#Logan fanfic

[nocturnalcharm]

Faking It (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

𐙚 prompt: charles forces you and logan to do a mission together in order to help you bond. 𐙚 cw: enemies to lovers, one bed trope, if this does well i’ll do a part 2 w smut ;) cussing, 𐙚 a/n:  thanks to everyone who's sent me req's! this wasnt a req but id already started it haha if youve sent a req ill try to get to it asap.... also so many ppl wanted to be added to a taglist but for the nsfw alphabet post i dont think it tagged like half the ppl?? so im sorry if u dont get tagged, im trying to fix it :)

18+ blog!! you are responsible for your own media consumption. if any of the above makes you uncomfortable, do not proceed.

“Professor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“(Y/N), it’s not me you should be apologizing to. It’s your team. That’s who you both let down.” He eyes flick between you and Logan.

“I’ll go apologize to them now.” You turn to leave.

“You too Logan.” Charles says.

On this latest mission, you needed to sneak into a factory and take down all of the enemies— But you and Logan were arguing so loudly, you alerted all of the rivals, turning a few quick sneak attacks into full blown fights. No one was badly injured but you still felt horrible about it.

“This is all your fault.” You mumbled, just loud enough for Logan to hear.

“My fault? You’re kidding.” He huffs.

“Shut up.” You walk ahead of him, on the way to the common room to see your team.

Everyone was sitting there, talking amongst themselves. Once you and Logan entered, they all stopped their conversations and looked at you.

“Guys. I am so sorry about this mission.”

“I’m sorry, extremely sorry, and I apologize for my behavior.” Logan mocked your expression of regret.

“You are such a child, Logan! I’m trying to apologize!” You raised your voice.

“I am too!”

“Can you two just stop?” Hank stood up, silencing you both. “Your attitudes have been getting in the way of every mission. If you guys can’t get along then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh..” You didn’t know how to respond. You couldn’t believe you let your dislike for Logan get in the way of your job, so much that they thought you shouldn’t be an X-Man anymore.

They all left the room, leaving just you and Logan to culminate in your thoughts.

“I think it’s pretty obvious we’re not going to get along any time soon.” He broke the silence.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” He walked out, as you sat in the empty room.

The next day, Xavier called you and Logan into his office yet again. You were concerned, worried he might be kicking you off the team. But instead, he said he had a mission for you two.

“I need you to pose as a couple. You’ll be going to an upscale hotel in Manhattan. It’s a cover for a drug smuggling ring. You two will stay as guests in order to collect information. I need everyone that is there, guests and workers alike, to think you two are madly in love. We don’t know who could be involved, so we can’t have them think anything suspicious.”

“Professor, is that the best idea? We just blew the last mission because we couldn’t stop arguing.”

“If you two fail this mission, I will have no choice but to replace both of you. You are amazing at what you do, but your arguing affects everyone. Not just yourselves.”

“Okay. We won’t let you down.” Logan speaks up.

***

The trip to the hotel was long and frustrating. You two couldn’t agree on anything the entire time. You criticized his driving, he criticized what you put on the radio, and how loud it was. You called him an old man, which just resulted in the radio being turned off and continuing the last hour drive there in silence.

When you arrived, it was late afternoon. Logan, pretending to be your fiance, grabbed all the bags by himself and walked inside. The hotel was huge. It was upscale, classy. So fancy you were afraid to touch anything, in fear it might break.

“Hi! Checking in for Anderson.” He greeted the front desk clerk, giving his forged name. He dropped the bags on the floor and you wrapped yourself around his now-free arm, squeezing it.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson.” She smiled back, “Let’s see. You had the penthouse, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“We’re celebrating our engagement!” You beamed, holding out your hand, showing off your fake engagement ring.

“That’s lovely. Congratulations! We’ll have a bottle of champagne in your room for celebration.”

“Thank you so much!” You squeaked.

He finished the check-in process, then you headed to the top floor.

The penthouse was absolutely gorgeous. It was huge, the size of a decent apartment. Just like the lobby, you were afraid to break something.

“Wow.. This is amazing. Only time I’ll ever get to stay in a penthouse and it’s with you.” You said, as he shut the door.

“I was just thinking the same thing. Now, c’mon we gotta go to the pool. Get changed.” He handed you your bag.

You opened it, pulling out your bikini. It was the only one you had, admittedly from a few years ago. You didn’t have time anymore to relax by a pool or go swimming in the ocean, so this swimsuit had to do. It was a simple black string bikini.

You went inside the bathroom to change. Once you had your swimsuit on, you felt a little self conscious at the amount of skin showing, but figured it’d help with the whole ‘can’t keep your hands off your new fiance’ vibe you and Logan needed to exude for this mission.

You walked out of the bathroom, faking confidence you didn’t have. Logan had taken the opportunity to just change in the living space since he was alone. He was wearing black swim trunks. It was funny, it looked like you two had matched on purpose.

“Wow.” He said quietly, clearing his throat.

“What? You like what you see?” You joked at his clear uncomfortableness with seeing you in such little clothing.

“Whatever, let’s just go.” He spat, grabbing two towels, the key, and exiting the room.

The second you were out the door, you both had big smiles on your face. His arm was around you, holding your side as you headed to the pool.

It wasn’t too busy, just a few kids with their parents, and a bartender at the outdoor bar. You told him you wanted a drink, so that’s where you headed first.

“Hey, can I get two Mojitos?” Logan asked, handing him the room key “And can you just charge it to our room?”

“Of course,” He started working on the drinks immediately, while you two sat and people-watched. He finished the drinks, and gave you them and the room key back.

You said thank you as you walked off, hoping Logan would just follow. There was a small hot tub that was empty, so that’s where you went. You stepped in carefully, afraid of slipping, and sat down in the warm water.

“Really?” Logan whispered, a fake smile still adorned on his face.

“This is what couples do, Logan. And we’re a couple for this weekend. So sit down and act like you love me, sweetie.” Your grin was starting to hurt your cheeks.

He sat down across from you, and you mentally rolled your eyes. You got up, and repositioned yourself, sitting in his lap, “What part of ‘act like you love me’ are you not getting?” 

He was frozen for a moment, caught off guard but quickly acted like he was happy to have you there, to not draw suspicion. You both took sips of your drink, as you continued to nonchalantly looked around.

You two stayed at the pool for awhile, taking mental notes of the guests and employees you saw. Honestly, this hotel didn’t seem too strange. But Xavier said it was a front so you guessed that’s why it seemed so normal, for their cover.

Once your drinks were empty, and the sun had started to go down, you both decided to head back up to the room. He got out drying himself off before wrapping you up in your towel. He picked you up and carried you bridal-style to the penthouse.

“Logan!”

“What? Just acting like I love you.” He smirked.

Once inside the room, he set you down. “I’m gonna go shower.” You stated, not really knowing what to do. 

He just nodded, walking off to the kitchenette. You grabbed your bag and headed to the bathroom.

***

You mentally cursed yourself as you scrambled through your bag, searching for a pair of pajama shorts you thought you packed, but they were nowhere to be found. 

“This cannot be real.” You whispered. The only other clothes you brought were jean shorts, and you sure as hell weren’t going to sleep in those.

You pulled out your oversized sleepshirt, putting it on. The hem landed right above the middle of your thigh. It was a little shorter than the length of a nightgown, so you just hoped he wouldn’t notice. You slipped on a pair of panties, snatched up your things, and exited the bathroom.

You immediately bumped into Logan, who was standing right outside the door.

“What the fuck?” You raised your voice, annoyed. “Why are you right outside the door?”

“I was about to knock. You’ve been in there for over an hour.”

“It’s all yours!” You sassed.

You walked over to the small kitchen, and see he had already opened up the champagne. You had a glass as you sat on a barstool, writing down some notes about the people you’d observed earlier. Pouring yourself another glass, you headed over to the bed.

Just as you made yourself comfortable, Logan came out of the washroom, in just a towel. You stared at his wet torso for a moment, hypnotized.

“My eyes are up here.” He laughed.

You looked up, embarrassed.

“Forgot my clothes. Hey, wait, why are you in the bed?”

“…Because I’m the girl?”

“You're also the short one. I can’t fit on that couch.”

“Oh, c’mon. It’s a big bed. We can both fit just fine. Unless you’re nervous. Never slept with a girl before, Lo?”

He sighed, clearly not wanting to argue, before taking his clothes and escaping back to the bathroom. You silently celebrated your victory.

He came out a few moments later, turning off the lights, sliding under the blankets and getting comfortable. You both ended up facing the same direction. If he was any closer, he’d be the big spoon, but there was a few inches separating you.

You adjusted your body, and accidentally felt your ass rub against him. You went rigid from humiliation, before scooting away slightly, ignoring it since he didn’t say anything.

You tried to fall asleep, but it was difficult, for many reasons. One, you’re not used to having someone else in your bed. Two, he was breathing heavily. Three, you couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy he was.

Of course, you knew Logan was attractive, you’d thought that since the moment you first saw him. But today, probably because of the faux-gagement, the touching, the flirting, you saw him differently. He was still getting on your nerves, but the flames between you two… His body… It was unlike before.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You twiddled your feet, moving around your body nervously, before unintentionally grazing your ass against his crotch again.

“Y’know, if you keep rubbing your ass against my dick, I’m gonna do something about it.” His words sounded gruff in your ear, but they gave you butterflies.

“Maybe that’s what I want.” 

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[th3mrskory]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

______________________________________________________________

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[tteotlma]

Unspoken

to everyone he's the indestructible wolverine, to you he's just logan —

Bf!Logan/Reader (3.5kw)

a/n: I’m kinda over smut rn.. It requires too much thinking rn and I just want some love so…

tw: mild sexual content, suggestive themes, alcohol consumption, mild language, domestic fluff

---

Everyone wonders how exactly you managed to bring the bad boy home to mom. Okay, not exactly, but close enough. When you started showing up around Logan, everyone was thrown for a loop.

"This is Y/n," he would introduce you for the first time at a group outing. He unknowingly blocked you from his table of teammates, so you put a hand on his arm to move him over.

Smiling brightly at the group, you introduced yourself as his girlfriend. Scott and Jean were stunned, while Ororo just smiled. She moved, took out a seat beside her, and patted it. You'd look at Logan, and he'd give a curt nod before saying he was going to get you both a drink.

As he left, he placed a small hand on your back, and you smiled at him before he walked away. Settling beside Ororo, you made yourself comfortable.

"Alright, alright, now tell us the truth," Scott huffed, stuffing his face with the complimentary peanuts in the middle of the table.

"I'm sorry?" Your eyebrows squeezed together, making Scott chuckle.

"So you're really his girlfriend?" he asked, while Jean gave you a careful eye.

"It appears that way, doesn't it?" You turned away just in time to grab your drink from Logan, taking a sip before looking back at Scott.

Logan had told you a lot about Scott and their complicated relationship - a sort of "I have to like you because we're family" kind of thing. You'd never held any resentment towards Scott, but you were aware that sometimes it could seem like he thought less of Logan.

Scott didn't say anything further, instead continuing to munch on peanuts and occasionally cracking jokes, flashing you his award-winning smile. The group settled into casual chit-chat, with Logan's body pressed beside yours despite sitting in separate chairs.

His arm slung around the back of your chair, his thumb occasionally brushing against your arm - a subtle reminder that despite all the people in the bar, you could freely focus on whatever, knowing he had you.

As the night wore on, stories and laughs were shared, the alcohol doing a good job of loosening everyone up, especially you and Logan. You were still at a point in your relationship where everything felt fresh to the outside, so the idea of PDA was still nerve-wracking. Granted, you and Logan had touched each other a lot, but that was always behind closed doors. In public, Logan preferred to be more of a guard dog, always standing over you wherever you went.

It never bothered you. In fact, you relished the fact that Logan never left your line of sight; he made you feel protected and special. He never pushed your comfort level, and vice versa. You were acutely aware of Logan's character flaws, and mixed with the fact that it had been years since you'd dated anyone, it was nice not having to force the physicality between you two - it came naturally when it wanted.

Like right now, the comforting atmosphere and lightheartedness had you leaning into Logan's warmth. Your head fit perfectly in the crook of his neck, and his arm slipped off the back of the chair to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you in. His hand lightly tickled your side as you absentmindedly ran your nails up his denim-clad thigh, the repetitive motion and feel of the micro-grooves beneath your fingers keeping you grounded.

You tried paying attention to the conversation, but each time Logan laughed, your whole body would shake along with his, and the deep rumble of his laughter would erupt from his chest - a sound you wished you could melt into.

"So why are you with Logan?" Jean asked, her cheeks flushed as she stared between you and Logan, watching the way his fingers played with the fabric of your shirt.

You ripped yourself away from thoughts of your boyfriend and tried to focus on the question at hand. "I'm sorry?" you said, having heard the question but unsure how to answer.

"Why Logan?"

You shifted in your seat to stare at the beefy man beside you. He looked down at you, a small smirk on his lips.

"Why Logan..." you repeated, pondering how to put into words the way this man made you feel.

How do you even put into words the way this man makes you feel? As mentioned before you hadn’t dated in what felt like forever but with Logan everything fell into place. 

Everyone at the table probably assumes that Logan would be the most dismissive lover ever, a taker not really a giver but oh boy were they wrong. 

To you, it felt like you were the center of his universe. 

Whenever Logan would spend the night, you’d always wake up to an empty bed. At first Logan would run out of your place as soon as the sun would hit but one morning when you thought you were alone you slipped into one of Logan’s shirts you had lying around and when you pad to the kitchen you find the giant man surrounded by a rush aroma of coffee. And it’s been like that ever since. 

Whenever Logan stays over he’s always up before you. The smell of coffee wafting throughout the apartment coaxing you out of bed. Once in the kitchen there’d be Logan in all his morning glory, shirtless with sweats that hung dangerously low on his hips, pouring the hot liquid into your favorite mug knowing you’d never say no to it. 

He doesn't ask how you take it, he’s never had to. He just places the mug softly in front of you as you sit on a stool and watches you take a sip with a small smile. 

Placing the mug down, you return the smile, and like clockwork Logan rounds the counter, turns your chair, and places himself between your legs. Your hands find their place at his side as he holds your face in his hands, placing a tender kiss on your lips. These quiet morning moments are just one of the many things you cherish about your life with Logan.

But it's not just the gentle moments that make your relationship special. Logan's protective nature extends to all aspects of your life together, including the more practical ones.

There have been a few times you've come home thinking someone's broken in. Loud clanging could be heard as soon as you walked in. You grabbed an umbrella from beside the door and stalked quietly toward the sound. When you finally turned the corner down the hallway, you noticed the bathroom light was on. With the umbrella held tightly, you stepped closer to the bathroom. There you found Logan tinkering under the sink, the clanking sound coming from the metal against the pipes. He was muttering to himself, brows furrowed in concentration, his muscles constricting beneath his dark blue shirt.

“My handyman.” You tease, discarding the umbrella and leaning against the door frame watching him work. 

Without looking back at you he says “Someone’s gotta do it, darlin’.” You let out a small laugh, before walking away to get him a glass of water. When you come back he’s finishing up. 

He wipes his hands with a towel, and takes the glass from your hand. 

“My hero.” You say, finding your spot against the doorframe, smiling up at him, eyes filled with adornment for the man in front of you. He just pulls you in close and kisses your forehead. 

“Can’t have you dealin’ with this kind of thing.” He says. 

“Oh but sir,” You feign innocence, a small smirk growing on your lips. “I don’t get paid until Friday,” You hook a finger in his belt loop giving it a tug. “However, shall I repay you?” You cock your head to the side, and Logan quirks an eyebrow before playing along. 

“Didn’tya know? I take other forms of payment.” His voice is low as he grabs your hips guiding you backwards. You laugh as he quickly shuffles backwards into your room. 

The both of you stumble onto the bed, and Logan’s weight presses against you just enough to make you feel deliciously suffocated. His eyes are filled with mischief as he hovers over you, hands resting on either side of your head. 

“Oh my, what form of payment were you thinking of?” You ask, voice playful but becomes breathless as he leans in to nose at your neck, lips lightly brushing against the soft skin of your neck. 

He chuckles slowly, “I think y’already know sweetheart.” 

Before you can say anything he catches your lips in a deep, possessive kiss, making it clear how he plans to collect. 

His weight grounds you, as the teasing is forgotten, replaced with a slow electric pull of desire. Logan’s hand skims all over your body, gentle but firm, reminding you that you’re his in every way that counts. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Now, ‘bout that payment.. Don’t think that was enough, princess.” 

You bite your lip, giving him a coy smile as your fingers slide down his chest. “Well, I’d hate to leave a debt unpaid, Sir.” 

Logan leans down to brush his lips against yours, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Then you better make it worth while, buttercup. I don’t do all this hard work for nothin’.” He teases. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. “Oh don’t worry. I always leave a generous tip.” 

With a grin, Logan kisses you again, deeper than before. His hands continue their exploration as the playful banter gives way to something more intense, and heated. And just like that, all thoughts are replaced with only the two of you tangled up in each other, lost in the moment. 

While these passionate encounters are exhilarating, they're not the only moments you treasure with Logan. In fact, your favorite kind of moments are often much quieter, born from the shared fatigue of long days and the comfort you find in each other's presence.

Your favorite kind of moments would have to be the days Logan comes over after a long day, the kind that left both of you feeling drained by the time the moon came over the horizon.

You’d flop onto the sofa as soon as you’d get home, letting the tension ease away from your muscles when five minutes later Logan opens the door, which you left unlocked for him. 

Without saying a word he flops beside you, causing your body to follow the cave of the cushions and melt into his side. You wrap your arms around his neck and he snakes his arm around your waist, heavy hand resting on your hip squeezing lightly. 

“Hi Baby.” You whisper, caressing his face. He looks down at you with hooded eyes and gives you a small smile. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you a soft, lazy kiss before pulling back and resting his head against the back of the sofa.

 You hum contentedly, your arms tightening around him for a moment, the tenderness between you growing. Logan shifts beneath you, his large hands easily grabbing your legs, guiding them to rest over his lap. With a bit of maneuvering, he ends up leaning on his elbow, his arm still wrapped protectively around your waist, while you’re stretched out across the sofa, your legs draped over his, your bodies intertwined in the most comforting way.

He’s partially laying down now, with you tucked securely against him, and the gentle weight of his arm across you feels grounding, the two of you perfectly melted into one another.

“How was your day?” you ask softly, fingers gently caressing the back of his neck. Logan doesn’t respond right away— he instead lets out a low huff and buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. 

“Awe, the poor kitty.” You tease, patting his head lightly. Logan grunts, but the hint of a smile plays on his lips as his grip tightens around your waist. 

“Yeah, yeah.” he mumbles, clearly too tired to give much of a response. You smile, allowing yourself to soak in the warmth of him, but after a moment, the thought of washing the day away crossed your mind. 

You run your fingers through his hair one last time before sighing. “I should go shower,” you say, gently pulling away from him. Logan lets out a gruff dissatisfied grumble as you move to sit up, his arm still draped around you. 

“Stay here,” he mumbles, a hint of a pout in his voice as he watches you sit up.

You chuckle softly, stretching as you stand and walk toward the bathroom. “You could always come with me…” you say casually, your back still to him as you head down the hallway.

Logan’s eyes follow you, and he huffs, pushing himself off the couch. “You know I’m not saying no to that.”

Before long, you’re both under the warm spray of the shower, the day’s exhaustion melting away. Logan stands still, eyes half-closed, letting the water run down his body. His skin glistens under the spray, rivulets tracing the lines of his body. You breathe in the steamy air, heavy with the scent of soap and Logan's own earthy musk.

Squeezing shampoo into your palm, its crisp herbal aroma cuts through the steam. Your fingers slide through Logan's hair, now slick and dark as ink. He leans into your touch, a low rumble of pleasure vibrating in his chest. His normally guarded expression softens, the furrows in his brow smoothing as your fingertips work small circles against his scalp.

Logan leans into your touch, his broad shoulders loosening as your fingers work their magic. The taut muscles beneath his skin gradually unwind, melting under the warmth of the water and the gentle pressure of your hands. You can feel the subtle shift in his posture as he surrenders to the soothing sensation, his breath deepening and slowing in response to your careful attention. 

The steam swirls around you both, creating an intimate cocoon that seems to exist outside of time. You take your time, savoring the quiet vulnerability of the moment, your fingers moving with deliberate care through his hair.

"Mmm," Logan murmurs, his voice husky and low. "S'nice."

His eyes flutter open, meeting yours through the misty air. The look he gives you is unguarded, full of a tenderness that makes your breath catch. You continue your gentle massage, feeling the last remnants of tension melt away beneath your touch.

You guide him under the spray, watching as the water sluices away the soap, leaving his hair gleaming. Your hands trail down to his shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him. The shower continues for a few more minutes, the rhythmic pattern of water creating a soothing backdrop.

Logan steps out of the shower first, wrapping a towel around his waist. He grabs your plush robe from the hook and helps you slip it on. The soft fabric feels warm and comforting against your skin, still flushed from the hot shower.

Logan's hands linger for a moment on your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Cozy?" he asks, his voice soft. You nod, enjoying the simple comfort of the moment.

As you make your way to the bedroom, Logan settles on the edge of the bed while you rummage through the dresser. You pull out one of Logan's well-worn t-shirts and a pair of his boxers, slipping them on. The familiar scent of him envelops you, a comforting mixture of cedar, a hint of motor oil, and something uniquely Logan.

Despite countless cycles through the washing machine, his scent clings stubbornly to the fabric. It's as if it's woven into the very threads, resistant to detergent and hot water alike. You breathe in deeply, savoring the aroma that's quintessentially him - a scent that speaks of strength, of safety, of home.

The shirt hangs loosely on your frame, soft from years of wear. As you pull it over your head, you're wrapped in an invisible embrace, Logan's presence tangible even in this simple piece of clothing.

Turning around, you catch Logan absent-mindedly rubbing the towel over his head. You can't help but smile at the sight. "Here, let me help," you say, fetching the hair dryer from the bathroom.

You plug it in and step between Logan's legs, gently taking the towel from his hands. The dryer hums to life, and you run your fingers through his hair as you work, watching it become soft and fluffy under your ministrations.

"Look at you, all fluffy," you tease gently, running your hand through his hair.

Logan's eyes crinkle with amusement. In one swift motion, he pulls you close, guiding you to sit across his lap. "You're one to talk," he rumbles, nuzzling into your neck.

You laugh softly, your fingers still playing with his hair. It's so soft now, and you can't resist running your hands through it again and again. Logan lets out a contented sound, almost like a purr, leaning into your touch.

Gradually, you both shift to lie on the bed, limbs tangled comfortably. Logan's arms are wrapped around you, holding you close like you're the most precious thing in the world. You continue to stroke his hair, feeling the last bits of tension leave his body.

The room is quiet now, filled only with the sound of your synchronized breathing. As sleep begins to tug at the edges of your consciousness, you feel utterly safe and loved in Logan's embrace. His breathing deepens, and you know he's drifting off too.

Few moments out of thousands flash through your mind as you sit at the bar, Jean's question hanging in the air. "Why Logan?" The memories of tender mornings, playful banter, quiet evenings, and the feeling of absolute safety in his arms all blend together, forming your answer.

You look up at Logan, who's watching you with a mix of curiosity and affection. The warm glow of the bar lights catches the amber flecks in his eyes, making them seem to smolder. You can feel the solid warmth of his body pressed against yours, his familiar scent - a mixture of leather, pine, and something uniquely him - wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You turn back to Jean with a soft smile, the taste of your drink still lingering on your lips.

"It's hard to put into words," you begin, your voice warm with emotion. The words catch in your throat as a flood of memories washes over you - Logan's rare, genuine laugh that always makes your heart skip a beat; the feeling of absolute safety in his strong arms; the tender moments in the quiet of the morning when he thinks you're still asleep. You open your mouth, ready to pour out your heart, but then you catch yourself. The intimacy of those moments feels too precious to share in the bustling, noisy bar.

Instead, you simply say, "Let's just say, when you know, you know."

The conversation moves on, but you can feel Logan's eyes on you, sense his curiosity. As you both leave the bar later, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the warmth inside, Logan gently tugs your hand, pulling you close.

"What were you really gonna say back there, darlin'?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. His breath, warm and smelling faintly of whiskey, ghosts over your cheek.

You look up at him, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the softness in his usually stern eyes. For a moment, you consider telling him everything - how he makes you feel, why you love him. But something holds you back. Maybe it's the lingering effects of the alcohol, or the magic of the nighttime city around you, but instead, you stretch up on your toes and press a soft kiss to his lips.

"I'll tell you someday," you murmur against his mouth, feeling his lips curve into a smile. "But for now, why don't we head back to my place."

Logan's arm wraps around your waist as you walk to his truck, and you lean into him, savoring the moment. The unspoken words hang between you, a promise for the future, as sweet and intoxicating as the night air.

---

a/n: quick! somebody call a dentist -- i think my teeth are rotting,,

[elliesplug]

logan when you don't shave

logan howlett x reader

summary: you've been together for months, but how will he react when you forget to shave?

warnings: no smut but still nsfw

word count: 958

His touches make it feel like electricity is coursing through your whole body. Logan’s is simultaneously rough and delicate, his actions contradicting themself and leaving you all worked up.

You and Logan were supposed to be watching a movie tonight but he just can’t control himself around you. You were trying really really hard to focus on the movie but he made this an impossible task. The way he was rubbing tender circles on your thighs, inching further and further to your heat every once in a while, was driving you insane. His strong hands hold you in such a delicate grasp that fills your whole body up with a familiar warmth.

As the movie continued you could tell that Logan’s focus was tuned more onto you than the screen. The touches are slowly getting more impatient. Logan has your body memorized, cherishing every crevice and dip of your body.

The TV lights flicker in the dark, illuminating your features. Your eyebrows are ever so slightly scrunched as you pretend to pay attention to the movie. Logan stares at you with amazement, he will forever be in awe of your beauty. He inches towards you and wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer. At this point Logan isn't even trying to hide the fact that he's not watching the movie anymore. Then you feel soft pecking on your neck and jaw, causing your breath to hitch. No one needs superhuman abilities to hear how fast your heart is beating.

“Do y’know how pretty you are, sweetheart?” Logan whispers to you.

You turn your head to respond to him, but the second that you open your mouth, his lips are attached to yours. Heavy hands wrap around your whole body, holding you tight. The kiss is passionate yet tender. Logan’s actions are a reflection of how badly he needs you.

Warmth radiates through your whole body. Without thinking your thighs rub together, attempting to give you any form of satisfaction. Noticing this, Logan places his hand behind your head as he guides you to lay down on the couch. Never breaking the kiss. His big hands continue to explore your body with a sense of hunger. The kisses quickly go from tender to rough. You place your hands behind his neck and wrap your legs around him. Logan groans into your mouth at the feeling of your warm body on his. Your panties get damp at that sound alone. And just like that he grinds down on you, both of your clothed centers rubbing on each other. Logan knows how to leave you feeling worked up. As the feeling of pleasure is taking over you, you whimper out his name with a soft sigh.

“Mmm you sound so pretty,” Logan says with a needy tone. “Need you s’ bad.”

A tug on your pants lets you know how eager he is. This feeling of your pants beginning to come off makes you jolt in embarrassment. After remembering that you didn't shave, your whole body is filled with nerves. Breaking the kiss, Logan instantly senses your body’s reaction. He looks down at you with a concerned gaze as he rubs comforting circles on your arm.

“Something wrong, darlin’?” He asks you. “Y’know you can always tell me if something is bothering you?”

Some men hate when you don't shave and some men say they don't mind it, when in reality they do. Its only been a few months with him but to avoid any issues you always shaved. Your fear of Logan’s reaction electrified your senses.

“It's just…I didn't really have the time..” You avoid eye contact in embarrassment before you responded. “I’ve just been pretty busy lately and I forgot to properly clean up…”

You look back at Logan only to find a confused look written all over his face. A horn must've grew out the middle of your forehead the way he was staring at you.

“I just haven't shaved and so maybe we should do this another time y’know?” You answer.

Just like that his confusion is wiped away and replaced with small laughter. Oh God. This is pure humility. You just confessed that and he was giggling? Just simply laughing at you? You instantly regret even telling him that much.

“Sweetheart,” Logan says with a chuckle, “I've been alive for over 200 years and you really think I can't handle a little bit of hair?”

Your eyes are drawn back to him as you listen.

“I don't know about any of those boys you've been with but I'm a man. I could give less of a fuck how you choose to present yourself to me, as long as it's you I'm fine.” He assures you, “In all honesty, if someone is giving that much of theirself to me, and I stop to worry about some hair, then I’ve gotta have some issues, angel.”

As simple as that, all humility leaves your body instantly. His words are genuine and comforting. Making you feel desired comes easy to Logan.

With a low tone he asks you, “You hear me? I want you no matter what. I will never let anything as miniscule as hair stop me from loving you. You got that?”

You cup his face in your hands as you stare up at him. The love he has for you makes your entire body tingle. His rough mutton chops rub between your fingers as you admire him. With a small nod you respond to him.

“Mmmkay” is all you can manage to get out under his gaze.

Logan grins as he hovers over you while placing sweet kisses on your collarbone, “Lemme just show you how much all that doesn't matter to me, sweet thing.”

[avengers-bucky]

Omg I wrote this after “Logan” came out and found it in my drafts 😭

Getting into an argument with Logan would include

- most of the time it's over something petty

- both of you think you're right

- and neither of you back down

- you: "fine" Logan: "fine" standing with your arms crossed

- Logan always storms out after

- you always chuck something at the door as he closes it

- you two don't talk for the rest of the day

- only making jabs at each other

- the team are used to it now

- you're already in bed, watching tv

- Logan always come back, takes a shower and gets into bed next to you

- you both refuse to break the silence as you both sit there staring at the tv with your arms crossed

- you always swipe him a look to see if he's still mad

- Logan is stubborn as hell

- but you admit to yourself how stupid the argument was

- you keep side eyeing him with a smirk

- Logan notices and angrily says "what"

- you move over and straddle him

- Logan still looks pissed

- you're smiling at him but Logan refuses to look at you

- you pull up the sides of his mouth

- "aw c'mon little pussy cat, you know you wanna smile"

- Logan always tries to fight back a smile

- "you know you can't resist"

- Logan grabs your legs and spins you over so he's on top of you

- he smiling as his lips are hovering over yours

- Logan always kisses you

- then starts tickling you

- "you're such an ass" he's says

- "so are you"

[themareverine]

Mare & the Wolverine | good poison | Logan Howlett

summary: Laughlin City, an Eden of promise. Or destiny.

warnings: AU, age gap, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, eventual romance, violence, angst, trauma, religion, self-insert, self-esteem issues, chance meetings, alcohol, grief/morning, mutual pining, falling in love, slow-ish burn, fluff and angst, canon-typical violence, virginity, reposted from my old account.

MASTERLIST| NAVIGATION | NEXT | PREVIOUS

“I’ve never met a more obsessive, religiously fanatical, irresponsible press professional in my entire career, McAffery—and I’ve been doing this thirty fucking years!”

“Told you to drop that mutant BS, McAffery—”

Blue light from her phone lights up the shadowed seat beside her, interrupting the cruel sting of thoughts lapping her brain like a pace car. Redlined and leading, her attention briefly drifts from the yellow lines of highway to the bright screen that lingers—to the text bubble with the little avatar face of who else but her mother, checking in on her for only the fiftieth time tonight. 

“I’m fine, ma,” she sighs to empty space around her. A glance upward through the windshield to the night sky canvases unfamiliar constellations, stars she’s never seen this far north. Living north all her life had prepared her for a lot of, well, Canada— but not the stars. There seemed to be more of them, dancing in troops that quickened the soul. They’d been hanging in the sky for hours, now, and every time her gaze flicked up—never saw the same cluster.  

Diiiing. The sound avalanches in the cab, almost. “Jeez, I’m fine, ” it’s more of a growl than anything as she reaches for the phone. Silences it. Practically tossing it to the cup holder, she shifts a little further against her seat, her ass into the three decade-old cushion just like she’d been doing for two days. Shoulders pressing back into the material of her seatback, a slight shiver races up her spine where frigid air snakes into the cab of the Jeep between gaps in soft-top canvas—irritates the hunger that’s been low simmering in her stomach since before the sun had disappeared. 

A quick GPS consult and civilization is less than ten miles on her course. It promises a bar, a Motel 6, some gas. Nothing fancy. Reading in-between trying to stay between yellow highway lines reveals that Laughlin City is a logging community, one of those let’s-film-a-cheesy-Hallmark-romance little sports that show up in romantic novels and on travel blogs. It’s quiet with a limited population, mountainside and traditional. Perfect. 

Starting directions to Laughlin City, you’re on the fastest route—-

“Considering I don’t see any freeways, I guess that tracks,” Frick, I’m turning into my mother talking to myself— and she had been, for two days. But that’s probably fine, better to keep herself company in the off-hours of radio. She couldn’t bear any more talk radio, didn’t have the caffeine or the patience to relive the same Shania Twain cassette tape for a twentieth time. 

Sighing, her head kicks back a little against the hard headrest behind her. Brightness from the GPS route is white-hot and blinding, has Mare McAffery turning her phone screen down to the fading 90s-print material of the passenger seat. She can see the little cloud from the hard breath she lets escape from between her lips, which subliminally raises the air on her arms. Sends a stab of cold through the bones in her hands. Even with air bursting from the defrost, it’s cold. Colder here, farther north, than her family’s quiet little farmland Minnesota home for this time of year—a t-shirt had felt like a good idea this morning at the truck stop. Splashing water on her face and smiling into sunshine. 

Her eyes drift to the dash clock as a hand reaches behind her to grope for the hoodie she’d abandoned. A little after 11—her time. Back home. Mare has no idea what time it is in Canada, under foreign stars and among unknown mountains. Though, really it doesn’t matter—time is a construct when you’re on the road. When you don’t really have anywhere to be in all that much of a hurry, when you’re getting out of Dodge and rethinking every strategic decision of your life.

God, what am I doing? Where are You in this? And the thought is random. Had been, for days. Quitting her job on the spot three weeks ago had felt like the move of the century, like a Neil Armstrong one-giant-leap-for-mankind on the moon type of deal. Once in a lifetime, defining. Must’ve been what the fathers of her nation felt, rising up to slay the Goliath oppressing them into submission—she’d bucked the power of corporate America, felt the sting of her whip for a final count. 

There’d never been more peace, more purpose about her life than in that moment, smiling down her nose at her boss. Knowing she’d left him in the lurch, had upset his canoe. Upstream without a paddle, take that you scumsucking piece of trash. Her guts had nearly risen up to her throat with the flood of pure adrenaline. Bolstered, like a shooting star— all hot and undiscerning strength. Every disgruntled employee in the history of the working class before her, caged within her bones. Finding justice in this one act, this flight. High flying and empowered, she’d crashed through the glass ceiling—unscathed, unravished. Free. 

Or so she prayed. 

Reality rose up to strike her like plague, chastened and vengeful. Leaving behind ghosts and midnight phantoms to haunt her even in sleep, her fears. Disease eating away at the flesh of her life, an insatiable predator unrelenting until satisfied. Picking its teeth with the bones of her future, the unknown. Grinning at her like a subtle, close-to-the-chest demon of her own making. Tapestry of her life began to unravel, unfurled by her own bravada, her own shield of faith in the unknown. Days bled eternally into weeks. Networking spiderwebbed away in the wind, disheveled and thin. Nothing aside from Oh-honey-I’m sorry’s and though-your-qualifications-are-impressive-we-regret’ s. 

Word traveled fast in rocks and cows country, not-the-Twin-Cities Minnesota.  Whoever didn’t look on her with sympathy dug her grave, or threw dirt on open wounds festering with her own shame. Nobody was eager to onboard the bloodhound trailblazing young lady with starry eyes and Superman hope. 

Singlehandedly she’d brought coverage of the community’s less-than-human population to hometown families and cropfarmers, faces nobody in her world desired. They’d kept the mutants at arm’s length, in the city and away from the grass that dances on the prairie; innocence of country living. Nobody wanted them in their ZIP code, their school districts—accidents raised taxes. No mayor wanted to address the subject at press conferences or on small city councils, no school board wanted funding for safe rooms or SPED. Better to lock them away in the concrete jungle of downtown, anonymous faces in a sea crying out for representation. 

Disarming a population’s ignorance had been a savage fight—soul crushing and abusive. Her head had been piked in every town-gossip-over-coffee table in the entire township, her family’s name raked over the coals in the editorials. Recklessly brave, but the greater good had come at a high, not-so-good price. Expensive for an under-thirty young little thing with bright aspirations, with a family standing behind her as pillars in a crumbling, paralyzed community.  

Better to turn a blind eye to the unfortunates than lend a hand likely to be bit, was the argument. Lambs to slaughter, all of her anonymous mutant sources had eviscerated from contact seemingly overnight—lost to anonymity, to the underworld of obscurity and fear. 

Foolish, simpleminded. White washed tombs, dens of vipers. Disheartened —didn’t they see—? 

A glance into the rearview and she’s able to make out the almost-cavernous upset digging trenches in the skin of her brow, the veil that’s overtaken once-bright eyes. All noted, even in the glare of blue light and shadows. She exhales deep and feels it, between her ribs. In, out—one, two, three; let it go, let it go let it go. That burning knot of lava that’s parked in between her shoulder blades shakes just a little, breaks apart. And for a brief moment, there’s cool relief that comes with another bite of May wind. Chases all the way down her spine, nips at her collarbones. 

Her grip tightens on the wheel, highway stretched unforgiving. Mocks her, reminding her how far away she’s attempting to fly, to hide . Inky midnight fans out before her— a lover, shadowing the world beyond the headlights of the Jeep Wrangler. Promising to hide her away, in a new world. The Wrangler seems to roar, engine loud in the empty night air, humming and thunking like old horsepower does. Whether in protest or jubilation, she’s not sure. Doesn’t even know if she wants to be. 

A wing and prayer. She’s left on a wing, with a prayer—it’ll carry her. To Laughlin, at least. 

Tires eat pavement like a beast, thrum thrum, thrumming away underneatht the rig almost in perfect step with the rabbit heartbeat kicking in her chest. Hears every rotation of rubber against asphalt through the canvas top. Tastes the cold bite of May night seeping through gaps and vinyl windows, cooling that still-there heat between her shoulders, that ache in the back of her eyes. 

Fiddling with the radio for the local news distracts her from GPS directions for a heartbeat. Almost missing the turnoff, she more forgoes the stop sign than actually misses it, engaging the clutch and brake to downshift. Skirting by the blaring scarlet of the sign, there’s no sign of headlights any direction at the four way. Except, in the distance, maybe five or so miles.

Between trees that canopy and dart in the breeze, trying to keep civilization a secret from the unsuspecting. Warring against the moon for rights to illuminate, to pierce through the veil of night—mountain peaks like dark sentinels, threatening and breathtaking in the faraway. Sits like a lion, stirring at the presence of the intruding Daniel. 

Laughlin City. 

“Bingo.” 

Mopping droplets of sweat pearling up from between his facial hair hasn’t ever felt more like a chore than it does right now, in the flickering light of a too-late pub crawling with county lowlives and province nobodies.  Every muscle burns with adrenaline that pistons through his veins like a hot steamroller, flattening any thought other than sucking air into his chest. Logan Howlett swears to God he can feel his very bronchial tubes with every pull of thick, curling air—wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t label every cell, working in unison to stitch him back together. 

It’s a delicate dance, healing after a fight. Body goes to work even before new wounds hit home—recovering from old ones, almost anticipating where new ones will land. Takes a significant amount of energy, a high unlike any amphetamine can deliver. Hot, heavy, painful bliss. That feel-good, fuck-this-is-perfect way he’s only ever experience in one other way—and that’s cock deep, in the right woman, red lines flaming down the length of his back. It’s taken a lifetime to ignore the adrenaline, the feel good burn of flesh stitching itself piece by piece. Wounds numbing over as the body corrects. Blood cut off from oxygen, sealed behind skin and screaming behind new scars. Bones correcting from fracture, pulled together with God-perfect precision no ER could ever match. Marrow stretching, cartilage welding back together. Feeling coming back with just as much prejudice as it had when it went. 

And it’s no different tonight, after a fight. Adamantium in his hands trembles, quakes with every beat of his pulse. Cold, itching with a sensation that only means one thing— air. Oxygen. Oxygen that fuels rage, that feeds the fire of release that’s a blazing furnace almost carved into the length of his spine. Bones, their marrow, they want air — crave it like demons. Flogging his soul like Christ at the crucifixion, crucifying him to the never-ending torment of holding it all together. Of balancing the line of monster and man, mortal and mutant. Ravages his will, rapes him of innocence, even in his youth. Even as a boy, even as James— he’d never had innocence. What even was purity to a man born to die but forced to live? 

He’d always been this, this h eld-together-with-threadbare-stitches-of-his-own-resolve carcass aching to die. Searching to live.

And it takes will, to live. Will of the ages, hills. Steadfastness of mountains to maintain the barrier between resolution and absolution. To not let go —to deny the impulses that scream through his blood like phantoms. Even the very stones beneath his feet cry out for his blood, for justice. Justice that had been lost through time, as others pass away. As he lives. His sins fade with those in graveclothes, but they haunt him like shadows. Peaceless life, ravaged. An ever-present war that carousels about his psyche. 

Don’t let go, Logan—don’t let them see you. Light a cigar. Suck in some brandy. Drown out the memories, the tombstones of everything he’s ever felt in his life rising up from buried graves and nameless mantras. It’s not for you, it’s for them. Never for you, always for them—

“—hey, you. Yeah, you— Mutton Chops. Yeah. It’s Wolverine, right?” 

He would chuckle if it wasn’t so ridiculous. Mutton Chops? 

Fingers scratch through the longer hairs, the corner of his mouth teases up with an amused smirk. Figures, they are a little dated. But, he enjoys them—he likes the way looks, always had. Cut a fine figure, and if he didn’t let himself know it, the women did. Been mooning over him since God knew . If he didn’t hate the attention, if he didn’t hate being seen; mingling with the echelon of the common man—-he could have any tit and skirt he wanted, most places. A few years of fucking anything that walked had lost its charm swiftly, and with gusto. 

Logan had learned early that he needed very few things in life to live, to survive. Living demanded the basic essentials, and a man isn’t truly a man unless he makes his own way. Women, well—girls were a luxury . Rubies and emeralds among the silver and golds of the everyday. High prices. Precious things in the eyes of God and the male sex, to be worshiped. Certainly so, can’t argue with the Twains and Shakespeares, the Psalmists of the ages—but they weren’t necessary. Not to survive. Little delicacies to make the journey tolerable, but not necessary. Privileges never were.  

“Wolverine—I’m talkin ’ to you!” 

But the alias is familiar, but the voice isn’t. Logan tosses back the bite of brandy that burns all the way down, snaps his attention from the bottom of the shot glass to the guy coming up behind him. Feet heavy, he’s at least six-two, two-fifty at a glance guess. Beer gut and a bald dome, some redheaded tart from across the bar reaching to pull him back. May as well be Vegas neon. Trouble—double order, by the looks of it. 

Shoulda been my middle name, “In some circles,” warmth skates into his blood, pulling at the attitude simmering at the edges of his resolve, “who’s askin’?” Fixing the edge of his shirt around the waist of his jeans, Logan ignores the instinctual twinge of pain that ricochets between his knuckles. One slip of his self control and there’s hell to pay—bloody, tastes-like-cold-steel hell.

Instead, his arms find the smooth bartop, glass hitting the bar with a crack. Logan pushes it away knuckles first, fingers tapping for another round. The bartender, he knows her as Sue—an aging sixties belle, witchy hair that’s perpetually pinned up in a clip—breezes by and snatches it away, promising him another with a hoarse, been-smoking-for-four-decades rasp. In seconds and the dark liquid spills into the shot glass, crystalline and pretty. 

Logan waves her come with two fingers, easing a little deeper into his usual barstool—the barstool he’s been parked in for eight months. Rolls a shoulder. A delicious little burn of healing muscle, dissipating bruises. Common place after a fight in the cage—there’s not enough curiosity in the eyes that are watching him. And he’s counting the paces of Big Boy coming up behind him, can feel the man’s anger from here. Tangible and inbred, like he’s been sucking the tit of pissed off since toddlerhood. 

The man’s huge hand is on his shoulder, jerking him back enough that it makes the barstool swivel. Logan’s spine snaps with alarm, with the initial gut punch of response. And he’s surprised with himself for a few heartbeats, that he’s chosen to shrug off the man’s arm instead of separate it from his body. A low, rumbling thunder of a growl simmering in his chest is almost animal, and he narrows a glare at the stranger. 

Sweating like a stuck pig, the man’s face is red as a beet. He’s a blush from either absolutely going batshit or having a coronary—Logan isn’t sure which he’d prefer. “I lost four hundred bucks because of you, Wolverine,” the name leaves his mouth with hacking spit, on the crescendo of a trail of spit that hits the floor at Logan’s feet in a wet plop . 

And for a second Logan expected Shit-For-Brain’s to continue, but he just stands there, sucking air.

“Tough luck,” Logan’s brows pop tall before furrowing into a hard line, irritation snapping  his tone like a fractured bone. Palming the pocket of his leather jacket taking up space on the barstool next to him, he manages a cigar from the pocket, with the God-knew-how-old Zippo. His favorite, he’d had it since—well. He didn’t keep track of trinkets. “Long odds, I guess.”

“The fuck you say?” 

He sighs. Deeply. Almost from the depths of his patience God has bestowed. “Anythin’ I can say that’ll make you vanish, bub?” Beer Belly doesn’t even flinch, except the hinge of his jaw snaps open. It could almost sway in the wind. Another sigh, “Take my word for it. Cut your losses and get Little Miss Strawberry Tart outta here—maybe she’ll cut you a deal on the way out.” 

In a matter of seconds the guy’s face drops into a gape only a choking fish could probably manage, and he really isn’t that far removed with all his sticky sweat making him look like a drowned, overfat bass. He stops sucking air like an emphysemic, maybe too stupefied to remember how. Logan’s fingers flick the flint of the lighter, cigar between his teeth as it bobs into the flame. Almost immediately, the thick curl of smoke stings his nose—chases the brandy in his throat, something magnificent . Fucking delicious. 

Small mercies, God bless them. Breathing in a wave of the thick, hot tobacco, it settles in the mesh of his lungs in a way that would probably kill lesser men—men who couldn’t die, anyway. He could fucking orgasm with how good this smoke burns, bleeding into his blood like good poison, and the exhale he gives may as well whip fifty pounds off the back of his shoulder. His head kicks back, brow furrowing as it cants to the side, taking in the craft of the ceiling. Brass tile— pricy . Riz didn’t strike him as a man with taste, but, stranger things. Interesting. 

In a flesh of fat and hairless dome, the man’s fist is curled around the collar of Logan’s shirt—he plucks him off the stool as if he weren’t anything more than a sack of meat. Surprise drops his cigar to the floor at his feet, the toes of his boots scuffing boards—and one glance to the man’s flexed arm reveals it’s absolutely straining for Beer Belly to suspend his bodyweight in the open. The vein in his temple throbs, cheeks almost purple as he splutters for air. Spit flies. Mingles in Logan’s beard. 

Revolting, but, give it a few seconds and—-

His boots find the floor heartbeats later, unphased. Logan’s turn, and it gives him great pleasure backhanding the man with his knuckles. Turning his head, saliva flying in trails of thick spit that hit somewhere he couldn’t care less about. Drive him half a step back, bring him back with his fist in tubby’s shirt—and mutant strength makes him weigh next to nothing. A little weight there, but nothing much—Logan could separate his spine from the rest of him without hesitation, thinking. Would be as easy as fileting a fat trout. 

The burn in his muscles feels magical.  And in three, two, one—he releases. Blood springs from between his knuckles, dribbling to the floor in fat drops. Scarlet stains adamantium, pearling along blades that all but sparkle in the perfect-low of pub lights. The burst of adrenaline immediately ravages the burn of pain, his bones all but ringing, chanting jubilation. And it feels so good, sometimes—so good to not have to hold back, to embrace the pain of living . 

Milkwhite, the man’s eyes haven’t unwelded from the blades dripping with Logan’s blood as they hover a breath from the fat flesh of his double-chin. Logan can see his life flashing through his eyes, like a film reel—every man’s always does in the face of death, his face. He’s shaking, Logan’s muscle absorbs every earthquake that pulses through the man’s frame. Shakes more than most—and that says more than it would, to many. Coward’s heart. Shriveled and died before they even got a chance to respond, he’d seen it before. Always took the easy way out. Talked big, acted small. His date would have better luck with an idiot savant than a coward, if Beer Belly here wasn’t a two-for-one. 

King Solomon had it right. Nothing new under the sun. 

“Told you to cut your losses,” it’s a snarl. Gravelled and aged, like every time before. Less human than monster, but he likes the fear—the respect —floating up to the man’s eyes from his soul. Logan releases him roughly, sending him foot over foot towards his date, across the floor. “Take her home before you regret somethin’ else.” 

Strawberry redhead is at his side, looking him over before she turns to consider Logan. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-something, too young to be running with a greaseball nobody with male pattern baldness and a Viagra problem. But tears run freely down her face all the same, as if she cares— and she probably does, because that’s the way of things. People care. It’s a human trait.  

All Logan can see is her enchantment with him. She isn’t afraid. While her date may have a coward’s heart, she certainly doesn’t—no common sense, a dense head, sure. But no fear. Funny how that works.

He’d smile if he wasn’t so pissed off, tired. And she doesn’t look him in the eye—her gaze is rooted on his hand, now at his side. His blood hanging out on the floor.  She blinks, only looks up at his face when the adamantium on display disappears between his fingers, sliding home in a way that echoes throughout his entire frame. Evidence of them begins to disappear as his flesh works to hide away familiar wounds, correct old sins. 

Her mouth, too, gapes like a fish. Nothing new. “You’re….you’re— wow, you’re a—” 

“—nobody you should care about, kid.” And that’s the long and short truth of it. 

Logan watches her help—he’s discovered his name is Harold—stand to his full height. Helps him sulk into a corner chair like a whipped puppy, and even from here, the purple on his jaw is already dark. Probably broken, but there’s little to do about it. 

Brushing off his arm, Logan lifted his other hand to examine it—pearls of blood. Still fresh on his skin. Evidence of their birth long since healed, he stretched his fingers before his thumb rubs between each knuckle, feeling. As if he’s never felt them before—because every time, the pain feels like it’s genesis. The beginning, new. A thrill unlike any other, in a sadistic kind of way that gives him life. Hope—that he’s still feeling. 

Turning to retrieve his cigar smoldering on the floor, Logan replaces it in the corner of his mouth. Takes another full breath, sinks low onto the barstool. The sting in his hands has almost entirely dissipated into tingling numbness, and that’s good—Sue knocks his drink to a stop in front of him. Shakes her head as her eyes landscape him up and down, like they’re digging his grave. She isn’t mad, he knows that—Sue has seen him rough up more than one Tom, Dick, Harry in this place. It’s like the revolving sun—they come in. Fight the cage. They lose, get pissed, and he knocks them on their ass. Simple science, really. 

Less dangerous and more dangerous all at the same damn time. 

“Feel better?” Thin, vein-tracked arms fold in front of her gravity-inspired chest. Heavy laden with turquoise and other painted stones, she’s the picturesque woman of her age—all gypsy, little else. If they’d be deep south in States, Sue could be confused for a bayou witch. And, thinking about her stirring a little pot of potions and cackling on to swamp creatures would be something else entirely. 

He chuckles, the mental picture amusing. Leaning forward a little on his arms, his brow peaks up a little. “Now there’s a question if I ever heard one,” his lips purse into a slow smile before he sits back, scratches his fingers through his sideburns— mutton chops, poor Harold had called them. “What do you think?”  

A lesser man wouldn’t hear it, but that bottom hinge on the front door howls something terrible in the rain. Signaling another interloper in their midst, Sue’s eyes flick past him to consider the body. It lasts a heartbeat, maybe the flow of blood, before her gaze is back to him—obviously no threat. Except, her arthritic hands reaching for a towel moves her a little closer, and she nods towards the door. 

“I think you’d better behave yourself,” she gestures with her chin towards the door, “new blood walkin’ in, Logan honey.” Nodding his understanding, he drags again at his cigar, then turns his head over his shoulder to eyeball the new body—- “Never seen her before. States girl, if I ever saw one,” Sue’s tongue clicks in the pocket of her cheek, “Poor thing’s wet as a drowned lizard. What she do, park half a mile away?” 

Drowned lizard? “Anyone ever told you you’re somethin’ else, Sue?” 

“Plenty—but don’t ask, Logan. Some things stay dead when you bury ‘em.” Her wink makes him snort, as if it’s something to joke about—and it is, really. To a man who flirts with death and defies it at every turn, nothing really surprises him anymore. The grave is little more than a calling card, and Sue knows that. Riz knows that. Everyone here knows this, but, chooses instead to look the other way—see him for what he is. 

Sue’s crooking a come finger at new blood before she’s even fully parted ways with him. “Hiya, honey. C’mere, sit down—we don’t bite.” Logan raises a Really? brow at her before Sue waves him off with a flapping hand. It takes everything he has not to smile at the old woman, but instead, he swivels a little. Back to the newcomer, who’s dropping into the corner barstool, well away from him and into the shadows. 

“Speak for yourself,” 

Sue whirls on him and tosses the towel she’s been keeping bar with at his face. Batting it away, he downs the brandy. “Oh, hush up!” Her chin gestures across the bar, to the cage—veiled in shadows, it’s little more than a knick knack without its lights, screaming crowds and humming jukebox that gathers every night at ten. Money changing, saliva flying—it sleeps like a tired beast until he rings the dinner bell.  “Well, most of us don’t bite—what’ll you have, darlin’?.” 

 If that wasn’t truth, well—Logan wasn’t sure what was. 

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00

[werdlewrites]

ł ฿Ɇ₵Ø₥Ɇ ĐɆ₳₮Ⱨ - ₱₳Ɽ₮ ₮₩Ø

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

summary: “Don't you got someone waitin’ for you?” The question leaves an odd taste on his tongue. It's bitter and foul–nothing sweet like her. He's almost begging for her to run out the door and into her lover's arms, just to save him the trouble and give his mind some rest in the night instead of wondering. warnings: alcohol, smoking, anaphylaxis, talks about grief and death wc: 3,671

Previous - Next

Life changes once darkness takes hold. The unstoppable force–the devil just over your shoulder wherever you go. No matter how far you run to hide from it. A reminder of what you've lost and what you'll continue to lose. Even if it's yourself. No matter if the loss digs so deeply that you'll never be whole again–or if you're staring down the clock of your own mortality. Nothing is as it was before Death.

She wonders where she would be now without it. Would she still be inside that little cabin on the hill? Nails coated with dirt and a heart never knowing someone else's love–other than her mother. Would she have known any differently if her mother hadn't become ill? The life that radiated and boomed within such a busy city. The windchimes, once a lullaby, are now replaced by the sounds of sirens. It’s frighteningly loud compared to the quiet of a far-off field. She makes peace with it for the sake of simple company. For the sake of a single voice to fill her space, rather than the emptiness her mother leaves behind.

Would she ever gain the guidance needed to survive what her eyes witnessed? The lingering souls of long-departed strangers as they roamed the earth. Unfinished business leaves them trapped until closure sets in or locked in repeated loops of time with an unsettled heart. Death stands at the girl's side, easing the pain of witnessing so much loss among the living. Unseen by all except for her.

Would she have gained a friend? A girl roughly her age giving up on the idea of finding another soul to share her space. Hoping to lessen the grief of money until Dawn shows up on her doorstep. “What?” She practically spits once the cigarette is pulled from between her painted lips. Dawn is so nervous that she forgets to speak. The paper crumbles in her fingers as she fights for the right words. 

“If you’re sellin’, I’m not buyin’.” Another long drag is taken, held tight in her lungs as she waves down the street to another building. “Don’t ask them. They’ll rob you blind. Buncha hagglers.” She warns. And within seconds, the door begins to shut in Dawn's face.

“Wait!” She cries out–a sudden rush of bravery that leaves the stranger stalled on the other side of the door. “Y-you’re looking for a roommate?”

The woman she would come to know as Charlotte narrows her eyes. “I-I was. How’d you know about that?”

Without hesitation, she offers up the newspaper clipping. An ad was put out for the public in case they were looking for a place to call home. All she ever found were perverts or untrusting women, ready to take all she had of value–which wasn’t much. Charlotte takes the tiny paper, and a smirk is seen on her face as she reads over the damaged print. “This is from months ago. How’d you-?”

“I found a newspaper in the trash,” Dawn states without thought. Thinking nothing of the action or the stares she received while elbow-deep in the bin.

Charlotte invites her in for coffee that day, and Dawn never leaves. They laugh through the brief interview, and it's an easy choice to welcome the girl under her roof. It had been years since she first stepped into that empty bedroom–now decorated with what a low salary could afford. 

Would she have ever met him?

The man with dark hair and a brooding atmosphere around him. An unseen barrier to keep all at bay–including the women who longed for company. They come and they go, and he seems mostly uninterested with his mind elsewhere. His replies are dull and douse the flames of any hope, leaving him by his lonesome at the bar each night. She sees him–but she's unsure if he sees her. Just a stranger too busy drowning his demons so he could survive another day–another second. 

She's lost track of how often he appears. Some nights he's long gone from her infrequent visits. Other times, he is miraculously there each night she makes her way through the front doors. Dawn's lived here for years now–her name comes easily to the bartenders as they smile and welcome her. A drink was already prepped and slid in her direction as she sat at the bar. Following the pattern they’ve built over time. 

“Happy birthday, kid.” Barry greets. His gentle smile was hidden away beneath a thick and aged mustache. His beard was untamed through the long and stressful hours of a rush, his fingers pulling anxiously. “It’s on the house.”

She gawks–jaw slacked with the quirk of a smile. “Really?”

The older man shrugs as he grabs a freshly cleaned glass, cloth wiping along the damp edges. “Call it a birthday gift.”

Dawn smiles and says her thanks, tipping the glass in his direction before he moves on with his shift. Some nights he stays to chat–barking orders in between the kindness he gives her. But with the business only half decorated for the holiday and the flow of traffic neverending, he’s needed elsewhere. She’s simply left to enjoy the comedown of a hectic day, oblivious to the early drunks and rambunctious conversations at her back as they challenge friends and strangers over card games and darts. Peace once looked like a quiet night by the fire–but as the years passed, she favored the noise.

It kept her mind busy.

“Celebratin’ alone?”

She doesn’t anticipate his voice–let alone to be looking in her direction, lips just hardly touching the glass filled with whiskey. Her face is warm–damn near scalding from his attention. For a moment she considers if he was speaking to another, but dark eyes peer just above the tilted glass, studying the lonesome woman with all intentions buried and impossible to read. Maybe the man had finally grown tired of the silence he was drowning in.

“N-no. I’m–well, it’s technically tomorrow.” She averts her gaze. The intimidation of his presence is dizzying, and she forces herself to focus on the chill of the glass in her hand, twirling it back and forth. “This is my ‘I’m stressed’ drink.” She ends with a laugh, risking a glance his way to see a lazy, crooked grin. 

He huffs out a laugh before the glass connects with his lips. The amber drink vanishes in one gulp. His tongue smacks against the roof of his mouth, sighing in questionable relief or bliss of the burn. “I’m familiar with those.” The empty glass sits small in his hand–extended outward in a silent plea for another round. Barry no longer hesitates in filling it, having spent many nights watching him stroll out into the night without swaying or stumbling. “I have a high tolerance,” he would claim, and prove it each time.

He speaks again, but his voice is lost in the excitement surrounding them. She’s not even entirely sure it was him, but the glass lowers with haste and spares a look his way, only to find him still locked on her. “D’you say something?”

His brow quirks in amusement. “I asked what had you so worked up.”

Hot air blows past her lips. The girl's mind scattered and raced as she relived her last few hours of work–and if she should confess it all to a total stranger. She was teaching class–boys and girls at their designated stations with bowls and ingredients, mixing and crushing. Combining everything into something delectable–something they could be proud of and eventually make on their own. 

A young girl takes a bite of her small cheesecake, immediately overwhelmed by the flavor and praise from her teacher, Dawn. But as the seconds tick on, her skin begins to flush. She complains about an odd itch on her tongue, and before anything else is said, Dawn takes the girl by the hand to whisk her down the hall to the nurse's office. The young girl is treated and her parents are called, while the teacher paces back and forth with a flickering focus as she searches for Death to show its face.

“Not this one,” she whispers on repeat. 

Maybe Death had heard her plea and chose grace–or maybe Fate had sewn together a long thread for the child. Expanding out into the universe until she grows old and weak. The girl is given epinephrine and carted to the hospital for overnight observation, but holds great promise for simply walking out by morning as if nothing happened. Despite her recovery, Dawn feels burdened by the guilt, all because of a Goddamn unlisted egg allergy.

“I failed,” is all that escapes her. The tone now shifted from something so lighthearted to something aching and painful. She feels the fist of disappointment clench around her heart, squeezing until it nearly ruptures. It brings a fresh wave of tears to just barely reach the surface before being wiped away. She’s already shed her sorrows once class had finished and on the drive home. It left her second-guessing if all she had worked for–all the trust she had earned–was for nothing. 

The stranger doesn’t seem to notice her sadness in the moment. By the time she looks back his way, he seems equally lost to wandering thoughts. Moving through his own journey that led him to where he was now. Demons were not left behind but instead clawed up his back to force a memory he wanted to forget. “Been there before.”

Dawn knows she should leave it. She should take this moment as a victory. The lone wolf finally peered outside of the shadows and into the light, and to simply leave it be. Corner an animal or push it beyond its breaking point, and you’ll only find the end of its claws dug through your skin and its teeth clamped around your throat. But she sees an opening–one that he’s carved out for her, and she takes the bait, entranced by the mysterious man who’s finally spoken more than six words.

“What about you?” She questions.

“What about me?” His tone is difficult to read–his expression even harder as his gaze lowers to hide in the shadows. 

She shrugs. A look of pure confusion and curiosity is written across her face as she leans in a little closer, folded arms stretched out across the space next to her. “What’s got you so worked up? Out here, drinkin’ by yourself?”

He meets her gaze again, though it’s faulty. Attention flickering between her and the cigar he pulls from a leather case just next to him on the counter. He lights it effortlessly–the flick of the lighter happening so fast, she barely notices until smoke is spilling from parted lips. “Who said I’m alone?”

Dawn reacts without thought–quick in response as she pulls back, swiveling in the stool to fully survey the busy bar and the idiots that cheered over their silly games. Her lips purse and her nose crinkles in dissatisfaction. Beer spills down their flannels and into their mud-covered jeans, eyes filled with the madness of intoxication. “Which one’s yours? I gotta be honest; you seem like a guy with better taste.”

It’s all fun and games–and he catches on quick. By the time she glances back his way, he’s smirking again but says nothing in return. “I mean, no offense.”

He snorts–a refreshing sound, and the sight of his laugh lines gives a certain spark of warmth in her chest. The tall walls he built were breaking down before her very eyes, crumbling to dust in the space between them. “I'm just tryin’ t'find my way.”

There’s an eruption of noise off in the distance. Broken glass scattered along the ground as two men meet with faces red and veins protruding from scarred skin. Some unheard arguments between the pair finally come to a head. But before they can exchange blows, security stands between them and escorts them out with fists locked around their shirt collars. He nearly dusts his hands of the problem once they are gone from his sight.

“You’re sure one of them isn’t yours?” She questions. His toothy grin is vibrant as he takes another long drag of the cigar. Maybe it’s stupid–maybe she’ll live to regret it, but she closes the distance between them; both now sat just at the corner of the bar. “I’m Dawn,” she greets with a timid smile. Half expecting him to slap money on the counter and bid herself and Barry a goodnight. No more pleasantries and forced conversations as the wolf retreats into the night.

To her surprise, he stays, though seems uncertain. She can see the flex of his fingers as they briefly tighten around the glass and the curious raise of his brow. A silent conversation brewing within himself. He releases his drink all too quickly, reaching far down to his right for an abandoned bowl of pretzels, sliding it between their places. “Logan.”

They laugh and drink together. Sharing stories–or rather, she seemed to be sharing stories. Dawn would ask a question to better understand this man named by her side, and he seemed to have some gift of twisting it around to know her instead. He learned she was a teacher, and she managed to squeeze out that he was a freelancer. Anything to make a buck while he looks for a safe place to land. 

“I'm working construction right now,” he confesses in a cloud of smoke, dark eyes on her as she downs the last remnants of her drink. Maybe his gaze lingered a little too long as the tequila and orange juice dripped down her chin. The lick of her lips and the quick swipe of fingers along her skin.

“D'you like it?”

Logan is suddenly embarrassed–ashamed? Caught like a child, red-handed as he studies every delicate feature. The shape of her cupid's bow and the slight indentations of dimples, growing deeper whenever she smiled. He shakes himself out of the daze, leaning forward on folded arms. “The construction? Or working for hire?”

She hums in debate. Her body visibly tilting back and forth in thought before answering, “Both.”

Another stale pretzel, and he answers with a shrug. “It’s good for now. There’s no shortage of busy work, so I don’t think I’ll get bored too soon.” His eyes are wandering at the sudden realization the crowd has somewhat changed, replaced by a more rowdy group–and she doesn’t seem to notice.

But he does, and maybe it's stupid to worry about a girl who's lived here for far longer than him–but he still tries to make her aware of the passing time. “Don't you got someone waitin’ for you?” The question leaves an odd taste on his tongue. It's bitter and foul–nothing sweet like her. He's almost begging for her to run out the door and into her lover's arms, just to save him the trouble and give his mind some rest in the night instead of wondering.

But her face twists up in disgust, laughing almost too loudly, and Logan feels himself deflating from relief in the stool. “No,” she scoffs–but the realization tastes unfavorable for her, too. Thinking back to just how long it’s been since she’s even held someone's hand. “No, I–there's no one. Just my roommate, but she works late.”

“Roomies, huh?”

“Yeah, why? Lookin’ for a place t’crash?”

He smirks against the glass, mumbling a “no” in reply as he envisions nothing but trouble and awkward conversations. Even questionable looks and rumors between neighbors as he moves beyond the threshold.

The girl doesn’t take the rejection to heart, still wearing a kind smile that is quickly pried apart by a sudden yawn. It’s embarrassing, and she knows she’s been caught with her hand raised to conceal it. His brow is raised–amused as he taps the ash away into the nearby tray. “Didn’t mean t’bore you, sweetheart.”

Dawn’s eyes widen at the sudden nickname, her heart pounding as the name sinks in like an anchor in her unsteady waters. Some form of stability as the winds carry waves high into the clouds. Her face is flush, and her fingers are tight around her forearm to remain focused. Nearly getting lost in all of the excitement. “I’m not bored.” She defends. “You try waking up at 6 AM t’take care of kids all day.”

He eyes her carefully, thinking of that certain sparkle of pride seen in her eye when she mentioned working at a school. There was clear passion in it–a love that couldn’t be described. Yet, there’s a twist of frustration in her tone. “Thought you liked it?”

“I do! It–it’s just-”

The young girl’s look of fear fills her vision. Splotchy red skin spreads like a virus as her lips swell up in seconds. If she had waited any longer, her throat would have tightened, and that color would transition to purple and blue as she gasped for air on the floor, in Dawn’s arms. It would have been her fault.

Her fault.

Death meets her when the school bell rings. They stand out in the cleared hallways with the face of someone unknown. A woman–though all Dawn can see is the flickering creature using her as a puppet to make nice with any strangers to pass by. It’s a frightening sight at first. Dawn takes a step back with a hand clutched to her chest, her other arm guarding the door. A protective instinct, despite the room now being empty. 

“Jesus Christ,” she gasps, and with a subtle smile from the well-dressed woman, her shoulders relax, and she pulls at her bag a little tighter. “You couldn't have knocked, or something? Any warning at all.” Dawn moves without hesitation, knowing the space just at her side would fill with the Being that always crept in her shadow. 

“ɎØɄ'ⱤɆ ₦Ø₮ ₩ɆⱠⱠ.” It states in her mimicked voice. Eyes warm and welcoming–a complete contrast to the void of brilliance. The enchanting halo of light you follow into the afterlife. “ł₴ ł₮ ฿Ɇ₵₳Ʉ₴Ɇ Ø₣ ₮ⱧɆ ₲łⱤⱠ?”

Dawn nearly laughs–just nearly. Her lip twisted up into a scowl with a huff passing through anxiously bitten lips. “I thought you were going t’take her.”

“฿Ʉ₮ ł ĐłĐ₦'₮.” Death states plainly, reaching for the girl's elbow to halt their barely begun journey toward the exit. Their expression is unchanged at the sight of glistening eyes–reliving the fear and what could have been and what eventually will be. “ł₴ ₮Ⱨ₳₮ ₦Ø₮ Ɇ₦ØɄ₲Ⱨ?”

It was never enough. 

Dawn had put her trust in this Creature–her guidance through the horrors she had been forced to witness at such a young age. A mentor as she bends the darkness she once could not control. Taking a lost girl in a big world and giving her a purpose as the right hand of Death–a master of the undead.

But trust couldn't douse the fear of love and loss. To grow with someone and learn every flaw and gift, only to watch their soul stripped by the very thing that took such a fragile girl beneath its wing, and it was unstoppable. There was no malice or guilt–Death simply acted on what it was made to do. Granting peace to those suffering.

She sees this man as another heartache–whether by his hand or not. Another loss among the friends she gained she would have to tread through if Death didn't take her first. “It can just be tiring.” She continues with a weak smile. “Everyone has a limit, right?”

The man takes another hit, his focus unwavering and all too intimidating. “S'pose they do.”

“And right now…my limit is one Tequila Sunrise. Charlotte is going t'be a force t’be reckoned with by morning.” Regrettably, she’s easing herself away. Stepping down from the stool, though, in his direction to give him a final opportunity to stop her. Yet he doesn’t.

“Your roommate? Not even going t'let you sleep in on your birthday?”

She takes her time. Sliding her coat on with care, just to spare another second before reaching for her heavy book bag, filled to the brim with notes for class and little projects she’s constructed for the children. “It's Halloween. There's lots t'do.” 

Dawn begins to teeter in place–chewing at her lip as the reluctance to leave builds. It’s stupid to be so worried; she may never see him again. He’s still only a stranger and intends to keep it that way by how much he keeps to himself. Yet it doesn’t keep her from grabbing at a napkin and an abandoned pen for tipping and scribles down the address for him. “We’re having a party.” 

The paper is slid in his direction. Brown eyes follow its movements until it’s trapped beneath a single finger, pulling it in closer for inspection. He says nothing, but the smirk around the cigar is telling, along with the raise of a brow. He’s interested–or amused at least that she would be so bold. The napkin is folded up and tucked away into his pocket.

“Please don’t be a serial killer.” Dawn teases. Her knees are weak, legs reluctantly pulling away from the mysterious man who refuses to break eye contact with her. Maybe just to get one last look–not knowing if he'll see her again, despite the invite. “Goodnight, Mr. Logan.”

Finally, he breaks. Head dipped low just to hide a childlike grin as he spares a small wave in return. His fingers hardly lifted from the countertop, keeping it casual regardless of wishing she would change her mind and stay. But is that truly what he wanted? Needed? Another girl to confuse and break on his path of self-discovery, forgetting her name the moment he’s gone from the shared bed by morning.

Her name seems to stick like candy. Sweet with something sour–something to leave him wanting another taste, mouth-watering. Goosebumps of desire race along too-hot-to-touch skin as he speaks it again–just once more. “Happy Birthday, Ms. Dawn.

That was how it all began, but far from where it ended.

[nocturnalcharm]

omg, need to write a logan fic with one of theseeee. send me a req (-ε- )

-:“You’re so oblivious to my feelings and I can’t stand it anymore” Oblivious x Pining prompts:-

(OK BUT THE LAST ONE????????TAG MEEEEEE IF YOU WRITE IT FUCKKKKK)

By @me-writes-prompts

Dropping subtle hints such as lingering touches and a bit too long of an eye contact, but the one doesn't seem to notice it at all.

Person C asking Person A if they are in love with Person B, but Person A having to deny because they aren't ready to face their feelings for them just yet.

"What the hell was back there?" "What?" "Why were you glaring at my date like you wanted to murder them?" "No, I wasn't." "Do not try to deny it, you clearly were." "...I-" "Why?" "No reason."

"You like them, don't you?" "I-...no. Possibly. Maybe. Fine, yes." "Hmm, why don't you tell them?" "I can't, I don't want to ruin what we have for what I wish to have. They wouldn't. They could never like me back like that."

"I wish you knew just how much I liked you, you idiot." They think as they console their friend who has gone through yet another break up.

"I...I'm not worth of their admiration, their love. They don't like me back, [name]." "I'm sure someone out their loves you, admires you, and wants to be with you. You are worth everything and do not let anyone else tell you otherwise." "Do you really think there is a person out there who would like me for who I am?" "Yes. They could be anywhere and everywhere. They could be in front of you. You just have to see them. Feel their love and devotion."

Person A and B going out to an amusement with the same matching outfit, and people keep asking if they are a couple to which Person A denies and says they are "just friends". Person B can't it, and decide to leave them.

^^"Why did you leave me like that back there?" "Because." "Because, what?" "Because, your dumbass can't figure out how much it hurts me when you say that we're "just friends." "Why...why would you be hurting?" "Because I like you! I have feelings for you, and you won't stop stomping on them." "Oh, I..."

"What was that idiot doing back there? Flirting with you like the world was ending, tch." "Huh, and why would you care of all people? I mean, it's not like we're together, right? Because you said it, quote unquote that 'We would never be anything more than friends. We're just really close and make out sometimes as friends. Nothing more, of course." *TAKES DEEP BREATHS* (sad music from a broken radio suddenly plays in the background while they stare at each other)

[happy74827]

Oh the Deadpool tag is trending? I wonder why—

… oh

[inkubadoramagica]

Looks like the Wolverine has nightmares, thank God Wade is there to comfort his babygirl.

[nocturnalcharm]

You’re My Slut (Wolverine x Fem!Reader Drabble)

𐙚 prompt: logan is a kinky bastard. 𐙚 cw: porn without plot, smut, name calling (slut, princess), spanking, orgasm denial, degradation 𐙚 a/n: thanks for the req! <33 not proofread soz for any mistakes

18+ blog!! you are responsible for your own media consumption. if any of the above makes you uncomfortable, do not proceed.

His thrusts into your body were unlike anything you’d felt before— so fast you couldn’t think straight; so brutish. His hips were unwavering.

“L-Lo— Please—” He already knew what you wanted.

“No. You’re not gonna cum for me till I tell you to. Got it, princess?” He growled in your ear.

You just groaned in response, unable to speak. You didn’t want him to stop, but if he didn’t, you were definitely going to cum soon…

He could tell how close you were, so he pulled out, and flipped you over on your stomach. He grabbed a pillow and slid it under you, propping you up so his cock could fuck you at just the right angle.

He forced his way back inside you, continuing his rapid pace, just like before.

“Lo—”

He slapped your ass so hard, a red handprint was certainly going to appear soon.

“Yeah, princess? That feel good? My cock fillin’ you up?”

“Mhm!” You moaned, and he spanked you again.

“Use your words.” His voice was gruff, full of arousal.

“S-so good! Feels so good, Lo!” You nearly screamed, not caring if anyone could hear you.

“Such a good slut for me, huh? Tell me you're my slut.” His raspy groans of pleasure sounded so good in your ears.

“I-I’m your slut.”

“Louder!” He demanded.

“I’m your slut, Lo!”

“Fuck. You’re close, huh princess? Cum for me.” He grasped your hips, pounding into you even more fervently than before, making you see stars.

After a few more seconds, you could feel your orgasm building up. Before you could speak, Logan said, “M’gonna cum, too.”

“Cum inside me, please! Need your cum.”

You feel his dick start to twitch as he fills you up, continuing to fuck you as he empties himself. Feeling is hot seed inside of you was enough to push you over the edge. You clawed at the bed while your orgasm ripped through you.

“Fuck,” He pants breathlessly, “I love you.”

[jay-wasstuff]

-

Bonus: the old man (+insp)

[tteotlma]

Missed Every Inch

Older Bf!Logan x Reader (3.2kw)

a/n: got this idea based off this post ^ bc i’ve been thinking a lot abt old man logan lately.. so enjoy 3k words of pure smut.

tw: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, overstimulation, rough sex, light degradation/teasing, power dynamics, breeding, kink/multiple orgasms, slightly aggressive behavior (e.g. tearing clothing), cockwarming, heavy on missionary, p in v, pw/op

—

Alternatively, older bf!logan doing the whole “fuck, I missed you” thing when he slides inside you after not being able to for a whole two weeks.

How he ever let that happen he doesn’t know, schedules became hectic, nights became short, and fourteen days later he’s as riled up as a bull seeing red — well not exactly but either way Logan is not about to let this continue any longer.

Sure the both of you had small moments here and there, like your shared morning showers, warm embraces and passionate kisses at the door before either of you left for the day, video calls during lunches that usually ended with Logan teasing you about giving him something to keep him going and you complying by quickly flashing the camera. Giggling shyly when Logan would let out a whistle. And all would be great until you hang up, or leave his sight and he remembers how long it’s been since he’s really felt your true warmth. God the more he thinks about it, the more he’s gonna blow his load right in his plaid pajama pants.

He paces back and forth shirtless in your shared bedroom. He’s been home alone for three hours now, and you messaged him thirty minutes ago saying you were on your way home meaning you should be walking through the front door any second.

He has one hand stroking his chin and the other hand low on his hip trying to decide if he should be nonchalant or just say to hell with it and jump you as soon as you walk in the door.

He hears the door to your shared apartment open, and he jumps out of his skin. He’s acting so out of character but — he’s really desperate. He says to hell with it and he swings open the bedroom door only to run right into you.

“Hi,” You look up at him, with a small smile.

Logan looks at you for a brief moment before he breaks and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in and using the other hand to cradle the back of your head. He pulls you in for a heated kiss, the kind that ignites the heat in your chest that slowly spreads to the tips of your fingers.

You become pliant in his arms, letting your weight and balance rely solely on Logan as he continues to move his lips against yours. He pulls away for a second allowing you a chance to wrap your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer.

A long moan leaves your lips as he slowly drags his tongue along the inside of your mouth. He gives your tongue a slow and gentle suck before he pulls away.

“Hey baby,” He says, a smug look on his face. He wraps both arms around your waist, hands resting on the swell of your ass as he starts to walk the both of you back into the bedroom.

”What’s gotten into you?” You ask, as he begins to nose at your temple.

“I’m just glad you’re home now.” He says trailing kisses from your temple to your neck. Your hand snakes from around the back of his neck, and slowly trails down before stopping on his bare chest. Your palm catches the faint beating of Logan’s heart rapid, and pulsing.

“Did I make you wait long?” You ask, tilting your head back, a soft sigh leaves your lips as he places tender kisses along the sensitive parts of your neck.

He doesn’t say anything, instead he grabs your hand on his chest, and drags it further down, the heat radiating off his body practically scolding your hand. He brings your hand down his front all the way down to the bulge in his pants.

“You tell me.” He teases, pulling back to look down at you. With one hand still around his neck, keeping him close you take his dick in the other and fondle the man through the thin fabric of his pants.

“Aw,” You coo, “Did I make the poor baby wait too long.” You teased, the motions of your hand unrelenting. A shuddering breath leaves your boyfriend’s lips as his hips buck as much as he tries to hold back.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Logan hooks his hands below the curve of your ass and quickly lifts you off your feet. He swiftly spins you around and tosses you on the bed. “None of that tonight.” He says, grabbing your ankle and yanking you close as he climbs on the bed fitting himself between your thighs.

You let out a loud sigh as his heavy hands clench the clothed flesh of your thighs. His hands trail up to the belt loops of your jeans and he gives them a tug.

“Strip,” He orders. His hand sliding down the front of your legs, hiking your thighs on his hips as he goes to untie the drawstring around his waist. The pants slide down even further, exposing his adonis belt.

You swallow louder than you intended , and he chuckles lowly. You rid your upper half of any thing that could possibly stop the feel of your lover's calloused hands on your body. Logan rips the front of your pants open, tearing the seam and ripping the button off and across to who knows where.

“Oh, babe I really liked those.” You moan out softly, under any normal circumstance you would’ve been upset, but as Logan licks up your stomach as he’s pulling your pants down you figure the pants can come third. You lift your hips and yank the fabric off as Logan finally frees his poor aching cock from the prison that is his pajamas.

He sucks in a deep breath through clenched teeth, and whether it was from pain or pleasure the look on his face was enough to make you cream right then and there. You began to squirm in anticipation, trying to press your thighs together but Logan puts heavy hands on your knees and pries them further apart.

You let him, face flushed and chest panting.

”That’s it babydoll, show me that pretty pussy, hmm?” He teases you, and your face burns bright with embarrassment. You grab his arm as he pulls you flush against his bare skin. His cock slides against your slick folds, and a whine escapes both your lips.

“Fuck.” He grits out as he gyrates his hips, watching in awe as your juices coat his pulsing dick. Your fingers squeeze tighter around his arm.

“Logan.” You breathe out, your hips rising to get more friction.

“Hold on baby, you gotta give me a minute.” He’s out of breath as his hands roam all over the meat of your legs. He hikes your left ankle over his right shoulder and he pulls away.

The both of you breathless, you prop yourself on your elbows and watch as Logan guides the tip of his cock at your entrance. He pauses, leans back on his haunches and looks down at you.

“What are you waiting for, big guy?” You lean in and grab his dick, giving it a few strokes.

“It’s been two weeks and I am not a minute man.” He huffs out, watching the movements of your hand.

”You never have been.” You whisper, guiding the tip inside. Logan shudders as he leans over your body once again. His arms caging you in as his chest heaves. Your ankle slides off his shoulder, as he slowly sinks his dick further into your tight hole.

“Oh yes,” You hum, feeling absolutely stretched. Reaching out to grab Logan’s face you bring him in for a sloppy kiss.

“That’s it baby, give it to me just like that.” You purred, fingers cradling his head, foreheads pressed together, breaths mixing as Logan pulled back slowly, snapping his hips forward.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He moans, and you swallow his words.

Logan's thrusts start slow, deliberate, dragging out each movement as if savoring the feel of you. Every inch of him feels like it’s filling you up completely, and you can’t help the needy whine that escapes your lips. He grunts softly in response, his breath hot against your cheek.

"Missed this too," you whisper between pants, your body rising to meet his rhythm. Each snap of his hips has you keening, your nails digging into his back, urging him for more. Logan’s pace starts to quicken, his control slipping as the tight heat of your body pulls him in deeper.

"Shit... you're so perfect," he groans, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His mouth trails along your neck, lips brushing over your skin, leaving wet kisses as his hands tighten their grip on your waist, anchoring you to him.

Your thighs tremble around him, your body arching in response as your hands move to grip the sheets. You’re close, so close, the coil in your belly tightening with every deep thrust.

"Logan... please, don't stop," you beg, your voice breathless and needy.

Logan’s breath hitches as you tighten around him, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. He’s right on the edge, but instead of pulling out, he leans over you, his lips brushing your ear. His hand grips your thigh, keeping you locked in place as he pushes back in, slowly, torturously deep.

You whimper, feeling him stretch you all over again, and he moans in response, the sound almost desperate. He pulls out just enough to thrust back in, the head of his cock dragging against that sweet spot that makes you see stars. The rhythm is slow but deliberate, his hips grinding into you with an intensity that has your body arching into him. Each time he pulls back, it’s only to push deeper than before, making you gasp and claw at his back.

"Logan... fuck," you moan, overwhelmed by the feeling of him filling you completely. He’s breathing hard against your neck, his body trembling with the effort to stay in control. But the way his cock moves inside you—deliberate, steady, dragging out the pleasure—makes it clear he’s savoring every second.

His need is palpable now, his body pressing against yours as if he can’t get close enough. "I’ve missed this... missed you so much," he mumbles, his voice hoarse as he picks up the pace just slightly. The sound of your skin meeting fills the room, the slick heat of your bodies moving in sync, every thrust hitting deeper, making you writhe beneath him.

You feel the tension in him, the way his muscles strain as he fights to hold back. But then his control starts to slip, his pace quickening, each thrust harder and faster, his hips snapping into you with a hunger that leaves you breathless. The coil in your belly tightens again, the pleasure building higher and higher, and you know he can feel it too.

"Fuck, you’re so tight," he groans, burying his face in your neck as his hips drive into you harder. His voice cracks with raw need, his movements becoming frantic. He’s so close, teetering on the edge, but instead of letting go, he keeps pushing you both further, refusing to pull out. "I’m not done with you yet," he gasps, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you in place as he thrusts deeper, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

Your body clenches around him, and you cry out, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Logan feels it, groaning as your walls flutter around him, and you think he’s going to come too, but he doesn’t. Instead, he slows just enough to keep himself in control, his hips rocking into you in a rhythm so slow and precise it makes your head spin. He pulls out slightly before pushing back in, bottoming out with every thrust, the sensation keeping you on the edge.

"God, I love you," he mumbles, his voice breaking as he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips brush against your cheek, your temple, as he keeps up that slow, torturous pace. "I’m so obsessed with you... I need you, baby, I need this," he groans, his voice thick with emotion, as if the feeling of being inside you is overwhelming him.

You can feel him trembling, hear the soft, needy sounds he makes as he moves inside you, and it sends another wave of pleasure through your body. Your hands find his hair, tugging gently as you pull him closer, pressing your lips to his in a sloppy, desperate kiss. "I’m here... I’m yours," you whisper against his lips, your body still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

Logan’s thrusts slow even further, until he’s barely pulling out, just rocking into you gently. But every time his cock drags against that sweet spot inside, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you, leaving you trembling. It’s softer now, more intimate, but still just as intense. Your body is so sensitive, every touch, every movement feels like too much and not enough all at once.

His moans turn softer, more broken, and you can feel his control slipping as he edges closer to release. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice hoarse as he whispers, "I can’t stop... you feel so fucking good."

Logan feels you tighten around him with what he thinks is another orgasm, his thrusts becoming purposeful, and he groans deeply, his body shaking as his release crashes into him. His cock throbs inside you, and you feel the warm flood of him filling you up, but just as you expect him to pull out, he surprises you.

“Wait, baby… not yet,” he rasps, his voice rough with need. Before you can respond, his hips push forward again, grinding deep, his cock still hard inside you. The overstimulation sends a jolt of pleasure through your body, and you let out a sob, clutching meekly at him as he starts moving again, slow but firm. The sensation is overwhelming, but Logan’s grip on your hips tightens as if he can’t let go.

You cry, tears forming in your eyes, your body still trembling from your orgasm, but Logan keeps going, his breath ragged and desperate.

“Fuck, I need more,” he mumbles against your skin, his lips brushing over your neck as he starts to thrust again. His movements are a little rough, his need palpable, and you can feel him building up again, his body already close to another release.

He thrusts faster now, deeper, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, and you can’t help the way your body reacts.

“Oh, Logan~” you cry out, overwhelmed by the feeling of him filling you over and over, the slick sound of your bodies meeting echoing in the room.

He’s panting now, his breath hot against your skin, and you feel him tense up again. His hips slam into you one last time, and he groans deeply, spilling into you for the second time. But even then, he doesn’t stop.

“Oh god… not yet,” he whispers, almost like a plea, his cock twitching inside you as he keeps rocking his hips. His pace slows but doesn’t stop, the overstimulation almost too much to bear, but at the same time, it feels so damn good. His thrusts become shorter, his cock pulling out just enough before pushing back in, keeping him buried deep inside you.

Your body is on fire, sensitive and trembling as Logan chases yet another orgasm. His voice is low, needy, as he presses his forehead to yours, groaning softly.

“I can’t stop… I need to come again… fuck, you feel so good,” he mumbles, almost like he’s talking to himself, completely lost in the sensation of being inside you.

Your legs shake as he thrusts slowly, hitting deep inside you with every roll of his hips. You’re not sure how much more you can take, but the pleasure is overwhelming, and soon, the coil tightens in your belly again. “Logan, I’m gonna—” you cry out, your body tensing as another orgasm rips through you, this one so intense it leaves you seeing stars.

Logan moans with you, his hips snapping forward one last time as he comes again, filling you up even more. His body shakes, his breath heavy as he holds himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your waist tightly like he never wants to let go. You both stay there, trembling and panting, the room filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing.

Even after three orgasms, Logan’s still inside you, his cock softening but not pulling out. He’s so needy, so desperate to stay connected to you. His lips brush against your ear, his voice soft and broken. “I’m obsessed with you,” he whispers, his hips still moving just enough to keep him inside you.

He leans down to lazily kiss you, lips enveloping his. You stroke his hair, running your fingers through the damp strands as you hold him close, your body finally starting to relax. Logan’s breaths begin to even out, his thrusts slowing to a stop, but he stays buried inside, his body pressing down on yours in a protective, possessive way. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in tighter as he rests his forehead against your shoulder, completely spent.

“Still with me?” he mutters, his voice low and gruff in your ear, the heat of his breath sending a shiver through you.

“Barely,” you tease, your fingers still idly combing through his hair as you try to catch your breath.

Logan huffs a small laugh, pulling back just enough to look down at you. There’s a softness in his gaze, a mix of exhaustion and something deeper. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not ready to move yet.”

You smile, the weight of his body grounding you. “Not like I’m complaining.”

He dips down to kiss you again, slower this time, a quiet hum escaping his lips as he pulls you closer. His grip tightens, keeping you pressed together, like he’s savoring every last second of this. He grabs the extra duvet from under the pillows and wraps the blanket around your frames.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me,” he murmurs against your lips, but there’s no urgency in his voice. He’s just as close to passing out as you are.

“I won’t,” you whisper, though your body feels heavy, every muscle finally unwinding.

Eventually, you both roll over, Logan keeping you snug against him, still inside you as he wraps his arms around your waist. The room grows quieter, the sound of your breaths mingling as your heartbeats slow.

“Stay here,” he mumbles, his voice barely a whisper now, almost lost in the haze of sleep. His head rests against your chest, his body relaxing completely.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply softly, pressing a kiss to his temple, your hand resting on his back. You can feel the last bit of tension leaving his body as he lets out a deep sigh.

Within moments, you both start to drift off, the warmth of his body against yours pulling you deeper into sleep, completely spent but content.

—

a/n: did i make logan too needy?

[elliesplug]

smoking w logan...

logan howlett x reader, friends to lovers

summary: the stress of being a new professor at this school is catching up to you. luckily, you have a good friend to help you take that stress away, in more ways than one.

warnings: weed usage, fem compliments, illusions to sex

word count: 2, 574

I’m fairly new to this school. About 4 months had passed since I had first gotten my invitation from Charles. Which, of course, I happily accepted, excited at the thought of teaching my favorite subjects to people like me. I get the opportunity to share my love of literature through my teachings. The class seems to like me so far, and there’s always a few students straggling behind after class to share a laugh. Being able to connect to my students like this is a treat, and working at this school is just the cherry on top.

The classroom I teach in just so happens to be right across from Professor Howlett's room. His creaky wooden door opens and closes in between classes every period. Being right across from each other means that he and I frequently see each other. Logan often takes advantage of this opportunity to visit the classroom. He’ll do things like bring me coffee, give me papers that I copied off the printer, or just have a little chat. Sometimes, when he's on missions, I'll often sub for his class. It fills me with content to know that Logan trusts me with the care of his class. Being new to the school, I’m highly afraid of what the other professors think of me, but these small interactions with Logan take all of my insecurities away.

“There’s my favorite literature teacher right there!” Logan says with a smile, interrupting my lesson. Interactions like this were common between Logan and I, but every time they happened, the classroom went ballistic. The nosy students love to engage in Logan’s and I's friendship.

“I’m the only literature teacher here, Logan.” I respond with a blank stare, trying to hide my laugh.

“You’ll always be my favorite, though!” The man tells me with a wink before entering his own classroom to return to his teachings. I try to hide my smile and attempt to quickly pull the attention back to my lesson. This interaction made my whole class gasp and snicker.

“Ooo your boyfriend says that you're his favorite!” A student yells, resulting in the whole class to chuckle.

I giggle at their immaturity. “Alright, alright, there's no need for that. Let's get back to Pride and Prejudice now, please?”

Before I know it, the day is done. I stayed behind grading like usual. Lately, I've been so behind in my classwork that I haven't had any time to myself. As a new teacher, I feel as though I have so much to prove, and I have a strong fear of letting everyone down.

A red pen marks a check across my paper as I continue to grade another assignment. My ears are met with the sound of a knock on my door.

“What are you up to here, pretty? It's 7:45 and the sun set hours ago. All the kids are probably just about finished with dinner. You need to get your ass outta here.” Logan tells me as he leans against the doorframe.

I take a quick break from grading to look at the clock on the wall of my class. “Its 7 already? Shit I didn't even notice. I'm just grading some things right now, like always. Seems like that's all I ever do.” I respond with a chuckle, not even lifting my head up to look at him.

Logan comes behind me and begins to rub small circles on my shoulders, massaging out any tension in my body. His presence alone fills me with comfort. The knots in my back loosen with every soft touch.

“Pride and Prejudice, huh?” Logan says as he notices the papers on my desk.

“Yeah I bet your old ass was there when it was written.”

“Haha. You're very funny.” He replies in a sarcastic tone. “Damn with all these knots in your back, I gotta ask if you've been sleeping on a pile of rocks? Who's stressing you out like this?”

A sigh escapes my lips, “I don't wanna sound like I'm complaining or anything because I'm more than happy that I get to work here…it's just…all these papers are really stacking up on me…”

He continues to break up the knots in my back. Another red X on my paper. Then I feel Logan leaning down to whisper something into my ear. “Y'know with all this stress… I think you deserve a little somethin’. Lucky for you, I just went to town and restocked for us.”

I finally take a break from hunching over my papers and turn to him with a smile, already knowing what he had planned. “You don't say, Professor Howlett?”

“Yes ma’am. Got it right in my room. How bout we roll up and then after I'll help you with your papers? We can get 'em all done, even if it takes all night I'll stay here and finish for you. Promise.”

The gesture warms my heart. “That sounds perfect,” a groan leaves my lips, the stress escaping with it, “I appreciate that so much you don't even understand.”

“Yeah yeah, now c'mon and go roll cause you know I'm shit.”

We make our way down the long dimly lit halls to his room and quickly close the door behind us. Logan and I have been smoking together ever since he found me alone with a joint late at night, during one of the first weeks I was here. I'm surprised he even found me because I was hiding out on the roof of the school. Knowing him, he must've sniffed me out, hoping to get some. He told me he wouldn't snitch to Charles if he could smoke with me. I know that he wouldn't have told me either way, but I happily invited his company, especially since I wasn't familiar with anyone here yet.

These late night smoke sessions made our relationship grow stronger. We would hop from topic to topic as the smoke left our lips. Sometimes, covering our childhood, our favorite shows, war stories, gossip, and then laughing to the point of tears the next moment. He found out where I buy from, and ever since that day, he has refused to let me buy my own weed. I tried to tell him that he didn't have to do that, and he said that as long as I rolled for him, then he didn't mind.

He told me that the singular time he attempted to roll it was to impress this girl. He ended up unsuccessful, to say the least. The joint ended up covered in spit with half of the weed on the floor. By the time he told me the end of that story, my face was covered in tears of laughter. This is when I knew that this would be the beginning of a genuine friendship.

The joint is finally finished as I seal it with my tongue. Logan and I only smoke together when it's late at night and everyone is in their own respective spaces. Sneaking around like I'm a kid hiding the fact that they smoke from their parents is honestly kind of fun. It fills me up with just the right amount of adrenaline, and I'm happy that Logan is the one beside me.

We make our way to the roof, and the bright moon greets us. The night sky is clear and filled with gorgeous constellations. The chilling breeze of the night tickles my skin as I take a seat. Of course I forgot to bring a jacket. I try to hide my shiver and lessen the sound of my chattering teeth, but Logan quickly notices. He shifts to take off his brown leather jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. The warmth of his body heat was still trapped in the jacket, and it quickly comforted my senses.

“Logan, you're gonna be cold.” I pleaded.

“ I'll be just fine. Can't have you freezing to death now. Then I won't have anyone to roll for me.” He jokes.

I let out a chuckle as I took the joint out of his coat. Logan holds the lighter to the joint and cups his hands in order to hide the wind from the fire. The lighter makes a clink sound and sparks. The comforting scent fills up my nose as I take a huff. I release the smoke with a happy sigh.

“God, I needed this so much you wouldn't even understand.” I responded. My attention rests on the beautiful night stars.

I passed it to him after a few more hits. Our fingers touch, the feeling heats me up. No matter how cold it is, Logan always manages to stay hot. The joint gives me the courage to rest my head on Logan’s shoulder. The joint lets out a small sizzle as he takes a big inhale.

“Trust me, I know, sweetheart. You've been frantic all week, and I notice it even though you're damn good at hiding it.” He takes another hit in between sentences. “Plus,” Logan then suddenly takes my cold hands and intertwines my fingers with his own, “you bite your nails like crazy when you get stressed.” I look down at our joined hands in shock, trying to contain how much this is affecting me. I quickly bring my attention back to the stars in an attempt to hide my emotions. Logan and I have always shared these small touches but nothing as romantic or intimate as this before, and definitely not for this long. The tension between us has always been there, but it's easier to ignore it than shed a light on it.

The smoke leaves his lips before he passes it to me again. “Yeah I know. It's always been a bad habit of mine when I get a little anxious.” I take the j up to my lips with a long drag. With each hit, I hope that it will make my nerves melt away.

Suddenly, a soft peck is laid on my hand. This action draws my attention away from the shimmering constellations. I'm greeted with kind hazel eyes staring back at me. Logan's gaze is intense as he pays attention to my reaction. “You can't keep doing that. You know it's bad for you.” He gently tells me. Logan’s lips attach to my hand as he lays another peck. He does this as if he could take my stress away with a single kiss.

My attention is drawn to his lips as I watch him slowly drop our hands. His red glassy eyes never left my own, which were magnetized to his lips like magnets. He has me right where he wants me, and I'm more than happy to be here. I have him right where I need him. Logan’s passionate gaze leaves my breath shaky and my body fuzzy. The air is thick, and the nerves aren't going away.

“You're babysitting the joint. Are you gonna hit it or just keep holding it, darling?” He asks me, breaking me out of my thoughts. Logan always looks good, but he especially looks good when he stares at me with those low hanging glossy eyes.

“What? Oh yeah! Sorry about that, here.” I let out a breathy giggle as I passed him the joint.

He simply responds with a laugh before inhaling the smoke. Logan knows what he's doing to me. He's pulling my strings like a puppet, and I'm loving every minute of it.

In an attempt to break up the tension, I turn to Logan. “Enough about me. How are your classes going? It must get tough balancing missions and classes sometimes. I don't know how you do it, to be honest.”

“Yeah it can get you worked up a little. I've been doing it for a while now, though, so it's definitely less of a hassle than it used to be. Some missions still knock you out, though.”

“Yeah I can only imagine how that must be. Some of the missions you've told me about are absolutely insane. Can't believe you come back from all that and still teach, too."

“Well it helps when you have a pretty literature teacher holding it down while you're gone.”

I smile up at him as a laugh escapes my lips. “My God, Logan, what is up with you tonight! You got a little crush on me or something?”

“Pshhh. Don't get a big head now. You're a cocky little thing, aren't you?”

“I might be cocky but you're the one adding fuel to the fire.” I responded. The effects of the weed are hitting me strongly. My relaxation brings me the confidence to take his hand and hold the joint up to my lips. I keep eye contact with him as I draw in the smoke. He smirks down at me as a result of the action.

“Y'know I've been thinking…”

I cut him off, “Oh no, that's never good”

He looks at me with a face of fake annoyance. “With all of this stress you've got going on, it would be nice to escape for a bit. Get away from these kids for a day and hit the town on the weekend. Maybe even get some dinner.”

“Wait a minute…are you asking me out, Professor?’ I ask him with a smile on my face.

“That depends on your answer, Professor.”

“I think I can fit some time in my very busy calendar for little ‘ol Logan.”

“Aww how sweet of you.” He jokes back.

He holds the joint up to my lips and watches as I breathe in the smoke. Any kind of anxiety I had before is gone now. The air shifts and is now filled with a different kind of tension. Stars reflect in Logan’s red eyes. I stare back at him as his eyes follow my lips. I'm filled with happiness to know that he wants this just as much as me. A soft hand cups my jaw as he brings his head closer to mine. My nose is filled with the scent of Logan and weed. Our warm breaths entangle each other in the cold night.

“Gimme some.” He tells me.

I release the smoke from my lips, and he quickly attaches his lips to mine. He inhales my smoke and quickly unlocks his lips from mine, exhaling the smoke.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Anytime.” I whisper back. My heart is beating out of my chest. Everything he does to me heats up my soul. That familiar fuzzy feeling greets me in between my thighs. Logan is getting tired of restraining himself, and it's easy to tell. I'm sure he can hear the way my heart erupts for him. I love this game he's playing.

Just then, he takes his hand and guides it to the back of my neck. Looking into my eyes for reassurance, I respond with a nod. Just like that, he kisses me. The kiss is strong and concentrated. Everything about the way he moves tells me that he's been wanting this for a while. His kisses are sloppy in all the right ways. Logan flicks the joint off the roof without a second thought, knowing that he has something much more valuable in his hands. He gladly explores my body and groans into my mouth with pleasure.

Logan and I most definitely didn't get around to grading those papers that night.

[maandarinee]

desperately want a fic where Logan drops a "being a mutant, amirite?"

and Wade flippantly goes "oh I wasn't technically born a mutant lol", and proceeds to tell (a kinda horrified) Logan about how he signed up to be a science experiment to save his girl, how they tortured him until something happened, lmao right? (but at least he got to hunt them down for revenge ^_^)

And Logan, well, he hadn't expected to relate to Wade even more but wow can he relate very specifically to all of that

[m1sa22aman3]

When there isn’t 20 new fics for me to read after refreshing the tag (I just finished reading everything and have absolutely no patience)