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[swedishfishtyrell]

white hot forever

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

WC: 5.6k

Category: Smut (18+ ONLY, minors dni)

Content: Implied (non-specified) age gap, kissing, Logan throws reader over his shoulder/carries her, cunnilingus, unprotected pnv, reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, petnames (baby, old man, etc), beard burn, 1 single spank, some light nipple play, spitting, kinda dom logan/sub reader, light teasing/mocking, a dash of humiliation kink, lots of manhandling, an inordinate amount of animal metaphor/simile, mentions of logan’s exhaustion/aging due to the adamantium poisoning.

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His biceps strain against the thin cotton of his white button-down–the sleeves rolled up–as he finely chops a red pepper. His heavy hand lends to the particularly booming sound of the knife landing on the wood cutting board. But you don’t mind, content to observe from your ideal spot on the countertop of the island. 

A half empty wine glass sits in your palm as your gaze lingers on the smattering of dark hair beneath the low-cut tank he wears under the button-down. 

The kitchen smells of the sweetness of the cooking oil he used and the warmth of nostalgia. Faint memories from childhood of your mother bustling around the kitchen as she prepared dinner linger at the edges of your mind, brought on by familiar scents. When you breathe it in, you also catch lingering traces of Logan’s shampoo and, faintly, sweat. 

“You ever…Ya know,” you pause, swirling the white liquid around. “Use the claws to chop an onion or something?”

Doing your best to suppress a smirk when Logan looks up at you from beneath his brows and pins you with a stern gaze, you hold his eyes. 

You quirk a brow, waiting for his response as a snort threatens to bubble up. 

A smirk cracks through his intense facade, crows feet deepening slightly. With an endearing shake of his head, he huffs a laugh through his nose. Logan’s a bit of a grump—even more so now that his hair has greyed and he’s let his beard grow somewhat unruly—but he’s not without a sense of humour. 

“No,” his voice, though signed with a note of playfulness, is as gruff as always when he rests the knife on the cutting board. “But as you know, they’ve been useful for…other things.” 

The word ‘other’ is loaded with intensity as the hand that previously gripped the knife handle lands deceptively gently on your right knee. It skates roughly up your thigh to thumb at the edge of your skirt. 

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.  

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly. But the growing tension dissipates slightly when a timer dings, shrill and intrusive. 

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven. 

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop. 

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven. 

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.” 

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass. 

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. 

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say. 

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms. 

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest. 

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.” 

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache. 

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach. 

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended. 

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently. 

The word lingers in the air between you. 

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage. 

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?” 

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them. 

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows. 

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. 

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.” 

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is. 

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back. 

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze. 

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.  

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support. 

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it. 

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity. 

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis. 

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound. 

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild. 

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.” 

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room. 

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh. 

“Hey!” He barks. 

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.” 

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat. 

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions. 

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you? 

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man. 

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology. 

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.” 

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly. 

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.  

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey. 

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk. 

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over. 

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him. 

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat. 

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs. 

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant. 

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him. 

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin. 

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair. 

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it. 

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin. 

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days. 

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder. 

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger. 

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash. 

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad. 

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter. 

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically. 

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan. 

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over. 

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat. 

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure. 

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over. 

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white. 

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax. 

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh. 

“You know…For an old man, that was-” 

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin. 

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.  

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity. 

Finally, he finds your eyes. 

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh. 

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn. 

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape. 

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly. 

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.” 

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly. 

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing. 

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer. 

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now. 

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth. 

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck. 

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin. 

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside. 

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple. 

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand. 

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair. 

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin. 

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate. 

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.” 

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free. 

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’. 

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements. 

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder. 

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves. 

“Open.” 

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips. 

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is. 

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut. 

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.” 

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive. 

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat. 

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder. 

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body. 

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect. 

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.  

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice. 

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily. 

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs. 

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind. 

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit. 

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him. 

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly. 

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot. 

More. You need more of him. 

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair. 

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary. 

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides. 

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him. 

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin. 

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight. 

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse. 

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him. 

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble. 

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it. 

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are. 

 Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you. 

He shudders with his release. 

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening. 

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing. 

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close. 

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound. 

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves. 

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs. 

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead. 

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now. 

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too. 

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily. 

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear. 

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed. 

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again. 

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt. 

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[swedishfishtyrell]

HOLY FUCK OMG

[swedishfishtyrell]

Comfort |l. howlett| nsfw

A/N: age gap, car sex, old!logan, 18+ f!reader, mutant!reader(can identify diseases in person), smut, oral m! receiving, unprotected intercourse, cheating, creampie

You are not exactly sure how it began between you and Logan, how it is that you became so close. Looking at it from the beginning, it was a simple arrangement, a favor for Charles Xavier who had once upon a time helped you out in a time of need. With your position at the hospital, you were able to supply Logan with the medicine Charles needed for his seizures. It was often that Logan appeared tired and worn out from the long trips he often drove as a chauffeur. The sight of him so broken down weighed on you and there was nothing you wanted more than to help him, ease the aches and pains he was no doubt constantly feeling.

“You okay, Logan?” You ask as he meets you outside of the emergency area. It’s drizzling softly and he’s struggling to get up the slight, slick incline of the sidewalk towards you.

“Fine,” He forces a smile. “Just fine, sweetheart.” But he’s lying and you know it and he knows you’re aware, but he can’t burden you with himself too.

“Have dinner with me.” You offer, holding onto his hand as you give him the medicine. Logan shakes his head. “Please, I need a ride home anyway. My boyfriend’s got my car, but he’s not answering my calls.” Logan looks at you for a moment with concern and you roll your eyes playfully. “He’s kind of absentminded. It’s no big deal. Come on, give me a lift home and I’ll make you something to eat?”

It’s hard for Logan to pass up the invitation, especially when there’s a damsel in distress and he’s grown soft for you. Not only because you’re helping him out or because you’re incredibly pretty and you give him the type of looks he hasn’t received from a young girl in ages. He’s particularly soft for you because of all you do for others, nursing the sick, giving your deadbeat boyfriend every benefit of the doubt, indulging Logan even when he knows he’s being a complete pain in the ass.

You sit in the passenger seat with him as you rant about the patients, the doctors at the hospital, and your boyfriend. “I just can’t ever seem to do enough, you know?” You say as you look over at him and he’s listening with a pained look, struggling not to interrupt you with his coughing, the features of his face illuminated by the red stoplight you are currently sitting below. You feel your cheeks warm up in embarrassment as you realize you’ve been complaining this whole time. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I don’t mean to bitch about my problems when you’ve got all this shit worry about with Charles and yourself.” You say, pressing you palm into your forehead as you shake your head in disbelief. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I just get to jabbering and I don’t know when to-”

Logan’s hand is suddenly on your thigh and you look back at him, your face warm for a different reason now. “You’re allowed to bitch about that asshole.” He reassures you and you chuckle, biting your lip as he gives you a comforting squeeze on your leg. “Your boyfriend sure doesn’t sound like a prize.” He chuckles, leaving his hand where it is as he drives past the now green light and you let him. “How is it that you met again?”

You chuckle, shaking your head at the meet-cute you and your boyfriend had at the very hospital where you work. “He was bringing in a friend of his who had sprained an ankle. I could feel the cancer in him when our hands touched and I advised him to get a check up. When his results came back and they were able to treat it early, he invited me out to eat as a way of thanking me.”

“I should’ve done the same, huh? Maybe you and I would’ve ended up together.” Logan says, looking over at you with a small smirk while you frown because he knows you don’t like when he talks about what could’ve been. “Don’t be like that. I’ve lived a long life. It was only a matter of time before something killed me.”

You had sensed the adamantium poisoning him when you first shook hands at the beginning of your arrangement. You were hesitant to tell him, but you only confirmed what he already knew. It didn’t make it any easier to see such a great man slowly dying, weakening with every passing day. It made your heart ache and you just wanted to care for him. Logan knew of your feelings, but he was living on borrowed time, you needed someone that was going to stick around and he wasn’t going to let you take him on as another problem, another patient.

“You’re kidding me.” You say angrily as Logan is pulling up in front of your town home and you see your car parked outside. “That fucking asshole.”

Without another word, you leave your belongings in the car as you storm into your home and chew your boyfriend out for not picking up the phone or coming get you. Logan isn’t quite sure what to do, but he waits. After a few minutes, he watches you hurry back out with a backpack which you angrily toss into the back of the limousine and you sit back there with your face in your hands as you cry softly. “You okay?” He asks, driving away from your home, unsure of where he’s going, but assuming you don’t want to be there anymore.

“No.” You mumble, wiping your eyes and leaning back into your seat as you stare out of the tinted windows. Your phone, which is still in the passenger seat, is going off with texts and calls and you hear it. “Just turn it off.” Logan turns it off and he looks at you through the rear view mirror where you give him a sad smile. “Am I an idiot for giving him all those chances?” You ask suddenly and he shakes his head which makes you chuckle dryly. “Please, I have got to be the dumbest bi-”

“Don’t.” Logan’s voice is stern and you stop talking, crying quietly into your hands again as he finds a safe place to pull over so he can get into the back with you. His strong arms wrap around you and you cry into his chest, holding tightly onto him as he holds you. You can hear his heartbeat, you can feel his breathing is forced and shaky, you look up at him through your eyelashes, tears clinging to them like raindrops. Logan softly brushes the droplets from your cheekbone, his thumb moves slowly down to your jaw, and you lean up to kiss him. His initial thought is that you’re sad, you need comfort, you need to be shown appreciation, and as much as he would love to do that for you, be that person, he can’t. He won’t live long enough to build something real with you, he couldn’t possibly do that to you.

“Please,” You whisper as he begins to pull away. Your hands grab fistfuls of his dress jacket as you bring yourself up to kiss him again. “Please.” You whisper against his lips while you climb onto his lap.

Logan, in an attempt to be a good man, gently grabs your arms and pulls away from you. “Sweetheart, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re hurt, you don’t really want to do this.” He says, looking at you in his lap, pouting and broken hearted.

“Logan, I know you’re hurting too,” You say, gently pushing his jacket of his shoulders, rubbing his tense back softly and a low moan emits from his throat. “You want this as much as I do.” You whisper, unbuttoning his white dress shirt as you lean in and kiss his forehead. “Let me take care of you, and you can take care of me.” Your lips trail down to his jaw and you feel him force down a lump in his throat.

Hesitantly, for only a moment, he considers telling you to stop, to just talk about your feelings. You’re not some schoolgirl though, and you’re not someone he’s going to screw and forget about in a week. This isn’t going to be a one time thing with you. Genuinely, he wants to make you feel better and you’ve obviously got it set in your mind how that will happen. Logan gives you a small nod, grunting as you have him remove his button down till he’s left in his white undershirt. You move off his lap and undo his belt buckle, your eyes on him as his jaw tightens at the sight of you between his knees. “You don’t got-”

“Let me.” You say as you pull his hard cock out of his pants and kiss the head tenderly. Logan wants to take your mouth and shove himself deep down your throat in that moment, but he resists the urge. He lets you kiss him, he lets you slowly run your tongue around his length, he groans when your lips close around his tip. One of his hands is tangled in the back of your hair while his head hangs back slightly as you’re sinking your mouth around him. Your tongue cushions his heavy cock as you blow him, your hands pressed into his thighs while he’s guiding you gently. His other hand holds onto your arm as he shudders and jolts from the things your mouth is doing to him. “Mm,” You hum contently, your saliva spills down the sides of him as you gag and suck him off, stroking the underside of his veiny cock with your tongue until his precum begins to coat your tastebuds.

“Fuck, c’mere.” He says as he lifts you up, a pop sounds in the empty limousine as your mouth comes off his shaft. He pulls your scrub top off your body and he moistens his lips at the sight of your dark green lace bra, quickly pulling your bottoms off as well, confirming his suspicion that you’re wearing a matching set. You giggle softly as he pulls you back into his lap, his lips kiss sloppily at your breasts and the valley between them, his thick salt-and-pepper beard tickling you. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you whine as your clothed pussy rubs against his hard length. “You deserve better than that asshole.” He says, pulling your panties to the side so he can feel for your wet entrance with the tip of his cock.

“Oh, Logan.” You moan as you sink down on him and your eyes water from the stretch, surprised that for someone his age he is still so well hung and fit. You find yourself wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders as he bounces you on his lap, whining for him. “Uh, fuck!” You cry out as he continues kissing the tops of your breasts and your neck. “Logan, I want you so bad.” You gasp as his large hands grab fistfuls of your ass, spanking you hard and you tremble in his hold.

“It’s yours, sweetheart.” He grunts, sinking down slightly in the seat so he can watching you bounce on his cock. “Goddamnit, look at you.” He groans, his member throbbing and you whimper like a bitch in heat. You’ve thought about him like this before, you’ve gotten yourself off to the thought of him. It’s much better than your imagination could’ve made up. One of his hands comes up to fondle your tit, his thumb stroking your hard nipple as you’re rocking your hips into him. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you shudder and you feel the tension building up in the pit of your lower belly. “You’re so damn pretty.” He groans, bucking up into you and your mouth falls open from the added force.

“‘M gonna cum, Logan.” You warn, your hands now balancing yourself on his chest as you’re bouncing rhythmically, your ass slapping against his thighs which are wet from your leaking arousal. Logan growls, the smell of you so intoxicating he can’t see anything, but the end goal which is to fill you with his seed. “Yes, fuck!” You scream out weakly, your head dropping forward as you’re shaking violently with the force of your orgasm.

Logan keeps you steady, holding you up by your waist as he fucks up into you with an animal-like pace. You feel him deep in your core, hitting your cervix repeatedly until he suddenly pins you down, his large hands hold onto your shoulders as he pumps his load inside you, the hot spurts of semen coat your walls and you feel it, so deep, so much of him filling you up all at once. “Fucking-” He groans, burying his face between your tits as he pants breathlessly, his muscles shuddering as you gently rub his back and shoulders. “Didn’t think I still had it in me.” Logan comments making you laugh. His eyes wrinkle at the corners as he smiles at the sound, your genuine laughter that he doesn’t get to hear often because of all the bullshit weighing on you. He’s honored you share it with him, humbled that you share yourself with him.

“That was the best I’ve had in a while.” You say with a warmth on your cheeks from the smirk he gives you as he shakes his head incredulously. “Thank you.” You whisper, kissing him softly, still sitting on his cock as you make out in the quiet lull that follows orgasms as intense as the ones you just experienced.His hands roam your body slowly as if committing every curve and shape to memory.

“No, sweetheart, thank you.” He says.

That night is committed to comfort. The next to experimenting. The following to pleasure, and so forth, until you find yourselves in a habit of simply seeking each other out for the sake of the love growing between you. Even if it doesn’t last long, even if it’ll only be a few months or a few years before he’s too weak to continue, you’ll still have the comfort of knowing what you had was real.

Oh, you know, just breaking my own heart one writing session at a time:’)

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12

[swedishfishtyrell]

pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than you holding him because of your sick love for him. He doesn’t think you love him in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

He closes them. “I’m tired,” Logan says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Elliot Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.” 

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it. I know you’ve been missing when I used to ruin you.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it. 

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

 You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling identical things. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again. 

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

“I’m gonna—” He groans over and over as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster, swapping his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back so you both can swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough from his orgasm.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.

[swedishfishtyrell]

imagine young!reader crying while riding old man!logan, genuinely he didn't know what to do because he'd never been with someone younger, like (18-20s not a minor) so he's just wiping tears as he helps guide you with his free hand.

old man!logan was always careful when it came to you, you were just a gently little flower waiting to bloom into something more, but sometimes he just couldn't avoid hurting you. you were young and just so sensitive. times like now, as you bounced up and down on his cock, tears ebbing at your waterline as you grasped at his feeling the need to be closer as tears streamed down your cheek. one of his hands abandoned your hips, to wipe away the tears, "what's wrong?" he whispered gently, with of a hint teasing betraying his worriedness. sometimes (everytime) you started to cry, he sought opportunity to tease you. logan couldn't help but to. "what if—" you hitched your breath as he grabbed your hips, bringing you to a still as you hiccuped, "—what if you leave me for someone better?" like usual, it was always something silly, he would never leave you. if he left you, the world would chew you like gum 'n spit you back out with no hesitation, and he could never let that happen. ever.

[swedishfishtyrell]

“NEVER IS A PROMISE” | 12.4k

old man!logan x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut - mdni 18+ mentions of drinking, angst, some fluff, old man!logan x caregiver!reader, implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties), miscommunication, slow burn, pining, reader is shorter than logan and has long hair, charles in his cupid era, petnames, minor injuries, wound tending, mentions of blood, virgin!reader, dirty talk, cum shot, fingering, handjobs, oral sex (m receiving), loving sex, sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?) unprotected p in v

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet,” he hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” he reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them,” he relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn,” you blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. "That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy."

"Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though,” you stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he ponders, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize. Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on. The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place. But whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. But the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere. In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Yeah, you don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life. But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that,” you squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different,” you place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” you rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support. You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe,” you glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” his voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I,” you stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him. You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat.

Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread. Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming. “You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line. Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers. As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present. Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips. Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you. One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby,” he pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order. While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest. Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation. Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” he inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot. As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine. Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant. There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince. The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs. The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was the Wolverine. The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow. Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself. The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. A flush of crimson crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life. The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence. Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening’,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your warm breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night. The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto. On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite. But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides. All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door. He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower. Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were following’ me. Had been doing’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?“ you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—“ your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—“

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—“

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks. Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—“

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface. Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind. Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored. You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you can’t quite put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you. You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented. Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively. Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee. “Was it a nightmare?“ you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early,” you stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” you prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it. Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” you decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” you pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected. Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know. “When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” he gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him. Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours. You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“Didn’t I ask you something?” his teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down,” you obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side. He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips. “So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” he edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt. Logan’s on the verge of drooling over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath. A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm. The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, honey,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples. “It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” one of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” you can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this. Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God,” he slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute,” he begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to well in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I could tell,” he curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, pretty girl. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax. Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily. You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these two all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest. He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me,” he adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good,” he looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog. Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him. “That lie’s older than me,” he slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. I gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise—you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” you trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” he laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember it. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” it’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him. You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you. Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization.

“He looks happier, doesn’t he?” the old man says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school. You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home. He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head. Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent. You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up. But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever. He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps. You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, but the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts. It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—” before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake. His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” it’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm. Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “I think I asked you a question. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of him.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?” you search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all those layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan,” you throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine,” you rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” you edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surrounding your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place. Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” you retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best,” he presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually. The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to,” you cup his cheeks, guiding your lips into his once again. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room. Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you,” trailing his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine,” his tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you. You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughing?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always love you. F-forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts. He feels like a madman, eyes are fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge. “That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound. You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like,” his voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“It’s nothing, baby. I was just thinking aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And, God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[swedishfishtyrell]

sugar | a logan howlett x f! reader

summary: if there’s one thing logan loves- it’s fucking you.

warnings: pure smut. slight dom/sub dynamics, oral, fingering, pussy pronouns, daddy kink, cigar smoking, spanking, unprotected piv, creampie, reader has hair, implied age gap, crying, etc. NOT SPELL CHECKED!

logan pats his thigh, a simple gesture that carries so much weight, so much dominance. he’s sat on the couch, legs splayed open, a bottle of beer in one hand, a cigar in the other.

“give me some sugar, baby.” he coos, beckoning you forth with two of his fingers. his lips are snarled in a twisted sort of smirk, eyes dark with the knowledge that, yes, you will obey.

you would be a fool not to. not when he treats you so sweet, not when he fucks you so good.

guiding yourself over to him, you lower yourself down until you’re straddling him, fingers twisting the hair against his neck gingerly as your thighs press against his own.

“such a pretty little thing.” his words are a growling hum that claw from the back of his throat, deep and masculine and, god above, fucking sexy. logan’s lips trail to the sweet spot right beneath your ear, and the little nip he gives your skin makes you yelp, followed by a giggle so sweet it makes his teeth hurt.

“and you’re all for me.” he claims, pulling his neck away to drink in your form. so soft, so supple- you were everything he wasn’t, a sweet and welcomed respite from his coldly metallic world.

your grinding down against the tent that’s forming beneath his pants in record time, palms flat on the broad muscle of his shoulders as he stares at you. logan takes in a deep breath, chest rising against your own as he brings the cigar to his lips, jaw tight as he breathes in the sweet smoke.

“how ‘bout you get down on your knees, let your old man see you sittin’ all pretty for him?”

you whine out with something that sounds like a protest, your clit aching for him, begging for his touch.

this isn’t logan’s first time around the block. he knows what you need, how you need it. your face is scrunched up in frustration, and he chuckles, his rough thumb spreading across your cheekbone.

“don’t worry, baby. i haven’t forgotten about her.” his hand travels down your body, and he cups your soaked pussy in the roughness of his palm. “i’ll make her feel real nice. just get on your knees first, yeah? let daddy see your pretty mouth.”

you hum out, content with his proposal, and drop to your knees before him. he sits up, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly unzips his pants, the smoke of his cigar swirling through the air, dancing across his face with shades of hazy white.

“look what you’ve done.” he tuts, and your eyes trace down to the bulge in his white boxers, the fabric stretched taut against the muscles of his thighs. there’s a wet spot pooling with his pre-cum, and you feel your tongue dripping with your own saliva.

“please.” you murmur as he takes your chin between his fingers, his thumb pressing to the soft plushness of your lower lip.

“please what, baby doll?”

you groan softly, extending your tongue against his thumb. he pops it between your lips, pressing down ever so slightly.

“please shwove yer cahck in my mouf.” your words are muffled by his digit, and logan takes a moment to process what you said before laughing.

“one more time.” he says through gleeful chuckles, removing his hand from your face. you couldn’t help but giggle, wiping a string of saliva off your chin.

“i said,” you begin, batting your eyelashes for him delicately, “please shove your cock in my mouth.”

“well…. why am i to argue when you ask so nice?”

logan pushes his boxers down, and his cock springs out with a gentle pop against his stomach, a trail of his pre-cum dripping from the patch of hair that’s made up his happy trail. you moan at the site of his length, long and veiny, so thick you can’t even wrap your entire hand around it.

still, he always loves to see you try.

logan grabbed your wrist, bringing it towards his throbbing cock. he watches as you wrap your delicate fingers around, the way you pump up, down, up down- so sweet and tentatively.

with his free hand he grabbed the cigar from his lips, exhaling a stream of smoke through an arrogant smirk.

“open up.” logan mumbles, wrapping his hand around yours as he taps the tip of his cock against your lips.

you do, your lips wrapping around his head as you suck softly, moaning at the heady taste that floods your mouth. logan grunts, barely able to hold his hips down as they jerk upwards, desperate for more of your throat.

a tiny whimper rumbles from the back of your throat, and the vibration it makes on the sensitive tip of his length makes logan groan, a groan that was dangerously close to becoming a whine.

your thighs are pressed tightly together, your own arousal pooling behind the material of your panties as logan guides your head gently with a fistful of hair, tugging ever so slightly as you take him down inch by inch. the gag you let out as he fills you deeper makes him moan, a cocky sort of moan that almost- almost- makes you roll your eyes.

you glance up at him through a blurry set of eyes, tears pricking the corners of your vision. you can see his brows furrowed, cigar hanging on by a thread between a pair of slack lips. he’s puffing out clouds of smoke, every so often combing his free hand through his head of messy hair.

“such a good fucking girl. aren’t you?” he mumbles out once your eyes meet with his, a glimmer of pride twinkling in his irises, like he can’t believe you’re actually his.

oh, but you are. and your hardened nipples poking from behind your shirt and shaking thighs prove that to him.

“yeah, that’s right. you are- you know it, too.” he chuckles through a moan, hips rutting up into your mouth, making you gag once more. “‘cause nobody else can make me feel like this. god damn, baby.”

you bob your head down, your hand at the base of his cock, moving in tune with the motion of your neck.

“pretty thing.” logan whispers, brushing a strand of hair from over your eyes. “want to taste your old man’s cum? hmm? want daddy to fill that pretty mouth up?”

you moan loudly against his dick, blinking rapidly as though it were an attempt to say- yes. fuck, yes. please.

your name tumbles from his mouth like a prayer as he cums deep inside of your throat, watching as the pretty white droplets of his spend dribble from the side of your mouth.

“all of it.” he growls, tugging at your hair as you swipe his cum up with a finger, pulling away momentarily to slowly lick it off your skin. you put his cock back in your mouth, swirling up and down until he’s clean, and his cum is completely cleaned away.

logan leans back into the couch, taking his cigar out of his mouth as he catches his breath, eyes shutting close as he comes back down to earth. a laugh rumbles through his chest, his pecs shining with a sheen of sweat, the veins on his neck still slightly budging- he waves you over with a flick of his index, and you happily obey.

“get on top of me.” he sets his cigar in the ashtray beside the couch, leaning up on his elbows. a smile stretches across his pretty lips as you straddle him once more, your underwear the only thing separating you. “lean forward. let me get a face full of those pretty tits.”

you giggle softly and nod, leaning towards him. logan takes one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking roughly, his facial hair scratching at the tender flesh between the valley of your breasts. his free hand creeps down your back, meeting the hem of your panties.

logan slipped his palm behind the fabric, rubbing across your ass cheek, massaging it between his fingers like he’s kneading dough. you moan out his name, cheek pressed to his forehead as you grind down against his cock that’s already hardening again. he drags his nails across the sensitive skin of your ass, down, down, down until he’s at the top of your thigh.

his fingers meet the wetness of your folds, swollen and dripping with your arousal, and he hooks you closer to him, feet pressing down on to your ankles so you’ve nowhere to run.

not that you would want to run, anyways.

logan pulls away with a pop, watching the way your mouth forms a pretty “o” as he sinks his middle finger deep within the velvet confines of your cunt. he buries his face back in to your chest, biting down upon the flesh of your breast.

you whine at the pain, feeling him suckling the tender skin, both of you knowing full well that it will leave a mark. you look down, seeing the imprints of his canines above your nipple.

“logan.” you breathe out, fingers raking through his hair. “logan, please.”

“please what? hmm? tell me what you want, what you need, baby. let your daddy give you what you want, yeah?”

“want you to make me cum.”

“yeah?” he purrs, hooking his finger up against your g-spot. you cry out, nails digging so deep into his shoulders you break flesh. you watch it form itself back together, as though there is an invisible needle, moaning out as logan sits up, holding you to his chest with one arm wrapped around your waist loosely.

“yeah. please.” you whisper, smiling at him sweetly. you lean forward, lips meeting his in a gentle kiss. logan sighs in contentment, his hand moving up to hold your jaw softly, his thumb tracing shapes into your skin as he kisses you back.

when he pulls away from your mouth, logan grins a little smirk that borders on boyish, peppering your face in more pecks before laying back onto the leather cushions.

“take a seat, baby doll.”

you moan out at the prospect of what’s about to happen, crawling on top of his face until your clothed pussy is hovering above his mouth. you hear him take in a deep inhale, your scent already memorized in his mind, already welcomed and- above all- wanted.

logan pushes the soaked material to the side, immediately sucking your throbbing clit into his mouth. he rolls the sensitive bud between his lips, moaning into your cunt as he does so.

you grind down against him, his tongue shoved into your tight hole as his nose brushes up and down. the tips of his fingers are digging into the skin of your thighs now, his nails leaving perfect crescent shaped marks that make you writhe and breathlessly call his name.

when you glance down, all you see are his eyes closed, crinkled by the side in a content smile, his head of hair splayed out across the pillows, messy and sweaty against his head.

you hold on to his scalp, grinding yourself down as he explores your cunt, his mouth devouring every inch of you until your thighs are shaking.

logan’s eyes flutter open, and you whine at the look of desire flooding them.

he wants you, and he wants you now.

his tongue flattens against your clit, long and drawn out swipes accompanying his movements. he pulls his hand away, giving you a slap on the ass that you know will leave a mark. the way your body jolts makes him chuckle into you, and you can’t help but let out a breathless laugh.

“logan.” you mutter, and he raises an eyebrow in response. “logan, please don’t stop. i’m gonna- i-”

but he’s already brought you there, right there, just one more flick and-

your vision goes blurry, mind completely empty, room completely silent, as your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave. you cry out, your head thrown back as he guides you through your orgasm, his palms stroking the small of your back, coaxing you back to life, allowing you to come to your senses.

with a whine you move off of him, straddling his belly as he rests his grip on your hips. you look down at him, and his face is glistening with your wetness, beard completely soaked, eyes heavy lidded. he smiles when your eyes meet, and you can’t help but smile back.

oh, he loves you.

“did you like that?” he asks arrogantly. he already knows the answer, he just loves hearing your response.

“always do.” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his neck, thick and tinted red from his body heat, covered in sweat that’s salty upon your lips.

“that’s right.”

you slide down until your straddling him, his cock pressing against the folds of your soaked, swollen pussy.

“there you go, baby.” logan picks up his cigar, lighting it once more, as he guides you down the length of his cock with a steady, firm hand.

you’ve anchored yourself to him with your hands splayed flat against his chest, adjusting to the sheer size of him before rocking up and down, slowly, thighs still shaking with your previous orgasm.

logan folds his arm behind his head, watching you. his eyes move from the euphoric look in your eyes, down to your bouncing tits, down, down, down until they reach your glistening pussy, watching the way it takes his cock, so greedily and wantonly.

he puffs on his cigar, a groan following the smoke which tumbles from his lips. it’s animalistic, hungry, and there’s a look swirling about in his eyes as he watches you.

“there you go. just like that, that’s it. taking me so well. you know that? this pussy was made for me, wasn’t she?”

you whine out, nodding dumbly as you bounce up and down.

“‘course she was.” he purrs his words, hand rubbing down the side of your thigh. logan chuckles when goosebumps rise on your skin, his thumb brushing across the textured feeling before jutting his hips up in to you.

you yelp out in surprise, and he smirks. “i know you can take me, baby. i know this pussy like the back of my hand.”

you moan a long ohhhh at his words, trying to formulate something that sounds like a coherent sentence. “yes you do.” you whimper.

“yeah, i do. just sit back, let daddy fuck you. yeah?” you nod, staying where you are.

logan moves his hands down to each of your hips, cigar still hanging loose in his mouth. he stares at you for a moment before holding you in place, beginning to jerk up in to you- fast and hard, more than you ever could from just riding him.

you gasp, your pussy burning and stretching in the most delicious of ways with each thrust of his hips. his name tumbles from your mouth through a tangled up sob, your vision full of stars as he fucks you, each movement harder than the last.

“fuck. holy fuck, logan. oh my god!”

his eyebrows are furrowed, face tight with concentration as he rams into you. “that’s right.” he mutters. “do me a favor, baby?” you nod breathlessly. “get this damn thing out of my mouth.” you obey, grabbing the smoke from between his lips and holding it.

“that’s better.” he leans forward, taking your nipple in his mouth. you grind down against him with each thrust, whining out as your free hand moves to tug at his hair.

“can’t get enough of you.” he mumbles through a face full of tit. “never will.”

logan hips and bites, marks and scratches- anything to let people know that you’re his. and, god above, you are his. he had you by the throat now as he rails you, teeth barred like a caged coyote, guttural growls clawing at the back of his throat.

his canines bit deep into the flesh of your neck, your skin aching beneath his bite as he marked you. he could have just written:

Property of Logan Howlett. DO NOT touch. Especially Not You, Wade.

And that would have done the job.

but a bite. oh, a bite? well. that was so much more erotic. it was wrong, being so mean to the one you were meant to love, but logan knew- across all universes- that you loved it when the beast came out of him. you would never say it out loud, but the slight anticipation of fear, the gentle tug of worry that would slither through your belly when he got this way, excited you even more.

"oh. You like that, don't you?" his words were cocky. he already knew.

"y-es... oh fuck, yes I do."

"mhmm. just like I thought." logan was getting arrogant now, a cocky grin spread out across his lips as he watched you intently, nostrils flared as he traced over the sweat covered features of your face.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing you softly, sweetly- cresting a dichotomy of intensity snd tenderness that made your head go dizzy.

“can feel you getting tighter and tighter.” he murmured, fingers tweaking a nipple. “you gonna cum again? gonna paint your old man’s dick with your pretty cream?”

your eyes brimmed with tears, the pleasure he was feeding you too intense to even think straight. you were half sure you were drooling, a blabbering fool right in the brink of an orgasm.

“y-yes.”

“ask nicely. maybe daddy will consider it then. go on, baby, use that pretty mouth to form some pretty words.”

you cry his name, chanting it like a mantra. your legs are shaking, and your thankful for his vice grip around you, because without it you would have fallen over by now.

“please. fucking- oh god. please let me cum, daddy. please.”

“hmm.” logan thinks about it for a moment, running his thumb down to brush against your clit. you cry out, and you know it would be nearly impossible to not cum with him flicking against your sensitive little bud like that.

“do you think you should cum?”

“yes! please, logan. please just let me cum, i’ve been sweet to you today.” your voice is. high pitched whine that makes him chortle, and he nods.

“you have, baby. you’ve given me lots of sugar.”

logan kisses your jaw, nipping at it quickly before nodding. “look at me. meet my eyes.” he orders.

you quickly do as he pleases, face scrunched up in concentration so as not to release your own orgasm too soon. “my pretty, pretty girl. okay, fine. you can cum.”

“oh my god thank you. thankyouthankyouthankyou-” you cry out through closed eyes, hot trails of tears slithering down your cheeks as you whimper and shake against him.

logan growls at the sight, and you feel his own cock twitching, his cum spurting deep within you as he growls like a wild beast, his teeth gritted so hard you were sure one might break. you feel his tense jaw against your neck, feel the way he bites down on to your shoulder, nails digging deep into your sides.

you whine out, overstimulated by the pleasure you’ve just experienced, and in a single movement you both fall back on the couch.

logan is catching his breath, his cock still nestled deep within you. you nuzzle close to him, peppering kiss along his neck until he glances down at you.

“i love you.” he confesses, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

“i love you too, logan.”

you’ll doze off to sleep together eventually- logan just has a cigar to finish first.

[swedishfishtyrell]

“stay” YES SIR🧎🏻‍♀️

[swedishfishtyrell]

Just Us | Old Man!Logan x Reader

🌶️ 18+

Summary: You and Logan have been on the road with Charles and Laura, but finally catch a moment for yourselves.

It has been too long since you and Logan have spent time alone together. Ever since taking in Laura and making the decision to take her north at her mother’s wish, the four of you have been sharing dingy motels and catching whatever rest you could in the truck. Charles needed to be taken care of and the kid had to be corralled, exhausting you and Logan on top of the constant threat of Dr. Rice and Pierce.

You could tell this sudden change of pace was weighing on Logan’s shoulders heavily. The circles under his eyes were darkening and the worry lines on his forehead were deepening. The frustration was eating away at him, but deep down he knew he had to do this. You could tell he needed release. He found this situation ridiculous and constantly asks you why you let him do this. After all, you, Charles, Caliban and Logan had been successfully under the radar until now. Life was peaceful and even somewhat enjoyable for Logan’s standards. Now, Caliban is dead, Charles refuses his medication, and the pair of you are tasked with taking a child to a sanctuary that could not even exist.

An unexpected change of your path lead the four of you to the farmhouse of a sweet family whom Charles and Logan helped on the highway. They fed you dinner and offered to lend you all a place to sleep, which Logan quickly accepted, catching your gaze from across the dining room. Your eyes trail down his body, catching a glimpse of his clenched fist, and a certain outline in between his legs. Your eyes travel up once more, sharing a shy smirk with Logan.

After helping Charles into bed and getting Laura comfortable, Logan grabs your hand tightly and nearly drags you off into your shared room. His heavy footsteps drown out your giggles- His body language could only mean one thing.

“Well, aren’t you eager?” You say to Logan in a lowered voice, biting back a smile. He closes the door behind you and locks it, spinning you and pressing you into the door.

“You have no idea, bub.” Logan growls.

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head tightly. His head dips to the crook of your neck, biting and sucking desperately. Your head drops back instinctively, bumping the door behind you. He was so impossibly close already, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside you.

With his free hand, Logan finds the buttons of your jeans and masterfully undoes them. He releases your wrists and your hands quickly find his cheeks to pull his mouth away from your neck and to your lips. He groans deeply into the kiss and shoves your jeans to your knees as your hands tighten in his dusty grey hair. He pushes his knee into yours, forcing your legs open, and shoves his jean covered thigh against your core. You instantly moan into Logan’s mouth.

“You know how long it’s been since I’ve had you to myself? Too damn long.” He says, guiding your hips as you grind on his thigh.

“I’ve missed you.” You choke out, causing Logan to chuckle.

“Well you’ve got me for at least tonight sweet girl.”

He removes his knee from between your legs and helps you step out of your jeans and panties. He takes your hand and leads you to the bed, laying you down on the edge of it. You prop yourself onto your elbows and watch Logan unbutton his flannel and reveal his weathered body. He had been through so much in his life, but he would always make time for his girl.

He works off his jeans, leaving him only in his plain boxers, and leaving you with a wide eyed stare. This would never get old. He inserts himself between your legs and reaches for the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head and unclasps your bra while he’s at it. He sighs at the sight he had been missing for the last few weeks. He may not tell you often, but you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You ready, bub? Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

You whimper out a desperate reply, but it isn’t good enough for Logan. He leans down, hands placed on either side of your head. Your legs immediately wrap around his hips.

“Use your words, honey. Let me hear you.” He growls into your ear.

“Please, Logan. I need you.”

He chuckles, breath fanning over your ear and neck.

“That’s what I like to hear. Such a good girl for me.” His voice dripping with desire.

He pushes his hands up and pushes his boxers down his hips, revealing his hard cock. He strokes it lazily before guiding it to your entrance. He enters you inch by inch, teasing you both. Even though it’s only been a few weeks without touching each other, being on the run has made it feel like years. Logan finally sinks his hips to become flush with yours, filling you completely. The two of you are panting into each other’s mouths, just completely full of desire and love for the other.

“You ready for me to move, hon?” He whispers in between labored breaths. You nod meekly, hair sticking to your forehead. He kisses you tenderly, his beard scratching your chin. Logan begins to move at a slow pace, but quickly picks up speed. He wants nothing more than a passionate night with you, but it’s been too long to hold himself back.

His speed increases, thrusting into you as hard as he promised. Your jaw goes slack to release a moan, but he covers it quickly with his large hand.

“As much as I wanna hear you, we don’t want to wake our hosts, huh?” He says, smiling at your fucked out expression. You nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fucks you hard.

“You’re close bub, I can feel it. Just let go for me baby.” He whispers, forehead against yours.

You let out a stifled moan against Logan’s hand as he pulls out and releases all over your stomach and thighs. He flops beside you with a groan and maneuvers himself to the top of the bed, pulling you into his muscular chest and wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders.

“I missed you.” You whisper, eyes fluttering shut.

“I know.”

[swedishfishtyrell]

I had a thought about 🥺 tending to Old Man Logan's wounds like he does to himself in Logan (2017). He deserves to be taken care of

oof anon, this made my heart ache! 🥲💖 I just watched Logan again and god those scenes broke my heart - I wrote a little drabble based on your ask (hope that is okay!) 💖 he so deserves it!

old man logan x reader | 450 words

tags: hurt/comfort, wound care, mention of blood, feelings

“Let me.”

You don’t like to be forceful with him.

Sometimes it’s the only way he’ll listen. A hand splayed against his chest as you push him back against the mattress.

Your thighs spread to straddle him, a coffee mug full of tepid water and a torn shirt tucked against his hip.

Without you, the blood would dry on his skin. Sticky against his white dress shirt, flaking off the next day. Seeping into the fabric, melding with the dew of sweat in the summer heat.

“Don’t have to-“ Logan protests - still trying to lift up on an elbow. Stubborn as an old dog. Ready to flinch away from something he doesn’t think he deserve.

Old wounds take time to heal now. Some never do, not fully.

Even after every hit he’s taken, there’s still a shaky inhale when you brush the dampened cloth against his chest.

A soft, placating hum - your other hand finding his and squeezing. All that red slowly staining the old shirt, leaving his skin clean. Revealing pinkened flesh, still knitting together.

He’ll be whole by morning. It still makes you ache.

“What happened this time?” It’s quiet, your eyes still focused on your work.

Logan grunts, fingers squeezing yours when scrub a little too hard. Your head ducking to press a kiss against his stomach, just shy of where a knife sunk to the hilt.

“Carjacking. Someone tried to take the limo.” It comes as a low rasp, his eyes not meeting yours.

You frown, “So let them have it.”

“Can’t, sweetheart,” His gaze finally finding yours - dark and solemn, “Gotta take care of you.”

You reach, a hand cupping his cheek. An ache in your chest at the way he leans into it - his eyes fluttering shut.

The mug and the shirt placed on the old wooden side table. Each wound carefully taped and covered, with practiced fingers. Shifting, until you can tuck into his side - your head nestled against his shoulder.

“We take care of each other.” It’s a reminder, murmured into the night.

He’ll come home bloody again.

Tomorrow, next week, the week after. As relentless as the grey that weaves into his beard, his temples.

Can’t stop him. Can’t stop time, either.

But tonight, he is yours. Your eyes closed as you listen - the racing of his heart gradually calms, as your fingers trace over old scars. The way he tugs you closer, as his breath evens out. Going slow and steady.

It’s enough. It has to be.

thank you for sending this! I am going to be 🥺😭 all day, omg

[swedishfishtyrell]

༊*·˚ 𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮

You, Logan, Laura and Charles have to pretend to be a family with the nice people but Logan can’t help thinking what could have been

Warning/disclaimer: strong language, cursing, sexual themes, angst, follows the events of Logan

The silence was the eighth guest at the table. It sat just as stiff as the rest of you.

The lovely family you’d helped at the roads invited you all back for dinner and Logan who was hesitant to accept the kindness of strangers denied, but Charles insisted. Even you didn’t want to turn down a hearty meal. It made a change from the bars of granola and chocolate you’d been eating like it was your last meal the days you’d been on the road.

Logan watched as you coaxed Laura into using a fork and not her fingers and as you told her not to pile too much on her plate.

  ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

You and Logan sat at the dining table at the school. Everyone else was asleep and it was just the two of you in the dead of night, lit only with the dim kitchen lights.

The two of you sat facing each other, you cradled tea while Logan had a soda. Your legs were thrown of his lap as you talked about something, he wasn’t even sure what it was because all he was focusing on was his hand caressing up your leg and how sweet your skin tasted as he nipped and licked at your neck.

You tried to keep talking but he was oh so distracting. “Logan.”

He hummed, kissing that sweet spot behind your ear.

“We’re in a school, stop trying to take me on the table,” you said, amused.

“I’m not trying to take you on the table,” he denied, lifting his head to look at you. “I’m trying to take you on the kitchen counter. C’mon, you know you want to.”

His hands slipped under your shirt that was really his, pinching and groping any flesh he could. He chuckled as you shivered, kissing your lips and trying to slide his tongue in.

“Anyone could walk by,” you argued against his lips.

“Well, they didn’t find us the first time. Or the second, or the last time, or the time before that,” he listed.

You giggle quietly as he groans playfully against your neck, gripping your thighs until he had you straddling him, the chair groaning under the weight of you both. “We can’t break another chair,” you mumble.

“Then we better take it slow, bub.”

He kissed you sweetly before giving into the heat that crawled in his stomach and down to his cock. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“There’s plenty more if she wants,” said Kathryn, bringing Logan from his daydream.

He looked at you, none the wiser he wished he could still love you freely and not pay the price later. Then he looked to Laura who was shoving corn in her mouth. “She’s fine,” he grumbled.

“Where are y’all heading?” Asked Will.

Logan said ‘Oregon’ the same time Charles said ‘South Dakota,’ and everyone looked between the two.

You clear your throat. “Oregon then South Dakota.”

“Vacation?” Asked Kathryn.

“Yes,” said Charles. “Long overdue, we’re city folk. Always wanted to go out and see the country, meet the people who live in it.” He smiled, as if this was all his plan.

Kathryn nodded. “That sounds lovely. Been trying to get Will here to take a vacation for years now.”

“You don’t like to travel?” You asked.

Logan remembered traveling with you once. To Canada.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The two of you were hiding from the frigid snow in a bar, where Logan could keep himself warm with whiskey and where he could keep you warm all evening.

The two of you had sat at the bar, talking with smiles on your faces, almost passing for regular people.

When Johnny Cash started playing ‘Give my love to Rose’ you had dragged him out to the floor. It was empty besides an old couple swaying slowly. He followed after you grudgingly but his hold on your hand was firm. He dared glare at any man that looked at his girl.

When you were in the middle of the floor you threw your arms around his shoulders as his hands fell to your hips, helping you move.

“Smile,” you told him.

“Why?”

“I wanna see if your face cracks.”

He squeezes you and pulls you in closer, biting down on his lip as he looks at you.

“I thought you’d be happy to be out of the school for a bit,” you said. “I know you don’t like being cooped up all the time.” You caressed his cheek.

He moved to kiss your palm. “I am happy, bub. M’always happy with you.”

“Well, would it kill you to show it,” you tease.

“I can show it to you,” he mumbled in your ear.

You smile and rest your head on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart.

Give my love to Rose, won’t you mister. Take her all my money, tell her buy some pretty clothes.

Logan hummed the song, chest vibrating with it.

“We could do it, if you want,” you said.

Logan hummed.

You moved away from his chest and looked up to him. “We could leave the school if you wanted.”

He looked at you. Sure, he’d thought about it but never said it out loud. He knew the school was your home, the only place you’d ever known. He wasn’t going to ask you to leave it all behind, even if he was at home with the mountains. “You’d leave?”

“Well we’d have to talk to Charles, and we’d visit of course. But I’m not against the idea, Logan. I want a life with you.”

His arms circled around you. “I want you, forever, bub.”

“You have me. Forever.”

He raised his brows. The two of you could live a long, long time. With both your healing factors. “And ever?”

You rolled your eyes. “And ever.”

He grinned, something only you could make him do. He took your hands and kissed the backs of them before pulling out and bringing you back in.

And ever.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan felt your foot nudge his under the table and he thought he’d missed a question or something.

You glanced his way. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

Logan chewed and moved his foot closer to yours, your feet together. Color tinged your cheeks. When had the two of you gotten so cold with each other? He couldn’t pin point when the little touches between you two became miracles.

Was it when you lost half your family? Or when he realized he wasn’t getting better?

“And if we go out trapesing the country who’s gonna take care of this place?” Will proposed.

“Exactly, I say let it go,” said Kathryn.

“And live off what?”

“The lord will provide.”

“Well, I’m still waiting for him to provide me with a new thresher.”

Kathryn ignored her husband and smiled at them. “All the same, I’d love to travel someday.”

“And I bet you will,” Charles assured her.

Logan looked to him, wondering if he was getting too comfortable in using his powers again

“I could drop out of school,” suggested their son, Nate.

“Ok let’s not go that far,” said his mother as a couple chuckles passed the table.

“Careful,” you warned, “you’re talking to a guy who ran a school.” You nodded your fork to Charles.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan wasn’t one for teaching, mainly he was a sub and would take some danger room sessions. Everyone knew he stuck around for you.

As classes were coming to an end he walked the corridors, nodding to those that said hello to him but he wasn’t stopping for a chat. He kept going until he came by your class. Kids were still leaving, a few young men loitering to ask you questions.

He watched amused as they thought they had a chance before he waltzed in, making himself known with the sound of his boots on the ground. “Hey, sweetheart,” he came up behind you as you straightened the papers.

“Hey,” you mumble.

The three students were still loitering and Logan glared at them. “Beat it.”

Quickly, they scampered.

“Logan,” you chastised.

“What?” He settled in your chair, fingers messaging into you.

“They were asking me what they’ve heard on the news,” you told him, distracted.

Logan sighed. He knew what the news was saying, the wonder and concern why there were less mutant births every day. He didn’t care. Less mutants, less students, more time spent with you.

But you were worrying. You watched the news every day, was reading reports and doing your own research.

“Listen, bub,” he said, trying to get your focus on him and not the desk. “Stop, look at me.”

He turned you around, trapping you between the desk and him. You seemed tired, you shoulders slumped. He went to message them, rubbing away the stress. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, couple months ago about leaving. Well, maybe we should.”

“Now?” You ask. “Logan, things aren’t going well for the mutants, right now Charles needs us here-”

“Things never go well for mutants,” he said. “You’re having second thoughts.”

You sigh, looking up to him. “I’m not having second thoughts. All I’m saying is we just need to wait a bit, to see what happens.”

Logan didn’t want to wait. He was stubborn, he wanted to act. While you had been looking into what was going on with the mutants, he had been looking at places in Canada to live. Little towns, little huts in snowy mountains.

“Soon, ok?” You pecked his lips and moved from his grasp as he watched you go.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“It was a um… a special needs school,” Charles fumbled on his words.

“That’s a good description for it,” said Logan as you chuckled.

Charles looked over toward you and Logan. “They were in it,”

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Logan mused. “I got kicked out a few times.”

They laughed at that, even Laura.

“I wish I could say you were a good student but the words would probably choke me,” said Charles, a sly smile on his lips.

You took a drink, hiding your smile.

Kathryn gestured between the two of you. “Is that how you met?”

You looked at her, stuttering.

“Oh yeah,” said Logan, looking at you. “I remember it like yesterday.”

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan remembered finding himself in Charles class room, barefoot, a random hoodie thrown on. He was confused, and angry.

“I’m Charles Xavier,” said the Professor, wheeling out from behind his desk.

“Where am I?” He asked.

“Westchester, New York. You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

“I don’t need medical attention,” he said.

“Yes, of course.”

Logan looked around, he knew none of this. “Where’s the girl?”

“Rogue? She’s here, she’s fine.”

Logan raised his brows. “Really?”

The door opened, starting him. “Ah, Logan. I’d like you to meet Ororo Monroe also called Storm. This is Scott Summers, also known as Cyclops.”

‘Cyclops’ put his hand out for Logan. “Hi.”

Logan stared at him. Mainly, at his glasses.

“They saved your life,” said Charles. “They’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants- ah, y/n! Come here please.”

You had been walking by the door when he called for you and ushered you in. You smiled at both Storm and Cyclops but walked around Logan with side steps. He watched you go to the professor and you looked back to him once.

“This is, y/n. This is Logan.” He introduced.

Logan stuck out his hand to you, earning a scoff from Scott.

Whatever else happened that day, Logan could not tell you. He only knows that’s the day he met you and nothing else has mattered to him since.

Logan looked around at them all, still holding your hand. “Cyclops? Storm? What they call you, wheels?”

The Professor bristled but you laughed.

Logan smirked at you.

You met his gaze and took you hand away. “Nice meeting you, Logan.”

As soon as Logan was done. He sort you out, and every time after, he sort you out.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

“Are you married?” Asked Kathryn.

Her husband scolded her.

You clamped your hands between your hands, blushing as even Logan took his time chewing. “No.”

“Never got round to askin,” said Logan.

“Then you had a kid right?” Asked Kathryn, smiling at Laura who watched her with curious eyes. "Ain't that always the way."

You glanced at Logan. You watched him with just as much curiosity. Did you really think he wasn't planning on proposing? That he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with you like you'd always planned. You shook yourself out of your daze, back to eating. "Something like that."

"Well, there's still time," said Kathryn as her son and husband laughed at her. "Sorry, i'm a romantic."

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan might not remember the last time he kissed you, but he remembered the first. You'd gone on a mission, saving some mutant kids that had been taken. He hadn't gone obviously cause why would he care, he hadn't realised you were going. If he had, he would've jumped on that jet.

He'd heard it had gone wrong. That someone had been hurt.

He was waiting outside when the jet landed. Scott and Jean hurried to check the kids as soon as they stepped off.

Logan growled under his breath and pushed past them all, trying to find you.

You were in the jet, scrubbing yourself clean of blood. You must have heard him coming as you turned quickly. "Hey Logan."

"What happened?" he asked. He could smell only iron, not you. It drove him crazy.

You shrugged, tugging off part of your suit, you wearing a vest underneath, tying the arms around your waist. "The kids are safe."

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

The two of you had been dancing around each other for months. With Logan's blunt flirting and your smirks and long-lasting glances, your coming together was a ticking time bomb.

"I'm fine."

You weren't meeting his gaze and he wondered what he'd done to get you annoyed.

He strode over to you, grabbing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him.

You took his wrists from you. "No," you said, grumbling.

The two of you fought, trying to grab and push at each other until Logan got the upper hand and pushed you against the wall. "What?"

"You!" you snapped. You were panting, looking up to him as he bared his teeth, confused. "You couldn't get your head out your ass long enough to give me a hand? To help?"

"I didn't know- I didn't know you were going!" he argued. "If I had do you not think I would've come with, eh bub?"

"I don't think I ever know what's going on in your head." You tried to push past him but Logan grabbed you again and kissed you.

Neither of you knew what was happening. All you knew was that Logan was against you, bodies pressed together, lips moulding together in anger and need. It was more than he'd hoped, more than he'd imagined.

His fingers dug into your skin, sighing against your lips as your hands grasped at his shoulders in fury and want. "You," he mumbled in your skin. "All my head is filled with is you."

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Logan had grudgingly agreed to stay the night at the family's house, after Charles and you had made him. He'd settled Charles in his room and Laura- well, he didn't know where she was and he wasn't sure he cared all that much.

He was looking for you and he found you in the bathroom, washing your face. The droplets of water ran down your neck as you brushed your hands over your head. Slowly, giving you enough time to tell him to fuck off, he stepped in and closed the door behind you.

"What's up?" you ask quietly, dabbing away the water.

He watched you and sighed. The two of you used to just move around each other, understanding without words. Now, he couldn't even stand in the same room as you without you assuming he needed something. "When did this happen?" he mumbled.

"What?"

He shook his head. "When was our last kiss?" he asked, looking at you.

You met his gaze, holding onto the sink to purchase you.

"When was the last time we made love, y/n?"

"Was it ever love?" you mumbled. "It was over very quickly, if it was."

He grumbled under his breath, complaining. "You think i'm not doing all of this for you?" he asked, limping closer. "You'd have left and gone off yourself if I hadn't taken that fucking kid in and gone on this damn ride."

"I want you to do it for you, Logan," you whisper, not wanting to let the house know you were talking. Or arguing. "All you've ever done is to keep Charles safe, or to do it for me, I want you to have some purpose. I want you to have something in your life."

You'd gotten closer to him. He could smell your scent, beautiful, never dulled by the days spent cooped up in a van.

Logan scanned every one of your features. You hadn't aged a day since he'd known you while he was old, greying and gruff, a collection of wrinkles and pain. What did that loving family see when they looked at you? A beauty and its beast?

His hand drifted up to your cheek, cupping it and running a rough thumb over the smoothness of his cheek.

Your eyes flickered around him as he brought his head lower until his lips, chapped and cut, were against yours, wet and soft. You didn't move to hold him, or push him away and for that he should have been thankful. You let him wrap his arms around you, caging your body against his as your nails dug into his forearms. Your lips parted as his did, as he licked your bottom lip and as you gave into him.

He used to be able to kiss you until the air was out of his lungs, but just as his tongue met yours, he had to pull away and suck in a deep breath.

That was your last kiss, and he'd always remember it.

Taglist (thank you! some of y'all wanted Hugh, some wanted Logan, let me know if you wanted to be added or removed): @oatmilkriver, @angstdaddy, @chronicallybubbly, @white-wolf-buckaroo

[swedishfishtyrell]

having really impure thoughts about old man! logan.

his healing abilities aren’t the same as they used to be. he bleeds, he bruises, he scars. he’s slowly becoming human. at first, he was scared and felt weak. but then he realized, it’s what he wanted. but somedays, it was a tough pill to swallow.

until, he was fucking you in missionary. his favorite position because he gets to stare at your beautiful face! and he loves to see it when he makes you cum… sure, he’s not as agile and rough as he used to be. but he’s still james logan howlett and he fucks like an animal. he was fucking you so hard into the mattress, practically leaving an indent of your body on your shared bed. your hands were resting on his hairy, puffed chest. until he hit your g spot. your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your hands made claws, finger nails digging deep into his chest. he let out a deep hiss, causing you to look up in worry. he stops his pace.

“a-are you okay?” you say, your breathe panting. you quickly move your hands down.

logan looks down at himself and sees the fresh marks on his chest, oozing a bit of blood. he’s bleeding. you made him bleed. you marked him. he loved doing it to you, having you show off who got to make you cum all the time. who you basically belonged to.

but this? this was different.

something dark came over his eyes as he slowly looked up at you. “do it again.”

“w-what?” you say in a giggle.

“you heard me, kid. fucking mark me up. show me how good i make you feel.” he grunts, drilling back into you like it was his job.

his wish was your command. you fucking marked his whole body. you scratched him, you sucked his skin until he bruised, you even bit his shoulder. sure, you probably should’ve taken it down a notch. but with logan in your ear, praising you and begging you to keep doing it. rewarding you with the pleasure only he could give you. who were you to stop?

you laid on his chest once you two were done. “are you sure you’re okay? you look like a wild animal attacked you.” you kissed his battle wounds you gave him.

“princess, if i wanted you to stop, i wouldn’t be bleeding right now.” he kissed your forehead, rubbing his hand across your bare back. “i liked it. this…this has never happened to me before.”

“i guess somethings do come with old age.” you joke.

“you’re such an ass.” he playfully but your ear.

“hey! keep talking like that and i’ll make sure every inch of you is marked.”

“is that a promise?”

oh, it definitely is.

🎀🦢💓kaila🎀🦢💓

[swedishfishtyrell]

look at dad 🥺

THAT IS SO DAD

he pushes his reading glasses down his nose to look at you above them when you’re talking back. he walks through the door when he gets home from work and tugs on his tie to loosen the knot. he rolls his sleeves up his muscular forearms. he lounges on the couch with his legs spread wide, thighs pulling on the fabric of his pants. he asks you to get him a beer and you sit on his lap while he drinks it. he watches the news every night while you beg him to pay attention to you

[swedishfishtyrell]

LOGAN, 2017 | Hugh Jackman as Logan

[swedishfishtyrell]

“Raging Bull” (1980) dir. Martin Scorsese

[swedishfishtyrell]

[swedishfishtyrell]

Stardust (2007)