Need 2 (Logan Howlett x f!reader)
A/N: So...I'm back already lol. This sort of just came to me last night. I was rewatching the first and second X-Men movies and got a little inspired. This is also inspired by the song "Need 2" by Pinegrove. Didn't think I'd be posting another fic already, but here we are. Hopefully y'all enjoy!
Summary: You and Logan have always been plagued with nightmares, so avoiding sleep is just something you two have in common...until you find yourselves in each other's beds, helping one another through your nightmares.
Warnings: 18+! Smut! Minors DNI! PWP. Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), Fingering, AFAB!reader, fem!reader, Reader has some hair at the nape of her neck that can be played with (length, color and texture are not described!), mutant!reader, cursing, canon typical violence, angst, praise kink, feelings, nightmares, friends to lovers, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's all?
Word Count: 3,906
Some nights, it was easier not to sleep. It was easier to go down into the kitchen, the living room, or one of the many libraries in the mansion and stay awake. It was easier than forcing yourself to go to bed, just to wake up screaming thirty minutes later.
So tonight, like far too many nights, you’ve found yourself in your favorite corner in your favorite library in the mansion. You’re reading Simone de Beauvoir’s letters to Sartre when a familiar figure enters the room.
“What’re you doing awake?” Logan’s voice is gruff, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his beater tight against his chest. “You should be asleep.”
“Can’t sleep,” You answer, placing a bookmark between the pages and shutting the book. You look up at the old grandfather clock on the other side of the room. 2:00 AM. “You should be sleeping too.” You smirk patting the free space next to you on the loveseat.
He shakes his head. “Too stuffy in here.”
You roll your eyes, placing the book down on the couch. “Then what’s your plan, big guy?”
He holds up his beer and points down the hall. “Gonna sit in front of the T.V. You can too,” he pauses tentatively, “if you want.”
“S-sure,” you stutter. Why are you stuttering? You spend time with Logan constantly. This isn’t new. This is normal. You feel your heart rate pick up. This is ridiculous. This is a totally regular night.
You stand and follow him down the hall and into another room, one with a lit fireplace and a television. You both sit down, leaving a generous amount of room between the two of you. Logan reaches for the remote and turns the T.V. on. He surfs through the channels before stopping on a movie you instantly recognize.
“Casablanca?” You ask, turning towards him, letting yourself move just a bit closer as you do so. You feel like he’s moved closer in too.
He nods, his eyes glued to the screen. “It’s a classic.”
You can’t help but smirk. “Never pinned you for the love story type.”
“You’d be surprised,” he says back as he turns towards you again. There’s a faint smile on his face. You swear his eyes flicker down to your lips for just a second before he turns to face the T.V. again.
A few minutes go by like this, the two of you just inches away from one another. You can’t concentrate on the movie with him this close. It’s impossible.
Despite the heat of the fire, you start to feel a chill. Goose bumps rise on your arms, and you pull your legs into your chest, your arms wrapping around your knees.
Logan immediately notices, shifting to grab the throw blanket from behind him. “Cold?” He asks, taking the opportunity to move closer towards you as he tosses the blanket over the two of you.
“Y-yeah, thanks,” you answer. But you’re still cold. You bring the blanket up so that it rests just under your chin. For such an old mansion, the A/C must work great. No wonder the fire was already lit when you and Logan got in here.
Logan notices again. He rests his arm against the back of the couch. “You could…” He trails off, nodding his head to offer the space right next to him, in his arms. “Come over here?” You nod back, scooching closer until your side presses into his.
He’s an absolute furnace. He pulls you into his chest, rubbing up and down your arm gently. He’s so warm. You instinctively curl into him, wanting nothing more than to be closer to him. For the first time in months, you feel comfortable enough—safe enough—to fall asleep.
“Better?” He asks, his lips brushing against your forehead.
You nod against his chest. “So much better.” You whisper. You can feel your eyelids growing heavy. You let them fall shut. Let yourself go. Give in. Finally.
“Lo?” You quietly call out. You’re so close to sleep that you don’t even realize you’re speaking.
You can feel his smile on the side of your head. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“You feel so nice.” You’re mumbling, half asleep. It’s nonsense, but it’s true. “So safe.”
He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You do too. Now get some sleep.”
You shake your head softly. “Only if you sleep, too.”
You think you feel another kiss. One of his hands reaches up to play with the hair at the nape of your neck. “I will, I promise.”
You drift off to sleep, waking up just once about an hour and a half later to see Logan still on the couch beside you. He’s asleep, still holding you to his chest. You don’t wake him. You let yourself fall asleep again.
You wake up a few hours later, this time in your own bed, the sun shining through your curtains. You notice a note next to your pillow.
Glad you got some sleep. -Logan
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You can hear him, his grunts, his screams. You jump out of bed and sprint down the hall. You don’t need a flashlight to find his room. You know the way by heart. You don’t even bother knocking. You burst in and shut the door behind you.
You run over to the side of his bed and start to softly shake him. “It’s just a dream, Lo,” you call out to him. He doesn’t wake up. He’s still grunting, still tossing and turning. You feel helpless. “Logan, it’s okay.” You speak a bit louder this time, putting more of your weight on his shoulders as you shake him. Nothing. No change.
“Logan, please wake up.” Louder again. And still nothing. “Fuck it.”
You climb onto the bed, maneuvering so that you can get on top of him. You’re straddling him now, which probably isn’t the world’s greatest idea. You shake his shoulders harder as he winces, his head thrashing against the mattress, his chest rapidly rising and falling.
“Come on, Lo, wake up.”
And then, he’s sitting up, claws out, the tips just nudging the base of your throat. “It’s me!” You shout. “It’s just me!” You can hear the shing of his claws retracting. You look down to see that the collar of your shirt is sliced.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” He’s wrapping his arms around your back, pulling you into his chest, scanning your body frantically for any injury. He’s moving up and down your skin like a wildfire, checking every possible surface that he could have pierced or sliced.
You try to stop him, but he refuses to listen. “You didn’t get me, Logan. I’m okay, really.”
He pushes you down onto the mattress, carefully turning you over onto your stomach before you can protest. “I’m just checking your back, okay?”
“You couldn’t have touched my back. That’s physically impossible.” You try to turn back over, but he keeps you down, one hand pinned between your shoulder blades as the other pulls up your shirt to search your skin. You suddenly remember you aren’t wearing a bra. You’re not wearing any shorts, either. Just your oversized pajama shirt and panties.
His fingers gently trace your skin before reaching up to pull the shirt back down. He finally lets you turn over. You push yourself up so that you’re sitting on your knees, just a few inches away from Logan. It’s your turn to reach out to him now. You bring up a tentative hand to his shoulder; he trembles under your touch but doesn’t push you away. You move a bit closer, your knee slotting into the space between his thighs. Your hand slides up his shoulder to his neck, and he finally leans into your palm.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers again. He moves closer, shifting his thighs further into your own. “I never, ever want to hurt you.” He brings his arms back around you, hesitantly pulling you into his chest. You let him, let him hold you. You know he needs to—needs to feel someone else. You wrap your arms around his body too.
“I know, Lo. It’s okay. No more apologizing.” You hold him tighter. “Are you okay?”
He hums as his face burrows into the crook of your neck. “Just a nightmare.” A part of you is surprised he’s letting you hold him and holding you back. “I fucked up your shirt.”
You let your head rest against his shoulder. “I know.”
“Almost fucking killed you.” He’s trembling again like he wants to push you away.
You hold him tighter. “You didn’t though,” You mumble against his bare skin. “Please don’t run away. Let me hold you, please.”
He relaxes again, pulling you in tighter in response. “Why do you care about me?”
You shake your head in disbelief. “Why do you care about me?” You ask back.
He scoffs. “Because I…” He trails off. You can tell he’s not giving you the whole truth. “I just do. You’re you. That’s all there is to it.”
“Exactly. And you’re you.” You can feel his lips ghost against your neck—not quite a kiss, but not quite nothing either. “So, I care about you too.”
“I don’t deserve it, the way you care about me.” His lips don’t move from that half-kiss position along your neck as he speaks. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Your voice is suddenly stern, assertive. “You deserve so much, Logan. So much.” Before you can even think about what you’re doing, you press a kiss against his bare shoulder. And then another. And another.
“You should go back to bed.” His voice is low and hoarse. He finally presses a true kiss into your neck, too.
You shake your head. “No,” you whisper. “Let me stay with you.”
“But what if I—”
You cut him off. “Please.”
He doesn’t protest this time. He just guides you down to the pillows, keeping one arm tightly around your waist as the other brings the covers up and over the two of you.
You stay intertwined, your legs tangled up with his, your chests pressed tightly together. You bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, gently raking your nails through his hair. His lips find your neck again, kissing that spot just underneath your ear. It’s chaste, but there’s something else there. You know there is.
You can feel him relaxing, drifting off into sleep, and so you let yourself do the same. There’s nowhere you feel safer than with Logan.
When you wake up, you’re still in Logan’s bed, but his side is empty. Again, there’s a note on the pillow next to you.
Thank you. Hope this makes up for what I did. -Logan.
Underneath the note is his favorite Rolling Stones shirt.
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You’re somewhere dark, sitting on a cold metal chair, your hands shackled in more cold metal. The air tastes like metal, too. And then it dawns on you: Magneto.
His figure appears in front of you, his hand extended out towards something...perhaps someone. Towards no one? No. There he is, floating in front of you. Logan. “NO!” You yell. You can feel your throat burn as you shout.
“Let him go!” You scream. But Magneto doesn’t budge. He holds Logan in the air, bending the metal in his body. He stretches Logan’s claws out. You remember when Logan told you it hurts every time he unleashes them. You can’t imagine the pain he’s in now.
“Logan!” You cry out. Your abilities don’t seem to work, no matter how hard you try. You’re powerless, helpless, useless. You echo his name repeatedly to no avail.
You’re forced to sit and watch as his claws bend backward. Tears run down your face as Logan screams in agony. There’s nothing you can do. You thrash in place.
“Let him fucking go!” You sob, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Logan! I’m so sorry. Oh fuck. I’m so sorry.” A familiar name calls for you in the distance, but you ignore it. “I’m so sorry,” you cry. “So fucking sorry.”
The voice shouts your name again. And again. Tears stain your cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” you mumble.
“It’s just a dream, come on, wake up for me sweetheart.” You know that voice. “I’m right here, just wake up.”
Your eyes finally flutter open. There he is, in front of you, his solid frame heavy on top of you. “Lo?” You push yourself up to meet him.
“It’s me, darlin’, It’s me.”
You throw your arms around him, sobbing into his bare chest. “Fuck,” you mumble against him.
He wraps his arms tightly around your body, carefully bringing you back down to the bed. “It’s okay. It’s over now. I’m here.”
“How’d you know I was…” You trail off, swallowing harshly, not wanting to think about what you just dreamed of.
“You called my name. I came the second I heard you.” His voice is soft but shaky. It dawns on you that you scared him.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Tears stream down your cheeks, your voice a trembling mess.
He presses a soft kiss against your shoulder, and then that usual spot in the crook of your neck. He somehow manages to pull you tighter into his chest. “Don’t be sorry darlin’, please. Nothing to be sorry for.”
“But I woke you,” you protest. “I scared you.”
“That’s fine, sweetheart.” His breath tickles the skin of your neck. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He’s kissing you more fervently than normal. There’s something panicked about his movements, like he’s still worried that you might not be fine.
You take a deep breath. “Lo?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Can you stay with me?” You feel like a child, but you don’t care. You want to feel him. You need to be close to him. You can’t lose him. Not now. Not ever.
His legs tangle with yours. “I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is a whisper now.
You nod, pushing yourself further into him. “Need to feel you,” you say, running your hands along his back, his chest, his waist. You need him, every inch, every curve. All of him.
“Darlin’,” he mutters. “What do you mean?”
You break away from him for just a second. His brows are furrowed. “Need you, Lo.”
You watch his throat bob as he swallows. “You have me.”
“No Logan I-I—” You stutter. “I want you. Need you. I need you closer. Please.”
His eyes search yours, his hands finding their way under your shirt. His fingers climb higher, stopping just below your chest, where the hem of your bra would be.
You inhale deeply and press harder into him. “Please, Lo. Please.”
“Sweetheart, is this really what you want?” You can feel his breath against your lips. He’s so close, but not close enough. “That dream…” He pauses. “If this is only because of the dream…”
You shut your eyes, remembering what you saw. You feel a tear slide down your still-wet cheek. You breathe deeply. “Wanted you before the dream,” you murmur nervously.
“Darlin’, you gotta be careful saying things like that.” He presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes. Your noses touch gently. He slots his legs higher between yours and pulls you closer.
“Why?” You ask.
“Because I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you.” His hands become less hesitant, his fingers tracing the underside of your chest, slowly charting a course to your nipples.
He opens his eyes, searching your face for consent, and you immediately nod. “I’m yours. Been yours the whole time.”
That’s all the permission he needs to bring his lips to yours, to hungrily swallow everything you’re willing to give him. His fingers gently pinch your nipples before drawing lazy circles around them. Your breath catches in your throat as his tongue slips across your lower lip. You open up and let him inside, savoring the taste of him.
You’re still side by side, tangled up with one another, but it’s not close enough. You need more.
“Logan,” you call, leaving one hand on his bare back as you let the other trail down his chest, to the hem of his sweats. But before you can get any further, he grabs your hand, freezing you in place.
He shakes his head against yours. “Wanna take care of you.”
“But I wanna take care of you, too,” you whine.
He just smiles. “You always do, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.” He drops your hand, and one of his own trails down your body, down to the ridden-up hem of your shirt—his shirt, actually—the one he left on the pillow. “Looks better on you than it ever did on me.” He pulls it up, revealing your stomach and tits. One of his hands continues to massage your breasts, playing with your nipples, while the other travels back down to the hem of your panties. His fingers slip inside, sliding down through your folds and back up to your clit. You shudder under his touch.
He starts to draw slow, lazy circles there. You can’t help but grind into his hand, needy for more. You whisper his name as his touch becomes harder, faster.
“So fucking wet for me. Soaking already.” The whimper rising in your throat at his words is swallowed by another deep, desperate kiss.
You hang onto him, your arms around his back as he pulls you closer to the edge. He can tell you need the contact, the closeness, and so he pulls away from your tits, his now-free hand slipping underneath you and snaking around your waist, holding you closer than before. Your chest is flush with his as his fingers rub harder at your clit.
You can feel yourself coming undone, your hips rocking against him uncontrollably. “I’m so close,” you pant.
“I know pretty girl,” he murmurs. He breaks away from your face, finding that spot in the crook of your neck that he loves so much. You throw your head back as his lips find purchase in the same area as always. “Doing so good for me. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.”
His whispers in your ear, his little bites and kisses against that spot on your neck, his fingers on your clit, it’s all too much. “Lo,” you whine, shutting your eyes and pressing your face into his shoulder.
“That’s it, darlin’, let go.”
That’s all it takes to have you seeing stars. You grind down onto his fingers, your hips still canting back and forth as you come undone. You can feel Logan smile against your neck as he slows down his pace. After a moment or two, his hand slips out of your panties and comes up to rest on your hip.
You bring your forehead back to his. “You alright, sweetheart?” His low, husky whisper fills the air.
“Mhm,” you hum. “Still want you, Lo.”
“Are you sure?” He asks, his thumb brushing gently across your hip.
You nod. “Need you closer.”
“Fuck,” he groans. His thumb hooks under the hem of your panties and he pulls them down your legs. You slip them off the rest of the way as Logan turns you on your back. You watch him above you, thumbs hooked inside his sweats. He pulls them down quickly, his cock springing up to his stomach in the process. Your eyes widen as you take in just how big he is.
He pushes his sweats down the rest of the way, and he slots himself in between your legs. You can feel the length of him on the inside of your thigh. “Wanted you for so long, pretty girl,” he grunts. His forearm rests next to your head, caging you in and keeping him steady, while his other hand guides his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance.
“Logan,” you whine, your hands reaching up to his neck, pulling his face down to meet you. “I’m yours.”
You gasp as he fills you up, his hand immediately reaching between your bodies to find your still-sensitive clit. His pace is slow at first, letting you adjust to his length, rocking into you gently. His thumb flicks your clit before drawing those same lazy circles from before. You’re already close, still drunk off the first orgasm he pulled from you.
“So fucking tight,” he moans. “Doing so good for me.” You can feel him building speed, pumping in and out of you. He feels so good, rubbing against your walls, stretching you out. He’s so close, so real, so safe.
“Needed you so bad,” you whimper, spreading your legs wider, inviting him in.
You can feel him throb inside you at your words. “Needed you too.” The sound of his voice pushes you closer to the edge, your walls fluttering around his cock. His circles on your clit are no longer gentle or slow. He thrusts faster, rutting into you hit after hit.
“L-Lo,” you stutter, shaking underneath him. “I-I’m so clo…” But you can’t finish your sentence. Your eyes flutter open and shut.
“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. Never gonna let you go.”
You take in a sharp breath. “’M’yours,” is all you can manage to say.
“Mine,” he breathes, his hips rocking into you again and again. “Can feel you squeezing me, beautiful.”
“S-so close,” you choke in between thrusts. His fingers work harder on your clit, his lips moving against yours like they belong there, always.
“Then let go, darlin’,” he says against your lips. He pushes deeper into you than before, your walls clamping down onto him. You feel heat rise to your chest as you shatter around him. You echo his name over and over again as you ride out your orgasm. You know he’s close behind, his thrusts faltering, growing sloppier with each pump.
“W-where do you want—”
“Inside.”
“F-fuck,” he’s a choking, moaning mess as he comes undone inside you. You can feel him paint your walls, filling you up. He pumps in and out of you a few more times before he starts to slip out.
“W-wait,” you stutter, grabbing him, holding him in place.
He freezes. “You okay?” Concern is painted across his face, his brows furrowed, trying to discern what’s wrong.
“J-just don’t want you to go,” you murmur.
He smiles as he slides out of you. He pulls you tightly into his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You shut your eyes as his hands settle on your lower back. “Don’t leave, okay?”
“I promise,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Relax. I’ve got you. I’m here.”
You can’t fight your exhaustion anymore, so you do as he says. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breathing, to his kisses on your forehead, to the tracing of letters and shapes along your back.
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The next morning, as pale light trickles through the curtains of your room, you see there’s no letter. No empty space next to you in the bed.
There’s just Logan, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you tight against his chest. Your eyes flutter open. His are still closed. But he can tell you’re awake.
“’M’not going anywhere,” he mumbles, still half asleep. “Too early. Go back to bed.”
He’s right. So, you do.
tags: @seamlessepiphany
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