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Nurture Me

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Summary: Logan is incredibly confused by the usage of "daddy" in modern relationships. You're often tasked with educating him on new slang, and this time, you're motivated to create a hands-on learning experience for your old man. Warnings: MDNI. 99.9% porn, no use of y/n, age gap, daddy kink, reader is 21+, praise kink, pet names (sweetheart, bub, good girl, doll), menion of oral (fem! + male! receiving), dom/sub undertones, mention of subspace, mention of breeding kink. wc: 2.5k

"The only 'daddy' phrase I'm familiar with is "daddy-o,' and last time I checked, we're not stuck in the fuckin' 60s."

You were enjoying the lazy summer heat nuzzled against Logan's chest. The fresh smell of cotton and his masculine musk was disrupting your tranquility. His heartbeat was relaxed until you'd brought it up. It was unfair, really.

Your sorrow was what first intrigued him. He remembered punishing his liver in a dingy bar when the scent of citrus wafted through the saloon-style doors. You were lost, cursing the misleading directions illuminating your phone. From the looks of it, you were lost mentally and emotionally, beyond any geographical point.

You plopped down into the seat next to him, still mumbling profanity under your breath. Usually, Logan didn't interact with other patrons. Anyone who advanced past the acquaintance phase ended up disappointed, hurt, or killed. After you ordered a beer, your weary eyes settled on the man to your left. Flashing a shy smile, you apologized, "Sorry, rough night. I'm not the swearing type." Logan considered addressing you with a meager grunt of affirmation but responded, "Well, I am. What's bothering you? Won 3rd place in Miss America?"

Even in his old age, Logan knew how to compliment a young woman. You blamed your blushing cheeks on the effects of alcohol. Exhaling a winded sigh, you explained, "Ran away from home. Asshole boyfriend. If I did place in Miss America, maybe he wouldn't have hit me so often." You averted your eyes, assuming the man perceived you as a wounded animal. Another statistic. After that, Logan's solo lobo routine wised up real fast. He identified with your misplaced shame, reduced to a victim by an oppressor. Logan knew better than to place a hand on your shoulder, but he did, anyway.

"Nothing pisses me off more than a man hurting a woman. Need someone to teach him a lesson?" Logan didn't offer his services to anyone after being used as a government-sanctioned weapon. Did more harm than good, but your watery eyes activated his protective instincts.

Your shy gaze converted to hopefulness, searching the depths of the older man's eyes for his intentions with you. Satisfied that you found honesty, you replied, "No, thanks. I'm trying to start a clean chapter without blood staining the journey. I'm all out of money, though. . . could use a place to stay."

Logan's heart flipped at the implications. This time, he'd happily pick up a stray and tend to its wounds.

Tracing the woven lines on Logan's beater, you resumed your lesson. "Alright, remember when we first met and you took me in? Nurtured and guided me, even before we were intimate?"

Grumbling a soft, "Mhm. . ." Logan started carding his fingers through your hair, pleased by the memory of your first encounter.

"Well, some people use 'daddy' as a term of endearment. It means you're the dominant person in our relationship and I can be submissive . . .I feel safe enough to give you control. Consent is a priority, so most people create a safeword and check-in throughout sessions. Does that make sense?"

Logan softly removed your hand from his chest and swung you in front of him, swiftly spooning you from behind. He placed his arm over your stomach, pulling you close to his warmth. "Sure does, sweetheart. Do you feel safe now?"

Suddenly, breathing was difficult. A simple motor function destroyed by him manhandling you. Thinking was impossible when he made you feel this way, so vulnerable and pliant to his love.

Logan knew your age difference turned you on immensely. He'd be lying to himself if he pretended he wasn't affected, too. He'd always felt like a dirty old bastard when he had you on your knees, tongue out to catch his release. Wide eyes paired with your signature pigtails. If his regenerative abilities failed him, he'd definitely be sent straight to hell.

Logan's hips jerked forward, his cock hardening at the thought. You let out a surprised shriek.

Smirking, he said, "Need to hear you, doll. Is my girl already overwhelmed?" Logan's mouth grazed the shell of your ear, whispering, "Haven't even touched your cunt yet and you're already wet for me, I can smell it. What was it you wanted to call me?"

With a shuddered breath, you manage to plead, "Daddy. . . I wanna call you daddy . . . God, this is embarrassing. We don't have to do this." You covered your face with your hands after feeling Logan still his hips. Tears began rolling down your face at the thought of Logan being weirded out by your request.

Sensing your hesitation, Logan reassured, "Hey, hey . . . shhh. Bub, there's nothing to be ashamed of. What turns you on turns me on. The fact that you want to try any of this with an old guy like me is a miracle."

He wiped your tears away with his palms, cooing in your ear, "Had to stop moving 'cause I would've came in my pants, and I'd much rather cum in your sweet pussy."

You gasped at the stream of dirty talk pouring out of his mouth. He was never comfortable vocalizing his desire when you first made love, but after he learned how wet it made you, he made it a habit.

The sight of your tears shouldn't have turned him on as much as it did, but fuck, he now identified as your dom. The modern age has a few benefits. He wanted to ruin and nurture you simultaneously.

"Would it be okay if I got rid of these clothes for you?" Logan asked, fingers ghosting over your lingerie. You quickly nodded, but Logan needed more. "Ah ah. . .use your words."

You squeezed the arm that was still draped over your stomach. "Yes, Logan. You can get rid of 'em. Thank you for checking in." Still enveloping you, Logan quickly undressed you. The perks of having an adamantium skeleton included shrugging off your bra and panties without needing to lift his body from the mattress. The swift snikt! sound of his claws sent throbs of pleasure to your pussy. So much for being embarrassed.

"Hey!" You yelled. "Those were my favorite panties!"

Logan playfully rolled his eyes. "You look better without 'em. Now stay in that position while I take off my clothes. Think you can do that, bub?"

You bit your lip, heart pounding at the nickname usually reserved for more innocent activities. You respond, "Yes, daddy . . . won't move."

He groaned, loving the sound of his new title coating your lips. "Fuck. Good girl." More enticing sounds invaded your ears. The soft rustle of his beater, his belt haphazardly pulled through the belt loops of his jeans and falling to the floor with a "clink." Deprived of sight, you were gifted sound. And jesus, you were thankful.

Logan began teasing the head of his cock before fisting the shaft, imagining your lips wrapped around it, slick with spit and precum. You could hear the soft squelches of his own spit lubricating his cock and felt charitable.

"Logan, let me taste you. Wanna be good for you."

Usually, Logan would make you beg for his cock. Tongue flat against the folds of your pussy, kissing your clit with enough pressure to bring you to the edge, over and over again until you couldn't take it anymore.

This time, he couldn't resist the obedience emanating from your voice. Something about you discussing this new dynamic in your relationship flipped a switch in his mind. He'd always protected and guided you, focused on your pleasure above all else. Now it was time to fulfill the dominant role and indulge in your body.

Logan walked to your side of the bed, still fisting his cock. With your body still laying on one side, he beckoned you to move closer to the edge.

"So good for me, tongue out and ready for daddy's cock. Tap on my thigh if you need to breathe, okay?" Logan smacked the heavy weight of his cock on your tongue, enjoying your mewls of anticipation. With one slow thrust of his hips, you took his cock into your mouth, tongue darting along its veins and wrapping around the girth.

Logan was already close. You could tell by the placement of his hands that were mindlessly rubbing your ears, cheeks, and back. He let out a hurried groan and pulled away.

"Oh, fuckkk. Holy shit, doll, you tryin' to kill me?" You gave a terse nod before launching forward to place kitten licks on his tip. Cock bobbing with the sudden pressure, Logan swiftly picked you up and tossed you onto the bed, tits bouncing with the impact.

"That's enough. I won't make it long if you keep doing that. Like I said before, I wanna cum in your pretty little pussy. I'm a man of my word, bub."

Even with Logan tugging your ankles to rest on his shoulders, you felt safe, taken cared of. You weren't sure if this was what people referred to as "subspace," but your mind was too hazy with pleasure to care. You just wanted to feel connected with Logan, in mind, body, and spirit.

Pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, Logan knit his eyebrows together in a worried expression. "You okay, bub? 'M Not hurting you, am I?"

Logan's cock twitched at the feeling of your hand caressing his thigh. You sighed, "I'm more than okay, Logan. Need you. . ." You bashfully looked away momentarily before clarifying, ". . . Need your cock."

Logan wanted to pinch himself. Pretty young thing like you, begging for his cock. He didn't deserve this. Used to deprive himself of pleasure, decades of guilt hindering any joy. As if hearing his thoughts, you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling his leaking cock dangerously close to your core. "You gonna fuck me or not, old man?"

He snapped, lewdly spitting onto your pussy. Logan grunted, "Think any old man can do this?" Holding the base of his heavy cock, Logan plunged into your pussy, splitting you open in mere seconds.

You needed little prep. Your pussy was practically drooling for his cock, and thankfully, Logan's restraint was dwindling. Fast.

The audible noise of your wet pussy encouraged Logan to fuck you deeper into the mattress.

"You were made for me, doll. You're so--fuckin'. . ." each word was punctuated by a heavy thrust. ". . .tight! Ohhh, my girl's too fucked out to talk, hm? Tell me what you need."

Your pussy was sobbing and tears overwhelmed the innocent flush on your cheeks. Anyone else would assume you were in pain, but the small smile plastered on your face told Logan that you were enjoying yourself.

Forcing yourself to maintain eye contact, you respond, "I want you to cum . . . inside of me. Wanna feel stuffed --" Logan purposefully thrust his cock to the hilt of your pussy, shooting a smug grin that made you roll your eyes. You continued, ". . . Fuck, daddy. Stuff me with your cum, I won't waste any of it. . . wanna take care of you like you do for me."

Logan wiped away your tears and leaned down to sloppily kiss you. "Thank you for using your words. Good girl."

You wantonly played with your clit, slowly building up the familiar pressure that threatened to explode. Logan noticed and swatted your hand away, resuming his thrusts while circling your clit.

"Let daddy take care of you, Bub." Your eyes rolled back into your head as your arms clawed Logan's back.

As you drew blood from the rugged expanse of his back, Logan made a mental note that his cock twitched from the rough action. Something new to experiment with later.

You were losing yourself in the hazy experience of Logan bullying his cock into you, igniting every nerve and making you feel alive. Before you met him, your internal monologue was insecure, afraid of fleeing the only world that you knew. Somehow, within the first hour of meeting Logan, you knew he would nurture you. Deflect any self-degrading thought you gave a voice to. Now, you smiled, knowing that you chose the right man to foster a real home with.

The uneven thrusts of Logan's cock pulled you out of your reverie.

"I'm -- fuck, I won't last much longer, sweetheart. I need you to come first. Can you do that for me? For daddy?" He traced the outline of your lips before slipping his fingers inside, collecting your spit.

Bringing his fingers to your pussy, Logan continued rubbing your clit. He added some of his own, crudely spitting again into your open cunt.

He playfully slapped your pussy, earning a debauched whine. You came, pussy fluttering around Logan's heavy cock. Slumped into the human crater of your bed, you let Logan chase his release.

"Ohhh, fuck. Pussy was already tight, you're practically choking my cock now."

The hypnotizing pattern of thrusts were magnified when Logan's face buried in the inviting expanse of your neck.

"I can't wait to paint your pretty pussy. You're so good to me, y'know that? Don't know what I'd do without you."

The cacophony of moans and grunts surrounded the both of you like an intense echo chamber, amplifying each other's pleasure.

You managed to thread your legs around Logan's back once again with the last reserve of your strength, pushing his cock impossibly deep into your eager cunt. Forcing Logan to look at where you were both connected, you teased, "You're a dirty old man, Logan. . .fucking a stray girl you met in a bar . . ."

Your words left him speechless. His wild eyes flitted between yours and the junction of his cock and your sweet, heavenly pussy.

You pulled his head down to meet yours and whispered, "Cum for me, daddy. Wanna feel you everywhere . . ."

With a strained moan, Logan buried himself in your tight cunt and gave short, frantic thrusts during his release. His cock seemed to twitch forever, sending ropes of white-hot cum into your pussy.

After catching his breath, Logan slowly pulled out, mesmerized by remnants of his release staining the sheets below your cunt. He tried his best to collect it and pushed his thick fingers back into your pussy, hoping it would take.

Okay, another kink to take a mental note of.

Logan kissed you lovingly, pushing away a few strands of hair from your face before flipping over on the bed alongside you. You needed to clean up, but were too blissfully fucked out to move.

"Okay, bub. I think I get the whole 'daddy' thing, now."

You bit your lip. "Mm, yes . . . that was so hot. Thanks for indulging me."

Noticing his release coating your thighs, Logan proposed to pick you up bridal style and march you to the shower. You usually play music to accompany your "everything" showers, but have never used it when you showered together.

"Now, you think you can teach an old man how to connect your bluetooth shower head to Spotify? Whatever the hell 'Spotify' is?"

If you read this far, thank you so much! This is my 1st fic ever. I love to write and the Logan brain rot has taken over my mind. Any requests/asks/random thoughts are welcome!

White Lipgloss

Logan Howlett x mutant fem!reader

Summary: Your lips are chapped after an intense mission in the heat. Logan is more than willing to help. Warnings: MDNI. 99.9% porn, no use of y/n, age gap, student/professor, reader is 21+, praise kink, pet names (doll, bub, sweet girl, baby), size kink, oral (male! receiving), mention of exhibitionism, cum play. wc: 790

Pink, cherry-flavored oasis. Gleaming with your natural spit or a sickeningly sweet gloss. Logan compared your usual appearance to the pouty pair that was frowning in his direction.

"What, somethin' on my face?" You asked, slightly annoyed by Logan's persistent stare.

Before walking towards you with a snarky grin, he waited for the rest of the team to head inside the mansion.

It was no secret that you both celebrated after successful missions. The thick wood walls were no match for whatever sex symphony you were composing.

Logan stood with a hand on his hip, jutting out his right leg to assume the position of a smug boyfriend. He always distributed his weight when standing, like his dick weighed five pounds. Cocky motherfucker.

Lightly tracing your bottom lip with his index finger, he vaguely explained, "Nothing's on your face. Actually, you're missing a 'lil something. . ."

Your eyes widened at the sudden contact. The team completed the mission without any injuries, and that only meant one thing. Logan was celebrating where anyone could see you.

Swiftly removing his hand, you hissed, "Inside. Now. I don't want Charles to write us up again."

Logan chuckled, reasoning, "It was only one time. How could I have known that Dr. Phil would stray from his usual route? All he saw was his star student inspecting and repairing the frayed belt fibers of a respected member of faculty. You know how Charles gets when I'm not business casual."

Before Logan had the chance to embarrass you further, you wrapped an arm around his waist and instantly traveled to your room, placing a hand behind his neck to prevent whiplash.

It was Logan's turn to use his mutation. Unsheathing his claws, Logan gestured towards the band t-shirt you were wearing.

With an argumentative snarl, you shook your head. "No way in hell I'm letting you tear my favorite shirt. It's vintage."

Raising his eyebrows, Logan quipped, "But, doll . . . I'm vintage."

You slowly removed the shirt, haphazardly tossing it onto the floor. Wearing tennis skirts during missions wasn't standard protocol, but Logan accidentally shredded your uniform. He was burning holes with his eyes into the delicate fabric, watching you shimmy them down your leg.

Logan stopped you from undressing fully. "Keep it on. I love seeing you on your knees in this skirt," he whispered.

Taking the hint, you kneeled on the floor. Thankfully, a rug softened the impact.

"No hands. No sucking. Just need your eyes on me, bub." Logan hastily stripped out of his uniform, spending extra time on the zipper leading to his half-hard cock.

Placing the palms of your hands on your thighs, you arched your back, pushing your tits forward. "Since you mentioned it, my lips are feeling a bit parched . . ." you teased.

Logan spit into his open palm and languidly stroked himself. A bead of precum bubbled at the tip. Catching the way your eyes widened, Logan warned you not to taste him . . . not yet.

"Sorry, doll. How's this, I'll tell you what I'm thinkin' of." Logan picked up the pace, tugging his cock with more vigor. "The first night we 'ran in' to each other in the kitchen, you were on my mind so much I thought I dreamed of your presence."

Logan's breathing labored. Furrowing his eyebrows, he paused momentarily to spit again onto the head. "I fantasized about fucking you on the counter top. Knocking over the fruit basket and the beers I just finished . . ."

His hips stuttered. With a sharp inhale, Logan continued, "We went back to bed without so much as a handshake. I could smell that you wanted it. Caught you staring at my ass when I turned to close the fridge. Jerked my cock to the sight of your glossy lips until sunrise."

"I fucking love you, bub. Wanna give you everything," he panted, signalling his release. "My sweet, sweet girl."

Heart warming at his praise, you opened your mouth, tongue outstretched to accept his generous load.

"I love you too, Logan," you professed.

His hips frantically stuttered with pulses of cum, heavily streaking your face. "Oh, fuck . . ." Logan cursed, slapping his cock on the soft expanse of your tongue.

Stepping backward just enough to leave the tip bobbing against your chin, Logan grasped his softening cock and started smearing his cum on your eager lips.

After a couple passes, he focused on applying it like he would a real tube of lip gloss. "That's my girl, so good for me," Logan admired. His cum crudely dripped down your chin.

You slowly licked off the cum Logan applied, which prompted a confused brow arch from your drained boyfriend.

With a shy smirk, you teased, "Guess I need you to retouch my lip gloss, baby."

Masterlist !

Organized in order of newest to oldest. My blog is 18+. Minors, do not interact!

I'm on a03! @/bAd90sm0vies

I accept asks/requests. Feel free to send me random thoughts.

*contains smut

Series:

Meet-Cute

*Meet-Cute Ch. 1 Failed talking stages inspire you to meet someone irl. Riding an older man in the backseat of his limo makes you forget about the immature boys who ghosted you on Hinge. *Meet-Cute Ch. 2 Logan is a man of his word. You and Logan have your first date in the only nice restaurant in town, except it doesn't last long because you want him the food hot to go. *Meet-Cute Ch. 3 You and Logan relax during a particularly hot summer day, engaging in "parallel play" together. An innocent hangout quickly gets heated after he overhears a nsfw Twitter video blaring from your phone. Goddamn auto play.

One-Shots:

*General Store Fluffy & suggestive drabble where you and Logan replenish your ice cream supply. *Unrequited Your deep-seated fear of rejection is the only barrier preventing you from kissing the smug grin off of Logan's face. Thankfully, Logan can smell how much you want him. *reader's power is optimism, which Logan loves distrusts. *Reclaimed Innocence (Slowly updating some of the language in this. It's a bit clunky in areas and not . . . sexy lol) Logan's limo gig forces him to follow a bachelor party into a seedy club where you're working the late shift. The other patrons might not notice, but it's your first day at work. Logan can tell the second your eyes meet. *White Lipgloss Your lips are chapped after an intense mission in the heat. Logan is more than willing to help. *Nurture Me Logan is incredibly confused by the usage of "daddy" in modern relationships. You're often tasked with educating him on new slang, and this time, you're motivated to create a hands-on learning experience for your old man.

Reclaimed Innocence

Old Man Logan x stripper fem!reader

Summary: Logan's limo gig forces him to follow a bachelor party into a seedy club where you're working the late shift. The other patrons might not notice, but it's your first day at work. Logan can tell the second your eyes meet. Warnings: MDNI. 99.9% porn, no use of y/n, age gap, reader is 21+, unprotected p in v, riding, cockwarming, oral (fem!receiving), innocence kink, mention of past SA + loss of virginity, limp bizkit + snow strippers lyrics I was an og ss fan pls, logan wants to save reader from creeps (he's a perv good guy). wc: 2.5k

The brash chorus of nu-metal serenaded Logan on the way to his last stop of the night. As far as gigs go, playing chauffeur was infinitely more relaxing than trying to save a world that feared him. Not that he could, anyway.

No human contact, and if you interact Your life is on contract Your best bet is to stay away, motherfucker!

Terminal adamantium poisoning. Logan stormed out of the hospital with IV tubes trailing behind him.

Puffs of hazy smoke shrouded the backseat of his limo. The chaotic bachelor party served as yet another reminder of his dwindling mortality.

Slowing to a stop at the VIP drop-off entrance, the drunk bachelor slurred, "Let's fuckin' GO! Drinks on me, fellas!" Various hoots and yells accompanied his excitement. Sneaking a glance from the rear view mirror, Logan heard him continue, "And no phones. Don't want your bitches to catch us red-handed."

Logan sighed, eyes rolling at his crude remark. Chivalry is dead.

The bachelor plunked a wad of cash into Logan's palm before commanding, "That covers your fee for the next four hours. I'm feelin' a little generous, last night of freedom an' all. You're joining us."

The man's request annoyed Logan. All he wanted to do was down a pack of beer and crash at home. Expecting an idiotic answer, Logan asked, "Why the hell would you want an old guy like me to tag along? Didn't sign up to babysit your ass."

Smirking, the bachelor responded, "Old guys are pussy magnets. You'd be helping us all out. Besides, I'm not askin'. I know who you are."

Logan's lips parted in a moment of shock and understanding.

"Hang out, or I'll call the feds," he continued.

Shoving the blood money into his pocket, Logan grudgingly followed the men into the club.

Logan's something of a dive bar connoisseur, but this joint made his skin crawl. Men brazenly groped themselves, ogling the female servers. Furniture stained with irregular white splotches that Logan prays isn't cum.

The bachelor tugged Logan's arm, leading him to the ascending VIP lounge.

"VIP my ass," Logan muttered, observing the leering eyes of the men. They had more money, but they were just as dirty as the scum downstairs.

A hazy fog of strobe lights parted to reveal a woman languidly dancing, illuminated by a flickering spotlight.

Controlled drum beats accompanied a sensual arrangement of industrial sounds.

It's like I waited too long But all the scars you can see They're permanent and I'm not I want an innocent love The rest of time But all the scars you can see when I take my clothes off

Stealing a glass of whiskey from a server's tray, Logan slumped into the plush upholstery opposite the stage. The bachelor party was busy mentally undressing the performer. Logan followed their eyes and almost shattered the cup.

Your flushed cheeks and girly lingerie provided a harsh contrast against the grimy environment of the club. Logan felt guilty watching you hesitantly sway to the beat. Your eyes darted between the lustful eyes of the men, desperately searching for an anchor point. Anything to calm your nerves.

Settling on an older man whose eyes seemed more pitiful than ravenous, you maintained eye contact until the end of your set. Tears threatened to ruin your mascara.

Once the music transitioned to the next performer's playlist, you managed to descend from the stage and stumble into your dressing room without concerning the manager.

Logan sprung up from the bench, determined to follow the soft light emanating from your room. The bachelor party did nothing to stop him, busy with the poor girls they managed to meet in the lounge.

You seemed so shy, afraid even . . . Logan's bad habits included excessive alcohol consumption and a need to comfort wounded animals.

Although the door was slightly ajar, he still knocked out of respect for your privacy. "You decent, kid?"

A faint, "Yeah . . . come in and close the door, 'kay?" encouraged Logan to cross the threshold.

You donned an over-sized shirt to cover the frilly bikini top, but your tiny pink panties were on display. Garter, too. Logan silently chastised his cock for twitching at the visual.

You faced the vanity mirror to re-apply your makeup. The click of the door lock sent a pleasant shiver down your arms. You secretly hoped the voice belonged to the older man. A mature, guiding force was exactly what you needed.

Logan was transfixed by the slow drag of lipstick against your lips. He caught your eyes in the mirror, and you rewarded his gaze with a demure smile.

"Did you enjoy the show, Mr . . .?" you faltered, wanting to disrupt the charged silence.

"Just Logan's fine. Wouldn't say I enjoyed it, you seemed a little uneasy . . ." Trying to justify his actions he added, "Wanted to check on you."

You spun around to face the man. "I'm fine, thank you. Just not used to feeling like a piece of meat," you snarled.

Logan spotted a sofa with a similar pattern to the furniture in the lounge. Although he was certain they were cum stains, he sat down, wanting to be closer to you. It was located at an angle next to the vanity, gifting Logan an unobstructed view of your profile.

He asked, "What's a young woman like you doing in a joint like this, anyway? Didn't exactly look like you were havin' the time of your life."

You felt safe to elaborate, "One of my friends used to work here. Flaunted stacks of hundreds after every shift. I decided between poverty and happiness."

Logan's tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. That couldn't be the only reason you chose to work here. He curiously wondered, "That's it? Sure, rent is high, but not that high. This area's not exactly Beverly Hills."

Your eyes faltered from Logan's, now fixed on the space beyond his ear. Your body unconsciously folded into itself, arms bracing around your knees. "My boyfriend . . . ex, boyfriend, stole my virginity. Guess consent wasn't in his vocabulary."

The tears that threatened to spill onstage fell in steady drops.

Head in your hands, you continued, "It could've been so sweet. I'd always imagined my first time would be with someone I loved. He used my purity against me. I had no idea . . ."

Logan's heart dropped in the depths of his stomach. He gently whispered, "I'm sorry, doll. Truly."

In a breathy gasp, you explained, "He made me feel dirty . . . exposed. Figured I'd at least earn money for it.

Softly prying your hands away from your face, Logan asked, "Is this okay?" Your story enraged him. Logan was determined to gift you a sweet, consensual sexual experience if you let him.

Nodding, you forced yourself to observe Logan's rugged features. He was definitely older than you, crow's feet gently creasing as he offered a small smile.

"Want me to take care of ya? Your first time doesn't have to be with a self-absorbed prick. You have the power to reclaim it, you know?"

Now it was Logan's turn to be shy. His intentions were good, but his body was practically short-circuiting at the thought of pleasuring you. He'd do anything to help repair your fear of intimacy.

You leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a soft kiss. A ribbon of spit connected your lips.

"I'd love that, Logan. Wanna forget him . . ." you drawled, leaning to whisper in his ear, "You make me feel so safe . . . When I spotted you in the crowd, I knew you were different. Need someone older to take care of me."

With your consent, Logan felt brazen enough to undress. You watched as his strong fingers unbuttoned his dress shirt, followed by the black blazer that hid the taut muscles of his arms. A simple beater adorned his torso.

Instead of tossing them aside, Logan spread them over the sofa. "You deserve to sit somewhere clean, doll." You shifted to the sofa, palms resting on your knees.

"Okay, princess, can you spread your knees for me? Wanna taste you."

A faint blush rises on your cheeks. Noticing their tint, Logan adds, "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. Just say 'no' and we'll stop. No judgement."

"It's not that, it's just . . ." you paused, averting your eyes. "He never kissed me down . . . there."

Logan swore to himself that he'd find the bastard and make him rue the day he was born.

His knees hit the floor with an unceremonious thunk. "You mean . . ." Logan deftly swirled your clit over your underwear. ". . . down here?"

Peering up at your eyes, Logan watched for any signs of distress.

You bit your lip and knitted your eyebrows together, silently hoping for more.

"Ah, ah . . . need to hear you, baby," Logan cooed, prompting you to buck up into his palm.

"Oh my god, Logan. No, he never played with me. Only played with my feelings," you huffed. Pushing your panties aside and exposing your wet pussy, you continued, "I'm giving you permission to touch me however you want . . . I trust you. 'M so sensitive, it hurts."

Logan thought the adamantium poisoning somehow traveled to his brain. He must be hallucinating the sounds cascading from your mouth.

"Good girl, using your words. If you need me to stop, just tap my cheek, okay?"

Logan flattened his tongue and licked from your hole to your clit. He devoured your cunt, lost in the way your hands carded through his hair. Logan growled into your pussy when you continued bucking into his touch.

You were ready for his fingers. The wetness coating his clothes would raise concerns from the dry cleaners, but hell, he didn't give a fuck.

Curling two fingers into your cunt, Logan maintained a steady rhythm that made you feel dizzy with pleasure.

Your pussy clamped down onto his thick fingers, signaling your imminent release.

"My sweet, sweet girl," Logan moaned, directly onto your cunt. His tongue continued to play with your clit, expertly alternating between sharp flicks and gentle sucking.

Your hands lovingly traced the contours of Logan's cheeks. You came with a high-pitched mewl.

Logan lapped up your release like a starved man, presenting his harvest on the tip of his tongue before swallowing it with a smirk.

You were deeply thankful that Logan could manhandle you into the next position because your legs failed to work after the intense orgasm he gave you.

Logan picked you up by your waist and swung you on top of his lap. "I still don't want you to sit on the sofa. Too dirty for my perfect girl," he explained. Your tits spilled onto his broad chest.

Wanting to feel closer to him, you crossed your arms and lifted off your shirt. Logan's rough hands cupped your breasts like they were ripe fruits waiting to be picked.

The analogy wasn't far off from how you smelled. He breathed in the faint peach scent radiating from your hair.

Throwing your arms around his neck, you whispered into his ear, "I want you to use me . . . it's different with you. I feel vulnerable, in a good way."

Logan knew exactly what you needed.

He reached under your thighs and threw your underwear onto the vanity. Then, he pushed his jeans and boxers far enough to free his hard cock. His old age might've stunted his healing capabilities, but the act of pleasing an eager woman still made his cock swell.

You couldn't help but stare at the tool that was about to split you open. The head was flushed, adopting red and purple hues in place of the usual tanned skin. Prominent veins decorated his girth. You bit your lip at the sight of precum and Logan thought the size worried you.

"I know it's big, but you can take it, sweetheart. If it's too much, let me know and we'll stop. Okay?" He planted a quick kiss on your lips and then focused his gaze on your core.

Logan lifted your ass with one hand and grasped his cock with the other. You sunk onto his dick with a fluttering sigh.

Wrapping both arms around your waist, Logan pulled you forward until your chin rested on the expanse of his neck.

"Let me do all the work, princess. Relax for me . . ." he insisted.

You angled your hips, providing ample space between your pussy and the base of Logan's cock.

Logan groaned as his hips bucked into your heat.

He whispered sweet everythings into your ear while he fucked you frantically.

"Jesus, oh, fuck . . . Baby, I've never had pussy like yours before. She was made for me . . . so fuckin' tight."

Your needy whine echoed throughout the room and Logan prayed to God that the ignorant bachelor party heard you. Heard him worshiping your young cunt.

Logan's hips were rising higher and higher, bullying his cock into you with firmer thrusts.

"How 'bout I take care of you forever? You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he asked, genuine in his proposal.

It was difficult to answer in a cohesive manner when your cunt was being stretched to the muscle memory of the older man's cock.

"I -ugh . . . I'd love that. Need someone to guide me," you choke out, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"Guys my age are fucking assho -" a twitch of Logan's cock made you hitch your breath.

"Assholes," you both finish.

Logan could tell you were close. You started chanting his name like an ancient hymn

"Logan, ah, logan . . . fuuuuck. Logan!" You exclaimed, pulsing around his cock.

The lewd sound of your wet pussy meeting his cock accompanied the haze of your second orgasm.

Logan wasn't far behind. Spurred on by your heavenly moans, he rapidly thrust into your cunt until he felt himself shudder, shooting erratic loads of cum into you.

A few minutes passed, and his cock was still spurting ropes of his release into your clenching embrace.

He moved to pull out, but you lowered yourself back onto his softening cock.

"I wanna stay connected with you. Want to be connected, in every way possible." Your eyes pulled back from the junction of his neck, anxiously awaiting his response.

Most boys would avoid being intimate with someone as inexperienced as you, but Logan was no boy. He'd lived for two centuries and served in all the great wars. He knew how important it was to keep precious gems like you close.

"I do, too, baby. I've got you 'til the end."

You both drifted to sleep, the shared warmth confirming your mutual promise.

Thank you so much for reading! I made a masterlist (check pinned post.) Reblogs, notes, and comments are extremely appreciated. Feel free to ask for any fic, or just send a thot if you want to chat!

Unrequited

Logan Howlett x mutant fem!reader

Summary: Your deep-seated fear of rejection is the only barrier preventing you from kissing the smug grin off of Logan's face. Thankfully, Logan can smell how much you want him. *reader's power is optimism, which Logan loves distrusts. Warnings: MDNI. porn with plot, no use of y/n, implied age gap, reader is 21+, masturbation (fem!), scent kink, oral (fem! receiving), voyeurism, size difference, pussy worship, praise kink, pet names (sunshine, bub, doll, good girl), mention of unprotected p in v, using Logan's hair as handlebars. wc: 3.2k

Your world used to revolve around men. Now, your life revolves around the duty of saving it. If yearning for boys who never liked you back was an Olympic sport, you'd definitely win gold.

Everyone was in a good mood, having just returned from a government-sanctioned mission. The world needs the X-Men. You belonged to a community that respected your unique abilities. Powers aside, you were still a young woman yearning for romance. You forgot how it felt to be embarrassingly invested in a one-sided crush until you met Logan.

Your first mission seemed simple enough: act like Logan's arm candy for the night to investigate New York's elusive anti-mutant club. Memorize the names of club members, hide a mic in the manager's coat. In and out.

Unfortunately, Logan was more focused on how high the cut of your dress was. The unforgiving pink latex material suffocated your soft body and exaggerated the protruding curves of your breasts. As Charles described it, you needed to look like a liberated woman. The manager had a soft spot for confidence, and Charles explained that power attracts power.

Logan wished his hard cock was liberated from the uncomfortable friction caused by his slacks. That night, he learned that beauty truly is pain.

He watched as you glided around the room, earning lustful stares from the human members. Logan was ordered to blend into the crowd and allow you to complete the mission. His usual stoic demeanor was replaced with a charged, jealous glare.

"You're compromising the mission, Logan. I thought I taught you better," Charles tutted. His bald mentor checked in on their progress using cerebro's telepathic power.

Logan swatted his forehead, momentarily disoriented at the intrusion of Charles.

"Not my fault you put miss goody two-shoes in that god-awful dress," he snarled. "She's out of her element, and you know it."

"Her powers are extremely useful in this situation," Charles sighed. "You may not trust her, but her bubbly personality is the key to securing the club's trust. Just let her work . . . alone."

When the pressure in his head subsided, Logan knew that Charles no longer supervised the unholy thoughts bouncing against the adamantium confines of his brain.

He drifted to the bar and sat down, positioning the stool so he could maintain visual of your progress. Your kind eyes crinkled as you laughed and playfully swatted the manager's bicep. He painfully recalled the moment you revealed your powers to the group.

A month earlier, the X-Men gathered in the danger room to discuss how to approach the mission.

"The manager is emotionally vulnerable at this time. Surrounded by humans whose lives revolve around hate and mutant discrimination." Charles rubbed his temple to alleviate his anger.

"What is the opposite of hate?" Charles asked, turning his colleagues into students once again.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Please tell me it's not love, for Christ sakes."

"Optimism. The enemy of hate is hopefulness. Now, everyone, please give a warm welcome to our newest recruit." Charles gestured to a woman who was the physical embodiment of those girly 90s rom-coms Logan secretly enjoyed.

Her smile reached her eyes, symbolizing genuine happiness. She sported a vintage Talking Heads tee with an image of a lopsided smiley face. Logan's eyes drifted to the tiniest shorts he's ever seen, stopping just under the swell of your ass. Its whimsical star pattern complimented your sparkling teeth.

"Hey, guys. I'm so grateful to be here!" You cheered. Logan could tell you caught him staring by the sudden change in your demeanor.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you timidly explained, "Sorry about the get-up. My uniform's not ready yet."

Logan watched as you surveyed the room, eyes silently acknowledging Jean, Ororo, Scott, and Beast.

You confidently returned Logan's gaze with a dismissive scoff.

Logan found himself inexplicably drawn to your cheeriness. Usually, he distrusted kindness. It was a quality that was manipulated to deceive him countless times throughout the arduous decades of life he had unwillingly lived through.

Your benevolence seemed organic, almost innate.

You continued, "My power is optimism. In addition to what Charles explained, I can extract positive values from anyone and replace their malicious thoughts and intentions. Basically, I'll help the manager override his hatred of mutants. Hate is taught . . . I'll teach him a different lesson. One of hope, equality, and human-mutant coexistence."

Logan felt a blush brewing behind his rugged cheeks. Your eloquent explanation exuded more wisdom than he expected from a "sunshine and rainbows" type of girl. You matched his trademark cynicism with a grounded perspective of reality, but still saw the good in others.

Before Logan chose to introduce himself, Scott raised an eyebrow, silently teasing him for blushing at your words. Logan wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right about his budding interest in the new recruit.

He mockingly countered, "That's great, a 'glass half-full' mutant has never gotten us killed before. What's your code name, Cheshire Cat? Twinkle Toes?"

Scott caught Logan's eyes and mouthed, "Nice," with a sly smirk.

You wouldn't let him bask in the reflection of tears falling down your cheeks.

Logan cursed himself as you turned to face everyone but him. "I don't have a code name. I've got nothing to hide," you coolly responded.

Your face contorted with pain as you recalled your first interaction with Logan. After you'd successfully earned the trust of the anti-mutant club manager, however, he followed you around like a lost puppy.

Everyone was confused. This behavior was extremely irregular for a man who struggled with trusting long-term friends, let alone a woman he'd only known for a month.

He was addicted to the sweet aura of unbridled positivity that radiated from you. A tale old as time, darkness intertwining with light.

The jealousy he felt during your first mission played a significant factor in his romantic interest. It took all of his restraint (and Charles' disapproving words) not to slash the throats of every man who lusted over your latex-clad form.

You remembered Logan sitting at the bar, clearly uninterested in the mission at hand. Uninterested in you.

Clearly, communication was a skill you both needed to hone.

"Nice work, sunshine." Logan clapped a hand against your shoulder, congratulating you on another successful mission.

He was genuinely proud of you. You were awarded a medal of honor by the president for using positive forces to bridge the gap between mutants and humans.

Picking up your pace, you whipped your head around to acknowledge Logan. "Thanks. You know how much I hate that nickname, right?"

As the rest of the crew filed inside the mansion, excitedly discussing how to wind down after a job well done, Logan used his leverage on your shoulder to spin you around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Love to see how red your face gets." A smug grin was plastered over his stupid, annoying, handsome face.

You paused at the mansion's entrance. "Whatever, Logan. I'm not in the mood for your belittlement."

Slipping past the kinetic hallways of mutant students, you swung open the door to your room and started to undress, hoping to destress after a long day. You shrugged off your new uniform and slipped on your favorite Talking Heads tee, not bothering to wear shorts.

"God, so annoying." You sighed, crashing face-down into the bed. You replayed the interaction with Logan, hurt etching its way into your heart.

I won't let him get to me. He makes me feel like a fuckin' teenager!

"Nice work, sunshine," you mocked in a gruff voice.

Logan doubted your abilities, ignored you on your first mission, and patronized you with nicknames. It wasn't fun being the butt of a joke at the hands of someone you secretly admired. You wondered if his recent interest in you was malicious or sincere.

Despite the telltale signs, you seriously doubted that Logan was romantically interested in you.

Never chosen, always on the prowl for scraps of affection. Never again. Your kindness had been taken advantage of before. You quickly learned that the only person who truly loved you was yourself.

Sunshine. The crinkle of his eyes, those stupid tufts of hair that make him look like a cat.

Your hands slowly slipped under the hem of your shirt, inching towards your breasts.

He was staring at my ass when I met him. Wasn't he?

Your right hand softly tweaked your sensitive nipples. Sighing, you allowed yourself to toy with the thin band of your underwear before circling your clit.

Soft moans quickly grew into labored huffs of desperation. Lost in the gratifying haze of your pleasure, you forgot an important detail about your new living arrangement.

Logan couldn't believe the sounds he was hearing.

It's as if God himself probed his mind and decided to fulfill his deepest desires.

A beautiful arrangement of moans and sighs traveled through the hollow wood wall that separated your rooms. To confirm that he wasn't hallucinating, Logan tentatively pressed his ear against the wall.

"Oh, fuck," he heard you whine in a hushed voice.

He could hear the spontaneous hitch of your breath. "Ah! Logan . . . fuuuuck."

His body reacted to the utterance of his name, unconsciously unsheathing his claws.

It took him five seconds to bridge the distance between his front door and yours.

An abrupt knock on your door forced you to pause the act of self-love you were so invested in.

"Hello? Who is it?"

Logan smirked before answering, "It's me. You okay in there? Sounds like you're having a hard time breathin, bub."

That cocky motherfucker. You slapped a hand against your mouth to muffle your surprise. He probably heard everything, you thought, moving to open the door.

"Logan! I- I'm so sorry." You started playing with the loose strands of hair framing your face. He was leaning on the door frame, his large body teasingly blocking the entrance.

His eyes flitted to your hand, noting the nervous tick. As the scent of your hair wafted into his perceptive nostrils, his pupils dilated. He noticed the unmistakable smell of your arousal.

"No need to apologize, sunshine. Just wanted to make sure you were okay." Logan tried to ignore the enticing scent emanating from your body. His eyes searched the room for a point to fixate on. Anything but your pouty lips.

He registered bare legs. The adorable way you were standing, your right leg shifted over the left to distribute your weight. Any decorum he had vanished when his eyes landed on the girly panties you were wearing.

You inched closer to his broad frame, looking up into his downcast eyes. They were still trained on your lower half.

Sunshine. The heavy weight of his gaze. Familiar hallmarks of past interactions. Except this time, he was gawking at your panties instead of those cosmic booty shorts.

"I can smell you. Can't be that unbearable to be around, hm?" Logan teased, finally making eye contact.

"No, you're still an asshole. I'm done playing hot and cold with you." Your clothed tits grazed his taut stomach.

"You want this? Because if not, I'll take it like a man and leave." Logan asked, searching your face for any signs of hesitation.

You averted your eyes. "Do you want me?"

He understood why your response was laced with insecurity. His previous actions had placed a seed of doubt in your mind. Logan gently raised your chin, tilting your eyes into his. "Of course I do, doll. I might be a stubborn asshole, but I'm not too stubborn to admit that I want you. Always have, since I first met ya."

Shock flooded your features. A charged silence lingered in the air.

You caught Logan staring at your lips.

"Just kiss me, you big oaf." You brazenly commanded.

The arm that leaned against the door frame descended to the small of your back, pulling you close to his chest.

Logan closed the gap, not wanting to give you any reason to doubt his feelings for you.

It started sweet and timid, an innocent collage of bumping noses and delicate gasps. When you pulled apart for air, a thin string of spit connected your bottom lips.

You decided you needed his lips on yours in a drastically different way.

"Since you're here, think you can help a girl out?" You pushed yourself away from Logan, palms extended to his chest. You sat on the edge of your bed, slowly spreading your legs.

Logan choked on his words. "I, uh . . . I'd love to." Once in front of you, he kneeled down on his knees.

The playful contrast between your vintage Talking Heads tee and the lacey pink panties that covered your most intimate area made him dizzy.

The frilly nature of it was enough to make him crazy, but they just had to have a cute little bow at the top.

Logan ground himself into his jeans, its denim fabric the only layer separating his cock from the air.

"You sure about this, doll?" he asked, reluctantly drawing his eyes away from your cunt to analyze yours.

You tentatively weaved your fingers through his hair, paying special attention to the tufts. When he leaned into your touch, you knew that the admission of his affection was genuine.

Your hands ghosted over his, pulling them to land on the wide expanse of your thighs.

"I need you, Logan. I want this. Want you."

That was all Logan needed to hear before he hooked four fingers around the elastic of your panties, slowly moving them off of your legs.

You shivered when the room's cool air met your bare cunt.

Logan hooked his strong arms under your knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed with ease. "Much better, doll. Wanna be close to her," he drawled, resting your legs over his shoulders.

His mouth hovered over you, fanning warm breaths that made you throb with anticipation.

Logan's lips ghosted over where the bow on your panties was and descended where you needed him most.

He gently kissed your clit, earning a soft gasp.

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" You whined a high-pitched "Mhm . . ."

Logan suddenly licked a broad stripe from your hole to your clit, collecting your wetness on the tip of his tongue.

"Need your words, bub. Wanna hear you."

He pulled away momentarily, massaging the sensitive flesh of your thighs. "Oh my god. Yes, I love it . . . please don't stop," you whined.

"That's a good-" Logan paused to pool the release still on his tongue and let gravity drip it onto your folds. "-girl. Fuck."

You sucked in a harsh breath through gritted teeth. He stared at your cunt fluttering open and closed in response to the contact, aching to be filled.

He would tend to that later. Right now, he wanted to make you feel loved, cared for.

"You taste so fuckin' sweet, doll." Logan cooed, tracing the sensitive outline of your hole before sinking two of his thick fingers into your warmth.

Your hands found purchase in his hair, gasping at the sight of him stretching your walls. He slowly thrust his fingers in and out, steadily building the tension in your body.

"Yeah, hold onto me . . . guide me where you need me." The soft squelch of your wetness made him groan into your pussy.

"Fuck . . . you sound so beautiful, baby." Logan praised, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your clit once again.

He alternated between languidly enveloping your folds with his mouth and licking urgently at your sensitive bud.

"Ah! I- I'm close, Logan." You mewled, hips suddenly rising off the bed. The spontaneous action made your clit catch on the ridge of his strong nose.

You locked his head in between your legs, thighs abruptly closing due to the contact.

"You like that, hm?" he teased. You nodded rapidly, capturing your bottom lip in an attempt to subdue the embarrassing whines Logan was drawing out from you.

Once your thighs rested back on the bed, Logan pulled your legs even closer. You couldn't believe your eyes.

He started making out with your pussy.

Logan's mouth opened and closed again and again, latching onto your swollen lips. His pursed lips glistened with your release.

He actually sighed into your body when a particularly noisy kiss made you clench around his fingers.

"That's my good girl. So responsive . . . can you come for me, baby? Wanna taste you."

He curled his fingers, coaxing the spongy pad of your cervix on every thrust. His palm met your pussy with a steady plap, burying his fingers into your crying cunt.

Your legs started shaking. Unable to stave off your release, your thighs fluttered around Logan's head.

"Oh, fuck, Logan . . ." you moaned, sharply tugging his hair while falling backward onto the bed. You couldn't bring yourself to watch his sly grin as you came undone around him.

"Yes . . . ohmygodohmygod, ah!" You incoherently babbled.

Logan playfully slapped your puffy folds, stimulating you through your orgasm.

"Aw, would 'ya look at that . . . your pussy's blushing just for me, doll." He pressed another kiss to your pulsing clit, smirking into your skin.

He slowly removed your legs from his shoulders and caged your body under his, arms outstretched so as not to crush you.

Logan traced the plush outline of your bottom lip, teasing, "Speechless, huh? Guess I'm not that big of an asshole."

Your pupils dilated as you caressed the rugged expanse of his cheek. You hummed a soft, "Mhm . . ." in response, too fucked out to mumble something more comprehensible.

"Figured you deserved to feel good after what I put you through." Logan averted his eyes. He felt guilty, opening his mouth to apologize, but you silenced him with a sloppy kiss.

You tapped his right arm, silently asking him to lay down on the bed next to you. He moved to cuddle you, but you turned around and straddled his pelvis.

Grinding over his clothed bulge, you teased, "No need to apologize, Logan." Your release was creating a noticeable wet spot on the faded denim.

His hips bucked up to meet your tantalizing movements. His back arched at the thought of his bare cock finally feeling the plush embrace of your cunt.

"Let me make it up to you . . . you deserve to feel good, too."

Logan's hands rested on your torso, stilling your hips.

"If you keep moving like that, I won't get to come inside of you. You want me to fill you up? Hm?"

You mischievously dragged your cunt over the fly of his jeans, clit catching on the button.

"Who said you couldn't come in me more than once?"

Logan wrapped his arms behind the small of your back, pulling you to crash against his broad chest. His lips found your ear.

He whispered, "You fuckin' tease. Be careful what you wish for, bub. I have regenerative powers, remember? Could fuck you for hours, if you let me."

You suddenly nipped at his earlobe. "Oh, yeah? prove it. I'm not so sure, old man."

Logan propped up your chin, caressing the supple skin of your cheeks. Eyes darting between your doe eyes and pouty lips, he responded, "If I didn't heal so fast, you'd be the death of me."

You sealed his promise with a sweet kiss. The only lack of communication in your blossoming relationship would occur during intimate moments like these, lips slotted into the other's, ethereal sighs mingling with his intoxicating groans.

Whew! I spent a lot of time refining this one. I'm slowly working on improving the pacing and atmosphere of my work. Thank you for reading! Reblogs are extremely appreciated :)

Meet-Cute

Old Man Logan x fem! reader

Summary: Failed talking stages inspire you to meet someone irl. Riding an older man in the backseat of his limo makes you forget about the immature boys who ghosted you on Hinge. Meet-Cute Ch. 2 Warnings: MDNI, 99.9% porn, no use of y/n, age gap, reader is 21+, fingering, riding, size difference, praise kink, pet names (doll, baby, sweet/good girl, sweetheart), unprotected p in v, light slapping, oral (male! receiving), creampie, car sex (nobody's around tho), logan's slutty glasses. wc: 3k

Hinge. The app designed to be deleted. You smiled as you pushed the cart, daydreaming about chucking your phone into the nearest lake. The few matches that you received often ghosted you after a week, afraid of committing to a real date.

So here you were, aimlessly strolling through a grocery store. Desperately begging the universe for a real man.

You spent an embarrassingly long time curating the perfect outfit to attract a guy worth your time. Casual enough for a quick errand, but still chic. I want to be with someone who admires my confidence. They shouldn't reprimand me for expressing myself.

That's how the feminist part of your brain explained your attire. The other touch-starved half, however, wanted to wear the shortest skirt you owned just to feel men stare holes through it.

You turned into the bakery aisle and pretended to evaluate the nutritional contents of a massive chocolate cake. Maybe this could be plan B, if tonight's endeavor was hopeless.

The comforting hum of fluorescent lights softened the sterile environment around you. Memories of simpler times floated in your mind. Handmade school lunches. Gentle kisses placed on your knee after a bad fall. You closed your eyes, lulled by the promises of love you were granted as a child. Now an adult, you yearned for a partner that could nurture you in a romantic way.

Logan overheard a bag of produce spill onto the floor as he picked up a shopping basket. The cashier dropped it when he saw Logan's blood-stained dress shirt.

Mumbling a string of profanity, he decided to release some steam. "Show's over!" he snapped, flippantly tossing his right arm behind him.

Ignoring the shocked gasps of the other shoppers, Logan sulked further into the store in search of something to soothe his palate.

His doctor tentatively ordered him to "lay off the booze," a suggestion that left three deep puncture wounds in the drywall of his office. Alcohol numbed the emotional and physical pain that plagued him, but it also further delayed his healing powers.

Logan's skeleton was withering away, and all he wanted was a fucking sweet treat.

Your body braced for impact as your chest made contact with a shopper haphazardly turning into the aisle. After dropping the cake onto the pristine white tile, you closed your eyes again, salvaging the moment of peace that was stolen from you.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole." You reluctantly opened your eyes and were met with the solid torso of a man.

Slowly raking your gaze up his body, you raised your eyebrows at the sight of his bloody shirt before meeting his narrowed eyes.

Crows feet radiating from the corners. Prescription glasses. He appeared much older than you expected from your brief contact with his chest.

You silently cursed your luck. This meet-cute plan was steadily evolving into a meet-angry situation.

"Not smart to close your eyes in public," he huffed, staring pointedly at the fallen cake. It was hard not to notice your mini skirt. He hasn't seen a skirt that short since the 60s.

Although you had pulled away from him, the man's eyes lingered on your chest. The playful baby-doll top hugged your cleavage in all the right places. Your glossy lips donned a similar shade of pink. He quickly resumed eye contact, feeling like a dirty old man for imagining them wrapped around his cock.

She's too young, you sick fuck. Logan's internal monologue worked overtime to maintain a shred of decency.

Your face turned away from him at the impending embarrassment you were about to put yourself through. Smirking, you shyly retorted, "Not smart to stare at a girl's tits in public." You gently pushed up his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose.

Closing the gap between your chests, you tip-toed to reach his ear before whispering, "It's okay . . . I want you to."

The answer to Logan's suffering was sweeter than any slice of cake he could have indulged in. A pretty little thing was actually flirting with him, a cynical ex-soldier worn by the unforgiving rings of time.

Logan's hands found the back of your elbows and slowly pulled you closer to him. You gasped as you felt his belt buckle catch on the flimsy fabric of your top.

"Careful, doll," he grunted, leaning down to meet the side of your face. "I'm old enough to be your father."

You defiantly peered up at him through your lashes. "Yeah, and . . .?"

The man slowly distanced himself from you, gently tugging the hem of your top down to its original state.

Okay, definitely not the best response to seduce an older man. You chewed the inside of your cheek, stunned by your juvenile comeback.

"I'm sorry, kid. Forget I said anything," he muttered before turning into another aisle. He mentally kicked himself for letting the interaction go that far. Although his aching body and mind yearned for some relief, he wouldn't take advantage of some young girl.

He hurriedly stomped past the cashiers, swiping a few cigars from a distracted employee's station.

After the initial shock wore off, you quickly followed the older man to the parking lot. Totally not stalker-ish at all, right?

You wanted to take care of him. His reluctance to return your lust-sick gaze should have deterred you, but it only made you more desperate.

You watched as his hands dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. The chipper click of the limo doors unlocking motivated you to get his attention.

"Hey! Can we talk?" You yelled, raising an outstretched palm to stop him from getting inside the car.

Logan froze at the sound of your voice. He contemplated being responsible, slamming his door and driving off without a second glance.

The gentle pressure of your hand wrapping around his wrist made him think extremely irresponsible thoughts.

Turning around to meet your gaze, the older man swiftly opened the passenger door. "Get in. Now," he growled.

Words betrayed you. All you responded with was a surprised squeak as he used your grip on his wrist to push you further into the vehicle.

His eyes widened as you briefly parted your thighs to get settled in the lush leather seat. The sinfully short hem of your skirt bunched up, revealing your underwear.

Logan whipped his head to the front of the limo, avoiding the sight of your body. Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid how you felt against his. You sat at an angle towards him, knees pressing against his thigh. His body tensed as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Why were you following me, huh?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes. "I've had a long fuckin' day and I need answers." He couldn't believe that a young woman like you would be interested in him.

"Yeah, you're old enough to be my father, maybe older-" you paused to move your left hand onto his thigh. "-but I'm done playing with boys." You shyly turned your head before continuing, "Need a real man."

Logan was done holding back. Now, it all made sense. Your lack of direction in the store, the low cut of your outfit that was way too sexy for a late night grocery run. We're both adults, he reasoned. She wants this.

He gingerly cradled your jaw with his large hand, turning your head towards his. "You sure about this, sweetheart?

You covered his hand with your own, bringing your lips to his in a spontaneous kiss. "I-I need to hear you," he stuttered.

"Shut up and fuck me, . . . " you sighed, pausing to ask for his name.

"Logan . . . call me Logan, doll." His left hand snaked around your waist, bunching the delicate material and exposing your breasts.

As you leaned into his palm, he fished the limo keys out of his pocket and clicked twice, locking the doors. He fondled the underside of your tits before rolling the sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You were grateful for the tinted windows that shielded your embarrassing moans from the public.

"Already whining for me, hm? So fuckin' needy," he hummed, pushing up your top even further. You crossed your arms to undress, but Logan swatted them away, explaining, "It's cute. Wanna see your tits bounce for me, baby."

He gripped your ass with both hands and effortlessly swung you onto the broad expanse of his lap.

Your back arched as his rough palm cupped your pussy, thumb languidly tracing your sensitive bud through the cotton.

"But this . . . has to go," he drawled, tugging the elastic of your panties before letting it go with a faint snap.

It was too much. You were splayed over the lap of a stranger, hips wantonly rocking yourself over his prominent bulge and mewling as your sensitive clit caught on the rough fabric of his slacks.

He stilled your movements with his hands, lovingly kneading the flesh of your hips. "You okay with this?" he asked, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. "Yeah, Logan . . . more than okay. Need you."

You loved that he was confident enough to take what he wanted but also gracious enough to check in, unlike the boys you were used to fucking around with.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your skirt and panties, skillfully pushing your legs against your chest as he pulled them off. He decided against slicing them off with his claws, not wanting to hurt you. "Fuck. You're so pretty. My sweet, sweet girl . . ." he cooed. You whined as your aching cunt was finally exposed to Logan's hungry gaze and the chill night air. He groaned as you resumed desecrating his lap with your juices.

Your breath hitched as Logan traced two fingers along your bottom lip. You granted him access, playfully darting your tongue around his digits.

After his fingers were thoroughly soaked, he used your saliva to gently trace your hole, noticing the faint flutter of your walls.

"Need me to fill you up, hm? Poor baby's clenching around nothing. Let me fix that . . ." Logan's palm brushed against your clit as his fingers plunged into you, setting a steady pace.

You were incredibly wet, but he needed to prep you for his thick cock. He drooled, collecting a heavy wad of spit onto his tongue before letting it fall onto your pussy.

"Ah-ah!" You exclaimed, surprised by the contact. You bit your lip, cheeks flushing at the lewd feeling of his spit mixing with your wetness.

He used his other hand to slap repeatedly against your puffy folds, mesmerized by how vulnerable you were being for him.

"Yeah, you like that?" He whispered, curling his fingers as they met your cervix. You covered your mouth, desperately trying to maintain some modesty. Logan withdrew his left hand to pry away your arm and swallow your moans, sloppily slotting his lips into yours.

You gasped into his mouth as you felt your cunt spasm around his fingers, gushing all over his tight slacks.

"Oh, fuck! Logan . . . " you mewled, biting his lower lip while he continued to finger you through your orgasm.

Your head fell into the inviting crook of his neck, nuzzling his graying beard. "Atta girl, come for me," he cooed.

Logan peered down at you, noticing wet droplets dampening his beard. You were silently crying, tears cascading down your puffy cheeks before landing on his face.

At first, he was alarmed. "Hey, hey, shhhh," he purred. "What's the matter, doll?"

His cock twitched when he realized you were smiling against his neck.

"Nothing's wrong, Logan . . . you make me feel so good, that's all."

He planted a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Yeah? Want me to make you feel even better? Fill you up for real this time?"

You nodded dumbly, still basking in the haze of your release.

"Nuh-uh. Words." The simple command made you rut into his lap.

You shuddered while responding. "Wanna feel you inside me. Need your-" Logan bucked up into you. "-cock."

He slid his hands under your thighs, briefly pushing you forward so he could unbuckle his belt. Your small hands slinked toward his waist. "Let me do it," you pleaded, hastily sliding his belt through its loops and tossing it to the floor.

You pulled his cock out of his slacks, leaning down to press sweet little kisses to the head. Your thighs burned with the effort, but it was worth it to feel him momentarily lose control. Logan hissed sharply, "Good girl, fuck-" before guiding his thick cock into your heavenly mouth.

You licked a prominent vein that teased its way above his waistband. The taste of him was utterly intoxicating. You moaned onto his length, choking back tears as he suddenly thrust up into your eager throat.

The delicious weight of his cock on your tongue was short-lived. He cupped your face, forcing your mouth to slide past the tip with an obscene pop.

"Won't last long if you keep doing that, doll. Takes a lot less to get me riled up these days," he explained.

You nodded as you straightened yourself, using your knees to hover above his lap. He teasingly ran the flushed tip of his cock through your folds before sinking into your weeping pussy.

"Oh my god! fuck-" you cried, lowering your hips to embrace his full length. Your hands found stability on Logan's shoulders as you bounced on his cock.

Logan stared in awe at your tits. They were practically spilling out the sides of your cute top, jiggling with each movement of your hips.

As he admired your form, you drunk in the sight of his coarse salt and pepper beard. His wiry glasses barely held onto the slope of his strong nose due to your eager movements. You paid special attention to his crimson-stained shirt, wondering how he was enduring the wounds.

"You're hurt." You stated, pausing to slowly unbutton his dress shirt.

Logan's hands grabbed a handful of your ass and slammed you down onto his lap, forcing you to continue taking his cock.

"Never said you could stop," he huffed. "It'll take time, but I'm healing."

You gasped as your clit hitched on the bunched fabric of his slacks, frantically shrugging off his shirt in the process. A devastating moan ripped from Logan's throat as you peppered kisses on his wounds. The coppery taste of his blood was oddly soothing, reminding you that the man buried in your cunt was real and not just a figment of your lust-fueled imagination.

Logan loved how dazed you looked, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, your pupils dilated and glossy. His cock twitched every time your soft tits brushed against his face. You whined as the steady rhythm of your hips faltered, hinting at your imminent release.

"Lean forward, baby. Let your old man take care of you," he sighed, wrapping his broad arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to slump forward, arching your back and playfully wiggling your ass in the air.

You yelped as he slapped your ass with enough force to feel the sting radiate from his outstretched palm. "Such a fuckin' tease," he growled, filling you up in one thrust. He set a punishing pace that made you sob into his chest. The loud squelches of your release echoed throughout the limo, mirroring your high-pitched wines.

"Oh, my god! . . ." you mewled, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. Your breath hitched every time his hips met yours, balls slapping against the sensitive skin of your ass.

He fucked up into your cunt, relishing the fact that you'd probably never had a cock as big as his. Logan stared at where you were connected, hypnotized by the subtle drag of your folds along his rugged length.

"Don't know what I did to deserve a pretty girl like you." His teeth tugged on the delicate strap of your top, exposing your breasts. His mouth enveloped the bud, gently sucking and pulling as they hardened.

"Logan . . . can't take it anymore. I'm close." You clenched around him, earning another hard slap on your ass.

"You gonna come for me sweetheart, hm?" He somehow increased his pace, hips drilling into your sensitive cunt. "C'mon, come all over my cock. Such a sweet young thing, so eager to please . . . " he hummed into your ear.

"And just so we're clear, I am definitely older than your father." His filthy words made you arch even higher, stilling your hips mid-air and allowing Logan to fuck you through your release.

The sound of you faintly chanting his name as you came sent him over the edge. "You can take it," he encouraged as your pathetic whines intermingled with his unabashed groans. His hips drove home, bouncing you harshly against his tense thighs and spilling into you with a low growl.

You almost blacked out at the feeling of his cum spurting into your walls, reaching even further when Logan buried his cock to the hilt. You clenched around him, overstimulated and thoroughly fucked.

"That's it, just relax . . . You look so pretty milking my cock," he praised, brushing stray hair away from your face.

You managed to sit upright and shakily moved to lift yourself off his cock, but Logan quickly steadied your hips. He's still hard, you realized, fascinated by his renewed vigor.

He panted, obviously just as spent as you were.

"So, uh, tomorrow, the Italian place on fifth street, 8 PM?"

You narrowed your eyes, incredibly confused at his choice of words after experiencing the best sex you've ever had.

"Our first date," he clarified. He kissed your cheek and you blushed at the contrast between the innocent action and the fact that his hard cock was still buried in your cunt. "After all, I'm a real man, right? And real men plan dates." He plastered on a cocky grin, repeating your earlier statements.

"Okay, old man. It's a date." You smiled, kissing his mouth with passion.

Ah!!! I had so much fun writing this. Old Man Logan, when will it be my turn >:[

Meet-Cute Ch. 2

Old Man Logan x fem! reader

Summary: Logan is a man of his word. You and Logan have your first date in the only nice restaurant in town, except it doesn't last long because you want him the food hot to go. Meet-Cute Ch. 1 Warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, fluff and smut, age gap, reader is 21+, pet names (doll, baby), oral (fem! receiving), fingering, praise kink, light slapping, logan's claws come out, set after the events of Logan (2017) except he doesn't die, some angst it's all in logan's head dw. wc: 4k

Logan mindlessly traced the glass of water he'd been nursing for the past hour. The circular rim numbed his finger as he theorized all the reasons you might've been late.

He tended to foster seeds of doubt within his mind, an old habit that was built by decades of loss and betrayal. Romance was almost always an empty promise.

Logan checked the clock on the wall without moving his head, not wanting the other patrons to assume he was being stood up. He enjoyed wallowing in his solitude by drinking alone at dingy bars, but that was before he met you. Now, all he could fantasize about was showing you off to every establishment in town, softly guiding you to each bar counter by the small of your back.

The Italian place on fifth street, 8PM, you recited after exiting Logan's limo last night. Before opening the door, you checked your phone. 7:50 PM. You would've arrived twenty minutes earlier, but you didn't want to seem too eager, so you decided to touch up your makeup before heading out.

Logan noticed the restaurant's comforting hum cease when you entered the lobby. He's pretty sure he could hear some poor guy choke on a meatball, stunned at the sight of your little black dress.

You were busy exchanging information with the maître d', nervously darting your eyes around the room to find your date. When he realized you mouthed the word, "Logan," he sprung up from the booth and briskly walked to the lobby.

"Evening, doll," he beamed, extending his arm. A faint blush settled on your cheeks as you looped your hand around his bicep. He stole glances at your outfit as he guided you to the booth, suddenly leaning down to whisper, "You look stunning. I'm glad you came."

Logan gestured towards the seat opposite him, but you motioned for him to scoot further into the booth so you could sit alongside each other.

He raised an eyebrow, confused by the unusual arrangement. You explained, "I want to be next to you, if that's okay. Sitting across from you feels way too formal after last night."

Logan inhaled sharply, suddenly reminded of the intoxicating drag of your skin against his. He replayed the heavenly echo of your debauched whines in his head, silently praying that you'd let him hear them again.

"Yeah, of course," he agreed, sliding to the end of the booth.

You followed, leaving a small gap. The urge to connect your thigh with his was strong, but you tried to maintain decorum for the other patrons. Your eyes briefly met Logan's before surveying the table, noticing that the candle in the centerpiece was comically short.

"How long have you been waiting?" You asked, peering up at Logan's relieved face.

He stroked his beard, contemplating whether to be truthful or lie to save face. "About an hour," he responded. Logan decided that you deserved the truth; he wanted the foundation of your budding relationship to be built on candor. "You weren't late, I arrived way too fuckin' early. Haven't been this nervous for a first date since . . . well, ever."

You pouted your lips and gently placed your right hand on his thigh. He instantly flexed, surprised at the abrupt contact.

"Aw, baby . . . " You doted, slightly leaning to whisper into his ear. "There's nothin' to be nervous about. You already know I like you enough to suck your co-"

Logan swallowed the end of your sentence, his left hand cradling your jaw to angle your lips into his. You gasped into his mouth, earning a playful bite on your lower lip.

"You wanna give me a heart attack, doll? Jesus Christ." He muttered, releasing his grip on you and straightening himself in the booth.

You smirked, removing your hand from his thigh. A waiter appeared, acknowledging your arrival. "Ah, good evening, signorina," he beamed. "Mr. Howlett has been patiently waiting for you. Welcome to Frizzante."

While placing two menus on the table, he started reciting the specials, emphasizing the last item. "Tonight, our chef has prepared a Festa degli Innamorati. Lover's Feast," he translated.

Logan wanted the seat cushions to swallow him whole. Frizzante's sous chef was a personal friend of his; the bastard must've seen his name on the reservation and whipped up something special to embarrass him.

You stifled a laugh at the sight of Logan's dumbfounded expression. "It's served family-style, with two separate plates so you can share. It's a beautiful spaghetti dish blended with the savory roe of sea urchins and fresh margherita tomatoes. I assure you, it's an incredibly rich and unique experience."

"That sounds wonderful," you chimed, appreciating the waiter's suggestion.

Logan couldn't help admiring the sweet smile that spread across your face. He slid the menus towards the waiter before responding, "We'll take the Lover's Feast, thank you." He silently cringed at the feeling of the special name rolling off his tongue, but he found himself willing to curtail his pride if it made you happy.

The steady hum of the restaurant lulled you into a comfortable silence. The waiter soon returned with a glass of water and a warm basket that filled the air with the savory scent of flour and butter.

Logan picked it up, offering you a slice. "Would you like some bread?"

"Yes, please. Thank you." You giggled as you retrieved a slice.

After you sunk your teeth into the aromatic bread, he took a slice for himself. "What's so funny?" He asked, playfully raising his eyebrows.

You chewed slowly, savoring the richness of the dough. "You're being so . . . proper. I'm not used to guys treating dates like . . ."

". . . A date?" Logan finished, perplexed by your response. "Those guys don't know how to treat a woman." He huffed, wondering how anyone could fuck up the privilege of courting you.

Your eyes raked over his clean blazer, following the strong curve of his arm before landing on his wrist.

"You're wearing cufflinks . . . " You murmured, in awe of the lustrous material.

Logan moved his arm closer so you could feel them. "You gotta expect more than the bare minimum, baby." He chuckled.

You slowly swirled the round cufflinks with your middle finger. "So-" You paused, shifting closer so your bare leg finally grazed the cool material of his slacks. "-If you're so traditional, why didn't you pick me up?"

Logan cleared his throat, stunned by your confidence. "I would've, doll, trust me. Then I figured that you might've been uncomfortable if I asked where you lived. Best to meet in a public space," he reasoned.

His concern for your safety was undeniably attractive. You stopped tracing the edge of his cufflinks before whispering, "I fucked you within an hour of meeting you. I would've been comfortable giving you my address."

The fragrant smell of your pasta dish wafted through the aisle, momentarily relieving Logan from having to respond.

"Attached at the hip already?" The waiter quipped, noticing your proximity to Logan. He delicately lowered the platter onto the table, followed by two silverware sets and the most intricate plates you've ever seen.

"Buon appetito." The waiter gestured towards the dish with a grand flourish of his hand and then promptly walked away.

Logan waited for him to be out of earshot before saying, "I want to get to know you, but you're making it extremely fuckin' difficult with that dirty mouth of yours."

He used his utensils to scoop a large portion of pasta onto your plate before serving himself.

You bit your lip, picking up a fork to slowly twirl the fresh noodles. "Alright, what do you wanna know?" You asked, lifting the fork into your mouth.

"What do you do for fun? Besides fucking strangers within an hour of meeting them."

You choked on your food, shooting an accusatory glare towards Logan. "Okay, okay . . . you got me good. Um, I like going to shows. Punk, country, pop . . . I just love to feel the music in my bones."

Logan put his fork down and rested his chin on his palm, invested in your answer. He briefly envisioned your hips swaying to the soulful twang of Willie Nelson. "Live music, huh? I know a club around here that promotes every genre under the sun. We should go some time."

His left hand traced gentle circles on your knee. "This okay?" He asked, briefly pausing his movements. You rested your fork on the plate. "Mhm," you chirped, pleased by his courtesy.

"I also enjoy making art," you continued. Logan leaned closer. The majority of his past was dedicated to destroying things and harming people. He'd always admired those who used their time on earth to create.

"What kind of art?" Logan asked. You were distracted by the warmth of his palm, which was now splayed over the broad expanse of your thigh.

"I, uh- I like drawing, painting, making collages . . . mostly drawing, though. It's peaceful, you know? Making something out of nothing." You chewed the inside of your cheek, flustered by how intently Logan was looking at you.

He was daydreaming about making space for a studio back at the smelting plant, bringing you tea while you worked well into the night. The domesticity that he secretly yearned for manifested itself in your image.

"You're so beautiful, you know that? Could listen to you talk forever."

You smiled and bashfully looked down into your lap. "Thank you . . . " You lingered, focused on how he absentmindedly stroked your thigh with his thumb.

"What about you? What do you do in your free time?" You asked, peering up at him through your eyelashes.

"After work, I usually head to a bar and pop a couple of quarters in the jukebox to hear Cash while I drink."

Your eyes lit up at the mention of your favorite country artist. "Cash? Like, Johnny Cash? I love him."

Logan couldn't believe that you didn't make a snide remark about his "hobby." He elaborated anyway, not wanting to seem lazy in comparison.

"Yeah, exactly. I also like fixin' old motorcycles and gardening. Keeps me in shape, I guess." He didn't miss the way your thigh flexed, reacting to his words.

You loved a man who was handy . . . in more ways than one.

"You wanna get out of here?" You asked, desperate to relieve the palpable tension that settled in the charged space between your bodies. Your senses were overwhelmed again; the heady scent of his cologne mixing nicely with the smokey tendrils emanating from the candle.

Logan smirked. "I thought you'd never ask. My place or yours?"

Although your apartment was only a short walk's distance from the restaurant, you wanted to immerse yourself in a slice of Logan's world.

"I'd love to go home with you, if that's okay." You shyly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He fished out his wallet and haphazardly threw more than enough cash to cover the bill and your waiter's tip. The velvet material of your dress bunched around your thighs, further exaggerating the short hem.

Logan averted his eyes as you slid out of the booth. You turned around and tilted your head, realizing why he wasn't looking at you. "You're such a gentleman," you praised, straightening your dress.

Logan didn't feel like a gentleman when he helped you into the passenger seat of his limo. He almost opened the back door, reminded of your first night together.

Your eyes grew heavy an hour into the drive. You yawned, soothed by the soft turns of the road and the limo's plush headrest.

"Sorry, doll. My place is a bit farther, away from the city." Logan apologized. "Feel free to rest up. I'll wake you when we get there," he continued.

You surrendered to your fatigue and closed your eyes. "Mkay. Thanks, Logan."

He smiled, glancing at the passenger seat a few times to admire how peaceful you looked.

The first thing you felt when you woke up was Logan's callused hands supporting the back of your knees and your spine. You felt pleasantly weightless above the ground, realizing that Logan was carrying you past the threshold of a doorway.

"Mornin," he joked, noticing you scanning your surroundings. It was still late in the evening.

"Didn't want to wake you," he whispered, gently setting you on his bed. The smooth texture of the sheets contrasted with the rough corrugated walls of your environment.

"Where exactly do you live?" You asked, puzzled by the industrial nature of his home.

"A smelting plant north of the border. People leave me alone out here," he chuckled.

Logan exhaled as he sat on the edge of his bed, turning to meet your shocked expression.

"You mean I'm in Mexico right now? Logan!" You exclaimed, lightly slapping his arm.

He caught your wrist, weaving his large fingers through yours. "You're lucky I'm such a gentleman," he teased, reiterating your choice of words a few hours prior. Your hand relaxed into his.

"First, you followed me into my car. Tonight, you fell asleep while I drove to fuckin' Mexico. Now, you're in my bed wearing nothin' but a cute little dress," Logan smirked, letting his hand fall on his knee. His back ached from turning to caress your palm.

You blushed. "I can tell you're a good guy. I wouldn't have gone home with you if I didn't."

Logan doubted your praise. I'll force myself to pretend that's true, he thought.

The comforting chirp of cicadas serenaded you from outside. Linen curtains gently billowed above your head; the cool night air swathing your body like a translucent blanket. Logan suddenly averted his eyes, exposing the rugged plane of his neck. You breathed in notes of fresh cotton and bourbon as his potent cologne fanned out across the room.

"I need you, Logan." You sighed, slowly drifting onto your back and languidly spreading your legs. Your dress prevented you from fully relieving the throbbing sensation in your core, so you settled for tracing the inside of your thigh instead.

You faint sighs cascaded over your arched form and into Logan's ears like a siren's song.

Too many fuckin' layers, he thought, quickly unbuttoning his blazer and dress shirt before tossing them onto the floor.

He groaned when you skimmed the hard outline of his torso, gently tracing a prominent scar that ran across his ribcage. Logan leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and releasing hushed breaths.

He could get used to you tending to his wounds.

Logan strained his back to grip your legs, swinging you around so that your lower half hung over the bed.

"Can I take this off for you, baby?" He whispered, gathering the material of your dress by your hips.

"Mhm . . . " You nodded, hooking your knees over his shoulders for support. His palms firmly slid up your thighs and effortlessly shimmied the dress below your ass, pausing when the hem caught on the underside of your breasts.

He purposefully pressed the material harder against your torso before exposing your tits, forcing them to bounce harshly against your chest.

"You're so pretty," he sighed, cupping your breasts and leaning forward to gently tug on your nipples with his teeth. You bit your lip, knitting your eyebrows together as you admired how content he looked.

Logan's cock twitched in his slacks when your breath hitched in your throat after a particularly hard tug.

"You like when I make your tits sore, hm? Want me to make it all better?" He cooed, blowing lightly on your stiff nipples before enveloping them with his mouth.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head when you grabbed a fistful of his hair.

You crossed your arms, hastily moving your dress over your head. Logan paused, realizing that your shoes were still on. He slowly released your tits as he slinked down your body, his hot breath raising goosebumps along your stomach.

"Fuck," Logan moaned, now eye-level with your cunt. Your cotton underwear was soaked, clinging to the outline of your lips.

It was the simplest pair you owned, but Logan marveled at it like it was the most expensive set in the world.

He pushed closer, resting his chin on the edge of the bed. He arched his back slightly to accommodate the stretch.

"Can I taste you, baby?" He pleaded, staring at your dilated pupils.

"'Course you can, Logan . . . You can do anything to me, I-" He flattened his tongue and dragged it over your underwear, tasting the wetness that escaped the material.

The delicious pressure of his tongue cut off your response. "I trust you," you continued.

You whined when Logan distanced himself from your core to unbuckle your shoes.

"Shhh, let your old man make you more comfortable," he doted, placing a sweet kiss on your heel.

He resumed a kneeling position, sliding his hands under your thighs and bringing your clothed cunt closer to his hungry gaze. The intoxicating musk of your arousal unlocked a primal instinct within Logan.

A primal groan ripped from his throat as his claws unsheathed on either side of your face. His cock bucked into the unforgiving material of his pants.

After realizing what he'd done, Logan quickly withdrew his claws. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, doll, I could've hurt you . . . won't happen again," he apologized profusely.

You propped your elbows on the bed to get a better look at the bloody slits between his knuckles. "Oh my god," you gasped, eyes widening in fascination. "Are you a mutant?"

Logan's eyes slowly met yours, initially afraid to be met with a fearful expression. "Yes, I am. I've always had these claws, but they weren't always this-" Logan flexed his arm, a faint snikt sound filling the air. "-sharp," he continued.

Logan held his breath as you slowly ran a finger along the blunt side of the blade, admiring the way it reflected the moonlight.

"They're beautiful, Logan." You carefully guided his right hand to rest on your thigh. "Can you tear this off?" You asked, lightly snapping the underwear elastic against your hip.

"I don't want to hurt you, doll." Logan's claws hesitantly hovered over your skin.

"I trust you, remember?" You pulled the elastic away from your body, allowing him to lightly twist his wrist and cut through the fabric.

You gasped as your underwear scattered on the bed. Your cunt fluttered around nothing, suddenly exposed to the cool night air and Logan's unwavering gaze.

Your empathy startled him. Those who had gifted him their trust had often suffered, cursing him to an eternity of self-loathing. He felt undeserving of your kindness.

"Wanna make it up to you," he promised, moving your legs onto his shoulders.

The tantalizingly slow drag of his tongue against your folds made your thighs quiver against his head. He chuckled, prying your legs apart with his callused palms.

He gently lapped into your eager hole, moving his head up and down to increase his range of movement.

You mewled when the tip of his nose bumped against your clit.

"Oh, fuck. My girl's rosebud is so sensitive . . . " He groaned, lightly kissing your clit before sucking it into his eager mouth.

His right hand inched up your thigh, teasingly stroking the apex of your leg.

"How many fingers can you take, doll?" He slowly slid his middle finger inside, palm flushed against your sensitive folds. His lips were still stimulating your clit, now adding the delicious drag of his finger.

Your hips raised off the bed, eagerly meeting his thrusts. "Ah!" You whimpered after Logan pulled out before adding a second finger. He spread his digits, satisfying the hollow throb in your core.

"Three . . . I need three," you elaborated, biting your lip to stifle your needy moans.

His fingers slipped out of your cunt with an embarrassingly loud squelch before easing into your pliant mouth.

"Wanna hear you, baby. That's it," he cooed, making you enjoy the taste of your own slick.

Your tongue trailed the crook of his fingers, mimicking the patterns you traced on his cock last night.

You whimpered when Logan used your saliva to guide three fingers into your weeping pussy.

"Holy fuck, Logan . . . Mm," you babbled, eyes glazing over at the overwhelming feeling of his thick fingers stretching your walls.

If you could sit upright, you'd wipe that cocky grin off his face.

"You're so fuckin' wet for me, doll. Takin' me so well," he praised, focused on increasing the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Oh, I know you want my thick cock, baby . . . Is that why you chose three, hm?" Logan taunted, abruptly pausing his movements.

You whine, spreading your legs even farther apart to invite him back in.

"Yes, fuck-" you admitted, eyes screwing shut at the feeling of fingers returning home.

You felt Logan smirk into your clit as he confessed, "You think you can come without my cock? Tonight's all about you, doll."

The growing pressure in your abdomen threatened to burst, spurred on by Logan's filthy words. He enthusiastically lapped at your cunt, collecting the wetness that pooled near the base of his fingers and gliding up your folds before licking your clit.

He lightly slapped your pearl, motivated to usher in your release as you clamped your knees around his head.

"Holy shit, doll . . . your pussy's singing just for me, hm?" He hummed, referencing the vulgar sounds emanating from your folds with every thrust.

He expertly twisted his wrist as his fingers glided through your cunt. The new movement stimulated the sensitive nerves of your walls, earning a guttural moan.

"Oh my god, I'm . . . I'm coming," you whined, throwing your head back against the mattress.

Logan intertwined his left hand with yours, silently permitting you to squeeze it through your orgasm.

Your back arched, overstimulated by Logan's relentless attention to your pussy. You were too busy rocking your hips against his mouth to register him burrowing his cock into the sheets, a ragged growl escaping his lips as he spurted into his slacks.

"It's too- fuck, too much, Logan . . . " You stuttered, pawing at his forehead to distance yourself from his tongue.

You raised yourself on your elbows just in time to witness him savoring the taste of your cum, his tongue darting against the sensitive pads of his fingers and swallowing with a content moan.

"Mhm . . ." He drawled. "Sweeter than sugar, baby."

You covered your eyes and slumped against the mattress. Logan made you feel hopelessly giddy, and you loved it.

"Stop it, Logan . . . " You cringed, aware of the rosy blush that adorned your cheeks.

He scooped your knees with his right hand and supported your back with his left, mirroring the stance he assumed when he first laid you on the bed. You nuzzled your cheek against the soft pillow, thoroughly satisfied and exhausted.

The small twin-sized bed couldn't support the full breadth of his back, so he turned on his side, lovingly bumping his nose against yours.

You lazily stroked his graying beard, noticing that the whiskers closest to his mouth were damp with your arousal.

You blushed. Again.

"I usually don't even let guys kiss me on the first date. You should be grateful," You teased.

Logan lightly kissed your wandering fingers. "Trust me, princess, I am. Thank you.

Princess . . . that was new. You draped your left leg over the strong muscle of his thigh, suddenly needing to be consumed by his warmth.

He just coaxed an explosive orgasm from you using his mouth, and he was thanking you?

Words failed you. You decided to snuggle closer into the inviting expanse of his bare chest. Logan shamelessly gripped the supple flesh of your ass, pulling you flush against his body.

"I think our first date went well, hm?" He cooed into your ear. Your breathing slowed to the point where Logan assumed you had dozed off.

You felt his body still to avoid waking you up. He whispered, "I hope we get to go on a million more."

Your ears perked up at his covert promise of devotion.

I hope so, too, you thought before finally falling asleep.

Thanks for sticking around for Ch. 2 of Meet-Cute!

Their banter was so fun to write. Also if you don't go to shows (I'm talkin' small clubs, not stadiums) or make art shhhh wdym, you're literally reader?! Anyway, I specified those hobbies because everyone can do them, yay! The FBI-level questioning that usually occurs on first dates was shortened to keep this a true reader insert (my reasoning for reader's vague background.) *The jukebox bit is canon, from Wolverine Vol. 1 (Benjamin Percy.)

Tag list: @th3mrskory @fairiebabey @bratscave @elflutter

Logan Howlett x alternative fem! reader // MDNI, reader is 21+, smut

You're always experimenting with fashion, opting for garments and silhouettes that convey strength. The textile collage that you customize each morning acts as a tangible barrier against the intolerant bigots you encounter daily.

This doesn't mean that you reject femininity. Everyone's soul is composed of masculine and feminine energy, two distinct entities that form a harmonious picture when embraced together.

It's a beautiful feeling, revealing the most sensitive parts of yourself to Logan.

Logan skillfully extracts your femininity from you with his callused hands. At home, you envelop yourself in light fabrics; flimsy sundresses and translucent nightgowns, just to feel him playfully slap your ass. He loves it when you lounge around in band tees and hyper-feminine booty shorts. The contrast reminds him of the duality in his soul.

"Love" was never a routine piece of Logan's vocabulary until he met you.

He was always so sentimental with you, craving eye contact as his thick cock gently parted your folds. He enjoyed whispering it in your ear when he was fully sheathed, planting sweet kisses between your furrowed brows. "I love you, bub."

You always returned the favor, often begging him to fill your mouth. Logan respected you as a woman, as a person. The fact that you felt comfortable enough to submit to him in this way made his heart bloom. "You're too good to me," he panted, mesmerized by the erotic sight of you on your knees. "Don't-" you suddenly flattened your tongue, tracing the prominent vein running along the underside of his cock. You giggled when the flushed head bobbed on your nose with the impact. "-don't deserve it," he continued. You grasped the thick flesh of his thighs and relaxed your mouth before swallowing his cock. You sighed as you nuzzled your nose against the coarse hair surrounding the base.

Logan groaned as he memorized the image of you releasing his cock, a thin string of spit connecting the tip and your swollen lips. "Don't be silly, baby. Let me take care of you."

taglist: @pointyxsole

lmk if you wanna be tagged for future drabbles/fics!

Meet-Cute Ch. 3

Old Man Logan x fem! reader

Summary: You and Logan relax during a particularly hot summer day, engaging in "parallel play" together. An innocent hangout quickly gets heated after he overhears a nsfw Twitter video blaring from your phone. Goddamn auto play. *Can be read as a standalone oneshot. Meet-Cute Ch. 1 2 Warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, 99.9% smut, age gap, reader is 21+, oral fixation, praise kink, oral (male! receiving), light d/s, pet names (bub, baby, babe, daddy, good/dirty girl, princess), size kink, slapping (referenced + explicit), cum play. wc: 3.6k

Logan kept his promise. Well, you didn't go on a million more dates, but the time you spent together stretched the meaning of time itself. They started as singular outings; with early nights overlapping into early mornings. It didn't take long until your dates morphed into week-long "hangouts" at his place.

You willingly uprooted your life for Logan after a year of dating, packing your world into cardboard boxes and weaving it into the fabric of his home. The only thing you missed was the in-unit air conditioner that cooled your tiny apartment. It turns out that summers are unbearable when you live in a smelting plant.

The metal walls and poor insulation transform your makeshift studio into a furnace. Oil paint fumes waft upwards from the canvas, aggravating a migraine that slowly travels from the top of your head to your temples. In an attempt to preserve your sanity, you rapidly untie the paint-stained apron and storm out of the studio.

Beads of sweat trickle into your cleavage, gathering at the underwire of your bra. You tear it off somewhere between the kitchen and the living room; you can't be bothered to pick it up from the floor. Maybe Logan will stumble upon it and stash it away, an uncharacteristically pervy habit that he thinks goes unnoticed.

"I'm melting, Logan. Save me!" You slump into the couch, dramatically grazing your forehead with the back of your hand to mimic a damsel in distress. Logan lowers his newspaper to acknowledge your presence. Cigar smoke billows from his mouth; the inky tendrils momentarily fogging his glasses.

"Not much I can do, bub. Fan just died," He explains, tilting his nose towards the archaic floor fan. An annoyed grumble escapes your lips as you move to the end of the couch, relaxing your head against the armrest and stretching out like a starfish. Logan shifts the paper to one hand to lightly caress your ankle.

You stare at the ceiling, mentally conjuring metallic constellations by connecting the bolts and welds. It takes five minutes for you to snap your eyes shut in defeat. Although you normally accept boredom as a challenge—a testament to your imagination, the sweltering heat makes it difficult to think.

Logan quirks his brow, sensing your exhaustion. "You're such a baby. It's barely ninety in here." You shake his palm off your leg and draw your knees toward your stomach, creating a makeshift boundary against his feigned judgment. "Barely ninety? Don't piss me off," You laugh, reaching for your phone on the coffee table.

Parallel play is new to Logan. He tends to isolate himself, preferring to spend his leisure time alone. When you introduced the concept to him, he dismissed you with an eye roll that bordered on sassy instead of annoyed. "You getting this from your Tick-Tock-whatever the fuck?"

"Let's be alone together," You reasoned. He’s enjoyed these moments of domesticity ever since.

Your index finger lingers above the touchscreen, debating which app will distract you from the heat. The comforting feeling of Logan's hand returning to your ankle inspires you to open Twitter. Your body is slowly relaxing and you want your brain to follow suit.

Logan cherishes your laugh as you stumble upon a hilarious tweet. You scroll further, settling on a video that displays a pitch-black screen. Assuming it was an edit, you wait for a transition to reveal a montage from a show you liked, or an incredibly depressing edit of Kendall Roy. Those always seemed to invade your TikTok for-you page around 3 am.

Your jaw drops when it fades into the unmistakable sight of an amateur porn video. It depicts a woman on her knees, presumably filmed by her partner. The man slaps his cock on her tongue before slowly inching the tip into her eager mouth. "That's a good girl, drool on my cock," the faceless man praises.

The video had been relatively silent until that moment.

Nothing could have prepared you for the high-pitched moan that traveled from the girl's throat and out of your phone's speaker. You were ambushed. Logan pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, pointedly refusing to react to the noise. "I'm reading the paper, and you're watching porn?"

"I didn't click on it, I scrolled, I—" you threw your phone onto the couch, crossing your arms over your eyes to shield your flustered cheeks. "—Ugh! whatever." Your embarrassment provides Logan ample time to grab your phone as he quickly unlocks it and scrolls back to the source of the moan.

Auto-play resumes, suddenly filling the room with the sound of more slapping. "Please give it to me, Daddy! Promise I'll be good for you," the woman pleads in an exaggerated falsetto. Logan shoves the phone in front of your face, forcing you to acknowledge the video.

"You into this shit?" He asks, invading your mortified posture to push your arms away from your face. His knee slots in between your stretched legs, effectively caging you in. "I asked you a fuckin' question." His gruff tone would have scared you if it wasn’t accompanied by the slight upward curve of his mouth.

Logan's cock throbs as his eyes linger on your gaping mouth. You were reacting appropriately, dropping your jaw in shock. All Logan could think about was how your plush lips formed a perfect "o," similar to the woman on the screen.

"I plead the fifth," You huff, narrowing your eyes and reaching out to pause the video. Logan clicks his tongue while mocking you, shaking his head side-to-side. "It's in your feed. Doesn't that mean you are into this shit?"

Fuck. You regretted explaining social media algorithms to Logan. It was an act of charity, showing an old man how to use the "interwebs," as he first called it. He'd still have a flip phone if you didn't explain why only drug dealers and Y2K-obsessed tweens used them.

You push Logan's knee forward, making him momentarily lose his balance. He falls on top of you, the full weight of his adamantium-plated bones pressing you firmly into the couch. Logan's heart drops in his chest as he sees you shut your eyes in pain. "Oh my god, I-" He uses his elbow to twist away from your chest, landing on the floor with a comically loud thunk.

He groans with the force of the fall and immediately regrets landing on his back. The scarred planes had already been traumatized by decades of recklessness, but his old age further weakened their tenacity.

"I'm sorry, babe. You okay?" He slowly rises to his feet, grimacing when he hears his joints creak under the weight. Logan uses the edge of the coffee table to stand up fully. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks," You squeak, unable to meet his worried stare. When he fell on your chest, you could feel his bulge through the thin cotton boxers.

Two can play that game.

You fail to stifle a giggle as Logan waves his hand in a sweeping motion in front of your face. "You sure I didn't hurt you? Seems like you're in shock," He asks, genuinely concerned with your well-being.

"You're hard," You state, fixated on the prominent tent in his boxers. Logan is a cocky motherfucker; he rests his hands on his hips and slightly leans backward, emphasizing the bulge.

"Yeah? So what? I’m always hard when you wear those shorts. Makes me feel like a fuckin’ teenager." He smirks, clearly enjoying the sight of your flustered face. His nostrils subtly flex and you can tell he smells how wet you are for him. It's simultaneously embarrassing and empowering unraveling for Logan—you feel so timid under the heavy weight of his gaze, yet so brazenly sensual.

“Know what I think?” You drawl, shifting from your position on the couch to stand before Logan. His broad frame would be intimidating if he weren’t so gentle with you. Only you. Sunset filters through the lace curtains you installed last summer to soften the hostile industrial space. Soft, indeed. The living room is swathed in an amber glow, and so is Logan’s face. The light tenderly traces each wrinkle and scar—decorations gifted by the tedious passing of time. Your calves burn as you rise on your toes, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

You grasp his strong shoulders to stabilize yourself before whispering, “I think you’re secretly into this, too.” Logan turns his head away from you, closing his eyes to conceal how much your words affect him. He’s confused when he feels you rake your palms against his chest, only opening his eyes when your hand catches on the waistband of his boxers.

Logan’s a man of few words. Your unabashed look of adoration combined with your position on the floor stole any he could use to disagree.

“What’s the matter, Daddy? Cat got your tongue?” You lean forward, tenderly nuzzling your cheek against his leg. 

“Jesus,” Logan mumbles, tentatively reaching down to pet the top of your head. “You’re fuckin’ filthy. Don’t call me that.” The gravel of his voice triggers a dull throbbing in your core. It was easy to unravel for him because he never demanded your submission. He earned it by respecting your mind and body, nurturing it like a fragile orchid that could wither if handled without care. 

You strain your neck to peer into his eyes. He tugs on your roots before tenderly tracing your bottom lip—a silent betrayal of his plea. “Why, you don’t like it? I’ll stop if you don’t,” You reason, allowing him to admire your plush lips. A ragged groan escapes him as he watches you suck his callused thumb into your hot mouth before releasing it with an audible pop.

“It’s not that, I just—” His words die in his throat as you pull the hem of his boxers down, tugging the elastic until you can feel his hard cock bob on your face. You gently stroke his length before pressing your cheek against it, smiling against his warmth. “I don’t wanna ruin you any more than I already have,” He chokes. The doubt written on Logan’s face kills you. You’re suddenly on your feet again and Logan’s cock can’t help but twitch at the absence of your hot breath. 

“Stop it. I hate when you say shit like that.” Logan resists the urge to clench his eyes shut. He hates it when you look at him like he’s a puzzle you’re eager to solve. “All you’ve done is give me everything I’ve ever wanted,” You sigh, reaching on your toes to burrow your head into the crook of his neck. 

Logan wallowed in self-deprecation like it was his job. The age gap between you both was a recurring theme of past arguments. He often distanced himself whenever you begged to ride him, gazing sympathetically into his eyes as you felt his thrusts falter. 

You cherished it.

He could be bandaging your knee after a bad fall in the studio and then spanking your ass until it matched the deep purple and red hues mixed on your palette. The duality drove you crazy. Logan knew exactly when to nurture you and when to fulfill your desire to be taken, worn down; he masterfully chipped away at the facade of your resolve until you were pliant in his rough embrace.

“Besides, ‘Daddy’s just a term of endearment. Same as baby, doll . . . my girl.” You whisper, teasingly nipping his earlobe. “I love being your girl.”

Logan’s hesitation breaks at that, planting a chaste kiss on your neck and inhaling the comforting scent of your hair. You smelled like home.

“Can you get on your knees for me, baby?”

The subtle command ignites a tender ache in your bones—you’re suddenly slinking down his form and bracing against the cool concrete. This must be how people felt when the first skyscraper was built. The towering mass of his body is deliciously intimidating; you’re at his feet, worshipping the foundation of an idol that refuses to be honored.

His hips jut forward as you teasingly lick the head of his cock in short, cat-like strokes. You indulge in his flesh, roaming the hard planes of his thighs and caressing the black tendrils around the base. Something in Logan breaks when you pause to gently kiss the tip while peering up at him through your fluttering lashes. 

“Give me your phone,” He commands. You were too embarrassed to admit how much you craved this side of him. Your back strains with your sudden movement to reach behind you, knocking little knick-knacks on the coffee table as you fumble for the phone. 

Logan’s cock twitches as you hurriedly unlock it before presenting it to him like a pup offering its owner a bone. “I, uh—” His voice hitches when you place your hands on your thighs; your arched back pushing the swell of your breasts against his legs. “I need you to open the camera app for me.”

A teasing smirk overpowers your once coy visage. “Sure thing, Daddy.” You strain to reach the phone, quickly swiping to find the cute camera icon. He’s purposefully not bridging the distance. 

He’s making you work for it.

Logan reverses the camera before angling it in front of your face. “Repeat what she said.” His hooded eyes follow your dumbfounded expression, lingering on the inviting expanse of your lips. You stutter as Logan’s thumb traces dizzying patterns on your open mouth, dipping in quickly to collect your spit.

“Pl- please give it to me, Daddy . . . promise I'll be good for you,” You drawl, satisfied now that you could feel Logan in your mouth. Your face is inches away from his hard cock and you can’t help but admire how fucking pretty he is. When he’s worked up like this, his cock resembles an enticing red lollipop, shiny with the glaze of your spit. The line between your internal thoughts and external babbles blurs as you murmur, “Wanna suck you off so badly. Need to taste you.” 

“What was that, bub?” He props up your chin with his finger, helping you focus on his hazel eyes. He shifts the phone into his left hand before firmly grabbing the base of his cock with his right to lightly slap your cheek. “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” He growls, snapping you out of your horny reverie.

Your voice is meek and airy, a familiar sign that you’re falling further into a comfortable haze. There were no labels to describe your relationship, but you both fostered a nurturing pattern of dominance and submission—often smudging the lines whenever necessary. At this moment, all you wanted was to surrender to him.

“I need to suck your cock, Daddy.” You smirk as it bobs almost subconsciously, leaving dribbles of precum on your cheek.

“Good girl. Fuck.” The praise lures a wanton moan out of your throat that sends pleasant vibrations throughout Logan’s body. You slowly inch the tip in, eagerly spreading his precum around the head with your tongue. Heavy, thick, and wet. So unbelievably wet.

Logan’s stifled growls encourage you to grasp the heft of his cock with both hands. You often joked that jerking him off would give you arthritis in your right hand; the stamina needed to twist up and down his length utterly exhausted you.

His eyebrows knit together in pleasure, a silent love letter to your unabashed yearning to soothe him—in mind, body, and spirit. You adore Logan like this, all bark and no bite. 

“So fuckin’ needy, hm?” You peer up at him through your lashes, focusing on the subtle twitch of his nostrils. “Just the tip and you’re already a mess,” He chuckles. Although you’ve enjoyed each other’s company for a few years, a warm blush always manages to reveal how flustered you get whenever Logan smells your arousal. The strained moans that tumble out of his throat ignite a dull throbbing sensation in your core.

Logan opens his eyes when he realizes your hands have left his cock, eager to scold you (lovingly, of course.) He thrusts into your mouth as he’s greeted by the sight of you desperately toying with your clit, pausing here and there to slap against the sensitive bud. 

You can barely think. Pleasure transforms into a tangible gift, tied off with a voluminous red bow. The pressure to open the box is removed—you’re content with admiring the details of its exterior, swirling your fingers on the silky textile and getting lost in the feeling.

“Ah—Logan! I’m gonna— fuck, I—” You stutter, unable to string together words into a sensible arrangement. Logan slowly thrusts deeper into your hot mouth, reuniting your nose with the coarse hair around the base.

He pulls back slightly when you gag around him. Your pussy flutters as you feel his cock harden at the involuntary sound, somehow stretching your mouth even more. “I know, baby,” Logan sighs, gently wiping away your tears. “Shhh . . . you can take it.”

Every time your mouth swallows his entire length, you dart your tongue out to playfully coat his heavy balls with spit. You’re acting like a bitch in heat—as if the thought of living without the taste of Logan’s cock would be futile. Realistically, you knew that the masculine salt of him on your tongue served as a reminder of his tangible presence in your life, a presence that was meaningful, nurturing, and everlasting.

“That’s a good girl. Drool on Daddy’s cock,” Logan praises, adapting the line from the video.

Your release is sudden and impactful. The shaky tone of your cries corresponds with the shakiness of Logan’s hand. His knuckles turn white as he struggles to hold the phone upright.

“Oh my god, oh my god, mmmm!—” You moan, muffled by the delicious drag of Logan’s cock. “Ah—I’m coming, fuck . . .” Your swollen clit pulses as your thighs cave inwards, pushing you even closer to the hilt.

He comes immediately following your orgasm, finding your fucked-out expression unbelievably attractive and haunting. Thick ropes of cum flood your mouth and you can feel his cock twitch when your eyes meet. A rough cacophony of moans and grunts breaks free from Logan’s chest.

You look utterly ruined. Swollen lips still stretching around his girth, tears etched onto the flustered apples of your cheeks. “As beautiful as you look right now, I need to pull out, baby.”

You’re desperately trying to taste more cum from his weeping slit, but Logan manages to push away from you with a dramatic hiss. His jaw falls when he watches you emphasize the act of swallowing his cum.

“My dirty girl,” He drawls, pleased when you stick out your tongue as proof. You want the echo of Logan’s thick cock slapping onto your tongue to be ingrained in your mind. It doesn’t take long for him to explode again. You help him along, breathlessly stroking the plush stiffness of his cock and looking up at him with sinfully soulful eyes.

The first streak lands on your lips. Logan’s head rolls back as he mindlessly ruts forward, painting your entire face with hot cum.

He returns to earth when you press chaste licks to the tip once again. “Holy shit, there’s so much cum, I’m sorry—” Logan apologizes, stunned by the masterpiece he’s created. His release drips down the sloping facade of your cheekbones before landing on your cheeks and lips. You quickly dart out your tongue to taste him.

“Don’t be, Daddy. Can you give me some more?” You plead, batting your eyelashes. Logan pauses the recording and  tosses the phone onto the couch. Before you can process why, you hear a loud thunk on the concrete.

Logan kneels in front of you to match your position on the floor. He reaches out to brush your hair away from your face, studying the white marks adorning your skin.

“You’re so pretty with my cum on your face,” He sighs. Your eyes widen when he reaches down, dragging two thick fingers through your sensitive folds. Then, he swipes the same fingers through his cum before bringing them to his lips and sucking gently.

He closes his eyes, truly indulging in the delicacy of your love. “Mmm. We taste so good together, baby. Wanna try?” You nod earnestly, biting your lip to dampen your whimpers. Logan repeats the process, in awe of the way you lean into his touch.

Logan doesn’t register that you’re falling until he’s sprawled out on the cool concrete floor with your tits cushioned against his chest. He’s quick to check on you, stunned by the sudden movement.

“You okay, princess? What happened?” Worry is framed by the wrinkles between his brows.

“Mhm, Logan. Daddy. We do taste good together,” You confirm, feeling pleasantly overwhelmed yet supported against the solid foundation of his body.

Logan kisses you sweetly, wrapping his broad arms around you to stabilize your torso. “It’s a lot cooler on the floor, baby. Gotta clean you up, I’ll be right back.” You whine as he gently rolls over to lay you on the floor before walking towards the kitchen.

After picking up a nearby towel and wetting it under the faucet, Logan almost slips on something on his way back to the living room.

The familiar heart pattern of the bra makes the corners of his mouth turn upwards; it’s satisfying knowing that you left these out for him rather than randomly forgetting a thong here and a lacey bralette there. You were deliberately feeding into his desires and he loved you for it.

You both played the game of life together, and Logan wouldn’t want it any other way.

I heard it's someone's bday today . . . I hope they never read this but consider Meet Cute Ch. 3 my gift to all of you. Thanks for being so patient, I know it's been a while. FYI I imagine the character whenever I'm writing, not the actor.

Hope everyone has a great weekend.

Tag list: @bratscave @elflutter @fairiebabey @pointyxsole @scorpiosaintt @th3mrskory

LINKS WITH LOGAN HOWLETT and a splash of wade but mostly logan <3

wade and logan sharing you

in the honda odyssey with logan

logan deeeeep inside you

a tape you made with either logan or wade

sending this to logan to tease him while he’s off at work (he will not leave you alone when he gets home)

logan when he’s mad at you

on the couch after watching a movie with logan

riding wade

intimacy with Logan (looks exactly like older logan 🙂‍↕️)

t*tty sucking with logan

logan overstimulating you

feel like wade would do this (gun play)

logan fingering you

in the bath with logan

logan fingering you pt2

logan finding your d*ldo

step-dad logan making sure your not too loud

please, please please oh my god i know you just did that but your p*links for logan are so crazy, i can imagine him doing all of that so well. I kindly ask for more, your feedings us logan girlies <33

awww tysmm bb!! 😊🤭 im glad to be of service, here you gooo

EVEN MORE P*LINKS FOR LOGAN HOWLETT <3

thigh f*ucking

logan and his breeding kink

logan using your throat

logan getting greedy while eating you out

on the kitchen counter

logan going in too deep

not exactly a p*link but logan still does this

logan being rough

logan trapping you with his arms

mutual pleasure with logan

in the shower

logan and his breeding kink pt2

missionary with logan

riding logan

logan losing control a bit

riding his lap

getting overstimulated by logans fingers

logan making you be quiet

getting distracted while watching a movie

on top

logan showing off his strength

tying you up

MORE P*LINKS FOR LOGAN HOWLETT <3

you and stepdad!logan on the couch

logan playing with you before bedtime

in front of the mirror

riding logan

logan making you work for it

free use with logan while your making dinner

intimacy

sucking logan off

logan putting you through the mattress

logan manhandling you

sitting on his lap

logan making you squirt

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MAKE MORE PORN LINKS FOR LOGAN HOWLETT

P*LINKS FOR LOGAN HOWLETT <3

logan calling you into the bathroom

making out with logan

logan teasing you before bed

logan taking his stress out on you

logan putting you to sleep on other his fingers

when your really needy so logan makes you do all the work

nightly routine before bed

riding logan because of a failed movie night

how the two of you wake each other up in the morning

logan being rough

a very neeedy logan

sitting inbetween logans legs and getting fingered 😵‍💫

logan fingering you pt4

face to face

logan on the kitchen counter

in the honda odyssey pt2

logan showing off his strength

logan eating you out

logan and his breeding kink

choking with logan

ADDITIONAL P*LINKS FOR LOGAN HOWLETT <3

logan brat taming you after your tantrums

logan eating you out

logan breeding you

getting pounded

logan and his breeding kink

getting fingered before bed

you and logan on the couch

logan helping you cum

riding logan pt1

logan sending you a vid

logan and you

getting fingered

logan being rough

riding him

size kink with logan

logan eating you out

getting roughed up on the couch

getting into competition

logan using you

logan manhandling you

MASTERLIST

James 'Logan' Howlett (Wolverine)

One-Shots

Clawsome Dad

Snikt Happens

Bite-Sized Betrayal

Bloodheat

The Last Drop

Sticky Sweet

Mutant Spa Day

Fury Roadtrip

Claimed

Primal Mark

Breeding Fever

Mood Ring

Wild Sip

Naughty Secrets

Feral Obsession

Public Heat

Driver's Seat

Babe, Relax!

Babe, You Got This

Claw Machine Master

Second Date

Swipe Right, Bub

Hug Of Death

Beard Wars

Logan vs. The Cooking Show

The Great Outdoors

Marked By Claws

Broken Claws and Tender Hearts

Claws of The Heart

Abyss of Time

Logan vs. The Cooking Show

Summary: You convince Logan to participate in a local cooking show, thinking his rugged charm will win over the audience.

Pairing             : Wolverine!Logan Howlett x Female!Human-reader

Genre              : Fluff

It was just another Saturday morning when you stumbled across the flyer. The local cooking show was holding auditions, and they were looking for “unique personalities” to compete. You couldn’t help but picture Logan strutting around the kitchen, his rugged charm mixed with culinary chaos.

“Logan, you gotta do this,” you said, waving the flyer in his face as he grunted in response, trying to sip his coffee like he wasn’t about to face the biggest disaster of his life.

“Hell no. I don’t do cooking shows,” he replied, glaring at you over the rim of his mug. His eyes narrowed, as if you had just suggested a cage fight with a grizzly bear.

“But think about it! You could totally win this thing! Just imagine the viewers swooning over the tough guy who can cook.” You leaned in, your excitement bubbling over. “They’ll eat it up! Literally!”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart, I can barely boil water without blowin’ it up. I’m not about to set foot in a kitchen with cameras.”

You smirked, leaning closer. “But I’d be there. I’d help. And you know you wanna show off for me.”

He hesitated, his resolve faltering. “Show off? For you? Please.” But the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips told you he was already halfway in.

“C’mon! What’s the worst that could happen? It’ll be fun!”

Logan grumbled under his breath, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to shake off the impending doom. “Fine. But if I end up in the hospital because I burn something, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal!” You grinned, fist-pumping in victory.

The day of the cooking show arrived, and Logan looked like he was gearing up for a battle rather than a cooking competition. He wore his usual plaid shirt, but somehow, he managed to look even grumpier than usual.

The kitchen was set up with an array of ingredients and utensils that Logan clearly had never seen in his life. You stood beside him, trying to ignore the fact that the cameras were rolling, capturing every moment of Logan’s impending culinary disaster.

“Okay, Logan,” you said, pointing to a table full of fancy ingredients. “What do you want to make?”

He frowned, his gaze darting around like he was on a treasure hunt for something he recognized. “What the hell is ‘quinoa’? Is that some kinda birdseed?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, it’s a grain. It’s healthy!”

“Healthy, huh? Yeah, I’d rather have a steak,” he muttered, scowling as if the very thought of quinoa was an insult to his manliness.

As the show host introduced the challenge—a gourmet take on classic comfort food—Logan stared at the ingredients with a mixture of confusion and determination.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, grabbing a knife.

You watched in horror as he picked up the knife, not quite realizing how he was gripping it. “Logan, you might wanna be careful with—”

Slash!

The knife went flying, landing with a clatter on the floor. Logan blinked, eyes wide. “Shit! I didn’t mean to do that.”

You snorted, trying not to laugh. “It’s just a knife, Logan. Don’t go all Wolverine on it.”

He glared at you, muttering something under his breath. “Can’t believe I’m doing this…”

As the challenge progressed, it became clear that Logan had zero clue how to handle any of the ingredients. He picked up a jar labeled “sea salt” and held it like it was a grenade.

“Wait—what’s the difference between salt and sugar?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.

You facepalmed. “Logan, seriously? Just taste it. You know what salt is!”

He unscrewed the cap and took a whiff, immediately making a face like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “Goddamn! This stuff smells like the ocean.”

“You’re supposed to sprinkle it in the dish, not huff it,” you said, laughing.

As he tried to sprinkle it over his mix of questionable ingredients, he accidentally poured half the jar into the bowl. You winced, anticipating the explosion of flavor that was about to hit everyone’s taste buds.

“Too much?” he asked, watching the white crystals pile up like a snowstorm.

“Uh, yeah. Just a tad,” you said, biting back laughter. “You might want to add a little bit of everything, not a whole freakin’ mountain.”

“Whatever. It’s all goin’ in,” he grunted, throwing in a handful of something else—was it cilantro?—and mixing it all together with an enthusiasm that was borderline terrifying.

When it came time to chop vegetables, the real fun began. Logan, who usually sliced through enemies like a hot knife through butter, was clearly out of his element. He tried to use his claws, only for you to shout, “No! Use the knife!”

“Fine! But if I end up slicing my hand off, I swear to God…”

“Just focus!” You could barely contain your laughter as he awkwardly maneuvered the knife, managing to barely chop a tomato without sending it flying across the kitchen.

“You know, I should’ve just brought a steak and called it a day,” he muttered, glaring at the tomatoes like they had personally offended him.

“Or you could make a steak with the tomatoes as a side. Just think of it as... ‘Logan’s Special’,” you suggested, grinning.

He shot you a look that said he’d rather face a hundred Sentinels than create a culinary masterpiece, but he sighed and went back to chopping, albeit a bit more carefully this time.

As the clock ticked down, the chaos reached new heights. Logan, sweating bullets, was trying to juggle too many things at once. He’d put the quinoa on to boil but had completely forgotten about it.

“Crap! The quinoa!” he yelled, running to the stove.

The pot was bubbling over, and steam was shooting out like a geyser. Logan slapped the lid on it, but not before a little bit of the grain spilled over the counter.

“Great. Just great. I’m gonna be cleaning this shit up for weeks,” he grumbled, glancing at the camera crew, who were barely containing their laughter.

“Just breathe, Logan. You’ve got this!” you encouraged, fighting back your own giggles.

“Yeah, I got this. Just me, a million ingredients I don’t understand, and a kitchen that’s about to explode,” he shot back, his hands moving in a way that clearly demonstrated his rising panic.

Finally, with only minutes left on the clock, Logan frantically assembled his “gourmet” dish. You couldn’t help but notice the sheer determination in his eyes, even as he nearly dumped an entire bottle of balsamic vinegar over everything.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you shouted, rushing over.

“It said to drizzle!” he protested, shaking the bottle like it was a ketchup dispenser.

“Drizzle, not drown! You’re gonna ruin it!”

He paused, a sheepish grin breaking through his frustration. “Guess I’m a little too enthusiastic, huh?”

“Just a bit,” you chuckled, rolling your eyes but appreciating his effort. “Just finish up, we’ve got seconds left.”

With one final flurry of chaos, he plated his “masterpiece.” It looked like a mess, but you could see the glimmer of pride in his eyes.

“Ta-da!” he exclaimed, holding up the plate like it was the Holy Grail.

You clapped your hands, genuinely impressed. “Not bad, tough guy. Not bad at all.”

“Yeah, well, if it sucks, I’m blaming you,” he said, crossing his arms, though you could tell he was trying to hide a smile.

The judges took their first bites, and you held your breath, half-expecting them to spit it out. But as they chewed, their eyes widened, and one of them exclaimed, “Wow! This is... surprisingly good!”

Logan blinked, clearly shocked. “Wait, what? Seriously?”

“Yeah! The flavors are... interesting. It’s like you combined everything perfectly!” another judge chimed in.

Logan’s face was a mix of disbelief and pride. “No way. You’re messin’ with me, right?”

“Honestly, you’ve got talent!” one judge said, smiling brightly.

You could hardly contain your laughter. “Told you so, Wolverine! Who knew you had hidden culinary skills?”

“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to make this a habit. I still prefer rare meat,” he replied, scratching his head. But there was a glimmer of triumph in his eyes.

As the show wrapped up, Logan was still riding high on the unexpected praise. “I can’t believe I didn’t burn the place down,” he said, shaking his head.

“You did great! I mean, apart from almost turning the kitchen into a disaster zone,” you teased.

“Whatever. I think I might’ve actually surprised myself,” he admitted, a genuine smile creeping onto his face.

“And me!” you added, nudging him playfully. “You might just have a future in the culinary world.”

“Only if it involves steaks and beer,” he said, shooting you a wink.

You leaned in closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “Hey, if you ever want to cook for me again, I’m totally down for it. Just maybe stick to simpler recipes next time?”

“Deal. But you’re doing the prep work,” he smirked, wrapping an arm around you. As you walked out together, the warmth of his embrace felt just right. You chuckled, thinking about the day’s chaos, and how it had only brought you closer. In the midst of cooking disasters and laughter, you found a little more of Logan’s soft side than you ever expected.

MASTERLIST

Marvel and X-Men

James 'Logan' Howlett (The Wolverine)

Bucky Barnes (The Winter Soldier)

Steve Rogers (coming soon)

Cheesy Pickup Lines

Logan: If I were cheese, you’d be the cracker. Y/N: Aww, that’s the cutest thing ever! ❤️ Logan: .....................I’m disgusted by how cheesy that was.

Beard Wars

Summary: Logan’s been growing out his beard, and you’re starting to suspect it might be a little too attached to his face. Now it’s become a silent standoff between you, his beard, and the world’s dullest scissors.

Pairing             : Wolverine!Logan Howlett x Wife!Fem-reader

Genre              : Fluff

You’d seen Logan do a lot of wild stuff in your time together. The man fought in wars, took bullets like mosquito bites, and still had the nerve to complain about your cooking. But nothing—nothing—had prepared you for the unholy battle brewing in your bathroom.

It had been growing… and growing. Logan’s beard, that is. The thing had practically taken on a life of its own. And sure, when it first started, it was rugged. Hot, even. You loved the whole “wild lumberjack with claws” look. But after a couple months, the beard went from sexy to Sasquatch. Now it was long enough to braid… if you dared.

You stood there, glaring at Logan as he sat on the couch, legs kicked up, flipping through channels like he didn’t have a forest attached to his chin. You crossed your arms. “Logan.”

“Hmm?”

“We gotta talk about it.”

He didn’t even look at you. “Talk about what?”

“The beard.”

He glanced up over the remote, raising one bushy eyebrow. “What about it?”

“Babe.” You gestured to his face. “It’s gotten out of control. It’s like… you’re turning into Chewbacca.”

Logan shrugged, clearly not giving a single shit. “What? It’s fine.”

“Fine? Logan, it’s a beard. Not a security blanket.” You shook your head. “I swear, it’s like you’re afraid of trimming it.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Afraid? Nah. Just like the way it looks.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Babe, it’s started curling up at the ends. It looks like a goddamn villain’s mustache from a silent film. I’m half-expecting you to tie me to train tracks next.”

Logan huffed and stretched his legs. “What do you want me to do? Cut it?”

“Yes! Just… trim it. Before it starts forming opinions and voting in elections.”

“Good one,” he muttered, still flipping through the channels. “But nah. I like it.”

You knew this was going to be harder than you thought. This wasn’t a normal beard. This was Logan’s pride. His stupid, stubborn pride wrapped around his jaw like a fuzzy security blanket. You didn’t have claws or mutant powers, but damn it, you had scissors. And a dream.

Later that evening, you were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, practicing your technique. You held up the scissors and snipped the air a few times. Yeah, you had this. Stealth, precision, quick reflexes—you’d get him in his sleep.

You glanced down at the pair of dull scissors in your hand, suddenly wondering if maybe this wasn’t the smartest plan. Those things couldn’t cut through paper, let alone Logan’s adamantium-grade beard.

“Whatcha doin’ in there?” Logan’s voice echoed from the living room, suspicious.

“Uh, nothing!” You quickly shoved the scissors into the drawer and tried to look innocent. “Just, uh, brushing my teeth.”

“Mmhmm.” He didn’t believe you for a second.

That night, you waited. Logan fell asleep on the couch, a beer bottle balanced on his chest. You crept up, scissors in hand, moving like a ninja. The beard was right there—so close. One good snip, and you could at least tame that beast.

But the moment the scissors touched one hair, Logan’s hand shot out, catching your wrist. His eyes opened lazily. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’, darlin’?”

You froze, caught red-handed. “Um… grooming?”

Logan sat up, still holding your wrist with that annoyingly strong grip. “We talkin’ dog grooming or attempted murder?”

You sighed, defeated. “Logan, c’mon. It’s gotta go.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the hell out of this. “You really think you can take this thing down with those weak-ass scissors? Good luck, babe.”

You pouted, yanking your wrist free. “You can’t live like this forever. You look like a damn mountain man.”

“That’s the point.”

“What, you gonna move to the woods and start living off the land?”

Logan chuckled, getting up from the couch. “Might not be such a bad idea. Get away from all this.” He waved a hand around like civilization was an inconvenience he had to endure.

“Okay, Thoreau,” you muttered, “but can we at least compromise? A little trim? Just a bit so you don’t look like a cryptid?”

Logan thought about it for a second, rubbing his chin. “Alright. You get one inch. One. Any more, and you’re losin’ a hand.”

You blinked. “That’s not exactly what I meant by compromise, but I’ll take it.”

The next morning, Logan sat in the kitchen, grudgingly handing you a pair of sharper scissors. “Make it quick.”

You grinned like you’d won the lottery. “I promise it’ll be painless.”

“You better hope so.”

You gingerly reached for the beard, Logan’s eyes watching you like a hawk. The tension was thick—one wrong move, and you knew it’d be war.

Snip. You took off just enough to make a difference, but not enough to piss him off. He grunted but didn’t complain. Snip, snip. A couple more careful cuts, and you stepped back, admiring your handiwork.

Logan rubbed his chin, inspecting it in the mirror. “Not bad.”

“See? Didn’t kill you.”

“Yet.”

You laughed, putting the scissors down. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Logan stood up, stretching. “Maybe. But at least now I won’t get mistaken for Bigfoot at the grocery store.”

You smirked. “Who knew the Wolverine could be such a drama queen about a beard?”

He growled, but this time, you could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t push it, babe. Next time you come near me with those scissors, you might lose an eye.”

“Noted.” You gave him a playful wink. “But seriously, thanks for not letting it grow legs and walk off on its own.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket. “Now let’s get outta here before you try to cut somethin’ else.”

As he headed for the door, you couldn’t resist one last comment. “Don’t worry, the hair on your head is next.”

Logan shot you a look over his shoulder. “Don’t. Even. Think about it.”

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.”