Thinking About Logan Refer To Himself As Old Man While Youre Fucking.. 18+ Fem!reader

thinking about logan refer to himself as ‘old man’ while you’re fucking.. 18+ fem!reader

he has the full splitting length of his cock buried in you, the wind of his hips erratic and unsystematic. each irregular stroke knocking more and more air out your lungs. he’s fucking into you from behind, pushing your front into the mattress. his weight heavy as he merely hovers above, his dick bumping into your soaked cunt nicely. 

“take it,” he grunts, slinking his hand around your neck – carefully lifting your face from the tear-soaked bedsheet. he presses a few rough kisses into the side of your throat, his lips lingering for a moment as he whispers into your skin. “you gon’ cum for your old man?”

This is the reason I made my #hall of fame tag. So beautifully written.

— from eden

old man logan x mutant!f!reader

rated e - 5k

tags: Logan timeline, sorta divergent/fix-it fic, angst, hurt/comfort, everyone is going through it, wound tending, dark thoughts/references to violence/death (aligning with themes in the movie), neurodegenerative disorders (Charles), multiple pov, established relationship, shower sex, oral sex, PiV, feelings

a/n: still on my druid!mutant kick - reader absorbs the sun via photosynthesis and can transfer that energy to grow plants. no features described but small details & a codename are noted in reference to her mutation.

Every day you wish you could do more. More for Charles. More for him. But the harsh sun eats away at you. You weren’t built for this heat.

You were meant for gardens. For Eden.

But you think… as your fingers trail through the earth, your life force flowing down into the greenery below - if something can grow here, in the desert - then maybe, so can hope.

Logan finds you in the garden.

It's generous to call it that. Carved out with old bits of metal, used like a spade. Scraping through dirt, packed and hard from the burning sun. Dust swirling around you - catching under your nails that are as tough as bark.

The only bit of green for a couple miles, at least. Incongruous to the climate - all you can see is desert around you.

It's only you that keeps it alive.

Your hands pass over each stalk and stem. The low thrum that used to come so easily, siphoning your life force to the roots below, comes slowly now.

Used to be able to make things bloom, just by feeling.

A garden had sprouted your first night together. Blooming lush - vines twining around the bookshelves. Wildflowers in your hair. Moss spreading out across the wooden floor, out and into the mansion.

Everyone had known you were in love.

It feels so long ago now. Another lifetime.

Now you can only tend them. You’re at your strongest in the rain, but it’s day twenty-three of sunny, blue skies. No more than a wisp of a cloud on the horizon.

It leaves you wilting. A half-broken lawn chair, dragged to face the packed-dirt road. Watching for him, as your face tips up to the sky. A slowly-recharging battery, one that hasn't been full in years.

But the sun is unforgiving. The tips of your fingers and toes darken - it's too much.

And not enough.

An eye cracks open, with the slam of a car door. There's a limp to his gait - a hand braced against the limo. Something you notice immediately. The way it takes him longer than usual to reach you.

That severe frown softening at the edges, but still holding a weight he's carried for years. A brown bag held out silently, the top crumpled from his fist.

Your fingers brush his, and you know he can see the burn. The mark between his eyebrows deepens.

"Don't push too hard, blossom," Logan rasps, "'Bout time to go in."

It makes your jaw grit, as you bristle.

You want to protest. Ask him "well, what in the hell do you think you're doing/?" He's the last person that should be lecturing you, as he shifts - a crimson glint of red near his collar.

But you don't. He doesn't mean it that way.

It comes out wrong, you've learned that by now. Misplaced anger - seeping into your roots like poison. Loving him so fiercely that it aches, to see him this way.

The Logan you knew and loved changed that day at the mansion.

"I will." You tamp the feelings down, burying them with the rest, "Let me get these started, and I'll be in."

He lingers, for a long moment.

You rip the seed packets open, scattering them across the earth you've prepared. Essentials, fit to feed Charles.

Carrots, beans, tomatoes, onions. Kale and fresh berries.

A packet of wildflowers.

There's a lump, lodged in your throat. You look over your shoulder, just as he disappears inside.

An inhaled breath, as you begin.

He knows you hate it, all the dust. The heat.

Knows you stay, for him.

Logan always was your sun.

"He's bleedin' again." It's muttered out, in greeting.

Caliban's eyes flick towards the back door, "Don't know if I've got enough peroxide to get it out."

Your smile is weary, "We'll figure it out. Always do."

A fine pair the two of you make. Only the mornings and evenings spent together, in your slow rotation of work-Charles-eat-sleep, and always just out of sync.

He tends to the smelting plant. An attempt at keeping things in place, keeping things running. Something simmering on the makeshift stove, as you empty your apron into the sink.

Outside is your domain - days spent with wind-whipped skin. The desert heat surrounding you.

"Could use some potatoes," Caliban offers, without thinking.

Peeling back the husk and silk on an ear of corn, fished out. Peering down at the kernels beneath - still hesitating, even though it's clean.

Your arms cross over your chest, head tilting, "Well, you're welcome to ask him."

It all comes out hushed, even though you know Logan is out with Charles. He gives shoots a reproachful look your way - he's already taken an earful. Doesn't need another from you.

He's been with you both for a year now. A second set of hands, as the seizures worses. You hadn’t wanted to admit you needed help - but Logan had saw right through you.

Charles’s space feels like a tomb.

Each minute you spend in that dome makes you crave another five outside. Too much for you to handle alone - something that still eats away at you.

Never felt like you were doing enough.

Carried the others with you, as he did. The shame of feeling like you should've done more. That you should have been there with them.

Buried beneath the rose bush that bloomed, when you had first told Logan you loved him.

You had thought that he had been. Had spent two years adrift, so certain he had been lost. That adamantium had not been enough to suppress the force of the seizures - that it ripped through the metal and took him from you.

It's why you cling now. Worried. Seeing how each day changes him, like it does you.

It's why you grow the vegetables for them. Even then, it's not enough. The suppressants they released still worked its way into the water and soil. You'd already ingested enough food to have it affect you.

Used to eat for fun, for pleasure. Haven't had a bite in two years now. Haven't needed to, haven't wanted to. Looking to the sun instead, even if it burns.

Now, you're just maintaining. Trying not to worsen, trying your best to keep them afloat, even if it costs you.

"Sorry." You mutter.

Easing into the routine of ladling out bowls. Chunks of half-stale bread, from the last time he baked. Hadn't harvested as much wheat this season as you would have liked. Pests chewing up a portion before you noticed.

The drought makes you hazy. Running on fumes for a while now. Same as all the rest.

Two bowls set on a plastic tray. A glass of tepid water in a chipped mason jar tucked in the crook of your arm. Fingers swirling in the liquid to cool them, before you're tilting it back - taking a swallow. Just managing to ease your parched throat.

"How is he?" You ask.

Caliban's eyes are slow to meet yours. He looks at you like he knows something you don't. Few secrets between you, except ones like these that he keeps deep. It always sends a twist in your belly.

Curling vines, weaving between your ribs.

"Logan or Charles, dearest?"

"Both." You sigh, "Either."

“Logan is… well. You saw him.” Caliban mutters. His nose twitches. A breath - as if he means to say something.

He falls silent instead, pivoting, “And Charles still thinks he's in Macbeth."

It makes your heart lurch, how so kind and sound a mind had changed. Not his fault and it only makes you love him more, after everything.

“Been asking about someone named Erik lately, too.”

You and Logan had agreed. It was better that Charles didn’t know, if he didn’t have to. That the two of you would bear it - shielding him like he had shielded so many for years.

But it never made the memories any easier.

His head inclines towards the trays, "You want me to take those out?"

Caliban knows you hate it.

You know the sun is still setting, sitting golden on the horizon.

A shake of your head, as the tray tucks under your arm.

“Thanks, Cal. I've got it."

The music comes first - 60s-era jazz, floating through the opened door. Voices come after, as you step into the shadows.

“-sorrow words, the grief that does not speak," Charles's reciting pitches louder, as his chair wheels in front of you, "Knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break-”

Logan stalks after, reaching for the controls.

"Enough."

"Thrice the brinded cat-"

The tray clatters on the top of an old desk. You step in front of them, arms spread wide, "Charles."

The chair halts, going still.

Something scrapes at your brain, when his hazy eyes meet yours. Fingers sifting through files. A dealer skillful hands, l shuffling through cards - snapping them back into place.

Plucking old memories from you like weeds. Dragging them to the surface, long buried.

He doesn’t mean to.

Doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Your breath coming in a ragged gasp, eyes meeting Logan's. He doesn't need Charles powers to know what you're thinking.

Afraid that he'll see. What he’ll remember.

"Come on." Logan is hoisting him out of his chair. A grunt as he struggles, near dead-weight in his arms, “Enough poking around.”

Depositing Charles in his hospital bed, the last golden rays of sun streaking across the worn blankets. Logan just starts to move away, when a hand fists in his dark tie, dragging him close.

"You're not listening to me. No one listens to me." The words almost seem lucid, with how sharp his eyes suddenly shine, "Liberty, Logan. They're waiting for you. Eden-“

"No one is waiting for me." It's barked out.

Uneasy, tipping towards harsh.

Logan's patience has always ran thinner than a knife’s blade. It's love that keeps him here, you know that as well as you know your own name.

You have to step between them to break the connection. Hand wrapping around Charles' wrists - soothing, easing them down into his lap - as Logan fishes a bottle out of his pocket.

Slipping a needle into his arm. It's fluid, how you move together. Easier to help him together, then when you're alone.

It soothes the seizures. Thoughts slipping between his fingers, as he settles. The anger with it, as you bring dinner over to them. Your hand extended to take the pills that Logan shakes from a bottle.

"Take these, Professor." You coax, handing over a stained mug from the attached tray.

The chalky pills disappear, with the tilt of his head and a swallow of weak tea. Only then does it feel like you breathe. Letting your fingers drift across the makeshift herb garden he has sitting on the desk, something you tend together.

Eyes closing, as you concentrate. Pink petals blooming, plucked from the stem, and placed in Charles' open palm.

Logan's gaze a heavy weight - too tired from the day - you could already hear it in his voice. In the slow shift of his weight, as he eats.

"Only one?" The wizened fingers close like a cage around the flower, "You’ll have to work harder, Crescere."

The name is one that you haven't heard in years. It ricochets through you like a bullet, threatening to rip you open. You must show it in your face - a hand reaches to smooth down your back.

It soothes you, until an edge creeps into Charles's voice.

"If you cannot do more, how will you ever survive without soil?"

Logan goes stiff at the words. Breaking contact as if he'd been burned. A rough tilt of his head, as he pushes himself up.

“I’ll be inside.” It’s gritted out, through clenched teeth.

Leaving you alone, perched on the edge of Charles’s bed.

His mood already shifting, as it often did. The anger and confusion flaring. Melding with the medication that slows his tongue, dulls his thoughts.

“Crescere,” His eyes fix on you, while you watch the door creak shut. The moonlight has just started to stream in now, and it's just dark enough to imagine a breeze, “Have I told you about Eden?”

You tuck him in. The worn quilt tugged up high against his chest. A fingers smooth down to wrap in his - his hands frail with age, but his grip is still strong.

Tears prick your eyes, but you smile - your hand gently squeezing.

“Tell me again.”

His fingers fumble with the buttons. The black tie tugged loose, hanging against his chest. A hiss of breath, as sore shoulders roll. The dress shirt caught against his bicep, the sleeves still pushed up around his elbows.

There’s a hand against his shoulder. Your fingers slipping beneath the fabric, easing it down his arms.

“You gonna stop running from me?”

It’s soft, in the room that you share. A far cry from the mansion - all cozy, stained wood. Home.

Here, it’s sheet metal. Car batteries running a broken coffee maker, blankets stained with sweat. An industrial fan, slowly spinning where it’s mounted into the wall.

Wasn’t trying to run.

Just couldn’t shoulder your hurt, knowing he caused it himself. Knows that the heat eats away at you. Has watched how you struggle, though you hide it so well.

And the open seas - the sun and the salt water - would it be enough? Could you ever be happy, away in a place like that?

You’ve told him all you need is him. But pretty thing like you should be somewhere else.

Somewhere safe.

Knew he was too old for you, even back at the mansion - and that was when his hair was just starting to grey at the temples.

Now, he wishes he could convince you to go. Even if he couldn’t live without you.

But he knows your answer. That set of your jaw. Rooting you in place, unmoving.

It flickers in you here, as your arms wrap around him. Nose buried against the nape of his neck, as he exhales a breath that he’s held all day.

His muscles going lax as he leans into your embrace - letting you move him. Touch gentle as you guide him towards the bathroom. Fitting between spread thighs as he leans against the cracked counter, your fingers tracing the red-stained rips on the white tank beneath.

A cloth, wrapped tightly around his fist.

“Running to you,” Logan husks, “Just lost my way.”

You soften before his eyes.

Unwinding the wrappings to check the wound across his palm. Your lips pressed against scar tissue. Moving to backs of his knuckles, between the angry red slits.

Something in his chest lurches. Calming the beast, as his palm cups your cheek. Letting you lead him into the old ceramic tub, even though the space was narrow.

Lets you strip him down, knowing your eyes flicker over each scar. Looking for ones you missed, though you know them all.

Already knows what you’re going to say, when your gaze catches on the still-healing wound - a bullet beneath his collarbone. In his chest, through his bicep.

“Can’t keep taking hits, baby.” You fingers trace just shy of the wounds. Blood flaking, where he hadn’t washed well enough - two days spent in a shitty motel, each one thinking of you.

Need to shield yourself. Pick your battles.

He’s heard it all before.

Tried to earlier - wanted to gut the Alkali-Transigen fucker who had climbed into his limo. He is trying, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

All he got was a business card burning a hole in his pocket. A lie of omission like a lead weight in his belly.

Another tucked against his chest - the bullet nestled in the pocket of his shirt. Resting against his heart while he drives. Hidden, when he returns home.

It’s insurance - but it would still crush you to find it.

“I’ll ease up when you do.” He counters, though his voice softens, “Pushing too hard, sweetheart. We could stand to eat less, if you need a break.”

You sigh, as you lean into him. Face muffled against his chest, and he only just catches the words.

“When I used to imagine playing house with you,” You breathe, “I always thought it would be a little different.”

It makes his heart jolt.

Something tearing inside him, as his mouth presses against yours. A hand searching to turn the handle - the water stale. A weak spray that only reaches room temperature.

But it’s enough.

You wash the red from him. Swirling down the drain as you coat the washcloth with a sliver of soap. Careful in your movements, as your hair dampens.

As his hands catch at your hips, looking for an anchor.

A little huff when you fingers twirl - when he has to let go, to turn around. Soaping up his back, fingers raking through his hair.

The stress of the day sluices from him. Melts away as your lips press against his back, trailing across his shoulders. Nails tracing against his abdomen, as he leans into your touch.

It’s always been softer than he deserved.

And when your hand drifts lower, swirling soap against the dark trail of hair that leads down, he guides your hand the rest of the way.

A throb, at the soft inhale of your breath. Fingers that close around him, coaxing him to full hardness. His own scrape against the tile, as he props himself up.

Eyes half-lidded, as you nuzzle against his scars. Fist working him from root to tip - he can’t resist bucking into your touch.

His own hand wandering. Hesitant.

Afraid he won’t find you the same.

Reaching behind him, feeling the stretch of healing muscle and sinew as he cups the curve of your ass. A held breath loosened, when he hears the needy sound you make, when his fingers slip to trace between.

Teasing, drifting down to where you’re slick. Honeyed.

Always for him. Only for him.

His eyes fully shut now, as his fingers work inside you. Feeling the clench, the way your hand stutters.

Your breathing turning harsh, panting. His name whined out as your hand dips to cup him - the pressure coiling low in his belly. Hips nudging against his as he pets at your clit, smearing your skin with your need.

Turning, when he isn’t able to take it any longer. Always would be strong enough to do this - to hitch your thigh around his hip.

Lifting you enough to rub his flushed cock against your folds. Your nails biting red marks into his shoulders as he lines himself up-

The water cuts off.

The evenings rations depleted.

Your laugh is more of a whine than anything, but it’s still a sound he treasures.

His own lips curving, and it feels like the first time in days.

The words rasps out, coated with need.

“Let me take you to bed, honey.”

His skin is still damp when he lays you down.

Nestling you against the pillows - ignoring your soft protests of needing to take care of him, as he seeks out the honey between your thigh. Hands tracing up your leg, calf to knee. Up against smooth skin, until he can hitch one over his shoulder.

Letting him bury himself deeper. Tonguing at your clit. Down to dip inside you, a rough groan against your skin as his hips rut into the mattress.

He had you close already. You always unfurled for him, and that hadn’t lessened with his age. Automatic, in the way his fingers fit inside you, finding the spot that has your back arching as you cry out.

Stroking against it again and again, a groan caught in his throat as your fingers twist into his hair and tug.

Logan’s name a soft cry as he tastes you sweeten against his tongue. The tight pulse around his fingers, echoing where his lips shift to suck against your clit.

It’s only when you reach for his wrist does he stop, content to spent the night right here if you’d let him - make up for the time spent away.

Only then does he relent. His arm stretching out behind the pillows as he finally lays back, the tug of a smile as he watches you.

There’s a sweetness about you - all limp-limbed as your thigh lifts across his waist. Straddling him, as you lean - tugging supplies out of the end table.

Squirming, as his head lifts - unable to help mouthing at your breasts. A heady throb down low when he can feel your heart kick up a notch.

Always doing things out of order.

Each shift of your hips rubs your pussy against his cock. Slick and wet and warm, and he catches the curve of your lips.

The slow rhythm, as you pack padding against his wounds. Affixing tape to his skin, a kiss placed against one - as if it would help them heal faster.

His look heated, and he knows you feel it too. The hitch of your hips. The pressure when you grind down - your eyes blown dark when you look at him from beneath your lashes.

He can give you what you need.

A grunt, as a hand grasps at your hips. The loose supplies slipping from his abdomen, as he coaxes you into your knees.

His other hand wrapping around the base of his cock, tilting his hard length up to rest against your belly.

“Need you.” It’s gritted out.

On another day he might have swallowed it down. Let you come to him.

But right now, he can’t take any more teasing, wrapped in your soft touch. He’s already resisting the urge to drive into you, as you angle him against your opening.

The slightest pressure, as you start to give around him - opening up. And when you finally sink down flush against him, he forgets himself.

It’s now and it’s six years ago - all those evenings spent, entwined.

Fitting together, watching the way your brow still pinches as your body makes room to take him - the stretch as your hands curl into fists against his chest.

“Missed you.” It slips from him, when your hips fully meet his.

It only makes you squeeze more tightly around him, his breath caught in a low rumble in his chest.

Your own admission, as you dip down to kiss him, “Missed you too, Logan.”

Finding himself transfixed, in spite of the weariness. The ache in his bones that are now a part of him are forgotten in the way you watch him.

Eyes half-lidded, as you find your balance. Starting a slow grind of your hips, a look thrown his way when you feel his muscles string tight beneath you.

The lightest pressure of your palms against his chest, careful of his wounds.

“Want to make you feel good.” It’s a command, tinged with permission. It’s woven with love, and the thought of taking matters into his own hands ebbs.

“Always do, sweetheart,” Logan husks, “Every fucking time.”

Letting himself settle back against the mattress. Losing himself in the tight grip of your pussy. Your soft curves, as his hands wander.

Squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, urging you to ride him harder. Slipping up to tease at your tits, an upward flex of his hips when you cry out his name.

You once told him that you wanted him the first moment you met him. Now, he wishes he had met you sooner.

A year. A day. Even a minute.

The thought pulses in his chest, in time with his heart. Fingers skating over skin as you ride him. A flash of white when he thumbs against your clit, giving you something to grind against.

You’re molten around him. Soft and sweet and it’s all he can do to match the way you bounce on his cock. Feet planting against the bed to help can meet you, urging himself just that little bit deeper.

Melting just a little bit further, when you can’t help but lean down - needing his mouth against yours.

Flattening yourself against his chest, as your rhythm goes needy. Sloppy grinds instead of the sharp slap, taking him deep and keeping him there.

His thumb swirls, and your ragged moan breaks the kiss. Head dipping as you lean back - hips chasing your pleasure, rocking into his familiar touch.

Can smell how much you need it. How you drip around his cock, the coarse hairs matted with your desire.

Teeth clenching, and it only makes him fuck to harder into you, to loosen your tongue.

“Logan, fuck-” It’s whimpered, in that pretty tone that he loves, “Think I’m gonna come-”

The leash he grasps onto slipping between his fingers. A low heat in his belly burning brighter, a pressure ticking down with each slap of his hips.

“Know you’re close. Let go, baby. So fucking good for me-”

Something rasped out, as you flutter around his cock. Taking him deep, spearing him into your belly.

“Fuck, I can feel you coming on my cock.” It comes out ragged, his breath catching, “Gonna make me come, too-”

Your gaze is dark. Hands pressing harder against his chest as you find yourself again, riding him harder. Panting through it, as it tips towards too much - your orgasm still burning brightly.

He's surrounded by you, and he only wants more. Fingers pinching into your hips, driving himself into you.

“Wanna make you come,” You breathe, “Want to feel you tomorrow-”

It’s enough that he forgets himself. A hands tight against your hip, a sharp tug that pulls you flush. The other curls around the back of your neck as he flips you beneath him.

Your gasping laugh pairs with his snarl. An arm hooking under your knee - pushing, opening you up as he holds you in place.

Watching how your eyes glaze. Following the tug of your fingers, bringing his mouth down to yours. Your pulse thundering beneath his thumb, as his tongue licks into your mouth.

He tastes like you, as his eyes slip shut. You linger on his lips, smeared across his beard. A ragged moan as your hips lift to meet the sharp smack-smack-smack of his hips, and then his vision is going hazy.

Your name snarled out, twining with soft sentiments. Hilting himself just as the pressure reaches its peak, his cock throbbing as he spills with a growl inside you.

The tension easing with each flex of his hips, fucking himself empty into your warmth. Into your embrace, your arms wrapping around and keeping him close. The scruff of his beard scrapes your cheek, but you only hitch a thigh around his hips - nudging him deeper.

Logan would stay here forever, buried in you, if he could. It slips from him, then.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He should tell you more often. Would tell you every day, if not for the guilt that twists in his guts each time you say it back.

But tonight, he can only lean into it. The soft whisper, as your lips drag against his cheek. You say it just like you used to. It still comes just as easily.

“I love you, too.”

And when his breathing settles and his eyes open - his chest catches.

You're adorned with your devotion - hair dotted with alyssum. Forget-me-nots and primrose dappled across your shoulders, yarrow and heather blooming around your curves.

Had learned the names of them, long ago. They come back, as his fingers trace over each bloom.

You’re beautiful.

But you always have been.

Prettiest goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

He bites harder, when he’s wounded.

No more than a cornered animal. But the anger - it takes a hold on him. Leaving him to soften, when there’s a hand he knows.

Making words slip from him that he’d tuck inside, on a different day.

“I do it for you, blossom.” It comes out quiet, in the darkened room, “You know that right?”

You shift against his shoulder. Head cradled against his chest, ear pressed to his heart.

“We do it for Charles,” You breathe, half-asleep. Fingers splaying across his sternum, tracing against the dark whorls of hair.

His own brush over petals. Used to help pluck them from you, after stolen moments during missions. Would love the way your face screwed up - a soft veil of embarrassment washing over you. His own lips pulled in a smug smile, as he had tucked one behind you ear.

Logan huffs, the sound low. Almost a laugh.

“I keep going for you.”

His heart would keep beating for a long time, but he thinks it would stop if yours did.

You press yourself tighter against him. It’s mumbled against his skin, “Keep going for you, too.”

There’s salt against his skin, tears you can’t afford to shed. Silent, as the stars creep higher in the sky above you.

Should be out driving, right now. Can’t bring himself to leave.

So he holds you, until your breathing slows. Until the tension eases once again, sleep taking you.

You never were afraid of him. Only for him.

Never hesitated to crawl into bed beside him, even with his nightmares. Can still remember your insisting.

Clip the stem of the flower, and the bloom will fade. Skewer it though, and it will grow around it - oozing golden ichor until it heals.

It's supposed to be a comfort.

But Logan doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s afraid that he plucked you from the earth, long ago.

You just haven’t realized yet it yet.

Logan finds you in the garden.

Charles is out with you today. Tucked beneath the afternoon shadows of the smelting plant. He would laugh - does laugh - at your excuse of a garden. It pales in comparison to the mansion. The old ivy that crawled up the walls, across the sprawling grounds.

You laugh with him, because - what else is there to be done?

The sound dies, as the limo comes back early. A hand shades your eyes, as he steps out.

Still weary, though not as much as yesterday. Worry set in the lines around his eyes the grit of his jaw.

The reason revealed, when he steps to the side. A girl, stumbling out of the back seat of the limo.

Her eyes are feral, and there’s something so familiar about her that it steals your breath.

“Crescere.” Charles breathes - more lucid than you’ve seen him in days, “That is Laura. She’s the mutant I told you about. The one we have to help get to Eden.”

And for a moment, he’s the Charles he was a decade ago. The one you would have followed to the end.

Something blooms in your chest, at the sight of the girl.

The mutant, when there hasn’t been a new one in so long. A tight knot unfurling inside you, and it feels like a new beginning.

It feels like hope.

and then they all left to find Eden together and nothing bad ever happened again! 😌💖 I'm heading back to Trouble Will Find Me and Come On And Show Me after this, just was struck with this idea and wanted to explore it! thanks so much for reading!!

And They Were Roommates | drabble

“hazy shades of you” aka: weed…idk

A/N: when I tell you that these three have been living in my head rent fucking free…💀 there are so many fun and smutty scenarios that I can do for them and it’s so much fun! Big kisses for @syd-djarin for another BEAUTIFUL moodboard, and @sinsofsummers for betaing 💗

word count: 1.1k

Summary: Joel and Logan take care of you on the couch after they ✨beat✨ your pussy 🫶🏻

Pairing | Joel Miller x Logan Howlett x f!reader

Warnings: smut, pussy pronouns, m/m, mmf, language, throuple, dubious consent given the use of marijuana, +18 minors dni!

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The wet sound of lips meeting in a chaste kiss echo behind you. The couch pillows have found their way to the floor in a smashed down heap, and you’re unsure where your discarded panties ended up…but your hunch leads you to believe that Logan secretly stashed them away in the back pocket of his jeans (for safekeeping, obviously).

Your thighs feel sticky, glued together with perspiration, and the remnants of Joel and Logan painting your skin in ropes of their seed, marking you, as always.

“Think she’s up for round five?” Logan murmurs against Joel’s lips, nipping playfully at the lower one, catching the soft skin and tugging—gently, earning an appreciative growl from the other man.

“Mmm…ain’t too sure about that, Howlett. Think she’s pretty fuckin’ beat.” He cards his fingers through Logan’s hair, twisting them through the endearing cowlicks that resemble cat ears, and tugs him in further—always yearning for more.

“You guys beat my pussy like it was your personal fucking mission. I can still feel her pulsing, and I’m not even sure if I have a clit attached to my body anymore.” You hoarsely joke, leaning forward from your spot between the two men on the couch to grab your jar of weed and rolling papers.

“Don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart.” Logan says teasingly, and curves his hand around Joel’s hip, pulling him into his lap with ease. “S’fine by us if you need a break. I think we can keep ourselves occupied.”

“Lemme roll this real quick, and then by the time I’m done, I’ll be ready for another poundin.’” You glance over your shoulder briefly at your men, a smile playing on your lips at the sight of them indulging in pleasure freely; it warms your heart and sends a spark shooting from the top of your spine, settling deep between your thighs.

“Mmm…” The Wolverine hums in appreciation, lulling his head to the side to give Joel easier access to his neck, and so that he could watch you with a lazy grin plastered on his flushed face. “Take your time, babygirl. Miller here is just gonna keep acting like a cock thirsty slut, anyway. And who could blame—”

“Yeah? That’s what I am?” Joel said with a snort under his breath, nudging Logan’s pulse point with the tip of his prominent nose before he pulled back slowly so he could look at his face.

“That’s right, bub.” He chuckles and diverts his gaze back to his lover straddling his hips, leaking cocks pressed together in this position, “ya heard me the first time, didn’t ya?” His brows rose suggestively, and his eyes drifted southwards.

“As if you don’t want me to shove my cock down that pretty throat of yours again, baby.” Joel rasped, closing the small gap between him and Logan with a searing kiss and trailed his fingers from his hair down to the bristle on his jaw, tilting his head upwards with the back of his knuckles. He rolled his hips forwards, easing the building tension between them.

“Fuck.” Logan sighs into the kiss, tightening his grip around Joel’s hip, nails bruising the skin there. “Thas’ it. Keep doing that.”

“Like this?” Joel rolls his hips again, experimenting with this new position freely, and he feels his ego swell from Logan’s unconditional praise falling from his lips between kisses.

“Yeah, bub. That’s perfect. Fucking—perfect. Gonna make me cum…again.” He growls.

“Goddamn. Y’all are fuckin’ nasty.” You chide playfully, squeezing your thighs together to try and relieve the building tension—those motherfuckers.

Your fingers were trembling by the time you finished rolling your joint, and just as you were reaching for the lighter along the coffee table, two pairs of hands were caressing you and easing your back against the couch.

“Boys, please.” You pleaded, “let me relax for five minutes, okay?”

Your lips pucker around the joint tucked there safely, but it dips down when you feel Joel’s lips brush against your neck on one side, and Logan’s following suit on the other.

“Babygirl, you are relaxing, see?” Logan says with a warm chuckle. “Let us take care of ya for a little, okay? We’ll be nice and gentle with her.” His eyes flick down to your pussy fondly, his fingers flexing in low-energy restraint.

Simultaneously, Joel’s lips trail down the expanse of your throat, kissing along your collarbone until you feel the hot press of his tongue lathing against your bare nipple, and one hand drifting down between your thighs, gently prying them apart at his leisure. His hand wraps around the meat of your thigh, gently draping it across his lap. “Baby, Logan and I jus’ can’t help it. We always wanna play with you.”

“Fuck me.” You let out a sigh through your nose, feeling your back melt further into the couch when Logan drapes your other thigh across his lap, exposing you completely to their wandering hands. “Just not too much, okay? She really did take a serious beating by you both.”

“Oh, honey…we know.” Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of your head when you naturally lean into him. “Just some gentle pets is what we’re gonna give her. Ain’t that right, bub?”

“Mhm. Nothing but the best for our girl and her pretty, bruised pussy. We’re gonna take extra good care of her.”

“God, I don’t know what I did to deserve you both, but I love you, seriously. Mind grabbing the light for me while you’re at it?” You gestured to the forgotten lighter on the table, and Logan was already reaching for it with his free hand. He pressed down on the spark wheel to ignite the flame, bringing it to the unlit end of your joint with ease.

The gesture was inherently intimate;your eyes met and you shifted closer towards him just as Joel’s fingers brush through the tuft of curls, playing with them endearingly.

You took a sharp inhale of smoke, holding it in your mouth as Logan leaned in and kissed you deeply, inhaling the smoke at the same time while his fingers dip down, spreading your inner lips open slowly.

“She’s so pretty, ain’t she?” Joel murmurs in awe when his eyes focus intently at the way that your pussy pulsed from even the lightest touches. His fingers had barely touched your sensitive clit, and you were already lurching forward, whimpering pathetically into Logan’s lips.

“The prettiest.” Logan hummed in agreement.

And for the next hour, and well after the joint that was pursed prettily between your lips had been enjoyed between the three of you, your boyfriends continued to gently tend to you, and your pussy. Coaxing orgasm after orgasm washing over you with just their fingers alone, and creating an even bigger mess between your thighs. And well, good dogs always lick their bowl clean, ain’t that right, bub?

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smoking out the window with logan 🚬

i cant lie this fic is very self indulgent, but i had to share with y'all hehe <3 basically just smoking with logan, sitting in his lap, and yall end up gettin’ down and FREAKYYY.

—

you’re seated criss-crossed in front of the fire escape, window cracked slightly ajar. you take a long inhale of your cigarette, letting the smoke sit in your mouth for a second before puffing out the rest through your nose.

your lips pull away from the filter, now tinted pink and slightly shiny from your lip gloss. you look over your shoulder to see logan let out a small chuckle, taking a drag from his cigar. you roll your eyes at him, tapping the end of your cigarette against the ashtray placed between you.

“yknow i already tried cigars… they’re just too big for me”. logan looks at you with a raised brow, a smug smile slowly creeping upon his face. you took a moment to process what you said, and how wrong it sounded out of context.

“hey! get your mind out of the gutter. you know what i mean,” you quipped, quickly taking a puff of your cigarette, playfully exhaling into his face to recant.

logan pays no mind to your games, simply shooing away the smoke with his free hand. “whatever you say bub…” he chuckles out, looking at you with a content smile.

he takes another hit from his cigar before sizing you up with his grim eyes. you were wearing a pair of sleep shorts, short enough to leave no room for imagination, with one of logan's flannels that you messily buttoned up this morning draping over your shoulders.

the domesticity of it all is what riled logan up. seeing you dressed up in his clothes, cuddled up in your small, but cozy, apartment bedroom, seated right in front of the fire exit. considering how hectic his life once was, nothing could compare to this.

“try it one more time, baby,” he requests, his pointer and middle finger signaling to come over to him. you rolled your eyes and reluctantly crawled your way over to him. he taps his lap with both hands, and you cozily fit into the thick embrace of his thighs.

you already know where this is going. he's done it once, and he'll do it again. you pursed your lips, your eyes quickly glancing over at his cigar, then promptly meeting his teasing gaze.

“c’mon, just about half of it is left. finish it with me, yeah?” he says with a sultry tone, tilting his head to the side.

“only cause you asked so nicely.” you replied, pressing your lips to the temple of his forehead, your left hand steadying yourself against his hips before you ruffle up his pointed tufts of hair with your right.

seating yourself back in his lap, you took the cigar from his hand, taking it in your own. you guide his calloused hand to the hem of your sleep shorts, his fingers finding purchase at the waistband, playfully tugging it back, allowing for them to snap back against your hips.

taking a deep puff, you let the smoke linger in your mouth as you would with your cigarette. the flavor was definitely more intense compared to the pack of reds you smoke daily. you immediately felt the buzz from the nicotine as the smoke coated your mouth in an almost oily film.

you're about to deeply inhale until you remember you're not supposed to actually inhale the smoke of the cigar. you catch yourself mid-breath, but you weren't fast enough to stop yourself. the bitter taste of the nicotine floods your throat, causing you to let out an unpleasant cough.

"careful there, princess", he teases you, his firm hand patting your back as you continued to cough. "don't wanna hurt yourself", he says chuckling to himself, finding your discomfort somewhat amusing.

you took a second to compose yourself, then joined in on logan's laughter. you pressed your forehead against his chest, snickering over how foolish you probably looked, choking on your own saliva.

"i told you s'too much!," you retort with a smile, nudging yourself deeper into his chest. you can smell the musk of his cologne mixed with the heady scent of smoke in the air; it was intoxicating how logan ran his fingers through your hair, his hands slowly finding their way to the small of your back.

you gently pull away from him, his arms wrapped around your waist, planting your hips against his, the flesh of your ass feeling his erection forming. a smirk pulls at the corner of your lips as you gently grind against him.

logan lets out a grunt as he feels the blood rush to his dick. peppering kisses along his neck, you slowly make your way up to his jawline. "baby, you're forgettin' something..." you lull, placing the cigar back between his lips.

you admire the way his muscles flex with every movement you make, almost syncopating to the rhythm of your hips. the way he matched your pace was addicting. "yknow..." you trail off, sliding yourself off of his lap, moving to kneel in front of him.

"cigars may be big for me... but there's something bigger that i can handle," you hum as you get on your knees, your figure now slotted between his bulky thighs.

placing your hands on his quads, your fingertips trace figure-eights against his jeans. you take a deep breath and rest your head on the inner of his thighs, your left hand working its way slowly to his crotch.

"you're so needy, bub" he whines out of the corner of his mouth, cigar still between his lips. his breath faltered as your fingers graze over the growing tent in his jeans.

"let me please you, lo. wanna make you feel good" you plead, your eyes looking up at him with an intense lust.

"f-fuck." he stutters as your fingers press harder against his erection "how can i say no to my baby" he obliges, taking the cigar out of his mouth to light out on the ashtray.

you reach your hand out to grab his arm before he lights out his cigar, your grip on his bicep tightening as he gently tries to pull away from your grasp. "wait," you said hastily, "don't put it out yet".

he raises his eyebrow at your command, but doesn't push it any further. "got something planned, bub?" he asks, leaning back into the couch, manspreading wider.

you nod your head as you work at his belt nimbly, slithering the leather around and off of his waist, metal buckle of the belt clanking silently against the plush carpet that your knees rested on.

as you push his jeans and boxers down, his cock springs out, bouncing back against his stomach. his tip was already red, leaking with precum. you admire the length and girth of his dick as you run your tongue along the underside of his cock.

tracing a vein with your tongue, you move from the base of his cock to his tip. logan moved his hands to cup your face, fighting the urge to push himself down your throat as you continued to tease him slowly. "ah f-fuck," he winces, as you press a wet kiss to his tip.

"quit taking so damn long, princess," he adds, your hot breath tickling him. the lewd sight of his pre mixed with your saliva forming a strand from your bottom lip to his tip made your core pulsate. you pushed your thighs together to alleviate the aching pain you felt.

seductively licking your lips, your mouth finds its way back wrapped around his girthy cock. you slowly ease yourself all the way down him as the tip of your nose presses against his pelvis.

breathing through your nose, your lips make their way up his length, making sure to savor the way his tip rested against your tongue. tracing his slit carefully, you lick up his leaking precum, making sure not to miss a single drop of it.

"fuck yeah-", he hisses out, taking a hit. as he exhales the smoke, he grabs a fist full of your hair, now taking control of your movements. he thrusts into your mouth at a rapid and shallow pace, the slap of skin against skin filling the room.

his unrelenting pace made your pussy throb harder; the way he looked as he stood above you, manhandling you, using you, practically as a fucktoy, made you see stars.

eventually he slowed down his pace, his strokes becoming deeper, more sensual. "still with me, bub?" he asked, his eyes locked with your own as he continued to throatfuck you. "mmmh." you answered, with a fucked-out gaze.

"good," he hummed, loosening his grip on your hair. "gonna need you to be a good girl for me, princess." he gives the temple of your forehead a light kiss, his salt-and-pepper beard tickling your hairline.

a split second after the kiss, he retightens his fist, gripping more of your hair than before, and pushes you down the length of his shaft vigorously. the sudden gesture makes you wince around him.

unable to breathe through your mouth, you gag around him. the walls of your throat squeeze tightly along logan's length, making him wince out in pleasure. unable to control himself, he firmly plants his left hand on the crown of your head, keeping you in place, as his right brings his cigar back to hips lips.

logan takes a long drag from the cigar, tilting his head up towards the ceiling, blowing away the smoke. "stay right there for me, bub... i know y'can do that for me, yeah?" he says with a smirk, keeping his eyes on you.

you grunt in response, breathing heavily through your nose to keep the little composure that you had. still gagging around his cock, your vision began to get blurry as tears began forming.

"shit, im coming-" logan groans out, harshly pumping his cock even further into your throat. with each thrust of his hips, a moan escaped from you, followed along with a gag. the mix of pain and pleasure was intoxicating.

soon after his announcement, you feel the thick ropes of his cum sliding along your esophagus. the heady taste of his cum coats your mouth and lips; the salty and sweet tang grounded you from your mind blanking as he continued to skullfuck you.

it felt like an eternity before logan released you from his firm grasp. you slipped your lips off of him, now resting your head on his thigh. you cough a little bit, and your nose starts to drip.

"still think my dick's too big for you to handle?" he teases, tucking a stray strand of your bangs behind your ear. you shake your head no, flashing him a lazy smile. he brings the cigar to your lips for you to take a hit.

"atta girl."

YOOOOO? 😀 we're getting fed ty

Old man Logan nsfw!! <3 full on my Twitter! @/yuiinsfww! <3

handjob + making out is such an underrated combination the world needs more of this RIGHT NOW