#logan Howlett x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

radio96 · 2 days ago

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Once again reblogging stuff so I can read it when I’m off of work 😭

Close to You (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Oh my god. I got so carried away with this. It was not supposed to be this long. Anyway, here's the beach fic, y'all. This one is inspired by "Close to You" by Gracie Abrams...which is an absolute banger. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: The team goes away on a weekend beach trip, and your pining for Logan comes to a head when you're forced to share a room...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!! Thigh riding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, soft!Logan, feelings, fluff, afab!reader/fem!reader, reader wears a bikini (no descriptions at all, though!), one bed trope (muahaha), friends to lovers, cursing, absolutely some grammatical errors bc this fic is so long, I think that's it!

Word Count: 6,577 this was so self indulgent

You step out onto the concrete and the salt in the air immediately coats your skin. The breeze is sticky and slightly humid, but it smells so good. You can hear the waves crashing against the sand, seagulls squawking above. Laughter on the boardwalk. Carnival music blaring from all the rides. It’s perfect—the sun is high, fluffy white clouds framing the endless blue sky.

“We’re going to have so much fun!” Jubilee cheers, closing the car door as she slides out of the Jeep.

Jean and Scott step out of their car, parked just up ahead, unloading their bags. “It’s so nice of the Professor to give us the weekend off!” Jean says excitedly, placing her bag down onto the sidewalk and wheeling it up to the porch of the house. “I can’t believe he rented this place for us.” It’s a yellow, two-story cottage with a lemonade porch, adorned with white shutters and a shingled roof.

Logan makes his way to the trunk of his Jeep, pulling out bag after bag. You rush to his side, reaching inside the trunk. “Let me help you,” you mumble as the rest of the team excitedly approaches the house.

Logan smiles and shakes his head, reaching for the same bag you are. His fingertips brush yours as he takes the bag away, your heart beating in your chest at the sudden contact. “Don’t worry, princess,” he huffs, smirking as he places the bag down in front of you. Heat rises to your chest at the nickname. “Don’t lift a finger. Go inside and check out the place.” He nods his head towards the front door and grabs another bag.

You smile, throwing your backpack over your shoulder, grabbing two bags, and carrying them to the front door in protest. “Gonna help you anyway,” you say over your shoulder. Logan chuckles as he closes the truck, grabbing the rest of the duffle bags and following behind you.

He meets your side as you walk through the doors. The walls are pale blue, and the bottom halves are lined with white shiplap. Beechwood covers the floors. The living room is light and airy, white curtains floating through opened windows. The kitchen is off to the side, and to the back is a large open sunroom. Just straight ahead are the stairs.

Jean and Scott settle some groceries on the counter as Jubilee, Kurt, Rogue, and Gambit head upstairs to see the bedrooms.

“Hey, guys?” Jubilee calls from upstairs. You can tell by the sound of her voice that something is off. “I thought the Professor said there’d be six beds.”

Jean puts away a bag of chips and steps back into the living room, following Jubilee’s voice up the steps, and disappearing as her feet hit the landing. “How many are there?” She asks, her voice muffled.

“Five,” Jubilee answers. “Three queens and two bunk beds, and Kurt and I took the bunks already.”

“That’s fine,” Jean says, shrugging her shoulders as she heads back downstairs. “We’ll all just be a little tight—closer quarters than usual.”

And that’s when it finally hits you. Three queen beds—and Kurt and Jubilee took the twin bunks.

You’ll be sharing a room with Logan.

You turn to him and find that his eyes are already on you. “You okay sharing, princess?” He asks, nodding to the steps.

You swallow harshly, trying to mask your nervousness, hoping Logan can’t hear the way your heart beats out of your chest. “Yeah!” You say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Totally fine with it.”

He nods, smiling softly as he walks towards the steps, his bags in his hands. You follow behind him, the wood stairs creaking with every step you take.

Jean was not exaggerating; the upstairs of the house is extremely small. There may be four bedrooms—but bedroom is a generous title. Each room is only large enough to hold a queen bed, a single dresser, and a small nightstand on either side of the bed. There’s little to no walking room. One of the rooms—Kurt and Jubilee’s—has just a bunk bed and a nightstand, with a tiny wardrobe in the corner. In the center of the tight hallway is a bathroom with a simple sink, toilet, and a stand-up shower.

Logan steps into the first bedroom to the left of the stairs and puts his bags down on the ground. “You sure you’re okay with this?” He asks, watching as you put your bags down next to his. “I can sleep on the couch if you’re uncomfortable.”

You shake your head, walking over to the window and taking in the view of the ocean. “Don’t worry,” you say, watching kids run across the sand, trying to distract yourself from how close Logan is to you in this tiny room. “We’re adults.” You turn to face him, fighting the urge to let your eyes trail up and down his body. “We can share.” Or at least, you hope you can.

You can handle this for a weekend. You can force down your feelings—can ignore your massive crush on Logan for seventy-two hours. That’s all this is. A weekend trip. This is doable. You’ve been through so much worse than this.

“If you change your mind, you can let me know,” Logan says, reaching his arm out towards your shoulder. His knuckles brush against your bare skin, and you let yourself lean into his touch. He’s warm, solid, cozy—

“Let’s go to the beach!” Jubilee interrupts, Logan’s hand falling from your shoulder instantly. “We didn’t come here to sit in a house all weekend, did we?” She jumps away from the door and runs down the stairs.

“Kid has a point,” Logan says, shrugging his shoulders and nodding towards the door. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling widely. “Already have my bathing suit on.” Logan smiles back and grabs your wrist, tugging you into the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re sitting on the beach, watching as Jubilee and Kurt splash each other recklessly in the water. Jean sits in a chair, reading a book, while Scott lays on a beach towel, eyes likely closed behind his glasses. Rogue and Gambit walk down the shoreline, hand in hand.

Logan stands up from the beach blanket you share, tugging his beater up and over his head. “I’m going in,” he says, just to you. “Wanna come?” He reaches out his hand again, the same hand that tugged you the whole way here. You bite your lip, nerves building in your stomach again. “Come on,” Logan says, smirking. “I don’t bite.”

Your heart flutters in your chest, and you take his hand, standing up. You let go and tug your shorts down your legs. You look up at Logan as your fingertips find the hem of your tank top, his eyes trained firmly on you. Your stomach somersaults as you pull your shirt up your body, revealing your bikini top, knowing Logan is watching.

Logan’s throat bobs as he swallows. He nods towards the ocean, wordlessly grabbing your hand again and tugging you along.

The waves lap at your ankles, and you force yourself into the cold water. Logan seemingly has no problem at all, pulling you along from a few feet ahead. The water is already up to his hips. He looks behind at you, all wide-eyed and happy.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” He teases, squeezing your hand tighter. Your heart drums against your ribcage at the feeling. He’s never held your hand like this. You try to shove down your feelings, to brush away how having him this close makes you feel, but nothing changes. You want him all the same.

You take a deep breath and shake your head as the cold water barrels against the middle of your thighs. “No,” you protest. “I’m just freezing.”

Logan smiles wider. “You gotta get all the way in!” He tugs you further, pulling you closer to him so that you’re shoulder to shoulder. You can’t tell if it’s the icy waves or your proximity to Logan that makes your heart freeze in your chest, that makes you crave the warmth of his body. You want to be close to him. You want him to pull you into his chest and hold you.

“Do I have to?” You ask playfully, a half-smile turning up at the corner of your mouth.

He jokingly rolls his eyes. “Come on,” he says, dropping your hand and wrapping his arm around your waist instead. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. You choke on your own breath as he guides you further into the water. “You okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, his fingertips pressing against the bare skin of your stomach. Goosebumps pebble your flesh. Finally, Logan guides you all the way into the water, up to your shoulders. It’s a surprisingly calm day—the waves easy and gentle.

Logan lets go of your waist and treads water, slipping underneath the dark blue current and coming back up—his hair wet, drops of water dripping down his face and neck. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips at the sight.

“Your turn,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes half shut as he swims towards you.

Your smile drops as you swim away. Logan grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him. You yelp as he tugs you closer. You turn around and splash him playfully, freeing yourself from his grasp as he wipes the salt water off his face.

You laugh, still backing away from Logan. He creeps forward, assessing you like an animal stalks its prey. “You’re not getting away that easy, pretty girl,” he huffs.

What was that? Your eyes widen as those last two words repeat in your head. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice him closing the gap between the two of you. Suddenly his hands are on your hips, dragging you into his chest.

His grip is like iron around your waist, keeping you in place, your hips pressed to his, your chests touching lightly. You don’t feel the coldness of the water anymore—you can’t feel anything except Logan.

“What am I gonna do with you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy. The world stopped long ago, his arms wrapping around your back now, pulling you closer. The playfulness of the moment disappears—this is something else, something more serious. Logan brings his face closer to yours, his lips just centimeters away. This is it, you think to yourself. The moment when everything finally changes—

“Hey!” A familiar voice calls from the beach. Logan’s eyes fall closed—an almost defeated look painting across his face. Your head whips to the sand, and the team is standing by the beach chairs. Jubilee waves you and Logan over. “We’re going to the boardwalk! Come on!”

Logan opens his eyes. You think he’s going to push you away, to let you go, but he only holds you tighter. “Give us a second!” He shouts, frustration clear in his voice.

But Jubilee crosses her arms against her chest. Scott chuckles and walks ahead with Jean. Gambit and Rogue look at each other knowingly, and Kurt teleports to the edge of the water.

“And just like that…” Logan murmurs, half to himself, half to you. “Moment ruined.”

You tilt your head, the implication of his words wracking your brain. “What do you mean—”

But Logan is pulling you along with him to the shore before you can finish asking for clarification. His arms drop from your waist, his hand grabbing yours to guide you onto the sand. He bends down, picking up your shorts and top from the beach blanket the team left out, and passing them to you.

“Thanks,” you mumble, your hands parting as he shoves his beater up and over his head. Once you’re dressed, flip-flops and all, you join the team and make your way up to the boardwalk.

Gambit is talking with Logan about something just ahead, trailing on and on, clearly irritating Logan, while Rogue falls back to walk with you.

“So,” she says softly, her eyes flitting between you and Logan. “What’s going on there, sugar?” She asks, smirking.

You furrow your brows, trying to hide your smile. “Nothing that I know of,” you say, somewhat honestly. This might be nothing—might just be a friend teasing another friend. A friend whose lips were just inches from yours, so close that you could feel his breath fanning across your face. A friend who dug his fingers into your waist to pull you closer to his—

“Nothing, huh?” She asks, snapping you back to reality. “Because I think he would’ve kissed you if Jubilee didn’t interrupt,” she whispers so only you can hear.

Heat rises to your chest at her words. “I don’t know. We’re just friends…” You trail off.

“We’ll see about that, sugar,” Rogue says, walking ahead, tearing Gambit away from Logan. Logan’s shoulders visibly relax once Gambit is gone, and he looks back at you, slowing his steps so that you can meet his side.

“Hi,” he husks, smiling down at you.

You smile back, the warmth of his hand suddenly spreading across your lower back. It’s gentle, the ghost of a touch, almost not quite there—more tentative than in the ocean when it felt like no one was watching. But it’s solid and centering all the same.

“Let’s go on the Ferris wheel!” Jubilee suggests, holding out the ticket booklet that Jean and Scott ran ahead to buy. She tears out tickets—three for each person. Jean and Scott hold hands and walk to the front of the line. Rogue leans over to Jubilee, whispering something into her ear that makes her eyes widen. She nods and pairs off with Kurt. Rogue turns around and winks at you while Logan isn’t looking.

You look up at him and see that he’s staring off at the sun slowly setting. Pink, orange, and red erupt in the sky, the colors blending, painting across the wispy clouds. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” you say as the others climb into the Ferris wheel gondolas in pairs.

Logan smirks, his eyes finding yours as you approach the front of the line. “Looks like it, pretty girl,” he husks. There it is again. Pretty girl. The ride attendant slows down the wheel, and you and Logan slip inside the gondola. You think maybe he’ll sit across from you, but he sits next to you instead.

The attendant closes the door of the gondola, and the ride starts up. Once you’re off the ground, Logan slips his arm around your shoulder, his palm warm against your bare skin. “This okay?” He asks, his lips at the shell of your ear.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter, your breath catching in your throat as his thumb brushes gentle circles into your arm. You let your head rest in the crook of his neck, and he leans against you, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

It’s silent communication—knowing, but not saying. You can feel his intention as his arm tugs you closer, his lips at the crown of your head. Your heart beats out of your chest—for the millionth time today—and you know he can hear it.

You reach the top of the Ferris wheel and look out at the ocean, the sun hitting the water, turning the blue waves to gold. “It’s beautiful,” you mumble, the current rippling against the shore, glistening vibrantly like the ocean figured out alchemy.

Logan chuckles softly. “I can think of something prettier, you know,” he husks, his lips still pressed into the crown of your head. Your heart thumps in your chest at his words. You lift your head, looking up at him.

His eyes meet yours, a soft smile playing upon his lips. “Logan, I—”

But the gondola comes to a sudden stop, and the door to the car swings open. You’re already back on the ground. The attendant crosses his arms, waiting for you and Logan to get out. Logan rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand and helping you back onto the boardwalk. The team is already off the ride, waiting for the two of you at the exit.

“Why don’t we play some games and then head back to the house for the night?” Scott suggests, his arm wrapped around Jean’s waist.

Jubilee smiles widely. “Yes! I wanna play the game where you throw the lobster into the pot!”

“Gambit’s gonna win chere a prize,” Gambit drawls, tugging Rogue into his chest. “The biggest one Gambit can find.” Rogue giggles, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Jubilee and Kurt run off to the other side of the boardwalk, immediately finding the lobster-pot game. Jean and Scott follow behind, making sure they don’t get into trouble. Rogue and Gambit go out on their own, heading toward the ring toss game.

You and Logan are left alone. Again. Surely everyone is doing this on purpose. “What do you wanna play?” You ask, nodding towards the array of games lined up on the opposite side of the boardwalk.

His eyes meet yours, flitting down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. “Whatever you want, darlin’.” You smile, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards balloon darts.

You approach the booth, and Logan pulls out his wallet, handing a five-dollar bill to the woman running the game. She slides a cup of five darts towards you and Logan, and steps off to the side, away from the balloons. Logan watches as you grab a dart and throw, completely missing the balloon you were aiming for. You groan, rolling your eyes, and grab another dart.

“Here,” Logan rasps, standing behind you. He holds your hand in his, lining the dart up to a balloon. His other arm wraps around your waist, the front of his hips pressing into your back. “Like this,” he murmurs, pulling your hand back. You let go of the dart when he thrusts forward. The dart pierces a balloon, the pop echoing through the booth.

You look up at him, his face close to yours, and smile. He grabs another dart, his eyes still focused on you, and throws without looking away, popping another balloon. “Now you’re just showing off,” you say teasingly as your smile grows wider. He grabs another dart, aiming at a bigger balloon this time, and pierces it with ease.

“Gotta win you a prize, pretty girl,” he says, grabbing the last dart from the cup, and tossing it across the booth, directly into the biggest balloon on the board. It pops—of course—and the game attendant’s jaw drops.

She shakes her head, walking over to the bigger prizes. “Never seen anyone do that before…” she trails off, pointing to the giant plushies. “You can pick any of these.”

Logan’s arm sneakily wraps around your waist as he waits for you to pick between a giant fox, panda, or dolphin. “The fox, definitely the fox,” you decide.

The attendant grabs the fox and pulls it down, handing it to you. You squeeze it to your chest, Logan’s grip on your waist tightening. “He’s so cute!” You giggle, looking up at Logan, who’s guiding you towards the edge of the boardwalk. “Thank you,” you say softly.

He shakes his head and looks out towards the water. “It was nothing,” he says, his arm still around your waist as you lean against the railing of the boardwalk. The sun is falling behind the horizon, stars rising in the sky.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he turns to face you. “Listen…” He starts, his jaw working as his grip on your waist falls away, his forearms bracing on the railing. Your shoulder presses against his, the tension between you palpable. “I’ve been thinking…” But he pauses again, his eyes searching yours.

“We ready to head back to the house?” Scott asks, interrupting the conversation. Logan’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and he leans forward.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Logan mutters, thinking you can’t hear him, resting his head against the railing.

Jubilee grabs your arm, holding up her little stuffed teddy bear. “Look what I won!” Her smile drops when she sees your giant fox. “Oh my god, my bear is nothing compared to that! That thing is massive!”

You smirk, glancing over at Logan. “Wouldn’t have gotten it if it wasn’t for him.” Logan lifts his head and smiles sheepishly at you.

The moon rises high in the quickly darkening sky. You’re not quite sure where the day went. Everything happened so quickly—the hours spent on the sand, Logan tugging you into the water. It was perfect. Beyond perfect. And now it was time to head back.

The team treks down the boardwalk and onto the street, trailing a few blocks before arriving back at the house. You and Logan walk shoulder to shoulder the whole way there, leading at the front of the group. Logan grabs the key from his pocket, unlocks the door, and you all head inside.

Jubilee and Kurt run into the kitchen scavenging for snacks. Gambit and Rogue crash onto the living room couch.

“We’re gonna head to bed,” Scott says, Jean following him up the stairs. “Night, guys.” Everyone mutters soft goodnights in response, and a comfortable silence falls upon the house.

“Gonna steal the upstairs shower before they get to it,” you whisper to Logan, nodding to Jubilee and Kurt.

He smirks. “I’ll shower down here,” he says back. “See you upstairs?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you answer, suddenly remembering that you’re sharing not just a room with Logan, but a bed. You walk away and head upstairs, grabbing your pajamas from your duffle bag and making your way to the bathroom.

You turn on the water and undress. The shower is warm and relaxing, releasing the tension you had spent the entire day holding in. But the peace is temporary—your thoughts drift off to Logan. You imagine him sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, waiting for you to join him. Butterflies flutter in your stomach, and you try to ignore the heat growing at the bottom of your belly. Maybe you should’ve taken a cold shower instead.

You finish up in the shower, turning the water off and grabbing a towel. You reach for your pajamas, only to realize you forgot your bottoms and your bra. You step into your panties and shrug your oversized band t-shirt over your head. You push the bathroom door open just a crack, and seeing no one in the hallway, you make a break for it, tip-toeing to your room. You slip inside and shut the door.

Logan coughs from behind you, and you whip around. “S-sorry,” he stutters, standing up from the edge of the bed. He’s shirtless, just like you imagined he’d be, wearing only a pair of boxers. His hair is still damp from his shower. “I didn’t mean to—”

You cut him off. “No, no,” you assure. “It’s totally fine.” You’re worried you sound too eager, too focused on making sure he stays. You clear your throat nervously, stepping towards your duffle bag. You lean down, hoping your t-shirt is still covering your ass as you rifle through your belongings. You groan when you finally realize you forgot to pack pajama shorts. You stand up and make your way around to the left side of the bed.

“Everything okay?” Logan asks, following suit and walking to the right side of the bed.

“Yeah,” you say. “I, um…” You trail off, motioning towards your duffle bag. “I forgot pajama bottoms,” you finally spit out. “If you’re uncomfortable or—”

“No,” Logan cuts you off this time. “I’m not uncomfortable at all.”

You smile, climbing into the bed and slipping under the covers, and Logan does the same. He rolls onto his side and turns off the lamp—the only light on in the room. The space is engulfed in darkness save for the pale light of the moon pushing through the curtains.

You take a deep breath; you’re more nervous than you can comprehend. You could simply turn away from Logan, but you’re too anxious to move. Your stomach somersaults as his knee brushes against your thigh. You force your eyes shut, your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“I can hear your heartbeat, you know,” Logan mumbles into the dark room, shuffling under the covers. “You okay?”

You swallow harshly, humming a soft mhm, too distracted to form a complete sentence.

“I know you aren’t telling the truth, pretty girl,” Logan whispers, his hand finding your waist. “I can sleep on the couch, if you—”

“No,” you protest, the words escaping your lips almost uncontrollably. “It’s f-fine,” you stammer. “I’m fine.”

He chuckles darkly. “Then what’s got you so worked up, huh?” Oh. He knows. He has to know. You can hear it in his voice.

“N-nothing,” you lie, your eyes fluttering open. Logan is closer to you now, his fingertips trailing down to your thighs, to the hem of your shirt.

“Relax,” Logan husks, his hand slipping back up your body and settling on your waist. He tugs you closer to him. “This okay?” He asks, and you hum a quiet yes. You can feel the tension thickening, feel it readying to snap. He breaks the silence. “Thought about this all day, you know.”

Your eyes widen at the confession. “Th-this?” You ask, your legs tangling with his.

“Being alone with you,” Logan rasps. Your shirt hikes up as he pulls you into his chest. “Wanted to get you alone earlier,” he says, his hand sliding back down your body, playing with the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath. His fingertips drag along your stomach.

You curse under your breath, Logan’s forehead pressing against yours. “Logan,” you whisper, his name the only thing you can think of. You’re sure he can smell the arousal building between your thighs.

“There’s no going back from this. You know that, don’t you?” He whispers, his breath hot against your lips. He’s so close, his thigh pushing between your legs, bumping against your core.

“Yes,” you sigh. “Don’t wanna go back.”

Your eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed by how close Logan is to you. “Good,” he breathes. “Because you have no idea how much I need you.”

His lips crash against yours, his thigh dragging along your core. You moan into his mouth, his tongue swiping across your lower lip. You part your lips, inviting him inside, his tongue tasting yours.

“Logan,” you whine, involuntarily bucking your hips, grinding down on his thigh. “N-need you too.”

“I know, beautiful,” he soothes, gripping your waist, rolling you onto your back, pushing you into the mattress. “Fucking thought about you all day, always thinking about you.” He slides your shirt up above your tits, drinking you in with his eyes. “Wanted you for so long, pretty girl.” He hovers over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand explores your body.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he palms your left breast, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and then doing the same to the other side. It’s dizzying having him this close. You can smell his body wash—notes of musk and pine and a hint of leather on his skin.

“Please,” you beg, not quite sure what you’re even begging for. All you know is how badly you want him—need him.

Logan buries his face into the crook of your neck as his thumb rolls over your nipple, biting down on your pulse point and sucking the sensitive skin between his lips. “Please what, darlin’?” He mumbles, continuing his assault on your neck.

“F-fuck,” you whimper, your hips rocking against Logan’s. “W-want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? That what you want?” Logan teases, his hand pushing between your legs, his fingertips finding your clit through your panties. “What if I wanted to taste you first?”

“W-whatever you want,” you moan, grinding down onto his hand. “I’m yours.”

He lifts his head from your neck and presses his forehead to yours. “Whatever I want?” His voice is thick, cocky, almost mocking. “You’re mine,” he husks, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, then to your jaw, your neck. “All fucking mine.” He crawls down your body, trailing kisses down the valley of your breasts, your stomach, stopping just above the hem of your panties.

Your hips lift off the mattress as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and he tugs them down your legs, throwing them to the floor. He nestles between your thighs, his breath hot against your cunt. You tremble in anticipation, watching as he breathes you in, his jaw working. You can see in his eyes that he’s holding himself back.

“Are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice suddenly soft, his cockiness replaced by genuine care. "Not gonna be able to stop once I start.” But you know he doesn’t just mean in the moment, right now—he means forever.

“I’m sure, Lo,” you whine. It comes out like a prayer, like a desperate cry, a guilty plea.

And then he buries his face into your heat, his tongue swiping through your folds. He grunts against you, flicking your clit before stroking his tongue through your folds again. “Fuck,” Logan groans, his face pressing harder into you, his tongue exploring your cunt. “Tastes better than I ever imagined,” he mumbles against you, the vibrations of his voice pulsing against your core. “So fucking sweet.”

Your hips jolt away from him as his tongue laps at your sensitive clit. His palms quickly slide under your legs, wrapping around your thighs, yanking you back to his face, and holding you down onto the mattress. “Don’t move, princess,” he chides, his nails digging into your flesh. “Wanna eat this pretty pussy.”

“L-Lo,” you stutter as his tongue draws tight, rapid circles around your clit. You’re already close, his teasing words enough to push you over the edge. But you know he’s nowhere near done—he’s only getting started.

His right hand loosens its grip around your thigh, his nails dragging down the curve of your ass and towards your folds. His fingertips prod your slit, spreading your slick. “So fucking wet for me, pretty girl,” he praises, his lips wrapping around your clit, his teeth grazing the bud lightly as he sucks. “Want my fingers?” He asks, knowing your answer, but wanting to hear you beg for him.

“Yes, Logan, please. Need—”

He’s thrusting two long, thick fingers deep inside you before you can finish your sentence. “Fuck,” he whispers, pulling out and pumping back in—down to his knuckles. He stills inside you, letting you adjust to him. “So goddamn tight.” His tongue laps at your clit. “Gonna have to work you open for me, hm?” He mutters, thrusting in and out now.

You’re so overwhelmed, your swollen clit already overstimulated. He wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking harder this time, his fingers unrelenting as they plunge deeper with every pump. His tongue draws long, hard strokes around your bud, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

It feels like a wildfire is spreading through your veins, a current dragging you under and holding you down. Warmth blossoms in your belly. “Doing so good for me, beautiful,” Logan praises, his fingers fucking into you. Your walls flutter around him at his words, sucking him in deeper. “Know you’re close, pretty girl.”

“Logan,” you moan, his tongue drawing those tight circles around your clit again. He’s adding more pressure, his fingers dragging along your walls, scissoring inside you, splitting you in two. “Please, need to come…” You trail off, your back arching off the mattress, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Come for me,” Logan demands, his voice dark and filled with lust. “Wanna know what it tastes like.” His tongue presses harder into your clit, his fingers rocking in and out of your entrance. “Wanna see that pretty face when you let go.”

And then the tension breaks, white-hot heat pouring freely from the bottom of your belly. Your vision goes blurry as Logan laps at your clit, his fingers still pumping in and out, working you through your high. You moan his name, pleasure ripping through your body in intense waves.

His pumps relax, his fingers stilling inside you before he finally pulls out. His face is still buried against your cunt, licking long stripes through your folds. He’s savoring the taste of your release, drinking every last drop you have to give. “Can’t get enough of you,” he husks. “Could do this forever.”

He licks one last long stripe through your folds before lifting his face from your cunt. He’s a mess—your release glistening on his chin, his hair disheveled, his boxers all wrinkled. Your heart beats in your chest at the sight. All this, just for you.

Logan crawls up your body, hovering over you again, lowering down onto his forearm. “Wanna fuck you, beautiful,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing to yours. “Wanna know what you feel like.” His hand slips between your legs, his fingertips finding your swollen clit and giving it a gentle pinch. Your hips buck against him at the sudden sensation.

“Wanna feel you too,” you whimper, your arms wrapping around his back. “Want you inside me, please.”

And then he’s tugging his boxers down his legs, his erection pressing against the inside of your thigh. You can’t see—but you can feel just how massive he is. His tip slides through your folds, spreading your arousal.

“You know how bad I need you?” Logan whispers, his lips finding yours. He bites your lower lip and kisses away the pain. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this?” And then he sinks himself inside you, down to the hilt with one smooth, fluid thrust. “Thought about this every day since I met you.”

Your muscles release and contract at his words. His hips stall, letting you adjust to the size of him. You feel indescribably full. He’s splitting you open, stretching you out, claiming you as his. His hips pull back, his cock sliding out, and he plunges back in, somehow deeper this time.

“Th-thought about you too,” you stutter, already too fucked out to form a coherent thought. “Always wanted you.” Logan sets a reckless pace as his fingertips find your clit again, working long, languid strokes into the bud, teasing you, leading you on.

“You feel so perfect,” Logan praises, rocking into you, his cock dragging along your walls. “So fucking warm, so tight. Made for me.” His lips are on yours again, his tongue slipping into your mouth, tasting you, swallowing your moans. “Never gonna want anybody else, pretty girl.”

His hips snap against yours, his fingers circling your clit faster now. “Just want you, Lo,” you choke, the tension building at the bottom of your belly, a fire burning through your bones. “Only want you.”

“I know,” he whispers, his voice suddenly soft, contrasting with the way he pounds into you recklessly, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every pump of his cock. “It’s you, just you.” You can hear the emotion in his voice, the sincerity, the desperation, the aching longing.

Your chest heaves against his. He’s fucking you to get closer to you, to be as deep inside you as possible. This isn’t just sex—this isn’t just some tension that needs to be broken. It’s an invisible string keeping the two of you tied closely together. Maybe it was stitched by the Fates centuries ago, laid out carefully, a plan to be executed. Maybe everything that led you to this moment was always meant to be. Because here you are now, his lips soft and hungry against yours, his words tearing through your resolve, his cock buried deep inside you, searching for a way to get deeper. And all you can think is…

This is it. This is what people mean when they talk about love—that word that changes its meaning every time you say it. The word with a definition that always escapes you. You know what it means now.

“Logan, I’m gonna…” You trail off, that fire in your belly spreading through your body as he rams into you, the sound of your skin slapping against his echoing along the walls of the tiny room. His fingers press harder into your clit, pinching softly, and then circling again.

His cock twitches inside you. “Me too, beautiful,” he hums, his pace growing sloppier, his cock throbbing again. “You’re so perfect,” he praises. “Love you so much, pretty girl.”

And then the tension snaps, electricity buzzing through your nerve endings, fire prickling your skin as you melt into him. “Love you too, Lo.” Your muscles contract and release, squeezing around him, coming undone.

Your walls clench around him again, and you know it’ll be the thing that pushes him over the edge. “Fuck, wanna come inside you,” he pants.

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close. “Please,” you beg, and with one more thrust he’s painting your walls, filling you up and letting go.

You share one breath, panting, foreheads pressed together as Logan’s pumps slow, his cock stalling inside you. His fingers slip away from your clit, his arms reaching under your back as he carefully pulls out. You feel empty without him inside you.

“Y-you can stay inside, if you want,” you offer as Logan rolls you onto your side, pulling you into his chest.

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Is that what you want, pretty girl?” He asks, his lips pressing to your nose now.

“Yes,” you whisper. He swallows harshly as one of his hands slides down your body, hiking your leg up and over his hip. He lines his half-hard cock up with your entrance, his lips finding yours as he slides back in. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of being full of him again.

He groans as he bottoms out. “So fucking good,” he praises, his arms wrapping around your back again, tugging you into his chest.

You lay in comfortable silence, listening as Logan’s breathing becomes rhythmic. Your eyes grow heavy, and you bury your face into Logan’s chest. You can hear his heart beating.

“Love you,” he mumbles against the crown of your head. You can hear the sleepiness in his voice, the exhaustion.

“Love you too,” you whisper, your breathing matching his, like you’re no longer two separate people, but one.

He presses a kiss to your head. “So lucky I met you,” he huffs. You smile against him. “So lucky I finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” You ask, looking up at him.

He smiles down at you. “What love is supposed to feel like...” He trails off, and you watch as he chooses his next words. “What living is supposed to feel like.”

You can feel tears brimming in the corners of your eyes, and you do your best to blink them away. “Me too, Lo,” you whisper, pausing…

“Me too.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @figsnpassionfruits @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @fanfic-writing-barbie @pedrohoe04 @cosmiccandydreamer @movhoney @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @maniuplatour *as always, I'm so sorry if I forgot to tag you*

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader smut #wolverine x reader smut #james logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #james logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you

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itsmemuffy · 12 days ago

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Logan's self-described "worst trait" is his tendency to think out loud. Without realizing, he mutters something under his breath. In most environments, he is self-aware enough to consciously stop himself from doing just that.

Sometimes, however, he gets a bit too... distracted. Too distracted to police himself. Especially when you're around. It is usually small statements– an unrefined thought just passing through.

"Your lipstick is smudged..."

You stop mid-sentence, having been gabbing his ear off while he stares at your lips. "What was that?"

"Nothing, it's just–" Logan cuts himself off, kicking himself for being so obvious. The reckless side of him has a thought and before he can think it through, he acts.

His own thumb is brought to his lips, dipping behind them to wet it on his tongue. You stand still, not fully realizing what's happening. He runs the rough pad of his digit along the outline of your cupid's bow, wiping away the misplaced pigment.

You don't acknowledge this action and jump right back into your story, but you pray his senses don't pick up on your racing heart or the heat radiating off of your face.

Moments like these happen more and more often. It's the affect you have on him, allowing Logan to let his guard down enough to let his innermost feeling slip. Sometimes you catch it, sometimes it comes out as a low mumbling.

"Smell good... Is that lotion..?"

"Your skirt is so short today..."

"Skin looks too soft..."

"Need to touch..."

#x reader #Wolverine fanfic #Wolverine x reader #Logan Howlett fluff #Logan Howlett fanfic #Logan Howlett x reader

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holylulusworld · 1 day ago

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An absent mate

Summary: Your mate cares more about a taken omega.

Pairing: Wolverine x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, abandonment, emotional cheating, heavy angst, pregnancy, loneliness, language, shitty friends, shitty alpha, Jean being the worst ever, Jean hate (sorry)

Square filled for the Wolverine bingo @buck-star created for me: Square 23: a/b/o

In the beginning, you believed everything would turn out for the better. Everyone encouraged you to pursue the alpha you fell in love with. You believed their words, their lies, so easily.

Logan wasn’t happy with all the attention you gave him at first. But the more you threw yourself at him, the more he got fond of you. Or so it seemed.

You spent many nights tangled in each other, touching every inch of your bodies, while you got more and more lost in Logan.

His mark soon was on your neck, indicating that he finally settled for an omega and forgot about the one he couldn’t have.

You soon would find out that the passion he showed in the bedroom did not dull the ache whenever he ignored your needs.

Hugs, a no-go. Kissing, only when it was to start something else. Being around you for longer than needed was out of the question.

Day by day, you realized that you got trapped in a loveless bond by no other but your chosen family. The people you trusted the most.

“Logan, where are you going again?” You almost pleaded while grabbing his arm. “I told you I need you today.”

“I told you that Jean needs me. Scott is on a mission, and she’s all alone,” Logan bites back, wincing as you flinch at his harsh tone. “Give me an hour or two, and we can do whatever you want to do.” He tries to charm his way back into your good graces, but you only scoff.

“What if I ever get pregnant? Will you be there for me, too, or just ignore me?” Your questions make Logan stop in his tracks. He considers your words before walking toward the door.

“We shouldn’t have a baby.” His words cut deeper than any knife. “I’m too old to have children.”

“You will outlive all of us. Me…anyone,” you scoff. “You’re not too old. You simply don’t want to have children with me.”

“No…I…” Logan shakes his head. “I’d outlive our child, too, Y/N. I don’t want to see them die like everyone else.”

“You could play with your grandchildren, and their children,” you sniffle. “Anyone would kill for that chance, but you…” You protectively wrap your arms around yourself. “If Jean’s child were yours, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

“That’s not…true.” He tries to argue, but you are too wound tight to give in today. In the past, you endured the pain in silence.

“Forget it,” you sniffle and already turn back around. “I can handle my problems on my own. I’m not a weakling like Jean.” You grab your jacket and bag and storm out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Jean stands in front of your room, running her hand over her visible bump. She smirks, knowing you got into a fight with your mate because of her.

“Get fucked.” You curse and storm past her. In your condition, you shouldn’t stress yourself or always get into fights with your mate. It’s no use. He will not turn toward you, and Jean won’t stop playing the victim.

“I’m so done,” you think in your mind, catching Professor Xavier’s attention. Usually, you guard your mind like a dragon guarding a captured princess. Today, your heart and soul a screaming because you cannot endure more heartbreak. “That’s enough heartbreak for a lifetime.”

After returning from your doctor's appointment, you decided to talk to your fellow X-Men.

You don’t understand why Logan claimed you if his heart was still hung up on Jean.

They all assured you that Logan feels the same, but now you feel like they lied to you.

If you are right, the betrayal cuts even deeper.

Walking along the hallways, you change your mind. If you ask them directly, they’d only lie to you to shelter your feelings.

It’s against the rules, but to get the truth, you are willing to break all the rules.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath before using your powers. You focus on everyone telling you to make a move on Logan.

Not only did Logan and Jean underestimate you, but your fellow X-Men did too.

In full control of your powers, you can read their minds all at once.

Your eyes fill with tears, realizing, they knew Logan would never reciprocate your feelings all along. None of them was truly on your side.

“All of you.” You accuse, pointing at Professor Xavier in particular. “Every single one of you told me to give Logan a chance. You told me he’s bad at admitting feelings.”

“We only asked you to give him a chance to make him happy,” Storm tries to save the situation and calm you. No such luck.

You scoff at your stupidity and shake your head. “You didn’t ask me to give him a chance to become his mate, his partner, or the mother of his pups.” You emphasize your last words, running your hand over your swollen bump. “No. You did it, so he got someone to fuck!”

Professor Xavier flinches at your outburst. Not only because your words are true, but also because you screamed in his mind.

“You wanted me to let him fuck me while his whole attention was focused on Jean. A taken woman. A mated omega. Someone else’s wife.” You sniff and look away from them. “You made me believe he’ll reciprocate my feelings one day.”

Professor Xavier wants to say something, but you raise your hand to stop him. “Save it, professor. He doesn’t care for me. Logan is all over Jean all the time because she won’t leave a taken man alone.” You snarl the last line. “She’s nothing but a homewrecker, and all of you decided to look the other way. I’m done.”

Logan finally joins the others, staring at you as if you lost your mind. He heard every word thanks to his higher senses and advanced hearing.

“If you are unhappy, go.” He growls and points at you. “But before, give me my favorite shirt back.”

You can’t believe his cruelty, but you are not surprised either.

“Fine, have it.” You drop your bag and jacket to take off his shirt, throwing it at Logan. Everyone gasps, even your mate, looking at the prominent bump you hid so well over the last few months. You’re five months pregnant and are already showing a big belly.

Logan’s shoulders slump, and he gasps loudly. “You’re pregnant too?” He asks, as if you tried to hide your pregnancy from him.

“Yeah, that,” you run your hand over your bump, “isn’t your problem, right? That’s what you told me last week when I, once again, tried to tell you about my pregnancy. But you were busy rubbing Jean’s back because she was nauseous.”

You laugh loudly at the absurdity. “She’s pregnant with another man, and you do anything to make her feel better while your mate suffers alone, hoping her mate will at least help her with her nest. I was only ever an afterthought to you, nothing else.”

“How did you not know she’s pregnant?” Ororo’s eyes clouded watching you grab your jacket to cover yourself. “Logan? How did you not know?”

“I…” Logan averts his gaze and shakes his head. There’s no excuse for not knowing about his mate’s pregnancy. For months, he took care of another omega.

You look Jean straight in the eyes and say, “Don’t worry Jean, I give my mate free. You should ask Scott to do the same so you and your chosen mate, the one you love, can be together.”

Jean looks anywhere but at you. Her hands tremble when she places them on her belly. Her pup kicks, and she feels bad for you for a moment. She had the attention of two alphas, while you had to do everything on your own.

Your features darken, and you smirk cruelly as she looks flustered.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you only wanted Logan to give you his full attention out of jealousy. You never wanted him, but seeing him become my mate didn’t sit right with you. Correct me when I’m wrong.”

Jean doesn’t answer. Her silence speaks volumes, though.

In the beginning, she kept her distance and watched you get closer and closer to Logan from afar. Until one day, she decided not to let Logan stop yearning for her. It didn’t matter that you wore his mark, and that he called you his omega at that time.

“I still don’t understand how Logan didn’t know about Y/N’s pregnancy.” Ororo looks at Logan. “Logan?”

“Because he gives a shit about me. I was only good for getting off. I have no worth to him. Not when Jean is all over him most of the day and night. I always wondered if Scott loves being a cuck.”

Gambit snorts at your comment. He shakes his head and shoves people out of his way, holding out his hand. “Do you want me to drive you somewhere?"

“No,” you slap his offered hand away. “I don’t want anything from you or the likes of you.” You walk past him, not sparing Logan a glance as you walk toward the front door. “I hope you all go to hell.”

With that, you slam the door shut behind you, leaving them alone with their regret.

#wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #a/b/o #x reader #angst

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eupheme · 2 days ago

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logan can't let himself look too much, he isn't allowed nice things, especially not pretty little things such as yourself. he's poison, tainting everything he touches, spoiling it. he's experienced enough heartbreak, enough losses for a lifetime and more.

love love the angst in this, how he can't help but take her in and how much he truly can't help but look for and at her. the yearning and the hunger! I love your writing so much 💖 and I love how bold she is, and that you included his suit in this, that was such a great touch.

"feel that?" he mumbles, guiding your hips to grind back against him, "feel what you do to me?"

I am 😵‍💫💖 and then the "yeah i am" asdhhahd I need to take a lap!! and then his guilt during was so delicious, he really can't give himself a break, can he? and ahh the "i'll see you tomorrow", how he allows himself to have this - this was so so good 💖💖

'hunger' 18+

worst!wolverine x f!reader (3.9k words) summary: logan can't tear his mind away from the new barmaid at his usual haunt. he tries to resist you, he really does. but when you're both alone in the bathroom, he finds he's not the only one plagued with filthy thoughts. tags: for the 'longing' prompt for logan promptober, set in the bar from the movie, kind of angsty, filthy, pent up logan, alcohol consumption, doggy style, creampie, biting, light choking, pinning wrists, hair pulling, spanking, rough sex, implied age gap, sweet ending.

his usual haunts offer comfort, safe nests tucked away down isolated roads, usually requiring quite the drive to find - it's hard to find places where he's thought of as a stranger. no familiar faces, no conversation, no fuss. just logan, a bottle of whisky and time.

time spent staring into the grain of the old wood on the bar wondering how the fuck he ended up here. he'd stopped keeping count a long time ago, how long he'd been around, been alive. things get kind of hazy after two hundred years. logan had no reason to keep count.

until he saw you.

the bar was busy, as it normally was. he didn't mind it this way, less attention on him, less chances of someone trying to pick a fight with a specific stranger. not that they'd win, but logan had grown too tired for petty fights these days.

he's sat at the bar when the bartender clocks off, switching with someone new, someone he'd never seen before. you walk in and his eyes immediately scan your face, your build, your outfit. it's a habit of his, one he hoped he'd grow out of - but logan has learned that he'll never stop assessing for new threats. it's just in his dna.

but what he finds isn't a threat.

you're easy on the eyes, especially to these tired old hues that have grown accustomed to staring at the same old walls. he drags his eyes back down to his glass like he's forcing himself to look down the barrel of a gun rather than looking at you, before settling on you once more.

. . . but what harm can looking do?

a few weeks pass, logan notices you're in every few nights from now on, must have been put on the regular rota. he wonders if you know most of the tips you receive by the end of the night are from him. you're diligent, you work hard, and you deserve more than the minimum wage you're probably getting.

you've never noticed him, or at least, he's never caught you looking in his direction. but he finds himself craving it, willing your eyes to meet his even for a second. the extent of your interactions have been sliding a glass or a bottle in his direction before continuing with your other duties.

it's not even lust on his mind either, he just finds himself captivated by your presence. he wonders about your life, your interests, your dreams. . . though he'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured bending you over against the bar and fucking you senseless.

he is an animal, after all.

he wonders if he should switch bars just to distance himself. he couldn't let himself become comfortable with the idea of you. relying on others was a weakness. besides, what would you be to him but just another person he'd lose someday? it wasn't worth it. you weren't worth it.

fuck.

logan curses himself under his breath for even having this internal debate. you were strangers, this was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. but the mind of a lonely old man is a desperate one, and what logan really craves isn't just eye candy. he craves a touch, that first touch that sparks electricity throughout your every nerve ending, causes goosebumps to ripple along the skins surface. he craves something, anything.

he was so fucking hungry. always so fucking hungry. a rumbling hunger that starts at the pit of his stomach and gnaws through him like a rabid animal frantically trying to escape a suffocating metal cage. it's a hunger he can't satisfy, he knows he can't satisfy. but he'd been alone so long.

surely one bite couldn't hurt?

no, he finds himself shaking his head as he stands from the bar. he'd take a leak, and leave early. it'd only been a month since he first saw you, he could get over this. switching bars wasn't particularly appealing to him, but it was better than having to look at you and feel that familiar ache.

the bathroom door swings open and he walks inside, situating himself at one of the urinals. a few moments later, the door swings open again, logan doesn't bother to look over.

"oh, thought these were empty, sorry."

his head turns quickly. it's you, mop in hand. there's an uncomfortable silence that follows.

speak, fucking speak. "it's fine."

you pause, then nod a little and begin mopping the floor.

his eyes are back on the urinal, swallowing hard. was this really going to be your first conversation? with his eyes glaring into old porcelain, dick in his hand? he tries not to picture you stealing glances at him, but he can't help it. is that what he wants?

maybe.

finishing up, he quickly makes his way over to the sinks, pushing his hands under the cool water and rubbing with soap. his eyes flit up to the mirror. and he catches you.

your eyes lock on one another for just a split second before you quickly busy yourself with the mop again.

but that split second was enough. it was enough to notice how you were looking at him.

"all done," you say with a sigh after a few moments, standing straight and gripping the mop but making no effort to leave just yet.

logan eyes you in the mirror, watches how your eyes dance across the room before inevitably landing on him again. he turns to face you, noting the distance between you both in the room.

you lean back against the bathroom stall divider, eyes drifting across logan's figure. he was tall, big. this is the first time you're really able to look at him, to study the features of his face. this time he's not hiding behind a glass or a bottle.

the hunger in his gaze is obvious, but it's dulled, like he's just barely holding back. you think he looks lonely, there's a distinct air about him that practically screams that he needs to be touched.

you rest your mop against the wall, "you're in here often." you state, it's not a question.

"guess i'm a regular," he replies curtly.

swallowing hard, you continue, "i noticed. i always have to restock the whisky when you come by."

logan pushes himself from the sink and approaches you slowly. was he really doing this? after a month of pining and longing for you, a stranger in a bar, was he really going to give in to his desires? would you let him? the lust was clear in your eyes and he knew he was reflecting it right back tenfold.

"i like a drink." he says with a subtle shrug, just a step away now, eyes never leaving yours.

a small smile tugs at your lips, "i know."

you're not sure what you're really doing. you're supposed to be on shift, designated five minutes to clean the bathrooms. five minutes you'd much rather spend doing someone something else.

you eye the stranger who's been watching you, tipping you. of course you've noticed, you'd have to be pretty stupid or oblivious not to. you've come to expect him at each shift, but his presence intrigued you more than the other regulars. not just because he was more handsome, considerably more handsome.

no, it was those sad eyes that seemed to say a million words while his mouth remained firmly shut that had you curious. even now as he stands before you so silent you could hear a pin drop, when you look into his eyes you can feel a sea of words brewing.

oh how you wanted to open him up, to peer inside behind that rough exterior, to take a peek behind the facade. you're sure you're easier to read than he is.

you're not sure when or how it happened, but he's right in front of you now, his body almost touching yours. you look up at him with a feigned innocent look.

"i've seen you, you know," you mumble bravely, "looking at me."

logan doesn't seem surprised, he brings a hand up to hold your chin, turning your face from side to side to get a proper look at you now that he has you up close. "yeah?"

"yeah," you reply shakily, "thought i was imagining it at first. but by the second night it was obvious."

he smirks, so he's not as subtle as he thinks.

your hands snake down, finding his belt buckle and brazingly begin to unbuckle it. he watches you, eyes fixated on the way your fingers move. he swears he's about to start drooling. but then you move, hands winding up to the buttons on his shirt. you splay your hands across the fabric, eyes widening when you feel what's underneath.

"are you. . . is that-"

logan grips your wrists, not the suit. he wasn't talking about that now, he had to shut you up. he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as his strong hands keep a firm grip on your wrists. you submit, leaning back against the cubicle divider as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

he moans, relishing the taste of you, the taste he's thought about for so fucking long. he brings your hands up, pinning them above your head, shifting his grip so one hand easily pins your wrists, leaving his other hand free.

his free hand plants firmly across your upper chest, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your collarbone as he explores your mouth with his tongue. you're lost in the sensation, knees going weak as you allow the older man to have his way with you. he needs this, you know it.

"taste so fuckin' sweet," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between words, "you do this often? let men kiss you in the bathroom?"

you mumble a 'no' under your breath, ". . . just the ones who tip good," you grin.

logan feels himself chuckling, biting your lower lip. oh, he liked you. his hand travels upwards, finding purchase around your neck. you gasp in response, moaning. he eagerly swallows your moan with his mouth, drowning out any sound that threatens to escape.

the kiss grows in intensity, you wonder how long it's been since he's kissed someone. he kisses you like a man starved, like he'd devour you if you let him. and you would, you think, if it felt this good.

his hand on your neck gives a gentle squeeze before running down your torso, palming at your jeans suddenly. you try to whimper in pleasure, but he's silencing you with his lips again.

"shhh, shhh," he whispers against your lips, "feel good? i know it feels good, but you gotta stay nice and quiet." logan can feel the material of your jeans begin to damp and he resists the urge to growl, feeling the way the fabric beneath gives way.

you nod, whispering small affirmatives as he touches you through the material. "just give me more," you whine.

and that spurs him on. in a flash he's pushing you into the stall, stealing a few more kisses where he can before he turns you, pushing your back against his chest. his lips find your neck, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses along the skin he finds there.

you're like putty in his hands, melting back against him as his hand returns to your crotch, rough hands massaging circles against your clothed core. you resist a moan, exhaling shakily instead as you let him use you.

"you wanted this just as much as i did, huh?" he growls into your ear, "need it, need me to fuck you."

you nod quickly as you feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.

"yeah, thought so," he nibbles on your earlobe, breathing deeply through his nose as he tries to steady himself, preserve the moment. but how can he when you feel this good beneath his fingers, taste this good on his tongue? "tell me you want it."

"want you to fuck me," you whimper almost immediately, suddenly feeling so very needy. there's a hot ache growing between your legs, one you're desperate for him to fill.

logan laughs, "you can do better than that, honey, know you can."

"please," your voice cracks and you swallow back moans as you squirm beneath his touch, "please fuck me-" it becomes apparent to you at that moment that you don't even know his name. your cheeks flush at the thought of letting this stranger, this older man fuck you in the bar bathroom, but actually, you kind of like it that way.

he nods against the side of your cheek, his stubble scratching against your soft skin, "there we go, attagirl. . ."

with that, he pushes you forward, forcing your hands onto the tank of the toilet to support yourself as he bends you over. his hands find your waist, his hips connecting with yours and slowly grinding his very apparent, large bulge against you.

you let out a whimper, arching your back a little at the sudden contact.

"feel that?" he mumbles, guiding your hips to grind back against him, "feel what you do to me?"

a gasp, "fuck, you're big." you can already tell, the way his bulge is pressing against you, demanding to be felt. you swear you can almost feel it throb through the material.

"yeah i am," logan smirks, he knows he's big, and he knows exactly how to use it.

pulling back slightly, he roughly pulls your jeans down, practically manhandling you, your underwear disappearing with it. he grabs handfuls of your ass before kneading the skin. "look at that, pretty little ass, all for me."

you just have time to gasp before you feel one of his hands connect harshly with your skin, the sound ringing out in the small bathroom of the bar. "f-fuck!" you whine, feeling the sharp sting, knowing there's a bright red imprint in the shape of his large palm on your ass.

there's some jingling, the sound of his belt being moved out of the way, a zipper. you prepare yourself, or at least you try to, but his cock is already slapping against your backside before you have time to steady your hazy mind.

"you gonna take all of me?" he asks, biting his lip as his aching length slaps against your skin, "think you can?"

you nod quickly, looking over your shoulder at him, "mhm!"

"if you say so. . ." he smirks and positions himself, one hand on your hip and one aiming his cock at your tight little hole.

then, all at once he's sinking in. you gasp, he gasps. and fuck, he is big. you feel that sweet stretch, his cock throbbing against your tight walls as it slowly glides inside. you're whining as it slowly fills you, eyes rolling back at the sensation. but he pulls out a little, only to push back in again.

he's working you up just right, mesmerised by the way you take his cock. his eyes are fixed on your tight hole begging him to enter, loving the slick sound as it pushes inside.

"you've been thinkin' about this since you started your shift," logan says confidently, his words confirmed by how you drip around him, "thought about me fillin' you up, nice and full?"

despite the way your cheeks flush bright red, you can't deny it. you've thought about it more than once, fantasised about it in bed, hoping that one day that stranger from the bar would fuck you so good you forget your own name.

you don't need to reply either, because he knows. he knows from the way your wet hole flutters around him, and fuck does it make him harder to know that you've thought about this just as much as he has. he begins to pump into you at a leisurely pace, firm hands on your hips.

"holy fuck, so fuckin' tight," logan grumbles, his deep slow strokes hitting you deep as he bottoms out inside of you.

you try to turn your head, to look up at him, but he grasps the back of your hair, pushing your head down. "nu-uh, keep that head down."

he knows if he lets you look at him, look up at him for too long, he'll lose it. he can't have your soft eyes on him while he fucks you, he doesn't deserve it. he'll take you, just like this, with your head down and your ass up and his cock buried deep inside you.

because he can't describe the shame that swirls in his stomach, that this is how he relieves himself, a quick fuck in a bar. this dirty older man who's seen so much sin, perpetuated sin with his own hands, who longed for the young pretty little thing in the bar. logan doesn't deserve nice things, this he knows.

you feel his thrusts grow rougher, your legs slipping apart as you attempt to hold yourself up, hands planted firmly on the tank of the toilet. you're squeaking softly with each pump, feeling him use you to release his pent-up frustrations. and it felt so fucking good.

with his firm grip on your hair tightening by the second and his other large hand digging into your hip, you begin to bounce back against his motions, sending him even deeper. you both moan in sync with the feeling and you pant softly, cheeks flushing further at the soft 'plap plap plap' of his hips connecting with you, the sound reverberating around the small cubicle.

"that feels so fucking good," you sing, closing your eyes. logan gives a particularly hard thrust, speed picking up. you can't help but smirk, mouth stuck open as you moan softly, he likes it when you talk to him during, huh? "keep fuckin' me, just like that, so good. . ."

he groans, wrapping your hair around his fist as he relentlessly pounds into you. harder and harder, deeper and deeper, you're sure you'll have bruises littered over your body before the day is through.

"harder!" you cry, feeling your legs tremble. you're not gonna last long like this, and by the way his cock is twitching inside of you, he isn't either. "i'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum!"

another groan slips from his lips, gritting his teeth as he uses you, watching you take his throbbing cock beneath him. "look so pretty like this, bent over, takin' what i fuckin- shit. . . takin' what i give you."

your body grows hotter, sweat forming on your forehead, each impact pushing you forward roughly. you're really not gonna last long.

he begins to hunch over, his chest flush with your back as he huffs against your neck, fucking you like a rabid animal. you're squealing now, the pleasure swirling in your lower stomach, threatening to send you crashing into bliss. at this point, you don't fucking care if someone walks in and finds you like this, sees his feet planted behind yours underneath the stall. in fact, the thought of the risk sends a bolt straight to your gut.

"yes yes yes," you mutter, feeling your orgasm approaching steadily. you swear you can feel him in your guts. you begin to flutter around him, begging for release, knowing it's going to completely destroy you.

logan can't even form words, just grunts slipping from his lips against the side of your neck. and then he feels it, his cock twitches, his mind reeling with the imminent release. he needs this, oh he fucking needs this.

he bites down on your neck, teeth sinking in slightly as he feels himself release deep inside you, his cum spilling out in strong waves. you feel your knees buckle, but a strong hand planted on your tummy helps keep you upright as he fucks his release deeper into you.

the animalistic nature of his thrusts combined with the sensation of his hot cum painting your insides sends you flying over the edge, your orgasm milking him as you clamp around his aching cock. he slams his hand against the stall wall with a loud metallic bang, splaying his fingers across the metal as if to ground himself as his thrusts falter.

his tongue lazily licks the indents of his bite mark against your neck, groans easing their way from the back of his throat. you can hardly catch your breath, legs still shaking from such an intense release. it's hard to think straight with his dick still buried deep inside, feeling it twitch with every aftershock.

you both stay like that for a solid minute, panting, coming down together. he's planting soft kisses along your neck as your breath slowly comes back to you.

he pulls out, stepping back as he stuffs himself into his jeans. you collapse onto the toilet seat, shakily pulling your jeans and underwear back up as you look up at him. it's clear he's looking to leave, a distant look in his eye, maybe a little shame creeping into his features.

standing on trembling legs, you lean up, giving him a surprisingly soft kiss. your hands take over his, helping him back into his jeans, zipping them up, clasping the buttons together and buckling his belt. all the while your lips are on his, slowly, passionately intertwining together.

you pull back, buttoning your own jeans as you continue to look up at him. ". . . does that count as your tip for the night?" you joke with a smirk, hoping to see a flash of his smile again, hoping to alleviate some of that shame he's carrying.

and there it is, a small smirk on his lips as he glances away. "maybe."

the shame seems to settle, begins to dissipate. it feels less like satisfying an urge and more like. . . exploring something new. his eyes drift back to you.

"i'll see you tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head.

he blinks, suddenly remembering time exists outside this small space seemingly crafted just for the two of you. "yeah," he says, quietly.

"good," you pat his chest before moving past him, leaving the stall. you stand, looking back at him. a beat, "or, you can meet me after my shift ends?"

his eyes widen, taken aback. fuck, had he forgotten how to do this? his eyes flit to the side, before making up his mind. he gives a firm nod.

you smile before leaving him in the bathroom, returning to the bar through the door.

logan stands there for a few moments, running his fingers through his hair. he smooths down his shirt, feeling the suit beneath, a stark reminder always of his past.

but maybe he could begin to take a few steps forward. maybe he deserves more than to suffer forever, forced to keep everyone at arm's length. maybe he could allow himself this small happiness, a date, or whatever this was.

maybe it was time to satisfy his hunger, his loneliness, for good.

#logan howlett x reader #jess reads #2025 fave fics #fic rec: logan howlett #fic rec: deadpool & wolverine #thinking of queue

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lostinlovingrevery · 22 hours ago

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After ages of being alone, Logan falls in love with you and the first time he shows a truly vulnerable side of him it's when feels the most gentlest touch from you- maybe your hand cradling his face, your thumb gently stroking along his cheekbone, maybe you're telling him how proud of you are of him. He can't help it, the feeling wells up- a feeling that he has pushed down for ages because there was never a right time, he never saw a point to letting it out, never felt safe or trusted someone enough with that side of him. This time he lets it out with you. His lip quivers and tears well up and he breaks down. You wipe away a single tear that rolls down his cheek but soon there's so many that you just hold him close while he cries. Your shirt is soaked with his tears and the weight of his shame and guilt. You just soothe him, a few comforting words here there encouraging him to let it all out, that you're there for him, while you stroke your hand through his hair. When he finally calms down, he looks up at you expecting to find disgust, judgement, anger- anything than what you're actually looking at him with. Kindness, love, acceptance- maybe you cried a little bit too. You end the night with some comfort food and snuggles and Logan sleeps soundly in your arms for the first time in decades.

#can you tell im emotional #ive been on the verge of tears all day #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #vans daydreams

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viviale · 10 days ago

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𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓.

“you’ve got pretty teeth.”

it’s an unusual compliment. his voice is low and hushed between kisses, calloused fingers cradling your cheek. diving in for another, chasing your swollen lips. your eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dimly lit room again.

he presses his lips onto yours, mapping out every inch of them. a kiss to the corner of your mouth, fleeting. it makes them tilt upwards in a soft, hazy smile.

“thanks, logan.”

he huffs, acknowledging and pushing away the sentiment at the same time. too focused on the feeling of your skin against his knuckles, on how your cheeks heat up slightly. his gentle touch sends goosebumps up your neck and you shift a little, facing him where you both lie sideways on the cushions.

your gaze drifts down to his teeth. mouth slightly agape, steady breath flowing out of his chest. grounding, you think as you listen to his heartbeat.

“they’re so… smooth. feel clean,” he muses. mesmerized by you. he pushes his thumb between your lips, swiping over your front row of teeth in a mindless action, head all fuzzy from kissing you over and over.

you smile and turn your head to peck the back of his hand that cradles your cheek.

the light from the cande you lit earlier reaches his face, liquifying the hard lines and edges. for a moment, he looks worryless. more like a feeling than a person.

a flash of white captures your attention. his teeth resemble canines, capable of ripping flesh apart. almost as pointy as his claws. sharp, too — a weapon, indestructible like the adamantium.

he would never bite you, though. that, you’re sure of.

your eyes flicker up to his, finding his gaze already lingering on you. quiet, loving. in this moment, he is the whole universe to you. the slant of his lips, the structure of his skin. his hands, holding you. devoted as if you were the earth and he was the space surrounding you. protecting the life you brought into existence. you could never fall… he invented gravity for you. his eternity: a vast, endless darkness, and now — you. the first to ever focus on the stars instead of the gloom. you, a splash of color, fragile and breathtakingly beautful.

he leans in to give you another kiss, face melting into yours.

#— 𝒱. writes #— ℒ. howlett #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #wolverine #wolverine fluff #wolverine x reader #trilogy!logan howlett #trilogy!logan howlett x reader #dofp! logan #origins logan howlett #logan howlett scenario #wolverine scenario #x men

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dearstvckyx · 2 days ago

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── their reaction to accidentally hurting you (nsfw edition)

Scott

His hands were everywhere, mouth hot on your skin, and the tension between you had finally snapped. But in the heat of it, he gripped your side too tightly, fingers pressing into a sore spot from training with Logan. You gasped, body jerking, and Scott immediately froze—eyes wide, panic creeping in. “Did I—? Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” You shook your head, breath shaky. “It’s okay, just a bruise.” But the guilt was already on his face, his touch retreating like he’d burned you. “You shouldn’t have to flinch when I touch you,” he murmured, voice low and rough with emotion. You cupped his cheek gently, grounding him. “You didn’t mean to. I trust you.” Something in him softened, then shifted—his gaze darkened with quiet need. “Let me make it better,” he whispered, lowering you back against the sheets. “I’ll go slow. I’ll take my time.” And he did—hands reverent, mouth patient, as if he needed to remind both of you that you were safe in his arms.

Bob

Bob had you spread out beneath him, his mouth working you over like he was starved for the taste of you. Every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers pushed you higher, over and over again until your thighs were shaking and tears pricked your eyes from the intensity. He didn’t let up—not when you gasped, not when your hips twitched away from his mouth. “One more,” he murmured against you like a prayer. “Just one more for me, sweets.” But your body couldn’t take another. Overwhelmed, breath hitched, you whimpered, “Red… Bob—red.” He stopped instantly. Pulled back. Sat up with panic flickering through his eyes. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he breathed, already brushing hair from your face, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. You nodded, panting, voice weak but steady. “I’m okay. Just… needed to breathe.” He exhaled slowly, holding your hand like it tethered him. “Thank you for telling me. Always stop when you say.” After a long pause and the quiet thrum of comfort between you, you smiled up at him, flushed and soft. “I’m okay now.” Bob gave you a slow, reverent look, “Are you sure sweets? We don’t have to continue.” “Yes Bob. I need you.” He leaned in again, his voice low and full of heat. “Then let me make you fall apart gently this time.”

Sentry

Sentry moved above you like a force of nature—his body glowing faintly, muscles trembling with restraint that was slowly slipping. He was lost in you, groaning your name like it was the only word he remembered. But his thrusts grew rougher, deeper—just a little too much—and the heat in your core blurred into a sharp ache. You reached up, gripped his bicep. Once. Twice. Three times. His entire body froze, gold-lit eyes immediately snapping to yours, expression shifting from bliss to wide-eyed guilt. “Did I hurt you?” he whispered, breath caught, hands already shaking. Before you could speak, he was easing out of you, murmuring apologies as if every word came from his soul. “You’re not meant to be handled like that. You’re sacred.” He kissed every inch of skin he’d held too tight, lifted you gently into his arms like you were something fragile and divine. Within minutes, he’d drawn a warm bath—scented, calming—and settled you into it, kneeling beside the tub as he stroked your thigh with trembling fingers. “I lost myself,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ll remember to never hurt you, my goddess.” And even as your body still ached faintly, all you could feel was love wrapped in golden light.

Void

His hand was tight around your throat, holding you down as he thrust into you with an intensity that bordered on brutal. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t gasp—your body arching beneath him, stars dancing at the edge of your vision. The Void was lost in it, in you, in the way you took every snap of his hips like you were made for it. But your nails clawed weakly at his wrist, not for balance—this time for air. It wasn’t until your eyes fluttered, lashes trembling, that he stilled—jaw tight as he suddenly registered the faint slack in your limbs. His hand released instantly. You gasped, coughing, lungs greedy for breath. He stared down at you, chest heaving, guilt masked with a sneer. “Tch. Look at you,” he muttered, wiping a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Fragile little thing. Can’t even take what you asked for without falling apart.” But there was something softer under the words, in the way he shifted you into his lap, holding you as you calmed, tucking your face to his chest. “I didn’t mean to take it that far.” His tone was sharp, but his grip was steady. Possessive. Protective. “You don’t get to die on me, you hear?” A pause. Then quieter—almost tender: “Next time, use the signal. You breathe when I say you stop, not when your body does.” And yet, his lips still pressed to your temple. Still grounding. Still yours.

Bucky

Bucky had you beneath him, hips rolling slow but deep, skin damp, body trembling under his. But it was your lips—God, your lips—that he kept coming back to, crushing kiss after kiss between ragged breaths. He moaned against your mouth, thumb stroking your cheek as if you’d disappear if he stopped touching you. Then he bit down—too hard. A sharp, stinging pain bloomed across your bottom lip, and you whimpered into his mouth, flinching. He pulled back instantly, eyes wide with panic. Blood welled where he’d bitten you. “Shit—baby, I’m sorry,” he rasped, thumb brushing your lip as if he could undo it. “I didn’t mean to—I just… I get carried away when it’s you.” You shook your head, still dazed, breathless, lips swollen. “It’s okay,” you whispered, even as the sting lingered. He leaned down again, gentler now, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, like penance. “Your lips,” he murmured, voice rough, almost reverent, “they’re my favorite part of you. When I kiss you, it’s the only time my head goes quiet.” His hips never stopped moving, but slower now—less desperate, more devoted. He cupped your face like it was fragile. “Next time I bite,” he said against your skin, voice low and teasing now, “I’ll ask first.”

John

John had you bent forward, you on your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips, fucking you deep and steady from behind with that familiar mix of control and hunger. He reached for your hair, wrapping it around his fist to pull you back into his chest—something he’d done before, something you liked. But this time, the yank was too hard. You yelped, sharp and startled, and the sound cracked through him like a gunshot. He let go immediately, pulling out so fast you nearly lost your balance before he caught you, already flipping you gently onto your back. “Shit—shit, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t think—are you okay?” You blinked up at him, breathless but not in pain, hand reaching to cup his jaw. “John, I’m fine. Really.” But he was already sinking down beside you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish. “No, we’re done. I’m not risking hurting you again,” he muttered into your hair. His heart was racing against your back, muscles tense even as he held you. “You trusted me, and I got too rough. That’s not happening again tonight.” You sighed, cuddling into his chest as he pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, murmuring half-apologies and promises like he needed to say them more than you needed to hear them.

Logan

Logan had you pressed up against the wall, his hands gripping your hips tight as he moved inside you with a fierce, relentless rhythm. His breath was hot on your neck, voice low and rough as he murmured, “You feel so damn good. Don’t stop.” You threw your head back in the moment—too hard—and hit the wall with a sharp thud. He froze instantly, panic flashing in his eyes as he cupped your face, searching for any sign of pain. “Fuck, baby, did I hurt you? Tell me, yeah?” You shook your head, breathing steady despite the sting. “No, it was me. I moved too fast.” Logan’s grip softened, but he kept you close, voice deep and soothing as he kissed your forehead. “God, don’t scare me like that. You’re not fragile, but I swear, if you get hurt on my watch, I’m never letting it go.” You smiled into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. “I’m okay. Just… keep going, please.” He did—slow and steady, words low and full of promise: “I got you. Always.”

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sweetverine · 2 days ago

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MR. HOWLETT | professor!logan

warnings: MDNI (+18), smut, porn with a bit of plot, student-professor relationship dynamics, power relationship, age gap, afab reader, pet names, cockwarming, no use of protection, pulling out, dirty talk, praise too)?

a/n : it's been a long time, i know, prof!lo has just been on my mind 24/7 i needed to do something about it, idk what to think about this, it's purely filth so........ also this pic of hugh????🫠 yall can imagine the logan you want for this one 𖹭 hope you enjoy it

When you entered university, the subjects were somewhat difficult, but you managed them. The first semester was fine, without too many problems, and even good grades. You were good at what you did, earning the occasional compliment from professors for your good performance.

But, when your parents were unable to pay your college tuition, things got complicated, forcing you to get a job if you wanted to keep studying. You had to divide your time, one day working, another studying, other days half work and half study.

This routine began to affect you, the subjects became somewhat difficult each time, meaning that you had to pay more attention, more time that you didn't have. Your concentration was zero, every time you tried to sit down to study you found yourself unable to do so.

and worse? You had started failing in a particular class, mostly the most unbearable and hated one; History. It was a heavy class, boring. You yawned every two minutes at the matters discussed in the two weekly hours.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ *⁠.⁠✧∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°

At this particular hour You held his cheek against your elbow, resting on the table, looking in a boring way at the professor, you sigh. Your gaze slid towards his arms while you didn't listen to his senseless words, Mr. Howlett was never an ugly guy. In fact, he's Quite the opposite; Handsome, Tall, smart, nice hair, flattering glasses and an athlete's body. Every girl's dream.

That white shirt folded up to his forearms really pleased your sight. You could feel the heat rising from your neck to his ears as your mind plotted all the things professor logan could do with those arms, or the things he could do with his big hands, even the things that mouth — besides not stopping talking about history — gives fantastic kisses, capable of making some legs tremble.

Your eyes went further down, meeting with his jeans and his somewhat extravagant leather belt. You could notice how big his legs were, even though he was already big, those jeans just flattered him, you also found a normal bulge that any man has. And there you question about it, How big is it? I'm sure it's bigger when it gets hard, is it thick? Oh god. Why are you thinking about this?

you licked your lips, closing your eyes before going back to his boring lecture. He's too handsome to be talking about boring matters, even though it makes him hotter. This was the real reason for your bad grades, being distracted on the clouds thinking about Mr. howlett. You could feel something heavy in you, which led you to look at him, meeting his gaze, speaking while he didn't take his eyes off yours. Your cheeks burn and you decide to break the totally awkward exchange.

“read the entire unit for next class.” He said, ending the class. As soon as the hour was up, you rushed to try to escape, quickly putting away your notebook, your pencil case and water too, you put on your backpack, feeling a little relieved to finally be free, everyone was doing the same thing as you, others already leaving.

You put on your backpack, Now calm down, you had to worry about other things now, but surviving this class was the goal of your day. You were getting closer and closer to the desired classroom door. There weren't many people, just a few girls along with boys leaving, including the professor who hadn't left yet, who was sitting at his desk, reading some papers that were displaced on his desk.

you reached for the door, almost feeling free but a deep, masculine voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hey, Miss, I have to talk to you about some things. don't leave yet.” Logan said, looking towards your back.

‘Fuck’ You whispered, slowly turning around and walking towards his desk, watching the other students leave, achieving your desired freedom.

“I wanted to know if you are aware of your grades.” He says, looking at you with those hazel green eyes, your pulse drummed on your chest at the mention of your grades.

“u-uh.. yeah, I know I'm not doing too well in this subject..” You looked away, avoiding his gaze, respectfully.

“That is true, You also have work to hand in, this is the second one you haven't given to me.” His voice makes you shiver, and nervousness begins to take hold of you. “Is there any reason for that?”

The awkwardness in the room was more than palpable, You swallow dryly.

“I started working full time, paying for college is becoming a little difficult for me.” you say, being honest with him and your situation.

He nodded slowly, hearing you sincerely. You were afraid of what he was going to say next, the silence made you more anxious.

“Your situation is not really an excuse,” He says, leaning back, his voice is firm but not cruel

“but… I can't not give you a chance when life kicks you in the ass.” He says, his face serious, grabbing a pen.

“I'll make time, come to see me tomorrow.” He writes something on a piece of paper on his desk.

“I'll tutor you.”

Your cheeks turned red, “R-really?..” That was too fast, Since when is he so considerate?

“Don't make me repeat myself, Miss.”

His voice echoed in your ears, almost leaving you dumbfounded. you hum softly.

“Goodbye, Mr Howlett, thank you.” you mutter, Giving him a little smile before starting to walk away from the classroom, sighing when you finally step out of it.

These are going to be long private classes.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ*⁠.∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°

After 4 tutoring classes, your grades got slightly better. Mr Howlett was more than a good teacher, you handed in the work you were missing and he was patient enough for you, explaining everything slowly and easier.

Now you're 10 minutes late to his tutoring class. With nervousness you knock the door twice, You don't think he'll have mercy on you this time. Your sweaty hands grabbed the knob and entered the office. The only light was a lamp that he kept on his desk, illuminating the desk with a warm tone.

“You're late.” Logan was eyeing some history book, with the glasses fitted on the bridge of his nose and shirt sleeves rolled up. The room seems to get smaller as you walk towards the chair, sitting in front of him.

“I'm sorry.. I came straight from work.” You say, opening your backpack, Swallowing saliva. The cold wood chilled your thighs, making you shiver a little.

“Open to page 203.” His voice deep, His hands Reached slowly to close the book he was reading, with his attention fully on you now, he places it beneath a little drawer on the desk.

His orders were simple and concise, in a tone that brooks no resistance.

You tried to concentrate, you really tried, but his fingers brushed against the paper, the watch on his wrist ticking away at the minutes, like a countdown. Your body was tense without any logical reason.

Well, deep in you, you knew why, and who was making you this way.

“What does Marx mean by class struggle?” He asks, looking at the text.

You stayed silent, you didn't even read the first paragraph.

“Well?” His voice raised a little, almost demanding. “You didn't read it, did you?” His brow furrowed.

“I–I'm trying. I swear.. I just…”

The silence felt like a slap in the face, and for a moment the weight of the room was heavier. Logan slammed the book down on the desk, making you jump slightly. His eyes stare into yours.

“you said you wanted my help, you wanted to pass.” His hands kept on the book.

“I do.. I really do.” You start, trying to convince him, you didn't want to fail his subject.

“Then why don't you commit to this?”

“I have too many things in my mind, work.. other subjects” You explain, sighing, avoiding his eye contact now.

“And isn't history a subject you have to commit to as well?” He kept going, every time more intense.

You are feeling so frustrated now, almost wanting to cry for the raising of his voice, and how angry he seemed to be at you. Logan lays back on his chair, sighing deeply. His hand taking off his glasses and letting them fall on the wooden desk.

After a while he speaks again, rejoining again. “We'll try something new.” Something dirty in his tone that made you tremble slightly.

“Get up.” He says, although he's more calm down, the annoyance doesn't let go of him yet.

And you did.

“desk.”

“What?” your brow furrowed, looking at him.

“Up. On. The. Desk.” His raspy voice quickened your pulse again, and you could see him move his chair aside, making room for you. You obey with a blush on your face. Then he gets closer, His big hands explore, starting to caress your waist.

“Mr. Howlett–” Your voice sounds quite breathy, but not doing anything to pull away. as the touches begin to heat up everything, his fingers unbutton your pants. He didn't say a word until he left you in your underwear.

“you better try.”

You hate that this situation makes you wet.

Without much ceremony, he sat you on his lap, it was a situation worse than embarrassing, and it is worse that you let him do it. His warm hand never left your waist, keeping you in place. You listen to his belt clicking behind you, it is going to happen.

Silently he accommodates you slowly. His cock, as far as you could see, was big and thick, almost like in your imagination.

“Sit, take it all the way down.” He whispered in your ear.

You swallow. Your legs were shaking as you settled on top of him, your knees on the sides of the chair, next to his thighs. You felt his tip gently brush against you, making you shudder.

“L-logan..” You bite your lower lip, his hands wrapped around your waist, caressing the skin softly.

“Shh.. not a word. Sit.” He guides you again, his tone more gentle.

You slowly sat up, feeling him fill you inch by inch. It was difficult not to moan when he was all the way in. you could feel how thick he was, opening you up mercilessly. you were already getting agitated and unconsciously, your hips moved by reflex but his hand kept you still.

“No.” His voice firm as his hand.

“You're going to stay still.”

“But, Logan–”

“No, you listen to me.” He says, squeezing your hip roughly. “You're going to stay here, quiet, paying attention and reading out loud.”

He leaned forward onto the desk, his chest pressed against your back. His hands left your hips, grabbing the book he had left on the table. not taking you off him, as if he weren't hard inside you. As if you weren't dripping wet, pulsing around him.

“start with paragraph two.”

You bit your lip, your voice only managed to come out shaky. “S–social classes… for m-marxism are defined by the relations o-of…production, that is—”

“Slower.” He whispered in your ear.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to concentrate with all your might. But he was still there, inside, hard and heavy. every inch of him makes it difficult to think straight.

“Do you want to pass this class, Miss?” His gruff voice almost made you melt around him.

“I do.” You mutter.

“Then show me.”

You tried to move your hips again, only to be stopped by him again. “Did I say you could move?”

“N-no..” You whisper, already feeling frustrated.

“Exactly.” He kept you steady on his cock, not letting you move, not even squirm on him.

So you keep going, Reading slowly and out loud, with a broken voice, your nipples aching beneath your shirt and his cock throbbing inside of you. It takes you a few minutes more than normal to finish one. single. paragraph. it's pure torture .

“It wasn't that hard, wasn't it?” He whispers. “See? you just needed a little motivation.”

His hand goes a little lower, finding your puffy clit His thick fingers starting to rub it gently, You tremble, letting out a breathy moan. “L-logan..” Your eyes go shut, enjoying the stimulation he was giving you, your hips move towards his hand, and it pulls away quickly just as it began.

“concentrate.” He says as you whine.

You sigh, hating his teasing and how wet it makes you when he toys with you. His hands go to your hips, caressing you softly, almost soothingly for being so cruel with you. you start a new paragraph, only to be cut off a few lines later by him.

“Then what will be the goal of the revolution?” He whispered, his nose buried on your neck.

“T–the revolution will aim to achieve a perfect society where there is neither ... .exploiters nor exploited…” You answered correctly, making him smirk.

“That's my good girl. that's what you needed, hmm?” He praised you, feeling you clench around him when he said a pet name to your ear.

“Just one more paragraph, angel.” He whispered, his hands Going up to your boobs, squeezing them gently underneath your shirt. You started reading it, still somewhat stumbling and shaky, but faster than before.

Reading the last sentence, you simply relax against him, biting your lower lip. “G-god..”

“You're tired already?” He whispered. “Just a short page, I still have many more things to explain to you..” you whine in response, completely refused to read more with this torture. “I didn't say we're finished.”

“No please.. i-i can't do this anymore” You moan breathly.

“you're such a needy thing.” He groaned, feeling how you squeeze him again. “cant even fucking read something and staying obedient.” His hand finds your clit again, toying with it gently, Your hips move, rubbing yourself against his calloused fingers.

You whimper, bouncing softly on his thick cock, His groans just makes you wetter, the tip brushes that sweet spot that makes you fold every time. But as quickly as it started, you started to get tired within minutes.

“Now what, bunny? Have you sung yet?” He huffs.

With a little force, he gets up from the chair, without leaving you yet, pressing you down onto the cold desk. You moaned, arching your back.

“You're going to take it now, I've been wanting this since I saw you looking at me with those eyes in class, don't think I didn't notice.” He mutters as he slowly starts to move, slowly getting in and out, The sound of skins clashing, your low moans and Logan's grunts provided the soundtrack for the moment.

“Are you like this with all the teachers? huh?”

“Answer when I talk to you.” He says, Expecting an answer, You were too caught up in the moment, too dumb to think straight.

“No! fuck.. I-i'm sorry..” You whisper, closing your eyes.

Your knuckles turned white as you held on to the desk, your cheek pressed against the wood. Logan's pace was brutal now, dragging moans from your lips with each thrust, his hips slamming into you with growing urgency.

“Dirty girl, feel what you do to me.”

Your walls clench around him as he talks to you, you only nodding, your legs tremble, His hand reaches around to rub your clit again, this time without mercy. Fast. Intentional.

"Logan..please! 'm close, I need—”

"Then come," he growled, slamming into you. "Show me how much you've learned, angel. fuck come on”

That was all it took. Your body trembled with the intensity of your climax, clenching around him so tight he groaned your name, fucking you through it.

“Fuck–baby…” He groaned, almost losing it as it came out of you, without wasting time it began to stroke himself. hot, white spurts of cum spilled over on your back. warm and messy as he groaned deep and low, collapsing forward, panting against your shoulder.

A beat of silence. Just you and him, both tired.

“Read everything for the next lesson.” He said breathlessly.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #jo writes 💌#wolverine x reader #wolverine one shot #hugh jackman #i ⁠♡ logan #logan howlett x you #logan howlet smut #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett smut #logan wolverine

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loganficsonly · 3 days ago

Text

an independent woman ☘ 8

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 8: holding on ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

masterlist

worst!logan x fem!reader, 5.7k (!!!)

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes, mentions of alcoholism and AA

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ MDNI this is smut all the way!!!, resolved sexual tension, making out, fingering, oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, nicknames, unprotected piv sex (please be responsible), creampie, aftercare, logan's kind of yappy???

AUTHOR’S NOTE: finally, the smut we've all been waiting for. the next chapter will be the last one, just a small epilogue <3

You ignore the loud scrape of the bar stool, pacing towards him.

It’s a little messy, the kiss. He doesn’t blame you. You’re eager. He’s tall.

He holds you steady by the waist as you get up on your tiptoes to slot your lips onto his, hand on his jaw gently dragging him down to meet you. There’s no such thing as space, not anymore, both in body and mind. His nose bumps against yours as he slants his face, letting you take his mouth however you want.

And you do. Not fast, not slow, but sure. Confident in a way that makes his heart pound at how wanted you make him feel. How proud he is. He told you to come get it and you do, more from want than from obedience.

The two of you tangle in the kitchen, his thumb slipping under your shirt just slightly while you drape your arms around his neck.

He lets you lead. You’re already closing in on his lower lip, tugging gingerly.

It fuels a fire in him, one that has burned since he first met you. That ignites more violently with every attempt at extinguishing it. He hums, continuing to kiss you. You sigh into his mouth. His blood boils.

Fuck, you want this just as much as he does. The thought stirs him into restlessness. He needs more.

His hands on your waist press you up against the fridge almost too easily. You gasp, surprised at the cool sensation of metal on your clothed back, but the sound melts into his mouth as he kisses you again.

Harder. Deeper. He’s bleeding with want for you and he’s showing it all.

Tongues meet in a greedy dance. He groans at your taste, the rumble reverberating from his chest to yours. Your fingers move, sinking into his hair, and it feels like coming home.

It’s like he can’t completely part from you, lips tracing your jaw, then your neck, where his teeth clutches flesh. You shudder at the drag of it. Didn’t this happen once upon a dream? Still, as he marks you, mouth closing in around your flesh, you realize you prefer reality.

Because reality is the warmth of his hands as they roam your body. The palms once gripping your waist slide, one towards your back to keep you arched against him, the other up your chest.

He’s learning the contours of you and it’s dizzying.

Then he starts talking with mouth against your ear and you’re not sure how you’re still standing.

“Smell so good,” he husks, nose grazing a spot on the side of your neck before it drifts back up. “Always smell so damn good.”

You shiver.

Lips close in on your earlobe, earning an airy sigh from you, which provokes him even more. His tongue teases, sucking, then tracing the shell of your ear while his hand grip the flesh of your hip. You’re close to becoming a helpless heap on the kitchen floor.

He titillates you, sending pulses of pleasure between your legs like it’s the thing he’s born to do. He awakens an ache, hot and familiar, pooling below your gut.

He’s all over you. Mouth on your other ear. Then your neck. Splayed hand travels across your front, maddeningly warm under your shirt, while the other kneads your ass like he’s deliberating how he’s going to pick you apart.

It’s electrifying. You keep a hand around his shoulder, knees close to buckling.

He pulls away.

“Not here.”

And just like that, you’re untethered from the ground, almost as if you’re weightless—lifting you with a sudden ease that makes you yelp. Dangled legs wrap around his waist by instinct, your arms around his neck.

He floats you into your bedroom, as if called by the coalescing of your scent.

Even now the space is sacred to him. Where you sleep and dream, where you always lay in bed alone—but not tonight, maybe not tomorrow night either, he thinks as he kicks the door closed.

You’re barely settled on the mattress, shifting on the sheets when you catch him staring at you like he’s withholding torrents of need.

“You sure?”

You nod, beckoning him, fingertips cradling his face. He crawls on all fours towards you, all heat and rippling muscle. A coiled panther, prowling, and you’re the willing prey.

He kisses you again, languid this time. You feel yourself getting lost in a fog of your own making, fingers carding through his hair.

“Up.”

Your hips lift, embarrassingly quick to obey. One tug at your shorts and it falls flimsily to your ankles, cool air cloaking your bare legs. He tosses it elsewhere without taking his eyes off your skin, drinking in the expanse of your calves and thighs.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says.

“Don’t,” you whisper, shaking your head like the thought of stopping made you sad, “don’t stop.”

He groans. Your voice is a remedy, restoring the rust that’s taken over the ancient thing in his chest that pumps blood. Chipping away at his self-imposed prison. Breaking him loose.

Your pulse drums loud in your ears as the weight of his arm sinks onto the bed, holding his body up over yours. His calloused hand snakes up your thigh, parting your legs as he wedges his frame between them.

A soft sigh escapes you. It hits him like intravenous ecstasy.

More. He wants to hear more.

He dives into the space between your shoulder and neck, inhaling the drug that is your scent before dragging his teeth slowly down your skin.

You pant while he sucks, hard enough to leave a mark. Your hands roam, needing to feel him, slipping under his tank top. The sensation makes him shiver, veins laced with a dangerous concoction of adrenaline and desire. You touch him and he’s melting.

That won’t do. He won’t let you distract him.

A hand collects both your wrists above your head and he cages you, keeping you still with his anchored weight.

Your eyes lock. Being trapped shouldn’t feel this exhilarating.

He yanks your t-shirt up, revealing your bralette and bare stomach, before latching his lips at the tops of your chest. You feel the sting of teeth on your skin, his tongue lapping after each bite like an apology.

You should care. Should tease him for being inconsiderate, but you can’t seem to give a shit. Not now, not when your entire body is screaming for him to take you.

Then his free hand presses your clit from above your panties and your nerves jolt alive, mouth open in a silent cry. The gusset is soaked with slick, stubbornly sticking to you. There’s no way he doesn’t realize the state of your ruin.

He pulls it to one side.

A finger teases your entrance. You let out a whimper.

“Logan—”

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he whispers, lips moving right next to your ear. A shiver racks your spine at his low voice. Maybe it’s a little pathetic just how worked up you are, evidence of it effortlessly coating the rough pad of his finger.

He lets you go completely and you almost cry out in protest, watching as he sits back on his heels, releasing your wrists to take off your t-shirt. It lands in a heap somewhere. You shudder, exposed rather than cold. Your underwear is the only thing between you and complete nakedness.

The corner lamp casts a warm glow in the room. You’re lost at how it diffuses the lines on his face, making him look like a hazy dream. Like this is yet another fallacy of your mind, pushing your desperation to the brink.

But he touches you and you know it’s real. He’s real. Fingertips gliding up your ribs, feeling your chest rise and fall with each breath. You stare at his hand as it treacherously moves higher, higher, until he brushes against the edge of your bralette.

The dim light doesn’t hide the subtle flash in his eyes, betraying age-old yearning laid threadbare. No disguise can contain it. You see it.

He stares back at you like you’re treasure unearthed.

And you really are. Body laid down on the bed just for him. Already flushed from kissing. Marks on your neck and collarbone. The bralette covers your heaving chest, its color complementing your skin. His touch is featherlight as he toys with the hem around your bust.

As pretty as it looks, he wants to see all of you.

“Can I take this off?”

You nod, biting your lip. He asks so nicely, this big man who could have ripped the thing off of you with a finger. It’s endearing.

He snakes his hand to the back—no fasteners. You watch as he pushes the elastic up from the center of your chest. Your arms move, helping him peel it off. It drops on the floor.

There you are, chest bare. He quite literally salivates.

“So soft,” he murmurs almost to himself, hand immediately cupping your bare breast, thumb flicking a hard nipple. You arch into his touch, feeling feverish at the way he watches your every move.

He takes his time with you just like that, occupying his hands with the shape of you, tracing slopes and curves into memory. Kneading each inch like he’s admiring a sculpture, pitching your fever higher with each stroke. You melt at the attention.

Half-lidded eyes rake a hungry gaze down your body, surveying what is soon to be his. Your collarbones and chest, the spots on them he would love to bite. Your arms wrapped around him. Your head hangs to one side, cheek against the pillow. Eyes closed. His hand captures your chin, tilting it back to face him.

You blink up at him, dazed.

“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He crashes his lips into yours. Sluggish, desperate. A muffled moan escapes you when his hand fondles your breast again. You arch shamelessly into his touch.

When he leans down to take a nipple into his mouth, he groans as if he’s been starved of this—of you—for a long, long time.

“Oh, god,” you gasp, hand finding his hair. He doesn’t stop. Eyes flick up to yours and you almost die like that, the sight of him lapping at your chest short-circuiting your brain.

Your mewl takes the vague shape of his name.

That excites him. He lets out a grunt as he sucks with ardor, worshipping your tit with swirls of tongue and bites of teeth before lavishing the other with the same kind of attention. You reward him with sounds, fingers tugging at the root of his hair as you melt further into the mattress.

Nothing exists outside of this bed—not the apartment, not the rest of the world. He’s the only one that matters.

And then his hand slips under your panties, fingers brushing against your folds, and you buck, eyes closed.

“Ah—”

Your hand clutches at the sheets when he glides circles around your entrance, spreading the mess.

“Like that?” he mutters, mouth still around your nipple.

What are you supposed to say to that? He drives you insane with anticipation, the rough pad of his finger grazing you, teasing a promise that you can’t wait to feel.

Your eyes blink open when he pulls away and find that he’s already staring. Waiting for an answer. Like he’s just going to stop playing with you until you say something.

“Yes,” you nod.

He pulls his hand away and you almost sob at the loss, but already he’s tugging your panties down your thighs. You curl your legs, letting him peel them off you. A strand of slick stretches between your core and the fabric. It breaks, drooling down your inner thigh.

He growls at the sight.

You look perfect like this, naked under him. Dripping, glistening cunt exposed for him and him only. More than that, it’s the look on your face. Lost and flushed like you just woke up from a long nap under the sun.

Better than whatever his feeble mind can conjure. Better than anything real he’s ever had.

He spreads your folds with his fingers. Your breath hitches, clenching around nothing.

Something about it loosens his lips.

“Look so good like this, sweetheart,” he hums, “all opened up and pretty f’me…”

You bite back a keening sound as he slowly plunges his finger into your arousal. It’s bigger than yours. Better than yours. Reminds you of the dream you had. That night feels like a lifetime ago, and the sensation is nowhere as bright as this.

You move your hips up, wanting more, and he curses, leaning down in front of your face, arm bracing next to you.

“Be a good girl and let me take care of you.”

His voice alone makes you shiver. A second finger enters you almost too easily. You whine. He curls them deep inside of you, and it’s so good it’s cruel. The way his digits stretch you feels like both punishment and reward—punishment for denying yourselves this for so long, reward for finally letting this happen.

It feels right.

It maddens you when his lips press against your ear, body and breath crowding you, both fingers moving in and out of you agonizingly slow. You want to scream. He seems to know, whispering honeyed words that send you tumbling down further into the abyss.

“Let it out, sweetheart. Wanna hear you.”

Your fingers curl against his shoulders as he tears a sob from your throat with his thumb on your clit, barely gliding against it, torturing you with mere ghosts of friction. The diligent pumps of his fingers are punctuated with your whimpers of pleasure that shallows his breathing.

Amidst the growing depravity, he places a loving kiss on your temple. Your chest aches.

Sweat mists your skin. He watches you writhe with eyes half-lidded, the ripple of your body under the warm light, the way your hair begins to stick on the sides of your face. You look like you’re at the edge of ruin.

Desire etches itself onto your face, the way your lips part when you look up at him, mouthing his name.

“Please,” your voice is low, wrecked. He hasn’t even made you scream yet.

“Please what, baby?”

The nickname twists your stomach. He hits a spot. Your muscles tighten, eyes screwed shut as bright dots dance at the edge of your vision.

“I’m—fuck—I’m so close…”

“I know, honey,” he rasps, eyes locked on your face. “Want you to look at me when you cum. Can you do that, pretty girl?”

He tries on nicknames like they taste different on his tongue.

It takes everything, but your eyelids flutter open, and you look at him. There’s a faint upturn on his lips and your heart is close to bursting, sensing his pride.

It does when he speaks again.

“That’s a good girl.”

It’s then that he presses his thumb on your swollen clit, finally flicking in earnest and moving tightly against it.

It’s enough. The tension snaps.

You shake, sobbing until the sound melts into a long cry, spasming around his fingers. Your hands grip on his shoulders like a lifeline while exhilaration wrecks every single nerve ending, fraying them. Rapture overflows.

He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop, low baritone drawling praises at you as his eyes lock with yours.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. So fucking good for me, cumming on my fingers.”

You’re lost in it, reduced to a quivering live wire until the trembles cease and your lungs burn for air. He stays close, fingers inside you still, not pulling out, only slowing.

He kisses you, first on your lips, then on your cheeks and eyelids, gently guiding you back down from your high. You sigh, hands on his shoulders finally relaxing, knuckles sore. They look for his hair, fingers combing through his locks like you’ve always needed them to feel grounded.

He pulls his fingers out. They glisten in the low light, coated in your release.

And then he sticks them in his mouth. Groaning.

You feel a jolt within you, arousal gathering between your legs again as if you didn’t just fall apart a minute ago. The way he laps and sucks his fingers clean steals a whimper out of you, heat blooming down your neck and the tips of your ears.

When he removes his fingers from his mouth, they’re clean.

“Taste so good, baby.”

He sits on his heels, watching you from above like you’re his handiwork. There’s lust in his eyes, yes, but also something else that has four letters in it. It hurts in the best way, that gaze, full of unspoken things that rumble like thunder in the quiet, somehow louder than the beat of your heart in your ears. Your stomach flutters— and not because of the orgasm you just had.

You feel it too. It sings in your veins, tempered barely by the patience that comes with age and time.

You’ll say it one day, if he doesn’t say it first. There’s plenty of time.

He breaks the silence.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he husks, cupping your face in his hand, thumb stroking the fat of your cheek. “Wanted you.”

“Wanted you too,” you breathe, still dizzy, “so bad…”

“Not as badly as I do,” he soothes, still touching your face, “thought of this all the time. Of gettin’ my hands on you. All over you…”

And then he moves. A kiss on your lips, sweet, before his mouth trails down your body. Throat to the valley of breasts to navel, he devotedly maps a holy path further south, worshipping every inch of skin. The tenderness makes your heart twinge. You’re still reeling from your climax, but already the beginnings of another makes itself known in your lower gut.

Have you always been this greedy? You find no answer in your memory. It’s as if there was nobody before him.

Soon, he’s face to face with your sopping cunt.

“Logan, you don’t have to—” you pant, suddenly self-aware, about to pull back.

He doesn’t let you. Hands grip your hips and tugs you forward before they press your thighs apart, showing more of you to him.

“Want to,” he says firmly, hot breath against your folds.

He stares up at you. You feel faint again.

“Let me taste.”

The way he says those words, tides of need within three syllables, like he’d do anything to have this. The sight of his head between your legs like this, asking for you like this, nose nuzzling your mound you feel like you could cum again just like this—

Your legs fall open for him. He growls as he leans down.

Moans at the taste of you on his tongue when dipping into your folds, as if the reality of it absolved him from all the torments of his fantasies. As if he’s thankful to finally know what to imagine when he dreams of you.

The pace he sets is frustratingly patient. You’re already twitching, huffing, writhing at his attentiveness. Hands curl into fists on your sides, not knowing what to do with all this bliss other than clench around the sheets—until he grabs one and places it on his head.

He licks a broad, firm stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cry out.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he purrs, humming when he closes his mouth around the bud.

The vibration decimates whatever insecurities you have left. Doubt. Inhibitions. Every thought leaves you, dissolving like foam, except for him. Him and what he’s doing to you and how it feels.

Because feeling is the only thing you can do. And it feels so fucking good.

He laps at your core like a starving dog still seeking approval from his master. He’s so hungry, breath shaky, shoulders tense, yet his movements are controlled. The way a soldier waits for a command. You catch his eyes looking up at you. Watching. You clench around him.

“So good,” the barely articulated babbles tumble out of you without you meaning to, “you feel so good, Logan—”

That was it for him.

He yanks himself free from an unseen leash, eagerly tonguing you. Sloppy, noisy, fucking you with his mouth until saliva and slick runs down his chin, like he’ll never get to do this to you again. Strong hands pin you by your hip and thigh, keeping you open and still for him. You let out a noise that’s close to a scream.

The only warning you can give before you cum is a single tug at the roots of his hair, a string of unintelligible curses streaming out of you. He moans and keeps going as if he’s not doing this for you, but for him, mouth eagerly consuming your release on his tongue, dangling you over the border of overstimulation.

And then he groans once, sharp, shuddered.

You’re not sure how time works anymore, but when your vision comes back into focus, he’s kneeling between your legs. Gathering his breath. Mouth and chin slick, a hint of dampness in his beard that makes you weak.

Then you see the dark spot on his sweatpants.

The sight short-circuits you. Realization sinks in, then transmutes into thrumming desire.

“Did you just…?”

He nods, chest still heaving. “Yeah.”

“Fuck,” your voice catches, core pulsing. He came. Just from eating you out.

“Fuck’s right,” he huffs out humorlessly. “It’s ‘cause of you.”

He takes off undershirt, tossing it behind him without so much as a glance, revealing a bare and chiseled chest that already gleams with a sheen of sweat.

The sight hypnotizes you. It’s criminal that you haven’t laid your eyes on him like this. Wade really wasn’t exaggerating.

It’s like an artist sculpted him out of marble with the intent of making men cry. You’re almost surprised he’s the opposite of cold when you reach out to touch his abdomen. He watches you watch him, the glassy-eyed, fucked out look on your face quickly pumping blood down south, cock twitching alive again.

You’re busy getting acquainted with his chest, blinking almost in awe as you trace fingers through each defined line and coarse hair. The muscles tense and roil under your touch, more used to bullets than soft brushes.

“It’s unfair,” you whisper. He moves closer. Your hand finally stills above his wild heart, feeling the warmth of it from above his skin. It’s beating fast. Maybe even as fast as yours.

“What is?” he murmurs.

“How beautiful you are.”

He yanks his sweatpants down to mid-thigh, cock slapping against his stomach.

You spoke too soon. You can’t breathe, the size of him alone widens your eyes by a fraction. That vein on his lower abdomen leads a sinful path down to his erection, red and veiny, the tip coated in his own cum.

“Tell that to yourself, sweetheart,” his voice breaks your reverie as he adjusts you until you’re underneath him, safe under his shadow.

You love this, you realize, blanketed by his presence and his words. Makes you feel like there’s nothing to be scared about—not even your own demons.

He cups your cheek.

“Still with me?”

You nod, lashes fluttering from anticipation.

“Still want this?” his voice cracks a little like he half expects you to say no. You hold onto his arms.

“Yes. Please.”

Fuck, you beg so pretty, and he didn’t even make you. He lines himself up. Whispers the words like he doesn’t trust himself.

“Tell me if you want to stop. If it hurts. Anytime.”

You answer like you trust him, even if he doesn’t.

“I won’t.”

His jaw clenches, and then he moves forward.

You hiss. His shaft splits you open slowly, letting you adjust to his size. The stretch burns just enough to metamorphose into promises of pleasure as he sinks deeper. You’re already so aroused, so sensitive, the gratification almost feels inevitable.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you—can’t, focused on studying your face for even the slightest hint of discomfort, only once in a while glancing down as if he can’t resist the sight of your cunt swallowing his cock.

When he’s buried all the way to the hilt, you share a groan.

“Feel that?” he gasps, overwhelmed by your warmth and the look of want etched on your face. “That’s all for you, sweetheart.”

You moan.

For one second it feels like his pulse and yours are one. The heat of it inside you creates a heady rush that tickles your toes and shifts your hips. It asks wordlessly, greedily. More.

“Fuck, you’re so warm. So perfect,” he grits, pulling out of you, making you miss him before plunging himself all the way back inside.

He sets a rhythm—steady, deep—that wrests a stuttered “oh” out of you. A grip settles under one knee, lifting your leg up. You let him guide you, wrapping your leg around his waist, skin prickling at the suppressive heat in the air.

He spits sin next to your ear while you forget how sentences work.

“Sweet thing. Takin’ it all f’me. Gonna let me show you how much I think about this? Let me make you feel good with my cock?”

“Logan, please—I—fuck—”

Walls spasm and contract around his thick need as he thrusts, rolling his hips. Your head spins and the back of your hand presses against your mouth out of instinct rather than free will. He grabs your wrist and pins it next to your head, his larger hand firmly caging you.

“None of that,” he grunts.

Your other hand seems to learn, clutching his chest instead, and when he drives deeper and harder, your moans float freely in the air. It feeds into his hunger, shifts him into tighter slams, making you wrap both legs around him. Hips rock in time with his.

You don’t feel cognizant, sanity slipping further out of reach with each grind of his cock into you, hitting spots you don’t even come close to brushing when you’re alone.

The sounds grow louder.

“Hear that? So fuckin’ wet for me, baby,” he sighs, voice ragged against your cheek.

You mewl at his words and the slap of your bodies. Claw at his chest. His hand still keeps your other one beside your head, and your fingers flex, wanting to hold something, anything.

“Squeezin’ me so goddamn tight—like she’s made for me.”

You strangle out something that sounds like his name, and he lets go of your hand, only to press his on your lower belly.

Then he pounds.

“A-ah—!” your spine arches, hands moving to his back, nails dragging down the expanse of it.

“Feel me? That’s how deep I am inside you, sweetheart.”

You can, and it’s more than you’ve ever felt before. He’s all over you, muttering against your ear, mouthing on your forehead, an arm planted by your side holding him up as that other hand cruelly presses on your stomach, making you feel everything.

“Fuck, feels so good, can’t believe I fought this. You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

“Logan,” you choke out a sob, so close to coming undone.

“Answer me, pretty.”

“I’m yours, yours, please—”

“Mine,” he hisses, teeth around your neck, “come on—cum for me—fuck—let me have it.”

His hand moves to grab yours, fingers interlacing. The feeling breaks you.

You fall apart, your third orgasm ripping through you like a tidal force, spine arching off the sheets. You cry out sounds that are barely words, flooded with pleasure and the near-disbelief that something can feel this good, this much.

He watches you come undone, enraptured, memorizing every shake of your body, every twist on your face.

He did that. He made you do that. You trust him enough to let him do this to you. The thought alone almost pushes him over the edge, but he growls, holding on to both your hips now as he doesn’t stop rutting into you.

The sheer actuality of your heat convulsing around him eventually proves to be too much. His voice is broken when he chokes out the question.

“Can I cum inside? Fuck, wanna fill you up.”

You nod, whimpering at the prospect, ankles pressing against his lower back as if trapping him.

As if that’s not enough, he hears you sigh an airy “please, Logan, want it” and he loses it.

He stills, ropey muscles tensing as he coils around your body, sinking his face into the crook of your neck. Then, a long guttural groan against your throat. Sounds like your name. You whine. He fills you up, pulsing cock painting your walls as he releases in hot spurts.

And it doesn’t stop.

He’s still cumming. Sluices out of your slit, dripping down your ass and then the sheets. Messy.

“Mine now. All mine,” he breathes, kissing your temple. His hand never let go of yours.

You feel the words claim you. The truth settles in your bones, binding you with a force far more powerful than a signed tenancy agreement. When you lean up to kiss him, the feeling stitches itself onto your chest. Like two separate fibers of fate woven to one fabric, the final pieces of a beautiful tapestry.

You’re his as much as he’s yours.

The shower might have cleaned you up, but the haze remains.

Which is why it’s no surprise that you end up on his lap, naked again, sitting on his cock.

It’s all his fault, really. After he dried your hair, he murmured something about how he could hear you play with yourself. All the times you used your vibrator—which you learn isn’t discreet enough for enhanced hearing—not knowing he was home. How he fisted his cock in his room while trying so hard not to walk the total five steps to barge in and make you feel even better than a piece of silicone ever could.

His words should’ve mortified you, but instead, you chose to tell him about your dream. How his fingers felt, how it was the only time, how you touched yourself to it but found that nothing compared.

Then he pressed his lips against yours and you melted without resistance, as if he didn’t already make you cum three times.

Now you’re sweating on his lap, body flushed with exertion and need and pleasure as you brace your hands on his midriff, anchoring you while you work your hips on top of him.

It was your idea. You put yourself there, wanting so badly to make him feel good, like he didn’t cum just from eating you out. He doesn’t resist. Why would he, when he has the unrestricted view of the way you move, the bounce of your tits, the lost look on your face?

But he can tell you’re struggling. You’ve been at this for a while now, thighs starting to tremble.

“Need help?” he pants, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You shake your head, biting your lip as you roll your hips into his again.

Stubborn girl.

“You don’t gotta do everything yourself, sweetheart.”

“But I—ngh—wanna make you feel good,” you huff, arms flexing, making up for the growing weakness in your thighs.

He grabs your hips suddenly, holding you up above him so that only his tip is inside you, effectively halting your movements. You squeal, surprised.

“You trust me?” he says.

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then ask. You’re my girl. Rely on me.”

He can see that you’re thinking, eyelids fluttering as you look at him. You part your lips.

“I’m tired,” you admit. He nods. Good. You’re honest with how you feel—a great start.

“And?” he nudges.

You swallow, voice small. “And… I need your help.”

“To do what?”

He hears the rabbit heartbeat in your chest, feels it on his cock. You’re hesitating, but only for one second.

“To make you feel good,” you whisper. “Make me feel good.”

There it is. The moment of your capitulation. His entire body sings with approval.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me. Let me take care of you.”

He groans, holding you still, then thrusts his hips up into you until it’s flush with yours. You cry out, pleasure skyrocketing at the fullness, hands clamoring to his shoulders while he relentlessly slams into you. Again, again, and again.

As many times as it takes for you to learn your lesson: that he’ll give you anything you ask for.

The night sky outside is a deep purple when he holds you. You’re dressed in a soft, overworn tee, face hidden in his bare chest, legs tangled with his. The air is cool enough for him to be in a pair of sweats, the cotton soft against your naked thigh.

As hard as it is to keep your hands off each other, the both of you swear the second shower will be the last, largely for your sake—you’re the one without regenerative healing. And now that the two of you are in your bed, cuddled comfortably against each other, the promise is kept.

You hum when he strokes your hair. Not yet asleep, but ready to. Sated in every way.

His half-lidded eyes peer down at your sleepy face. You let him fuss over you. Let him wash you up and lather your body with that damn soap that makes the both of you smell like a French bakery. In a typical fashion, you insist on washing him back. He relented.

But otherwise, you offered up no protests, no “are you sure”s. Just you accepting affection.

And that has him addicted. Makes him want to lull you into the safety of being supported, so that he can keep doing whatever it is that makes you happy and soft like this. He hopes you’ll keep letting him in.

A kiss on your crown makes you tilt your head up to look at him, eyes half-lidded.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

He nods. “More than okay.”

You smile, adjusting so that you can bury your face in the crook of his neck instead. Your voice is muffled.

“Thank you, Logan.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.”

“I know,” you yawn. “Want to say it anyway.”

Something tightens in his chest at that. He presses his nose against your hair, wanting to drown himself in your scent, as if sleeping in your bed isn’t enough.

He may not deserve you, but he won’t stop trying.

“Get some sleep.”

“Good night, Logan.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

It doesn’t take long for your breath to even out.

He keeps stroking your hair, and falls asleep at the thought of making you breakfast tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

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