Logan James Howlett - Tumblr Posts

𝐆𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭.

Well, I drew it! @wilkkio

Logan stabs Wade in the stomach multiple times and Wade says he’s making biscuits

What was considered peak masculinity back in the 2000s is now considered as little meow meow energy in 2024

This clearly shows how far we've progressed and become even more improved versions of ourselves.

As for this godly man, he's still as fiery and yet so sweet even two decades later, if not more, as he was all those years ago.

Sweet Dreams

Logan Howlett x Y/N - drabble - 774 WC NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT, absolutely filthy sex, Logan being a consent king, mutant reader, dream/astral sex, penetration, blasphemy, biting, general whorishness, Logan being hot, IDK if this counts as somnophilia? I don't think it does but I'll let the readers decide

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Logan stared at the ceiling, absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair. He listened to your heart beat rhythmically thinking about nothing in particular. His position only changed when your body gave a small jolt, your head lolling to the other side. He watched you cautiously; your eyes moved rapidly beneath your closed lids. Your breathing picked up and you had the slightest expression of pain on your face. Logan contemplated waking you up until he heard you say,

“Logan…” you panted out, your back arching slightly. 

You remained asleep, writhing gently as your mind played a deliciously sinful fantasy. Logan wanted to touch you, to help you - but he didn’t. You had never talked about doing stuff to each other while asleep, he didn't want to do anything you weren’t expressly ok with. He did, however, feel your mind poking at his. Like a fog that started to consume him. He saw what you were dreaming of. Him, slamming his hips into you while keeping his lips on yours. He sighed, closing his eyes at the vision. 

“Logan…” you whispered.

Logan opened his eyes, your physical body was still asleep but the version of you in the vision was looking directly at him. His eyes widened in disbelief. Suddenly, with just a blink, he was on top of your dream form. You caressed his cheek lovingly.

“What is this?” he asked, gazing down at your ethereal body. 

“It’s me,” you chuckled, “Well, my internalized form.” you smiled reassuringly at him. You were able to manipulate the minds of others, waking or otherwise. Logan had no idea you could do this though. 

“Are you awake?” he asked with slight confusion. 

“I am. Well, my consciousness is. My body is resting.” you replied, hands slowly wandering over his shoulders, feeling over every inch of muscle you could. 

Logan let out a groan, “Will you remember this in the morning? Will you know this happened?” he asked.

Your heart melted at his concern, “Of course. I am this body, we are one. There is more than one way to make love.” you said with a gentle blush. 

Logan felt like he was lighter, he stared down at you before looking over and seeing his sleeping body cuddled up next to yours. “What is this?” he asked you once again.

“Think of it as soul bonding. Astral forms combining…” you said.

Logan’s hands felt over you deftly, “Are you sure?” he asked with caution. 

You nodded as you pulled him down to kiss you. He was like an animal, keeping your lips on his until they were swollen. He switched to sucking marks into your skin while his fingers teased you below. Your back arched and you let out sweet mewls as he played with you, teasing you. 

“Please…” you whined.

“What is it baby?” he smirked.

“I… Need you…” you gasped as he already had you on the verge of an orgasm. 

“Oh baby, you have me…” he smiled innocently as he replaced his fingers with his cock, splitting you in half. 

You let out a silent scream as your orgasm hit you like a bolt of electricity. He fucked you through it, overstimulating you and rushing you towards another.

“Wake up.” you whispered in his ear.

Logan’s eyes snapped open, seeing you on top of him in your shared bedroom. He shook his head slightly. Logan wasted no time ripping off your shirt and underwear that you fell asleep in, slipping his cock back inside you. You tried to keep pace with him as you rode him but he fucked into like there was a time limit or he was never going to fuck you again. Eventually you slumped against his chest as he fucked you dumb. You bit and sucked bruises into him before watching his healing factor fade them into nothingness almost instantly. You felt him getting sloppy as you tumbled over the edge again, actually letting out a scream of pleasure as you felt him cum inside you. 

With a few more ruts he finally slowed to a stop, “Jesus Christ.” he breathed heavily.

You laughed, kissing up his chest and throat until you could capture his mouth. “Blasphemy?” you said.

Logan nipped your bottom lip as he leaned back, “How did you do that? The dream thing?”

You flushed a little, “My mind and body craved you so much I guess I couldn’t stop myself from trying to link with your mind.”

“Can we do it again?” he asked with hazy eyes and a lopsided smile. 

You leaned into him, kissing him again as you invaded his mind once more.

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Naboo's Note:

Something about this man ya'll I need him biblically. Hope you guys like this, it's honestly one of my favorites. My fingers were on fire typing it - all gas, no breaks. Love ya'll! XOXOXOXOXOXO

Hug Of Death

Summary: Logan’s always careful with his hugs, but after a night of too many drinks, he accidentally snikts his claws mid-hug. Now you’re trying to explain to ER staff why your boyfriend almost impaled you.

Pairing            : Mutant!Logan Howlett x Girlfriend!Human-reader Genre             : Fluff

It started out like any other Friday night—Logan dragging your ass to the local dive bar, his usual grumpy self trying to act all relaxed, and you sipping on whiskey, wondering how the hell you ended up dating a literal superhero with zero social skills and an endless supply of rage. But, y’know, you loved the guy, claws and all.

You’d both had a few drinks. Okay, way more than a few. The funny thing about Logan? That damn healing factor usually makes it impossible for him to get drunk. But tonight, well, something must've clicked because he was tipsy. And when Logan gets tipsy, he gets affectionate. He kept slinging his arm over you, pulling you in close, slurring something about how you were “the best thing that ever happened to him, babe,” and you were half-laughing, half-trying not to get crushed by his overenthusiastic affection.

“Babe, you’re crushin' me,” you gasp, wriggling under his weight as he leans in a little too close.

Logan grins, all teeth and stubble, his breath reeking of whiskey. “Aww, c’mon, honey. I ain’t crushin’ ya, just showin’ ya some love.”

You roll your eyes, trying to push him back a bit. “Yeah, Wolverine-level love. You forget you’re made of, I dunno, indestructible metal?”

“Pfft.” He waves it off like it’s no big deal, taking another swig from his bottle. “Details.”

Hours later, after countless beers, shots, and some weird drink the bartender insisted on calling “The Sabretooth Slammer,” you’re both stumbling back to your apartment. Logan’s got his arm draped over your shoulders like he’s forgotten how to use his own legs, and you’re doing your best not to let him drag you to the ground.

“You good, babe?” you ask, trying not to laugh as he trips over a crack in the sidewalk, stumbling like a massive, drunk toddler. “Logan, you’re about to face-plant on the pavement.”

“‘Course I’m good, darlin’,” he mumbles, flashing you a goofy grin. “I’m always good.”

You barely make it inside, but Logan, being the overly affectionate and entirely too drunk man that he is, decides it’s the perfect time to give you a hug. Not just any hug, mind you—this is a full-on, bear hug.

“Logan, easy—” you start, but it’s too late. He’s already wrapped you up in his arms, squeezing you like he’s afraid you might evaporate if he lets go.

“Love ya, babe,” he slurs, nuzzling his scruffy face into your hair. “So much.”

It’s actually kinda sweet...until you feel it.

SNIKT

“Oh, shit—Logan!” You yelp, pushing against his chest. “Your claws!”

Logan blinks, confused, as his adamantium claws slide out with that signature metallic sound. He’s still got you wrapped up in his arms, which is really not ideal when he’s packing literal knives in his hands.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, glancing down at the claws sticking out dangerously close to your side. “Babe, I... I didn’t mean to!”

You wiggle out of his grasp, holding up your shirt to check for any damage. A thin scratch, nothing serious, but you shoot him a look. “Logan, you almost impaled me!”

Logan stumbles backward, looking down at his hands in horror. “Goddammit, I—too much affection, huh?”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead. “Too much booze, babe. Too much booze.”

Cut to the ER. You’re sitting on one of those paper-lined beds while a nurse wraps a bandage around your torso, trying to keep a straight face as Logan awkwardly shifts in the chair next to you. He’s still not sober, by the way, and is doing his best to stay quiet. Not his strong suit.

“So, let me get this straight,” the nurse says, biting back a smile. “Your boyfriend... accidentally scratched you. With his... claws?”

You shoot Logan a sideways glance. He’s sitting there, his arms crossed, looking like a kid who got caught sneaking a cookie before dinner. “Yeah,” you say, trying to sound casual. “It happens.”

Logan, still drunk, mutters, “I just love too damn hard.”

The nurse stifles a laugh. “Right. Well, just be careful with those claws next time, okay?”

Logan groans, running a hand through his hair. “Ain’t gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you grin, wincing as the bandage tightens. “This is gonna be a running joke for the next, like, decade. At least.”

“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really gonna milk this, huh?”

“Damn right I am, darling,” you laugh, leaning over to peck his cheek, which, honestly, just makes him blush even harder. “Let’s get out of here before they start charging us extra for the ‘superhero boyfriend’ drama.”

Logan chuckles softly, getting up from his chair to help you up. “Babe, next time... no drinks. Just, I dunno, Netflix or somethin’.”

You smirk. “Yeah, and maybe a hug that won’t send me to the ER?”

Logan pulls you in, carefully this time, planting a soft kiss on your temple. “No promises, but I’ll try.”

Claw Machine Master

Summary: Logan becomes obsessed with winning you a prize at the claw machine, but after burning through a hundred bucks and failing miserably, he uses his actual claws to grab the toy, setting off alarms. “Babe, I won, now run!”

Pairing             : Mutant!Logan Howlett x Gf!Human-reader Genre              : Fluff

You and Logan stroll through the arcade, the air buzzing with the sounds of laughter, beeping machines, and the smell of buttery popcorn. It’s one of those rare days where he’s not off saving the world or being a total grump. Instead, he’s decided to channel his inner child, and honestly, it’s hilarious watching this grizzly mutant navigate through a world of flashing lights and pastel-colored prizes.

“Hey, babe, check it out!” he shouts, pointing dramatically at a claw machine that’s blaring “Pick Me! Pick Me!” like a desperate kid at a birthday party. Inside, you see a plush unicorn, all sparkly and cute. It’s practically begging to be won.

“Logan, don’t,” you warn, laughing. “Remember the last time you tried to win me something? You ended up breaking the machine.”

“Yeah, but that was a fluke! This time will be different,” he insists, all pumped up and ready to go. You can practically see the gears turning in his head, and you know that if he goes in, he’s gonna give it everything he’s got.

“Alright, but I’m standing back. I don’t want to be an accessory to a crime,” you tease.

He throws you a playful glare. “Pfft. How hard can it be? It’s just a claw.”

He approaches the machine like it’s a life-or-death situation. The little screen flashes “Insert Coins,” and Logan pops in a couple of bucks like he’s preparing for war. He adjusts his stance, rolling his shoulders back as if he’s about to take on a Sentinal. You stifle a laugh, taking a step back to observe.

“Alright, watch and learn, honey,” he says, smirking at you. “Claw Machine Master at work.”

The first attempt? A total flop. The claw barely grazes the unicorn before plummeting back down like a rock. Logan’s jaw tightens, his competitive side kicking in. “Okay, that was a warm-up. Just getting the feel for it.”

“Sure, let’s call it that,” you giggle, arms crossed, enjoying the show.

After another few rounds—and about fifty bucks later—he’s starting to get frustrated. “This damn thing is rigged! I swear it’s cheating!” he growls, glaring at the machine as if it just insulted him.

“Or maybe you just suck at claw machines,” you quip. “You’re a master at literally everything else, Logan, but this? Not so much.”

He throws you a playful glare. “Alright, smartass, you think you can do better? Get in there and try!”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Nah, I’ll let you have this one. It’s more fun watching you lose your mind over a stuffed toy.”

With a snort, he rolls his eyes and goes back for another attempt. After burning through more cash, it’s clear that this unicorn is tougher than any enemy he’s faced. “Babe, I’m gonna win you this prize if it kills me,” he mutters under his breath.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t! I don’t want you to end up in the emergency room because of a stuffed animal!”

Finally, he steps back, looking completely defeated. You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears. “This isn’t over!” he declares, his voice rising like a battle cry. “I’ll get that unicorn if it’s the last thing I do.”

Suddenly, you see that wicked spark in his eye, the one that usually means he’s concocting something insane. “What are you thinking?” you ask, half-excited and half-terrified.

“Watch this,” he smirks, and before you can even process what’s happening, he unsheathes his claws, slicing through the air with a snikt that makes everyone turn to stare.

“Logan, no! Don’t you dare!” you shout, but it’s too late. He lunges at the claw machine and, with surgical precision, he reaches into the glass case.

“Babe, I won! Now run!” he yells, grabbing the unicorn as the machine starts blaring alarms like it’s the end of the world.

You grab his arm, yanking him away from the scene of chaos. “You crazy son of a—let’s get out of here!”

Logan, still holding the plush toy like a trophy, bursts out laughing, running like a madman with you right beside him. “I can’t believe I just did that! I’m like the Robin Hood of claw machines!”

“More like the criminal of claw machines!” you shout, laughing uncontrollably as you dart through the arcade, dodging other players and workers who are now chasing after you both.

As you reach the exit, Logan pulls you into a side alley, still holding the unicorn like a proud parent. “That was wild! Did you see their faces?”

You’re breathless, still giggling as you lean against the wall. “You just committed arcade robbery! And for a stuffed toy!”

He shrugs, grinning widely. “It’s worth it for you, babe. Plus, look at this thing! It’s adorable!”

“Logan, I love it, but next time, maybe let’s just buy a keychain?” you suggest, still trying to catch your breath.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he laughs, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you close. “Next adventure, babe. We’ll get matching unicorns or something.”

MASTERLIST

James 'Logan' Howlett (Wolverine)

Series

FADING BONDS

Summary: Two broken souls—Logan, an aging hero, and a young woman overlooked by her own family—find solace in each other’s silent company, forming an unexpected connection that challenges their emotional walls.

Pairing            : OldMutant!Logan Howlett x Human!Fem-reader Genre              : Fluff, Angst  

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5:The Final)

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

FADED DAYS

Summary: In a bleak world where Logan has lost his purpose, an unexpected connection with his nurse brings a spark of humor and humanity back into his fading life as an Uber driver.

Pairing            : OldMutant!Logan Howlett x Nurse!Fem-reader Genre              : Heavy Angst

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7:The Final)

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

GHOST

Summary: Logan seeks solitude in the mountains, haunted by his thoughts of Jean and their future, but a sudden scent drags him back to memories he thought he'd buried — you.

Pairing             : Mutant!Logan Howlett x Ex-girlfriend!Human-reader Genre              : Angst, Fluff

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7: The Final)

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

Babe, Relax!

continuation from this.

Summary: Logan transforms from the tough Wolverine to an overprotective dad, freaking out over every little cough from the baby while you can’t help but laugh at his ridiculous antics as he tries (and fails) to hide his panic.

Pairing             : Mutant!Logan Howlett x Wife!Human-reader Genre              : Fluff

The first week at home with your little miracle has been a whirlwind of sleepless nights and endless diaper changes. As you sit on the couch, cradling the baby in your arms, you can’t help but laugh at Logan’s over-the-top antics. He’s pacing the living room like a caged animal, a mix of worry and pride etched across his rugged face.

“Babe, you gotta make sure he’s breathing, right?” Logan says, peering over your shoulder like he’s about to interrogate the kid. “Like, he’s not gonna stop breathing when I’m not lookin’, right? You know these little guys—” he gestures dramatically, “they’re sneaky!”

You can’t help but giggle, rocking the baby gently. “Logan, he’s not a ninja. He’s just a baby. Chill, will ya? He’s fine.”

Logan crosses his arms, his brow furrowing like he’s contemplating a life-or-death situation. “Yeah, but what if he goes all ‘sleep mode’ and forgets to breathe? You never know. I don’t trust these tiny humans.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your heart makes it hard to keep a straight face. “I promise you, sweetheart, he knows how to breathe. Just like you know how to stop being a drama queen.”

He huffs, tapping his foot. “Hey! I’m a very composed dude. Besides, I’m just looking out for our kid. You know, I’ve faced bad guys and wars and shit, but this? This is different. This is my baby.”

You can’t help but smile at the fierce protector he’s turned into. “You’re a badass, babe. But you’re not going to battle. Just be the dad you are. Trust me; you’re doing great.”

Logan relaxes a bit, leaning against the wall and trying to look nonchalant, but you see his eyes darting back to the baby. “You sure? I mean, you saw how I fainted in the hospital. I can’t go down like that again. Imagine if I passed out right here while holding him! The kid would have to save me!”

You chuckle. “Oh yeah, the baby would just pop out with claws and start yelling ‘Dad, get up!’”

Logan grins, relaxing a little more. “You think he’ll be a mutant? Because if he is, I’m gonna train him in the backyard, no rules.”

“Yeah, because that’s exactly what a baby needs—sword fights in the backyard.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “Can we just enjoy this moment without any ‘Wolverine 2.0’ training sessions? Let him crawl first, babe.”

“Alright, fine. No backyard training... yet,” he says, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “But I’m not givin’ up on him learning to be a badass. He’s my kid, after all.”

You shift the baby a little, adjusting the blanket around him, and Logan’s gaze softens. “Look at him, though. He’s perfect. I mean, he’s got my chin, right?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “You mean the chin that looks like it’s been through a few bar fights? Yeah, he’s got that.”

Logan smirks, pointing a finger at you. “And you’re sayin’ he got that from me? At least I’ve got the claws to back it up!”

“Sure, Logan, sure. Just be careful not to scare the baby with your ‘fierce’ face,” you tease, leaning in for a kiss. His lips brush against yours, softening the tension in the room.

Logan’s expression turns serious again. “But really, babe, if anything happens, just tell me, okay? I can’t have you or him in danger.”

You nod, your heart swelling. “I know, Logan. But we’re both fine. Just enjoy being a dad.”

He scratches his head, glancing between you and the baby. “I just wish I knew what I was doin’. What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Are you kidding? He’s going to think you’re the coolest dad ever,” you assure him, gesturing toward the tiny boy. “Look at you! He’s gonna grow up hearing all your stories about clawing through bad guys and saving the day.”

Logan chuckles softly. “Yeah, and I’ll make sure to throw in some ‘don’t be a jerk’ life lessons.”

The baby lets out a soft coo, and Logan’s expression melts, his face lighting up. “Did you hear that? He’s talking to me! He gets it!”

You lean back, enjoying the sight of Logan falling deeper for your little boy. “He totally does, babe. He’s a smart one.”

Logan takes a step closer, bending down to get a better look. “You’re gonna be a tough little dude, right? No cryin’ allowed. You hear me?”

You stifle a laugh, loving every minute of Logan’s daddy antics. “Yeah, Logan, because that’s how babies work. Just wait until he starts screaming at three in the morning. You’ll be singing a different tune.”

He narrows his eyes playfully. “Hey, I can handle anything—except you screaming at me.”

With a smirk, you throw a pillow at him. “Good luck with that!”

As Logan catches the pillow, a thought crosses your mind. You reach out to hold his hand. “Hey, thanks for being you, you know? I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side.”

Logan squeezes your hand, a softness in his eyes. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else to share this craziness with. Just you and our little one. We got this, darlin’.”

“Damn right we do. Now, how about you go grab a snack while I keep an eye on the baby?”

He stands up, smirking. “You just wanna keep me away from him so I don’t freak out.”

“Exactly,” you tease, “You can only check on him every five minutes, Mr. Overprotective!”

Logan shakes his head with a laugh. “Fine, but you better let me know if anything goes south. You know I can’t handle it.”

You wave him off as he heads to the kitchen, and you can’t help but smile. This is your new normal, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything. The love, the laughter, the gentle chaos—it’s all worth it.

As you glance down at the baby, you know one thing for sure: your little family is about to have one hell of an adventure.

Driver's Seat

Summary: With no cash to pay your Uber driver, Logan, you boldly offer a blowjob instead.

Pairing            : Uber-driver!Logan Howlett x Human!Fem-reader Note              : smut, blowjob

The city lights flashed by as the Uber rolled down the streets, the low rumble of the engine mingling with the late-night tunes spilling from the speakers. You were sinking into the plush leather seat, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration coursing through you after a wild night out. You glanced over at the driver, Logan, his rugged silhouette framed by the glow of the dashboard. His grey, tousled hair and scruff hinted at a man who had seen it all, a hint of mischief lurking behind those intense blue eyes.

You pulled out your wallet, ready to settle up, but a sinking feeling hit you hard. You flipped through the empty slots, fingers trembling slightly. “Shit,” you muttered, realizing your cash was nowhere to be found. The only thing left was a couple of crumpled receipts. Panic bubbled up inside you, and you bit your lip, glancing up at Logan.

“Uh, so… about the fare…” you started, your cheeks heating up.

Logan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that oh-so-sarcastic way of his. “You forgot your cash, huh? Classic move.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah, well, I had a little too much fun tonight. I wasn’t exactly planning to be broke. Sir.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, sending a shiver down your spine. “Welcome to my world, doll. So what now? You gonna sit there and look cute while I take you home for free?”

The playful glint in his eye made your heart race, and a sudden, crazy idea popped into your head. It was reckless and wild, but what the hell. You leaned forward, a smirk creeping onto your lips. “What if I have a different way to pay you?”

Logan turned to you, a mixture of amusement and intrigue flickering in his gaze. “I’m listening.”

With a deep breath, you decided to throw caution to the wind. “How about… a little favor? Something a bit more… intimate?”

His expression shifted, a low growl escaping his throat as he pulled the car over to the side of the road, the sudden halt making your heart race even faster. You could feel the air thickening with tension, every second stretching out as you met his gaze.

“Intimate, huh? You sure you can handle that?” He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his muscular chest, and the way he looked at you sent a wave of heat through your body.

“Oh, I think I can manage,” you replied, your voice sultry and daring. You leaned closer, the scent of leather and something distinctly Logan—woodsy, musky—invading your senses.

He didn’t move, just watched you, his blue eyes darkening with a mixture of interest and something deeper, something primal.

“Okay, then. Let’s see what you got”, while he shifted to the backseat.

With the adrenaline pumping, the car suddenly feeling way too small as you settled in close to him. “Sir, I promise you won’t regret this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Damn straight I won’t,” he replied, his tone low and gravelly, making your skin tingle.

You felt your heart pounding, the tension sizzling between you. Slowly, you let your fingers trail down his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him. The fabric of his shirt felt rough against your fingertips, and the muscles beneath were solid and inviting. Logan’s breath hitched, and you could see his restraint slipping away, the predatory glint in his eyes igniting a fire in your belly.

“Now, I want you to take your time,” he said, his voice a growl that sent shivers down your spine. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Leaning in closer, you could see the flecks of his thick grey hair, the way his grey stubble caught the light. You ran your fingers through his grey hair, feeling the rough texture.

As you lowered your lips to his neck, you could taste the salty taste of his skin, a mix of sweat and something distinctly him. He inhaled sharply, a low rumble of pleasure escaping him. “Goddamn, that feels good,” he muttered, his hands gripping your waist as if holding onto a lifeline.

“Just wait,” you replied, your breath hot against his skin. You kissed your way down to his collarbone, each press of your lips making him tense and moan softly, that sound driving you wild. You could feel him responding to you, the way his body was coiling with anticipation.

“Damn, you really are somethin’ else,” he breathed, a hint of awe in his voice that made you smile.

“Yeah? Just wait till you see what else I can do,” you teased, your hands roaming over his muscular arms, the power underneath making your heart race even faster.

With a swift motion, you slid down, kneeling between his legs. Logan’s breath caught in his throat as you looked up at him, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers through your body. You could see the wildness in his eyes, a hunger that mirrored your own.

A low growl rumbling in his chest as you slowly reached for the zipper of his black pants, teasingly pulling it down. You could see the tension coiling in him, his muscles tightening, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the power you held in this moment.

As you revealed him, the sight made your mouth water. Logan was everything you had imagined—a lot of grey hair on his balls, his tip red, thick, hard, and ready for you. You leaned in closer, the scent of him overwhelming your senses. You could taste the salt on your lips, and it drove you wild with desire.

“Damn,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “You really know how to get a guy’s attention.”

“Just wait,” you teased again, taking your time as you let your tongue flick out to taste him, feeling his sharp intake of breath. He was salty, a flavor that was uniquely him, and you couldn’t get enough.

The heat radiating from his body making you feel alive.

“Don’t waste it,” he urged, his voice thick with lust.

With a wicked grin, you dove in deeper, your mouth enveloping him, swirling your tongue around his tip and savoring every moment. Logan’s hands tangled in your hair, his grip firm yet gentle as he guided you, urging you on. The sounds he made were music to your ears, a deep growl of pleasure that reverberated in your bones, fueling your desire.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Keep going.”

You could feel his body responding to you, the way his hips bucked slightly, seeking more, his grey hair brush your face, his balls slapping your face. The world outside faded away as you focused on him, every flick of your tongue drawing more of those delicious sounds from him.

“Fuck, you’re incredible,” he groaned, and the compliment sent a rush of pride through you. You could feel him tightening, his breathing growing erratic, and you knew he was close.

“God, I’m gonna lose it if you keep that up,” he warned, his voice gravelly and deep. “You might wanna pull back a bit.”

“Not a chance,” you replied with a smirk, leaning in again. You swirled your tongue around him, feeling his body react beneath your touch. Every sound he made, every involuntary twitch of his muscles, only pushed you further into this delicious frenzy of desire.

“Fuck,” he growled, the tension in the air becoming almost unbearable. You could feel him getting closer, and the thrill of knowing you had him right where you wanted only fueled your own hunger.

His hands tightened in your hair, a low warning rumbling from his chest. “You keep that up, I’m gonna—” His words cut off as you took him deeper, your mouth moving faster, and the sound of his breathy gasps filled the car.

You could see the struggle on his face, the way he was fighting against the edge, but you weren’t having any of it. You wanted him to lose control.

The way his hips instinctively moved against your mouth told you he was more than ready to give in. You pulled back just enough to tease him, your lips just barely grazing the tip of him as you looked up into his eyes.

He cursed under his breath, the sound raw and hungry. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you love it,” you shot back, the playful challenge hanging in the air.

“Hell yeah, I do,” he admitted, his voice rough, eyes burning with desire. “You’re a damn goddess.”

With that, you dove back in, taking him fully into your mouth and hollowing your cheeks, swirling your tongue around him as you felt him hit the back of your throat. Logan’s body went taut, every muscle coiling with tension as he groaned loudly, and the sound sent a thrill through you.

“Fuck, yes,” he gasped, and you could feel his breathing quickening, every thrust of his hips urging you on.

With a fierce growl, he finally surrendered, his body arching as he released himself deep into your mouth. You felt the warmth of him filling you, the salty taste overwhelming your senses as you drank him down, every pulse sending shockwaves through your body.

“Damn, that’s it,” he panted, his voice raw and heavy with pleasure. “You’re incredible.”

As the last waves of pleasure coursed through him, you slowly pulled back, savoring the taste and feeling a rush of triumph wash over you. Logan looked down at you, eyes dark with satisfaction, the tension finally breaking as he leaned back against the seat, chest heaving.

“Who knew you could be such a badass?” he said, a hint of admiration lacing his tone.

You laughed softly, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “What can I say? I’ve got a knack for making payments.”

He shook his head, a smirk spreading across his lips. “You’re one of a kind, you know that?”

Public Heat

Summary: Logan’s wild side takes over as he fucks you onto the balcony.

Pairing            : Logan Howlett x Human!Fem-reader Note               : exhibitionism sex, smut

The cool night air hit your skin, but the heat between you and Logan was enough to set the whole city on fire. You barely had time to think before you were pushed up against the railing of your balcony, Logan’s rough hands already pulling at your clothes, his growl rumbling through the darkness.

“Logan, we’re—” you started, glancing down at the street below, the lights of the city glowing, people walking by completely unaware of what was about to happen. But Logan didn’t care. He wasn’t the type to give a damn about who could see or who might hear. In fact, the thought of it seemed to turn him on more.

“You worried about a little audience, sweetheart?” he rasped into your ear, his voice dripping with that familiar roughness that always sent a shiver down your spine. His hands gripped your waist, spinning you around until your chest was pressed against the cold metal railing. The city was spread out below you like a playground, and here you were, at the mercy of this feral man.

Before you could say anything, Logan’s hands were on you again, tugging at your pants, rough and impatient, and you couldn’t help but moan as he peeled them down. The cool night air hit your exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat burning inside you, but you didn’t care. Not when Logan was behind you, his body pressed so close, his breath hot against your neck.

“You’re soaked already,” he growled, his hands running over your bare ass, squeezing possessively. “You like this, huh? Knowing anyone could look up and see you get fucked by me.”

You could barely respond, your mind spinning from the intensity, but your body gave him all the answers he needed. You pushed back against him, craving more, craving everything, and Logan’s low, dirty chuckle told you that he knew exactly what you wanted.

“That’s my girl,” he muttered, and before you could catch your breath, he slammed his dick into you, hard and deep. The force of it made you gasp, your hands gripping the railing for dear life as Logan started moving, not caring at all who might be watching.

The way he fucked you was wild, reckless, like he couldn’t hold back anymore, and the thought of people walking below, just a glance up and they’d see you like this, only made it hotter. Logan’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air. You could barely think, barely breathe, the only thing you could focus on was the way he felt inside you, the way he owned every inch of your body.

“Goddamn, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” Logan growled, his voice rough with lust. His hands slid up your back, pushing your chest further against the railing, arching you even more so he could bury himself deeper, harder. “You love this, don’t you? Letting everyone see how good you take it.”

You moaned, your body shaking with the intensity of it all, and Logan’s pace only quickened, his cock slamming into you over and over, making sure you felt every inch of him. The thrill of being so exposed, knowing anyone could see, made it impossible to hold back, and you could feel your orgasm building fast, your body tightening around him.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasped, barely able to form words, but Logan wasn’t stopping, wasn’t slowing down. He was relentless, his hands gripping your hips so hard you were sure there’d be bruises tomorrow. But that was the last thing on your mind now.

The tension in your body snapped, and you came hard, your legs trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Logan growled in satisfaction, his hips slamming into you one last time as he chased his own release. You could feel him throbbing inside you, and then, with a deep, primal grunt, he came, filling you up as he held you tight against the railing.

For a moment, neither of you moved, just standing there, bodies pressed together, both of you trying to catch your breath. The sounds of the city below seemed distant, almost unreal, as you slowly came down from the high of it all.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he chuckled softly. “Think anyone saw?”

Feral Obssession

Summary: Logan's animal instincts go wild when Deadpool casually mentions how often you pass by his place—now Logan needs to see for himself.

Pairing            : Worst-Wolverine!Logan Howlett x Prostitute!Fem-reader

Note                : smut, cum play, very rough sex

WORD COUNT: 3k

Logan’s been living with Wade Wilson for a while now, something that would usually drive him to stab something—or someone—on a good day. Between Wade's non-stop mouth and Blind Al’s random pranks, Logan’s patience had worn thin. But lately, it’s not Wade's annoying chatter or Blind Al’s sarcastic remarks keeping him on edge. It’s you.

Wade had mentioned you in passing more than once. Apparently, you walked past their place all the time—coming home late at night, dressed to kill, a body that turned heads wherever you went. And yeah, Wade had made some dirty joke about what you did for a living. But Logan… he couldn’t shake the image from his head. He had to see for himself.

One night, it finally happened. You walked by just as Logan was outside, smoking a cigar on the fire escape. His eyes tracked your movements automatically, almost like a predator on the hunt, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. You were in tight jeans that hugged every curve, your top clinging to your body like a second skin. Goddamn, you were something.

And the worst part? You glanced up at him, just for a second, a sly smile teasing your lips before you disappeared into your apartment across the hall. That smile. It stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time—something primal, something dangerous.

Days passed, and every time you passed by, Logan’s instincts got sharper. It was like he could smell you in the air, a heady mix of perfume and something uniquely you. He tried to ignore it, to push it aside. He’d been down this road before, and it never ended well. But damn it, he couldn’t.

One evening, as Logan sat brooding with a whiskey in hand, Wade strolled in, grinning like a damn Cheshire cat.

“Hey, Peanut,” Wade started, flipping onto the couch with all the grace of a drunk cat. “You know that smokin’ hot neighbor of ours? The one with the legs for days? She asked about you today.”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “The hell’re you talking about, Wade?”

“I’m serious, man! Said she’d noticed you staring like a lovesick puppy. Thought you might want to… you know… get to know her better.” Wade waggled his eyebrows obnoxiously. “You into that kinda thing? ‘Cause I might’ve, uh… mentioned you.”

Logan felt his jaw tighten. He didn’t say anything, just shot Wade a look that could’ve peeled paint. But inside, his mind was racing. You noticed him?

“Come on, man,” Wade continued. “She’s into you. And trust me, with a body like that, she could break you in half.”

Logan grunted, trying to keep his cool. He didn’t want to talk to Wade about this, but something stirred inside him, something he couldn’t shake. Maybe it was time to stop fighting it.

Later that night, Logan found himself standing outside your door, hesitating for the briefest moment. Then, with a deep breath, he knocked.

The door swung open, and there you were. That same teasing smile played on your lips as your eyes met his.

“Logan,” you greeted smoothly, leaning against the doorframe, your voice a sultry purr. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, well… Wade’s a pain in the ass,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “But he wasn’t wrong about you.”

You chuckled, the sound low and throaty. “So, you’ve been watching me, huh? Thought I’d noticed those eyes of yours burning a hole through my clothes.”

Logan’s gaze darkened, and for the first time, he stepped closer, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. “Can’t help it, darlin’. You make it hard not to look.”

You bit your lip, the air thick with heat. “Wanna come in?”

The door closed behind him with a soft click. Inside, it was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the walls, but the atmosphere was anything but quiet. Logan could feel it in the air, thick with lust, desire coursing through his veins like a drug. He didn’t need to think. He didn’t need to talk. His instincts took over.

“Logan,” you whispered, stepping closer, your hands trailing up his chest. His muscles were solid beneath your touch, his breath catching just slightly. He was so controlled, so contained… but you could feel the raw power beneath the surface.

His hand caught your wrist, gentle but firm. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, dangerous but full of need.

You smirked, eyes gleaming with challenge. “I’ve been sure since I first saw you on that fire escape.”

That was all it took. In a blur of motion, Logan’s lips crashed against yours, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was overwhelming, your bodies pressed together, every touch igniting something deeper, something feral.

His hands roamed over your body, rough but skilled, like he knew exactly how to touch you. You gasped as his fingers trailed down your back, pulling you even closer. You could feel the tension in his body, the restraint, like he was holding himself back from just tearing your clothes off.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice thick with desire. “Don’t hold back.”

That was all he needed to hear. In one swift motion, he had you against the wall, his mouth hot against your neck, his breath heavy and ragged. His hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, his lips trailing down your chest, leaving a burning path in their wake.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed and bit his way across your skin, his body pressing harder against yours. You could feel the hunger in him, the need, and it mirrored your own. It was like you were feeding off each other, every kiss, every touch building the tension higher and higher.

Before you knew it, you were on the bed, Logan above you, his eyes dark and wild with lust. He looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, like he needed you to breathe.

And then, with a growl, he gave in.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he buried himself inside you with one deep, slow thrust. The feeling was electric, your body arching against him as you gasped for air. He didn’t move at first, just stayed there, holding you close, his forehead resting against yours as he groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

You couldn’t respond. You could barely think. All you could feel was him—inside you, around you, filling you completely.

Logan's body moved with precision, each thrust deep and slow, making your breath hitch with every movement. His hands gripped your hips tightly, grounding him as he pressed into you, his rough palms hot against your skin. You could feel the restrained power beneath his muscles, the tension winding tighter and tighter with every second. The air was thick with lust, and you could barely focus on anything except the feeling of him inside you, your body arching up to meet his, desperate for more.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath heavy and ragged, filled with low growls that sent shivers down your spine. “You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly, but it was clear he was losing control too. His restraint was unraveling fast, and you wanted to see him give in completely.

You gasped his name, nails digging into his back as his hips moved faster, the slow burn turning into something more desperate. The feeling was overwhelming, your mind fogging over as pleasure coursed through you, and you could barely form words. But then, he stopped—just for a moment, pulling back, his breath harsh in the silence of the room.

Before you could ask what he was doing, Logan gripped your hips tighter and flipped you over onto your stomach in one swift, effortless move. You gasped, bracing yourself on your hands and knees, and before you could fully adjust, you felt his hands slide down your back, rough fingertips tracing the curve of your ass as he positioned himself behind you. The heat of his body hovered over yours, close but not quite touching, teasing you with his proximity.

Without warning, he thrust back into you, deep and rough this time, making you moan out loud. Your hands gripped the sheets as he set a rhythm, pounding into you from behind, each movement powerful and deliberate. Logan's growls became more primal, echoing in the room as his hips slapped against yours. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling your head back slightly so you could hear the rumble in his voice, feel his breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his words dripping with lust, each syllable punctuated by another hard thrust. The angle was deeper, rougher, and you could barely catch your breath as the pleasure intensified, building in waves that made your whole body tremble.

“Logan,” you moaned his name, unable to hold back the sounds escaping your lips. The sensation of his cock filling you over and over, the way he moved, every part of him screamed dominance, but there was something more behind it—something raw and hungry. It was like he needed you, couldn’t get enough of you, and you fed off that need.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back. You barely had time to register the change before he was on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress as his lips found yours again in a heated, desperate kiss. His hands roamed your body, gripping your thighs, pulling your legs up around his waist as he positioned himself over you.

Logan’s eyes locked with yours, dark and wild, filled with a kind of intensity that made your heart race. “I want you to look at me when you come,” he growled, voice thick with lust. And then, with one powerful thrust, he was inside you again, filling you completely.

This time, it was missionary, and his movements were slower, more deliberate again, but every thrust hit deeper, the angle perfect. You could feel every inch of him, the heat between your bodies overwhelming as he moved inside you. His lips found your neck, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin there, making you gasp and arch into him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“You like that, don’t ya?” he muttered against your skin, his voice a low rumble. “Tell me.”

“Yes, Logan… God, yes,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as the pleasure built again, even more intense than before.

Logan grinned against your neck, his lips trailing down to your chest, his mouth hot against your skin as his pace quickened, his hips driving into you harder now. The angle was perfect, every thrust hitting just right, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His body moved like a machine, powerful and relentless, but there was something deeply intimate about the way he looked at you, the way his hands gripped your hips, holding you close as he took you over the edge.

“Fuck, I can feel you,” he groaned, his eyes dark and locked on yours. “Come for me.”

That was all it took. Your body tensed, your nails digging into his back as the orgasm hit, waves of pleasure crashing through you, leaving you gasping for breath. Logan’s movements didn’t slow down, his hips still driving into you, prolonging your climax until you were trembling beneath him, completely spent.

Before you could catch your breath, he moved again, shifting you onto your side, your legs tangled together as he pressed against you from behind, his cock still buried deep inside you. His hand slid down your body, gripping your thigh and pulling it over his hip as he thrust into you again, this time slower, deeper, more intimate.

You moaned softly, the sensation overwhelming as he moved inside you from this new angle, his body pressed tightly against yours. His hand slid up your stomach, over your chest, fingers brushing your breasts as he held you close, his breath hot against your ear.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his voice rough and filled with need. “I could do this all night.”

Logan’s hand slid down your body again, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles as he thrust into you, his pace picking up again. The sensation was too much, and before you knew it, the pressure was building again, another orgasm rising up inside you, ready to explode.

“Logan… I’m gonna…”

“I know,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. “Come for me again. I wanna feel you.”

And with one last thrust, you did.

Logan’s grip on your thigh tightened as you trembled beneath him, your body overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm. His pace hadn’t slowed at all, if anything, it was faster now, more primal, more needy. You could feel it in the way he grunted, the way his hands dug into your skin, like he was barely holding himself back.

“Fuck… you’re gonna make me lose it,” Logan growled, his voice so rough it almost vibrated through your body. He thrust harder, deeper, as if he was trying to pull every ounce of pleasure from you, driving you into a state where you were too lost to even think.

His hand snaked around your waist, pulling you closer, almost possessive in the way he gripped you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his breath hot in your ear, and the sheer power radiating off him made you feel small in his arms—but in the best way.

“Goddamn it…,” he muttered, and you could feel the tension in his whole body. The muscles in his arms were flexed, veins popping out as he held onto you, like you were the only thing keeping him from coming undone.

His lips brushed against your neck, biting down softly as he pushed into you one last time, deep and hard, holding himself there as a deep growl rumbled from his chest. You could feel the moment he finally gave in, the way his whole body shuddered against yours as he came, the heat of his release filling you, spilling out in hot waves.

Logan’s growl turned into a soft groan, his hips jerking slightly as the last of his control slipped away. For a moment, he didn’t move, just held you there, buried deep inside you, his breath heavy and rough in your ear. You could feel his heartbeat against your back, erratic and wild.

Slowly, his grip on you loosened, his body relaxing as the intensity of the moment began to fade. His lips found the back of your neck again, this time softer, more tender, as he let out a deep sigh, still holding you close.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “That was… fuckin' intense.”

You smiled, still trying to catch your breath, your body trembling with aftershocks. Logan finally pulled out of you, rolling onto his back beside you, his chest still rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. His hand reached over, resting on your hip, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin as the two of you lay there, tangled in the sheets.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, the room still thick with the heat of what just happened. You could feel Logan’s eyes on you, but when you glanced over, his gaze was softer, more thoughtful.

You turned to him, smiling lazily, still feeling the afterglow of everything. “Guess Wade was right, huh?” you teased, your voice playful, but Logan just grunted, rolling his eyes.

“Fuckin' Wade,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Bastard won’t shut up about this, will he?”

You laughed, the sound light in the quiet room, and Logan’s lips curved into a small smirk. There was a softness in his expression now, the rough edges smoothed out by the aftermath of it all, but even so, there was still that unmistakable Logan—fierce, untamed, and completely irresistible.

Logan shifted beside you, pulling you closer into his chest, wrapping his arm around you like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. His warmth was comforting, and for once, you could feel the tension in him ease, as if, for now, he could just be in the moment with you.

You were still catching your breath, body limp against the sheets, when you felt Logan shift beside you.

And then, with a low, deep growl, Logan dipped his fingers into the wet heat where his cum was still dripping from you.

You shuddered, the sensation sending another jolt of pleasure through your overstimulated body. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, overwhelmed, but then you felt him lift his hand, slick with the evidence of what he’d left inside you.

He smirked, his fingers glistening with his release, and before you could say anything, he pressed them against your chest—right between your breasts. Slowly, deliberately, he smeared it across your skin, leaving a hot, wet trail in his wake. His touch was rough, teasing, and the way his eyes followed every movement made it even hotter.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice husky and low, almost like he was admiring his own handiwork. His hand slid higher, spreading the warmth across your chest, smearing his cum all over your skin, marking you with it. “Fuckin' perfect.”

Your breath hitched as he dragged his fingers down again, leaving no inch untouched. The way he moved was deliberate, slow, making sure you felt every second of it. The heat of his release mixed with the sweat already clinging to your skin, and the sight of Logan watching you, his gaze dark and possessive, only made you ache for more.

He leaned down, his mouth just barely brushing against your ear. “Mine,” he growled softly, his voice rough with need. “You’re mine.”

Naughty Secrets

Summary: Logan's quiet crush on you turns into an unexpected obsession when he finds your used underwear in your room.

Pairing            : Mutan!Logan Howlett x Fem!Human-reader

Note               : masturbation, erotic obsession

Logan leaned against the kitchen counter, casually sipping his beer, while you gathered your things to head out for the evening. The soft sound of your laughter echoed around the apartment, filling him with warmth. You turned to him, tossing your bag over your shoulder.

“Hey, I’ll be back late, so don’t wait up, okay?” you said, flashing a bright smile. Logan felt his heart race, a flicker of something deep within him igniting.

“Sure, no problem. Just don’t get into too much trouble,” he teased, trying to keep it light, even though his mind was swirling with thoughts he couldn’t quite voice. You rolled your eyes playfully, waving goodbye as you headed out the door.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, a heavy silence filled the apartment, and Logan felt the familiar pang of longing wash over him. With you gone, a potent mix of curiosity and desire consumed him. He hesitated for a moment, feeling the magnetic pull of your room. After a moment, he made his way to your door, heart racing as he pushed it open.

The room was like a shrine to you—the faint scent of your favorite perfume still lingered in the air, mingling with something more intoxicating. As Logan's eyes roamed your space, he stumbled upon a pair of your used panties tossed aside carelessly on the bed. They beckoned to him, their fabric wrinkled and stained, a testament to your absence and a thrill he couldn’t resist.

“God, what am I doing?” he muttered to himself, his breath hitching as he picked them up, the softness sending shivers down his spine. Bringing them closer, he inhaled deeply, the scent igniting a primal hunger within him. This is so wrong, but I can’t stop.

Thoughts of you flooded his mind—how carefree you were, how you laughed, the way your hair danced around your shoulders. But now, you were just a fantasy he couldn’t shake. “You don’t know how much I want you,” he whispered, gripping the fabric tighter as he sank onto the edge of your bed.

As he held the delicate material to his face, he savored the intoxicating aroma. His fingers brushed over the fabric, imagining your skin beneath it, picturing the way you moved, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t watching.

He growled lowly, “What would you do if you knew? Would you laugh? Would you push me away?” But he was lost in the thrill, losing himself in the fantasies swirling in his mind. “Maybe you’d want this too. Maybe you’d beg for it.”

Logan couldn't hold back any longer. He slid a hand down his body, stroking himself slowly, feeling the heat build as he lost himself in the moment. “Just one taste,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the fabric. He licked the material, tasting remnants of you, groaning at the deliciously filthy act.

With every kiss, every lick, he imagined you right there with him. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire. “I want to hear you moan my name, to feel you beneath me, begging for more.”

His breath quickened, and his grip tightened around himself, pleasure building as he continued to worship the very essence of you. “Just imagine the things I could do to you,” he fantasized, heart racing, pulse pounding. “I’d make you feel so good, you wouldn’t know what hit you.”

The thought of your body writhing under his touch, your soft moans filling the air, sent him spiraling deeper into lust. He envisioned pressing you against the wall, feeling your warmth against him as he whispered all the dirty things he wanted to do to you. “I’d show you exactly what you do to me, how much I crave you.”

Logan surrendered to the dark cravings that had been brewing for far too long, lost in a haze of desire and desperation. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered, gripping your panties tighter, breathing in your scent, feeling himself teeter on the edge of madness. “You’re my secret obsession, and I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

The line between right and wrong blurred as he surrendered to the hunger inside him, knowing he’d do anything to have you, to make you his.

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH I'M GONNA CRY

«Heartbeat» Soundtrack – No Surprises by Radiohead

Headcanon based on my interpretation of their relationship

Wilson's heartbeat brings peace to Logan's restless sleep, who is tormented night after night throughout his life by nightmares about all the horror he has experienced over the past 200 years of his life. It is the rhythmic beating of someone else's heart under his ear that reminds Logan that everything he has experienced is in the past, helping him focus on the present and get out of the suffocation of panic(even if he can never truly let go of the past, he at least learns to live with it)

And they are not alone in this, so... expect a continuation with Wade

poolverine + sensory overload while grocery shopping anyone? taken from personal experience and the mountain of poolverine fics i've consumed already

disclaimer: if any of the aspects i've written for logan being autistic (it isn't mentioned but this was my intention here) are offensive or falsely written tell me immediately! i am undiagnosed but after quite a lot of my friends (both on the spectrum and not) telling me multiple times to get checked and TONS of research i'm pretty sure i'm on the spectrum as well. soooo this is basically what i've gathered from research, other fics and my own experiences with stuff like this. thanks! also minimal use of slightly stronger language (the f word, hurray :-D)

this is so bad i'm sorry

They were in the sweets aisle, trying to pick out various snacks for their movie night later on. It was bustling all around them, the small supermarket full with families and screaming kids and chatty old ladies and noise, so much fucking noise-

Logan flinched when something touched his cheek, belatedly realizing that Wade stood in front of him, their half-filled cart discarded by their side and one of his hands raised to his face.

"Sorry sweetums," Wade smiled sheepishly, "Didn't wanna scare you. You looked a little out of it. Breathing a little heavy and all"

Logan harrumphed, looking at the floor between them. Wade was wearing his bright neon pink converse again, the laces red on one side and yellow on the other, which was admittedly... cute. He remembered how proud Wade had been as he stumbled out of the bedroom with poorly conceiled excitement, shoving his shoes in his face because look peanut, our suits-

Once again he was forced out of his head and back into the disgustingly loud supermarket as Wade took his hand, gently stroking over his knuckles.

Logan managed to rip his gaze back to Wade's face, finding such genuine understanding in those lovely eyes that he felt even more queasy than he already did. Damn you, Wilson.

His head spun from the onslaught of everything, noise and lights and embarrassment forcing a very unwelcome wetness to gather in his eyes. The hand Wade was holding shook lightly. His whole body trembled. Fuck, he wanted to say something, wanted to assure his boyfriend that he was okay, but his throat worked, his mouth opened, yet nothing came out.

"Hey" Wade's voice was so soft. He didn't flinch this time as his hand came to rest on his cheek, the touch featherlight and warm.

An embarrassingly high whimper left him as some shrieking children passed by and his eyes screwed shut, trusting Wade to handle the rest.

And suddenly...

Wait.

Madonna quietly played in his ears?

Confused, he cracked his eyes open and saw Wade watching him, holding his phone up for him to see.

"Don't worry your pretty head Wolvie, you've got noise cancelling headphones on. Courtesy of moi, if you please, buuut you gotta suffer through my shower playlist for the time being. It's the only one I have downloaded."

An opened note read. Wade mouthed a "sorry" at him, but the sheepish grin told him he wasn't. At all. Though Logan knew him well enough, so very well, that if he even mentioned that it was too much Wade would immediately switch it all off.

Logan had to admit, the music dialed the incessant chattering and shouting around him pretty much down to zero.

The wonders of technology, he supposed.

Wade held his hand and waited patiently as Logan just breathed for a bit, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. One jerky motion to the phone and the mercenary handed it over, watching as Logan typed with unsteady hands.

"Can we leave please? S too much"

The note was so timid, so careful in fear of rejection that Wade felt his poor heart squeeze in his chest - gosh dang it if only people knew how gentle and loving the man in front of him was.

"Sure hun we were pretty much finished anyway. You good if we go check out real quick? Al's gonna cook us instead if we don't bring something back home, and while you taste pretty good I can't promise that for myself ;-D... we can use the self check out, it's quicker"

Logan surprised both of them with the huff of amusement that left him as he nodded.

The focus he needed to use to read Wade's rambling in note form kept him safe from getting lost in his head again. His boyfriend’s ability to talk forever beyond might be pretty annoying at times, but Logan had long since found it to be comforting.

Wade carefully guided both of them through the maze of food aisles and too many people, keeping their hands intertwined while he pushed their cart until they found a free self checkout.

Logan zoned out a bit to the mindless music that played over the headphones as Wade went through their groceries, bagging them quickly. He payed before turning around to face him, motioning to the exit with his head.

They stopped just outside the store in a small secluded corner and Wade put the bags down at their feet, stepping closer and smiling again.

Logan smiled back, hoping it could convey the relief and love he felt without having to use words. He leaned closer, a little shyly, and with a quick look around he pressed a kiss to Wade's lips, reveling in the vibrations of a slight whine he could feel from his boyfriend. They parted and Logan took a deep breath in, pushing the air out of his lungs a lot more calmly than he had done mere minutes ago.

The headphones came off next and Logan sighed, shaking off the last bit of the sensory overload he'd just experienced as he scrubbed over his eyes. It was far more quiet outside, and his head felt a little fuzzy at most instead of the stinging buzz from before.

Cars honked in the distance, a light breeze drifted past him and the man he loved stood right in front of him, Logan's supernatural hearing picking up the steady thud of his heartbeat almost immediately.

"Love you bub."

Thank you.

"I love you too peanut! So much. More than Puppins too, but don't tell her that. She's already peed in my shoes once and I can tell you, that golden shower was not pleasant."

Logan snorted and both of them giggled, sharing another soft kiss before they hoisted the grocery bags back up.

The way home was filled with banter, clumsy kisses and bumping shoulders. Maybe one or two spilled milk cartoons as well, but that was a secret between them.

(Oh hello! Wade here! Deadpool, merc with a mouth, your personal wet dream, whatever pleases you perverted little readers - if you even attempt to tell Al about that last bit I'll torture this one with a little more writer's block! /Oh thanks Wade, so nice of you/ Shush you, this is my side note! So many ideas yet so little words... you decide pookies. Bye for now! I've got 400 pounds of sleepy kitty in my bed who likes me as his personal pillow. See ya!)

soooo is anyone gonna do something with the fact that logan has flight anxiety & very nearly hurled on the plane in xmen: origins or do i have to do it myself👀 cause i've only seen ONE fanart on it ( @acdtaaz go check their work on it out it's absolutely gorgeous♡)

noooo don't think about poolverine flying together and wade finally realizing that logan REALLY doesn't do well on flights cause damn his kitty cat is green with nausea and crushing his hand in his grip oh no-

What was considered peak masculinity back in the 2000s is now considered as little meow meow energy in 2024

This clearly shows how far we've progressed and become even more improved versions of ourselves.

As for this godly man, he's still as fiery and yet so sweet even two decades later, if not more, as he was all those years ago.

“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!!! :)

Ok but imagine this tho:

Logan finding your journal full of things about him

found gif on @darlinggash

The moment you and Logan met the two of you clicked in an unusual way. Immediately getting on each other's nerves but having the same sense of humor. You both got grumpy and violent at times. The two of you started training together and growing as friends. There was no way in your brain that he saw you as anymore and as time passed fate proved you right.

But that didn't mean you didn't have feelings for him. Because you fell in love with Logan pretty quickly. The only reason why you were able to hide it is because you wrote about it. You wrote in detail about your feelings for him, instead of shoving them down or acting like a bumbling idiot. You trusted Logan and you were very comfortable around him. You didn't want that to change because of your feelings for him.

Logan just didn't think you felt the same way he felt that he didn't have a chance with you. That you deserved someone better than him, but he also didn't like to imagine you with anyone but him. Because he never thought he would find love. He didn't think he would find it in you but one day he just looked at you differently. He started noticing how beautiful you were, something he knew from the beginning. But it was starting to get hard to not say anything, to not kiss you. He didn't know if he could be your friend anymore.

Though he couldn't tell if you felt the same way, not until he found your notebook. Walking to your room, bringing his knuckles up to gentle rap against the open door. The door creaking open to reveal your empty room, your music playing from your speaker on your desk. A smile came over Logan's face as he stepped closer, one of Logan's favorite songs flowing through the speakers. Glancing down at the notebook on your desk in an almost bashful way as the apple of his cheeks rose. Then his eyes slightly squinted when seeing his name on the page, before moving in closer.

I feel guilty for the way I feel, I know I'm told to not be, that having feelings for a friend isn't usual. That it didn't mean have to mean anything, because there was no way he could feel the same way. He smelt like leather and tobacco, his musk filling my senses whenever he was around. Or when he touched me, that's when I felt really bad. Because I liked it for more than he knew, I didn't like being touched but I wanted this man to keep his hands on me all day. The idea was comforting, and the thought of his large muscular hands put on your body even if it was just your arm or your shoulder. You'd always lean into his touch, desperate for more. You told yourself you wouldn't get worked up, that you just be friends. But you didn't want to be his friend and it was getting harder to ignore.

Logan felt his stomach flip, swallowing down the lump in his stomach as he read something so private. Something intimate that you wrote about...someone who sounded a whole lot like him. He wasn't sure, but he knew you didn't have alot of other male friends. That he religiously wore his leather jacket even in 90-degree weather and smoked cigars like a chimney. You had sure that it had to be doing some type of damage at the rate he smoked. But talking about how made you wanted this guy to touch you, when you didn't like touch, something you warned him about in the beginning. Logan tried to respect it, but you never moved away like you did with others, you'd visibly flinch away when you didn't like it.

He leant down to keep reading from your notebook;

Last night, we stayed up late together, he'd been drinking but regardless he was still Logan. He frustrated you with because of a random that you blabbed about. Always trying to pick on you and pretend to be agitated, you hoped anyway. You always tried not to blush around him, but last night it just happened. You really hoped he didn't notice. Its why you couldn't look into his eyes, you were getting far too attached for just friends.

It was him. Logan turned the page in the notebook to continue to read.

Spending all this time with him is making me think about him subconsciously. His mossy green eyes worming their way into your dreams, fantasizing about your fingers in his hair, his hips thrusting into yours. You didn't know what he looked like down there but you knew what he looked like shirtless. God, you wanted to feel him. You felt so creepy dreaming and writing about this. But it was what happened in your dream, and it didn't help that you were in love with him.

Fuck. He really shouldn't be reading this right now. But before he could read anymore, the door creaked open and you smiled over at him, "Hey, Lo." His eyes went to your tiny little shorts you were wearing, god all of this was driving him insane. Logan couldn't let this slide though, he just had to tease you, wanted to see that blush he'd evidently missed the other night. He blamed the dim lightly, but the sun was shining bright through the window. Your eyes going to his hand that laid on the page of your journal, without him even saying a word a flush bloomed on your cheeks.

"You've been writing about me, mouse." Logan stated, he didn't even have to question it. He also made fun of your voice, when you get worked up your started to squeak a little your voice getting high pitched. His fingers dance along the lines and scribbles on the paper, circling his digit around his name.

"I-I can explain." You mumbled, your hands coming up to feign innocence.

"I think this did all the explaining I need." Logan continued, he dipped his down to read from the book, "I think I need to move on from him, but he was your best friend, and he was perfect. You think I'm perfect?" He teased as you darted towards the journal as he yanked it away from the table before bringing it up over his head. You let out a squeak as you jumped, the sound and action making him laugh at your height difference. You lightly shoved at Logan's buff chest, as he barely moved an inch as you hit at his arm.

"Give it back!" You cried, as you glared into his eyes. The look on your face warmed his heart as he shoved the journal far away from you. "H-how do you know it's about you?" Logan smiled at you, the lines on his face crinkling as he made eye contact with you before looking up at the book.

"The other day Logan stopped me from falling, and my hands gripped his bicep, I could the ridges and veins, god you were just crazy for him."

"Logan." You whined, before flipped the book shut before leaning down to hand it back to you. You snatched it from his grip, bringing it to his chest.

"Wanna know my favorite part, got it memorized, liked it so much." Logan hummed, as he stepped closer to your retreating form. You felt like prey, Logan the predator swirling in you, his eyes were dark and his steps purposeful. "His mossy green eyes worming their way into your dreams, fantas-."

"Logan pleasse stop." You pleaded, your doe eyes looking up at his as you fell back against the door as it shut behind you. Logan's hand coming over your head as he leant into you.

"-fantasizing about your fingers in his hair, his hips thrusting into yours." Logan's voice grew darker as he dipped his head into your neck, the hot air emitting from his mouth fanning over your skin. Making you shiver as one of his hands fell to your waist as his eyes dipped to meet yours. "How long have you been writing about me?"

"When did we meet?" You retorted, a anxious giggle falling from your mouth as your eyes darting away from his in shyness. Logan sighed out, his nose meeting the side of your cheekbone the scruff his beard threading to rub against your jaw.

"Well I'd like to make your fantasies come true." Logan grumbled into your ear as goosebumps rose across your neck. Your hand fell to his waist as you moved in closer to him.

"Please do." You panted, throwing caution to the wind with Logan so close and looking at you like that.

tags: @ohtobemare @jessjessmarvelandhp @chronicallybubbly @delicateholland @bubblegumholland @mega-kittyglitter-1

Ok but imagine:

You have the biggest crush on Logan and it's really hard to hide it

*imagine him looking down at you like that tho, *shivers*

prompt highlighted @unboundprompts

Logan couldn't explain his feelings for you.

You were patient with him, and he slowly learned about your past, about your quirks, your blabbering, your views on romance and what you want for your future. He didn't know why when you spoke about the future, he pictured you by his side. You spoke about your hobbies, so whenever he saw you doing them, he found joy watching you do something you're so passionate about.

It would be fleeting touches, times where he didn't even mean to, but you never moved, always leaning into his touch or hovering very close. Then you'd flashed your eyes up to him and your eyes would widen before you moved away, then preceded to cautiously avoid even making eye contact with him.

You couldn't help the slight crack in your voice as Logan cracked a joke, something that wasn't really even that funny but because he said something to you, you are just so full of joy, you don't know what to but to uncontrollably laugh.

It would constantly be daydreaming about him, and him knowing about your feelings because just obvious cues. The way your heartbeat picked up, when your eyes connected, or when he spoke to you.

There was one day, when you had the weirdest interaction, but you couldn't stop thinking about it. You were pestering him as he was trying to smoke a cigar out on the porch. Logan acted like he didn't like your rambling, but he loved hearing you talk. Then he started picking on you, making you feel a flush on your cheeks

"I hate you," You teased.

"You love me," He responded.

"I do." You breathed, before staring up at Logan completely embarrassment at the words that came out of your mouth. He didn't say anything to you, just lifting an eyebrow before puffing on his cigar. "I'm gonna go to bed."

"Night sweetheart." He mumbled around his roll of tobacco between his lips, the smoke bellowing up into the night air.

Part 2???

Mesmerized - Logan Howlett x ballet dancer!reader

Summary: You need to break in your new pointe shoes, which leads to Logan catching you dancing in the kitchen in the middle of the night (takes place during the original trilogy, I specifically thought of the first or second movie)

For an elevated experience, I would listen to Tchaikovsky while you read (the one below is pas de duex) OR I personally would listen to Barbie and the 12 dancing princesses theme - don't judge me until you listen to it

If there was anything you hated about ballet, it was this.

You stood in your room, dressed for a late-night practice session in a leotard and shorts when you remembered your pointe shoes were pretty worn. Apparently, your brain underestimated just how worn out they were.

It had barely been four weeks since you started using your current pointe shoes, but they looked like they had been through a hurricane - no surprise, considering how often you used them.

As you held a borderline unusable pair of pink shoes in your hands, you contemplated waiting until tomorrow to fix this mess so you could practice.

No, you didn't want to run the risk of people seeing you dance. You hated the idea of someone seeing you. It's why you didn't audition or perform, even though you could. The only people you were comfortable watching you dance were Charles, Jean, and Ororo. Even then, your shyness often got the best of you and you often cut those sessions short.

You were too shy and stubborn to wait for tomorrow, you concluded.

Luckily, you had a stash of brand-new pointe shoes in your closet for times like this. You picked the ones you wanted from your closet and began the process you knew well, one that would likely look insane to other people. You put a cloth over the box part of the shoe, and stood on it, pressing your weight down from your heel to widen them. Content with your work so far, you picked them up again, sat on the floor, and started to bend the heel portion back and forth, carefully avoiding the center. You smiled at the satisfying crackling sounds that came from each shoe as you worked them.

Now for the mentally insane part.

You grabbed both shoes and started smacking the tips of the toes together, making a thudding noise every time. Halfway through, it occurred to you that it was getting late. You shifted your eyes to your clock - 12:49 am. Oops.

Well, it was too late to back down now, and plus, your door was closed. You continued your assault on the shoes until they made a nice, softer thud when you tapped them on each other. Perfect.

The next step in your process was to actually wear the shoes and dance in them a bit, but you had a slight setback. Your room was carpeted.

Charles was in the middle of designing a dance studio so you could teach at the school, but it was just that right now. A design.

'I'll just see if anyone's in the kitchen,' you thought, quickly grabbing your inserts and new shoes. You silently made your way to the kitchen, relieved when you found it empty, bathed in the blue light from the microwave and oven clocks. It wasn't much, but it was enough for now. Plus, you didn't want to turn on lights and accidentally wake someone. If you haven't already.

You sat on the kitchen floor, slipping on your inserts, then your shoes. You stood, testing your pointe one foot at a time before going to both feet, testing your balance with a few steps.

Stretching, you felt the shoes give a little, molding to your movements. Soon, you lost yourself in the familiar rhythm of your warm-up, the quiet shuffle of your feet against the smooth kitchen floor the only sound.

You slowly transitioned from warm-ups to full movements. Each step, every rise to your toes was precise, your muscle memory taking over and guiding you through different steps.

Logan woke with a start, drenched in sweat. He couldn't remember what he was dreaming about, but his adamantium claws stabbing his mattress told him it wasn't good. He glanced at the alarm clock by his bed - 1:03 am.

There was no way he was going back to sleep. His heart was pounding, his mind too chaotic to be put to rest.

That's how he found himself wandering aimlessly through the mansion in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. He turned to go down another hallway, but a tapping noise caught his attention. He hesitated, using his senses to figure out where it was coming from.

The kitchen.

He started towards the rhythmic tap-tapping with a newfound energy, his sharp instincts pulling him closer to the kitchen.

He paused when he reached the doorway, his brows furrowing as he took in the sight. There you were moving with effortless grace and fluidity, he wondered how it was even possible. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, staying in the shadows to observe you quietly.

Logan's eyes narrowed, studying you. Your movements were somehow relaxing to him, you just looked like you were completely enveloped in your element like this was how you normally moved.

With a deep breath, you began a series of fouetté turns. Your arms swept out as you spun, your leg whipping around each turn, propelling you in a perfect circle. Your movements were sharp, yet controlled, balance unwavering as you transitioned from one turn to the next.

You gradually let the turns slow, your momentum dying out as you shifted your body into an arabesque, extending one leg behind you as your arms reached forward, forming a perfect line.

You paused in that position, your muscles stretching in a familiar burn before you moved to start a pirouette. You lifted your leg and started the turn, the rotation smooth, like second nature. You ended the spin in a deep plié, the tension in your legs releasing as you sank closer to the floor, only to rise again, light as a feather.

You released a breath as you stood normally, moving to take your pointe shoes off. Your mind was busy, thinking about what you did good and what you wanted to work on. So busy, that you didn't notice the man who had been watching you from the shadows smirk and walk away.

You woke up later than usual the next morning, your tiredness from last night evident in all your features. After a half-hearted attempt to tame your hair, you gave up and threw it into a messy bun. Your oversized hoodie swallowed your frame, covering your shorts completely, and you pulled your favorite throw blanket around your shoulders like a shawl as you shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen. Food was the only thing on your mind, your stomach reminding you about it every 30 seconds.

As soon as you got to the kitchen, you went straight to the cabinets looking for your one true love: cereal. Its usual spot was empty. Frowning, you rummaged through other cabinets in hopes that someone just misplaced it.

"Scott, if you took the rest of the cereal," you mumbled, "I will shove my pointe shoes so far up your -"

A throat cleared behind you.

You froze, turning slowly to see who just witnessed your plotting against Scott. You really hoped it wasn't Scott.

You didn't recognize the man casually leaning against the wall, smirking at you with his arms crossed.

"You know, if I knew this place came with free ballet performances at midnight, I’d have moved in sooner," he drawled, his voice thick with amusement.

Your face warmed. "Wait what?"

His smirk widened as he pushed off the wall and took a slow step toward you. "I saw you last night. The kitchen floor is an interesting stage for a ballerina."

His eyes never left yours as he walked closer, your shock and embarrassment slowly sinking in.

"I didn't think anyone would be up," you said, fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie, looking down, "and I've never seen you around before."

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stopped right in front of you, his presence towering over you as your back pressed lightly against the counter.

"Logan."

You looked up at him, almost right above you with how close he was.

"What?"

"My name," he clarified, the tension between you rising, "It's Logan."

"Well Logan, like I said, I didn’t realize I had an audience," you half-whispered, refusing to look away for even a second. You could feel the heat from his body, the subtle scent of leather and cigars drifting from him, making it hard to focus on your words. "I don't usually have people around when I dance," you admitted, your breath shaky.

"Well, I guess I'm just lucky then," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Couldn't keep my eyes off you."

Your mouth parted slightly, taking in the meaning of his words. Your face got impossibly warmer.

Logan clearly enjoyed the effect he was having on you, but it was time to shake things up, he thought. You were starting to look like a deer in headlights.

Almost as quickly as it had formed, the tension broke as Logan pulled back slightly, though he didn’t fully retreat. "Anyway," he said, his voice shifting back into that low, gruff tone, "you look like you could use some breakfast."

"I was thinking the same thing, but Scott had other plans." You rolled your eyes.

"I can beat him up for you," Logan quipped.

"I was gonna do that," you laughed. Logan just raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down.

“Tell you what,” he said, heading toward the fridge. “Sit tight. I’ll whip up something better than cereal, save you from committing a crime and getting killed by Scott.”

You chose to ignore the second part, surprise taking over your features. “You cook?”

Logan gave you a sideways glance featuring a raised eyebrow as he pulled out some eggs and milk.

"It would be just embarrassing if I couldn't manage something as basic as scrambled eggs," he said with a small scoff as if offended.

His eyes met yours again, that playful glint back in full force. “But don’t get too used to it, ballerina. It’s a one-time deal.”

You smiled at his teasing. "Sure. One-time deal."

Hope you all enjoyed my first Logan fic! This idea has been floating around in my head for a while :)

I got the pointe shoe info from here and the dance move info from chat gpt because I'm not a dancer lol