss me like that? You think you can pretend to want me when we both know that’s not true?”

Balls of fiery, red energy bloom upon your fingertips, and though you stand in your pretty pink assortment, you look the part of threatening.

Too bad the abrupt display of your mutation, mixed with fiery words, has Logan’s cock rock hard with want. He wants to have you ass up over his lap so he can watch the jiggle of each cheek as he spanks you.

“Sometimes, I question whether or not you’re actually a genius.”

And, oh. You feel the words like a punch to the gut. You’re so mad, so blinded by the intense emotions you feel for Logan, that those pesky flames of energy begin to tickle up your wrist and forearm, a telltale sign of your anger.

“Fuck you, Logan.” You hiss, your fingers warm with the heat coursing through them.

What pisses you off more, your hair and eyes darkening to a maroon, is the fact that Logan sports a faint smirk, watching you with humor as if you weren’t showcasing how riled up you were.

“Are you done yet?” Logan takes a step closer, uncaring of the way your mutation is flaring up furiously at his presence.

“Logan, leave me alone. I don’t need you to sit here and pretend to want me. I don’t need you to make fun of me, either.” Huffing, you glare up at the man before you, who stares back just as pointedly.

You turn around, back facing him as you go to enter the attached bathroom when suddenly you’re spun back around by a hand on your nape, your neck in a delicious tight grip as Logan pulls you into his body, smashing his mouth on yours for the second time tonight.

Your body betrays you as a desperate whimper tumbles from you when you register the passion Logan pours into your embrace.

His teeth bite down on your top lip, before suckling sweetly to combat the pain flourishing there. You moan, mouth falling open as he messily kisses you. The intoxicating taste of him settles over your tastebuds, his tongue swirling with yours in a way that left you dizzy with need.

A string of spit connects between your mouths as Logan pulls away, chuckling meanly when you promptly follow the warm, wetness of his lips. A rough hand grips your throat again, tight enough to leave you feeling breathless but delicious enough to make your cunt squeeze around nothing.

“So that’s what you think, princess? That I don’t want you?” Logan’s fingers flex around your throat, gripping at your jaw to capture all of your attention. As if you were anything less than enamored with him. “You think that’s what I’ve been doing, huh?”

You can only stare up at him as your heartbeat rings loudly through your eardrums. A hand goes to tug at his shirt, an attempt to steady yourself, but Logan is faster as he grips your wrist.

“Answer me.” He whispers, sensual as the hand holding yours captive begins to intertwine your fingers together.

The touch of him, the hold on your throat and roughness of his fingers in your own, renders you frozen. You’re so overcome with your emotions that you only manage to nod. Without your permission, you go limp in his hold, silently begging him to do something to satiate the hunger burning every inch of your skin.

“Words, baby. Got nothing to say now, huh?” He taunts, his grip leaving your neck in favor of thumbing at your lips.

“Yes— I…it’s what it’s seemed like, what you’ve made me feel. Thought you hated me.”

Logan’s nose twitches, no doubt smelling your arousal as more begins to drip between your thighs when his thumb plays with your bottom lip pathetically.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” He grunts, pushing his thumb past the soft of your lips. His knees nearly buckle at the feel of your mouth closing and sucking his thumb, tongue rolling up against the skin as though it was his cock instead. “Shit, baby.”

You only whine around his finger, eyes fluttering up at him in a way that has his dick twitching with want.

“Fuck, been dreaming about you since the day we met. Been dreaming of you in every way possible.” He admits, a smile tugging at his lips at the way you freeze, lips leaving his thumb with a ‘pop’.

“What?” It’s a whisper, barely audible but he hears it all the same. The butterflies in your stomach are having a full on party now, bolts of anxiousness kissing your skin.

“Of course.” Logan leans down, pressing a kiss to your wet lips. “Knew the second I saw you you’d ruin me, so I just… stayed away. I never meant to make you think the worst. M’sorry, honey.”

This was not the way you’d expected tonight to go.

It’s as though all the confusion, anger, and sadness drain from you and its replaced with the tremulous feeling Logan causes in your body.

And despite the fact that you’ve fucked yourself thinking about him, and he’d heard, you felt incredibly shy. You drop your head to his hard chest, your hands squeezing his own where he holds them.

“I don’t know what to say.” You utter, brain all muddled and no other thoughts exist as Logan plagues every inch of your mind. You’d felt like an idiot, even though Logan has acted like a dick for the better part you’d known him.

Logan simply lifts your head, invading your senses as his nose bumps yours.

“Can I kiss you now?”

And when you nod, his lips are back on yours instantly, their rightful place.

The kiss was messy—hot, wet, and dirty. Logan moans when you jump up, strong arms catching your thighs in a tight grip. Wrapping your arms around his neck again, you lose yourself in the thrilling taste of his mouth. You unconsciously begin dragging your drenched panties across his hard dick.

You suck on his tongue before capturing his lip between your teeth, nails dragging down his shoulder blades as you do so. A loud, feral growl escapes Logan, and without another thought, he throws your pliant body on the bed.

And, at the sight of you, Logan thinks he might come right then and there. In your little outfit, so much plush, soft skin is on display. The hair tumbling from your shoulders has shifted to a dark cherry color during your kiss, and your hands are tickling with red energy, twirling up your arms, not unlike the way vines do to an old home.

This time, though, he knows you aren’t upset, but instead, aroused.

He can fucking smell the way your slick drips from your sobbing hole, how it coats your thighs.

And fuck, he wants to sink his face right in front of your pussy and inhale until he’s woozy with the smell of you.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

Your eyes widen as Logan drops onto the floor in front of the bed, yanking your body to the edge. Your lower half is completely in his grip, and he stares at you for a moment before pulling your pussy up to his nose. The feel of him so close to your puffy lips has you aching, even more so when he lowers his head and fucking sniffs you.

“Fuck, baby. Been dreaming of this since the minute I saw you. Smells so fuckin’ sweet.” Logan inhales deeply again, smattering messy, open mouthed kisses to the skin of your upper thigh. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to throw you over my shoulder, get you alone and eat your pussy.”

“Logan!” You whimper out. The sound was completely feeble, bordering on desperate, but you couldn’t care less, not with the way he’s sucking bruises into your skin. “Please, please.”

Spurred on by your whines, he sinks his teeth into the skin, where your thigh meets your core.

Pain simmers into pleasure as the sting is soothed by his tongue. Dark splotches decorate your upper thighs, the preview of the bruises that will decorate the skin tomorrow. Logan does this until he’s satisfied with the color blooming across the skin before him. It’s his way of solidifying that you’re his, like he’s staking his claim with his bruises smattering your thighs.

At some point your hand finds purchase in his hair, pawing at the tufts and tugging his face closer to where you need him most. He hums, the pain at his scalp sending jolts of desire throughout his body.

He sneaks a look at you, and shit, it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Your head is thrown back, sending those rebellious, red strands fluttering around you. Your hips keep canting up, and the smell of you, mixed with the previous orgasm you’d worked out before he interrupted, sends his senses in overdrive.

He decides he’s tortured you both enough and without hesitation, Logan licks a long, wet stripe up your clothed pussy, suctioning around your enlarged clit.

The taste of you, heady, sweet, and so distinctly you, floods over his tongue. He knew you’d taste good, but this? Oh, he wants to drink you up all hours of the day.

With a growl, Logan tugs the lace aside and then sucks, licks, and mouths at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue dips into your hole before licking up and down your slit.

Moans of his name echo through the walls of your room, along with the filthy sound of the sucking of your swollen clit.

You’ve never felt like this before, the way he’s eating you out has your entire body on fire, and if you could see yourself, you’d see how ruby colored lines swirl brighter around your hands, how your hair practically glows vermillion.

He’s been attracted to you the minute he saw you— but the way you look when your mutation is at work? The way your hair shifts shades of intoxicating reds? The way the fiery energy glows from the tips of your fingers and up your elbows? Oh, how it fucking wrecks him. He just wants to keep you captive in this bedroom for all of eternity, if only to see you like this all the time.

“Feels so fucking good, fuck.” You’re a blubbering mess, hands tugging Logan’s hair hard, resulting in a moan that vibrates your pussy.

“Mine.” He grunts, and you gasp at the sensation of saliva as he spits directly onto your clit. “My fuckin’ pussy.”

Then, he latches his soft lips around your puffy bud and sucks hard. His dirty words and lucious mouth have your thighs shivering and hips bucking with want.

Like you’d done when you were alone and thinking about him, whimpers of ‘Logan’ sound as you hump his face.

“That’s it, baby, say my name. Taste so fuckin’ good.” He hums against your puffy, wet pussy.

A stream of ‘fuckfuckfuck’ spills from open lips, forming an ‘o’ as the rush of delicious, hot pleasure pours over you completely.

Your vision blurs— body nearly succumbing to the intense bliss prickling across your being. You barely even register how you’ve locked your legs around Logan’s head, captive in a tight grip as you rub your clit along his nose. With the way he’s grunting along your slit, you don’t think he minds.

As you come down, the pleasure fizzles out and overwhelming tingles steal its place as Logan continues to lap at your wetness, groaning at your taste.

“S’too much, Logan.” Shaky hands grip the brown locks and you try and fail to bring the man away from your throbbing hole. His tongue swirls along your clit and hole, dipping in as deep as he can to savor every last drop. “Oh, fuck.”

“Taste too fuckin’ sweet, baby. Can’t help it.”

Logan grips tightly at your thighs, pinching meanly at the flesh as he licks and sucks at your pretty, puffy clit. He can’t get enough, and seemingly, neither can you, with the way you buck into his warm, slick mouth despite your weak protests. The material of your underwear snaps back against you as Logan’s grip loosens, but he still eats you out as though there’s no barrier, only soaking the lace more.

His soft lips and dangerous tongue make it difficult to do anything but take the mind-numbing pleasure.

He’s content to stay here; between your gorgeous thighs and devour your cunt all night, pull orgasms from you until you forget everything except the syllables that make up his name.

Except, the words that come from you have him freezing against you, his cock aching and responding immediately to the addictive tilt of your voice.

“Logan— Logan, wanna suck your cock. Please.”

It’s as though you’re made for him— every inch of you riles him up like no one else has before and he has to take a deep, deep breath to refrain from coming in his jeans like a damn virgin.

With one last lick up your lace covered sex, his face is suddenly above yours and the sight is lethal. The entirety of his lower face is coated in wetness, glistening and gleaming that he wears with pride. His eyes look animalistic, the hazel taken over by the black of dilated pupils.

Logan looks at you like he wants to fucking destroy you. You know without a doubt you’d let him.

A sweet, gentle kiss is placed upon your mouth, a warm caress of his tongue on yours, the musky taste of your cunt dancing along your tastebuds. You whine once more, because you crave the heady taste of his cock that you desperately want. Your mouth salivates at the thought of his tip heavy on your tongue.

“Easy, honey. Can smell how bad you want it.”

If you weren’t in such a hazed state, you’d be mortified at the knowledge Logan can smell your arousal.

“Logan.” Pathetic whimpers and moans against his mouth have him pulling back, gritting his teeth to have a sense of control. It doesn’t work, not with the way you’re splayed out below him, face pretty with lust.”Please.”

How was he meant to last when you sounded like that? All fucked out and dizzy from just his tongue alone?

He lays down beside you, heart thumping at the way your watery eyes watch him move.

“C’mere’.” Logan mutters, yanking your body over him and all the way up his chest, maneuvering you until your pussy is hovering above his mouth, your lips hovering over his cock.

Dizzy on Logan, saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of his bulge, massive even in the confines of jeans.

You’re confused as to why Logan put you on his chest, but it makes sense when he yanks your thighs down, mouth finding your wet, sopping sex immediately.

You cry out, hips jolting at the way his tongue pushes the pink fabric away from your puffiness, lips wrapping around your clit. When he notices how you’re shaking on his face, unmoving beside the subtle thrusts of hips, he stops.

“Lo—“

“Go on then, baby. Suck my cock, just like you wanted.”

And oh, you both feel the wetness that follows after those rasped words tinge the air.

Only once you undo that damn belt buckle and pull both his jeans and boxers down, just enough to see the way his cock bounces out, bubbling precome at the red, swollen tip, does Logan resume eating your pussy.

Fueled by the return of those talented lips, you lean forward without another thought.

Licking from base to tip, a moan vibrates against his cock as you hum, a taste that’s so Logan flooding your senses. You lick up and down him messy, spitting on the tip of him as you slick his dick up, before finally wrapping your lips around him.

“Fuck, baby.” His growl is borderning on feral; his teeth finding purchase on your asscheek and biting, in an attempt to ground himself. It only serves to have his hips jump at the feel of you whining on him, sucking him down so fucking good. “Fuck, knew you’d be good with that pretty fuckin’ mouth.”

He’s so focused on the way you’ve started bobbing up and down the length of him, dazed with the warmth and wetness as you suck and swirl your tongue, that he’s stopped his attention to you, something he’s only reminded of as you wiggle over him.

“Sorry, princess, you’re driving me fuckin’ crazy.” He grits out, fingers gripping the flesh of your thighs at the little ‘hmph!’ released as you pull off his cock.

Though he can’t see you, he knows there’s a string of spit that spans your swollen lips to his pulsating cock. He shutters, overwhelmed by you entirely, before burying his face into your weepy cunt.

”Oh! Logan, feels so good!” With a pathetic little whimper, his cock fills your mouth again as you sink down, satisfied with the way his tongue is licking at you once more.

A blend of both your moans float about the walls, as he wraps his lips around your puffed clit, as you ease his cock down your throat.

Logan’s eating you out messily, crazed by the tang of you soaking his mouth, chin, and nose. Despite the warmth bubbling in his stomach, he’s determined to make you come on his tongue again first.

When thick fingers nudge into your hole unexpectedly, you mewl at the blissful feeling.

Logan’s fingers work steadily inside you, in tandem with the way his mouth suckles meanly at your button. You’re an absolute mess— grinding down on his face, riding his fingers earnestly, gagging as Logan’s hips match the pace of his fingers, grunts vibrating against you as he fucks your throat.

Logan curls his fingers in a way that has you seeing every fucking color of the rainbow. You come, moaning around the base of his cock and rocking back and forth on his fingers and mouth, muffled sobs spilling from your stuffed mouth.

When he feels you shivering on his tongue, overstimulated and sensitive, he pulls away from your center, the soaked fabric of your panties falling back into place once more.

Your mouth is still full of him, lips lazily sucking him down as your body tries to get ahold of the white, sizzling pleasure still coursing through you.

“C’mere, baby.”

It’s a soft whisper against your thigh, but it settles over you, his soothing voice swirling around your shaky body like a warm blanket. Letting his cock fall from your lips, you scramble as fast as your body will allow before you find yourself straddling Logan, staring down at the man with cloudy, wet eyes.

And maybe Logan is sick— because the sight of tears spilling over your cheeks has his cock unbelievably hard, a growl threatening to tumble out at the way your pretty, crimson hair spills over your shoulders.

Still, he needs to make sure you’re okay.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Logan watches at the way a small smile graces your features, even as tears continue to glisten your lash line. “You okay?”

“Nothing's wrong, just feel so good.” Your voice is a little hoarse, no doubt from the way his dick was fucking your whiny mouth. Still, your voice is still the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, those few words going straight to his dick.

Logan feels his own lips tug upwards as you speak. Even though he’s fucked you silly and stolen two orgasms, he tenses with desire as he notes the want dancing in your eyes.

“Good.”

“Mhmm.”

There’s a beat of silence, a moment where hungry eyes lock in on one another, sensual energy and tension threatening to break.

Then, in a flash, lips are locked and tongues whirl together familiarly. It’s a hot, sensual kiss filled to the brim with desire— the passion almost too much with how it lights up every inch of your bodies, a fire threatening to spread.

Neither of you are sure who moved first— but it doesn’t matter because the way Logan’s hand wraps around your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail in a tight grip, steals your attention.

If someone were to see the two of you, they would see how desperate and needy you both were.

You’re sucking on Logan’s top lip, biting before soothing the sting with a sweet, soft suck. Your thighs are spread over his own entirely and your position has your cunt settled over his cock nicely. Logan’s free hand grips the skin of your ass tight, guiding as you grind against him, the soaked panties catching on the tip of him with each thrust. The fingers tangled in your hair are unforgiving, tugging harshly as Logan grunts into your open mouth.

You’re both a mess of passion and lust— and you’re body thrums with the idea of his cock inside you.

“Such a good girl, that’s it. Fuck—“ Logan nearly whines, the feel of you humping him has him trapping your lips in another allconsumimg kiss.

Your hands, lit up with energy, find purchase in his pretty hair, tugging as he kisses you messy because everything is somehow too much and not enough.

“Logan— need you. Need you so bad, baby.”

Logan wants to eat you up entirely— somehow you’re still not satiated, rubbing your slick all over his lap and begging him for more. If he was a better man, he would’ve fucked you already. As it is, he likes it a little too much hearing you beg for him.

“Shhh, you got me, honey. I’m right here.”

“Fuck me, please. Need you inside, Logan.”

There’s tears in your eyes again, ready to spill over if the ache between your thighs isn’t soothed in the next five minutes. You’re clinging to him, hips stuttering because it’s just not enough and you both know it.

“My poor baby.” He hums, the words somehow a mix of condescending and genuine and it makes you cry out. “So needy, huh?”

“Just for you.” The way you say it, it’s a message you both understand— you need him in every way possible, not just sexually.

He wonders if you know just how badly he needs you, especially now that he’s got a taste of you.

“I’m yours—“ you start, but it’s cut off by the squeak you emit when you’re suddenly flipped over, Logan’s muscular form hovering over you, his dog tags swinging between you.

“You’re mine.” It’s not a question, but a statement and it sends a thrill through you.

“Yours.” You’re nodding, eyes wide and so fucking pretty that it makes Logan squeeze his hands, the metal of his claws threatening to break through the skin.

He pulls his shirt off then, pride filling his chest at the way your eyes glaze over, a lip taken between your teeth as you stare at the vein that leads to his cock, which is painfully hard and cherry red at the tip.

He doesn’t comment on your lustful eyes, instead tracing his fingers down your body, until he reaches the hem of your baby pink, lacy top. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination but Logan might break something if he doesn’t see your tits in all their glory.

You get the message, leaning up and slowly pulling the fabric from your chest, your breasts and midsection on full display. If he hadn’t already eaten you out twice, you would’ve moved to cover your taut nipples. Instead, you grip the chain of his necklace and pull him back down with you, sighing when you’re chest to chest.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He says, pecking your lips once, licking a stripe down your throat. Wetness coats both nipples as his tongue swirls over them. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to have you under me?”

You moan, nails digging into his shoulder blades at the fluttery feeling his lips bring, deep enough to elicit blood from his skin. Logan groans, head tipping back as his hips thrust down suddenly, the tip of his cock ramming into your clit.

“Fuck, Logan.” Your hands span the expanse of his back, scratching each time he bumps your button just right. His jeans are still on, resting just below his thighs and the way he couldn’t even get up to properly take them off makes you shudder.

He’s rutting against you now, dick rubbing sensually over your panties and it dawns on you then that he hasn’t even come yet, too preoccupied with taking care of you.

Determined, you slide one hand onto his asscheek, pushing him further into you, while your other grips his chin, pulling his mouth to yours in a slick, open-mouth kiss.

“C’mon Logan, fuck me, please.”

Logan turns into something animalistic then— flipping you over onto your stomach without warning, caging you between his arms. Your gasp is audible as he yanks your soaked panties to the side, before thrusting forward, and fucks his cock into you with one thrust.

“Oh my god, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—“ the feel of Logan finally inside you has you absolutely fucking drunk on the feel of him.

“Tryin’ to, baby.” He grits, arms flexing beside your head, fingers intertwined with yours as he sinks into you, inch by inch, until you were filled to the brim.

Logan’s body covers yours, lips pressing all over your shoulder blades to soothe the little whines you let out at how fucking full you feel. It’s everything you wanted and more— you want to memorize the feel of him, every ridge and vein as he stuffs you.

“Baby,” he grunts, fingers flexing with yours as he stays still, for your sake. “So fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ wet.”

And it’s true— despite the fact that he’s huge, he slipped in easily because of the mess you created, a slick mix of your come and desire costing your slit.

“Logan, fuck me, please.” You speak, so sweetly, as if you’re not impaled by his cock right now.

With that, he slips out of you slowly, before fucking into you hard, deep. Then, he fucking ravishes you— creating a steady, fast paced rhythm and fucking you dumb with his cock.

Your hair grows darker, hands glittering between his grip each time he slams into you, each time your cunt squeezes and pulses around him.

Completely cock drunk, your back arches, ass up and hips slamming back against his with your cheek pressed into the mattress as you sob.

You’re so fucking needy that his own thighs become sticky and wet with your desire and Logan growls at the sight, fucking you even faster.

“You’re mine.” Logan grunts, releasing your fingers in favor of gripping your hair and pulling you up until your back is pressing into his chest. “My fuckin’ girl.”

“Yours!” You whimper, tears rolling down your face. Your entire body is filled with pleasure, and you feel like you can’t breathe with how overwhelmed you are, with how much euphoria you feel. “M’so close!”

“I know, honey, I know. Can feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ around me.“ Logan moans out, pushing you back down into the mattress and finding purchase on your hips, pulling you back hard and quick. “Gonna come all over me?”

You don’t answer, instead crying out as you feel a sharp flash of pain on your asscheek, Logan’s hand swift and quick. The pain mixes into pleasure when he rubs at the red skin, pressing sweet kisses on your back.

He wishes you could see yourself right now; maybe then you would understand why he’s so intoxicated by you.

Your pretty body bent over, ass up and face in the sheets as whimpers tumble out. The lace that drove him crazy is yanked to the side, grazing his cock each time he drives deeper inside you. You’re so fucking beautiful like this, he wants to keep you forever.

Sweet, whiny ‘uh,uh’s’ fill Logan’s ears as he speeds up, pulling you back up once more against his chest. He wants to be as close as fucking possible, the feel of your skin on his almost searing.

You turn your head back, lips seeking out his own. He kisses you, sucking at your lips as he continues to fuck you vigorously.

The fluttery feeling of your cunt squeezing around him suddenly sends him over the edge— low groans falling in your open mouth as hot, searing spurts of his come coat your walls.

Knowing that Logan finally gave into the temptation like you’d done all night, has you whining as your own orgasm surrounds your entire being.

“Baby—“ Logan thrusted shallowly, riding your orgasms out as long as he can. If he could, he’d never leave this feeling behind. Seemingly, you agree as your nails dug into his forearms that hold you up, eyes squeezing shut at the overpowering bliss tingling everywhere. “I got you, it’s okay.”

“Logan, fuck!” It came out as a whine, your lips sucking lightly on his neck, body completely limp in his hold.

You’ve never been so incredibly sex-dazed in your life; from this point on, Logan has ruined you for anyone else.

Though, you hope there won’t be anyone else.

Logan kisses your head before untangling from you; a smirk dancing across his usually gruff features at the little whine you let out as he pulls out. He gently rolle you onto your back, laying your head gently on the pillows. It’s such a stark difference to the rough way he fucked you minutes prior, but butterflies flutter around all the same.

You watch his eyes trail lower, landing on the mess between your thighs.

Logan is mesmerized by the sight; your pussy is all puffy and so fuckin’ wet with his come seeping out of your hole. Mindlessly, he lowers himself until he’s eye level with your sex. Without any warning, his fingers are back inside.

He ignores your hiss in favor of trying to push his come back inside, to keep you full of him. His eyes meet yours, watching as your chest rises as you observe him. There’s a glint in your eye that has his heart stuttering.

“I want to kiss you.” You whisper, soft and a little bashful, as if he didn’t have his fingers inside you. You look too perfect, hair returning to its original color, eyes cloudy with unspoken words, a smile spread over your face.

How could he deny you when you look like that?

Logan kisses your clit once, twice, three times, enjoying the way you jolt, before removing his fingers.

With those same digits, he sticks them in his mouth, sucking the flavor of you both and humming. He can hear the way your heart picks up at his actions. He releases them with a loud ‘pop’, before finally coming back to you.

He hovers over you, and like you’d done earlier, soft hands pull at the chain until his lips meet yours in a soft kiss. Logan pulls back, resting his head on yours as he matches your stare.

“Hi.” You hum then, nose bumping his in the proximity.

“Hi, baby.” Logan kisses your lips once more, before rolling beside you. You would’ve whined at him if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you onto his chest.

With your limbs tangled, a kiss pressed to your forehead, you think this could be heaven and if so, you never want to leave.

It’s quiet for a moment— the two of you content to listen to one another’s heartbeat, the breaths that fall from lips. Then, you break the silence, because of course you do.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Just so you know, I’m expecting you to take me out before you get me like this again.” Its muttered against his slick chest, where your head rests as you wrap yourself around the man like a koala.

A deep laugh fills the room, chest rumbling because what the fuck?

He’s fucked you, with his mouth and cock, and you’re laying on him as his come seeps out of you and you’re demanding him to take you out?

He was going to in the first place, but he thinks it’s cute you decide for him.

Logan may be a man that’s been alive for almost two centuries, practically immortal, but it’s completely possible you’ll be the death of him.

[cryptictongues]

On another plane of existence rn

-cravings.

cw: feral!logan, breeding kink, pervy!logan, marking, TA/ co-workers relationship, belly bulge, oral (fem receiving), gross!logan, squirting, male masturbation, spitting, slight praise kink, slight hair tugging, pet names, slightly grinding on abs? pantie play?

summary: logan's in a rut and only his sweet girl can help him.

a/n: so i pictured dofp!logan but x trilogy!logan also works! hope you enjoy <3 also also not proof read so sorry for any errors

"scott, have you seen logan?" your delicate voice fills the study as you pass by, looking for your mentor.

logan has been missing all day, which isn't the most unusual thing but it is odd that he said he would train with you today and yet, he's nowhere to be found.

"charles said he wasn't feeling well." scott replied, barely gazing up at you. "he's probably still in bed."

you nod, turning around to head upstairs and check on logan like any good friend would.

the floorboards creek under your light foot steps down the hall. charles, hank, and storm took the kids to a lab overnight to work on their final projects. the rest of the adult were either training or lesson planning. the wooden door glowed with golden light illuminating the rim, so warm and welcoming.

one knock turned into three and four. all of them unanswered, leaving you slightly alarmed. this wasn't like logan to ignore you.

❀༉‧₊˚

meanwhile, beyond the wooden door, logan sat on his bed trying to get a grip on this feeling. it's happened before, the familiar warmth that spreads all over. a primal craving attempting to claw its way out of him.

normally, he can hide out until the rut is over but now it is different. now logan has his eyes on someone. not just someone though.

it's the girl he's been warned not to fall for. charles, jean, hank and scott have all told logan that he's not to make a move on you. the girl who's too pure for a big bad wolf like him. for once, he listened and steered clear of you, no matter how pretty you were.

until you signed up to be his teachers assistant.

now with the close proximity, logan is tortured by your scent. the sweet cherry he's become familiar with haunts his deepest thoughts. he could perfectly trace every outline on your body without even trying. honestly, he found it quite sickening how you've carved your spot in his mind.

next to him on the mattress are a pair of your panties from yesterday. he remembered seeing the slight flash of light blue from under your skirt when you dropped your pen in the hallway. there's a damp patch on them, calling his name in mocking tones.

"logan..?" your meek voice was barely audible behind the door. "can i please come in?"

a low growl hums in his chest at the sound of your voice. he wants nothing more than to let you inside and ravish you in the way he desires; but he doesn't want to scare you off.

"not now, sweetheart." he grunts almost as if he's in pain.

"a-are you okay?"

logan couldn't see you but he could picture your concerned face. scrunched eyebrows and wide bambi eyes, lips in a pout. god, he could just eat you up.

" 'm fine." his voice sounds rough, like a bark. he would never yell at you but he needed you to walk away because the feeling of his cock being suffocated in his jeans was killing him.

"alright." you whine. "see ya later then, lo."

soon enough he heard your footsteps down the hall, logan quickly strips himself of his black shirt, dark blue jeans and his boxers. without hesitation he reaches over to grab that panties he had taken from your hamper.

"fuck, smells so sweet." he groans, nose pressed against the soft soaked cotton as he tugs his throbbing cock. spreading the pearly beads of pre-cum.

with his senses clouded and a fire ignited in him, he kitten licks the patch, letting your slick dance on his tongue. picturing your legs wrapped around his head, how your tight hole would take his tongue or his fingers and the little noises that would escape you.

"that's my sweet pussy. all mine." logan mumbles possessively under his breath before spitting into the material and bringing it to his cock, using it to jerk off.

as his orgasm approaches, the fire intensifies; sweat dripping down his temples the faster his hand moves. abs also dripping in sweat as his chest rapidly moves up and down. mind swarmed with all the positions logan wants to put you in.

"s-shit." logan curses, clenching his teeth as his vision blurs and euphoria washes over him. ropes of cum spill all over his abs and happy trail, creating a sticky messy.

left alone and panting, covered in his release, logan's still unsatisfied. he knew there was only one thing that could fix this.

❀༉‧₊˚

it's near midnight when you finally hear logan leave his room. heavy boots heading towards the stairs, right by your room.

"where are you going, lo?" you ask, peaking out of your bedroom to catch him. he stops but doesn't acknowledge you. "gonna leave me here all alone?"

logan could've sworn that you would be asleep at this hour and he could leave to find some woman at the bar to help with his... situation.

"scott's around here somewhere." he dryly replies, trying to avoid your gaze.

"he left a few hours ago." you mumble, nervously messing with the bottom of your nightgown.

something was off about logan; you just couldn't figure out what it was. he wouldn't even look at you. had you done something wrong? was he upset with you? why was he avoiding you?

"i-is everything alright?" you ask, worried for the answer.

logan take a minute to respond, scratching the scruff on his face while he thinks. just because he looks strong doesn't mean he is internally. logan found his weakness in you. a woman he's known for a little over a year and yet you could bring him to his knees if you so pleased.

suddenly, logan turns and looks at you. he sucks in his breath sharply when he saw you dressed in a cute tiny white nightgown. logan was positive that you were the closest he will ever get to meeting an angel.

the material ends high up on your thighs and he swears that in this light he can see the outline of your nipples, watching how they pebble from the cool air in the hallway.

"it's just cravings." he finally answers, tearing his eyes off of your pretty shape.

the moment logan makes eye contact with you, you notice how the color changed from a light hazel to bordering black. he looked hungry. you've heard of this before, a feral state that mutants like him enter every six months or so and if you knew better, you would run.

"anything i can help you with?" you ask, batting your long lashes up at him.

"it's real dirty work, princess." logan warns, restraining himself from jumping at the opportunity.

"i don't mind." you tell him. in that moment, a familiar aroma hits him. "i wanna help you, logan."

normally, logan wouldn't let things get this far. sure, the two of you have made sly flirty comments in the past but it's never gone past just words.

he watches you walk back into your room, keeping the door open for him.

❀༉‧₊˚

your bedroom was damn near exactly how logan pictured it. soft earth toned colors, pretty sheets, messy desk with all the paperwork you two do together. most importantly, it smelled like you. not your perfume or whatever candle you lit earlier. this was different.

"logan..." your voice pulls him back to reality. "tell me what you want me to do."

so considerate. logan thinks to himself as he watches you sit with your knees against the mattress and look up at him like a dog looking at its owner, waiting for an order.

without a warning, logan crashes his lips against yours. it hot and messy how he almost swallows you whole. both of you have waited forever for this moment.

logan lays you flat on the mattress, not breaking the kiss. your teeth bite down on his bottom lip at the small thud. you go to whisper an apology but it's covered by logan's loud groaning.

he take this opportunity to grind against you, only covered in a pair of matching white panties. if he was in a clearer head space, he would've thought this was planned.

"u-uh, please." you whimper against his lips, lifting your hips a little to meet his.

it's quite cute how pathetic you look right now. struggling for more. logan latches his lips to your neck, leaving dark maroon bites behind as he moves further south.

at the waistband of your panties, logan nips at the skin on your hipbone, leaving behind a pretty mark to match the others. he craved to be closer to you. pressing his nose into the wet patch and inhaling sharply, grunting at your essence.

a loud squeal falls from your lips as you lazily try to push him away. too embarrassed by the lewd action. nonetheless, logan refuses to move until he's had enough. licking over the cotton and making out with your covered cunt.

"l-logan!" you gasp as he flips you over on your belly with your ass in the air.

the sound of the material ripping fills the room. this was better than logan could've imagined. the sight of your throbbing cunt as it cries for his attention, and only his.

"prettiest fuckin' pussy i've ever seen." he marvels under his breath. "gonna let me use it how i please, princess?"

"mhm." you nod, trying to look back at him. "it's yours, lo."

your words send him on a spiral, he sinks you down on his tongue so he can fuck you at his pace. exploring your walls and reveling in your taste. no dessert in the world could compare to you.

logan grinds against your mattress, desperately seeking relief. not that he's complaining. he's more than happy with his position; and so are you.

there will be bruises on your hips tomorrow, without a doubt because of how tightly logan's gripping your hips. keeping you right where he wants you to be.

"n-need more, please." you moan, fists balling up the sheets.

"what a greedy fuckin' baby." logan says, pulling off of a second to replace his tongue with two thick fingers, stretching you out for him.

pretty little 'uh, uh, uh's' spill from your lips every time you bounce back on logan's fingers. he's hypnotized by the way you manage to coat his finger with your slick. dripping down his palm and onto your sheets.

"look 'atcha, sweetheart." he mutters, doubtful that you can hear him over the obscene sounds coming from your pussy. "struggling to take my fingers. gotta stretch ya' for my cock. think you can take it?"

"mhm!" you answer, feeling a trail of kisses on the back of your thighs as logan speeds up his thrusts, locating your sweet spot with ease.

there's a warmth of pleasure that washes over you. it's different than anything else you've experienced. before you could even figure it out, you to gush all over logan's hand and the sheets.

"she's squeezing me so damn tight." he growls, watching as your pussy spasms from overstimulation, practically knocking the wind out of you. logan has to fight off cumming in his jeans as he licks up your release.

once logan allows you to catch your breath, you turn and say, "i've never um, never done that before."

"fuck." logan curses, smacking his palm down on your ass. "it won't be the last time tonight."

the sound of logan undoing his belt echos in the room. lining the head up to your entrance and slowly sinking into you. your eyes roll back into your head at the stretch. similar to a cat, you arch your back and purr at the feeling.

"f-feel so full." you moan as he picks up his pace.

"that's it, princess." he grunts, moving his hand down your back and wrapping it into your hair. "tell me how good it feels."

and you don't waste a single second to do so.

"you're s-so big, can feel you e-everywhere." you reply in between heavy breaths.

the hand wrapped in your hair tugs you forward so your back is against his chest. with his lips pressed against your ear, he mutters, "everywhere, huh?"

you nod, digging your nails into his thighs with each thrust. his other hand travels from your breast to your lower torso underneath the nightgown. your eyes shoot open as soon as he lightly pushes down.

"can you feel me right here?" he asks, slowing down his strokes for you to focus.

when you don't respond right away, the hand in your hair moves to your jaw, gripping it and angling your gaze down to the large bulge in your belly. you always knew logan was larger than the average man but you didn't even think this was possible.

"y-yes!" you whimper loudly, needing him to go faster.

logan's not religious by any means but in that moment, he wishes he could personally thank god for everyone being gone tonight. he can't imagine having to muffle your little moans right now while he starts pounding back into you.

"gimme kiss, please?" you whisper in between the lewd wet smacks of his heavy balls against your ass.

how could logan turn down his sweet girl? even while being ruined, you still managed to use your manners.

the two of you sloppily make out, exploring each other. he swallows all the whimpers you let out against his lips. except the one from when logan pulls back.

"what are you–?"

"open your mouth and stick out your tongue for me." logan demanded, staring down at you like a feral animal.

you obey, opening up for him like he asks. logan spits on top your tongue, feeling your tight cunt flutter around him. clenching at the taste of him.

"swallow." he says, watching you do so. "what a good girl."

"i'm so f-fucking close, lo." your head falls back against his shoulder as your vision turns white, stars behind your eye lids.

"me too." logan warns. " 'ya gonna let me fill you up, sweetheart? bet you wanna be full of me, to carry my seed? isn't that right?"

he knows you're too far gone, babbling incoherent sentences and soft pleas. the tiny, "mhm" and head nod give him the okay to cum inside you.

"s-shit!" he curses. "you're so tight, practically suffocating me, baby."

his orgasm triggers another for you, milking him until both of you are struggling for air. the room felt like the inside of a sauna and reeks of sex.

"got another one in you, pretty girl?" logan asks, slowly pulling out of you.

"y-yeah." you answer, letting him move you how he wanted.

logan slips your nightgown off of you and lays you down on your back again. this time fully taking in your form. every curve, dimple and scar. he makes sure to pay your breasts some attention, taking one in his mouth and massages the other, pinching and rolling your nipple until your whining. desperately you attempt to rub your pussy against his abs, gaining very little friction from it.

if he wasn't in this rut, he would've taken more time to appreciate this. next time he will.

you open up for him again and he slips in with ease. logan brings your thighs to your chest, folding you in half.

"harder, please." you beg, staring up at him with those wide eyes that he's a sucker for.

"i don't want to hurt you, baby." he grunts, trying to restrain himself.

"i can take it, lo." you tell him, stroking his cheek with your much smaller thumb. "i know you need it right now."

instead of answering with words, logan bends down and kisses you in a more tender way than before. as soon as he picks up his thrusts, you tug softly at his locks, making his hips stir and lose rhythm for a second.

"you like it rough, don't 'ya, princess?" he grunts in your neck while his thumb moves to rub circles on your clit. "fuck, my cum is just spilling out of you."

a tear rolls down your cheek, only further encouraging logan. licking up the salty tear before it falls off your skin. never in your life have you felt so dirty.

"please, need to feel you logan." you whimper and he knows exactly what you mean.

"don't worry, baby. i'm close." he says, feeling you flutter around him.

logan's gaze stays locked on where the two of you are connected, watching him slide in and out of you. almost drooling at the image of his cock in your stomach.

within minutes, you're soaking his cock like you did his fingers. slick landing all over logan's sculpted torso. your fingers gather some before bringing them to his lips, letting him lick them clean.

a loud animalistic growl signals his release, painting your walls again for the second time tonight.

both of you lay stuck together. neither ready to let go of each other just yet. on the floor, you notice something light blue peaking out of the back pocket of his discarded jeans.

"so that's where my panties went?" you giggle, capturing logan's attention.

"yeah..." his voice raspy and deeper than usual. "sorry 'bout that, sweetheart."

"it's okay." you reply. "but next time that you get these 'cravings', come to me and i'll help y–"

logan cuts you off on with the rock of his hips and the wet slosh of your ruined cunt. before you can even moan, he's grabbed your white panties next to you and shoves them in your mouth.

fuck, he should've come to you sooner.

– tags: @hazydespair @itsmemuffy @wolvndmouth @nightingale-slayer @melday0105 @collector-of-furby-furs @solistarrs @atomicmystery @milfsarefineashell @ohfourgotten @keerygal @shewolverinesworld @tezooks @spookysquids @llorentezete @actuallybridgetjones @planetxella @silversprings-mp3 @coocoocachewgotscrewed @lethallyprotected @laweona150 @sturnsvoid @emoevanafton @slowlikehoneyyy @ginnylupin @omnivirgo @shiv-r @buckyssugarchick @ayamenimthiriel @balariie @ssloveslogan @stabbedfawn @dxddyspup @leggomiegg0

[cryptictongues]

I think I just told on myself Jfc

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

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© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[cryptictongues]

Kind of headcanon kind of canon but Logan calls every woman he knows some kind of nickname (darling, sweetheart, etc) but for you? He’s got some reserved only for you.

Princess — He treats you like one, so of course he’s gonna call you one. Opening doors for you, buying you flowers, taking you out to dinner—maybe he spoils you a bit, but he really can’t help it when he’s taking you for a date around town and you look at him like the sun the entire time.

“Nice and sunny outside—how about we go shopping, huh princess?”

Doll — Usually said when you’re looking extra fine, especially when you’re modeling your brand new outfits, just for his eyes. It’s a term of endearment, but also a fact, because he really does love dressing you up like you’re his personal Barbie.

“God, when did you get that dress…for me? Oh doll, you shouldn’t have.”

Babe — Almost always accompanied by a kiss, he calls you this whenever he’s in a more loving mood, so imagine your “surprise” when it’s the only thing he calls you nowadays. If they never met you the X-Men would think it was your name.

“Morning babe, sleep well?”

My ____ — Followed by his nickname of choice, but this one earns a special place because he only ever uses it in the bedroom. My princess, my doll, my pretty girl—all usually said while he’s inches deep inside of you, biting at your lips while your nails claw down his back.

“My girl, all for me, ain’t that right? My pretty girl.”

[cryptictongues]

Every time I hear Two Way Mirror by Loathe, all I can think about is an oldman!Logan, who is absolutely beat up over the life he leads, finding a reader who relates to him wholeheartedly and deals with the same vices, and they both just heal each other in the process