James Logan Howlett / Wolverine x Female Mutant Reader
Summary: The story of James Logan Howlett and Y/N: a love that burns throughout time.
Warnings: Every chapter will have its own warnings but here are some overall warnings: nakedness, talk of sex / sexual innuendos (no actual smut), torture, abuse, death of main character(s), serious injuries, canon-level violence.
Notes: I do not do taglists. I just encourage everyone to follow and interact! I'm super excited for this series! Likes, reblogs, comments and asks are encouraged and very appreciated!
summary: you are in love with logan, and will do anything to make him feel better as he grieves the death of jean grey.
content: MEAN LOGAN, jean grey needs her own warning, unrequited love, rough sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering, doggy style, creampie
word count: 3.3k
author's note: this one has a sad and bitter ending but i HAD to!! i've been on a cute and sweet logan kick so i had to switch it up. i hope you guys like it <3
Logan has been struggling to cope with the loss of Jean. Not as much as Scott, who barely leaves his room anymore, but Logan has never been one to let his pain show. He keeps it hidden, drowning it in whiskey and cigars and a tight hole he can fuck into.
That was how you ended up on your back most nights, or on all fours, or bent over the desk in your classroom. Wherever Logan wanted you, that’s what you gave him. You knew he didn’t love you, that this was just his way of coping with Jean’s death, but you didn’t care. You loved him, and if this was all he could give, that was enough.
Wasn’t it?
You moan loudly as Logan eats you out on the floor in the common room. The students are out on a sleepover field trip, and the rest of the faculty was busying themselves in other areas of the mansion. You would ideally like more privacy, but Logan had told you to take your pants off and lay down on the floor, and you never denied Logan of anything.
Logan doesn’t know why he keeps dragging you down with him like this. But right now, he doesn’t care. All that matters is the taste of you, the sounds coming out of your throat as his tongue drags over your clit again. You taste sweet, like honey and want, and you’re so wet for him it makes something dark twist low in his core.
He grips your thighs tighter, holding them apart as you writhe beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair. Goddamn. You always give yourself over completely. No hesitation. No judgement. Just trust – and maybe some stupid hope that one day he’ll wake up and realize he needs your heart and not just your pussy.
You deserve better than this. Better than him using your body to forget the ghosts clawing at his own. But here you are anyway. Your hips buck against his face, your breath hitching before spilling into uneven gasps. “L-Logan…oh God…” you whimper, tugging gently at his hair. You can feel yourself getting close already – it never takes long with Logan, not when he licks at you like he has something to prove.
You force your eyes open, peering down at him through the haze of pleasure. Even now, even like this, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. If he sees you – or Jean.
Still, you smile faintly. “You’re amazing…” The words slip out before you can stop them. Stupid. Hopeful.
Logan freezes for half a second, his breath catching against your slick folds. That look in your eyes – the softness, the ache – it cuts deeper than any blade ever could. You’re smiling at him like he’s worth something. Like he’s somebody.
He should pull away. Tell you not to say shit like that. Warn you not to waste whatever is left of your heart on a dead man walking.
Instead, he growls low in his throat and shoves two thick fingers deep inside your tight cunt, curling them as he sucks hard on your clit. You scream and come apart instantly like only you know how – like fire and starlight and everything he’ll never hold onto.
And he takes it. He takes all of it.
Fireworks explode behind your eyes as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of blinding pleasure that leaves you shaking and gasping. “Ahhh! L-Logan, yes!” Your nails dig into his scalp, your body trembling as every muscle tenses and then melts into the carpet beneath you.
Slowly, you come down, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat. When you finally open your eyes, they shimmer with unshed tears – not sadness, not pain, but the overwhelming weight of loving someone who might never love you back the way you need.
But you’re still riding your high. You reach down with shaky hands, brushing your fingers along his jawline, tracing the rough hair there. “I wanna feel you…” you whisper softly.
Your touch is feather-light, tentative – but it scorches him all the same. Everytime you look at him like that, like he’s worth saving, it burns another hole in him.
And then you tell him you want to feel him. Shit. His cock twitches at the sound of your voice. He shouldn’t. This isn’t love.
But he can still taste you on his tongue, still feel your pulse on his fingertips, and damn it all if he doesn’t want to bury himself so deep inside of you that he forgets his own name. He stands abruptly, yanking off his t-shirt and popping the button open on his jeans.
You watch him with wide eyes, your breath catching as he undresses. You sit up slightly, resting on your elbows, your entire body still humming from your release. Every movement of his muscles, every ripple of his veins, feels like a promise – one you weren’t sure he meant to make, but one you desperately want to believe in nonetheless.
As he steps out of his jeans, revealing his thick and hard length, you bite your lip and scoot closer to him, your fingers itching to touch. You lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss just above his hipbone – a small gesture, quiet and reverent, like you’re worshipping a God you’re not sure believes in you.
That kiss – soft, almost sacred – hits him hard. Logan’s stomach clenches like he’s been punched, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from throwing you to the ground and tearing the rest of your clothes off of your perfect frame.
He lets you linger there too long, your lips warm against his skin, your breath fluttering like a heartbeat against the coarse hair that grows over his pelvis. It feels good. Too good. Like home, maybe – if he’d ever had one.
Then your fingers twitch near his thigh, like you want to touch him but you won’t unless he tells you that you can. You’re giving him control again. Letting him decide how this goes. He grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock.
A sharp inhale escapes your lips as Logan grips your wrist. Your fingers curl instinctively against his hardness, hot and heavy against your palm. A shiver runs through you.
Your thumb brushes over the tip, smearing the bead of pearly moisture there, and you look up at him through your lashes, your expression vulnerable yet steady – as if silently telling him, ‘This is yours. I’m yours.’ Even as shame gnaws at the edges of your mind, whispering that all you’re doing is setting yourself up for disappointment, your heart betrays your logic. You worship him with your hand, trying to memorize every inch, every tremor he tries to hide.
Your hand on him makes his jaw clench so hard it hurts. He hates how good it feels. Hates how you look at him while you touch him, like he’s important. Like he’s not just a monster wrapped in skin, chasing oblivion with whiskey and warm holes. You watch him like you’re waiting for permission, for some sign that he’s letting you in. But he has nothing to give you except for this.
He reaches down and wraps his hand around yours, tightening your grip. “Faster,” Logan grunts, his voice rougher than he means it to be. Like he’s angry. Angry at you for wanting him. Angry at himself for needing it.
A whimper catches in your throat as he commands your movements. You obey instantly, quickening your strokes. The roughness in his tone sends a thrill through you.
Logan’s anger doesn’t scare you. Not the claws, not the snarls, not the way he sometimes fucks you too roughly during sex, holding you too tight like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip. What scares you is the thought that one day, he won’t come looking for you at all.
Swallowing hard, you press your forehead against his hip, breathing him in before lifting your gaze again, searching his stormy hazel eyes. “Tell me what you need.”
What does Logan need? Isn’t that the million dollar question. He needs to stop feeling like his heart is being ripped out when he thinks about Jean. Needs to stop seeing her face in his dreams. Needs to stop waking up and reaching out for someone who isn’t ever coming back.
But he doesn’t say any of that. Can’t. Won’t. He tightens his grip on your wrist until he can feel your pulse jump under his fingertips. “What I need,” he growls, stepping forward until his knees bump against your shoulders, “is your mouth where your hand is.”
It’s cruel. He knows it is. Using you like this, talking to you like you’re just a warm place to stick his dick.
You blink up at him, your breath hitching at his words. For a moment, you hesitate, torn between your desire to please him and the sting of his harsh demand. But then you remember the desperation lurking beneath his rough exterior, the unspoken pain he carries with him wherever he goes.
With a soft sigh, you lean forward, replacing your hand with your lips. You kiss the tip gently, your eyes never leaving his as you take him into your mouth, inch by inch. Your hand finds purchase on his hip, steadying yourself as you move, hollowing your cheeks as you suck and swirl your tongue around him.
Your mouth feels incredible. Logan’s head falls back as he thrusts shallowly into you. He slides his hand into your hair, gripping it just tight enough to guide your movements. You moan around his cock, the vibrations making his toes curl against the plush carpet. Damn. You’re so good at this, so willing to give him whatever he asks for. Even when he’s an asshole about it. “Just like that.”
The praise, even grudging as it was, sends an electric shock through you. You focus on the task at hand, determined to bring him to the point of rapture, to chase away the shadows in his eyes if only for a little while. Your tongue traces the veins on the underside of his shaft as you bob your head, taking him deeper each time until the tip hits the back of your throat.
Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes from the stretch but you ignore them. One hand slides up his thigh to cup his balls, rolling them in your palm. The other moves from his hip to his ass cheek, digging your nails in, feeling the muscles tense and flex with each thrust. You can feel him getting closer, his grip on your hair tightening, his breathing growing ragged.
Christ, you take him so deep, swallowing him whole like you were born for it. Like you’re starving and he’s the only thing that can fill you up.
He’s close. Too close. His balls draw up tight and his vision blurs. But he doesn’t want to finish like this – doesn’t want to shoot his load down your throat and walk away.
Logan yanks you off of him suddenly, ignoring your startled gasp. He hauls you to your feet and spins you around, pushing your upper body down onto the couch. “Ass up,” he orders roughly, kicking your legs apart. You comply immediately, arching your back and presenting yourself to him. Always so eager to please.
A thrill runs through you at his dominance. Your body moves on autopilot, assuming the position he demands from you. You can feel his eyes on you, raking over your curves, and it makes you shiver. “Please,” you breathe, glancing back at him over your shoulder.
Logan steps closer, running his hands over the smooth curves of your ass. You’re perfect. Soft and yielding under his calloused palms. He squeezes once, hard enough to leave red marks, before sliding one hand between your legs. You’re dripping wet. Ready. He teases your entrance with the broad head of his cock, rubbing it through your slick folds. You whimper and push back against him, trying to take him inside.
“Not yet, babygirl,” Logan mutters with a smug smirk. “Not ‘till I say so.”
You whine low in your throat as Logan teases you, his cock slipping between your soaked lips but never entering you. Your hips jerk, seeking more contact. You’re aching for him, empty and throbbing and desperate to be filled. “Logan, please…” you beg, your voice cracking. “I need you. Please. Just…put it in. Make me yours.”
The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and honest and so much more than just physical desire. In this moment, you’re not thinking about being used or forgotten. All you know is that you love him, and you want him to know it – want him to feel it, even if he can’t say it back.
He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still as he pushes forward slowly. Inch by excruciating inch, he sinks into your cunt. You’re tight, pulsing and squeezing like you’re trying to milk him dry.
By the time he bottoms out, you’re both panting. Sweat beads across Logan’s brow and runs down his spine. He leans over you, covering your body with his, and presses his lips to your ear. “This what ya wanted?” he growls, nipping at your earlobe.
A choked sob escapes you as he enters you, stretching you deliciously, filling you completely. It hurts in the best possible way, the burn of the initial penetration quickly melting into pure, electric pleasure. Your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size, savouring every ridge and vein.
“Yes,” you gasp, nodding frantically. You can barely form coherent thoughts, but you manage to choke out, “A-Always. Want you…always.”
That word echoes in his skull like a gunshot. You want him – always. Even after he’s used you and discarded you a hundred times over.
He doesn’t deserve your devotion. Doesn’t deserve the way you open yourself up to him. But fuck, if he doesn’t take it all anyway.
Logan shifts above you, his teeth grazing your earlobe, and you shudder violently, your nipples hardening against the thin fabric of your tank top. Your fists grip the cushions, bracing yourself for what you know is coming.
He starts moving, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Hard. Fast. Punishing. Like he’s trying to break you. Each brutal thrust sends shockwaves through your body, pleasure bordering on pain. You meet him halfway, pushing back to meet him deeper, craving the delicious friction. Your breasts bounce with the force of his movements.
“Harder,” you demand breathlessly, your voice ragged with need. “Want it to hurt. Want you to ruin me.” The filthy words pour out of you, spurred on by lust and desperation. You know you might regret them later, but right now, lost in sensation, you don’t care. Let him ruin you. Let him break you. As long as he’s inside you, touching you, claiming you, you’ll endure anything.
Your tight little cunt squeezes his cock like you were made for him. He picks up the pace, driving into you with everything he’s got. One hand snakes around to find your clit, rubbing merciless circles over the sensitive nub. You scream and buck wildly, your inner walls clamping down on him. So close. You’re both so fucking close.
The dual stimulation proves to be too much for you. Your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave, back arching sharply as ecstasy whites out your vision. You convulse around him, gushing fluid, your body shaking uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm of your life rips through you.
“Logan!” you wail, his name a prayer and a curse on your lips. Tears stream down your face, overwhelmed by the sheer force of your release. You’re barely aware of him pistoning into you erratically, chasing his own end, too lost in bliss to do anything more than clench weakly around him.
Logan roars as he comes, pumping jet after jet of hot come deep inside you. Every nerve ending fires off at once. It’s almost painful, the intensity of it.
He collapses on top of you, crushing you into the couch. You’re both panting, covered in sweat, hearts pounding in sync. He can feel you trembling beneath him, little aftershocks trembling through you. For a moment, he just lays there, buried inside you, pretending this means something. Pretending he’s not just using you to forget.
Then reality crashes back in, cold and bitter. He pulls out abruptly.
You flinch as Logan withdraws, feeling empty and deprived. His release trickles out of you, a tangible reminder of what you just shared. You want to roll over, to pull him into your arms and bask in the afterglow. To whisper sweet nothings and maybe, if you’re lucky, coax a few gentle words from him in return.
But you know better. This is how it always ends – with him shutting down, retreating behind that impenetrable wall. So you stay where you are, sprawled out on the couch like a ragdoll, waiting for him to tell you to leave. Again.
Logan stands up, turning away from you so he doesn’t have to see the look on your face. Disappointment. Longing. Fucking hope. Always with the fucking hope.
He tucks himself back into his pants, zipping up with more force than necessary. There’s a heaviness in his chest, a sick feeling in his gut. Guilt. Regret. The usual post-coital cocktail. “You should go,” he says gruffly. “Get cleaned up. Get some sleep.”
He can practically hear your heart breaking. But he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t offer comfort or reassurance. Because that would imply that there’s something here beyond sex.
Something inside you shatters at his dismissive words, sharp and clean like a broken glass. You nod, even though he’s not looking at you, and slowly stand up. Your legs feel weak, shaky from the intensity of your coupling and the subsequent emotional gut punch. “Right. Of course.”
Your voice is small, fragile. You stand on unsteady legs, wincing slightly as you feel the evidence of your activities dripping down your thighs. With trembling hands, you straighten your shirt and put your pants back on, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.
“I…thank you. For tonight.” The words taste bitter on your tongue. Thank you for using me. For making me feel special, if only for a little while.
He scoffs when you thank him. For what? For treating you like a cheap whore? Like you’re just grateful for the scraps of affection he tosses your way.
Logan clenches his fists, fighting the urge to turn around and shake you. To yell at you for being so goddamn naive. For believing there could ever be more between you than this twisted arrangement.
But he doesn’t. Because Logan knows it isn’t your fault. It’s his. He’s the one stringing you along, taking advantage of your kindness. Your love.
“Don’t mention it,” he mutters, still facing away.
Tears stream down your face as you retreat. You lean against the wall in the hallway, gathering your strength before making your way to your bedroom. You know you’ll cry yourself to sleep tonight, just like you do every night after he uses you and throws you away.
But tomorrow is another day. Another chance for you to try again, to hope that maybe this time things will be different. Maybe this time he’ll see you. Really see you. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll finally let you in.
Until then, you’ll keep playing your role. The friend who’s always there, no matter what. The lover who’s willing to do anything to make him happy.
The earlier seasons are my comoft show. Basically up until Tony leaves. After that im kinda of eh about. I'm not a big fan of Bishop. She throws off the team vibe for me
We really get to see Tony and Ziva in love with each other, and raising their daughter together. This is everything we've ever dreamed of. Suddenly, fall can't come soon enough! It really is going to be the best thing ever. 🥹
buck is living such a rollercoaster lmao pls. he gets dumped by his boyfriend, his husband leaves (not before they bitchy fight for a sec), he rents his house, fucks his ex in it, is accused of being in love with his “””””straight””””” best friend, then said bestie calls him to tell him he might come back to sleep on his couch 🧍🏽♀️
Imagine loving a guy so much you almost kill yourself to find his baby boy in a tsunami, you claw at the earth when you think you've lost him forever, you crawl under a fire truck to drag his bleeding body to safety with an actual sniper shooting your way, you accept the fact he put you down as his boy's legal guardian in case he dies with barely a protest, you agonise when he quits being your job partner, you take said son to the zoo all the time, you get jealous like a dog pissing on a tree when he has a new friend, you're there when he begs you to fix something you can't fix and you can only hold on to his shoulder to try and shoot the pain, you go to him the second some ugly man dumps you, you throw a hissy fit about him leaving to Texas and sabotage his house showing, and then, you cave. You cave and you give up your housing situation to help him, you move into his house and you let him go. You let him go because you love him that much.
And he looks at you like you set his world on fire and built it back anew, and you hope he looks through the rearview as he drives away, hoping he'll miss you half as much as you'll miss him.
He will. You were struck by the same lightning, you'll forever share a heartbeat.
