#cage fighter Logan

[trenchcoathunnybee08]

Yo Logan x Reader AU idea.

Profesional boxer Logan and profesional MMA fighter reader. She gets asked who she wants to go after next during an interview after one of her matches. She says she may not do boxing but she’d love to get Logan in the cage.

Alternate where it’s a male reader and they do end up with the match up.

Either way reader gets his attention and they end up with this epic rivalry that is very clearly them being totally into one another.

I think that would actually be so cool. I’d write it but I don’t know enough about either sport nor have the time to learn and write it. 😭

[sugashook]

cage fighter wolverine

[raccoon-in-the-danger-room]

if I had to fancast someone as butchverine it'd be WWE champion Rhea Ripley

[tsireyqs]

i wish i still wrote fanfic i want to write a fic for cage fighter! logan howlett inspired by i can fix him (no really i can) by taylor swift so effing bad sigh

[eddies-ashtray]

forever plagued by thoughts of cage fighter!logan

[moonlight-prose]

feel free to hit me with any logan thoughts/whatever you want to talk about.

[themareverine]

I’m just a girl

#logan with his slutty waist and feral growl 🥰🤗

[wyniepooh]

Loving him was never enough

you don’t have what logan needs, but he still takes all that he can.

Cage fighter!logan x reader. Mentions of violence. Porn with a little bit of plot. mdni; 18+

thinking about being logan’s plaything in his cage fighting days.

It’s not uncommon for the fighters to have a girl around their arms as they enter the ring, and though Logan usually resists against the fan girls who clamour around him in a frenzy, he figures a sweet thing like you could only do him some good.

Not only does it piss the other fighters off, (they hate to see the king of the cage also have a pretty girl like you beside him) turns out, you’re not half bad for company either.

You’re an anxious little thing, brows furrowed and eyes teary before every match. Logan doesn’t bother telling you that he’ll be fine, that he’s going to win guaranteed, that his punch is as hard as metal. Literally.

He hates to admit it, but he finds it endearing, the way you’re so worried for him. through his nonchalant front, he still wipes away your tears with his large hands before every match and reassures you, cooing, “I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

When logan gets in the ring, the fight goes exactly as he expects it to go. The other guy is destroyed before logan even shows his true strength. In a spiteful and humiliating position, the fallen guy comments something like, “I’ll fuck your pretty girlfriend dumb.”

Logan hears, of course, and though the guy is already bleeding and sprawled over the mat on the ground in a pathetic display, and though logan definitely didn’t consider you his girlfriend, he throws the announcer to the side and pounces. Through gritted teeth and a bleeding forehead, he catches your eye, shaking his head lightly before knocking the other guy out.

You wait for him in the small public washroom afterwords, arms crossed and pouting. As Logan approaches the door and sees your stiff pacing around the room, he knows you’re mad. And he knows it won’t stay that way.

“‘was so worried, logan,” you practically run towards him, “why’d you have to go after him like that? he could’ve really hurt you.”

He scoffs and flashes you the fresh wad of cash. “Hurt me? Please.”

He stays still for as long as he can bear while you dab at the wound on his head with your sleeve, silently hoping you wouldn’t notice the red cut slowly healing by itself. When you try to touch his face, to run a finger down his cheek and his stubble, he grabs your wrist harshly to stop you.

You’re confused, confused as to why he allows you to trail along to his every fight and wipes your tears with such a gentle hand, but refuses to let you in. He doesn’t give you much time to think, though, because as soon as you part your lips to speak, he’s picking you up from under your arms and sitting you down on the cold sink counter.

there’s an aggressive desperation behind his kiss, probably produced by the adrenaline of the recent fight and triggered by the soft whine he heard from you when his teeth knocked against yours. His hand reaches down between your legs and drags your panties to the side, and before long, you’re biting his shoulder and mumbling, “‘gonna cum, logan, please, let me cum.”

He does, drawing out your short orgasm with a few more pumps of his fingers and a graze over your clit. When he’s done, you’re practically already numb, head limp on his shoulder as you hear the metal clinking of his belt.

“You want this?” He asks, holding your head up by your chin as he tilts his head and raises his brows. “You want me?”

You nod feverishly, half-lidded eyes flickering as you breathe, “yes, logan. need you.” Your head falls back against the mirror, and he looks down with a grin at the sight in front of him.

he hooks his arms around your knees to bring you closer before you take him to the hilt in one go, burying a mewl into his shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist. The first thrust burns, always does, but only he can make you forget the pain in an instant. Soon, your hands are tangled in his hair, his beard is rubbing against your neck, and you’re begging, “please, lo, need it so bad. “ Logan fucks exactly like how he fights, thrusting into you so sharply your ass is sliding back on the metal counter with each movement of his hips.

He’s done this enough times to know what makes you whine and dig your fingernails into his back, but he still demands, every time, “that feel good, baby? you like that?” Of course, you don’t have to answer for him to know that it does, that it does feel good, so incredibly good, and that he’s hitting all the right spots in the body only he knows so well.

You aren’t the only one filling the room with lewd noises. Logan is panting too, the echoes of his each and every grunt reflecting off of every corner in the room and into your ear. It only makes your cheeks flush hotter, only encourages your hips to move more eagerly to match his pace.

It’s always when he’s just about there that Logan pulls back and looks down at where the two of you are connected, slowing down his strokes to slowly watch his bulging cock sink deep into your slopping cunt.

It’s the only opportunity with logan that you get to really look at him, to see the raw expression of euphoria on his face, teeth bared and mouth open. Some strands of previously gelled hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes rolling back with each press of his pelvis. Your eyes trace the sweat on his shoulder, the hair on his chest peaking from behind his white wife-beater, and the vein on his stomach that connects to the one on his dick.

You gaze flickers back at his face, and you extend a hand to guide his head towards you. He tries to turn away, as usual, and you hate that you know he’s holding back; limiting the noises he’s making, the pace he’s taking.

“Just use me, Logan. I know you want to,” you plead against his lips, inhaling a gasp as you press your lips onto his. You expect him to pull away, to push your head to the side and focus on finishing the other task at hand, but this time, he only pulls you closer, one hand around your waist and the other on the back of your head. He doesn’t give you much time to be shocked before he resumes his previous pace, drilling into you with the same vigor, albeit a bit more sloppy than before.

Logan pulls back to catch his breath, and at the same time, you clench tightly around him. A low groan escapes him, a noise so animalistic and fervent that you reach your high right then and there, shrieking as your legs begin to shake.

He’s close too, you can feel it in his breathing, so you let him fuck you beyond your orgasm, even if it’s getting to be too much and you’re losing your thoughts by the second.

“nobody— ah— fucks my girlfriend,” he suddenly growls, lifting you up from under your arms and shoving you against the tiled wall. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing you to look into his hazel gaze as he spits, “n-nobody fucks you like I do.”

He plummets into you deep, leaning his lips in and making you swallow one last groan of his before you feel his warm release fill your insides.

When he’s done, Logan is supporting all your weight, your limp arms splayed around his sweaty back. You whimper at the emptiness as he pulls out, feeling his cum languidly drip down your inner thighs.

You’re too exhausted to realize what he just said, to react to what he just referred to you as, and as the fog of pleasure slowly unclouds Logan’s head, he’s glad he fucked you stupid enough to forget.

-

a/n: anyone else feel like they’re incapable of writing good smut? Hey Google how many other synonyms could there possibly be of the word ‘thrust’?

[ddejavvu]

mean! logan fucking his girl while holding her in a headlock 🤤🤤🤤

Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. mean!logan, manhandling, he has reader in a headlock, don't like don't read.

Your nose gets pushed into the sheets over and over again, and you're sure it'll be raw later, but not as raw as your cunt. Or your neck, which Logan has in an impressive chokehold. His biceps are bulging as he holds you both up on his elbows, your neck securely pinched between his bicep and his forearm as he pins you to his chest.

He's grunting like a rabid animal, teeth bared beside your ear as he fucks your cunt mercilessly from behind. His hips slap against your ass at the same frequency that your face is slammed into the mattress, and you can barely moan before your tongue hits the sheets.

"Logan-" You wheeze, clawing at his arm for purchase, begging for respite from the crick quickly forming in your neck as Logan holds you in place.

"Where you goin', huh? Stay put," He growls, arm tightening around your throat- not to cut off your oxygen but to fizzle out the weak writhing that you've started up on the bed. Your movements are only making things inconvenient for him, and he holds you steady so that he can continue driving his cock into your hole.

"Logan, I want-" Your protests crumble into a whimper, Logan's bulk caging you in as you writhe uselessly against his strength. There's nothing to be done- he's infinitely stronger than you and he's decided that today you'll move how he wants you to move- you'll be fucked how he wants you to be fucked.

"Shut up," He snarls, bracing more of his weight on your torso so that you sink further into the mattress, "Just fuckin- wait, wait 'til I'm done with you and then you can move around however you want. I'll give you a mouthful'uh my dick if you just wait, shit- make it easy for me, baby, just lemme have you like this."

"Take me, Logan. Take me- have me however you want me," You whine, taking a sudden burst of pride in going limp in his arms: you'll be his perfect little fuckdoll. You'll let him use your hole to get off, and then you'll get to clean him up afterwards. You know your safeword by heart and right now it's the last word you'd ever dare to utter, not when Logan's hitting that delicious spot inside of you that makes your legs tremble.

He snickers, voice suddenly clearer and darker, "You're a fighter. S'funny watchin' you squirm like that. You think you could wrestle me off, sweetheart?"

He flexes his biceps and you feel it against the thin skin of your throat, your heart pounding as you arch back into his rapidly quickening thrusts, "Mm, that make you all crazy? Thinkin' about wrestling with me? Rollin' around and getting pinned down, that's what does it for you?"

You cry out into the mattress as Logan viciously fucks into your cunt from behind, your neck still caught in his strong arm.

"Good," He grunts, breathy and gruff as his weight bullies you flat into the mattress, "'Cause I'll win that fight every time, sweetheart."

[absxntmxnded-recs]

he was definitely an absolute menace during this era and god did you write it perfectly 🤭

TEACH YOU HOW TO GET TO PUREST HELL - L.H.

Summary: On the way to one of his cage fights, Logan's truck begins to break down and that's how he meets you, the owner of a repair shop in Northern Alberta. He promises to pay you with his winnings - but what he ultimately offers is far more interesting.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Fluff, Flirting, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex (against the cage), Aftercare, Logan's a snarky motherfucker (but secretly a softie)

A/N: The filthiest 4k I've ever written. I just know he was a menace during his cage fighter era. It's okay though, I'll still be clawing at the enclosure. Title creds to Radiohead. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Smoke curls around him, bearing a semblance of warmth against the biting wind. Logan's grip on the steering wheel is loose, the other arm draped lazily across the window. He flicks his fingertips ever so often, the ashes of his cigar disappearing into the falling snow. Mile after mile, the same barren landscape stretches before him.

He's lost amidst the silence, having turned the radio all the way down in frustration at the nonsense plaguing the stations earlier. As sunshine glares through the windshield, he scrunches his eyebrows, vaguely entertaining some ideas swirling in his mind.

Hours pass by painfully slow. He tries to ignore the low rumbling that interrupts his flow of thoughts, body firmly protesting against this all-alcohol diet he'd unintentionally adopted. Logan skims a hand into the glove compartment, clicking his tongue when he discovers only a few wrappers lying inside. Slumping back into the seat, he takes another drag, disappointment etching onto his features.

An orange, flashing icon on the dashboard snaps his attention. His eyes dart to the blinking light, a sense of irritation washing over him when he recognises the ‘check engine’ symbol. In a haste, he pulls the truck over, slamming the door shut behind him as he ventures into the cold to inspect the issue. Though he has an extensive knowledge of motorcycles, by no means does that expertise carry over to whatever mess he finds beneath the hood. Logan returns with a sigh, recalling a faded road sign he'd passed ages ago - at least he isn't awfully far from his destination.

In the distance, the town welcome monument brings him some sort of peace. After driving by plenty of dimly lit diners and pubs, he reluctantly asks a stranger for directions to the nearest repair shop. Logan arrives shortly thereafter, parking at the entrance of this seemingly empty building. Curious, he scans the place, sliding out of his seat in search of anyone.

The distinct ring of metal hitting the floor has him spinning around. He fights back the amused huff at the sight of you, bottom lip slightly caught between his teeth in an attempt to stop the smirk threatening to break free. His eyes rake over your figure as you come closer - appreciating the way your overalls perfectly capture the slopes and curves of your body - before finally, rising to meet your unimpressed expression.

"What're you here for?"

There's a smidge of annoyance in your words, a reaction he very much enjoys being the reason for. He nods towards the truck parked out front, "Problem with the engine."

When you brush past him, Logan spots a name neatly embroidered onto your otherwise soiled clothes. Smiling, he follows after you, shamelessly dropping his gaze to your ass for a moment.

Waiting patiently while you poke around the hood, he steals glances at your profile, filled with the sudden urge to wipe away the grease stain remnants off your cheeks, "Yeah... looks like the head gasket needs replacing."

Logan groans to himself before agreeing with your judgment. He runs a hand across his face, stilling in brief confusion when you chuckle quietly.

"Somethin' funny?" He asks, noting how you browse the insides of his camper with a flair of barely-masked mockery.

"Just admiring the interior design."

That one almost draws a scoff out of him. Logan knows his living quarters are rather bare-bones in nature, at best, providing decent shelter for when he's on the go. Inside, a makeshift bed large enough for a man of his size and basic kitchen appliances - though he rarely uses those. It's all he cares for anyway, yet there's a tinge of self-consciousness he shakes before gruffly responding, "You can do it by tonight?"

"Tonight?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise, "Fine... but it's gonna set you back about three grand."

"I got half for now."

A sharp laugh pierces his ears. And even though it's undoubtedly fake, he thinks you look pretty like this - shooting what can't be anything less than a deadly glare just for him. The corners of his lips tilt up when your tone suddenly becomes stern, "That's not how it works, buddy."

"Listen, I got a fight later, I'll be good for it."

"What? You that sure you're gonna win?"

You're teasing him. You know it, and so does he. Logan studies the way your hand rests against your hip, a challenging glint behind your eyes while you consider this ridiculous suggestion. He moves one step closer and proudly welcomes the surge of satisfaction at the slight crack of your demeanour.

"Darlin', I always win." It's a whisper that leaves him, hushed and dangerously low. Giving your shoulder a playful nudge as he walks by, he circles to the trailer behind the truck, retrieving his motorcycle. He smirks, pleased to witness such a glimpse of weakness, "Eleven-thirty. O'Malley's. I'll see you there."

The engine revs with each twist of his wrist, the movement so precise and natural. As he sinks onto the bike, the suspension adjusting to his weight, he sends you a wink.

"And if you lose?" You shout over the blaring sounds.

With one final grin, "Just fix my truck, alright."

Even from outside, O'Malley's is deafeningly loud. The wooden door creaks lightly with the gentlest push, and a mixture of overly enthusiastic yells paired with the clashing of glass greet your presence. You're no regular here whatsoever, but the fights that occur in this bar are usually the talk of the town. And despite its reputation, you've never had much interest in being surrounded by a crowd of angry, intoxicated men - all drowning beneath the crude insults and empty threats tossed into the air.

Some of the patrons, customers you recognise from work, acknowledge you with a polite smile while you settle into a booth near the cage. As you observe the utter chaos around the room, it only cements your distaste for this so-called form of entertainment. The current match's loser staggers past your table, barely walking on two feet even with the support of his friends.

All you can think about is returning home with your hard-earned cash. It was a rather tiring day, running around salvage yards scouring for spare parts to tend to the old piece of junk he'd called a truck. Not to mention the unforgiving weather, which seemed determined to make your day more miserable. And to top it all off, the jerk wanted it done by nightfall - the audacity! Just the simple reminder of today's events has your body tensing from restlessness.

Behind you, a group of men sneer amongst themselves and between their slurring, the words "pretty boy" and "his ass kicked" grasp your attention. Turning around, you watch as they hand over money to some younger fella, taunting others to join the bet. Oh, that makes your blood boil. This Logan had strolled into your shop with nothing but a superficial promise for your services, and now, he's presumed to lose?

You stand up abruptly, peering across the space in search of him. A rush of fury courses through you at the same time you spot him casually lounging in the corner. As you approach, the faint glow of the bulb illuminates his face, a cloud of smoke momentarily hiding the smirk playing on his lips. His chuckle cuts through the hum of the jukebox he's leaning on, eyes crinkling with a kind of smugness at your arrival.

"You're joking." The bottle of whiskey between his fingers shocks you the most, "Are you seriously getting drunk before your fight?"

Logan grins at your concerned expression, eyes tracing you up and down, "You fix it?"

"Yes, I fucking fixed it. Took me all day!" Fists clenching, you stare at him intently, "Look, I did my job - you better do yours."

"Don't worry 'bout it, darlin'. I'm a man of my word." He dismisses you completely, taking a prolonged swig of his drink. A beat passes before he lazily holds up two fingers right to your face, "Scout's honour."

He laughs again when you roughly shove his hand aside, not sparing another second for this cocksure attitude. You grumble under your breath, making your way back to the booth, "It's three fingers, asshole."

A few matches take place over the next hour, and you're only getting more antsy as each of the competitors exits the cage with nothing short of bloody faces and broken bones. The audience roars all of a sudden, some even rattling the fence as this new person strides into the threshold.

Of course, he'd stripped his shirt off and the sight of his muscle-toned chest only serves to further fuel your irritation. Logan's eyes find yours immediately, looking past the crowd of hecklers now whistling at him. With a nod, he throws you a confident smirk and turns to his rival.

The man he's up against is much more burly and has a couple of inches on him. Though that doesn't seem to faze Logan in the slightest, instead he's flexing his arms almost playfully before adopting a fighting stance. Every punch and kick has you twitching in your seat, your feet firmly stuck to the ground in anticipation.

Remembering how he'd chugged an entire bottle of liquor earlier, you're astonished by the ferocity with which he attacks his opponent, dodging most moves with deadly precision. As he lands more jabs, the spectators begin to jeer and boo, swarming the enclosure of the cage in a tantrum. You peek over their shoulders, ducking away from the things they're flinging around. There's a collective gasp when he knocks out the other man, and you sigh in relief.

Leaning towards the cage, a cigar lightly pressed against his mouth, Logan's focus shifts to you. His chest is heaving from all the physical exertion, skin damp from the sweat. As he exhales the smoke, blowing a kiss in your direction, a satisfied expression returns to his face. He runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving the arena with no regard for the protesting crowd.

You follow after him, squeezing through the tightly packed space. He's settling a score with the owner, a wad of rolled cash passing between them as a reward. After a nod of mutual agreement, Logan faces you, tossing his leather jacket on. And while you're ultimately happy he won, there's also this urge to smack the cheeky look that seems to be glowing as you come closer.

What's more upsetting is the fact that he is undeniably gorgeous - especially like this, all sweaty and wound up from the adrenaline rushing inside. And of course, he doesn't miss how your gaze wanders to the sliver of skin peeking through his jacket, every slight movement only revealing more.

Logan grabs a few bills from the roll of money and stuffs them into his back pocket, holding the rest out towards you. As you reach for the cash, he swiftly draws his hand back with a teasing smile, "Have a drink with me."

"No."

"C'mon." He drags out, repeating the same thing when you try again, "No one needs their cute, little mechanic right now."

Watching you sigh triggers a thrill of excitement, an unspoken victory he claims with no shame. With a simple gesture, he leads you towards a secluded booth, determined to make this a worthwhile exchange. Despite your hesitation, he maintains a sort of relaxed energy, draping his arm along the seat - his eyes not straying from yours.

Two shots of vodka are placed on the table and Logan mirrors your action, slowly raising the glass to his lips. In no time, the air of unease dissipates, replaced by a comfortable silence while the drinks keep coming. As the night wears on, casual conversation flows between you and he asks a few things like how long you've lived here, why you became a mechanic and eventually, when he slides you the money, "What now, darlin'? You gonna leave?"

His voice, dripping with honeyed sweetness, sends a shiver down your spine. You can't exactly place the feeling, but it's a tangle of exasperation and something else - something you're not quite ready to define. Instead, you blame it on the drinks, the late hour, and the fact that there's an incredibly attractive man just inches away.

As frustration envelops your thoughts, you suddenly excuse yourself and head towards the bathroom. The alcohol, previously a gentle companion, now seems to be taking its toll. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you try to fight against the sensations running through your body. The splash of cold water does little to your state of mind, yet you're back outside in what feels like a tilted world, using all your strength to walk straight.

As you brush past the cage, someone collides into you. Desperate for balance, you reach out to grip the fence, but a strong hand lays steady on your lower back. With a gasp and a tilt of your head, you're caught off-guard when Logan comes into your view. His arm snakes around to gently hold your waist, his body now pressing into yours.

Overwhelmed by the sudden proximity, you tear your attention away from him and glance at the wire pricking your fingers, "This is fucking sharp."

He doesn't break the eye contact. A low hum vibrates through his chest as he leans in, the warmth of his breath dancing with yours. The space between you slowly shrinks, whatever lighthearted facade he'd worn earlier vanishes only to be replaced by something raw and inexplicable.

"How're you not bruised?" You whisper, remembering how he'd been thrown against the cage earlier.

"Call it a special talent."

Despite your better judgment, you find yourself captivated by him, the intensity of his gaze reeling you in. And so, you decide to play his game, "Can you teach me?"

Logan pauses, "You wanna learn... how to fight?"

"Just a little punch or something."

A faint smile spreads across his face, you're absolutely sure he can feel the way your heart is pounding. When his lips lightly brush against your ear, a quiet rumble escapes and something flickers in your gut - a twist of exhilaration laced with a hint of caution.

There's barely anyone left in the bar at this point besides the one or two stragglers hanging around. Logan and you stand alone in the cage, seemingly tucked away in a little pocket of your own. He doesn't wander too far, remaining within an arm's distance while demonstrating the proper technique for a jab - the motion so fluid and effortless.

Your initial attempts to mimic his movements are clumsy and awkward, his amusement only growing more evident with each try. Slipping behind you, he sheds the jacket, once again exposing his glorious muscles and the thought of tracing his vein-riddled biceps with your tongue leaves you dazed for a moment. This time, he circles his arms around you and guides your hands into the correct position.

As you practice, your bodies nudge against each other, his breath fans across your neck and ignites a fire within you. The tension is palpable, the air thick with implicit desire. You can almost feel his gaze burning into you, every second posing a challenge to cross this imaginary line.

The rest of the patrons are ushered out the door, the owner nodding at Logan before disappearing into the back room. And the silence settles in, a stark contrast to all the commotion that lingered for hours prior. You notice the difference, inching towards the exit, "Looks like they're closing up."

Before you can move away, Logan's hand shoots out to catch your wrist, "And we got it all to ourselves."

"What?"

"Might've slipped the owner a little somethin’."

His fingers trail up your arm, thumb gently pushing your soft skin. Slowly, he brings you closer, his words just a whisper of heat on your cheek. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, a rhythm echoing your own racing heart. Your voice, hoarse and strained, barely manages a response, "Is this how you budget? No wonder you're broke."

It's his laughter that breaks you at first, followed by, "You got a smart mouth, darlin'. Tell me, what else can it do?"

His lips hover mere inches above yours, there's a moment of hesitation hanging in the air - an out, if you don't want this. But, temptation is a dangerous siren and you're already ensnared by her song.

Fuck it.

Logan's dog tags hang pretty between the slopes of your breasts, his mouth moving against yours in a rough, demanding fashion. It's sloppy. It's wet. And it's goddamn heavenly when his fingers thread through your hair, the gap between you now completely erased. You cling to him as if he's an anchor, nails digging into his shoulders while he pins you to the cool metal of the cage.

He wants to touch you. To feel the warmth radiating straight off your body. The straps of your overalls fall from his force, he takes the opportunity to slide one hand through the side, kneading your waist with a kind of tenderness that surprises him too. When you take a second to breathe, Logan peppers kisses along your jawline, then some beneath your ear before grazing his lips on your neck.

The pulsing vein he finds nearly has him growling in pleasure, "Fuck, darlin'... feel so good already... can't wait to taste you when I'm done..."

He stills when you gasp, glancing up through his lashes and then quietly chuckling at your flustered expression. Yet, he can't revel in his victory for any longer than a blink, your palm tilts his head back before you fiercely capture his mouth once more.

His name rolls out your lips, drawn out and glazed with an obvious need. Taking a deep inhale, Logan feels the bulge in his jeans growing with each passing moment. You're only getting restless as his hands roam over your body, becoming nothing more than a whimpering mess all from his doing.

"Lemme hear you for real, baby... don't be shy." His fingers latch onto the cage, using it to thrust forward and deepen the kiss. Your clothes end up pooling at your feet, the barriers between you peeling away with every layer gone. Now, skin to skin, sweat glistening on your brow, you're left bare and vulnerable to his touch.

Logan reaches down, spreading your thighs wide enough till he can push your panties aside, stroking the outside of your entrance. Clenching his jaw when he's met with a distinct wetness, "Hidin' all this for me?" He almost laughs at how you curl forward and then whine his name, craving for any part of him to be inside you, "Hm... what'd you say to me before? Three fingers?

With no warning, he slides exactly three inside your cunt, pumping in and out as best as he can, "So fuckin' tight, darlin'... c'mon... show me you're ready for the real thing." He knows he's doing something right when you squirm at his actions, jumping at the invitation to delicately flick your clit before sinking his fingers back into you.

"Logan-"

Pain consumes you as he continues, tears springing to your eyes. You've never felt pleasure like this, so intense and so profound, words lost amongst the moans trembling out your lips. Your knees begin to shake under the pressure, and his free hand immediately cups your thigh, securing your body to his. As you call out for him, urging him to fuck you senseless, he tugs his fingers away.

The belt flies, jeans tossed behind in an instant and he grunts, freeing his hard length from his boxers. The tip of his cock teases your folds, the precum slicking down from the head. His nose presses against your cheek when your hand runs up and down - getting him all nice and ready. Breath hitching at the sensation, Logan involuntarily bucks his hips, your eagerness carrying him over the edge.

He's careless about lining himself up, giving it no more than a fleeting thought before thrusting into you. Whatever floods your brain at that moment is much more potent than anything you've ever experienced. It's vigorous, almost animalistic in nature, how hard he fucks you. The veins on his arms become more apparent as he hoists you up, pushing you against the cage. He can hear the little fibers of your skin tearing because of the friction, yet he does little to ease that pain, knowing you're enjoying the hurricane of emotions whisking you away.

Logan pants into your tits, nipping at the soft flesh, "Wanted to ruin that pussy since I saw you this mornin'... all dirty and pissed off at me - god. Thought 'bout somethin' else on your face too."

"Logan - don't... fucking stop. Feels amazing... wanna feel all of you." The words escape you - laboured and breathless - your eyes soften in delight, watching this sort of enraptured expression wash across his face, "So good for me, Logan."

So good.

For me.

And boy, if that doesn't spur him on.

Picking up speed, his movements turn greedy, grinding into you with a degree of passion he's never felt before. As you tug his hair, fingers raking through the dark tresses in a frenzy, Logan taps into the primal energy swelling within. His hands squeeze you further, your thighs constricting his waist as he drives up into you, "That's it baby... fuckin' perfect. Takin' all of me like a good girl... mhmm."

The way your body helplessly arches has him grinning, but that quickly gets swept away when his cock twitches inside you, aching to burst at any given moment. He tries his hardest to control himself, longing for your cries of pleasure as you finish. Thrusts weakening to a leisurely pace, Logan grunts into your neck, mumbling a string of curses while he rides out this wave. Thankfully, you're on the precipice as well, your body reaching its peak with a shiver.

His cum trickles out of you, thighs getting sticky as it seeps lower and lower. Lost in a daze, Logan thinks he can see the damn sun in your eyes. With a gentle swipe of your cunt, he sheepishly licks his own fingertips, a smile brightening his face.

The mattress, once a source of great discomfort, now feels like paradise as you cuddle into the crook of his neck, the soft rhythm of your breath soothing him to a state of peace. He'd carried you to his truck earlier, threatening you with a barrage of kisses when you dangled his keys in front of him. There was a rather short game of tag before you relented and collapsed into his embrace, tiredly blinking up at him. He'd tucked the loose strands of your hair back then tenderly caressed your cheek. It took all but one affectionate grin to convince you to spend the night in his camper.

Not a single inch of your body is free from his touch. He pulls you even closer, tracing patterns around the tiny scratches spreading across your shoulders. If you'd asked him yesterday, he would tell you he has no plans of sticking around this town, grown used to a life of impermanence. Yet, as he rests, tangled in your arms, Logan finds a reason to stay.

[landograndprix]

╰┈➤ ❝ desire us • l.n ❞ ii

part one - part three

➪ life changed after you decided to go through it as a single woman, offering your daughter the best life she deserves, focusing on work, friends and family but damn, that guy.

➪ your friends are up to no good while you make another life changing decision.

➪ mom!reader x dad!Charles (platonic) x lando

➪ you really thought i was gonna keep my babies apart? Y/n's 2nd child = millie & are text messages between millie and Manon ;)

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y/nusername

📍 Paris, France

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 476,321 others

y/nusername 🏡

view all 1,312 comments

chilisainz ah you're telling me this is not a happy little family? 👀

↳ yukisan just a couple of besties spending every single free minute together 🥰

chilisainz like all besties do 🥰

julieeeexo this is a last warning for zoë..stop growing

hamilt44n girl I wanna live in Paris, are you looking for a roommate?

landitonorris so you're telling me our girl flew to the UK to 'hang out' with lando and they flew back to Paris together to 'hang out' with each other at y/n her place?

↳ sharl16 they'll probably fly to Japan together as well 😅

landitonorris but they're just friends though 😉

sharl16 oh yeah for sure!!!!!!!!!

milliexoxo ...but when I ask for a sleepover you say no :(

milliexoxo ...just say you don't like me and logan

↳ norry4 love makes blind bestie, you're on your own 😔

y/nusername so dramatic and for what? :')

landonorris princess bed sleept amazing

bott_ass you're not fooling anyone my guy, you're sleeping in the same bed 😂

norrizz actually living my dream life

charles_leclerc my pretty princess ❤️

↳ landonorris thank you, you're a pretty princess too ❤️

landoscar I love this dad and (ex?)stepdad dynamic <3

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y/nusername posted to their story

manon_roux replied to your story

manon_roux

cutest little girl in the world ♡

I'm talking about zoë

kidding you cute too

Also, you can't convince me lando's able to keep his hands to himself at night when you're looking like that next to him in bed

or does he really sleep in zoë's tiny ass princess bed?

I know you're ignoring me

what secrets are you hiding from me girl?

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y/nusername

liked by milliexoxo, landonorris and 541,387 others

y/nusername 🇯🇵

tagged: milliexoxo

view all 1,619 comments

sharl16 babe is okay, you can tag lando <3

yukisan we better get a 3 hours long vlog to make up for all the months you haven't posted 😭

norry4 don't be shy lando, drop those pictures you've taken of y/n

↳ norrizz and zoë

norry4 I just know he's got a ton of pictures of them 😭

hamilt44n damn Logan so lucky

lando4norris once again asking to be a third in whatever relationship y/n and lando have going on

norrislandooo I've gone nearly 6 months without a vlog, this better be worth it ma'am 😭

logiebear can logan fight?

↳ y/nusername logan's a lover, not a fighter

milliexoxo this man fights me 24/7, don't know where you got that information

logansargeant that's one way to exaggerate

milliexoxo get back in your cage captain america

logiebear millie I love u 😭❤️

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Lando taglist: @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2 @i83andrew @mcmuppet @justdreamersdream

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @ireadthensuetheauthors @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseoki @pretty-little-bunny382728 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @severewobblerlightdragon @cherry-piee @namgification @mycenterfold @celestialend @jsjcue @d3kstar @themislovesf1 @mehrmonga @destinyg237

Desire taglist; @sainzluvrr @writingworlds @chezmardybum @lewisvinga @xjval @fanficweasley @rockyhayzkid @thecubanator2 @minchedchilli @crimeshowjunkie @alisoncasey21 @eeviepepi08 @shamelesspotatos @sleepybrokenmelle @leireggsworld @janeholt3 @iamahalicinationn @dessxoxsworld @kapsylia @22yuki @dark-night-sky-99 @sheslikeacurse @nerdreader 

[fluff-lover]

Healing Touch | Chapter 3: Love is a battlefield

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Story summary: You’re a new member of the X-Men. Your mutation allows you to heal other people: you can close any wound, and cure any sickness. You’re not a fighter at all, but you’re useful at the battle field when it comes to saving injured mutants.

Warnings for this chapter: canon typical violence, mentions of torture and kidnapping. Blood. Nightmare and PTSD. Alex “Havok” Summers being an ass, does that count as a warning?

Masterlist

Charles caught wind of one of Stryker’s bases. While the Sergeant  in question was long gone, his plans were carried on by his followers, and some mutants were still being experimented on. That’s how you found yourself in one of the team’s missions. It wasn’t your first, but you still got nervous and you doubted that would ever change.

Ororo flew the X-Jet to the destination while the rest of you got ready, making sure your intercoms worked.

There weren’t many things that scared Logan, but flying was one of the few. You remembered being a bit surprised by this when you went on your first mission. Now you made a note to always sit next to him so you could help him.

“Are you okay?” You whispered, leaning in closer so others wouldn’t hear you. “You look a little bit… green.”

Logan grumbled.

“I think my breakfast didn’t sit right with me.” He lied.

You smiled and offered him your hand.

“Let me help…”

Logan took your hand and he instantly felt better. You took away both his nausea and his anxiety with just one touch. Logan closed his eyes in relief and rested his head back on the seat.

“Better?” You asked.

“Mhmm… You’re a miracle worker.” He said. Just as you tried to pull your hand away, Logan tightened his grip. “We still have a long way to go. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.” He reasoned and you felt your face getting warm. Your hand stayed in his for the rest of the flight.

When the jet landed, everyone took their positions. The stronger X-Men would descend first and clear up the path, taking down any threat. Logan, Scott, Hank and others like Havok and Bobby were part of this group. Then came the second group: Jean and Ororo would free the mutants that were being experimented on. And finally, the last group: you and Kurt were there to get the mutants out safely.

Of course, the first one to get out of the jet was Logan. Not only he couldn’t wait to get out of there, but he was always ready to go head first into a fight. You knew he could heal quickly from any wound, you’ve seen it happen yourself, but that didn’t make you worry about him any less. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to get your head in the game. You had to stay focused in case anyone needed you.

The first group went into the base, clearing it from any soldiers and mutants that worked for Striker. Once there was a clear path, the rest of you made your move. The place was a maze, but thanks to Jean’s powers, she could sense where the prisoners were, and she knew where to go.

It didn’t take long before you found a big room filled with cages.

“Oh god…” Ororo said in despair when she saw kids trapped in those cages.

Jean quickly got to work: using her power she moved the inner parts of the locks and opened them.

One by one you started getting the kids out.

Some of them had gone through literal torture and were wounded or in pain, so you got to work right away, healing them while Kurt took the healthy ones to the jet.

“Place is clear, we got them all.” Jean said as Kurt took the last child.

“My turn.” Ororo said, her eyes turning white. She raised her hands and a could formed on the roof. A lightning bolt struck the controller next to the cages and destroyed it completely. “No mutant will ever be kept here against their will.” She said.

“Angel,” You heard Scott calling through the coms. “Alex got shot, he needs your help.” He said.

“Where is he?” You asked as you picked up your pace.

“We already took him to the jet.”

Rushing back to the X-Jet you saw Scott and Logan standing by the ramp, waiting for you and keeping watch if necessary. Inside the jet, laying on the floor, was Scott’s brother Alex, with a massive blood stain on his suit.

“Hey there, gorgeous.” The young mutant said through a strained voice. “If I had known this is what it would take to get your attention, I would’ve gotten shot a long time ago.” He joked. It was no secret that Alex had been flirting with you since you arrived to the mansion.

“That’s not funny.” You said before placing your hands on his wound and healing him.

“I agree.” Scott grumbled to his brother.

“Can’t blame me for trying.” Alex said with a shrug. When you pulled your hands away, the bullet wound was gone. “You’re a godsend, aren’t you?” He smiled.

“I bet you say that to all girls.” You joked.

“Only to the pretty ones.” Alex winked and you scoffed.

“Watch it, Havok.” Logan said. “Or I’ll give you another hole for her to heal.” He threatened before turning around and walking back to his seat.

“Fine by me!” Alex said before getting up.

Logan sat down and crossed his arms on his chest, feeling a heaviness in his stomach that made him sick.

It wasn’t a new, unknown sensation. He knew what this feeling was, the very same he felt every time he saw Jean with Scott: it was jealousy. What he didn’t know was why. Why was he feeling this way?

First Scott with Jean, and now Alex with you. What was up with the Summer brothers that always annoyed him? He didn’t have any claim over you -to be fair, he didn’t have a claim on Jean either- but it still bothered him.

Logan told himself he just didn’t like the way Alex acted around you because you were too shy for that type of interaction, when the flirting was so on the nose.

The jet took off and Logan finally snapped out of his thoughts. The seat next to him was empty and he quickly got worried. Looking across the jet he expected to see you with Alex, but instead he found you sitting with the children you just rescued. There was a little girl sitting on your lap, your arms wrapped around her as you soothed her.

Something in Logan softened. 

The kids were in good hands.

When the X-Jet finally landed, everyone got off and started guiding the children to the mansion. Logan stayed behind to smoke. After lighting his cigar, he looked at the lighter you gifted him, his thumb caressing the initials you had engraved on it.

“J.L.H.”

“Hey, Howlett!” He heard someone call. Looking over his shoulder he saw Havok approaching him and he couldn’t help but groan.

“What do you want?”

“If you’re not gonna make a move already, then stop hogging her.” Havok said.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Logan asked.

Havok simply arched an eyebrow.

“First my brother, now me. What, you’re gonna hate our dad for marrying our mom too?”

“The fuck did you just say?” Logan snapped.

“I’m just saying, step aside. She’s a good person, she deserves someone who will love her and take care of her. It’s just hard to get close to her with you lurking around.”

Logan couldn’t deny Alex was right about that. You were a good person, and you did deserve all that. It just irritated him to think that person could be another Summers boy.

“I’m not lurking around, I’m just making sure you don’t creep her out.” Logan mumbled. “I’m her friend. If she’s not interested in you, then that’s her decision.” He said before putting his cigar in his lips and walking away. If this conversation continued, Logan worried it might end with him stabbing the other man.

Logan wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he worried sometimes you would find someone to date and would start spending less time with him. He didn’t care that he didn't have many friends, just a handful of loyal ones was enough. But you? You were the one friend he didn’t want to lose. Or to share with other people. You were the only one who seemed to understand what he was going through with Jean. He never figured out who was the guy you told him about -to anyone else it would’ve been obvious it was him- but at least he knew you understood him.

Was it selfish of him to wish you wouldn’t have someone else to spend your time with? Absolutely! But no one ever said he was a saint.

Logan was a selfish man, an imperfect, rought around the edges, too fucked up by the world type of man. Why were you friends with him? He didn’t know, but he was glad.

“Fucking Havok.” He mumbled, annoyed for letting the other mutant get to his head.

Maybe it was time to stop lying to himself. As much as he loved Jean, he was growing fond of you, in more than just a friendly way. You were kind, beautiful, smart, selfless and you put up with his crap.

But after Jean, Logan wasn’t ready to open his heart to someone else. The disappointment was too big, he doubted he could go through that again.

-

The sun came down and the new kids were settling in. It would take them some time to adjust, but at least now they were safe.

Some of them were so young they hadn’t even shown their powers. They were just assumed to be mutants because of their parents. The fact that people would experiment on children, trying to trigger their mutations for their own gain, made your heart ache.

You were lost in thoughts, jaw clenched and fingers digging on your thighs when Logan found you that night. You were sitting on the couch, there was a movie playing on the TV but you weren’t paying any attention to it.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing here? It’s late…” He said, sitting down next to you. You quickly wiped away some unshed tears and shook your head.

“Can’t sleep.” You mumbled. “Today was tough.”

Logan nodded.

“I know. But you did very well out there, bub.” he said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You were amazing in the mission, and look at all the kids you helped today.”

You sighed and leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. There was something so comforting about being with him. While most people feared him and saw him as a threat, you saw him as your protector.

“I know, it’s just…”

“Just what, sweetheart?”

You looked up at him and the sadness in your eyes and the quiver in your lips felt like a punch to his guts.

“Why do people do this, Logan? Why do humans hunt mutants down? Especially children…” You closed your eyes and sighed. “They say we’re monsters, yet they’re the ones doing monstrous things.”

Logan pulled you closer and rubbed your arm up and down.

“Because they're afraid of us. People are afraid of what they don’t understand.” 

You pursed your lips and hummed.

“That’s not an excuse to hurt children.”

“No, it’s not. But people are fucked up, and they do fucked up things.” 

“I guess there’s no point in asking these questions. All we can do is help as many people as we can.” You said.

“You’re already doing a lot.” He reassured him.

“Wanna watch a movie with me?” You asked softly.

Logan raised his eyebrows.

“You sure you don’t want to go to bed? It’s late…”

“Are YOU going to sleep?” You asked, knowing he rarely ever slept himself. When he didn’t reply you chuckled. “That’s what I thought.” You said before picking up the remote control.

But you fell asleep almost instantly. Safely tucked against Logan’s side and under his arm, you couldn’t help but relax, and the exhaustion from that day finally got to you.

There was no better place in the world to fall asleep on: by his side.

Logan stayed awake a bit longer. First he tried to focus on the movie, but eventually moved on to watching you. He never had the opportunity of looking at you so closely before. Now he could see every freckle on your face, every little eyelash on your eyelids, the rise and fall of your chest with every breath.

There was a little tug in his chest.

Have you always been this beautiful? 

Logan wasn’t blind, he noticed your beauty when he saw you for the first time, dancing with Charles in his office. Your kindness and selflessness also added to your appeal. Having grown closer to you and spending time together, Logan had no doubt in his mind that you were one of the most beautiful creatures on the planet.

But this was different. This was the kind of beauty that had his fingers itching to touch you, to run the pads down your cheek and across your lips. His hand flexed as he tried to stop himself. Instead he tilted his head and pressed his lips against your forehead. Your shampoo’s scent filled him with a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You mumbled in your sleep and nuzzled his shoulder, making him freeze. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he stayed as still as he could.

-

The needles piercing his bones caused excruciating pain. His muscles twitched, his heartbeat racing, adrenaline pumping through his body. There was nowhere to go, he was locked in the glass box filled with water, machinery attached to him. He could hear Stryker’s voice, though it was muffled by the water.

“Logan?”

He turned his head but he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. The machines around him lit a red light, warning signs flashing on the screens.

“Logan.”

The adamantium filled his body, causing him to scream against his airmask. His body convulsed in the box pulling away from the needles, tearing everything off of him.

“Wake up.”

Logan jumped from the box, glass shattering and scattering everywhere. He screamed out of pain and confusion as Stryker’s men rushed to him with their guns.

SNIKT!

“LOGAN!”

Logan snapped out of his dream and found himself back in the mansion, back on the couch where he fell asleep.

And what he saw was horrible.

You were kneeling above him while his claws were deep inside your chest. Blood ran down his hands and arms as he held you up, basically impaled by his claws.

His pained mumbles and thrashing against the couch had woken you up. You tried to wake him up by shaking his shoulder gently and calling out his name. Never in a million years you would’ve guessed he would hurt you.

“Lo- Logan.” You cried, blood dripping from your mouth. Logan quickly retracted his claws, and when he did you slumped forward, landing on top of him. He lifted you up, his panic finally making its presence known.

“No! No no no no no no!” He turned you over and laid you on the couch. “Fuck, no! Please! Please don’t!”

“It’s okay.” You managed to say before taking his hand. But he wouldn’t listen.

“Hank! Jean! Anyone! Please, help!” He cried.

“Logan, look. Look at me.” You said before placing a hand on his face and forcing him to look at you.

“I’m sorry! Fuck! I’m so sorry, Angel!”

“Logan, stop.” You said taking his other hand. “I’ll be okay. I’m healing already.”

Other X-Men started filling the room in a panic.

“What happened?” Jean asked.

“Who did this? Are we under attack?” Scott said following closely behind.

“Keep pressure on the wound.” Suddenly Hank stood next to Logan and pushed him away to press his hands on your chest. “Ororo, go to the lab and get two units of O negative ready.”

“Stop. Stop!” You said pushing his hands away and sitting up on the couch. “Don’t waste it.” You said and lifted your shirt. Right underneath your bra were three claw marks. You had to wipe the blood away before Hank could see the marks looked like old scars. “It’s over.” You said. “I’m fine. I’m fine…” You looked around the room, confused. “Where’s Logan?”

He was gone.

[uglypastels]

Halo of the Highest Grade / Logan Howlett x Reader

People tried to warn you about him, but you loved the risk and danger of it all. They prayed for you, but God already knew exactly the type of men you’ve had your spare share of fun with. And the Wolverine was exactly what you had been looking for all this time.

word count: 5.5.k

warnings: SMUT. 18+ Only. MDNI. afab!reader. p in v. no protection [wrap it before you tap it, folks]. cunnilingus. sadomasochistic tendencies: spanking. choking. biting. scratching. hair pulling. face slapping. mutual degradation. makeshift restrain. violence: cage fighting. blood. alcohol. smoking. cursing. not proofread.

gif from banner sourced online but couldn't find the op, all credits to them.

Shoutout to @deceptive-daydreams for helping me come up with all of this.

Masterlist - Requests are Open

They shake their heads

Saying, "God help her" when I

Tell 'em he's my man.

But your good Lord doesn't need to

Lift a finger, I can fix him

No, really, I can.

The shouts and vulgarities of the drunken crowd could be heard from outside the building. Inside, smoke and alcohol overwhelmed the senses whilst the lights shined through the slits in the high ceiling, practically guiding you towards the silver-lit halo that was the cage at the centre of the room. As if in a trance, each element was calling for you to move closer, so closer you came.

The bell indicating the end of the fight rang but was barely heard through the commotion of the spectators. Two men dragged the barely conscious body of the defeated, his red shirt camouflaging his spilt blood.

‘Hey pretty—’

‘Fuck off.’ You hissed at the pitiful man who had appeared by your side, not even sparing him a glance when you walked off, leaving him behind, stunned and confused. Maybe he tried to call after you or spit some expletives your way, but you were too focused on what was happening inside the cage to notice.  

‘Gentlemen.’ The host called for the next challenger. ‘In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it. Are you gonna let this man walk away with your money?’ With an antagonising finger, he pointed to the individual you had already been unable to look away from. His back glistened with sweat from the hot lights above his head. Each calm breath accentuated his shoulder blades. He barely reacted to the scream from the crowd as yet another loser came forward. While the other man approached the stage, you watched the champion take a long drag from his cigar, the smoke billowing around him in long ribbons.

‘Our Savior!’ the host exclaimed, and he exchanged some words of grace with the new fighter. Meanwhile, you kept a watchful eye on the other as he drained his glass of his last drops of golden spirit. With each second until the starting bell ticking by, you found yourself wishing him to turn around and face his opponent. But the bell came and went, and he didn’t move. 

The “savior” lunged forward with a kick, pushing your object of interest into the metal wiring. It clattered at impact, and so his grunt was barely audible. Bend over, a dog tag hanging from his neck; he didn’t even attempt to block the punches thrown his way. Unable to look away from fascination, you winced at each hit. In everyone else’s eyes, it was a lost fight. One too many, he should have quit while he was ahead. Surely, he couldn’t take it anymore. But something in you saw the moments ahead. How he got up, fists and teeth clenched. 

It was over before you could even blink. 

Three punches were all it took. All punctuated with a dull metal sound no one could place but claimed to be the barriers of the fighting stage as the “savior” unconsciously fell to the floor.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight’s winner and still king of the Cage–’ the crowd booed to the harmony of the bell calling the Knock Out, and you quickly sought your escape from the eye of the storm before it formed. From the sound of it, things were gonna get ugly very quickly, and that ain’t the show you had come for. 

‘The Wolverine!’ The announcer finished, and you made sure to remember that little nickname as you walked off. 

With the majority of the crowd leaving, their losses very much at the forefront of their minds, you settled down at the bar. 

‘Give me two of whatever he was having back there.’ You told the barman, cocking your head back to the Cage, and turned on the stool to face the room, a plan already forming in your head. You heard behind you how the man poured the drinks and placed one next to the other at your side. 

‘You don’t wanna do this.’ The man chuckled through his warning, fully aware of your intentions. So, subtlety had never exactly been your strong suit, but in this case, you felt it would probably be a great advantage.

‘Now, what makes you say that?’ You reached for the nearest glass and took a gentle sip. The alcohol practically seared your throat as it went down. ‘He’s just like any other man, no?’

‘Lady, that ain’t no man.’, the older man said in a hushed tone, scared as he would be heard by the wrong people, despite of the chaos around you. ‘That’s a monster.’

Those words only sparked more interest inside you. A flash of ruffled dark hair caught your attention between the crowd, and like a shock had gone through your spine, you sat up straight. 

Realising he was fighting a lost beetle, the barman simply sighed. ‘May God help you.’ 

Oh, God knew exactly the type of men you’ve had your spare share of fun with before. Leading the kind of life you had it was the only way to still make things a little bit interesting. And he, the Wolverine, was precisely what you were looking for. 

His steps were heavy on the floorboards. The crowd, while still angry, parted like the Red Sea at his proximity, looking away as if scared to be petrified if they got caught catching a glimpse of him. But you didn’t even try and hide your stare as he walked up to the bar. A fact that did not go unnoticed. And neither did the manner in which his eyes glazed over your body, moving up and down across your frame, hovering in particular over a few places.

Although plenty of seats were vacant, he sat down at your immediate right. His mouth had already slipped open with the request for a drink, but you were quicker with your generous gesture.

He looked at it with a mix of surprise and amusement, but didn’t say a word. The liquor disappeared with one heavy swig, and the glass clashed with the counter. Without needing to hear anything, the helpful bartender brought out the bottle and poured him another.

‘Can I help you?’ The Wolverine muttered, looking at you from the corner of his eye when you had not stopped looking him over since he had sat down. 

Isn’t he a charmer, you thought, but you also could not deny that his attitude and harsh tone were doing things to you. 

‘Just wanted to congratulate you on the fight.’ As subtle as anything else you had done that night, you came closer, leaning towards him. You caught the glance he gave you as you moved, specifically how his eyes once more lingered on your breast. God, how you loved the ones that just didn’t give a shit. Those who were just as blunt as you were in these matters. It made things so much easier.

‘It wasn’t much of a fight.’ He replied, unphased by anything that happened that night.

‘I suppose you’re right.’ You shrugged, twirling the drink in your hand, ‘though I did think you were kind of soft on that last guy. Why let him get you like that?’ Your mind flashed to the fight, to the grunts he had made as his opponent’s fist met his stomach. ‘Surely, you could have knocked him out cold as soon as he stepped into the ring.’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ With those words, he finally turned to you, and for the first time that night, your eyes met, and that’s when you saw it. That glint in his eye that told you everything you needed to know about him. How he didn’t get in that ring because he needed to. Maybe the money was a bonus, but that is all it was. He got in there because he wanted to. He let those other guys get in a punch or two before knocking the shit and wind out of them. 

He enjoyed it.

The next remarkable thing about his face, aside from the apparent perfect angles of his features, was how truly perfect it was. For someone so eager to brawl, there were no indications of his hobby. No bruises, scars, and even long-term, his nose looked perfectly straight, as did his jaw, never broken or battered. 

He just kept getting more fascinating by the second.

‘So you’re one of those thrill junkies, huh?’ you asked ordinarily, certainly not as if you had just lost yourself while looking at his face.

‘Sure, if you wanna call it that.’ He scoffed. He was holding back; that much was clear. The constant glances he threw your way were more than enough of a tell. He took another sip of his drink. Fuck it, now was a better chance than never. You let your leg slowly climb up and down his calf, gently pressing into him. Something in his posture stiffened, his jaw tensed up at your touch, and you revelled in it.

‘I can imagine it’s quite a rush, getting out there, getting the adrenaline pumping all through you.’ Your voice danced around him, only clear mischief at its core. ‘Makes you wonder…’ You leaned in so close you could nearly whisper the word directly in his ear. ‘If there is anything else that would have that effect on a man.’

‘Don’t start playing games you can’t finish, bub,’ he pushed out.

‘Oh, I’m planning on finishing.’ You smiled sweetly. ‘Don’t you worry ‘bout me, big boy.’

‘Is that right?’ He leaned in to fill the gap you could not match from your position. You had caught his full attention, his empty glass forgotten on the countertop bar.

Though he faught with a bare chest, he had layered up since and now wore a wifebeater tanktop, covered mainly by a blue button-up and a dark brown leather jacket. As he looked at you, he saw a little black dress that fits you like a glove and just called for attention, and that matched with some knee-high boots and your hair all done up just like the boys like it. You had the intention of getting out of this shithole with someone, and you had set your target. Now, you were so close to catching him, too. 

‘Mmm,’ you took the final sip of your drink. ‘So what’you say we get out of here?’

He chuckled at your suggestion, turning back to look at his hands. You noticed how even his knuckles did not have a shadow of a blush on them. ‘You sure you wanna do this, honey?’

‘I know what I’m doing, honey.’ You got up from your stool, placing your hand on his thigh. He immediately tensed up, but only momentarily, as he relaxed once your slowed down the graze of your nails against the inner seam of his jeans. ‘C’mon, let’s have some fun.’ 

Your hand moved across him to reach for his, and the simple touch was enough for you to know you had won. At least this round. As soon as your fingers touched, his entire body gave in. Not that he would have admitted it, nor was it that obvious at first glance. You, however, picked up on those things. How he leaned into your touch and practically let you walk him out of the bar. But you didn’t have to do or say anything for him to place his other hand over your hip, let it fall comfortably over your ass. 

As soon as your body was greeted with the cool winter air, you spun around, pressing yourself against him until his back hit the brick wall. From then on, everything turned to instincts. Like the bartender knew to refill his glass without a word or glance, this man knew how to kiss you. His hands found their positions on you, keeping you steady as his lips explored yours. You could feel the scruff of his beard, the taste of it all: the alcohol, the cigar. None of it should have had any appeal to you, but mixed with his touch, it simply made you melt away. The kiss kept going until your lungs ran out of breath, and even then, you leeched onto him until you couldn’t any longer, not-so-gently pulling his bottom lip between your teeth as you pulled apart.

‘Got a name, gorgeous?’ He asked, almost innocently, lip pink and plump, though mostly exhilarated through your actions, and so you told him, to which he replied: ‘Logan.’ He kissed you once more, deeper, harsher, before continuing his introduction. ‘Just so you know, I’m not one to hold back.’

‘What, like you did with that guy back there?’ You teased, letting your fingers brush through his hair.

‘That was just a warm-up.’ Was it meant as a threat? A warning? Whatever it was, it made your knees weak. ‘So don’t get scared if I get a bit wild.’

‘Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.’ You moved your hand down, brushing over the side of his face, down his collarbone to trace the silver chain that peaked from underneath his shirt.

‘Just be careful what you wish for.’ He nearly growled before pressing his lips back onto yours.

⦻

You had rented a motel room nearly across the street from The Cage bar and though fairly short, your journey back had turned into one big blur. All you remembered was Logan nearly throwing you into his car, a somewhat sluggish and overrun pick-up with an even older caravan attachment, and pulling you out with as much force. He had practically carried you up to your room, and if it wasn’t for the sake of the other motel visitants, you had a feeling he would have taken you right there and then, up against the green door with a steel 28 hammered into it.

But ever the gentleman, he pulled himself back, only slightly hurdling your attempts at unlocking the door as he let his hands roam all over your body. You threw your head back into the crook of his neck, your hand returning to its place in his messy hair. At the feeling of his lips on you, peppered kisses on the side of your neck, you couldn’t help but tug at his roots. Unintentional, but in hindsight, a revolutionary advance as Logan’s moan heated up your skin, and the thrust of his hips could only be described as untamed.

There really was a monster inside of him. And for one, you couldn’t wait until it got out.

The key finally clicked in its lock, and Logan was the one to push the door open. You spun on the tips of your toes to face him, unable to hide the playful grin on your face. He leaned in for a kiss, but you quickly avoided it with a step back. He stepped forward, kicking the door shut behind him. Just like that, the room fell into darkness, with the exception of the neon sign peaking through the curtains, illuminating your surroundings in glowing streaks of blue.

With a gentleness you had not shown before, you reached for a kiss. A feathery touch that left Logan needing more, the yearning visible in how his body followed you once you let go. And you let him. In fact, as you made your way to the bed, you hooked one finger through one of his belt loops, pulling him along with you. You took small steps backwards until your shins hit the edge of the bed and sat down with a squeak of the mattress springs. Standing in front of you, Logan towered over you. 

A perfectly placed streak of light hit him, showing you just how dark his eyes had turned with need. How his chest was rising heavily as he shook his jacket off, throwing it aside. You watched it pile under the button-up he threw along with it, followed by your coat. Once you looked back at him, the sight of his bare arms had your mind wandering off into the most dark and corrupt places. No thoughts, just pure need pushed your legs open, so far the most inviting of places to Logan.

He wasted no time falling to his knees. You pulled him by the hair for another kiss. Everything got messier by the moment, hungrier, filthier. His hands settled on your thighs, spreading your legs further, then pulling one of them up over his shoulder, giving him space to do whatever he wanted with you. Admittedly, you could have kept kissing him forever, but when his lips attached themselves to your inner thigh, you let yourself fall back on the bed in bliss.

Logan moved closer with each peck. Closer and closer until he reached your panties—the arousal evident from the moment you had revealed yourself to him. You didn’t think the two of you could get any closer until, with a harsh tug, he pulled you up against his face, the bridge of his nose tracing over the soaked material. A shaky moan escaped past your lips, and the hold you kept on his hair tightened. Putting the underwear on started to feel like your biggest regret that day as Logan got comfortable placing sloppy kisses over them, sending shock after shock of elation through your core. 

Your back arched at the sensation of his cold hand on your hot skin, climbing up to the spot where your bodies connected. Still, through that damned lace, he pushed a finger over your slit. The pleasure slowly began to form into agony as you couldn’t take it much longer. But perhaps neither could he, as not long after he had started those teasing strokes, he grabbed at your panties and, with a pull, ripped them to shreds. The sound of the material ripping was harsh and startling but not half as much as the feeling of his hot breath against your pussy, or his tongue finally pressing against it. 

‘Fuck,’ you cursed, to which he responded with a muffled moan, of which the vibrations only added to your pleasure. Logan was undeniably in his element at your feet. The intensity of his movements was proof enough that he enjoyed every single moment of it. The taste of your juices was like ambrosia, and he couldn’t get enough. 

Your hips bucked up in a moment of his more expressive movements. The broken record in your mouth was stuck on a mix of profanities and his name. You couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of his fingers on you, how you wished he would have done more than just tease you, but it wasn’t needed for you to feel the tight twist in your stomach. Your whole body began to tense, including your thighs. It took the sound of Logan’s deep groans for you to realise that, in your desperate state, you had started to squeeze your thighs together, practically locking his head in between. 

But, unlike your first thought that had made you want to pull away, his groans had not been worrisome. It was full-on pleasure that he was displaying. To set aside any of your doubt in the case, he held on to your leg, keeping it exactly where it was, and when he glanced up, your eyes met that same exact spark you had seen in the bar. That same hunger and insanity of a man in despair. 

Immediately, an idea bubbled in your mind. How you had still been able to form any coherent thought was a mystery, and even more, how you had managed to execute it. It was most likely not possible without his help, as you were sure if he was steadfast in his current position, there would be no way of you getting him to move a slight inch, but with a swift manoeuvre, you pulled yourself off the bed, and flipped yourself, as well as Logan, for you to position yourself on top of his lips.

‘You readin’ my mind now, princess?’ the nickname alone brought back the tightness in your stomach, accentuated by the nick of his teeth against your inner thigh after his remark. There was a moment of slightly awkward shuffling as he pushed himself and you up onto the centre of the bed, but once set, there was no going back. 

Instincts took over once more as his tongue moved over your folds. For that extra friction, you began to move in tandem over his features, grinding into him in a heat of need. Now, you had been with a number of guys, each freakier than the other, but none of them had ever let you ride their face like a fuck pillow. He would have been obsolete if not for the fact that he was getting off on sucking your clit.

‘So fucking desperate,’ you moaned between thrusts, and since his mouth was a bit preoccupied, Logan’s response came in the form of his hand firmly smacking across your ass. The lingering sting burnt through the rest of you just long enough for you to start missing it and that’s when he struck the sensitive skin again. Your moans turned higher in pitch with each time he did, and the actions of his tongue got more ferocious. Without saying a word, the message was clear: who’s the desperate one now?

And the answer was very simple. You both were. That’s the only reason you had walked into that room together to begin with. Both of you had urges that had gone unkept for too long. Urges where just sex wasn’t enough. There was always something missing. Until now.

All this time he had made sure you stayed right on top of him. Long and tight enough to make you wonder if he had actually had a death wish and was planning to go out in style. But evertime you looked at him, he seemed to almost be at peace, completely focused in the delicious task at hand. When he did finally pull you up from his lips, it was only to introduce the last puzzle piece into the game. 

The curses rolled of your tongue as he pushed his fingers into you. Long and thick, already stretching you out. He left kisses up on your clit, sloppy and wet just to keep toying with the nerves. You could feel the callouses on his thumb as he traced and pressed over it. 

His other hand was again on your ass, this time digging into the soft flesh to keep you at bay. You were stuck in the rapturous stance, ready to burst at any time. 

‘C’mon, baby, fucking cum on my tongue,’ he growled before placing himself right back where his demand would be met and this time, as the tightness pulled at your body, you couldn’t control it. Not a minute later, were you gasping out his name as you let the pleasure take over all of you.

You rode your high out to the final moment where he kissed your thigh again, eyes heavy and faint smile adorned his lips. While both your breaths were evening out, you slipped down over his body to see the full picture. Even in the barely-lit room, you could see how his face was glistening with your juices, and it just kept going down his neck, drenching the top of his tanktop. It was a sight for sore eyes—and legs. What you would do to see it over and over again. 

With a soft laugh that only spelled out “trouble”, you started to softly trace the lines of his beard. He looked up at you with furrowed brows, awaiting an explanation to your actions. 

‘Told you I could handle it,’ you smiled, smacking his cheek. Not viciously or even that hard, but firmly enough to wake him up from his pussy-drunk state. 

And wake him up, you did. 

‘They call it foreplay for a reason, sugar.’ He smirked and suddenly you grew very aware of his hold on you. The next second, you felt yourself move through the air as he took his turn in flipping you over. You nearly got the wind blown out of your lungs as your back hit the mattress for the second time that night, this time with his weight on top of you. 

There was the sound of a belt unbuckling. Your eyes automatically searched for the source, ready to see what he had been packing below, but Logan was quicker, cupping your face in his hand, squeezing your cheeks so you’d have no choice to look up at him. 

‘Eyes on me.’ His voice was as soft as limestone, fine and effervescent in the most rigid fashion. Then his hand moved down, pushing you by the throat into the soft pillow underneath. He leaned forward, placing his mouth over your ear to whisper: ‘Gonna be a good girl for me?’

You nodded as best as you could with the stiff hold he had on you.

‘Use your words,’ he growled and squeezed. 

‘Yes,’ you choked out weakly, exactly like he had wanted you to. 

The release of his hand reopened the next floodgates in your body. You could still taste the result of the last time on his lips and tongue when he kissed you. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. And the most painful part of it all was that you knew just how close you were to getting what you wanted. You could feel the loose belt buckle against your thigh.

‘Logan,’ you gasped as an ending to the kiss. ‘Please.’

‘What did I just tell you, hmm?’ And yet, he still pulled at your dress to push it up over your hips. ‘Use your fucking words.’

‘Fuck me.’ You tried to reach for the top of his jeans, but there was no moving from the position he had you in. ‘Need you inside me.’

‘But yeah, I’m the desperate one,’ he mocked before sitting up. You watched with anticipation at how he unzipped his trousers, and pulled his dick out from his boxers. There was no surprise that he was completely hard by now, and even the size, considering the rest of him, was not a revelation. This had been exactly what you had been counting on when you saw him in that cage. Seeing him stroke himself in front of you was nothing but validation. 

‘Just look at you,’ he said as he kept his hand on his cock, ‘Opened your legs up for me the moment you saw me.’ His other hand reached for the top of your dress, stretching it down to reveal your breast. ‘Bet you would have let me fuck you in that cage, huh?’

‘Can’t deny, the thought had crossed my mind.’ You admitted, letting yourself think back to how attractive he looked back in there. Drenched in sweat under those cold lights. That animalistic glint in his eyes. Not much different from now, truth be told.

That had been all Logan needed to hear. You hadn’t realised you were holding your breath in expectation until the feeling of him entering you finally took over. Your lips formed a perfectly blissful O as he stretched you out. 

‘That’s right,’ he beamed, ‘gonna fill you up. Nice and tight.’ And he didn’t waste any time, pulling back right after he had reached your depths. In seconds, he had a pace going that left you shaking underneath him, the grunts that accompanied his thrusts recoiling through your nerves. You hands clutched around for a something to grab onto as you started to feel like you were going to sink into the bed from the power at which he fucked you—for that’s what it was, nothing but a brutal and rough fuck.

You searched the sheets for grip, but Logan had other ideas. Taking you by the wrists, he pulled your arms up over your head, holding them against the paneling of the bed. The dull banging on the wall could have very well been your own headboard or the angry fists of your neighbours from the other side, but either way, you were too preoccupied to pay them any mind. 

This had been what you were waiting for. What he had promised. The untamed animal that worked off of nothing but impulses. Anything to suffice that pure need for pleasure. 

His grip on your wrists was tight, and to say it didn’t turn you on even more than anything else he had done before would be a blatant lie, but your urge to touch him was stronger. You tried to wiggle your hands free, but there was no way of doing so. Not with a man like Logan in control, that much he had made clear.

‘This not good for ya?’ he huffed out, but before you could respond, he pulled you up by your arms until you straddled his thighs, chest to chest, an angle which pulled him in even deeper. 

‘Oh my god,’ your eyes rolled back at the sensation.

‘No god will help you now,’ he said against your lips before bringing you in for another kiss. You wrapped yourself around him, finding comfort in the softness of his hair once more while he began to guide your hips into a steady motion to fit the pace at which he moved. Testing the waters again, you pulled at the hairs on the nape of his neck. The smile on his face as his head rolled back was unmistakable even in the dark of the room. 

You pulled harder and there it was. That pure moan you had been waiting for and once you got a taste of it, you couldn’t get enough. 

And neither could he.

With the goal set, you dragged your nails over his shoulders as you let your hips roll over his.

‘Fuck yeah,’ he moaned in ecstasy, ‘use me, baby.’ The words came out airy and made your head spin at their contrast. How could he be acting like your little plaything while still taking full control of you? It made you feel grand and tiny in his arms at the same time, but mostly, it was so incredibly hot.

He hissed at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin. ‘Don’t you dare fucking stop.’ He stressed each word with a thrust, dotting it with a sharp kiss. And so, you did as you told, pushing yourself onto him in all ways you could. You didn’t know if you had it in you to draw blood, but it sure felt close to it. You were waiting for Logan to scream out, pull you off of him, but it only seemed to rile him up more.

That’s a monster. That’s what the man in the bar had called him. Monster. And there was a sense of truth to it. There was a beast hiding inside him, ready to attack. Maybe he thought he had found a victim when he saw you, but as you clenched around his length, you were quite the opposite. 

You were no victim. No damsel in distress. No princess. 

You were a hunter, and you had just caught your grand prize.

‘I’m gonna—’ you were unable to finish the sentence before the rapture. You screamed his name in elation as the second flush satisfaction washed over you that night but it wasn’t enough for Logan. He kept on rutting into you, his grunts filled the room, until you felt it all spill out of you.

Once he had caught his breathing under control, he sighed out a contented “fuck,” which you wholeheartedly agreed with as you pulled yourself off him. The emptiness you immediately began to feel was disquieting, and you could feel that need for him bubbling up in your stomach again. The only thing that slightly helped was the sight of him when you returned from the bathroom, jeans on the floor next to the pile of clothes you had formed through the night. 

You took all of him in with wonder as you slipped your dress off your body.

They shook their heads

Saying, "God help her" when I

Told 'em he's my man.

But your good Lord didn't need to

Lift a finger, I can fix him

No, really, I can.

Woah- Maybe I can't.

You awoke to the sunbeams bursting through the curtains. Sore all over, you tried to stretch across the bed, mindful of the presence next to you. 

Except, when you stretched out your hand, you were only met with the soft material of the bedsheets. The mattress had gone cold and reformed back to its natural state, having forgotten any weight that might have laid there the night before. If you had looked outside, you would have seen an empty parking spot beside yours. The only sign of there ever having been someone in that bed with you was the ghostly presence of the smell of cigars and aftershave. 

You smiled to yourself, nails digging into the sheets as you let your mind wander back to the realm of dreams.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

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[stargirl-in-dilfspace]

It Will Come Back - Logan Howlett x f!reader

[a/n: hi!! It’s been a minute but your girl is back with some good ol’ wolvie. another joel fic is in the works, and possible a part two to this one depending on feedback <3 love yall]

Warnings: angst, brief smut (NSFW), cage fighting, alcohol, cigar, mention of cat death :(

Content/themes: angst! cage fighter!logan, bartender!reader, not really an age gap idk I see reader as a full grown established adult, based of the hozier song, reader & lo hookup in this chapter but don’t get together, fear of love, mild smut, big stray cat metaphor, possible mutant!reader, reader has a sexy car so, brief section on their backseat of her car sex, the claws come out (or did they?), idiots who deserve comfort and love and need to recover from years of trauma to love each other because they are meant for each other

Summary: A stray Wolverine finds his way into your bar looking for the cage fights. But you both find something you swore off a long time ago. [1.3k words]

You knew better. You’d known better since you were told at age 7 not to feed the stray because he’d keep coming back. But you never really learned your lesson, since that cat proved to be the sweetest of them all. He’d curl up to you when you left your window open at night, push up against your legs in the backyard when you’d come home from school, hiss at any other person or animal. That’s why they put him down, when the neighborhood decided he was too aggressive.

Love like that wasn’t something you'd ever find again. The unconditional protectiveness you received all from simply feeding a stray with your kindness. And that's how you got him killed.

Never again.

To say your love life was parallel to a nun’s would be an over exaggeration. No man had ever drawn in your love the way a stray could.

The tragedy that is a stray.

Maybe you gravitated to working in this bar because everyone here was a stray. Everyone an orphan, who was someone’s, once. It helped that the cage fights were rather entertaining. Watching grown men lose their shit over losing bets, dealing out drinks left and right, everyone who came through had a level of respect for you, everyone’s favorite bartender.

“What can I get you?” Your voice flowed with the familiar words, watching the new face turn up to make eye contact with you, a cigar hanging from his lips, a good head of hair and a worn face.

“You the lady to talk to about getting in on these fights?” He asked, giving you a questioning eyebrow.

“No, Jimmy takes all the bets around here, pudgy guy, beard, back right.” You pointed past him, to Jimmy. Instead of following your finger, he gently waved his hand, looking back at you.

“No, are you the lady to talk to about fighting?” He rephrased, and you grinned. Fresh meat, right?

“Sure, I need a name.” You replied with the grin still on your lips. He looked fit, you wondered if he’d be getting his shit rocked in the cage within the hour. Or preferably by you, and not in that cage.

“Logan.”

“I need a fighting name. Privacy, and whatever.”

“Wolverine.” He puffed out the cigar’s smoke, a smell that this place already reeked of.

“The Wolverine, that's a new one. Welcome.” You smiled more genuinely, waving over one of the announcers, alerting them to your newest competitor. “Can I get you a drink, while you wait?”

“No, just the fights.” He replied, observing you in a way that made it seem like he was taking all of you in.

“Sure you can take more than one round in the ring?” You tilted your head a bit, observing him in the same way, the tension something burning that you squeezed as you spoke, as if it’d choke him up.

“You’d be surprised.” He cracked a grin, you almost wanted to take that in a different way with the way his eyes lingered on you.

————————————————————

You weren’t exactly surprised that he was a good fighter, but it's been 3 hours of continuous beatings, without a cut or a bruise to show for it, he liked to make eye contact with you, doing some dance on that tightrope you were both walking this evening. You wouldn’t complain about the view, since he started he’d shed the jacket and shirt he’d had on. It helped that he won every fight, with a somewhat practiced ease, which made plenty of viewers upset for the losses of their bets.

As the night winded down, bets closed, drunks left angry or big winners. Some frequent patrons lingered on your stools, or in the seats. You watched Logan return to the same stool as earlier.

“Would our very own Wolverine like a beer?” You offered again, wiping up some spilled beer on your bartop.

“Logan’s fine. And yeah, hun, whatever you’ve got in a bottle.” You were used to terms of endearment used by men for you around here, but nothing like the way it fell off of his lips. It made something burn in your body, a sense of nervousness and excitement, that had you grabbing the first bottle you could for him.

You popped the top, moving it over yout bartop into his hand, and part of you wanted to ask how he was unscathed from all the beatings he’d supposedly taken.

“Anything else, Logan?” You asked, more soft than you intended, taking in his appearance. What was it about this particular stray that you felt needed you? Like the way your neighborhood one had? It felt pathetic, the way you tried to straighten yourself out after the slip of your voice.

“No, darlin’. Unless you’ve got a name for me?” He grinned the same way he had earlier, and you could feel the blush dusting your cheeks.

————————————————————

That’s how you made it to the backseat of your black 67’ Ford Galaxie, being fucked like you don’t think you ever have been. Something about digging your fingernails into his skin, the way you couldn’t even see any indents with how hard you pressed, maybe it was the dark? Your legs wrapped around his hips, secured by one strong arm, the other holding himself up above you, buried in your hair. He didn’t seem the affectionate type, maybe you were wrong.

You were so lost, you couldn’t distinguish the small praises and growls on his breath, even if they met your ears like a goddamn symphony.

Something made you make eye contact with him that night, making what should've been a regular hookup into something much more intimate than it should be.

————————————————————

Maybe he shouldn't have looked into your eyes that night. Maybe he shouldn't have given himself a taste of something he should never have deserved once in his life.

But he did.

And by the time you were asleep on him, maybe he should have woken you up, told you he should go. Maybe he should have denied himself the tug you had on something deep inside him, what could be a tug on the heart he swore he didn't have.

But he didn't.

And in the morning when you said goodbyes, it wasn't nearly as awkward as it should've been, at least to him, he liked watching over you that night. He craved that tugging he felt inside of himself to curl up with you, so close you couldn't ever leave him, so close that he would let nothing hurt you.

After years of losing every person he’d ever loved, some wall stayed built, a locked door that kept him out of the warmth of your embrace.

————————————————————

You figured you wouldn't see him again for a long time, he’d told you he was a wanderer, traveling from place to place, with no home to call his own.

He reminded you of that stray cat, and maybe you should've ran the moment you felt like you needed to give him comfort and the home he deserved. You swore you’d never let someone who needed you die again.

But this was a man, a man whose mind had to be wired differently than a cat’s. But something told you part of it wasn't wired differently, the something that heard to skint of metal in the dark of your backseat when he’d damn near growled and come with you.

If the man wasn’t like your stray, why did he have the claws to prove that he was? You reminded yourself that was your imagination, because just as you turned your head to the sound, the glimmer of metal was a figment of your fucked-out mind, not really slipping back between his knuckles.

Hung up on a hookup? How pathetic. You’d never see this man again, he'd never stumble into your bar again, looking for a fight, and finding you instead.

Finding something neither of you wanted to give a name, yowling at the door you stayed on either side of, pleading to come in.

————————————————————

[a/n: I LOVED writing this!!! PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed, it’s much appreciated PLUS it will help me know if yall want another part to their story <3]

[wishful-sinful-9]

WANNA BE YOUR DOG

Chapter One

Cagefighter!Logan Howlett x Reader

Chapters | Masterlist

Winter already has its icy grip on the world outside, but in this bar, it’s as hot as the equator.

There wasn’t a shot in hell you would’ve picked this job - bartending in a sketchy underground cage-fighting joint - if it weren't for sheer desperation. Sweaty bodies packed tightly together. Impatient men demanding service everywhere you turn. Grunts and shouts and wails of pain from the cage.

When the fighting was over, the majority of patrons stumbling out the door, you could finally breathe. Wipe down the bartop, wipe away the night.

“Hey, bub, can I get a beer?”

The Wolverine heaves his weary body on a barstool and makes his usual request - the bar owners’ main source of income, the undefeatable beast of a man got a drink free after striking every opponent down with a few swings of his fist. The body hit the floor; another bet was won.

“Here you go.” You avoid his gaze as you pass him the bottle. He grunts his thanks.

A few months ago, you lost your previous job, though fortunately you had a roommate to cover your half of the rent until you found another. Unfortunately, said roommate had already planned on moving out around that same time. Therefore this sad little nightly routine was the only means of avoiding homelessness. What would your parents think, if they were to see you in this dingy, overtly illegal, shithole of a bar? You smile slightly at the thought as you dry off a glass.

Sensing eyes on you, you glance up to meet the Wolverine’s dark gaze, expressionlessly trained on you. Heat creeps into your cheeks and you turn away to pick up another glass.

–

“Shit, shit, shit!”

You slam your car door shut behind you, aborting your fruitless attempts to start it. You wrap your fleece-lined jacket tightly around yourself as you glare at the crappy old piece of metal and go over your options. Option, singular. Walk down a pitch-black icy road. You cuss again and ram a boot into the door.

“You alright there?” A gruff voice from behind startles you.

Turning around, you’re met with the looming presence of the cage fighter, donning a motorcycle jacket, the high collar and angular shoulders making him look even more intimidating. He looks at you with a raised brow.

“Er - well - no, not really,” you stammer out, “my car won’t start.”

“Oh.”

He remains several feet away from you, as if approaching a wild animal. You scuff the toe of your shoe in the gravel like a shy schoolgirl. “Yeah. Um…”

“Would you like a ride?”

He’s offering you a ride.

You shouldn’t. This is a dangerous man; a fighter for a living. And beyond that, you had reason to suspect he might not be just a man. You were sceptical of the idea of mutants, but after watching him take many a vicious blow and emerging without so much as a scrape, you had good reason to believe you were in the presence of one. So you shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t get into the scary guy’s car. Even if your teeth were chattering and your toes numb in your boots. You shouldn’t.

If your parents would be terrified at the sight of your workplace, they’d faint at the sight of you meekly accepting the Wolverine’s offer.

You put all associations of kidnappers with white vans out of your head as you follow him to his. You jam your hands deep into your pockets and clench your jaw tight to prevent the audible chattering. Once in the passenger seat, you breathe a small sigh of relief when the first thing he does after switching on the ignition is turn the heater all the way up.

“Put your hands on it so they can warm up.” He grumbles. You oblige. “Why don’t you have gloves on?”

“I think I left them in my car,” you reply, feeling somewhat foolish. You wonder if making other people feel about two inches tall was a hobby of his or an unconscious habit.

He says nothing. He doesn’t turn the radio on. His eyes remain trained on the road ahead. You glance at him once or twice, but his expression is blank and his mouth is clamped shut. Behind you, you are aware of the narrow bed and minimalistic living set up that brings to you a wave of affection for your one-storey rental that has caused you so much grief these past few months. You had always assumed cage fighting must be pure sport to him, and that there was some daytime job he worked to support himself, but now you're beginning to wonder if his sole income is the bets placed on his fists.

He parks a little way down the opposite side of the road as there are cars in front of your house. You pause with your hand on the door handle, watching him scan the area before grunting, “Iʼll walk you in.”

You fumble with the latch on your gate, letting your hair sweep over your face to disguise your rosy cheeks when he leans over you to do it himself. Taking extra care not to slip on your doorsteps and make an even bigger fool of yourself, you jiggle your key into the lock and turn to face…you don’t know his real name. Oh god.

“Thank you so, so much…”

“Logan.”

“Yes! Logan. Thank you Logan.” You give him an awkward smile as he nods his head, again, expressionless.

He grunts a humble “no problem,” and turns to walk away as you step halfway over the threshold. Your mind returns to his van. The sorry little bed that you’re quite frankly surprised can support his broad stature. Before you can psych yourself out of it, you blurt out: “Wait! I have a spare room?”

He halts, caught off guard. “What?”

“If you wanted to stay the night,” you cringe at the words as you say them, “since you went through the trouble of taking me home. You're welcome to. If you want.”

The silence is deafening. He blinks at you and the sudden urge to shoot yourself in the head is overwhelming. Oh my god, what am I think-

“Alright. If it’s okay.”

–

Naturally, he’d gone to fetch a change of clothes and a toothbrush, and you took the few minutes to shove stray underwear in your laundry basket, bin the empty bottle of wine on your kitchen counter, and clear away the pile of well-loved makeup products cluttering the bathroom sink. You mentally cursed yourself for living like the cover of the Stereotypical Sad Single Female magazine.

A new wave of embarrassment washed over you when you showed him to your roommate’s old room, the bed still made in the comically girly pink floral sheets she had left behind. “Very feminine.” he’d commented.

When you’d hastily excused yourself to bed, you let out a long, self-loathing groan into your pillow.

–

It’s six-thirty in the morning, a blasphemous hour to be awake at, and Logan is trying to be quiet on the other side of the wall, in spite of his ridiculously heavy footsteps. You lie awake as he shuffles to the bathroom, wait until the shower is on, then haul yourself out of bed because part of you worries he'll sneak out like a guilty one-night stand without you getting the chance to atleast make him coffee.

By the time he’s emerged, dressed, from the bathroom you've managed to stick some bacon in a pan and made a pot of coffee. He seems taken aback, and it makes you far more comfortable to know that there's one emotion that can display itself on his stoic face: surprise.

“Sorry if I woke you up.” He glances at you as you set his plate on the table.

“It’s fine,” you reply, sitting opposite. Now that the Wolverine is sat at your dainty kitchen table, he seems less like a man-bashing beast and more like a stray dog you've ushered into your home. Thoughtfully, you begin to eat, suddenly feeling far more able to look at him directly. “Can I ask you something?”

He stops, looking at you slowly. “Ask me what?”

Now or never. You inhale deeply and softly say, “How come you never have a single bruise to show for those beatings you take?”

A pause. He chews his bacon and swallows it carefully, analysing your face.

“Do you really want to know?” his voice is low and eyes narrow. You nod. With a sigh, he sets down his cutlery and lifts a fist - the swift sound of sharp metal being unsheathed cuts through the domestic morning quiet as three knife-like claws protrude from his knuckles. Your eyes widen and your knife and fork clatter onto your plate.

“You’re a-”

“This metal runs through me. I think it’s attached to my skeleton.” He explains, rotating his fist so you can better gawk at the claws. “I can also heal extremely fast. There’s other things too, like my sense of smell being advanced…”

“Like a wolverine,” you say, “apt name.”

He grunts and you absent-mindedly lift a finger to touch the deadly metal, “They’re sharp.” he snaps, retracting them. You sit back quickly. He clears his throat. “Sorry. Just didn't want you to…”

“It’s okay. Ahem…”

You don’t dare ask another question despite the many that were whirring in your mind, feeling that the tension has risen once more surrounding the subject. The two of you eat, in silence again.

Once he has his shoes and jacket on, you show him to the door. In spite of the information revealed at the table, somehow his presence makes you a little less nervous than it did the previous night. He falters in the threshold, turning to you.

“Thanks, for letting me stay and everything,” he says. “You didn’t have to.”

You smile lightly, “It’s no problem, really. Thank you for the ride home.”

He nods, “See you, then.”

“See you, Logan.”

You watch him from the window in your door as he crosses the street, lighting up a cigar. If your parents could see you now.

a/n: so sorry for this shaky writing 😭 this is my first time working on a series and I suckkk at starting things so sorry if this falls a little flat - might go back and re-edit when I'm not so tired but oh well! if you'd like to be tagged in the next part please let me know :))

@fallout-girl219 @viviannagiorgini

[lostinlovingrevery]

Just a thought and no offense but I think Logan just wants to be in love and feel loved in return.

(This isnt proofread and came out as rambling so have fun trying to read it and decipher it! 😅)

So WE ALL know that Logan can be flirty, and that he may have had a period where he was a bit of a manwhore (*cough* 70s Logan *cough*)

I feel like that period though, and any other flings, one night stands, etc whatever was less out of lust and more of a desperation to feel SOME kind of human connection bc the mans so lonely and has been treated like a soldier, a weapon for so long that hes desperate for human connection, even if it makes him end up feeling depraved afterwards. Post-nut clarity wakes him up next to some girl he met at a bar, and guilt sinks its teeth into him because he doesnt even know her name, much less actually LIKE her. The man was born in the 1800s, he may have grown with time but you cannot tell me theres not some inkling of being a gentleman- and wanting to find someone you truly love, hidden in there somewhere. I think overtime he may fall into this routine, believing he needed to be a walking sex magnet, gruff, cocky, whatever have you because hes convinced its the only way he can have a connection with someone, even if its for a few passionate moments under bedsheets, and an awkward "that was nice. Bye"

It only fuels his self hatred, convincing him that he really his just an animal, looking to get his sick desires out, eat, fuck, sleep, survive.

When we see him in the X movies, as a cage fighter he is brutal and rough and he doesnt seem to have a caring bone in his body yet he still manages to find himself caring about this young girl who stowawayed in his trailer, and does help her, even if he acts like this version of logan he created. Someone who doesnt care. But he cares. A lot.

Its not until he meets YOU, that he starts to wonder if he got it all wrong. Kind, beautiful, smart YOU.

I fully believe that logan just wants a partner. One night stands, flings, what have you, were just him lying to himself, desperate to feel something other than hate. After he lost his memories, and he began just wandering, the concept of love was lost on him. And lust wasnt there anymore either. He was approached by women, perfectly fine, pretty women, all the time during his time cage fighting, bars, etc. He turned them all away- completely opposite of logan 30-40 years ago (my timing probs not right on xmen lol) who was convinced the only way he was living was if he had ass next to him every night he went to sleep because he was lonely. This version of logan, lost, angry, wanted nothing to do with people. Some of it the repressed feelings coming out from his past that he doesnt even remember. He was convinced then that he had to be alone. Becoming a lone wolf that bared his teeth at anyone who tried to pet it. Secretly though, deep down although he wouldnt admit it, there was that deep desire, that he always felt in his 200 years, that he just wanted to find his mate. He'd call soulmates bullshit if you asked him, but the moment he meets you, hed know that it was real, and that maybe god cursed (gifted) him the ability of healing and practical immortality just so he could find you. And hed do it over and over again, the pain and suffering and loneliness, if it meant you would be the endgoal.

Logan is a pack animal. He needed a family, to protect, and cherish. When he meets and ends up at the x-men, his demeanor and attitude changes quickly to something similar to a dog that snaps at you when you pet it only for it to whine and whimper "im sorry, please dont hate me, i just dont know how to accept love.". Hes still wary, because hed never KNOWN a family before. Put aside his memory loss, the closest things he had to a family was a creep of a brother, and a woman who said she loved him under false pretenses (i still dont like you kayla even if you say it was real). He barely knew his parents, and even then that was a lie because his father wasnt even his biological father. Yeah, Logans life was pretty damn lonely, so its no wonder the man is cautious of anybody and anything.

The moment you come into his life though, that bitterness, anger, and meaningless flirting goes right out the window. Hes serious about you. Hes usually cautious, nervous around people but he meets you and its almost like he threw all those imaginary rules he has for himself out of the window.

Look at how he was with Jean in the movies. He barely knew the woman, they barely shared ANY lines in the movie yet he was almost completely devoted (dont get me started on that storyline). Trust didnt come easy to the wolverine. And Kayla- their relationship just shows how much he wants love and to be loved. I never seen origins but a lot of gifsets and read the synopsis of the plot, but i think he had a feeling with Kayla he couldnt trust (remember how he says hell never go against his gut again?) But he so badly just wanted that connection he ignored all the warning signs and did everything to build a life with this woman who not only tricked him, but put him through unimaginable pain both physically and mentally. (Look I REALLY dont like kayla but i do feel bad for her because stryker did have her sister captive). I know stryker is the evil mastermind here, but god imagine trying to find love with someone, only for it all to be a farce, even if they claimed they did love you the entire time- the intentions from the very beginning was far from love.

Oh but when he is in love with you. From the moment he met you, it wasnt love at first sight exactly, more like a feeling that you were it. Hes all about you. He sticks around, under the pretense that he just needed to make some money first, doing some missions for charles, keep an eye on rogue. He cant admit its because he wants to stay close to you. Hes like a feral cat taking shelter in your shed. Stays away at first, cautious of your spspspsp, but curious nonetheless. Completely ignores the first bowl of food you put down for it- or so you thought because when you came back it was completely devoured. It takes weeks of food and spspsps before it finally warms up to you, but after that first contact with your hand and its head- good luck ever getting rid of it. Not that youd want to 😊

Logan becomes a shadow to you, once you become something akin to friends. (Its really more than that but no ones addressed it). He teases you and flirts with you, and its something you think he does with everyone, until Ororo tells you that he only does it to you. Sometimes he just sits in your company, other times hes curious about what youre working on, not wanting to start the convo, but does things like leering over your shoulder (which he may or may not be doing just to he close to you and get a good whiff of the smell of your hair). He stresses when you go on missions without him. He slowly opens up about his past to you when he begins to get his memories back. Trusting only you (and maybe charles) with the truth ablut the man he used to be, and still is.

When your feelings finally do come out in the open though, however it happens, that first kiss, the first time you make love, etc etc. Logans a different man. I mean, hes still that cocky, grumpy person we all know and love. But he carried himself differently. Hes confident and wiser, hes comfortable, and hes happy. He found a home, his pack. And maybe after countless conversations about his past, the things hes done, and the comforting words and understandings you give him, he starts to learn that he isnt so bad, because if you love him, YOU, the most wonderful person hes ever known in 200 years, love him despite all of his violence and hatred and slight whoreish tendecies back in the 70s...then he must be alright.

He doesnt need to worry about his past anymore, when hes got you, right there with him, promising a loving future together.