#Logan Howlett imagine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pigeonmama · 23 hours ago

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THE 4TH WALL BREAK AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

SOMETHING HAPPENS AND I'M HEAD OVER HEELS - L.H.

Summary: What starts off as a simple favour to watch Laura’s cat sends Logan into a spiral as you continue to make your way into his life.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff - Logan is 100% whipped, Wade

A/N: 4.4k - my longest fic yet! Worst!Logan has my entire soul, I'd give anything just for that pretty smile. Title creds to Tears For Fears. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

The familiar burn of whiskey stings the back of his throat. Logan rests his head against the couch, second-guessing his decision to babysit Laura's cat while she's enjoying her night out. Her tireless attempts of pestering him at last working in her favour so he can finally meet his 'copy-kitten' - her words.

A quick glance at the time reveals he should probably head out now. Logan rises, groaning as his muscles protest after weeks of just slumping around the apartment. Even Al had pointed out how lazy he'd become lately. And that unsolicited observation gave him half the mind to consider finding new roommates. But who was he kidding? As much as he also barely tolerated that one incredibly maddening little prick's incessant jibber-jabber, he wasn't going to find anything for what he's currently paying.

Soon enough, he weaves his way through the crowds, swerving past the shoulders of, frankly, one too many people absorbed by their devices to step aside for his large frame. Luckily, Laura's place isn't too far and he really appreciates that detail as the sound of thunder rumbles overhead. A faint ding emerges from his pocket and he retrieves his phone, reading the screen with a slight squint.

His boots soak the welcome mat as he fumbles with the door trim, locating the key according to Laura's text - making a mental note to remind her of personal safety later. Shivering, he shrugs the wet jacket off, tossing it over the armchair. His eyes dart around the room, looking for the damn cat, and for a moment, Logan wonders whether he's being pranked.

The pitter-patter of paws against the hardwood floor has him snapping his head to the little creature in question. The cat, or Leopold Alexis Elijah Walker Thomas Gareth Mountbatten - Leo, for short - he learns begrudgingly after Wade shoved pictures upon pictures to his face one particular day, stares at him with indifference.

Understanding the need to be left alone, Logan trudges towards the kitchen, swinging the fridge open. A small post-it stuck over a box of leftovers, reads "Knew you'd be hungry", has him scoffing, mildly amused that Laura had predicted his actions.

Minutes later, he sinks onto the couch, making brief eye contact with Leo, who's nonchalantly licking his paws. He's halfway through the bowl of pasta when the cat suddenly leaps onto the cushion next to him. Logan watches curiously, he's not terribly experienced around pets, hardly spending any time with Mary Puppins herself despite living under the same roof.

"Alright, here's the deal." He murmurs, "You stay outta my way and I stay outta yours."

Leo replies with a meow to which Logan nods, satisfied by the response. He hopes to god this cat has the same temperament as Dogpool and allows him to simply coexist till Laura returns. Intrigued by the smell, Leo slowly inches forward, gently nudging his head against the bowl.

"Don't think you can eat this, bub."

Leo seems to understand the implication and meows in defiance. With a sigh, Logan gingerly flexes his hand, stroking the cat's head. The act immediately has Leo purring in content, the desire to investigate the food long forgotten. And no one's there to witness the ghost of a smile that teases his lips.

The calm attitude only lasts an hour before Logan's biting back a string of profanities, frustrated by Leo's refusal to take his medication. He's thankful for his healing factor, for otherwise, he'd be covered in a litter of scars. How the hell Laura deals with this devil-of-a-cat is beyond comprehension.

There's no use in trying again. Leo clearly wants nothing to do with him or what he's hiding in his hand. The thought of seeking help crosses his mind, perhaps one of the neighbours is especially skilled in feeding pills to literal hellspawns. Logan tunes his hearing to the apartments on the floor. Old lady already asleep to her TV - no. A family of six attempting to eat dinner in peace - no. Two people about to - fuck no. Now he really wants a word with Laura about her living situation.

Just when he's about to give up, a recognisable melody reaches his ears - one he's unwilling heard Wade jam out to in the shower. This person swaying along to music seems far more approachable than anyone else in this building, and so he steps out, knocking on the apartment across from Laura's.

The door cracks open slightly, you peek your head out giving him a questioning look, “Um… hi? Can I help you?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you. But, uh… I’m watching Laura’s - your neighbour’s cat.” Embarrassment creeps into his cheeks as he points behind him, “He’s not takin’ his meds and uh do you… can you help me? Please?”

The look of absolute defeat paired with the remnants of red scratch marks on his arms has your heart clenching for this poor man, “Of course.”

When the door fully opens, Logan’s eyes widen reflexively at the state of your undress. There’s nothing evocative about it, yet he feels as though he’s intruding on an intimate side of you. One he’s definitely not privy to.

Your sheepish smile sends a wave of something indescribable through his body. He clears his throat, turning on his heel to lead you inside. Leo flicks his head up at the sound of footsteps, purring as if he hasn’t been driving Logan insane for the past hour.

You knew Laura had rescued the little guy a while ago, having run into her in the hallway the night she brought him home. Every interaction you’ve had presents him as the sweetest kitten in the world, so watching the distinct mark of dread on this stranger’s face has you stifling a laugh.

“What?” Logan asks, feeling a little self-conscious about the whole situation.

“Nothing. It’s just - Leo’s very friendly. Or at least, I thought so… what the hell did you do to piss him off?” You chuckle, kneeling a foot away.

“Piss him off? I was just tryin’ to give him the damn pills. Had no problem with me before that.” Logan’s fingers twitch as you approach the cat, wanting to protect you from the sharp claws the demon would surely attack you with.

Yet, to his astonishment, Leo innocently crawls into your outstretched arms. And Logan swears he saw a flicker of mockery come across the cat’s eyes as he peers at him, relishing your comforting embrace.

“See? He’s a sweetheart.”

The fondness in your tone almost has him believing your words. In no time, Leo’s fully cooperating with your gentle requests, happily taking the medication as if it’s the tastiest thing in the world.

Logan learns three things that night. One, your name. Two, that you have some innate ability to charm everyone around you - human or otherwise. Three, he absolutely couldn’t wait to see you again.

Logan tries to drain out the shouting match between his two roommates, ducking calmly as Al’s miscalculated spatula throw flies in his direction. Laura giggles next to him, entertained by the whole ordeal - Wade had accidentally left his cock ring plugged in the bathroom again, nearly short-circuiting the apartment.

“Hey! Kink shaming is very frowned upon, Althea.”

“You motherfucker! I almost got electrocuted by the toaster this morning!”

Logan grumbles to himself, knowing there’ll never be a quiet, normal day in this household. He turns to Laura, “Kid, you wanna grab some food later?”

“Can’t. I’m going out.”

He nods, not giving it a second thought. But as the memory of you flashes across his mind, he stops bouncing his leg, heart beating a little faster. It had been a whopping seven days since that interaction, yet every little detail has stuck with him since. In fact, he spent many hours pacing in his room planning some way to magically run into you.

“… What about the cat?” He asks, and when she raises her eyebrow, “Who’s watchin’ him?”

She replies with a shrug, “I’ll figure it out.”

The solution to his problem falls perfectly onto his lap. Oh, how his pulse quickens at the thought. And as if to not seem suspiciously enthusiastic, he pauses before speaking, “I can do it.”

“Why?”

“Better than this shit.”

Laura considers him for a moment then agrees casually - she knows exactly why he offered. You had bumped into her a couple of days ago, offhandedly mentioning meeting Logan that night as you recounted the details of your week. It took mere seconds to put two and two together and realise he was incredibly smitten.

Logan spends a good fifteen minutes messing with his hair. Fuck, did it always spike up like that? The one tiny mirror in his room supposedly taunting him with each look over. A low tsk breaks the flood of self-criticism as he slams the door shut behind him, roughly brushing past Wade.

"Ooh, is that cologne I smell or are you just horny to see me?"

His teasing spirit immediately drops when Logan shoots him a glare, precisely throwing Al's spatula straight at his crotch.

"God - not the home office, peanut! Jim and Pam need protection!"

The walk to Laura's seems a lot shorter this time, some sort of nervous, giddy energy surging through his chest with each step. Logan bites the insides of his cheeks, feeling childish by the stupid smile daring to grace his lips just at the sheer thought of you. He can't remember the last time someone had drawn these kind of emotions from him. A part of him wants to cower in fear of rejection and self-doubt, and other? Oh, it's got your name written all over.

As soon as he reaches the hallway, all his senses are directed to your apartment. Confused by the silence he finds instead, Logan strains his hearing harder than ever. Hm, it's barely seven-thirty, maybe you're not home yet? Disappointment twirls around his mind, he sighs before opening Laura's door, convincing himself it's probably for the better.

To his surprise, Leo behaves quite well this time around - eating his food, taking his medication, and sticking with minimal efforts to annoy him. The black and white movie he randomly chose keeps his thoughts from drifting to you for the most part, though he can't help but wonder where you are at - he checks his watch - 10:38 pm on a Thursday?

Whatever hope he held onto paints him a fool as time slips by. He couldn't blame you, you didn't owe him anything. Logan runs a hand down his face, and despite his wavering relationship with Leo, he's at least grateful for the cat's company on this rather lonely night.

"Was a dumb idea, huh?" He mumbles, gently scratching Leo's ear.

Not ten minutes later, the jingle of something hitting the floor has him sitting up, intrigued. Logan pads over to look through the peephole, his heart fluttering at the sight of you. It doesn't take a genius to note your drunken state with the way you're cursing and fumbling with the keys. His hand rests against the doorknob, a flash of hesitation creeping in. Do you even want to see him right now?

Before he can psych himself out, his instincts make the decision for him. Logan's unsure of how to announce his presence, wanting to avoid any chances of scaring you. In hindsight, that task should’ve been deemed impossible when you flinch suddenly anyway.

"Logan! Shit - did I wake you up?"

He chuckles at that and before he can even respond, you fire off another question, "Wait, what're you doing here?"

"Laura's out. I'm on babysitting duty." Leo purrs from somewhere behind him in confirmation. Logan watches as you nod slowly, the keys once again sliding from your grasp, "Here, let me help you."

The two of you reach down, fingertips barely grazing as he reacts faster than you. He realises he's much closer than he anticipated when your perfume crowds his senses. Logan buries the urge to meet your eyes deep, deep down, instead unlocking the door with a clenched jaw.

He's very appreciative of the fact that you're too out of it to observe his actions. He wanders into the kitchen to fetch some water, a laugh nearly spilling out of him as you collapse onto the couch, "Hey, easy."

"I'm not that drunk."

"I believe you." He lifts the glass to your lips, words ever so soft, "But... how about we get you to bed hm? Doesn't that sound better than this couch?" When you blink at him tiredly, Logan knows it's so over for him - every shred of denial he held within now shattered by your very hands.

"Okay... "

He maintains some distance, assuming you'd stubbornly dismiss his attempts to guide you to the bedroom. Leaning by the doorframe, he doesn't try to hide the fondness in his expression as you settle under the covers.

"Night, Logan."

He hears you murmur beneath the blanket. It's almost natural how quickly he replies as if you've had this exchange hundreds of times before, "Good night, sweetheart."

A groan leaves you as the sunlight eventually breaches the comfort of your dark room. Rubbing your eyes, you blindly reach for the bedside table, hoping to find your phone. Instead, your hand retrieves a piece of paper while knocking over a bottle of Advil that definitely wasn't there earlier.

'Not that drunk' my ass. - L

The party hat lays tilted on his head. Logan hooks his finger onto the string, momentarily stopping it from cutting into his chin. On any other occasion, he wouldn't have been caught dead wearing the stupid thing, but it was Laura's birthday and once she pulled out the dangerous puppy eyes, there was no way he could refuse without being an asshole.

He's been leaning against the wall, thumb lightly tracing the rim of the beer bottle in his hand as he blankly stares around the room. Throughout the night, Logan's eyes impulsively shift in your direction, tuning into the conversations you're having with - what feels like - everyone but him.

Mary Puppins zooms by, stepping on his boots in the process. She must've caught a whiff of whatever Al's cooking. He bends down to pick up the stuffed Wolverine chew toy she dropped along the way, mildly concerned by the amount of slobber coating it.

"Nice hat."

Logan hears you chuckle behind him. He quickly turns around, tossing the toy somewhere far, far away before you could notice. And despite wishing all night for the opportunity to talk to you, he finds himself tongue-tied now that you're actually in front of him, awaiting his response with an amused expression. Get it together, dumbass.

"This thing? Well... it made the kid happy." He says, incapable of suppressing the smile that never fails to make an appearance whenever you're around.

The way your features soften releases a storm of arrows to his poor, old heart. Whatever anxiety he felt earlier increases tenfold, Logan takes a swig of his drink only to realise it's empty. With nothing to divert his energy to, he grips the bottle tighter, hoping the integrity of the glass is enough to withstand the force of his nerves.

"Thank you, by the way."

His eyebrows raise in confusion, "For what?"

"Few weeks ago. When I got home totally wasted." As your cheeks turn a little red at the memory, Logan wants to relive that moment over and over again.

"Oh... yeah." He huffs lightly, gaining a smidge of confidence from your flustered state. It gives him just enough courage to throw in a cheeky comment, "At your service."

He's mighty pleased when you giggle, biting his lip to control the proud smile aching to take over. Logan studies you briefly, and if he didn't know any better, you almost seemed nervous too? That possibility sends his mind reeling in excitement. Perhaps you also feel something here?

The shrieking sound of a party blower has him wincing, the plastic hits his cheek as Wade sneaks up right next to him with a wide grin, "Sugar bear! Don't mind me, I overheard you tell Yukio about your date tomorrow. Now, spill. Who is this mystery man and does he have a twin by any chance? Brother or sister - daddy's not picky."

Logan's initial reaction to harshly shove the man aside dies in an instant when you laugh rather bashfully at the question. He prays to god it's another one of Wade's fucking jokes. However, that hope flies out the window as you hesitantly ramble on about this guy. Excusing himself, he leaves the apartment, ripping the party hat off in agony - not witnessing the guilt eclipsing your emotions.

Droplets of sweat linger at the ends of his hair as he places the last of Laura's cardboard boxes on the floor of her new apartment. After weeks of mulling it over, she decided to move a little further away, complaining about how rent was becoming too crazy. Logan offered to support her financially till she was good on her own, yet she strongly refused just as he expected.

Since she was no longer your neighbour, the chances of running into you dwindled over time. He saw you in passing last month when he came over to help Laura with apartment hunting. The logical part of his brain convinced him to not stick around, desperately clinging to the idea that you're not interested. But catching your expression fall as he dismissed your presence nearly made him run back to wrangle you into his arms, to whisper apologies and beg for forgiveness.

After an especially tiring day, Logan returns home, crashing onto the couch with a sort of emptiness as he stares at the ceiling. Both his roommates are muttering in the corner, afraid to call out his incredibly irritable mood of late - instead, walking on eggshells whenever he's around. It seems that Wade loses the hushed argument, settling a good arm's length away from him.

"Peanut." He drags, slowly, "Al and I are... worried about you. As much as this brooding, tough guy act is really doing wonders for my sexual wellbeing, I just can't let you Debbie-Down-Pour all over this parade."

"The fuck you want me to do?"

"You need a one-way ticket to pound town-" He chirps, and when Logan grunts angrily, Wade shrieks, shielding himself from any incoming attacks, "Don't hurt me!"

The aroma of coffee tingles his senses as he takes an exaggerated sip, ignoring the need to continue such an aimless, one-sided conversation. Across the table is one of Vanessa's acquaintances, Karen or Kira - he can't remember - mindlessly explaining why her previous dates didn't work out. Logan forces a nod here and there, humming in pretend acknowledgement while he concocts some plan to seriously bash Wade's head against the nearest wall.

In all honesty, he didn't know how the hell that bastard persuaded him to entertain this woman for the night, making a note to check his alcohol for any suspicious substances later. What he did know was that this was going as terribly as he thought. And while he might be awfully rusty in terms of dating, Logan's certainly not oblivious to basic body language cues. Deciding twenty minutes of this torture is enough, she hastily rushes out the building and that's the last of Karen he ever sees.

The grocery bags feel like cinder blocks in your hands as you walk down the street. Mentally scolding yourself for postponing this chore till the last minute, you huff in exhaustion, adjusting your grip every few seconds. A woman nearly bumps into you on her way out, you stagger backwards, watching her storm off. Startled by her rashness, you turn to glance at where she came from, gasping when you spot a familiar face.

“Logan?”

He snaps up, recognising that particular voice - your name leaves his lips softly. Mixed emotions swirl around his mind, yet, he can't help the way his heart jumps as you fill his senses, “Wha - what’re you doin' here?”

“I was just passing by... saw you through the window.” Your gaze drops to the half-finished cup of coffee opposite him, “Were you on a date?”

“Uh Wade - he...” Logan stutters for a moment, dumbfounded that you're even talking to him after his childish behaviour the last few weeks. He nods lightly as the unmistakable bullet of regret pierces his insides.

“It’s her loss anyway.”

God, he wants to apologise so badly. Your friendly attitude only serves to make him feel worse, but Logan thanks his lucky stars that you don't hate him. He definitely wouldn't have been able to handle any sign of resentment on your part - no matter how much he deserves it.

“What’s with the eggs?”

You laugh, looking down at the several cartons peeking through your bags, “I’m stress-baking.”

He's so lost in your eyes that it takes him a second to register your reply, nose scrunching in amusement, “Stress-baking?”

“Yes, it’s a perfectly valid activity.”

That draws a chuckle out of him. He raises his hands in defense, “I ain’t judgin’, doll.”

A comfortable silence takes over and Logan realises just how happy he is to see you again - how much he's missed you all this time. He opens his mouth to spill something out of pure impulse when you beat him to the punch.

“Why don’t you join me?”

It doesn't take much convincing and he's already fallen into a steady pace as you walk together - his fingers effortlessly hooking onto all the grocery bags. His chest threatens to explode when you lean towards him, moving aside for people brushing by. Logan wills his entire strength to not drape his arm across your shoulders in an effort to keep you safe.

Time becomes irrelevant when you're around. The frequency of his own laughter shocks him at first, but he's not really thrown off by the joy you bring out of him because - well, of course, you do. It's safe to say that Logan can't bake to save his life, though he doesn't mind this particular weakness as you giggle at his dreadful attempts to mix the cookie dough. Shamelessly, he watches you come closer, breaking into a tangent about proper kneading techniques - if you ask him to repeat any of it, he'd be stumbling over his words like a fool.

Eventually, he makes something that somewhat resembles your example. He dips his finger into the dough and lifts a small piece in your direction, "How's this?"

When you gently grasp his hand to lick the sweet mixture straight off, he thinks he's trapped in some wild daydream. Logan stares at you in surprise, cheeks turning into a telltale shade of red. Your hums of approval fall onto deaf ears as he remains frozen, wondering how you're so quick to move on from that bold gesture.

Every little thing you do stains his mind - from the way you dance around to soft music playing in the background, the way you focus all your attention on him whenever he speaks, even the way you warn him about the oven as if he could get burned.

His expression must've turned serious by how you suddenly pause, peering at him in concern. Bearing a rush of emotions, the words pour out of his mouth without hesitation, "I am so sorry."

"I was an idiot and I... avoided you 'cause I couldn't deal with these damn feelings-"

He stops.

He's revealed way too much. And judging by your face, that was definitely a mistake. Logan shuts his mouth, jaw hardening as he fights something heavy crawling up his throat. His eyes land on the door and all he wants is to escape from this shrinking room.

A whisper of his name fractures the glass cage he's built up around his heart. His boots seem to be cemented to the floor, unwilling to break free even as you still in front of him - a mere breath away. Your hands rest against his cheeks, slowly turning his head so he's compelled to meet your tender gaze.

Not a single sound slips out of him before your lips are on his. His heart pounds in his chest, burning at sensation. Logan leans into the kiss, hands settling on your waist, holding you as close as he can. Relief washes over him, he tilts his head slightly to deepen his movements - his breath nearly giving out when you whimper softly.

The loud ding from the oven has you pulling back with a faint chuckle. Logan smiles too, letting out a sigh as he lays his forehead against your shoulder. He presses his lips to your collarbone, whispering against your skin, "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"The cookies... or us?"

He gently pokes your side at that comment, mirroring your dazed look. Between the quiet exchanges of laughter, he knows exactly what this means - what you mean to each other.

His muscles feel looser with each stride, embracing the breeze tangling with the warmth pooling inside from your touch moments ago. Logan makes his way home with a kind of ease he hasn't felt in forever, chewing on a cookie you insisted he taste.

As he walks through the door, Wade rests his chin on his hands, “So… how did it go? I see you’re enjoying the post-bang baked goods.”

Logan rolls his eyes, not wanting his mood to be spoiled. He grumbles under his breath, your name accidentally slipping out.

"You ran into angel-reincarnate?" Wade gasps, "Oh. Finally putting that horse cock to good use." Clapping excitedly, he follows after Logan, "Wait a second, this fic is tagged fluff. There'll be no fucking on my watch, partner!"

Logan slams the door to his bedroom behind him, blocking out Wade's muffled chattering.

"She had you cosplay as Paul Hollywood all night? Goodness! The power she possesses. I must gain all her secrets."

"Fuck off."

Wade grins to himself, quickly pulling his phone out to shoot off a text.

Wade: Project-Wolvie-Gets-Pussy is a go!

Laura: We are NOT calling it that.

#logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett angst #logan howlett fluff #old man logan x reader #logan x you #logan howlett imagine #wolverine x you #wolverine #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine fluff #wolverine angst

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briseroyawritingsblog · 3 days ago

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POV: Husband takes you out on a morning walk and this is part of your gallery. ☁️🥺🤍

#hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman x reader #logan howlett x reader #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman x female reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman imagine #hugh jackman fanfiction #logan x reader #logan howlett x female reader #logan howlett x you

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eudaimaniacs · 2 days ago

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trying for one (hugh jackman x female reader)

summary: babysitting and playing with your niece made your husband, Hugh, think about starting a family. however, the conversation and idea of it makes you nervous, but Hugh's there to soothe your worries.

word count: 1.5k words

notes: i've been in a fluff and soft mood since the upcoming workload for my finals will definitely make me burnt out. so, don't expect some smut coming (unless inspiration strikes). enjoy!

“Can I play with you again, aunt [Y/N]?”

The joyful giggles of the little girl jumping on the carpet filled Hugh’s apartment. You get infected and chuckle at the wondrous excitement of your niece, Penelope. Her adorable plush, a brown teddy bear holding a heart, gets dragged on the ground by its feet. You playfully run after her as Penelope runs to the kitchen, still giggling.

“Uncle Hugh, Aunt [Y/N] is chasing me!” Penelope takes a glimpse behind and sees you slowly running towards her. She comes into contact with Hugh, who’s cooking dinner and baking some chocolate chip cookies for your niece to snack on later. Hugh laughs at Penelope’s energy and attempts to hide from you by holding onto his leg.

You tease Penelope and shriek, “You can’t hide away from me, Penny! I can still see you.” The little girl hugs Hugh’s leg tightly, with the teddy bear joining in. She playfully rubs her face as she closes her eyes. Hugh stops stirring the soup and looks down at the young girl.

“Don’t worry, Penny. You’re safe with me,” Hugh joins the game as he laughs at you, defeated that you can’t quickly grab your niece. Penelope’s grip on her uncle’s leg was firm and Hugh was equally too. You sit down on the floor and give a fake pout, signaling defeat. Hugh and Penelope burst out laughing at your expression. You put your hands up and sigh to your niece that you give up on chasing her. Also, dinner was starting soon, and you didn’t want a hyper child bothering you and Hugh.

You stand up and grab Penelope, who has now stopped hugging Hugh’s leg. Carrying her to the living room, you caress her hair and tell your niece how tired you are already. Her giggles filled the apartment again as she poked your cheek, teasing how you had given up already because of her uncle. Hugh’s eyes softened, and the sides of his lips creased as he saw the two of you cleaning up Penelope’s toys sprawled on the carpet. He admired how comfortable you were at babysitting your niece. It didn’t feel like a chore but, instead, an opportunity for the two of you to connect more. Having Hugh as Penelope’s uncle was an added benefit, as the three of you would roleplay as the X-Men. Your niece loved that the Wolverine was her uncle and was often excited when your older brother would ask you to take care of her.

The topic of starting a family with Hugh has come up several times; however, the schedules clashed, and there was no time to get pregnant without a film shooting, press tour, awarding, and any event getting in the way. In spite of that, you and Hugh wanted to raise children, and with you babysitting Penelope occasionally, your husband was more than eager to start it as soon as possible.

After a wondrous dinner with Penelope mimicking Hugh’s character by growling and her countless tales of boasting that her uncle is Wolverine and her aunt is a famous actress, you were glad that her eyes began fluttering. You dressed her in comfortable pajamas and waited for her to sleep soundly in the guest bedroom. The peaceful sight of your niece dreaming while hugging her teddy bear made your heartstrings tug. You wanted to start a life, a new chapter where you and Hugh would have some little mini me’s running and playing around the house.

You close the lights and the door, then make your way to the kitchen, where Hugh’s cleaning the dishes. The look of domestic life on your husband produced butterflies in your stomach. He was tender and hugged you every day, and your heart became warmer. Hugh was a complete package—he could cook and clean, had a great sense of humor, was a gentleman, and many more qualities that you couldn’t list off in a day. Having him as your husband was great, but him being the father of your children was beyond that.

You embrace Hugh from behind and kiss his shoulders, eliciting a surprised hum from him. You swayed and lightly sang some sweet-nothing as your husband washed the dishes. The lights of New York City sparkled in the dark blue sky; it looked like stars twinkling for the two of you. You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against Hugh’s broad back. You sighed and hugged him tighter, trying to find the words to start the conversation.

Hugh’s profound yet silky soft voice broke the silence, “Got something on your mind, darling?” Your throat seizes up as you are still nervous to bring up the topic. But what were you scared of? Hugh was comfortable with starting a family, and so were you, but the current schedules and the combined fame of the two of you could be the downfall of the marriage. You saw some of your famous friends getting divorced after having children, and the media dragged the story until they found a new one. You know your marriage with Hugh won’t end up like that; however, time can deteriorate the relationship and you don’t want your future children to be affected.

“A lot, actually, but don’t mind me, Hugh,” you whisper and lightly rub your face against his wool sweater. Hugh hummed at your answer as he took the towel to dry his arms. He turned around to see you looking down and lightly playing with your fingers. Hugh knew what you were precisely thinking, so he grabbed your hand and guided you to the living room. You rest your head on his shoulder, fussing with the blanket. Hugh wrapped his arm around your waist, smelling the floral scent of your hair.

“Is it about Penelope?” Hugh gently pressed the question, starting the family conversation. You look up, and your gaze softens as your eyes begin to water. Hugh softly grabbed your face and passionately kissed you. The taste of his lips and the way your tongues danced assured you that Hugh would listen and understand you. You broke the kiss and gently tickled his chin. Hugh’s arms were now rubbing your back, patiently waiting for your answer.

“Well, it’s almost about her. I just had a thought, and I hope you won’t be—”

“Is it about starting a family?” Hugh’s eyebrows raised as he finally asked the central question of the night. You nervously chuckle and avert your gaze away.

Hugh ran his fingers through your hair and softly whispered, “Don’t be scared of that, [Y/N]. I’ve always wanted to have children with you, and seeing you taking care of Penelope made me want it to happen faster.” You sighed and finally told your husband how scared you were to start a family with your careers and the fame that could kill your marriage. Your voice trembled at the thought of having a broken family, and the media and internet won’t ever let the two of you forget it.

Hugh waited for you to let out all of your emotions, and when you cried on his chest, he silenced and massaged your back. He made sure that all of your worries faded into the night. While he didn’t want the conversation about starting a family to make you cry, Hugh was happy that you brought up your fears instead of hiding them from him.

“We haven’t tried yet, [Y/N]. You don’t have to be scared. I’m always here for you, no matter what,” Hugh soothingly reassures you that his love for you won’t go away. You hugged him tighter as if he was going to be taken away from you. Hugh gently sang your favorite song as he kissed every spot that would cure your fears. Your heart followed the soft melodies he was singing and felt every light in the city guiding you to Hugh’s light again.

You looked up at your husband and wiped your tears with your shirt. Your tear-stricken face displays little hope as you ask, “Are we going to try right now?”

Hugh lightly chuckled and answered, “Of course, my darling. I want to start a family with you. However, I want you to be relaxed. I don’t want you to be scared and worried. Always remember that I will be here when we have our first child.”

You crack a little smile as Hugh continues to soothe every worried area of your body and soul. You sleep on his chest and dream of the day when the two of you finally tried having a child that would blossom into a beautiful family. Hugh carried you to the bedroom, akin to how you took Penelope’s sleeping figure, covered you with blankets, and hugged you tighter. His eyes softly gazed and prayed that your anxieties would be gone by the morning. The night sky took your darkest thoughts of starting a new chapter with Hugh, and as the sun broke, the hopeful idea of trying for one finally filled your heart.

eudaimaniacs - 2024

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pretty-little-mind33 · 1 day ago

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old man!Logan x human fem!reader

Summary: You think Logan hates you but all he's doing is saving you from himself. He didn't think his plan would explode in his face.

Genre: hurt and comfort, angst

Warnings: takes place during Logan, age gap (reader is 25 and Logan is ancient), violence, blood, injuries, swearing, protective!logan, reader is a nurse, reader is a human, Logan isn't super nice in the beginning, Laura is iconic, character death (not reader or Logan)

LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

For the very first time in what felt like years, you felt safe.

There was no more running, no more chasing, and no more constant gunfire. There was just the smell of homemade cherry pie and laughter. So much laughter. Laura had smiled for the first time since you'd met her, happily eating what was most likely her first family meal. Charles was leaning into playing house, passionately talking about Logan as if he were his actual biological son. And even Logan seemed more at ease, occasionally allowing his pain to slip away and let his eyes crinkle.

You look down at your corn and hide a smile, listening to Charles and Logan's banter. You'd been taking care of Charles for around a year now, which meant constantly being in his company and making sure you did exactly what Logan wanted.

When it all went to shit, you'd been forced into running away with them. But, you weren't a mutant like Laura or Logan, and you weren't close with any of them like Charles and Logan were with each other, so you were still on the outside no matter what. No matter how much Charles insisted he needed you and Logan needed you, you knew Charles was only making you feel better and less useless.

Logan didn't need you and he certainly didn't want you or your help. He'd made that abundantly clear over the last year.

"Laura, here sweetie," you whisper, handing her her fork. She looks up, her mouth full of mashed potatoes, and sends you a familiar glare. You see the same one Logan wears all the time. You smile, shaking the fork and she listens, using it instead.

You look up, catching Logan's intense stare and your breath catches. You wonder if you've overstepped in playing the mother figure. Laura is his daughter, he should have the chance to parent her. Your eyes widen slightly and you look away.

The Munson's had generously opened their home to you and your little "family" and after dinner, Kathryn Munson hands you a pillow and some blankets, smiling warmly as she tells you there are two guest rooms upstairs. "Thank you." You smile, watching as Laura follows her son Nate upstairs like a lost puppy. You wonder if she misses the company of other children and the thought pulls at your heartstrings.

"Seriously," you say, turning to look at Kathryn, "I cannot thank you enough."

She smiles, shaking her head, "No need. We're happy to help. You have a beautiful family."

Kathryn squeezes you in a warm hug, one that feels like one a mother would give to another mother and you suddenly feel like the worst fraud. You pull away, straining a smile as you whisper your goodnight.

You head upstairs, crossing paths with Logan as he leaves Charles's room. His face is hardened in a pained expression and he coughs. He's been looking worse and worse. You wish you could just help him. You wish he'd let you. You're a nurse after all. Your heart leaps and you turn your head in his direction as he walks by.

"Logan—"

He stops, turning to look at you but he doesn't speak. He looks almost angry that you've addressed him. You wince and no sound comes out when you open your mouth. It's pathetic how nervous he makes you and how, despite that, your heart can't help but yearn for him.

Logan's gaze softens for a split second, but then he recovers and says, "Check on Charles in an hour or so." He pauses but no please or thank you follows. Logan leaves without another word and your chest tightens.

An hour or so later, you've checked on Charles and Laura, and you're now staring into the darkness of the room. You're curled up in the bed, holding a blanket, as you replay every interaction with Logan you've ever had. You hate how he constantly plagues your mind. How he's constantly lurking in the shadows and twisting at your heart. It's unfair, considering you're sure he never thinks of you.

You hear the creaking of wood from behind you and you sit up, squinting into the darkness. You see him in the shadow and it's humiliating how well you recognize him just by his silhouette. "Logan?" you whisper, sitting up as the blanket falls from your legs. He doesn't answer. He doesn't even move.

Your heart thumps in your chest and maybe it's the emotions from everything and his lack of acknowledgement but your mouth moves without thinking. "Logan, I know you don't like me very much and I understand. But I'm only here to help. I want to help you. I care about you," you inhale, shutting your eyes as you try and explain, ignoring the burning in your cheeks, "you and Laura, and Charles. All of you."

Logan doesn't answer and the room becomes silent again. You open your eyes, lips pursed. You're frustrated he's still ignoring you when you're pouring your heart out to him. You can feel the unwanted tears brim but you push them back, convincing yourself you're just exhausted and they have nothing to do with the obvious rejection you've just received.

Logan's walking closer now, his face still obscured in the light but he's breathing heavily. You sit up, squinting. "Logan?"

You hear his claws, eyes widening as you watch them become visible and his hands flex. You shoot up, tears streaming down your cheeks from fear. Sure, you'd imagined he'd hated you but this? Why is he attacking you when he knows you have no means of defending yourself? No mutation. Nothing.

Does he want to kill you?

With a roar, he lunges and you barely have time to jump away, making sure his claws only barely puncture your side. You scream, falling to the carpet as blood seeps through your shirt. You scream louder, pressing your palm to your side as you try crawling away from him, gasping for air.

Logan's hand clasps around your hair, causing you to shriek harder as he pulls you up. You can't see him as he stands behind you. It wouldn't matter anyway, your vision is blurred by your tears. You hear a grunt and then a familiar scream causes him to drop you before he can sink his claws into your back.

Laura tackles him, stabbing him in the head as she screams bloody murder. You crash to the ground, coughing up blood as you turn around. All you see is blood and you blink rapidly, registering that whoever Laura is fighting isn't Logan. Not your Logan. He looks like him but he doesn't move like him.

"Correr! Run!" Laura screams at you, flipping fake Logan around and stabbing him in the chest multiple times. You don't know how long she can hold him so you scramble up and run out into the hallway.

Bile rises in your throat as you see Kathryn and Nate on the floor, both dead. Choking on a sob, you run to Charles' room. You push the door, staining the wood with your blood. You're weak but you need to make sure Charles is okay.

"C-Charles?" you cough, spitting out more blood as you slowly become lightheaded from the pain you're in.

You see Charles, lying in his bed, the sheets covered in blood. Charles is barely breathing and even when you make it to his side, he doesn't have the strength to look at you. You scream out of pain and agony, trying to find his wounds to help him live. To save him. But, you're powerless.

Laura's screaming becomes louder and more frantic and you whip your head around. Fake Logan has restrained her and he's standing in the hall. You sob, having no real escape route as he blocks your path. Poor Laura is a mess and all you want to do is tell her everything's okay but nothing is okay. You're all being massacred.

"Please," you whimper. You don't know why you try. You don't think your pleading would work on your Logan, why would it work on one that seems to be more animal than man? Fake Logan's gaze is hard. He looks younger, and his hair is less gray, but he looks just as furious—maybe even more so.

You don't think you can hold on much longer anyway, not with the slashes in your side. They aren't deadly alone, but you're losing a lot of blood and you're exhausted. It won't be long until you eventually pass out. Fake Logan walks in, grinding his claws on the walls just to scare you. You wince, eyes blurry as you sway on your feet. You stand in front of Charles, still protecting him the best you can.

"Laura," you whisper, turning your attention to the little girl. She's still shrieking.

"Charles!" you hear a familiar voice and your Logan runs past Laura, and into the room to find Charles. Of course, you think, it's always Charles. Not that you can blame him. Logan registers the scene in an instant as Fake Logan turns. He's so distracted by your Logan that he's stopped advancing on you.

Logan's eyes dart around, wide and furious. He sees Charles, who's probably dead by now and then they land on you. You probably look like shit as you sway harder, coughing as blood drips around your hand. "L-Logan," you say, your eyes fluttering.

You hear Logan shout and then you feel like you have cotton in your ears as your vision goes completely blank. You hit the ground, registering the pain in your head for only a second before everything falls silent.

* * *

You wake up to a small hand in yours and a cold cloth pressing against your forehead. You blink awake, your eyes adjusting to the sun from outside. "Ella está despierta!" Laura exclaims, her face is emotionless but when a group of children rush up, she smiles. "She is awake," Laura repeats, squeezing your hand.

You blink, looking around at the small cabin. Sitting up, your hand moves to your injured side and feels the bandages wrapped around your torso. It doesn't hurt as much as it should for a fresh wound. How long have you been out?

"Stop crowding her," Logan's gruff voice interrupts your thought as he stands in the doorway. You jump and the children scatter but Laura stays. She looks at Logan and motions him inside. Something had changed, you can see it in the way she looks at him.

When you turn your head, you inhale. The memory of what had happened that night plays in your mind and Logan's face only makes it worse. "Scared," Laura says bluntly, dropping your hand. Logan chuckles darkly and leans against the doorframe. He looks better than he had the last time you saw him. Color has returned to his cheeks.

"I can see that," he says, "Go play, kid. I'll take care of her."

Laura nods curtly and follows her friends.

You don't want to be alone with Logan and so you stare at him. You're afraid to look away in case he lunges at you or tries to kill you or— "That wasn't me. I don't know who that was, but it wasn't me," Logan says, walking inside and sitting on the opposite bed to yours. He's meeting your gaze.

"How long have I been out?" you ask softly, ignoring what he'd just said.

Logan rubs a hand over his face. "Almost a week. We didn't know if you'd ever wake up again," he admits and your chest tightens. "Your body wasn't healing and we couldn't exactly stop for as long as you needed. So all we could do was give you medicine and keep you breathing but it wasn't looking good…"

You bite your lip, a little surprised to hear all this. "Why didn't you leave me? I must have been such a burden."

Logan's eyebrows pinch in irritation. "Leave you? To die? Is that what you think of me?" he asks, clearly the question hit a nerve. Logan looks down, knowing the answer and he clears his throat. "Laura wouldn't think of it. And I didn't either," he says seriously, catching your gaze again. "It was never an option."

"Well, thank you," you whisper, forcing a smile. You look at him. "What happened?"

Logan's face hardens. "Things went to shit," is all he says and you don't press him.

It's weird being on the receiving end of caregiving. You've been so used to taking care of Charles, you'd forgotten what being the one cared for felt like. You look around the small cabin. It feels different up here. Everyone is different. Laura seems happier now that she's with her friends, and Logan seems a little happier now that Laura is happier.

"Is that new?" you ask softly, reaching up your hand as if to touch Logan's beard. You'd noticed it immediately. The mutton-chops. A badly done mutton-chop beard—but a change nonetheless. Logan's cheeks seem to flush pink and he hides himself behind a cough, avoiding your gaze.

"Stupid kids," he mutters with no real bite behind his words.

"It looks good," you say, sitting up and looking down at your blood-stained shirt and jeans as you hold yourself up. Logan chuckles, the sound almost sounding like full laughter. "No, really," you defend, embarrassed, "you look really good. Very sexy…very…Wolverine…"

Your voice is small and you're aware of how much of an idiot you sound like. You want to crawl into a hole. Perhaps, you think, it would have been so much better if fake Logan had killed you and then you wouldn't–wait—is he moving closer? What is he doing?

You realize Logan's coarse hands are cupping around your cheeks, his thumb stroking your skin. He's never been this close to you and you can't help but look at the flex of his arms. Your stomach tightens.

Logan's nose touches yours for a moment, nuzzling, and then he chuckles. "Such a sweet girl," he whispers and his thumb moves to your hairline, touching your hair. "Always so sweet, hm?"

You blink, still frozen with anticipation.

Logan pulls away and looks at you intensely. He sounds so serious when he says, "Wolverine is gone. You understand that, right?" Your heart hammers in your chest, unable to tear yourself away from his gaze. "He's dead. And I'm not too far from that either."

Your eyebrows pinch and you shake your head, "Logan, don't say that," you whisper.

Logan's forehead rests against yours. "Fuck, you're the last good thing I had. The one silver lining in all the fucked up darkness. And it hurts. Hurts to be around you, to hear your laughter and see your smile and know I'll never be able to love you like you deserve."

He leans in, capturing your lips in his. You tense, not expecting the kiss but it doesn't take long for you to melt into his touch. "I knew you wanted me, sugar. I could feel it. I could smell it," he whispers hoarsely, kissing along your jaw, "Never made any moves on you because look at you, you're sweet like candy. Too pure for my bloodied hands."

"Logan," you whine, dazed by his kisses and confused by his confession.

"And then you almost died because of me? My claws," he growls into your skin and kisses you again. His hand lifts your shirt as he gently skims the bandage around your torso. "Those will be scars from my claws."

After he says this, he abruptly pulls away and lets out a breath as if he's controlling himself. He looks angry at himself. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't do this—"

"Logan, they aren't your claws."

He sends you a warning look.

"No, they aren't. That wasn't you. So why are you blaming yourself?"

Logan huffs and wraps his hand around your head, clutching your hair in his fist. He looks like he's in pain and you don't know what. "Logan, let me help you," you whisper, pressing a shaking hand onto his chest. "I care about you. I don't want to give up on you. Please."

Your lips still tingle from his.

Logan sighs, leaning his forehead on yours. "Okay, bub," he says, taking a pause. Still, he stands and then leaves the little cabin with one last glance your way and you're left breathless and unsure.

A day later, you're sitting by the campfire. Logan hasn't been around all day. You think he's been avoiding you. The thought makes you ache as you pick at the log you're sitting on. You hear small footsteps and look behind you. Laura climbs over the log and sits next to you. She's staring at the crackling flames.

"Hi," you whisper, smiling at her.

"Daddy te ama," she says bluntly. She looks at you, her gaze hard.

You tilt your head, biting the inside of your cheek. "He loves me?"

Laura nods and points to the house, where you know Logan is lying inside. You saw him walk inside but hadn't dared to find him. "Go," Laura says suddenly and gently pushes on your arm. You stumble up, laughing a little to ease your nerves. Go and say what? You think.

Hi, I know you've been avoiding me but your daughter says you love me so—

You shake the thoughts from your head and decide to walk towards the cabin anyway. You can hear Logan inside as you knock on the door. There is a moment of silence and then a gruff, "Come in," and you open the door. Logan is sitting on the small bed, wrapping up his torso. He's bleeding. One of his wounds must have opened up. He looks like he's in pain.

He looks up, not looking surprised that it's you, and he motions you over. You hurry to sit next to him, wincing as you do because you'd done it too quickly and your wounds are still sore. Logan sends you a disapproving look. "Careful."

You nod, your gaze stuck on his chest. Logan sees you watching him and sighs. "Look," he turns, rolling his shoulders. His words seem to catch in his throat when he sees how sweet your expression is and his defense melts. How much longer can he pretend he doesn't think of you all the time? As if on autopilot, his hand reaches out and his knuckles stroke your cheek. "How can I convince you I'm bad for you?"

"You can't," you say instantly, holding his gaze now. "I don't think you are. You're a good man, Logan."

Logan shuts his eyes. There you go again. Calling him good, implying that he isn't the horrible monster he knows he is. He wants to shake his head, correct you, and tell you what he truly is. Remind you he's a dying man, but when he opens his eyes and looks into yours again, all the fight leaves his body.

He thinks of the claw marks that litter your side. How he'd spent an entire year pushing you away and all that ended up happening was you almost dying. Logan had never wanted to live more than those weeks he watched your unconscious body, unsure if you would ever wake again. He had wanted to live to see you again.

Logan looks at your lips. He wants to believe you, he wants to see the good in him, he wants to see what you see. His thumb gently skims the soft skin of your bottom lip. "Laura says you love me," you whisper, unable to keep the information to yourself and Logan is a little surprised. But then he laughs and the wrinkles in his eyes accentuate.

"Hm, she said that didn't she?"

You nod, unconsciously leaning into his touch.

Logan grins and strokes your cheek. He feels like he can breathe again, the pain in his side almost forgotten. "Pain in the ass, that girl is," he hums, no bite or bark in his words.

"Is she wrong?"

He shakes his head and leans in, kissing your lips again. He enjoys the kiss, taking it slow this time. His lips stay on yours as if he's savoring you. You move closer, your hands finding his knee as you squeeze.

Logan groans into your mouth and pulls you in a little closer. "No, she isn't," he whispers and kisses you again. You kiss him back, hoping to convey that you love him too by how you're kissing him. Logan's heart burns.

For something so selfish, it feels so good. Perhaps, he can bask in your hope for as long as he can, perhaps if he believes you just enough, what you say will become true and his body won't fail him. Deep down, he knows it's a futile hope, but it's one he'll let you cling to if it means he can have you like this.

His.

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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 days ago

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Love That Burns ~ 32

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,470ish

Summary: You and Logan head to Japan with Yukio.

Warnings: unwanted touching

Notes: We're in The Wolverine (2013)! I hope this chapter makes sense!

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Logan’s only thought was you as he sped from work to the house. Who would come up to the house? And why? Were you in danger now?

“Y/N!” Logan shouted as he sprinted from the truck into the house.

He came in prepared for a fight when he saw you standing in the middle of the living room with a young woman near the sliding glass doors. You had dropped the phone, and your fists were up in flames. He quickly stood in front of you, glaring down the intruder. Your hands cooled down and went to the back of his shirt, gripping it. You and Logan both knew that you could kick ass, but Logan would jump in front of you before that could happen.

“Who are you?” Logan growled.

“My name is Yukio,” she responded.

“And?”

“I’ve been trying to find you for over a year.”

“Why?”

“To give you this.” She removed the sword from her back, holding it out to Logan with both of her hands. “My employer wanted you to have it.”

“Who’s your employer?”

“Master Yashida.” You felt Logan tense beneath you. “He said it belongs to you and that he’s playing all debts. Master Yashida is dying. He wants to say thank you for saving his life all those years ago. He knows that you are a… busy man. But he very much wants to say his goodbye in person.”

“Alright, where is he?” Logan’s response surprised you.

“Tokyo.”

Logan scoffed. “I’m not going to Japan.”

“It would be dishonorable for you to refuse his request.”

“Well, apologize to Mr. Yashida. I’m not going to Tokyo. I have a life here. A wife.”

“Do not apologize. It’s been an honor just to meet the Wolverine.”

“That’s not who I am anymore, you understand?”

“Interesting since you’re standing in front of your wife, claws out… You are a soldier.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are a soldier.”

“Not anymore!”

“You are a soldier, and you seek what all soldiers do.”

“And what’s that?”

“An honorable death. An end to your pain.”

“I’m not in pain anymore.”

“Logan,” you tugged on his shirt to gain his attention. “Maybe we should go.”

You had never heard of this Yashida fellow, but it clearly was bringing something out of Logan. Logan’s head snapped towards you at your suggestion.

“Why?” He asked.

“To say your goodbyes. If you saved his life once, if this man felt the need to send someone for you, it has to be important to him. You have to be important to him.”

Logan studied your eyes. He sighed, knowing that you wouldn’t drop this. “Fine.” He turned back to Yukio, sheathing his claws. “One day. I say goodbye to Mr. Yashida, and I come right back.”

“Okay,” she responded.

“I’m coming with you,” you stated.

“No,” Logan shook his head. “You’re staying here.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Cause I’m safer here, by myself rather than with you, halfway across the world.”

Logan hated that you were right. “Fine. But you don’t leave my side.”

“Wouldn’t plan on it.”

~~~

Logan wasn’t happy at all to find out the flight would be at least fifteen hours long. It did help slightly that it was a private jet. But as soon as the plane took off, Logan was pulling you into his lap while he sat on the couch. Without a word, you let his head bury into your neck while your hands went to his hair. You gently began scratching his head, trying to ease his nerves. Logan closed his eyes and sighed as he allowed himself to just focus on you.

You could feel Yukio watching the two of you with inquisitive eyes. You ignored her and focused on Logan. His lips pressed against your neck a few times as he relaxed.

“I need to explain who Yashida is,” he muttered.

“Later,” you replied, pressing a kiss to his head. “We have a long flight ahead, and you need to calm down. I can feel your heartbeat.”

“Alright… What would I do without you?”

“Be a sad, lonely, miserable hermit.”

Logan chuckled against your neck. “Probably.”

It took quite a while before Logan got calm and sleepy. Logan eventually moved so that he was lying down with you on top of him. His arms stayed securely wrapped around you, for his comfort mostly. He quickly fell asleep with you in his arms. Yukio was curled up in a chair nearby, trying to sleep.

“We are almost there,” she said, keeping her eyes closed.

“So, you can see that future?” You asked. You had a feeling she was a mutant and wanted to know about her ability.

“I can read a map.”

“What’s your mutation then?”

“I can sense death.”

“Death?”

“It’s limited… but mostly accurate.”

“How far in advance?”

“Not too far.”

The plane rumbled, causing Logan to hold you tighter. “So, do we die on this plane?”

“No… Not on this plane.”

Her tone caught you. She knew something about when you or Logan would die. It was unsettling.

~~~

Logan woke up long before you but kept still to make sure that you got enough rest. You groaned as you began to wake up. Slowly, your eyes opened, and you looked up at Logan.

“Hi,” you rasped. His lips slightly lifted before he kissed your head. “Sleep well?”

“Only cause of you, my beautiful wife,” he whispered. Your stomach would never cease to flip at him calling you his wife.

Before the two of you knew it, the plane had landed and you were in a car being driven to see Mr. Yashida. Yukio was glued to her phone while Logan, who was sitting next to the window, had rolled it down and was staring out it. Yashida’s name was practically on every billboard.

“Master Yashida is not well tonight,” Yukio stated.

As you studied Logan, you could tell he was feeling indifferent about being here, but that there was something intriguing about seeing someone from an almost forgotten past.

The car pulled up to a large estate. There were armed men every few feet. Logan helped you out of the car and kept a tight grip on your hand as he surveyed the area and the two of you began to follow Yukio inside.

“A lot of guns,” Logan commented.

“There have been attacks,” explained Yukio. “Attempted kidnappings. Attempted assassinations.”

“By who?”

“The Japanese mob, the Yakuza. They’ve grown strong as the government has grown weak.”

Before you could enter the house, you and Logan were stopped. You were tugged away from Logan, causing him to let out a growl as the security guards scanned you with metal detectors. Logan’s immediately went off. Yukio began speaking in Japanese to the guards, trying to stop them.

“Hip replacement,” Logan stated, keeping his eyes on you.

The guards finally stopped and let you two enter. Logan’s hands were immediately on you.

“Wait here,” Yukio said, motioning to a nearby bench before disappearing.

The two of you sat down.

“I don’t like this,” Logan muttered, scanning the room. “We shouldn’t have come.”

“We don’t need to stay long,” you told him.

“I don’t know if the length of our stay is any choice of ours. You need to make sure to stay close.”

Two masked warriors fighting in what seemed to be a nearby training facility. Logan stood up and walked closer to study them. You joined him, wrapping your arms around him and resting your head on his back to try and get him to release some tension.

“Hey,” Yukio whispered, reappearing after having changed into a traditional outfit. “This way.

“Who’s that?” Logan asked.

“Shingen,” the man in question took off his mask, “Master Yashida’s son.” The two warriors continued fighting.

“He’s good.”

“He’s all right.”

Logan grabbed your hand and turned you both to follow alongside Yukio. He studied her change in attire.

“So, what happened to the badass in boots?” Logan wondered.

“Master Yashida is traditional,” Yukio explained. “One eye on the past and the other on the future.”

You stopped in front of two large doors. Yukio slowly opened open, revealing a room full of advanced medical technology. In the center, an old man lay on a bed with a young woman holding his hand.

“That’s Mariko,” Yukio told the two of you. “His granddaughter.”

Mariko shakily stood up, knocking items over as she headed for the door you were standing at. She glanced at you and Logan before pushing passed.

“Mariko!” Yukio called, going after the young woman.

“I sense that there’s a lot of drama here,” you muttered.

Logan grunted in response, squeezing your hand tighter. You watched as Mariko hugged Yukio and cried.

“Something’s wrong,” Logan mumbled.

Mariko walked away, leaving Yukio staring at her. Yukio sighed before turning back to the two of you. Walking over, she pushed the door further open and slipped into the room, you and Logan slowly following.

“Prepare two more suppressors for Master Yoshida,” a tall blonde woman ordered, talking to one of the assistants in there. “And check his blood pressure.”

Yukio was handed a mask and slipped it on. It wasn't surprising that neither of you were handed a mask since your healing abilities didn’t allow you to carry diseases. Yukio walked up to the man and began speaking in Japanese. Logan slowly led you around the bed, catching the eye of Yashida.

“Oh… Kuzuri,” Yashida said, bed moving so that he could sit up more. “You look the same. But, then, that is no surprise. Dr. Green?” The blonde woman turned to Yashida. “Leave us, please.”

“Fine minutes,” Dr. Green told you and Logan, “no more.”

“My oncologist.” Logan grunted with a nod in response. “And who is this?” Yashida motioned to you.

“This is Y/N,” Logan replied. “My wife.”

“This nice to meet you,” you told Yashida.

Yashida simply smiled at you briefly before Yukio brought over a drink for him. Logan began to study the room along with you. The two of you ended up turned around, facing a large painting.

“The painting is from the village of my birth,” Yashida explained.”It depicts the bravery and skill of the Black Clan. Ninja warriors. They served in my family for seven centuries. I didn’t send for you only to thank you, Logan. I wanted to repay you. To offer you something no one else can. A gift to equal the life you gave to me.”

“I don't need anything,” Logan responded.

“Not a thing. Eternity can be a curse. It hasn’t been easy for you, living without time. The losses you have had to suffer. A man can run out of things to live for. Lose his purpose. Become a ronin… a samurai without a master. I can end your eternity… Make you mortal.”

You now immediately regretted urging Logan to come. This man was up to no good, you could sense it, and by the way Logan stepped closer to you, you knew he could sense it, too.

“What they did to me, what I am, can’t be undone,” Logan told the man. “Besides, I have someone to live for.”

“Yashida Industries can do anything,” Yashida continued. “We have reason to believe your ability to heal can be passed.”

“Passed?”

“From you to another… You have struggled long enough, Logan.”

“I’m confused. I came here to say goodbye to a man I once knew.”

“I am the same man. I was not ready to die then. I am not ready to die now. But you are, aren't you?”

“Are you offering to kill me?”

“No. Not right away. You can live a long and ordinary life. Grow old with your wife. And one day, die an ordinary death. It can be done.”

You couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up. “I’m sorry,” you said. “But you seem to have your research messed up. First of all, what you want to do is impossible. Second, I share Logan’s healing ability. He doesn’t have to worry about being alone. Not with me around.”

Logan let go of your hand and slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Yeah, look, nice to see you again,” Logan said. “Sorry, you got sick.”

Yashida reached out and grabbed Logan’s free arm before Logan could guide you away. “Please, Logan-san. I need you again. I fear for my family. I fear for everything I have built.”

“Enough,” Dr. Green said upon reentering.

“Please, Logan-san."

“You two should leave.”

“They’re going to kill her.”

That caught your and Logan’s attention. “Who?” Logan asked.

“Mariko, my granddaughter. She is my treasure. She must be protected.”

“You don’t want what I’ve got.” Logan ripped his arm free and led you out of the room as the monitors began beeping.

“Kuzuri!” Yashida shouted.

You looked at Logan and could see that he was even more tense than before. You opened your mouth to say something, but you were cut off by the sounds of Mariko and her father, Shingen, shouting across the courtyard. Logan and you watched as they argued. Mariko stopped in front of her father, causing him to slap her. Logan took a step forward, ready to intervene. Shingen walked away, leaving Mariko. Within a split second, Mariko was running through the rain in the courtyard, and towards the edge of the cliff that the house sat on. Logan let you go and was running after her before anyone could stop him. Mariko got to the edge, but before she could jump, Logan’s arms wrapped around her and pulled her away.

“Careful, careful,” Logan warned as you and Yukio rushed up to the two. “It’s slippery out here.”

Mariko fought in his grip. “Let go,” she requested.

“You about done?”

“Let go of me.”

Logan did as she requested and watched as she slinked back to the house. Guards were waiting for her, ready to escort her to her room.

“Let me show you two to a room to get dry,” Yukio said.

You took ahold of Logan’s hand, and the two of you silently followed Yukio to a room. After the doors were shut and it was just the two of you, Logan pulled you into his chest and held you close. You didn’t waste a second, wrapping your arms around him in return.

“We shouldn’t have come,” he muttered. “There’s something very off here.”

“I can sense it, too,” you replied. “I’m sorry for—“

Your apology trailed off as his lips seized yours in a heated, demanding his. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispered. “You were just hoping to help me.”

“Who is this man? And how did you save his life?”

Logan sighed, letting you go to sit on the edge of the bed. “I don’t remember every detail, but I know it was World War 2. I was in a prisoner of war camp here in Japan near Nagasaki. I saved him from the bombing.”

You came up to him, kneeling in front of Logan. “Makes sense why he would want to thank you, but… it’s clear he had other motives.”

“I would never let him do anything to me.” His hands moved to cup your face. “To you.”

Your lips lifted in a reassuring smile as your hands went to Logan’s wrists. “I know.”

“I got so lucky for a wife like you.”

“Not as lucky as I got for a husband like you.”

Logan smirked as he leaned in to capture your lips against his. The kiss was quickly cut off by Yukio entering. Logan growled as he noticed her and helped you up to sit on the bed.

“He just wanted to say goodbye, huh?” Logan scoffed.

He stood up and walked over to the bedside table that had fresh tea and picture frames on it. Your eyes were drawn to the pictures as Logan poured you both a cup.

“You two grew up together,” you stated.

“Yes,” Yukio responded.

“But you’re not sisters?” You shot Logan a smile as he handed you a cup. Both you and Logan drank the liquid as Yukio spoke.

“No. Master Yashida found me on a trip to the South. He brought Mariko to see a factory he was building. I was digging through the garbage for something to eat.”

“So they just took you home with them?” Logan asked.

“It was always difficult for Mariko to make friends… I’ll see to it the plane is ready in the morning. Sleep here.” Then Yukio left.

~~~

Your back was up against Logan’s bare chest as he held you close and slept. You were grateful that sleep was easy for him to find while it seemed to allude you. Your legs were growing restless the longer you couldn’t sleep. Deciding to get up, you gently took Logan’s hands from around your waist, pressed kisses to them, and slipped out of bed. You pulled on one of Logan’s jackets and slid out of the room.

You found yourself at the cliff in no time. You could see the city lights on the other side of the bay. This had been the most people you'd been around since leaving the mansion almost ten years ago. Guilt ate away at you. You and Logan had failed to keep in much contact with your friends at the mansion, too focused on yourselves. You made a mental note to reach out once the two of you were back at home.

So caught in your own head, you failed to notice Dr. Green stalking behind you, like a predator to its prey. With quick movements, she injected you with something, causing your vision to blur.

“Wh—What?” You slurred. “Logan…”

She turned you to face her, holding your head in her hands as your legs threatened to give out on you. You wished that you could see who was holding onto you, but whatever had been injected into was strong. Suddenly, an unfamiliar set of lips was on yours, and your jaw was being pulled open further. You struggled as something slipped down your throat. When you were finally let go, you fell to the ground in a fit of coughs.

“L—Log—Logan,” you tried to call out as you coughed. Before you could know if Logan was coming, your world went black.

~~~

Logan knew there was something wrong when he began to wake and the body curled up to him didn’t feel familiar. Before his eyes could snap open, lips were on his, and a hand was forcing his jaw to open more. Opening his eyes, Logan was met with green eyes that held the shape of a lizard’s. She hopped off him and slipped out of the room, leaving Logan gasping for air as green filled his breath. Still wheezing, Logan threw himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed with his claws ready to attack. His eyes frantically searched around for you.

“Y—Y/N,” he coughed. “Y/N!”

Logan stumbled out of the room and began to sniff, trying to get a lock on your scent. With his claws still out, Logan followed your scent to the cliff, where you were lying unconscious. His claws disappeared as he fell to his knees and pulled you into his chest. He felt little relief when his ears picked up the sound of your heartbeat. There was still the matter of how you got out here and if you were harmed in any way.

There was a lingering uncomfortable feeling in Logan’s chest as he picked you up and brought you back to the room. He laid you on the best, hands gently cradling your head.

“Y/N,” he whispered urgently. “Princess, wake up.” You groaned and he took that as a sign to continue prompting you awake. His thumbs rubbed against your cheeks. “Come on, wake up, sweetheart.”

“Lo… Logan?” You groaned, eyes slowly opening. There was still a fuzziness on the edge of your vision, but you could see Logan's worried face clear as day.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to your head. “You had me so scared. What were you doing out there?”

“I…” you coughed lightly. “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn't want to wake you, so I went on a walk. But… someone attacked me.”

“We’re getting out of here. Now.”

He pulled you back into his arms and stood up. Logan froze as the two of you reached the door. Yashida’s workers were lining the halls as he was being pushed out. Cries and whimpers could be heard throughout the area. Yukio suddenly appeared in front of you two, tears in her eyes.

“He's dead,” she stated, growing more emotional. “I didn't foresee it.”

next chapter >

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themareverine · 13 hours ago

Text

DESIGNATED DRIVER

—oldman!Logan x namelessfem!OC

SYNOPSIS: “Hey driver!” Tits, yeah—counts two of 'em. What Logan can't quite shake isn't the drunk-off-her ass's $20,000 tit job, or even the way his passengers embarrass themselves with shameless come-ons, stupid amounts of money. something else, entirely—a pretty little thing all done up in makeup and curls, wishing she were anywhere but third-wheeling a drunk hen party. "Sorry about my friend, she's—" "Didn't even notice her, honey."

warnings: this is so offensively long, I'm SORRY. flirting, drunkenness, flashing, maybe some oldman!logan inappropriate thoughts, maybe a kiss, general shyness/awkardness of that girl, language, not proofread, mentions of oral sex, OC has blue eyes.

a/n: and finally, after many weeks, it's here. not entirely sure how i feel about this, it's very self indulgent. let me know what you think, and maybe there needs to be a part two?

There’s a lot of things about this fucking limo that Logan hates.

For one, you couldn’t ask for a shittier lease agreement, and if such a hellish thing dared to exist, Satan holds the pink slip. Two years ago it had seemed like a good fucking idea, leasing some long black experimental piece of Chrysler shit that was heavy off the line and a low fatass—hot as fuck though, with chrome plated lugs. Midnight metal flake showed every piece of God’s earth, the color of sin. Washed the fucker every other day. Couldn’t make green with a dirty rig, and he was an anal retentive sonuvabitch like that to begin with. And the interior, fuck that, it would tell secrets it showed every damn piece of filth that fell into it. Paid or otherwise.

This shitpiece had a tendency to run hot and burn crude, but, she got the groceries—brought home bacon, if that was even still a thing in this century. Toss up between this and the Navigator the color of bad ideas, he’d flipped for the Chrysler. Industry standard, turned heads, attracted the upper echelon. No intention of hauling around fucktards into the suburbs—black paint looked good under Vegas neon on the strip.

But the biggest fucking thing he hated about this rig— fucking privacy partition. Busted worse than a fat lip and had been since the jump. Any serious driver, that would’ve been the first thing to check. Separate him from the sin—hot piece of ass that slid into the backseat looking at him like he’s dinner, a couple too deep in on the red to think straight, the fucker on business hiding his wedding ring in his dick pocket as he picks up an STD.

The first God-awful time he’d went to use it, the damn thing had all but stood up and shrieked in his ear. Grinding gears, the knock of a seized electric motor—scared the shit out of the handsy blonde who’d been trying to get his dick wet since the moment she’d dropped into the back of the Chrysler, tits all but popping from what looked like at least a size too small black—thing. Hadn’t been a dress, he’d seen plenty of them slide in and out—she’d made a spectacle of showing off the little lace number squirreled away for the right price. And it wasn’t that he’d been preening for a look, wasn’t his style—but when it’s right there. Plain as the nose on anyone’s face, and he’s been chaste as a priest for fucking years. It taking up all the glass of his rearview, looking like a felony—the devil had all but welded his attention between her legs.

”Looks like you’re stuck with me, hm?”

Fucking partition. A business-only kiss landed two hundred green ones between his abs and the elastic of his Calvins. A handful of hours of rack and many shotglasses later had put him on the scent to hell, the damn dealership. Four hours from the border, four hours from any kind of work—he’d all but flown the thing into the service bay. Demanded a new partition. And, Logan had been laughed out of a lot of places the last two centuries he’d been sucking air—laughed, jeered, driven out with pitchforks. Circumstances aside, it all ended the same. Vamoose, pissed off his rocker.

An astronomical estimate later, with the fucked-in-the-rear-end isn’t covered by warranty—his fist had collided with the service writer’s nose faster than his patience had evaporated for the blonde. All but jammed the prick’s deviated septum up into his brainspace—Logan had felt it between his knuckles. Only thing keeping his patience held together, keeping the claws in, the man’s crunching cartilage had given him a high not much removed from amphetamine—it had felt good. Feel some asshat’s blood on his hands, staining his skin. See it hit the floor in fat, thick drops. Feel the warmth of it fade as he brushed it away, coppery scent an idea beneath his nose so familiar it may as well pay rent.

Didn’t get his partition, though. Just a bad taste of customer service and the satisfaction of seeing a grown man cry.

Logan isn’t a man to complain—never did change the cards dealt you at the gametable of living. Better to shut up and play, make due with what you’ve got than wish away opportunities. Sure, an almost-lemon of a leased Chrysler with a busted partition wasn’t great, but, it wasn’t that long ago that he’d have given his right nut for the chance to work, much less actual green. Put up and shut up had been the mantra since he’d all but popped out of his mother, and it had, for all intents and purposes, kept him this side of the dirt. Sucking air and feeling, if nothing more—and what was surviving, if not sucking air and feeling?

Doesn’t know. Doesn’t care.

Music that’s been muffled most of the ride tonight suddenly isn’t, the back door of the rig flinging open, a wide arch, revealing the world beyond. Neon bleeds across the black leather of his interior. A smack of humidity rushes in, almost immediately fogs the passenger windows— he keeps it ass-in-winter cold, A/C all but screaming full bore. Likes it that way, keeps him awake. Keeps them awake, he isn’t hauling anyone’s ass anywhere because they fell asleep in his seats.

And while he isn’t startled—there isn’t fucking anything that could scare him, he doesn’t think—Logan’s spine pulls into a straight line against his seat at the sliver of night outside the door. Alarm bells sound off in the back of his head, eyes narrowed on the rearview—hand all but lava, hovering over the gearshift. He’s been here before, on the jump. Ready to rock and roll, ready to kill—should killing need be. He’s lived two centuries on this edge, this cliff. Walking the line between reflex and ready. It’s almost carved into his skin, alarm—comes as naturally as the crest and fall of his chest.

Logan relaxes a little when a peek of skin slips hurriedly into the back seat, familiar stiletto heels. Air in the limo immediately snaps to an all-soldier attention, flustering—like a disturbed hen rustling her chicks. Something isn’t right, isn’t stable—nuclear, almost. Dangerous. The car shifts a little with incoming weight as one of the night’s passengers whisks into the back. Curl and makeup and the familiar whiff of peaches escorts her in as she pulls the door closed, all too quickly for this to be a normal, unbothered arrival.

Her. Muscle in his jaw ticks off, it takes willpower not to wriggle in the front seat, shift his weight a little. Usually it helped shake off the hot weight of sex rolling around the base of his gut, desire. Carnal things he’d learned to live without, suppress. Animalistic and snapping at his spine like frothing wolves. Most times, it was easy to not notice—girls, women, came and went in their short dresses and makeup. Pretty to see, but venomous little things. Maneaters, trouble on stilts. None of them were pretty–pretty in the way that mattered, pretty souls. Ugliness shot behind their eyes like bullets, low and cold. Dimes and dozens, nameless and unnoteworthy as they slipped him tips, batted their lashes, kissed him like he was their plaything because who’s he to fight a pair of tits? Forgettable is understating it.

But her? He hasn’t been able to unglue her piercing eyes from his brain matter. And, he’s tried—like it or not, he’s tried bailing water out of this canoe, a canoe that’s been hallowed and empty for God knew how long. But it’s like emptying water back into the ocean—it only comes back, heavier and heavier.

No dice. Close, but no cigar–unlucky bastard.

She’d slipped into the limo before the night had even been an idea, one of three who’d decided to split fare for a sober ride. Pharmacy, first, for little more than IVs of electrolytes and fluids—never had seen girls guzzle so fast, but, whatever. Mile-a-minute chatter he hadn’t even bothered to pace had kept them busy most of the ride into the metroplex, and Logan should’ve prayed they’d ignored him. Kept his fat trap shut and just let them guide him, but God, no. He’d asked—asked for directions. Where they were going.

Had asked, and fuck him, that had sent things off with a bang. As if they hadn’t realized he’d been there, all three of them had locked eyes with him in the rearview, surprised thrown over the air like a stifling blanket. Heartbeats later, awkward and thick, one of them had leaned forward. Arms over the seat, showing off everything God had given her as she’d all but pumped her bedazzled phone in his face as if it were a shotgun.

He’d clocked her noticing he wasn’t wearing a ring. Was jacked as fuck under an two-undone button shirt and jacket that fit him like sin. Deliberate choice, but–she’d all but started drooling right there on his lap, hungry like a starving man at banquet.

Asking God for some shred of mercy had done little—the look on her face. He’d never forget it, had seen enemies look at him with more mirth and pity. Shit. Hungry, in the eyes. Desperate, like a dying woman choking on her own libidol. After rattling off the address, it would've been faster if he’d just hit the brakes and sent her flying forward through the window. Skulking back into her seat as if it were an X-rated shot, she’d eye fucked him hard until she’d been dragged back into hushed, schoolgirl conversation. Gross.

And that was it, the beginning of the end. Eyes glued to the back of his head like some kind of anchor—Logan could’ve tasted them from here. Was hell trying not to make eye contact in the rearview, feeling their gaze hunting him like wild banshees. Spiking adrenaline, heady plumes of pheromones. Arousal, unlike anything he’d ever wanted to scent—stunk up the air like God knew. Half-starved vixens, all low and bedroom eyes, begging for trouble in all the right little ways that leave men slobbering fools. Had they been parked and out of the Chrysler, the two of them would’ve been on their knees, if not on his cock.

He’d blasted the air again, because the air in the damn car was so thick he would’ve cut it in halves.

Low lashes, smoky eyes. Lips the color of cherries. Tight black dresses and heels higher than heaven, they’d been dressed to kill—maybe a little less. Lobotomize, maybe. Cut out hearts, certainly—blue ball, absolutely.

Pity the bastard who gets the taste of these tarts, pity, and probably mercy.

Bachelorettes, he’d guessed off the gun. Correctly, too—not two blocks from CVS and out came cheap accessories. FUCK ME may as well have been written in lipstick on Stuck-In-the-Middle’s forehead, he assumed she was the future betrothed. By the look of her, much less the smell, she’d been aching for tonight. Primed and desperate, like an oil-starved pistol. Clawing for it, walking the heat of the desert for change. Something else, something new, something dangerous—cock. Dick. Be it Tom, Harry, or some other poor fool—Logan could clock it from anywhere. She’d been sitting on this for a hot minute. Maybe since she’d been born.

And Logan’s uncertain who to pity more—her or the mediocre cock she’s about prowling for—the lopsided tiara, tacky dimestore BRIDE sash out of a CVS bag were just warning signs. Red flags, if you were smart about it. Darkness in her eyes would make any man second guess the two carats on her finger, if men weren’t animals. And they were, every one of them—and she’s far too drop-dead to not demand attention, to not homewreck and ruin some poor, unsuspecting fool’s evening.

Watching her slip those two carats into her handbag, he’d just shook his head.

Silence to stir the dead had followed after they’d eye fucked him into celibacy. Blissful, sweet as the Nile quiet. A creak of movement, the slip of skin on leather—her. Short brunette curls with highlights, icy blues. Defined collarbones in a hardly-strapped dress, big earrings. Sparkles, everywhere, blended into makeup that’s been on awhile but still looks good. And she, she isn’t like the rest—not by a mile. How she moves, the way her lashes flutter. Doe-eyed and sweet. Doesn’t smell like sin, the kiss of color on her cheeks isn’t blush, either.

Peaches, this one smells like fucking peaches. Something floral.

She’s sweet. Saccharine, sugary. Like everything Logan’s forgotten. Pretty, in that girl-next-door kinda way—the way he’s always noticed, the way nobody else ever does. And what a pretty thing like her is doing in the back of his sinwagon, riding with Jezebels, hunting for trouble—he’ll never know.

Hours before this, she’d leaned forward, pretty hands on the back of his seat. Done up nails that looked fake, but not cheap. This close, he could see her contact lenses replacing nine-to-five frames, the permanent little indentations on her nose were unmissable. Ocean eyes smiled at him through the glass of his rearview, as if it were a game. Good at it, she won—he blinked first.

Offered him a little half smile, that dust of color on her nose darkening to an almost strawberry. When his eyes hit hers again from the road, icy blues ramped up like pulsing neon, unlike any he’d ever seen in two fucking centuries. Difficult to think, he’d had to realize he was holding his breath in the pocket of his cheek, hot against his molars. She’d reached across the back of the seat to gently nudge him with her elbow—hey. It should’ve sounded like something you gave to horses, but it was—considerate.

Nearly fucking polite.

You got the address okay, sir? If his tongue hadn’t swollen to the size of his balls he’d have dared to laugh at her. Sir. If he thinks hard, Logan can’t remember the last time he’d been seriously called sir, from a place of consideration, behind the ribs. He’s been alive for hundreds of years, seen a lot of shit and blood, but has been called a professional and crisp sir all but five times in his existence on God’s planet.

Shaking himself out of it, he tells himself she isn’t the first pretty skirt to grace the leathers of his Chrysler. To look pretty and smell good, to stir up his cold blood. Wouldn’t be the last, by far. Part of his marketing was that he was safe. Stuck around, even when the witching hour faded into bleeding colors of morning. Fair & There, as if he were a fucking marketing guru.

She’d slipped out of the limo with her friends even though he’d wanted her to stay. Wanted to smell her and look at her all night, mull over all the things in his life he’d abandoned. Think about how, maybe, in some other world, bend of time, something that sweet could belong to him. But, she’d thanked him. Obviously the designated sober of the night, she’d arranged to text fifteen minutes before they wanted to leave in case he wanted to get a drink or took another gig.

I’ll be here all night, and that wasn’t a lie. The flask burning a hole against his heart had enough whiskey to last him until morning, another bottle tucked under the seat for safekeeping. He was safe, he was there, and too damn tired to even try to think about driving around the city on a time schedule.

It’d been two hours, parked under the neon at the curb. Not even midnight. Normal clients would just be breaking stride, setting paces. At the gate, snorting like stallions in heat. Rutting like animals, working the game. Nothing he didn’t know all too well, he’d lived his wild years a lifetime ago—he knew what sex and booze, a good time smelled like. Could clock it every time, wasn’t daft. Had witnessed his fair share of back-alley fucks, the straightening of a hemline. Crooked buttons and tented-out slacks.

Tonight wouldn’t be different, he assumed—well. Had assumed. Which, as the saying went, made him an ass.

Her heartbeat from the frontseat is almost tangible, hard and fast. Jackrabbit—as if she’d dropped it in his hands, bleeding and raw all over his fingers. Logan’s eyes fall away from the rearview for a beat, ticks back to her when she slides across the seat. Straightening the end of her dress, which hits below the knee–or would, if she were upright, but now pulls at her thighs. And the way she fiddles with it suggests it’s shorter than it was earlier in the evening, when sin was exciting and didn’t slap like a bitch.

Tucked in against the opposite door, looking out tinted glass like it’s a skyline worth seeing, not just a lot of nothing. And something’s off, he can feel it in the little pulses of electricity of the air, the heat in her blood. Anger. The tick tick tick of frustrated fingernails on the edge of the window. Upset. It buzzes in her blood, which he can feel thumping against her bones from here. Slick scent of sweat between her thighs, swirls of alcohol and pyrotechnic smoke mixed with fairy dusting drugs. It’s enough to make him shift, crack the window.

Long gone are the peaches and florals, now she just bleeds with heat and virility enough to stir the gods. Fucking perfect.

How long’s it been, old boy? Dull pangs in his cock make him shift up in his seat, stir some blood into his feet. Eyerolls, gaze hitting the pavement out his window, sick fuck. Just a girl, just like the rest. Reaches inside his breast pocket for a cigar and a light.

And as much as he wishes it isn’t true, Logan can’t quite shake that she ain’t just a girl—not by a shot, long or short. He’s seen a thousand of them, sure—seen and tasted and fucked senseless. Yeah. But—none like this. None that make him burn at the drop of a hat and a smile. None that twist his guts like a corkscrew, rip him open like he’s a fresh kill. He didn’t even know her name, anything about her. He swore to God he wasn’t this type of man, couldn’t be bought with some pretty eyes and cherry lipstick. Happened to wet-behind-the-ears boys only ever hoping their balls dropped into manhood, not guys like him. Not men that had seen a thing or two, not men who had sampled the female sex from every fucking era the last two hundred years had presented.

Not men with demons, not men with metal bones and rust spinning through his cells like Satan’s blood. Not him.

But it doesn’t seem to matter, because her presence in the limo upsets his sensibilities like an earthquake. Seemed to fillet him like a fat bass, pull his ribs back to watch his heart beat. Everything he didn’t know, everything she could be—choked the life out of him, those wicked blues heavy as steel. If he weren’t careful, she’d see through him, like—like memories. And she, like everyone else, wouldn’t like what she saw lurking in his bones, in the organ behind his ribs.

All his life hiding who he is, years hiding from everything the world wanted to label him, only to—

Fuck. Yeah. Something’s off—is his leg bouncing? The fuck is that about? Fuck, fuck. His fingers card through his hair, cough aching in his bronchial tubes. Shit.

Another glance in the glass reveals she isn’t even looking at him, thoughts out the window in the shifting low lights of the limo’s interior. Maybe a million miles from here, but nonetheless—she’s everywhere, every damn where in the space of the Chrysler, this sinwagon that’s messing with his head. Everything about her. Her scent, her pheromones playing him like a fucking game, the heat along her spine. Blood in her veins, ripping through her heart, the pull and push of arteries and cardiovascular muscle. Mesh of her lungs, rising and falling. He’s tuned into it like it’s the fucking evening news.

And everything about this is wrong, his guts swim with it.

Fingering the cigar between two swollen knuckles, Logan ignores pain that zings. Rips through the adamantium in his arm like it’s starving, hunting for air. And Logan is maybe considering that he’s lost his mind, that it’s somehow taken up residence in his dick, when—-a sniffle.

Good fuck. Is she crying? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It’s magic, the little breathy thing girls do when they’ve been crying, but don’t want you to flag it. Witchraft, maybe. Men will never understand how they do it, cry without tears, but—it’s a thing. Definitely, confirmed by science somewhere, some egghead in a lab taking notes on female specimens and how they manage such emotion while still looking like she does. Vaguely his memories spin with all the girls he’s known throughout his life, and how every single one of them have this ability hardwired into their core being, mutations aside.

Biting the cigar between his teeth in the corner of his mouth, he flicks the lighter between his thumb and index finger, holding it up in line of sight. His head angles to look up at the rearview, a rough cough rattling the mesh of his lungs enough to trigger her attention. And sure enough, she has been crying—her knuckle gently brushes at the trails of tears all but neon on her face beneath the limo’s lights, eyes flicking to the rearview to meet his.

Coughing, he eases his back against the seat. Hot muscle burns a little as tension bleeds away, “You care if I smoke?”

And why he asks, Logan isn’t sure—he’s never asked before. Then again, he’s never had to ask, because it’s a standing policy to not smoke on a gig. Tonight, though, he needs something to do with his hands, to calm the magma rushing through his blood, the cold sweat bubbling up on the back of his neck. Staining his white fucking shirt. Even a blush from the grave and exhausted, slowly dying away from whatever is inside of him, he isn’t an idle man. If he doesn’t do something, he won’t be able to help himself—he can barely fight back the urge to not lose whatever sanity’s buried alive and get himself off, right here and now.

Anything to masquerade the scent of whatever’s slick between her legs. You are a sick, perverted fuck, Logan. True, probably. But it’s been years, a lot of years. And he hasn’t wanted a lot of women, hasn’t clocked many that he’d actually enjoy rousting up a fantasy over. And she smells like a good time, something he may not actually regret. That would be a first.

Tucking a little tighter against the door, her eyes close as she gently shakes her head. Curls flick around her features as she does, and she cracks her window before reaching forward to slip off both shoes. Logan had noticed them—yellow, bright highlighter yellow so jovial they may as well have smacked him upside his head. So out of place, but they were sexy as hell—he’d always appreciated a well dressed woman, and as impractical as they were, high heels did add a punch of something that made him a little hard in the dick.

“I do, but go ahead,” it’s a little sigh, one he’s all but five-star VIP familiar. “One of us should enjoy ourselves, anyway.”

In zero to none he flicks the lighter to life, burns the edge of the cigar until it’s hot. Thick, it rides his throat perfectly—chases that gut-twisting urge that’s coiled around the base of his spine like a viper. Through his blood it goes, ramping up the rust and poison and years that kill, and he heaves a sigh—falls back a little rougher against the seat. That ache in his cock twitches, but she retreats.

His eyes fall closed, heart settling down behind his bones. “You wouldn’t happen to sell those little bottles of booze in this rig, would you?” Makes him start a little, and Logan blinks. A little surprised, he angles to look over his shoulder at her, arm lifting to drape over the bench seat. Brow raised, she elaborates, obviously reading his expression. “You know, the luxury part of ‘luxury accomodations’?”

“Not a part of the deal, honey.”

“Ah, you don’t like money, then,” the corner of her mouth ticks up with a smirk when he shifts a little more in his seat to study her. He catches what she lays down, without thinking. “And I ain’t anyone’s ‘honey’, so don’t be an ass and assume. Please.” Blinking, Logan can’t remember the last time he felt his stomach actually lift with amusement—the little way she says her ‘o’s’ is dangerous, suggests the north–either Canada. Minnesota, Wisconsin. North Dakota maybe? Anywhere but this far on the border, the edge of the world. Interesting.

Fucking Calliban. Knew he’d regret the hard copy that albino had suggested, but, it was too little too late. Surprised, he manages a little growl of complaint before he leans forward, hand fumbling against the floorboard carpet of the passenger’s side. Knuckles nudge the bottle of Jack Daniels, and he grabs the neck of it before allowing it to dangle between his fingers. Amber liquid dances like a tornado through the bottle, sloshing against the glass like a dream.

Unstopping it, he pulls back a sharp drink of it. “Have at it,” it’s rough, raw. Irritation peeks through the teeth of it, but it’s more resigned than anything.

Leaning forward, her eyes hold his and she hesitates to snatch the bottle away, hand hanging in the air. She’s got lithe fingers, bigger hands—hands that look strong. His attention cocks slightly when he notices the callouses, the scars on her knuckles. They aren’t polished, nine-to-five office hands like ninety percent of the girls who pass through his service. Briefly he wonders what her fake nails would feel like curled against skin, but dismisses it when she plucks the bottle from between his fingers.

“Thanks,” her chuckle comes from her gut, almost a growl of relief that says finally! as she puts the cool class to her lips. Guzzles back a full shot. Rights, her cherry lips part into a small smile as she hands the bottle back, passing her thumb over left behind lipstick. “Good God that burns,” managing a little cough, Logan replaces the stop and pops it between his thighs. “But it’s good. Takes the edge off.”

I bet it does. He manages a growling mhm, settling back into his seat. Thinking that’s the last of it. Content to look out the window and smoke his cigar, not think about the heat ricocheting off the adamantium in his pelvis. How it stirs up his blood, how her voice is that perfect lilt of low and just high enough.

Head swimming with the mental picture of her beneath him, breathless and hot, he bristles to attention when her arms drape over the front seat. Very suddenly all Logan can smell is the heady smell of woman and sweat rolling off of her like a locomotive.

She mutters under her breath something Logan can’t quite track, bit the way she picks at a nail with her teeth, gaze anywhere but inside the low limo’s lighting, would imply negatives. And she could’ve started reciting the phone book, he wouldn’t have noticed—far too busy noticing cleavage and the valley of her collarbones to be able to think straight.

But his stare gets heavy, she notices the thick air that’s smothering the limo like a wet dream–her eyes find his, a little smile at the corner of her mouth when his flick away. Oh, good fuck. Her eyes bore into him through the rearview. Uncapping the Jack, he takes another sharp pull of it. It chases the warmth in the back of his throat, blooming in his chest like he didn’t know what.

More pregnant silence. She shifts against the leather, hot skin sticky against it. Reaching to put the car in accessory, Logan fiddles with the A/C. He clocks her swiping her heels from the floor, wrangling them back on her feet—hadn’t she just taken the damn things off?

“I should go get them before either of them do something they’ll regret,” her eyes cast to the clock on the dash, which isn’t terribly far from his ID information, which is offensively just there. “It’s late.” It isn’t, not really. Logan thinks this has to be the most conservative hen party in the history of such things, but his jaw clamps shut.

If he can bail them out of his car early, he may be able to catch a few hours of sleep before the early-hour rush. That hour when last call sends boozers into the streets, looking for rides. That’s where the money was, after all—and God knew he could use the dough.

Her hand floating over the handle of the door, as if she’s waiting for his consent. “Paid by the hour, darlin’,” and Logan does not miss the way darlin’ hits her—sharp eyes flick down to his mouth for a fraction of a heartbeat, a little plume of color lifting to the apples of her cheeks that definitely isn’t rouge. Blush, they called it now. She has plenty of it on her face, but it darkens something pretty in a way that, usually, would amuse him.

Instead, now, he just lifts a hand to slot through the openings on the Chrsyler’s steering wheel, ignoring the ache between his knuckles.

He can’t have arthritis, can he? Popping the latch, he twists out of the limo. Crosses around the front through the headlights to her side. A flick of his fingers and he pulls open the door, highlighter yellow heels spilling out to the pavement in that Hollywood way.

He doesn’t do this— he makes a habit not to touch customers. Usually his hand finds his pocket, as a rule. But for some reason, her eyes skating through the dark, panning around the street and the front of the club, lights the mesh of his lungs on fire. Offering her his hand, its appearance before her drops a rod through her spine—she straightens, blinking at it once before her fluttery lashes look up at him.

He wonders if the little flick of muscle in her jaw actually takes muscle memory. Looking at him with a look that’s uncertain, that’s you sure? heartbeats pass and make the moment uncomfortable. Shuffling his weight on his feet, his hand falls from the door and to his pocket, palming the lighter against his thigh. Phlegm and whatever else God created in the human body rattles around the poison in his chest, a low cough echoing off his bones.

It takes her a second to collect, looking between him and his hand. “By the hour. Right,” her eyes skate down his chest, over all of him, as if she’s making sure. Her hand slips into his too lightly to matter, as if she’s making an effort to limit contact—and that’s a good thing, because Logan is fairly sure the world had stopped spinning, the electrical pulses of his body kicking to overdrive at just how alive her skin feels. Senses heightened to infinity. He could count stars, maybe, with the way her nails deliciously press into his palm, rough and hard. Warm, the scent of peaches all but punches his lights out—he can’t even taste his cigar, body enamored with the way she smells, how her hand all but boils in his.

The fuck, Logan.

Stepping out, sharp eyes navigate the front of the club, and a blackhole of the universe suddenly opens between them when her hand falls away. Heels tick against the concrete as she turns to face him batting the door closed. Hands in pockets, he kicks back against the Chrysler. Waiting.

“Thanks,” her smile is small, eyes casting down to the filth of midnight on the concrete, “It shouldn’t be long.”

He shrugs, “‘S your money, honey,” is followed by a grunt as she nods, turns on her heel. Sashays back into the front of the club before flashing a wristband to the bouncer. Between the help eyeballing her in that dress and Logan unable to stop ogling just how it clings, highlights every curve of her, it’s a miracle either of them are still standing.

Reappearing fifteen minutes later with girlfriends in tow, Logan folds them into the limo politely, without incident. Giggling, traces of the night have painted both of her companions—long gone is the bride sash and dimestore plastic tiara. Replaced by smudged-and-attempted-to-be-fixed makeup. Teased hair, ruffled clothes. Nobody could miss that hickey for anything, it would take stock-market shattering amounts of base to cover it up—Mars would have a better time trying to see needles in haystacks. No amount of cigar smoke clinging to his clothes, sweat hanging out as an idea under his nose could cut through that unmistakably sweet musk of sex, sweat.

Before Logan can ask where to point the Chrysler, the other girl pops off an address from her phone to what is most definitely not their hotel, or anywhere remotely in the neighborhood of partylife. Brow raised, Logan peeks the rearview to see his companion whirl so quickly in her seat, he wonders how her head is still attached. Look on her face says everything words don’t, but she asks anyway—”Where the hell is that?”

Trying not to overhear, but it’s impossible, he fiddles with the temperature controls again when the one lifts the hair from the back of her neck. “It’s a hotel,” no shit, it’s the most expensive district in the area. Highbrows stay here—he’d picked them up on the opposite side of the metro, in the middle class accommodations. Sour bile splashes up the back of his throat, jaw setting–he knows what’s about to happen.

“No, really? And here I thought it was the frickin’ monastery,” lunging over her friend stuck in the middle, she plucks the phone from her friend’s hand—laughing hysterically, face flushed with alcohol and tipsy giggles, her jaw opens fully on its hinge. Rapt attention almost has his heart exploding, he nearly misses the stop sign—pops the brake a little hard.

She studies herself against the door, eyes flicking to him for half a second. Phone flipping screen first to her friend, she nods to it. “Who the hell is Mike?” Lowering the phone to her lap, her eyes skate between the two friends, hard. Heavy. Fast. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me—”

“It’s just a fling,” her name rolls off her friend’s tongue sourly, like cold venom. If Logan weren’t so invested in the outcome of this conversation he’d think it was almost melodic, a unique name. Fine and perfect for the sweet little thing currently erupting in his backseat. Too busy pacing traffic, his tongue skates along over his back molars, “don’t get your panties in a twist, honey. It’ll just for a few hours, to have some fun.”

“A few hours?” The actual squeak in her tone was laughable, “You’re joking—you’re actually kidding me. You can’t just go fuck some random guy you met in a bar, you’re getting married.” Offensive hangs in the words like a hot iron, branding itself into the atmosphere with weighty judgment enough to make her chest rise and fall with rapid, uneven breaths. “I won’t let you—”

Eyeroll extreme, Logan could’ve flinched with how much it snaps like a whip. “Oh my god, would you just chill out?” Looking to the other friend, who’s phone is still held captive on her lap, Logan bites the inside of his cheek. Like black cobras their chests fan out, both of them turning to cast frigid judgment to their third, who is pressed against the door to create distance from the very idea of the two of them. For fuck’s sake, “It’s just oral, honey—”

He snorted. All their eyes trip to him, but Logan is nothing if not suave—covering with a cough, he bites back a smile into his lower lip, looking down to his lap. Holy shit, they were actually having this conversation. In the back of his limo. If he weren’t so amused, it could be hot. Smokin’.

But the look on his companion’s face is too horrified, too innocent for him to take any enjoyment out of the topic of conversation flitting beneath the lights of the limo. It’s scandalousm, really. Nothing he hadn’t seen before, but, it just—it didn’t fit. Without knowing anything about much, he knows this isn’t her. Neon Heels, brunette curls. Lipstick barely upset, smelling like peaches of sweat. He could feel it in the very adamantium slowly flogging life out of his body.

Color drains out of her face, milkwhite like a ghost. He’s fairly certain she’d rather cut out her tongue and serve it to him on a silver platter than actually go through with such things. Logan knows a thing or two about life, he’s studied humanity for a lot of fucking years—he knew the good ones when he saw them. Pure, untouched.

Or, at the very least, good.

“Just oral?”

“Would you just stop, ok? Nobody is asking you to come up. Don’t need to be all, all pissy just because nobody noticed you at the bar,” and it’s hot, like acid. Cutting to bone. Logan watches the words cut like knives through the mesh of her chest, and if his collar wasn’t absolutely on fire, he’d have the audacity to smack some decency into whatever the fuck this chick’s problem was. “It’s not your thing. That’s fine. It’ll be just fine,” leaning forward, the bride informs him that once he’d dropped them at the hotel, he can take her back to their hotel. We’ll just Uber back in the morning.

“Fine by me.”

And it makes more sense, the longer he thinks about it. Explained the tears, the fluster in the atmosphere. Pushing the Chrysler through traffic, the tension in the atmosphere snaps like a rubber band—she doesn’t even flinch. In fact, her jaw clenches. Muscles ticks off bone, and she hands back her friend’s phone before falling back into the seat, eyes cast out the window like they’ve been welded to the darkness. Wind out of her sails, her elbow props on the windows ledge, subconsciously her hand covers half of her face. Quiet as death, unmoving as a sarcophagus.

Logan had never seen someone’s soul die while they were still alive, but he figures this was close.

Silence enough to make the dead uncomfortable follows for a few seconds. He focuses his attention on driving the limo rather than looking in the rearview, because noticing the look on her face, actually caring, is so far out of his pay grade that it’s laughable. To her credit, he doesn’t think she’s actually crying—hell would sooner freeze over, he reckons—but her brow is set in such a hard line, that he can almost read the regret on her face in red letter clarity.

Ensuing conversation about how the bride’s tits look in her hardly-there dress has him almost disinterested. Guiding the Chrysler up to the curb of the hotel, he almost misses "Hey driver!" that's more giggle than it is anything else. Eyes tracking to the rearview, Logan isn’t nearly as surprised as he thought he would be when she rips down the front of what was once, probably, an investment dress—tits, yeah. Nice ones, too—bought and paid for by the looks of it. Tits that size don’t just sit up at attention without a calculated surgeon’s hand.

“Like what you see?”

Puffing out a little nervous chuckle, his brow trips up. He shakes his head, amused. Erupting into a fit of snickers and snorts, their cheeks darken with heat. Falling against themselves, the two of them think they’re fucking hilarious as they begin to discuss the course of their adventure. May as well be full fledged pornography in the back of his rig, the things that fly—it sparks up his blood, empties his mouth of any moisture Jack Daniels may have rousted.

God couldn’t have brought up the hotel’s curb any faster, he thinks. Dropping the Chrysler into park, he angles to pop the latch on his door. Misses completely the moan of leather, the little rock of moving bodies shifting around the backseat.

Logan all but jumps when two hands come around him from behind. “Maybe you should come upstairs, driver—bet you could show a young bride a thing or two, huh?” Fuck, fuck fuck—hands that palm down his chest, snake under the buttons of his white shirt are hot. Hot, practiced. Soft and deliberate, one of their nails flick against his nipple, beneath his undershirt—he grunts back a sharp breath, head all but braced against the Chrysler’s hard headrest.

Adamantium kisses the flesh of his knuckles, and it takes effort not to let loose—more brainpower than he wants to admit, fighting back the reflex. Hand shaking on his knee, he inhales an uneasy breath and presses the heel of either hands onto his knees, biting the corner of his chapped lip. Hand drifting lower, almost to his abs, he snatches her wrist with a speed he doesn’t remember. Couldn’t, hadn’t, for as long as he can think back.

“Somethin’ tells me you know plen’y, honey,” his eyes narrow in the rearview. “Plus, I don’t do free fucks.”

She chuckles, pleased. “Who said anything about free?” Lifting her hand away from inside his shirt, he throws her off—cackling like the little witch she is, she folds out of the limo with her friend, “Very professional of you, driver,” he couldn’t miss the darkness in her tone if he’d tried as she winks at him from his window, “drive safe. Precious cargo, back there.”

Could’ve fooled him.

A wiggle of her fingers goodbye to her friend in the backseat, the hotel’s thick doors swallow both of them whole. Vanishing in a twirl of hair and makeup, Logan turns in his seat to consider his last passenger. She hasn’t moved, merely has kicked off her heels—but she has allowed herself to cry. Fresh tears fall down the length of her cheeks, but she doesn’t sniffle. They’re silent, powerful. Say everything words don’t need to—it’s a deep knife, one that bleeds. Logan can see the film reel running through her brain, on repeat. As if it has subtitles. A black and white horror show of just exactly what had happened, how she’d ended up here.

Curling a leg up under herself, Logan watches her shrink into as small of herself as she can, forehead resting against the cool glass of the limo’s window. And it’s tragic, really—someone who looks like that, reduced to a teary, smoldering shell of a person by mere words. Logan knew people were cruel, he’d seen the worst of humanity up close and personal. His own life was hell trapped in bones and flesh, his own history more horrific than anything Hollywood could dream up.

He drives. That’s what he does, that’s who Logan is now. A driver.

It’s another 20 minutes across town. And the ride is ominous, a mummified tomb that’s suffocating no matter how much air whisks into the limo from open windows. Trapped between wanting to say something and unsure of how to react, he relaxes a little when she finally slips earphones in—mindlessly scrolling a cell phone. Swiping at tears that ruin makeup she no longer cares about. Alone in her own little world of music and heartache, he watches the night fall away from her—her hair goes back into clips, away from her face. Earrings come off. Out come the contacts, replaced instead with glasses from the purse she’d left on the floorboards. Gum, more scrolling on her phone. Heels set on the seat beside her–finally her eyes close as she rests against the cool glass.

Gently rolling the Chrysler to a stop at the curb, she sits up. Breathlessly, she stretches a little, lashes fluttering behind frames that accentuate the shape of her face. And Logan doesn’t remember thinking anyone has ever looked good in glasses, but she topples such ideology when she beats him to the punch—she pops the latch on the door and steps out, barefoot. Heels tucked under her arm, purse hanging off her shoulder, she meets him at his door when he slips out of the front seat.

Handling cash had never felt so cold, bitter. She doesn’t look at him as she counts it into his hand, more than they’d agreed. Slipping the remainder of it back into her bag, she steps back, smiling at him softly. Resigned. Apologetic. Light from the overhang of the hotel sets off whatever shine is on her face, tear stains all but left behind—replaced instead with pink cheeks and sad, swollen eyes.

“Should be square,” she nods to the cash in his hand, “you can count it again if you want, I won’t be offended.” Briefly Logan thinks to care if her friends had managed their parts of the fare, but he dismisses it when she bites the inside of her cheek, tongue skating over her bottom lips as she shifts awkwardly on her feet. “Thank you so much for tonight—you have a beautiful limousine. The whiskey was great, thank you.”

Nodding once, he shrugs a shoulder. She’s buying time in that awkward little way people do when they’re not sure what to say, but think they have to say something. She doesn’t, wouldn’t ever—but he wants her to, strangely. Logan could stand here and listen to her come up with things to say the rest of the night, if he knew it wouldn’t deepen the color on her face, drive a little deeper the knife that’s still gutting her in the ribs.

Sucking in a sharp breath, her eyes track up to his from her feet standing on the warm concrete. “Listen, Logan—” she remembered his name, “I’m sorry about my friend. She’s really wasted, and it totally wasn’t alright for her to proposition you like that. It was actually gross—but that’s not who she is, not really. I’m sorry. She’s just—”

“—didn’t even notice her, honey.” He lies. What else is there to do but lie to this pretty little thing, bloodletting her own pride out at his feet? For a long set of years, Logan has believed there’s very little good left in the human species—very few people who are worth giving two fucks about. But she’s so galiant, defending some slut’s non-existent honor, drowning in her own humiliation and everything he can only imagine happened during a hen party gone sideways.

“Oh, uh, well—” oh. How she says it, the little curve of her mouth. That accented “o”. It’s enough to make him insane, honestly. He’s been with her two hours and can hardly think past the twitch of his cock, the little ache that niggles in the back of his head. Behind his eyes. It gets a little hard to fight, the snapping air between the two of them—for a man who knows what it feels like, it’s difficult. She couldn’t be more nonplussed. Which says more than it needs too, makes it all the more sweet. “Sorry, oh my gosh. I’m just a little—I don’t do things like this.”

And that is honorable, even if there’s very little honor left among the thieves of humanity. She is honorable. So saccharine and pretty it physically hurts him, drying out the back of his throat and knocking at his ribs like a damn jackhammer. Her eyes holding his, searching for anything else, are so deep and alive, bright in the way only Polaris could ever challenge—he suddenly forgets where he is, what century it is. How he got here, what he’s doing, reaching for the thin strap of her dress.

The back of his knuckle gently skips over her skin, the strap of the dress. And before Logan can even manage a breath, his hand moves under her chin, tips it up a little. Unmoving, her eyes widen like two bright moons, light catching them and opening them up like oceans fully unpassable to the known universe. From here he can feel her pulse flying through her blood, and couldn't miss the butterflies in her stomach if he’d been on a different planet. And maybe she’s never been appreciated like this—maybe she’s never felt seen.

Fuck, the things he could do to her. “Quit apologizin’ for bein’ sweet,” he manages a low rasp, the corner of his mouth ticking up with a little grin, “very few pretty things left in the world that’re sweet,” tipping her chin up a little further, his lips hover over hers. “And I bet you taste as good as you look, honey.” Tucking some hair behind her ear, he rubs one of her curls between the calluses on his fingers.

He gets back in his car, and Logan drives. Because that's what he does—he drives.

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00 @th3mrskory @blossoming-hotch

#hugh jackman #wolverine #logan howlett #logan #x men #xmen #logan howlett x reader #mare writes #xmen wolverine #xmen logan #old man!logan #old man logan x reader #old man logan #wolverine x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fanfiction #logan xmen #logan x reader

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mrshowlettsgarden · 2 days ago

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The Day We Met Masterlist:

─➭ after a long time of letting this idea marinate in my brain. i present you this series hehe

✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

─➭ summary: the one where the following series of events the lead up to how Logan Howlett/Wolverine decided to stay at the X-Mansion after meeting a plant-loving professor. see and experience how hard and in love these two grow to be over time and how far they’re both willing to go for each other.

─➭ pairing: Logan Howlett x professor!fem!reader

─➭ content warning: slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers; fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, suggestive, injuries, some parts are loosely based off x-men movies, medical talks/references, plant references, more specifics in each part…

─➭ reader’s mutant powers: moving/growing all plant life, telepathically communicating with plants; reader’s eyes change color to neon-ish green when using her powers (original eye color is not specified)

─➭ a/n: most of these parts are in order but can be read as a stand alone(?) i will start taking requests for this series once i reopen it.

✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

✿ The Day We Met - Logan Howlett: the one where Logan meets reader the day he arrives at the X - mansion

✿ more to come later…

✯ ━━━━━━ ✿ ✫ ✿ ━━━━━━ ✯

#logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #hugh jackman #x men movies #logan howlett #wolverine x female reader #logan x professor!reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlet x reader #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett imagine #logan x reader #logan wolverine #wolverine xmen #x men wolverine #wolverine fanart

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bananababblegigglemuffin · 24 hours ago

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Claws, Diapers, and Daddy Duty

Logan’s gruff voice boomed from the nursery. “Darlin’, is it supposed to smell this bad?!”

I chuckled from the kitchen, setting down the baby bottle I’d been warming. “Welcome to parenthood, Wolverine!”

Let’s back up a bit. Being married to Logan wasn’t exactly what I’d call conventional. For one, his idea of “domestic bliss” involved flannel shirts, beer, and the occasional uninvited guest in the form of a random mutant needing help. But when we decided to adopt a baby—because Logan swore he wanted to give someone the stability he never had—life took a turn I never expected.

Daddy Logan: The Adjustment Period

From the moment we brought little Ellie home, I saw Logan try harder than he’d ever tried in his life. I mean, this is a man who’s fought Sentinels and survived wars, but one tiny infant had him more rattled than Magneto ever did.

The first night was… interesting. Logan insisted on taking the first shift, grumbling something about how he “never sleeps anyway.” I woke up to find him sitting in the rocking chair, holding Ellie, his claws accidentally out because he was too tense.

“Logan,” I whispered, trying not to laugh, “she’s not gonna hurt you.”

“She’s tiny,” he muttered, staring down at her with an expression I can only describe as pure terror. “What if I drop her? Or—or sneeze? Do babies survive sneezes?”

I kissed his forehead. “Relax, tough guy. She’s sturdier than you think. And you, believe it or not, are softer than you look.”

Diapers and Danger

Day three was when Logan truly met his match: diaper duty.

“Alright, bub,” he said, rolling up his sleeves like he was about to take down Sabretooth. “How hard can it be?”

Turns out, very.

I peeked into the nursery to find Logan standing there, holding Ellie at arm’s length, his nose wrinkled like he’d just walked through a sulfur pit.

“She pooped up her back,” he said, looking at me like I was supposed to explain how this was biologically possible.

“You’re the one with the healing factor, Logan. You’ll live,” I teased, tossing him the wipes.

It took him twenty minutes, two shredded diapers, and one very judgmental look from Ellie before he finally got the job done.

Superheroes Don’t Do Nap Time

Logan was not a fan of nap time—mostly because Ellie refused to go down without a fight. And by fight, I mean she screamed like a tiny banshee every time we put her in the crib.

One afternoon, I came home to find Logan sprawled on the couch, shirtless, with Ellie snoozing on his chest. His claws had popped out and were stuck in the arm of the couch, presumably because he’d been startled by her screaming earlier.

“You good there?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

“Don’t say a word,” he grumbled, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “She’s finally asleep.”

I couldn’t resist snapping a photo. “Superdad, saving the day one nap at a time.”

The Soft Side of Logan

For all his grumbling and growling, Logan had a way of melting whenever Ellie giggled. One evening, I found him sitting on the floor of the living room, holding one of Ellie’s stuffed bears and making it “fight” her other toys.

“Take that, bub!” he growled in his Wolverine voice, making Ellie squeal with laughter.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, leaning in the doorway.

He looked up at me, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yeah, well… she likes it.”

A New Kind of Hero

One night, after Ellie had finally gone to sleep, I found Logan standing over her crib, his arms crossed.

“You okay?” I asked, stepping beside him.

He nodded but didn’t take his eyes off her. “Just… didn’t think I’d ever get this.”

I slipped my arm around his waist. “Get what?”

“This,” he said, his voice soft. “A family. Someone to protect who’s not a mission or a fight. Just… her.”

Tears stung my eyes as I rested my head against his shoulder. “You’re doing great, Logan. She’s lucky to have you.”

He snorted. “Lucky? Kid’s stuck with a grumpy old man with anger issues.”

“She’s stuck with someone who’d claw through hell for her,” I corrected, squeezing his hand.

He looked down at me, his smirk softening into something tender. “Yeah… guess she is.”

And that’s how I knew Logan wasn’t just a dad—he was her dad. The kind of dad who’d grumble about diapers but stay up all night to rock her back to sleep. The kind of dad who’d teach her to fight but cry when she scraped her knee. The kind of dad who’d make you laugh, cry, and want to throttle him all at the same time.

Logan wasn’t perfect. But to Ellie—and to me—he was everything.

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1raven0 · 2 hours ago

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HAVE FUNNNN

p links with logan howlett part 2

nsfw, minors dni! 18+ only! (part 1)

i’m like ovulating right now so ummm…! here’s another list of vids i wanna share with yall :3

also plsss let me know if yall wanna see more of this—i like making these lil lists for myself but if you guys enjoy em as well, then id love to make more!

you’re an absolute mess for logan, begging for your daddy to make you feel good

a movie night with logan takes a turn, and he ends up fucking you rough on the couch

size kink with logan! he can’t help but pound into his girl’s little cunt.

logan loves to tease you, pulling your panties to the side, slipping his tip in and out, making a mess outta you.

it drives you crazy when he manhandles you, using your cunt and throat as his own personal fuck toy.

logan whispering sweet nothings into your ears as he fucks you from behind

whining around logan’s cock, deepthroating him while he fingers your cunt

catching logan fucking his fist with your cute lil’ panties around his cock—but you decide to give him the real deal

dressing up cute for logan and he shows you his appreciation with a creampie

logan lapping at your cunt like a starved man

some bonus fluff:

being playful in bed with logan while he eats you out :3

aftercare with logan!! making sure that his sweet little girl is alright, keeping her safe in his arms >_<

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #deadpool and wolverine #nymphia recs #logan howlett imagine #logan howlet smut #logan howlett fanfiction

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emmcfrxst · 1 day ago

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OKAY and what about a happy ending for reader, Logan and Laura??? Like in that one little drabble you wrote her mom!reader somehow resuscitated/healed Logan after he was ‘chest fucked?’ Nobody dies and Mom and Logan get to raise Laura together like normal parents!!!

Cue some happy mommy/daughter headcanons with Logan loving his girls 🩷🩷🩷🩷

the term “chest fucked” made me laugh out loud so thank you for that

one thing you come to learn about laura is that she absolutely LOVES to be the little spoon. she’d never felt particularly cared for (or safe) in her life before she met you and logan, so when you hand her affection on a silver platter she just becomes quite honestly a little obsessed with it. she loves everything about the concept of spooning because it’s easy affection— you can be watching tv or reading in bed with her curled up into your arms, cradling her, and it both makes her feel loved and makes her feel safe because she’s come to associate your touch with pure, unconditional love and support. like i’ve mentioned before, you’ve quite literally began to carry out with the purpose of being her mother, her protector; she knows that no matter what happens, you’ll always, always have her back and that comforts her to no end. she’s very physically affectionate with you, to the point where she feels comfortable initiating physical contact on her own— she knows you won’t refuse or judge her, and she’s been deprived of love for most of her life so having a parent who is willing to hand out love and care like this honestly has made her a little greedy (in a funny, endearing, child-like way. she absolutely adores you and she does not have the words to properly express how much you’ve impacted her life).

affection is a little less easy between logan and laura; they’re both a little awkward with each other— logan because he’s unsure of just how to initiate any kind of physical affection to anyone that isn’t you, and laura because she’s unsure whether or not he would reject her (he wouldn’t. ever. he might grumble about it but it’s just for show. he would never ever dare to reject laura’s affections because he knows just how badly this could affect her; he’s the human embodiment of touch starvation from years of abuse and pain and he’s come to learn just how truly impactful a little love and care can be, that’s something he’s learned from loving you and being loved by you) so the only kind of affection they really partake in at first is through play fighting/bickering. i’ve mentioned this before but laura really brings out the child in logan; he loves to tease her and be playful during their interactions, even if she sometimes gets annoyed with it (it’s the Howlett Poor Anger Management Starter Kit) so he shows his affection through little acts like pinching her cheeks, ruffling her hair or pushing her aside with his hip while they’re helping you out in the kitchen. the playfulness is fully reciprocated, because laura can and will jump on him and basically force him to carry her around the house like a little baby monkey (which is one of the reasons why he affectionately calls her his little monkey, i’ve talked about this specific nickname and the whole carrying thing in the two posts linked in this reply) and the whole frenemies thing they have going on at first really helps them bond and like i’ve said before, also helps two very traumatized people associate touch with something that’s fun, light, and positive. their interactions do end up growing from play fighting/wrestling as a way to express affection to actual, genuine (although tentative) affection in the “usual” way; laura will often rest her head on logan’s arm/shoulder if they’re sitting side by side, and it’s not uncommon for you to see laura’s head resting in logan’s lap while he reads or vice versa— they slowly find something that they’re both comfortable with, and it always makes you a little emotional when you think of how far they’ve come in not only their personal journeys, but also in their shared one. it’s not over-the-top physical displays of affection, but it’s simple and it’s genuine and that’s really what makes this so beautiful to you. logan probably won’t admit it out loud because he’s not particularly good at voicing his feelings (although he’s been actively trying to be better at it for your and laura’s sake), but there’s nothing in the world that he loves more than having you and laura by his side, both literally and figuratively.

#laura kinney x mom!reader #daughter!laura x dad!logan #dad!logan x daughter!laura #dad!logan x laura #dad!logan howlett #old man!logan #old man logan x reader #old man logan fluff #old man logan imagine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine fluff #wolverine imagine #xmen fluff #xmen imagine #anonymous #answered

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lex-the-flex · 2 days ago

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Old Wounds

Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: Wanting to help Logan discover the hindrance in his healing, the process unlocks something more.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning(s): Established friendship -> relationship, MEGA flirting, HIGH sexual tension?, fluff, slight angst, descriptions of injuries, brief cursing (like one word), and first kiss + makeout session.

A/N: I see that D&W is trending again with all the bts content. Time to do the Lord's work. Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

Exhaling at the majestic scenery North of Nagasaki, your breath was taken away at every single little thing. From the beautifully crafted culture, nature, and even how the roads were different. Everything felt calm and collected on this peaceful side of the world, it felt right.

The warm afternoon sun beams down on the gorgeous city as you and Logan make a quick pit stop to a convenience store on the outskirts of town. Parking the bike just outside, you take off the helmet, and hop off the backseat.

“Want me to come with you?” Logan asks.

“I’ll only be a minute, Lo. There’s no need.” You reply.

Swinging your bag over your shoulder, Logan can help but clench his jaw. Silently grumbling to himself, you can’t help but notice this specific mannerism.

“Is everything okay?” You calmly ask.

“Yeah. I just don’t want us to be late for Mariko. We can’t make too many stops.” Logan advises, glancing over his shoulder.

Stepping off the curb, you place the helmet behind Logan. Cautiously placing your hand on top of Logan’s, you gently rub his knuckles, trying to soothe his spirit. Responding to your touch, you watch Logan’s shoulders relax for a brief moment. Cupping the side of his face, you bring his face to meet yours, allowing his hazel eyes to meet your e/c gaze.

“We won’t. Just be glad that she has a place for us to stay. We’ll get to the bottom of this, okay? I’m here for you, Logan. I’m not leaving you.” You firmly address.

Leaning into your soft touch, a quick sigh escapes Logan’s lips. Turning back to the store, you unconsciously drag your hand along Logan’s chest. Placing his hand over his heart, Logan watches you purchase a couple bottles of water before returning outside. Boarding the bike once more, Logan turns back to you as you strap the helmet back on.

“You ready to go?” He asks.

“Yeah, let’s go.” You reply.

****

Finishing the road trip, the two of you finally reach the outskirts of Nagasaki, where Mariko was waiting for you. Turning along the thin road, Logan abruptly stops the bike, causing you to grip his chest just a little tighter. The feeling of your delicate hands over his jacket helped seal the rhythmic pounding of his heart that continues to ring in his ears. Before you can accuse Logan for nearly crashing, the sight of a large fallen tree fills your line of sight beneath the shaded helmet.

Dismounting the bike, Logan turns the engine off, and follows closely behind you. Quietly surveying for any signs of damage, Mariko spots you on the other side of the trunk and rushes to your side.

“Mariko!” You call out.

“Y/N! You’re here!” She replies, outstretching her arms.

Pulling you in for a much needed embrace, you can’t help but fight the impending wave of tears rising behind your eyes. It was as if you could finally let go here and shed your emotions.

“We’re so glad you’re safe, Mariko. I’ve been so worried after the funeral.” You say.

“Well, you and Logan won’t have to worry anymore. I can trust that the two of you can help keep me safe here, as well as looking after yourselves. The fight at the house took a toll on Logan. Something’s happened to him and I’m not sure what.” Mariko explains, taking your hands in hers and whispers quietly in your ear.

“I know, but he’s not exactly the type to open up. But hopefully he’ll come around to me.” You reply, turning back to find Logan.

Walking up to the two of you, Logan sways his head back to the direction of the tree and crosses his arms.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks.

“Of course. But let’s go back to the house first. I’ll give you some time to unpack.” Mariko advises, leading you and Logan to the guest house where you’ll be staying.

Crossing the threshold to the guest house, a tiny gasp escapes your lips in complete awe of the traditional Japanese home. The quaint one-story building comforts your soul within seconds, letting you fully breathe again. Walking into the shared bedroom, you place your bags on the floor by the open wooden closet, and quickly change your clothes.

Joining you in the doorway, Logan leans next to the sliding door. The scents of sandalwood and faint cherry blossoms follow him through the house, putting your mind at ease.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just glad Marino is safe. The funeral was …too much.” You murmur, rubbing your arms together.

“Hey, it’s alright. All of that’s behind us now. Don’t let the past control your, …our present, Y/N. I don't want to lose you, especially now. I’ve always cherished you and your company. I want to be someone you can count on, someone who’ll always have your back. I want to be there when you need me, whether you can’t sleep or if you’re lonely.” Logan declares, walking toward you.

Taking your hands, Logan gently rubs your knuckles, hoping to calm your nerves. Silently nodding, you raise your head to look at him. His light hazel eyes instantly settle the butterflies in your stomach. Inching closer, Logan carefully cups your face and strokes your cheek. Leaning his forehead against yours, Logan’s lips hover a few inches above yours, but before he gives in, the echoing sound of an elderly woman calling out interrupts the moment.

Feeling a wave of embarrassment take over you, your hands let go of Logan’s and you rush out of the room. Rushing outside for the fresh air, the salty sea air fills your lungs and the blanket of heat leaves your body.

Shortly joining Mariko in the shade, the remnants of your rushing heartbeat echo through your ears whilst you realize the full gravity of what just happened. Your feelings for Logan are real. They’re more real than you could’ve imagined and he felt the same for you.

“Y/N, are you alright? You’re blushing.” She notices, offering you some tea.

“Hmm, oh yes. I’m alright, thank you.” You reply.

Gulping down the tea, something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, causing the world to slow down even more so than it did before. It was Logan. He slowly starts taking on the task at hand before fully concentrating on the job after an elderly neighbor hands him an axe.

Watching Logan work hard to clear the tree, you and Mariko pass out tea and fruit to the other neighbors who decide to help clear the free limbs and other branches. Retreating to the shade to refill your cup of tea, the slight tugging motion of your sweater being pulled brings you back from your daydreaming state. The sight of a little girl causes you to widely smile as she offers a few flowers from the nearby trees.

“She wants you to have them.” Mariko explains, briskly translating for you.

“I’d be delighted!” You exclaim.

Sitting down on the concrete bridge, the little girl places the cherry blossom above your ear. Seeing the petals in your peripheral vision, the naturally occurring pink and white swirls beam against your hair. Offering you some more flowers, a few more children occupy their friend and swarm you with more petals and freshly picked cherries.

Turning away from his project for a moment, the loving sounds of your laughter echoes through Logan’s ears. Observing the sight before him, he can’t help but smirk at seeing you laugh. You were finally relaxed after so much stress that was brought upon the two of you. You had never been anyone’s bodyguard before, but as far as Mariko was concerned, you were doing an excellent job.

Making eye contact with Logan, a soft smile fills his pink lips, knowing that you fully deserve this moment. Smiling in his direction, Mariko was delighted to see that you and Logan were fully in love with one another. She just hoped that the two of you would act on it before it’s too late.

*****

From the corner of your eye, you briefly caught a sight of Logan nearly collapsing against the short seawall. Cautiously approaching him, he breathes deeply as if he’s struggling to catch his breath.

“Logan?” You call out.

“Are you alright?” Mariko asks.

Glancing up at the two of you, Logan nods, hoping to ease the tension.

“Just tired, that’s all.” He replies.

Wiping his brow, he remains covered in a thick layer of sweat, and you fully see his wounds for the first time. A lump suddenly rises in your throat but is cut off by a strike of roaring thunder, revealing a dark storm in the distance.

“We should go. The storm is coming, let’s go so we can start dinner.” Mariko advises.

Hurrying back to the house, Logan takes your hand in the pouring rain, leading you back to the guest house. Joining Mariko for dinner after a warm shower, she teaches you how to elegantly tie the traditional set of robes she let you borrow and the three of you eat in a comfortable silence. Helping her clean up after the meal, you and Logan promptly return to your shared side of the house, bidding Mariko goodnight.

Emerging from the bathroom, you stop in your tracks as soon as you spot Logan sitting on the futon on the floor. Anxiously watching him try to raise his arms, you pace over to him, and help him take off his white tank top.

“Dammit…” He utters to himself.

Locking eyes with him, Logan can’t help but get lost in your presence. His hazel eyes scan over your nighttime clothes underneath your open robe.

“Thank you.” He mutters.

Reaching for his robe, he groans in pain, but you’re right there. Sitting on your knees before him, you pull the piece of clothing over his bare shoulders, when you fully make contact with his fresh wounds. Hesitantly tracing your fingers over the slowly healing injuries.

“Who did this to you? Why can’t you heal?” You ask through rising tears.

“I don't know. I have no idea why this is happening.” Logan answers.

Lowering your face to the floor, you clench your hands together until your knuckles turn white. You can’t wrap your mind around why someone would want to take Logan’s healing from him, the powers that make him live forever, starting to fade. It scares you to the core as you fight a sob threatening to escape your lips.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere, darling. I don’t intend to. I know Mariko’s grandfather said I was destined to live forever with no reason at all. But I know things can change with time.” Logan whispers.

Giving Logan your full attention, he brushes a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Do you have a reason at all?” You ask.

Clasping his hand around your jaw, Logan passionately kisses you, giving in to his growing hunger to have you. Deepening the kiss, you wrap your arms around Logan’s shoulders, and he pulls you closer. Letting you lay on his strong chest, the black robe falls off Logan’s back whilst he leans on his sore elbows.

Running your fingers through his short hair, a growl emanates from his chest, knowing that you both belong to each other. Placing his hands on your hips, your limbs become entangled as Logan grips your hips and turns you on your back. Momentarily breaking the kiss, Logan peppers kisses your face before landing on your neck. Gripping his shoulders, a soft and precious moan escapes your lips.

Leaning his forehead against yours, a small laugh escapes from Logan’s mouth and the two of are able to sleep peacefully for the first time in a long time.

wolverine taglist ~

@moonlightseranade

@chronicallybubbly

@dontfeedthebigbadwolf

@the-resident-vampire

@ovaryacted

@misssarcasm15

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

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@stilllivindue2spite

@wolviesgal

@mostly-marvel-musings

@acupnoodle

@mcrdvcks

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briseroyawritingsblog · 3 days ago

Text

𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖

𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒐𝒕!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

• +18 minors do not interact. fluffy, happy ending, unprotected sex, soft sex, lots of smut, feelings, breeding kink, marriage. etc.

𝒇𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 / 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

divider by @anitalenia 🤍

“I do” you nod softly biting your lower lip, your sclera black eyes welling up with tears as you stand in front of your soon to be husband hands joined fingers tangled, the shimmery gold wedding rings touching.

“I do” Logan nodded too, itching fingers to raise your weil up to finally kiss his bride. God his heart was nearly jumping out of his chest and when the priest said that he may kiss his wife Logan didn’t waste a second. Uncovering your face he pulled you in his arms and covered your mouth in sweet kisses. Indulging into his warm embrace and his mouth you mewled at the taste of his tongue. Clutching your hands on his white button up your mouths melt.

“Ah..” you sob softly, opening your eyes. Raising your hand to look at your engagement ring, it shimmered even though it was pitch black in the room because of your dark curtains the lights from outside peeked in. Chest heaving up and down blinking away tears. You have been trying to make a baby for the last few weeks. For two months to be exact, but you weren’t lucky to catch on. Touching your lower belly you struggled with your emotions, hearing a noice in the living room you guessed that Logan was still awake doing paperwork. You have been financially stable, and living in peace. The life alone with him was so blissful and you experienced a true home. You worked with children full time, and you couldn’t stop wanting your own. Logan loved the idea of being a father and having his own running around so you both agreed to try and make a baby.

“Princess..” walking in the room wearing one of his white undershirt, pair of pants but the belt left open. Your tears didn’t stop as you lied there holding your lower belly even though he was now sitting next to you cupping your cheek wiping away your new tears. Soon you were about to marry him, he asked you to be his wife only few days ago. Small part of you struggled to accept that what if you were not able to carry children even though you had everything what you woman needed. “I’m sorry” a broken whimper escaped your lips. “Why are you sorry baby?” Logan spoke softly leaning down to kiss your forehead slowly dragging his lips to your cheek kissing away your tears. “Maybe I’m not a real woman.. I’m not real” you sobbed. Maybe it was pathetic, but god you felt so much like a failure.

“You are real for me” Logan kissed your shoulder resting his cheek against your own slowly inhaling her scent. You smelled like coconuts and sweet flowers, he closed his eyes dragging his nose to your collarbone and between your breasts. You pulled him closer fumbling with his belt and pants opening them “Show me..” you breathed desperate to pull his cock out. He groaned hungrily, getting rid of your sleeping shorts and your panties. Your pussy glistened with your slick, moans flowed out of your lips when he rubbed the head of his swollen cock between your folds. Hands coming up to his cheeks you flipped him over so you were on top. He groaned hiking up your tank top above your breasts watching them spring free god they were so round and perky. He loved every part of you-

Licking your fingers to moisten his cock even more before you happily sank on it. He let out a soft whimper seizing your hips with his hands trying to piston his hips up into you but you were too determined to love your man tonight. You wanted him so much- “Ugh baby..” you moaned clenching your mound around his cock his lips were left parted in pleasure when your small hands located his pecks. You began to move back and forth gyrating your warm core around his length making him melt under you. “Mommy and Daddy.. we can do it together” you let out little squeaks of pleasure as he ran his big palms on your sides lovingly caressing you. His breath hitched when you rocked your hips even faster “Fuck yes..” he grunted voice dripping with need and lust. Lips agape eyes shimmering with nothing but love as you picked up the speed of your hips riding him faster moaning softly. Logan couldn’t keep it down himself, he moaned for you as breath hitched in his throat. Feeling him in your soul your body shivered in pleasure “Daddy” you mewled bouncing on his cock quicker. Logan’s thumb slid in your mouth and you sucked on it his other hand eagerly squeezed and fondled your breasts twirling your nipples. “F-fuckkk..” he let out a breathy groan watching you bounce on his cock he held your thighs in his large palms struggling to keep going it felt so good his body began to surge with more pleasure. Cock throbbing and swelling in you, you cried out laying back down on his chest as you kissed. His tongue immediately claimed your own and he flipped you over moving both of his arms around your tiny body pistoning his hips into you thrusting in your sopping wet core. You clenched around him milking him for all and you moaned into your mouths in unison. Tongues swirling together your hands scratching down his back as pleasure bolted through your spine arching your back hitting your hips upwards welcoming his thrusts until you both found your highs. Even through your orgasms you moaned into each other’s mouths holding each other. Your legs and arms remained around him. Gazing at the ceiling Logan rested his face on your naked chest you hummed in post haze euphoria “I love you so much..” he sighed in satisfaction sleepily “me too bub, i love you to pieces”

two weeks passed— you got married. The ceremony was private and between you and Logan only and you couldn’t be happier. You didn’t need much in your life just him— just your person and your soulmate, but you tested negative for pregnancy again. Tears forming in your eyes holding your belly. “Nothing?” Logan wrapped his arms around you from behind and you sighed closing your eyes caressing his forearms looking at the negative pregnancy test on the sink. Your wedding rings shimmered under the light as your fingers touched “We will get lucky.. you gonna carry my little wolves soon” he kissed your cheek a soft smile on his lips burying his face in your hair. Heart skipped a beat at the thought of the moment you’d find out eventually that you’re carrying his baby wolves like he loved to call them.

“dinner in twenty..” you whispered kissing his knuckles before slipping out of his arms walking to the kitchen. Thunderstorm spread across the sky and you hummed switching on the flat screen. News were on, thinking Logan would come to the kitchen to take a beer and relax by the tv but instead of doing so he was right behind you distracting you kissing the back of your neck telling you how much he loved you. You couldn’t hide your smile anymore, your cheeks blushed as he touched and caressed every part of you possible undoing your apron just to kneel down sliding your shorts and panties down your thighs. You stepped out of them eagerly switching off the stove. Turning you around your husband’s mouth was on yours latching hard and passionately kissing you. Moaning into his lips fumbling with his belt and jeans unzipping them Logan was already hoisting you in his arms pressing you against the wall. You cried out against his lips as he impaled you on his cock. “Need to fill my wife with all of me all night..” you whimpered locking your arms around his neck as he held your hips moving you back and forth on his cock slowly starting to thrust at the same time causing your heart shake in your chest eyes closing lips parting as you moaned loudly. His face found home in the valley of your breasts breathing harshly snapping hips into you gripping your thighs in his hands making sure they are parted for him and god you shook in his arms “darling.. ughhhh!! Ugh!” You cried clinging to him as if your heart depended on it and Logan growled his claws shooting out smashing into the wall behind you. You gasped looking at him your noses touching smiling the way his hips never stopped pounding into you “fuck fuck fuck…!” your head tipped back as you bounced up and down quicker and quicker your back sliding up and down against the wall your core clenched around his length. “mmm” running your hands down his back your thighs rocked against his sides the more he snapped his hips into you. “love my little wife’s mess on my cock, can’t wait to fill you with my wolves” he smiled against your lips and you giggled kissing him letting him hold you against the wall and repeatedly pound you until you couldn’t breathe and you were drenching his cock in your sweet release. Your body shook as you coated his length in your orgasm and soon he shoved himself deeply in you giving you another of his precious loads cumming deeply in you nestling himself right against your womb making sure it’s filled with his cum. “baby” you mewled, licking his lower lip and he hugged you close. “You have a wall to repair..” chuckling Logan smirked against your breasts “Can’t help it darling you feel so good” he spend another moment being inside of you and you both couldn’t stop kissing and tasting each others mouth —

“Just one more sweetheart.. c’on show daddy how much you love his tongue” he breathed as heat pooled in your core after not even remembering precisely— how many orgasms did your body endure underneath your husbands. You’ve read in books that newlyweds were always glued to each other and wanting one another so badly. “Please please” you whimpered rocking your mound against your husbands mouth as he teased your clit with his tongue and from the sweet overstimulation you couldn’t take it but cum once again. “Atta girl” he smiled kissing his way up to your breasts sinking back inside of you. Your moans echoed in the bedroom as soon as your hips clashed against one another and you both reached heaven. Passing out in your husbands arms, waking up in his arms— you couldn’t be happier. Heat radiating from his body as the first ray of sunshine peeked through your dark curtains the city becoming alive once again, the holographic advertisements showed something new everyday and you couldn’t stop your curiosity. New robots were made, were they like you? Overtime just coming to life? Or were you just the only one special? Logan stirred awake and he peppered your naked chest in soft kisses “Mornin kitten” you immediately blushed rolling on top of him hugging him tightly.

“Goodbye Blake!” You smiled at one of your little children leaving the day care. Waving him goodbye you gathered the colouring pencils off the floor when you felt the sensation in your stomach. It was a heavy feeling and it travelled upwards. Giving the pencils to your colleague you rushed to the bathrooms, and there it was. Your very first time being sick, like a normal human being. A friend of yours came in to check on you and god you felt so nauseous. Lightheaded. That you almost fainted. And it happened at home too, maybe it was time for you to tell your doctor that you feel unbelievably unwell.

After Logan left for work, you dressed and left your apartment. Of course you didn’t tell him because he’d worry so much about you and you didn’t want to stress him. Maybe parts of you were dying out.. maybe you had blood poisoning. Or worse..

Sitting in the consulting room you spoke to your doctor about your symptoms and she smiled. “Have you been active with your husband, Mrs Howlett?” You nodded immediately “Well of course we love each other” you admitted nervously rubbing your palms together. “Let’s do a little check up shall we?” She guided you to lay back and place your legs on the holders so she can sit between your thighs and look you over. She smiled peeking up at you as you lied there nervous “Am I broken doctor?” You couldn’t help it. You didn’t know how woman’s body worked. “Have you had your cycle this month?” You furrowed your eyebrows together shaking your head telling her a ‘no’

“Well.. your cervix is perfectly sealed, you’re expecting” she smiled at you and abruptly sat up. “What?!” She removed her gloves nodding. “If this is your first please don’t be nervous babies are a miracle. I’m sure your husband will love the news” and there it was. You broke down crying— emotions all over the place and tears rolled down your cheeks. “You don’t understand.. we have been wanting this baby for a long time.. and I thought I’m not lucky enough to be real.. but I’m real” you sobbed taking the tissue from the doctor as she listened to you. “Marriage is beautiful—my dear, this baby is a blessing” she rubbed your back to comfort you and you smiled wiping away your tears.

As you walked home caressing your belly with both of your hands you couldn’t stop smiling. You couldn’t wait to tell Logan that you were carrying one of his precious little wolves and maybe more than one maybe two.

You wanted to wait until dinner to tell him, your heart was beating so fast every time you looked at him while he did some paperwork by the table. Approaching him you sneaked on his lap straddling him wrapping your legs and arms around him clinging to him. He smiled hugging you back pen between his lips reading specs on the bridge of his nose as he read through his paperwork. As silent as you were so was your crying, you were so happy. Soaking his white shirt in your tears you kissing his neck and his ear “I’m pregnant” you breathed and the pen from between his lips fell out. “What?” You nodded slowly kissing his shoulder “I’m pregnant.. and I’m so happy” you hugged him but his arms tightened around you seeking your lips. You kissed him softly meeting his gaze and you felt like your heart could jump out of your chest —

“I am real for you..”

𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒕. 🤍

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