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lex-the-flex · 2 months ago

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Better in Yellow

WorstLogan! Howlett x reader

Summary: Returning from a taxing mission, Logan is ready to relax with you, but first, you’ve got to see your man in the iconic yellow suit.

Word Count: 703

Warning(s): None! Just pure fluff and flirting!

A/N: Hello all, I'm back after a short break! I've been thinking about this idea for the past couple of days and I need more Logan fluff in my life. Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

The fresh scent of lemons and sugar overtake the large gardens attached to the vine-covered brick mansion. Rays of sunlight stretch through the tall trees, allowing every square inch of the green nature to feel alive.

Lightly scrubbing a large batch of lemons in a stone sink built into the wall, the cold water feels refreshing on your hands. Gently wiping the thin layer of sweat off your face, you quietly hum to yourself.

“I found some wild lavender growing in the far corner.” Rogue announces to you.

Turning around from the stone sink, a bright smile overtakes your lips.

“I didn’t even know we had that here. I wonder how many other herbs Storm and Scott have locked away in a cabinet somewhere.” You reply.

Quickly drying off the fruit, you return to the picnic table where Rogue has occupied herself with cleaning and cutting the lavender. Carefully peeling and chopping the fresh lemons, the faint sound of the Blackbird fills the air, signaling that the crew were home. Bouncing on her toes, you can tell how eager Rogue is to see Bobby, so you give her a reassuring nod.

Bolting from her spot at the table, runs through the courtyard and in between the perfectly trimmed hedges. Smiling after her, you happily return to your task.

"I see you found my secret stash." Scott teases.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, you can't help but laugh.

"Oh come on! It's not like you were using it anyway. But you can thank Rouge for finding it. She's got quite the eye." You reply.

Adding some ingredients to the glass pitcher, Rogue returns with Bobby and the rest of the gang.

"Speaking of having an eye, maybe don't mention the new uniforms to your beloved Wolverine. It was like pulling teeth with him just to wear these damn things. He's still a little sensitive." Scott explains, grabbing a glass.

"Who's still a little sensitive?" Storm asks, placing her hands on her hips.

"Oh you know, the moody and broody Logan over there. Besides, the mission was a little rough." Jean teases, blindly aiming her thumb behind her.

"Or rather: Logan was a little rough." Scott interjects.

"Guys, you all look absolutely amazing. Regardless of how eye-catching the suits are, they still prove who we are." You state.

Pouring everyone a glass of the lemonade, the crew slowly depart from the picnic table, and you sit on the wooden surface. In the meantime, Logan slowly and surely makes his way over to you.

"Heya darlin'." Logan says.

Joining you at the table, he leans against the edge, and finally focuses on you. Taking in his tired features, the sight of Logan's light hazel eyes bring a sense of peace to your chest.

"Hi, Lo." You reply.

Silently smiling at you, Logan leans toward you, pressing a loving kiss to your lips.

"I've missed you, bub. I wish you were on the mission with you. We really could've used you. Besides, these suits didn't help either. They already need to be repaired." Logan admits.

Briefly turning around, Logan lets you examine a few slashes and dents caused by bullet holes. Running your fingers over the ridges in the damaged fabric, Logan turns back around to face you.

Carefully placing his hands on either side of your hips, you calmly stroke his cheeks. Feeling a little pit of disappointment rise in the pit of his stomach, Logan tries to open his mouth to speak his mind, but you place a finger on his lips.

"I know what you're going to say and you don't need too. While the mission didn't go the way you wanted, at least you all tried. You tried, Logan. And that's what matters. Even if yellow might secretly be your color and you look pretty damn sexy in it." You clarify, not letting go of Logan.

Earning a rare full smile from Logan, he kindly laughs at your joke. Suddenly, the heavy weight of the mission gradually leaves Logan's chest just as he leans his forehead against your own. Embracing the moment, a great wave of tranquility consumes Logan in the best way possible, as long as you are by his side.

wolverine taglist ~

@dreamliners

@chronicallybubbly

@dontfeedthebigbadwolf

@the-resident-vampire

@ovaryacted

@misssarcasmos-blog

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

@quillycrow

@till-hes-90

@the-moth-archives

@stilllivindue2spite

@wolviesgal

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gardening--tools · 4 months ago

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me while playing fo4 because i’m an opinionated bitch and i disagree with bethesda’s character design

anyway. presenting,

a detailed look at every companion’s appearance, according to me.

(these are all headcanons. they might not be yours, but they are mine. i wrote this as a fic-writing reference, but i don't mind sharing so long as we're all nice about it. also, spoilers ahead for companion quests, both in vanilla game and dlcs. you've been warned okay love you have fun. sorry in advance that you can clearly tell who my favorite character is.)

cw: heights represented by the united states customary system. sorry metric users :/

Ada. Modified RobCo Assaultron. 2074 model. SN has been sanded off and replaced with "ADA", painted carefully (lovingly) in blue script. It's clear that it has been reapplied multiple times, as many times as necessary. Post-Mechanist quest, she requests to have the names of her fallen friends painted on her body as well.

Cait. Pre-addiction recovery, scrawny-strong. Blood, muscle, bone and not much else. Very short. Like, south-side of 5'3". Has a very rectangular body shape. Hard angles. Was bright strawberry blonde when she was a kid, but it got darker as she got older. Hazel eyes. Freckles year-round and all over. She doesn't burn super easily, but she doesn't really tan either. Just freckles. Nose is crooked from being broken too many times. Post-addiction recovery she is a beef. cake. With Sole's help and resources she gains plenty of weight post recovery. Other than the normal weight gain that comes after recovering from addiction, she finds she enjoys exercise—especially weight lifting—and that it helps her manage her cravings. Her biceps are unfair. If I can be honest, I really only shared this so I can start proselytizing for my Fat Cait Agenda.

Codsworth. Standard GAI Mister Handy. 2076 Model. SN: 01HND-7619-0163. This is only visible because the 2076 Handys had their SN's embossed. All other markings that were printed or painted on have eroded away. A cute fact about Codsworth is that, despite his 200 years of wear and tear, he doesn't have a single dent on his exterior panels. Not. A. Dent. Scratches, yes. Scuffs, sure. No dents. He takes his structural integrity very seriously, thank you. He will brag about this if you let him.

Curie. Pre-companion quest, Modified GAI Miss Nanny. 2072 Model. SN has been scratched off and replaced with what is probably "CURIE", but the combination of chicken scratch writing and 200 year old marker makes it illegible. Post-personal quest, Generic Female Synth Body. Average body weight, brown hair, brown eyes. (I know she technically has "Hazel Blue" eyes but I disagree. It's my post and I get to make the rules here.) Her only deviation from "average" is her height. Generic Synth Height is 5'10", for both male and female synths. Takes time to look neat—neatly trimmed nails, trimmed hair, etc—and enjoys it.

Danse. M7-97 was a vanity design* so Danse looks a little different from the Generic Synth design. Still has the brown hair, brown eyes, but is a touch shorter than the standard. 5'8". Latino or Hispanic. His hair is insanely thick, but his beard always grows in a little patchy and with the odd blond patch just below his right ear. (This was not an intentional part of his “design.” Genetics, even synthesized genetics, get funky sometimes.) Carries weight like a strongman weightlifter. Thicker than average, even for the Brotherhood, so he's always had to have his flight suits and PA specially altered. (Thicker than average in regards to BODY TYPE you sickos– This is not that kind of post lmao.)

(This post from slocumjoe is a huge influence for my headcanon for Danse! Thank you for going through your archive to find it!)

Deacon. The Average Guy Ever™. Average height, average build. I'm firmly in the "Deacon is a Good Spy, actually" camp, so. Uncanny ability to adjust how he looks just by altering his posture. His weight has always easily fluctuated, so he can go from stick thin to bulked up in a matter of weeks. No matter how many surgeries he gets, he cannot hide the freckles. They always come back. He would have had piano hands if he hadn't been a chronic brawler in his youth. Knuckles are very crooked now. Eyes so blue they're nearly grey. Ginger. Has long eyelashes that are frankly illegal for someone who covers his eyes all the time.

Dogmeat. Dog. He has six toes on his back left foot.

Gage. 5'11". In an alternate universe, would tell people he was 5'9" just to fuck with them. Was a towheaded kid whose hair darkened significantly as he grew up. If he spends a lot of time out in the sun, though, it will turn a sandy blonde/light brown. He keeps his hair short because otherwise it gets very curly and floppy and it really kills his "bad-guy raider" vibe. Would be one of those white boys who tans super well but also thinks wearing sunscreen is for the weak. Scarred to shit. Holds onto muscle for a really long time. Underbite. Slutty little waist because I think that's funny.

Hancock. John Prime was already pretty wiry to begin with, and becoming a ghoul has only emphasized this. 5'7" but seems shorter because he's always leaning on something. Draping, even. He's like if a man was also a liquid, somehow. His remaining hair is incredibly thin, but is the most vibrant golden blonde anyone has ever seen. Eyes are dark due to discoloration, but sometimes—if he's taken in a ton of rads—the edges of his irises will glow subtly. Several piercings on his ears, but he used to have more. Lost them on account of his nose falling off. (You know how it is.) Replaced them with an astonishing collection of rings. Cheekbones that could slice a brahmin. Missing his fourth toe on his right foot.

MacCready. Definition of scrunkly. Not a lick of fat anywhere to be found. 5'5". Has a Gunner tattoo on the left side of his forehead and he hates it. It's why he wears his hat so low. Had an ear pierced once, but it got ripped out ages ago. His left earlobe is split now. He very clearly needed braces growing up but obviously didn't have access to that. Bottom teeth are crooked. His cuticles are picked to shit. Sandy brown hair. Cuts his own hair, but only cares about the hair around his face. Line of sight. Sniper. You get it. Is generally too lazy/uninterested in the rest, and will neglect it until it gets too long, so. Mullet (hot).

Nick. See, the problem with my synth grandpa is that this is the only character whose design Bethesda completely and utterly nailed. Like yeah, he does look like that. You got it. You did it. Perfect, no notes. Like all other Generic Synths, he's 5'10".

Old Longfellow. Exactly what you would expect an Old Hermit-Mariner Driven To Eldritch Madness By The Fog and The Sea would look like. The wildest eyebrows anybody has ever seen. Like you could take a comb through those bad boys. His hair is past his shoulders and fades into his beard. Stark white hair due to the stress of living alone on an island and from What He's Seen. You cannot convince me that there are not some Lovecraftian nasties living in the sea. They Know Longfellow, but Longfellow Knows Them. 6' until he stands up straight and then he's like. 6'5". Liver spots across his face and hands. Looks like he has cataracts in both eyes, but somehow can see better than you.

Piper. By far the companion whose Bethesda!verse appearance I disregard the most. In my heart she is a South Asian woman. On the taller side, between 5'8" and 5'9". Super thick, dark brown hair that in fact does just Look Like That (unfair). Her hair grows from fairly far down on her neck. Deep brown eyes. Spends lots of time on her makeup, even when she's out in the 'wealth chasing leads. Prefers red lips and dark liner close to her lid-lines. Her cupid's bow is super pronounced and she does her makeup to highlight it. On the softer side in regards to physique. Has a burn scar on her right forearm from a cooking mishap back when she was still trying to figure out how to live on her own and take care of Nat at the same time. Bites her nails.

Preston. Personification of someone telling you that everything is going to be all right. Tall, 6'. Pretty standard physique for someone who grew up on a farm and then became a soldier in a wasteland militia. Very square hands. Lets his hair grow out a little bit because he (forgets about it) likes it. Brown eyes that look like honey when the sun hits them. Other than the two scars on his face—one running down his left cheek, the other a small nick on his top lip—he has a scar from a bullet wound on his right shoulder. Has a stick and poke tattoo of the Minuteman coat of arms on his left arm, just where his shoulder meets his bicep. Top lip is bigger than his bottom lip. Dimples when he smiles. Huge smile, smiles with his whole mouth. Legs like an adonis. Someone get this man into some 4' inseam shorts, STAT.

Strong. Super mutant. He was a Butcher, so he's a little beefier than your average mutant. Of course, this is only known to other mutants, as the subtleties of mutant physiology tend to be lost on non-mutated humans.

X6-88. Generic Courser Build. While Generic Synths are designed to blend in with the everyman, Generic Coursers are designed to inspire fear in every man. (booo bad joke tomato tomato) 6'3" but stands so perfectly straight that he seems taller. Has the superhero build, but like naturally. Keeps his hair in a short fade. Bottom lip is lighter than the top lip. Has little lines around his mouth from all his frowning. Has one (1) singular scar on his chin. He won't tell you where he got it (it's from him eating it on concrete steps. That was the one mission he asked for an extension on, so the evidence of him beefing it would heal.) Also chronically wears sunglasses. Behind those aviators are grey eyes that are so pale and sharp, they almost look white.

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emperorofthedark · 1 month ago

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#sims 2 #ts2 #simblr #strangetown #hazel dente #ophelia nigmos #buck grunt #jill smith #teaser

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kamiiri · 8 months ago

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The Nighthowl Saloon was having an unusually busy night. Hoot had proclaimed that he would be the one to take down the Night Beast, and word of this promise got around quickly. His passion and willingness to throw himself to the wolf had brought back most of his regular customers and drawn in some new ones. Annie should have been happy that the bar was doing so well. She tried to be excited for Hoot. But all she felt—surrounded by people who were unknowingly rooting for her slaughter—was fear.

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eupheme · 6 months ago

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— good rocking tonight

cooper howard | the ghoul x f!reader

rated e | 1.5k

tags: teasing, sorta sub!cooper vibes (aka you think you're in control but you're not), clothed male/naked female, panties-as-restraints, riding, vaginal sex

request: "i can see you enjoy having the upper hand for once." (loved this!)💖

“Can,” You breathe, as his fingers bite into your hips, “Can see why you like it.”

The Ghoul's teeth grit. A rough laugh that comes out ragged.

“You don’t know nothin’, sweetheart.” His eyes burn into yours, “But you can try. Go on, let’s see what you got.”

(Or - the Ghoul lets you take the reigns.)

You’ve never had him quite like this before.

The Ghoul’s hands pinch into your waist, his back pressed flat against the bedroll.

Tonight, you had gone to him. Stirring him from sleep with your thighs straddling his hips. Bared skin against worn, stained fabric.

He had awoken silently. Maybe he was never was - an old habit, as the world spun by. Easier to pass the time with your eyes shut, then watch the all of the stars fade into another grey morning.

Hazel eyes glitter in the dying light of the fire, beneath the low brim of his hat. Slow to move - a sense of safety in the boarded up house. Would’ve knocked you off him, otherwise.

Watching, as your hands plant against his chest. Feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath them, pulled-tight skin and muscle beneath the cotton and leather.

“You gonna take what you want?” He rasps, when you’re slow to slip him from his trousers.

A shallow upwards flex of his hips into yours. Near-hard by now, velvet skin beneath your fingertips as you draw him out.

Leaving his cock to arc towards the curve of his belly, as you settle back on your heels. Letting your pussy press against his base, skin growing slick with each rutting roll of your hips.

Keeping a steady pressure against your clit, as your head dips between your shoulders. Your own breath shallow, needy.

Biting back a grin - lifting, whenever he bucks against you. Letting him chase the warm heat of your cunt, never giving him the full satisfaction of feeling you.

“Can see you’re enjoyin’ havin’ the upper hand,” He growls. There’s a 'for once’ tacked on silently. Too used to calling the shots. To taking.

“Keep teasin’, and I’ll flip you over and fuck you myself.”

It has you clenching down around nothing. Knees pressing into his ribs, hands flattening against his chest - as if that could keep him from doing so, if he really wanted.

Unable to help the soft, bitten-back moan at the thought. Tempting, though not nearly as satisfying as the fact he letting you do this.

It’s not lost on you. The irony. The threat that slid between his teeth so quickly, when there’s memories that still spike warm in your belly. The flick of his tongue against your slit, only to pull away when you’re close. Edging you until there’s tears in your eyes.

But, you’ve always been merciful.

A rough groan is pulled from him when you seat yourself properly on his cock. The slide of your cunt against his hard length. Feeling the rough skin and the flushed tip nudge against you as your hips move. Until he’s slick with you, shining.

“Can,” You breathe, as his fingers bite into your hips, “Can see why you like it.”

The Ghoul's teeth grit. A rough laugh that comes out ragged.

“You don’t know nothin’, sweetheart.” His eyes burn into yours, “But you can try. Go on, let’s see what you got.”

Thoughts that are no more than fantasies, coming to you just on the cusp of sleep. Your panties, plucked where they still hook around your ankle.

Coaxing his hands away from where they dent into your skin, until you can twist the fabric around his wrists. Pushing them above and behind his head, stretching him out long and lean beneath you.

It’s no lasso - bound tight around your wrists or throat - but it will do.

His arms flex as he tests his bindings. You’re surprised he lets you, but then again there’s no allusion that this is exactly what he’s doing.

Letting you. Curious - knowing that the fabric would shed with the jerk of his wrists. That if you pulled anything funny, it would not save you for a second.

But you don’t really care about that.

You just want to watch, as your hand wraps around the base of his cock. Catching every detail of his face as your hips lift, lining him up.

The part of his lips, the jut of his jaw and the clench of teeth when you slowly sink down.

Something rough, bitten back.

Your own eyes threaten to flutter shut with the stretch - a whimper with the way he fills you, inch by inch. Slowly sinking down, until your hips sit flush with his. Unable to help clenching around him, when he finally fills you.

It has your back arching. A hand scraping across his leather vest, needing to ground yourself on something. The other drifting across your belly, as if you could feel against your skin the way he spears deep inside you.

“Fuck.” You groan, and he grunts - a twitch of his cock inside you. A shift of his arms, when you rock forward, a languid roll of your hips.

Getting used to the feeling. Knees pressing into the bedding as you rise up, a shallow drop down. Sighing at the way his cock drags inside you, as you find your rhythm.

Hands bracing on his chest again as you bounce. A shot of pleasure coursing through you each time you seat him deep inside you.

His eyes only leave yours to track down your body. Watching the sway of your breasts. Fingers curling, nails pressing into palms when they dip to where you take him.

The peek of his shaft before it’s buried in you again.

“That’s it,” He rasps, voice even lower in the late night hours, “Come on and take a ride, sweetheart.”

Encouraging you to use him, just like he uses you.

Growing more confident as your knees down press harder. Each thrust sharper, punching deep. Your breath ragged as you lean, finding an angle that has you bent over him. Sending the head of his cock against a soft spot inside you - ripping a needy moan from your lungs.

His legs shift, a boot planting against the floor. Using the leverage to thrust up into you - unused to staying idle. Warmth floods through you at the thought of him being unable to stay still, the sounds he makes - sticky and pooling low between your thighs.

Your clit grinds against his base but it’s not enough - your fingers trace against his chest, dragging against the exposed peek of skin.

Nudging against his lips and teeth until they part, until you’re pressing down against his tongue.

“Suck,” You coo, and he does - those eyes darkening as his tongue swirls around your knuckles.

Teeth pinching against your skin, showing his still-rough edges. A rumble against the tips with his low growl.

Lips glossy when you pull them free, spit stringing between two fingers when you slip them between your thighs.

You do moan then - a ragged, low thing. Soft and slick circles that soon press harder, as you ride him. Something swiftly building, as the angle of your body tilts lower, the slap of your hips coming more quickly. Louder, in the small room.

The Ghoul looses a groan that sounds close to desperate, as his chin tips up. His hips still meeting yours as his teeth nip against your breasts. Tongue soothing the skin after, then teasing the tight peaks of your nipples.

Your hand sliding from his chest to beneath his head. Curving where his neck meets his skull. The cradle of your hand cupped in his bound ones as his cock fills you again and again.

It had your thighs trembling. His name - something you use so rarely, sonething precious - huffed out on a soft whine. Your rhythm growing sloppy, off-balance as your nails scrape against his skin. Circling harder, as everything inside you strings tight.

Fraying, and then snapping. Messy, as you use him to bring yourself to the edge, and then toppling over.

There’s the faint sound of something ripping, as your blood rushes in your ears, pleasure coursing up your spine. A flutter blooming in your core, just as the world suddenly tilts on its axis.

Arms wrap around you, as the Ghoul uses his weight to roll you beneath him. Pinning you down in the bedroll - wringing your release from you as his hips snap.

Still grinding against that spot as his fingers swirl - making you see stars, in this covered room. Unable to help taking matters into his own hands, when he saw you slowing.

Tired of waiting to feel the way your thighs hook around his hips, ankles crossing to keep him inside you until the pleasure fades.

“Not bad, sweetheart.” He rasps - the hint of a smirk at the dazed way you glare at him, “But you’ve had your fun.”

Returning the favor, as he slips his fingers between your lips. His own mouth following, sharing you. Tongue slipping against yours - a groan as he tastes the sweet tang of your slick, as you suck his fingers clean.

The curl of his lips, bared teeth as he starts to pound into you. At the sound of your whine - the way you tighten around him again, already breathless.

“Now it’s my turn.”

thank you so much for this awesome request and for reading! I hope you liked it, would love to know what you thought! 💖

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout smut #fallout series #fallout #amazon fallout

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a-leg-without-fear · 3 months ago

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Poison🩸🌧️

got the feels and wanted to write about it

Ship: Old!Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 786

Warnings: disease, injury, blood, aging, kind of age gap? (they're roughly the same age but reader doesn't show it), grief

Your nose scrunched as it was hit by the all-too familiar scent that followed Logan like a shadow. Acrid, sharp, deadly. Seeped into his blood from his metallic bones, poisoning him. Killing him. Leeching his life and healing mutation to where he was a husk of the X-Man he once was.

It was 29 years to the day since you’d met him. When he'd woken up, terrified, on that chrome stretcher and nearly choked you to death. The blood flowing through his thick arms pumping by your ears and only proving what you’d hypothesized: his blood wasn’t normal.

Logan’s blood ran thicker than every other person’s. Tasted more metallic, more iron in his blood than the rest of the mutants that filled Charles Xavier’s mansion. You had always found Logan’s blood to be tricky to manipulate. Whether it be to stimulate his healing or to form the thick ichor to your desire, it just didn’t want to cooperate.

That same difficulty faced you now as you kneeled in front of your and Logan’s shared bed. The room rattled as another freight train barreled by outside. Dusty picture frames swinging on rusted walls, bottles of medication bouncing on wire shelves, creaking bed groaning under Logan’s weight.

You held a clean rag to a shotgun blast in Logan’s gut. His blood had soaked through two others just like it, now lying in the dented bucket at your feet. A vein in your neck strained as you focused on healing the wound.

“It’s no use, doll. I’ll be fine,” Logan grunted. He tried to wave you off with a withered hand. You smacked it away from your face. A low hum rumbled his chest.

“Shut up, old man,” you said. That earned a rough chuckle from his chapped lips. You glanced up at him from where you knelt between his knees.

If pure reverence was an expression, what painted Logan’s face in broad strokes fit the bill. Crows feet bunched around his hazel eyes, smile lines deepend by his close-lipped smirk, graying eyebrows turned up at the edges. He ran a calloused hand along your unaged cheek.

“Beautiful as the day I met you,” he whispered softly. Grief struck you in the chest like a wooden stake.

It wasn’t fair. Logan’s adamantium skeleton sucked the life from him, making him age and decay, while you remained the same. Wrinkle-less, youthful, bright-eyed. You would pump your youth into him if you could.

But you couldn’t.

All you could do was prevent the inevitable. Prevent what once seemed impossible, yet hung over you like a thick fog.

Logan ran his thumb under your eye, collecting a tear that spilled from your clouded eyes. You blinked up at him as a thick lump formed in your throat. Words unspoken passed between the two of you. Adoration, understanding, sorrow. Leaking from the hot tears spilling from your eyes and into Logan’s leathery skin.

“I love you,” you breathed into his palm. You gave it one last attempt, healing the wound in his stomach. You could just barely feel the edges closing and the skin knitting together. The ligaments running through your neck and shoulder tensed under the effort.

“Love you too, doll,” he replied, using the hand not on your cheek to smooth down your strained muscles. Thinning fingers ran down your shoulder, passing over his borrowed flannel and your bare skin, then wrapped around the hand held to his gut. He laced the digits with yours, “Give it up. I’ll heal the old-fashioned way.”

A sigh rattled your lungs, anguish pooling in your chest like an oil spill. You let Logan drag your hand away from his stomach and to his face. Your crimson-stained fingers traced along the tough skin of his jaw.

“Always taking care of me,” he mumbled. Kind eyes ran across your pained expression.

He tucked his fingers under your chin and brought your mouth to his. Plump, full lips met chapped skin. You poured your devotion into the kiss, licking into Logan’s mouth and clutching at his white tank top. His fingers dug in your silken hair.

It wasn’t perfect. It never was, when it came to Logan. Nearly thirty years of being together had taught you that fact. He was messy, rude, rough around the edges. Not to mention metal-clawed and built like a fridge.

And yet, despite it all, he was yours. You woke up next to him every morning, went to bed with him every night, much like you’d done ever since you met. Your lives were so intertwined it was hard to tell where you stopped and he began.

You knew, decades after Logan was gone, you’d treasure your intimate connection like nothing else.

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#wolverine #hugh jackman #logan howlett #wolverine fanfic #logan 2017 #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fanfic #logan howlett x reader #f!reader #old!logan howlett x mutant!reader #i got the sadness brain worms and wanted to write this #have some ANGST because i'm sick and exhausted

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