#2013 Wolverine

[lostinlovingrevery]

HEYY VANNN 💗

I heard you wanted to talk about Logan and I gotchu 👀😉

So I was thinking about Logan and what his reaction would be to seeing you in something of his. And I know I’d steal all those mans shirts but what about something else to get a rise out of Logan?? Like going to bed in his boxers OR meeting up for a date night and you show up with wearing his favorite belt buckle he swore he lost with the tightest jeans you have on that you know will make him go feral. I feel each Logan variant has a different vibe so you can take item(s) of his and he sees you wearing that and it’s OVER 😏 I have thoughts for a few but would love to hear what you think!💞

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!! DAMI THIS IS BRILLIANT!!!

I absolutely LOVE this idea. the belt buckle is so cute!!! I feel like he would tug you forward with them- looping his finger around your belt, staring down at it before looking at you, and calling you a little thief <3

Thank you for sending this in!!! <3 <3, I hope you enjoy!!

Logan Variants Reacting to You Taking His Stuff!

(slightly smutty, fluffy, and slightly angsty stuff below!)

Trilogy Logan: He crossed his arms, taking in the sight before him.

His dogtags, sitting pretty right in the valley of your breasts.

He was showering, heard you come in for a second- didn't pay too much attention to that. Was half tempted to tell you to join him- but considering he was almost finished washing up, and the water was getting cold, hell just join you in bed instead.

When he climbed out- his dogtags that just happened to be taken off with his clothes for once when he showered was missing. He checked all over the bathroom- even stared in the mirror to make sure he didn't go insane and it was still around his neck, but found that it was not the case.

He swears he didn't take it off in the bedroom- but as he opened the door to step into yours and his shared room, the mystery was quickly solved.

You were leaning against the headboard, posed in a sensual position, a big smile stretched across your face as his eyes trailed over your nude figure. Finally landing on the dogtags. He could make out his name on them.

He dropped the towel, letting you see what he thought of your little trick- and your new sense of fashion as he walked towards the bed, kneeling onto the end of it- his member at full attention for you.

"Now, that's a good look for you sweetheart." He mumbles low as he leans over you, fingers coming up to trace over the tags.

"sure you don't want them back?" You teased.

"Nah, keep em. Let everyone know who you belong to."

Origins Logan: You stole, yet another one of his flannels.

He'd be irritated, if he could. Yet, they look better on you anyway.

Especially when you're walking around in nothing, but his flannels.

It happens at the most random of moments too. Usually he's home after a long day at work. He sheds his clothes off, changes into sweats and a clean t-shirt before settling down somewhere to read, relax, watch tv. You'll be off doing your own thing, he'll distinctly remember you wearing a pair of boot-cut jeans and a tank top.

Then suddenly you're walking past him, an hour later- not even socks or panties on you as his flannel practically swallows you. He used to say something about it, tease you, make a joke- but now he smirks, catches a glance of your ass, barely hidden by the hem, before returning to his newspaper.

Eventually you'll end up in his lap. He's frumping over the stolen cloth, and you'll make a sweet pout and tell him that it smells soooo good that you couldn't help it. Smells just like him.

"Yeah princess? That's why you like it so much?" He'll smile, his hands tucking underneath the flannel, brushing over your bare skin as his eyes wander down- admiring the way your chest is barely concealed from him. You bit your lip, and nodded. "Hm." He tipped his chin up to look at you. "Alright. Keep it on, but you'll have to do something for me."

Old Man Logan: "Darling? You seen my glasses-?"

He stopped when he finally spotted you in the kitchen- trying on the glasses that he'd been looking for, for the last 20 minutes. He hated the damn things, hated how old they made him feel. Perfect vision for nearly 200 years and now he needs them. Really?

The only thing that keeps him from smashing the damn things is you cooing in his ear about how cute he looks.

A small guilty look on your face as he crossed his arms, raising a brow at you, and you smiled. Your hands dropped to your side, leaving the glasses sitting on your face.

"Got a reason to be stealing my glasses, doll?" He asks, feigning annoyance- but he could never really be angry with you.

"I just wanted to see what it looked like with your glasses" You answer innocently.

"And?"

"You look fuzzy."

He smiles, looking down at the floor, before moving forward into the kitchen towards you. "Real cute sweetheart." He coos. Reaching up, he pulled the glasses off you. "There. Better?"

"Kinda."

You reached for his glasses, taking them from his hands, flipping them over and putting them on. It slips a bit on the bridge of his nose, and he tipped his chin down to look at you past them. You smiled.

"Now, it's better." You wrapped your arms around his waist. "So handsome."

"Mm." He tipped his chin up again. "I don't know doll, they did look nice on you."

Worst Wolverine: He was half asleep and barely noticed you had them on.

You went to shower, while he watched some old black and white movie on the tv in your shared bedroom. It was boring- and he had seen it before. Granted it was over 100 years ago- but he did see it, and he remembered not liking it then either.

So he started to fall asleep, eyes closed, arm stretched out across your side of the bed. He picked up the sound of the shower shutting off- always alert at what you're doing.

He began to fall deeper into slumber, knowing that you'll be by his side soon. He heard you come in, silence at first- before your quiet shuffling around the room continued. Drawers opening and shutting, and finally you're climbing in bed by his side.

He turned to spoon you, arms wrapping around you protectively. His hands, as usual began wandering over your form. Tracing along your figure- it was a comfort thing for him. A habit he's built over time with you, reassurance that you're still there- that you're okay.

His hands, as usual, moved downwards- where instead of your panties that he has become so familiar with- it was a different fabric.

"Babe." His brows creased together, eyes still shut as his hand continued to investigate what was on your bottom half. "Are these mine?" He finally asks, pinching the fabric between his fingers.

Quiet mirth escaped you. "I thought they looked comfy." You responded. He opened his eyes, pushing himself up onto his elbow to glance at his boxers that were adorning your lower half. You turned your head to look at him.

"Hm." He continued to feel the fabric. "i wanna get a better look at this."

He moved onto his back, urging you to straddle him which you happily did so. He examined you, intensely- like someone examining a piece of art- making sure it was real. You couldn't help but laugh.

"why so intense about it Lo?" You hummed. He chuckled.

"Looks good on you." He says, taking the waistband and snapping it against your hip. "Little big."

"Well, have you see you?"

He smirked. His hands coming down to rub your thighs. The look of his boxers on you- they peaked his interest, they looked good. Really good. It made his mind wander- wonder things like how they may feel after you wear them. Maybe, just maybe if makes you real happy while wearing them- some of you essence will get left behind, staining the cloth.

"Say baby, not too tired are you?"

2013 Wolverine: His old jacket.

The leather jacket he used to wear all the time, back before everything happened. Left it behind when he left the mansion- when he left you.

Not that he wanted to leave you- but he thought it best. He failed you, he failed everyone.

Yet here you were, staring back at him, wrapped in the leather that was a bit too big for you. Looks like it was keeping you warm though. Good, considering the mountains are freezing. He certainly knew that.

"Logan."

Your voice sounded sweet- just as he remembered it.

He wasn't sure how'd he react when he'd see you again, wasn't sure how it'd go. However all he could think was how nice you looked in his jacket.

You pulled it closer around yourself. Seemed like a habit, the way your hands held onto it. He could almost see, by the look in your eyes and the way your fingers held the fabric. Like you were imagining it was him.

"It's time to come home Lo." You say. "I miss you."

He didn't say anything. Just stood there, staring back at you- not quite sure if you were real. Had plenty of strange dreams, saw strange things while living out in the Canadian Rockies. Most of them involved you.

Only one way to be sure.

He walked forward towards you. The snow crunching under his boots. You didn't move, looking at him pleadingly- waiting for his next move.

His arms came around, and pulled you into an embrace. He buried his face into your hair- then down to your neck as he took a deep breath. His jacket- the one he wore religiously for years, now smelled like you.

He wondered if you'd be willing to give it back to him, once you're both back home.

Patch! Logan: "Where is the damn thing...." He mutters quietly under his breath. He was all ready- his sparkling white suit, cleaned and pressed, not a wrinkle in sight. Cuff links, in a shape of a X, pinned to the cuffs of his jacket. His eye patch- set perfectly, as usually. All that was missing was his bowtie.

The damn thing was a bright red. How could he not find it?

He remember taking it off last night- or rather, you took it off. Nearly ripped the damn thing off. Threw it...By the window.

He pushed the furniture around- still unable to find it.

He checked his watch. Couldn't look any longer. He'll have to settle for a regular black bow tie. It's classy sure. His red tie however- he considered it lucky. He needed all the luck he could get tonight.

So there he was, his usual thing, gambling, drinking, spying- eavesdropping.

That's when he spotted you. Pretty thing- as always. Only something.... different.

You were next to the head honcho of the casino- usually are. He likes to parade you around and show you off however you have no interest in the likes of him.

You had that pretty red dress that drives him wild on. The one that hugs your curves, leaves little to the imagination with the slit in the thigh and off the shoulder sleeves and a neckline that reached very low. At the center of neckline, was his bow tie

You must have pinned it there, you little vixen.

You looked bored, until you spotted him in the crowd. The way your face lit up sent butterflies through him- only they melted into something more, as he felt his trousers grow tighter when you brought your hand to the bow tie that sat pretty.

Your boss put his arm around you, unnoticing that your attention was on Logan from across the room.

This guy may act like you belong to him to the public, but you were quietly yet openly wearing the very thing that told Logan,

You belonged to Patch.

Cowboy! Logan: He'd been looking for it all day. Unsure of how he could have lost the damn thing! Took it off during a catnap against a tree, woke up with it gone.

All he knew, is he was going to shoot whoever the hell took it.

Eyed the farm boys who act scared as hell of him- he doubts they would have done it. Hell they pretty much piss themselves if he so much glanced at em.

the lil kids that like to climb all over him- as if he wasn't the most dangerous outlaw in the West- no - The States. They've tried to take his hat more than once after all- but a quick glance into the school building and they definitely weren't the culprits. Neither was the teacher who shooed him out.

Checked the bar- making sure those damn assholes that sit and drink their health away didn't pull some bullshit. He wouldn't be surprised, since he beats them at every card game they've challenged him to since he's shown up. It wasn't them though- on account that they were all passed out on the floor with a disgruntled barkeep.

He was at a lost, about to surrender that he'll have to go buy a new one. To bad, he really liked that hat.

Until it occurred to him that he hadn't seen you in awhile.

In fact- he was so disgruntled by losing his hat, he completely forgotten that the catnap he took- was right by your side. You were leaning on his shoulder, falling asleep just like him. Now you and the hat were missing.

Didn't take long for him to find you- nearby your family home, by that pond you like to read by. You held a cheeky smile as he approached you.

"There you are, you little thief." He accused- eyes taking in the stetson upon your pretty little head. "I was bout to shoot someone over that thing, you know that right? Anyone teach you not to take stuff?"

"What?" You acted innocent. "You put it in my lap. Naturally I thought you were giving it to me."

He pressed a hand and leaned against a tree, looking down at you. "Now sweetheart, you do know what it means when you wear a cowboys hat, right?"

You blinked innocently up at him. A devilish grin spread across his face. "No? What does it mean?"

[unlikeable-female-character]

Hello Logan from 2013’s The Wolverine. Not enough talk about you and that is a travesty quite frankly

[strandedtoodeep]

i rewatched Wolverine's 2013 tonight and im so??? what??? this version looks so much like worst Wolverine version like

hello????? the cowlick, the beard, the sad wet cat face? i know i know it's 'normal' like, they're both a version of Logan but idk that made me chuckles a little

[logans-whore]

Thinking about Logan comforting you, because my family was mean today and this is my way of coping.

Just this man. Who does not care about your size, or what you look like, or whether you’re shy or outspoken, talk too much or talk too little because he just loves you and everything about you.

Sad about your tummy? You can bet your ass that he’ll play with it while he cuddles you, gently squishing and smoothing out the skin, pressing kisses to the back of your neck, mumbling about how cute it is, how pretty you are, how much he loves it, and you. If you’re in public and he notices you sucking it in, he’ll rub soothing circles on your wrist with his thumb, whispering in your ear. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby, don’t hide a single part of you”

Having a rough time with your family? You will have to hold this man back, because he will rip whoever made you sad apart, no matter who they are. No one makes his person sad, no one gets to make tears fall down that pretty little face of yours.

You’ve got acne? Scars from picking at them? He loves them, pressing little kisses to the scars, calling them your constellations. He’ll never let you feel bad about them, never for one second, let you think you are anything less than the most beautiful, lovely thing in the world.

Thinking of him kissing away your tears when you cry, breath hitching and stuttering as his beard tickles your face. Of him telling you you're beautiful, loved, that he wants you, thinks you’re the most stunning thing in the world, that you’re perfect to him.

When the team talks over you, not listening to you no matter how much you try to get a word in, he’ll listen, grumbling at all of them to listen to you. And if they don’t he’ll pull you aside, listening to every word intently, eyes fixed on you, playing with your intertwined hands as he hums and adds his own input to whatever you’re talking about.

Just. Logan comforting you.

[fungateshortcakes]

Guysguysguys F U C K he needs to KNOCK ME UPPP ASAP AHHHHHH

just watched Prisoners for the 1000th time and WHY, W H Y are there NO Keller Dover x Reader fics??? HELLOOOOOO the fuck, look at him LOOK AT HIM this movie and this character are so fucking underrated. If you haven't watched it yet, please do🙏🏻

He is just so miserable and angry and pathetic and desperate and grrrRR WOOF BARKBARKK im sorry

I really need to write something for him because it seems like no one has done it before. Probably no one is going to read it anyway but idc, I need it deep, raw, with eyecontact and in front of a fire place while I beg him to breed me I am ovulating if you couldn't already tell

[just-dreaming-marvel]

We always focus on origins!Logan, trilogy!Logan, old man!Logan, dofp!Logan and worst!Logan.

But we do not give enough credit to the Logan from the 2013 movie - The Wolverine.

Like, seriously? Why do we keep pushing him to the side?

Look at him!

Plus I actually really love that movie! (And love the Love That Burns section of it in.)

We need to use him more! Me included!!!

[hyper-fixates]

my contribution to the cornplating of the xmen films: logan is a leftie :)

[sweetverine]

could you do something with logan comforting a crying reader?

bad day | 2013!logan

warnings : pure fluff, nothing else, established relationship, pet names (logan calls reader sweetheart baby and sugar), written with logan in wolverine 2013 in mind.

a/n : i hope it's something like what you were hoping for anon, i really like soft logan i guess. i hope to write more stuff like this in the future, i need logan to take care of me!!!, nothing more, please enjoy (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

the cold night hits in the apartment after a long and tiring day, you enter the small apartment slamming the door, logan from the couch observed this strange attitude of yours, he smelled in the air that something was not too right. as you headed straight to your shared room, he raised an eyebrow, this was quite new, not even a hi? how are you? where was your sweet smile? you always greeted him and chatted about each other's day, this was rare.

you entered the room, reluctantly removing your uncomfortable shoes, it didn't take long for you to sink your head into the comfortable pillow, letting the contained tears begin to escape from your eyes, moistening the pillow a little.

logan was quick to appear in the room, approaching the bed with a worried expression. He sits down beside you, the bed sinking under his weight, his large hand moving to your back, caressing it as he whispers, "what happened, sweetheart?” on your ear, trying to get to see your face. “come on, baby.. let me see ya..” He mutters as you get up, Sitting next to him.

your tears seemed to never stop, as you cried logan brushed away the rebellious strands of your hair that stuck to your wet face. "shh… take a deep breath okay? tell me what happened.." he says looking at you with love and understanding. you blinked a few times, trying to calm yourself down, he pulled you on his lap, letting you hide in his neck.

“i'm tired.. it was a long day and things didn't go well today..” you babble between tears, logan sighs as he keeps caressing your hair. “was it that bad baby?” you nod against his neck, his body began to rock you a little, trying to calm you down. it is warm, he is really warm. it is well known that logan james howlett is not a man of too many words, and in situations like this he really didn't know what to say.

you sob a few times before calming down completely, your head was pounding like crazy, like it was being hammered. you were crying inconsolably, it was obvious that it would pass at some point or another. you sighed as you let yourself be carried away by logan's slow rocking, your body snuggled more against his as you dried your tears. “thank you.” your somewhat hoarse voice whispers.

“anytime, sugar.” he says, kissing your forehead, he let you stay on his lap as long as you needed, he loved having you in his arms anyway, your cheeks were red and just like your eyes, your eyelashes were soaked and your lips were swollen. "let’s put on your favorite movie. i’ll grab ya something to eat, and then ya can take a warm shower. ya need to get your mind off this, yeah?” logan looks back at you as he lightly squeezes your arm, a silent gesture of ‘i am here’

he gently pulled you off his lap, sitting you on the bed. you were feeling so much better, you had a boyfriend who actually listened to you and cared about you. you were happy that you had found a man as attentive as him. logan came back with a glass of water. "take this, sweetheart.” he says, handling the glass to you. you drink the water slowly, he sighs and caresses your back. “ya know that i love ya, right?” logan says, looking at you lovingly.

“i love you too, lo.” you mutter, leaving the glass on the nightstand. he plants a soft, warm kiss on your lips. he will always be with you, especially when you need him the most.

[howlettsangel]

—sunday nights

tags/warnings: 18+ mdni dbf!logan howlett x f!reader, sunday night fb, reader in college, big big age gap, established relationship, mostly fluff with mini smut, dry humping if you squint, clothes stay ON, risky touching

a/n: super duper short but im sooooo obsessed with dbf!logan...

wc: 1.1k

The TV was loud downstairs, so loud it cut through the music blaring in your headphones. Logan had stayed after dinner to watch the game, him and your father fussing at the screen for the past hour. Their voices mixed with the bustle of commentary and advertisements eventually drew you out of your bedroom.

You had driven in for fall break to visit with your father and catch up with a few missed faces from childhood. It felt good to be home, somewhere familiar outside of university. And maybe, it felt sort of nice to see Logan again.

Your father had worked with Logan since before you could remember. He had definitely become a regular face in your house, from birthday parties to family events. He tagged along whenever invited.

The feelings that developed over time seemed trivial, like a simple teenage crush. But, oh, it was more than a crush. For both parties. Logan spent days at a time trying to figure out when he would see you next. When was your next break? What holidays were coming up? No matter how many times he swore he didn't, he always found his mind wandering back to those questions.

⋆୨୧

You padded down the carpeted stairs, the soft thuds of your footsteps causing the pair of men to turn their heads towards you. You watched as a smile settled on your dad's face for the brief moments his attention wasn't on the screen.

"Look who it is," he teased, "I thought you would've gone to bed by now, sweet pea. Long drive yesterday."

"You think I can sleep with the two of you screaming down here?" you shot right back, your tired eyes drifting over to Logan in the other arm chair. He gave you a small scoff, half laughing, half annoyed by your comment. His eyes stayed on the screen as he let you and your father talk, but he felt you looking at him.

"Hey, ain't our fault they've played like shit lately," your dad shrugged back at you.

You moved into the kitchen to get a glass of milk, maybe some juice to sip on while you lingered around in the living area. It felt like you were being a bother from time to time, but having the liberty to stare at Logan from afar was far better than any stuffed animal up in your bedroom.

By the time you were finished up with the glass in your hand, the halftime ads were coming on. You knew your dad never cared much for whatever new brand he was gonna be convinced into buying from, so it wasn't surprising when he announced his plans to get more beer.

"M' gonna head out and fetch some more beer before the second half," he grumbled as he stood from his recliner. The wood floor creaked as he moved towards the front door and took his keys off the hook. "Keep an eye on her, yeah Logan?"

Of course he was just being a tease, glancing over at you with a smirk and then back to his friend. "I'm not a baby, he doesn't have to 'keep an eye on me,'" you protested, but the thoughts that came to your mind when you imagined the two of you alone betrayed your words.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll be fine," Logan huffed. The two of you watched your father leave with excitement bubbling in your chests, and it wasn't long before you were in the living room again.

You discarded your glass on the coffee table beside the couch, shifting closer with a smile on your face so that you could sit down right next to Logan. He didn't argue one bit with your company and simply let his arm fall across your shoulders. The scent of your perfume was light and faded from a long day, and he could still tell what shampoo you had used last night. It felt like a drug.

"Why're you sitting so far away?" he grumbled, the smallest hint of a smirk on his face. He tugged you a bit closer, an invitation for you to sit on his lap.

Like him, you weren't arguing. You rolled your eyes just to play up the sass, but inevitably shifted on top of his lap. It felt like ages since the two of you had a chance to be alone. It was always a risk, and it still was now. Your dad was never one to waste time when it came to football, but the back fridge was a bit of a walk from the main house.

"You're trouble," you breathed out, your voice soft as you leaned in to brush your lips against Logan's. Smiling back at you, Logan shook his head.

"Says you."

Kissing was usually the furthest risk you two would take especially on nights like these where getting caught was just a disaster waiting to occur. The longer your little make-out sesh went on, the lower Logan's hands went on your body. His palm slipped between your bodies that were flush against one another, reaching underneath the nightgown you wore.

You knew exactly what he was trying to do, yet Logan would just blame it on all the beer he had in his system (which was only two bottles). His fingertips brushed against the thin cloth of your panties, and even though you had definitely worn them for him, that didn't mean you could just throw your dignity out the window.

"Lo," you whined softly. Your hips were moving on their own accord as they bucked into his touch: squirming because you wanted more and because you wanted him to cut it out. "He's gonna see us."

"No he ain't," Logan couldn't care less about getting caught by your father. He continued coaxing each and every little whine from your lips. Your words weren't driven into his brain until you both heard the front steps creak.

His hand stilled for a moment as if thinking what to do, but you quickly moved away. You brushed off your dress to compose yourself and cleared your throat as an extra effort. It was only seconds before your dad came back, a second case of beer in his hand and an excited smile on his face.

"I didn't miss anything, huh?" he asked. You were still sitting on the couch, a bit closer to Logan than what seemed appropriate, but it didn't take long for you to scoot away. You were trying desperately not to laugh.

Your dad fell back into his armchair, barely paying any mind to where you were. You made eye contact with Logan across the couch, mouthing a small 'sorry' through your attempts to hide a chuckle.

He knew he would just have to wait until next sunday night.

tags: @blah-blah-bee @ellaynaonsaturn @ellaynahowlett @sweetverine @nymphoniah @cruel-as-sin @lostinlovingrevery @mcrdvcks @manipulatour @kvntonq

[vivwritescrappythings]

petrichor

logan howlett x reader

Logan finds himself in upstate New York post WW2, and he is renting out a room from a sweet widow--you.

a/n: this is my incredibly late second contribution to @princessanglophile's 22nd birthday challenge--I'm so sorry it took me forever! The rest of the stories can be found here. I received 2013 Logan and 1940s as my time period.

tw: fem reader, afab reader, reader contemplates her dead husband, storms, fluff, comfort, kissing, interrupted just before smut, not proofread, first time writing for Logan, soft!Logan

word count: 4.3k

masterlist

MDNI

--

The kitchen smelled like bitter coffee as you let it brew, stirring the pot of oatmeal on the stove within an inch of its life. Sweat gathered at your brow, your jaw set with tension that you were starting to become used to in the early mornings.

Running a boarding house was far from what you had expected to be doing after the war. 

But, you kept Henry’s wedding band on a chain around your neck, the weight of it reminding you that few things went according to plan. Your wedding ring was tucked away in your jewelry box upstairs, sparkling and painful to look at. 

It didn’t actually matter these days. You were on your own all the same.

You looked up from the breakfast on the stove, the crack of an axe on wood drawing your attention to the window over the sink. The floral curtains were drawn aside just enough to give you a view of Logan–one of your quieter tenants–outside despite the threat of rain. He swung an axe down from over his head, splitting a log in two clean pieces. Then he adjusted, two pieces became four before they were tossed in an impressive pile he was amassing.

He’d forgone a shirt, you could see the flannel hung up on a branch near him. Steam rose from his tanned skin, the cool autumn breeze drying his sweat there. He must have felt you looking, his hazel eyes flicking up to meet yours. 

It seemed that he always noticed when you were around, gaze lingering as he kept an eye on you. He wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, but he was the first to help you around the house when you asked. Sometimes you didn’t even have to ask him.

Logan showed up on your doorstep six months ago, dirty and disheveled. He seemed hunted and dangerous at the time—a wounded beast with dog tags around his neck that were similar to a pair in his pants pocket with a wedding band threaded on them. He knew your Henry, promised him that when he got back stateside from Japan he would keep an eye on you until you got back on your feet.

Either way, you watched him chop through a few more sections of wood. Your mouth was dry, lips parted slightly as you watched his muscles move beneath his skin like ropes. It was hard to pinpoint when you started feeling a pull toward him low in your gut. You tried to ignore it, treating him like the other people you rented rooms to, polite and distant. Attentive.

But it was becoming harder to pretend that your heart didn’t flutter or your cheeks didn’t warm when he entered the room.

The smell of the SPAM starting to burn brought you back to the present. You didn’t see the way Logan’s lip twitched when you spun back to the stove, looking flustered as you grabbed the pan off the heat.

—

Autumn brought evening storms with it.

It was raining something biblical outside that night, loud against the eaves and the shutters as you did the dishes after dinner. The boarders had returned to their respective rooms for the night, both of them laborers in the lumber yard that would need to be up early. 

You preferred it that way. They left you to your solitude as long as breakfast was on the table in the morning, dinner was on the table at night, the laundry was done, and there was still electricity and running water. At first you had tried to befriend the occupants of your two extra bedrooms, inviting them to listen to the radio with you or play cards. 

It fell flat, the men meeting you with little enthusiasm. You eventually left them alone.

But Logan helped you out around the house. 

The first time was after you’d complained about your leaking sink out on the porch with Lucy, the woman who lived across the street. You were both sipping lemonade, her darling toddler playing with toys on the slightly overgrown lawn. The sink had been leaking for weeks, you resorted to just changing out the bucket beneath it every morning. 

When you went inside to stave off the afternoon heat of July, Logan was already on his back beneath the sink. He had Henry’s old toolbox out, grunting as he grabbed blindly at the different wrenches before twisting the piping back into place.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even ask for acknowledgement or a discount on the rent.

Soon enough he was doing all the odd jobs you had around the house, trimming tree branches and repairing holes in the walls and chopping wood. Logan eased some of the hardships that came from Henry’s absence.

You glanced outside, realizing he had stacked up all the wood on the porch where it wouldn’t be touched by the rain.  

The kettle you put on whistled, startling you for a moment before you poured yourself a cup of tea. There was a glass tumbler of whiskey on the counter, you grabbed it before heading upstairs.

A sliver of light was visible beneath Logan’s door, the quiet murmur of a radio playing just beyond. You bumped your elbow against the door to knock.

“Logan?” you called softly, taking a step back when you heard rustling on the other side. 

He pulled it open, still dressed in his work jeans and an undershirt. You felt your mouth go dry for a moment as you looked at him. His shoulders looked broad beneath his white tank top, the fabric sticking to him like a second skin and half tucked into his pants.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice low and rough. His hazel eyes ran over you once like he was checking to make sure you were still in one piece. One eyebrow arched like he was waiting.

You said nothing for a moment, just blinking at him before you came back to yourself. “Oh, um, I brought you this,” you said, holding out the rocks glass to him like an offering. Henry’s whiskey sloshed inside–you had poured a generous three fingers inside. Logan looked at it skeptically, like he couldn’t decide if you were trying to poison him or come on to him. “Consider it a thanks for chopping all that wood.” 

He let out a grunt, nodding once as he took the glass from you. His calloused fingertips brushed against yours.

You pulled your hand back like he was made of lightning, nodding once. “Well, have a good night, Logan,” you said, offering a tight-lipped smile. 

If he answered, you didn’t hear it. You were already headed down the hall to your own bedroom before he said anything. Steam curled off the mug of tea you carried as you shut off the hall light and closed your door behind you.

The storm was fierce as you settled into bed with that day’s newspaper in your hands. It was a habit you picked up while Henry was deployed, wanting to keep up with the most up-to-date information about the war. Now it was just a habit, bringing the newspaper to bed with you became a ritual you fell in with ease.

Thunder rattled the shutters, rain pelting the windows in big, fat drops. The house creaked and groaned, wind buffeting on the outside walls. It sounded like the house was going to blow away at any moment.

You were trying to ignore it, reading about town gossip by lamplight when lightning cracked across the sky outside your window. It illuminated the sky and your room through the space in the curtains. You jolted, crinkling the newspaper in your hands for a moment. 

Something close by popped, a boom that sounded far too close for comfort.

The lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then they died completely with a soft, electric sigh.

You huffed, still holding the paper in your hands as the house fell into silence aside from the rain. It was hard to notice the hum of electricity until it was gone, just the rain drumming against the roof filling the empty space. 

Heavy footsteps sounded down the hall between Logan’s bedroom and the upstairs bathroom. His steps were confident and certain, like the dark didn’t faze him at all.

You were suddenly restless in a way you weren’t before. The mug you brought with you sat empty on the nightstand–you needed more tea. Or water. Something to quench your suddenly parched throat. 

It was easy to feel around for your floral-patterned robe. The rayon satin was soft against your skin, covering your baby blue nightgown. It was long, cotton floating around your ankles as you groped for the taper shoved into a brass candlestick holder on your vanity, a box of matches lingering nearby. 

It took a few tries, but you managed to strike the match. The smell of burning sulfur filled your nose as you held the match to the wick, flicking orange light illuminating a portion of your bedroom.

It was easy to feel like Scrooge in A Christmas Carol as you picked up the candlestick, the brass cool beneath your fingers as you ventured out into the hall. The floorboards creaked beneath your bare feet, making you still for a moment before you took another careful step.

“Thought you turned in.” Logan’s voice carried from the stairwell. He had a glass of water in his hand, the amber light from your candle just barely reaching him. His eyes gleamed as they focused on you.

You shrugged. “I did,” you answered, a slight nod. You realized that you didn’t get up for water, you just didn’t want to be alone.

Henry used to sit with you through storms.

You bit your lip, uncertain. It wouldn’t be hard to turn back, to pretend like you had just come out to check on the noise and go back to bed. Or forge ahead to grab a glass of water like you had originally planned. 

“I… I didn’t want to be alone,” you breathed. The candle flame guttered in the draft of your whisper. You were embarrassed as soon as you said it out loud, warming from your chest to your forehead as your gaze strayed from Logan’s perceptive stare. Some days it felt like he was seeing straight through you.

He paused for a moment, both of you staring at one another as you blinked.

Logan didn’t laugh at you, though. He could have. You were already imagining it, a huff of air through his nose that would substitute for a chuckle if he were anyone else.

But instead he nodded.

“You don’t have to be,” he said softly, that same gravel tone you had grown used to after months of him renting your room washing over you.

He walked to his bedroom door, leaving you space to decide if you wanted to follow. You did, scampering after him like an imprinted duckling as he held the door to his room open for you.

You lit the candle on his nightstand, setting the one you held on his dresser as you looked around. His living quarters were almost Spartan–any personal touch in the room was some decoration you had before he rented it out. Embroidery was framed on the walls, frilly and lacy in a way that didn’t suit him. But he didn’t seem to mind, his own sparse belongings neatly organized and tucked away.

He gave you little reason to enter his room, always piling his laundry outside his door before he left for work at the lumber yard in the mornings, expecting you to leave it folded in the same place in the evenings. 

“So, how have you been liking the room?” you asked, struggling to think of something else to talk about. He pulled out the chair from the small desk, nodding for you to sit down as he sat on the edge of his bed. It was still made, the quilt crisply tucked in like a soldier’s. 

Spending more time in his room made it obvious to you that Logan had served.

“Room’s fine,” he muttered, drinking more water before he fixed his hazel eyes on you. It seemed like he didn’t know what to say, his gaze cutting down to his hands. He flexed them.

“You know, I’m not very good company,” Logan said, softly, as though he didn’t want to let you down. His head turned, lifting just enough so he could see your face still. “I’ve got a lot of shit, y’know? I’m usually by myself.”

You nodded understandingly. Sitting across from Logan reminded you of caged lions at the travelling circus rather than a man. It was in the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, his jaw tense and brows furrowed. Despite his haircut and trimmed beard, he didn’t quite seem like belonged between four walls and in a bed. 

“I am, too,” you said, hands clasped together as you spoke. Loneliness became your constant companion. You thought the extra bedrooms in your home would be filled with children by now, but instead you rented them out. “But if you want me to leave, I’ll go.”

He grunted, shaking his head. “No, that’s not what I want,” he told you, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “But you probably should go.”

Your brow furrowed, arms crossing over your chest as you leaned back against the seat. The candlelight illuminated the curve of your cheek and the curious gleam in your eye. “Why?” you asked, guileless as you spoke. Logan had lived with you for over six months, he never seemed like anything other than helpful, maybe too introverted.

There was another huff of air out of his nose–an exasperated chuckle. “Because, I’m not the type of man you should get close to. I’m not someone you let in after the lights go out,” he explained, voice low as he spoke. 

You rolled your eyes at the cliche. “You seem just fine to me, Logan,” you said, tapping your fingertips against the silky fabric that covered your arm. “If anything, your reputation precedes you in being too helpful in this town. You do things without people asking you to, you don’t ask for anything in return. Not really a monster.”

He let out a huff, one side of his mouth curling into an almost smile. It was the closest thing to a smile you had seen him make. 

“Consider me a wolf in sheep’s clothing, bub,” Logan countered. There was a lift to his tone, an attempt at humor that wasn’t there before. It made you smile, still closed-lipped as your gaze drifted to your lap. 

You snorted, a brighter smile on your face as you shook your head. “I’d hardly consider you a sheep, either.”

Logan looked at you for a long moment, mirth flickering in his eyes before he shifted back on the bed, pulling a pack of cards from his nightstand and nodding for you to sit down with him. “You know how to play poker?”

You eased yourself onto his mattress, legs half tucked beneath you as you watched him shuffle his army-issued playing cards. His motions were fluid, well-practiced like he had shuffled a million times before. “I have nothing to bet,” you murmured, hunching to rest your chin in the palm of your hand. You knew enough to be dangerous.

“Just for fun, for something to do,” he said, dealing out onto the quilt. 

“Well don’t be upset if I win,” you murmured with a smirk, organizing the cards as you picked them up.

He chuckled, hazel eyes flicking up to meet your gaze. There was a moment where he sized you up, his half-smile turning into a smirk. “Alright, bub,” he murmured, adjusting how he sat to better face you, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

–

Logan obliterated you so efficiently it couldn’t even be called cruel. It was obvious you didn’t know what you were doing, missing a full house and a three-of-a-kind because you thought you needed all four cards. He caught onto your tells, on the way you got a gleam in your eye when you got cards you wanted, the slight slump of your shoulders when you didn’t have anything good.

“Let me teach ya,” he murmured, leaning in as he pressed the top of your cards down enough to see over them. His forehead was nearly touching yours as you looked at the cards clutched in your hand, his warm fingers wrapped around your wrist.

He tipped his own cards into view. “See, right here you’d beat me,” he tapped your cards with his fingertip, the noise satisfying, “You’ve gotta full house–three of one kind and two of another. I’ve only got a two pair–full house always beats a two pair.”

You nodded solemnly like you were in church, hanging on to Logan’s every word. He dealt out the next hand, still keeping his close proximity as he talked in hushed tones about what you would do next. 

Despite nodding and humming in all the right places like you were taking it all in, you were distracted. The smell of cigar smoke and cologne and the laundry detergent you used filled your nose, a combination you found heady and enticing as you leaned in slightly to get a better smell of it. 

Logan had leaned in too, chasing the view as the cards in your fingers tilted back toward your chest on instinct.

His hair brushed your forehead, your gazes lifting. Logan’s nose nudged the side of yours, his hazel eyes shining like pools you could stumble into. 

It felt like gravity, both of you converging on a point. The progress was halting, breaths shared between you as you oscillated between hesitant and eager. Logan had always had a sort of weight to him, something that made him feel entirely inevitable. But he still moved like a man expecting to be turned away.

His mouth hovered over yours for a breath. For a second, all you felt was the heat rolling off him, taking in the way the flickering shadows of the candles moved over his face.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or hungry, not like you had expected it to be.

Logan’s lips were warm, if not a little chapped, melding with yours with a gentleness that you would think foreign for a man like him. He kissed you like it was his first and last time he’d get the chance to, slow and deliberate. If you had to guess, he was trying to learn the shape of your mouth by memory.

Your palm rose to his jaw, the scratch of his trimmed beard beneath your fingertips welcome as it cracked something wide open inside of you.

The last time you kissed a man was with Henry. You never realized how different it could be: Henry had always kissed you with purpose beyond just kissing. He was always clean shaven.

The press of your hand on his jaw unlocked something between you, Logan feeling for your waist over the silky fabric of your robe. The cards on the quilt were forgotten as he pulled you closer. Your knee pressed into his thigh, you could hear the stack of playing cards spill across the rug.

Logan cupped the nape of your neck, tilting you into him. You followed willingly, a lamb following a guardian dog’s steady guidance as you pressed yourself into the spaces he left for you.

You undid the tie of your robe with frantic fingers, the hand on your waist hesitant as it slipped beneath the open article to bunch in your soft nightgown. 

“Do you want this?” he asked against your lips, voice little more than a grunt.

You nodded frantically, pulling your robe off your shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. That was enough to convince Logan, his big hand splaying wide over your ribs as he dragged you across his lap and pressed you into the mattress beneath him. Your nightgown twisted around you, the robin egg blue fabric riding up on your thighs and the strap falling off your shoulder. 

He looked down at you like you were something marvelous. It had been years since someone looked at you like that.

“You ever let anyone touch you like they meant it?” he murmured, low and rough as his hands ran up the outsides of your thighs. It was like he was enchanted by each inch of skin he revealed, his eyes stuck at the lace-trimmed hem of your nightgown. 

You didn’t know what to say, warmth blooming on cheeks as you resisted the urge to cover your face with your hands under his gaze. 

He paused, like he wanted an answer from you before he was willing to continue. You let out a huff of air, a nervous smile twisting your lips. “Henry and I didn’t have a lot of time together to explore before…” You trailed off, not sure if bringing up your dead husband was the wrong thing to do. 

It probably was–you couldn’t imagine how that would really be exciting bedroom talk.

Henry’s wedding band was warm against your sternum, the gold glinting in the candlelight. Your fingertips drifted to it, wondering if you should take it off. 

Logan’s hands kept moving up, your nightgown bunching on his wrists. If he was bothered by you bringing up Henry he didn’t let it show. He bent, capturing you in a slow kiss as your thighs parted over his hips. His hand found the swell of your hip beneath your nightgown, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.

His forehead pressed against yours, your breaths slow and heavy.

There was weight behind his gaze, he was steady, strong above you. He was watching you–something cautious and unsure behind his eyes. Maybe protective, even.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, his finger hooking over the waistband of your panties. Goosebumps ran down your arms.

“I don’t wanna…” he swallowed hard, “I don’t wanna take something you’re not ready to give.”

It was easy to see that he expected you to pull away. His shoulders were tense, bracing for your rejection. His free hand squeezed the sheets beside your head, like he already thought he took too much.

Your hand slid to the back of his neck, your fingers threading in his hair. 

Surprisingly enough, you were comfortable. You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, trying to pull him back in.

But Logan pulled away, trailing kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “Tell me. I need to hear it,” he said, his voice low and gravel-warm. You feel the blunt scrape of his teeth on your neck.

You whined, soft and a bit overwhelmed. It took a moment for you to find the words. “I want this,” you breathed into the quiet of his bedroom. “I want you.”

Logan nodded against your throat, hands moving again. “Okay,” he said, like a vow. “Then I got you.”

You sighed as your head tilted to give him more space. His palms slid beneath your nightgown, over the plane of your stomach. He felt you like a map beneath his touch, trying to memorize you without seeing. A hand dipped between your thighs, warm and sure as it pressed to the damp gusset of your panties.

Then–

CRACK.

The violent snap of wood echoed from outside Logan’s window. It was sharp and too close for comfort, followed by the wet thump of something falling to the dirt.

You both froze.

Logan lifted his head, eyes cutting to the window. The storm howled outside, rattling the glass. Wind buffeted against the outside wall.

“Tree came down,” he muttered as he pulled his hands away from you. They pressed into the mattress, his body tilting to get a better view of outside. “It was close.”

“Did it hit anything?” you asked, sitting up. Your heart was racing, but your lust was long forgotten. 

He listened for a moment, head still cocked to one side. “No,” he said definitively, looking back down at you. “But even if it crushed the fence, or the shed, I’ll fix it in the morning. Promise.”

You nodded, successfully talked down from the spiral of anxiety. But everything felt different now. Your skin felt warm from where he touched you, nightgown still rucked up haphazardly. The storm pressed in once more, the rose-colored haze gone from the room in an instant.

Logan leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. His hands smoothed your nightgown back over your thighs, curling around the backs of your knees.

“We don’t have to rush this,” he said softly, hazel eyes soft and sincere as he looked over your face. 

You were touched by his sincerity, looking up at him through your lashes. He wasn’t trying to push through the pause, you would have let him if he asked.

“Can we just sleep?” you asked, sounding small. Logan nodded, shifting off the bed to take off his jeans. You looked away as he changed into blue, drawstring pajama pants and blew out the candle on the dresser. The one on his nightstand flickered as he lay down next to you, an arm open to invite you in without a word.

He blew out the other candle as you settled against him, cheek to his chest, heartbeat under your ear.

“Gotta warn you,” he murmured in the dark, arm curling around your back to hold you close, “I’m not very good at staying in one place.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just placed your hand on his sternum. His dog tags made a metallic clinking sound beneath your fingertips. The rain was slowing outside, or at least you could convince yourself of it as your eyelids started to get heavy.

You were right on the edge of sleep when he spoke again, your lips parted, your breaths evening out and becoming soft sighs. It was so quiet you almost could convince yourself it was a dream. 

“If you asked me to… I might.”

[unlikeable-female-character]

Good morning to Logan from 2013’s The Wolverine and this specific look specifically

[theterpiel]

I love the HJYIACCU (Hugh Jackman Yelling In A Car Cinematic Universe)

[briseroyawritingsblog]

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀’𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 —

• this masterlist will contain headcanons of my favourite wolverines, through different timelines. +18 advised many of them will have smut mentions and of course minors do not interact.

divider by @anitalenia

-

• Headcanon one — Husband!Origins!Logan : ♡ ❥

• Headcanon two — Husband!Oldman!Logan : ♡ ❥

• Headcanon three — Oldman!Logan x fem!reader ♡ ❥

• Headcanon four — Oldman!Logan x Wife!Reader ♡ ❥

-

[hyper-fixates]

[v4mptress]

the wolverine (2013)

[detectivejuliuspepperwood]

As a society, we moved on too quickly from Logan's outfit at the end of The Wolverine (2013). He genuinely looks so soft in his little black hoodie & jacket.