#patch!wolverine

synopsis: the first adjective that leapt to mind the second she’d seen such a thing—obscene. like bait from the possession of man everyone here knew to more vile than any beautiful thing could be. because, if Logan is anything, it’s beautiful. and his taste in jewelry? immaculate.

warnings: patch!Logan, flirting, suggestive themes, part 1 of a co-written little thing, casino atmosphere, booze, gambling, language, ⚠︎

a/n: welcome to my brain the past few days, lol. taking up allllll my headspace. and no I am not announcing the co-author, not yet, it’s a surprise.

: ̗̀➛ IT'S LIVE HERE ！！！

TEASER

“You won this?” turning in her seat, she gently pushes him back with a hand to his chest. “In cards? You always play for cash,” without flinching, she probes for an answer—Logan never bets collateral. He always plays for money, or, on occasion, information.

It was how she’d come to know “Patch”—Logan. The man of Madripoor. In all her months of watching him play, she’d only ever seen him accept collateral one other time—she protected the Van Cleef on her arm nearly with her life.

“It has to be worth a small fortune,” quietly she turned back to the mirror, slightly entranced by the diamond’s brilliance.

He chuckled, “Not small enough,” his finger brushes a tendril of curl hanging from the simple pins at the base of her neck. “Wasn’t thinkin’ about how much it cost, sweetheart. Too busy imaginin’ you wearin’ it to bed,” strong hands skim down the neckline of the dress, an elegant yellow satin slip cut dangerously up the thigh, thin and leaving mostly nothing to imagination.

“But I guess this’ll do for now, hm?”

Willpower of the gods had somehow propelled her out of the chair, hand in his as he’d tugged her against his chest. Arms fortressing around her softness, holding her closer than sin. She finds herself lost under the heavy of his gaze, even as her fingers trail up the sleeves of his suit jacket.

Crisp as snow, it cuts him perfectly, as if designed for him in pristine, laser focus. Sublime detail. He’s warm. Chases away the slight chill pebbling the skin of her arms, the A/C of the hotel suite more tangible than ever.

“For now,” she’d echoed with a small smile, amusement passing through her tone. Its tone is light with a breath, but low. Simmering. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll ask about that active imagination of yours later.” Hand finding his cheek, she guided him into a slow, unhurried kiss. “Feel lucky tonight, Lo?” Words murmuring against his lips, his head angled to deepen the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers.

His chuckle was light, entertained as his fingers traced along the straps at the back of her dress. “Ain’t about feelin’ lucky,” tipping her chin up, he smiled at her darkly. With purpose, reverence. “But if it makes you feel better—you bet, sugar.”

Absolutely obscene.