Logan Howlett Xmen - Tumblr Posts

THIS IS SO GOOD WTFFFF 😭😭😭 IF YOU DONT MIND I THINK U SHOULD MAKE A PART TWOOO

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more howlett. masterlist.

paring! cagefighter!logan howlett x mutant!gn!reader w/c! 3.8k summary! instead of rogue finding logan at the cage fighting ring, you do. and the car never crashes because i say so. warnings! fighting, one gun mention, heavily based on how rogue first meets logan in the xmen (2000) film, reader is in their early 20s, one use of y/n, ambiguous ending kinda, the flirting is hella subtle an! this was fun to make. hope u guys like :))

“Is this it?” You questioned the taxi driver, the bright street lights that illuminated the parking lot blinding you briefly. The man hummed back in acknowledgment, impatiently tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as you grabbed your backpack and slid out of the cab. He drove off the second you closed the door, his tires screeching against the pavement and gaining the attention of the few bikers outside. You kept your eyes glued to the ground as you made your way into the old barnhouse. You could hear muffled grunts and cheers through the metal walls, the sounds only echoing louder as you stepped inside.

The interior was covered with animal furs, random abandoned architecture, and a metal fighting ring in the center. There were bikers, mercenaries, hunters, and hillbillies filling every corner of the room as you make your way to the center, your eyes glued onto the hunched man in the corner.

His barren back shined against the cheap fluorescent lights as smoke rose from where he was standing, crashing and wrapping around the sides of his head as it tried to find its way to the sky. A bell rang loudly as a skinny man with a red plaid shirt gets dragged out of the ring, his head hung in defeat. You couldn't help but swallow hard at the sight, your eyes drifting back to the mysterious man leaning against the corner of the fighting ring.

“Gentleman,” the round, bearded man called through the microphone. “Personally, I never seen anything like that. Have you?” He gestured the microphone to the crowd with a lopsided grin, a roar of agreeance and beer-fueled rage from the audience nearly popping your eardrums. “That's what I like to hear!” He yelled into the mic, the last few words becoming a growl as his excitement seethed through him.

“Now,” He held out his hand to signal the crowd to quiet down, and they did. “Are you just gonna let this man walk away with your money?” He points his finger at the man puffing away, his hand shaking slightly as he tries to rile the audience up. They roar in response, many men throwing their cans up into the air and pushing through the crowd to kiss the metal fence wrapped around the ring.

“I’ll fight him!” A man yelled, throwing his handful of jackets off and racing towards the ring. The announcer chuckled in to the mic, picking up the man's fist and letting the audience roar in response. The bell rang three times and the announcer shuffled off the stage with extreme haste as the man eagerly ran to kick the shirtless brunette in the base of the spine. He growled in response, his body crashing into the metal fence before the man threw punch after punch into his jaw.

The drunken man grinned at how the record-breaker knelt over himself, holding his stomach with his free hand as the other held him up. The man kicked his ribs as hard as he could, his grin widening as the brunette finally attempted to stand. You watched as the shirtless man grunted and slowly picked himself up, his eyes full of fury. He balled his hands into fists and stared the drunken man down. He decides to throw another punch, his body tumbling backward after the brunette's fist meets his. He looks down at the drunk with a scowl, his fist connecting to the man's face before he could even stand up. His back hit the metal fence of the ring, his body wandering forward before a head-butt knocked him down on his back.

The bell rang three times again, naming the brunette the victor once again. You watched in awe as he gave him a final kick, slowly making his way back into the corner so he could drink another shot of scotch and take another hit from his cigar.

“Tonight's winner, and still king of the cage,” The announcer yelled through the mic, slowly making his way inside the ring once more. “Wolverine!” He exclaimed, the crowd roaring in applause.

Watching the 'Wolverine' down a man with such ease and haste made your heart beat quicken if you were honest with yourself. There was no way in hell that he was that strong without something else going on, even if it's a mutation or not. A part of you was curious as to what made him so sturdy, and another part of you yearning to have that sturdiness somewhat guide you to something better than hopping bench-to-bench.

Ever since that mutant registry bill got handed to the senate, you’ve been anxiously bouncing from city to city to find someone who will hopefully give you a ride and take you to the next one. While also trying to stay on the move, you’ve been trying to keep your eyes peeled for anyone who seemed mutated like you. After all, if there were others like you, there had to be a safe haven for them somewhere. There had to be.

You swallowed your nerves and pushed through the crowd to make it to the ‘Wolverine’s’ side of the ring, your eyes briefly meeting his as you made your way closer and closer. As you eventually walked directly in front of him, his eyes bore into you as you tried to come up with something to say. He was standing about two feet above you, the fighting ring elevated onto a stage, making the height difference between you two even more drastic.

“Whaddya want, kid?” He growled, biting down on his cigar as his eyes subtly examined you. You swallowed once more, your nerves making your heart pound out your chest, and finally uttered something to make this exchange worthwhile.

“Can I, uh, buy you a drink? To celebrate your victory?” You asked, your cheeks flushing slightly as your piss-poor attempt to have a proper conversation with him seeming more like you wanting to suck his face.

His eyes met yours as you uttered the question, a perked brow and soft scowl repaying you. He stayed silent momentarily, taking a puff of his cigar before responding. “Sure. Order me a beer.” He replied simply, turning away from you as he slowly made his way outside of the ring. You bit back a grin as you rushed your way around the stage, your eyes scanning for the bar.

You finally found it and slipped into the nearest available stool. You could feel the bartender's eyes scan you as he made his way to your corner of the bar. You took in a deep breath as you prepared yourself for the man's standard questioning of newbies. Instead, he walked up in front of you with a wide grin and asked you what you would like. You told him you’d just like water and watched as he nodded and left to fulfill your request, your focus quickly diverting to search for the ‘Wolverine’ you were itching to talk to.

You waited thirty minutes, then an hour, and then two. You had sat there long enough for a handful of drunks to begin to snore on the booths and for the owners to begin counting their earnings for the night. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, anyways. A part of you was waiting for the Wolverine so he could give you a possible ride, yes, but the way he could down a man to his knees with just a few punches intrigued you. Maybe he was the lead you were searching for.

Finally, after what seemed like years, the gruff man took a seat beside you. He tapped the bar with his pointer finger and clicked his tongue, seemingly impatiently waiting for you to speak first as if he hadn’t left you hanging there for hours.

“Sorry, kid,” He began, the apology sounding bizarre coming off of his tongue. He coughed into his fist before continuing, refusing to look you in the eye. “I thought you were jokin’ me.” You stared down at the bar counter as you tried to come up with something to say that didn't sound too eager, too desperate, or too unforgiving.

“Do most girls tease you with a drink?” You questioned, leaning against the bar as you slowly raised your gaze to meet his. Maybe a flirt or two will get him chattier, you thought. He smiled softly and shook his head, still staring down at the counter. “Most girls don’t offer me one,” He corrected, glancing at you through the corner of his eye for just a moment.

You softly chuckled and smiled weakly, trying to avoid looking at him as much as he was doing you. “I oddly don't believe that.” You half-joked, struggling to keep your eyes off of him as the leather jacket against his faded jeans and plaid button-up made him look almost half as good as he did in the ring. You pushed down your risqué thoughts and tried to direct the conversation to something else to avoid flustering yourself.

“I actually didn’t offer you a drink just to flirt,” You begin, turning slightly on the stool so your body is facing him. You began to nervously pick at invisible dirt on the bar counter, slowly and carefully building the question in your mind. “I wanted to ask if…” Your eyes drifted from him to the drunken man he fought earlier, an angry scowl poisoning his features as he stood behind Wolverine with balled fists.

He impatiently tapped his shoulder, his brows furrowing deeper into his forehead as he spoke. “You owe me some money,” He grumbled, staring daggers into the brunette as the man peeked over his shoulder. His friend gently grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him away, but he ripped his arm free. “No man can take a beating like that with no marks to show for it.” Wolverine faced forward, taking another puff off of his cigar as he blatantly ignored the man.

The man’s scowl deepened, a frown bleeding over his features as he leaned into Wolverine’s ear. “I know what you are, do they?” he whispered, his eyes meeting yours for a moment. You swallowed hard at his words, helplessly watching as Wolverine gripped his cigar tighter, obviously fighting to give in to some kind of urge.

“You lost your money,” the brunette barked, only glancing at the man over his shoulder. “Keep this up, and you're losing something else.” He growled, tapping the ash off of his cigar as the drunken man’s friend attempted to pull him away again. You watched as the man pulled out a pocket knife from his jacket sleeve, your mouth opening to warn the brunette before you could fully process the moment.

“Watch out!” You screamed, the brunette turning in a second and pinning the drunken man to the wall. He had his fist hovering in front of his face, two long metal claws pressing into the sides of the man’s neck. The breath was stolen out of your lungs as you watched the third one slowly slide out his knuckles, hovering just centimeters above his jugular.

The bartender slowly took the shotgun from underneath the bar and aimed it at the base of Wolverine’s skull, the tip shaking slightly as the man spoke. “Get out my bar, freak,” He spat, his fingers only gripping the firearm tighter as he waited for the mutant to respond.

You couldn't help but gasp as he quickly turned and sliced the shotgun’s barrel in half, the gunpowder spilling onto the wooden flooring below. His eyes bounced between the drunken man, you, and the bartender before he dropped his hands to his sides, the claws slowly retracting back into his knuckles. You couldn't help but feel a bit giddy, the reward of trusting your gut being the strongest cage fighter around here that, coincidentally, had legitimate metal claws.

He grunted at the men before stomping off, not even glancing at you as he walked past. You awkwardly looked around the room, considering the options in your head, before blindly following him outside of the farmhouse. You watched as he hopped into his truck camper’s driver's seat, the car shaking slightly as he sat down. You quickly rushed out of the building and walked to his car, your hand hovering over the passenger side window as you considered if you should truly ask for this man’s protection.

He glanced at you for a moment, seemingly ignoring you, before his eyes flew up to meet yours once again. You watched as he subtly rolled his eyes before leaning over and opening the passenger side door, holding it open and simultaneously blocking you from getting in as he waited for you to explain yourself.

“Well, uh,” You began, your fingers weakly fiddling with the shoulder strap of your backpack as you tried to formulate a sentence. “That drunk cut me off, I was wondering if I could catch a ride and continue with what I was trying to say.” You fiddled with the strap as you anxiously awaited his answer, your nerves making your head and fingertips buzz with eagerness. He quickly glanced at the road in front of him, as if he was measuring how far he would take you, before subtly nodding. You couldn't hide the wide grin that slid onto your face as you hopped into the passenger seat, placing your backpack between your feet before securing your seatbelt.

He slowly started up the truck and began heading down the lonely road.

“Where to?” He grumbled, glancing at you through the corner of his eye as he waited for you to respond. “The nearest train station around.” You answered awkwardly while shrugging subtly, your response being the same answer you’ve told the last eight people who’ve driven you around a handful of states. He nodded slowly, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel as he stared at the road ahead.

“What I was going to say was that I needed a ride, so thank you,” You began, diverting your eyes from his the best you could. “But… I wanted to know if you were like me. And you are.” You could see him glance at you through the corner of his eye, his brow perking in intrigue.

“And what would that be?” He asked, keeping his eyes glued to the road as he awaited your answer. You stammered for a moment, wondering if there was a kinder name for it, but you eventually gave up and ended up calling it what it is.

“Mutants. You have… claws, and I can make people see stuff.” The man glanced at you once more, staying silent as he processed your words. “Make people see stuff how?” You awkwardly laughed before softly presenting your abilities, creating a fly that circles around the brunette’s head over and over. He lazily swiped at his ears, glancing at you before he realized it was your doing. “Ah,” he hummed, nodding softly as you dissipated the illusion.

“It’s more than flies, obviously,” You smiled sheepishly as you spoke, nervously rubbing your hands together to gather some kind of warmth against the chill winter air. “Is your… thing more than just claws?” You asked, glancing at the man briefly before tearing your eyes from him, a part of you scared to get caught staring.

“Uh, not really,” He mumbled, tightening his grip on the wheel ever so slightly. “I can heal pretty well. That's ‘bout it.” You laughed softly at his answer, not taking it completely seriously. “I don't think that's much of a superpower,” You grinned, staring at the brunette softly. He glanced at you through the corner of his eye, his expression unchanging.

“There's nothing super ‘bout it. Dunno who told you that.” You stared at him for a moment, his words slowly sinking in. Did he not like his mutation? Was it some kind of burden to him? Your eyes slowly drifted down to his knuckles, subtle scars lying where his claws would protrude from.

“When you use your claws, does it hurt?” You murmured, almost accidentally, as your eyes carefully studied his hands and wrists for any explanation of how his mutation worked. He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel after you spoke, avoiding your lingering gaze as he kept driving.

“Every time.” He answered dryly, keeping his responses short as he tried to keep his focus directed onto the road ahead. Your eyes drifted up to meet his once again, your gaze slowly scanning his features and expression as you searched for any answers that could've been spotted with just a careful eye. Of course, you were fruitless.

His eyes finally left the road to glance down at your trembling hands, his calloused fingertips reaching for your wrist before he spoke. “Put your hands on the heater,” He mumbled, bringing your hands against the dashboard. “It’ll help.” He met your eyes briefly before staring down the road once more.

His touch felt almost electric, the feeling of physical touch after being starved of it for weeks feeling almost intoxicating at first. You quickly composed yourself, your focus being absorbed by the dashboard as the engine and the heater radiated warmth through your body.

After a few long moments of the car rumbling and bouncing around because of the bumpy road, your eyes eventually drifted to the dog tags that just barely dangled outside of his button-up shirt. The name “Wolverine” was pressed into the metal, a mouthful of numbers listed below it.

“Is ‘Wolverine’ really your name?” You asked, hoping the words didn't come off as judgemental as they seemed. He shook his head softly, subtly shoving the necklace into his shirt, attempting to keep it out of view. “No.” He stated flatly, glancing at you briefly before continuing. “It's Logan.” Your eyes flew up to meet his, the drop of openness feeling like a tidal wave from such a gruff person like him.

“Mine’s Y/N.” You couldn't help but smile as you told him your name, your chest warming at the simple exchange between you two. He nodded slowly at your response, a small smile slipping onto his face.

“What’re you doing around here, anyways? You stuck out like a sore thumb back there.” He gestured his head back to the cage fighting ring, turning to face you briefly before focusing back on the road. You diverted your eyes from him as you tried to come up with an answer, your words becoming lost to you as you failed to rationalize the truth, even to yourself. How could you tell him that you've been homeless for weeks in fear of what the mutant registry would do to you and force your family to do? He would probably laugh and kick you out of the car, telling you to sleep the paranoia off and take the nearest bus home.

"It's stupid," you murmured, staring out the passenger side window to avoid even getting a glance at his expression. He hummed in response, staying silent for a moment or two before speaking up.

"Are you runnin'?" He asked, turning to look you in the eye for a second only for you to be looking in the opposite direction. You laughed softly, slowly shaking your head. "Something like that."

The car stayed silent for a few more moments, the sound of the wind beating against the truck and the wheels bouncing against the snow-covered asphalt creating an almost comforting atmosphere in the vehicle.

As you stared down the road ahead, deep in thought, you rolled around your options in your head. You could stay silent until he dropped you off, or keep giving him shreds of who you are, hopefully kindling some kind of friendship. You swallowed down your nerves before speaking up, your mouth talking before your mind can.

"I was scared of hurting my family. Or the mutant registry thing hurting them instead. So... I just ran. Blindly." The choice sounded even stupider as you said it aloud, the reality of your choices slowly sinking in. You were homeless and constantly on the move because of a hunch, because of a fear. You could tell Logan agreed with the way he grinned softly, a chuckle slipping from his lips.

"You weren't kidding." He replied simply, glancing at you through the corner of his eye as he spoke. You stared down at your hands that rested in your lap, so many feelings of frustration, guilt, and fear swirling inside of your gut all at once. You were truly and utterly stupid. There was no denying that anymore.

You got lost in your thoughts as you tried to come up with any other options you could've chosen other than packing a bag and hopping city-to-city until you could find some kind of home for mutants. You could've been honest with your parents and used your brain for longer than half an hour before fleeing home and jumping onto the nearest train heading north. You could've tried to act normal until the mutant registry got put into place, constantly watching yourself so you don't expose your mutation to the public.

"Hey, kid," Logan called, gently tapping your hands that still desperately clasped the heated leather of the dashboard. You blinked multiple times before turning to face him, completely snapped out of your trance. "You did what you thought was right at the time. Don't beat yourself over it." He glanced at you between every few words, trying his best to maintain his focus on the road while also trying to make his words sound as genuine as possible.

"I just..." You murmured, your eyes diverting from his as you spoke. "I feel like a coward." Your eyes slowly filled with tears as you tried to find your words, your heart squeezing tighter and tighter with every second that went by.

"Hey..." Logan mumbled, his hand planting itself onto your thigh. He comfortingly tapped the skin before gripping the steering wheel once more, the gentle touch sending shivers throughout your body. "Don't think that way." He assured, gripping the wheel tighter as you failed to respond.

The sudden touch, the thoughts racing through your mind, and the way exhaustion washed over you in waves made processing this all so difficult. You stole a glance at him before humming in acknowledgment, subtly adjusting yourself in the passenger seat as you attempted to get comfortable. You could feel him stare at you through the corner of his eye, carefully watching as you curled up into the seat and fluttered your eyes shut. He smiled softly at the sight, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel as he focused back on the road ahead.

"I'm just gonna..." You murmured, your lips hanging open as exhaustion dragged you down to sleep before you could even fight back. Logan just softly laughed, shaking his head as he glanced to witness your snoring body.

"You do that," he mumbled, trying his best to keep his voice low enough to not startle you awake. He couldn't help but grin as he replayed the entire conversation over in his head, the kid's bravery and determination intriguing him. The way they cowered into themselves made his stomach churn, however, an urge to carefully watch over them roaring over any other thought. He wondered how long you have been on the move and how you've managed to stay brave enough to not run back home the second you got the urge to.

If he had somewhere to go home to, especially a family, he'd run back the moment he could - even with this mutant registry bill being wedged into the law.

He had to admit, you intrigued him in a way no one has before. Well, that's until a man with a visor over his eyes and a woman with ice-white hair stood in the center of the road and stared the car down.

rushed ending lowk, i was getting bored of writing this 😭😭 i hope it was still enjoyable!!!

IM A TREE THAT NEEDS CHOPPING

save me lumberjack logan howlett, save ME!!!!!!

life with lumberjack logan ✩‧₊°

xmen origins logan, you’ll always be my favorite <3

cutest baby girl ever idc if he’s got metal claws and perpetual grumpiness, he’s SO cutiepie

Explaining the James Logan Howlett (Wolverine) Lore for the new fans :)

I made this as a little cheat sheet for all the new Logan/Wolverine fans, in case you’ve never seen the movies or read the comics. Hopefully it’ll help with your fanfics and understanding his character better <3

Logan is my favorite of the Marvel superhero’s, and he and I go way back….so far back that my Dad dressed up as Wolverine and I as Rogue for Halloween in 2006. So he holds a very special place in my heart.

If you’ve seen X-men Origins: Wolverine, I hate to break it to you, but that backstory is not canon to the X-men universe. The later movies really screwed up the timeline. So the information here is strictly from the comics.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Pre-Adamantium Binding:

His real name is James Howlett, ‘Logan’ is later used as an alias to distance himself from his past.

He was born sometime around 1880, in Alberta Canada.

He is the illegitimate son of Elizabeth Howlett and Thomas Logan. He grew up on the Howlett estate and believed John Howlett was his real father.

His mutant powers first appeared when he was a child. He has accelerated healing, heightened senses, and retractable bone claws.

The trigger was caused by Thomas Logan killing James Howlett. The overwhelming fear and anger made his power manifest, blinded with rage he kills Thomas.

As his biological father dies, he reveals to Logan that he is his true father. The event is deeply traumatizing, and Logan runs away from his family estate. His mother commits suicide shortly after.

Logan has a half brother known as Sabertooth (Victor Creed) who has similar powers to the Wolverine but is more ‘animalistic’

The details vary across the comics but the brothers are always seen as rivals. And often pitted against eachother.

Logan served in WWI, WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War.

He also served in a Canadian military force known as ‘Department H’ that specialized in superhuman affairs. (This was after the experiment, I’ll go into more detail later)

Sometime before the Weapon X program: On Earth-616, Logan had a wife (Itsu) and son in Japan where he was training at the time. They were killed by the Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes)

Weapon X Program - Adamantium Binding:

The Weapon X program was run by multiple people working in secret for the Canadian government. Originally beginning in 1845, their goal was to experiment on mutants and create their own super-soldiers.

Logan was deceived and manipulated into undergoing the Weapon X experiment. He did not consent to being a test subject.

For some reason the X-Men Origins movie makes it out to be that Logan willingly chose to undergo this process, only to later reveal that he was tricked into doing so.

Before being captured, he was still struggling with his identity, he was close to 100 years old at the time. His life was filled with violence and loss. Making him physically and mentally vulnerable.

He was a prime target for exploitation.

Part of the experiment was to completely erase his memories and replace them with false ones. This allowed them complete control over him.

This also made it difficult for him to recall how he ended up in the program to begin with.

I repeat: they completely wiped his memory. His whole identity was gone.

100 years of memories were gone.

The bonding process turned his entire skeleton and bone claws into indestructible metal.

Due to his regenerative nature, Logan was not given anesthetic or put under for the procedure. It was excruciatingly painful.

Logan worked as a mercenary for private military contractors. He took on these assignments without fully understanding their implications because of his fragmented memory.

Sometime later he became a member of X-Force, a private military unit (affiliated with the CIA) that dealt with incredibly violent operations.

The purpose of the project was to create an unstoppable killing machine. With their end goal being to erase his humanity all together. However Logan’s mental fortitude allowed him to resist the conditioning and make his escape before it was too late.

After escaping, Logan developed a mistrust with authority. And just people in general. He felt deeply betrayed by the Weapon X program. And he struggles with the fear of being used as a weapon.

The escape and aftermath of Weapon X:

After everything Logan went through, the intense trauma and confusion significantly impacted his actions and mindset.

He was left with extreme psychological damage, and behaved more as an animal than a man for the first few years of his freedom. Living in the wilderness of Canada.

Quite literally a feral man. He lost touch of his humanity. Embracing his animalistic abilities, turning him into an apex predator.

Logan has the ability to enter something called “Beserker Rage” which he becomes entirely driven by animalistic instinct. Turning him into an unstoppable force and exerting himself for very long periods of time.

Think of when you see him running on all fours…

Over time, Logan began to regain bits and pieces of his humanity. He was later discovered by Heather and James MacDonald Hudson who took him in and helped him recover physically and mentally.

(Logan actually fell in love with Heather, and James became his best friend. They were the closest thing he had to a family)

After he recovered, he was recruited by the Canadian governments ‘Department H’. They were responsible for a lot of his training and became a key member in Canada’s superhero team: Alpha Flight.

This is where he took on the code name “Wolverine”

His time with Alpha Flight was short lived. And soon he was approached by Charles Xavier, who was looking for mutants to join his X-Men. He recognized Logan’s potential and offered him a place on the team as well as the promise to help him regain his memory.

Logan accepted, and his time with the X-Men marked a critical and significant moment in his life. Under Xavier’s guidance he was able to rebuild his identity and gradually piece together his past. All while fighting for the rights of mutants.

Being part of the X-Men gave him a sense of purpose and direction. Although his main goal had always been to uncover what he had lost, which was himself. He still struggles with trust and relationships, but eventually forms strong bonds with the other X-men.

His past with Weapon X still haunts him. And he has vivid and terrible nightmares about what he had done and what was done to him.

I won’t go into detail about his time with the X-men because that varies a lot across the comics. Just know that he had a love-hate relationship with them, but he ultimately loved them in the end.

Some sad facts about Logan that actually haunt me:

Logan has outlived everyone he ever loved. Family, friends, even his own children. He is so so so lonely.

Immense amount of survivors guilt. He feels unworthy of the life he continues to live.

He suffers from chronic nightmares. Often waking up in a violent and panicked state.

Deep-seated fear of abandonment that goes all the way back to his early childhood. He isolates himself to protect himself from more pain.

Tons of self-loathing. He believes himself to be nothing more than a killer. He thinks he is unworthy of love and happiness.

In the “Old Man Logan” storyline, he is tricked into killing the entire X-Men team. This event haunts him for the rest of his life.

Logan had a long, unrequited love for Jean Gray. He has watched her die multiple times, and each time a piece of him dies with her. On one occasion, he even had to kill her himself.

When he succumbs to “beserker rage” he loses control of himself. And the aftermath horrifies him. He is even afraid of himself at times and one of the reasons why he distances himself from others.

Some happy/soft facts to make up for everything you just read:

Logan is incredibly fatherly at times, often taking younger mutants under his protection and guidance. He becomes a mentor to them and looks out for their well-being.

In one of the comics he takes a young girl (Jubilee) to the mall and followers her around carrying her bags. He loves doting on her and I find it so adorable.

He also teaches another mutant named Kitty how to dance.

In one mission he is tasked with taking care of an infant, Hope. And he is incredibly gentle and tender with her. Cradling her in his arms and being fiercely protective.

He has a deep love and connection with animals. Especially ones that have been mistreated or misunderstood.

Caring for an injured wolf, he nurses it back to health and releases it back into nature.

He also adopts a stray, abused dog at one point.

In one of the timelines, he funded and ran the ‘Jean Gray School for Higher Learning’ He was the headmaster, and was dedicated to protecting and teaching young mutants.

In one scene he literally makes pancakes for all the students. I love him so much.

His relationship with Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner) is very brotherly. They share alot of respect and understanding for each other, and Nightcrawler often serves as Logan’s moral compass.

His happiest memories are when he was training in Japan. And he has a deep appreciation and admiration for the culture. Taking on the samurai code of honor, and respecting its discipline and humility.

His entire relationship with Laura Kinney (X-23). Essentially his daughter. Taking on a father-figure role for her.

In one of the comics he organizes a birthday party for her, knowing she never had one. He goes all out and it shows just how much he loves her.

Logan has a great sense of humor. Often dry and sardonic, he’s known for his quick wit and playful banter. Which adds a layer of warmth to his otherwise tough persona.

He is very fond of life’s simple pleasures. Which reflects his inner desire for peace and normalcy. He values the little things that make life enjoyable.

His numerous acts of kindness towards strangers. Logan is compassionate at heart.

He doesn’t comfort others with his words, but rather his presence. Logan has a very unique understanding of grief and tries to give others relief in knowing they aren’t alone.

WOW okay I wrote way too much. Tbh I actually cut a ton out of this but if anybody wants a part 2 I’d be happy to share more. Shoutout to my brother for helping me source all this with his comics lol.

If you read all this, you’re a real one. And I’m so glad we’re all witnessing the Logan Howlett Renaissance

save me lumberjack logan howlett, save ME!!!!!!

“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.”

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.

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. Still, 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—

Alright. 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.

“I asked 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, sweetheart,” 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 can 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 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 all 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. 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, though 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. “Think I asked you something. 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 this man.

“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 these 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 his lips into yours one more time. “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 l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts. He feels like a madman, his eyes 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?”

“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!!! :)

good morning to all my fellow logan sluts! feeling very feral over 70s logan currently

OH MY GOD THIS WAS SO ALDJANDBSBAB

how about old!logan with the filthiest mouth one could ever speak, full with nasty and degrading pet names. just rough and mean logan treating the reader 🫠🫠

note: this takes place in the Honda Odyssey… we can make the man filthier by the way…

———

“Well, you guys are fucking stupid, so, it’s not a surprise we’re lost,” y/n crossed her arms in the back seat as Wade drove through the woods, trying to get to the place Nicepool had me roomed for them to form a team.

“You ain’t the smartest sheep either. Batting your fuckin’ eyelids at Jonny,” Logan scoffed next to her before leaning back in his to rest.

After Wade had told him that there might not be a way to save his world, he’s been in a bad mood. Ever since she met him, he’s been in a bad mood.

“Yeah, but sadly he’s not here with us, right Wade?” Y/n sarcastically asked, making Wade sigh loudly. “He should have said those things about her!” Wade shouted.

“This whole trip is fucking ridiculous. Like seriously, Wade. Why the fuck did you bring me along to save this drunk fuck!?” Y/n complained, making Logan chuckle.

“To save your shitty world,” Logan said under his breath. “Hey! That’s my world too!” Wade argued. “Yeah — That’s why I said that shit,”

“Not like yours is better,” y/n mumbled, making Logan snap his head towards her. Y/n continued looking out of the window, not caring how he felt about her words.

“The fuck you say?” The man asked in a clearly angry tone. “Alright, let’s just cool our dicks and think about a place to eat at after we get out of this shit hole, hm?” Wade asked the two, but they both ignored him.

“Nah, I wanna hear what the little bitch has to say,” Logan called the young lady out of her name, making her snap his own neck at him. “Bitch!? No wonder you could never keep a woman. In every universe!” She shot for his heart.

“That’s something you don’t have to worry about because Ian pickin’ a little brat like you,” Logan tried saying something back in an instant like her comment didn’t hurt. He knew calling her out of her name was shitty, but he’s going through it right now.

The man was pulled from his universe being told he had a chance to save it. Not even two hours later, he was told it was an educated wish.

“Not like you can get in my pants anyways limp dick,” y/n spat, making the man chuckle. He was cocky. He always has been, and his age wasn’t going to throw that away.

“You’re an easy little girl. You would even be able to handle me,” the man looked the girl up and down, giving a look that made her roll her eyes. “You fuckin’ wish,” she said before turning back to the window.

“Oh, honey bun, he does! Maybe y’all can fuck it out in here before we make it home. Got a long way to go,” Wade almost sang.

The two went silent, not declining or accepting. They were just angry, and Wade swore having a small fuck-session would help.

Y/n felt eyes on her through the silence. She told herself not to look back, but she had to. She wanted to see the man’s face, and god, was he fine. She hated admitting to it, but he was.

The way he looked at her legs, made her shift in her seat, growing nervous from the older man’s gaze.

“As I said — Little girl can’t handle it,” Logan finally looked up at the girl with a smirk, smelling the way she grew wet in seconds, and she didn’t know he could. She was clueless which made the situation funnier to him.

“I can handle more than you think. Your dick probably wouldn’t be able to stand up anyway, so stop lookin’ at me like that you perv,” y/n tried covering her legs, but there was no use.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” the man rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. “Do it yourself, coward,” y/n said under her breath. She thought she was quiet enough until his head snapped back at her and Wade gasped.

“Oh, you nasty little peanut,” Wade giggled. “Oh, you want me to fuck you?” Logan asked, giving that stupid smirk again. “What!? I never said that,” y/n lied, trying to think of something to stop this conversation.

“Oh, but you did, bub,” Logan felt like he was shifting closer, but y/n kept her eyes off of him. “Don’t go silent on me now, bub. If you need a little cock to fix that attitude, I can do it,”

The instant confidence he had, made the girl nervous. What the fuck is she going to do?

“Don’t need cock,” the girl spoke quietly. “I think you do,” the man’s hand was now on the grips thighs, gripping it a bit rough to get a reaction.

Y/n turned and swung, going to hit the man somewhere, but he got her fist and pushed it away before hovering over her body.

“You’re feisty for a girl who’s soaking wet,” the man said, confusing y/n. “You can smell her that bad!?” Wade asked, wanting to know if all. “Oh, yeah, and she smells sweet,” Logan admitted as his hands tugged on her belt.

“Let’s see if I’m right,” Logan ripped y/n’s belt off and shorts down her legs, exposing her pretty lace panties. “Logan! Fuckin’ get off!” Y/n fought back, but he knew she could do better.

“You sure? Kinda looks a little messy down here,” the man laughed at her girl as he spews her legs, seeing the dark spot grow. Before she could say another word, he ripped her panties off, making her yell at him more.

“Pretty little cunt. Maybe if you weren’t so bitchy, I’d eat it, but I have different plans for you today,” Logan wiped a finger across her lips before taking them to his mouth to suck.

“Yep — Sweeter than peach, Wade. Didn’t know you had sluts as friends,” Logan laughed again as he fumbled with his own belt. “Logan!” Y/n still shouted, kicking and slapping but he had his single hand pinning her shoulder down.

“Look on the bright side, peanut — You’ll get some dick and maybe that’ll energize you for our fight?” Wade said about anything to hide the fact he loved hearing Logan get the way he gets.

“Fuck you, Wade!” Y/n yelled at the man. “Nah uh, only I do that to you,” y/n almost forgot about Logan until she looked down, seeing his cock out in his head, stoking and leaking pre cum.

“Got me so fuckin’ hard. You know how good you look fighting? How pretty you are yappin’ that damn mouth? Could only think about you under me -- where you belong,”

Logan struggled but made his way in between her legs. “Fuck you! Fuck you, a-and Wade! You’ll last two seconds,” y/n tried laughing at the man to seem tough as usual, but he shut her right up with a hard thrust into her cunt.

“What was that? Two seconds? If I lasted a short time, it’s because this cunts so fuckin’ soaked, not because I’m old, baby,”

Y/n’s hands pushed at the man’s stomach, trying to slow him down and stop him from pushing hitting the right spot with each thrust he gave.

“S-Stop!” The girl whined already, feeling the knot in her stomach build and her breathing get spotty. He was huge and hard. Harder than she thought a man his age could be.

“Don’t think you want that, baby. No, you want me to fuck this pretty little girl till she cried and leaks on the seat,” Logan whispered in her ear as his own breath became heavy.

“God, you guys are hot. Love the play date you guys are having! Maybe give me a review after the Uber ride. Tell me if the seats felt comfy and if y’all had enough room to fuck like rabbits with rabies,” Wade seemed excited.

“Hear that, babe? Gonna tell Wade how good I fuck this pussy? C’mon, tell him. Tell him how hard your squeeze my cock,”

Y/n hated his cock voice in her ear but loved it at the same time. He knew exactly how she’d like it. Maybe by her attitude, he knew she needed someone with the same energy to pound her.

“No c-chance,” the girl stuttered through her teeth as she tried glaring at the man, but her head instantly fell back after he gave one small pound, telling her to get rid of the attitude.

“You’re gonna do it eventually. Sluts like you can’t forget a good cock,” and he was right. This was going to be the best sed she’s had ever.

“Gonna go beggin’ Wade to come get me to fuck you. Shit, since I have to stay in the bullshit you call your world, I’ll just come over to your place myself. Burry my cock in this cunt till you pass out,”

“L-Logan,” y/n dug her nails into the man’s shoulders, trying to hold tight as her orgasm felt near. “Oh, you like that? Like the thought of a dirty old man fuckin’ this so-called clean pussy, hm? Gonna let me breed this little princess whenever I want? Even if I piss you off?”

“N-No, you fucking suck at this!” Y/n breathed heavily, keeping her orgasm together so she wouldn’t give him what she wanted.

“God, she’s fuckin’ petty,” Wade said as Logan let out a little chuckle. The man shifted in the van, lifting her legs over his shoulders before punching his right claw into the roof of the van.

Y/n jumped, not used to having a mutant like him around. “Don’t worry, princess. I wouldn’t hurt a pretty girl like you. Too valuable and tight,” Logan grabbed between the back of y/n’s head and neck to lift her to, fixing her to lean into him.

“Before I fuck you ass dumb, do you want to take anything you said back?” Logan looked down at the girl whose legs rested on his shoulder and cock grazed her entrance, waiting to be squeezed again.

“You fuck like a dead pig,” y/n spat. Right after, the man took one good slam into her, watching her legs part and scream. Logan pulled her head back up, making her look into his dark eyes.

“Loudmouth for a loud screamer,” the man smirked before moving his hips, thrusting into the girl with all the strength he had. He pulled her back to life whenever she tried pushing away or leaning her head back.

“Good fuckin’ pussy — Fuck! — Maybe I’ll excuse that bitch tone of yours,” the man couldn’t deny his could she felt and sounded.

Before, y/n thought she could hold herself in, but she knew Logan would get what he wanted in this new angle and harder pounding. He knew this from the start.

“C’mon, bub — I know you wanna cum. Keep squeezing around me like I wouldn’t notice,” he laughed at her. Teasing he. “N-Not cumming,” y/n assured the man, but even Wade didn’t believe her.

“I can see how the man has you in a full-on butter-salted pretzel position. You’re cumming, peanut,” Wade said, only egging Logan on knowing anyone who looked at her right now could tell she was close.

“No, I’m not!” Y/n pathetically whined. Logan leaned down to the girl's face, slightly touching her lips as his hot breath burned her nostrils.

“Don’t cum then, bub,” Logan said as he picked up his pace. “Don’t cum, and you win. You win your little bitch fight, and we can move on with our day,” Logan kept increasing.

“Don’t cum, and you’re right about my limp old dick,” Logan now growled. “Don’t cum, and I won’t come into your little home and eat that pussy,” y/n eyes rolled back as his hands dug into the back of her neck.

“Don’t cum, and I won’t fuck you like this every day to satisfy your needs, baby. Don’t cum, and I’ll have to leave this pretty little body alone forever,”

“Can’t breed it. Can’t kiss it. Can’t pound it. Can’t do anything I want to it,” y/n whined loudly at the man’s words, finally releasing the man’s cock.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought. You need me. You fuckin’ want this old dick,” Logan’s lips crashed into her, kissing her roughly as she cried at the pace he kept ducking her in.

“Goddam, she cums a lot!” Wade said with excitement, loving the animal coming out of Logan. He knew y/n needed something like this in his life. That totally isn’t the reason why he brought her along.

“So fuckin’ good, baby. Best fuckin’ cunt I’ve fucked. So damn tight and sweet. Need you after all this. Needa have you with me forever,”

Y/n didn’t plan for this to happen. She doesn’t plan to let Logan fuck her like this in the back of Nicepools Honda Odyssey. She didn’t plan for Logan to form an attachment issue with her.

“Gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill this girl up. Gonna keep you with me forever. Can’t leave. Don’t care how old I am, you belong with me. You’re made for me. Pussy’s molded to only take my cock,”

Logan’s hips bucked a few times before he pushed all the way into the young girl, spilling into her with a loud animalistic groan.

The top of the roof was ripped with how many times his claws punched in and out of it. Logan’s fingers bruised the back of y/n’s neck. Her lips even have a small scratch from the hard he kissed. She tastes so fucking good.

oh how i want him to fuck me, i wish logan howlett was real

Weekend Getaway (wolverine/logan howlett x fem!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader Word Count: 4.1K Rating: E

Summary: Logan surprises you with a romantic getaway to celebrate your 1-year anniversary together. He opens up about his intentions for the future with you and building a life together.

Or simply… Logan wants to know your thoughts on marriage and the possibility of children.

Warning: domestic!logan, established relationship, flirting, language, fluff, pet names, smutty flashback (blowjob), size kink, dirty talk (filthy logan), implied p in v sex, breeding kink, more implied smut (they are horny — it’s their anniversary), I guess reader has a nickname (doc), wealthy!logan (this will make sense once you read it)

A/N: This can be seen as part of my Into the Unknown universe, but this can be read as a standalone.

Previous (Part 1) (Part 2)

xx

Lake Mohonk, New York

One year.

A year filled with more light and laughter than he had ever thought possible.

One year. With you.

He sped down the winding roads of Hudson Valley, a warmth radiated through him, pulling a contented smile to his lips. The sun-drenched landscape blurred past, vibrant greens and golden hues melding together like a canvas. He stole a glance at you, the soft light filtering through his truck windows highlighting your features, and he felt an overwhelming surge of affection.

His fingers began to draw gentle patterns against the fabric of your jeans, tracing lazy circles and soft lines that sent a tingle up your spine. The warmth of his palm against your skin ignited a thrill of excitement. You couldn’t help but lean closer. With a playful spark in your eyes, you reached over the console, your lips finding his for a messy, and urgent kiss. He groaned when you bit at his lower lip and you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

“We’ve been driving for over an hour. Seriously, where are we going?” you asked.

He chuckled, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “I’m still not goin’ to tell you,” he replied, licking his lips.

You pouted at his teasing, your mind racing with possibilities. “You know I hate surprises,” you protested, playfully nudging him with your shoulder.

He glanced down at your hand, which had unconsciously found its way to his growing erection. You loved knowing that a simple kiss could get him going. “Doc,” he hissed, “we’re close, so stop your teasin’ and be a good girl,”

Good girl. A tingle started spreading between your legs.

The thought of celebrating your anniversary at Lake Mohonk, nestled south of the majestic Catskill Mountains, filled Logan with anticipation. He had planned this surprise and escape meticulously. You worked so hard, and he was happy you were able to get someone to cover your shift at the hospital tomorrow so that you two could enjoy the long weekend. He wanted to make this perfect for you.

Your pout deepened, frustration mingling with desire.

“Patience, Doc,” he said. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, focus shifting back to the road, while your eyes roamed over him, captivated by the way his jawline flexed and the hint of a smile played at his lips.

“Are you seriously declining road head?” you teased, but also felt your mouth water since you could see Logan straining through his jeans.

“Shut up,” he growled, his eyes flicking to you, desire pooling in those deep hazel depths before returning to the road. You knew what he was thinking of.

You couldn’t shake the heat of a recent memory where he had leaned back into the worn leather seat, and you had taken your time, savoring the moment as you unbuckled his belt, the metallic clink echoing in his truck. When you finally pulled down his zipper, the way he inhaled sharply sent a shiver of satisfaction through you. You remembered feeling the warmth of his skin as you wrapped your hand around him, and the soft gasp that escaped his lips. You had leaned in, your mouth inches away, teasing him with your breath until he’d groaned, a deep sound that reverberated within you, making your own pulse race.

As you finally took him into your mouth, the taste of him enveloped your senses. Each movement was deliberate and controlled, guided by the rhythm of his groans and soft curses. You could feel how he throbbed in your mouth, the pressure building as you found a sweet spot that had each snap of his hips get desperate as he thrust roughly into your sweet mouth until he hit the back of your throat, and you gagged while you watched him just so lost in the pleasure you were giving him.

You remembered glancing up, teary-eyed, meeting his eyes to see them dark with lust, his jaw clenched and the muscles in his neck taut as he tried to stifle the raw need that surged through him. The excitement of knowing you had him at the edge of his control sent waves of heat flooding through you, and a soft moan of pleasure escaped from your throat, sending vibrations through him. Finally, his body tensed, and he spilled hot down the back of your throat moaning out your name while you swallowed it down.

You leaned back in your seat as you allowed your fingers to slide back and forth across his thigh, testing the waters. “Maybe you should change your mind,” you countered playfully, biting your lip. “A little distraction could be fun.”

The tense muscles in his thigh flexed under your touch, and he shot you a warning glance that was only half-serious. “You don’t make it easy, do you?”

The road twisted ahead, lined with wildflowers and tall trees bursting with life, but all you could focus on was your handsome man beside you.

As Logan's truck rounded the final bend, the sprawling view of the Mohonk Mountain House came into sight. The sun, now beginning to dip low in the sky, enveloped the historic resort in a warm, golden glow, casting reflections off the shimmering waters of Lake Mohonk. Towering stone walls and ivy-covered terraces gave the place an air of timeless luxury, a fairytale Victorian castle resort seemingly plucked from the pages of a storybook.

You stared, your mouth agape, unable to process what lay before you. This wasn’t just a getaway; it was one of the most exclusive resorts in the region. Logan pulled into the parking lot, his demeanor calm and collected, but you could feel the excitement radiating from him.

“Logan,” you breathed, finally breaking the silence as he turned off the engine. “Are you serious? This place is… it’s incredible!” Your voice came out a mix of awe and disbelief, and you felt your heart flutter at the thought of spending a weekend here.

He turned to you, his hazel eyes sparkling with warmth. “I told you it would be worth the wait,” he said, a smug grin on his face. “I wanted to do somethin’ special for our anniversary, and I figured you deserved a little luxury after all your hard work.”

“Anniversary?” you questioned.

Logan's confident demeanor faltered just the slightest as he rubbed the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic shyness creeping onto his rugged features. The blush that crept across his cheeks only made him more endearing. “Well, about this time last year,” he murmured, a sheepish smile breaking across his face, “was when we started datin’ and stuff.”

“But the first time we slept together isn’t for a few weeks,” you said, tilting your head to the side.

Logan laughed, a low, rich sound that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Dirty girl…” he winked. “I’m countin’ from the first time I kissed you at the Harvest Festival,”

You felt your heart swell at his words, the memory of that first kiss replaying vividly in your mind. You were utterly taken aback by the depth of Logan's thoughtfulness. This gesture was big. It wasn’t that Logan wasn’t romantic; it was more that he expressed his love in ways you sometimes found hard to decipher. His main love language was rooted in acts of service—you had seen it time and time again. He showed his affection by helping you with tasks, and surprising you with little gestures that made your life easier. From the way he made sure you had your favorite coffee in the mornings to always taking care of the chores you dreaded, Logan poured his heart into the little things.

But this? This was something else entirely. This was grand. You had always seen him as someone who might shy away from overt romantic displays, preferring to communicate through the rhythm of daily life. The way he cared for you wasn’t loud or flashy; it was in the quiet and steadfast ways he made your world a better place.

You reached out, playful fingers brushing against his beard, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin. “Okay, so one year from our first kiss,” you said, teasingly rolling your eyes. “I guess that’s still worth celebrating.”

Logan turned in his seat, resting his elbow on the console. “Get your ass outta this truck so we can check in and enjoy our suite. I’ve got plans, y’know?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Plans? What kind of plans? I mean, aside from getting me to fall for you all over again?”

You felt his lips —soft and teasing—trailing a path from your cheek down your neck. “You’re goin’ to be a good girl and take what I give you over and over again,” he murmured, against your ear.

You whimpered and bit your bottom lip, and felt the fabric of your panties get impossibly wet.

He then took your chin in his rough, calloused hand, tilting your face toward his. Your breath hitched as he closed the distance, his lips crashing down on yours, and you melted into the kiss. His hands moved deftly, sliding from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you in place as the kiss deepened, igniting a fire that spread through your body.

You responded eagerly, fingers running through his hair, feeling the tension in his shoulders as he pressed closer, the hard lines of his body pressing against you.

Pulling back slightly, Logan’s breath was ragged, eyes dark with desire as he searched your face. “And I’m goin’ to make you come over and over again until you’re beggin’ me to stop,” he muttered, his thumb grazing your bottom lip.

You knew from experience that Logan wasn’t just talk, he always executed on his promises, and the thought of him fucking you until your mind went blank had you ripping the truck door open and sprinting towards the resort entrance.

xx

After multiple rounds of Logan practically bending you in half, you had lost count of how many times he had made you come as you laid together on the mattress together, and you put your head on his chest feeling exhausted and sore. He was explaining your itinerary for the long weekend – a hiking trail tomorrow, on Friday. Canoeing on the lake on Saturday. And he had booked you a spa treatment on Sunday before you guys would drive back to Westchester.  

He emphasized that there would be a lot of fine dining and sex over the weekend as well.

You shook your head in disbelief, still processing the grandeur of the suite. Logan had booked the Victorian Mountain View Suite, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much money this all was. “This must’ve cost a fortune…,” you said, feeling an odd mix of gratitude and concern. “Are you sure we can afford this?”

While you were a doctor, you had barley been making any money as a resident. When you met Logan, you had just completed your fellowship and had only just become a board-certified attending physician. Even though you were a grown woman, it felt like you had only recently started making real money. When you and Logan moved in together, he felt the need to be the provider and didn’t want you to help pay the rent and basically covered all the bills. He would get so mad at you whenever you tried to spend money on yourself, or the two of you, and especially if it was just for him. You would always frown and tell him that you felt bad and would remind him that you made your own money, and he would always tell you, ‘I got you, Doc. Lemme take care of you.’ He had that ‘old school’ mentality considering the man was centuries old, but you always wondered, how could he afford to do all of this? Was Professor Xavier really paying the X-Men all that much in compensation?

Logan shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, the sheets tangled around his muscular frame as he looked down at you, a twinkle in his hazel eyes. The soft glow of the fading sunset peeked through the grand windows, enveloping the suite in a warm golden hue. You felt his gaze as he opened his mouth to respond.

“Alright, Doc,” he began, the playful tone lacing his voice making you smile. “You might want to sit up for this.”

Curiosity piqued, you pushed yourself up on your elbows, feeling your heart race. “What is it?” you asked, your voice laced with anticipation.

“Well, back in the 60’s, I made a pretty good investment.”

“An investment?” you echoed, slightly confused. “In what?”

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Xerox.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Xerox? The photocopier company?”

“Yep,” he replied, nodding like it was the most normal thing in the world. “There was all this hype bout’ their technology back then, and I saw the potential.”

Stunned, you took a moment to process his words. You were struggling to find you own words, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. “Logan, that’s insane! Did you really make enough from that to—?”

“Let’s just say,” he interrupted, his smirk widening, “I held onto those shares for a few decades longer than most folks would think to. By the time the ‘90s rolled around, I was sittin’ pretty. Sold a majority of it. Enough to afford… whatever I want,” He gestured to the extravagant suite.

You shook your head. “Wow,”

Logan appreciated the strong, capable woman you were. You held your own as a physician, dedicated to your craft and committed to your career, but it also pained him to see you shoulder the weight of medical school debt. To him, it didn’t feel fair for you to bear so much, especially when he had decades’ worth of financial security at his fingertips. Logan wanted to be the one who could take care of you in a way that felt right—not in a patronizing way, but simply as a partner who cherished and adored you.

He honestly wanted to wipe away your medical school debt, but he knew you would tear him a new asshole for suggesting that. He could see the mental image of you with your hands on your hips, brow furrowed; your voice rising as you vehemently rejected the idea. You would shout about how you were perfectly capable of handling it on your own and he could already hear your retort, sharp and quick, ripping into him about pride and independence.

Logan's gaze softened, a contemplative look settling across his rugged features. “You know, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about our future,” he began, his voice steady yet slightly hesitant. “You moved all the way from a large mountain house in Alberta to this tiny place near the X-Mansion for me, and I can’t help but feel like I owe you more than just this weekend.”

You blinked, stunned by the weight of his words. “You don’t owe me anything,”

He continued, vulnerability filling his tone. “I want you to feel comfortable, Doc. Our life together should be more than just an apartment—you deserve a home, a place where we can build memories. A house where we can settle. I’m thinkin’ of somethin’ a little more permanent. I want to buy us a real home, y’know?”

A whirlwind of emotions swirled in your chest as you processed his words. “A house?” you repeated.

Logan watched your face closely. He felt a surge of hope intertwined with fear running through him, the kind of fear that walked hand-in-hand with vulnerability. It was a new experience for him, this openness. The kind of thing he’d always shielded himself from, but for you, it felt natural, even necessary.

“Doc,” he began, his voice steady, though a sliver of nervousness crept in as he continued. “What are your thoughts on gettin’ married one day?”

There it was, the big question, the leap into something he’d never truly considered until now. He had spent centuries existing, but settling down, building a life with someone—it was new territory he was excited to explore, though the prospect of it terrified him.

He held onto your gaze, searching for any hint of unease. He watched as a smile stretched across your lips, brightening your expression and lighting a fire in his chest. “Logan,” you said softly, the way you always did when you wanted him to know you were in his corner. “I’ve thought about it,” you said shyly. “A lot, actually,” you admitted.

He could feel the tension ebb slightly, the knot in his stomach loosening, but it quickly tightened again when he shifted to the next question, the one that made even him feel vulnerable. “And kids?” He watched as your eyes widened a touch, the impact of his question hanging heavily between both.

Kids. The thought had crossed his mind, more than once. Even though he knew you were on birth control, there was a small part of him that couldn’t help but wonder. What if it failed? Or perhaps a part of him sometimes hoped you missed a day. The idea of you carrying his child stirred a mix of emotions within him. Fear, uncertainty, but also a flicker of excitement. The idea of creating a life together, of having someone who was part of both of you, was intoxicating.

Whenever you would whine and tell him to come inside of you, he would spill everything that was left of him inside your perfect cunt… wondering if one day it would stick. Sometimes it was him asking you… maybe even begging you if he could finish inside of you and telling you how much he needed it. He would paint your insides white, filling you up, and gasping your name with a guttural groan that vibrated from his chest.

He imagined what it would be like to have a child with you. Would they have your eyes? Your laugh? Could he teach them what it meant to be strong, to fight for what is right? It was a fleeting thought. But in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your presence, he couldn’t help but dream, even if only for a heartbeat, of what could be.

He felt a wave of anxiety wash over him. He searched your features for any signs of rejection, but instead of pulling away, you leaned closer, your brow furrowing in thought.

“Hey,” you started, your voice steady. “You really want to know what I think?”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied, trying to keep his tone casual.

Taking a deep breath, you seemed to gather your thoughts—a trait he admired so much about you. “I think marriage is… a beautiful thing. I want it one day, not right this second, but the thought of saying ‘I do’ to you? That makes sense, Logan. It feels right.”

He felt a warmth spread through his chest at your words. But then he remembered his question about kids, and anxiety returned.

“But kids…” you continued, a slight nervousness creeping in—but you pressed on. “I want to have a family, eventually. And, I could picture it with you, you know? You… and me… kids—”

“Yeah?” he urged, his pulse quickening. The thought of you being the mother of his children—he could suddenly see it like a flash in his mind.

“But it’s a big step,” you said, your smile wavering just a bit, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of the sheets. “I just want to make sure we’re ready for that part of our lives. I mean, can you even—”

“Can I what?” he asked, stubborn pride flaring up like it tended to do whenever he sensed hesitation in your words.

“Handle all that responsibility?” you said, fixing him with a sincere stare. “It’s not a small thing to have kids, Logan. It’s life-changing.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he leaned back against the headboard, stretching out his arms. He nodded, understanding what you were saying and appreciating the weight of it. “I get it, Doc. It’s not a small thing, but it’s somethin’ I want. With you. And… only you.”

“Logan…” you said, searching for the right words. The gravity of his confession intertwined with your emotions, and it was hard to articulate the feeling swirling within you. “I want that too,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “It’s scary to think about, but I can see it. With you. And only you, too,” you parroted back, tracing a finger along the line of his jaw.

“If we were to, y’know, have kids… there’s a chance they could be mutants. Would that… would that bother you?” he murmured, his voice laced with a seriousness that made you pull back slightly, searching his gaze.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, grounding him in your comfort. “Of course, it wouldn’t bother me, if anything, it would make them even more special.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his features, a crease forming between his brows as he absorbed your response. “Really?” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit.

“Really,” you affirmed, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against his lips, before pulling away.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, a grounding gesture that settled your racing heart. “I’m not rushin’ you. I just wanted to know how you feel about it. ‘Cause I see a future with you. A real one,”

Your eyes glistened while you gazed up lovingly at him, and your hands came up to card through his hair. “I love you so much Logan,”

“I love you too, Doc,” he replied, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close.

As you settled back into the tangle of sheets, it felt as if the world outside ceased to exist— it was just the two of you in this room.

“You know,” you murmured softly, resting your head on his shoulder, “Just because apparently you’re fucking rich doesn’t mean that we’re getting one of those McMansions in Westchester,”

Logan chuckled, the warm rumble in his chest causing a flutter deep inside you. “Don’t worry. I have no interest in those cookie-cutter places. I’m thinkin’ somethin’ more personal— with character, y’know?” he said.

You smiled, picturing it: a cozy home with wood accents and a welcoming front porch under the shade of towering trees. A place where you could create lasting memories, filled with laughter, love, and maybe a little chaos if your future kids had anything to say about it. “I can see that,” you said, your voice softer as you allowed yourself to dream.

"Mmhm," he grunted.

“Just promise me one thing,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

“Anythin’ baby,” he replied, genuine sincerity resting in every word.

“Right before we build our dream house, you’re not going to sell any more investments without consulting me first,” you teased, the corners of your mouth quirking up into a smile.

“I promise,” he said.

The laughter that bubbled between you filled the room, a soothing balm for the more serious conversation that had just unfolded. Logan wrapped you tighter in his embrace, your head continuing to rest comfortably against his shoulder as he drifted into a serene silence. You could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat.

As the sun disappeared behind the horizon, leaving behind streaks of peach and violet across the sky, you felt the weight of the day lift.

“Hey, baby,” Logan’s voice broke through your thoughts, warm and inviting.

“Yeah?” you replied, looking up at him, heart fluttering at the adoration in his gaze.

“You wanna make some more new memories tonight?” he asked playfully.

“If you mean by letting you worship me, then yes,” you replied cheekily.

With a smirk, Logan leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Oh, I plan on worshipin’ you, alright,” he murmured, his voice low and alluring. His fingertips began to roam, trailing teasing patterns along your arm, sending shivers of anticipation through your body.

You giggled softly, feeling a delightful thrill at the invitation his words promised. “You’re insatiable,” you teased.

Logan captured your mouth, and you moaned softly against his lips, feeling your desire building once more as his warm hands slid beneath your shirt, gliding over the soft skin of your abdomen.

As he pulled you closer, he marveled at how easily you could bridge the barrier of his past—two hundred years of heartache and solitude softened by the warmth of your love. In that moment, he knew, whatever the future held—the house, marriage, kids —it would all be worth it, as long as he faced it with you.

And if you became his wife – maybe you wouldn’t complain about him wiping away your medical school debt…

xx

I think it’s the end for these two, I was brain-rotting on this 3-parter fic with the idea of domestic AF Logan. He fucking deserves it. Happy to take requests if people are interested in seeing additional moments of these two!

The Xerox idea came from the movie the Age of Adaline when a woman born in the early 1900’s stops aging following a freak accident, and they provided a background story for how she was able to afford her lifestyle in this current day and age with the Xerox investment. There’s a part of me that would like to think that Logan would have done something similar having spent so much time on earth, and he would just be a secret multimillionaire who lived a super humble life. There’s just something about him being a fucking hot lumberjack / X-Men member who’s also secretly wealthy that turns me on to no end.

wealthy!logan… somebody SEDATE me.

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

i’m gonna eat him (i need to be his controversially young gf so bad rn)

oh, he’s just soooooo older bf coded, that greying beard just does something to me i cant explain