manicandobsessive

[manicandobsessive]

This picture makes me wanna go into heat and do nasty and nasty nasty things 😩😩😩😩

[manicandobsessive]

list of nicknames logan has for his significant other before i go to bed cause i can’t stop thinking about this:

~baby (OF COURSE DONT FUCKING TRY TO SAY OTHERWISE)

~babydoll

~darlin (duh)

~sweetheart

~sweet girl or boy

~sweet thing

~sweets

~doll

~princess

~pretty girl or boy

~pretty doll

~pretty baby

~my girl or boy

~babe (literally so casually too idk i can hear it)

~mama (if you ever have kids with him. me personally no cuz i hate kids but i fear this is accurate)

~sweet cheeks (he would cuz it makes you laugh)

~honey

~bubs (obv even though some people hate it i think it’s cute but i understand why yall don’t like bub sometimes)

on another note he would def call any little kid bub like

“hi logan”

“bub” with like a courtesy nod as if he’s talking to someone his age

~gorgeous/ beautiful/ whatever else to describe how perfect you are to him

HE WOULD 100% SAY “hi beautiful” prove me wrong you CANT

hed also say stuff like “hi/bye pretty” when you’re not even dating yet to see you all flustered and shy and tease you

~ANGEL (he’d so do this idk it’s very on brand)

~trouble (like old man lo or dofp or any version of him that’s somewhat greying)

~missus in the way of like referring to you around someone else

“i’ll see what the missus says”

~he’d 100% also call you his wife/husband even if you’d only been dating for a few months cause he’s possessive like that

i’ll update if i find more 💞

[manicandobsessive]

I WANNA BE HIS SWEETHEART!!!!

Deceiving Looks

Trilogy! Logan X Mutant! F!Reader

Logan's sweetheart gets pissed

A/N: This is just a lil thing I thought of. Logan does a lot of the protecting and all. What if someone protects him? It's a lil different from what I usually write!

Warnings: Friends w/ Feelings, a few fluff moments, canon typical violence, descriptions of body harm, reader gets fucking pissed, Logan falling in love every second, Magneto gets his shit rocked, other x-men mentioned, reader is a mutant with phytokinesis!

“Don’t these things eat bugs and stuff?”

Logan asks as he observes the strange-looking carnivorous plant known as the Venus fly-trap. He was squatting, arms crossed on the table as his eye level met with the plant, resting in a protective glass terrarium. 

You bent over next to him, palms pressed to your knees; side by side with Logan, both looking at the plant, as you held a pleased smile on your face. “Yup! Although they don’t have to eat bugs to survive. They create their own sugars from the sun like any other plant, but they certainly wouldn’t mind a snack here and there.” 

“Hm.” Logan gave you a side glance, a quirk of his brow. “Do these guys talk too?”

“Not really. They have a personality similar to a lazy cat honestly.” You reached over, removing the small glass cover of the terrarium, and petting the ‘mouth’ of the plant, which seemed to react happily to your touch. Logan let out a small scoff, not out of irritation, but disbelief. 

You were showing Logan your greenhouse- your own little slice of heaven. He finally came in, a week after first showing up at the school, curious about why you seemed to be in this place all the time. You gave him the grand tour, and an explanation of your mutation, known as phytokinesis- to put it generally. 

You had a kinship with nature and had an amazing ability to communicate, grow, control, and even a little secret skill only you and Charles know about. You don’t use it often though, because it drains a tremendous amount of energy from you.

Logan, ever skeptical that your mutation was a thing, was now asking you about literally every plant in the greenhouse. It was cute, while others probably saw him being a cocky asshole- you could tell it was his excuse for drawing out a conversation with you. The man isn’t as slick as he thinks he is. Especially since the ferns have told you that he’s been stealing looks at your ass every time you turn around. 

“They’re a little freaky looking,” Logan mutters, watching as you replace the glass of the terrarium. 

You gasp, as if you were offended, you stood up. “Rude.” You smile teasingly. “Y’know, Logan, looks can be deceiving.” 

He gave you a flirty look and smirked, standing up with you. “That's so, sweetheart?” 

“Do we all agree on the plan?” 

Scott's voice came over on the intercom. Mutual agreements across the jet. You glanced at Logan next to you, his head tipped back, staring off into space. You gently nudged him with your elbow, and he glanced at you. 

Shooting him a knowing look, he rolled his eyes. 

“Logan?... Logan? Wolverine!”

“Yeah yeah,” Logan mutters, moving to adjust the sleeve of his suit. “Understood.” 

“All you had to say.” Scott scoffs. A small laugh escaped you as you tilted your head at Logan. 

“Does it physically hurt you to speak to him or something?” You teased him.

“Just don’t like the know-it-all attitude.” 

“Hm, I think I could agree with that.”

“I can hear you two,” Scott mutters. 

“Oh, sorry Scotty.” You say apologetically, but you and Logan share a look of amusement. 

“We’re coming up on landing, ready everyone,” Ororo calls out, as she reaches up to flip a few buttons on the ceiling of the cockpit. You leaned back in your seat, noticing Logan's hand tensing. Making a fist, before splaying his hand out, and making a fist in repeated motion again. 

You reached over, your fingers gently brushing over the underside of his wrist, up to his palm, before intertwining your hand with his and giving him a reassuring squeeze. You heard him let out a deep breath, as his muscles seemed to relax from your comfort.

 You’re the only one who has noticed his little anxiety over flying- Logan does a great job masking it, but you, the ever-perceptive person you are, noticed it immediately the first time you got on the jet with him. Since then, you made a point to sit next to him and provide him with that quiet reassurance that he was okay. 

Neither of you ever talked about it, but you knew he appreciated it. 

In fact, neither of you talk much about anything. 

Although you didn’t need words to tell you how Logan felt about you. He tells you every day, in his own little ways. 

The jet landed with a small thud to the ground. Once safely secured, Ororo switched the jet off, while Scott ran a check of the surroundings. Logan bounced his leg, and you once again squeezed his hand. 

“Remember everyone, use caution when approaching these mutants,” Charles informs everybody in the jet. “We do not quite know yet the powers of some of them, we need to exercise discretion, and not make them feel as if they’re being attacked.” 

Charles had recently gotten some information regarding a large group of runaway mutants that were camping in the woods. Most of them are young mutants ranging from 13 to 21. He wanted the X-men - all the X-men- to come and meet these mutants, invite them to the mansion, and provide them guidance and help. It’s believed that they escaped from yet another illegal mutant research facility, which has been the fourth one to pop up in the last year.

The last time the team had tracked down some mutants who had been victims of terrible experiments, they- quite understandably- lashed out immediately. It took a lot of convincing- Logan being the final voice that the mutants listened to, to get them to join the school, even if only temporarily.

You yourself don’t actually go on missions. Usually the designated “babysitter”, and you were a hell of a good one. Other than the students adoring you as their professor, your plant abilities allowed you to know if students were sneaking out or if anyone was sneaking in. You even caught Mystique once trying to infiltrate the mansion, acting as if she was Bobby. That was an extremely awkward night. 

You don’t even have a suit- considering yourself a pacifist and Charles respected that. Although you don’t fight, you’re still technically considered an omega-level mutant. It’s not common knowledge. 

Not that you were keeping it a secret. No one asked, and you never gave them a reason to think otherwise. 

One by one the team set off the jet, while the plan was for you to stick behind for the moment and keep an eye on things. Logan lingered, while you watched everyone leave; standing near the exit ramp of the jet, wishing them luck and to be careful. He stepped up to you, and you tilted your head up to him. 

“Gonna wish me good luck?”

“No. I’m gonna tell you to be careful.” You say, a faint smile on your lips. You both were standing close to each other- your faces mere inches away, and you swore if he looked at you like that one more time you were going to kiss that smug look off of him. 

“Me? Being careful?” He chuckled. “Carefuls my middle name.”

You let out a fake, sarcastic laugh, and his shit-eating grin grew wider. “I’m serious Lo. As fun as your little battle stories are, I don’t like hearing about you getting hurt.” You say, almost sternly as if you were talking to one of your students, poking his chest with your index finger. 

“I heal.” His tone was innocent, as he quirked a brow. 

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” You say softly, looking him in the eyes, a small tilt of your head. His expression softened. 

His sweetheart. That was you. Nothing official yet, no. He hasn’t quite made that move yet, despite the chatising from the others over his apparently obvious crush. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, he certainly did. 

He just wasn’t the man he thought you deserved. 

“You don’t need to worry yourself with that.”

He wanted to be. He wanted to feel like he earned those sweet smiles, the way you care for him, your patience and understanding. That’s why he stayed. The X-men was a chance at becoming a better man, for you. 

“Promise, you’ll be more careful, especially if things go south?”

A toothy grin spread across his face. “Alright sweetheart. Promise.” 

Maybe somewhere inside he wanted to feel that for himself too, but out of all things he took in consideration, his own self, was the least of his concerns.

He let out a pained scream, as he could feel his skeleton slowly being torn out from his skin. 

More- and more, as his senses electrified him, shocking through his nerves, his body trying to heal itself, to hold onto his metal skeleton- but was losing the battle. He closed his eyes, thinking of you.

Sorry sweetheart

He didn’t keep his promise. 

As he prepared for what will likely be his most painful death- completely unsure that his astonishing ability to come back will be enough this time. He thought of you. Another second passed and he thought it was over-

Until he fell to the ground. A harsh thud! Underneath him, creating a divot in the Earth from his weight hitting the ground hard. He groaned as he felt himself heal over. His body attempts to fix the displacement caused by Magneto's meddling of the adamantium bound to his skeleton. It wasn’t the most pleasant feeling.

What the hell happened?

He didn’t see it. The others did. 

Hank had watched in utter fascination as a tree was launched across the clearing, knocking Magneto out of the air and pinning him to the ground, releasing his hold on Logan. Then he saw you- a small chill down his spine. He’d never seen you angry. The only time was when Scott accidentally erased your recording of Law and Order SVU newest episode. 

That doesn’t really compare to what he’s seeing right now, but it goes to show that you are a naturally demure person. The calmest, level-headed person on Earth, was you; Compared to himself - even compared to Charles of all people. 

He meant to go to you, but of course he was distracted as he got jumped by yet another mutant. He roared, committing back to the fight.

The whole thing went wrong. It wasn’t a group of displaced mutants. It was Eric, pulling yet another stunt- and what for no one has figured out yet. He had practically an army of mutants. Scott predicted the only reason that they were lured here - was so Eric could kill them all, removing the only obstacle that stops him from his main goal. 

The team was getting destroyed. They were outnumbered. Scott and Charles had been both knocked out, with Jean furiously attempting to protect them- her own powers weakening as her energy diminished greatly. Ororo and Hank took on the major fighting - but even found themselves becoming overwhelmed. The younger trainee X-men were quickly detained, overpowered by mutants with far more experience and far more control of their powers.

You, on the other hand, were left in the dark initially. A mutant had some kind of electrical interference power, knocking out comms, and any sort of technology that would allow communication. 

You only found out through the whispers of the trees. 

By time you came running through, attempting to find everyone in the chaos- you had spotted Logan and Eric in the air. Logan, arms out, claws out, screaming out in pain. It didn’t take a genius to know what was happening. 

You wasted no time in taking control of the situation. 

A simple wave of your hand, vines and roots snapped out of the ground. Clumps of foliage began to grow rapidly throughout the trees and empty clearing, turning the old growth forests into something resembling a jungle , and the trees in the forests shook with anticipation. Your energy made them alive. They were certainly eager to assist. 

You lifted one of the trees out of the ground, vines clutching around the trunk, closing one eye, as you aimed- and tossed your arm, as if pitching a baseball. the tree flying across the air and hitting Magneto point-blank.

You heard shouts of surprise - and horror, as the vines, roots, and even branches of the tall leafy giants around you began to make short work of the offenders attacking your friends. You weren’t killing anybody, no, of course not!

If you were suddenly grabbed and restrained by a damn tree, you’d scream in horror too. 

You paid no mind to them, trusting in your plant-kin abilities to control a situation. Storming across the clearing with clenched fists, as Eric pulled himself out from under the branches, leaves stuck to his helmet and armor as he attempted to regain himself. He saw you approaching him,

Momentary surprise on his expression, before smirking. He lifted his hand up, but you waved your own- and a branch came flying across and smacked him in the face. 

It gave you enough time to direct some vines to wrap around him, one of them yanking off his helmet and throwing it across the yard, as you approached him.

Eric couldn’t believe himself what he was seeing. 

Not much surprises him anymore. Mutants with extraordinary abilities, powerful and talented. Absolutely beautiful. 

He remembered you when you first came to the mansion, a quiet one, who looked protectively over the others around you. Your mutation is seemingly involved with plants. You were always set on just growing flowers, making the mansion garden beautiful for every season. Charles mentored you privately. 

You were such a determined child in not hurting anybody. You carried around a pacifist agenda, something Eric frequently scoffed at yet you never blinked an eye. 

Yet now here you are. Barely recognizable, a sickly green color stretching along your skin, something moss-like in appearance slowly growing along your arms and face. An angry scowl on your face as you stared him down. 

“Well, hello again my dear.” Eric smiles. You raised a brow. “Learn some new things?”

“Shut up.” You snap. 

“Your gardening sk-”

He was cut off by a smack across the face. Blinking in surprise, he looked back at you. You- utterly unamused, a strange thing to see. The vines that held onto him began to grow uncomfortably tight as you looked down at him. 

“Now that was rude.” He says, his cheek still stinging. “I think that calls for a little payback, dont you?”

You didn’t notice the small wave of his hand that was still free from the constriction of the vines, as Logans body is picked up once more, still out of it as he is brought to you, his claws forcibly being take out - and aimed at your back. 

He smirked

Only for his face to fall. 

Your own hand flipped, and vines grabbing Logan and pulling him gently to the ground- cradling him in his barely conscious state, but holding him tightly from Magnetos grip. 

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are Eric.” You inform him, your voice cold. He felt the vines restricting him tighter- taking his breath away. He said your name- a mixture of begging and surprise in his tone. 

Then Charles said your name. 

You blinked, turning your head to see your team okay. Jean and Ororo checking over Logan- who was grumbling about needing a cigarette as he slowly regained his consciousness. The vines that held onto him loosened as he sat up, and you let out a sigh of relief. 

Charles looked at you with a pleading expression. You turned to look back at Eric, the green of your skin, and the moss slowly disappearing. 

“Pull a stunt like that with him again, and Charles won’t be enough to stop me.” You say in a low voice, before turning and walking away to join Logan at his side. Your hand went to his shoulder and Logan looked at you in confusion, wondering where in the hell you came from. 

Thanks to your plants. Eric was once again arrested, and stored in his plastic prison. The game him and Charles play continue on for yet another day. His intentions that day never truly revealed to any of you, but you had suspcion Charles knew as you’ve noticed him keeping an extra close eye on Jean.

The other mutants, some managing to escape, the others arrested but bailed out by Charles, who then offered them a chance at redemption. Some took it, moving to the school.

They made a point to stay away from you though.

You were back to your normal self. No one had said anything to you about your…Incident. Likely not knowing what to say. 

Logan wasn’t fully aware of everything that had happened. Only noticing that awkward silence that filled the jet as you sat next to him, your hand holding his. You seemed exhausted too. 

It wasn’t till Jean told him what had happened, a few days after. 

A bit surprised at first, before a fond smile grew on his face as he left her office to go find you- you in your usual spot. 

Exhaustion still ate at you as you worked in your greenhouse. Your last class of the day was over, and you were finishing cleaning up the mess of soil and leaves that have been spilled during the class activity of transplanting the sprouted veggies the class was growing for the school into bigger pots. 

Logan was leaning against the doorway watching you, a faint smile on his face. 

You, sweet little thing you are, got so pissed over him nearly deboned like a fish, had made half the school terrified. He didn’t see it, but apparently a few of your tree friends came to life and took care of things very easily while you were smacking Magneto around. Hank compared them to the Ents of the Lord of The Ring series. Logan called Hank a nerd for knowing what they were called.

Even though even he read those books when they first came out  

“Feeling any better?” You finally spoke up, knowing he’d been standing there watching you. The ferns were such snitches regarding Logan. You turned your head to look at him, a faint smile on your face. 

“Sure do.” He walked over to you. “Heard you were pretty upset when things went down.” 

You shrugged. “Eric went a little too far this time.” 

“It’s nothing new.” Logan nods. “You doing something about it though is new.” 

You looked away, becoming a bit embarrassed and Logan’s grin grew. You looked back at him. “I told you Lo. I don’t like seeing you getting hurt.”

His heart softened just a bit more at your words. He’s always been the one protecting, taking the hits, handling the pain. The others don’t blink an eye when he throws himself into the line of fire to keep from someone else getting hurt. He just spits out the bullets, the knives. His skin stitches over and the only evidence of anything ever happening is the blood, and the memory.

He always plays it off. There’s no point in harping over it. He does what he can do and after living as long as he has, watching people he cared for get killed, he grew to be fond of his ability because it gave him control in protecting others. No matter what it does to his body. 

Every single time though, he comes back from another mission filled with violence. You’re waiting for him. You clean him up, you make him eat, and you become that safe place for him to disappear into as the trauma etches yet another spot into his mind. 

You always seemed to see right through him. The way he hides his shaky hands, his gruff exterior a front for the anxiety that eats at him inside. Always there, always ready to take him into your arms.

He reached out, and pulled you into an embrace, that you gladly accepted. Wrapping your arms around his waist, your cheek pressed where his heart rested. His lips pressed to the top of your head as his arms cradled you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever truly become the man he thinks you deserve, but apparently you seem to like him as he is right now. Maybe, you won’t have to wait much longer.

“Thank you sweetheart.” He mutters into your hair, and you squeezed him a bit tighter.

[manicandobsessive]

Being Hugh Jackman's controversially young girlfriend - a moodboard

[manicandobsessive]

COME BACK BABY PLEASE - L.H.

Summary: When it comes to you, Logan would do anything - even break his own heart.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Mature themes (masturbation) 18+ only, Angst (with happy ending), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual pining (but Logan's a stubborn fool), Empath!Reader

A/N: For @lubdubology's and @yxtkiwiyxt's Loveuary Challenge (great idea btw)! The prompt was DoFP!Logan + We Belong Together by Mariah Carey. Also, I hit 500 followers last week and I'm floored, honestly. Thank you so much for all the love and support! Now, back to this gorgeous man.

MASTERLIST

Logan fucks himself into his fist.

Because there you are, latched onto his mind like some parasite.

Iron, harsh and metallic in taste, blooms on his tongue as his jaw locks. A piss-poor attempt to crush the memories of sun-kissed smiles, of tangled fingers - of your love.

It's like holding water in a sieve, you slip through his defenses, elusive and inevitable. He loathes himself truly for possessing such a traitorous heart.

And still, beneath all that armour, it's you he reaches for.

But he doesn't touch you. Can't touch you. Not when you're living and breathing again just beyond his door, as if he hadn't felt your body go limp between his arms, his trembling pleas silenced by a last kiss, an "I love you" murmured against cold lips.

As if you hadn't died.

Jean notices first. Though she'd sworn off trespassing on anyone's mind, least of all his, it's hard not to. His thoughts are loud, but his agony screams louder. It seems even the kids whisper amongst themselves in the hallways - Professor Logan, their beloved hero, now a man adrift.

Everything becomes awfully clear as Charles explains - the reality a lightning strike so blinding it jolts the room. The time travelling, the ever-present fear of failure, the responsibility he'd shouldered in solitude–

You're an idiot.

Jean's voice rings in his head, unwelcome yet painfully true. His eyes lift, her subtle nod drawing his attention to you. And he'd rather flay himself alive, unsheathe his claws into his own chest, than brave the unwavering love written in your tear-filled gaze.

Just talk to her. You're only hurting yourselves–

Stay outta this, Red.

She's right, he knows it. But knowing and doing are two different beasts entirely. Because now, you're here, and here is a minefield. One mistake, one single moment of weakness, and the nightmare could swallow him whole once again.

Stupidly, Logan avoids you.

Mornings are the most torturous. He remembers chasing your lips as you slipped from his embrace only to be drawn back. The sheets would pool around your waist, barely clinging to your frame as you stretched lazily.

Utterly captivated, he'd watch as you moved about, gathering your things, playfully dodging his kisses between buttons and zippers. "If you keep distracting me, I'll never make it to class on time," you'd laugh, followed by his teasing: "That's the fuckin' point, darlin'."

That's how it used to be.

Now, he paces his room, attuned to the creak of your floorboards, the rustle of your clothes, the unmistakable hitch in your footsteps as you perhaps hesitate by his door.

Maybe today, he thinks. Maybe today, you'll storm inside, fists pounding against the walls around his heart, demand answers and finally scream at him for the coward he is.

Much like yesterday, all the days and weeks before, you never do. And that, Logan realises, is the cruellest curse of all.

It's suffocating; a prison of his own making, brick after brick cemented by fear, bars forged in the white-hot fires of regret. Every cell, every corridor, every inch serves a reflection of his self-destruction. And the key? Lost, or perhaps never truly deserved in the first place.

If nothing else, shame doesn't choke him as harshly in here; dull in the way it gnaws at him. Logan closes his eyes, conjuring you between his legs as he's sprawled on his back, one hand gripping his cock, the other fisted in the sheets.

Within minutes, everything blurs. Like shattered glass, fragments of your lives crash and collide. His vision whites out for a heartbeat, then slowly returns, leaving him limp and spent in the darkness.

And then, nothing.

Just a shuddering sigh tinged with disgust. Wet smears on his palm. A small, pathetic offering to some patron saint of loneliness.

You don't remember the last kiss.

Was it in the kitchen, his fingers on your nape, the counter waking all sorts of purples and blues across your back? Maybe on his motorcycle, the engine dying as he dismounted, leather and gasoline twisting in the air? Or perhaps something else entirely?

A silken thread spun from longing unwinds, stretching and stretching through the fog of time; it frays, it thins, it threatens to snap, leaving behind a faint echo.

When was the last time Logan kissed you?

Rain lashes against the windowpanes, moonlight spilling across the floor in flimsy slants. A hollow reminder of his absence, the dent on your mattress glares back rudely. The weight of his bones, the warmth of his skin, his fading presence - reduced to nothing but a shallow impression on the foam.

You remember other moments, though. Lazy days, the kind where he'd rise first, propping himself on an elbow, hair spiking in twenty-odd directions. Sometimes he'd be content with just admiring you, simply ghosting knuckles across your cheek. And sometimes, those fingers would slip lower and lower while he'd mumble all sorts of filth into the valley between your breasts, chasing your sweet dreams away.

Then, there were times when you'd return from missions, bruised and hacked to pieces, but very much alive. And in no more than three strides, his arms would curl around your waist, all fierce and protective. Home had never felt so precious - so real - as it did in those moments.

So, when was the last time Logan kissed you? And did it even matter anymore, when he's so determined to erase you from his life?

As luck would have it, sleep plays the spiteful mistress tonight, taunting glimpses of oblivion only to snatch them away. Across the hallway, Logan's room offers no comfort either, creaking bedsprings, muffled thuds, a growl - more animal than human - rips through the noise.

He's at it again.

Another restless night, grief rolling off him in thick, asphyxiating waves. It bleeds through the walls, and you know, instinctively, he's reliving everything. You need to help him.

What if you only make it worse? What if your touch only deepens the wounds?

Fuck it.

Six steps separate him from you. Six steps you consider crossing every day. Six steps that might as well be infinite. But now, six steps are simply six steps. Trembling, you gently push his door inward.

Clothes litter the floor, cigar boxes lay scattered amongst the clutter on the nightstand, and a trail of empty Jim Beams leads to the rumpled figure on the bed. If your presence startles him, he betrays nothing - his stillness a deliberate barrier, his back a silent rejection of your intrusion.

"Logan?"

No answer comes, just the ragged, uneven rhythm of his breathing. Carefully, you navigate around discarded boots, jeans - and who knows what else - until your knees bump the edge of his mattress.

Tension crackles in the air, and thrumming beneath is a raging current of heartache, a frequency you know all too well. Nights like this have been a constant ever since you've known him.

The first time had knocked you sideways. He'd been much younger then, more vulnerable. More trusting too, in your abilities, in the connection you'd found in each other. Through long, dark hours, through tremors and tears, you'd absorbed the worst of it, steady hands bearing the brunt of his suffering.

"You're shaking..." Hesitantly, as if approaching a frightened deer, your fingertips brush his shoulder. Then, with a slow, reluctant creak of his neck, he turns. Dark circles obscure red-rimmed eyes, haunted and hollow as they find you. He looks broken. More broken than you've ever seen before. "Oh, Logan," you breathe.

He stares, unblinking and effectively mute as if you've materialised from the very air he'd been choking on for weeks. Confusion flickers across his features, quickly shrouded by something grim, something guarded.

"You shouldn't be here," he finally croaks, dismissive in ways that are suspiciously akin to fear. With me. That's what he's really saying.

"I know you're hurting," you whisper, fighting tears that streak down your cheeks anyway. "Let me help you. Let me take your pain away."

A scoff, sharp and unfamiliar, cuts your words. And for a moment, the man before you becomes unrecognisable - a stranger wearing his skin. "Go away, sweet–" Logan snarls, the near-spoken endearment on the verge of escape before his jaws snap shut. He looks away, almost ashamed, scowling at some unseen point across the room. "Just... go."

"I can't."

"Don't make this worse."

"Worse for who, Logan?" you challenge, bitter like he's never heard. But you've had enough. Enough with the walls, the shields, the self-inflicted exile. "Because this– it's killing you. And it's killing me too." Gently, your hand grazes his own, and when he doesn't flinch, you try once again. "Please."

Hope, a fragile little thing, flutters behind the hazel you've long adored. Logan doesn't resist as you settle beside him, instead falling into a much-needed embrace. Warmth seeps into his chilled body, stress ebbing, hard edges softening. He buries his face into your neck, inhaling deeply for the peace he so desperately craves.

From the dark vines of his nightmares, shadowy figures extend scorching hands, poking the edges of his consciousness. And like always, your powers banish them completely, drawing visions of happier times in their absence. Memories, perfectly curated, lovingly held.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Like melted wax, Logan molds himself to your touch. For a long time, you simply exist together, soaking in this closeness, this feeling of home. Two puzzle pieces have never fit so well.

"I don't need your help," he mutters into your shoulder, soft and unsure, as if he doesn't believe his own words.

A small, watery chuckle lures his gaze to yours, you offer a kind smile, damp lashes pillowing the affection in your eyes. "I know," you whisper, running a gentle hand through his dark tresses, lingering a little longer by those grey streaks you adore. "But you're letting me anyway." The corners of his mouth twitch in response.

He doesn't speak again, and neither do you. Words feel superfluous, inadequate as the night carries on. Eventually, sleep begins to claim you both, inviting dreams of a tomorrow painted in the colours of a rekindled love.

Dawn arrives, like clockwork, creeping its invasive presence through the curtains. Disoriented, your fingers brush the space beside you, encountering only the cold, vacant sheets.

It's not a surprise, not really.

Old habits, especially Logan's, die hard.

Tires scream against asphalt, and Logan's pissed. The engine growls angrily, replicating the simmering tension rattling his very skeleton. His grip remains unyielding on the wheel, knuckles bone-white, veins protruding.

"That was reckless, and you know it." His tone is clipped, barely controlling the razor-sharp irritation he's unbothered to hide. Darkening roads ahead borrow his attention, as if the blurred lines are the only thing maintaining his composure.

The mission had been a success, technically. But the phantom impact of the debris nearly crushing you still has his adrenaline jacked.

"I'd do it all over again, and you know it," you snap back, daring in the face of his obvious fury.

"For fuck's sake!" Logan bangs his fist against the steering wheel, the horn blaring for a brief second. "Don't you have any concern for your life?" He doesn't understand your blatant disregard for safety. It's that goddamn martyr complex of yours, always prioritising everyone else. Even if you did manage to save innocent civilians from the collapsing building.

"Don't act like you care!" The venom in your words stings more than he'd ever admit. How can you say that? To him, of all people. "Pull over."

"What?" He shoots you a glance in disbelief, a little afraid even. The request is so absurd, so completely out of left field, he wonders, momentarily, if his mind's playing tricks.

"Pull. Over." You enunciate with a chilling calmness, and somehow that terrifies him more than any outburst. Denial flares in his throat, a knee-jerk reaction waiting for a trigger, but his breath catches, strangled by the sudden movement of your hand curling around the door handle.

The threat is extremely evident. And he just knows you'd do it. Logan slams on the breaks, the car swerves violently before coming to a harsh stop. "What the hell's your problem?"

"My problem is you, Logan. You and your self-sacrificing bullshit! I'm done," you croak. It's not about the mission, he realises with a nauseating lurch in his stomach. It's about everything.

You’re done?

He stares, dumbfounded, frozen to the core until you're unbuckling your seatbelt. "What're you doing?" Desperate, but he doesn't care.

"Walking."

"No the fuck you're not. Safe house's another four miles."

"Good." Cold air rushes in once you exit the car and slowly increase the distance from where Logan sits, alone and upset.

He drove the four miles to the safe house at a snail's pace, fighting the instinct to veer off course and find you. Beg you for forgiveness.

The house was dark and empty when he arrived. With the flickering hope that perhaps you'd reached before him, Logan checked every room. Twice.

Three hours. Three agonising hours since you'd disappeared along an off-beaten path aside the main road. Three hours of replaying the argument, the accusation in your eyes, the finality in your words.

"Goddammit. God-fucking-dammit."

Possibilities, each more gut-wrenching than the last, churn in his mind. You could be hurt. Lost. Captured. Or worse - a thought so unthinkable he tries to shy away.

What if this was it? What if his relentless pushing had finally worn you down, despite the twisted, fucked up part of him that wanted you to fight?

Logan sinks onto the couch, its springs groaning under the weight of his misery. He examines his hands, rough and calloused, capable of inflicting severe damage, yet completely useless in holding onto the one thing he truly cares about.

Suddenly, the steady hiss of running water startles him. Then, it registers. Running water. Like a moth to a flame, he reaches the bathroom in record time, hesitating for a beat before sliding the door open. As the steam clears, Logan stiffens at the scene.

Perched on the edge of the tub, one leg submerged in the water, the other stretched out before you, you stay facing away from him. Wet strands of your hair cling to your neck and shoulders, the damp t-shirt you'd been wearing beneath your suit revealing a faint outline of your bra straps.

A small pouch, one you always carry with emergency supplies, sits open on the floor, its contents spilling out: bandages, antibacterial wipes, sutures - and blood. A thin, crimson line trails down your calf, turning the water a faint, unsettling shade of pink.

"You're bleeding," he says lamely, attempting to quell the guilt - and bile - rising up his throat.

Weary eyes meet his own, but there's something else there. Defiance? Resignation? He can't quite decipher it. "Popped a few stitches," you reply, detached, matter-of-fact. "I'm not the best medic." That's very much known to him, yet your wry shot at humour falls undeniably flat.

Logan kneels beside the tub, fixed on the uneven, inflamed wound you're tending to. It screams of pain and neglect. His neglect. "Let me," he whispers softly. "Please."

And to your credit, you don't oppose his efforts. No winces, no protests, no sounds; he doesn't know what to make of that, instead, working in a meticulous fashion, throwing every stitch with deliberate care.

The minutes tick by, slow and heavy. And after what feels like an eternity, the last stitch is in place, a small knot securing everything together. Sitting back on his heels, Logan doesn't withdraw his touch from your thigh, inspecting his handiwork with a saddened gaze.

"I miss our old life."

Your voice, quiet and laced with an unapologetic yearning, torches the silence, and with it, the remnants of his weakening defenses.

"I'm sorry," he says, tearfully. "For pushing you away. For being an asshole. For letting you... die. I'm sorry for everything."

There's a long pause. Logan contemplates granting you space, giving you the distance he'd so readily forced all along. But then, your hand finds the curve of his cheek, halting his retreat.

"It's not your fault. None of it. I know you did everything you could," you murmur, thumbing away a stray tear. Relief warms his heart, a feeling he recognises as wholly genuine. And it comes solely from you, untouched by your powers. "I don't need to say this, but I will, for you." With a deep breath, you dispel the demons and monsters plaguing his soul in four simple words: "I forgive you, baby."

The iron band around his chest loosens its grip, and Logan takes his first breath all over again. Still mindful of your injury, he gathers you into his arms with a force that nearly throws you off balance.

"I'm right here," you continue, muffled against his shoulder. "I’m alive because of you. So, I'm asking you to come back. Come back to me, Logan."

Tentatively, he tilts his head down, capturing your lips with a reverence so implicitly him. Not even the sweetest nectar could compare to the taste of your love. For it is, quite simply, everything.

[manicandobsessive]

comedy king

[manicandobsessive]

[manicandobsessive]

hello! do you think you'll write a part 2 to Icarian? no pressure!

hi!! yes! it’s actually a series, i have it planned i just need to keep writing. chapter 3 is in the works but i can’t give a solid date when it’ll be posted my life is kinda crazy right now. i appreciate you so much! 💞💞

here’s the masterlist if you haven’t read already: Icarian

[manicandobsessive]

GOOOOOOOD MORNING TO MEE!!!!!

an origins fic where logan ends up happy? gimme 45 of em right now

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: If you can't read the letter cause of the cursive, it says: I'm not the most eloquent writer, so 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.

[manicandobsessive]

[manicandobsessive]

having the urge to write a professor logan fic….

like the absolute unavoidable urge

[manicandobsessive]

like please let’s start talking about it with him in that fucking outfit with his slutty ass chain!!!

nobody talks about the way Logan shakes his head when he says "I can be the good guy" in X2: X-Men United and it's a god damn travesty

[manicandobsessive]

my favorite fucking thing to use in writing AI be damned

someone on twitter is trying to claim that use of an em-dash is an indication of AI-generated writing because it’s “relatively rare” for actual humans to use it. skill issue

[manicandobsessive]

“but he’s old enough to be your father”

me:

[manicandobsessive]

Baby I’m Yours | L.H.

Summary: He’ll be yours until the end of time.

Warnings: Cursing, fluff, so much fucking fluff, pet names, fem!reader, lovesick lo

WC: 2.2k

AN: Here’s a little something for valentine’s day ✌️☺️

Never in Logan’s long, long life did he imagine this day. He felt undeserving, like he was living some other man’s life. As he looked in the floor length mirror, tugging and adjusting at his tie- a method of distraction, he imagined your pretty face when you walked down that aisle. He imagined the smile you’d give him when he inevitably gave you the same lovestruck grin in return. Crazy how the mere thought of you made him all the more calm. His girl, clearing his mind even from across the hallway, without knowing. He’s sure if anyone found out how often he thought of you or simply melted at the idea of how you look at him he would be endlessly teased by the other X-men. Though it wasn’t hard to see, he never tried to hide how soft he was for you. Even when you weren’t dating, he’d always treated you gently and with the same kindness you treated him with. You were the first person in a long time to make him feel alive, like he’d been doing more than just surviving. And it was easy to tell.

He’d heard the way Kitty and Rogue whispered when he would carry you home from a night out. When he’d bring you water and advil. The way he’d gently set you on the couch, kissing your forehead and kneeling to take off your heels like it was second nature. He never once had to question his next move with you, it all came naturally. One step after the other. Pieces of a puzzle falling together.

He allowed Scott and Hank to tease him for falling for your every move. Heeding your every request without so much as a batting an eyelash. He’d do anything for you, and he made damn sure everyone was aware of it. He let them tease him, anything to see that smile on your face. You were proud to have him, proud to be his girl. It was absurd to him, the way you wore his love like a medal of honor. But to you it was quite the opposite. Asking why he chose you when he could easily have any woman he wanted. In those moments of insecurity, he’d furrow his brows in genuine confusion and ask why you would ever think that. You were the single most important thing in his life, everything else be damned. He wouldn’t have you wondering whether you were enough or not.

Which is why he was so eager to put a ring on your finger. And in those moments of insecurity, all he had to do was say: “Look at your hand, baby.” You’d look down at the simple engagement ring banding your finger and flush. All while the smile returned to both of your faces and he’d pull you in for a soft kiss that said everything he couldn’t. But he always made sure to tell you he loves you and only you, no one else was it for him in the way you were.

He didn’t even notice Scott standing in the doorway while he reminisced on some of the best moments of his relationship. The man watched him with a proud smile, something that Logan wasn’t on the receiving end of often. But Scott was like a brother you never had, and having his approval was something that he didn’t necessarily want to beg for but something he knew he had to have before he moved forward with you. Anyone important to you was important to him. In the same sense that anyone you disliked, he disliked as well without question. He cleared his throat and looked at Scott through the mirror.

“Summers.”

He greeted cordially, if you could call it that. It was awkward not being on bad terms with him, but he tried for you always. Even if it killed him to not insult the man at every turn. It was too easy.

“I’m proud of you, Logan.”

Which took him completely off guard.

Him and Scott were on decent terms, but this was another level. Logan expected he’d feel uncomfortable with the sentiment, but he didn’t have any emotion of the sort. He was prideful he’d won over the acceptance of one of the closest people to you. Scott was protective in a brotherly way, he always had been. Logan, being Logan, was protective in every way possible, and Scott approved of it. Logan could get possessive, but in the harder moments Scott was there to help him reel it in. And while reluctant, Logan was grateful to have a support system like that. Someone to reassure him when you didn’t have the chance to.

There was no hesitance in Scott’s mind. Logan was the man for you. His love for you shone bright and bold, never wavering. Not once did Logan make him wonder if he was enough for you. While he was weary at the beginning, knowing Logan only to be the man who was gruff and closed off, he saw him open up. He saw the way Logan’s posture relaxed with you, the way a small smile graced his face. He’d never forget the day Logan asked him if he could have your hand in marriage. While it wasn’t Scott’s position to have the final say, he knew that getting his approval would mean the world to you. As he did with your other friends at the mansion.

Logan grunted in thanks, messing with his hair some more in the mirror and adjusting his suit for the 15th time. Scott noticed his fidgeting, it wasn’t hard to, and stepped in the room closing the door.

“Not getting cold feet are you, Howlett?” He asked, more-so in a joking demeanor. He sat himself on the couch off to the side of the suite. And while he was obviously teasing, he knew Logan wouldn’t bail, Logan took the accusation a little too seriously.

“You kiddin’ me, Summers? I’d be a fuckin’ idiot to.” He huffed, rolling his eyes in irritation. When he caught a glimpse of the man smirking at him he couldn’t help the pull of his lips into a small smile. He laughed at himself, there was no shot of him being less than happy on a day like today.

“Jus’, wanna make sure I’m good enough for her.”

Scott nodded in understanding, a feeling most men got on a day like today. Logan looked back over at him as he spoke..

“I know we don’t necessarily talk to each other this way, but I see the way that girl looks at you Logan. She acts like you gave her the moon and the stars. She hasn’t ever felt like this for anyone, it’s clear to all of us. She loves you.”

He reassured, making Logan take a deep breath and nod along.

“And, I love her. I love her with all of me.” He stated, like it was a habit. Never would it go unnoticed how much he had fallen for you. The fact that he was marrying you was proof enough for everyone else, but to him, he felt that if he didn’t spend every waking moment making sure you knew how much he really loved you- how much you’d changed his life- there was no point in living.

“I know you do, Logan.”

~

You never thought you’d make it here, let alone so easily as well. Relationships, for the most part, weren’t ever your strong suit. Having been someone who was focused on the here and now, you never paid much mind to the future or any planning ahead of the next day. You had dreams, goals and whatnot, but marriage was never one of them. You knew either way you’d be fine, married or not.

So when Logan showed up it was the definition of sweeping you off of your feet. Your knight in shining armor. Your man. And you loved every fucking minute of it. Being able to say you had tied down the renowned Wolverine. Telling people he proposed to you? It was something to be proud of. Though, when it came to Logan that was never what you really focused on.

You allowed him to open up to you just as he had allowed the opposite. You were two people who had drifted so far from the picture-perfect idea of a love story, yet everyone around you aspired to have a love like yours. A man who would do anything- who would flip the world upside down- for his woman and vice versa. You saw each other as equals, eye-to-eye.

You’d known about Logan’s past endeavors, to say the least. He was the type of guy any woman- or man- would want with a single look. His attitude, surprisingly, contributed to it as well. People liked a challenge, Logan was just that.

Your friends warned you, telling you he was a player. Someone who wanted one thing and one thing alone. Which is why you seemed uninterested, despite the nagging feelings of desperately wanting to know him in any and all ways. You were turned off by the idea, but it didn’t change your opinion of him negatively. You simply had no interest in pursuing any relationship, and you weren’t about to be another notch on his belt either.

That’s why you asked if he was joking the first time he asked you out.

He never let you live it down.

~

“Hey doll, can I talk to ya?”

You closed your eyes, breathing in ever so slightly before turning to face the only person who would dare call you that.

“Hm? What’s up?”

You feigned casualty, even though your rapid pulse spoke for you.

“Listen, I uh- I dunno how to go about this.”

Logan scratched the back of his neck, cursing himself for acting like an awkward teenager. He had game, so why couldn’t he speak to you without feeling this way?

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk he found himself drawn to. This was the moment all the tension over the last year had boiled down to. All the playful gestures and lingering glances. The heat between the two of you when you stood a little too close to be friendly. He knew it had to be the moment.

“Can I take ya out? Sometime, y’know. Like- a date.”

“Like a date?” You teased, smiling at his bashful face that was reserved only for your eyes. The way he gazed at you was something to cherish, and the minute you noticed it- lightyears after everyone else already had- you were a goner.

“Just- fuck darlin’, I suck at this.” He huffed, irritated with himself. Irritated that he couldn’t function properly standing feet away from you.

“You’re not joking right?” You asked, seeing almost offense flash over his face. You immediately felt guilty.

“Not that- not that I want you to be joking. I just, I know you don’t do this type of thing. And Scott’s been teasing me and I don’t want you to think you have to because-”

“You think I’ve ever done somethin’ I didn’t want to, doll?” It was his turn to tease. You blushed and looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“No.” You murmured out.

He smiled.

The rest was ancient history.

~

The time had come, you were fully ready. Logan was anxious to see you since it’d been almost a day without having you by his side. (You told him it was bad luck even after his unwavering protest) and he missed the hell out of you. You the same for him.

He stood at the end of the long aisle the girls had set up. Admiring the way they had all put in so much effort to make this your picture perfect wedding. Logan was just happy he was finally getting to call you his wife. He didn’t care if you would’ve gotten married in sweatpants under a bridge.

He tugged on his tie one last time, clearing his throat as the music started, a love song that you’d shown him on one of your first drives together. It was a cover of an older song he’d loved back in the 60s. He smiled at the first few chords, knowing it by heart from the way you’d always hummed the song or played it for him.

He thought he would’ve been able to hold it together.

That was until he saw you.

You stepped into view, your figure illuminated by the golden light of the sun like an angel. His angel. And your smile, your bright beaming smile that stopped the world. He was done for.

Logan wasn’t an emotional man by any means, he’d been through actual hell and back. He had nothing to cry for anymore, and somehow you made that all fade away.

He never thought he’d be able to cry of happiness, yet here he was. Silent tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched the love of his life stride towards him in all her beauty.

As you reached him, you wiped off his face with your soft hands. Kissing his cheek and smiling, saying a quiet “Hi, Lo.” before you took your position across from him. He was rendered speechless, having never seen something so breathtaking.

In that very minute he had confirmed what he knew all along, he was yours and you were his.

Until eternity.

[manicandobsessive]

woah.

seeing old man!logan being happy and smiling fuels something primal in me 😭😭😭

[manicandobsessive]

holy shit help

Hugh Jackman as Eddie Alden in Someone Like You (2001)