#logan Howlett x reader

[logaenhowlett]

COME BACK BABY PLEASE - L.H.

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

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

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

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

MASTERLIST

Logan fucks himself into his fist.

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

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

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

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

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

As if you hadn't died.

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

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

You're an idiot.

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

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

Stay outta this, Red.

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

Stupidly, Logan avoids you.

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

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

That's how it used to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, nothing.

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

You don't remember the last kiss.

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

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

When was the last time Logan kissed you?

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

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

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

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

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

He's at it again.

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

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

Fuck it.

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

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

"Logan?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't."

"Don't make this worse."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's not a surprise, not really.

Old habits, especially Logan's, die hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re done?

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

"Walking."

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

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

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

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

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

"Goddammit. God-fucking-dammit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I miss our old life."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[loganspet]

Logan Howlett

How I look at him after he calls me “baby”, “sweetheart” or “angel”

[lostinlovingrevery]

Love making session with Logan, no roughness or degrading, just love

Enamored

Logan Howlett X F! Reader

You and Logan share yet another loving moment together

A/N: I was picturing DOFP Logan for this, but you could picture any Logan!

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, lovesick fluff :) unprotected PiV, creampie, Logan is so love w you, and as are you with him <3, some playfulness between you both, a little bit of domestic life

The scent of roses filled the room, from the candle that you lit not long ago. 

The flame flickered, a warm light against the mossy green painted walls of the bedroom. Laundry detergent wafted to your nose as you folded items of both your and Logan's laundry and put them away in their respective drawers. Logan's clothes still had the faint scent of cigars lingering on them, no matter how much you washed them- but honestly, you couldn’t complain, it’s become a familiar comfort for you. 

Logan was lying in bed across the room, watching you as you finished putting the laundry away. He was wearing nothing but Looney Toon boxer briefs, with pictures of Foghorn Leghorn printed over the fabric. You had bought him a pack of the briefs, all with various Looney Toon characters on each pair. He scoffed at it originally- not the type to wear something like this. For you though, he does, and found they’re actually quite comfortable.

You heard the creak of the mattress, and Logan's heavy footsteps across the carpet of your shared bedroom. Logan wrapped his arms around your waist, and you felt his lips brush over your shoulder. 

“How bout I finish folding those in the morning bub?” He mutters softly, as he moves to press a kiss to your hair. His chest hit your back, and you could feel something hard pressed against your hip. You giggled. 

“You sure?” 

A small grunt, as he stepped back, before looping his arm under your legs, and around your shoulders as he picked you up swiftly like a bride. 

“Yeah.” 

He carried you to your bed, you, grinning like a fool as you gently kicked your legs. He gently set you atop the mattress, as he climbed over you, pressing his lips to yours softly. 

“I want to see my girl.” He says into your kiss, his hand pressed to the curve of your waist, slowly sliding down to your hip, over your thigh; his fingers flitting underneath the hem of your (His) shirt, his calloused fingers making contact with the bareness of your thigh, and you felt goosebumps prickle over his touch.

You hummed, bringing your hands up to cup his face, your nails softly scratching at his beard. His eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a deep, satisfied exhale, before opening them again, peering down at you, tenderness in his usually gruff expression. 

How did you two get here?

It’s a story that will be told over and over. Something you’ll be reflecting on as you walk through life together. People will ask about how you met, the struggles you endured, and more. You yourself will never grow tired of it. You’ll always find a smile on your lips, as you reminisce about your first meeting, your first kiss, your first dumb argument, your first everything. Your favorite memory though, 

The moment you realized you were in love with him.

Something that sends flutters to your heart still. Every moment since then, you look at him, angry, sad, happy, you are reminded about how much you love him. 

It’s bliss

This moment together will just be one of many. 

He leaned back down to capture your lips in another loving kiss. No sense of urgency, as he moved his lips softly over yours. You wrapped your arms around his shoulder, pulling him closer. He parted, brushing his lips along your jawline, down your neck as his hand slowly, softly, traced up to your panties, moving between your thighs as he cupped your mound, his fingers brushing over the spot becoming wetter, and wetter from his gentle touch. 

“God I love you,” He mumbles into the crook of your neck. You smiled, turning your head towards him, to meet his eyes as he lifted his head up. You brought your hand up to cup his face gently, your thumb running over his bottom lip. 

“I love you.” You respond softly. “You’re so beautiful Lo.” 

He smiled, a sweet, almost kid-like, as he leaned back to capture your lips in another kiss. “Look who's talking.” 

He sat up on his knees, urging you up as he lifted your (his) shirt up and off of you, discarding it to the side. He lifted you further up the bed, leaning down to press soft kisses over your breasts, kissing each nipple gently, before kissing the space under your breasts, and trailing down to your stomach. His lips felt like a butterfly, light, fluttering- but still grounding to you as he touched you with gentleness and precision. 

He pressed a kiss to your clothed pussy, before sitting back up, and gently pulling the panties down your thighs. You smiled up at him, bringing your legs up to your belly, to allow him to slip the light cloth off of you. He slipped it off past your ankles, and presented it in the air, hanging off loosely from his index finger. 

He swung it around in the air on his finger, a little shake of his head, as he grinned at you making you laugh and cover your face bashfully, shaking your head at his playfulness. Bringing his other hand up, he hooked his thumb over the hem, aiming the panties like a slingshot, and shooting it across the room to the laundry basket, the cloth missing his target of the laundry basket- and knocking over a beer bottle he hadn’t yet discarded- which then knocks into a vase of flowers, and multiple picture frames.

“Lo!” You laughed,

“I’ll…fix it later.” He grinned, turning his attention back to you, his large hands placed over your knees. You quirked an eyebrow and smiled at him knowingly. “C’mon, sweetheart. Open sesame.” 

You bit your lip, heat burning under your cheeks as you slowly spread your legs for him, exposing the treasure between your thighs. 

His eyes raked over your form, and the usual look of lust you see in him, was filled with adoration. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your knee. You reached your hand out, tugging at his boxers, your hand brushing over the very large tent in them, and he chuckled. 

“Eager baby?” 

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. A cocky grin on his face, he moved to pull his Foghorn Leghorn boxers down over his thighs. His hard cock sprung out. Tip red and swollen, with pre-cum beading in the slit. You brought your finger down to the head of his girthy member, tapping it once gently, and making it bounce in the air- eliciting a laugh from the both of you. 

“Cute baby, you can play with me later.” He hummed in a low voice. He leaned over you, placing himself between your thighs- you had to spread them farther to make room for the size of him. “Right now though, I just want to feel you.” He leaned forward and gave you a loud smooch, before resting his forehead on yours. A subtle thrust of his hip, and you felt his large cock slid through your folds. 

“Lo-” You let out a small size, the feeling of him rubbing your folds, stimulating you. You brought your hands to his biceps, his arms braced on either side of you. “Oh- You feel so good…” 

“I know, baby, I feel the same bout you.” He cooed, moving to press soft kisses over your face. “You’re so damn beautiful. How’d I get so lucky?”

“Cause you’re amazing.” You murmured, as you felt a fresh gush of arousal coat both your pussy and Logan’s cock. You bit your lip, tipping your head back as Logan pressed kisses to your chin and underneath it. “Sweetheart-” You hummed, as he thrusts through your folds again. “I need you-” 

“Yeah, me too-” He murmured into your skin. He adjusted himself, his knees spread and digging into the mattress, he brought his hand to lead to your wet cunt, circling his swollen tip against your hole, slowly pressing inside. He leaned forward, catching your lips in another eager kiss, and holding you there as he entered you slowly, not rushing, savoring every inch of you. You moaned into his mouth, as he bottomed out inside you, his hips flushed against yours. 

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and you wrapped your body around his, hooking your ankles around his hips and your hands pressed into his solid back. He kissed you with a bit more urgency now, licking into your lips, as you adjusted to his size inside you. 

You felt nothing but warmth and safety in his arms, and it made you hope that he felt the same in yours. 

Slowly, he pulled his hips back, pulling out halfway, before slowly thrusting back inside. Your pussy squeezed around him, tightening around his cock as if to prevent him from pulling out again. He gently thrusts again, holding you tight against him, as he angled his cock inside you to hit the spot he knew would send you careening.

There was no rush to a finish, no desperation to reach that peak quickly. Just you both savoring each other's bodies, reacting to each other's hearts- permanently twined together in each other's love and devotion that you wrapped the other in. 

Logan let out a groan, your pussy squeezing him tight, and he rested his forehead against yours, his arms unwrapping themselves around you and bracing on either side of your head. His pace began to pick up, becoming more and more desperate for you. 

You spread your legs farther open, arching your back as your hands came down over his ass, pushing him deeper inside you until he was rutting into you, his tip rubbing the spot that made your toes curl over and over. 

Both of you are breathless, sweat beading your intertwined bodies, as he desperately rutted into you. His hand came down to press circles into your clit  - officially pushing you over to the brink of an orgasm.

“Logan!” You gasped his name, your head tipping back and mouth hanging open, as waves and waves of ecstasy ran over you, drawn over by his calloused fingers, gently rubbing your clit in circles as he continued thrusting. 

The feeling of your pussy pulsing and pulling him made him snap, as he planted himself inside, letting go of the control he barely was holding onto, coating your walls with his cum. He moaned your name, before repeating into your lips over and over as his cock throbbed with each rope of cum. 

“ILoveYouILoveYouILoveYouILoveYou”

His words made you tighten and spasm around him again. It wasn’t that he hadn’t set it before, you were blessed to hear them from Logan every day. It’s just he never said it like this before. Over and over, like he was making sure that not only you knew that; but the entire world, the universe, and the heavens, that he loved you. You could barely respond, whimpering a weak I love you back in your coitus haze.

He did a last lazy thrust into you, before collapsing over you- careful not to lay his full body weight on you. His breath was hot against your sweaty neck. Your chest rising and falling against his, as you brought your hands up to curl into his hair, softly scratching at his scalp, relaxing him with every second. His hand came over to rub soothingly over your thigh, as he tilted his head to press a kiss against the space under your ear. 

He began to sit up to get off you, to start the process of cleaning you both up, and snuggle in the post-coitus quiet. You stopped him. 

“No.” You looped your arms around his shoulders. “Let's stay like this longer.” You pecked his kiss-swollen lips. “I love being here, like this, with you.” 

His heart warmed at your confession. “Me too princess.” he hummed, before moving to rest his head next to yours, his nose nuzzling into your cheek, as the adrenaline in both your bodies turned into a quiet hum. Your hearts resting atop each other, beating in sync. 

[loganspet]

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 ♡ ૮ › ‹ ྀིა

. . . ─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ─── 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

. . .

When Logan Howlett, your sugar daddy, finally gets his hands on you again, there’s no holding back.

Pairing:

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Daddy Kink, Dom! Logan, Sub! Reader, Rough sex, Teasing, Banter, Age gap, Dirty talk, Fingering , Use of pet names, Bimboification, Reader has piercings, Minor Ass spanking, No control, Explicit language, Explicit sexual content, Dog tags, Unprotected Sex (p in v).

Cotton Candy is Readers Nickname meaning docile and approachable

Inspiration nsfw link :3

Half asleep, I can’t shake the thought of him slipping into my bed, so I wrote this .

. . .

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] I’m booooored.

[Lo:] And?

[You:] And you should entertain me, duh.

[Lo:] Ain’t my problem, princess.

You scowl at your screen.

╰─..★.──────────╯

You roll your eyes, sprawled across the plush sheets of your king-sized bed. Technically, it’s your bed, in your penthouse—but let’s be real. It’s all because of him.

Logan keeps you in luxury, a spoiled little thing in lace and diamonds. He likes you soft, pretty, with a closet full of designer and a credit card you still haven’t hit the limit on. But right now? He’s being a pain in the ass.

Your manicured fingers tap against your phone.

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] Umm, actually, it is. You signed up for this so fucking mean. Ugh.

[Lo:] That right? Ain’t mean. Just don’t cater to whiny brats.

You picture him now, probably kicked back in his Chevrolet, cigar clenched between his teeth, jaw tight. He’s never been much for texting—too impatient, too old. You giggle at the thought.

[You:] You literally do tho. My closet says otherwise. What’s wrong, old man?

He leaves you on read for a second, which makes you scowl. You hate when he does that—like he’s got something more important than you. So, naturally, you decide to push.

[Lo:] Keep runnin’ that mouth, Cotton Candy see what happens.

You roll onto your back, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

[You:] Ooo, scary. What’re you gonna do, Lo? Ground me?

╰─..★.──────────╯

You smirk at your own sass, but when he doesn’t respond immediately, you pout. Logan’s such a grump. He doesn’t chase—not the way men your age do, falling over themselves for a chance with you. But that’s exactly why you love teasing him, making him snap.

A new idea.

You look in your vanity mirror. Your mirror is a dream—glossy lips, untidy hair, barely-there underwear, and something dangling between your tits. His dog tags. You bit your lip. Tits spill out. The cool metal rubs against your pierced nipples, barbell jewelry visible through the exquisite lace the lace he bought. Sliding your phone up, you angle the camera perfectly—pouty, teasing, tits pushed up, You make sure the tags are in focus, resting against your pierced nipples like they belong there. and attached it to a new message.

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] Ruin me, daddy. Please?

Delivered. Read.

You smirk.

Three dots appear. Vanish. Appear again. Oh, he’s pissed. The response takes seconds.

[Lo:] You wanna play that game, huh?

Your grin widens. Your stomach flips

[You:] Mmhmm. You get all growly ‘n’ bossy when you’re mad. So hot, Lo.

[Lo:] ‘Lo’? The fuck kinda name is that?

You giggle, twirling a strand of hair again.

[You:] Short for Logan. Duh.

[Lo:] Don’t call me that. I hate it

He loves it

[You:] Aww. Someone’s grumpy. Lemme guess—you’re sittin’ there, puffin’ on one of those nasty cigars, pretendin’ you’re not hard as hell right now.

Three dots appear. Vanish.

You’re kicking your feet.

[You:] C’mon, daddy. Bet you can’t handle me tonight.

Still nothing. Fine. You decide to push harder, slipping your fingers into your lace panties, dragging them low—just enough to tease. Another pic. Another message.

[You:] Bet you won’t do a thing about it.

Delivered. Read.

The response is immediate.

[Lo:] Bet your fuckin’ ass I will. Open the door.

Your breath catches.

Wait—

[You:] …You’re already here?!

[Lo:] Got in the car the second you sent that first pic. Ain’t in the mood for your games, bubs. Open the door, now.

Oh, shit.

You scramble up, heat pooling between your thighs, heart pounding. Your phone vibrates again.

[Lo:] And take those fuckin’ panties off before I get in there. If you’re gonna act like a needy little brat, you’re gonna learn what happens when daddy finally has enough.

Your whole body shivers.

You’re so in trouble.

╰─..★.──────────╯

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

You barely have time to process before there’s a heavy knock at your door. Sharp. Impatient.

Your pulse jumps.

Oh, you really did it this time.

Scrambling off the bed, you toss your phone aside and tug your panties down, just like he ordered. A rush of excitement floods through you—nerves and need tangled together. You love this part, the chase. Pushing him, testing the limits of that patience.

And now? You’re about to see what happens when you finally snap it.

You unlock the door with trembling fingers. The second it swings open.

Big hands. A rough grip. Logan grabs you, one hand fisting your hair, the other bracing against your jaw, forcing your head up to meet his glare.

He smells like cigar smoke and leather, like pine and something dangerous.

“Y’think you’re cute, huh?” His voice is low, thick with something darker than irritation.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Logan’s eyes flick down, and fuck, you swear you see his jaw tighten when he sees his tags between your tits, resting against your soft skin like they were made to be there. back when their little arrangement was still just that—an arrangement. He paid for your apartment, your designer bags, diamond bracelets. You let him grab you by the waist, let him pull you into his lap when the two of you were alone, let him drink in the way you looked in all the things he bought. It was a game, a back-and-forth, push-and-pull. Spoiled you rotten, the perfect little doll for him.

But one night, You saw them. His dog tags. Hanging off the hook in his bedroom like they didn’t belong to him, like they weren’t something personal, something worn close to his heart.

You wanted them so you took them

“Y’just don’t know when to quit, do ya?” He mutters, stepping inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

You give him a slow, syrupy smile. “Not really.”

His nostrils flare.

Then he’s moving—shoving you back against the wall, pinning you there like you belong beneath him. His grip tightens around your chin, thumb pressing against your glossy bottom lip.

“Daddy asked you a question.” His voice is rough, a quiet rasp of warning.

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “Which one?”

His expression darkens.

“Brat.”

Oh, you love it when he gets like this—when his rough hands and mean mouth are too much for anyone else, but perfect for you.

“I missed you, Logan” you sigh, tilting your head, giving him a coy smile of yours that drives him wild.

His thumb drags against your lip, just barely dipping between your teeth.

“Yeah? That why you were sendin’ me filthy fuckin’ pictures while I was drivin’?” he growls, his breath hot against your skin. He always loves hearing his name from you—especially when it comes out so sweet, so innocent, even though he knows exactly what’s underneath that pretty, ditzy exterior.

Your grin widens. “Mhm.” you hum, drawing out the sound just enough to drive him wild. “I missed everything about you, Logan”

His thumb presses against your tongue, just enough to make you gasp.

“Everything, huh? Got no patience for your games tonight, sugar. Y’been beggin’ for my attention all fuckin’ week.” He leans in, breath hot against your cheek. “Now you got it.”

“I want you so bad,” you whisper against his lips, your breath coming faster, need building. “Do you want me, Lo?” You whimper, thighs pressing together. Of course he did if he didn’t he wouldn’t be here.

His lips brush against your ear. “What was it you said?” His voice is pure gravel, his grip sliding down your body, over soft curves, possessive and firm. “Bet I won’t do a thing about it?”

A sharp little gasp slips out before you can stop it.

Then his hand grips the inside of your bare thigh. Just enough to sting. Just enough to make you ache.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

His voice is a growl against your ear, rough like gravel, thick like smoke.

“You really got no shame, do ya? Bubs”

You giggle, all soft and sweet, batting your lashes up at him. “Not when it comes to you, Lo”

Logan exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s trying to keep his shit together. You know that sound. It’s the same one he makes when he’s gripping the steering wheel too tight after you’ve spent the whole car ride teasing him with your pretty little mouth.

His hand is still on your thigh, big and hot, pressing in just enough to remind you who’s in charge. His other hand trails up, fingers catching on the chain of his dog tags—right where they sit between your tits.

You see it then, the way his eyes darken, locked on the cold metal resting against your warm skin.

He loves it.

He hates how much he loves it.

“You think just ‘cause you’re wearin’ these, you get to act like a fuckin’ menace?” His thumb brushes the tags, then trails down, grazing your nipple through the thin lace. The metal is cold against your skin.

You gasp, arching into him. “Mmm. Maybe.”

His grip tightens.

Maybe it’s the pout you give him. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not wearing panties, just like he told you to. Maybe it’s the way your skin is warm and soft under his rough hands—so delicate compared to him.

Whatever it is, Logan’s patience snaps like a frayed wire.

He fists the chain and tugs. Not enough to hurt, just enough to pull you closer, to make you feel who you belong to.

“You got no fuckin’ idea what you just started, Cotton Candy.”

You shiver, looking up at him through heavy lashes. “Guess you’ll have to show me.”

His nostrils flare.

Then, without another word, he grabs you—lifts you like you weigh nothing and tosses you over his shoulder, one big hand landing a sharp slap against your bare ass.

You squeal, wiggling in his hold.

“Fuck Logan!”

Another spank, harder this time.

“What was that?”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together, breath shuddering. “Daddy.”

His smirk is damn near feral as he starts toward your bedroom.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Logan kicks the door shut behind him, the sharp click of the lock sliding into place making your stomach tighten.

You’re still slung over his broad shoulder, ass on display, his fingers kneading at your soft flesh like he’s debating whether to spank you again.

He takes his time.

Lets you feel every step—every shift of his powerful frame, every roll of his muscles under your body. It’s dizzying, being manhandled like this, thrown around like you weigh nothing. And fuck, you love it.

“Dunno if you deserve my time tonight, sugar.”

“Daddy,” you whine, squirming in his grip. “You’re being so mean.”

Logan flicks open his lighter with a practiced ease, the small flame illuminating his face for just a moment before he brings the cigar to his lips. The end glows ember-red as he takes a slow drag, cheeks hollowing, the scent of burning tobacco filling the air. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t break eye contact. Just watches you through the curling tendrils of smoke, that sharp-toothed smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A chuckle. Deep, throaty. Cruel.

“Yeah?” he drawls, voice thick and amused, the cigar bobbing between his teeth as he speaks. His palm finds your ass again, fingers kneading into soft flesh, teasing, taunting. “’Cause I ain’t the one sendin’ pictures, beggin’ to be ruined, huh?”

You pout, not that he can see it. “It was just a little tease.”

You swallow hard, heat curling in your stomach, but Logan just snorts, exhaling a sharp puff of smoke through his nose like he doesn’t believe a damn word out of your mouth.

“Yeah? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

And then you’re falling.

Your back bounces against the bed as Logan drops you without an ounce of gentleness, and a little oof leaves your lips. But before you can complain, before you can even think about sitting up, he’s already on you—big, warm, and so much, caging you in with that solid body like you’re tiny beneath him.

His knees press into the mattress, one rough hand spreading your thigh open like it’s his to play with. His other arm braces beside your head, keeping you right where he wants you, making you so, so helpless under him. You’re not, of course—you know how to push his buttons, how to whine and get your way.

Logan knows better.

Knows you’re a spoiled, needy gorgeous thing. Knows you love pushing him to his limit just to see how far he’ll take it.

Tonight, you’re fucked.

“You like bein’ a whore, huh? Like makin’ me work for it? Huh, bub?”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, his fingers dip between your thighs, sliding through your already-messy slick.

“Damn,” he mutters, voice low, guttural. The rasp in it sends a shiver down your spine. “Drenched for me already, huh?“

Your breath hitches when he slides a thick finger inside, slow at first, teasing. He watches your body react, watches the way you arch and whimper, all pretty and desperate under him.

Your hands curl into the sheets as you whine, bottom lip wobbles “M’not easy.”

Logan just chuckles, dark and knowing. His free hand grips your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him.

“You sure about that, sweetie?” His fingers press a little deeper, his thumb circling your clit in lazy, unhurried strokes.

“This is mine”

You gasp, back arching, legs spreading instinctively. His touch is firm, practiced—he knows exactly how to unravel you, how to work your body until you’re shaking.

“I-" your voice squealing with delight, the more you cry for him.

“Yeah?” His thumb drags over your pouty bottom lip, like he’s thinking about stuffing it in your mouth.

And then—his fingers speed up.

The shift is sudden, brutal. From slow, teasing drags to deep, fast thrusts, curling just right, fucking you open with rough, unrelenting precision. His palm smacks against your soaked little cunt with every stroke, the sound loud, wet, filthy. The kind of sound that makes your cheeks burn. The kind of rhythm that makes you forget how to think.

Your back arches off the bed, legs trembling, hands fisting the sheets, desperate to grab onto something, anything.

“Oh,” you gasp, nodding eagerly, shivering when he fingers your swollen, desperate cunt. eyes going all glossy and unfocused. “Oh—Logan—” ..★ ..★

Your face burns, but you don’t deny it. Can’t. Not when he’s got you like this—pinned beneath him, fingers buried deep, dragging you toward the edge like it’s nothing.

“Daddy,” you whimper, hands flying to his shoulders, clinging tight, nails digging into muscle like you need to ground yourself.

He hums in approval, lips quirking into a smirk.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, teasing. “Say it nice. Show me you deserve it.”

You’re already panting, thighs trembling as the pressure builds, but you force yourself to meet his gaze, batting your lashes. And then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. Not gentle. Logan kisses like he fights—rough, unrelenting, a clash of heat and dominance that steals the breath from your lungs. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, a sharp nip that sends a jolt of pleasure straight through you. You whimper against his mouth, but that only makes him bite harder, dragging his teeth along the plush curve before soothing the sting with his tongue.

The taste of copper blooms between you.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest as he licks into your mouth, tasting the blood, tasting you. He groans when his tongue meets the cool metal of your piercing, rolling against it, sucking your tongue into his mouth like he’s starved for it. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly as the kiss deepens into something messy, desperate.

Your lips are swollen, slick, the faintest trace of blood smeared between them as he finally pulls back, panting, his grip on you still tight, still possessive. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, smearing the crimson before he shoves his thumb past your lips, pressing down on your tongue.

“Look at you,”

“Please, Daddy,” you breathe, voice dripping with sweet desperation. “Please fuck me. Want you so bad—”

Your words cut off in a gasp when he pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty, aching.

Logan brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, groaning low in his chest like he’s savoring you.

“Logan… Screw you” you whine, lifting your hips in an attempt to chase the pleasure you crave.

Wrong move.

His palm cracks against your ass, sharp and punishing.

“No,” he commands. “Stay still.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

The sound of his belt unbuckling makes your breath hitch. That sharp clink of metal, the slow drag of leather through the loops—it’s enough to have you clenching around nothing.

Logan knows it too. Knows exactly what that does to you.

He smirks, cigar between his teeth, letting his belt fall to the floor with a heavy thud. Then his hands go to his jeans, flicking the button open, dragging the zipper down slow—making you watch, making you wait.

You whimper, shifting under him, body already arching in silent desperation.

“Always so impatient,” he mutters, kicking his jeans off, watching you with those dark, heated eyes. “You know how this goes, sugar.”

Yeah. You do.

Because this isn’t the first time you’ve begged him like this, all messy and desperate, no teasing, no buildup—just pure, aching need.

And Logan’s never been the type to deny you.

You barely get the chance to breathe before he’s gripping your thighs, spreading you open, fitting himself between them.

No warning. No preparation. Just the blunt, thick head of his cock pressing against your slick, dripping entrance, pushing in deep.

You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs trembling at the stretch.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

You don’t remember exactly how it happened—how a night of harmless flirting turned into something permanent.

But somewhere between the stolen kisses in the dark and the way he fucked you, Logan decided you were his.

And you loved that.

You loved being spoiled.

Liked being taken care of.

Loved the feeling of his rough hands on your soft skin, the contrast of his calloused fingers slipping expensive jewelry onto you like you were some pretty little doll for him to dress up.

He made sure you had everything.

“You wanna act like a spoiled little thing—” he had rasped once, pinning you against the wall, cigar dangling from his lips.

You had just giggled, chewing your bubblegum, watching his eyes darken when your lips pouted around the pink sweetness.

“I am spoiled, daddy.”

Logan had exhaled, thick smoke curling around you both as he dragged his mouth up your neck, biting at your jaw, his voice a low growl—

“Yeah? Then I better make sure y’know who spoils ya.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Now, with your legs wrapped around his waist, his dog tags bouncing between your tits, his teeth sinking into your neck.

You know.

It burns—God, it burns—but you don’t care. You love it. Love how rough he is, how he takes you, he owns you.

“Fuck,” Logan growls, head dropping to your shoulder, voice thick with need. “So goddamn tight Cotton Candy —”

You whimper, legs wrapping around him, heels digging into his back. “Daddy, please—”

That’s all it takes.

With a low, ragged growl, Logan pulls back—just enough to slam back in, burying himself to the hilt.

Your back arches off the bed, lips parting in a soundless gasp.

He sets a brutal pace, fast and deep, no softness, no hesitation—just pure, unrelenting need.

Each thrust punches the air from your lungs, leaves you gasping, whining, begging.

“Fuckin’ ruined for me,” Logan growls, voice thick with possession. “Ain’t no man ever gonna fuck you like this, baby. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, babbling out a breathless, “Yes, Daddy—only you, only you—”

Logan grunts in approval, pace punishing now, skin slapping against skin. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall, but you don’t care.

All you care about is him. His hands gripping your hips, his breath hot against

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Logan shifts, gripping your hips, pulling you up until your legs wrap tight around his waist. The new angle makes you see stars ..★ ..★ —his cock pressing impossibly deep, stretching you wide, claiming every inch of you.

Your lingerie—what’s left of it—is already slipping off your shoulders, straps hanging loose, fabric bunched up around your ribs. Logan’s fingers roam up your torso, curling around the delicate lace, and with one sharp tug—

Riiip.

You gasp, eyes wide, body jerking from the sudden tear of fabric against your skin.

“Logan!” you gasp, half-scolding, half-turned on.

He just smirks, watching the shredded lace fall from your body, leaving you completely bare. His voice is rough, teasing as his thumbs skim your nipples. Click—the dog tags hanging between your tits clink together.

“I’ll buy you another one, Cotton Candy,” he murmurs, like it’s nothing. Like he’ll buy you a thousand more just to tear them off again.

Your head falls back against the pillows, shivering as his hands roam, feeling every inch of you like he owns it.

And he does.

Logan leans down, chest pressing flush against yours, his cock hitting deeper—making you gasp. His shirt’s still on, fabric rough against your bare skin, but it doesn’t last long.

One-handed, he tugs it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

God, he’s huge.

Thick and broad, every inch of him veined and solid, muscles shifting beneath his scarred skin as he moves. The happy trail leads down to where he’s buried inside you, disappearing between your trembling thighs.

The cigar still hangs lazily from his lips, the ember burning low. A slow curl of smoke wafts up toward the ceiling.

Logan smirks down at you, rolling his hips slow, grinding against you—making you feel every inch of him.

“Needa fill ya to the brim, bub where you're already sweet and ready for me, is where my cock goes—where my dick belongs." he rasps, voice heavy with lust.

“Oh god…” You gasped, eyes wide, looking down at the way his cock was bulged inside of you.

Your lips part, a shuddering whimper slipping past. “Mm… Lo”

His smirk widens, hand sliding down to grip your throat, thumb brushing your jaw.

“Yeah, sugar,” he mutters, leaning in, breath hot against your lips. “Real deep. Make sure ya feel me all fuckin’ night.”

His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss sloppy, rough, all teeth.

His canines graze your lip before he bites, sharp and deep—just enough to sting, to bruise.

You whimper, fingers tangling in his thick hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

He groans at that, hips snapping forward, cock slamming into you so hard your back arches off the bed.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he growls, licking the blood from your swollen lip.

Then he grabs your hips and fucks you stupid.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Your brain turns fuzzy, all soft and sweet, floating somewhere between pleasure and delirium.

Logan’s weight keeps you pinned, his body hot, muscles flexing, his hips slamming into you over and over until all you can do is take it.

His cock stretches you impossibly wide, dragging along that sensitive spot inside you with every brutal thrust. Your nails claw at his back, but you’re weak, barely able to hold onto him as your body trembles beneath him.

“D-Daddy—mm—s’too much…” Your voice is all breathy, slurred, almost drunk on him.

Logan just chuckles, that low, gravelly sound rolling through his chest. His cigar’s long gone now—probably crushed somewhere on the nightstand.

“Aww, what’s wrong, baby ?” he drawls, licking up the side of your throat. “My dumb lil’ candy can’t take it?”

Your head lolls back against the pillows, eyes glassy, lips parted. Every thrust punches another little whimper out of you, soft and broken, your thighs trembling around his waist.

He smirks at the way you’re gibbering now, no real words left—just babbling, whining, fists clenching and unclenching against his shoulders.

“C’mon, bubs,” he grunts, voice thick. “One more. Give me one more, yeah?”

You sob, shaking your head, but your body betrays you—your walls fluttering around him, sucking him deeper.

“Fuck—there ya go,” Logan groans, his rhythm stuttering, movements getting erratic. He’s close—real close.

His grip tightens on your hips, his pace turning sloppy, grinding deep until—

He pulls out at the last second, thick ropes of cum spilling across your chest, dripping down your belly.

You gasp, body twitching, still lost in the aftershocks.

Logan groans low in his throat, watching the mess he made, his fingers tracing through the pearly streaks painting your soft skin.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, half outta breath, voice wrecked.

You blink up at him, all fuzzy, pretty, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in little gasps.

Logan smirks, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

“Y’look real good like this, baby,”

[logansbaby]

DIET PEPSI | Logan Howlett

❥ summary: stuck in a place of unspoken desires and longing, the limousine drives only further ignite the spark between logan howlett and you. months of built up lust, feelings, and emotions bubble over when you take control.

word count: 8.1k

pairings: old man logan howlett x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ content MDNI, masturbation, messy kissing + spitting, oral (f receiving), begging, dry humping, pussy pronouns bc i said so, unprotected p in v, gagging?, car sex, pet names (baby, honey, princess), logan being logan

❥ a/n: this is a repost from my old account but please enjoy anyway! this was inspired by diet pepsi by addison rae <3 ive said it before but reading this back, i need to be sedated omg

— ⋆˚୨♡୧⋆｡˚⋆

TENSION simmers in the air of the limousine as two people engage in a silent staring contest through the rearview mirror. The cool air blasting from the air vents does little to dismantle the heat bubbling in the small space.

Though nonchalance is painted on your face, a darker, seductive glint glimmers in your eyes, a challenge settling within them. You tilt your head, tongue slipping out to glisten your lips with saliva.

There's no shame evident in your gaze; your body is thrumming with pure, hot need and you could cry out with how bad you need the man in the driver's seat.

Logan isn't faring much better— fists gripping the steering wheel so tight that his healing knuckles turn white, a frown etching deep in his features. He’s desperate to hold onto the tiny sliver of control he has left, mind working to come up with anything to keep him away from giving into this.

This thing between you both started the minute you settled in the backseat of his limousine all those months ago and the unspoken desire has only grown since then.

It’s like there’s something tethering you to him— it’s why you keep coming back to him, calling for his car services despite the fact that your car has long since been fixed. You find yourself craving him, though you haven’t even had a taste.

Yet.

You won’t give in first, though. As much as you’ve wanted to climb over the seat and suck his cock right then and there as he drives, you’ve held back, just barely.

Logan is a man of very few words and he prefers actions to voicing his feelings. He’s shown you he’s softened to you in the way he hums as you ramble on each car ride. He’s shown it in the way he shows up when you both know you don’t need his help anymore. He doesn’t say it, but you know he wants you as much as you want him, and you’ve been waiting for him to finally give in, to make you his.

As soon as you sat down tonight, fresh from the club, you knew something was bound to happen, especially with the way Logan’s been eying you the entire drive.

Which, it’s important to note that your destination leads to nowhere, you just crave to be as close as possible.

You lean back against the seat, eyes speaking a thousand words as they meet his once more. God, he’s so handsome. His pretty hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the salt and pepper stubble across his cheeks. Oh, how you want to feel the burn against your—

“Stop that.” Logan’s grunt snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Stop what?” You go for innocence but really, your tone is saturated in want, lust coating each syllable.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what, Logan?” You’re challenging him, and though you can’t see it from the backseat, his dress pants get considerably tighter at the defiant, bratty tone of your voice. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Bullshit,” He counters, eyes flickering to yours and you choose then to bite down on your glossy lips. His knuckles flex with the urge to release the claws piercing beneath his skin; is he crazy for being jealous that he’s not the one biting into the plush skin? “You’re staring at me like you want me to fuck you.”

Heat spreads from your chest to your cheeks at his bluntness. It’s completely correct, but the dirty truth makes you flush, and your panties dampen at the thought.

“It’s not gonna happen, baby.” His tone is confident, sure and it pisses you off. “It’s not, so knock it off.”

You roll your eyes, turning to stare out the window. You’re not sure when it started raining, but the water droplets hit the glass pane harshly with the momentum. The pitter patter of water should distract you from Logan, but it just sends you further spiraling.

How dare he deny your feelings and then call you baby?

Blah, blah, blah! His reasons for keeping you apart are pathetic. You could care less for the years he has on you— you’re a grown woman, and fully capable of deciding what you want. You don’t care what kind of a man he was before he met you; your feelings for him defeat any sense of logic your mind might muster.

You remember how it felt the first time you saw him; wild, untamed butterflies erupted in the pit of your stomach the moment Logan’s eyes met yours. You remember how your name sounded on his lips, a rough voice rendering chills across your skin.

That day had been a shitty one, everything had seemed to go wrong. Even more so when your car broke down and your then boyfriend refused to pick you up, instead sending you a link to a limousine service. You were sure nothing would get better from that point on.

But when you sat down in his car, Logan’s presence made you feel safe, and you wracked your brain as to why a stranger made you feel so comfortable, more than anyone had in a while.

Evidently, you kept calling the limo service (if you silently praised your ex for leading you to Logan, no one had to know).

You remember how you began looking forward to seeing him. You remember how talking with him, telling him about whatever, felt normal. You remember how being in the vicinity of him felt like taking a breath of crisp, cool air after months of no oxygen.

Logan’s picked you up from the bar, carried you to your apartment door when you were too drunk to do so yourself. Logan has veered off course when your stomach audibly rumbled during a drive to work. He even grabbed you a milkshake from your favorite retro diner when you told him how you dumped your ex.

He’s been there in every way that counts— he’s close, but not close enough.

Somewhere along the way, you’ve become love sick, reduced to a yearning mess each time you see him, each time only furthering your feelings. All you want is for Logan to accept this thing and let you in, let you ease his troubles and care.

And, you might also want is Logan’s dick deep inside you, his strong body hovering over yours as he fucks you dirty, hard, and rough.

But, details.

“Whatever, Logan.” Huffing, your eyes roll to further showcase your opinion. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs and the action causes the tiny, black dress to slip further up your thighs.

And because Logan has a staring problem where you’re concerned, he sees the roll of your eyes, the expanse of thigh that’s showing. Whenever you’re like this, so unashamed of your need for him, it makes him want to let go of any morals and throw your legs over his shoulders and devour you, lick up the slick he smells. He’d like to finally shut your mouth up, finally stop those bratty comments from pouring out as he fills you up.

Instead, he stays quiet and focuses on the empty road ahead. He can do this, resist your hazy eyes and luscious lips long enough until he gets you to your destination. The radio is switched on then, some pop song filtering through the vehicle in an attempt to lessen the thick, sexual strain permeating the air.

Though, that little action seems to unravel any sense of control over the situation.

His indifference annoys you; here you are, adorned in a black, lacy dress that does nothing to cover your thighs and grips your body deliciously. You even turned down an attractive man at the club in favor of having Logan pick you up; just the thought of him made you immune to another’s charm.

How embarrassing are you? Staying loyal to a man that has decided the course of your relationship without input from you. You would’ve walked away if it were any other person, but you’ve also seen the way he eyes you each time you get inside his car, seen the way his fingers go white as he grips the steering wheel, seen the way his cock goes hard at the sight of you.

And that’s when you decide you’re sick of this. Sick of Logan denying you both mind altering pleasure, sick of him pushing you away, sick of him deciding what’s best for you when you can make your own decisions.

A noisy clink! resounds as you unbuckle your seatbelt, and move toward the front of the car. You feel the prickling gaze on the side of your face as you fit yourself onto the console, hand reaching to turn off the radio knob. You let your fingertips barely graze Logan’s arm as you do so, and you’d think he’s unfazed had you not been so close to see the shudder rack through him, to hear the gruff inhale that has a shaky lilt.

In the corner of your eye, you see his mouth part, but before he can scold you, you remove yourself and land back against the cushion. If you’re going to do this, you want his entire attention on you, not on some shitty song filtering through the radio station.

You adjust yourself, wiggling until you’re comfortable. Parting your thighs, you feel your confidence soar as you note how Logan’s eyes track your movements.

The dress is bunched up around the tops of your thighs and with the way your legs are open, stretched enough that your ankles lean against the opposite sides of the leather, your lacy thong is on display.

One hand trails down to the spot between your legs, where you’re slick and wet with want. You don’t touch yourself right away, instead petting the supple skin of your inner thighs. The other hand moves to caress your breasts as they threaten to spill from the confines of the dress. You sigh, a shiver racketing through you as nimble fingers brush your most sensitive spots with a mere graze.

“What are you—“ Logan starts, but you cut him off because you’re sick of him taking charge of everything.

“Shut up, Logan.” You’re trying to sound stern but with the way you’re softly petting your nipples through the fabric, it’s more breathy than authoritative.

“Fuck,” Logan spits out, trying really hard to not crash but it’s proving to be a bit impossible with the way he can see you teasing yourself. What’s worse is the fact that the intoxicating scent of your pussy is assaulting his senses. He feels high on your smell, on the way he watches through the mirror as you pinch your chest. “Fuck.”

“You know…” You start, but it’s interrupted by a sudden inhale as you finally touch your tender clit through the thin material, pads rubbing softly until that familiar, hot feeling fills your stomach. “I wish I stayed at the club a little longer.”

“Is that right?” If your eyes were open, you’d see how unhinged and feral the man looks. The skin of his knuckles split open as his claws peak out.

A whimper rings loud into Logan’s ears and fuck, that angelic noise will haunt him for the rest of his fucking life. His eyes snap back to see you slowly rolling your hips into your hands, fingers playing with your clit lazily.

“Mhmm, I shouldn’t have called you. Not when you constantly ignore me.” You whine, spreading your legs further apart, feeling a rush you’ve never felt before warm your entire body at the show you’re putting on. “You pretend there’s nothing here, you pretend you don’t want me, and it pisses me off.”

He’s trying so incredibly hard to force the words ‘knock it off and cover yourself up’ out, but he can’t.

He can’t when it’s the furthest thing from what he actually wants. He can faintly see the wet spot on your underwear, and he wants to scream at you to remove the material all together— he’s that desperate to see your puffy, pretty cunt glisten in all its glory.

“I don’t ignore you, baby.” It’s grunted out, the pain of his claws only aiding in his desire as his cock grows uncomfortably stiff in his pants. “But I can’t give you what you want.”

Another roll of your eyes sends a shiver down Logan’s aching back. Oh, if you don’t knock it off, he’s going to make you cry as he fucks your mouth until you’re a mess.

Happy thoughts… Logan thinks, calm thoughts.

“There was this guy in the club.” By the tiny smirk on your lips, he knows he shouldn’t take the bait. He knows you’re trying to push him, trying to get him to let go and take what you both desire. He knows he shouldn’t fall for it.

Too bad hes never been good at listening.

“What?”

The lethal, cold trill of his voice has your eyes flying open and you have the audacity to fucking moan. You’re usually not this… bold? Perhaps Logan just turns you into a feral, needy thing.

“Yeah, he was cute too!” You hum, bubbles of laughter tumbling from bitten lips at the way Logan stares at you, how he gives you a warning look. “He offered to by me a drink, said he wanted to dance.”

“He’s a dick.”

“No, he said I’m pretty.”

“You are pretty.” It’s angry, the way he forces it out, not because it’s untrue, but because the idea of another man trying to make a move on you, his girl, sends anger boiling beneath his skin.

“He was nice, I don’t know why I bothered to turn him down.” It’s through a moan, the way the words are murmured because your fingers are now rubbing circles over your sex in a way that has your hips jolting, legs shaking, and lips shiny with spit.

“He’s an asshole, only wants one thing from you.”

“I don’t care, what if I want only one thing from him too?”

“Careful.” He practically growls, the limousine swerving slightly before he gets control over the wheel again.

He’s not sure when you’ve become so fucking obscene, but he aches to bend you over the hood of the car and teach you a lesson. He’s so overwhelmed with the turn of events, of how so many feelings swirl around beneath his ribcage.

He knows he’s been pushing you away, ignoring whatever spark you have, but fuck? The knowledge you can slip away from him at any moment makes him feel agonized.

“Jealous?” You taunt, the material of your underwear darker with the slick pooling there and you both know Logan can see it.

“No.”

“I gave him my number, you know.” It's spoken so nonchalantly that a snarl threatens to escape deep from Logan’s throat. “He said to call if I need anything…”

“Watch it,” it’s calmly muttered, but Logan’s anything but. He’s torn between actually focusing on the road and watching your fingers roll your clit in the rear view mirror. That, and anger rolls off him in thick, daunting waves at a man he doesn’t even know.

You’ve got him wrapped around your pretty finger and he’s a fool to think anything else. He’s a fool to think he’s been successful in the suppression of his feelings.

“Maybe I should call him,” You suggest, your hand slipping beneath the sodden mesh and finally touching your clit properly. “He was hot.”

Logan’s so wrapped up in your euphoric face and honeyed voice that he’s struggling to remember why he’s riled up.

“Stop tryna piss me off. You’re gonna regret it.” He’s stern, but you just smile and slip the pads of your fingers down to swipe up the arousal pooling at your hole, your whiny pants making his spine go rigid.

“I’m not doing anything, Logan.”

“Bullshit. Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not gonna work. This can’t happen.”

He’s trying so hard to convince himself as much as you. His words anger you though, because the furrow of your brow deepens and you huff.

“You don’t want me?” You challenge, and you stare him down as your fingers retreat from your cunt. You lift your hand up to your mouth, never once looking away as you stick them past your lips and suck.

Your body jolts when the car swerves wildly, but instead of fear, blistering lust fills you and heats your cheeks. Logan looks so incredibly distraught with how your lips wrap around your fingers, a soft ‘hmmm’ falling from you at the taste of desire blooming across your tastebuds.

“Shit, princess. ‘Course I want you. You don’t know how bad I need you.”

“Please.” You cry out and fuck, you could kill him. Your fingers part from your wandering tongue, traveling down the path of your curves to find your pussy. “Please, please—“

“No.”

“Logan!” You’re so overwhelmed with your blatant need for the man that actual tears pool across your lashes.

“No.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“Don’t give me attitude.” He commands and you must be sick because the stern, finality of his tone has your hole clenching around nothing. “You know why.”

“—oh my god, Logan. Not this again, the ‘I’m too old for you’ excuse is bullshit! I couldn’t care less, I want you to fuck me.”

You’re so forthright that he can’t be blamed with how his stomach churns with intense hunger.

“Way too old for you, baby. You deserve so much more, more than I can give you.”

Logan seems to forget that as much as he’s come to know you, you’ve also picked up on his own habits. So, you know he’s full of shit by the twitch of his hands on the wheel, the tightening of his lips, the way he’s staring at you like a man starved.

“You know what? Fine, that’s fine. I’ll just call Nate and—“

“Who?” The lethal note in his words should scare you, but it just sends another wave of slick to kiss your thighs.

“Nate! The guy from the club,” you say, one hand reaching for the phone hidden in your purse, and the other rubbing circles on your neglected clit.

“I told you, the guy sounds like a dick. The fuck kind of name is that?” Logan’s patience is running out and you both know it, the string tearing further with each tug you give. His eyes widen when you wiggle the phone in his eyeline.“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

“Why? At least he was willing to fuck me.”

And, oh.

You’re not sure what causes you to say that, but the atmosphere turns tense, filling with anticipation, something dark and dangerous enough that chills run across your skin.

It’s silent. Astonishingly silent as Logan tears his gaze from you, his eyes only forward now. You don’t back down; you know you’re driving the man crazy and it feels fucking good.

Without tearing your eyes from him, you hit the call button.

The sound of the phone dialing has Logan snapping. The car tires screech loudly as Logan slams on the breaks, yanking the wheel to pull of to the side of the road.

Your hands fly out to catch yourself from the swift, jerky motion. A sense of accomplishment bubbles inside your chest as Logan shuts the car off, his body frantic and hurried before he’s out the driver's door.

You’re jittery with nerves, despite the fact you were just rubbing your clit like a madwoman in front of him. You were tempting him, sure. But now that he’s finally snapped, you’re nervous.

You gasp as chilly air hits you in the face when the back door opens. In an instant, he’s in the back with you, slamming the door shut. His presence is so intimidating and powerful that you shiver, arousal licking at your spine as he crowds into your space.

He glares at you, and just as about you’re about to speak, a rough, large hand grips your chin tightly. He squeezes your cheeks, thumb pulling at your bottom lip. His other hand yanks the phone from your fingers and chucks the device in the front seat.

“So fucking stubborn and bratty, always fucking pushing me. Never stop talking, do you?”

“I’ll have you kno—“

Logan slams his mouth onto yours then, effectively shutting you the fuck up.

Oh.

It’s like fireworks are set off in your stomach, a trickle of mind numbing pleasure tingling every inch of you. You’ve imagined this moment for months, wondered how it’d feel, but nothing your imagination conjured up could ever compare to the real thing.

Logan’s kisses are passionate, eager. He lifts your entire body into his lap in one, quick motion. The causal display of his sheer strength causes your body to melt into him. Your choked gasp is swallowed by his lips, his tongue licking at yours and oh, the warm wetness of it sends a wave of flutters straight to your cunt.

His mouth is harsh, the scruff of his beard scratching at your chin with a tasteful burn. His rough hand leaves your thigh to snake into your hair, wrapping the around his fingers until a messy ponytail forms. Without warning, he tugs firmly to pull you from his mouth.

He watches as your eyes fly open, as a string of saliva connects from his lips to yours. He feels pride thrum within his chest as you try to lean in immediately, chasing the taste of him, his kiss, his tongue.

Logan doesn’t allow you though, yanking at your hair to keep you in place.

“Not speaking now, are you?” Logan grunts out, tugging your head back so he can lick a hot, wet stripe up the expanse of your neck. He sucks at the skin there, hips threatening to thrust up at the moans spilling from your open mouth. “Finally found a way to keep you fuckin’ quiet.”

“Logan—“ you start, mind cloudy with the overwhelming feeling of his wet mouth on your skin, but he just smashes his lips on yours again.

And holy fuck, the way he’s kissing you, like he’s been starved of a meal and you’re the only one to satiate the hunger, like he can’t get enough of your taste, has your panties growing even wetter. You snake your arms around Logan’s neck tightly, hips swiveling down in his lap so you can rub yourself over his bulge.

Your moan tangles with the surprised groan from Logan when your center grinds down on his cock, the feeling indescribable, utterly intoxicating and above all— right.

His hand releases your hair in favor of grabbing handfuls of your ass and squeezing, guiding your hips as he licks at the roof of your mouth.

It’s almost embarrassing how riled up you are with just kissing and humping, but you can’t be blamed, not really. Not with the way Logan’s dragging your cunt along his hard cock as he sucks your tongue— it’s so fucking good that his pants are wet with your wetness, even through your panties.

When you finally pull back, its with his bottom lip tucked between your teeth, enticing a hiss from the man as you bite down. You lose your hands in his messy hair, tugging until his eyes open and fuck— his pupils are huge, dark with need for you.

Cradling his cheeks, you lick at his lip, soothing the sting your teeth left. You startle as Logan thrusts up in reaction, the head of him tapping your clit, and despite the barriers between you, it feels fucking amazing.

Logan catches your lips in a messy, slick embrace. There’s no gentleness, only pure sensuality leading his bruising kisses. You get so wrapped up in the pleasure of Logan’s mouth on yours, his cock rutting into your clothed center so delectably that time is lost.

When you push Logan’s face away, it’s because your lungs burn with the need for oxygen.

Logan’s unfazed, lips moving down your throat and leaving wet kisses across your neck. You’re sucking in oxygen desperately, hands shaky as they stroke up and down Logan’s back.

“Fuck, I can smell you.” He mutters against your collarbone, rough hands roaming all over your body, as if he needs to memorize the feel of you.

“Yeah?”

You’re a fucking mess— hands wrappped tightly around the back of his neck, leaving scratches that stay for longer than they would’ve decades prior, and you’re still rolling your hips in his lap, trying and failing to ease the ache in your cunt. It only further intensifies the achy throbbing with each grind of restless hips.

“Smells so fuckin’ sweet. Gonna let me have a taste, baby?”

“Yes! Please, Logan, please.” You’re far too gone, too drunk on the feel of his lips on your skin to care how pathetic you sound.

You lean back, grabbing Logan’s face to meet yours, sighing softly as your wet lips melt together once more. He groans, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair, tugging hard as he turns your head any way he pleases, using you.

You’re not sure how much time passes as Logan devours your mouth, it could be mere minutes or hours, but you’ve been too tangled up in his to care. What you do know is that you feel as though you’re going to explode if you don’t relieve the pressure in your abdomen soon.

You’re whining, pawing at Logan’s chest and rubbing your wetness on the pant of his thigh, trying to get the man to touch you moremoremore.

But Logan’s too occupied with sucking on your tongue and biting your bottom lip meanly. He uses the grip he has on your hair to keep you there, rendered useless as he messily kisses you breatheless.

“Logan, Logan, Logan.” You moan and even though it’s mumbled into his own lips, he hears you all the same.

“Need you. Please.”

And then, it’s like Logan’s realizing the current situation— you, a whimpering mess and rubbing your cunt along his lap as your spit soaked lips mesh with his own in a delicious, salacious embrace. You, who he knows he can’t afford to lose, and if he continues touching you, you’ll fade away like everything else good in his life.

He pushes your face back, but makes no move to remove your weight from his body. A frown settles over your blissed out features, dread replacing the butterflies fluttering about inside you.

“Logan?”

“You don’t want this.” He’s refusing to look at you, his hazel eyes blown out with pleasure wondering around the interior of the limousine as if he hasn’t seen it before, despite owning the vehicle.

“I do. I want this. I want you.” You cradle his bearded face in your hands, thumbs caressing the prickly grays scattered across his cheeks. “I do.”

“No, baby. You don’t, you deserve so much better—“

His words are lost in the air as you connect your swollen lips with his. You bully your tongue inside, swiping along his, sighing when his hips buck up at your boldness. The action has his cock rutting your covered clit in such an angle that you could probably come.

“Can’t you feel how badly I want you?” You whisper, peppering sweet kisses along his cheeks, nose, eyelids. Staring into his eyes, so muddled with conflict and something sweeter, you kiss him properly.

“Shit,” he groans into your mouth, tongues dancing in a pace that has you dizzy, whimpering for mouth as your lace covered mound ruts at his thigh. “Can’t, baby. You deserve someone better, not some old fucking man who’s done more harm than good.”

“I don’t need better, I need you.” You emphasize the point by grabbing his hand and shoving them down your panties.

A symphony of your shared moans ricochets through the small space; you, at the feel of his rough, thick fingers finally touching your slit. Logan because the feel of your sweet, sweet arousal soaking your cunt slippery has him losing it.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to find any excuse as to why he should push you away when kissing you, touching you feels this fucking good. Even as his brain works, his fingers tease your fluttering hole and collect your wetness, dragging it to your clit.

“See? I need you, please. Logan, please.”

You stare up at him, eyes wide with so many things that cause his heart to pump faster and his cock to jerk.

He seals his fate then and there— Logan’s sick and tired of all the bad in his life, and he doesn’t know much, but what he does know is that you make him feel like he can breathe again, like he’s fated for something other than drowning in whiskey. And he’s sick of denying himself of you.

“Fuck it.” He mutters, eyes on your lips before melting into you, lips meshing together wetly.

Your moan is loud and sweet, hands leaving his face in favor of gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the crisp white of the fabric there.

He pulls back, ignoring the need washing over him at the mewl falling from you at the sudden removal of him.

“Shh, baby.” He soothes, a large hand finding purchase on your chin, his fingers teasing your lips and rubbing the saliva there. “Open up.”

The quickness at which you obey him makes him want to fuck you full of his cock then, but he just barely restrains. Your lips are parted, tongue peaking out and waiting— the picture you paint will be a reoccurring dream.

Logan leans over you before spitting onto your tongue, watching as the saliva glistens on your mouth. You gasp, the act so incredibly dirty and carnal that you shiver in his lap.

“Swallow.” He commands, squeezing your cheeks together, nearly getting lost in the dazed, euphoric look in your eyes. And you do, because you’d do anything Logan asked. ”Atta girl.”

A sob nearly escapes you at that, because fuck, you’re so turned on beyond belief and you’re sure you’ll burst into tears if Logan doesn’t fuck you soon.

Almost like he can read your mind, he moves you around until your back hits the cool, chilly leather of the seat. He settles himself on the floor of the limousine before you, ignoring the aches he feels stinging his lower back.

Logan runs his hands along your legs slowly, teasingly as he presses a kiss on your upper thigh.

“Been dreaming of this pussy for so long.” He starts, leaning until your mound is warm with his breath. You’re trembling, suspense sizzling hot in your stomach as you wait for him to do something. “Everytime you get in the car, I can smell you. And everytime, I want to fucking eat you out.”

“Logan, please.”

And seeing you, someone who’s so unabashedly beautiful and talkative be reduced to a withering mess, has a grin threatening to grace his face.

“I got you, baby. Gonna take care of you.”

And he does.

Logan presses a soft, barely there kiss to your lace covered slit before licking a slow, warm path from your hole to your aching clit.

“Oh my god!” You cry out, thighs trying and failing to clench closed as Logan’s hands keep them spread open. He groans at your taste, the little hint of something addictive, so entirely you.

He grabs each thigh and wraps them around his neck before pulling the sodden material aside with his thumb to finally expose your pussy to him.

And at the sight of your cunt glistening with slick, with unsuppressed desire, makes him fucking lose it.

“She’s so wet, fucking dripping everywhere,” groans, and it takes your muddled brain a second before realizing he’s talking about your pussy.

A moan falls from you, deep from your chest and full of need and hunger as Logan’s tongue swirls over your slit, dipping into your dripping hole. He’s messy with it, completely driven by a primal urge to completely devour you in the most intimate sense. His movements are rash, his appetite stronger than anything else.

Logan leans back a bit, eyes flickering to yours to ensure you’re focused on him before he spits directly onto your pussy.

A gasp sounds, your chest heaving at the warmth of his saliva coating your center, and it’s so dirty, so insanely hot that more slick seeps from you.

Logan leans back, ignoring your whine as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy wide open, your sex bare to him. Its obscene, the way he stares at the mixture of saliva and slick glistening your slit. It’s hot, your cunt crying for him and clenching around nothing as your hips try to buck at his mouth.

Logan laps it all up, tongue flat as he greedily eats you out. And you’re losing it— not only is his tongue fucking you, going as deep as he can, but Logan’s nose is bumping against your clit with each thrust of his mouth. Warmth swarms in your stomach, your thighs shake with a promise of an orgasm in the distance.

“Feels so good!” You manage, your hips thrusting up into his face.

You were right, the beard feels fucking amazing rubbing mean and unforgiving against the sensitive skin of your thighs.

“Tastes so good, the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” Logan moans, switching his tongue with two fingers. His cock hardens even more with the way your cunt swallows his fingers right away, your warm, velvet walls squeezing around them.

That familiar burn swelters in your pelvis, pure heat sizzling through your veins and for a moment, you forget to breathe. It gets worse when Logan suddenly wraps his swollen lips around your tender clit and sucks.

The pleasure of it all is so sudden that it smothers you entirely— your back arching off the leather, your pussy convulsing as Logan’s fingers and tongue work you to an orgasm quicker than you ever have before.

“Logan, oh, please!” You pant, hands tugging the graying tufts of hair, and you’re unsure if you’re trying to push him impossibly closer and away at the same time.

He only releases his suction on your clit when tears prickle your eyes, when you shake on his fingers from the stimulation of it all. He gently places kisses along your sweaty thigh, hands stroking your calves as you struggle to breathe.

“That’s it, honey. I got you.”

“Come here,” is all you have the strength to muster, needing his lips on yours instead of your trembling thighs.

Logan obliges, because if you asked him to get you the moon, he’d do his damn hardest to get it.

“Hi,” you whisper once he’s level with you, body slotted between your limp one. Your arms move without your knowledge and wrap around his nape.

“Hi, baby.”

It’s then you see how insane he looks— his chin, lips, and the tip of his nose is soaked with you. His eyes are wild, hazy with need and his hair is arrayed from wandering fingers. He looks so incredibly handsome right now, in your arms, covered in you that you can’t be blamed for the little moan that escapes.

You tug him close, lips locking in a newly familiar kiss. The taste of you envelopes over your tongue as you lick along his mouth, a satisfied hum vibrating from your lips to his.

What starts as a sweet, lazy kiss turns heated quickly, and though you’ve just come, your sex aches to be filled. Its a mess of tongues and saliva, teeth clashing as your lips interlock and wrap around one another.

Your hands begin to unbutton his shirt, marveling at the feel of muscle that’s revealed with each pop of a button. You shrug the fabric off and grab at his shoulders, nails digging into the skin and trailing down to the middle of his back.

“Fuck!” Logan groans, biting your bottom lip as you scratch at him.

Instead of responding, you push at his chest until he falls into the seat opposite of yours before throwing yourself in his lap again. You’re crazed, an unsatisfied hunger clinging to every inch of you and threatening to overtake your senses.

“Such a fuckin’ brat.” He’s taunting you, but with the way his dick jolts as you yank your dress off, you know you’ve got him right where you want him.

You gaze at him, guiding his hands from your hips to your chest, urging him to take off your bra.

Logan’s too impatient to actually remove the fabric though, because he simply pulls at the cups until they give way to the pressure and your breasts are on display.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans, leaning down and taking a pebbled nipple between his lips. You whine as he suckles, his fingers rubbing and pulling your other nipple. He switches his attention to your other nipple and desire pools in your stomach, heat tingles across your skin, and you can’t wait any longer.

With quick hands, you work to undo his buckle before yanking down his boxers and dress pants in one motion. Logan’s released your chest in favor of watching you nearly drool at his cock.

He’s huge. The tip is flushed, red and swollen and dripping pearly bubbles. His shaft is thick with veins leading down to a patch of short, curled hair. Even in the dim light of the limousine, you note how the vein on his lower stomach connects to the ones decorating his cock. Fuck, you suddenly want to feel the heaviness of him on your tongue. You’d ignore your own needs to choke on the entirety of him. You crave his taste, his come, and—

“Next time, baby.” Logan startles you from your filthy thoughts, and you actually whine at his words. “As much as I’d like to fuck your pretty mouth, I need to be inside you.”

And despite the fact that the man has eaten you out and stolen an orgasm tonight, you flush with warmth.

Logan finds you amusing, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock and yanking you until your hole is kissing his tip. Your hips move forward, and a whole body shiver wracks through you when your clit brushes his shaft.

“C’mon, princess. Show me how bad you want it.” He emphasizes his taunt with a squeeze of your waist, his lips brushing yours. “Not so cocky now, huh?”

Oh, you’re gonna make sure he’s as desperate as you are.

With a glare, you push his hand away and wrap yours around his cock, guiding it to your wet, slick hole. Logan merely raises an eyebrow as your other hand grips his shoulder to lift yourself up enough. Without warning, you sink down onto the the tip of him, nails digging into his shoulder at the overwhelming feeling bubbling over you.

“Fuck,” Logan growls, head leaning forward onto your shoulder as you squeeze around him purposefully, cunt sucking him down bit by bit as you lower yourself, only stopping when he fills you to the brim.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” You huff, a grin on your flushed face as you repeat his previous words back at him.

Logan doesn’t respond, to focused on not coming immediately— you’re so fucking tight, so wet and warm that he’s struggling.

The stretch is painful, but not unpleasant as you adjust to his size. When the burn fades away and instead comes a delicious thrum, you unleash.

You lift your hips up, enticing a broken moan from Logan as you move up and slam back down in slow, articulated motions.

“Feel so good, baby. So good.”

“Yeah?” You say, hands creeping into his hair to pull each time his tip brushes that spot inside you.

“Yeah.” The kiss he presses to your cheek makes your heart flutter, an act so pure in the midst it all.

You continue your torturous pace, pride warming your chest when Logan’s hands tighten on your hips, urging you to go faster.

You could go faster, but you like the way Logan looks like he’s struggling to sunk in oxygen each time his cock fills your cunt.

You catch his mouth in an open, wet kiss. He grunts, and before you can even think, Logan moves his hips upwards and you fucking whine.

Suddenly, Logan’s stripped you of control and thrusts his cock deep inside you in quick, harsh movements. You’re fucking dripping, desire slicking your thighs and Logan’s. He feels so good and he’s so deep and he’s holding you in place so you have no choice but to take it, take the assaulting pace he’s set.

“Shit,” Logan grits out, arms tightly wrapped around your midsection as he fucks you from below. “Such a mess, aren’t you?”

You’re so overcome with euphoria, so deeply gone in the waves of pleasure, that you can only nod. Each time he’s fucks up into you, his pubic bone brushes your puffy, throbbing clit in a delicious graze that has tears gathering at your lash line.

“This is what you wanted? For me to fuck you dumb?” He mutters between clenched teeth, his hips moving in a deadly way now. “You wanted to be fucking full of me, huh?”

“Yes!” You mewl, mouth falling onto his as your tongues messily swirl around, moans and groans mixing with the wet kisses.

The pressure building in your abdomen is almost too much, teasing you each time his cock slams inside. Despite being as close as physically possible, you ache to be closer.

You stop Logan, lifting yourself off him with a hiss. The sudden absence of him leaves you feeling uncomfortably empty and unconsciously, your hole clenches as wetness drips from you and onto the leather seats.

“What’s wro—“ you cut him off by pushing him until he’s laying back on the long seat. Once he’s settled down, with sweat glistening his chest, you climb shakily back onto his lap.

Sighs of relief echo through the air as your cunt sucks him down and a filthy squelch sounds. With him like this, he’s somehow deeper. You’re so incredibly full and it feels incredible.

The tingling, sweltering sensation in your cunt has you grinding across his lap, the base of his cock rubbing your clit delicately.

“Fuck. Doin so good for me.” Logan bends an arm behind his head so he can watch the way your eyes roll back with each grind, the way your tits jostle with each thrust and hump. “That’s it, baby.”

His praise has you finding a delicious, intoxicating rhythm as you lift up and down, up and down. The ridges and veins of his shaft kiss your walls and your thighs tremble with the feeling. Your hands reach back and grip your asscheeks to pull them apart further, needing his cock to go even deeper.

Logan is enamored by the sight before him— his pretty girl desperately splitting her cunt onto his cock, eyes rolling back with spit-slicked lips resembling an ‘o’.

His hand wraps around your throat tightly, pulling you down until your chest is flush against his. The action has you clumsy, arms swinging out to grip whatever is nearest to steady yourself. He places both hands across your ass and lifts you like you weigh nothing, mimicking your previous thrusts with more force, more speed.

A harmony of ‘uh, uh’s’ filter in his ears as Logan uses you and fucks you down onto his cock. You’re a whining mess, latching onto him tightly as his hips start to thrust upwards as his hands slam your hips back down in tandem.

He wishes that he had his phone close because seeing you like this is a picture he wants to capture forever.

“C’mon, baby. Can feel how close you are.” He grits out between thrusts. One hand leaves your ass to cradle your slackened jaw, gripping tight enough as he forces your eyes on his.

Logan pushes his thumb past your lips and a deep moan falls from him when you suck at him immediately. With your gaze never leaving his, you mimic a blowjob as you suck and swirl your tongue along his thumb.

“Mine.” Logan grunts, his digit pressing down onto your tongue. He feels a sick sense of pleasure envelope him as you gag at the pressure, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “My fuckin’ girl.”

You nod instantly, a sweet, gooey feeling spreading across your chest at his words, his voice. You pathetically grind down as Logan fucks upward, spit glistening your lips and his thumb as you messily suck on him.

An overbearing urge to get you to climax surges within him, and he sighs mockingly when you moan as his thumb slips from the confines of your pretty mouth. With a new vigor, Logan fucks you harder, faster, dirtier. He slips a hand between your sweaty bodies and when his fingers swirl over your clit, you explode.

The roughness of his hips, the precision of his fingertips on your clit, and the intensity of the moment catches up with you and you’re coming abruptly. It’s intense, the way a maddening bliss coats your entire body and soul. It leaves you breathless and dizzy as your eyes prickle with spots along your vision.

You’re moaning, words unintelligible against the warmth of Logan’s chest, and your cunt squeezes around him in sharp, sporadic pulses.

Logan’s so close to losing it and you don’t even realize, too busy trying to inhale oxygen into greedy lungs. Huffs tumble from you, but instead of really trying to breathe, you lift your face to pepper wet, open mouthed kisses across his torso and that does it for him.

“Fuck…” Logan moans, gutteral and rough as he slams your hips down onto his cock, his cock painting your walls with come as euphoria encompasses him entirely. “Fuck, baby.”

Your body feels like it’s on fire— clit throbbing with overstimulation as Logan’s cock continues to fill you to the brim with his orgasm. Tears of pleasure have spilled over the apples of your cheeks, the your hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face.

You continue to gently kiss up his chest and neck before you move to cradle Logan’s face. Eyes fill with astonishment as you take in the way his eyes roll with the aftershocks of his peak. Thumbing at his cheeks, you kiss his lips gently before pressing kisses all along his face. His cheeks, the slope of his nose, his chin, forehead, and even the furrow of his brows.

You don’t even notice Logan staring at you with complete adoration until he removes your hand to kiss your palm.

You smile at him, bashful even with his softening cock is still inside you, stuffing you full of his come.

“C’mere.” He says, pulling you close until your lips melt over one another’s in a sweet, passionate kiss.

With a sudden thought, you pull away and fix him with a stern stare. Unfortunately for you, the furrow of your brows and purse of your lips only causes his heart to beat faster beneath the adamantium ribcage. You just look so pretty right now, sitting atop of him breathless and sweaty, a glaze settled over your irises.

“What's that face for?” His brow is raised and a smile is teasing his swollen lips.

“No more pushing me away, Logan.”

His gaze softens then, reminded of his self sabotage and the way he’s been adamant in keeping you at arms length, despite his yearn for more, his need for you.

“No more pushing you away, baby.” His lips meet yours softly, finality in his tone that eases your worries and wandering thoughts.

You lay your head down in the crook of his neck and hug him, intent to never let him go. Logan’s heart clenches with an emotion he’s not quite yet ready to face, so he presses a kiss to your hairline as his fingers stroke your back.

The atmosphere is no longer tense, but rather peaceful— every single desire has been satiated to the point calmness emerges. Eventually, he knows he’ll have to pull away from you and actually drive you home (and he will be coming inside, he can’t wait to properly fuck you in your bed), but he wants to stay in your embrace a little longer. It’s a blissful moment, and the serenity of it is something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Logan?” You whisper, sleepy as you rub your nose along his neck.

“Yeah, honey.”

“I didn’t give that guy my number.”

And when you say it with a slightly guilty tone, a laugh rumbles deep from his chest. He doesn’t care, because that little white lie led him to finally say ‘fuck it’ and claim you.

The feeling you erupt in his chest is foreign and it scares him shitless— but with the weight of you in his arms, he knows he’ll do anything to keep you.

[just-some-random-blogger]

SHHH BUB IS CRAZY

I deadass need old man Logan to fuck his cum into me so hard and deep, that there's absolutely no way in hell I fail a pregnancy test. I don't want kids, but holy shit does old man Logan give me baby fever for some reason

note: old man!logan howlett would definitely use every last drop he had to satisfy reader. he wouldn’t be able to sleep without filling something, which would be you.

———

“Gonna keep cummin’ for me, baby?” Logan whispered in Y/n’s ear after he heard a small whine escape her mouth. She promised him she could take him, but she always proved him wrong.

Logan was just too big for her, and he knew that. He loved that. Logan loved watching her walls clamp around him tightly, almost ripping his skin off. She was always so damn tight for him.

“Y-Yes,” Y/n nodded her head as her legs shook. They’d been shaking non-stop for a while now, letting Logan know it was almost time to stop, or else she’d be too drained to shower with him.

“Gonna let me fill you up, baby? Been thinkin' about it all day,” and he has. He just loved the thought of leaving her filled every second of the day, just for her to complain that he was leaking out of her.

“P-Please,” she begged as he pushed her legs back to force his thrusts further into her. “L-Lo,” y/n cried low as a small pressure of pain pierced her side. “Ssh, Bub — You’ve got this,”

And she did. She always took him, whether it was too much for her. She hated going to sleep with nothing inside of her, so every night, she sucks it up and takes it.

“That’s my girl. Always ready for me to give it to her. Such a good girl,”

[wolvietxt]

hello i found your writings last night and i am having a wonderful (/s) trauma moment and wondering if you could write a Wolverine helping a gn!reader get out of flashbacks, hallucinations, and intrusive thoughts?

LOGAN’S voice cuts through the static.

it’s the first thing that reaches you, even before the sensation of the floor beneath you, the faint chill of the air against your skin. his voice is rough, edged with something almost like worry, but steady. grounding.

“hey.” firm, but not harsh. “you with me?”

you don’t know.

everything feels distant, like you’re watching yourself from the outside. the room isn’t right. too bright, too sharp at the edges. the walls feel like they’re pressing in, the space between past and present unraveling thread by thread.

you know this feeling. you’ve been here before - stuck, drowning in a tide of memories that aren’t just memories. they’re more than that. too vivid, too real. ghosts of a past that never learned to stay dead.

your breath comes too fast, too shallow. you try to pull yourself out, but the weight of it is suffocating.

then there’s pressure against your hand. not harsh. solid. warm.

logan.

you don’t have to look to know it’s him. you know the way he moves, the way he smells - earthy, like leather and pine, a scent that’s become familiar, safe. the calluses on his fingertips catch slightly against your skin as he shifts his grip, holding on tight but not too tight. just enough to remind you that you’re here. now. not then.

“breathe,” he says, voice low and even. “focus on me.”

you try. but the past is still there, whispering in the back of your mind. you can feel the phantom press of restraints against your wrists, the hum of fluorescent lights, the distant echoes of voices you’d rather forget. your throat tightens.

logan doesn’t let go. doesn’t push. just stays, waiting.

he’s been through this with you before.

the first time, you’d tried to hide it. brushed it off, shoved it down, pretended everything was fine even when your hands were shaking and your head felt like it wasn’t your own. logan hadn’t said anything at first - just watched, sharp eyes catching the cracks in your armor. and when it had finally gotten too much, when you’d hit your breaking point, he’d been there. not prying, not demanding answers, just… there.

you don’t know how he always seems to know what you need, even when you don’t. but he does.

“c’mon,” he says now, giving your hand the slightest squeeze. “deep breath.”

you inhale, shaky, unsteady. exhale. the world tilts, but this time, it’s back toward solid ground. you focus on the feeling of his hand in yours. the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes with you. the sound of his voice - steady, certain, like he never once doubts that you’ll pull through this.

it’s enough. not all at once, not completely. but enough. the room settles. your pulse slows. the walls stop feeling like they’re closing in.

logan watches you, waiting. giving you the space to come back at your own pace.

when you finally nod, just a little, his grip doesn’t loosen. not yet.

“you alright?”

you swallow, nodding again. you don’t trust your voice yet.

logan studies you, his eyes softer now, but still sharp, still searching for any cracks. then, with a small huff, he shifts, pulling you closer - not quite a hug, but almost, his shoulder solid against yours.

“you need anything?”

you shake your head.

right now, this - him, the quiet steadiness of his presence - is enough.

logan doesn’t move. doesn’t say anything else. he just stays. and for once, the past feels a little farther away.

ᰔ logan howlett : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen, @tezooks

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd

@superlegend216, @mikaaki, @withasideofmeg, @samfunko, @aaronhotchnerlover

@qxuanii, @m1cky-y-y, @uncertified-doc, @cryingwta, @pvndomi

@marvelescvpe, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @misscrissfemmefatale, @ltristessedureratoujours, @meadow-field

@hazydespair, @stupid-little-birdie, @urlocallocachica, @person-005, @nestavadavat

@christinamadsen, @zaggprincess2, @lokixryss, @mehjustalasshere, @spktrlvr

@northerngalxy, @hits-different-cause-its-you, @spideysimpossiblegirl

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[luvlyycy]

couldnt find any marvel rivals!wolverine x reader stuff... cna u make rivals!wolverine x reader plz? either headcanons or a lil drabble ^u^ /nf

sure! wasn't sure if ya wanted nsfw or sfw so i js made it suggestive :3c

wolverine is a pretty big guy.

he enjoys that you enjoy that aspect of him. your hands either holding onto his broad arms or shoulders, holding his calloused hands.

your hands would dig into his big yellow jacket, eyes peering at him before he placed a kiss on your lips. he's a sweet man. always letting you bury your face into his chest or hug him like he was teddy a bear.

he finds it adorable.

often more than not he'd tease you about it. saying things like, 'you into this?' or 'i guess you like 'em big.' it's all harmless banter but it gets you flustered, knowing that he's not... wrong.

he'll place a big hand on the back of your head and kiss you, his other hand either to himself or splayed across your waist. old fashioned, but not in a 'madam' type of way. he's an old fashioned bad boy.

so, you often feel like one of those good girls in a 80's movie who meets the bad boy who's crude and fights a lot.

but thats not really important. right now you're sat at home with your boyfriend, legs dangling over his lap as he places kisses all over your neck. his hand dips between your legs and you whine a bit, only for him to grin against your neck— before he bites.

perks of having a territorial boyfriend you think.

"logan.." you whisper, only for him to lick up your neck with his big tongue as he rubs his palm against you.

you love your big hunk. . . territorial boyfriend .

[manicandobsessive]

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

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

~babydoll

~darlin (duh)

~sweetheart

~sweet girl or boy

~sweet thing

~sweets

~doll

~princess

~pretty girl or boy

~pretty doll

~pretty baby

~my girl or boy

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

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

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

~honey

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

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

“hi logan”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’ll see what the missus says”

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

i’ll update if i find more 💞

[rosenclaws]

So my birthdays around the bend (next week Saturday) and my sister just slept with the guy I used to like (ik, very messy) so I was wondering if you could write some sort of Wolverine revenge sex story cz I will not be participating in that !

Thanks 😭

a/n: omfg that's insane im so sorry adsfjlk; I got u babes and I hope u can go and celebrate ur birthday and try not to let it ruin ur big day. I hope it's okay I wrote the reader with fem anatomy because I wasn't sure if that's what you wanted. I hope this cheers you up a little bit <3

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, rough sex, unprotected, dirty talk, creampie, fingering

You were certifiably pissed. I mean you had every right to be. You stormed through the mansion and everyone seemed to get out of your way.

"What's wrong with you?" Logan asks, the only one who doesn't seem afraid to poke the bear.

"Fuck off." You grumble. Throwing open the fridge to search for wine or beer or literally anything at this point. Logan rolls his eyes and watches you angrily move things around the fridge.

"Jesus just take it. Looks like you can use it more than I can." He hands you the rest of his beer which you take from his hands. You take a long sip, wiping your lips as you sit on one of the stools by the kitchen counter. The anger slowly dissipating into sadness.

"My sister slept with a guy I used to like." You mumble. Logan raises his eyebrows but stays quiet.

"It's messy I know but like, it just feels like such a betrayal." You were really hurt. I mean of all people it had to be the two of them.

"I was supposed to spend my birthday with my family but I think I'm just going to cancel." You say bitterly.

"That's really shitty." Logan leans on the counter, his arms flexing as he rests his heavy body on the marble.

"You shouldn't cancel your birthday because of her."

"Well what do you think I should do?" You huff.

Celebrating your birthday sounds miserable if you were being honest. Maybe you could just do a small thing here at the mansion but most of your friends were out on a mission right now. You glance at your phone and see a text from your sister. Rolling your eyes you place your phone in your pocket, not wanting to even deal with her right now.

"If I were you, I'd fuck someone else. You know show her that she can't get to you." Logan suggests casually.

You scoff at first, of course Logan would suggest that. That man brings home someone new every time you go to the bar. But...he's not wrong. It's petty yes but you know what, fuck it. You smirk, looking at Logan who narrows his eyes cautiously at you.

"Logan..." You put on your best puppy dog eyes and he just chuckles.

Your sister has always had the hots for Logan. The one time she visited the mansion she couldn't stop talking about how hot he was. Did she have a crush? Who knows but you do know it would be a massive ego blow to her if she knew you were hooking up with the Wolverine.

"Yeah sweetheart." Logan purrs. Logan would be an idiot to not be attracted to you, but relationships weren't really his thing. In the sense that he's bad at them. So keeping things casual is simply just what's best.

"You wanna help me get revenge on my sister?" He smirks and leans closer to your face, his presence is overwhelming as his pretty eyes stare into your own.

"You know what you're asking for? I don't play nice." You shudder at his words. Your legs pressing together without even thinking.

"Neither do I." You whisper back.

Without another word Logan smashes his lips against yours. Groaning into your mouth as he pulls you into him. Your hands brace themselves on his toned chest. The white tank top does little to hide his muscles. With ease he hoists you over his shoulder and carries you to his room.

You're practically buzzing with excitement as he kicks his door open and places you onto his bed. His sheets smell like him and you just want to curl up in the soft fabric. Logan wastes no time in shedding his clothes, pulling tank top over his head and unbuckling his jeans at lighting speed. You lick your lips at the sight of him. Fuck he's like a Greek statue.

"Take em off. Now." He commands and you don't hesitate to obey. Your clothes are thrown without a care somewhere in his room. You'll find them later. Your phone is tossed onto the bedside table before Logan can throw it across the room. He looks ready to pounce. Logan crawls between your legs, his lips sucking on your neck harshly.

"Fuck!" You hiss as he bites down on your collarbone, his tongue coming to soothe the slight pain as he feigns a sad look.

"Sorry sweetheart, just wanna leave a few marks. Right where anyone can see." Oh god you don't even want to think about what your neck will look like after this. Though you quite liked the idea of showing them off. A reminder of the amazing sex you're about to have with Logan.

"Normally I'd take my time with a someone as pretty as you." He purrs. His lips tracing down your chest and stomach.

"Start with an appetizer," He spreads your legs as far as they can go.

"And feast until you're screaming my fucking name baby." He slips his fingers inside your warm cunt, groaning at the feeling.

"So fucking wet already? I've barely touched you." His fingers are like magic.

Soft whines are pulled from your lips as he fucks his fingers into you. A rough but steady pace. One that has you going insane. As much as you want to take your time, you need him bad. You want it hot and dirty.

"Logan please, just fuck me already!" You snap, the pleasure twisting in your body is almost unbearable.

"Bossy." Logan teases as he pulls his fingers out of your cunt. Sticking them in his mouth to clean them up.

"I'll have my taste next time." Your heart leaps at next time.

Logan strokes his cock slowly, pressing the tip into your cunt. Fucking hell is he big. With one thrust of his hips he slots himself fully inside. Your back arching as you try and get used to the feeling. Hands clawing at the sheets trying to ground yourself.

"Easy, I got you. Just breathe." Logan whispers in your ear.

His elbows keeping him above you. His words may be sweet but his actions are devastating. His hips pounding you into the mattress. Barely giving you a second to breathe. Your head is in the clouds. Logan pins your wrists to the bed, it's the only thing keeping you grounded to reality.

"Fuck fuck." Logan groans, his tongue sticking out a little as he chases his high. He was right. He doesn't play nice.

"Logan!" You cry as he sits back on his knees, pushing your legs up to fuck you in a new position. You asked him for help and he was going to give you the best fuck of your life.

"That's it baby, can feel you squeezing me real tight." His hands wrap around your thighs, fingers digging into your skin.

"Don't fight it." Logan growls, he can see the way your face twists in pleasure, your body is reacting before you can even think about it.

He's silently begging you to come. He's close and he can feel the animal coming out in him. The pleasure seeping into his bones. Your nails dig into the sheets. Vision going blurry as Logan pulls the most intense orgasm you've ever felt. Your legs shake as pleasure explodes through you.

The feeling of your own orgasm triggers something in Logan. He lets go of your thighs and grabs the headboard. Splintering the wood with his strength. He grunts as he powers his hips recklessly. Chasing his own pleasure with teeth bared and eyes clouded with lust.

"Fuck!" He growls as his hips still. His eyes rolling to the back of his head as he comes inside of you, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"How was that for revenge? Gonna show off my art to her?" Logan asks with a smirk, his fingers tracing the hickeys he left on your skin.

"Maybe..." You mumble.

Logan lays by your side, sitting up with the sheets covering his lower half. You move to rest your head on his chest, his arm coming to rest on around your back. This was meant to be a revenge fuck, something you can rub your sister face in. But you're already craving more. As if the universe was listening you hear your phone ding. Lazily you reach for it. A text from your sister.

Can we talk??

A devilish smirk crosses your face as you open the camera and lift your phone up. Angling it so that she can clearly see the hickeys on your neck and Logan's bare chest.

"Really sweetheart?" Logan asks, amusement in his voice.

"What?" You say innocently. Logan finds it very hot, this side of you is new to him and he likes it.

You type a few words before pressing send.

Sorry! I'm busy 😜

[one attachment sent]

Shutting off your phone and tossing it onto the floor.

"Now," You sit up and crawl on top of Logan, straddling his waist. His hands grab your hips, a curious but interested look on his face.

"Does that super healing of yours work on everything?"

[lostinlovingrevery]

Stressed old man Logan + reader + glory hole

Jesus Christ 🙏🫦

Unraveling

Old Man Logan X F! Reader

Logan overhears a conversation between you and your coworker....

A/N: Nonny when you sent this ask in I immediately was like...Oh my god. Oh my god???? Jesus. Hope you like this! (also this gif...ungf)

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, blowjobs, glory hole, drinking, Logan being perverted and desperate, suggestive ending (i mean.. its' obvs?)

It has been the fucking shittiest, fuck-all, goddamn day.

All Logan wanted to do was have a drink at his favorite bar, and talk to his favorite girl. 

Well, he got 1 out of 2.

You, who was not actually his girl (much to his dismay), were busy with customers. It seemed like all the fucking idiots in the city decided this bar was going to be the setting of their tomfoolery. He had to clench his fists and resist the instinctive feeling of popping his claws out and stabbing them into the arm of the drunken asshole next to him, who kept laughing and yapping and knocking into his (very sore) shoulder. 

The jokes aren’t even that funny. 

The night might be salvageable if he could at least get one of your pretty smiles shot his way. You haven’t even been able to come to refill his shots, one of your coworkers doing the job instead, since you were being drugged along table after table full of men shouting about their fantasy football and demanding refills and their seasoned basket of french fries.

There may have been a time when Logan would have been one of those. A group of friends, all laughing and having a good time over something trivial. Smacking one of them on the back and nearly knocking his glasses off; telling jokes that make one spit her drink out; arm wrestling with another and winning, every. Single. Time. Toasting their drinks, to a good future. 

Well, that was a long time ago.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. T’was getting late. Should probably head back home soon. Especially if he wants to resist the urge of slamming the fuckers head next to him onto the counter and staining the polished wood with his blood. Course, he wouldn’t want to create more work for you.

He glanced around the bar, searching for you. He couldn’t spot you, but he didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye yet anyway. 

You’re my favorite

You would whisper to him sweetly across the bar, a flirty wink, and a smile that made his heart flutter. He knew you were merely trying to make an old man, a regular to the bar, feel better about himself. You were just so kind, genuine about your words. It grew hard for him to not get a little crush on the young, pretty thing you are. A reminder of his youth. Shit, if he’d met you in his prime, he would have wasted no time in making you his.

Now, that’s just a fantasy. Something he thinks about as he lies awake on top of his ratty mattress, as he strokes his cock to the memory of your laughter, the curve of your painted lips, and the way your ass looks in those jeans. 

It’s pathetic, he’s created some sort of imaginary relationship in his head with you. So starved for any sort of affection, platonic or romantic- that he tries to imagine that you would ever want anything to do with him outside of being a regular at your bar. 

His glass was empty. 

He sighed, getting up from his stool and moving to the other side of the bar, where one of your coworkers was filling drinks up. It got him away from the assholes giving him a headache and got him the chance to get his glass filled up. He watched the whiskey being poured, small bubbles floating at the top, as he brought the glass to his lips, a courteous nod to the bartender before taking a drink. 

It was then he picked up something curious. 

It was you, and one of your coworkers, talking in the hallway around the corner that led to the bathrooms and the kitchen. It was none of his business, but he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. 

“Don’t you want to live a little bit?” 

“Well yeah!” You responded. “I don’t know if I call this living though…” 

“It’s fun! I swear.”

“How often have you tried it?”

“Like…4 or 5 times?”

“Woah. and you haven’t gotten an STD?” 

“Uh, no? Why would I get that? It goes in the mouth?”

Logan curled a brow, the silence from you was deafening as your friend- who’s voice Logan recognized as another bartender, a woman with platinum blonde hair who has implied more times than once that she wanted to have sex with him, to his face, waited for your next words. 

“We’ll need to have a talk about that another time.” You say gently. 

“Whatever. Are you going to keep being a prude?”

“I’m not a prude!”

“And when was the last time you got some dick?” 

Logan raised his brows in surprise. He waited for your answer, the silence then telling him what he needed to know. 

Admittedly, it surprised him. You were a pretty girl, boys flirted with you left and right. Yes, boys, because none of them could really take care of you- not the way he could. Course, he’s not really doing a top-notch job taking care of himself, or someone else….

“It’s just a glory hole. Just try it once, and it won’t be like anyone will know it’s you!”

Logan nearly choked on his drink. Glory hole?

The fucking glory hole!

The nasty shit in the last stall at the end of the men's bathroom. A hole someone drilled into the plywood to separate the women from the mens. He had seen it a few times, hell, even been tempted to give it a try. A moment of weakness just to get his whistle wet after who knows how long (He rather not think about it). He’s always chickened out though, stepping away from the nasty thing, preferring to just get himself off in his car or bed. Especially since lately, he could only think about you to get himself off. 

He listened to you sigh. 

“Okay…” You say. “Wish me…luck, I guess?” and a small laugh escaped you. 

He wasn’t even thinking. He stood up from the stool, a loud screech across the noisy bar, barely registered by anyone inside, as he moved to go down the hallway, brushing past your friend who glanced at him with a confused look, before watching him push the door of the men's bathroom open and step inside. She smirked knowingly, before turning to go back to her shift- and cover you for at least the next 10 minutes. 

The music and raucous laughter were muffled as he stepped into the dingy bathroom. The fluorescent light, blue-tiled floor covered with scuff marks and pieces of paper towels, and dingy, speckled white painted walls would be a mood killer for most. Logan though, felt his cock hardening every step he made to the back stall- praying to god some other asshole didn’t manage to get in there before he did. 

He pushed the stall open. Empty.

He stood there for a moment. The tent in his pants became more prominent as he considered the implications of what he was about to do. Fuck, he knew it was going to be you on the other side, you would have no idea it was his cock you’re sucking. Fucking felt wrong as hell. 

Then he thought about your pretty lips. 

He stepped inside, shutting the stall door behind him and locking it. He glanced over where the hole was located. 

Not huge, just big enough to stick his dick inside. Written above it with several arrows pointing towards the hole in Sharpie was GLORY HOLE in all caps. As if it wasn’t more obvious what the damn thing was. 

People used to be discreet. 

There was graffiti all along the wall. Crude drawings of dicks and stick figures having sex in various positions. Numbers and ‘Call me! <3 <3 <3’ written in multiple spaces. A ‘go fuck yourself’ written right at Logan's eye level in pink sharpie. 

He stood there for a minute, his fists clenching and unclenching as he listened to the muffled rock music in the background. Loud cheers turned his head to the stall door. He let out a small breath and inhaled through his nose- where he caught a whiff of your scent. 

He froze. Glancing at the glory hole before bending over, and peering through it. 

He knew he shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t help it.

You were sitting on the toilet, bouncing your leg, looking everywhere but the wall, like you were avoiding the fact that it existed. He found your nervousness cute. He thought of all sorts of ways he could have you. This certainly wasn’t one of those ways. This was all sorts of fucked up. He was a perverted old man, who jumped at the chance to secretly get his dick sucked by you, the bartender he’s had a crush on for nearly a year. 

He’ll take what he can get. 

He unzipped his pants.

Shaky hands pulled himself out, cock in his hand, he gave himself a few strokes. He hadn’t gotten hard this fast and this painfully in forever. He was throbbing, that thick vein that ran up to his tip, red and swollen as precum beaded and slowly dripped down his length. 

He took a deep breath, stepping forward, and he entered himself into the glory hole. His other hand came up, pressed against the wall as he braced himself, staring at the pink message telling him to go fuck himself. 

Oh. My. god.

Whoever this guy was, he’s fucking huge. Biggest you’ve ever seen. The sight of it made your thighs clench together as you felt your arousal slicken your panties. Your mouth watered and you felt your skin heat up by the fact that you were completely turned on right now. 

This was so nasty. 

You examined his cock, inches away from your face. Thick, a prominent vein from his tip, ran down his shaft. Pre-cum beading from his slit. He looked painfully hard, poor guy must be pent up. 

You bit your lip. 

Let's help him feel better.

Your hand came up to grip him, firm, but not too hard. You could feel him throbbing, as you leaned forward, and ran your tongue over his slit, tasting the beady pre-cum on your tongue and rolling your eyes- resisting the urge to moan. 

Logan bit down on the knuckle of his thumb, so hard he broke skin, as he tasted something metallic flood his tongue. He couldn’t care though, not as he felt your wet tongue practically lap him up like someone dying of thirst in the desert. Your hand slowly, carefully began to jerk him off, using your spit to lube him up. He let out a shaky breath, tipping his head back as he placed both hands against the wall, tipping his hips forward and pressing himself flush against the drywall. 

You leaned forward, taking his tip between your lips, as you twirled your tongue around him, hollowing at your cheeks and bobbing over it a few times. He was already huge, and you were doubtful of your ability to take him in fully. You tipped your head in forward, pushing him deeper into your mouth, and savored the weight of him. 

Fuck, you’re good.

Logan let out a pant, almost akin to a quiet whine when he felt you take him deeper into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, as you began pulling your head back and forth, swirling your tongue and lips over him expertly. Goddamn this stupid ass wall. Exactly why he didn’t like glory holes. He wanted to see those lips of yours wrapped around his cock. He wanted to see you look up at him with those pretty eyes. He wanted to grab your hair and face fuck you and watch tears stream down your cheek and kiss them away once he was finished. The way you were sucking on him like he was something desirable. You didn’t even know it was him.

Dirty girl.

Drool began to dribble over your chin, as you continued sucking on him mindlessly. Your brain was going fuzzy, your eyes rolled back as you enjoyed the heady taste of this man. You had no idea it would be this good to suck dick before. 

His hips started involuntarily thrusting against the wall, desperate for more, for the pending release that he had been holding back, completely surprised that he had lasted as long as he had. He bit back another groan, a small whimper escaping him as he continued rocking his hips against the wall, tipping his head back again. His claws pricked the skin of his knuckles, small red beads forming at the base. His nails dug into the dinghy paint, leaving crescent shape marks, leaving his permanent mark in the bathroom stall. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore, as he let out a harsh groan. 

“Fuck”

You almost stopped at the sound. The familiar gruff voice that you’ve grown to be fond of. The older gentleman who has been coming into your bar, every other night, gets the same drink, and gives you the same warm smile, with the same gruff “mhms”

You thought he was the cutest thing. Tall, dark, and handsome. Not to mention extremely mysterious. He never told you much about his life, after that he drives a limo- you’d tease him about giving you a free ride at some point since you have never ridden a limo, and he’d just smile and give you this look you couldn’t quite read. 

He never talked to anyone. Well, he “talked” to you, if you want to call it talking. He responds to you more than anybody else who works here. Even Angela, the one who pushed you into this damn thing just so you’d quit complaining about having no sex life. You never saw a guy resist her charms and tits but Logan could’ve cared less for her. 

It gave you a bit of a complex, admittedly. 

Angela is convinced his dick doesn’t work anymore cause surely who could resist her?

Definitely nothing wrong with his cock.

You had no idea he was the type of man to use a glory hole of all things though. What would he say if he knew you were the one slobbering over his cock? Fucking your throat with him, becoming mindless at the taste of him and already dreaming of sucking it again in the near future. He’d feel amazing in your pussy too, although by his size your jaw was aching and you knew you were going to need a lozenge after this by taking him down your throat; you’re not sure if you would be able to survive getting fucked. 

He was thrusting in and out of your throat, and you could tell by how he throbbed he was getting close. You pulled your mouth off him, stroking him furiously with your hand to get him there closer. You wanted to watch him cum. 

You faltered for a moment when you swore you heard him groan your name. 

Quickly returning your pace, you stick your tongue out, running it over his slit, when you are finally rewarded. 

Ropes and ropes of cum painted your tongue and face as you stroked him off. It seemed never-ending the way your face was being covered by his spunk. 

Sure was pent up, wasn’t he?

You stroked him through the last of it, noticing how your lipstick stained all over his base and feeling a strange sense of pride. You wrapped your lips around him one more time to clean off the remaining cum leaking out, making his softening cock twitch, before he quickly pulled himself out. You heard a zipper and a belt being done up before a door gets pushed open.

You sat there, blinking a few times. An urge to say, “Thanks” rests on your lips. Yet you keep your mouth closed. You pulled your phone out, looking at the mess you’ve become. His cum covered you, forehead to chin, spit dripping over your lips, and your mascara was runny. Even your hair had managed to get ruffled during the process. 

You spent the next five minutes cleaning yourself up, first wiping everything down and then when the evidence was less obvious. You washed your face in the sink, the girls walking in the bathroom oblivious to your earlier antics. A wave of clarity hit you as you began to wonder, 

How the fuck am I going to look Logan in the eyes now?

You dried your face off, fixed your hair, and checked your outfit before you opened the door and stepped back into the noisy bar- only to be greeted by Logan. His hands in his his pockets, face looking down at the ugly stained carpet that has been here since the 90s, his ankle crossed over the other. He looked up at you and your eyes met and you could see it.

He knew it was you on the other side.

He pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward and you swallowed, the taste of him still strong on your tongue. Staring up at him with wide eyes, he looked down at you like a predator eyeing his next meal. 

His cheeks were flushed, the tips of his ears red, his hair a bit mussed. He towered over you, making your heart beat fast. 

“You want that free ride now sweetheart?”

[itsmemuffy]

Oh, Lover Boy

♡27 Days of Love: A Valentines Series (x)♡

Day Three: The Morning After

Contents: Logan Howlett x fem reader, suggestive content, sleepy cuddles, mentions of biting + heavy marking, they love eachother A LOT, you call him daddy, he calls you mama <3

Logan stirred awake, soft linen constricting around his body. His pillow had been tossed to the side somewhere in his slumber, leaving his arm tingling from supporting his head all night. He was feeling without thinking, and the first thing his brain registers is you twisted up in the sheets along with him.

Your bare chest was against his back, arm wrapped loosely around Logan's torso. Steady exhales fan the nape of his neck. Listening to your relaxed breathing prolonged his state of not-quite-asleep, not-yet-awake.

He gently lifts your arm, releasing himself from your grasp. You kept him in your embrace throughout the night, shielding him from the world within your tender cage. He frees his own limbs and turns to face you.

There you lay and it was a sight to be seen. Completely nude, hair matted, and covered in love bites from your sternum to your thighs. Logan is currently fixated on how raw your nipples appeared, smack dab in the middle of a field of hickeys on your breasts. If you were to turn over, he'd see the mark from when he sunk his canines into the flesh of your ass.

He felt an arrogant sense of pride. It was as if he was an artist viewing his masterwork in a gallery. All lights on you- displayed for a single adoring audience member.

Your vision is narrow as you slowly open your eyes. The soft yellow light of the morning sun stung your retinas. Annoying birds chirp outside the bedroom window but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Not when the first thing you see today is him.

Logan was also nude. Naked and covered in multiple layers of sticky, dried sweat. His hair didn't fare any better than yours and was sticking up every which way. The canvas of his neck and chest remained mostly blank, but not for a lack of trying. Still, there were faded smears of lipstick from when you sucked at his warm, salty skin.

The both of you looked, sounded, and smelled like sex.

"Are you up, mama?" Logan groused in that low, strained voice. The voice that only those who have the of pleasure waking up next to him get to experience.

Thoughs of the night previous entered your mind and gee, Logan really tested your flexibility this time around. You groaned, voice raspy as you stretched out your aching legs. He thinks to himself that when he eventually gets up for the day, he'll make you some tea for the sore throat you must have. Extra honey and a squeeze of lemon.

"Mnn... Not yet, daddy," you mumbled before Logan takes you back into his arms.

Maybe, just this once, he'll go back to sleep.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ love won; love lost

chapter summary: You and Jean go to your doctor's appointment after your second IUI.

word count: 9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: the tags give away what happens in this chapter, but i wanted to make sure some people weren't possibly triggered. rather be safe than sorry :)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, pregnancy, miscarriage, mentions of blood, angst

series masterlist - chapter 5 → chapter 7

After another year of trying, the past month had been… quiet, but not in a bad way. You’d settled into a comfortable rhythm, balancing teaching at the mansion, your work on personal physics projects, and trying—without overthinking it—to start a family with Logan. For now, life felt almost normal.

You were at your desk grading papers when Jean popped her head into your lab, her red hair a little frazzled and her expression unreadable. “Hey, you free for a bit?” she asked, walking in without waiting for a reply.

“For you, always.” You glanced up from the essay you’d been marking and adjusted your glasses, smiling at her as she leaned against the lab counter. “Everything okay?”

Jean shrugged, then tilted her head. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

You blinked in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You’ve been glowing.” She grinned, and you felt a warm flush spread across your cheeks at her teasing tone. “And no, before you ask, that’s not sarcasm. You’ve just seemed… happier lately. Lighter.”

You laughed softly, setting the essay down. “I think that’s called sleep. Scott's training schedule hasn’t kept me up at ungodly hours lately.”

“Fair.” Jean gave you a knowing look but didn’t press further. “What are you working on?”

“Grading. My usual Saturday thrill ride,” you said with a shrug, holding up the essays. “Teenagers’ essays on quantum superposition. Some are surprisingly insightful. Others... not so much.”

Jean laughed, pushing herself off the counter to peer over your shoulder. “I don’t envy you that.”

“You shouldn’t.” You sighed dramatically. “Some of them think Schrödinger actually had a pet cat.”

Jean made a face, then patted your shoulder. “Better you than me. Anyway, Logan’s looking for you, by the way.”

“He is?” You glanced at the clock on your desk. It was mid-morning, and you weren’t expecting him back from an early morning mission until the afternoon. “Did he say why?”

“Nope, just that you should meet him in the garden whenever you have a break. Something about ‘flowers or somethin’,’” Jean replied, smirking as she mimicked Logan’s gruff tone.

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Flowers?”

“That’s what he said. I don’t ask too many questions when Logan’s being cryptic.” Jean patted your shoulder again and headed for the door. “But you should go see him. Don’t leave the man waiting.”

You finished your grading session quickly and made your way outside, pushing the glass doors open to step into the sunshine. The garden was in full bloom—a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors—and Logan was leaning against one of the trellises, wearing his usual leather jacket despite the spring warmth.

“Darlin’,” he said as he spotted you, standing straight. His smirk softened into something warmer, his gaze sweeping over you. “Took you long enough.”

“You sent Jean to fetch me like I’m a stray,” you joked, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you walked toward him. “What’s this about flowers?”

“Never said it was about flowers,” Logan replied, raising an eyebrow. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled something out, and then held it up—a delicate lilac blossom. “Thought this would look good in your hair, though.”

You stared at the flower, heat flooding your face. “You… picked this? For me?”

He shrugged, looking casual, but the way his thumb idly stroked the stem gave him away. “Seemed like somethin’ you’d like.”

You reached for the flower, your fingers brushing his as you took it. “Thanks, Logan,” you said softly, twirling the stem between your fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, his tone too steady for it to be a passing comment. Before you could react, he reached for the flower again. “Here, let me—”

You nodded, and Logan tucked the lilac carefully behind your ear. His fingers brushed your hair as he pulled back, his eyes scanning your face as though memorizing it. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the usual sharpness in his expression tempered by an almost overwhelming tenderness.

“I missed you,” he murmured after a beat, his voice rough but sincere.

You blinked up at him. “You were gone for less than a day.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, taking your hand in his. “I always miss you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest as Logan brought your hand up to kiss your knuckles. It was a small, almost old-fashioned gesture, but coming from him, it carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. He didn’t need grand gestures or poetic declarations—this was Logan, after all. Every glance, every touch, every carefully chosen word was all the proof you needed of how deeply he loved you.

Jean was right—you’d been lighter lately. And standing here, your fingers tangled with his, the warmth of the morning sun on your face, you realized why. You were happy. Content.

Maybe, you dared to think, you were even lucky.

---

You were never a person who took naps, even in college. But right now, you felt like you could really use one. Grading papers all morning had sapped your energy, and as you stretched in your chair, the ache in your shoulders reminded you how long you’d been hunched over your desk. The mansion was quiet for once, and it almost felt like the universe was giving you a chance to rest.

And the couch in your office looked particularly inviting.

You looked back down at the assignment you were grading, rubbing your eyes underneath your glasses. The quantum mechanics essay in front of you was only halfway finished, but the neat handwriting was starting to blur together. Sleep sounded heavenly, and the couch in the corner of your office looked tempting enough to pull you away from your usual stubbornness about napping.

Sighing, you took off your glasses, carefully placing them on the desk, and stood up to stretch. Just a little nap, you told yourself, shuffling over to the couch and curling up against one of the pillows. Within moments, you drifted off, exhaustion lulling you into a rare, deep sleep.

---

The first thing Logan noticed when he stepped into your office was how quiet it was. Normally, he’d hear the faint scratching of your pen or catch you mumbling to yourself as you worked through grading or one of your projects. Instead, he found you stretched out on the couch, curled in on yourself, sound asleep.

For a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the doorframe and taking you in. Your features were relaxed, your breathing steady and soft. You didn’t stir when he stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. That alone caught his attention. You were normally such a light sleeper—he swore you could sense when someone was walking down the hall toward your room, let alone standing this close.

Kneeling beside you, Logan brushed his fingers lightly over your temple, tucking a stray strand of hair back. He hesitated, then gently picked up your glasses from your desk and placed them on the coffee table, so you could put them on when you woke up. The peaceful expression on your face tugged at something deep in him.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low enough not to startle you. Of course, you didn’t react, not even a twitch. His lips curved into a faint smile. “Out like a light, huh? Ain’t seen that in a while.”

You shifted slightly, your hand slipping under your cheek, but you still didn’t wake. Logan couldn’t help himself—he reached out again, this time running the pad of his thumb along your jawline. It wasn’t like you to let yourself crash so hard. Sure, you worked hard, but you were good about taking care of yourself. He’d know if something was wrong, wouldn’t he?

The thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

---

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was how warm you were. Blinking groggily, you sat up slowly, surprised to find a blanket draped over you—a blanket you definitely didn’t grab before laying down. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, squinting in the direction of your desk. Logan was there, leaning against it with his arms crossed, watching you with an expression caught somewhere between amused and relieved.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he teased, his voice softer than usual. “Didn’t think you knew how to nap.”

Your cheeks heated as you fumbled to grab your glasses from the coffee table, slipping them on. “I usually don’t,” you admitted, your voice still thick with sleep. “I guess I… really needed it.”

Logan nodded, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Not like you to crash like that. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just tired,” you said quickly, brushing off his concern. “Grading’s no joke.”

He didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pushed off the desk and walked over. “Darlin’, you’re tougher than anyone I know, but even you gotta slow down every now and then. How long’s it been like this?”

You hesitated, not entirely sure how to answer. Was there even an ‘it’? You hadn’t been feeling bad, exactly—just tired, with the occasional off day here and there. Nothing worth mentioning. “It’s not a big deal, Logan. I’m fine.”

“Right.” His tone was skeptical, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he crouched in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. “You been takin’ care of yourself?”

“Of course I have,” you said, rolling your eyes, though the flush on your cheeks gave you away.

“Good,” Logan said, but the worry in his eyes lingered. He reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “’Cause I need you in one piece, sweetheart. You hear me?”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand back. “I hear you.”

“Good,” he repeated, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Now, c’mon. You’ve been cooped up long enough. Let’s get somethin’ to eat.”

---

Logan hadn’t been able to come to your fertility appointment, he was out with Storm and Kitty on a brief mission, so instead Jean came along.

The exam room was quiet except for the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard as the nurse entered your information. Jean sat beside you, her presence steady and comforting as you drummed your fingers lightly against your knee. This checkup wasn’t supposed to be anything significant—just a follow-up after your second IUI two weeks ago. No expectations, no big announcements. Not yet.

“Alright, Y/N,” the nurse said, swiveling toward you with a reassuring smile. “Dr. Harper will be in soon to go over everything. Just sit tight.”

You nodded, your nerves settling slightly as the door clicked shut behind her. Jean crossed her legs and leaned back, her calm energy doing what it usually did—keeping you grounded.

“Still weird being on this side of the science?” Jean teased lightly, glancing at the medical equipment around the room.

“I’ll stick to quantum mechanics, thanks,” you replied with a soft laugh, adjusting your glasses as you sat up straighter. “At least I know what I’m doing there.”

Jean tilted her head, her green eyes warm. “You know you’re doing everything right here, too, right?”

“I know.” Your hand drifted to your abdomen reflexively, the thought of all the efforts over the last two years settling somewhere between hope and guarded optimism. “Just… can’t help but feel like the universe likes to keep me guessing.”

Before Jean could respond, the door opened, and Dr. Harper walked in with a folder in hand, her expression neutral. She exchanged pleasantries as she sat down, and after pulling up your file, she looked between you and Jean.

“I’ve got your results back,” Dr. Harper began, her voice calm but carrying a subtle edge of excitement. “And I’m happy to tell you—congratulations. You’re pregnant.”

Time seemed to stop. You stared at her, waiting for the rest of the sentence, the moment she might correct herself or clarify. But she didn’t. Jean gasped softly beside you, her hand gripping your arm, but all you could do was blink.

“Pregnant?” The word left your mouth almost on autopilot, as though saying it out loud would help you process it.

Dr. Harper smiled, nodding. “It’s still early—around two to three weeks, based on the timing. But the results are clear. Everything looks good so far.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, your mind racing. Pregnant. After two years of trying, every appointment and disappointment… Jean’s voice pulled you back as she leaned closer, squeezing your arm.

“You hear that? You did it, Y/N!” Jean said, her excitement infectious.

Tears pricked your eyes as you managed a breathless laugh. “I—wow, okay.” Turning back to Dr. Harper, you asked, “Everything’s… normal? No concerns?”

She nodded reassuringly. “It all looks good right now. We’ll do some more tests as things progress, but there’s no reason to worry.”

You felt Jean’s hand rest on your back, her thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder blade. “This is amazing,” she said softly. “Logan’s going to lose his mind.”

The thought of telling Logan struck you, sending a wave of warmth and nervous energy coursing through you.

---

The rest of the day passed in a surreal haze. You returned to the mansion with Jean, who respected your request to keep the news between the two of you until you told Logan. The halls were quiet as you made your way toward your room, clutching the delicate secret like a fragile treasure.

Logan wasn’t there when you entered, so you busied yourself, tidying up and working on some grading to pass the time. You barely heard the door open behind you later that evening until Logan’s familiar voice pulled your attention.

“Darlin’, you in here?”

You turned quickly, unable to hide your smile as he stepped inside, shrugging off his leather jacket. His eyes softened when they met yours, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he closed the distance between you.

“There you are,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Didn’t see you at dinner.”

You reached for his hand, your fingers lacing with his instinctively. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirked but paused, his brows drawing together slightly as he studied you. “What’s goin’ on? You got somethin’ up your sleeve, sweetheart?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you tugged him toward the edge of the bed, sitting down and pulling him down beside you. His larger hand engulfed yours, and you took a moment, steadying your breath before you spoke.

“I went to my appointment with Jean today,” you began, your voice steady despite your racing heart.

Logan frowned slightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Everything alright?”

You nodded quickly, your smile breaking free. “More than alright, actually.” You placed your free hand over his, looking up into his steady gaze. “Logan… I’m pregnant.”

For a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change—his lips parted slightly, and his dark eyes widened, blinking as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. Then, slowly, the words seemed to sink in.

“You’re… pregnant?” His voice was low, almost reverent, as he repeated the word like it was something sacred.

You nodded again, tears springing to your eyes as you laughed softly. “Yeah. We’re having a baby.”

Logan exhaled sharply, his hand tightening around yours as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was firm but careful, his hand cradling the back of your head as his face pressed into your hair.

“You serious?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded against his chest. “Completely serious. Dr. Harper confirmed it today.”

He leaned back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes made your heart ache and soar at the same time.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you kissed him back.

For now, the world outside the walls of your room didn’t matter. All that mattered was the quiet promise of hope between you and Logan—the life you’d created together.

---

“You’re not having any morning sickness?” Ororo asked, as you stood in the kitchen making lunch.

Jean glanced your way as you responded, “no. But,” you walked over to your bag and pulled out a large binder. “Morning sickness is—”

“Woah, hold up. What is that?” Ororo questioned, cutting you off.

You pushed up your glasses, “my binder. For research.”

“For… everything?”

“…No. For pregnancy.”

Jean let out a laugh she’d been holding back. “I don’t know what you were expecting, Ro. Remember that giant whiteboard calendar in her lab a few years ago tracking everything?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “Oh, you mean the one with color-coded markers and weekly updates? Yeah, I remember. You’re saying she turned that into a—” She gestured toward your binder, her expression incredulous. “—manual?”

“It’s not a manual,” you said defensively, adjusting your glasses as you flipped the binder open. “It’s a comprehensive resource. There’s a difference.”

Jean grinned, crossing her arms. “Right. And I’m sure it’s purely coincidental that it’s tabbed, indexed, and probably has a bibliography in the back.”

“It doesn’t have a bibliography,” you muttered before adding under your breath, “it has citations.”

Ororo and Jean exchanged an amused glance. “Of course it does,” Ororo said, shaking her head with a smile. “What’s in it, then? The secrets of the universe?”

“Close,” you replied, flipping to one of the sections. “It’s years of research on conception and pregnancy: optimal vitamins, dietary plans, the effects of caffeine and alcohol, specific exercises, ideal sex positions—”

Jean choked on her coffee, nearly spilling it as Ororo’s eyes widened. “Hold on,” Ororo interrupted, holding up a hand. “Did you say… positions?”

You shrugged, flipping a page like you were reading off a grocery list. “Certain positions increase the chances of conception by facilitating better sperm mobility. It’s basic physics.”

Jean was laughing so hard by this point she had to set her mug down. “Basic physics, huh? I don’t think Logan’s going to see it that way.”

You shot her a look, your cheeks heating. “For your information, he’s fine with my methods. He agreed to all of this.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did.” Jean smirked. “But tell me—did you explain the physics before or after you made him try the positions?”

“Jean!” You tried to sound indignant, but her teasing grin made you crack a smile. “I didn’t force him into anything. He’s been completely supportive.”

Ororo chuckled, pushing off the counter. “I’ll give him credit for that. Logan’s usually stubborn, but for you? He’s like putty. I’ve never seen him so… soft.”

You ducked your head, adjusting your glasses again to hide your shy smile. Logan’s tenderness toward you wasn’t something you liked to broadcast, but it warmed you to hear others notice.

Jean’s laughter quieted as she stepped closer, resting a hand on your arm. “You’re going to be an amazing mom, Y/N. All this research? It just shows how much you care. That baby’s lucky already.”

The sincerity in her voice made your throat tighten. “Thanks, Jean,” you said softly, squeezing her hand.

---

You plated the fourth dish you were trying and brought it over to Logan. In your research you learned that you needed to increase your folic acid, protein, calcium, iron, and many other nutrients and vitamins.

Logan looked up from the papers he was grading at the island and stared at the plate of fried tofu you set in front of him. His eyebrows furrowed as he sniffed the air.

“What is this?” he asked, poking at the tofu with his fork like it might bite him first.

“It’s fried tofu,” you said, adjusting your glasses as you leaned on the counter. “I read it’s a good source of protein and iron, which are important for pregnancy.”

Logan gave you a skeptical look, lifting a piece with his fork and examining it like it was an alien artifact. “Fried tofu, huh?” He popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

You waited, watching his expression carefully. For a moment, it was neutral. Then his jaw stopped moving. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he swallowed hard, taking a long sip of water immediately after.

“So,” you ventured cautiously, “what do you think?”

Logan set the fork down with deliberate care, leaning back in his chair. “I think it tastes like… not food.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but his deadpan delivery made you snort. “It’s not that bad!”

Logan arched a brow, crossing his arms. “Darlin’, I’ve eaten squirrel before. This? Worse.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your own fork. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” He gestured toward the plate. “Go on. You try it.”

With a sigh, you picked up a piece of tofu and took a bite. At first, it wasn’t terrible, but the bland, rubbery texture quickly turned unappealing. You forced yourself to chew, determined not to give Logan the satisfaction of being right.

“Well?” he asked, his tone smug.

“It’s… fine,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Mmm-hmm. And is that why your nose is scrunched?” Logan tapped the tip of your nose, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You quickly relaxed your expression, doing your best to look neutral. “It’s not scrunched. I’m fine.”

“Darlin’.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter as he pinned you with a knowing look. “I can hear your thoughts when you don’t like somethin’. That little wrinkle you get right there—” he reached out, brushing a finger lightly between your brows “—says it all.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Fine. It’s not great.”

Logan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Not great? Sweetheart, that’s a polite way of sayin’ it’s awful.”

“It’s not awful,” you protested half-heartedly. “It’s… nutritionally valuable.”

“Yeah, sure. Nutritionally valuable,” Logan repeated, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. He grabbed the plate and stood, crossing to the trash can. “Valuable or not, I ain’t eatin’ somethin’ that tastes like a tire.”

“Logan!” you exclaimed, laughing as he dumped the tofu and set the plate in the sink.

“Hey, you can keep tryin’ this ‘research cooking’ if it makes you happy,” he said, walking back to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. His warmth was grounding, his presence steady and reassuring. “But if you’re plannin’ to make that again, we might need a plan B for dinner.”

You sighed, leaning into his chest. “I just want to do this right. You know, make sure everything’s perfect.”

Logan rested his chin on the top of your head, his hands running soothingly up and down your back. “You’re doin’ great, darlin’. You don’t have to drive yourself nuts tryin’ to be perfect. That’s not what this is about.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your glasses slipping down your nose slightly. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “We’re doin’ this together, remember? You, me, and that little bean growin’ in there.” His hand slid to your stomach, resting gently.

A smile crept across your face despite your worries. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Logan said, his voice steady. “You’re the smartest, most stubborn woman I know. If anyone can figure this out, it’s you.”

His unwavering confidence in you made your chest ache in the best way. “Thanks, Logan.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you softly.

For a moment, the worries about nutrients and vitamins faded into the background. It was just you, Logan, and the quiet hum of hope between you.

---

Logan promised he would eat whatever you made, wanting to be supportive and endure what you had to—wanted to—eat.

But when you put kale and spinach in his eggs, that was where he drew the line.

You had made the two of you, and Ororo, a simple breakfast burrito, with the eggs, kale, spinach, a bit of jalapeños, and some crumbled sausage.

Ororo, of course, loved it, and said something about people needing to eat healthier at the mansion.

“You see,” Ororo gestured to Logan with her fork, her expression animated. “If everyone followed Y/N’s example, we wouldn’t need to worry about people running out of breath in training simulations.”

Logan arched a brow, carefully biting into the burrito. The first flavors weren’t terrible, and for a moment, he was almost convinced this one might pass without comment. Then the unmistakable bitterness of kale hit him like a freight train.

His chewing slowed, his brow furrowing as he glared at the eggs wrapped in the offending green foliage. Setting the burrito down, he turned his gaze toward you, who were carefully avoiding looking at him while tidying the kitchen.

“Darlin’,” he started, leaning back in his chair with a mock seriousness that made Ororo smirk. “We need to talk about your use of leafy greens.”

“Oh?” you asked, glancing his way while wiping your hands on a towel. “I thought it was pretty good.”

Logan’s deadpan look was answer enough, and Ororo let out a soft laugh as she took another bite of her own burrito. “You really don’t give the man much of a chance,” she teased. “Next, she’ll sneak chia seeds into your pancakes.”

“I heard that,” you said defensively, finally meeting Logan’s pointed gaze. “It’s good for you. Full of antioxidants and essential nutrients.”

Logan’s lips twitched like he might smile, but his tone was dry as he replied, “Full of misery, you mean.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you mumbled, nudging your glasses up as you resumed your cleanup.

Logan stood, crossing the kitchen and resting a hand on your lower back. His gentle touch eased the awkward knot of self-consciousness you always felt under scrutiny. “I’m dramatic?” he asked softly, leaning in close. “You’re the one slippin’ kale in my breakfast like it’s some kinda covert mission.”

You turned to meet his teasing gaze, adjusting your glasses and suppressing a smile. “You said you’d eat what I made, no complaints.”

Logan exhaled with exaggerated patience. “I did say that,” he admitted. “And I will. But sweetheart…” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his forehead pressing lightly to yours. “Just warn me next time.”

You laughed softly, leaning back slightly to shake your head. “Noted.”

Ororo watched the exchange with a fond smile, saying nothing but storing the moment away as another example of how Logan became… softer around you. It wasn’t just his willingness to endure kale, spinach, or anything else you set before him. It was the way he stood a little taller when you entered the room, the rare moments of unguarded vulnerability when he was with you.

Even Logan might not realize how clear it was to everyone else.

---

Even though you were only 4 weeks pregnant, you thought that you would at least have some breast tenderness. But instead, they feel normal, not even like you sometimes feel during your period when you wanted nothing more than to throw your bra off.

You never were one to look in the mirror or criticize your appearance, especially not since you’ve been married to Logan, but you expected—you hoped—that at least something small would change.

But Jean kept telling you that you were only a month along, and that it’s still a bit early for symptoms to show prominently. That’s even what your research told you.

You knew all of this. You had read every book, every study, and even combed through forums late at night when Logan was asleep. But still, the doubt lingered. You stood in front of the mirror in your shared bathroom, adjusting the waistband of your pajama pants, wondering if you should see even the faintest bump.

Nothing.

The sound of Logan’s heavy boots on the hardwood pulled you from your thoughts. “Darlin’?” His voice was muffled through the door. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” you called back, trying to sound cheerful as you turned off the light and opened the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his sharp gaze instantly flicking over you like he was scanning for injuries.

Logan stepped aside to let you pass, following you into the bedroom. “You’ve been quiet all day,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. His voice softened, coaxing. “What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, avoiding his eyes.

Logan tilted his head, unconvinced. “Y/N.”

You sighed, sitting down beside him and fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “I just… I thought I’d feel different by now.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I guess I thought I’d feel pregnant. Or look it. Or something.”

Logan reached out, his hand covering yours. “You are pregnant, darlin’. No matter how it feels or doesn’t feel right now.”

“I know,” you said, your voice soft. “It’s just that we’ve been trying for so long, and now that it’s finally happened, I keep worrying something’s… wrong.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Jean said everything looks good, right?”

“She did.”

“And all your charts and trackers and whatever else you’ve got in that binder of yours say the same thing?”

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself. “Yes.”

“Then trust that, sweetheart. Trust yourself,” Logan said, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’ve done everything right.”

You nodded, leaning into his side. Logan wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“I’m just scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But you’re not doin’ this alone.”

---

“—I just don’t understand why he thought it went there.” Scott said, handing you and Jean a cup of tea. “If I hadn’t caught it, the Blackbird’s engines would’ve been toast.”

You sipped your tea and grimaced, opening your mouth and letting the tea fall back into the cup. The taste was bitter, and—well just not right.

You didn’t even notice that Scott had stopped talking and was now staring at you with a mixture of concern and confusion. Jean, on the other hand, casually poured her tea into the sink, trying to suppress a grimace as she set her cup down.

Scott’s brow furrowed, and he folded his arms. “Did… did you just spit that back out into your cup?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, flushing with embarrassment. “It’s just—uh, strong. A little stronger than I expected.”

Jean gave a little cough to hide her laugh, shooting you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, Scott. Strong is definitely the word for it.”

Scott frowned, clearly affronted. “I’ve been perfecting that blend for weeks. Logan said it was fine.”

“Logan also eats charcoal on purpose when he’s grilling,” Jean teased, leaning against the counter. “I wouldn’t use him as a baseline.”

You chuckled softly, grateful for Jean’s intervention, but Scott wasn’t letting it go. “I don’t see either of you rushing to make tea,” he grumbled, grabbing his mug and heading toward the door. “Next time, you can just drink water.”

Once he was gone, you and Jean burst into quiet laughter. “I swear,” Jean said, shaking her head. “That man has no idea how terrible his tea is.”

“It really was… strong,” you admitted, setting your mug aside. “And kind of bitter.”

Jean nudged your arm lightly. “Maybe it’s just your taste buds acting up. Happens sometimes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s because of the pregnancy?”

Jean shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “Could be. Your body’s already going through a lot of changes, even if they’re not super noticeable yet. Hormones can mess with your senses. Didn’t you say you’ve been more sensitive to smells lately?”

“Yeah,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “Logan made steak the other night, and I almost gagged at the smell. Which is insane because I usually love it.”

Jean smirked. “See? It’s not just Scott’s awful tea. You’ve got a good excuse.”

You smiled faintly but didn’t respond. Jean’s smile faded slightly as she studied you. “You’ve been quiet today,” she said gently. “Everything okay?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “I don’t know. I guess… I just feel like something’s off.”

Jean set her mug down and turned to face you fully. “Off how?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice low. “It’s like… I don’t feel as excited as I thought I would. I mean, I am excited. But I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

Jean reached out and placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Y/N, it’s normal to feel anxious. You’ve been through a lot to get here—two years of trying, all the treatments, all the hope and disappointment. It’s hard to just… trust that this time will be different.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I want to trust it. But I feel like if I let myself believe it, and then something happens…”

Jean squeezed your arm gently. “It’s okay to be scared. But you’ve got Logan. You’ve got me. And we’re not letting you go through this alone, no matter what happens.”

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, so you just nodded again. Jean smiled softly, giving your arm one last squeeze before letting go. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get some actual tea. My stash is way better than Scott’s.”

You laughed lightly, following her out of the kitchen. But even as you tried to push your doubts aside, they lingered, a quiet, persistent whisper in the back of your mind.

---

At six weeks, the strange limbo you felt in your pregnancy persisted. The symptoms you had—nausea, fatigue, the occasional food aversion—seemed to plateau instead of intensify. Sometimes, you barely felt pregnant at all.

Your doctor assured you everything was progressing well during your last appointment. "The sac is a little smaller than average," she’d said, her tone calm and measured, "but it’s nothing to be alarmed about. These things vary."

You nodded and forced a smile, trying to absorb the reassurance. But the words echoed in your head long after you left the clinic. You’d clung to every piece of advice, every statistic, every graph in your meticulously prepared binder, yet none of it seemed to silence the nagging voice in your mind.

Logan noticed your quietness, of course. He always did.

"You wanna talk about it, or should I just sit here and look pretty?" he asked one evening as he stretched out on the couch, his legs spread wide, filling up most of the space. His casual tone was meant to make you laugh, but you just sighed as you flipped through your notes again.

"I’m fine," you said automatically, tapping your pen against the edge of the binder.

"Sure you are," Logan said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes softened as they met yours. "Darlin’, you’ve been stuck in that thing for hours. Whatever’s in there ain’t gonna change what the doc said."

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze. "She said the sac was small."

"And she also said it’s nothin’ to worry about," Logan reminded you, his voice steady.

"That’s easy for her to say," you muttered, closing the binder with more force than you intended. "She’s not the one who’s—" You stopped yourself, shaking your head.

Logan stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He knelt beside you, one hand resting lightly on your knee. "She’s not the one who’s what?"

You looked down at him, your chest tightening. "Who’s been waiting for this for two years," you said quietly. "Who’s had to deal with the hope and the disappointment and the Clomid and—"

Logan’s hand squeezed your knee gently, grounding you. "We’ve been waitin’ for this," he corrected. "It ain’t just you goin’ through this, Y/N. We’re a team, remember?"

You swallowed hard, nodding. His steady presence was both a comfort and a reminder that you weren’t alone, even if your anxieties sometimes made it feel that way.

"I just want to know everything’s okay," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan tilted his head, his thumb brushing small circles against your leg. "And if it’s not, we’ll figure it out. Like we always do."

You blinked back the sting of tears, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. "I don’t know how you stay so calm."

He smirked faintly. "I’m not. I just hide it better."

---

By eight weeks, the unease gnawed at you more frequently. The symptoms you’d been clinging to—especially the nausea—had faded almost entirely. You knew logically that every pregnancy was different and that symptoms could come and go, but logic wasn’t enough to silence your fears.

Jean noticed it during one of your usual tea breaks in the kitchen. You stared into your mug, barely sipping, while she caught up on the latest mansion gossip.

"You’re not even listening to me, are you?" Jean teased, nudging your arm.

"Huh?" You blinked, startled. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Jean frowned, setting down her tea. "Okay, what’s going on? You’ve been distracted all week."

"I’m fine," you said automatically, but the look Jean gave you made it clear she wasn’t buying it.

"Y/N," she said gently, "you don’t have to pretend with me. What’s wrong?"

You hesitated, your hands tightening around your mug. "I just… I feel like something’s wrong."

Jean’s expression softened, and she reached across the table to take your hand. "Why do you think that?"

"My symptoms are gone," you admitted. "I don’t feel sick anymore, or tired, or… anything. It’s like nothing’s happening."

Jean nodded slowly, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "That doesn’t mean something’s wrong. You know that, right? Symptoms can come and go, especially early on."

"I know," you said, your voice unsteady. "But it doesn’t feel right. And the sac was small last time, and—"

"Hey," Jean interrupted gently. "Breathe. You’re doing everything you can, Y/N. And stressing yourself out isn’t going to help."

You exhaled shakily, nodding. Jean squeezed your hand once more before letting go. "Have you talked to Logan about how you’re feeling?"

"He’s already worried enough," you admitted. "I don’t want to put more on him."

Jean arched a brow. "Y/N, Logan worships the ground you walk on. You know that, right? He wants to be there for you, no matter what."

The lump in your throat made it hard to respond. You nodded again, gripping your mug like it was a lifeline.

---

At nine weeks, the bleeding started. It was light at first—just a spot on the toilet paper that you tried to convince yourself was nothing. It was a faint pink color, something you knew was normal in early pregnancy.

You were in your lab, writing down some data points from your latest experiment, a simple one that you were trying to see if it would work for your physics class, when you realized you forgot what size parachute you used on your small test dummy.

You stood up, feeling lightheaded, but brushed it off. You grabbed the rolling cart to steady yourself, but before you could regain your focus, a sharp cramp tore through your lower body. It wasn’t like anything you’d felt before—it was deeper, heavier. You gripped the cart harder, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred.

Panic set in when the next wave hit, forcing a pained gasp from your lips. Your knees buckled as the pain became unbearable. Somewhere in your mind, you registered the wetness between your legs.

The world around you spun, and you heard a faint clattering—probably a glass vial knocked from the counter. Your breath hitched as you tried to call for help, but all you could manage was a soft, strangled sound. Then everything went dark.

---

Jean had been in the middle of a strategy meeting with the Professor when it hit her—an overwhelming, visceral pain that wasn't her own. She froze mid-sentence, her breath hitching as her mind latched onto the familiar mental signature.

“Jean?” Charles asked, concerned.

“I have to go,” Jean said quickly, already rising to her feet.

She didn’t wait for a response. Her telekinetic push flung the doors open ahead of her as she sprinted down the hall, her heart racing. She knew exactly where you were—your lab, always the safe haven you escaped to when you needed to focus or distract yourself.

When she reached the doorway, her stomach dropped. You were lying on the floor, glasses askew, one hand weakly clutching your abdomen. Blood stained the inside of your leggings.

“Y/N!” Jean gasped, rushing to your side. She knelt down, her trembling hands moving to check your pulse, then gently touching your shoulder. “Y/N, can you hear me? It’s Jean. I’m here.”

Your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to respond. “Jean…” you croaked. Tears spilled over before you could finish. “It…hurts…”

“I know. I know,” Jean said, her voice breaking as she pulled her communicator from her belt. “Logan, come to the med bay. Now,” she said firmly, before linking directly to Hank. “Hank, emergency in Y/N’s lab. She’s bleeding. Bring a stretcher.”

Jean cradled your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “It’s going to be okay,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Just hold on. I’m here with you.”

“Jean… I don’t…” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut.

Jean fought to keep her own tears at bay. “Don’t think like that, Y/N. We’ll take care of you. I promise.”

---

By the time Hank arrived, Logan was with him, having intercepted them at the stairs. He took one look at you and his usually impassive face cracked with fear.

“Darlin’…” Logan’s voice was rough, choked with emotion.

You opened your eyes, barely able to focus on him. “Logan…”

“I’m here,” he assured you as he knelt down and pressed his hand over yours, which still clutched weakly at your abdomen. “We’re gonna get you help. Just hold on, okay?”

You gave him a shaky nod, and Jean stepped back to let Hank take over. Logan stayed by your side, one hand never leaving yours, murmuring reassurances the whole way to the med bay.

---

The hours that followed were a blur. Logan paced relentlessly outside the med bay while Hank and Jean worked to stabilize you. He bristled any time someone tried to approach him, his mind racing through every possibility. He’d seen you hurt before, but this… this was different.

When Jean finally emerged, her face pale, Logan froze. “How is she?” His voice was low, desperate.

Jean looked up at him, her expression hollow. “She’s awake,” she said softly. “But… Logan, I’m so sorry. She lost the baby.”

Logan inhaled sharply, his chest constricting. It was a punch he wasn’t ready for, even though some part of him had been bracing for the worst. “Can I see her?”

Jean nodded. “She’s asking for you.”

Logan slipped into the room silently, his footsteps unnaturally quiet for a man of his stature. You were lying in the hospital bed, pale and tired, your glasses resting on the table beside you. Your eyes were swollen, and as they met his, fresh tears spilled over.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Logan shook his head, his jaw tightening as he crossed the room and gently cupped your face in his hands. “Don’t you do that,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing your tears away. “This isn’t your fault. Not even a little, you hear me?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as you reached for him. “I—Logan, we tried so hard—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “And we’re gonna get through this. Together. You’re my everything, darlin’. I don’t care how long it takes or what we have to do. I just need you to be okay.”

Your shoulders shook as you finally let yourself cry in his arms. He held you tightly, his fingers threading through your hair, murmuring soft assurances over and over.

“We’ll get through this,” he repeated, his voice steady. “I swear to you, we will.”

---

Jean advised you not to teach for the rest of the week, due to your bleeding, cramping, and because of how you were feeling emotionally.

You obliged without any fight because you knew she was right. In your binder, you had a small section of research on miscarriages, but you thought it would never be needed. Now, it felt like those pages stared back at you mockingly from your bedside table.

Jean stayed with you the first night in the med bay, refusing to let you be alone. She brewed tea you couldn’t stomach and let you cry without judgment. She didn’t offer the usual platitudes, knowing they wouldn’t help. Instead, she simply sat close, holding your hand when the silence threatened to swallow you both whole.

“I know you’re hurting,” Jean said softly, her voice breaking through the quiet. “But I don’t want you to close yourself off, okay? Logan, me, all of us… We’re here for you, Y/N. Lean on us.”

You nodded, but words didn’t come easily. You felt hollow, as though the grief had burrowed into every part of you and left nothing but a dull ache behind.

---

When you were finally discharged from the med bay, Logan insisted on carrying you back to your shared room despite your protests. He didn’t say much—his actions spoke louder. The way he handled you with such care, his arm strong and steady beneath you, was all you needed to know about how deep his worry ran.

Once in the room, he helped you into bed, fussing with the blankets until you were comfortable. "Need anything? Tea, water, something to eat?" he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head. "Just… you. Stay with me?"

His expression softened, and he sat beside you, his hand sliding into yours. "I’m not goin’ anywhere, darlin’. Never."

You rested your head against his shoulder, and for a long time, neither of you spoke. The weight of everything hung heavy in the air between you, but Logan didn’t try to fill the silence. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and kept holding you.

---

The following days passed slowly. Jean dropped by every morning with tea and gentle nudges to eat, though her presence served more as comfort than a reminder. Some of the students peeked in to check on you, their quiet concern enough to bring a flicker of warmth to your otherwise grey days.

Logan was your anchor. He didn’t hover, but he was always there—a steady, unwavering presence that reminded you it was okay to take each moment as it came.

One evening, as you sat curled up in an armchair by the window, staring out at the snow-dusted grounds, Logan entered with a tray of food. "Brought somethin’ for you," he said, setting it down on the small table by your side.

“I’m not really hungry,” you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window.

He crouched beside you, his hand coming to rest lightly on your knee. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But you’ve barely eaten today, sweetheart. Just a little, yeah? For me."

You hesitated, glancing down at him. The worry etched into his features made your chest tighten. Slowly, you nodded. "Okay."

Logan offered a small, grateful smile and stayed there, watching as you forced down a few bites of soup. He didn’t push when you couldn’t manage more, instead setting the tray aside and pulling you into his lap when you settled back into the chair.

"One step at a time," he murmured, holding you close. "We’ll get there, darlin’."

---

One night, a week after your miscarriage, you found yourself unable to sleep. Throughout the past few days, when Logan let you have a few hours to yourself, you had done more research, specifically on miscarriages.

Now you have a new binder, almost as big as your other one. You quietly got out of bed, Logan’s arms falling to the mattress where you just were, and grabbed the binder, heading outside.

You always enjoyed reading outside, especially when it was raining. As you walked through the rain, you paused the droplets above you, creating a small time bubble that kept you dry. The rhythmic sound of the rain hitting the frozen barrier was soothing, almost enough to quiet your thoughts. Almost.

Settling into your usual spot on the grass, you opened the new binder you’d compiled over the past few days. The pages were a meticulous collection of research, statistics, and theories, each one marked with color-coded tabs. It had been your lifeline since being discharged from the med bay—a desperate attempt to make sense of what happened.

You flipped through the pages with a determined focus, rereading sections you’d already memorized. There had to be something, some mistake you made, something you missed. Your mind refused to rest until you found an answer.

---

Logan woke up to find the bed empty, the space beside him cold. He frowned, his hand brushing the sheets where you should’ve been. Instinct kicked in immediately—he was on his feet in seconds, scanning the room.

His eyes landed on the bedside table, where the new binder you’d been working on was conspicuously absent. His jaw tightened as he glanced toward the window and saw the faint shimmer of rain. He knew exactly where you were.

Grabbing a sweatshirt to ward off the chill, Logan headed outside. The rain was steady, but it didn’t touch him as he walked toward the bubble you’d created. You were sitting cross-legged on the grass, your glasses perched on your nose as you hunched over the binder, flipping through pages with a frantic energy.

He stopped a few steps away, his heart tightening at the sight. You looked exhausted, your movements sharp with frustration.

“Darlin’,” Logan called gently, his voice cutting through the rain.

You jolted, looking up as the binder slipped from your lap. “Logan,” you said, your voice shaky. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, stepping into the bubble. The rain stopped falling on him as he crouched down beside you. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You hesitated, glancing down at the binder. “I was… reading.”

Logan’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “Out here? In the middle of the night?”

You didn’t answer, your hands tightening around the edges of the binder. Logan’s gaze dropped to it, and he could see the words “Miscarriage Causes and Prevention” written in bold letters on one of the tabs.

“Y/N…” he began, but you shook your head, cutting him off.

“There has to be something,” you said, your voice rising with desperation. You flipped through the binder quickly, your eyes darting over the pages. “Something I did wrong. Too little vitamins, too many vitamins. Not enough exercise, the wrong food—I missed something, Logan. I had to have missed something.”

“Stop,” Logan said firmly, his hand covering yours to still the frantic motion. You froze, your chest heaving as you stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t stop, Logan. If I stop, it’s like I’m giving up, and I can’t give up on this.”

Logan exhaled, his grip on your hand tightening. “Darlin’, look at me.”

You hesitated, but his steady tone pulled your gaze to his. His eyes were raw with emotion, the pain he usually kept hidden now laid bare. “What does all your research say about miscarriages?” he asked quietly.

You blinked, thrown off by the question. “I… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Logan pressed gently. “You’ve been readin’ that thing nonstop. What does it say?”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you answered. “Most miscarriages aren’t caused by anything someone did. It’s usually… chromosomal abnormalities. Things that can’t be controlled.”

Logan nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Right. And what else?”

Tears spilled over as you struggled to speak. “That it’s… common. That it happens to a lot of people.”

“And does it say it’s your fault?” Logan asked, his voice rough. “Does it say you did somethin’ wrong?”

You shook your head, your throat too tight to form words. Logan reached out, gently pulling the binder from your hands and setting it aside. Then he cupped your face, his calloused thumbs wiping away your tears.

“This ain’t on you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “It’s not on me, it’s not on anyone. It just… happened. And it hurts like hell, but blamin’ yourself isn’t gonna make it hurt any less.”

Your shoulders shook as the weight of his words sank in. “But we tried so hard,” you choked out. “For so long, Logan. And it still wasn’t enough.”

Logan pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried against his chest. His voice was thick with tears as he spoke. “I know, darlin’. I know. And it kills me too. But we’ll get through this. I swear to you, we will.”

You clung to him, the rain outside your bubble a soft echo of the storm inside you. For the first time that night, you let yourself believe him, even if just for a moment.

and that is 2007!

i totally didn't cry while writing that last scene... totally didn't...

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH6

Daddy takes you on a road trip, happy to have you as his passenger princess.

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Dom/sub undertones. Pet names. Road trip. Age gap. Size difference. Explicit language. Over-clothes-touching. Nature hike. Tooth-rottingly-sweet fluff. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 6.4k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

A/N: Quick recap: Reader (we call her pumpkin), in her 20s, has hair and female genitalia, suffers from depression and anxiety, and has agreed to become the little girl/submissive to a couple she's supposed to call Mommy and Daddy, who are in their early/late thirties. In this chapter: Daddy POV incoming! We learn a bit more about him, including his name and age. Turns out: he is an original character, but he was inspired by all the men tagged in this post, I hope you can forgive me for still using those tags. His name is barely mentioned if it's not his POV, so he'll remain (the) Daddy (of your choice) of course. (READ THIS if you'd like a longer explanation!)

Chapter 5 🔷️ Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7

You were settled on the bench seat of the truck, your shoulder leaning against the passenger door, your feet tucked under your butt, as you watched about curiously. The small backpack he'd given you, filled with extra clothes, water and some snacks, rested against your side.

His eyes were on the road, but he kept looking over, out of the corner of his eye or openly when he had to stop at a traffic light or before taking a turn. You looked calm, relaxed, the way those braids framed your pretty face made him smile softly. It had only been a few days, less than that even, but you already looked so different.

When he first saw you shuffling into the living room, nervous and shy and uncertain about everything, he'd hoped to break you out of your shell, make you smile and laugh and see the world in a different light again. He hadn't imagined you'd change so quickly. As if you'd been looking for someone to take care of you all your life, immediately jumping at the chance.

And how fast you'd opened up to him specifically, after just these short moments you'd had together, it warmed his heart. Whatever happened in the shower this morning hadn't been planned, but he was glad it had evolved like it did. It would make things much easier in the future. You might have hesitated a little at first, but he could see that you wanted to be close to him.

There was still a lot of shame inside you, probably stemming from a conservative upbringing or lack of proper communication with your parents or mother in particular (seeing that you never really had a proper father figure in your life), but you did better than he would have thought at first. In hindsight, he had pushed you a little too much as he remembered your distraught face and tears when being presented with the simple task of saying 'cock' and 'cunt' and asking to be touched.

But you pulled through, and he couldn't be more proud. You'd do just fine with all the things to come.

“Daddy?” Your voice rang in his ears, pulling him from his thoughts. The way you said that still tightened something low in his stomach, making his cock twitch.

“Yes, pumpkin?” he replied, throwing a short glance at you, his hand flexing on the steering wheel.

“Where exactly are we going?” you asked. You'd moved on the seat, sitting on your knees, slightly closer to the middle now, the seat belt pushing between your small breasts.

“To the mountains,” he answered, watching you frown before he had to look back at the road. “We'll take a little hike. I'd figured you'd like to get out of town for once, get some fresh air. You'll love it. It's one of my favorite trails.”

“Okay,” you whispered, sounding a little flat. “I hope I can keep up...”

He looked back at you, noticing how you chewed on your bottom lip as you stared out of the passenger window. Before he knew it, he'd reached his hand out and brushed his fingers against your thigh, smiling when you turned your head to him. Instead of maybe pushing him away or dodging the touch, you grabbed his hand and cradled it between yours, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.

His smile widened when you blushed slightly, focusing your gaze on how much bigger his hand was in yours. “You'll be fine, baby,” he told you, and you nodded, continuing to play with his long fingers.

You must be so touch-starved, with how you soaked up the tiniest of skin-to-skin contact. He was glad about it, knowing there'd be so much more to come, but he also felt bad for taking advantage of you like that. Then again, you were the perfect little girl, the one he'd been looking for for quite some time. Already so submissive, timid but curious, cute and enticing. Just perfect.

It had been Isabella's idea (the woman you only knew as Mommy) to add a little something to their busy lifestyles, something to ground them both, to calm them when life got too much. He'd known his partner for more than a decade then. They'd met as business partners, working for different companies, started out as passionate lovers before they realized they weren't made for a conventional relationship.

Soon they merged lives, business and private, working as equals in the company he'd built up from the very bottom. She was a good partner, knew how to handle herself in a still mostly man-dominated world, mainly because she knew exactly how to dominate right back. She had a fiery temper that he admired both in the office and in his bed, and they soon slipped into a different lifestyle, sharing a passion for the rougher kinds of love-making.

And as much as it grounded him to explore the deepest kinks with her, something had been missing. They were both dominant people, clashing more often than not, which wasn't always a bad thing, but he knew it couldn't go on like that. With their unique relationship being as open as it was, Isabella had been experimenting with submissives long before him (as far as he knew she still had some on the side, juggling it all at once which was impressive), but somehow that only fueled their darker sides.

So one day, she came to him, nursing a strained wrist after some malfunctioning flogger exercise. “Papi,” she'd said, sitting down on the edge of his desk with a sigh. “Something's gotta change.”

He'd leaned back in his chair, watching her. He'd always been blown away by her natural beauty, her long black hair, those thick lashes, the perfectly structured face, full lips, deep eyes full of fire. He knew she didn't do much to maintain her looks, which was even more impressive. That day, she'd been glowing, an idea blossoming in her chest.

“What are you thinking about, babe?” he had asked, tilting his head.

“We should get a dog,” was the first thing she'd said, a tease in her velvety voice, a smirk on her lips. “Or we could adopt. A kid.”

He'd stared at her. “A kid? I thought you hated kids.”

“Well, I do, and you'll never catch me with a bun in the oven, no matter how hard you try to put one in there, mister,” she'd added, poking her pointy nail at his chest. He'd chuckled. “No, I mean...” She'd sighed, pursing her lips. “Listen, I will not be caught dead admitting this, but... I know you'll understand. I think you feel the same. Something's missing.”

“You think we'd have time to raise a kid?” he'd asked, frowning deeply. “We of all people?”

“No, not raise a kid. That'd be a terrible idea, wouldn't it?” She'd laughed her beautiful laugh. “No, stay kinky, chico, I mean we need a little girl, a fully developed human, of age, of course, but someone to take care of and pamper and cuddle on the couch after a long day in the office. Someone who will cherish us and devote her life to us, someone for both of us.”

“You want to be a Mommy, huh?” he'd mused.

“I wanna be called Mommy!” she'd clarified, slipping onto his lap, one arm around his neck as she drew circles over the buttons of his shirt. “And you, papito, were destined to be a Daddy too!”

“You think so?”

“Oh yes, old man, it's now or never,” she'd teased, smiling at him. “You won't get any younger, you know?”

He'd shot her a glare, grabbing her waist and tickling her until she hit his chest, breathless and flushed.

“You'd make a great Daddy,” she'd whispered, nuzzling her nose against his neck. “You were my papi first, but I am more than willing to share. You have so much love to give, let's find a girl who needs it. I'll look around first thing tomorrow, ask around.”

“What? Do you expect to find our little girl on the street?” he'd asked with a raised eyebrow.

In the end, after a long and fruitless search with many failed attempts, she did indeed find you right there on the street, lost and alone, left behind by a life that had gone by too fast. And it had been so easy to open his arms to you, to pull you onto his lap, welcome you into your new life. He smiled as he remembered how small you'd been, shoulders tight, curled into your shell, grabbed tightly by anxiety, but slowly you'd grown, stuck your head out, looked at him with so much hope.

Exhaling loudly, he noticed you were tugging on his hand. Blinking his eyes into focus, realizing he'd been driving mindlessly (luckily it was a straight road for miles), he turned his head to you, finding you smiling shyly at him.

“You okay, baby girl?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, but bit your lip. He squeezed your hand gently, knowing you were about to ask something, fighting with yourself to find the words. He gave you an encouraging smile, waiting patiently, his eyes flicking back to the road for a moment before he felt how you placed his large hand onto your belly, giving it a soft press.

He looked back at you. “Hungry?”

“Can we stop for breakfast or lunch?” you then asked, and he smiled wider.

“Of course we can, pumpkin.” He looked at his watch, realizing it was already noon. Their shower adventure had taken longer than he'd expected and he'd whisked you away right after, completely forgetting about feeding you. What a Daddy he was... He scanned the road signs flying by. “How about a gas station sandwich? Not much else around,” he mused.

“Sure,” you said quietly, still fondling his hand to your stomach.

“I had our chef pack some real food though, for later. But if you're really hungry, we can dig into that right here on the side of the road.”

“No, it's fine, a sandwich will do.” You paused, then whispered: “You packed food, like... for a picnic?”

He looked back at you, nodding. “And I have just the spot to do it too, you'll love it.”

Leaving the road at the next exit, he brought the truck to a stop at the side of a small building. The two gas pumps sat vacant, nobody was around. It looked empty, almost abandoned, but there was a blinking OPEN sign in the dirty window. He considered leaving you in the car, but then thought better and unbuckled your seat belt, motioning you to join him. You slipped back into your shoes and followed immediately.

He waited with his hand extended and you grabbed it quickly, comfortable, as if you'd known each other for a long time. It felt right to walk with you like that. You were so tiny next to him, his hand swallowing yours, and with your braids and those shorts, you looked younger than you were. And somehow, to his own surprise, he didn't have a problem with that.

He pushed the door open and pulled you in after him, the little bell ringing from above. The small store was as empty as the rest of the property, though he heard shuffling in the back. Looking around, he skipped the shelves filled with snacks and went straight to the counter where an array of baked goods sat inside a small glass box.

“BLT or PB&J?” he asked you as you followed his gaze towards the sandwiches.

“Tomato,” you whispered shyly, squeezing his hand.

He nodded, pulling you slightly into his side. A moment later, an older woman came from the back, smiling a toothless smile as she greeted her customers. He ordered two tomato sandwiches to go and a coffee for himself.

“We also have milkshakes,” the clerk chimed as she packaged the food items. “I think you'd love the strawberry one, my dear,” she added, looking at you with a fond glint in her eyes. “Surely your Dad wouldn't mind?”

He noticed the flinch jerking through your body as you lowered your eyes, staring at the counter, your cheeks heating up. It did sound a bit weird to be addressed as your father, and he knew you were bothered by it a lot more than he was, but it was what it was. He was older, taller, bigger, you looked particularly young today, it was an easy mistake to make for a stranger. He decided to address the issue later.

For now, he squeezed your hand, tilting his body towards you. “Do you want one, pumpkin?” he asked quietly.

You looked up at him, your eyelids fluttering as you bit your lip. “Yes,” you breathed, and he smiled, then nodded at the cashier.

When you left the gas station, your hands curled around the large cup, you already seemed to have brightened up again. He slipped onto the driver's seat, watching you climb onto the bench, immediately shifting towards him. He put the sandwiches on the dashboard and his coffee cup in his other hand before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You melted into his embrace, smiling shyly as you started sucking on your milkshake.

“Listen, pumpkin,” he started, taking a sip of his coffee. “I'm afraid that may happen more often now. People mistaking you for my daughter. It's fine, isn't it? Nothing to be ashamed of or weirded out by. We know better, don't we?”

You looked at him from under your lashes, your lips puckered around the straw. He had to clench his jaw at the sight, knowing now was the worst possible moment to imagine those same lips wrapped around his cock, but he couldn't help himself or the twitch against the zipper of his jeans. Clearing his throat, he put the coffee into the cup holder and grabbed the sandwiches.

“I'll never force you to show any kind of affection in public, baby, okay?” he said, pulling the wrapped triangles out of the paper bag. “Unless you want to. I don't care what people think about me, but I don't want to embarrass or humiliate you. I want to be there for you, in whatever form you want. I –”

He stopped short when you had shifted on the bench seat, scooting closer on your knees, the milkshake in one hand while your other hand rested on his chest. Without saying anything, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, the taste of artificial strawberry overwhelming for a moment. He smiled against your lips, then gave you a peck back.

“Is it weird that I... liked it... that she thought I was your daughter?” you whispered quietly, your cheeks flushed. He put the sandwiches on his lap and cupped your face, shaking his head.

“Nothing weird about it, it flatters me,” he said quietly, rubbing his thumbs over the twitching corners of your lips.

“How old are you, Daddy?” you asked, watching him closely.

“38, pumpkin. Does that bother you?” he added, knowing he was fifteen years your senior. But even though it was the biggest age gap in a relationship for him too, he found himself not really minding it as much as he had thought. And neither did you, apparently.

“No,” you breathed, leaning closer again. “I think you look younger. You don't look like any of the men my mother dragged into our house...”

He raised an eyebrow, not wanting to imagine just how many step-fathers you had to live with and endure. “Thanks, baby girl,” he replied instead, brushing his nose against yours.

“So I don't mind if people think you're my... father, but... I...” you stammered, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. His thumb teased at it, pulling it back. The tip of your tongue slid against the pad of his finger. “I also want to... show affection in public... I mean, I want to hold your hand and... and kiss you... and not pretend that I am just your... daughter. Is that... okay?”

He smiled wider, nodding, tilting his head to press his lips to yours. “Of course, pumpkin. We can do whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“And at the same time, I... I'm not sure if I... if I want to call you... Daddy... when others can hear me... that does feel weird, a little bit,” you mused, your fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, teasing at his chest. “Maybe I could... call you... by your name? Do you have a name, Daddy?”

He laughed, both surprised and impressed by how you managed to word your wants and needs almost freely to him. “Of course I have a name, baby,” he said with a smirk.

You stared at him, waiting.

He stared back, amusement flushing his body.

“What's your name, Daddy?” you then asked, catching the unspoken command to ask him properly.

“Noah,” he said. “My name's Noah.”

You mouthed his name silently before you voiced it. “Noah,” you repeated. “And I can call you that when we're among people?”

“Yes, you can, pumpkin,” he replied, watching you closely. “If that makes you happy.”

You hummed, the sound vibrating against his lips.

“Do you want me to call you by your name too, or do you prefer the pet names I gave you?”

“I like it when you call me pumpkin,” you said quietly, inhaling deeply before you slipped from his hands and leaned your head against the backrest of the seat, snuggling into his shoulder. “Or baby or baby girl or anything else. I never really liked my name anyway...”

“But it's a beautiful name, baby,” he whispered, wrapping his arm around you to pull you even closer. “It is,” he stressed with a nod when you were about to roll your eyes, “but I respect your wishes, pumpkin.”

You smiled at him, warmth flooding your big eyes. “By the way, why pumpkin? Do I look like a pumpkin?” you then asked.

He chuckled. “No, I just think it sounds cute, as cute as you look,” he said, nuzzling his nose into your neck. You gave a soft giggle, accepting his answer.

You settled against him, bringing the milkshake back to your lips. He kept his arm around your shoulders, picking up the sandwiches with his free hand. Taking a bite of one, he then held it towards you. Instead of maybe grabbing the other one, you took his and bit off another piece, much smaller than his, and he watched you fondly as you chewed.

For a while the two of you ate in comfortable silence, still parked at the side of the gas station, leaning against the other. When he gave you the last bite of the second sandwich, he teased his fingers against your jaw.

“Hey, by the way, I am really proud of you, you know that?” he said nonchalantly, emptying the rest of his coffee.

You looked at him with a frown. “For finishing my food?”

He smirked. “That too, of course, but also for voicing what you want. I know it's not easy for you, but you did so well.”

You squirmed away, blushing deeply, but he knew you weren't ashamed, just humbled, probably. “Well, it's easier than to ask for... for something else...”

He nudged your arm. “I bet it is, but you'll get better at that too.”

“Hmm,” you made, licking around your lips, not daring to look at him. He leaned in instead, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your cheek that made you giggle, before he took the empty milkshake cup from your hand and gathered the rest of the trash.

When he opened his door, you looked at him, meeting his gaze. “Be right back,” he told you, adding Stay where you are in his mind, then left the car, disposing of the cups and paper bags in a nearby trashcan. The sun was high in the sky, a few clouds shifting in front of it. He had planned to take you to the mountains early in the day, but somehow you were a bigger distraction than he had thought.

He'd have to take a different route to get there quicker, hoping they'd still have enough daylight to make it to the vantage point he wanted to show you. It'll be fine, he told himself when he returned to the truck. You were still perched on the seat, right in the middle where he left you, watching him curiously when he slipped behind the wheel again.

“You wanna stay here, pumpkin?” he asked, and you nodded, snuggling against him, your legs tucked under your body, knees pressing into his leg, sock-clad feet wriggling beside you on the seat. He smiled, leaning in to fish the middle seat belt up to strap you in. “Safety first,” he mused, his face close to yours. You gave a sweet snicker, and he couldn't help but grab your chin and capture your lips for a short but deep kiss, tasting the remnants of milkshake and sandwich in your mouth.

He had to force himself away eventually, sighing deeply as he put his own seat belt on and started the engine that came to life with a loud roar. He had missed taking the truck out into nature (usually using one of his other cars or getting driven by Isabella's driver when he was in the city), but what he had missed even more was to have a little passenger princess beside him.

His hand slipped to your thigh once he was back on the road, heading straight ahead, and again, you cradled it between your fingers, the touch soft and sweet, if you wouldn't have pushed it closer and closer to the hem of your jean shorts, teasing it between your legs.

“Still hungry, baby girl?” he mused, eyes on the road.

“No, just... it feels nice... having your hand there...”

“Where, pumpkin?” he teased, feeling you squirm against him.

“On my... between my legs...”

“On your what?”

You sighed, but instead of ditching the want or fighting him, you shifted on the seat, spreading your legs a little. You didn't ask him for it, and he might have to teach you some manners in the future, but for now he let it slide when you pressed his fingers right onto your warm mound, his hand so big his thumb was resting on your leg.

“My cunt, Daddy,” you said quietly, closing your thighs around his hand. He gave your crotch a few nudges of his fingers, wishing the thick fabric of your shorts wasn't in the way so he could sink them directly into your slit, but he settled for feeling your warmth and the hint and promise of dampness beyond.

“Good girl,” he praised, meeting your hooded gaze. “Return the favor?” he then asked before looking back at the road.

You complied quickly, one hand still holding his between your legs, the other moving towards his leg, rubbing up his thigh, and he had to fight a little groan when you curled your small hand around the obvious bulge in his pants as if you'd never done anything else. He admired your confidence, but still adjusted your hand to rest comfortably along his cock, pressing his other leg up against the steering wheel for a moment to keep the car steady.

You gave him a gentle squeeze, and he threw you a smirk, rubbing his fingers against the seam of your shorts, and connected as you were, he drove on. A few hours passed before he pulled onto the empty parking lot. It was later than he would have liked, but it would be fine. You had fallen asleep against him, holding onto his cock, lulled by the occasional flick of his wrist.

He carefully peeled his hand away, feeling it tingling from the blood rushing back into his digits. For a moment, he let it rest on your warm thigh, watching you sleep so peacefully. Gone seemed the worried girl who couldn't stop crying as she told them about her failed attempt at life. Who choked on her words as she had to recount the events that led to her ending up on the street.

He knew that in your head, it was a lot worse, and it wasn't easy to begin with, falling into depression, dropping out of college, losing your place to live, unable to return to your family because you didn't have the money (and courage) to do so, but he had been certain that you would prevail.

There had been hope in your big wet eyes, a plea you couldn't word yet. And you pushed through by accepting his and Isabella's offer, probably still unsure what that all entailed, but you grew into your role (or what you thought it was) quickly, minute by minute climbing back out of the dark abyss that had swallowed you whole.

Helping you by simply being there, cuddling you, holding you, praising you, had been a new experience for him too. He'd had submissive partners before, but nobody had been like you, so soft and innocent and helpless in a way that triggered something inside him he hadn't known before. The need to protect, to guide, to pamper. Be a Daddy, a caring authority figure, a father figure even, and not just in sexual ways.

For the first time in his life, he would prefer holding you against him over sinking his cock into your tight cunt and fucking you senseless (he'd do that eventually too, but for now, because you were just getting adjusted, it was enough to simply feel you in his arms). A new chapter, for every party involved.

Inhaling deeply, your sweet scent filling his nostrils, he leaned against you, bringing his lips to your sleep-warm cheek. “Pumpkin,” he whispered softly. “Wake up, sweet girl.”

You startled awake, flinching badly, your hand gripping at his cock which in turn made him shift away with a wince and a stifled laugh. He grabbed your hand and eased it off him, then chuckled softly when you blinked your eyes into focus and stared at him.

“You're alright,” he whispered, cradling your hand in his, giving you a bit of space as you came to. “We're here.”

“Here?” you mouthed before your jaw opened for a big yawn that you didn't even bother to hide. Seeing his amused gaze, you cleared your throat and wiped a bit of drool off your chin, looking around.

“We might have to change our plans a little because we got here so late. Lucky for you, there's also a shorter trail to where we want to go,” he told you, watching you as you stretched, a little squeak escaping you that made his stomach tense. You were so fucking adorable.

“Okay, Daddy,” you whispered, slipping back into your shoes as you sat up straighter on the seat.

His resolve was really tested now. The urge to grab you and devour you, take you in the most primal ways possible, was thrumming low in his guts, his cock straining against his jeans. But he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Alright, let's get going before it gets dark, hm?” he then said and slipped out of the car, waiting for you to follow him. You grabbed the backpack from the bench while he took the larger one off the backseat, and together, hand in hand, the two of you started up the trail into the forest, slowly easing your way up the mountain.

He watched you as you admired the nature around you, giggling when a squirrel crossed the path, your mouth agape when you watched a woodpecker hacking away at a nearby tree trunk, your hand squeezing his before you showed him something in the distance. His heart nearly melted by how at ease you were, how easy-going and free, not a single black cloud circling your head at the moment.

He'd do anything to keep it that way.

The trail wound past a thick pine forest on one side and a steep slope dipping down into the thicket on the other, allowing a more or less clear view on the river snaking through the valley below. Most of it was already covered in shadows as the sun was slowly descending behind the mountains, but some areas were still sparkling, clear water rushing by, echoing up all the way to the trail.

You walked silently next to him, pressed to his side when the path got narrower, holding onto his hand and stretching your arm out when you had to climb over an obstacle, never letting go. Even after more than thirty minutes of walking, steadily ascending the mountain, you still looked around in awe, sometimes pausing to marvel at a certain view, showing him things he hadn't noticed before on the many treks he'd taken along this path.

You opened his eyes to new things, and he was grateful, enjoying his time with you more than he had initially thought. He had tried taking his subs here from time to time, but most of them, no matter how obedient, would start complaining and downright protesting after having to walk this much. It didn't matter to him as he did enjoy a good punishment, but it would have been a nice change to just enjoy nature together instead of thinking about ways to properly discipline the girls he had been with.

You, on the other hand, gave him time to let go, to empty his mind, to enjoy the bird song around him, the noises of the forest, the wind in the leaves, to feel the sun on his skin, the breeze in his hair. You were perfect to spend time with.

When the both of you eventually reached the spot he wanted to show you, the sun was just peeking past the top of the mountain, painting everything in a warm orange glow. “Almost there, pumpkin,” he told you, quickly taking you around a bend before you saw it: a little plateau jutting out of the forest, and on top of it sat a watch tower, the smaller kind, to watch animals.

He led you to the steep wooden ladder and helped you up, watching you climb on unsteady legs, the sight of your rear shifting left and right a welcome one. At the top, you crawled over the edge and disappeared, and he quickly followed. You were already standing against the banister, hands curled around the top, looking left and right with your lips parted and your eyes wide. He stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, leaning his chin on top of your head.

“This is beautiful, Daddy,” you whispered, and he followed your gaze, letting his eyes wander over the valley below, the river twinkling in the last rays of the sun, the mountains dark and imposing behind it, endless rows of trees filling the slopes. He lowered his head and turned it, pressing his lips to your warm cheek.

“You are beautiful,” he said quietly, making you squirm and giggle. “You are. My perfect little girl...”

You looked at him, meeting his gaze, then meeting his lips, the kiss slow and gentle, your hands finding his forearms as you leaned into him. He inhaled you, holding you closer, feeling your soft breaths and little twitches. The vantage point and its pretty view was forgotten as he pulled you onto the little bench on the side of the structure, settling you on his lap.

Your hands on his shoulders, his hands on your face, lips sliding and pressing, tongues gliding and delving deep. The noises around you faded as the sun set behind the mountain, plunging the world into darkness, a gentle glow left on the horizon. He focused on kissing you, tasting you, until you were both breathless, leaning into each other, his large hands rubbing over your bare arms, caressing the goosebumps away.

“Are you cold?” he whispered.

You pressed into him. “A little,” you murmured barely audible.

He pulled the backpack closer that he'd barely had time to put down before his desires had taken over. Without letting go of you, he extended a hand and rummaged through it before pulling out a thick blanket. He'd planned to put it down on the meadow next to the tower, enjoying a nice picnic with you, but with the light gone, that wouldn't happen. So he threw it around your shoulders instead, wrapping you up completely.

You snuggled into him, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Thank you, Daddy,” you breathed softly. “For this and for taking me here... it was really special.”

“You're welcome, sweetheart,” he replied, pulling you even tighter against him as he looked over your head and past the balustrade into the approaching night. “But it's not over yet.”

“What do you mean?” you whispered, sounding rather sleepy.

“When I knew we'd come here so late, I remembered that there is a little cabin nearby. We didn't bring any necessities, but I think we can skip your night routine for once, hm, pumpkin?”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a frown on your forehead. “We're spending the night here?”

“Mommy will be furious, but it can't be helped. I'm not taking you through the forest at night,” he explained, shifting on the hard bench. “It's only a few yards down the hill, and luckily I did think to bring a flashlight.”

Your lips twitched as you watched him. “Sounds good, Daddy,” you mused, your hands digging into the fabric of his shirt. “As long as you're with me, I feel safe.”

“You do?” he whispered, a little surprised by your words.

“Yes,” you breathed, scooting closer to nestle your face into the crook of his neck. “And you're warm and strong and I know you would never hurt me.”

“Of course not, pumpkin!” He blinked, rubbing your back, furrowing his eyebrows at the way you worded that. “I'll always protect you.”

You hummed against him. It really was unusual how quickly you started to trust him. But it just showed him how dire your need for a caregiver was, for someone to hold you, to give you attention, to be there. It might have been only about forty-eight hours since you left the streets to come live with him and Isabella, but it felt like so much longer already. He inhaled deeply, burying his nose in your hair.

“Oh pumpkin,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “My sweet little pumpkin...”

He heard your soft giggle as you squirmed on his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck as you inched closer to him, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. It was getting darker and darker, but he would always be able to see the hopeful innocence shining in your eyes.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” you whispered, your breath fanning over his lips.

“Never better, sweet girl,” he replied, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You just make me really happy, you know? I'm old, let me be sentimental.”

You chuckled quietly. “You're not old, Daddy,” you said softly, your fingers brushing up his neck into his hair, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. “You're well-seasoned, experienced, knowledgeable...” He watched you as you listed those traits, the warmth radiating off your cheeks.

Nosing at your temple, he smirked at you. “Well-seasoned, huh? I think you are indeed still hungry...” he said, grabbing your waist under the blanket to dig his fingers into your sides until you writhed on his lap, gasping for air after a full-blown laughing fit shook you.

“Daddy!” you squeaked, your hands heavy on his shoulders.

He let go of you, only to wrap his arms around your back and pull you flush against him, his mouth inches away from yours. “Would you like another taste of Daddy, pumpkin?” he whispered, licking his lips, feeling his cock stir to life beneath you.

He heard your sharp inhale, felt your burning skin, but he also saw the jerky nod you issued before you buried your face in his neck, clinging to his shoulders, a little shudder crashing through your small body.

“Let's get to that cabin then, hm?” he whispered, standing up slowly, the bundle of limbs and hair and blanket tight in his arms. He put you to your feet, digging through the backpack to fish the flashlight out. Switching it on, he placed it into your hands, considering putting the blanket back, but deciding against it. The night was chilly, and you were only wearing that cute kitten shirt (and it was too dark to appreciate your stiff nipples beneath).

After shouldering his backpack, he told you to stay put as he climbed down the ladder first, then waved at you to follow him.

They were quickly losing light, the last glow vanishing behind the mountains. The flashlight didn't do much, but it was enough to illuminate the path to the cabin. When he reached it, his hand tight around yours, he realized he might have exaggerated things a bit. The cabin was more of a shed, the only window was a little glass pane in the door, but at least it had a roof and four walls, which was hopefully enough protection against any nighttime critters or bigger animals.

He ushered you inside and closed the door. “Well, this is home sweet home for the night I guess,” he said, looking around as you shone the flashlight from wall to wall. It was one of those hiker huts, just a place to stay, one wall lined with two very primitive looking beds, just raised wooden slabs, really, but it had to do. “Sorry, pumpkin. I promise I'll make it up to you.”

Instead of saying anything or showing disdain about your situation, you stepped forward and snaked your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his chest.

“It's perfect, Daddy,” you whispered. “And I'm sure you will...”

Chapter 5 🔷️ Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7

End notes: So Mommy and Daddy have names, how about that. It just fit the story, what can I say. You can still imagine them however you like, though. There will be a few more Mommy/Daddy POV chapters in the future, just to switch things up.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: After spending the night in the woods, you find that Mommy isn't too happy with Daddy for disrupting her plans with you...

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[luvlyycy]

I LOVED TGE WOLVERINE DRABBLE PLEASE WRITE MORE FOE HIM

🫡🫡🫡

it's not that wolverine can't stand you. it's just that you annoy him so much.

whether it's on purpose or not, you're always into something you're not supposed to. you're like a cat maybe, or just a really timid puppy— he's not sure.

he comes home often with a scowl on his face, seeing a mess around the house and it seems like powder of some sort— he tracks it to the kitchen where you decide to surprise him with some sort of cupcakes. there's flour all over your face, a bright smile across your face. the kitchen is a mess.

"you're lucky you're cute." he growls out.

luck isn't always on your side.

he gives punishments for when you're bad— whether it comes in spanks, or just being overstimulated by his mouth or hands since he knows your dick is your favorite— it still doesn't put you in shape for long. maybe a day or a week at max.

it's irritating. he sees as your way of rebelling. rebellion isn't new to him but when it's you—

it's worse when it's you. he wants to see you as someone who does no wrong— no harm. just his sweet and kind girlfriend. but here you are staring at him, cussing him out for drinking too much.

he squints at you, eyes dragging down from your mouth to your chest— he wasn't the most proper man after all.

"i told you before to stop fucking drinking. it pisses me off. i don't care if your healing factor fucking— sobers you up or whatever the fuck! i don't want you coming home reeking of beer."

he smiles, "sure, hun."

"what? what are you smirking about? i'm not joking, logan."

cute. adorable.

he can't help himself, wrapping two big arms around your waist and inhaling your scent through his nose. you hum softly, despite the fact that he still stinks.

he presses a soft kiss to your neck and you merely glare at him, and he grins— maybe rebellion wasn't so bad when it's you.

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media