#old man!logan x reader

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 59

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

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Word Count: 2,500ish

Summary: Wade forces the group into a therapy session.

Warning(s): talk of death, sadness

Notes: I hope this isn't total trash. I think I completely overthought this chapter... Please share reactions! 

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

“Now,” Wade drawled, “who wants to get started?”

“Wade, forcing us to talk—“

“Is just want we all need,” Wade cut you off.

“You can’t keep us in here for long,” Logan retorted.

“Actually, I can since we can order anything from our phones. So, once again, who wants to go first?”

The silence was thick that followed. Your head hung as you wrung your hands together. Laura eyed you nervously while Logan leaned back against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he glared at Wade. Wade kept himself against the apartment door, twirling one of his golden guns.

“I could always start,” Wade broke the silence, “but I’m sure my story is not the one that needed here. We can do spin the bottle to decide or nose goes or—“

“Wade, stop,” you requested. 

You looked up at Wade with tears in your eyes, immediately putting Logan and Laura on edge. You almost had no control over your powers anymore. The slightest change in your emotions could be extremely dangerous for you.

“Don’t do this,” you pled. 

“Sorry, Buttercup,” Wade said with a simple shrug. “I’m just doing what has to be done. It’s what’s best for all of us… Wow. I’m really turning into the true hero type.”

Another wave of tense silence crashed over the apartment. But, as usual, Wade couldn’t stand silence for long.

“Maybe we should start with what happened on our way home from work,” he stated, a seriousness to his tone.

“I knew something happened,” Logan muttered.

“I was not a big deal,” you said, unable to look anyone in the eye.

Wade scoffed. “I had to scare off a drunk man who you clearly had a run in before.”

“What type of run in?” Laura asked.

“Well, he said that she burnt his jacket.”

“The night you came home with your hands burnt,” Logan whispered, putting the pieces together. 

“The man was clearly hitting on her and wanting more—“

“Enough, Wade,” you said, trying to keep yourself together. “Enough… I handled it then and I could have handled it tonight.”

“You shouldn’t be handling anything when it comes to your powers anymore, mom,” Laura said. “It’s too risky.”

You clenched your hands as they began to tremble slightly. Laura’s eyes fell to your hands as she began to worry about what your powers might do. Logan watched as Laura’s concern grew and could sense that you were growing more emotional. He pushed himself off of the wall and headed into the kitchen. 

“Don’t think you can get out of the fire escape, Peanut!” Wade shouted after him. “I will chase you down and we will have a repeat of the Honda Odyssey on our hands. But this time with witnesses. I’m sure that our Little Flame would love that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan muttered. He grabbed the water pitcher from the fridge, a cup, and a few towels before heading back into the living area. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of you. “Here. Just in case.”

You looked up at him, unable to stop the few tears that escaped your eyes. “Why? Why you do try to take care of me? You don’t… we barely know each other.”

“I… I’m trying to do better.”

“Better? For who? For you? For… for the m you lost? I… I can’t be a replacement, Logan. Just like you can’t be for me.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it. You’re not a replacement and I’m not trying to be one for you… It’s… Yes, it’s a second chance in a way. This whole fucking new world is. And it’s not easy. But I’m trying to prove to you, to Laura, to Wade, to myself that I made the right choice by not following my instinct and walking away… Nothing good happens when I stay, but nothing good happens when I walk away.”

“I still don’t fully understand, Logan.”

Logan sighed. “Then… I guess I need to start from the beginning… I walked away from my version of you more times than I could count… I meet you for the first time when I first got to the mansion. I guess Wade would call the relationships an enemies to lovers. You didn’t trust me.” He smirked as he remembered his original you. “You were fiery and beautiful… and once I had your trust, you believed in me more than I have ever believed in myself… But I kept getting scared and I kept running. Every time I expected you to be there waiting for me to come back. I could see how much it was hurting you, you even fought me on it, but I continued to do it… Until one day, I came back after one of my longer stretches away and you had started something up with Hank.”

“Oh! Beastie getting some action,” Wade commented. You and Logan shot him a glare. “Okay, okay. I’ll remain silent over here.” Wade pulled out a small notebook and pen from his Deadpool suit. “Don’t mind me, just taking notes. Please continue.”

Logan moved his jaw around, trying to get back in a place where he could continue talking. “I confronted you about it and you put me in my place. But it still didn’t stop me from being an idiot… I left for the bar that night—“

“I know what happened,” you interrupted him. “You don’t have to say it again.”

“Yes, I do.” He met your gaze. You could see the seriousness in it and the sadness and guilt. “I do… You tried to get me not to leave… You called out for me, trying to get me to stay permanently… But I left anyway… I was drunk. More drunk than I ever have been… I only returned because I could smell the smoke… I knew it like the back of my hand. And I ran. But I got there too late… Flames were everywhere… students were dead… The X-Men piled like wood and burning… Hank had tried to save you… That much was clear. But he died trying… And you had died trying to save everyone else. I killed everyone who killed them and then some… This asshole,” Logan motioned towards Wade, “allowed me to have a second chance to be a better man… To be an X-Man—The X-Man. Yes, you’re here and you look like her, but you aren’t her and I am not trying to replace her with you… I just don’t want to lose what I’ve found. But I know that you’re struggling, seeing me. I know that I remind you of your husband. So, if my presence is only making things worse, I will walk away. Just say the word and you’ll never have to look at me ever again.”

“I don’t want that,” you whispered, shaking your head slightly. “I’m just… it’s hard… you look like him, but you’re not him. And seeing you has me realizing that I never fully grieved the loss of my husband—my family… On top of it all, my powers are dying—perhaps even killing me— and the only person I know can fix it, I’m not allowed to go near. I’m back in a year I’ve already lived, knowing that my past self and my husband are happily living not too far from here. It’s rough and I don’t want to burden anyone with my problems.”

“You’re not a burden, mom,” Laura said.

You shot her a watery smile as you reached over and grasped onto her hand. “Thank you, kiddo.”

“Any of us would do anything for you.”

“Kid’s right,” Logan agreed. 

“Like I told you earlier, Buttercup,” Wade spoke up, “I’ve got you.”

“I don’t want to put you guys out—“ You cut yourself off as flames began to flicker from your fingers. “Damn it.”

Laura took a towel and dipped it into the water. “Give me your hands, mom,” she requested.

You looked away as you offered her your hands. Laura gently wrapped your hands in the damp towel. Wade pushed himself off the door, tore off his mask, and sauntered over to you. His hands came up and held your face, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“You will always be my favorite superhero, Ember,” he told you, more sincere than you had ever heard him. “Even more so now. Your strength is more than your powers.”

“I don’t know how to do this… how to be helpless,” you cried.

“You’re not helpless, Buttercup. We’ll figure out your limitations and help you thrive where you can. You’re not one to give up and I’m not going to let you no matter how hard you try to.”

“None of us will,” Logan added.

“Just let us help you, mom,” Laura pled.

You swallowed and nodded. “Okay,” you rasped. “I’ll try.”

Wade pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he said. “Now, I think it’s time for a group hug!”

You laughed as Wade pulled you in for a hug and quickly reached behind you. He pulled Laura over who quickly joined the hug.

“Come on, Peanut!” Wade called, waving him over. 

“No,” Logan shook his head. 

“Come on, Logan,” you urged, glancing over at him. 

Logan’s eyes flickered from yours to Laura’s, who he could tell was hesitant but wondering if he was going to go through with it. “Fine,” Logan gave in and came over. 

Wade was quick to pull him in and the four of you hugged. It was a nice, weird family moment, but very much needed.

~~~

It was quickly decided that you were no longer allowed to walk home from work alone. Either Logan or Wade would be there with you or, in certain circumstances, Laura. Wade also insisted that you never work late on Thursdays and that becomes movie night. You were willing to make it work, though Logan wasn’t as big of a fan. You were forced to pinky swear with Wade that you would be honest when you weren’t feeling well, emotionally and physically. You quickly told everyone else that they had to do the same thing. 

As the days and weeks went by, it became easier for you to allow yourself to ask for help and let yourself be helped. Though, there were still times you wanted to hide away, you pushed through with the help of your make shift family. 

Unbeknownst to you, Laura, Wade, and Logan had teamed up to try to find you some help. Whether that help would be a telepath to reverse the damage that Charles had done or someone that could ease the pain that your powers now caused. Wade kept pushing for another multiverse adventure, but Logan and Laura were insistent that there had to be a solution nearby.

The summer flew by faster than you would like. It was late August now and you were getting your apartment set up for tonight’s movie night. Logan got off work early and got cleaned up before heading over to your place.

“Y/N?” He called as he entered the apartment.

“I’ll be right out!” You shouted from down the hall.

Logan entered the apartment fully and shut the door. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you appeared in the living room with a few blankets draped over your arms. “Just grabbing these.”

“I can take those.” Logan grabbed the blankets and pulled them from you.

“Thanks. I’m gonna finish up dinner.”

“Need any help?”

You looked back at him with a smile. “Sure.”

Logan’s brows furrowed as he turned to set the blankets on the couch. Something stirred inside him when you smiled at him. You smiling at him wasn’t a new concept, but there was something new that sparked within him. He shook the confusion off and headed into the kitchen where you were working at the stove. You could sense him behind you causing you to quickly grab a spoon and scoop up what you were cooking.

“Here,” you turned to him. “Try this.” Before Logan could protest, the spoon was slipped between his lips. “What do you think?”

Logan took the spoon from your grasp, something shooting inside of him like a bolt of lightning as his fingers grazed your hand. “It’s wonderful, doll.”

“Really? What a relief! I’m trying a new recipe and I didn’t know if you would like it.”

“Didn’t know if I would like it?”

You shrugged, turning back to the food. “You are the pickiest one out of all of us. Wade will eat anything and I already know which foods to avoid with Laura, you’re the one I’m still figuring out.”

Logan’s insides warmed at the thought of you worrying if he’d like what you made. It was pretty sure that he’d eat anything you made. “Well, I—“

“Mom! Mom!” Laura came bursting through the door with Wade hot on her tail.

“What is it?” You asked, hurrying from the kitchen with Logan. “Is something wrong?”

“I finished!”

“Our Little Wolf here got her GED!” Wade exclaimed.

“Oh, kiddo!” You rushed over and pulled her in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Good job, kid,” Logan congratulated. 

“Thanks,” Laura responded with a smile. 

“So what colleges are we going to try for?” Wade asked. “I’m sure me and Peanut can scare some Ivy League schools into admitting you.”

Laura shook her head. “I’m not applying anywhere. I can’t leave, mom.”

“Sweetie,” you breathed out, taking her head in your hands, “if you want to go to college, I cannot be the thing that stops you. You need to live your life despite what’s happening with me. Do you want to go to college?”

“Yes.”

“Then we will apply wherever you want to and we will figure out the rest when the time comes. Okay?”

“Okay.” Laura pulled you in for another hug. “I love you, mom. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“I love you too kiddo.”

Logan smiled at the sight of the two of you. He was always amazed at how you had raised Laura and the connection the two of you had. 

Wade caught the look that Logan was giving you and smirked. He knew that it was only a matter of time before one of you sparked feelings and he wasn’t surprised Logan was first. Wade had traveled through multiple universes and had seen that every Wolverine had an Ember in some way or another, like they were drawn together with an invisible string. And despite you and Logan having previous versions of each other, Wade had an inkling that the two of you were also meant to be. Wade walked over to Logan and nudged his side.

“Hey, Romeo,” Wade whispered. “I think it’s time to start making the moves.”

Logan scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned on his heel and went back into the kitchen.

Wade laughed. “Oh, the fun has just begun.”

next chapter >

[flowersforbucky]

for always and ever is always for you

old man!logan x healer!reader

word count: 15.2k

summary: logan is getting sicker by the day, and charles' seizures are occurring more and more frequently. logan didn't think he'd ever see you again - but desperate times call for desperate measures.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, descriptions of blood and illness, angst, logan's pov, reader is afab, language, slow burn as far as one-shots go, no use of y/n, caliban being sassy, mutual pining, friends to lovers, unprotected p in v, oral (m&f receiving), face sitting, cream pie, some dirty talk and pet names

author's note: thank you @embbarnes for reading this and letting me rant about it and assuring me that it's worth posting 🫶🏻 this took me an embarrassing amount of time and i have to say i am pretty proud of it. flashbacks are in italics

divider by @saradika-graphics!

“This is the third time in the last week, you know.”

Logan stares down at the deep red splatters of blood that creep towards the drain. The skin of his knuckles begin to turn white from how harshly he grips the edges of the sink – he’s surprised the ceramic doesn’t shatter. He turns the faucet on, lowering his lips to the weak stream to collect enough water to rinse the taste of iron from his mouth.

“I know that,” Logan spits the now pink tinged water into the bowl and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t think I fuckin’ know that? I’m the one hacking my lungs up here.” He shoves past Caliban, exiting the small bathroom.

Logan doesn’t want to snap at him – hates that it happens as often as it does. But right now he’s late for work and the last thing he needs is to hear Caliban harping on about this again while he scrambles to find his car keys.

“You know I hate to keep bringing this up,” Caliban continues as he follows Logan into the makeshift kitchen of the abandoned smelting plant.

“I find that hard to believe,” Logan mumbles under his breath. He finds his keys hidden under some junk mail and shoves them in his coat pocket before pouring himself some coffee to take with him to work. It’s day old and not as strong as he’d like for it to be, but he’ll be glad that he has it when midnight rolls around.

“Charles,” Caliban continues. “The medications are doing very little to help him anymore. We’re having to give him twice as much as we were a month ago, which means we are running out twice as fast. He’s getting worse. You both are. We need to find a… specialist that can help with both of our problems.”

Logan snorts in response, practically able to feel Caliban’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head.

“There ain’t a thing that any doctor can do for me and you know it.”

Maybe Logan hasn’t had the flu, or strep throat, or even the common cold in two hundred odd years, but he knows there’s no prescription that any physician can write that would stop his very bones from poisoning him.

“Let me rephrase that, then. Not a doctor. You need to see a healer.”

Logan freezes, his posture going rigid.

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re going to say, I suggest shutting the fuck up.”

“He’s had a record number of seizures so far this week,” Caliban implores. “You’re barely standing upright. There’s a chance that she could help you both.”

“She’s out of the question,” Logan spits before storming past him. He yanks the door open and slams it closed behind him as he steps into the late evening Mexico sun.

How does Caliban even know about you? Some of Charles’ rambling in his rare moments of lucidity, no doubt.

It doesn’t matter if you can help or not.

For a lot of reasons, it doesn’t matter.

The most obvious one being he hasn’t talked to you in over a year and doesn’t know where the fuck you’re at.

••••••

“You don’t have to stay back there, you know. You can come closer. You’re not in my way.”

There’s no hint of condescension in your voice. Only patience, and reassurance. Still, Logan doesn’t budge from his position in the corner of the mansion’s infirmary.

You don’t press him any further.

He had lost track of how long he’d been standing here, just watching in complete silence as you tend to the young mutant’s injuries.

Logan doesn’t even know the kid’s name. He doesn’t know any of their names. But he’d been the one to find all five of them in a locked cell on today’s mission, and he isn’t going to leave this room until he knows that they are all okay.

You’d already taken care of four out of the five. They now rest peacefully in individual beds, no doubt the warmest and safest they’ve been in God knows how long.

Your hands hover a few inches above a young boy’s chest, emitting a pale purple glow as you wave them over his torso, letting your powers radiate from your palms into his body.

Logan notices the color of your power isn’t as vibrant as it was when you’d healed the first child’s injuries, or the second, or third. Originally a bright violet, it’s now a lackluster lavender.

He also doesn't miss the way that you suddenly close your eyes with furrowed brows, but he remains in the corner, watching you carefully. You dig your teeth into the flesh of your bottom lip in concentration, causing Logan to take an involuntary step forward at the pained expression on your face.

Your hands drop down to the railing of the bed that the boy lays in, clutching the bars to keep you from falling over as the energy you’d been emitting fades away.

“Shit,” you huff, out of breath. A thin layer of perspiration glistens on your forehead.

“What’s wrong?” Logan asks as he moves closer to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you grunt, nodding as you look up at him. You give him a forced smile that does very little to reassure him. “I’m fine. It’s just been a while since I’ve had to use so much of my powers in such a short amount of time.”

“Maybe you should sit down for a minute, yeah?” Logan looks around the infirmary, walking a few feet away to grab a chair for you. He places it next to the bed that you’re still using for support.

“I’ll be as good as new soon,” you assure him as you take a seat. “This happens occasionally.”

Logan stands beside you, awkwardly leaning against the edge of an empty bed next to the boy’s. He watches as you lean forward, taking the kid’s small hand in your own. There’s no resurgence of purple – you’re simply holding it. The boy is sound asleep, so the act makes Logan wonder if it���s for his comfort or your own.

“If I exert too much energy at once, I feel the effects of it. Not enough to really hurt me, just.. leave me feeling like I need to sleep for a week,” you explain with a weak chuckle. Logan’s eyes are fixated on the way that your thumb soothes over the skin of the boy’s hand.

“A gift that comes with a price,” Logan murmurs. “I know how that feels. Though it sometimes feels more like a curse in my case.” He instinctively glances down at his knuckles, his claws sheathed away.

“I can see how it would feel that way,” you agree, glancing up at him with a soft expression. “But it’s not what your power is that determines whether it’s a curse or a gift. It’s what you do with it. And these kids are alive because of you. A lot of people are, because you choose to use it for good. I’d say that makes it a gift.”

“I guess I should try to look at it that way more often,” he hums.

“Plus, having the ability to heal yourself has gotta be pretty neat. I think you’re the only person here who would never have to ask me for my help.” You glance back up at him, a hint of a smirk ghosting your lips.

They’re pretty, he thinks – your lips. He mentally scolds himself, knowing now isn’t the time or place to be thinking about your lips.

“You can count on that, bub.”

When Logan wakes, he doesn’t have the chance to mourn the memory he’d found himself reliving in his sleep.

He does find himself on the floor by his bed with the breath knocked from his lungs. His hands come to shield his ears, attempting to block out the high-pitched shrieking that makes his ear canals feel as if they are filling with blood.

Judging by the sunlight streaming into his room through the thin, tattered curtains covering his windows, he guesses that it’s mid-afternoon. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours – meaning it also couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he had given Charles his most recent dose of medicine.

With the world shaking around him, a half empty bottle of liquor and an old coffee mug both shatter as they fall off of his bedside table and hit the ground.

Logan and Caliban had recently cleared off all shelves in the smelting plant, moving anything that could potentially fall and break during one of Charles’ episodes closer to the ground, but after a long night of driving around drunk assholes, it’s easy to forget that even a ceramic cup on a small table is a hazard.

He can tell by the way that the air around him feels as if it weighs ten tons that Charles has to be close by. He musters all of his strength to force himself to his feet. Each movement feels as if he’s in slow motion as he fights against the psionic energy that works to keep him frozen in place.

As slow as if he has hundred pound weights attached to each of his feet, he makes his way from his bedroom and to the common area. When he turns the corner, he first sees Caliban, still as a statue with his facial features contorted in agony and his typically alabaster skin turning redder by the second from the pain. He’s less than a foot away from where Charles sits in his wheelchair, where he appears to have been watching a movie.

Logan frantically looks around the room, searching for where he had placed the bag of injections and pills when he’d forced Charles into swallowing his last dose just a few hours ago.

He finds it on what is used as a dining room table. It’s sheer good luck that Logan had thought to prepare an emergency dose of the injection earlier that day, most likely thanks to Caliban’s lecture from yesterday evening still looming in the back of his mind.

After what feels like hours, Logan finally reaches Charles with the injection and plunges the needle into his chest. The second that the medication enters his system, the seizure ceases.

Caliban and Logan both collapse to the ground in relief. Logan clutches his chest, trying to steady his heartbeat and regulate his breathing.

“You dream of her just as she dreams of you,” Charles whimpers through labored breaths.

“What?” Logan snaps, glaring at Charles from his position on the dirty floor. His ears must still be ringing from the effects of the seizure, because he can’t have heard him right. “Quit reading my mind.”

“Your thoughts are always loud when you think of her,” Charles murmurs, turning his attention back to the movie on the screen in front of him as if nothing had happened.

It's the first time, Logan realizes, that Charles has mentioned you since the day of his first seizure. Even without specifically saying your name, Logan knows exactly who he’s referring to.

“Make that four incidents this week,” Caliban grumbles as he jerks the plastic bag filled with medication out of Logan’s hand. He digs through it, pulling out a pill bottle and dumping two into his palm. “He’s averaging an episode per day, and each one feels stronger than the last. It’s only a matter of time before he kills–”

“Do you know where she’s at? Can you track her?” Logan interrupts him. Caliban pauses to look at him, visibly annoyed.

“Oh, so it’s a good idea now that he–” he jabs a finger in Charles’ direction, “mentions her once, is it?” He stomps over to where Charles watches the television, seemingly oblivious to the conversation happening right beside him.

“Take these. Both of them.” He shoves them into Charles’ palm and then storms past Logan.

“Didn’t say anything about it being a good idea,” Logan grunts, following him into the kitchen. “But you seem to think it is and I don’t know what else to do. So can you find her or not?”

“Of course I can,” Caliban retorts defensively. “As long as you have something with her scent on it.”

Logan throws his hands up in frustration, and then rakes one hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“I haven’t seen her in over a year. Why would I have anything that smells like her?”

“It doesn’t have to be dosed in her favorite perfume,” Caliban huffs. “But I can’t track anyone without some amount of their scent to go off of.”

“Goddammit,” Logan groans between gritted teeth. He turns in the opposite direction, heading back to his bedroom.

He thinks back to the last time that he saw you – the last time that his life had any sense of normalcy. The day of Charles’ first seizure, the day that he saw seven of his friends die, you weren’t there. By some miracle, you had been out of town.

But a few days before that – it had been snowing. It was the first snow of winter and you had taken a group of younger students to play outside in the middle of class.

Logan was called over by a few of the kids who begged him to help make a snowman. You kept to the sidelines, watching him with the students, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself to keep your cardigan pulled securely around your chest.

He remembers pausing what he was doing to run over to you and insist that you take his jacket until you were all back inside. He remembers how much he liked seeing you wear it, and how silly he felt when he didn’t like that you remembered to give it back.

He remembers being enveloped in the smell of honey and cream when he shrugged the jacket back onto his own shoulders. Less than a week later, he found himself in Mexico with no need to wear such a heavy leather jacket.

It's now been over a year since he’s so much as touched it.

Logan begins rifling through the drawers of the dresser that looks to be as old as he is, containing all of the clothing that he owns. It doesn’t take but a few seconds until he recognizes the feeling of the worn leather against his fingertips.

He brings the jacket up to his nose, inhaling where your skin and hair had rest against the collar. He breathes in deep, concentrating on the scent that transports him back to before his life was completely uprooted and turned upside down. With his eyes closed, it’s easy for him to let himself believe he’s standing in the kitchen of the mansion with your arms around his neck.

It's faint. If he didn’t have enhanced senses, he may not have been able to detect it at all. But it’s there – familiar and nostalgic and unmistakably you.

••••••

It takes Caliban all of sixty seconds to pinpoint your location.

Logan doesn’t quite know how to feel about learning that there’s only one state in-between the two of you. He wasn’t sure where he expected you to be, really – it doesn’t surprise him that you didn’t stay in the state of New York, and he didn’t think you would return to your hometown, but knowing that you’ve possibly been just a half day’s drive away from him this entire time makes a lot of emotions surface that he’s been trying to push down for the last year.

He begins the drive just after six in the morning. By the time the sun starts to set that evening, he enters the city limits of Silverton, Colorado.

Nestled in the snow-capped Rockies, the small town couldn’t be more polar opposite of where he has resided for the last thirteen months. The stark differences nearly cause him to turn his limousine around and head back to the smelting plant without even bothering you – if you’d chosen somewhere like this to live, there’s no way you’d be content with the brutal, dry heat of northern Mexico.

But this is the closest he’s been to you in nearly four hundred days, and despite the fact that he’s spent the last ten hours of this car ride thinking about what he’s going to say to you and still doesn’t fucking know, he can’t bring himself to go back to Mexico without trying.

Without at least seeing your face. Without at least seeing for himself that you’re doing okay.

He knows it’s selfish. He knows he made his choice when he took Charles to Mexico without even letting you know that they were alive. It doesn’t matter that he had his reasons for doing so, it doesn’t matter how much it killed him inside – he made his choice and he should have to live with it, without disturbing your peace and asking any of this of you.

He justifies it by telling himself that it’s for Charles, and Caliban. Maybe it’s his pride, but he refuses to make his ailing health your responsibility. Asking you to help with Charles is already asking too much.

He turns down a dirt road, following the approximate – not exact – instructions that Caliban had provided. Thankfully, it’s a small town in both size and population, so it doesn’t take him too long to find the neighborhood that Caliban had described.

He knows he has found the right house when he sees your car. He recognizes it instantly due to the cracked rear bumper that you still have yet to have replaced and its unique sage green color that peaks through the light dusting of snow.

He pulls into your driveway, parking his limousine next to your vehicle and turns off the engine. He takes in the appearance of your home – a small, cozy cabin with smoke erupting from the chimney. All of your curtains are pulled closed but there’s enough light peaking through them for him to know that you’re inside.

The thought occurs to him that he might not find you alone. It’s been over a year – you could have found someone to build a life with. They could pull into this very driveway at any moment. Hell, you could have a baby for all he knows. He might be seconds away from learning that you have a whole family of your own–

His thoughts only stop spiraling when he sees your front door swing open, your face peeking around the frame a second later. Confusion is etched across your features as you notice the limousine parked in front of your porch.

You don’t yet know that it’s him due to the limousine’s tinted windows, he realizes.

You exit the house, stepping onto your front porch with your arms crossed over your chest as you wait for the driver of the vehicle to make themselves known.

You haven’t aged a day. Your hair being longer than the last time he saw you is the only physical proof that any time has passed at all.

Logan attempts to clear his face of all of the emotions coursing through him and opens the driver’s side door, stepping out of the vehicle.

Thanks to the adamantium poisoning his body, his eyesight has started to decline over the last few months. But Logan doesn’t need to have his glasses on to know that you look like you’re seeing a ghost.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you in a cautious voice. He stays planted where he’s at, waiting for you to respond before coming any closer to the front porch steps.

He swears he watches you go through all five stages of grief in under a minute. Confusion fades to shock, shock turns to denial, and denial morphs into anger before you’re left with a blank expression.

“I know I’ve got a lotta explaining to do,” Logan starts. “If you’ll let me, I’ll answer every question you have. I’m just asking you to hear me out.”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint that he possesses to not walk up the steps of your porch and wrap you in his arms. He may be standing just a few feet away from you, but it doesn’t feel real. He’s convinced that at any moment, he’ll wake up back in his pathetic excuse of a bedroom in the smelting plant.

You take a few small, tentative steps forward. Your eyes never leave his, an unreadable expression on your face. Logan can’t tell if you’re trying to decide if he’s real, if you’re about to jump into his arms, or if you’re about to yell at him to get the fuck out of here.

You come to a stop on the bottom porch step.

“What’s the deal with the limousine?” You nod towards the vehicle behind him.

“I’m uh – I’m a limousine driver,” he answers lamely.

“A limousine driver,” you repeat with raised brows, though it doesn’t sound like a question. “You know, there have been a lot of nights that I’ve laid awake wondering where you’re at and what you’re doing. Of all the possibilities, I never considered limo driver.”

Logan opens his mouth to respond, but quickly shuts it again when you turn on your heel, walking back up the steps and to the front door. You pause before you cross the entryway, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“Take your shoes off at the door. Don’t be tracking snow into my house.”

Logan watches you retreat into the house, his body frozen in place. As far as initial reactions go, he supposes that could have been significantly worse – but he knows he isn’t out of the woods yet.

He follows you inside, kicking his boots off at the door and closing it behind him.

The inside of your house is warm, thanks to the gentle fire going in the fireplace in your den. It’s cozy – you’ve decorated for the approaching holidays. Garland and twinkling lights adorn your mantle, and in the corner of the living room is an elaborately decorated tree. The whole place smells like a mixture of the candle burning on your coffee table and whatever you have cooking in the kitchen.

It's not just cozy, he thinks. It’s homey. And he’s about to ask you to leave it all for a dirty, grimy, old smelting plant.

He follows you into the small kitchen, where you stir something in a giant pot on your stove.

“Do I even want to know how you found me?”

He can tell that you’re trying to maintain a level tone, but he doesn’t miss the way that your voice shakes and rises an octave on the last word.

He clears his throat, pulling out a chair for himself at your dining room table.

“His name is Caliban. He’s a mutant who can track other mutants. I asked him to find you.”

You hum in response, continuing to tend to the food in the pot with your back turned to him. Logan knows that telling you he asked Caliban to track you down is just the tip of the iceberg here, but he doesn’t want to throw too much at you at once. So he watches as you grab a variety of seasonings from the cabinet above you, and lets you take your time with questioning him further.

“And why did you ask him to find me?”

“For Charles,” Logan answers. “I didn’t want to disturb you after all this time. I know you’re probably angry and you have every right to be but.. his seizures. They’re getting worse. The medications that I give him aren’t helping like they used to.”

You cover the pot with a lid, and turn the dial on the stove down to low before turning to face him. You lean up against the counter, your arms once again crossed over your chest – a telltale sign that you’re on edge, Logan remembers well.

“You mean the seizures that killed a bunch of our friends and have caused the United States government to classify his brain as a weapon of mass destruction?”

Logan gives you a curt nod. “Yeah. Those seizures. We’ve been living in an abandoned smelting plant just south of the border in Mexico. He mostly stays inside an old water tower. The metal it's made from helps keep the seizures contained to the immediate area around us, but.. they’re getting stronger. Happening more frequently.”

You chew on your lower lip, a passive expression on your face as you take in Logan’s words. You don’t meet his gaze, your stare fixated on something on the other side of the room.

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” Logan counters.

You turn away from him again, reaching into a cabinet to grab two bowls. Logan watches as you ladle some kind of soup or stew into the bowls and pull two spoons from a drawer.

You place one bowl in front of him, and the other at a chair across from him before retrieving a bottle of dark colored wine and two glasses.

“It’s only been a year since I last saw you but you look about ten years older,” you finally answer as you uncork the bottle and fill the two glasses. You push one across the small table. “Sorry. I haven’t had much of a reason to keep any whiskey on hand.”

Logan’s not surprised by the observation – you’re not wrong. He knows the adamantium poisoning his body has taken a toll on his physical appearance. His hair and beard have started to gray, his skin appears more leathered, his under eyes more crinkled.

After barely aging a day in decades, the difference between a year ago and today must look drastic to you.

But that isn’t why he’s here. He can handle some aches and pains, some coughing fits, and all of the other ailments that come with typical aging. He can hide it all from you – he won’t make that your burden to bear in addition to asking you to help with Charles.

“Yeah, well,” Logan starts, staring down at the stew in front of him to avoid your gaze. “That’s what working night shifts and taking care of a ninety-seven year old disabled psychic with Alzheimer’s induced mega seizures does to a person.”

“No one asked you to do that, Logan. I would have helped you if you had given me the chance. I would have followed you any–”

“I know,” Logan cuts you off. “I know you would have. But I had just watched almost everyone that I love die. I couldn’t risk it, letting you get hurt too. Staying away from you for the last year, it’s.. it’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But I did it because I knew it would mean you’re safe.”

You’re silent. Your lips quiver, and Logan loses his appetite at the way your eyes begin to gloss over with unshed tears.

“Did you at least think about reaching out?”

If your watery eyes make Logan lose his appetite, the brokenness in your voice makes him feel sick with himself.

“Every single day.”

He doesn’t tell you that you frequent his dreams, or that he thinks of you every time a Pink Floyd song comes on the radio, or that he hears your voice in the back of his mind telling him to drink more water when all he’s had that day is coffee and bourbon.

He wants to. But he doesn’t.

You give a small nod to his answer, but otherwise say nothing. You pick up your spoon and take a small, unenthusiastic bite of the food in front of you. Logan forces his attention to his own stew, not really wanting to eat but knowing that he needs to – he had only stopped for gas and a bathroom break once during the drive here. He hasn’t eaten anything since he choked down a stale granola bar before leaving Mexico early this morning.

The two of you sit in a loaded silence. Despite how heavy it feels, he can’t help but feel more relaxed in your presence than he has in a long, long time.

Your spoon clinks against the empty bowl when you finish eating. Logan looks up to see you gulping down the last of your wine.

You sigh. A long, exaggerated sigh.

“Why couldn’t you have shown up yesterday, before I put up all of my Christmas decorations?”

••••••

Logan thinks that the interior of his limousine will smell like a Christmas tree threw up in it for the next few months.

Not that he’s complaining. The sickeningly sweet scent of balsam is a small price to pay for you agreeing to come to Mexico.

He knows he probably shouldn’t feel as relieved as he does – he doesn’t even know if your powers will be effective in helping with Charles’ seizures.

But he can't lie to himself. The entire time he spent the better part of the night helping you pack your things into totes to load into your car and his limousine, he was on edge – afraid that you'd change your mind at any moment.

Of course he felt relieved when he watched your car pull out of your driveway after typing the smelting plant’s address into your GPS early this morning.

Approximately eleven hours later, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so glad to be in Mexico. The drive to Colorado, packing for hours into the night and then getting a few hours of shut eye on your couch, and then the drive back to the smelting plant has taken a toll on him.

His hips ache from sitting for so long and he’s experiencing what has to be a pinched nerve in his lower back.

That’s a first for him.

When he arrives back home, he’s relieved to find that he got here before you. Maybe he’ll have enough time to take a long, hot shower and let some max strength ibuprofen go into effect before you can notice the way that he hobbles inside.

“Oh, thank God,” Caliban exhales when he sees the door open and Logan limps inside. “You haven’t answered any of my calls or texts. Did you even think to check if I was alive? He could have had a seiz—”

“Sorry,” Logan grunts, walking past him to retrieve the bottle of painkillers from a cupboard in the kitchen. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied, trying to get back here as soon as possible and what not.”

He tosses back four pills dry and then turns to face him again. “And I knew you weren’t dead. You blew up my phone enough to assure me of that.”

“Well, a reply or two keeping me updated would have been nice. Tracking you only tells me so much.”

Logan rolls his eyes. He doesn’t have the energy for this right now.

“She’s on her way here now. How’s that for an update?” He pushes past Caliban, just wanting to go stand under a painfully hot stream of water.

“You actually managed to get her to agree to come here?”

“I’m as surprised as you are.” Logan grabs a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen counter and starts walking towards his room. “And get the spare room cleaned up for her.”

••••••

“I know it isn’t much, but I’m gonna get you a better mattress tomorrow.”

A few hours later, long after Caliban and Charles have retired to the old water tower for the night, Logan stands in front of where you perch on the edge of the twin sized cot in your bedroom – if it can even be called that right now.

Aside from the sad excuse of a bed, the only other things in the room are a small bedside table with a lamp, and several storage totes containing your belongings that Caliban had brought in from Logan’s limousine.

If he’d had more time to prepare, he would’ve done more, but just forty-eight hours ago he never would have guessed that you would actually be sitting here in front of him.

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “It’ll be better once I have some of my things unpacked.”

“Right,” Logan nods. “Well, I'll leave you to that then. Just.. let me know if you need anything.”

He turns to exit the room, but freezes when he grabs the doorknob. He turns back around, and finds you looking at him expectantly – almost hopeful.

“I appreciate it. You coming here. You don’t owe me anything after the way I just ran off without any explanation. But I'm really glad that you’re here.”

His heart swells when he sees the way that your expression softens. You’re too good, too forgiving and understanding. The fact that you let him into your home, served him dinner, and packed up your entire life into a few boxes and came here after a year of no contact proves it.

He takes a step closer to you, trying his hardest to ignore the sharp burn that radiates from his lower back as he forces his body forward. Despite how hard he tries to hide the discomfort, you seem to notice that something is bothering him – he can tell by the way your brows furrow together and your mouth sets in a harsh line. You scoot back a few inches on the cot mattress, making room for him to take a seat next to you.

“And I just want you to know that I’m sorry,” he continues, cutting you off before you can even ask if he’s okay.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to hear me say it. I’m sorry for the way I handled things. It wasn’t fair to you. I was just scared shitless and wanted to do what I could to keep you safe. Getting as far away from you as possible seemed like the best way to do that at the time.”

Logan internally curses his rambling. Typically a man of few words, he can’t help but feel silly at the sentiment. You’d always had a way of drawing a level of vulnerability from him that no one else ever had. He still feels that effect today.

“I understand why you did what you did, Logan,” you start. You look at him with such understanding that he feels himself physically relax at your words.

“It just… hurt.” You give a small shrug, bringing your hands together to dig your nails into your palms. “I lost my friends too, you know? You and Charles included. I know that you and I, we were never…” you trail off, but he knows what you mean without saying it.

Together. Never truly together.

A million almosts that never amounted to what he truly wanted run through his mind. He’d long ago accepted that you and him would never be more than an unspoken thing but the reminder of it still stings, coming from your lips.

“Anyway,” you shake your head. He wonders if you’re thinking of the same memories that he is – the seemingly small ones.

The ones that he wouldn’t have expected to stick with him, but ended up haunting him. Having a drink in the mansion’s courtyard together after particularly exhausting missions – or even just particularly exhausting days of teaching children. Walking into the kitchen to find you making lunch – and you just so happened to have made enough for him, too. You, on the back of his motorcycle with your arms secured around his stomach, your bodies pressed as close together as they ever had been.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still hurt over it. But the truth is, I was too relieved to find you standing in my driveway to tell you to leave. And I missed you too much to not come back here with you.”

Your voice is barely a whisper by the time you finish speaking. A singular tear leaks from the corner of your eye, which you hastily wipe away.

“Just don't fucking do that again, okay? I definitely wouldn’t be as forgiving if it happened a second time.”

“I wouldn't forgive myself if it happened a second time,” Logan tells you – and he means it. He still doesn’t know if he can forgive himself as is. But you seem to forgive him, and that's enough for him for the time being. “I promise. M’not going anywhere.”

“Good,” you murmur with a small smile, seemingly content with his reassurance. “So, about Charles… I was thinking, if the seizures are as bad as you've told me, I probably won't be much use if he's actively having one. I was thinking that starting tomorrow, I could try to work with him using my powers little bits throughout the day. Not too much at once so he doesn't get frustrated.”

You're right. There’s nothing that anyone can do once one of Charles’ seizures begins, except for Logan. It’s solely due to his healing factor that Logan is able to muster enough strength to administer one of Charles’ injections during a seizure. Humans – as well as mutants like you and Caliban – are rendered incapacitated.

“I’ll let him know that you’re here in the morning,” Logan nods in agreement. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

“I hope so,” you sigh. “I’ve missed him.”

As content as he’d be to sit here and talk to you all night, you’ve both had long days of driving and tomorrow brings a lot of uncertainty, so he knows that he should let you get some rest.

“We should probably try to get some sleep,” he says reluctantly. He starts to push himself off of the cot when the nerve in his lower back catches and causes him to hiss in pain. He tries to play it off, hoping you didn’t notice the way he visibly grimaced at the sudden sharp pain.

“Logan? What's wrong?” You ask, concern etched in your voice. He refuses to meet your gaze, knowing it'll be harder to lie to you if he looks you in the eyes. Instead he forces one foot in front of the other, and takes a slow step forward.

“It’s nothin’. Just stiff from driving so much is all.”

He feels your hand wrap around his wrist as he starts to take another step, stopping him in place. He hangs his head, still refusing to look at you. He doesn't think he can handle the concern and worry that is undoubtedly written on your face.

“If you were anyone else on the planet, I might believe that.” You stand up next to him, and your grip on his wrist only tightens. His face heats up; a side effect of your questioning stare and close proximity.

“But I’ve seen you get impaled with a crow bar before. It healed before I even had time to fret over you. So what’s really going on?”

It hits him how naïve he was to ever believe that he’d be able to easily conceal what’s been happening inside his body from you. The effects of the adamantium poisoning have been becoming more physically apparent for a while now, and you of all people – someone so familiar with not only illness and injury, but also him – were bound to pick up on the fact that something is very different than the last time you saw him.

He finally looks at you, your face every bit as concerned as expected.

“My healing factor has started to slow down,” he says delicately, trying to keep his tone even. The last thing he wants to do is freak you out even more.

“Slow down? How?”

“The shit my bones are made of seems to finally be aging me.” He chooses to forgo using the word poison, but still answers as honestly as he can bring himself to.

“But you don’t need to worry yourself with that, ‘kay? That’s not why you’re here. Some back pain isn’t anything that I can’t handle,” he quickly adds when distress distorts your features.

You purse your lips, leaving him wondering how you’re going to respond.

There’s a sudden sensation radiate from where the skin of your palm and fingers are wrapped around his wrist – it’s a soft vibration, soothing and serene. It starts at his hand and travels up his arm before expanding through his chest, back, and eventually down to the soles of his feet.

For a few moments, he feels like he’s floating. The weight of the adamantium bones disappear for the first time in decades, leaving him feeling feather light. The feeling fades away as gradually as it appeared, and with it subsides the pinching in his lower back.

He realizes that he’s looking at you as if you grew a second head. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken off guard – he’s seen your powers first hand before. He just never imagined there would be a time that he’d actually learn how it feels to be on the receiving end of them.

He glances down at where you finally release your hold on his hand. When you pull away, he sees the remnants of a purple glow emanating from your palm.

“I figured you would have said no if I had asked beforehand. Am I wrong?”

“No,” he admits in a gruff tone. “Guess not.”

“Well? How does your back feel now?” You look at him with raised brows, as if you don’t already know the answer.

“Better. But don’t make a habit out of that. I want you saving your energy for Charles.”

Truthfully, he physically feels the best that he has in months. In addition to his back being free of the sharp pinching sensation, the chronic stiffness that has plagued his body is gone. Even his eyesight seems clearer.

But he thinks back to one of his earliest memories of you – the one that had presented itself in his most recent dream. He remembers the vibrancy of your power gradually dimming as you grew more tired and the way that your forehead glistened with sweat when you were worn out from excessive use of your powers.

You roll your eyes and plop back down on the edge of your cot.

“I’m more than capable of helping you and Charles both. Do you think I’d really let you suffer, knowing you’re in discomfort?”

He knows that trying to fight you on this is as about as useful as arguing with a brick wall.

“I don't doubt your capability,” he tells you gently as he eases towards the door to your room. “But I'm not the priority here. Now get some rest, alright?”

Your response is a brief nod that tells him he hasn’t heard the last of this conversation.

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Just down the hallway, he traces the tips of his fingers over where your hand had been wrapped around his until he falls into the most peaceful and comfortable sleep he’s had in over a year.

••••••

“She’s a healer. She worked at the school as a nurse and teacher. You remember her, yeah? She’s here to see if she can help us out some.”

Logan hands Charles a double dose of pills and watches until he’s swallowed them. They are already running low on the seizure suppressants as is, but he makes him double up anyway. He’d rather be on the safe side, since you are going to be working with Charles this morning.

“Of course I remember her,” Charles retorts after he’s taken the pills. “As if I could ever forget with how often I see her face appear in your mind.”

“Could you do me a favor and not mention that, maybe?” Logan grumbles. He doesn’t doubt that it’s true, but he’d prefer Charles to not mention it within the first five minutes of seeing you.

The door to the old water tower creaks open, allowing midday sun to infiltrate the dim space as you come inside. Caliban enters behind you.

“Hi, Charles,” you greet him cheerfully “It's so nice to see you.”

Your voice doesn’t give it away, but Logan notices the nervousness in your gait – in the way that your posture is rigid and your footsteps are shorter and quicker than normal as you walk over to them.

Charles gives you a smile – the first genuine smile that Logan has seen from him in as long as he can remember.

“Hello, my dear,” he beams at you. “We’ve missed you.”

You return his smile with a bashful one of your own, and wring your hands together in front of you.

“I’ve missed you guys, too,” you say, your eyes flickering between him and Logan. “I’m glad to be here. I’m going to be using my powers to try to get your seizures under control. Is that okay with you?”

“Anything sounds better than these two cramming pills down my throat like clockwork,” he grunts with a glare at Logan and Caliban.

“It’s not exactly fun for us either, you know,” Caliban scoffs.

“Enough, you two,” Logan interjects when Charles opens his mouth to respond. “We—” he motions to himself and Caliban, “are going to give them some privacy.”

He'd be lying if he said the thought of leaving you alone with Charles during what will undoubtedly be a vulnerable time didn’t make him nervous. But he doesn’t want to overcrowd and overwhelm him, either.

Though a large majority of Charles’ seizures are random, many have been brought on by a state of a emotional distress, too.

He knows that he doesn’t exactly possess a natural aura of peace like you do.

A hint of anxiety flashes across your features before you quickly compose yourself. Logan starts to follow Caliban’s lead to the door, but stops when he's directly in front of you.

He reaches out and almost puts a hand on your waist before he thinks twice of it. His fingers linger awkwardly at your hip for a moment before he drops the hand back down to his side.

“I'll be close by, okay? If you need anything,” he says to you lowly. He glances over his shoulder to see Charles now tending to his bonsai tree, not paying attention to anyone around him.

“I know,” you assure him with a smile and nod of your head. “Don’t worry. I won’t push him. If he starts to get agitated, frustrated, bored… I’ll stop immediately.”

Logan gives you one final, short nod before reluctantly following Caliban outside and back into the smelting plant.

“You sure do seem to be getting around well for someone who could barely walk yesterday,” Caliban says in a faux casual voice as he tugs the balaclava style mask off of his head as soon as he is out of the sunlight.

Logan sighs and curses under his breath, already knowing the direction that this conversation is headed.

“Now that I'm thinking about it, I also didn't hear you having any nightmares all the way from the water tower last night. Must have had a good night’s sleep.”

“What's your point?” Logan snaps. He yanks the fridge open, scanning the scarce shelves for something to eat.

He really needs to go to the grocery store once you've finished up with Charles. And buy you an actual bed. And stock back up on Charles’ medications –

“No point,” Caliban continues, “Just glad to see that you changed your mind about telling her about your condition is all. Even if you did threaten me within an inch of my life to not tell her right before you left for Colorado.”

“What can I say,” Logan grunts. “She isn't blind. She clocked it within an hour of being here.”

Logan spends the next hour alternating between pacing the floor of the smelting plant and smoking cigars outside of the water tower. He reminds himself repeatedly that everything must be going okay, because if it wasn't, he would know by now.

He also reminds himself of the intense feeling of tranquility that came over him when he felt the effects of your powers. He can’t imagine anyone not finding it euphoric – even Charles, in all of his stubbornness.

He's finishing up a cigar when you exit the water tower after what feels like an eternity. He immediately stubs it out, remembering how you used to tease him about getting cancer if he didn’t stop smoking.

It wouldn’t surprise him if that was an actual possibility for him these days.

“How’d it go?” he greets you. He tries to keep his voice neutral – doesn’t want to make it obvious how anxious he’s been for the last hour. “Did he do okay?”

“I guess we won’t really know until he either has a seizure or… doesn’t,” you sigh. “He did surprisingly well. But the damage that the Alzheimer’s has done to his brain is widespread. I doubt there’s much reversing it. My goals are to reduce the severity and frequency of the seizures and to stop the damage from progressing any further.”

The two of you walk side by side back to the smelting plant, where Logan opens the door for you.

“So that means that I might be staying here for quite some time.”

You ease past him through the small doorframe, your chest grazing against him ever so slightly. The familiar light scent of vanilla and honey lingers after you’re walking away.

Were you just smirking at him or is he hallucinating?

Scratch that, were you just flirting with him?

“I think I can find a way to be okay with that.”

He didn’t expect you to go back to Colorado anytime too soon, given how much you packed – and the fact that your fucking Christmas tree sits in the common area – but he can't ignore that hearing you imply that you have no intention of leaving in the immediate future brings him more comfort than it probably should.

With your back turned to him as you open the refrigerator, he’s unable to see your expression, but he hears you hum in response – a sound somewhere between amusement and contentment.

“But if I'm going to be staying here for any amount of time, the food situation is going to have to improve. How do you live like this?”

He sighs, remembering the current state of the fridge and cabinets. He ended up settling on an overripe banana for breakfast. He normally reserves grocery shopping for his off days – Mondays or Tuesdays – but those days had been occupied with traveling to and from Colorado this week.

“I’ve got some errands to run today,” he starts, feeling an inkling of nervousness settle in the pit of his stomach. “Get some groceries and refills on Charles’ medications… if you wanted to come with me.”

He tells himself that he invites you because it just makes sense – of course you need to familiarize yourself with the area that you're going to be living in, even if it's just temporary. It's important to know where the closest grocery store, and gas station, and pharmacy is.

And it also just makes sense that he would be the one who to show you around. Charles can't even go to the bathroom by himself and Caliban is allergic to the sun.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

“I could be persuaded to go with you,” you drawl. “If…” You trail off, leaving Logan to look at you with a cocked brow.

“If you let me ride in the backseat of your limousine?”

••••••

“Well? Was it everything you thought it would be?”

Logan sits directly across from you in a small booth at a mom-and-pop diner. It’s nearly noon and you had yet to eat today, so Logan made the last minute decision to pull into the restaurant’s parking lot after acquiring Charles’ medications.

“What?” you question as you swallow a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes. It may not be breakfast time anymore, but he knew you would appreciate the fact that this place serves all day breakfast.

“Being chauffeured around in a limousine.”

“For some reason the limo smelled like a Christmas tree farm exploded in it,” you say nonchalantly. “But the driver insisted on taking me out for all you can eat pancakes so I’m still going to leave him a good review.”

“I’m sure he had a perfectly good reason for his limo smelling like that,” he retorts in mock defense. “But he probably should try to take care of that before he goes back to work tonight,” he adds, making a mental note to pick up some air freshener at the store.

A cheeky grin spreads across your face. You look like you’re about give him some kind of smart remark when the waitress walks over to the booth with a steaming pot of coffee.

“Good to see you in here with someone for a change,” the older woman, who Logan knows is named Lucille without having to look at her name tag, remarks as she tops off both of your mugs. “Did you finally take my advice?” She asks Logan.

“Every time he comes in here I tell him that he needs to get on one of those dating apps,” she says to you before he can answer.

You immediately cover your mouth to keep from spewing your coffee across the table.

Logan’s face heats up by ten degrees. He should have known better than to trust Lucille to be able to read the room.

“No,” he snaps. “I have not downloaded Tinder. Or Bumble, or Hinge. Maybe you should give them a try and stop worrying about my love life.”

He shoos her away, but she just cackles and slaps him on the shoulder.

“Honey, I’ve been married for forty-five years.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s your ring?” He asks, nodding towards her naked ring finger.

“We’re not allowed to wear jewelry on the clock, Nosey Nelly,” she jabs back. You sit silently, watching the interaction with pursed lips to keep from laughing.

“Nosey Nelly,” Logan grumbles under his breath as he fishes his wallet out of his pants pocket. He pulls out his debit card and slaps it into her palm.

You finally release a snort of laughter when Lucille waddles away.

“I take it that’s your best friend?”

“Believe it or not, she’s an improvement from Caliban.”

The two of you finish your meal with easy flowing conversation. You tell him what led you to Colorado, and about how you worked part time at a veterinarian’s office and part time at a bookstore. He tells you about some of the drunk, unhinged customers that he's had in his limousine lately.

It’s easy for him to forget that less than forty-eight hours ago, he hadn’t seen you in over a year.

Before your lives were irrevocably altered, you had been one of the closest friends he had ever had. One of the most important people in his life. Sitting across from you now, it’s too easy for him to remember why that was.

••••••

Logan’s reluctant to go to work tonight.

And it’s not just because he fucking hates his job and isn’t in the mood to tolerate the bachelor party currently occupying his backseat.

To an extent, he’s always nervous to go to work. He works night shifts because Charles sleeps at night, and is therefore less likely to be triggered into a seizure during the nighttime hours. It’s the safest time for Logan to be away.

It hasn’t happened before, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t. And with you now at the smelting plant, he worries about it happening while he’s away even more than he typically would.

He arrives at the strip club that the groom had requested he drive to and parks. They all drunkenly stagger out of the back of the vehicle, leaving Logan to relish in the silence after the door slams shut.

He pulls his phone from his coat pocket and sees that he has no messages.

He’d told you to text him if you needed anything, so it’s a good thing that you haven’t, right?

It’s just before midnight, so you're most likely asleep. The lack of a text is probably not anything as drastic as the conclusions that his brain is jumping to.

Still, he can't stop his fingers as he types out a message and hits send.

How’s the new bed?

After your brunch date – Lucille's words, not his – the two of you bought enough groceries to feed four people for a week and then went to the only furniture store in town to find you an upgrade from the fold out cot that they'd happened to have on hand when you arrived.

His phone dings just a minute later. He releases the breath he’d been holding before even reading your response.

It’s a major improvement. You were right - not too soft, not too firm. Though it feels a whole lot bigger than it did in the store.

He reads over the text at least five times and thinks back to your time in the mattress store earlier that day.

The first couple mattresses you tested out were too soft, the next few too firm. Logan didn’t mind that you were being indecisive – really. He was secretly relieved to have an excuse to spend more time with you, away from Caliban and Charles.

He laid down on a mattress that you hadn’t checked out yet and instantly thought that it was significantly better than his personal mattress at the smelting plant.

“What about this one?” He asks, patting the empty space next to him on the queen sized bed. You walk over to the opposite side of the bed and crawl in beside him. With your arms down at your sides, one rests against his. The mattress is more than big enough for you, but with him next to you, it’s a cozy fit.

He types: Is that a good thing or a bad thing? and presses send before he can overthink it. His screen shows that you read the message right away, and he can’t help but imagine the smirk on your face as you lay tucked beneath the covers.

The words ‘What do you think?’ appear on his screen.

He thinks he feels like a fucking teenager with the way that a few harmless, borderline flirtatious text messages from you has him imagining what it would be like to really share the bed with you.

His jeans begin to feel uncomfortably tight. He clicks the phone off and tosses it in the empty passenger seat beside him, before he says something that crosses a line that he can’t uncross.

••••••

The relief that your powers had provided Logan had been blissful but short-lived.

By the time he gets home from work at around four in the morning, his back pain has returned with a vengeance.

Everyone is asleep when he gets in, of course. He hobbles to his room as quietly as he can. Caliban and Charles are in the water tower, but he doesn’t want to wake you up. He hopes that by the time that you’re both awake later today, the pain will have subsided in his sleep.

Two hours after he lies down, he realizes that sleeping it off is an impossibility with the amount of discomfort he’s in. He’s done nothing but toss and turn in a futile attempt to find a comfortable sleeping position, the extra strength ibuprofen and his heating pad only doing so much to ease the stabbing sensation at the base of his spine.

He knows the answer to his problem is just down the hallway.

But it's early – the sun is just now starting to rise and he has yet to hear you stir from your room. He can't bring himself to wake you up over some back pain, knowing that you'll need to use your powers to help Charles soon.

He sits up with a deep groan, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. If he already can't sleep, he may as well make something to eat and settle the rumbling in his stomach.

Taking slow, short strides, he walks back down the hallway to the kitchen as quietly as he can manage.

He comes to a halt when he sees your door open, your head popping out from around the frame.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask, your voice huskier than normal with sleep.

“How’d you guess?”

You step into the hallway, still in a pair of plaid sleep pants and an oversized crewneck.

“Your bed creaks every time you move.” You cross your arms over your chest, standing less than half a foot away from him. There’s evident concern on your face when you take in his stiff posture. “This place has thin walls.”

“Sorry to keep you awake.” He looks down at the ground, embarrassed. “I’ll stay in the living roo—”

“Don’t be silly,” you stop him. You grab his hand in yours and begin to pull him back in the direction of his bedroom.

He thinks about protesting – part of him wants to tell you that you shouldn’t bother. He thinks he should tell you that he appreciates it, but he’s a lost cause, and the relief will only be temporary.

But your hand is too warm and your skin is too soft and in the end, he isn’t strong enough to deny himself the feeling of your touch, so he let’s you lead the way to his bed.

You drop his hand to position yourself on one side of the bed. You don’t get underneath the comforter, but you do pull it back on his side so that he can crawl beneath it.

His isn’t quite as big as your new bed – it’s only a full size mattress, so it’s even more cramped than when the two of you laid on the mattress in the store yesterday, but he isn’t complaining.

It's unchartered territory for you two, this type of intimacy. He doesn’t remember the last time he shared a bed with anyone, but if there’s one person on the planet that he trusts enough to allow next to him in such a vulnerable state, it’s you.

“Lay however is most comfortable for you,” you instruct him gently.

He maneuvers onto his side, facing you. You copy his position, your faces inches away from each other’s on a shared pillow.

“Now close your eyes,” you whisper.

He does as you ask, and then feels your palm rest against the thick stubble of his jaw. Your thumb grazes across the skin of his cheekbone. He melts into your touch before you’ve even started using your powers.

“Is this okay?” you murmur.

“Mm-hmm,” he sighs against your hand. “Could just lay like this for a while and I’d probably fall asleep. Don’t even need to use your powers.”

You snort and run the tips of your fingers through his beard.

“How about I do both? That okay?”

He nods, too tired to think about stopping you.

He falls asleep to the soft hum of your powers within minutes, and dreams of the color purple.

••••••

Over the next few weeks, everyone falls into a comfortable routine.

You continue to work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and then again in the evenings. Your powers help him more than Logan ever could have hoped for. Not only is this the longest he’s gone without having a seizure in months, but he’s also increasingly lucid and alert, and more like his old, spunky self than ever.

Most weeknights you cook dinner for everyone, and Tuesdays become the day that you join Logan in going to town for a weekly grocery restock and brunch at the same diner that he first took you to a few weeks ago.

He tries not to make it too obvious, but it quickly becomes one of the best parts of his week – even with Lucille’s relentless teasing about how there’s “no way you’re just friends” and Logan would be “the biggest idiot on the planet to not lock you down”.

Neither of you ever put much energy into disagreeing with her.

The other best parts of his week occur early in the mornings, before daylight breaks and Charles and Caliban are still sound asleep. He gets home from work and you move from your bed and into his, relieving him of any physical discomfort he could be experiencing from hours of driving around and lulling him to sleep.

The first few nights, he’d wake hours later to find that you had escaped back to your own room after he’d fallen asleep. Then, one morning, when he woke up, he opened his eyes to find your face resting against his shoulder.

You stopped bothering to go back to your own room after that.

This evening – Christmas eve – Logan sits on his bed and stares at the gift that he’d gotten you while you finish preparing the dinner that you’d been working on for the last few hours.

He feels silly. There hadn’t been any discussion on getting each other gifts and he worries that it’ll make you feel weird.

It’s an espresso machine – nothing too fancy, but it’ll get the job done. You had recently mentioned how much you miss the espresso machine that you had in Colorado. The house you had been renting came furnished, which included an espresso machine that you were unable to bring with you to Mexico.

He stopped by a Target before work a couple nights ago and picked it out. To top off how silly he feels, he’d completely forgotten to buy wrapping paper or even a gift bag, so he’ll just be handing it to you as is.

“Dinner is almost ready!” He hears your voice call from the kitchen.

The smell of honey glazed ham and fresh rolls wafts down the hallway. He places the box containing the espresso machine on the floor beside his bed, planning to give it to you after Charles and Caliban go to bed in a few hours.

When he rejoins everyone in the common area, Charles is watching Home Alone and Caliban is gathering plates and silverware for everyone while you remove a large dish of baked mac and cheese from the oven.

“Smells great,” Logan compliments as he grabs a beer out of the fridge. “Anything I can help with?” he asks, as if you hadn’t all but shooed him out of the kitchen just an hour ago.

You place the casserole dish on a trivet before grabbing one of the plates that Caliban had set out.

“Yes, actually,” you say, surprising him. You hand him the plate with a small smirk. “You can make Charles a plate.”

“Oh, can I?” He takes a step closer to you, taking the plate and grinning down at you. “Are you sure you trust me to do that?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you’ve been alive two hundred years and haven’t taken the time to learn to cook.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to have you teach me-"

“Would you two stop flirting and get me some ham?” Charles voice booms over the television and silences you both.

Logan notices you purse your lips to keep from smiling as you turn your attention back to the spread of food across the dining room table.

Soon, you’re all four sat around the dining room table with plates piled high with traditional holiday dishes. Logan is halfway through clearing his plate when Charles clears his throat to speak.

“This is wonderful,” he directs at you. “Thank you very much. You know, this all feels very familiar to me…” he trails off, glancing between you and Logan from across the table. The smile on his face fades, and in it’s place appears an expression of confusion.

From the corner of his eye, Logan sees your grip on your fork tighten.

“Thank you, Charles,” you tell him. You try to sound cheerful, but Logan doesn’t miss the nervous edge to your voice. He knows that you’re noticing the same thing as him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

“Yes, these candied sweet potatoes are delicious,” Caliban interjects in an obvious attempt to maintain easy conversation. “You'll have to give me your rec—”

“This feels so familiar,” Charles repeats and all three of you go silent.

In his gut, Logan fears that he knows what is coming. It always starts this way. One minute, everything will be perfect. The next, something triggers a memory, or a feeling, and Charles is hit with the weight of the past – with the weight of the trauma that his brain normally blocks out.

“This feels like… how Christmas used to feel. When we’d have dinner at the.. at the mansion. With all of our friends before I.. before I killed them—”

“Charles,” Logan says firmly, but Charles continues to stare into space. “It wasn't your fault. Okay? Let's enjoy this nice dinner. Do you want some more green beans—”

But he’s unable to finish his sentence before it begins. The exact thing he’s been the most terrified of since you arrived here weeks ago.

Across from him, Caliban's face is frozen in agony. Beside him, your mouth is open as if to scream, but no sound comes out. Every one around him is still, and his body suddenly feels a few hundred pounds heavier.

It's been weeks since Charles’ last seizure, but Logan knew it was too good to be true – knew that it was bound to happen again eventually. He'd planned for this, knowing the effects of the psionic energy would hurt you as they do Caliban.

Logan forces himself into a standing position by pushing off of the dining room table, and then takes as big of steps as he possibly can to get to the opposite side, where Caliban and Charles sit.

He ignores the blinding nerve pain all over his body, he ignores the intense ringing in his ears, he ignores the way it feels as if all of the air has been ripped from his lungs and reaches down to grab the bag of medication from the compartment beneath Charles’ wheelchair – where he's made sure to keep it, in case of this exact scenario.

Despite his shaking hands, he manages to retrieve an injection and uncap it. He jabs the tip of the needle into the flesh of Charles’ shoulder with as much force as he can muster, then collapses to the floor beside him.

Charles releases a grief stricken groan, realizing what had happened. Logan hears both you and Caliban gasping for air.

“I'm sorry,” Charles cries. “I'm so sorry..”

Logan pulls himself off of the ground using the edge of the table and instantly turns his attention to you. Your eyes are wide and your hands are visibly shaking in your lap, but you exhale the breath you'd been holding when your eyes meet Logan's.

You push your chair back, standing and closing the distance between the two of you. Your hands grip the tops of Logan's biceps. He instinctively rests his on the sides of your stomach.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your voice wobbly and several octaves higher than normal.

“I'm fine,” he assures you delicately. “Are you okay?”

You nod, hesitantly at first and then more confidently as you take him in and seem to realize that he really is alright.

“I'm fine too,” Caliban grunts from across the table. “Don’t worry yourselves with me.”

Logan and you both quickly retract your hands, breaking the embrace. You turn your attention to Charles, who seems to be in another world.

“Charles? Are you alright?” You ask him softly.

“Hm?” He hums as he glances up at you. “Oh, yes. I’m alright. I think.. I think I’d like to go to bed now,” he murmurs. Logan, you, and Caliban all exchange glances before Logan tosses the bag of medication to Caliban.

“Give him a double dose of the suppressants and some sleep medicine,” Logan instructs him. Caliban nods wordlessly and wheels Charles away from the dining room table, towards the smelting plant’s door.

Once they’ve left the building, Logan turns to you. You look visibly shaken, and he can’t blame you. He remembers all too well how frightening the effects of the seizure was the first time he experienced it. Even with this one being relatively short lived, he knows it had to have been more painful and scary for you than it was for him.

“I’ll clean all of this up, okay?” He says, gesturing towards the half eaten dinners and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. “You go relax. Take a shower, lay down for a while—”

“Really, Logan. I'm okay, I prom—”

“Will you do that for me?”

To his surprise, you don't object any further. You give him a small nod, and a comforting squeeze to his hand as you walk past him.

He doesn't release the sigh of both relief and frustration that he’d been holding in until he hears the shower turn on a few moments later.

••••••

As soon as Logan finishes tidying up from dinner, he cuts two small slices of an apple pie you had baked and puts them on a plate for the two of you to share.

Your door is slightly cracked, the soft orange light from your table lamp spilling into the hallway. He knocks quietly and waits for you to tell him to come in.

You’re in your pajamas, tucked under a blanket with a book partially obscuring your face. You do little to acknowledge his presence, so he takes a seat on the edge of your bed and places the plate of pie beside him.

The room looks significantly different than it did just a few weeks ago. In addition to the new bed, you'd also acquired a vintage dresser and an area rug that you’d found for cheap at a thrift store. You have books in piles throughout the room, one of the things that you were most adamant about bringing with you from Colorado.

“Charles is alright,” he tells you gently. “He must have just been really tired. He didn’t nap much today. Caliban said he fell asleep really quickly after taking his medicine.”

“Except that wasn’t why he had a seizure,” you sigh, closing your book. Logan now has a better view of your face, and the first thing he notices is that your eyes look red-rimmed and watery. You sit up straight, and he inches closer to you on the bed.

“Hey, what’s going—”

“It was definitely my fault that he had a seizure,” you sniffle, looking at him with defeat.

“What? No,” Logan shakes his head. You have a blanket draped across your lap, but Logan places his hand on your knee over top of it. “What makes you say that?”

“I always work with Charles for an hour in the mornings and an hour in the afternoons,” you start, frustration evident in your voice. “But this afternoon, I cut our session short because he wasn’t really in the best mood and I wanted to get started on prep for dinner.”

You wipe underneath your eye with the sleeve of your shirt and look away from Logan’s gaze.

“Sweetheart, you can’t blame yourself for this,” he assures you as he rubs slow circles on your knee with his thumb. “He was having seizures almost every single day before you got here. You’re not the reason he had a seizure today. But you are the reason he’s been able to go weeks without having one.”

“Okay?” He prompts when you don’t respond. You finally look him in the eye again, and offer a small nod of agreement.

He hands you the plate of apple pie, earning a small smile from you.

“Wait here. I’ve got something for you,” he tells you as he stands up and begins walking towards your door.

“Something for me?” you question, but he’s already halfway down the hallway.

He grabs the espresso machine from beside his bed and heads back to your room. He still feels nervous to give it to you, but right now he’s just hoping that it will help cheer you up.

When he re-enters your room, you’re forking a bite of pie into your mouth and freeze when you see what he’s carrying. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, still holding the box. You sit the plate of pie on your bedside table and scoot closer to him.

“Logan, you didn’t have to,” you murmur. He hands you the box and you hug it to your chest, but only look at him. He thinks your eyes are starting to look watery again. “I feel so bad. I didn’t get you anything—”

He waves his hand in dismissal, not surprised at all by your reaction.

“I know I didn’t have to. Just wanted to. Is that okay?”

You inspect the espresso machine with a bashful grin. “Thank you. I love it,” you assure him with a gentle squeeze to his hand. “I just wish I had gotten you something, too.”

“That’s not necessary,” he says, staring down at where your hand holds his. “You give me everything I need just by being here.”

You go still at his words with a look he can’t quite read on your face. You pull your hand away from his before placing the espresso box on the floor next to your bed. The hand that previously held his comes to cradle his face, your thumb grazing along his cheekbone. He turns his head ever so slightly to the side so that his lips graze against your palm. He kisses the skin once, then twice, and your eyes flutter closed.

His heightened senses don’t miss the way your heart rate picks up, or the way that you hold your breath as his lips linger on your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” He murmurs into the side of your hand. You open your eyes, your pupils dilated.

“Same thing I’ve been thinking about for years now,” you whisper as you lean forward, pulling his face to you.

You capture his lips in yours, opening up for him without hesitation. He slips his tongue into your mouth, the sensation simultaneously feeling brand new and like you’ve done this dance a hundred times before.

He scoots further back onto the mattress, away from the edge. He pulls you with him, guiding you onto his lap. You straddle him, his hands resting on your lower back. You fist your hands around the fabric of his flannel, pulling him flush against you.

It's years of pent up desire and longing that you pour into each other. You drag your teeth along the swell of his bottom lip and he groans into your mouth, resisting the urge to buck his hips up against your center.

He knew you looked sweet, smelled sweet – but never would he have guessed that you’d taste even sweeter. Even if it weren’t for the faint hint of cinnamon and apples from the pie you’d nibbled on, he’d think you were the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

You grind down against the uncomfortable bulge contained by his jeans and whimper – the prettiest sound he’s ever fucking heard and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You pull back, your chest heaving from lack of air.

“Why didn’t we do that years ago?” you ask breathlessly. He reaches up to your face, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he answers quickly. His eyes lock on your kiss swollen lips and he thinks you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now – staring down at him with puffy lips wet with his kiss. “But now that I’ve kissed you, I’m not gonna stop. Gonna kiss you for as long as you’ll let me.”

And to prove his point, he starts trailing wet, open mouth kisses along your jaw and down your throat. You throw your head back, giving him unhindered access to the skin of your neck. He alternates between kissing and nipping the tender flesh, leaving a damp trail across your skin.

You grab at the hem of your shirt and Logan pulls away to allow you to tug it over your head. You’re left naked from the waist up and Logan is left feeling like his cock is going to break through the zipper of his jeans.

With your tits directly in front of his face, he latches his mouth to one nipple and palms the other in his hand. You rock yourself against his erection, chasing the relief that the friction provides you.

“Logan,” you pant from above him. “Please—”

He pulls his mouth away from you with a wet pop, leaving your nipple glistening and taut.

“Tell me what you want, honey.”

You let out a low whimper at the pet name and drag your fingers through his hair. He toys with the waistband of your pajamas pants, popping the elastic band lightly against your skin.

“Your mouth,” you say, the words somewhere between a whine and a plea. “I wanna feel your mouth on me.”

He groans at the bluntness of your words. Hearing you say that you want his mouth on you has his cock throbbing in his pants.

“Yeah?” He taunts as he maneuvers you off of his lap. He quickly tugs his own shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. Your eyes trail down the expanse of his chest, your mouth slightly agape.

He tilts your head so that you’re looking at his face again and tugs at your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

In that moment, he hopes you never stop looking at him like that.

“You gonna sit on my face?”

You nod, eagerly. You push your pajama pants down past your ass and thighs, and Logan helps pull them the rest of the way over your calves and ankles. You lean forward, reaching for the waistline of his jeans and fumbling with the button until it pops open.

He sees you completely naked before him and his brain goes momentarily blank. He can’t believe he actually gets to see you like this – bare for him and more perfect than he ever could have envisioned.

And believe him, he had tried. Nothing could have prepared him for how it actually feels to see you, touch you, taste you after years of yearning for you.

“Lay down for me?” You ask with a small laugh, snapping him out of his trance. He does as you ask, placing his head on one of your pillows.

You straddle his chest, your back to his face. He helps you inch backwards until your pussy hovers directly over his mouth. He pauses for a moment, spreading your thighs apart with his hands to give him a clear view of your already dripping cunt before yanking you the rest of the way down to his mouth.

You moan as soon as his tongue slides through your wet folds, bracing your hands on the defined planes of his chest. The sweet and salty tang of you fills his mouth and he has to resist moaning goddamn, I love you into your cunt.

He could get drunk off of the flavor of you.

You grind yourself against his face, your juices coating his beard and your inner thighs. He’s so focused on working you with his lips and tongue that he doesn’t even notice you pushing his jeans and boxers down until he feels his cock spring back and slap his lower belly.

“Fuck,” you moan at the sight of him. You pump him in your hand, smearing the pre-cum from his slit down his shaft. “You're so big. I don’t know how you’ll fit inside me.”

He hears you spit, then feels it drip across his tip. You smear the warm wetness down his length and press a kiss to the side of his cock before taking him in your mouth. The head nudges against the back of his throat before you pull back, then ease back in, slow and deep.

He’s always loved your lips, but right now he’s doesn’t think he could ever love them more. He wants to watch as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head along his length, but that’s going to have to wait for another time.

Right now, he’s right where he wants to be. He has your swollen clit locked between his lips, sucking on it to the point that your legs quiver around his head. You lean forward, pressing your chest against his stomach as you run your tongue down the entirety of his cock and stroke him in your hand.

“I’ve waited so long to taste you,” he grunts from beneath you. The vibrations of his voice making your pussy clench around the finger that he teases your hole. “This cunt’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

He eases his index finger past your entrance, your walls constricting around the digit. “And so fuckin’ tight,” he adds, pumping in and out of you as you begin to move forwards, then backwards, up, and then down – grinding against his finger.

“Logan, I'm gonna cum,” you cry and it makes his balls tighten. He feels it – the way you gush around his finger and the way your legs clench around his head.

You ride out your orgasm above him, and then collapses against his chest. Your skin is sticky with sweat against his, despite the fact that the current cold front has the smelting plant colder than normal tonight.

You roll off of him, falling onto the mattress next to him. Your slick glistens on your thighs in the soft glow of your lamplight. It's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, he thinks. You fucked out and delirious from your climax.

But he thinks he might fucking die if he has to spend one more second of his abnormally long life not knowing how it feels to be buried inside you.

He helps pull you into a sitting position, and then lays you down in his place. Your tits heave as you try to regain control of your breathing. He's on his knees, fisting himself in his hand as he nudges your knees open. Your eyes are locked on his cock, a look of half excitement and half terror.

“You can take it, honey. I know you can,” he coos.

He slaps the tip against your clit, then glides it up and down your wet length. Not entering you quite yet, but coating himself in your slick. He looks down at himself next to your pretty, wet cunt and imagines how it’ll be to see it sliding in and out of you.

“Just been a while, that’s all,” you say, pulling him down to the by the back of the neck. He lines himself up at your entrance, nudging just the tip in. Even that’s a stretch for you, he can tell by the way your mouth forms an O shape.

He goes still for a moment – for your sake, but for his own, as well. He has to adjust to the warm tightness of your pussy before he trusts himself to go any deeper.

“I know, baby. Been a while for me too. Been waiting for you for a long time.”

He slates his lips over yours, kissing you messy and deep as he slowly sheaths himself inside you. He stills again once he’s buried to the hilt, and breaks the kiss to look down at you.

“You okay?” He murmurs. He props himself up on one forearm by your head, and brings his free hand to roll one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You give him another eager nod, and wrap your legs securely around his hips, hooking your ankles together just below his ass.

“Mm-hmm,” you sigh. “Need you to move now, Logan.”

With his cock throbbing inside you, he doesn’t make you tell him twice. His length drags along the soft, spongy interior of your walls as he pulls out and eases back in. He gives you a few languid, slow strokes to accommodate the newfound stretch before it's hard for him to hold back.

He gets lost in it all – in the wet, tight heat of your cunt, in the sounds that your bodies make as he repeatedly snaps into you, in every expression on your face and every noise that slips past your lips.

You snake your arms around his abdomen, your hands coming to rest on his lower back.

“H-how’s your back?” You stammer out as he continues to piston his hips forward.

“I've never been better,” Logan grunts, resting his sweat slicked forehead against yours.

It's the truth. He’s never felt better than he does right now, between your legs – even if he is feeling this in his back. He'll deal with any and all repercussions later, once he's felt you cum around his cock while you cry his name.

You smile up at him as if to say wanna bet?

You flatten your hands across his skin at the base of his spine, and he doesn’t have to be able to see it to know what you're doing. He's experienced the effects of your powers enough by now to recognize them instantly – the low vibration they emit and the immediate warmth that spreads throughout his body.

“Gonna make me cum, honey,” he warns you. “Feels too good.” He feels your walls constrict around him when he calls you honey.

“Kiss me and I’ll cum with you,” you tell him in a breathy voice that he could listen to talk in all fucking night.

He kisses you again, this time more hurried than anytime before as he chases both of your releases. He spills into you with a deep groan as your cunt spasms around him. You moan his name into his mouth until he stills inside you, the last ropes of his cum filling you up.

He isn’t sure how long the two of you stay like that – with him still tucked inside you, laying pressed against you with his face nuzzling the crook of your neck. You trail your fingers up and down his spine, the sensation the only thing grounding him to reality in his post orgasm haze.

Finally, he pulls back enough to look down at you.

“Stay here,” he says earnestly. “Stay with me. Don't go back to Colorado. One day, we’ll go anywhere you want to. Just the two of us. But right now, please stay—”

“Logan,” you shush him gently. “I wasn’t planning on going back to Colorado. Or anywhere without you.”

He exhales, and kisses you on the forehead before finally pulling out of you and plopping down beside you. He tucks you between his chest and his arm, your head resting just above his heart.

“You know, this new bed of yours is a whole lot comfier than mine,” he comments casually.

“Hmm,” you hum and tilt your head to look up at him. “You should probably sleep here tonight. For your back, of course.”

He laughs, sleep threatening to overtake him at any second. He presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“I'm not going anywhere without you, honey.”

••••••

some of my other logan works

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

by the end of the night - worst variant logan has nightmares and mutant reader with emotional regulation abilities helps him sleep better

claw kink drabble

thank you so much for reading 🫶🏻

[shellshocklove]

snapshot | old man!logan

pairing/AU: old man!logan howlett x female!reader

summary: short on money for rent, your joke about starting an only fans account, to earn some extra cash, goes over logan's head. but when an accident with charles puts your life in danger, logan takes you up on your offer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! friends with benefits vibes who are also idiots in love, implied age gap, swearing, mentions and drinking of alcohol, use of pet names, logan's a bit of a grumpy dick, sex work, logan can't use a phone, logan can carry reader but he's also extremely strong, smut, praise kink, a little size kink (basically logan has a big dick), dom!logan, logan's got a dirty mouth, a little dacryphilia, sloppy blow job, facial, cum play, no use of y/n

a/n: a little disclaimer. i actually have no idea how OF work i only read the wikipedia page, so i've taken some liberties with it to fit it with the plot lol. the idea for the reader as charles' caretaker is inspired by @joelsgoldrush's fic never is a promise <- incredible fic that everyone should read! and also a big thank you to @guiltyasdave for all the encouragement on this fic!! <333 happy reading! <3

main masterlist / ao3

The coffee tasted sour on his tongue as he waited, engine running on empty, but the whiskey kept his throat warm. Behind the apartment complex the sun crawled up the horizon and split the the dark asphalt in pieces with streaks of blinding sunlight. The street lights shut off just as you walked out, the rickety door slamming shut behind you.

Watching you round the front of the limousine Logan pulled his seat forward, his rough hand grabbing the wheel as his left foot tapped impatiently on the footrest. A tickle in his throat had him greet you with a cough, and he brought his fist to his mouth.

"Morning to you too," you said, voice laced with sarcasm.

"Don't fuckin' slam the door like that– I've told you a thousand times," Logan grunted back and put the car in drive.

This was routine at this point. He picked you up in the morning after driving all night, and dropped you off again in the evening before he started his shift. Employing you took a large wad of cash out of his pocket, but at least he didn't have to worry about Charles being taken care of. You weren't a registered nurse or anything, not someone who'd had all the right references and education, but you needed money and didn't ask questions, and that had been perfect for Logan. He'd hired you about a year ago, and everything after had been routine.

When you didn't say anything back, only shifted your weight in the seat and leaned your head against the window, it pulled at something inside Logan. He couldn't deny you were a beautiful woman. He liked the way your nose curved, how soft your skin felt against his cheek every time you'd given him a reluctant hug, and he liked the way you smelled. It was primal, and in another life Logan would've had you in his bed already, but in this life, Logan was done with beautiful women.

Still early enough for the roads to be empty, Logan pushed the speed limit as he waited for you to speak – to finally say something trivial like you did every morning – some song you'd just discovered, or the plot twist in the reality program you watched every night, or how they were out of your favorite yogurt at the grocery store. He'd reply with a grunt, or with nothing at all, just letting you talk.

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan noticed how you picked at the skin around your nails, and when the sharp metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils, he heaved a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong with you?" he grumbled. A lilt of annoyance coated the words, and Logan hated how your silence had affected him. His harsh tone didn't seem to bother you, and the realization cut like a knife; biting down, Logan's jaw clenched.

"It's nothing."

Logan had to hold back the scoff he wanted to let out, "Clearly it's somethin', kid."

Finally, a reaction out of you. Pushing yourself to sit up straight, you let out a sigh as you turned your head to look at him. "My landlord raised my rent again… I'm thinking about how I'm gonna pay rent this month. I'm gonna be a few hundred bucks short," you told him.

Oh.

Gripping the wheel a little tighter, Logan couldn't help himself from asking, "You tellin' me you're quittin'?"

He couldn't blame you, he thought he paid you a fair wage, but it seemed that everything had gotten more and more expensive lately. The rides had been few and far between and the tank of gas didn't take him as far anymore. The weekends kept him afloat, along with bachelor and bachelorette parties, prom nights, and knuckleheaded business men too fancy to drive a regular cab to the airport. Had it not been for Charles' medication he'd give you a raise. Logan wasn't stupid, he knew he couldn't do this without you.

"No," you shook your head, "I wouldn't do that to Charles."

But you'd do it to me, Logan thought and let the words unsaid hang in the air between you as he pulled onto the dirt road leading to the smelting plant.

"I'll figure something out," you said, before a smirk teased over your face, that smile breaking forth the old you hidden behind this morning's melancholia. "Maybe I should start an Only Fans or something," you laughed.

"What's that?" Logan grunted, too focused on keeping his foot soft on the brake and avoiding the potholes to hear your joking lilt.

"Only Fans?" you questioned, one eyebrow raised in surprise before your eyes softened at the corners. "It's a social media platform for porn," you explained, "It's subscription based so you make an account and people pay a monthly subscription to see your content."

Porn?

Slowing down to a stop outside the gate, Logan put the limousine in park, the engine still humming.

"And how's that gonna help you pay rent?" Logan wondered, turning slightly in his seat to finally get a good look at you.

You were quiet for a second, eyes searching his face before the sound of a distant train had you looking away, almost bashful. "It's ridiculous," you muttered, "I don't have anyone to do it with anyway."

Before Logan could cough up an answer your hand found the passenger door, and a gust of sharp desert air seeped in. "I'll figure out the rent somehow… Sleep well, Logan," you told him, a wistful smile coating your features, before you climbed out the limousine and opened the gate. His eyes stayed glued to you as he drove past you, flicking to watch you close the gate after him in the rearview mirror. When you headed for the tank without your usual wave, a frown pulled at his face.

Stepping out of the limousine, Logan watched you leave, watched the way your hips swayed with new interest. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he found his flask – desperate to quench this fresh thirst with the last sip of burning alcohol, smoothing his dry throat. 

The cold coffee left a brown splatter as he discarded it; the coffee seeped into the sand. Inside the steeled walls he now called 'home' reeked of dust, like stepping into an antique shop, and Logan couldn't hold back his cough. Walking deeper into the plant with heavy steps, the old trinkets and equipment told a story of time passed.

So much time had passed.

Hanging his suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs Logan started working the small buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before tossing it gently over the ironing board. Food would have to wait, he already knew the fridge wasn't stocked. Instead, he found the bottle of whiskey he'd left on the table, grabbing it by the neck before he took a large swig.

The whiskey helped, at least that's what he told himself, but his senses never dulled enough and the weight never got any easier. Sitting down heavy on the bed, Logan drank long and hard, but he couldn't keep his thoughts from trailing to you and what you’d muttered. I don't have anyone to do it with anyway.

What was it you'd called it? Just Fans? No, that wasn't right… Only Fans.

Logan remembered the first tape he ever saw; it had been the 70s, a summer in California, at some party he'd been forced to by a beautiful woman. The tape had been projected onto a wall in the living room, like background noise no one paid attention to. It had been lewd and obnoxious, but no one had seemed to mind, high as kites and drunk as skunks. Soon, Logan hadn't minded either, whisking away the woman to make his own private porn in one of the bedrooms.

Behind the woven fabric of his slacks, his cock twitched at the thought, but it wasn't the porn playing at the party, or the memory of the woman he'd fucked that filled his mind, it was you. 

It was innocent at first; the way your front teeth nibbled on your bottom lip as you pondered your next move in a game of chess opposite Charles, how your eyes sparkled under the low streetlights as he drove you home at the end of the day, and how your perfume had filled the limousine and clung to his skin that one time you'd left your jacket in the passenger seat. His hand came down to rub over the growing bulge in his pants, soothing the growing ache with a hard press, pulling a rumbling moan from his chest. 

Soon the innocent memories of you turned to filth. Logan's mind filled with images of you underneath him, his cock buried balls deep in your wet cunt as you withered for him. Then, as quickly as the first image had come, another took its place: of you on your knees with your mouth stuffed with his cock, gagging around him and swallowing him down like a good girl.

With each rubbing press to his cock, Logan couldn't shake the rolling images of you. It was wrong, never had he thought about you like that, never had he wanted to think of you like that, but once he'd started, he couldn't stop.

Working his fingers, it was almost instinctual as they moved to undo the button of his pants. His hand dug into his front, large hand palming himself with hard presses, as his cock hardened. Trailing his fingers upwards, stopping right above the elastic band of his underwear, his hand so close to wrapping around himself, a hint of shame pulled him out of the gutter.

He shouldn’t think about you like that.

Pulling away, like he'd burnt his hand, Logan let out a deep grumbling sigh. Leaning back on both hands, he let his head fall back as he squeezed his eyes shut. In his pants his cock throbbed with need. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, so long since he'd felt the velvet walls of a tight cunt wrapped around him, too long since he'd felt like he wasn't a monster, if only for a few blissful seconds.

Bringing the neck of the whiskey bottle to his mouth, Logan drowned his need in  temporary numbness, focusing instead on how the warmth filled his chest and dulled every ache. Falling back with a heavy bounce, he nursed the bottle in the crook of his thick arm, letting his eyes fall shut.

Logan couldn't remember the last time he wasn't tired, couldn't remember when his body didn't ache with every move. His veins bled through with rust and alcohol, and he hoped the latter made the corrosion run smoother.

His eyes fluttered shut, and the same flashing images filled the darkness. Years of fighting, years of killing, all the people he'd lost. It was the same show every night, and every night it tore a piece of him away, of his joy.

The bottom of the whiskey bottle clanked sharply as it hit the floor and a cough got stuck in his throat. It ripped and jerked in his chest, and he keeled over himself, fighting against it. When his head hit the pillow again, his eyes didn't fall shut, they trailed the walls, found the holes of blinding daylight seeping in through the holes in the corrugated metal sheets, and his thoughts found you again.

Curiosity got the best of him, and a hand dug into the back pocket of his pants for his phone. The small icons and text blended together as the screen lit up his face. When Logan held the phone a little further away the screen only got blurrier. With an exasperated sigh, he sat up, his body protesting as he grabbed his suit jacket off the dining chair, digging into the inner pocket for his new glasses.

Slumping down in the chair, his glasses resting at the tip of his nose, he tapped at his phone. He rarely used the thing outside of work, but suddenly he tapped at something that made it speak to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't quite get that," his phone said.

"Hello?" Logan spoke back.

Again his phone lit up and the voice answered. "Hello, what can I help you with?"

"What is Only Fans?"

……..

Fitting a brittle leaf between your thumb and pointer finger, you studied Charles' plants. The table always looked a mess after he'd tended to them, dirt spilled onto the table and tools thrown haphazardly about. Cupping your hand, you brushed the dirt into your hand, and discarded it into a pot you thought needed it.

Flicking your wrist, you looked at the time again. It was getting late. Usually by this time, Logan would have you halfway home already. Resorting to cleaning up the tools, you decided to give him half an hour before you'd start looking for him. He never slept in, although you could clearly see he needed it. 

Logan wasn't a man to show weakness, not to anybody, rather, he showed his teeth, barking and fighting against you or anyone who dared speak to him. It had intimidated you at first, and you'd held your tongue, afraid he'd bite your head off, but in time you'd come to realize that his gruff demeanor was just that, a façade. 

Charles on the other hand, senile and more and more forgetful, was the opposite of his son. On good days he beat you at chess while he told you stories about 'the good ol' days'. His imagination was vast, telling stories about the X-Men like he knew them, like he'd been a part of them, and especially by nightfall his stories would become even wilder. He'd tell you about his 'abilities', how he could read minds. He'd tell stories about Logan too, tragic ones, that if it hadn't been for the stack of comics you'd found, you would've almost said they were true.

Finding the chair by Charles' bed, you watched him deep in sleep. A heaviness could be felt in your chest as you thought about how his good and lucid days had seemed to get fewer and fewer lately. You found yourself having the same conversations with him, and once again today, he didn't want to get out of bed, telling you his head hurt. 

You wished you knew more of his condition, but Logan wouldn't tell you anything other than that Charles suffered from seizures, and if he didn't get his medication the consequences would be great. The way Logan had said it to you, his voice sharp and strict, it sounded serious, and in the year you'd taken care of Charles, you'd been diligent with his medication. Not once had you experienced a seizure with him.

Reaching over him, your palm found Charles' cheek. Stroking your hand lightly over his face, you felt the prickling stubble against your skin. His comment earlier about his head, had you worried. Logan usually supplied you with Charles' medication – from where you didn't know – there hadn't been any doctor's visits or health checks from what you could recall.

Maybe Logan didn't have insurance? It was your only explanation, a reason for why he'd found a more creative way of caring for his father. 

In a way you respected it, hacked an unknowing crack in Logan’s harsh façade– he cared. Only respect didn’t keep you from wanting Logan to tell you more, to open up, but wringing out more than a grunt from him was difficult. Instead, you made sure to let him know when you were running low on the pills and injections, and usually by the next day he'd hand over a new bottle. 

Stroking over Charles’ cheek, another chill of nervousness ran up your back where a worry tugged at your neck. 

Yesterday, after a week had passed since you'd asked Logan for more medication. He’d told you not to worry, that he’d have the pills soon, but running so low you'd had to resort to rationing Charles' doses.

Pulling back your hand, your eyes found your watch again, but before you could register the time, Charles stirred beside you. Then, an excruciating blinding pain permeated through your body. It rang in your ears and had your body shaking in agony, but at the same time you couldn't move. You wanted to scream, let out the pain that froze you to the chair, but no noise came out. When your vision started to go foggy, you thought that this must be what dying was like, but never would you have thought dying would feel this painful.

Through the ringing in your ears, a heavy creak of the tank door could be heard– or was it a trick your brain played on you in your last moments? Like the broad figure moving closer, slowly, too slowly, like it walked through water. You couldn't see who it was, but you didn't have too. Surely, your brain showing you Logan in your last moments, must've been a trick. The figure hovered over Charles, maybe it feasted on him first, reaped his soul as an appetizer before it would have you.

And just as quickly as the pain had taken you, the pain stopped.

Heaving for breath, your body fell forward, it was like the air couldn't fill your lungs quick enough. Two large palms cupped your cheek, tilting your head to Logan's frowning face. If you didn't know better you thought he looked scared.

"You okay?" he barked, your head rolling in his hands, "Hey! Bub, look at me."

You found the strength to nod your head, but Logan seemed far from convinced. He swiped his thumb over your cupid's bow, a flash of red coating his thumb and his face turned to stone, his frown so deep it looked chiseled.

Then he moved with an uncharacteristic haste, hiking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the tank. Closing your eyes, you tried to put your brain back together the way it used to be, but everything felt scrambled. When your back hit the soft mattress of a bed, you finally opened them.

Over you, Logan's large form hovered. He said something to you, but you only registered his mouth moving, your eyes glued to his pink soft lips, and your vision cleared completely.

"Drink this," he ordered, shoving a glass of water in your hands, and just like that your hearing had snapped back. "'m gonna go check on Charles– don't fucking move."

With no energy left in your body, you wouldn't dream of it. Logan watched you take a careful sip, the water lukewarm, before he left you in what you finally realized was his bed. The first sip nourished your dry throat, like you’d walked for miles in the desert without tasting as much as a drop. Surging forward, you chugged the rest of the water before you fell back against his pillow, clutching the glass in the crook of your elbow.

The smell of him on his sheets overwhelmed your weakened mind; a deep heady smell with a warmth to it, woven through with the heaviness of man. It soothed your mushy muscles, helping release the tension in your body.

The time passed differently now, fast and slow at the same time, and after an eternity and a second Logan was back. The weight of him where he sat down at the edge of the bed, had your whole body tipping towards him. His large palm found your cheek again, the rough pads of his fingers soothing over the skin.

"You doin' okay?" he asked, his deep voice filtering through a hint of worry.

"W-what happened to him– to m-me?" you managed to croak out.

Logan's heavy hand didn't move away when the furrow between his eyebrows deepened, the one that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face.

"He had a seizure," he told you, like it was obvious, taking the glass of water from your hands,

He must've caught the way your face turned, the confusion that flitted across it, one that spelled 'seizures don't affect other people'.

"Listen," he started, drawing back his hand, "There’s no other way of explainin' it to you other than tellin' you that all those stories he's told you about him– about me… they're all true."

The frown that deepened over your face at his words, must've challenged the permanent one over Logan's face. "W-what? The stories about the X-Men?"

"Yes, the X-Men– Is he talkin' a hole through your head about anything else?"

"No, but… there aren't any more mutants."

"Not new ones,” he sighed, “But we're old, sweetheart– the last there is." His voice went quieter and quieter as he spoke, a hint of sadness eating the words, before his palm found your cheek again. "You see… Charles he's a very powerful mutant, and years ago he started a school for mutants–"

"–I know all of that already Logan– he told me," you cut him off, "I never believed him, I thought he was just confused– the stories they–"

"–I know, bub," this time he cut you off, but he let the next words linger on his tongue. Drawing back his hand, his eyes found the wall behind the bed. "I never meant for you to get hurt– it's my fault. If he gets his medication he's fine, but… you ain't the only one who's a few hundred dollars short– it's been a slow month."

Before you had a chance to reply, Logan rose on his feet. "The seizures messes with your brain, so get some rest. I'm gonna get his medication, and I'll wake ya in the mornin'." Logan didn't wait for you to protest before he grabbed the car keys off the table, and left you alone in his bed. 

Outside the moon climbed the sky, and the new darkness, along with your scrambled brain, had your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier.

……..

"Wake up, sweetheart."

Logan's gruff voice pulled you from a dreamless sleep; a sleep like you'd just closed your eyes. Blinking, your heavy eyelids pulled shut just as quickly as you'd opened them, leaving you with a snapshot of Logan's body hovering over you. You hummed, sleep coating your brain, while your body felt like you'd put it through the wringer at the gym.

"It's mornin'."

You tried again, blinking your eyes open with more success. Logan's black suit jacket was nowhere to be seen, instead he adorned a white tank top. Letting your gaze roll over him, you noticed the scars etched into his skin, so many scattered up and down his strong arms, and suddenly the memories of last night filtered back into your brain.

"Logan," you whispered so low even you weren't sure you’d heard it.

"I'm takin' you home, alright? I'll watch him today," he told you.

When Logan told you something, he meant it. Leaving you in his bed, it was like a replay of last night as he grabbed the car keys and black suit jacket off the table. 

Slowly, you sat up and leaned on your elbows, letting the world spin for a minute. Your clothes from yesterday clung to your skin, and you felt both cold and sweaty as you got out of bed.

With each step you took every muscle ached, but somehow you managed to walk out the door. The burning light of the morning sun blinded you, and with one hand raised you shielded your eyes from the harshness while you walked closer to the humming impatient motor of Logan's limousine. Just as you'd sunk into the leather seat and managed to shut the door behind you, Logan stepped on the gas, and the smelting plant vanished in the rearview window. 

When you'd finally left the dirt road behind and hit the highway, you cracked the window ever so slightly – the morning air blowing away the last of your tiredness. The closer you got to the city, the more your stomach growled. You hadn't had a thing to eat since lunch yesterday, the aftermath of Charles’ seizure knocking you out before dinner– you needed something to eat.

"Can we stop here?" you asked and pointed at a sign advertising a diner off the next exit.

"I'm drivin' you home," Logan replied, his eyes glued to the road.

"Logan, please, I'm starving," you begged with a pout.

A beat passed, his fingers tapping over the wheel as he weighed his options, then his eyes found yours where they lingered. Staring back, you didn't know what to do. Logan wasn't a man that said yes, he liked things done his way. You bit down on your bottom lip, showing off your front teeth like a silent 'please' written over your face, and Logan huffed.

The loud buzz of conversation hit you first when you stepped into the packed diner, Logan in tow. Waiters ran back and forth between the booths lining the windows, taking breakfast orders and pouring coffee, and at the sound of the bell as the door swung shut behind you, one of them looked up at you.

"Seat yourselves," she said with a smile as golden as the syrup poured over hotcakes, "I'll be with you in a jiffy."

Walking deeper into the diner, you found an empty booth in a quiet corner. Logan seemed pleased, never too keen on people, and after what you'd come to know after last night, you could understand his hesitation.

Logan. The Wolverine.

You remembered the comics from when you were a kid, remembered this one kid in your class in elementary school that had been obsessed with them, reading every issue and Wolverine had been his favorite. He was a scientist now, last you heard, and here you sat opposite the comic character himself.

"Mornin', what can I get you guys?" the waitress asked, pulling up to your table.

"Um," you grabbed at the laminated menu in front of you, your eyes scanning over the breakfast items. Everything looked good, your stomach growling loud as you took in the pictures, but then again you didn't think you'd ever been this hungry before.

"Just coffee f'me, ma'am," Logan grunted.

"Could I get a stack of the blueberry pancakes… and a coffee for me too, please?" you ordered, watching the waitress with the name tag 'Stacy' write down your order.

"That'll be all for you guys this morning?" she smiled.

"Yes, thank you," you returned her smile.

"Alright, I'll be back in a second with your coffees."

While you waited for your pancakes, Logan wasn't much company. He sipped his coffee, black and piping hot, as he leaned against the corner of the booth, legs spread wide, watching the people coming and going. In the silence between you, you decided to study him while you sipped your own coffee. He must've felt your gaze over him, from the way he clenched his jaw, but he never turned his head to look at you, instead he let you look.

When your pancakes finally arrived, you dug in immediately. Fresh, hot and deliciously pillow-y and soft, it was the best thing you'd had in a while. The blueberries weren't too sweet, cutting through the sweetness of the pancakes with a tangy taste, while the bitter taste of your coffee woke you up and filled you with new energy.

"So," Logan suddenly spoke up, almost making the piece of pancake you were chewing on go down the wrong pipe. "How you feelin'?"

"Like I'm having the worst hangover in human history," you joked, "But better now after some food and caffeine."

Logan only hummed, turning his head back to people watching as you ate your pancakes. His silence had a frown work over your features when you placed your knife and fork down to sip on your coffee. He'd been so quiet all morning, which in truth wasn't new, but there was something about him now, something about the way his scowl dug a little deeper into his skin that had you asking:

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothin'," he answered, curt and to the point.

"Clearly it's something," you pried with a tilt of your head.

Another beat passed, before he leaned forward, a cough getting stuck in his throat. It sounded worse than it was, he'd told you once. So, you sipped your coffee, your eyes flitting away like you needed to give him privacy.

"I've been thinkin' about your proposal," he finally said, and you felt your eyebrows pull together in a frown.

"Wait?" your eyes found his, "What proposal?"

"About that subscription thing– the porn," he waved his hand, and leaned back again.

"Only Fans?" you asked, keeping your voice low, "It was just a joke, Logan."

"Well, maybe it's an idea for the both of us. I need money for Charles' medication, and you need money for rent– it'll just be us earnin' a little extra on the side, a win-win situation."

Letting his words sink in, you mulled over his idea in your brain. It wasn't like you weren't attracted to Logan, in truth, you'd wanted him to fuck you for a while now, but it had only been a fantasy, one to conjure forth late at night when you slipped your hand into your panties. To have it become a reality, served up by Logan himself on a silver platter, you'd never imagined.

How could you say no?

"Okay," you said, your voice breathy as what you'd just agreed to settled in your stomach. Having a little more cash in your account every month wouldn't hurt, and getting dick regularly sounded just as nice, it had been too long. "I'm in."

Logan only replied with a curt nod accompanied by an approving grunt, "Now eat your pancakes so we can get goin'."

………

"Cold feet?"

With the limousine parked outside your apartment building, a week's worth of anticipation came to a head. You and Logan hadn't really talked much in the days passed since the diner; Logan's main interest more in you feeling better after experiencing Charles' powers for the first time. He'd let you have a few days off, to heal up, to which you'd taken the opportunity to do some research and set up an Only Fans profile. Currently it was blank, but tonight that would change.

"No," you shook your head, telling true. "You?" you asked, turning in your seat to face Logan.

Logan eyes darted across your face. He never looked at you like that, and for a moment the oddity of the situation, of what you were about to do, settled in your stomach.

"No," Logan finally decided, and reached for the door handle, “Let’s get it over with before it gets too late.”

At his movement, you reached forward and grabbed his forearm, "Wait!"

With a grunt, Logan turned. "What?" he asked, his eyes settling on you with an eyebrow raised.

"I-I have an idea," you told him, and you didn't know why you stumbled over your words. With your hand still wrapped around his arm, his eyes fell to your touch, lingering before they found yours again.

"I was thinking–" you started, retracing your hand, "Well actually… I just restarted taking birth control and I wanted to settle into it before we have sex, so I thought maybe– if you want to of course," you rambled.

"Spit it out, bub, I ain't got all night," Logan cut you off.

"I thought maybe I could suck you off– here in the limo," you 'spat' out your suggestion, your front teeth immediately coming down to bully your bottom lip.

"You want to suck my cock… here?" he repeated. Leaning back in his seat, you didn't know if he spread his legs on purpose, or if he unconsciously drew your eyes to the bulge hidden behind his slacks.

"Yeah, I mean…" you shrugged, "I thought it could be hot? Like something that people would want to see?"

"Right," Logan hummed, reminded of the invisible audience, and reached for the key in the ignition.

Leaving your apartment building in the rearview mirror, Logan searched for a more secluded place to park. The windows in the back of the limousine were tinted, impossible to look into, but you didn't want to take the risk of getting caught. After finding an empty parking lot, backing up and occupying a more private space in the back corner, Logan guided you around the limousine with a hand resting gently over the small of your back. Climbing into the back with you, his broad form filled the space.

Inside, he'd turned on the lights, the colors slowly fading in and out and casting soft shadows across his features. The leather creaked as he sat down, his spread legs already inviting you to slot between. A fleeting feeling of nervousness tickled in your tummy, the reality of what you were about to do washing over you like a wave on a stormy ocean.

Logan watched you from his seat, a picture of sin in his suit, as he slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and fished out his glasses. His jacket fit snugly over his wide shoulders and he'd undone the top buttons where you could glimpse curling chest hair. The way he looked at you through the glasses, eyes dark and curious, had a warmth of arousal starting to pool in the core of yourself.

Clearing your throat, you spoke up, "I was thinking I could set my phone up here–" you pointed to the space between the leather seats and the window. "And then you could use your phone and film me?"

After a little bit of fiddling to get your phone to stay upright, you turned to Logan, your phone capturing your slow walk towards him. He sat with his legs spread wide, his large palms resting on either side of his thighs. When you reached for the hem of your shirt, his finger twitched, digging into the leather, and a toothy smile spread over your features.

Tossing your shirt you sunk to your knees and slotted between his legs. Looking up at him through your lashes, you held his gaze as you sat pretty for him, fanning out the skirt you'd worn specifically for today. He reached for his phone and pressed record when you curled your hands behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra, capturing your bare chest.

The air nipped at your exposed skin, making goosebumps ripple over your skin. Looking up at Logan, his eyes burned against your skin where he took in your breasts, his eyes glided over your bare skin for the first time and soothed out the bubbling nerves that had been brewing. When your eyes caught on the tent growing in his pants, you had to restrain yourself from surging forward, your mouth already watering at the thought of tasting him for the first time – of your wet dreams becoming a reality.

"S'pretty," he murmured, voice deep and guttural, soaked in arousal.

He cupped your cheek gently, the rough pad of his thumb skating over your skin bringing with it a calming safety. Your eyelashes fluttered as you tilted your head into his hand, desperate to feel more of the weathered skin of his hand against your body.

"Y'sure you want this, sweetheart?" he asked.

Opening your eyes, you held his gaze. "Yes, please," you nodded in his large palm, "It's the only thing I've thought about all day." And it was the truth.

"Shit, baby," he groaned in response, dragging his hand down your neck to rest heavy over the top of your breasts. "S'that so?"

Gathering your hands in your lap, you nodded slowly, your teeth caught on your bottom lip as his hand brushed over your right breast. "Thought of how you'd taste," you confessed, the phone in his hand forgotten as you focused entirely on Logan.

"Yeah?" he prompted. One knuckle brushed over your hardened nipples, pulling a quiet whimper from you– pleased he leaned back, "Take off my belt, then."

Bouncing on your knees, you leaned forward on his command, and pulled the leather belt from its loops. You did it slowly, tilting your head upwards to catch his eyes through the glasses. He helped you with the zipper, making you watch as he dragged it down.

With your eyes fixed on his hand you noticed three barely healed scars between every knuckle, and you remembered who Logan really was. The Wolverine. He caught you looking, and his hand tightened into a fist, tightening it for a beat before he relaxed it over his thigh. Leaning forward, you placed a soft kiss over his knuckles, and his hand dug into his thigh.

"Sweetheart," he breathed out, his voice strained.

In the depths of your chest you felt a pinch, a tiny stab in your heart that felt too real, too personal for what you were about to do. Willing it away, you leaned back on your ankles instead, your hands dipping into the waistband of his pants to pull down his slacks. Lifting his hips to help you ease them down, a quiet grunt escaped him, a deep sound that traveled down your spine and pooled in your core.

Behind the soft cotton of his underwear the firm hard line of his cock strained against the fabric. The sight of him, large and heavy, and hidden, had your eyes widening with lust, and a slickness soiling the gusset of your panties.

"You want my cock, don't you sweetheart?" he coaxed, his free hand finding your jaw where he cupped it, squeezing your cheeks together.

"Y-yes," you breathed out, your smile straining against his grip before you dropped your mouth open, showing him your tongue.

"There you go, baby– good girl," he praised, pressing his thumb down on your tongue and rubbing the saliva around. A soft moan caught in your throat at the praise, and behind the camera Logan's eyes darkened at his new discovery.

Wrapping both your hands around his wrist, you held his hand in place as you closed your lips around him. Slowly, you moved your head, up and down, up and down, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked on his thumb like you would his cock. Logan's eyes were intense behind his glasses, his jaw clenching tight while he stared into your own.

"Such a filthy little thing f'me– so desperate for my cock down your throat you'll suck anything, ain't that right?"

A choked moan escaped you; they way he talked to you adding fuel to the fire in your core. Between the seam of your cunt you ached, wet arousal dripping into your soiled panties. He must've watched the way you melted for him, your brain turning to mush in front of him, because when he pulled his hand away, he laughed. A deep guttural thing from the depth of his chest.

"C'mon little angel," he tapped at your cheek, "Let's put you out of your misery."

Clouded in arousal, your brain stalled at the nickname, and you felt a new gush of arousal spill between the seam of your cunt. Logan's nostrils flared and a wild darkness settled over his face.

Shifting on your knees, you leaned forward to palm him through his underwear. Making sure to flick your eyes up at him (and the camera), you dragged your finger up and down gently, seductively, before you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his clothed length. Above you, Logan sucked in a breath, his free hand coming down to pet your head and press your face firmly against his bulge.

You couldn't help but breathe him in. Breathe in the heady deep scent of man, cheap whiskey and cigars – the unique scent of Logan. When you let out the softest little sigh, you felt him twitch against you, and quickly his hand on your head traveled down to the back of your neck where he pulled you back with a harsh yank.

You yelped.

"No more teasin'–" he reprimanded and let go of you, "Be a good little angel and make me come."

Logan leaned back into the leather, his body relaxed and inviting with one hand still occupied with filming you. Watching the deep furrow forming between his brows, and the way his eyes burned your face through his glasses, you could tell he wanted to take control, make you do what he wanted.

With a curling smile, knowing full and well you had the upper hand with one of his hands occupied, you slipped your eager hands into the elastic waistband of his underwear and tugged.

A wild and wiry patch of graying hair met you first, and you felt a flock of eagerness flutter in your stomach. Tugging the fabric down slowly, you made a show of revealing just an inch at a time. When you finally reached the end of him, you felt the wet head of him graze your cheek, leaving a streak of precum, as it sprung free.

His hard cock bopped heavily in front your face, and you felt your eyes widen at his size. He was big. The hefty length of him cushioned against his balls hanging heavy over the band of his underwear. Reaching a shaky hand forward you took him in your hand for the first time and familiarized yourself with the thick weight of him. With your other hand you traced the thick veins that lined the girth of him, memorizing every ridge and freckle before coming up to thumb at the fat tip where a pearl of wetness beaded.

A mix of awe and uncertainty pooled in your chest. How in the hell were you gonna fit all of him down your throat?

"'s okay, angel," he cooed, his heavy hand back to stroke over your head. His touch soothed you, a rhythmic warmth that shed all your insecurities.

With a content sigh you leaned forward and parted your lips to press a soft kiss to the leaking tip, pulling a "There you go, good girl, open your mouth f'me," from Logan. Urged on by his praise, you got a little braver. Flattening your tongue against him you started with a few gentle, teasing licks to the tip, your tongue dipping into the slit to taste him in earnest.

Above you, a groan rumbled in Logan's chest, a sound that had you eagerly taking more of him in your mouth. Suckling carefully on the fat tip, you let your tongue tease the underside of him, humming in content when you felt him harden even more in your hands.

Letting the excess spit run down the length of him, it pooled over your hands where they struggled to wrap around the thick girth. Slick sounds came from your hands when you started to move them over the soft skin, coating him fully in your saliva with every tug.

"Shit, bub, y'look so fuckin' good around my cock," Logan's voice vibrated from his chest, "But y'can take it deeper, can't you? Take that big cock down your throat?"

Well, you would certainly try.

Your knees dug into the carpeted floor of the limousine, pressing a deep pattern into your skin. Popping off his cock, you sat up a little more and shifted your weight. Looking up at him through your lashes, you were reminded of the camera pointed at you. Looking straight down the barrel of his phone you sunk down further on his cock.

Dropping your jaw, you felt your lips stretch as his hefty cock filled your throat. All too quickly the head of him kissed the back of your throat and you had to fight your gag reflex. Pulling off with a gasp, your eyes widened as you looked up at him.

"It's so big," you told him, both of your slicked hands jerking him in a slow rhythm.

"I know, angel," he cooed, his thumb running over your cheek. Leaning forward again, you placed a soft kiss to the fat head, and he hissed, "Too big f'you?"

"No," you shook your head, smearing the head from one corner of your mouth to the other, spreading the precum leaking onto your lips, and humming at the taste of him. "It's perfect– taste so perfect," you said through a pillowy kiss to the head.

With a buck of his hips, he pushed back into your eager mouth, slipping the fat head through your swollen lips and into your flexed throat, "That's it– right where it belongs, huh?"

Fitting him as deep as you could down your throat you felt dizzy with desire, an almost overwhelming feeling; the smell of him so close, how he filled your mouth and made your jaw ache. When your nose pressed into the grayed patch of wiry hair at the base of his cock, you spluttered with need, spit soaking the length of him as you came off him with a cough.

In an instance, Logan was on you, his free hand petting your cheek as he searched your eyes, "You okay?" I wouldn't be until after, when you edited the video that you'd realize he'd dropped the phone, focusing only on you in that moment.

"Yes," you replied, looking into his eyes with a toothy smile, "I want more– I want your cum."

"Fuck," he hissed, letting go of your cheek and leaning back into the leather seat, pointing his phone at you, "Go on."

Fitting him back down your throat again, you got lost in it as you found a rhythm. With a hand stationed at the base, you bobbed your head, letting your tongue dance over the length. More saliva dripped down and pooled over your hand, slicking up his pubes. It was messy, and hot, sticky and wet. Above you, Logan muttered praises between grunts and moans, encouraging you to take him deeper and deeper.

Feeling your throat loosen with every bob of your head, you pushed down and swallowed around him. Your eyelashes fluttered as you gagged and coughed, tears starting to prickle from your eyes, but you were determined to please him– to make him feel good.

When his hand came down to wrap around your throat, his thumb skating over your neck to feel himself, your eyes rolled back in your head in pleasure – the sight of you making Logan let out a deep growl. He kept the hand clasped around your throat as he started to buck his hips, feeding you his cock in small lazy thrusts.

"Right there, angel, so fuckin' good f'me… my good girl– choke on it," he mumbled.

You hummed around him at the praise, the vibrations pulling another deep moan from him. Fucking your face, bubbling spit trickled out the corner of your lips, soaking him and the coarse hair on his balls where they slapped heavy against your chin. Slipping a hand between your thighs, you couldn't help but touch yourself through your underwear – the white cotton translucent and drenched with your arousal.

Chasing his high, Logan's thrusts started to come quicker. More and more saliva overflowed, dripping down your bare chest and slicking you up in depravity. The grip Logan had around his phone was lazy, but he made sure to capture the way the shifting colors of the low limousine light gleamed over your slicked up chest.

"Such a good fuckin' throat–" he growled, squeezing around your throat as he pushed himself as deep as he could. Your nose brushed the wiry patch of his pubic hair, and you felt yourself start to gag around him as your lungs squeezed and throat tightened. He kept you down as you spluttered and swallowed around the length of him, and when the edges of the world started to blur he pulled you off with a jerk.

Gasping for air and filling your lungs with lost breaths, the hand Logan had wrapped around your neck was now pushing your own hand away to wrap around himself. The tears on your cheek mixed with the strings of saliva on your chin, as you looked up at him through fluttering lashes. Watching him stroke his cock, your eyes widened with interest as you shifted on your knees to sit up straighter.

His hard cock pulsated and throbbed with need as he stroked. Up and down you watched his hand; watched how beads of precum drooled over his fingers, mixing with your saliva before it dripped down onto your chest. A primal feeling came over you – an urge so strong to taste him come undone and claim you as his.

"Please," you begged, the fat head ghosting against your lips with every jerk, "come for me, please– wanna taste you so badly."

Logan's grunts and growls grew deeper and wilder as he stroked himself faster. "Look at me, angel," he ordered, and when your eyes locked with his, combined with a final hard stroke, he aimed the wet tip towards your face and came hard.

The first pump of his sticky warm seed, made you flinch before a smile widened and you leaned closer. Dropping your mouth open, he came all over your face, coating your cheeks, your nose, and forehead. Thumbing at the tip, he aimed at your waiting mouth to squeeze out the last few drops, and he finally let you taste him.

Wrapping your lips around the head, you suckled around him through content hums. You were covered in his cum, claimed, feeling the sticky seed drip down the bridge of your nose. You loved the way he tasted, salty and bitter, like Logan.

When the feeling of your tongue dancing over his sensitive head became too much, he pulled away with a hiss. His phone was still aimed at your face, and a little more clear-headed he filmed the aftermath of his orgasm closer.

"Even prettier with my cum on your face, angel," he said, letting his finger drag over your skin to collect his cum.

Pretty.

"Thank you," you whispered, your throat hoarse as he fed you his cum.

You hummed around his finger as he cleaned you up, making sure not a single drop would go to waste, and when he was pleased with his work after you'd shown him your empty tongue, he cupped your cheek.

"Good little angel," he told you with a pad, and pressed the stop button on his phone.

Back at your apartment the buzz of the excitement of the night lingered as you replayed the scene on your computer. You thought about Logan, about where he was and who might sit in the seat where you'd sucked him off only hours earlier. You thought about how filthy his mouth had been, and how much it had turned you on. And lastly, you thought about how you couldn't wait to see him again, and for him to finally fuck you.

Editing the video together, the last thing you did before you fell asleep was upload. Logan had taken a photo of your hand over his clothed cock before he'd left you, a picture that was now set as your profile picture. All tuckered out, you closed your computer and fell back against your pillows, dreaming of the smell of leather and cheap whiskey.

James & Angel ✨👼 📍 Texas subscribers: 15,478

1 post: "cute girl gives older limousine driver a sloppy blowjob"

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hopefully this was okay? i have concepts of a part 2 lol so please don't ask for it. instead, a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and/or tell me what you'd comment under james' & angel's first video! my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[mistyorchid]

Logan's Girl

Old Man!Logan x fem!reader

summary: A sentimental anniversary gift for Logan reveals your biggest insecurity—saying three vulnerable words. inspired by this ask :) warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, fluff, some suggestive elements (gets a little steamy you guyss), established relationship, age gap, reader is 21+, insecure!reader, pet names (baby, darlin', bub, doll), I'm a hopeless romantic. wc: 1.8k

This wasn’t you. It couldn’t be. The figure swathed in delicate lingerie has to be a figment of your imagination, a misty apparition in the mirror. Surely, you were staring back at a different woman’s face. You wanted to wrap yourself in something sheer, something to heighten the overwhelming feeling of sensuality that you had learned to love and trust.

It was unbearable to watch him leave the warm oasis of your bed every night. “‘M sorry, baby. Gotta take this shift,” he sighed. He ghosted the words happy anniversary against your lips before pulling a velvet box from under the nightstand. Logan marveled at how your eyes shined just as bright as the pearlescent necklace.

You blush as you remember how his strong hands gently traced your collarbones before fastening the dainty jewelry around your neck. The romantic gesture made your heart swell with pride in being his.

He had been somewhat of a lone cowboy before you met; indulging in alcohol and one-night stands in dive bar bathrooms. You managed to rope him in and cement his life in something tangible. Every time you heard the iron door rattle against the smelting plant’s walls, you prayed to the night sky to protect him from harm.

Logan chastised your insistence on feeling so immensely—he often joked that your emotional sensitivity was a hallmark of “your generation,” a crack meant to be salved and fortified. He knew, however, that your concern for his mental well-being stemmed from a place of genuine concern.

It’s been four hours since Logan crossed the threshold of your home onto the organic gravel of the earth. An unbearable void in your heart that called for him to return is soured by an uneasy wave of dread stemming from your current predicament.

It looks like the Hallmark Channel rented your bedroom for an intoxicatingly sweet, PG-13 love scene. Although, your thoughts bordered on NC-17. The sap didn’t stop there. A fresh trail of rose petals was scattered on the floor, leading from the front door to a glossy, heart-shaped box of truffles on your bed.

Skittish tendrils of insecurity creep up your body until a surge of warmth festers behind your cheeks. In the time it took to pace a hundred laps around the bedroom, two more hours passed. A harsh clanging sound reverberates against your brain. You pray that it’s a figment of your imagination, a temporary symptom of your shame-induced anxiety.

Logan haphazardly kicks off his boots while loosening his tie. “I’m home, darlin’!”

Shit. You're totally fucked. That is the plan, but hearing Logan’s heavy steps against the linoleum floor sends you into an irrational frenzy. Your body reacts faster than your mind, quickly darting around the room to turn off the lights and dive under the comforter. “Great,” you whisper into the sheets. The room is pitch black except for the warm flicker of candles artfully placed on the nightstands. You wonder if Logan would find the dimly lit interior sexy or off putting. Surely, hiding under the covers like a goddamn vampire would get him rock hard.

He knocks to the tune of Shave and a haircut—two bits, a classic rhythm almost as old as him. Geriatric fucker.

“You decent?” he inquires. Two years together, and he still asks permission to open a closed door. He raised your standards for how a man should act from the depths of hell to the gates of heaven. He’s unbearably traditional sometimes, and you love it.

You wonder, then, why you regret the scent of lavender that lingers in the air. It’s a fragrant piece of evidence that smells too much like I love you. It was easy to lose yourself in the warm embrace of his body, molding yourself to his wandering hands. This display of romantic affection was too sappy, even for you.

“Yeah, come in,” you exhale before burrowing into the warmth of your bed. Maybe if you sink deep enough you’ll be swallowed whole.

Logan’s brows quirk upwards as he surveys the room, unable to identify the source of your voice. You know it’s time to face the music when he flicks the light on, illuminating everything.

His feet crunch softly against the petals strewn across the room, progressing towards the edge of the bed. Logan plops onto the comforter, knocking over the box of chocolates. He winces as he strains his back to retrieve it from the floor.

Logan gently peels the comforter away from your shrinking form. “What’cha doin’ under there, bub?”

You meet his eyes with a sheepish turn of your head, preparing for a judgmental gaze that would validate your insecurity. Instead, all you hear is a gruff laugh pour out of his mouth. 

“Hiding,” you reply meekly. His insistence on staring into the depths of your fucking soul is not helping. Goosebumps rise along your form as Logan slowly pulls down the rest of the blanket, finally revealing the sheer babydoll dress that clings to your breasts and floats everywhere else. 

Logan lets out a low whistle. “Jesus,” he whispers, “This for me?” 

You cross your arms over the lingerie. “Yeah, but I’m embarrassed—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he interrupts. Logan tugs on the end of the central ribbon until it loosens, revealing the tantalizing line of your cleavage. “Lady as lovely as you shouldn’t be embarrassed.” 

You’re quick to apologize. “I’m sorry. . .”

He stalls his hand as if he’s been burned. Your immediate reaction is to apologize again, but Logan silences you with an unabashedly needy kiss.

“Hush. I’m tryin’ to open my present.” He toys with the pearl looped around your neck, admiring how the smooth texture rolls between his calloused fingers. It serves as a familiar allusion to the duality your relationship provides—softness and raw grit intertwining to form an unbreakable union.

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling insecure under his shameless gaze. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” He drops the pearl charm and grazes your chest, smirking when he hears your breath hitch. It’s almost unsettling, how fast you unravel for him.

“How was work?” You inquire, hoping it convinces Logan to focus on your face instead of your exposed skin.

He hastily removes all of his clothes save for his boxers before tossing them onto the floor. “Same shit, different day,” he mutters. The days are long, the nights even longer. You never talked about the gruesome collage of wounds and overworked scar tissue that plagued his skin. Over time, he leaned into your healing presence, allowing himself to dissolve under the tender insistence of your care.

You giggle. “Miss me?”

Logan lovingly pats your hip with an outstretched palm—a familiar signal that he wants to take up prime real estate in your bed. The more, the merrier.

He shuffles under the covers and pulls your body parallel against his own. You shiver as his lips hover over the shell of your ear.

“‘Course I did,” Logan sighs. He draws comforting patterns along the length of your arm, effectively luring a subtle shudder from your parted lips.  “Heart’s poundin’, baby—You’re breathin’ awful fast. Gives me the impression this feelin’s mutual.”

The night is quiet, laced with an unspoken yearning. A wave of anxiety tells you to move, to seek shelter somewhere else, in someone else—an anonymous man who doesn’t know anything about you other than the fact that you’re a warm body. You bury yourself into Logan instead, feeding into the restlessness that radiates throughout your soul.

He hums into your neck. The sound is so domestic that your heart aches and blooms all over again.

Logan curses as he feels your hips subtly rock back into his sturdy frame. “I guess it is,” you agree. His palm caresses the strong curve of your jaw before turning your head towards him.

The hazel pools of his eyes have borrowed the depth of the night sky. He speaks in a reserved, yet ravenous tone.

“C’mon, darlin’. Gimme some sugar,” he mumbles against your lips. You comply, not because he ordered you to, but because his insistence washes away any feelings of doubt that sullied your mind.

An airy sigh echoes throughout the room, silently parting the air and ricocheting against Logan’s sensitive eardrums. He wraps his arm around your soft stomach, earning a faint whine. “Stop, Logan,” you plead. Cheesy anniversary gifts aside, one constant source of insecurity was your belly. Logan absolutely adored it, but you loathed the physical evidence of your sweet tooth.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says while shifting his warm palm to rest on your hip. “But don’tcha love it when you’re soft an’ I’m—” Logan pulls your ass flush against his noticeable bulge. “—hard?” He continues. You feel his smirk melt into the open expanse of your neck.

You allow yourself to be manhandled by Logan. It takes your breath away every time, cliche phrasing be damned. He uses his firm grip to turn you around until you’re face-to-face with his stupidly rugged . . . face. Ugh. You don’t know what’s come over you.

Logan’s warmth is all-encompassing. His hand wanders along your body before lightly caressing the back of your head to bring you further into his embrace. You let out a soft hum that vibrates against his chest.

A few minutes pass without any words at all. This is Logan’s comfort zone—intentional silence that gives him the space to communicate with action. The only difference now is that he indulges in quietude as a form of serenity rather than hostility.

“Hey . . .” he whispers. “You fallin’ asleep?” Each tender swipe of his hand flushes your cheeks.

“Mhm,” you affirm, faintly nodding. “I’m sorry, Logan. I really wanted to give you your present.”

He quickly kneads the tense folds of your furrowed brow. Logan exhales into the peak of your hairline. “Don’t worry, doll. ‘M tired too.”

You let out a sigh that’s deeper and more sustained than Logan’s. You don’t have to look down to know that he’s still hard. A tell-tale sign of his sensual pull towards you blooms behind his chest in a kinetic rhythm. He keeps you close, everywhere except near his bulge. What a gentleman. 

Your eyes open, quietly searching in the dark for the motivation to speak, to be faithful. As much as you adore Logan, you both find it difficult to verbalize your feelings.

“I love you . . .” you whisper, directed into the ceiling and stars beyond it instead of towards Logan. 

His palm finds your jaw again. He hovers inches away from your face, allowing your breaths to meet and interlace. An inaudible request to connect. 

The kiss is unbelievably earnest. You find shelter against the plush of Logan’s lips. He leans his forehead against yours, once again playing with the pearl necklace wrapped around your neck.

“I love you.”

You have matching smiles. The allure of rest is renewed once Logan lets out a loud yawn. Then, laughter fills the room.

The last thing you hear before succumbing to sleep is, “Happy anniversary, doll.”

His pet name for you is apt. Cared for, admired, cherished. 

Logan’s girl.

an: It's been a while. Thank you anon for sending in this lovely request. I decided to not include smut because I wanting to portray something a little more wholesome than usual. These are real lines of comic dialogue that also inspired me. "Lady as lovely as you shouldn’t ever frown." "Heart’s poundin’, Jeannie—You’re breathin’ awful fast. Gives me the impression this feelin’s mutual. Wanna bet?"

tag list: @bratscave @elflutter @fairiebabey @pointyxsole @scorpiosaintt @th3mrskory

[writers-advocate]

thoughts on old man!logan because he deserves more love [tw: somnophilia]

old man!logan who has no idea really how he managed to score someone like you

old man!logan who tried to scare you off for ages, caving almost instantly when he gets that first taste of your soft lips

old man!logan who has learned to let you help with the claws because if you ever have a temper, it’s when he doesn’t let you take care of him

old man!logan who, despite “knowing” you deserve better, loves just how sweet you are to an “old dog” like him

old man!logan who finds himself looking forward to coming home to you at the end of each day. who pictures you in nothing but one of his t-shirts and can almost feel your soft skin under his rough hands instead of the worn steering wheel

old man!logan who finds you practically asleep, waiting up for him on the couch exactly as described. your arms circle around his neck loosely and you press sleepy kisses to his throat when he carries you to your shared bed

old man!logan who has to nearly coo to you because you whine when he gently pulls your arms from around him so he can go clean up

old man!logan who holds you to his chest while you sleep, like he’s shielding you from the world that’s already taken so much from him

old!man logan whose bones are just so tired

old man!logan who still wants to make his pretty young thing feel good. who more often than not, has his eyes open by the time the sun peeks through the edges of the curtains and relies on your much easier sleep to last while he moves

old man!logan who thinks he’s already gone to heaven when he settles between your thighs and lifts the hem of his your t-shirt above your hips, already drunk off your heady scent he’s been drowning in since last night

old man!logan who starts off so slow, tongue gently trailing up to your clit just to taste you

old man!logan who wraps his lips around your clit like his favorite candy because you are, but he doesn’t stay for long, pulling back to press gentle kisses over the sensitive nub instead. he didn’t have this restraint when he was younger. we’ll see how long it lasts now

old man!logan who manages not to wake you for the first hour but your sleepy moans and soft keens as you lazily squirm in the sheets, eyes still closed but now squeezed in your sleep, drive him insane. next thing either of you knows, his arms have your thighs locked in on either side of his head and he’s making out with your messy cunt like he’ll never see you again

old man!logan who spends the first hours of your morning between your legs until you’re crying and trembling, begging him for you don’t even know what anymore

old man!logan who simply reaches up to curl his hand over your smaller one to ground you

old man!logan whose bones may be tired, but he’ll never leave his angel unsatisfied

[emmcfrxst]

sending old man!logan off to run some errands with laura because you’re busy doing something, and about 15 minutes later you get a text from logan that says “should i leave her there? please tell me i can leave her there.” with this picture

[wolverinesprincess]

‘princess’ would simply hit different coming from old man!logan. on his lap, with his hands all over you, his raspy voice. you take off his reading glasses and kiss his lips softly before the kisses turn deep and passionate. it doesn’t take long before you start rubbing yourself on him. “easy, princess. i’m right here, i’ll give you everything you want.”

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x latina!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

“i need to learn spanish,” logan says out of the blue as you’re carefully doing your makeup. he likes to watch you get ready in the mornings, and though you don’t understand his fascination with the process you’ve been doing for years, it’s nice to have him around.

“is there a reason for this?” you ask, trying not to allow the conversation to distract you from the task at hand. you’ve gotten good at this, at both getting ready and talking to him, having conversations about everything and nothing, the kind of conversations he would never have with anyone else.

you met logan a few months ago, when he accompanied a group of mutant kids to canada, almost dying in the process to save them. he’d been on the verge of death when you found him, skin sallow and pale from the intense blood loss, breathing ragged. it hits you sometimes how lucky you are to have found him in time, to have been able to bring him back to his daughter - every day you’re infinitely grateful.

he’s struggled to adapt to life here. eden, a sanctuary for mutants that reminds him a bit too much of the x-mansion, the place where everything in his life went wrong. where he’d let his guard down little by little, letting people see past his mask, making relationships only to watch them all die. he could do nothing to save them.

so he hardly interacts with anyone other than you and laura kinney, his daughter, though lately she’s decided she wants everyone to call her laura howlett. the look on logan’s face when he told you was one you’d never forget: joy and fear and confusion, adoration for his little girl tinged with the anxiety of knowing that anyone close to him usually suffered terribly.

“laura,” he grumbles, which is the answer you expected. despite living in mexico for quite a few years, he didn’t pick up much spanish, and certainly not enough to understand laura’s rapid-fire quips. “she always says shit in spanish when she doesn’t want me to know what she’s sayin’.”

you laugh. laura’s a bright kid, and it’s true that she enjoys insulting logan in spanish, but only at the same frequency as her english insults towards him. most of the time her spanish comments are neither good nor bad, just stream of consciousness comments. she enjoys logan’s frustration at not being able to understand her, so really it doesn’t matter what she says, just that he hears it.

“i can try to teach you,” you reply, “but i’ve never taught anyone a language before, so be warned i may not be good at it.”

“a lot of people here speak spanish. i didn’t ask them.” logan says, “you’re the only person i can stand bein’ around for more than a few minutes, so you got a better shot than anyone else.”

you feel a rush of giddy excitement flow through you in response to his words. it’s not a secret that you find logan horribly, unbearably attractive with his salt-and-pepper hair and his beard and his deep eyes and his arms and honestly you could spend hours listing every one of his attractive features.

the point is, you want to kiss him stupid, and with the way he lingers around you in moments like these, makeup half-done and your bedsheets still rumpled from sleep, makes you hope that he might feel the same. maybe spending more time together is just what you need to figure it out.

“we can start tomorrow.” you agree.

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

latina reader: @naggywaggy @mami-veracruz @spencerswh0r3 @taextannie @gl1ndathegoodwitch @uncertified-doc

[raeinyourdreams]

... 💌: (another) wip wednesday!

let's ignore that it's thursday night (again!!) but i'm done with finals!! so hopefully i'll post something soon :> tysm for the tag again @sceletaflores <3 angst under the cut

- 'birds of a feather'

this is actually my first request ever! i'm so excited to get it out, it's taking longer than expected because i want it to be perfect aughh. 😖

basically, reader was married to logan (in dp3 universe) and was also laura's foster mother. in worst!logan's universe, reader was a friend who he had feelings for (and so did she!! love mutual pining), but then she died along with the other x-men. they meet again in this universe and try to remain friends to honor the other person's respective death, but who's gonna stop them from waltzing back into rekindled flames? ... no that's not loml by taylor swift.....

It hit you harder than a freight train.

You never expected it. You knew it was bound to happen, but not like this. Oh god, not like this.

It was a giver - though you didn’t wanna believe it, for the longest time - when Laura arrived to North Dakota to meet you, who had gone separately to secure a spot for her, and him, your family, and even though the sight of the girl being finally home safe brought you comfort, the pit in your stomach grew with the fact that Logan wasn’t in sight.

It absolutely broke your heart, you knew what was coming, your husband wasn’t the same man from before, he scarred and healed in more time, like a human. Too entwined in the hope of getting to the Eden safe, find a place for it to happen in peace. You thought you still had more time.

Laura looked at you shocked, face puffy and red as she stood by your door. She’d been crying, it was obvious. In this light, it was like momentarily, you forgot every killing machine, “better version of logan” aspect of her essence, and took her for what she still was at the end of the day: A little girl, a little girl who had just lost her dad.

Her gaze makes your heart drop. You dread the question, but it still slips out in a brittle whisper.

“.. ¿Dónde está tu papá?” That enough is to make Laura’s face twist again in agony, as if she had been the one impaled.

She’s only able to mutter a faint “Ma-” before her voice is cut off by the sobs ripping through her throat, her little shoulders shaking as she sobs. You run to hold her, soothe her for as long as she needs, but nothing comes out of you, it hasn’t hit you yet.

She hands you a ring, his ring, it was made of adamantium, as was yours, a vow of his love to you, the smallest action to him that meant the world to you. He gave you his bones to wear, he’d give you his skin to wear if it meant you didn’t have to bear the cold.

He loved you so much.

Which is why you knew he’d never take it off.

that's all i'm working on for now 😭 expect this soon and an increase on.. *rustling of papers, adjusting glasses* ... simon riley fanfiction? jesus, what year is it? 2022? (jk i will always be down bad for this brit)

yeah.... bring back cod men babygirlification.

no pressure tags: @loganhowlettshousewife @buck-star @silverskyeline @dilf-docs <33

[missredherring]

Old Man!Logan putting on his cheaters to read your romance books to you.

It's something he does for you when you're sick or something and he's a little uncomfortable with the smutty parts in the beginning, but then he sees the way you shift and squirm.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 48

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,770ish

Summary: You and Laura rebuild your lives. Spans from 2029 to 2035.

Warning(s):  nightmares, injuries

Notes: I hope this chapter is okay! I know that it's not terribly long and skips a lot. Please remember to review the timeline posted here.

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

You woke up with a jolt. The image of Logan laying there bloody against the tree still fresh in your mind all these months later.

You made it across the border with Laura. You found Eden, the official safe haven, and you hated every moment of it. The leaders there were happy to have an X-Men on their side, but you no longer felt like an X-Men. When you expressed your desire to leave, they weren’t too happy but agreed to help. They gave you enough money for a cheap car and first and lasts months rent for a small one bedroom apartment. They urged you not to take Laura, but there was no way the two of you were going to be separated.

You sighed, turning your head to find Laura staring back at you. You moved onto your side to face her.

“You had another nightmare,” she whispered.

“Did I burn you?” You asked. You had woken up a few times to Laura spraying you down with a fire extinguisher, making you thankful for keeping extras on hand.

“No. No flames this time.”

“But I woke you?”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not, sweetie. You need to be getting rest too.”

“Can’t… nightmares.”

You reached over and began to run your hand up and down her arm. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

~~~

You were able to get a teaching job after taking a few classes to renew your license, with help from the people at Eden. Laura was able to go to school with you. Laura was a good and smart kid, but she had her father’s temper and patience. That meant you spent a lot of time in the principal’s office with Laura the first few months of school. You were just grateful that Laura had yet to show her claws off to anyone yet.

You sighed as you drove home. Laura was in the seat beside you, staring out the window with her purple sunglasses covering her eyes.

“Laura, you know that I completely stand by you when it comes to standing up for others,” you began, “but you cannot beat each bully up because of it.”

“They deserved it,” she muttered, keeping her gaze out the window.

“That doesn’t matter, Laura. We need to be better than the bullies.”

“Dad would have been proud.”

You slammed on your breaks as your breath caught. “What?”

“I said that Dad would have been proud.”

You swallowed, mind reeling at the mention of Logan. The car behind you honked, pulling your from your thoughts and causing you to continue to drive forward.

“Your father…” you breathed out. “Your father might have been proud of you, that’s true, but he also would tell you never to do it again. That it’s not actually a victory to lower yourself to the bullies standards. He would not want that for you.”

Laura looked over at you and reached over, touching your arm. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not mad.”

“No,” she shook her head, “sorry for making you sad.”

It was like a punch to the gut. This little girl was way too observant for her own good.

“I’m fine, Laura,” you told her, pressing out a smile. “I’m not sad.”

Laura looked at you for a moment before going back to staring out the window. You knew she didn’t believe you one bit.

~~~

Nights were the hardest. Though you shared a bed with Laura, you missed the way Logan would hold you close at night. You always felt safe and wanted. You would try to cry it all out in the shower, hoping that Laura couldn’t hear you, but she could. Silent tears would still slip down your cheeks as you tried to sleep. 

Laura would often notice, her senses like her father’s. She would reach over and take your hand, hoping that would be enough to calm you. Sometimes it was, sometimes it made it worse. You were the much older adult. You needed to be the strong one for this little girl who was still struggling with her own trauma. Yet, many days you couldn’t put your own problems aside. Laura didn’t push or press though. 

Both of you were the only constants in each other’s lives now. You didn’t know it, but through your own tears, you were helping Laura. She grew up in a place where emotion was not okay. By you showing your ranges of emotions, you were showing her that it was okay to show emotion.

One night, you woke up to a sharp pain in your arm. You looked over to see Lauras claws in your arm. She was crying out and thrashing around, all of her claws out for show. Careful not to move too much with her claws in you, turned over to face her and reached your other arm over.

“Laura, sweetie,” you called calmly. “Wake up. It’s just a nightmare. Wake up.”

Laura gasped as she shot up. Her eyes scanned the bedroom for any short of danger. She froze when she saw her claws in her arm.

“No,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “No, no, no, no!”

“It’s okay, Laura! I’m fine. I’ll heal.”

“No!” She continued to shake her head.

You winced as she wanked her claws out and scurried away until she fell off the bed and hid herself in the corner. You didn’t even bother to look at your wound as you crawled over the bed and sat yourself down on the floor next to it. 

“It’s okay, Laura,” you repeated. “We’re okay.”

The two of you sat in silence, the only notable sound being her heaving breathing. Suddenly, you got an idea. You reached out your good arm and turned your hand so that your palm was up. A flame formed in your palm, lighting up the area a little and catching Laura’s eyes. 

“See? I’m okay,” you whispered, ignoring the fact that your palm was actually aching as you formed the palm. 

Laura’s eyes darted down to your injured, bloody arm, feeling little relief though it was healing. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, still staring at it.

“No, need,” you shook your head. “It was a nightmare… You know, Logan got nightmares often.”

“I know.”

“Do you know that be stabbed me a few times as well?”

“He did?”

“Yes. He hated himself for every injury he ever caused me, but I rarely ever let him run away from me. I knew that it would only make it worse. So I helped him.”

“How?”

“I would hold him. Let me know I was there still. Sometimes I would use my heat to relax him. His muscles were always so tense after a nightmare.” You watched as Laura rolled her shoulders, like she was testing if it was the same for her. “I can help you, too.” 

You extinguished the flame and held out both of your arms. Laura was hesitant at first but then slowly moved over. As soon as you could, you pulled her into your lap and held her against you. You kept your body heat at a comforting temperature as kept her close.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

It didn’t take long for Laura to fall back asleep in the safety of your hold.

~~~

You stood next to the car as you waited for Laura to finish chatting with her friend. You listened in as a small smile formed on your lips. It had been over a year since the two of you basically reset your lives and this was the first time Laura seemed interested in having a friend.

“Can you come over to my house to hang out?” Her friend asked. “My mom can take us and then bring you home.”

“Uh, let me ask my mom,” Laura said. 

Laura turned around and hurried over to you. You were staring at her in shock. You had never heard her call you that before, not that you were mad.

“Hey, um, mom,” she said once she was in front of you. Her voice was nervous. “Can I go over to Alex’s house? Alex’s mom can bring me home.”

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, still processing your new name. “Of course. Just keep your phone on you and let me know if you need me to come get you.”

“Okay! Thanks! Love you!” Then she rushed back to her friend.

“Love you, too.”

~~~.

As the years past, Laura and you grew closer. You were not just a mother-daughter duo, you were best friends. Both of you had opened up about your lives over the years, making each other the only ones who knew intimate details about the other. She was now starting her senior year of high school, trying to figure out her life, and, for some reason, yours.

“Just one date.”

“I told you, Laura, I’m not interested.”

“Come on. He’s cute.”

“I’m not going out on a date with my boss.” You shook your head as you continued to make dinner. “That’s just weird any so many ways. Besides, he definitely doesn’t see me like that.”

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “He literally looks at you like he could take you right then and there.”

“Laura! He does not!”

“Oh, he does, and everyone knows it but you. Come on, mom, it’s been six years, it’s time—“

“I’ve told you this before, Laura, I’m not going to date anyone and that’s okay. Your father was it for me.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I just don’t like the idea of me going to college and you being here all alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know about that. You haven’t been alone like this before.” You finally turned to face her. “Laura, thank you so much for taking care of me all these years. But it’s okay that you could live your own life. I’ll be okay… We’ll be okay.”

~~~

The two of you were out shopping for new clothes for the school year when it happened. You and Laura were walking down the street. Laura’s backpack was thrown over her shoulder as she was always prepared for anything and kept one of her father’s comics on her at all times. Neither of you saw it coming. Before you knew it, someone tased you from behind and then Laura. 

The world around you disappeared and you suddenly were thrown into an unfamiliar place. You and Laura tumbled to the ground. You groaned as a pair of boots stepped into your vision. You looked up to see a bald woman standing over you.

“Welcome to the Void.”

next chapter >

[flowersforbucky]

"and what do all the great words come to in the end, but that? i love you - i am at rest with you - i have come home." - dorothy l sayers

old man!logan x reader

warnings: some angst, touching and sensuality, suggestiveness, insecurity and doubt from logan, comfort and fluff

a/n: i have no explanation for this other than this is how i want to love this man. just a drabble inspired by the quote above. 500+ ish words

“What's that look for?”

You sit beside him on the couch in the makeshift living room of the abandoned smelting plant. An old western plays on the screen in front of you, supplying the room with just enough light to see the way he's studying your face.

He doesn't answer - just continues to stare at you with the same solemn, distant expression. You raise a hand to his face, cupping his chin in your palm and holding it there.

“What's on your mind, honey?” You murmur, angling your body to give him your full attention. You trail your thumb along the thick stubble that litters his cheekbone.

“You should be somewhere prettier than this,” he mumbles as he lowers his mouth to kiss your palm. “Somewhere that feels more like an actual home. That's all.”

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach to hear him say it. You don't doubt that he truly believes every word.

He really has no fucking idea, you think. All this time and he still has no idea.

“The coziest, warmest house in the world wouldn't feel like home if you weren't there,” you whisper. You're not sure why you're speaking so quietly - Charles and Caliban are both in the old water tank next to the smelting plant for the night. Right now, it's just you and him.

You maneuver yourself across his lap, bracketing your knees on either side of his hips. He looks up at you in the illumination of the TV's glow.

Somedays, his exhaustion is more visible than others. Tonight, you see it in the dark circles and the defined crinkles that surround his eyes.

“You are home to me, Logan.”

You plant a small kiss to the bridge of his nose and his eyes flutter shut.

“You'd be home if we were living in the backseat of your limousine and bathing in rest stop bathrooms.”

Your lips graze down his nose, past his lips and chin in a featherlight trail until you stop at the pulse point of his throat. He tilts his head back for you, his hands coming to rest around your hips.

“You'd be home if we lived in a tent in the middle of the wilderness,” you breathe against his skin. One hand comes to the rest against the side of his throat, your fingers twirling around tufts of his hair at the base of his neck.

He stiffens beneath you, a bulge beginning to form where your body hovers over his. You plant kisses across his neck and up to his ear as his fingers dig into the meat of your hips until the pressure teeters between pain and pleasure.

“And you're my home in this old, ratty smelting plant, too,” you whisper with a kiss to his earlobe. He hums at the sensation, using his grip on your waist to pull you down against his hardened length through his pajama pants.

“Now, would you rather go to bed or stay right here while I love on ya?”

[jen-with-a-pen]

──── ✘ 【ｍｙ ｗｏｒｋｓ; ｘ ｍｅｎ】

MDNI 18+ | SPAM LIKING MY WORKS WILL RESULT IN AN AUTOMATIC BLOCK

──── ＯＮＥ ＳＨＯＴＳ

⊗ TWO'S COMPANY ー

Older!Coworker!Logan x Younger!Coworker!Reader

It's hard not to think about him when you're at work. It's nearly impossible when you're home alone with one too many glasses of wine.

⊗ THREE'S A CROWD ー COMING SOON

Older!Coworker!Logan x Younger!Coworker!Reader

The unofficial, disjointed sequel to Two's Company.

──── ＳＥＲＩＥＳ

⊗+☢︎ (IN YOUR) ARMS TONIGHT ー PART ONE | PART TWO

Worst!Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson

Hypothesis: If he (Wade) turns off the AC, then they (Wade and Logan) will have no choice but to strip naked and end up sticky and gross and hard together!

[ravennaortiz]

So hot! 💜 🥵🔥

— ୨୧ kinktober day 12

pairing: old man!logan howlett x reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw ( obv ) established relationship, age gap ( logan is, well, he's logan & reader is in their mid 20s ) daddy kink, lap sitting, jealous!logan, petnames ( bub, princess, good girl, sweetheart, baby ) fingering, hair pulling, dirty talking, multiple orgasms, unprotected vaginal sex & logan comes inside of the reader ( don't be dumb ) not proof-read, just absolute filth below the cut

word count: 2.7 k

notes: i really liked enjoyed writing this, so don't be surprised if you see more old logan from me in the future 🫣 this was the longest kinktober fic i've written so far & also the first one so far that i've had ready to post on time lol hope y'all enjoy it as much as i did <3

the evening had gone perfectly. you and logan had gone to a quiet dinner at a place he liked—nothing fancy, just the kind of spot with dim lighting, rustic wood tables, and good whiskey. you loved how he looked tonight, sure he was much older than other guys you'd been with, but he was still ruggedly handsome. his beard was streaked with silver, his hair tousled in that familiar wild way, and he wore a dark button-up shirt that stretched across his broad chest. but he had been quieter than usual on the way home, brooding, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. you knew something was up. it wasn’t like him to stay this quiet, especially after a night out with you. he pulled the truck into the driveway, cutting the engine and letting the silence between you hang there for a moment before stepping out. you followed him into the house, the door clicking shut behind you as he tossed his keys on the table. his silence continued as he walked into the living room, taking off his jacket and running a hand through his hair, still looking a bit stiff.

"logan," you started softly, setting your purse down and stepping closer to him, your heels tapping lightly on the floor. "what’s wrong?" he paused, standing by the window, staring out at the night. his back was tense, muscles rigid under his shirt, the years weighing heavily on his broad shoulders. when he finally spoke, his voice was rougher than usual. "that kid at the restaurant," he muttered, almost too low to hear. "he couldn’t take his damn eyes off you." you blinked, surprised, before a soft smile curled at your lips. so that’s what had been bothering him. his jaw clenched, the muscles tightening. "he was lookin' at you like… like he had a chance or somethin'. made me wanna break his damn neck." there it was—his possessiveness, that fierce, animalistic side that sometimes surfaced when he thought someone was threatening what was his. you stepped closer, your fingers brushing over his arm. "lo," you cooed, your tone light, teasing. "are you seriously jealous?" he gently turned to look down at you, his dark eyes still stormy, but there was a flicker of mischief behind them, his heart skipping a beat a the familiar nickname.

"i ain’t young anymore, bub," logan sighed, sitting down heavily on the worn leather couch, his usual brooding expression softening just slightly as he leaned back, the tension still lingering in his gaze. you could feel it—his insecurity still nagging at him, even though you’d tried to brush it off. that younger guy at the restaurant had really gotten under his skin. but you weren’t going to let him sulk. without saying a word, you stepped closer, standing between his legs as he looked up at you, the creases in his weathered face deepening. his brows knit together, as if he didn’t quite know what you were up to. you reached down, your fingers gently brushing through his hair, the silver strands catching the light. "hey," you murmured, voice soft and warm, "stop thinking so much." then, with a slow smile, you shifted forward, sliding onto his lap, straddling him. his hands instinctively moved to your waist, his grip firm, holding you in place as if he needed to keep you close. you felt his body stiffen beneath you for a second, but then he let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing under your touch. "what're you doing, princess?" he questioned softly, though his hands stayed exactly where they were, fingers splayed against your hips. "tryin’ to make me feel better?"

you tilted your head, your lips curving into a playful smile as you leaned in closer, your chest brushing against his. "maybe," you teased, brushing your fingers down his jaw, the roughness of his scruff making you tingle. "or maybe i just like sitting here." logan grunted, his eyes narrowing at you, though you could see the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "you like sittin’ on an old man’s lap, huh?" you laughed, a soft, sultry sound, and leaned in closer so your lips were near his ear. "i like sitting on your lap, daddy." that got his attention. his grip tightened on your waist, pulling you a little closer, his breath hitching just slightly. his eyes darkened as he looked up at you, that familiar hunger flickering beneath the surface. "god damn, you drive me crazy," you smirked, brushing a light kiss against his neck, feeling the way his pulse quickened under your lips. your kiss incited a low growl from the older man, his calloused hands sliding up your sides, pulling you closer against him. his lips found yours in a rough, heated kiss, the earlier jealousy now burning away in the intensity between you. his hands moved possessively down your back and up your skirt, his fingers quickly finding the hem of your panties and hooking around them to pull them down your thighs. he pulled back from your kiss for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and ragged. "so fuckin' wet for daddy already, huh?" he muttered, his voice deep and gravelly. his words sent a jolt of desire straight to your core, and you bit back a moan as your hips rocked subtly against him, seeking more friction, more heat. you could feel the hard length of his cock pressing insistently against your center, and you ground down, relishing the sensation of being filled and wanted so thoroughly. "fuck, logan," you breathed, your hands roaming over his chest, as his fingers delved deeper, stroking through your slick folds and circling your clit with maddening precision.

a low, guttural groan rumbled in logan's throat as your hips undulated against him, your wet heat coating his fingers. his own arousal throbbed in response, straining against the confines of his slacks. he captured your mouth in another searing kiss, swallowing your breathy moans as he worked two long digits inside you, curling them to stroke that sensitive spot within. "gonna make you forget all about that pretty boy at the restaurant," he rasped against your lips, pumping his fingers slowly, steadily, driving you higher with each thrust. his thumb rubbed relentless circles around your clit, the pressure building to a crescendo. "this pussy belongs to me, understand? no one else gets to touch you like this." withdrawing his fingers, he brought them to his mouth, sucking your essence off with a low, appreciative hum. his other hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. he leaned in, dragging his tongue along the sensitive skin before grazing his teeth over your racing pulse. he punctuated his claim with a sharp thrust of his fingers, burying them back deep inside you.

a shudder ran through you at his possessive words, your walls fluttering around his invading fingers as he stroked you deeper, harder. "yes, daddy," you gasped out, arching into his touch as his laved attention on your neck. "only you. always you." your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, nails digging in as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. the rough drag of his stubble against your sensitized skin only added to the sensations overwhelming you. "please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for anymore. you just needed…more. logan growled low in his throat, pleased by your wanton submission. his grip tightened in your hair, holding you in place as he continued his sensual assault on your neck. sharp teeth scraped over your racing pulse before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "good girl," he praised roughly, fingers pumping faster, harder, driving you towards the edge. his free hand slid under your shirt, calloused palm skimming over the soft swell of your breast before he palmed the weight fully. he rolled your nipple between his fingers, pinching and tugging, feeling you tightening around him. hearing the needy little sounds spilling from your lips stoked his own desire to dizzying heights. he wanted to feel you come apart on his fingers, watch you shatter completely before fucking you. "that's it, sweetheart," he crooned, his voice a dark rumble against your skin. "let go for daddy. wanna feel this sweet cunt squeeze my fingers when you come."

your body jerked, a high-pitched whine escaping your throat as he tweaked your nipple. you were teetering on the brink, every stroke of his fingers, every pinch and tug of his hand on your breast pushing you closer to the edge. "logan!" you cried out, unable to contain the plea as you felt the first waves of orgasm crashing over you. you clenched rhythmically around his pistoning fingers, milking them for all they were worth as you rode out the intense climax. stars burst behind your eyelids, and you bucked wildly against him, lost in the throes of ecstasy. it seemed to last an eternity, each aftershock leaving you trembling and gasping for air, and logan was loving every second of it. he watched intently as you came undone and held you steady, fingers still buried deep inside you, riding out the waves of your orgasm with you. the sight and feel of you falling apart on his hand was almost too much, and he had to bite back a groan of his own desire. once the tremors subsided, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips once more. savoring your flavor, he hummed in approval. "fuck, bub, that was beautiful," he chuckled, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your forehead. his gaze dropped to your breasts, still heaving with ragged breaths, and his cock gave an impatient twitch in his pants. "but we're far from done here, sweetheart."

as the final tremors faded away, you slumped bonelessly against him, utterly spent. his words met with the predatory gleam in his eyes told you there would be no rest for the wicked tonight. a thrill raced down your spine at the thought, and you licked your lips, "is that so?" you purred, reaching down to palm the thick ridge tenting his pants. "well, i'm not finished with you yet either, daddy." you deftly unfastened his belt and zipper, freeing his impressive erection from its confines. wrapping your fingers around his shaft, you gave him a slow, teasing stroke from base to tip, marveling at how he twitched eagerly in your grasp. a harsh exhale escaped logan's lips at the warmth and gentle pressure of your touch, making him throb with need. he watched, transfixed, as you pumped him slowly, reveling in the sight of your delicate fingers encircling his thick girth. his hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more of your touch as you worked him over. he could feel the precum beading at the tip, and it took every ounce of willpower not to grind against your palm. "keep touching me like that and this will be over before it starts," he warned gruffly, his large hands gripping your waist, effortlessly lifting you off his lap and turning you around to face away from him. with a swift tug, he pulled your skirt and panties off entirely, baring your glistening sex to his hungry gaze. he nudged your legs further apart with his knees, settling himself between your spread thighs. the blunt head of his cock prodded at your entrance, swirling your arousal around.

a gasp left your lips as he spun you around, your heart pounding in anticipation. his dominant stance, the way he filled the space between your thighs, sent a rush of excitement coursing through you. you arched your back, pressing your ass against his groin, silently urging him to take what he wanted. the head of his dick teased your slick, and you couldn't help but rock your hips, trying to coax him inside. "please, daddy," you slightly panted, voice heavy with need. your pathetic pleads incited a guttural growl from logan, the sound vibrating against your back as he notched the broad crown of his cock at your entrance. he paused for a moment, savoring the heat radiating from your core, before surging forward with one powerful thrust. he buried himself to the hilt in one smooth motion, a low moan rumbling in his chest at the tight, wet clasp of your cunt around him. he stayed still for a beat, relishing the sensation of being sheathed so deeply within you, before beginning to move. logan set a relentless pace, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, the force of his strokes rocking you both. the lewd slap of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the room, punctuated by your cries of pleasure and his grunts of effort. your moans turned to screams of delight as he pounded into you mercilessly, the sheer force of his thrusts driving the air from your lungs. the thick, hard length of his dick stretched and filled you completely, hitting all the right spots with each brutal plunge. your nails dug into the worn leather of the couch as you struggled to keep up with his relentless rhythm, your hips bucking wildly to meet his every stroke. the pleasure was overwhelming, bordering on pain, and you reveled in it, surrendering yourself fully to the primal, animalistic act unfolding behind you. "oh my god, logannnn," you wailed, your voice hoarse and desperate, as if begging for mercy even as you craved more of his punishing thrusts. logan's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he drove into you with increasing ferocity. he could feel the telltale flutter of your walls tightening around him, signaling your impending climax. he doubled his efforts, fucking you with abandon, chasing your release and his own. the obscene sounds of your coupling filled the air—the slick squelch of your arousal easing his way, the smack of his pelvis colliding with your ass as it bounced back onto him, your shameless cries and his guttural snarls intermingling in a symphony of debauchery. he leaned over you, one arm banding around your waist while the other slid up to cup your breast roughly, pinching and rolling the stiff peak between his fingers. "come for daddy, baby," he rasped in your ear, nipping sharply at the lobe.

and just like that, your body began to quake and convulse, overwhelmed by the intensity of his assault and the demand in his voice. the coil of tension deep within you snapped, sending shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your veins. a strangled cry tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you, your muscles clamping down on him like a vice. waves of pure bliss washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in the aftermath. through it all, logan continued to pound into you, prolonging your climax until you were sobbing and mewling, lost to the world except for the feeling of him splitting you open again and again. his hips stuttered, losing their rhythm as your velvety walls spasmed around him, milking his cock for all it was worth. he threw his head back with a guttural groan, the tendons in his neck standing out in stark relief as he found his own release. he ground against you, working himself through the aftershocks. only when he was spent did he collapse against your back, his weight pressing you into the cushions as he fought to catch his breath. he peppered your shoulder blades with lazy kisses, murmuring words of praise and adoration against your sweat-slick skin. "that was… incredible", he was out of breath, his voice roughened by exertion. as the fog of post-orgasmic haze slowly lifted, you felt a warm sense of satisfaction wash over you. you slowly turned back around to face him and your eyes locked, a tender smile playing on your lips as you gazed at him. "yeah, not bad for an old man," you teasingly downplayed the state of euphoria he'd been able to put you into so easily, thinking back to how this all began. if that didn't reassure him that your eyes were only for him, despite your age gap, you didn't know what would.

[writers-advocate]

i want to take care of old man!logan

i want to lay him down on top of me with his head on my chest. weight of the adamantium be damned. i wanna run my fingers through his greying hair and gently trace the scars on his face

i want to fuss over his slow healing wounds. wipe away the mess of fluids and blood from his knuckles. when he grows upset, tries to push away, say he’s not worth this, you’re wasting your time, he doesn’t need it, simply continue cleaning. maybe planted pretty on his thighs while working

i want to show him the softness he missed out on for so long. show him he’s deserving of a tender touch, a loving whisper, a night of care. i want to litter little kisses all over his worn skin and soothe his aching bones

i want old man!logan

[emmcfrxst]

how do u think old man! logan makes love....... im thinking thoughts about him rn..................

afab!reader

foreplay is a major part of the way old man!logan makes love to you. he loves to take you apart piece by piece underneath him— he starts out with his fingers; curling two inside of you, easily reaching that spot you can’t quite get to yourself, causing your thighs to clamp shut on his hand, one of your hands wrapping around his wrist to ground yourself as he fucks you through your orgasm, calloused pad of his thumb rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit, making you cry out. once you’re all nice and pliant under his touch, your slick dripping down his wrist steadily, he moves down your body with a hunger he only exudes when he’s about to bury his face between your thighs— this is, without a shred of a doubt, his favorite part. he’s already growling low in his throat before he’s even spread you apart properly for him, the smell of your arousal making him near delirious with desire, pupils blown wide and nostrils flaring to take in more of your scent. he wastes no time with teasing, attaching his mouth to your swollen cunt, licking a broad stripe from your hole to your clit, moaning loudly at the taste of you. his eyelids flutter shut in pleasure almost as if he was the one getting head, hips flexing against the bed to drag his cock along the mattress in a desperate chase for friction. he’s making out with your cunt more than anything else; swirling his tongue over your clit, then fucking into you vigorously, periodically sucking your folds into his mouth. he doesn’t stop at just one orgasm when he’s between your thighs like this; he’s utterly greedy, getting off on the taste of you on his tongue— he doesn’t stop until you’re gushing into his mouth, dripping down his beard, hands weakly pushing his head away. he separates from you reluctantly, eyes nearly black from how excited he is, cock throbbing and leaking against his tummy— he’s been edging himself the whole time he was between your legs, keeping himself from outright fucking the mattress because he wants to come with you. a soft groan leaves him when he straightens up, pain flaring through his joints at the movement— he tries to hide his discomfort, wanting to continue so fucking badly, but you notice anyway; used to his telltale signs. he frowns a little when you pull away from him, mouth opening to protest when you gently push him to lay down on the bed, a half moan, half grunt leaving him when you move to straddle his lap, rubbing your cunt over the length of his cock, coating him in your slick. his hands find your hips eagerly, helping you down onto his cock, his head throwing back into the pillows at the feeling of your tight walls around him. he may be in pain, but he can still hold his own; bouncing you on his cock with abandon, mouth attached to your tits, beard chafing against the delicate skin of your nipples. he’s a sight to behold; sweat slicking his scarred body, jaw clenched tight and eyebrows furrowed, his lips parted in pleasure as you fuck yourself on him until he can practically taste the sweet ecstasy of his orgasm— he’s so close, but he refuses to come before you do, even if it’s a harder task nowadays than it used to be when he was in his “prime”. it’s with long, skilled fingers to your clit that he feels you clench down in him for the last time, a soft cry of his name leaving your spit-slick lips. the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him pushes hims off the edge, a rough groan rumbling through his chest as he fills you up.