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"I Think You Know That Already" (logan howlett x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader

Word Count: 12K (she’s long, but please still read this… grab a snack) 😅

Rating: E

Summary: After losing your job in Toronto, you return to your small town to live with your parents. While working for their guided fishing company, you meet Logan, a stoic man who works for your brother's logging company. As the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, the small town's charm begins to seep into your soul once more. And slowly, you start to fall for Logan.

Warning: origins!logan, human reader, slow burn, sexual tension, mutual pining, alcohol, language, jealousy, angst, mentions of violence (logan describing his past), pet names, flirting, fluff, feelings, brief insecurity, consent king logan, shyness, dirty talk (filthy logan), size kink, teasing, fingering, unprotected p in v sex

A/N: Spent weeks on/off writing this one. Also, inspired by @d1stalker's This is Ours and the theme of returning home and questioning if that's enough to make you stay resonated with me. I took creative liberties with the Wolverine Origins plot. So, if it at any point you’re wondering: ‘wait did that really happen?’ The answer is probably no lol.

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

+ Logan Howlett / Wolverine Masterlist

Halliburton, Ontario

The sun was setting as your dad carried the last box from your sleek, high-rise apartment in Toronto to the waiting pickup truck. You took one last look at the city skyline, a bittersweet knot forming in your stomach.

It had been your dream to work in marketing for Estée Lauder, and for a while, that dream had been your reality. After earning your MBA, you had landed what seemed like the perfect job, climbing the corporate ladder. You had worked tirelessly, creating impactful campaigns, and had been proud of your achievements.

But then came the dreaded words: budget cuts. The layoff had felt so impersonal, like a harsh slap from a faceless entity. You'd excelled at your job, and yet, that hadn’t been enough. The stark reality of corporate life hit hard as you found yourself suddenly jobless, with your pride slightly bruised.

Determined to get back on your feet, you applied to countless positions. But as rejections piled up and two months slipped by, you realized finding a new job would take longer than anticipated in this shitty job market. Reluctantly, you made the difficult decision to move back home to save money and search for a job from there.

And now, here you were, unemployed and defeated, moving back to your small hometown with your tail between your legs.

Arriving home, the familiar scent of pine and lake water greeted you, pulling you back to simpler times. Your old bedroom, a time capsule of teenage memories, felt both comforting and confining as you began unpacking your things. The posters on the walls, the childhood trinkets on the shelves—they all seemed to whisper, "Welcome back, loser!"

As you sank onto the bed, exhaustion and frustration mingling in your mind, your father knocked lightly on the door. "How are you holding up?"

"I feel like a failure, Dad," you admitted, unable to meet his eyes.

He sat down beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "It's just a bump in the road, honey," Your father gave you a comforting smile. "This is temporary. You'll find your footing again,"

You sighed, feeling slightly reassured but still overwhelmed by the uncertainty of it all. "I hope so Dad,"

"Is it wrong that I'm a little happy you'll be around longer than just a weekend or a holiday?" he asked.

You looked up at him, surprised by his honesty. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "No, it's not wrong. I guess I'm happy too. It's been a while since I've spent much time at home,"

Your father nodded. "You'll be okay. Tomorrow, you can start helping your mother and me. We'll ease you back into things—maybe you can start by working reception and reviewing some of the accounting with her while I do some tours."

You nodded, appreciating his attempt to lift your spirits. The guided fishing company had been the backbone of your family's livelihood for years. Business had been good—Halliburton attracted a ton of tourists year-round, eager to experience the natural beauty and serenity of the lakes. During the busy seasons, your parents were able to run tours almost daily, catering to everyone from novice anglers to experienced fishermen.

However, there were times when business slowed down, particularly in the off-seasons. During these periods, your parents often helped out with your brother's logging and wood management company that he had started about six years ago. It was a family effort, everyone pitching in to ensure that both businesses thrived.

You said goodnight to your father and made your way to the bathroom, the tiredness finally catching up with you. As you brushed your teeth and got ready for bed, your phone buzzed on the counter. You glanced at the screen, and your heart sank when you saw the name: Remy, your high school ex-boyfriend.

Hey, heard you’re back in town. Long time no see.

You scoffed, feeling a surge of annoyance. Of course, word traveled fast in this small town.

You rolled your eyes and tossed the phone onto your bed. The last thing you wanted was to rekindle old flames or entertain the curiosity of people who were once part of a past you’d outgrown. The pettiness of small-town gossip already felt suffocating, and you’d only been back for a few hours.

Sliding under the covers, you tried to push the irritation out of your mind. This was just one more thing you’d have to navigate, along with job hunting and settling back into life in Halliburton. As you turned off the light, you took a deep breath and reminded yourself that this was only temporary. Tomorrow, you’d start fresh and figure out the next steps,

One fucking day at a time.

A week had passed, and you’d forgotten how draining paperwork could be. Your parents' guided fishing company was in full swing, with tourists flooding in to experience the serene lakes and abundant fish. The summer rush meant you were slammed with bookings, schedules, and the constant buzz of the phone.

As you sorted through a mountain of invoices, receipts, and booking confirmations, you heard the familiar creak of the front door. Your brother walked in, bringing with him a gust of fresh air. But he wasn’t alone. Beside him stood a man who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a rugged outdoorsman's catalog. He had an imposing presence, his piercing eyes and disheveled hair giving him a wild, yet oddly magnetic look.

"Logan!" Your mother exclaimed, immediately crossing the room to wrap him in a hug. "How are you doing, dear? Settling in alright at your new place?"

Logan returned her hug with a genuine smile, his rough exterior momentarily softened. "Yes, ma'am, doin’ just fine. The place is nice and quiet, just what I needed."

You watched the exchange with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. It was clear that Logan was someone your mother knew, yet you couldn't remember ever meeting him. He seemed incredibly polite, his demeanor respectful and his words measured.

Your mother stepped back, still smiling. "Good to hear. If you need anything, don't hesitate to let us know,"

Your brother turned to you. "This is Logan. He moved here a few months ago and he's been a big help with the logging company,"

Logan gave you a once-over, his piercing eyes taking in every detail in a way that made you acutely aware of how out of place you felt in your designer outfit. Your tailored dress, stacked heels, lipstick, and styled hair suddenly made you feel ridiculous.

He looked every bit the part of a man who spent his days in the wilderness—tall, muscular, with a wild edge that was hard to ignore.

You extended a hand. "Nice to meet you,"

Logan's grip was firm, a contrast to your softer, manicured hands, and his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that was hard to ignore. "Likewise," he said curtly.

You bristled at his tone but forced a polite smile. "Glad to have you around."

Logan tilted his head slightly, as if assessing you, and then nodded. You could sense his hesitation—or perhaps his judgment—as he appraised you. There was an undeniable wariness, as if he was trying to place you in a box that didn’t quite fit.

"Hey, why don't you come out to McKeck's tonight?" your brother suggested, turning to you with a hopeful expression. "Me and my lady are heading over. It's been a while since we all had a good night out,"

Your brother was recently engaged, and his fiancée was someone you'd grown to love like a sister over the years. You sighed, shaking your head. "I'm not interested in bumping into people from high school. I've been trying to keep a low profile,"

"Oh, come on," he pressed, "it'll be fun. You can't hide forever. Besides, it might be good for you to get out and relax a bit,"

You hesitated, weighing your options. The idea of seeing old acquaintances was less than appealing, but the thought of sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself wasn't much better. Your brother and his fiancée had been one of the few bright spots in the chaos of your return home. You knew that a night out with them wouldn't be so bad. In fact, it might be exactly what you needed to lift your spirits. Finally, you relented. "Alright, fine. I'll go,"

"Great!" your brother said, visibly pleased. Then he turned to Logan, who had been standing silently. "Logan, you want to join us?"

Logan's eyes flicked to you briefly before he answered, his tone as cold as ever. "No thanks. Not interested."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation. It was hard to tell if his response was simply in response to a bad day or�� if he was just a fucking asshole.

"Suit yourself," your brother shrugged, clearly used to Logan's demeanor.

Logan glanced around the room before turning back to you. "I'll be in the car," he said abruptly, directing the statement more towards your brother than you. With that, he walked out, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Your brother watched him leave and then turned back to you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "He's an interesting guy, huh?"

You rolled your eyes and snorted. "That's one way to put it,"

"I'm going to talk to Dad about a business expense real quick. I won't be long," he said, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

You nodded. "Dad’s out back on one of the boats. He and his crew had some issues this morning with one of the parts. They’re working on replacing it now,"

Your brother gave a quick nod. "Got it. I’ll head out there and talk to him,”

As your brother headed off to talk to your dad, you turned to your mother, curiosity getting the better of you. "How do you know Logan?" you asked, trying to sound casual, opening up a water bottle.

Your mother glanced around, as if she was making sure no one else was listening, even though it was just the two of you. She lowered her voice, her expression becoming serious. "We actually found him naked in the barn a few months ago,"

Your eyes widened in shock. "What? Are you serious?" She had caught you off guard and you started choking a bit on the sip of water you had just taken.

She nodded, her voice still hushed. "Yes. It was at night, and we heard something rustling in the barn. When your father and I went to check, we found Logan there. He was... well, let's just say he wasn't in a good state."

You raised an eyebrow. "Not in a good state? What do you mean?" you sputtered after you got control over your coughing.

"He was naked and looked completely lost, like he had been through something traumatic," she whispered.

"That's... unbelievable. And you just took him in? You didn’t find that a little dangerous?" you asked, incredulous.

"We couldn't just leave him out there," she said softly. "We gave him some clothes, a meal, and a place to stay. He was so grateful, and once he started to recover, he began helping out around here and then we hired him at your brother's logging company,"

You shook your head, still trying to process the information. "But why was he in the barn?”

Your mother hesitated, then leaned closer. "He's a mutant," she whispered. "He has these... abilities. I don't know much about it, but I think whatever he was running from wasn't pretty,"

The revelation left you stunned. You looked toward the door where Logan had exited, your mind racing with questions. Your family had always been kind and welcoming, but taking in a mutant who appeared out of nowhere—naked and alone—was a whole new level of generosity.

It was also fucking crazy.

"Does Dad know about this?" you asked.

"Of course," your mother said. "Your father helped him find the cabin he’s currently renting. We both agreed that helping him was the right thing to do. I think he's had a rough life, but he's a good man, deep down."

You stood there, your mom’s revelation swirling in your mind, unable to fully grasp the implications of what she had just shared. The image of Logan—naked and vulnerable in the barn—was vivid and jarring.

Your mother must have sensed the shock lingering in your expression, because she leaned in closer, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "You know, I’m not usually one to gossip, but when we found him that night… well, let’s just say I saw everything." She raised her eyebrows at you.

You blinked, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. "Mom!" You exclaimed, horrified at what she was insinuating.

She shrugged, trying to hold back a smile. "Honey, I’m older, not blind. I saw what was, and let me tell you—he’s objectively a very handsome man. Especially in that state, I can appreciate that. If you know what I mean."

You felt your mouth drop open in disbelief as the imagery invaded your thoughts again. "Mom… Stop talking!"

She chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction, and raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, but you have to admit, he’s quite a sight. And, come on, a story like that adds a bit of excitement to our little corner of Halliburton, doesn’t it?"

You frowned, running your hands down your face in exasperation. "Oh my god,”

"Okay, sorry… I just thought you could use a laugh,"

You took a breath, letting her words settle. "I know. It’s just… a lot. A mutant? And now he's helping out. What are the odds?"

"Crazy odds, but isn’t that how life always seems to go?" she replied, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah," you muttered, still processing everything. "Thanks for the distraction, I guess."

Your mom grinned. "That’s what I’m here for. Now, let’s get some lunch before the next tour rolls in."

More time had passed since your unexpected return home, and despite the initial chaos of moving back in and jumping straight into the family business, life had settled into a strange rhythm. You were finding small pockets of joy in your daily routine—until it came to Logan.

Logan’s presence at the logging company consistently turned what should have been normal interactions into a confusing dance. He was unfailingly polite when your family was around, but whenever it was just the two of you, it felt like you were trying to engage with a brick wall. His responses were curt, one-word answers that felt both dismissive and annoying. It was as if he was solely determined to keep you at arm’s length, and it left you wondering what you could possibly have done to provoke such an aloof attitude.

You had tried making conversation, asking him about how he was adjusting to life in Halliburton, but every time, he managed to steer the interaction back into silence faster than you could follow. You remembered the last time you tried to engage him—asking about his work with your brother’s logging company. His eyes hadn’t even lifted from the pile of logs he was stacking. "It’s fine," he replied, barely looking your way. The encounter had left you fuming internally, as irritation swirled into confusion.

Back in Toronto, you would have chalked his behavior up to some sort of social anxiety, but it didn’t feel that way with him. He seemed comfortable enough with your family, but around you, he maintained a cautious distance, and that left you feeling like an outsider.

One particular morning, you decided to pay your brother a visit at the logging site. As you stepped out of your car, taking in the scent of fresh-cut wood mixed with the cool, crisp air, everything seemed to come alive with the sounds of machinery and laughter. Your brother spotted you and waved, drawing you into the action.

As you made your way closer, a couple of the loggers greeted you. They were a friendly bunch, used to seeing your face around for years. But today, one logger, Wade Wilson, stood out. He approached you with an easy grin. "Hey there, haven’t seen you in a while, Sugar," he said with a wink, lifting his head arrogantly.

You couldn't help but snap at Wade’s greeting. "Wade, I can't believe you’re still calling girls that. Isn't your wife expecting? How's she doing?"

Wade chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, she is. Due in a couple of months. She's doing great," he stammered quickly.

While his flirting was ‘innocent’, you couldn't help but be reminded of your past and why you were currently single. Your most recent ex-boyfriend had shattered your trust completely. He had been seeing someone else behind your back, and the betrayal stung deeply.

Men could be such assholes.

Your sass elicited a chorus of laughter from the other loggers. Their hearty chuckles filled the air, lightening the mood. You glanced around, catching sight of Logan. To your surprise, you saw the corners of his mouth lift slightly, as if he was fighting off a smile.

"Good to hear," you replied dryly. "You better be on your best behavior, then."

Wade laughed, dropping his voice a little and hovering just a little too close. "Always am."

Men, you thought, shaking your head.

With a brief wave goodbye, you walked toward the small clearing on the site where your brother was directing some work.

"Hey, I need a second pair of eyes on the budget for the new logging contracts. You got a minute?" He motioned for you to join him by a table stacked high with papers and plans.

"Sure," you replied, still feeling the lingering irritation from Wade's comment.

"How's the job hunting going?" your brother asked, clearly picking up on your mood.

"Not great," you replied tersely, unable to hide your frustration.

Your brother studied your face for a moment. "Looks like you could use some stress relief." He handed you the axe he was holding, the weight of it heavy in your hands. "Why don't you blow off some steam?"

"You think I need to blow off steam?" you mumbled.

Some of the loggers nearby paused their work to watch, murmuring among themselves. "This ought to be good," one of them said, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his voice.

You scrunched your eyes closed and your heart raced in irritation.

Before you could respond further, whispers floated among the loggers. "A woman swinging an axe?" one of them chuckled, while another piped in, “Hope she doesn’t drop it on her foot,”

Your brother overheard the comments and smirked, leaning in closer. "Yeah, I think you do need to blow off some steam. Now, go on, and show them what's up,"

His encouragement made your frustration turn into determination. You were not going to let their snickers—or their poorly veiled doubts—hold you back. Straightening your posture, you stepped away from the table, positioning yourself by an old, weathered tree log that had seen better days. Some of the loggers shuffled over, resting their arms on machinery, excitement dancing in their eyes as they anticipated the impending display.

You were wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and beaten-up Converse shoes—having decided to stop dressing as if you still worked for the beauty company that laid you off, and you grasped the axe with a determined grip, ignoring the murmurs around you.

With a fluid motion, you lifted the axe high above your head and brought it down with all your strength. It struck the tree log perfectly, the blade sinking deep into the wood with a resounding thunk. The loggers fell silent, clearly impressed by the clean cut. Even Logan, standing at a distance, seemed to raise an eyebrow, his usual guarded expression momentarily slipping.

Your brother grinned, turning to the men. "Just a reminder—our Dad raised her as if she was his second son,"

"Whoa! Nice shot!" one logger called out.

Another chimed in, "You’re stronger than you look!"

Logan stood slightly behind the group, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought you caught a flicker of approval in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, hiding behind that familiar mask of indifference.

A few days later, you found yourself in the kitchen, helping your mother cook. The smell of freshly caught trout filled the air, as you had spent the day fishing and brought home a decent haul. Your brother’s fiancée was setting the table, humming a cheerful tune as she arranged the plates and cutlery.

You were lost in the rhythm of chopping vegetables when the doorbell rang. Startled, you wiped your hands on a kitchen towel and made your way to the door, not expecting any other visitors.

Opening the door, you were surprised to see Logan standing there, looking quite different from his usual self. He was dressed in slacks and a clean shirt, holding a dessert in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

"Logan? What are you doing here?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious about your own appearance. You looked like shit.

"Your mother invited me," he said simply, head bowed down, shoving the flowers and dessert into your hands. "These are for her,"

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by his visit and the thoughtful gesture. "Oh, um, thanks. Come in,"

Logan stepped inside, his usual stoic demeanor intact. You closed the door behind him and led the way to the kitchen.

"Mom, Logan's here," you called out, handing her the flowers and dessert. You shot her a look that clearly said, what the fuck?

Your mother turned with a warm smile, catching your look and responding with a subtle, knowing glance of her own. "Logan, how lovely it is to see you. Thank you for these," she said, placing the flowers in a vase and the dessert on the counter. "Make yourself at home,"

You glanced at Logan, still taken aback by his presence in your home. Trying to push past the awkwardness, you offered, "Would you like a beer?"

"Sure," he replied, his tone neutral.

You handed him a cold beer from the fridge, noting the way his rough hands contrasted with the polished glass. "My brother and father are out in the backyard getting the grill ready so that they can make the trout in a bit. You can go help them if you'd like,"

Logan nodded, taking the beer from you. "I'll do that," he said, his penetrating gaze briefly meeting yours again. There was something in his eyes that you couldn't quite place—an unreadable expression that made you wonder what he was thinking.

About twenty minutes later, when the boys let you know the trout was almost finished, you decided to quickly get changed. You dashed upstairs and slipped into a light sundress, the soft fabric feeling refreshing against your skin. You contemplated putting on some makeup but then decided against it, opting for a natural look instead.

As you descended the stairs, the sounds of laughter and conversation grew louder. You entered the dining room just as everyone was starting to gather around the table. Logan was already there, his eyes catching yours as you approached. His gaze lingered a moment longer than usual, and you noticed a subtle shift in his expression. It made your heart jump in your throat. As you took your seat at the table, you couldn’t help but feel nervous for some reason.

Your father walked in just then, arms wide as he greeted everyone at the table. He approached your mother with a big smile and leaned in to give her a loving kiss on the cheek. "Alright, everyone, let's dig in!" your father announced, taking his seat at the head of the table.

As everyone settled into their seats and began to serve themselves, your father glanced over at you. "Thank you for getting us some fish today, honey,"

You felt your cheeks heat up slightly and waved off the compliment modestly. "Oh, it was nothing. Just got lucky, I guess,"

But your father shook his head, his smile growing wider. "No, it's not just luck. That's what's so great about having you home again—you always get the best catches,"

You could feel everyone's eyes on you, and you gave a small, embarrassed smile. Logan, sitting across from you, observed the interaction with a curious expression.

In Toronto, you sometimes felt like people didn’t know the real you—the one who grew up hiking through dense forests, fishing in lakes, and camping under the stars. In a town like this, you sort of had to be outdoorsy, and you loved every bit of it. Your mother used to get annoyed at your father for treating you like one of the ‘boys’. But over the years, she had come to appreciate it. And so did you because your father never treated you any differently than your brother, teaching you the same skills, and pushing you to be just as capable.

The food was incredible, freshly cooked and seasoned to perfection. Lively conversations erupted across the table, and laughter soon filled the air. You found yourself enjoying the company, but Logan remained somewhat of an outlier. While everyone else shared stories and jokes, he quietly participated but never truly engaged.

As the evening progressed and plates emptied, you found yourself catching Logan’s eye more than once.

At one point, your brother leaned back in his chair, looking contemplative. "So, Logan, any ideas for that upcoming contract with John Wraith?"

Logan nodded, his posture straightening as he spoke about the upcoming work. His voice became more animated, and for a moment, it was as if you were seeing a different side of him. You leaned forward, genuinely interested, as he explained the equipment they would be using and the strategies they’d thought of implementing.

"That sounds like a solid plan," you said, trying to engage him. "You seem to really know what you’re doing,"

Logan’s usual stoic demeanor softened for just a moment. "It’s not that special," he shrugged.

Your mother interjected, smiling brightly. "He’s being humble. Logan has been a huge help. We’re really grateful,"

Logan’s cheeks flushed slightly at the praise, and he returned to his beer as if it somehow had the power to shield him from any further attention.

As you began clearing the dishes and tidying up the table, Logan approached you with a soft clink of his empty beer bottle. "Need some help?" he asked, nodding toward the stack of dirty dishes.

You shook your head, offering a polite smile. "There's no need for that," You automatically argued. “You're a guest,"

"I want to," he replied, his tone firm but not unkind.

Taken aback by his insistence, you handed him a dish towel. "Alright, if you insist,"

Logan rolled up his sleeves and started washing the plates, methodically scrubbing them clean. You stood beside him, drying and stacking the dishes in silence. The quiet between you was surprisingly comfortable, a stark contrast to the awkwardness you had felt before.

From the living room, you could hear your family discussing which movie to watch, their voices mingling with the soft clatter of dishes being cleaned.

As you worked side by side, you occasionally stole glances at Logan from under your lashes. He was focused on the task at hand, but there was a subtle softness in his expression that you hadn't noticed before. The simple act of washing dishes together felt oddly intimate, a shared moment that seemed to bridge the gap between his guarded exterior and the person he was beneath.

When the last dish was dried and put away, Logan finally broke the silence. "Thanks for lettin’ me help,"

You smiled, feeling a genuine something in your chest. "Thank you for helping. It was nice,"

He gave a small nod. "Yeah, it was,"

"Why do you always act like you want nothing to do with me?" you found yourself asking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He looked up, surprise flashing across his face but it was quickly replaced by the usual neutrality. Logan paused, taking a breath as if weighing his words carefully. "It’s nothin’ personal," he stated, and you caught a glimpse of uncertainty behind those piercing hazel eyes. "I’m just… not used to this," you frowned at his response, and he took notice. "to people. I’m workin’ on it, but it’s takin’ me some time."

"I get that," you replied, realizing you might have judged him a little too harshly.

He looked down, nodding slowly as if digesting your words. "It's just… different here," he admitted.

"Different can be good," you offered.

He met your eyes, the intensity capturing you once more. "Oh yeah?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Why not?" you replied, your heart felt lighter in your chest.

He stared at you for a long moment, perhaps weighing your comment against whatever doubts he had. "I guess you’re right," he said finally in agreement, and for the first time, you got to admire what would become one of your favorite sights. The white of his teeth and the wrinkles around his eyes that accompanied his big smile.

And that’s when you realized or perhaps were finally admitting…that your mother had been right.

Logan was fucking handsome.

A month had passed since Logan’s unexpected arrival at your home, and things had shifted. It felt as if the walls he had built around himself had begun to subtly crumble, revealing glimpses of a man that you were insanely attracted too.

He had begun to open up, albeit slowly —he was still far from being the biggest talker, but the once awkward and tense encounters between you and Logan had gradually evolved into a comfortable familiarity.

Yet, there remained a question lingering in the back of your mind—what was he hiding? It didn’t escape you that he still had never mentioned being a mutant, nor did he ever talk about what led to his arrival in Halliburton. And then one crisp afternoon, he was forced to reveal it to you. You had decided to join him on a solo trip to retrieve supplies from the logging site. It was now officially the first day of fall. The leaves were in their peak season, vibrant shades of orange and gold illuminating the serene landscape around you. You took in the beauty of it all, walking slightly ahead of him, a sense of contentment enveloping you.

As you approached the equipment storage area, you noticed an old stack of wooden crates next to the shed.

"Logan, I’ll take that one over there," you said, pointing enthusiastically to one of the crates.

He paused, surveying the stack with a hint of concern. "Let me do it. They look unstable."

"Scared I can’t handle it?" you teased.

You went over and began pushing against one of the crates, feeling the weight shift slightly. Just as you leaned in for a better look, the entire stack began to teeter dangerously. Your heart dropped as the crates started to topple over, and within seconds, you found yourself trapped beneath one of the larger boxes. The slam of wood against the ground echoed sharply in the air, and your thoughts raced in shock.

You yelled, feeling the pressure of the wooden crate pinning you down. Panic surged through you as fear set in. The weight was heavier than you expected, and you struggled against it.

You were dimly aware of Logan’s movement beside you, his eyes widening in alarm as he rushed to your side. "Shit, hold on!" he shouted, and then his eyes sharpened with focus as he crouched beside you.

In one swift and fluid motion, he lifted the crate overhead with one hand, revealing the glint of something sharp protruding from his knuckles. Time seemed to freeze for an instant as your heart raced. Logan suddenly had metal claws—long, sharp, and glistening in the sunlight—extend from his knuckles.

You could hardly process the revelation as he pried the crate off you, using the claws to slice through the wooden slats from the side and releasing you from the weight. "Are you okay?" he asked urgently, dropping the crate and focusing on your face.

Confusion flooded your mind, mixing with the pain radiating from your shoulder where the crate had pressed down too hard. "I—Hmm, I think I’m okay?" you gasped, hating your clumsiness, and still in disbelief at what you had just seen.

Logan's expression shifted into one of concern as you tried to sit up. "Let me see," he said, carefully reaching for your shoulder. "That hurt?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly, softer now as he focused on you.

With a shake of your head, you breathed hard, your chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to make sense of everything. "No…just… a little sore," you managed to say, blinking through the haze of injury to ensure you were really seeing what was happening.

Logan's helped you sit up, his strong grip steadying you. As you sat up fully, you winced, checking your shoulder for any visible damage. "I think it's just bruised," you murmured, glancing back at him. "I didn't expect you to have… claws." Your voice trailed off, the reality of it washing over you with a newfound clarity.

Logan pulled back slightly, his body language shifting to something more guarded. "I’m sorry if I scared you,"

You steadied yourself, heart racing from the adrenaline and the shock. Taking a breath to calm yourself, you reached out and grabbed his face gently, fingertips brushing against his jaw. You quickly were becoming obsessed with the feel of his coarse hair beneath your fingers. His surprise at the gesture flickered in his hazel eyes, and he stilled under your touch.

"You didn’t scare me," you said, despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within you. "I just want you to know that." You wanted him to understand the sincerity behind your words. Logan seemed to relax at your touch, his posture less rigid as if he was finally allowing a crack in his armor.

"But I have to be honest with you," you continued, your heart pounding as you prepared to reveal what you knew. "My mom told me the first time I met you… that you were a mutant,"

A knowing smile crept across his face. "Oh, she did, did she?"

Your brow creased in confusion slightly taken aback by his reaction, but relieved he wasn’t angry. "Wait, how did you know she told me?"

"I could hear her the moment I stepped inside the car," he explained, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "You’d be surprised what you can pick up when you listen closely." His grin deepened.

"Wait, you… you can hear things from far away?" you asked, a bit baffled.

"Yeah. My mutation isn’t just ‘bout…" he gestured towards his claws, which had retracted back into his knuckles, "this. I can see, smell and pick up sounds at distances that ordinary humans can’t."

You were captivated by his revelation, and it made sense, the intensity in his stare and the way he often seemed almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. "That’s incredible," you breathed.

Logan shrugged, a hint of bashfulness tinging his demeanor. "It’s more of a burden than a gift. Hearin’ what others wanna keep private? It can get overwhelmin’ sometimes," he confessed.

"So, you heard her talk about your…?" You trailed off, the memory of her earlier comment about seeing his fucking dick lacing your thoughts.

"What?" he pressed, a teasing edge creeping into his voice.

"Nothing," you said, but a laugh tugged at your lips, thinking about how your mother had spoken so freely… about him. "Let’s just say your appeal runs deeper than your good looks." You fumbled through your words.

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "Is that right?"

"D-definitely," you stammered, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you realized how intimately you were discussing him. "There’s clearly a lot more beneath the surface." You mused.

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your directness. "What else d’you think is beneath the surface?" he asked, his drop voicing an octave.

You felt a flutter of nerves at his question, uncertain of how deeply you wanted to delve into the topic. "Well," you began, trying to maintain a lighthearted tone while your heart raced, "you obviously have been through some shit." you said carefully. "You don’t just show up naked in a barn unless you’re running from something… or someone."

He remained still, expression unreadable for a moment, and silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken truths. "You’re right," he eventually admitted.

You pressed on. "You don’t have to share if you’re not ready. I just want you to know that you can trust me,"

He let out a breath, almost a sigh, as if your words had eased some unnamable weight on his shoulders. "I appreciate that," he said quietly. "But it’s not that easy. I’m not ready to dive into it all that just yet, sweetheart," Logan finally said.

The term of endearment was not lost on you.

You looked into Logan's eyes, feeling the depth of his struggle and the weight he carried. Gently, you said, "That's okay, Logan. I'll wait for you, whenever you're ready."

For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, and he seemed to lean in slightly, his eyes flickering to your lips. But then, he shifted, and instead, he placed a caring kiss on your forehead. Your heart fluttered at the unexpected sweetness.

Logan pulled back, his expression a mixture of relief and something you couldn't quite name—perhaps gratitude. "Thank you," he muttered.

You smiled, feeling a sense of closeness and understanding between you that hadn't been there before. "Anytime,"

After your vulnerable moment with Logan, the air between you felt charged with unspoken possibilities. But life had a way of interrupting heartwarming moments, and a couple of days later, you found yourself back in the rhythm of daily responsibilities. It was a crisp afternoon when your father announced he needed to run some errands in town, and you volunteered to accompany him. Your brother also decided to tag along.

Your father yapped as he drove, his good spirits infectious, and you found comfort in the mundane routine. City life had shaped you in many ways, and you had become a city girl in some respects, comfortable with the fast-paced lifestyle. But being back here, surrounded by the serene beauty of nature and the simplicity of small-town life, you realized how much you missed it… and loved it. You had spent so much time trying to leave this place, chasing opportunities, that you sometimes forgot how beautiful and grounding it was here.

As you approached the hardware store, the sun glinted off the glass windows, warming the autumn colors looming in the trees. You all parked and got out, but as you walked toward the entrance, your father paused, scanning the street before a small smile crept onto his face.

"Look over there," he said, tilting his head toward a little café.

You followed his gaze and felt your heart drop. There was Logan, standing by the entrance, chatting with Kayla Silverfox, a striking woman famed around town not just for her beauty but for her magnetic personality. She had a way of drawing people in, and apparently Logan was no exception. He wore a casual smile, his demeanor relaxed as he spoke with her, yet you couldn't ignore the way she leaned in closer, her laughter ringing out.

Suddenly, that intimate moment you’d shared felt distant and almost naive.

Your brother nudged your side with an elbow. "Looks like Logan's making friends,” he remarked, clearly pleased with the sight. "That's good for him. He could use a little more ‘sunshine’ in his life."

You forced a chuckle, plastering a fake fucking smile on your face. "Yeah, I guess so," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant when the reality was anything but.

Just as you were about to retreat into your own thoughts, you caught Logan glancing in your direction. His expression shifted for the briefest second — surprise and then something else. You couldn’t tell. But just as quickly, he reclaimed his focus on Kayla, who was animatedly speaking, her fingers inadvertently brushing against his arm.

"Seems like they are hitting it off," your father snickered, oblivious to the internal conflict brewing inside you. "Maybe we could invite them over for dinner soon," he added playfully with a wink.

The ache settled deeper in your chest. You wanted to believe that what you had shared the other day meant something significant, that something was there. But watching him talk with Kayla brought that hope crashing down.

"Sure, Dad," you replied, keeping your tone steady despite the emotions spiraling within. Your father and brother continued to chat about how they enjoyed seeing Logan integrate into the community, and while you nodded absentmindedly, your focus remained on her.

Kayla's laughter rang out again, and somehow it felt sharper this time, digging into your resolve, as if the universe was mocking you. Logan seemed enchanted, and despite the pull of your heart aching for him, you forced yourself to stay composed.

As you turned to head into the store, you caught one last glimpse of Logan. He smiled at something Kayla said, and your stomach twisted painfully.

What you felt for him, what you had shared—it couldn’t have been insignificant, could it? You wanted to believe there was more to the kiss on your forehead the other day. But logic argued otherwise. Logan was allowed to have conversations and interactions that didn’t involve you, especially if he felt more comfortable doing so with someone like Kayla.

"Let’s grab what we need and then head back," your brother suggested, pulling you from your thoughts. You nodded as you followed him inside the store, but inside of you, a storm raged.

The noises around you turned into a dull roar, and you settled into a methodical routine of browsing, mentally pushing aside your emotions.

"You okay?" your brother asked, glancing sideways at you as he picked up some supplies.

"Yeah, just thinking," you replied, avoiding his probing gaze.

Later that day, you were organizing supplies at your parents’ fishing tour company when you heard the creak of the front door and glanced up just in time to see Logan walk in. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor as he approached, each step bringing him closer.

"Hey," he started, his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets. You wiped your hands on your jeans, trying to maintain your composure despite the jumble of emotions inside.

"Hey," you replied, deliberately keeping your tone light.

Logan glanced around, ensuring no one was within earshot. "I saw you today,”

Your mind raced back to that moment, the sight of him laughing with Kayla still fresh. “Yeah. I saw you too,” you replied, hoping your tone conveyed indifference while your heart sank.

"I wanted to clear the air," he blurted out, and you felt your back straighten up at his words. "What you saw... it isn’t what you think."

Your pulse quickened, curiosity mingling with frustration. "What do you mean? I mean, you can talk to whoever you want, Logan. It’s not like I have a say in it." You forced a casualness into your tone that felt brittle.

His expression shifted, a frown passing over his features. "You’ve got it all wrong. I—" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I don’t want that."

"She’s very beautiful," you said, trying to mask the hurt in your voice.

"I guess," Logan shrugged, "but I don’t want her. She’s not who I’m interested in."

Your heart skipped a beat, the intensity of his gaze drawing you in. "Who are you interested in, then?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

Logan took a step closer, his voice lowering. “I think y’know that already.”

The admission caught you off guard. "What do you want?" you asked, genuinely curious.

Logan stepped closer. "I wanna talk to you. Can you come over to my cabin tonight?"

You hesitated, your heart racing at the unexpected invitation. "Why?" you asked cautiously.

He ran a hand through his hair as he spoke, visibly processing whatever thoughts were swirling inside. "I wanna cook you dinner and talk," he finally said, his voice low and edged with something deeper.

"Talk about what?" you pressed.

"Bout’ the night I showed up at your parents' barn," Logan confessed, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his expression.

"You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to," you said.

"No," he insisted, his tone firm yet gentle. "I do. I wanna be honest with you,"

"Okay," you finally said, swallowing your nerves. "I’ll come over,"

"Good," he replied, a cascade of relief washing over his features.

The remainder of the day edged on with a flurry of anticipation. You tried to focus on your work, yet thoughts of the evening filled your mind.

When the sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the dock, you left work with a mix of nerves and excitement. After a quick change into a maxi skirt and sweater, you made your way to Logan’s cabin, feeling your heart flutter in anticipation.

You knocked on the door, and when Logan opened it, the glow of his cabin welcomed you in. The smell of something delicious wafted through the air, and Logan smiled, that familiar kindness creeping into his eyes. Logan was dressed in a well-fitted, dark red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his muscular forearms. He paired it with a pair of jeans that looked comfortably worn-in, and his usual boots.

"Hi," he said lightly, extending his hand to beckon you inside.

As you stepped in, the door behind you closed. Logan’s cabin was cozy, with rustic charm and hints of his personality scattered around—fishing gear leaning against the walls and photographs of nature framed on the shelves.

"I hope you don’t mind," you said, holding up the bottle of red wine you had brought with you, "I thought this might pair well with whatever you’re cooking."

"Thank you, you didn’t have to do that,"

You followed him into the kitchen, settling onto a bar stool by the counter as he pulled out a corkscrew. "So, what exactly are you making?" you asked, watching him with keen interest.

"Just a little pasta," he replied, the cork popping free as he extracted it with ease. "Nothin’ fancy. I hope you’re not picky," he said with a smirk before turning his full attention back to the bottle.

"I’m not—I’m sure it will be good. Smells amazing," you replied, clearing your throat awkwardly.

Once he poured two generous glasses of wine, he slid one toward you, your hands brushing together as you took it. The brief contact sent a pleasant jolt through your system.

"Thanks," you said, looking at him for a moment longer than usual.

Finally, when dinner was served, you sat together at his dining table adorned with candles. It kind of felt like…a date. Is that what this was? The food was incredible – his homemade sauce was to die for. The man could fucking cook. As the night wore on, the lighthearted chatter gradually faded, replaced by a more serious atmosphere. The weight of the conversation you had both been avoiding hung in the air.

"My real name is James,” he began.

You felt your heart skip a beat at the unexpected revelation, sensing the significance of what he was about to share.

"I haven’t told anyone that in a long time," he admitted, shifting in his seat, his eyes locking onto yours. "I used to work with a man named Stryker who recruited mutants with unique abilities. We were brought together to form what he called Team X,"

You could see the shadows of his past lurking behind his eyes, and your heart ached for him as he continued. "We completed missions abroad, but they were far from honorable. During one mission in Nigeria, Stryker ordered us to kill villagers who wouldn't cooperate. I couldn't stand by and watch that, so I intervened, stoppin’ them from killin’ a woman."

He leaned back slightly, his eyes darkening at the memory. "The violence, the lack of humanity—it wasn't somethin’ I could keep doing’. So, I quit."

Your stomach knotted at the intensity in his tone and the anguish etched on his features was hard to bear.

Logan's expression grew even more somber. "Years after I left, Stryker tracked me down. He told me one of my old teammates had gone rogue and was hunting down the rest of the team. He convinced me to undergo an adamantium transfusion procedure to take him down. The process was excruciating—I had metal grafted to all of my bones."

A chill ran down your spine as you imagined, the pain he endured, the helplessness in his voice making you wish you could take his pain away and comfort him.

Logan's hands clenched into fists as he spoke, the memories clearly painful. "Once the procedure was done, I realized the truth. Stryker had tricked me. I wasn't there to stop my teammate. He had already killed him and the rest of the team—I was a test subject. Stryker wanted to see if the adamantium bonding could be done, and once he succeeded, he was gonna kill me to cover his tracks."

You wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, to somehow make it right, but you remained rooted in place, holding onto his piercing gaze.

His expression hardened, a flicker of anger crossing his features. "But I wasn't going to let that happen. So, I killed Stryker and everyone else in that facility. I broke out and escaped…and that was the night I ended up in your parents’ barn."

As Logan finished his story, you could see the fear in his eyes, the worry that you might see him differently now. It was the most talking he had ever done.

You took a moment, allowing his words to sink in. "I think the name Logan suits you," you said softly. "I can’t believe everything you've been through."

When you reached across the table, resting your hand over his, he seemed momentarily stunned by the gesture. "So, the people that were trying to kill you, they’re all dead?" you asked softly.

"They’re all dead," he repeated.

"So that means you’re safe?" you pressed, wanting to reassure him that you understood.

"Yeah, I guess it means I’m safe," he confirmed, though the tension in his posture suggested he was bracing for your judgment.

"Good," you said firmly, your eyes locking onto his with unwavering support.

A flicker of surprise crossed Logan’s face, quickly followed by a wave of relief. He let out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding, and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

"You’re not… afraid?" he asked.

You shook your head, squeezing his hand gently. "I’m not afraid," you said, your heart racing as you spoke. "Logan, I understand why you did what you had to do. You were trying to survive, to protect yourself. Sometimes… things aren’t so black and white. That doesn’t change who you are or how I feel about you."

"How d’you feel bout’ me?" he asked timidly.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you met his eyes. "I think you know that already," you replied with a small, reassuring smile playing on your lips.

His fingers trembled slightly as they reached for your hand. Logan kissed the palm of your hand and then bowed his head to take your other hand to kiss your knuckles.

In that moment, you realized just how much he meant to you, and how deeply you cared for him.

It was fucking terrifying.

And then like nothing had happened, the two of you spent another hour talking. When it was time for you to go, Logan gently took your hand, guiding you out of the house and toward your car. The cool night air wrapped around you both, but his touch kept you warm.

The silence between you was comfortable.

As you reached your car, Logan paused, turning to face you. You both lingered there, neither one of you wanting the night to end. He opened the car door for you. "Good night, Logan." you said softly.

He nodded. "Good night," he breathed your name, and you felt the intensity of the moment.

Before you could slide into the driver's seat, Logan leaned in, his hand still resting on the car door. He kissed the corner of your mouth, a gentle, lingering kiss that sent shivers down your spine.

As he pulled away, you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. With one last, tender squeeze of your hand, he stepped back, allowing you to get into the car. He lifted his hand in a wave that you returned shyly. As you drove away, you couldn't help but glance in the rearview mirror, watching as Logan stood there, illuminated by the porch light.

The next day, you received an unexpected email from L'Oréal. You had been interviewing with them for a while and had completed the final round interview about a week ago. Since they knew you were living at home, they had graciously accommodated virtual interviews, so you hadn't felt the need to mention it to anyone just yet.

The email detailed an exciting twist—L'Oréal was not only offering you the job, but they also wanted you to consider taking the role at their headquarters in Paris. The position came with a title bump and almost double the compensation of your old job. You were shocked and overwhelmed by the prospect of this once in a lifetime opportunity.

Reading through the email, your mind raced with the implications of such an incredible offer. L'Oréal was going above and beyond to make the transition as smooth as possible. If you accepted the role, they would handle your relocation and assist you in finding housing in Paris.

Unable to keep the news to yourself, you found your mother in the living room, folding laundry. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the room.

"Mom, I have something to tell you,"

She looked up, her eyes filled with curiosity. "What is it, dear?"

"I got a job offer from L'Oréal!" you exclaimed, holding up your phone to show her the email.

Your mother's face lit up with joy. "Oh, honey, that's incredible! I'm so proud of you!"

She took the phone from your hand, her eyes scanning the email quickly. As she read through the details, her expression shifted from joy to surprise.

"Paris?" she asked.

"Yeah… Paris," you replied with apprehension in your voice. Your excitement was tinged with a hint of anxiety. "I'm thrilled, but... I'm also scared. It's such a big change, and I'm not sure if I'm ready for it,"

She set down the laundry and walked over to you, wrapping you in a comforting hug. "You've always been the bravest one in the family," she said softly, pulling back to look into your eyes. "You moved out at 18 and went to university, something nobody else in this family did. Paris will be another incredible opportunity,"

Your father's reaction to your decision to move to Vancouver for your undergraduate studies after you received a full-ride scholarship was one of shock and confusion. While your mother was supportive, he had always imagined you would stay close to home, much like your brother, and help with the family business. The idea of you leaving the province to go to university was something he hadn't anticipated, and it created a point of contention in your relationship for a while. He struggled to understand why you wanted to go so far away.

However, as time passed, he saw how determined and capable you were, and he gradually got over his initial disappointment. When you later moved to Toronto for your MBA and work, it brought him some relief. Toronto was only a two-and-a-half-hour drive away, which meant you were still close enough for regular visits.

"But what if I fail? What if it's too much?" you confessed, your voice trembling slightly.

Your mother smiled. "Honey, you won't fail. You've worked so hard for this. And even if things get tough, you'll figure it out. You always do. But right now, this is your chance to spread your wings,"

"Aren't I too old to be spreading my wings?" you asked, a hint of uncertainty in your voice as you pulled back slightly to look at your mother.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Oh, honey. Life is full of opportunities at every age, and this one is tailor-made for you."

Her words began to chip away at your doubts. "But what about everyone here? What if I miss something important?"

Your mother cupped your face in her hands, her eyes filled with reassurance. "We'll be here, cheering you on every step of the way. This is your chance to have an adventure. And no matter where you go, this will always be your home,"

You nodded, feeling reassured by her words but also conflicted. Your mother sensed your hesitation and tilted her head slightly, studying you. "Is this about Logan?" she asked gently.

You felt a flush of surprise and shook your head quickly. You hadn’t told your mother about your feelings for Logan, but deep down, you knew she knew. Mothers always seemed to have an uncanny ability to sense these things, and yours was no exception.

She gave you a knowing look, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It's okay to be worried about leaving people behind. But you have to think about what's best for you, too,"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you processed your mother’s words. "It just feels complicated,"

Your mother leaned against the wall, her expression turning thoughtful. "Life is all about change, honey. Sometimes it’s messy and confusing, but it can also lead to beautiful experiences,"

As the evening set in, you decided to head over to Logan's cabin, determined to share the news with him. The drive was filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety, your mind replaying the conversation with your mother and the emotions it stirred within you.

When you arrived at Logan's cabin, you found him sitting on the porch, a thoughtful look on his face as he watched the sun dip below the horizon. He glanced up as you approached, a beautiful smile spreading across his features.

"Hey," he greeted you softly, standing up to meet you.

"Hey," you replied, your heart pounding as you stepped closer.

Logan could sense something was on your mind. "Everythin’ alright, sweetheart?" he asked.

You opened your mouth to tell him about the job offer, about Paris, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you found yourself lost in his eyes.

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you and kissed him gently. Logan seemed momentarily surprised but quickly responded, wrapping his arms around you and deepening the kiss, tongue slipping past your lips. He didn’t hesitate to grab your face, and kiss you like his life depended on it. The world around you faded away, and all that mattered was the feeling of being in his arms.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the cool evening air. ��Logan's hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks. "I've lost count of how many times I've thought bout’ this," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "Holdin’ you, kissin’ you..."

"You haven’t thought about something else?" you teased with a giggle.

Logan barked out laughter that shook you both. "Well, maybe a few other things," he admitted, his voice low and intimate.

You smiled, your fingers threading through his hair as you leaned in to kiss him again. He groaned into the kiss and quickly grabbed your waist, anchoring to you and kissed you back feverishly as he licked into your mouth with urgency. As you kissed Logan, you were enveloped by his scent—a mix of pine and earth, with a hint of something uniquely him. It was comforting and intoxicating all at once. His lips tasted faintly of the whiskey he clearly had been sipping earlier, slightly smoky, mingling with the natural sweetness of his breath.

The combination of his scent and taste heightened your senses, making the moment even more intense. He moved to your neck, and you felt the roughness of his beard against your skin and Logan's hands moved down to your lower back, drawing you closer as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

You pulled back slightly. "I have something important to tell you." you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

Logan's grip tightened slightly; his eyes filled with concern. "What is it?" he asked softly.

"Logan, I got a job offer," you said, finally locking eyes with him. "In Paris."

He was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening as he processed what you were saying. "Paris?" he echoed, the word hanging heavily in the air.

"Yeah,"

And then a broad smile indented his beard. "That's amazin’. I'm so happy for you," his voice filled with genuine excitement.

You felt a pang of disappointment at his reaction, expecting something different. "You're... happy?" you asked, trying to keep your voice normal.

Logan nodded, his smile unwavering. "Of course, I am. You deserve this. I know how long you’ve been lookin’ for a job."

"But... what about this?" you asked, pointing between the two of you. It felt silly to say it out loud, considering you two had only shared your first kiss a couple moments ago.

Logan's expression shifted, and he took your hands in his. "You could tell me you were movin’ to Japan, and it wouldn't matter," he said gently.

"Why wouldn’t it matter?" you asked, your heart pounding.

"Because if you would have me, I'd follow you anywhere," Logan replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you felt a rush of overwhelming emotion. "Why would you do that?" you asked, your voice trembling as you looked up at Logan, searching his eyes for any hint of doubt.

Logan's gently wiped away a few tears that had escaped down your cheek. "I think y’know that already," he said, his voice steady and filled with sincerity. Logan's expression grew more tender as he continued, "I knew that you bein’ here was always going to be temporary. I always assumed you'd go back to Toronto at some point." He paused, a playful glint in his eyes. "And while Paris isn't Toronto, I could be convinced," he added with a hint of sarcasm, his lips curling into a teasing smile.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the tension easing from your shoulders. You bit your bottom lip, struggling to find the words. The weight of the moment pressed down on you, making it hard to speak. The idea of a man coming with you on this journey felt certifiably insane. You had always prided yourself on being independent, making decisions based on logic and practicality. But as you stood there, looking into Logan's eyes, something shifted inside you. For some reason, you wanted to take that chance with him. Maybe, just maybe, this was the moment to let your heart lead the way.

"What? What aren’t you sayin’ baby? Tell me." His breath was labored, as if he could sense the turmoil within you and was ready to do whatever it took to ease your mind.

You couldn't help but wonder what this incredibly attractive man saw in you. The doubt gnawed at you, making you feel vulnerable and exposed.

"C'mon, use your words." Logan urged gently, his eyes filled with patience.

“I want you," you whispered while looking up at him. You heard him groan and he leaned into you and placed a quick, wet kiss on your lips.

"I want you too," he murmured, his lips brushing softly against yours as he spoke.

"Then make me yours," your voice filled with longing and certainty.

When you said those words, Logan looked absolutely wrecked. He breathed heavily and looked downright criminal looking into your eyes. He looked so tall and sexy, you felt yourself get wet at the sight of his eyes dropping down to look at your lips. You kissed his heart over his flannel and breathed in his scent as his hands started running down your body, skimming the sides of your breasts and resting above your ass.

You grabbed his hands and put them on your ass. You felt him squeeze back.

"Baby, you’re killin’ me," he groaned as he kissed you again and grabbed your ass possessively. He pushed you against the door and lifted your arms up above your head as he stared deeply into your eyes. He trailed hot kisses down your throat, and you melted against the door while Logan took the opportunity to swirl his tongue at your pulse and then started nipping at your neck.

Logan then gently took one of your raised hands, his grip warm and reassuring as he began to lead you into his cabin. He paused briefly in the living room, kissing you softly below your ear and then leaned down to capture your lips with his again.

He groaned into your mouth and with each kiss, he guided you toward the hallway, the space growing more intimate with every step. Logan’s fingers began to explore, deftly slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch igniting your skin. You could feel him smirking against your mouth as he maneuvered you closer to his bedroom.

Once inside, the atmosphere shifted, thick with desire. Logan stepped back slightly, just to admire you, a hungry look in his eyes. "You’re so beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. In one swift motion, he pulled your shirt off over your head, his lips never leaving yours. The cool air brushed against your skin, and you gasped into the kiss as his hands caressed your waist, fingers exploring the soft curves of your body. With a playful nudge, he turned you around, guiding you gently toward the bed, his kisses trailing down your neck and across your shoulders.

You felt his warmth against your back as he undid the clasp of your bra, letting it fall away before his hands were back on your skin, exploring every inch of you. Logan pulled you back against him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Need to see more of you." He pressed a soft kiss along your collarbone, while his hands worked skillfully on the buttons of your jeans, taking his time as he lowered them, leaving kisses along the skin that was revealed, as he helped you step out of your jeans.

"Now, it’s your turn," you huffed at him, and Logan started quickly shedding his own shirt and pants, tossing them on top of your abandoned pile of clothes. He revealed a strong, toned body beneath, and your breath hitched at the sight, the allure of him stirring something deep inside of you.

He was so beautiful, it hurt. Moisture and heat started pooling between your legs.

With a gentle but insistent pull, Logan guided you both onto the bed, where he settled over you, your bodies fitting perfectly together. His fingers crept up your leg, his thumb kneading along your inner thigh. You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply mentally trying to talk down your fears. You were slightly trembling.

"Hey," he said, nuzzling his nose with yours. "Look at me, baby..."

You opened your eyes slowly and saw an expression you hadn’t seen on his face before.

"You nervous?"

"I am," you admitted.

"Nothing has to happen, we can just… lay here together," he whispered, his voice low and soothing.

"It’s not that," you started, "I just...it’s just…you’re so…" It was hard to articulate what you were feeling.

A man that looked like Logan must have been with tons of women who looked like supermodels. And here you were, lying beneath him, feeling a million miles away from that ideal. Suddenly, you became hyper-aware of every flaw of yours. You swallowed hard, an urge to hide creeping up inside you.

Logan must have sensed the tension in your body as you laid beneath him, your heart pounding in your chest. His thumb stilled on your thigh, and he cupped your cheek gently, tilting your face up so you would look at him.

"You’re just really fucking hot, Logan," you said, biting your lip, feeling flustered by your clumsy choice of words, and mentally smacking yourself for the slip up.

Logan chuckled. "You think so?" He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming on his lips. "I do appreciate the compliment, but I can assure you that you're way out of my league,"

You shook your head, unable to suppress a smile. "You're ridiculous. Look at you,"

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours as he growled, "And look at you. You're sexy as hell,"

Feeling the heat flood your cheeks, you instinctively raised your hands to cover your face, a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief washing over you. The soft fabric of Logan’s sheets brushed against your skin, and you could hardly believe what you were hearing. Nobody had ever called you sexy before.

Logan's laughter was like a soothing balm, cutting through your anxiety, and you could sense his amusement at your reaction. He gently pulled your hands away, his touch feather-light, and when you finally peeked between your fingers, you were met with his hazel gaze, filled with tenderness. You could really see the green in his eyes tonight.

"Don’t hide from me," he murmured, his voice soft and inviting. "I wanna see you," he said swooping his head down to attack your neck, sucking softly at your skin there, making you whimper.

As you lowered your hands, he smiled, an expression that made your insides flutter.

"Seriously, you’re breathtakin’ baby," he continued, bursting you out of your little bubble of anxiety.

You swallowed hard, still feeling a twinge of vulnerability, but his sincerity made it easier to breathe.

"Now, how about we get back to what we were doin’ before?" he teased, his lips curling upward into a cocky grin. You couldn't help but laugh, your previous embarrassment easing into excitement.

"I think I can manage that," you replied, a newfound confidence blooming in your chest.

Logan pulled back to stand on his knees and slid his boxers down. Your eyes got wide, and you gasped at the size as you saw his cock spring up, thick and leaking with arousal. It was big. It was really big. You honestly wondered how he was going to fit inside of you.

You noticed that Logan found himself unable to look away as he noticed the damp stain growing in your underwear. "Your panties are all wet. I think I should take these off you." he grinned wickedly as he slid them down your legs and threw them off the bed.

His eyes skated up and down your naked body, studying every inch of you. "Look at this pretty fuckin’ pussy," He ran his fingers between your legs, feeling the wetness coming out of your leaking cunt, teasing you, but never entering inside of you.

"Jesus, this all for me?" he grunted, "you’re so fuckin’ wet," Logan admired with his lips parted.

You gasped his name and tried to muffle back the noises you were making.

"Don't hold back. Let me fuckin’ hear you. I wanna hear all your pretty sounds." he urged, his own breaths heavy and uneven.

You cried out when he started to dip just the tip of his finger inside of you, teasing the fuck out of you. He then drew small circles around your clit with his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours as he stared at your mouth. He finally dipped his finger inside of you.

You whimpered, arching your back as pleasure coursed through your body. "Logan," you breathed, unsure of what you could even say or ask for in this moment.

"God, baby," he moaned lightly into your collarbone, "you don't know how bad I want to fuck you right now." His lips touched your jaw, and your skin was burning from his touch.

"Fuck," you whined, goosebumps prickling your skin, his touch felt like it was everywhere.

He pushed harder against your sensitive spot, almost harshly with tight circles and he added another finger to curl up inside you. Obscene wet sounds of his fingers going in and out of you continued to fill the room. You cried out loudly, jerking his face towards you to meet his lips and plunged your tongue deep into his mouth to avoid screaming. His tongue nudged against yours as you grabbed fistfuls of his hair and breathed him in.

You couldn’t wait any longer. It had been months of waiting at this point.

"Please, I’m ready." you pleaded desperately against his mouth. "Please… Now." you begged and pinched your eyebrows together.

Logan let out a half-chuckle and a half-moan, his head dipping to your breast, taking the peak lightly in his mouth. His tongue caressed it softly, and as he released it, a strangled moan escaped your lips.

"Now, normally I'd prefer to take my time," he sighed, smiling mischievously, "But since, you’re beggin’ for it, I’ll allow us to skip a few steps, just this once."

You whined, your words barley coherent when he pulled his fingers out of you that were glistening with your slick. You watched him lift his hand to his lips, slipping his fingers into his mouth with his wet tongue, and he hummed and grunted like it was the best damn thing he had ever tasted in his life.

"Don’t keep me waiting," you teased, your voice sultry and laced with impatience as you squirmed beneath him.

With a low growl, Logan positioned himself between your legs, leaning close to kiss the tip of your nose. The head of his cock nudged against your entrance, and your body responded eagerly, a rush of anticipation flooding through you. He searched your eyes for reassurance — a silent confirmation.

You managed a breathless nod and watched as he slowly disappeared inside you. You gasped at the overwhelming sensation—the stretch, the heat, and the delicious friction as your slick soaked his cock. Logan’s eyes darkened further, the raw need in his expression making you feel desired.

"You feel so good," he groaned as he pushed further, burying himself fully inside you. He paused for a moment to let you adjust, both of you breathing heavily. "Can’t believe I waited this fuckin’ long to have you,"

"Logan, oh God," you gasped, feeling every inch of him, your nails scraping over the taut muscles of his back, pulling him closer as if you would melt into him entirely.

"I know, baby," he grunted, his voice a low growl. "Look at you, so perfect and just for me," he murmured, cock throbbing inside of you.

"I’m yours," you gasped, the words slipping from your lips. "I’m yours, Logan."

His eyes darkened with that confession, and he thrust into you, almost possessively, as if he were staking his claim. His hips pinned you down to the bed with slow, deep strokes, and Logan leaned down to capture your lips with his. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth, an exchange of heat and hunger. You could taste the desire in him, sweet and intoxicating. You knew this wasn’t just sex. It was more than that.

You were lost in this moment.

You were lost in Logan.

You were lost together.

You didn’t know this tonight, but one day you would sit down with your son and daughter, nestled in the dream house Logan would build for you in Halliburton once you both returned from Paris. There, you would share the beautiful story of the first time their father told you he loved you—a moment that would take place on the first day you both moved to Paris. It would happen at the Seine River, under the soft glow of the city lights reflecting on the water. Logan, with a heartfelt and tender look in his eyes, would tell you that he loved you.

"What a coincidence," you would tell him, linking your hands behind his neck. "Because I love you too, but I think you know that already,"

Logan moving for you? Logan telling you he loves you in Paris? Logan building you a house? I’m deceased. This story was really random, and low-key some hallmark type shit. But your girl was in her feelings, and I needed to bring some fluff into my life. I hope this resonates with people. I loved writing it <3.

^I couldn't find a picture of him with his beard. So, let's pretend Logan gets a haircut in Paris and they take his beard away and you almost cry - however you let him know that he still obviously looks very handsome. He grows it back for you (and for him), because he knows how much you like feeling the burn of his beard between your thighs.

#I!! LOVE!! SLOW!! BURNS!!#origins logan is so husband coded UGH #logan howlett fic rec #logan howlett x reader

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retrosabers · 2 days ago

Text

“alright cowgirl, give it to me good.”

THE LASSO BIT?? THE HAT???

he’s a good time, cowboy casanova!

pair: cowboy!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 9.4k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, alternate universe/no powers, swearing, drinking, smoking, probably some inaccuracies about ranch life idk i haven't been around a horse in like two years, logan working a lasso yes god, age gap (Logan is mid-40s, reader is early-20s), THE COWBOY HAT RULE RAAAHHH, nasty dirty talk, i was so horny for kissing when i was writing this jesus, p in v, unprotected sex (do as sex ed tells you, not as i write), semi-public sex, riding, creampie, some emotional constipation cause it’s me, porn with a little too much plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: another purely self indulgent work...i just fucking love cowboys what can i say. it's practically ingrained in me by this point. logan would never dance but like who cares he's my barbie i can make him do whatever i want! kisses <3

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

a cowboy and the governor’s daughter walk into a barn...

The ranch is alive like you've never seen before, almost every acre lit up in celebration of your father's recent inauguration.

Twinkling lights strung around the barn's ceiling cast a warm orange glow all around you, flickering like fireflies on a summer night.

People are everywhere—laughing, mingling, drinking. Their faces both familiar and new, dressed in everything from head-to-toe denim to their Sunday best.

The lively music from the band floats through the space, couples on the makeshift dance floor twirling to the familiar twang of an acoustic guitar.

You take it all in from your spot against the wall, drink in hand as your eyes scan the room.

You did your share of mingling earlier in the evening, greeting the higher-up’s in your city with hugs and thanks.

You posed for pictures that’ll be splashed across the front pages of Monday’s paper, listened to your father’s speech as you stood by his side with a smile.

This is the first moment you've gotten to yourself since the ball started, one you've spent in content silence while enjoying the perks of an open bar.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all by your lonesome?"

The honeyed rasp of a voice filtering in from your left paired with the jingling sound of spurs against the soft ground grabs your attention.

At first, you turn ready to greet a stray boutique or feedstore owner you may have missed earlier. You’re pleasantly surprised to see Marie sauntering towards you instead, a bright grin on her face that makes you smile right back.

Marie was one of the first people you met after moving to Texas at the beginning of your father's campaign, and you've only gotten closer since she started as a ranch hand down at Blackbird.

Her unruly red curls spill out from under her Stetson, the bouncy strands swinging in time with the white fringe of her show-shirt as she opens her arms.

"Thought you might have gotten lost in all the fancy folk," she teases, nearly crushing you with the strength of her hug.

You laugh as you hug her back, the warmth of her embrace a welcome interruption to your moment of peace and quiet. Her scent wraps around you, the familiar dust and lavender that's seeped into her clothes.

"Definitely not lost," you say, stepping back to meet her gaze. "Just taking it all in."

Marie smirks, leaning a shoulder against the wall beside you, crossing her arms as she watches the crowd.

"Sure is a good night for it," she says, glancing over at you with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Lookin' for anyone in particular? A nice night cap?"

You snort, taking another sip of your drink. Marie has always been more invested in your love life than you, hand picking guys from around town she deems worthy enough of your attention.

You know she means well, and it's almost as endearing as it is pesky, so you let her play matchmaker from time to time.

“I don’t need a night cap,” you laugh, shaking your head sluggishly. "I’m perfectly fine spending tonight alone."

Before Marie can respond, a stir from outside filters in. Loud cheers and hollers, hooves beating against dirt, the distinct whistle of a lasso slicing through the air.

Marie practically squeals, excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she peers through the barn doors. “It’s starting!”

You don’t have time to ask what ‘it’ is before she’s snatching up your wrist and turning to haul you outside.

"Marie! Where the hell are we going?" You practically trip over your own feet trying to keep up with her, your drink splashing up against the rim of your glass precariously.

Marie laughs as she pulls you out into the cool evening air, her boots crunching on the gravel as she drags you toward the commotion. “You’ll see!”

You weave through the crowd forming around the training ring, Marie’s grip still tight around your wrist as she pushes toward the front until you’re right up against the railing.

You peer over it, eyes adjusting to the floodlights surrounding the ring, illuminating the clouds of dust kicked up by the different ranch hands perched on horses.

A few riders take turns showing off their skills, each of them in the same show-shirt as Marie, expertly swinging lassos and wrangling cattle with practiced ease.

The energy is contagious, and you find yourself smiling, soaking in the excitement pulsing through the crowd.

Marie leans closer, her voice low and laced with something knowing. “Just wait for it, honey. It’s about to get good.”

You give her a puzzled look, but she’s already grinning ear to ear, her attention fully focused on a new rider that chargers into the ring.

You follow her gaze, and your breath catches in your throat.

He rides in like he owns the place, his coal black horse cutting through the fog of dirt like a shadow, sleek and powerful beneath him.

A black Stetson sits low over his face, casting shadows that only add to the rugged allure of his jawline, a jawline that could cut glass.

As he leans forward to grab the rope tossed at him by one of the other riders, his muscles flex, a kind of strength that isn’t there for show, but for real work.

His show-shirt is stretched over the width of his chest, over broad shoulders that look like they were carved from stone, made for lifting hay bales and hundred pound feed bags.

The sleeves rolled up to expose forearms dusted with dark hair and more than a few scars. His gloved hands rest on the reins with an ease that tells you he’s more than familiar on a saddle.

He’s not the flashiest rider, but there’s something commanding in his presence as he races his horse towards the steer, lasso circling high above his head.

He doesn’t even look like he’s trying to put on a show—he is the show.

Marie’s grip on your wrist tightens, and she leans in again, her voice loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

“That’s Logan,” she says, practically glowing with pride. ”He’s the foreman down at Blackbird, might just be the best damn cowboy in the whole state.”

You blink, hardly able to tear your gaze away from Logan, who’s riding like he’s part of the horse, one seamless, commanding figure cutting through the chaos in the ring.

His focus is sharp, and as his lasso snaps through the air, catching the steers back leg in a clean loop, the crowd erupts in applause.

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, a glimmer of amusement flashing beneath the shadow of his hat.

Marie nudges you, her grin widening as she catches the look on your face. “Told you he was worth watching,” she teases, winking. “And he’s got a bit of a reputation for bein’ hard to impress—one of those strong, silent types, y’know?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart beats a little faster as Logan turns his horse, his gaze sweeping over the crowd before it lands on you.

Your cheeks warm under his stare, trying to subtly make out the different features of his face from this far. His head tilts just slightly, as if he’s sizing you up from across the ring.

For a second, it feels like the two of you are the only ones there. The cheers from the audience dulling into white noise all around you, everything in your peripheral blurring together—everything but him.

“He’s good…” Your voice has gone light, airy as you watch Logan turn his horse back to lead the steer into the ring's stall with all the others.

Marie's grin only widens as she leans against the post, clever eyes trained on the side of your face. "You still 'perfectly find spendin' the night alone'?"

You don't respond, too busy watching the strong muscle of Logan's back ripple under his shirt as he rides out of the ring—to your complete dismay—almost as fast as he rode in.

You're only snapped out of your trance when you can't make out his silhouette any longer. The crowd around you dissipates, filtering back into the barn while you're stuck to the fence straining your eyes for broad shoulders and a black cowboy hat.

“Show’s over, sugar.” Marie says with a snort, gently tugging you away from the post. “Come on, let’s get you another drink.”

You lost your company ten minutes ago, but you knew you didn’t stand a chance when Remy found the two of you huddled at the bar.

Sheepishly coming up to Marie with his hat in his hand, pressing it to his chest as he asked her for a dance.

You waved them off with a smile, assuring Marie you'd be fine on your own for a couple songs.

It gave you a chance to step out for some fresh air, to lean against the side of the barn and sneak a cigarette while your father was busy dancing with the town's best real estate agent money can buy.

You take a slow drag, eyes peering up at the stars so you can trace the constellations. You think that this might just be your favorite part of the move.

Nevada has never been known for its clear skies, you can count the times you’d been able to see the stars on one hand.

You still remember the first night after you settled into your new house, the stress of the move and your fathers inauguration weighed on you enough that sleep was hard to come by.

You finally crept out of bed around three, climbing over your balcony to perch yourself on the roof, carton of cigarettes and a lighter shoved in the waistband of your shorts.

The first time you looked out over the horizon was like stepping into a whole new world.

The stars had never felt so close, hung through the air like diamonds. So bright against the vast nothingness that stretched out beyond the too-big ranch house on the too-many acres the state appointed you and your father.

It was like you could almost reach out and touch them, pluck them from the sky like fruit off a tree.

You’d been used to the city lights, the constant hum of noise that swallowed up the stars, but here? It was different.

The air smelled of dust and rainwater, and the silence was louder than anything you’d ever known.

You remember the deep, quiet hum of the night, almost like it was waiting for you to catch up, to adjust to the new rhythm of the world you were suddenly a part of.

It was a moment of peace, a brief stillness from the mess crowding your head, and you found comfort in that isolation.

You take another long drag, letting the smoke curl around your fingers, the orange embers glowing bright against the darkness.

As the faint scent of tobacco mixes with the cool air, you find that same sense of peace returning, the same stillness settling over your chest.

You tilt your head back to rest on the barn, eyes fluttering shut as you let the crisp breeze lull you into its serenity.

"Those'll kill you, y'know."

A voice comes from just over your shoulder, warm and low. A smooth drawl ringing out from the shadows.

You slip your eyes open, expecting to see one of the older ranch hands or maybe even a city official looking to lecture the governor's kid.

It takes you a second, but the black Stetson and squared shoulders register quickly enough—Logan.

You nearly swallow your tongue, eyes widening as you take in the way he leans against the barn a few feet away from you. You don’t know how long he’s been standing there, watching you.

The moonlight dances across his face, highlighting the rough line of his jaw and the confident tilt of his smirk.

“I didn’t think cowboys were one’s for giving lectures.” You’re shocked at the stillness of your voice, the beat of your heart picking up the tiniest bit.

Logan’s smirk only widens as he pushes off the wall, gravel crunching under his boots as he makes his way over to you, slow and deliberate. He’s still dressed in the same outfit from before, a lasso still coiled in one hand.

He comes to a stop next to you, leaning his shoulder just inches from yours. "Not usually. But when I see a pretty girl puffin' away on somethin' that's bound to ruin her, I make an exception."

You smirk, lifting the cigarette to your lips again just to make a point, even as your pulse jumps a little under his gaze. "Guess we all have our vices.” You say, blowing out the smoke slowly, watching the way his gaze tracks its lazy drift.

Logan’s eyes trail back to yours, and you can see the color of them now that he’s closer. A mix of different greens and browns fading together, like a forest in the thick of summer.

The lightest dusting of freckles decorate the bridge of his nose, trailing along his cheeks until they disappear under his beard, a product of being out in the sun so often.

You’re struck by how pretty he is, all long lashes and red lips.

Well, pretty for a cowboy anyway.

“You plan on sharin’?”

You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles from your chest, brow raising skeptically. “That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

Logan just shrugs, a lazy half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I reckon’ it’s rude to let a lady smoke alone.”

You huff lightly, reaching into the pocket of your dress. You flick the top of your Marlboros open, slipping a cigarette out and offering it to Logan silently.

He takes it, his fingers brushing against yours enough to send a spark through you. It travels up your arm and all around your shoulders to seep down through your entire body, resting in your stomach to swirl through the heat simmering there.

“Got a light?” He asks, words muffled around the filter.

You roll your eyes, but reach back into your pocket regardless. Logan leans closer as you flip your zippo open, taking his hat off to cover the side of his face, blocking the flame from the lazy breeze.

Your heart stutters in your chest as he nears closer. You didn’t expect he’d want you to light it for him. You will your hand to steady as you raise the flame to the tip, holding it close enough that the small light illuminates his face.

The intoxicating mix of leather and musk invades your senses. You fight the urge to lean into it entirely, to close the gap.

When the flame flickers and catches the end of his cigarette, Logan pulls back, taking a languid drag, the embers glowing between his lips.

His eyes don't leave yours as he exhales deeply, the smoke curling from his lips in slow tendrils. You can’t tell if it’s the nicotine or the way he’s looking at you that’s making your head spin.

You break eye contact, feeling the flush creeping up your neck, and lean back against the barn to cool yourself off. Logan leans beside you, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you, just the soft crackling of cigarettes and distant music filling the space between.

Logan puts his hat back on, his voice breaking through the quiet as he does. “You’re Governor Wright’s daughter, ain't you?”

You nod slowly, exhaling another long plume of smoke. It’s still weird hearing it out loud. “I am.”

Logan hums, turning his head to face you again. The silver moonlight catching the glint in his eye.

“Saw your picture in the paper.” His gaze rakes from the top of your head, all the way down to the tips of your boots. “Looked real nice.”

The air feels heavier as Logan’s eyes travel over you, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle, before meeting your gaze again. His eyes hold a hint of amusement, the green of them darker than before. The heat swims through you faster, stronger.

“Congratulations.” He adds, almost like an afterthought. A quick pivot to take some attention away from how his eyes swept over your body so shamelessly.

You snort before you can stop yourself. If you had a dollar for every time you’ve heard that over the past few weeks. “Yeah,” you say, kicking at some rocks near your feet. “Thank you.”

You can see the way Logan’s brow raises out of the corner of your eye, his gaze burning a hole along your profile.

“Don’t sound too excited,” he comments, exhaling lazily. “That why you’re hidin’ out here?”

You shrug, leaning back against the barn and tapping your cigarette to shake off some ash. “Maybe I just like the quiet,” you say. “Or maybe I’m avoiding another round of ‘how proud are you of your daddy’ small talk.”

Logan stays quiet, and you feel the overwhelming need to explain yourself. A need to fill the silence, like he’s some kind of magnet that soothes the truth from people.

You sigh, turning your eyes to the dark sky again. “I’m happy for my dad, of course I am but…” You trail off, searching for the right words. “It’s just a lot.”

He chuckles lightly, a low rumble that feels more real than the sounds of laughter from inside the barn. “Hell, I don’t blame you,” he says, his eyes flicking up to the stars too. “Nothin’ wrong with takin' a breather now and then.”

You both stand there in comfortable silence, the night stretching out around you, as vast and open as the sky above. You let yourself study Logan out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way he seems at ease, like he’s as much a part of this land as the grass and stars.

Finally, he looks over, and you feel that sharp gaze settle on you again. “You keep starin’ like that,” he says, a teasing note creeping into his voice, “I’m gonna start thinkin’ you’re more interested in somethin' other than the stars.”

Your mouth drops open slightly, heat rushing to your ears as you search for something to say.

Logan’s smirk widens as he catches the way your breath stutters, and for a moment, the silence is thick, the air between you charged.

You force a laugh, trying to play it off, but it’s weak, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck again. "I—"

Back inside the barn, the band switches songs, saving you from your embarrassment. A softer melody floats through the air, slow and sweet as molasses. It’s muffled enough that it sounds almost hazy, like a soundtrack to the most wonderful dreams.

Logan turns to watch the shadows move in the light spilling through the open doors. Couples pairing off, taking to the dancefloor. All warm embraces and slow moving circles, swaying to the gentle beat.

He turns back to you, running his thumb over the coarse lasso in his hand. “Care for a dance?”

You raise your brow, skepticism written all over your face. “I don��t really do that.”

Logan doesn’t back down, tilting his head with an easy grin. “Seems like a waste not dancin’ in a dress like that.”

You can’t fight the smile that tugs your lips up, shaking your head with a quiet laugh as you peer down at the nice floral fabric of your sundress. The wind makes it swish along your sides, the flowy fabric swaying over the knee of your boots.

“Maybe another time, Logan.” You try to ignore how good his name feels rolling off your tongue.

He takes one last drag off his cigarette before he’s stubbing it out on the worn leather of his belt and slipping the butt in his jean pocket. It’s both the strangest and most endearing thing you’ve ever seen—a cowboy that refuses to litter.

“Well I’m gonna have to insist.” He crosses his arms over his chest, straining the fabric around his biceps. There’s a challenge in his eyes now, a dare.

“Oh, you’re insisting, are you?” You repeat doubtfully, lolling your head to the side languidly, your hair flowing with it. ”And how are you gonna do that?”

Logan doesn’t answer with words, just raises his arm to start twirling his lasso through the air with a smug grin. He circles once, twice, three times before a deft flick of his wrist sends the rope across the way to you.

It slips over your shoulders, sliding down to catch on the curve of your hips.

You raise a brow, reluctant smile still playing on your lips. “Do you carry this thing with you everywhere you go?”

Logan cocks a brow, tugging on his end of the rope so it tightens around you, forcing you a step closer.

You stumble forward with a soft laugh, eyes darting up to meet Logan's. The lasso feels snug, but not tight enough to hurt, just enough to let you know he’s in control, and the thought sends a spark straight down to your core.

“You sure you don’t dance?” He tugs you a few steps closer, his smirk only deepening as he effortlessly reels you in.

You bite your lip to stifle a smile, shaking your head. “You sure are persistent, I’ll give you that.”

Logan doesn’t wait for you to say anything else, instead taking that final step forward. His grip tightens slightly on the lasso, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you.

You can feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your dress, his chest rising and falling with each slow, deliberate breath.

“Some would say it’s my best quality,” he teases quietly, voice dropping to something lower, like gravel and velvet. “Now, you gonna fight me the whole way through, or are we gonna dance?”

You glance up at him, your chest fluttering in spite of yourself. A thousand lame excuses run through your mind, but all you can manage is a breathless laugh, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and nerves.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” you murmur, hands tentatively coming to rest on his shoulders. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Logan’s smile softens, his hand slinking around your hips to loosen the lasso, letting it slip down your legs so you can step out of it.

Big hands settle on your waist, brushing the soft fabric of your dress, sending a fresh wave of warmth through you. His touch is firm and gentle all at once, guiding you effortlessly into an easy sway.

The moment you fall into the rhythm of the music, your body moves naturally against Logan’s, and you can feel the charge between you intensify with each step.

His boots scrape against the dirt as he leads you in a slow, almost languid circle. Your feet match his without thinking, the sound of your boots in sync with the soft country tune playing from the barn.

“See? Not so bad, huh?” His voice is low, a soft whisper against the backdrop of the music.

You nod slowly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. The rough scrape of his jeans against your bare legs sends a delicious shiver skittering up your spine.

“Not so bad,” you agree, your voice quieter now, the playful edge slipping away as something deeper stirs between you.

You tilt your head up, breath catching in your chest when you find him already looking down at you. His lips quirk up slightly, but there’s a new intensity there now, something sharper than the teasing glimmer from before.

"Logan," you murmur, but your voice is barely a whisper, lost to the night air.

His free hand slides up the length of your spine, trailing along your neck until he’s cupping the side of your face. His thumb grazes your cheekbone with a gentleness you never thought men like him to be capable of.

The space between you shrinks even more as Logan dips his head, his nose brushing against yours in a featherlight touch that sends a shiver down your spine

“You gonna tell me to stop?” He murmurs, his lips so close now you can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin.

Your throat works to form words, but they’re gone, stolen by the way his hands slide a fraction lower on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Your breath hitches again, and without thinking, you close the space, lips pressing against his, soft at first, unsure. Logan deepens it almost immediately, tugging you impossibly closer.

It’s tender–achingly so. Logan’s lips are surprisingly soft, he tastes like top-shelf whiskey and your Marlboro Golds. They mold to yours with a gentle pressure, warm and inviting. His hand on your face tilts your head slightly, angling you just right as his thumb continues to trace soft circles over your cheek.

The warmth of it spreads through you, settling low in your stomach, and you think you could stay like this the whole night, wrapped in the quiet safety of him.

All too soon, Logan’s pulling away. You whine pathetically, lips chasing his own. You’d be embarrassed if it wasn't for the pure need coursing through you.

“You were right,” he mutters lowly, running his thumb along the slick expanse of your bottom lip. “This is a hell of a lot better than dancin’.”

“Shut up.” You drag him back down by the fistfuls of his shirt, your own lips hungrily seeking out his again.

This kiss is different, something filthier, something messier. It’s like a dam breaking to let a rush of water break free, all the tension unraveling itself as you meet again.

The gentle tilt of Logan’s head changes, and when his teeth catch your bottom lip with just enough pressure, your knees feel dangerously close to buckling.

His hand slides down from your cheek, skimming your jawline before tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck. His tongue sweeps past your lips, and the taste of whiskey and smoke is heady, stronger, dizzying.

Logan’s mouth moves against yours with a confidence that makes your head spin, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You let out a soft, involuntary sound, and that only spurs him on, the hand in your hair tightening as he presses you back against the rough wood of the barn.

It digs into your body harshly, scratching at the bare skin of your shoulders and backs of your thighs. You hardly care.

Your hands come up to tangle in his hair, knocking his hat off so you can tug him closer as your tongues slide together lewdly. Logan groans into your mouth at the sting of his scalp, you can feel the rumble of it in your bones.

His beard scratches against your chin and cheeks so deliciously that you can’t help but imagine where else it might rub your skin red and raw. The thought alone has a shudder running through you, your hips arching off the barn unconsciously.

The subtle grind when your hips slot together is enough to have Logan’s grip tightening around your hips. His fingers flexing where they’re still tangled in your hair. You moan softly at the hard length tenting his jeans, pressing insistently against your lower stomach, big even trapped in the rough denim.

Your body reacts to the thick plane of heat almost viscerally, your pussy aching with the need to be filled.

When you finally break apart, it’s only because neither of you can breathe.

Logan pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his forehead resting against yours, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths that match your own. His pupils are blown wide, dark and intense. You dazedly think back to the sleek coat of his horse, black as ink and shining under the rings lights.

His lips are an angry red and slightly swollen, glistening in the pale moonlight, and the sight of him—disheveled and wanting—sends another wave of heat blooming through your core to leak wet and sticky in your panties.

“Your daddy would shoot me between the eyes if he caught us like this, darlin’.”

You hide your pleased smile in the crook of his neck, trailing soft kisses from his jaw to his ear. “Then we should find somewhere a little more private, shouldn’t we?”

Logan groans, hands bunching the fabric of your dress in tight fists as your lips brush against the lobe of his ear with every word, teasing. “I reckon’ we should.”

You step back, fingers trailing down to toy with the shiny belt buckle sitting pretty on his waist. “Lead the way.”

Logan smirks, tongue swiping along his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

He bends to grab his hat from where it lays at his feet, pushing his hair away from his eyes before dropping it back on his head. His hand finds the small of your back, turning to lead you away from the barn.

You try not to notice how well it fits.

Turns out, ‘somewhere a little more private’ is just another barn. This one filled with stray mountains of hay and empty horse stalls instead of the watchful eyes of partygoers.

You can’t bring yourself to care, not when Logan’s got you pressed to the closed door, his hands roaming down your body like he’s memorizing every curve, every dip.

“Christ, you’re somethin’ else,” Logan mutters, his voice thick with want as his lips ghost along the side of your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that make your knees shake.

His breath is hot against your ear when he adds, “Bet you’re soaked for me already, aren’t you, darlin’?”

The rough pads of his fingers drag along your bare thighs as he hikes your dress higher, the fabric bunching at your waist. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat between your legs as his palms knead the soft flesh.

You bite your lip to stifle the embarrassing moan that threatens to escape, but he catches the sound anyway, pressing a cocky grin to the side of your cheek.

“C’mon, don’t get shy on me now.” His hand slides between your thighs, calloused fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties.

The low groan that escapes him when he feels how wet you are is pure sin, vibrating against your neck as his fingers trace over the damp cotton. “Fuck, barely touched you and you’re already drippin’ for me.”

“Logan—” You start, but your words dissolve into a sharp gasp as he hooks a finger beneath the fabric, pulling it to the side.

The first drag of his finger through your slick folds has your head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. A high moan falls from your parted lips, embarrassing and needy as your thighs clench around his wrist.

Logan just hums, pressing a kiss to the corner of your slack mouth. “Is she hurtin’ real bad, baby?” he asks softly, his thumb pressed over your pulsing clit. “Just gotta give you some sweet kisses and she gets all worked up, huh?”

Your only response is a breathless whimper, your fingers clutching at his shoulders for stability as he teases you with slow, torturous circles around your clit.

His thick pointer finger slides through the slick seam of your pussy, catching on your dripping entrance before it’s sinking to the knuckle in one slow thrust.

You arch into him, your hips rocking instinctively to take him deeper, desperate for more. His other hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek as his gaze locks onto yours.

The intensity in his eyes makes your stomach flip, your breath hitching as he watches every little expression cross your face.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he coaxes, sliding his finger in and out at a maddeningly slow pace. “Look at you, so fuckin’ beautiful. Takin’ my fingers so good, baby.”

“Please,” you gasp, the need in your voice making his smirk widen.

“Please what?” he teases, curling his finger inside you and grinning when you nearly sob at the sensation. “Gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You whimper, thighs trembling as you manage to stutter out, “Kiss…kiss me.”

Logan groans, brows twitching up like that wasn’t what he was expecting to fall from your slick, kiss bitten lips. He doesn’t waste a second, leaning in to capture your mouth with his in a kiss that’s equal parts desperate and bruising.

His lips part against yours, tongue sliding in to meet yours, hot and eager, as he sinks a second finger inside your clenching hole.

The kiss deepens, becoming a rhythm of its own, each stroke of his tongue matching the languid thrust of his fingers.

Logan's lips move hungrily against yours, his pace never faltering even as his fingers curl inside you, searching, teasing, until—there.

The moment he brushes against that spot, your back arches off the barn wall, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. He grins against your lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to murmur, “There she is.”

The slick sound of his fingers pumping into you fills the quiet barn, mingling with your soft, breathy whimpers. His thumb circles your clit with devastating precision, each pass of his fingers inside you coaxing your body closer to the edge.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight, honey,” he groans, his voice rough and dripping with praise. “Can feel how close you are. Bet you’re gonna fall apart for me so pretty, aren’t ya?”

You shake your head, your breath coming in soft pants. “No.” Your hand snakes down to his wrist, halting his movements. “Wanna finish with you inside me.”

Logan stills, his breath catching as your words hang heavy in the air. His fingers stay buried inside you, the slight curl of them making your thighs quake as his eyes search yours.

The fire there burns hotter now, feral and barely restrained.

“Yeah?” The raw hunger in his voice makes your pulse spike. “You want me inside you, huh? Wanna feel me stretch you open, baby?”

You nod eagerly, your chest heaving as his words fan the flames of your desire.

“Alright,” he mutters darkly, voice gone low and smoky. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Logan slips his fingers from the warm grip of your pussy, the sudden emptiness stealing all the air from your lungs. You miss the stretch almost immediately, clenching around nothing with a soft moan.

He lifts his hand between you, his fingers glistening with your wetness in the dim light. “Look at that,” he says softly, almost in awe, before slipping his fingers into his mouth and groaning at the taste.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your cheeks burning at the sight.

Logan catches your gaze, a wicked smirk spreading across his face as he leans in close. “C’mon,” he whispers softly against the skin of your neck, hands slipping around the backs of your thighs and squeezing gently. “Up.”

You hitch your legs up around his waist, a soft breath escaping you at the way he lifts you with ease, like you weigh nothing.

You can’t help but run your hands over the thick muscle of his biceps as he walks you further into the barn, lips trailing wet kisses along where his shirt’s top button popped open, exposing more of his tan skin to your greedy eyes.

Logan falls back against a knocked over bale of hay, you feel the hot length of his hard cock grinding over the slick fabric of your panties as he positions you over his lap.

You waste no time, stray pieces of hay digging into your knees as your trembling hands reach for his buckle. Your fingers brush over the cool metal as you fumble sliding the worn leather through his belt loops.

Logan just watches you, leaning back on his forearms with a smirk—cool as ever.

Once his belt is undone and his zipper dragged down, you shove at his jeans, watching with a mix of anticipation and desire as his cock springs free, thick and heavy and already leaking for you.

You’ve heard the expression ‘hung like a horse’ countless times. You always thought it was a gross exaggeration, until now.

Logan’s hand glides down his stomach to start stroking himself lazily, his eyes never leaving yours. “Been hard since the second I laid eyes on you tonight. Could barely keep my hands to myself, watchin’ you all dolled up like that. Drove me fuckin’ crazy.”

Your mouth waters with the need to taste, eyes tracking the thick line of pre-come leaking from his flushed tip.

The phantom ache in your jaw almost has you dropping to your stomach right there, but you know that your time here is limited, and you need Logan inside of you more than anything.

You lean back, lifting your legs so you can shimmy your soaked panties down and off, tossing them behind you haphazardly the same way you tossed his belt.

His eyes are locked onto yours as you crawl back towards him, situating yourself over his lap all over again. You take a steadying breath as you reach for his cock, nearly moaning at the heft of it in your hand, at the near scalding touch of his silky skin against your palm.

“Hang on, baby.” Logan’s hands fall to your hips, stopping you just as the tip of his cock brushes against your dripping pussy. “You wanna ride, you gotta look the part.”

He drags his hands lower, calloused palms rough against the soft skin of your thighs. It’s enough to make you shiver, hips twitching down with the desperate need to be filled.

“Got the boots,” he murmurs idly, thumbs sliding along the back of your thighs. “Just need the hat.”

Logan reaches up to grab his hat by the crown, pulling it off his head to drop it on yours.

You left out a soft breath, feeling the worn felt settle on the top of your head, still warm from his own.

It’s too big, slipping down to shadow your eyes. Logan’s gaze darkens as he adjusts it, tipping it back just enough to frame your face.

“Much better,” he says, flicking the brim once before his hands fall back to your hips. “Alright cowgirl, give it to me good.”

The words shoot straight to your core, igniting something wild and reckless inside you.

You bite your lip, spurred on by the way his hands knead the meat of your hips. Not forcing or pushing, just two steady weights as you slowly start to sink down.

It's nearly torturous, but in the best way possible. The stretch of each inch a pleasant burn as your hips slot against his after what feels like an eternity.

“Fuck.” Logan grits out, his hands tightening on your hips as you settle, giving yourself a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness.

Your body trembles, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you slowly begin to move, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles.

Logan’s eyes track every movement, darkened with need, a quiet groan slipping from him as his hands slide lower, gripping your ass, urging you to pick up the pace.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “Takin’ it all so good.”

His praise only encourages you, and you lift yourself up before sinking back down, your hands gripping the scratchy fabric of his shirt for leverage.

The feeling of him filling you up, stretching you with every downward movement, makes your head swim, the pressure building in your core.

The barn is filled with the sounds of skin slapping together lewdly, with the wet gush of your pussy leaking around the base of his cock messily. It has your ears burning, shame and arousal a heady mix in your lower belly.

Logan’s hips start to rise from the barn floor, snapping up to meet yours with every bounce. You can feel him deeper like this, brushing against places that make your legs shake with pleasure.

You’re dangerously close to the edge already, a mess from all the teasing earlier. But from the way Logan’s muscles flex and tense beneath you, you can tell he is too.

“Goddamn,” he growls, his hands moving to grip your thighs, helping you bounce on top of him impossibly faster. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby, so fucking perfect. Don’t stop.”

His words make your head spin, the filthy praise sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. You can’t hold back the moans spilling from your lips, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

Your hands scramble for the front of his shirt, tugging and pulling until it’s loose enough to show off the toned muscle of his chest.

You rake your nails through the dark hair decorating his skin, hardly paying any attention to the brand burned into the skin across his left pec.

"Tell me how it feels," he groans, his voice dark and commanding. "Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel."

"So good," you manage to gasp, your voice breaking as he grinds against that perfect spot inside you. "Logan, I—"

“You’re close,” he rasps, his grip on your hip tightening as he drives into you harder. “I can feel you, baby. So fuckin’ close. Gonna come for me, aren’t ya? Gonna milk my cock like a good girl?”

You’re too far gone to answer, your body trembling as the coil in your stomach clenches, tighter and tighter. Your head lolls back to the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut as you near the edge.

"C’mon honey," Logan groans, his thumb finding your clit again, circling it in time with his thrusts. “Come for me, let it all fuckin’ out.”

You're helpless to deny him, the thick stretch of his cock paired with the gentle pressure of his thumb on your clit tightening your body like a bowstring threatening to snap.

“Logan—oh God—Logan!” Your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you trembling and gasping as your walls shake around him.

Logan’s hips stutter, his rhythm faltering as he groans low in his throat. “Goddamn,” he growls, his voice wrecked. “So fuckin’ perfect, squeezin’ me so tight—fuck—”

With a few more rough thrusts, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his body going rigid against yours as he finds his own release, groaning your name like it’s the only word he knows.

You slump onto him gracelessly, your body spent and trembling as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. His cock jumps and pulses inside you, sending little aftershocks through your sensitive core as you feel the slick spray of his come painting your walls.

The rough fabric of his shirt feels oddly comforting on the overheated skin of your cheek as you rest your head on his chest, trying to catch your breath.

The brand catches your eye again, more pronounced now that the wiry hair dusted along his chest lays flush, slick with a thin sheen of sweat.

You raise your hand, gently tracing over the raised skin, feeling the rough texture under your fingertips. A curved ‘X’ scarred right over his heart.

The same ‘X’ that was embroidered on the front of Marie’s shirt, that hangs above the doors of the very barn you lay in, that’s scattered all throughout the property.

You read once that not all cowboys choose the brand, only the most loyal to the ranch. A kind of fierce loyalty that knows no bounds, that has no limits—it may be the only loyalty most will ever know.

You think back to your grandmother sitting you down at her weathered kitchen table a few days before your father and you made the move. The stern talking to she gave you felt silly at the time, useless information that you’d never actually need.

Now that you're here, her words ring in your ears for the first time in months, blaring and unavoidable.

“Don’t go and get mixed up in any cowboy business, honey. They’ll never love you more than the life, you’ll always be in the rearview mirror.”

Logan takes your hand in his, bringing it from his chest to his lips for a quick kiss before pointedly lowering it to his jean clad thigh. You can feel the way his fingers flex around your wrist, telling.

You swallow hard, the air in the barn suddenly feeling thick and heavy.

You're pushing yourself to your feet before you even realize what you're doing, ignoring the dull ache as his spent cock slips from inside you.

Logan hisses at the sensation, but he's pushing himself to his feet all the same. You're dying to sneak a peek at the look on his face, but you refuse to turn to him.

Maybe out of shame, maybe out of fear for what you might find if you do.

You straighten the wrinkled fabric of your dress, trying in vain to make yourself look as half as presentable as you did before walking into this barn.

The distant sound of a zipper being tugged up and the whisper of denim against denim catches your attention. Your eyes flick to the doors, your brain going a million miles a minute as you consider your options.

You could always beat him to it. You could walk out right now and pretend this never happened, avoid Blackbird like the plague for the rest of your fathers political career.

You doubt you'd ever see Logan outside these fences, it would be so easy to forget.

You shift on your feet, lip caught between your teeth. The sweet ache between your legs only matches the one in growing your chest, all those good feelings sour at the thought of walking away.

Against your better judgment, you turn back to him.

Logan’s already looking at you, hands busy with slipping his belt back into place.

You’ve always been good at reading people, at gauging what they might be feeling, but as your eyes scan along the flushed skin of his face, you find yourself unable to describe what you see swirling in his eyes.

“When will I see you again?” It’s weak, barely a whisper. You want to kick yourself for sounding so small, for getting so caught up in a man you hardly know.

Logan lets out a soft breath, hands coming to rest on his hips as he searches for something to say. “Whenever you have a reason to I reckon'.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you.

His answer is honest, unpolished—just like him. Something about it hits you deeper than you expect, a bittersweet sting that tightens your chest.

It’s not a perfect answer, but it’s something.

You try to stomp down all the feelings of hope filling your mind, pointedly ignoring the eruption of butterflies in your stomach.

“Well if that’s the case,” you say slowly, eyes never leaving Logan’s as you step closer. “Then I guess you better keep these.”

You reach around his waist to slip your panties in the back pocket of his jeans, patting the denim a few times for good measure before you step away again.

“Gives you a reason to come see me again, cowboy.”

Logan chuckles, soft and sweet as he shakes his head bemusedly. He raises his hand, gently taking his hat from your head to drop it back on his own.

“You’re really somethin’ else,” he mutters, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, the gesture tender in its unexpectedness.

You let out a shaky breath, heart pounding in your chest, and for a moment, everything feels raw.

Too raw. Like you're teetering on the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating, something you’re not sure you’re ready to handle.

You let your gaze drop to the floor, biting the inside of your cheek as you resist the urge to say something else, to push the moment further.

Instead, you turn, taking a slow step toward the barn doors.

Just before you reach them, you hear him again, his voice steady, but there’s something in it that makes you pause, hands lingering on the doorframe.

"Don’t be a stranger, alright?" he calls after you.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes one last time. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: lowkey want to make this a series...like this was so fun to write and i have a few more ideas...let me know chickens <3

#i need this as a series IMMEDIATELY #my brain genuinely short circuited ten times this is incredible #logan howlett fic rec #logan howlett x reader

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retrosabers · 2 days ago

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sometimes i miss when daryl looked like a rabid dog that had never gotten a tetanus shot in his life. when he refused to wear sleeves and looked like he had no idea what deodorant was. when he would literally shudder at affection and mouth off anyone that looked at him even a little bit funny. someone bring my husband home. please.

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retrosabers · 5 days ago

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please, for the love of god. STOP. infantilizing the reader/female characters. yes i’m looking at you creepy old man logan writers. it’s gross. it’s borderline pedophilic. and i want it off my dash.

#retro sabers #sid says shit #i’ve talked about this before but i just something that grossed me out so i have to say it again #logan howlett x reader #old man logan x reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett #old man logan

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retrosabers · 6 days ago

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Back Off

origins logan howlett x fem!reader - angst, creepy guy, harassment, established relationship, logan being protective, no y/n used, no reader description, soft logan, some fluff

You work at the lumberyard as the secretary, and all the guys like to tease/flirt with you. Except one guy takes it too far, leading to Logan standing up to the guy for you.

a/n: thank you anon for the request!

read on Ao3

The typewriter keys sat waiting beneath your fingertips, but your attention was elsewhere, juggling the phone tucked precariously between your shoulder and ear. Your voice was crisp but strained with professional courtesy as you wrapped the coiled cord around your fingers, a nervous habit you couldn’t quite break.

“Well, that shipment should’ve been here two days ago,” you said, your tone clipped as you shot a glance at the clock on the wall. Its hands seemed to taunt you with their sluggish pace.

The faint creak of the door hinge made you glance up. Logan stepped inside, the scent of sawdust and pine trailing him like a shadow. His shirt clung to his chest, damp with sweat from the afternoon’s hard labor, and dirt smudged across his forearms. He stopped mid-step when your eyes met, a flicker of warmth softening the usually sharp lines of his face. His lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile which he quickly masked.

Your chest tightened, but you swallowed your reaction, pressing the receiver closer to your ear. “My boss isn’t going to be happy to hear that,” you continued, voice steady but lacking its usual bite. Your fingers tightened around the cord.

Logan leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, his flannel shirt stretched taut over his broad frame. He didn’t say a word at first, just watched you in that quiet, brooding way of his. His dark eyes pinned you in place, carrying a weight that made your heart race. The faint furrow between his brows and the way his jaw ticked told you more than he ever would aloud.

“You okay?” His voice was low, carrying that gravelly edge that made it sound like he’d just finished a fight—or was about to start one. The question sounded casual enough, but the tension in his tone was a dead giveaway. He wasn’t asking about the phone call.

You pressed the receiver closer to your ear but covered the mouthpiece with your palm, cutting the conversation off for a moment. A pointed look passed between you. “I’m fine,” you said, softly enough that no one but him could hear.

But Logan didn’t look convinced, and truthfully, you weren’t fine. The delayed shipment had already left you teetering on the edge of frustration, but the day tipped over completely when Bruce from the lumber shed had sauntered in earlier, tossing out a crude comment about how nice you’d look without the office dress code. The memory left a bitter taste in your mouth and a knot twisting in your stomach. You hadn’t said anything about it at the time—you never did—but you knew Logan had heard. The dark glint in his eyes told you as much.

Your glance to the side must’ve given you away because Logan’s nostrils flared slightly, his jaw tightening like a vise. He looked away, but not before you saw the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. He crossed the small room in two steps and grabbed the battered water bottle off the desk, unscrewing the cap with more force than was necessary. He tipped his head back, taking a slow, deliberate swig, but his eyes flicked toward you between gulps. He wasn’t drinking because he was thirsty. He was buying himself a moment to swallow down whatever he wanted to say—or do.

The tension in his shoulders practically radiated off him, and you felt it from across the room. It made the tiny office feel even smaller, as though there wasn’t enough air left for both of you.

You forced yourself to turn your attention back to the phone. “Yes, I’ll make a note of that. Thank you.” The brightness in your voice was as practiced as the steady rhythm of your fingers tapping the edge of the desk. Professional. Calm. Controlled. But beneath it all, your heart pounded too hard, and your stomach was still coiled tight from the weight of Logan’s gaze—and the ghost of Bruce’s earlier comment.

As soon as you hung up, the silence in the room closed in like a heavy fog. You didn’t have to look to know Logan had stepped closer, his presence a tangible thing that wrapped around you like the smell of sawdust on his clothes. It invaded all of your senses.

“They giving you a hard time again?” he asked, voice still calm but lined with an undercurrent of restrained anger.

You sighed, trying for a dismissive wave of your hand. “As always,” you replied, finally daring to meet his eyes. His stare was as steady and relentless as ever. You forced a wry smile and added, “I’m sure if Michael were on the phone, they’d be tripping over themselves to fix it and have the shipment here within the hour.”

Logan’s expression darkened. “That what this is about?” he asked, though his voice was quieter now like he was trying to rein himself in. “The shipment?”

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the desk. “Partly,” you admitted, your gaze shifting to the typewriter as if you could bury the rest of your frustration under the blank page waiting there. “Bruce decided to get creative with his commentary again.”

Logan’s jaw tightened so hard you could almost hear the grind of his teeth. His hand flexed around the water bottle before he set it down, a little too carefully, like he was afraid it might crumple in his grip. “He said something to you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you said quickly, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips.

Logan huffed out a humorless laugh, his lips curling into a sneer. “Sure you can,” he said, his tone dripping with that quiet, simmering anger he never seemed to show unless someone had pushed him too far. “Doesn’t mean he should be sayin’ it.”

You didn’t answer, because what could you say? You both knew Bruce was the type to run his mouth until someone shut him up. You also knew what Logan shutting Bruce up would look like—and how that would ripple through the lumber yard.

“Logan—”

“I’m not gonna start anything,” he interrupted, holding up a hand before you could even finish. “But if he doesn’t quit…” He trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air.

Logan took a step closer, leaning down just enough to catch your eye. His voice softened, that gruff protectiveness slipping through. “You tell me if he does it again. Don’t care what the situation is or who’s around. Okay?”

The look in his eyes sent a wave of warmth coursing through you, equal parts frustration and affection. He wasn’t asking for permission to defend you—he was reminding you he could if you needed him to.

You nodded finally, letting out a breath. “Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He lingered for a second longer, his hand brushing against the desk like he wanted to reach for yours but thought better of it. Then, with a slow inhale, he turned on his heel and left, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click.

You sat frozen for a moment, staring at the desk where Logan’s hand had rested just minutes ago. The faint warmth of his touch lingered in your memory, even as the tension he left behind coiled in your chest. You let out a heavy sigh, shaking yourself free of the moment, unsure whether you felt more exasperated by his overprotective streak or comforted by it. Maybe both.

Dragging your focus back to the task at hand, you grabbed the phone and dialed into your work. The rhythmic clatter of the typewriter keys soon filled the small office, a steady noise that you clung to like a lifeline. You knew if you let your thoughts wander, they’d drift back to Logan—his brooding gaze, the way his presence seemed to fill the room, the tension in his voice whenever someone crossed a line with you. No, work was safer to think about.

But only a few minutes had passed when the door to the office trailer swung open again, the hinges groaning in protest.

You didn’t bother to look up, hoping it was one of the guys just passing through to grab a clipboard or clock out for the day. The last thing you needed was another interruption.

“Ah, glad I didn’t miss you.” The oily drawl froze your fingers mid-keystroke.

“Thought you’d have gone home by now, honey,” Bruce added as the sickly sweetness in his tone made your stomach turn.

Your jaw tightened, and you forced your hands to keep moving on the typewriter, willing yourself not to react. “We both know I work later than you,” you said, your tone clipped, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the paper in front of you.

Bruce let out a low chuckle, the kind that always seemed to ooze condescension. You could practically feel the smirk stretching across his face. “Sure do, darlin’,” he said, taking a step closer. “But I work harder. Real hard.”

The way he said it made your skin crawl, the implication heavy in his voice. Your fingers faltered on the typewriter, hitting the wrong key, the sharp clack echoing like an accusation. You straightened in your seat, keeping your gaze locked on the page.

“Good for you, Bruce,” you replied dryly, trying to keep the bite out of your tone. “Guess we’ve all got our talents.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the desk, too close for comfort. His cologne, heavy and cheap, wafted over you, and you had to fight the urge to wrinkle your nose.

“Aw, come on now,” he said, voice dipping lower. “Don’t be like that. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so uptight.”

Your hands stilled completely, hovering over the typewriter keys. Your jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

“I’m not uptight,” you said evenly, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “I’m busy. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Bruce’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face. He straightened, shrugging as if your comment had rolled right off his back. “Busy, huh? Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it. But if you ever need help with anything…” His gaze raked over you, lingering long enough to make your skin crawl. “You know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” you said evenly, though your voice came out quieter than you would’ve liked. “But I’m good.” You tried to sound firm, but the way he loomed closer—like he thought this was some kind of game—made it hard to keep your voice steady.

Bruce chuckled low, the sound grating against your nerves. “You sure, sweetheart? You’re looking a little tense.” He tilted his head, his grin smug. “Could be you’re working too hard in this little office all by yourself. Maybe you just need someone to... take care of you.”

The words sent a rush of heat to your face, not from embarrassment but from anger. You pushed back slightly in your chair, forcing some distance between you. “I can take care of myself just fine, thanks,” you said, sharper this time.

Bruce’s smirk faltered for a split second, but he recovered quickly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back like he had all the time in the world to pester you.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, his eyes roaming over you. “Still, wouldn’t hurt to have someone like me around, you know? A woman like you shouldn’t have to do it all alone.”

Before you could think of a response sharp enough to cut through his arrogance, the door to the office swung open with a sharp creak.

The sound hit you like a lifeline, and you snapped your head toward the entrance. Relief flooded through you the moment you saw Logan step inside, his broad shoulders filling the doorway like a shield against everything wrong in the world.

He didn’t say anything, but the air in the room shifted. His dark eyes swept over the scene—the way Bruce was standing too close, the tension in your body—and his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitch.

Bruce turned slightly, his smirk fading when he saw Logan. “Hey, man,” he said, attempting to sound casual, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. “Didn’t know you were still around.”

Logan took one slow, deliberate step inside, his boots thudding heavily against the floor. His eyes never left Bruce, sharp and unyielding like the edge of a blade.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Logan said finally, his voice low and even, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “You were just leavin’, weren’t you?”

Bruce chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, sure. Just checking in on her. You know, being neighborly.”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t say a word, but the silence was louder than anything he could’ve said. It stretched long enough that Bruce shifted uncomfortably, his confidence clearly cracking under the weight of Logan’s stare.

“Right,” Bruce muttered, stepping back toward the door. “See ya tomorrow, sugar,” he added over his shoulder, flashing you one last grin before slipping out.

The door clicked shut, and the tension in the room snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight. You let out a shaky breath, slumping slightly in your chair as the adrenaline drained from your body.

“You okay?” Logan asked, his voice softer now as he stepped closer, his eyes searching your face with an intensity that made it hard to keep up the façade. His brows furrowed slightly, the hard edge of his earlier anger melting into something gentler only meant for you.

“Yeah,” you said automatically, nodding, though your voice wavered. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, and the knot tightening in your chest threatened to unravel.

But then you shook your head, a trembling breath escaping before you could stop it. “No, I’m not—” The words broke free, and with them, the tears you’d been fighting blurred your vision. You quickly turned your head away, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand, embarrassed at letting him see you like this.

Logan closed the distance between you in two steps, crouching slightly so he could meet your gaze even as you tried to look away. “Hey,” he murmured, laced with concern. “C’mere.”

Before you could protest, his calloused hands gently took hold of your arms, pulling you to your feet and into his chest. The solid weight of him wrapped around you and you couldn’t hold back anymore. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt, the faint scent of sawdust and pine filling your senses as you buried your face against him.

“It’s okay,” Logan said, his voice a soft rumble against your hair. His arms encircled you, one hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back. “It’s okay. I got you.”

You let out a shaky breath, the tension in your body slowly easing as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek calmed you. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him fully, taking comfort in the quiet strength he always seemed to carry.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his chest. “I just—he was being such a creep, and I didn’t know how to get him to stop without making it worse—”

“Stop,” Logan interrupted firmly but gently, leaning back just enough to tilt your chin up so you were looking at him. His dark eyes were sharp and fierce, but there was something softer beneath the surface that made your breath hitch. “You don’t need to apologize. He’s the one who crossed the line, not you.”

You nodded weakly, though the knot of guilt and frustration in your chest didn’t entirely fade. Logan studied you for another beat, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek where a tear had streaked down.

“He’s lucky I didn’t walk in earlier,” Logan muttered, his jaw tightening again, the earlier anger creeping back into his tone.

“Logan—” you started, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

“No. He doesn’t get to talk to you like that,” Logan said, his voice steady and unyielding now. “Not him. Not anyone.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening again—not from fear or anger this time, but from the overwhelming comfort of knowing someone had your back.

Logan stepped back slightly, his hands still resting lightly on your arms as he gave you one last searching look. “You gonna be okay if I step out for a minute?”

You hesitated, knowing exactly what he meant. “Logan, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “He needs to know to back off, and so do the rest of those idiots out there. No one gets to mess with you. Not anymore.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with promise. Finally, you nodded. “Okay,” you whispered.

Logan leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple that sent warmth flooding through you. “I’ll be back,” he murmured.

Outside, the guys were wrapping up for the day, the hum of machinery and the thud of lumber filling the late afternoon air. Bruce was leaning against a stack of pallets, laughing with two other workers, clearly unfazed by what had just happened.

That changed the moment Logan came into view.

The look on Logan’s face was enough to make most of the guys freeze in place, their chatter dying down as they caught sight of him. He moved like a predator, shoulders squared, his eyes locked on Bruce.

“Hey, Logan,” Bruce said, straightening up with a nervous laugh. “What’s up, man?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He stopped a few feet from Bruce, his posture loose but coiled with restrained energy. The other guys stepped back instinctively, sensing the shift in the air.

“You got somethin’ you wanna say to me?” Logan asked, his voice low and calm—the kind of calm that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up.

Bruce blinked, his grin faltering. “Uh, no? What’re you talking about?”

Logan took a slow step closer, his gaze never wavering. “I’m talkin’ about you runnin’ your mouth to her,” he said, his tone sharpening. “That stops now.”

Bruce tried to laugh it off, but it came out weak and shaky. “Come on, man, I was just joking around. She knows that.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You think that was a joke? Do you think it’s funny to make her feel like that? To act like you can say whatever you want ‘cause she’s too polite to tell you to shut your damn mouth?”

Bruce’s face paled, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Logan cut him off.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Logan said, his voice quiet but carrying enough weight to make every man within earshot listen. “You’re gonna keep your distance. No comments. No looks. Nothing. You so much as breathe in her direction, and we’re gonna have a problem. You got that?”

Bruce swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.”

Logan didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “Say it.”

“I got it,” Bruce repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Logan stepped back, his gaze sweeping over the rest of the crew, making sure they were all paying attention. “That goes for all of you,” he said, his voice louder now. “She’s off-limits. You got a problem with that, you can take it up with me.”

No one said a word.

Satisfied, Logan turned and walked back toward the office, the tension in the yard following him like a shadow. From that day on, no one dared mess with you again.

#i fear i need a follow up to this #origins logan you will always make me swoon #logan howlett fic rec #logan howlett x reader

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retrosabers · 9 days ago

Text

i need to be spayed

A New Kind of Beautiful

18+ account - minors do not interact

wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader Word Count: 4.6K Rating: E

Summary: You struggle with your self-esteem after giving birth to your daughter and remain self-conscious about your body, which hasn’t returned to your pre-baby weight. Your husband Logan quickly puts an end to your thinking and lets you know just how beautiful you are.

Warnings: origins!logan, established relationship (y’all married), human reader, language, body insecurity, fluff, flirting, logan being the best husband and down BAD for you, dirty talk (filthy logan), praise, possessiveness, pet names, fingering, logan is a munch, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, mild breeding kink, mild daddy kink, cumplay?

A/N: This was supposed to be short and sweet and then it accidentally got filthy… Also, I had started writing this a bit ago and then read Little Games by @eupheme and then it just emphasized that Logan is so husband coded. Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

Canadian Rockies, Alberta

You stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your reflection. Clad only in your bra and underwear, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment at the sight. It had been about 4 months since you gave birth, yet your body still bore traces of pregnancy that you were struggling to accept.

You heard the faint sound of the nursery door creaking closed which meant that Logan had just laid your daughter down. She had effortlessly captured Logan’s heart — from the moment she entered the world, it was clear that he was smitten, completely wrapped around her tiny fingers. Every little gurgle and coo from her seemed to cast a spell over him, transforming the rugged, tough-as-nails man into a mushy, protective father.

He could spend hours just watching her sleep, his expression softening as he traced her delicate features with his eyes. Whether it was the way she snuggled against him, her miniature hand clutching his finger, or how she'd giggle in response to his gruff voice, there was a connection between them that felt almost palpable. It was pretty clear: she was going to grow up to be a daddy's girl.

It was still too soon to tell if she would inherit any extraordinary traits and mutant abilities like Logan. For now, though, you both cherished the simplicity of her—her tiny breaths, the way she would clutch at her toys, or how she reacted to every new sound with wide-eyed wonder.

You sensed Logan entering your shared room and felt a flutter of self-consciousness wash over you, and instinctively, began to cover yourself with your hands. You remembered those early days after giving birth—when your body truly felt alien, and the rawness of sleepless nights clouded your thoughts. It felt like a lifetime before you could even begin to contemplate intimacy again. No matter how many times Logan reassured you, telling you to take your time, to not push yourself too hard, guilt flickered within you. Part of you felt you owed him more, that he deserved all of you.

And yet, he had been patient. The gentle way he’d held your hand as he navigated your changing body and emotions, the way his fingers brushed against your skin with a tenderness that didn’t scream urgency—when he buried himself inside of you about a month ago for the first time since you had your baby girl.

It had been so long.

While you knew Logan was not the type of man to wander, a flicker of fear developed within you that night. It wasn't just about the physical changes in your body but the physical distance you felt had crept in between you two during these months. Deep down, you understood that Logan loved you unconditionally. But your hormones painted a different narrative. And sometimes, late at night, when the world was hushed, the worry would seep in:

Was he secretly mad that it took you 3 months to feel ready to have sex?

Were you still tight enough?

Did he still desire you?

Were you enough to hold his attention?

What if he felt unsatisfied?

Since then when you two had sex, you’d leave on your comfortable tank tops or keep your bras clasped, cherishing the feeling of his skin against yours while still holding onto just a small fortress of fabric. You found comfort in the way you could be vulnerable without being fully exposed. Logan respected your boundaries and never complained, only showering you with gentle affirmations about how lovely you were, just as you were.

Yet, behind it all, you couldn’t shake the nagging thought: did he still find you attractive?

As you stood there, enveloped in your thoughts, you caught a glimpse of Logan in the mirror's reflection. He leaned against the doorframe, his presence steady and warm. His gaze softened as he took in the sight of you.

“Hey,” he said softly, breaking the silence. You turned to face him, trying to steady your breath. “You’re beautiful, y'know that?

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, tangled in the web of insecurities. "I don't feel beautiful," you murmured, the vulnerability slipping through before you could stop it.

The way you averted your eyes, defeated by the reflection before you, felt like a dagger to Logan’s heart. All he could focus on was the sadness that creased your brow and tugged at the corners of your mouth. He hated that you didn’t see what he saw. He knew you needed time. Still, it didn’t ease the disappointment that knotted in his stomach; disappointment not in you, but in himself.

To him, you were the most beautiful woman in the world. But, if you were struggling to see your worth, did it mean he had failed as a husband? Was he not doing enough to make you feel beautiful?

He remembered the day you told him you were pregnant—the disbelief, the joy, and the overwhelming love that blossomed within him. He had watched in awe as your body transformed, every curve shifting to make room for the life growing inside you. To this day, he could still recall how radiant you looked, glowing with an energy that made his heart race. Even in the seemingly mundane moments, like when you gently cradled your belly or shared silly cravings, you exuded a type of beauty that transcended physical appearance.

Logan stepped into the room, crossing the distance between you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. The warmth of his body enveloped you, and you instinctively leaned into his embrace, allowing the soft fabric of his shirt to brush against your bare skin.

“Your body has done somethin’ incredible. You’ve grown our daughter. That’s beauty, right there.”

The words tumbled out before you could catch them. “You don’t understand, Logan. My hips, my thighs... they feel so wide. And my ass—it’s just terrible. These stretch marks…” You paused, taking a breath, the irritation at your body bubbling over.

“Stop,” Logan said gently but firmly, his voice steadying as he gripped your waist. “You’re so busy tearin’ yourself down,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours in the mirror.

“Your hips? They’re the very hips that gave me the greatest gift of my life. They’re perfect for holdin’ onto. When I pull you close, I feel like I’m connectin’ to every part of you. And those thighs?” He made a low appreciative sound — something between a hum and a sigh. “God, don’t even get me started. They drive me wild. It’s like they were made just for me. I just think ‘bout all the times you’ve wrapped them around me.”

Logan didn’t even notice that you had stretch marks; they were nothing more than tattoos of motherhood to him—proof of the love and sacrifice you’d made. To his eyes, they adorned you, each line telling the story of how you’d embraced the miracle of creating life. Instead of diminishing your beauty, they only heightened it in his mind. You had carried your daughter, and with that came a beauty he could never put into words.

“As for your ass?” he said, his voice dipping playfully and a playful smirk breaking through. “I’m not complainin’…”

He stepped back ever so slightly, keeping his hands on your hips. In one fluid motion, he let his fingers linger before giving your ass a light squeeze, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Seriously, have you looked at it? It’s perfect.”

The corners of your mouth couldn’t help but lift, a reluctant smile breaking through your heaviness. “Why do you always find the right things to say?” you murmured.

“Years of practice,” Logan smirked, his tone lightening as he pulled you close again, his chin resting atop your head. “But honestly, it’s easy when it’s ‘bout you.”

“And just so you know,” he added, his voice softening as he spoke into your hair, “I think you’re even more beautiful now than I ever did before. What you’ve given us—it's transformed everythin’ sweetheart,”

“Sure,” you whispered, rolling your eyes slightly, and he didn’t like that one bit.

"Don't fuckin’ roll your eyes at me." He tilted your chin gently with his thumb, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Can I show you?” he asked softly. “Can I show you how beautiful you truly are?”

Your breath hitched as Logan's other hand ran slowly down your body and his fingertips began to draw slow, deliberate circles over the soft fabric of your panties. Instead of answering with words, you nodded slightly, your throat suddenly dry.

With an almost reverent gentleness, Logan knelt in front of you. The world around you faded as he focused completely on you, every movement deliberate and filled with intention. He took hold of the band of your panties, his fingers grazing your skin, sending little sparks surging through your body. Slowly, he began to shimmy them down, his eyes never leaving yours as a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

You felt exposed as he guided the fabric down your legs, inch by inch, allowing you to feel every gentle glide of the material against your skin. When your panties pooled around your ankles, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your legs, a mixture of heat and tenderness that made your pulse quicken.

Standing back up, he then moved to your bra, his hands deftly unhooking it, the simple action feeling monumental. As the straps slipped down your arms, you couldn’t help but hold your breath. He carefully shimmied it off.

As Logan gazed at you, fully exposed before him for the first time in months, a rush of emotions swept through him. It was as if time stood still, and everything else faded into insignificance; in that moment, you were the center of his universe. Logan felt like the luckiest guy in the world, blessed not just to see you in all your naked glory but to share this life with you.

Every inch of you, every curve and contour was perfect. Your pussy was glistening with your arousal in the dim light, and it had him rock fucking hard.

“Get on the fuckin’ bed,” he growled.

Your heart raced at the urgency in his voice, a thrilling jolt of desire coursing through you. You had always loved it when Logan took charge, his protective nature turning into something more primal in the bedroom. You moved to the bed, the soft comforter welcoming you as you sat on the edge, your nerves tingling with anticipation.

Logan took off his clothes and followed, his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity in his eyes that sent heat to your cheeks. He moved slowly, deliberately, each step calculated.

He took your hand, guiding it roughly to his hard cock. The moment you wrapped your fingers around him, he gritted his teeth, letting out a sharp breath as raw need surged through him.

"Feel that?" he murmured, his voice a low. "You see what you do to me?"

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt a rush of confidence swell within you. Logan's eyes were filled with a hunger that made you forget your insecurities, reminding you just how desirable he found you.

“Do you have any idea how many times I have fucked my fist thinkin’ ‘bout you and only you?” he asked, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful sweetheart, taking care of our baby, with your perfect fuckin’ body”

“Whatever you say," you said in a strained voice.

You don’t know how it happened but suddenly you grabbed him, straddling his thighs and felt yourself grinding on him, tugging at his hair with urgency. His hot wet lips were on yours while he was fisting your hair roughly. You moaned out in pleasure while his tongue invaded your mouth, and his hands were rough on your waist.

“No, I need you to fuckin’ repeat it for me,” Logan's words were roughened with desire, a demand that echoed in the heated space between you. It sent a thrill shooting through your veins, igniting every nerve ending as his hands gripped your sides.

“Tell me just how beautiful you are, baby,” he growled, pressing you down against him as your bodies brushed together. You lifted your chin defiantly, meeting his intense stare.

“I… I’m beautiful,” you breathed, the words feeling foreign on your tongue, but they were released into the air. As soon as they left your lips, Logan’s face broke into a triumphant grin.

“Damn fuckin’ right, you are,” he said, a wave of satisfaction lacing his tone. “Don’t you ever forget it again.”

You grabbed one of his hands and put it on your pussy so he could feel how wet you were for him.

His eyes became intense, full of promises and hazy liquid darkness.

It still caught you off guard that this rugged, fiercely captivating man was yours. Just a few years ago, you were a different person. You remember the lingering glances you stole at him during those early days, the way his confident swagger and smoldering gaze made your heart race.

Now, here you were, married with a kid—it felt surreal sometimes to think that you had captured the heart of someone like Logan. His allure was more than just muscles and a handsome face; it was the way he'd protectively wrap his arms around you, the way those intense eyes softened whenever he looked at you (and now your daughter) or how his laugh would rumble deep in his chest when you managed to make him smile.

“I want you,” you said boldly.

The sheer need in your voice ignited something primal within him, and he couldn't help but thrust his hips forward, pressing his hard cock against you.

"You’re always so fuckin’ perfect for me,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. He could feel the slickness on your folds, and it only sent a wave of hunger through him. “But I want to hear you say it again, baby. Let me know just how much you want me.”

“I want you so badly,” you gasped, your voice breathless as you ground against him, seeking the friction that sent sparks shooting through your body. “Please.”

You couldn't help but groan as he touched your bare, slick, swollen flesh on his index and middle fingers and circled the wetness pooling there. Your jaw went slack with a gasp when he gently pushed a finger inside of you, making your eyes roll into the back of your head as he added another finger and began to slide them in and out of you.

You slapped your hand over your mouth trying to muffle out your moans. His jaw began to tense. “No, pretty girl, I wanna fuckin’ hear you. The sound machine is on loudly in her room,” And he ripped your hand off your mouth. He watched you with lust-clouded eyes as you breathlessly writhed against him.

You started bucking against his seeking fingers and swallowed hard, licking at your lips. He continued to move his fingers in and out of your tight walls as you clutched his shoulders “Feels so good," you gasped, spreading your legs wider.

“Yeah?” he hissed through his teeth while pushing his forehead against yours as he continued to curl his fingers inside of you… and then he added his ring finger inside and you felt so full with his three fingers.

You always got soaking wet feeling the coolness of his wedding band.

His lips descended on yours, capturing your moans as he kissed you fervently, his hands gripping your waist possessively. Logan could smell your growing arousal, and it was driving him insane. You were getting wetter and wetter gushing more slick onto his fingers. “I gotta taste you baby," he moaned against your perfect mouth.

He removed his fingers from inside of you and you felt incredibly empty. Logan guided you on your back, his hand cushioning your head as it met your pillow. His body weight settled over you, pinning you comfortably against the bed. His hands roamed your body, mapping the curves and contours that he adored, brushing against the places that made you squirm and sigh. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the hard planes of his body pressing into the softness of yours, and it made everything else fade away.

He bent down to kiss you softly on your lips and then continued kissing you down your neck, your collarbone, your nipples, your navel. Logan then poked out his tongue to continue going down your body and traveled lower and lower… trailing along the sides of your thighs, spreading your legs apart just enough for him to settle between them. The way he looked at you, a dark hunger burning behind those eyes, sent a wave of heat pooling in your core. Everything else faded away as he began planting soft kisses along your inner thighs, as he threw one leg over his broad shoulder and gripped your hips.

"Do you have any fuckin’ idea how much I think ‘bout your perfect little pussy?” he said darkly looking at your wet hole. “All the goddamn time,” It wasn’t a lie. He had been thinking about this all day. Dreaming about tasting you.

“Logan, please,” you whimpered, arching your hips toward him, desperate for more.

“Please what? Use your words,” he demanded.

“I want your mouth,” you begged.

“You want my mouth, pretty girl?”

“Don’t tease me. I need your mouth.” You said desperately.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your folds, savoring the taste of you, lingering just long enough to make you squirm beneath him. Your breath hitched as he darted his tongue out, teasing the sensitive bud. "Oh god," you gasped, your hands fisting the sheets as he swirled his tongue around your clit in slow, deliberate circles.

Logan reveled in the sounds you made. "That’s it, sweetheart," he murmured against your perfect cunt. "Let me fuckin’ hear you."

"Logan!" You cried his name, as he continued to drag his tongue between your folds. His tongue drove you insane with every flick and suck. He was messy about it. You moaned loudly as his tongue found your most delicate spot. He pressed his lips firmly there and began to suck, his hands holding you in place as you squirmed.

“Yes! oh my g– Logan… fuck –” you whimpered and rocked against his mouth.

He buried his tongue against your puffy swollen clit, sucking it into his mouth and then circling his tongue on it. Logan focused all of his attention doing that fucking magical thing with his tongue and you felt yourself losing yourself in the pleasure. The heat pooling in your belly becoming almost unbearable and you started rolling your hips aggressively against his face and felt his beard rubbing up against your thighs. Logan was always insanely good at this; he wasn’t even using his fingers, humming appreciatively against you, and you felt like you were already getting closer and closer to the edge.

He then shoved two fingers inside of you to continue working your sweet spot as he continued to lap against you. You arched your back, whining to the ceiling, and your hand tightened into a fist as you grabbed harshly at the hair on the top of his head.

It spurred him on.

“Goddamit, you always taste so sweet,” he said muffled against your pussy.

You continued thrusting against his face squirming around to meet the movement of his mouth and his tongue as you felt your walls tighten around his tongue and fingers, the familiar coil of pleasure building to an edge you desperately wanted to cross. With one last flick of his tongue, you tumbled over the edge and suddenly white-hot stars exploded behind your eyelids, and you felt yourself crying out, the sound of his name leaving your lips in a broken wail as you came hard all over his face.

Your body was shaking, and you tried to push his face away, and the harder he held onto your thighs pulling you back toward his mouth. He couldn’t help the low groan he let out against you and Logan kept going, licking, and sucking and drinking up your release as you struggled to breathe.

Your heart was thudding out of your chest.

He closed his eyes for a moment, licking his lips. His mouth and chin were shiny with your slick and you could tell he was trying to regain composure.

Logan opened up his intense hazel eyes as he licked the remnants of you from his mouth with a satisfied grin. The way he looked at you sent another surge of warmth through your body, and you could feel the aftershocks of your release still tingling through you.

“You did so well, so fuckin’ good,” he praised as he saw you coming slowly back to life. “You’re so beautiful when you come,”

"I’m so lucky to have you," you whispered, feeling emotional suddenly.

Logan's signature smile broke through which made your heart leap. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion, kissing his way back up your body and brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’d choose you over and over again.”

Your heart swelled at his declaration, and you felt a tear escape the corner of your eye, quickly wiped away by his thumb. Logan's gaze softened as he noticed your vulnerability, a reassuring smile gracing his lips. He captured your lips in a desperate kiss, pouring all the love he had for you, and you tasted yourself in that kiss.

Logan pulled away, breathless, his eyes locking onto yours. God, you fucking wanted him—needed him—deep inside you. And he could tell.

“Spread your legs and show me you’re ready for my cock,”

You nodded pathetically, your body answering before your mind could and did as you were told. You felt the slick between your legs growing again under his intense gaze.

You felt Logan’s body adjust between your legs as he teased you with the weeping head of his cock along your folds. With one swift motion, he entered you, and a gasp escaped your lips as the familiar sensation of his cock filled you completely.

He kept his eyes trained on you as you slowly had to adjust to his size. You always did. He felt impossibly deep. The stretch ached but felt delicious all at the same time. He dropped down to his right elbow, gripping the headboard with his left hand as he pounded into you and watched his cock disappear into you.

"God, so fuckin’ tight," he grunted, his sweaty forehead resting against yours as he continued to move, thrusting into you with a steady rhythm. “So goddamn pretty. You drive me so crazy, baby,” he added.

“More, please,” you gasped, your hips rolling to meet his, desperation lacing your voice.

He obeyed, and his fingers slid under your knee, drawing your leg up to widen your hips. The change in position made you gasp at the deeper sensation it created; you felt Logan thrusting in and out as he found that perfect angle, hitting all the right spots that made your body sing with pleasure. Each thrust sent a shockwave of ecstasy coursing through you, building at a sweet, almost unbearable pace.

He made a pained noise in the back of his throat, “That’s my fuckin’ girl. You take it so good for me,” he choked out while pounding into your used cunt.

You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as you surrendered to the sensations – the pleasure overwhelming as he drove deeper into you. Every thrust seemed to take you higher, and you could feel the tension inside you tightening, coiling like a spring as your breaths came quicker, faster. The primal need was overwhelming, and you could sense Logan was feeling it too.

Knowing exactly what you needed, Logan used his free hand to find your clit again, rubbing soft yet firm circles as he kept up the punishing rhythm.

“Yes, Yes, Yes!” you chanted, your voice thick with need. “Right there,” each thrust pushed you closer, a tantalizing edge that danced just out of reach. You were teetering, caught on the precipice, and begging for release.

“Come all over my cock, baby,” he urged, his voice deep and gravelly. “Give it to me.” His fingers on your clit, combined with his relentless thrusting, sent you spiraling closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yes, daddy, yes, yes,” you babbled, brainlessly, eyes glossed over. You felt your orgasm overtake you with his words and you stiffened against him, your throat sore from crying out his name as you squeezed around him, a filthy wet sound filling the room as your cunt cried for him.

You had never called him this before and he didn’t know if was the way you whined out the word when you called him daddy or how you felt constricting tightly on his aching cock which caused his end. But, a loud animalistic groan rumbled deep from his chest as he spilled his come deep inside of you, and he yelled out a string of obscenities. He couldn’t wait to fuck another baby into you — and only when you were ready to start trying again.

He collapsed on top of you, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His skin was flushed, and a slight sheen of sweat covered his chest.

“That felt so good,” you said with a scratchy voice, feeling your eyelids get heavy.

“Fuck,” he panted, kissing you soundly on the mouth as he slipped out of you. He watched in a daze as he saw his spend drip down your thighs, not caring that it was falling on the sheets and rolled over onto his back gasping, the aftershocks of his bliss almost violent. You were trying to recover yourself and he grabbed your shoulders to put his chest to your back kissing what he could reach while he ran his fingers down your arm. “Every inch of you is perfect. Especially like this.”

You smiled at his compliment. He leaned in closer and placed soft kisses on the back of your neck and shoulders when suddenly you both heard the baby monitor chime with soft cries—your little one had woken up.

“I told you, I was being too loud,” you teased, attempting to rise, but he playfully pushed you back down onto the bed.

“It was fuckin’ worth it,” he shot back with that devilish grin of his. “Let daddy take care of it,”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Uh, wait—was that too much? That just kind of... slipped out.”

“I’m gonna go check on our princess and then you’re gonna come for daddy again when I come back? Hmm?” His voice was low and sultry.

“Yeah?” you asked, feeling him slip his fingers inside your pussy as he admired the mess between your legs that was still slowly coming out. You always looked so beautiful like this. Full of him.

“Yes, I’m gonna have to have you again real soon pretty girl,” he said confidently as he kissed your jaw. Just as he leaned in to capture your lips in a teasing kiss, the soft cries from the baby monitor tugged at your attention. You both exchanged a knowing glance, the moment hanging in the air, responsibility called.

“I'll be quick,” he promised, his voice a husky whisper.

You nodded, a mix of heat and longing swirling within you. “Hurry back, daddy,” you managed to say, biting your lip to restrain the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re tryin’ to kill me,” he groaned, feeling his cock twitch. With that, he slipped out of bed, giving you one last lingering glance as he shoved his now almost fully hard cock into some sweatpants.

Needless to say, you were no longer questioning if Logan was attracted to you.

And after that night, you went back to sleeping naked in your husband’s arms.

Tank tops and bras be damned.

Daddy said so.

I AM SCREAMING AT THE LAST SENTENCE Y’ALL. This is not usually something I would write but I could 100% envision reader developing a smidge of a daddy kink after seeing Logan be such a DILF with their baby girl. I don't think it would be the dynamic in their relationship, but definitely a word that would be thrown around here and there over the years… If y’all want to pretend this is Doc and Logan from my Into the Unknown universe – I imagine a similar scenario for them in the future. However, I did write this as a standalone.

origins!logan is my beloved….

#every bit of this was absolutely DIVINE #and the daddy thing??#consider me passed away #logan howlett fic rec #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut

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retrosabers · 9 days ago

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“ it was always a polarizing thing to think about, how a man so rugged could be capable of loving you so gently. how the same man who held no mercy for his opponents in the ring, touched you like you were the most delicate creature made of glass. ”

BOXER!LOGAN MOODBOARD

#retrosabers #sid makes shit #boxer!logan #boxer!logan x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #xmen #marvel #hugh jackman

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retrosabers · 11 days ago

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let me offer some subtle foreshadowing for this oneshot :)

that headcanon was made to be written for dofp/70s!logan cause those kitty ears do be voluminous, but feel free to insert whichever logan you prefer!

tags/warnings: 18+ — afab!reader (no pronouns/gendered language), oral sex (reader receiving), munch!logan, explicit language, fingering, teasing, use of “baby” once, edging, light biting (let me know if anything was missed!).

Logan is ever the perfect example of a walking contradiction.

A rough voice but gentle words. A soft touch but purposeful fingers. A guarded nature but a caring heart.

He juxtaposes himself. Every characteristic, every feature, has a partner in crime that shows you his versatility as a person and as something more.

The full, styled tufts of his hair graze the inside of your thighs with every deep lick up your slit.

Your legs rest over his bare shoulders while your heels slide up and down his back in restless pleasure; you have to dispel the tension in your muscles somehow.

“You’re shaking, baby,” Logan mumbles against your clit, readjusting the grip he has wrapped around the tops of your thighs.

He’s got you locked down. His hands slid along your hips and around to the top of each thigh, peeling them apart and keeping you tight against his hungry mouth. You couldn’t move in the slightest even if you tried. And you’ve tried.

A light gasp is ripped from you as his lips catch your clit. “It’s j-just, ah, a lot,” you breathe, eyes fuzzy with bliss.

Everything between Logan’s warm tongue to the ends of his hair brushing up against the tender skin along your thighs has introduced your body to new lengths of perception its never experienced before.

He’s been toying with you for half an hour. Half an hour of fleeting kisses, firm licks, and harsh sucks to your clit with the occasional finger or two pumping slowly inside you to back you away from the edge you’ve been chasing.

He’d take his mouth off of you, slipping his index or middle finger, or both, inside you as a reprieve; it would calm your impending orgasm but still keep you excited enough to soak his fingers for the few minutes he’d be pumping them into you.

You think he’d be able to get off on the sound of your cunt swallowing his fingers alone—a subtle squelching that puts just how desperate you are on display.

Logan pulls away from your pussy, turning to smear wet, messy kisses along the inside of your left thigh—this does nothing to soothe your aching cunt. If anything, it makes it worse. Feeling him right there but not where you want him.

“You want a break?” He asks, still scattering kisses while he loosens his grip on you, rubbing his hands comfortingly around your hips. You grab two of his fingers and squeeze them in your grip lovingly.

You arch into the touch slightly with a protesting groan. You don’t have the energy to lift your head to meet his playful hazel eyes, so you speak to the ceiling. “No—keep going. It hurts,”

Everything is on fire. Everything is throbbing. Your cunt is sore, tired of the teasing, but you want more of it. You want to drip through his sheets, coat his tongue, and feel the tips of his hair caress the sensitive skin inside your thighs.

“Mhm, I know, I know.” He gently nips at the skin adjacent to your cunt along the crevice of your thigh, not trying to break skin or leave a mark.

Your swollen clit gladly welcomes his clever tongue back. He gives three broad strokes before sliding down to your hole, lightly prodding it in quick motions that makes the tip of his nose bump against your clit.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck,” you whine, nearly wanting to start kicking against his back.

He buries his face so deep in you that his hair brushes your thighs with each keen mouthful of your pussy. Up, down, up, down.

You barely hear his moans over your own, but you know they’re there. You can feel them. They travel right through you—they vibrate against your clit—and you start clenching around nothing.

You want to clamp your thighs together, but his strong hands keep you open, and there’s nothing you can do but take it.

It’s a whole different level of euphoria when you aren’t able to control your pleasure. Logan knows that, and he likes to abuse that knowledge.

Your lungs can’t seem to get enough air to make up for how fast Logan’s stealing it from you with every stroke of his tongue.

He wraps his warm lips entirely around your clit, sucking just enough for your muscles to tense as he flicks the bud soothingly with the tip of his tongue.

You’re basically crying out with every exhale, wrapped up in tingling, sharp pleasure that has your lower body burning and every part of your cunt begging for relief.

“Oh, please. Please, please, please,” you chant, sliding a hand through his hair and grabbing a handful to anchor yourself.

He grunts, giving a hard roll of his tongue that has you coming on his sheets.

Thankfully, Logan doesn’t push you any further, even if he likes to most of the time. He gives mercy to your cunt, removing his mouth but letting a curious finger slide along your slit and down to your hole to feel how much cum he’ll get out of you.

He pushes in an inch or so, feeling your walls fluttering and pulsing.

You might be numb down there now. You nor your body acknowledge his wandering finger.

You lay with your eyes closed as you try to control your rapid heartbeat. A careful hand glides up along your side to your chest before stopping at the base of your neck.

You crack your eyes open to see Logan leaning beside you, gaze tracing down your quivering body.

“Nice work,” you say, a satisfied smirk pulling at your lips.

He raises a brow. “You do something long enough…you get good at it.” He shrugs, matching your wicked smirk.

A hundred-something years of experience, you remind yourself.

He lets himself fall on top of you, his damp facial hair chafing against your throat as he presses firm kisses along your jaw in praise.

Two fingers press into your cheek, turning your head towards his. You let your neck roll to the side.

His lips catch your own. You let him work your mouth open, tasting the remnants of your cum as he drags his tongue over yours enthusiastically.

“I’m so fucking hard right now,” he says against your lips, giving you a rather forceful kiss before you have to pull yourself away to laugh.

Logan is someone that will always give you both sides of himself—hard and soft, rough and gentle, stern and loving.

You feel very lucky to get it all.

#it’s too early for me to be in heat like this #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut

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retrosabers · 14 days ago

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we have 500 besties following the blog now and my heart feels SO insanely full

just know if you’ve ever supported my work in any way i’m sending you a big fat forehead kiss MWAH!!

#retrosabers #sid says shit #pic is a very accurate rep of me whenever people interact with my writing #!!! <3

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retrosabers · 15 days ago

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I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent.

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts.

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning.

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more.

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you.

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved.

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure.

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure.

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist.

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain.

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer.

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours.

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow.

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest.

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt.

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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#yeah i’m going rabbid #need that canadian schlong real bad #logan howlett fic rec #logan howlett x reader

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