呪術廻戦 › nerd!jo will always put you first
SFW. fem!reader. very self indulgent fluff. college au. ✶
it’s 2:34 in the morning, and the only light in your dorm room comes from your glowing laptop screen. your history paper, a fifteen-page monstrosity on the socioeconomic impact of the second world war, is due at 8:00 am. you’ve been surviving on a combination of caffeine and sour candy for the past six hours, and you can feel the exhaustion settling deep into your bones
you’re typing the topic sentence of your conclusion, when without warning, without so much as a flicker, your screen goes completely black and the low hum of the fan ceases. your heart hammers against your ribs, a beat of pure panic. no. no, no, no.
you spam the spacebar. nothing. you mash the power button, holding it down until your finger aches, then releasing it and pressing it again. nothing.
you try every combination of keys you can think of, hands trembling so badly you can barely type. nothing. the screen remains a void mirror that reflects your own, tear-streaked face back at you. the document. your sources. hours of work. . . gone.
a choked sob escapes your throat. tears spill over your waterline, blurring your vision until the dark screen is just a smear of nothingness. you can feel the panic building in your chest, squeezing the air from your lungs.
your roommate, shoko, is dead asleep across the room, her soft snores the only sound breaking the suffocating silence. you can’t wake her up. you can’t bother anyone with this. with the sole exception of satoru gojo, of course.
with trembling fingers, you grab your phone and pull up his contact. thumb hovering over your keyboard.
it’s almost three in the morning. satoru is meticulous about his sleep schedule. he needs his eight hours or he’s insufferable and cranky all day. and he has his biochem final today. you can’t. you shouldn’t.
but the thought of starting over from scratch, of facing this alone, is more than you can bear.
toru i’m gonna cry
[ 02:36 am ]
you stare at the words you’ve typed up, they’re so dramatic and unserious but you send them anyway.
i hate my fucking chungus life
[ 02:36 am ]
three little dots appear before you can even wipe the fresh tears from your cheeks.
toruuu ❤︎ :
What’s wrong baby?
[ 02:36 am ]
the simple text is enough to make another sob wrack your body. you type out a response, your fingers slipping on the screen.
my laptop isn’t working
i was working on my history paper
AND THE SCREEN WENT BLACK
[ 02:38 am ]
toruuu ❤︎ :
Everything’s going to be okay
Did you try restarting it?
[ 02:38 am ]
his calm, logical response is simultaneously comforting and annoying. of course you tried restarting it.
mhmm
i tried like six times it’s not working
idk what else to do
[ 02:40 am ]
toruuu ❤︎ :
Okay. I’ll come take a look at it
Give me a few minutes
[ 02:40 am ]
you’re sniffling quietly, trying to muffle the sound in your palm so you don’t wake shoko up. you feel so helpless, so stupid for not saving your work to the cloud more often.
ilysm you’re the best ❤︎
[ 02:40 am ]
toruuu ❤︎ :
I love you most Princess
Hang in there
[ 02:40 am ]
true to his word your phone buzzes again, eight minutes later
toruuu ❤︎ :
I’m here
[ 02:48 am ]
you slip out of bed, socked feet making little to no sound on the cold linoleum floor. you crack open the door just enough to see him standing in the dim hallway, a silhouette of messy white hair. he looks exhausted, eyes hazy with traces of sleep, hair sticking up at odd angles. his expression softens when he sees you
he steps inside, closing the door quietly behind him, and his arms are immediately around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. he smells like patchouli dreams and his clean laundry detergent. his large hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers smoothing over your hair as he presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead.
“shhh, hey, none of that,” he murmurs, wiping at the tears on your cheeks with his thumb. “it’s just a computer. we’ll figure it out.”
you nod into his chest, “i’m sorry i woke you up ‘toru.”
he just shakes his head, pulling back to look at you. “don’t be silly. you know i’d rather be awake with you than asleep without you.” he gestures with his chin towards your desk. “let me take a look at it”
you lead him to your desk, where your macbook sits. a 2017 pro with the glowy touchbar, decorated by a myriad of stickers from your favorite bands and cartoons. you can’t imagine parting with it.
satoru sets his own laptop bag down on your bed. the one he uses for gaming, a beast of a machine that he treats like his firstborn child. “here,” he says, unzipping it and pulling out the sleek laptop. “you can use mine to finish your paper. i’ll see what i can do.”
you want to protest, but he’s already booting it up. the screen lights up, and you can’t help but smile through your tears.
his lockscreen is a picture of you, fast asleep on his shoulder. he has dozens of widgets centered around you — your wishlist, your shared calendar, one that says ‘days since i last told my princess i love her: 0’. he types in the password ( your birthday, of course ) and hands it to you.
“try and finish your paper baby,” he says softly, already turning his attention to your dead laptop. “i’ve got this”
you settle on your bed, pulling the heavy laptop onto your thighs. you can hear satoru muttering quietly to himself as he gets to work. you sign into your microsoft account and pull up your most recent cloud backup to find that you’ve only lost the last few paragraphs. it’s salvageable.
you’re still sniffling occasionally and every time you do, satoru glances over at you, brows furrowed in concentration. “you okay over there?” he asks after a few minutes.
“yeah,” you murmur, not looking up from the screen. “i’m okay.”
he works in silence for a while longer. you can hear him humming to himself, technical nerdy stuff that flies completely over your head. “flex cable . . . backlight. . hinge.” he examines every port, every seam, long fingers moving delicately
finally, he lets out a long, heavy sigh. “oh, baby,” he exhales, and his tone is so full of pity your stomach drops. “i’m so sorry.”
“what?” you look up from his laptop, your heart starting to pound again. “can’t you fix it toru? you fix everything.”
he shakes his head slowly, “come here, look at this.”
you get up and move to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder at your laptop. he opens the lid just a tiny crack, a couple inches wide. for a split second, the screen flickers to life. you can see your desktop background, a picture of the two of you at the beach, and the thin sliver of light from the screen illuminates his face. then, as he slowly opens the lid further, the light sputters and dies, plunging the screen back into darkness.
“see?” he frowns quietly, closing it again. “your lcd cables are all shredded. they run through the hinge and over time they break. it’s a super common issue with this model.”
“no clue what any of that means,” your voice quavers, “can you replace it?”
“i mean, yeah, i can,” he says, leaning back in your desk chair and running a hand through his already messy hair. “it’s just . . it’s a risky repair. i’ll have to order the parts, and even then it’s a crapshoot. if i mess it up, i could damage the logic board, and then it’s really gone”
“so what do we do?” you whisper, feeling the panic start to creep back in.
he looks at you for a long moment, blue eyes heavy lidded and drowsy. “i can order the new cable and try the repair. if it doesn’t work. . .” he hums, trailing off as he considers the options, “i’ve backed up your macbook so i can transfer all your files to a new one.”
“i’m not buying a new one ‘toru,” you sigh, the thought of the expense makes your head spin even more than the lack of sleep.
a slow smile spreads across his face. the look he gets right before he does something completely unnecessary, all in the name of ‘taking care of you.’ “who said anything about you buying it?”
“you can’t just buy me a new macbook, satoru,” you scoff, your voice firm even as your heart does a little flip
“can’t i?” he raises a brow, leaning forward in the chair. “why not?”
“because it’s too much even for you! i can’t ask you to do that”
“it’s a good thing you didn’t ask then,” he shrugs, gently closing your broken laptop for good and setting it aside on the desk. he stretches as he clambers to his feet. padding over to the edge of your bed and patting his lap. “come here.”
you hesitate for a second before obliging. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and burying his face in the crook of your neck. his breath is warm against your skin and you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your back.
“how much of your paper do you have left?” he murmurs against your skin.
“almost done writing my conclusion,” you sigh, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “it’s probably not even that good.”
“don’t say that,” satoru tuts, giving you a gentle squeeze. “none of that self-deprecating stuff tonight. you’re brilliant and you know it.”
“i guess” you sigh, skimming through your body paragraphs
he shifts, maneuvering you both until you’re situated more comfortably on your bed. he’s propped up against the headboard with you nestled between his legs, your back to his chest. he places a tender kiss on your shoulder.
“you’re on the dean’s list for a reason,” he says quietly “finish up your paper. i’ll stay up with you.”
with him soothing you like this, the panic in your veins finally subsides. you type the last few sentences of your conclusion. you proofread your essay once, twice, then format the bibliography.
when you finally hit ‘submit’ on the university portal at 3:29 you let your head fall back against satoru’s shoulder with a soft thud.
“done?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. “done,” you sigh.
“so proud of you” he smiles, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “time for bed, then.”
he gently takes the computer from your lap and sets it on the floor, then shifts you both down until you’re lying properly under the sheets. he doesn’t even try to walk back to his own dorm. he just pulls you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin to keep you close.
“toru?” you whisper into the darkness. “hm?” he murmurs sleepily
“thank you. for everything.” he just holds you tighter, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “any time, princess.”
you know he’ll probably scold you for staying up so late in the morning but he’ll also make you matcha and help you look for a new macbook. one with the same specs as your now useless one.
you fall asleep knowing that this is just one of many nights. that there will be other disasters that feel like the end of the world. but you also know that satoru will always be a text away.
How can Professor Satoru not jerk his cock to his pretty college student's photos?
Moaning raggedly from pretty pink lips as he makes sure to give each picture the proper amount of attention. He just loves your tits, your face, those thighs in the little skirts you wear, how can he not worship you properly?
Dont you deserve his cum inside your pretty cunt? All unused - he's heard you complain that you're a virgin, well thats because you were just waiting for him. You were waiting to have him break you open, have you struggle to take his cock even as you're squirting right down him.
He knows you moan his name when you touch your pretty pussy, it's not like he doesn't have a camera in your dorm room. He sure didn't like when you kissed that boy and straddled him yesterday, but he'd forgive you - you're young and don't know any better.
But how you look at him?
How you shift your thighs, bite your lip, and come up with excuses to see him after class?
You know you're meant to be bred by him - couldn't finish school if you had a Gojo baby inside you.
"Hah. Gonna fill you so fuckin good baby doll." that was your nickname even if Gojo hasn't called you it yet, it's the one he'll call you when he has you folded in half on his bed, right inside his penthouse. Have you fucked into those expensive sheets, let your pretty cunt drip down them and make a mess.
He's desperately jerking his cock, whimpering as his thumb brushes over his pretty pink tip - coated in a mix of his saliva and that beading precum, leaning his head back and catching his lip between his teeth. He's right on his lunch break in class, and students are bound to come, but he's day dreaming of splitting you in half on his cock.
"Hah, don't be shy baby," he whispers, chuckling with his snowy lashes fluttered shut. "I'll give you all my cock, fuck I'll cum in all your holes - mmm, don't worry about being loud. Let that boy you like hear you cum f'me."
Satoru's closer when he scrolls and catches that video he took last night of you, your much shorter fingers failing, all frustrated and huffing, the filthy sounds of his huge hand sliding up his slick cock echoing in the classroom.
"That's it, fuck you're tight but d-don't worry, take it easy your first time," he smirks as his cock jolts, picturing taking you for himself, busting his load all over his hand with a weak little whimper. "What you do to me... fuck..."
knock knock knock.
Shit.
Satoru rushes as he sees you peek your head up, smiling through the window as he awkwardly shoves his cock back in his slacks, wiping his hand with a pair of panties he took from your laundry. He hastily straightens and opens the door, smiling down at you.
"Professor Gojo, um could you help me with this? I'm sorry I just am tired lately and missed this part of the lecture," you murmur, eyeing his chin then, a little drop of white on it. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all, for my favorite student," you blush and walk in, he closes the door behind him, walking over to the desk, your eyes stuck on his chin. "Got something on my face?"
"Yes actually, do you mind?" He pauses and you swipe that white liquid off curiously, looking at it and blinking as Satoru about loses his shit.
Fuck, cum got on his face!?
"I - hah - was just eating some mochi you know, sweet tooth," he teases, taking your hand but not before you lap his cum off your thumb, lips wrapping - his cock violently twitches as you look at him and smile a bit, your eyes lidded as you suck.
God you're ruining him.
"Oh it's sweet," you murmur, leaning over just a bit, your pretty tits begging for his mouth as your sweater falls open. "You should let me have some, Professor."
P݁rofessor Satoru has no issue sharing his dessert with his favorite student <3
You and Gojo Satoru keep ending up in absurdly romantic situations, as if the universe itself is playing matchmaker.
So the universe apparently ships you and Satoru Gojo. Five attempts at sailing that ship. Wonder if it worked.
First attempt
It starts at a rooftop party on Shoko’s birthday, everyone’s slightly drunk, fairy lights everywhere like the setting itself is trying to be a romcom.
You’re standing at the railing, drink in hand, genuinely having a nice time, when the music changes to something embarrassingly slow and suddenly it’s just you and Gojo standing side by side.
Romantic isn’t it” he says, clearly fishing for a reaction.
“Shut up”
“We could slow dance.”
“I will pour this drink on you.” you look at him like you’re seconds away from committing a crime.
He grins and leans on the railing next to you, shoulder almost touching yours “You look pretty when you’re annoyed.”
“I will pour this drink on you and then push you off this roof.”
He puts a hand over his heart like you’ve wounded him personally.
The lights flicker… and in the three seconds of semi darkness, someone in the crowd shoves someone else and you get knocked directly into him.
His hand catches your waist. The lights come back and you’re six inches from his face.
“Hi,” he says, and he’s smiling, the bastard.
You push off him and go find Shoko. She takes one look at your expression and hands you her drink without a word. You love her.
Second attempt
Second time is more elaborate, which means the universe leveled up, she’s committed to this bit.
You’re grocery shopping.
This is not a place Gojo Satoru should exist because he doesn’t do things like grocery shop, he probably has someone do it for him, and yet.
There he is.. in the cereal aisle. Holding a box of the limited edition cereal you specifically came for.
“Put it down,” you say, already annoyed.
“I got here first.”
“You don’t even eat cereal.”
“How do you know what I eat.” he smirks, clearly enjoying this.
“You eat things that cost more than my rent, Gojo, put the cereal down.”
He doesn’t.
You reach for it and he raises it higher.
You end up basically climbing him trying to reach it and at some point his arm comes around your back to stop you from falling and the elderly woman in the aisle makes a sound like awww and you both go still.
“We’re not together,” you tell her.
“Of course not,” she says, with the look of someone who has seen seventy years of bullshit and recognizes yours specifically.
He gives you the cereal and doesn’t say anything smug about it. Which is deeply suspicious. You watch him the entire walk to the register like he’s going to pull something.
He doesn’t.
He just says “see you” and leaves and you stand there for a second being inexplicably annoyed about it.
Third attempt
Third time you should genuinely sue someone.
You’re supervising the training exercise while Gojo runs the students through something, which means you’re standing far away from him.
Then Megumi’s shikigami glitches… you don’t know how, you didn’t see it happen… and it comes at you fast enough that you don’t fully dodge, and Gojo wraps himself around you, and takes the impact against a tree instead.
You’re basically pressed against his chest, his arms around you, and the training ground has gone completely silent.
You look up.
He looks down.
Fifteen students watching. Nobara with her phone out. Yuji looking genuinely emotional about it.
“I could have dodged,” you say.
“Sweetheart, you were not going to dodge.” he tilts his head, smirking.
“Don’t call me… what did you just…”
“Eyes on the shikigami, everyone” He cuts you off and turns back to the students like nothing happened and you stand there facing his back having something close to an aneurysm.
Nobara sends you the photo later that night. He looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be. Absolutely shameless.
You save it in a private folder
Utahimé calls you to ask how the training went and you say “fine” and she says “mhm” and you say “stop that” and she mhms again and you hang up.
Nobara sent the pic to the group chat.
Fourth attempt
Fourth time the universe really said let me cook.
Group dinner… loud, crowded, perfectly normal until the table arrangement gets shuffled because Nanami and Haibara take one end and Shoko and Utahime take the other.
You get the middle table which should have two more people in it but those two more people got caught in traffic and now it’s just you and Gojo at a table for six with a candle in the middle.
A fucking candle.
You stare at it. He stares at it. You both look up at the same time.
“I will eat and leave,” you say.
“Same,”
You don’t leave. The food’s too good.
You end up there two hours, talking shit about everyone you know, rating cursed spirits on a scale of annoying to actually threatening, and he steals food off your plate and you stab his hand with your chopstick.
He acts wounded and you tell him you’ll aim better next time, and somewhere around the second round of drinks he’s laughing at something you said and you think oh this is so bad.
The candle is still there. Very romantic…. Very unnecessary.
Walking out he bumps your shoulder and says “you’re funny when you’re not being mean to me”
You scoff, though your mouth betrays you with the smallest smile.
Then his cab comes and he leaves
You stand there for a second and notice you’re still smiling and your chest is doing something it has absolutely no business doing over Gojo Satoru of all people.
oh no. Oh no no no. You’re so fucked.
Final attempt
Summer festival. Shoko mentioned it, six people said yeah, and now you’re all here.
Somewhere around the second hour the group seperate the way groups do and you end up walking next to Gojo because the crowd pushed you together and you’re both too stubborn to reroute.
“You look nice,” he says, and the way he says it is so annoyingly sincere that it’s somehow worse than if he’d been a dick about it.”Yukata suits you,”
You don’t say anything because there’s nothing to say to that that doesn’t make it weird. “You’re welcome,” he says, to your silence.
You’re mid sentence about something when the fireworks start without warning, just suddenly the whole sky goes boom and everyone around you looks up.
You look up too, for a second. Then you glance at him.
He’s not looking at the fireworks.
He’s looking at you. Soft eyes, that small smile, the fond look he gets sometimes that you’ve been successfully pretending you haven’t noticed for months.
He’s just…. looking at you… with the fireworks going off behind his head.
You laugh, trying to act normal while everything inside you is screaming.
“You have fireworks behind your head,” you tell him.
“I know,” he says, still looking at you. Doesn’t glance back even once.
“They’re pretty good ones.” You try to change the subject before your face gives you away.
“Uh huh.”
“You’re missing them.”
“Mhm.”
You shake your head, still smiling, and open your mouth to say something stupid but it doesn’t come out. Because he’s still looking at you like that and your brain stops working.
Your cheeks heat up, even though you refuse to meet his eyes.
He steps closer. Slow enough that that you could absolutely say something sarcastic and ruin it, slow enough that you have every opportunity to step back.
You don’t move.
He kisses you soft and gentle and the fireworks are still going and you think in your head that this is so embarrassing and also you don’t care even a little bit.
When you pull back he’s still got that look on his face.
“Stop it,” you roll your eyes and hope your flushed cheeks aren’t obvious.
“I’m happy,” he says, and it lands exactly where he meant it to, right in the middle of your chest, and you look at him for a second and then shove him by the shoulder, though your heart won’t stop racing.
He grabs your hand when you try to pull it back.
Your phone buzzes.
Utahime has sent a photo to the group chat.
It’s you two. Mid kiss.
Fireworks perfectly framed behind you both like she’s been standing in this crowd with her phone ready.
Utahimé : I’ve been waiting 4 months to send this. You’re welcome. Also Shoko owes me 3000 yen.
Shoko replies: worth every yen honestly
You look at him for a long second. The fireworks are winding down. He’s still holding your hand.
it's a very niche item because it'll only work with a specific L&D hairstyle and cc hairs that derived from it, but quite a few people were excited about it anyway, so here it is
right brow ring slot
50 shades of grey (okay, just 6 shades of grey) + EA colors + a few extra colors
something about virginity loss fics makes me sooo wet... req by anon ^^ adding onto the list whenever i find more <3 mdni, nsfw content!
gojo
digimon—but making u cum is my real hobby - blkkizzat
strongest sorcerer virgin - megumiluv
virgin and unexperienced bf!gojo - fatal fairies
number one sorcerer (and virgin) - inmaki
nerds do it better - sugugasm
virginity loss & riding - creamflix
inculpatus - jaegerbby
teach me how to pleasure my future wife (you) - fvsm4x
geto
reformed player!geto - akicult
virginity loss & riding - creamflix
losing your virginity to geto suguru - yasu-1234
his favourite - h34rtbeat
just let me love you - sttoru
salvation - puppykento
inked - choslut
nanami
she said it's her first time - classyrbf
sins of the flesh - semisgroupie
perfect lover: the life of nanami kento the 35 year old virgin (series) - kanekisfavouritegf
yuuji
oh my god, pretty - lokissweater
virgin!yuji x virgin!reader - nana-au
bff & virgin!yuji - nana-au
yuji x f!reader - ickyuji
megumi
best friend megumi fushiguro - onismdaydream
megumi's birthday - mommypeick
first time having sex is awkward - wild-jackaloupe
how to fuck 101 - chosok-amo
i think i'm ready - romantichomocide95
first time - megvmijx
yuta
that boy is mine! i can't wait to try him! - rosesaints
gummy bear - loveanddeepdick
right here - love-jelly
smile, you're on camera - seraphdreams
choso
virgin!choso - teasingchoso
choso kamo x f!reader - jaegerdilf
mind body and soul - admirxation
cherry blossoms ( 1 2 3 4 5 ) - sellenite
cherry smoke clouds - kleftiko
he's such a (hot) looser - classyrbf
emo boy - krys4h
toji
sins of the flesh - semisgroupie
taboo crush - spideyyeet
best friend's dad - nanaslut
sukuna
virgin!sukuna - screampied
etc
jjk!boys x virgin!fem reader
v!rgin killa - screampied
asking the jjk characters to take your virginity - nanaslut
cherry popper - satorusugurugirl
what happens when you say “i hate you” to different versions of logan (gender neutral) (smut version)
inspired by a conversation with @lostinlovingrevery, hope you all enjoy!
70s!logan
you’ve been having a really bad day. a really, really bad day. the last thing you need is logan brushing you off because he’s “got shit to do, doll.” so you say it, with a stomp of your foot for dramatic effect. you don’t mean it, he knows that. but you aren’t expecting him to also know exactly what you’re asking for, rough hands grabbing you by the hips and shoving you down onto the couch. he grumbles curses under his breath, fumbling with his belt buckle, and you can’t even process what’s happening before he’s pushing into you. the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness, cause your eyes to roll back into your head. upon seeing this, a pleased expression comes to his face. your mind goes blank within moments, no thoughts except the man pounding into you, cigar still perched in his mouth, smoke blurring your vision as he grunts. “there we go. finally fuckin’ quiet.”
origins!logan
you don’t hate him, you hate the grocery store and those assholes at work and the guy who cut you off when you were driving home. but it just kind of slips out- you’re stressed, anxious, and your sweetheart of a boyfriend unintentionally becomes your punching bag. you’ve barely gotten out an apology before he’s wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. he studies you with a serious expression, hands rubbing circles against your hips. “you hate me, huh?” you try to reassure him that no, of course you don’t, but he won’t listen, the playful glint in his eyes betraying his true intentions. “seems like we oughta fix that.” despite your protests that you’re fine, he carries you to bed with ease, laying you down and using his tongue to work as many orgasms out of you as you need to be happy and satisfied. “feelin’ better, sunshine?”
animated!logan
it comes after he’s slammed you into the danger room floor for the twentieth time that day. you’re utterly exhausted, just wanting one fucking win, but he’s not letting up. he doesn’t take it easy on you- never does. you have a lot of respect for him for it, but goddamn does it piss you off. that was probably the wrong thing to say, though, given the way he’s staring down at you right now. “hate me? that’s harsh, bub.” something predatory flashes in his eyes. “must not wanna touch me then either.” you get to your feet, glaring daggers back at him. he draws it out with a smug smile, waiting for you to admit the truth- it’s not about if you give in, but when. you’re too proud to admit it- so instead you drag him to the nearest closet, sinking to your knees and unbuckling his belt. his hand fists itself in your hair, guiding your pace as he fucks your throat. he makes you take all of him, forcing you down to the base, grinning when you choke on his cock. “don’t worry. i’ll take this as an apology.”
trilogy!logan
you’re play fighting in the kitchen- a common occurrence as he tries to interrupt whatever you’re doing. today it borders on arguing, which is why the exasperated words direct themselves his way, punctuated by a “so much” for emphasis. he just looks at you, with his gorgeous face that has your stomach doing flips, taking a few steps closer until he’s invading your space. “that’s not what you were saying last night, baby.” the memory of last night, his touch and his filthy words in your ear, brings heat to your cheeks. his breath hits your skin, his mouth tantalizingly close to yours, the proximity making you squirm. before you know it, you’re upstairs, a smug smile on his face as he makes you fall apart with his fingers, begging and pleading for more. the way you writhe underneath him confirms what you won’t confess, and he hums in fake contemplation. “guess you don’t hate me that much after all.”
2013!logan
you want to go out into the city, he tells you it’s not safe. it’s a debate that’s been going around in circles for days until you finally let the words slip. his silence, paired with the flash of anger in his eyes, tells you that was a mistake, but it’s too late to take it back now. not that you would dream of it as he drags you to the bedroom, one rough hand grabbing your chin and forcing you to look in the mirror as he sinks you down onto his length. the other lifts your hips up then drops you back down again, a slow but brutal pace. it’s too much, and you feel lightheaded as he growls in your ear. “what do you say, sweet thing?“ still, you’re coherent enough to remember your manners, babbling incoherent thanks and apologies, reduced to a basic vocabulary as he impales you on his cock over and over. tears begin to stream down your face, and his firm hold keeps you there, made to see the way he wrecks you completely, the way you fucking love it.
dofp!logan
you’re tied down to the bed, silk rope binding your wrists and ankles. he’s been teasing you for hours. logan always likes to play with his food- slow, methodical, taking his time with you. and god, you enjoy it, but you’ve been good today and you just want your reward. the words are muttered, frustrated, and you’re grateful when he keeps going. you think must not have heard you by the way he’s bringing you closer and closer to that delicious peak, until his gravely voice is right next to your ear. “careful.” he takes your chin, making you look at him as he pulls his hand away from where you need it most. his eyes are serious, his tone a warning, one that only further turns you on. a whine escapes you, your hips bucking at just how close you are, how much you need this. “don’t want me to leave you here, do you, honey?” he smiles in satisfaction when you immediately shake your head, begging him not to do that to you. “that’s what i thought.”
old man!logan
you know you shouldn’t have said it. of course you know you shouldn’t have said it, but that didn’t stop you from doing it anyway. logan doesn’t move from the armchair he’s sitting in, whiskey bottle lowering from his lips. he raises an eyebrow, looking up at you with an unamused expression. “you done?” meekly, you swallow and nod, mumbling a sorry and thinking that’ll be the end of it. but you think wrong. he sets the bottle on the table, turning to face you again, something serious in his eyes. “c’mere.” he pays his lap. you move to sit, but he stops you with a firm hand against your thigh. “bend over, sweetheart.” your heart races as you realize what your punishment will be. you do as he says, and soon enough, your eyes are filled with tears from the spanking he delivers you. “you know better than to pull that shit on me.” he grumbles, clearly disappointed in your attitude. “don’t do it again, y’hear me? got enough to worry about without you bein’ a brat.”
worst!logan
you’re standing outside the door of your apartment when it happens. you’ve been lamenting to wade and vanessa about how much logan drives you crazy, with his stupid face and huge muscles and unfairly sexy voice. unbeknownst to you, logan is just down the hall, coming back from the grocery store. looking back, you’re fairly certain both wade and vanessa knew he was coming before you did, deciding to leave you to your cruel fate. it isn’t until you feel strong hands on your hips and warm breath on the back of your neck and a suspiciously familiar sexy voice in your ear that you realize the trap you’ve stepped into. “you’re hurting my feelings.” you turn around and are met with a fake pout. who knows where wade and vanessa went, all you know is that he’s backing you up against your door, continuing to get closer even as you stumble through apologies. “that’s it? you’re sorry?” he flashes a toothy grin, something predatory gleaming in his eyes. “come on, angel. i know you can do better than that.” he’s cornering you: nothing to do, nowhere to run- except, of course, his lips. so you give in, tongue crashing against yours, his body enveloping your senses. and trust me, he’s gonna make sure you never think a single damn bad thing about him again.
patch!logan
you’re in the casino, begging him to let you get in on a game. he says your job is to just “sit here and look pretty, darlin’,” but you’re getting really fucking bored. the moment the words cross your lips, you regret it. not just because you don’t mean it, but because you can see immediately that logan is pissed. he gives you a look the likes of which he’s never given you before, and nearly shoves you off of his lap. you wait by the edge of the table until the place empties out for the night, thinking maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. but even when the two of you are alone once more, he still doesn’t say a word, just leans back and spreads his legs- a command, and you must obey it. so you do. crawling towards him on your hands and knees, reaching up to undo his belt buckle. as you pull his cock out, beginning to stroke him, the tip of his boot presses against your thigh, and you realize what he wants you to do. you’ll do anything to make it up to him, including sacrificing your pride. so you do: grinding on his boot, pathetic whimpers leaving your lips, muffled by the way your mouth is wrapped around his cock. all the while he says nothing, staring down at you with a menacing expression, and the only thing you can do is pray that you’ll be good enough that he’ll show you mercy.
cowboy!logan
you don’t even remember what you were fighting with him about. no, that left your head the second the unimpressed expression took over his face and the words “that so?” left his lips. you nod- stupidly, you nod. then you step back, but it’s too late, his lasso wrapping around you and tugging you closer to him. “ooh.” he sucks air in through his teeth, shaking his head with a heavily disappointed expression. “that’s gonna be a problem, isn’t it?” he doesn’t let you answer, pulling on the lasso a little harder and sending you stumbling to the ground. he leans down to be face to face with you, jerking his head toward the empty farmhouse a few hundred meters away. “you’d better find a way to make it up to me, sugar. and fast.” when you still don’t move, don’t say anything, he frowns, clicking his tongue at you. “get to it.” and now his voice has that commanding tone, and suddenly you are letting him pull you towards the dirty mattress in the farmhouse, tying your wrists to the bedpost as he cages you in.
Summary : Old Logan takes care of his pregnant wife.
Note : fluff
Logan’s POV
Her breathing was slow, steady, but I could tell she wasn’t asleep. I watched her from the doorway for a second, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. She was lying on her side, one hand resting on her growing belly, the other tucked under her pillow. My wife, strong as steel, but pregnancy was taking its toll on her.
I walked over, careful not to wake her if she had finally drifted off. As I got closer, she shifted, her eyes fluttering open and catching mine.
“Hey,” she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. She tried to sit up, but I quickly stepped forward, my hand resting on her shoulder.
“Easy, darlin’. You don’t need to move.”
She chuckled, but it was tired. “I’m fine, Logan.”
“Yeah, that’s what you said yesterday,” I muttered, sitting down beside her on the bed. “And the day before that. Doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest.”
She rolled her eyes, but I could see how exhausted she was. I’d never been one for all the baby talk or fussing over things, but seeing her like this—tired, carrying our kid—something inside me changed. Maybe it was that protective instinct or just the fact that she looked so damn beautiful, even when she was worn out.
“You’re hovering,” she teased, her hand reaching for mine.
I grunted, but my fingers wrapped around hers. “Not hovering. Just… watching over you.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, squeezing my hand. “I like when you’re like this. All soft.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Soft? Darlin’, I ain’t soft.”
She laughed again, and the sound was like music to my ears. It had been a rough few weeks for her—morning sickness that didn’t just stick to mornings, swollen feet, and a back that was giving her hell. I’d give anything to make it easier, but all I could do was be here. So, that’s what I did.
“You hungry?” I asked, brushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I could make you something. Or try, anyway.”
Her face softened, but she shook her head. “I’m okay, Logan. Just tired.”
Tired was an understatement. Her eyes were heavy, but she was fighting it. Always trying to be strong, even when she didn’t have to be.
“Then rest,” I said, my voice gruff but gentle. “I got everything covered. You don’t need to do anything.”
Her hand drifted back to her belly, and I couldn’t help but follow it with my eyes. It still blew my mind that we were doing this—starting a family. It wasn’t something I thought I’d ever have, not with the life I’d lived. But here we were, her body growing the next part of us, and I couldn’t imagine anything more important.
“Feel the baby,” she whispered suddenly, her eyes lighting up.
I blinked, then reached out cautiously, my rough hand gently resting over hers on her belly. A moment passed, then I felt it—a small, faint kick.
My heart did something weird, tightening and swelling at the same time. I’d fought wars, survived hell, but this? This was something else.
“She’s strong,” I murmured, my hand lingering there.
“She is,” she whispered, her voice soft and full of warmth. “Just like her dad.”
I shook my head. “Nah. She gets that from you.”
We sat there for a while, neither of us saying much. I didn’t need words. This—just being here, feeling that life we’d created, seeing her in front of me—it was enough.
“Get some sleep,” I said after a while, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” she whispered, her hand still on mine.
Her eyes drifted closed, and I stayed where I was, watching over her like I always would.
being a dad at his age was something logan never imagined. starting a family seemed so out of reach, after everything he’d lived, he never thought that dad was a title he deserved. but then laura came into your life, and it was hard for him because you were a natural, effortlessly knowing how to care for her.
bit by bit, he began to follow your lead, picking up your habit of checking on her before bed and tucking her in, keeping an eye on her plate and making sure she finished her veggie, checking on her when she played outside and even sitting through her favorite cartoons.
and as you watched him, you’d catch yourself wondering what it would be like to bring another little life into this family you were building. the idea of getting pregnant crossed your mind more than once, and you could see it flicker in his eyes too, like an unspoken thought that made its way between you.
—you ever thought of having kids? —he asked, quiet but serious.
you took a few seconds to think about his question. not that you needed them, you'd always wanted to have his kids, and having laura had changed things, deepened the bond between you and logan, and brought your maternal instinct back. she wasn’t your biological child, but in every other way, she was yours.
the thought of bringing up the idea of getting pregnant to logan felt selfish, especially when you knew how much he had already given and how tired he was, you knew that, so you kept your hopes to yourself, not wanting to ask for more than the peace you had found with him and laura.
—we have laura —. you answered.
—yeah, we do. but… that’s not what i’m talking about.
there was a few seconds of silence while he waited for your answer.
—yes, i've thought about it but—
—have you thought about it recently?
you nodded to his question, feeling guilty.
he slowly nodded back to you. —i've been thinking about it too.
DURING PREGNANCY
logan started helping caliban in the kitchen, something that surprised you at first because he had never been much of a cook. but the two of them would work together, preparing meals that were good for you and the baby. logan would quietly chop vegetables or stir a pot, taking caliban’s instructions (also surprising because he had not followed anyone's instructions in a long time) as they worked to make sure you had everything you needed to stay healthy.
he’d help you with things like showering when it became difficult for you to balance or reach certain places. his touch was always gentle, his movements careful, making sure you felt safe. it became an intimate routine, his fingers massaged your scalp with care.
every night he'd gently rub lotion on your growing belly, helping to care for the stretch marks that had started to appear. he knew how self-conscious they made you feel. he could see it in the way you’d glance at your reflection, letting out a frustrated huff each time you noticed a new one, how you’d try to hide it from him, or how you’d wrap yourself in a towel quickly after a shower. so he took his time applying the lotion with steady hands, his eyes focused as if making sure he was doing it right.
—another one? —you muttered, feeling the weight of it.
—doesn’t change a thing —. logan just shook his head, kneeling beside you. —it’s just a mark. i'm covered in marks, and you never cared, right?
laura sat close to you, her eyes focused on your belly as logan gently massaged your skin. she was waiting, as she always did, hoping to see her future sister move. each time logan’s hand smoothed over your growing bump, laura’s gaze would sharpen, her small body leaning forward saying come on, little sis, just one kick. sometimes she’d place her hand beside logan’s, her touch gentle but curious.
—is she going to move soon? —she’d ask in a hushed voice.
logan glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. —she’s already kickin' when you’re not looking —. he teased lightly as he rubbed the cream over your stretch marks, carefully. laura’s eyes never left your belly, waiting for that one special moment.
and he'd give you foot massages, his calloused hands rubbing away the soreness from carrying extra weight. you’d close your eyes, sighing in relief, and he’d smile.
when your clothes stopped fitting, it was he who offered up his own. he’d hand over his t-shirts and flannels, which hung loose on you and smelled like him, making you feel him close to you even when he was away at work.
logan was a bit reluctant at first but when the doctor told him how important prenatal yoga was to you, he didn't have to think about it twice. he wanted to be there and help you in every way he could even though he felt a bit out of place among the soft music, peaceful atmosphere, and expectant mothers, but he never let it show.
he'd help you find comfort in each of the poses the instructor guided everyone. he was often the only man in the class, which certainly caught the attention of the other moms. perhaps they noticed the age gap between you and logan, but more likely, their attention was drawn to your undeniably handsome partner. some of them whispered to each other, half-jokingly expressing their jealousy at how lucky you were to have such a dedicated partner. you both noticed the glances but you were too focused on each other.
as the weeks went by, the mothers would often smile at him, offering you two the kindest words as they saw how attentive he was to your needs.
at the end of the class, logan leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand resting on your back. —you did great —. he murmured, his voice full of pride. as you started to gather your things, one of the mothers nearby smiled and said, you're a lucky girl.
you couldn’t help but blush a little. he gave a small, almost shy smirk in response but didn’t say anything. instead, he focused on helping you with your bag.
the moment you found out you were pregnant, he quit smoking. it was almost instinctive, he wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, and that included kicking the habit that had stuck with him for years.
and giving up cigarettes was one thing, but quitting drinking was way harder. there were nights he’d sit in the kitchen, staring at the bottle in the cabinet, knowing he could just reach for it. but he remembered you asleep in the other room, a hand resting protectively over your belly, and he’d push the thought away. he didn’t want his daughter growing up with memories of whiskey lingering on her father’s breath.
DURING LABOR
logan was more terrified than he'd ever let you know. he had faced, battles survived unimaginable pain, and lived through horrors but this was different. watching you in pain, knowing that your body was going through something so intense shook him to his core.
he stayed by your side, gripping your hand tightly and leaning in close, his voice encouraging you to push. he'd brush the damp strands of hair that were sticking to your face and press his forehead to yours.
when the baby’s first cry filled the room, logan sighed in relief, his grip on your hand softening as he finally allowed himself to breathe. once the doctors placed her on your chest, logan leaned in by your side, his eyes shining as he looked at you. you did so good, baby, thank you so much he murmured as he kissed your sweaty forehead and one of his fingers brushed across the baby’s little cheek.
AFTER PREGNANCY
at first, he was terrified every time he held her, his usually steady hands suddenly unsure. he was afraid that even his touch might be too much. she was so tiny, so soft and fragile, and her chest rose and fell so peacefully even though her small fingers wrapped around logan's thick ones with such strength. he found himself holding his breath whenever he picked her up.
in those first few days after labor, logan seemed to be everywhere at once. checking on the baby, bringing you food, making sure you were sleeping and laura wasn't trying to sneak into your room to see the baby. she was fascinated by her little sister, how could a human being be so small? laura often asked herself.
logan would catch her on her tiptoes, face with curiosity, and he’d stop her with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. laura would pout, glancing past him with wide eyes, eager to get closer, but logan wasn’t having it.
you surprised him when you caught him slipping into a soft, almost comical baby voice whenever he spoke to his daughter. but it was completely unintentional, just something that happened whenever he looked down at her tiny face, her big eyes blinking up at him. oh, what’s that little face all about, huh? you got somethin’ to say, little one? he’d murmur, his voice high and gentle as he rubbed one of her cheeks.
logan never thought he’d find joy in something as simple as dressing up his little girl, but there he was, surrounded by tiny clothes, immersed in a world of pastels and patterns. the laughter that escaped his lips as he put together the outfits was genuine. alright, sweetheart, what do you think of this one? he would ask her, holding the little one in front of the mirror. the baby had no idea what was going on, but logan nodded, approving the outfit. he’d try on multiple outfits, taking photos, and sending them to you for your opinion. how about this for school? he’d text you, proudly. this one’s a bold choice, but i think you can pull it off, he’d tease, pretending to be a fashion critic.
leaving for work each day became one of the hardest things logan had to do. he hated those hours he spent apart from the three of you. and every night when he came home, the baby was already sleeping but he'd tiptoe over to the crib, and he'd place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. then he’d make his way to bed, crawling next to you and pulling you close against his chest. he’d nuzzle his head close, murmuring softly, you okay, darlin’? and though you’d only mumble a half-coherent answer, he’d still give a small, satisfied nod.
and when he gets out of work earlier, he comes home exhausted, and you can see it in his face, the tired lines around his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders, the way he rubs the back of his neck, but despite that, he is never too tired to play with his baby girl.
as the baby grew, logan took on new challenges, like driving her to school each morning, packing her tiny backpack with her favorite snacks, and doing her hair. with dark brown locks just like laura's and his own, he gathered them into two little ponytails, a bit clumsy at first, his fingers were used to fighting and rough work, not delicate hairstyles.
laura, after seeing how much fun logan had with the little girl’s hair, wanted no less. she’d approach him, eyes bright with excitement. —can you do my hair too, logan?
—your mom can do it for you. she's much better at it than i am —. he answered, not sure if his hairdressing skills would meet the older girl's expectations.
—but i want you to do it!
logan huffed, ruffling her hair with his free hand. he used the same care gathering laura's long hair as he did for her baby sister and he found it incredibly satisfying to see laura's face light up when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
after all, he was meant to be a girl's dad. every moment with you and your daughters reminded him that all those years of solitude and struggles, had led him here to a life filled with love. he might have thought being a dad was beyond his reach, but now, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.
One night, you wake up to find Satoru lying on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling, his usually lively eyes clouded and distant. The moonlight from the window casts a soft glow over his face, highlighting the slight furrow in his brow. You shift closer, brushing a hand lightly against his arm, which makes him flinch slightly before looking at you with a forced, small smile.
“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask gently.
“It’s just… insomnia,” he says, but there’s a flatness to his voice, like he’s only half-believing his own excuse. He sighs, avoiding your gaze, but you can sense there’s something more lurking beneath the surface.
You prop yourself up on your elbow, reaching to brush a strand of his hair from his forehead. “Satoru… what’s really going on?”
He hesitates, his lips pressing together in that rare moment of vulnerability he usually hides so well. “It’s just… sometimes I wonder if I’m…” He trails off, a flicker of pain passing through his eyes before he finally mutters, “If I’m… hard to love.”
The words hang heavily in the air, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. His gaze flicks to you, and in the quiet pause, you see the hope dim in his eyes. His expression shifts, hurt spreading across his face as he misreads your silence. “I… I guess that answers it.”
“No, no, Satoru!” You quickly lean in, taking his face in your hands and pressing a series of soft, quick kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his lips. “It’s not that! I just… I never expected you to say that. Not you, of all people.” Your heart aches seeing him like this, so vulnerable, as if he’s carrying a weight he’s never let you see before.
He gives a small, almost embarrassed laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know it probably sounds ridiculous, huh? Someone like me, afraid of not being enough.”
“Not even a little,” you whisper, running your thumbs tenderly across his cheeks. “Satoru, you are so, so loved. Not despite who you are, but because of who you are. You’re… special, in ways you don’t always let yourself believe.”
His eyes search yours, a mixture of hope and doubt lingering there. “Really?”
“Really,” you say, kissing the tip of his nose, then his lips again, slowly, reassuringly. “You might be the most complex person I know, but that just makes loving you even better. There’s nothing about you that I don’t want. Nothing.”
The tension in his body gradually melts away as he lets out a shaky sigh, finally relaxing as he allows himself to believe your words. He reaches out, pulling you close, resting his forehead against yours as if grounding himself in your presence. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a gratitude that feels almost fragile.
“Anytime,” you reply, holding him tightly. “You don’t have to pretend around me, you know. I’m not going anywhere.”
As you stroke his hair and cradle him in your arms, you can feel the lingering doubts begin to slip away. He lets himself sink into your embrace, the weight of his worries lifting as he finds peace, finally letting himself believe that he is, in every way, truly loved.
✩ worst wolverine
✦ 'messy' (nsfw) - worst!logan x f!reader // logan learns that you can squirt, he indulges in that information (1.8k words)
✦ 'hunger' (nsfw) - worst!logan x f!reader // logan can't tear his mind away from the new barmaid at his usual haunt. he tries to resist you, he really does. but when you're both alone in the bathroom, he finds he's not the only one plagued with filthy thoughts. (3.9k words)
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.
✩ old man logan
✦ 'look at me' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x gn!reader // logan can't fuck like he used to, but you don't care. you get on top, gladly taking care of him in return (2k words)
✦ 'forever in blue jeans' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x f!reader // riding old man logans thigh while he wears jeans (500 words)
✦ 'my man' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x gn!reader // he's irresistible in that work suit of his, so much so that you decide to treat him with it on. (1.3k)
✦ 'the man in the mirror' - oldman!logan x gn!reader // comforting logan as he questions his identity (600 words)
✦ 'always' - oldman!logan x gn!reader // logan is struggling to look after himself, you trim his beard while he sleeps. (800 words)
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.
✩ general logan / aus / other
✦ 'nsfw alphabet headcanons' (nsfw) - logan x gn!reader // the word 'logan' for the nsfw alphabet (800 words)
✦ 'branded' (nsfw) - logan x gn!reader // wearing logans dog tags as you ride him (300 words)
✦ 'joyride' - (nsfw) logan x f!reader // logan fucks you on his (scotts) motorbike in the middle of the forest because you can't keep it down inside the mansion. (1.7k words)
✦ 'heavy metal lover' (nsfw) - logan x f!reader // imagine logan is in a metal band and he uses you before every gig in his dressing room (300 words)
✦ 'save a horse, ride a cowboy' (nsfw) - cowboy!logan x gn!reader // riding cowboy logan (370 words)
✦ 'bad idea, right?' (nsfw) - dofp!logan x f!reader // your father hired him to protect you, not to fuck you. but logan never really liked playing by the rules. (1.7k)
✦ 'number one fan' - rockstar!logan x popstar!wade // rockstar logan meets popstar wade backstage. what could go wrong? (1.1k words)
pair: logan howlett x fem!reader
wc: 4k
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, sweating, mutual masturbation, sweat licking (i don't know???), not-so-dry humping, p in v, JUST THE TIP RAHHH, creampie, fingering (fem!recieving), oral sex (fem!receiving), come swapping, come eating, literally over four thousand words of pure nasty smut, this is gross lowkey, idk i'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.
nat’s note: very much not the winner or even an option of the poll i posted last week but...shhh don't hate me. it’s october and over 80 every single day, what the fuck is that? only good thing that came from this heat is thoughts of nasty sweaty sex with logan. once again shoutout to my wonderful husband @ebodebo for reading this over for me (i successfully changed her vendetta against sucking up some man sweat...which was the real point of this fic tbh) go give her fics some love if you're a slut for ghost! kisses!
logan forgot to fix the ac...
It's too hot out to be alive. 36°C and sunny.
One of the hottest days in recent memory for Alberta, and you're really feeling it.
"Remind me," you say slowly, the first words spoken in almost ten minutes. "How many times did I ask you to fix the air conditioner?"
"Don't start," Logan says from his spot across the room. His head is tipped back to rest on the couch cushion, eyes slipped shut.
You ignore him, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at him through squinted eyes, your brows furrowed in thought. "Was it ten? Or maybe thirteen?"
Logan huffs a breath, slow and heavy, but he doesn't move--doesn't even open his eyes. “I said don’t start,” he mutters again, though there’s the faintest edge of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Don't worry baby," you say, voice pitched lower in a terrible impersonation of Logan. "I'll get to it, promise. Won’t get too hot for another couple months."
Logan finally cracks an eye open, just enough to give you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching with amusement. "You done?"
You hum noncommittally, the sound lingering in the air like the lazy summer breeze doing nothing to cool the temperature outside. Your gaze slips down the side of his face to trace the jut of his jaw, then lower to the sweaty column of his neck.
Both you and Logan lost most of your clothes earlier in the day, too hot to bother wearing anything but underwear. You trudged around the house like zombies until you finally gave up on trying to be productive, you both ended up in the living room.
All the windows are cracked open, trying in vain to let in any cool air. You claimed the armchair closest to the fan, refusing to be anywhere near Logan and the massive heat wave he constantly gives off.
Logan’s on the couch, stripped down to the thinnest pair of sleep shorts you’ve ever seen. His chest is bare, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that mats the dark hair dusted along his pecs to his skin.
You can’t help the way your eyes follow the drops of moisture that slide slowly down the contours of his abs. A low heat starting to swirl through your gut when it disappears into his happy trail.
It's funny. When you basically peeled yourself off your mattress this morning, sex was the absolute last thing on your mind.
Now, as your eyes glide over the strong expanse of Logan's body on full display, you're having second thoughts.
Maybe it just comes with the heat. That sort of slow, syrupy feeling that slides along your overheated skin to pulse pleasantly between your thighs.
A bead of sweat slides down the length of your spine slowly, falling until it soaks into the damp waistband of your panties. You try to not notice how Logan is halfway across the room, not touching you.
You fail.
“It’s just a shame, though,” you start, fingers idly toying with the hem of your tank top. “If it was cooler, I could come over there.”
You slide a leg up, letting it rest against the wooden rest, newly exposed skin gleaming under the sunlight filtering in.
The move isn't lost on Logan. You see his jaw clench slightly, the tiniest shift in his posture.
"Something you wanted?" Logan asks, his voice going low and teasing. "Looks like you've been gettin' yourself all worked up over there."
“Just thinking,” you reply, shifting slightly on the sticky leather of the chair.
Logan’s fingers twitch at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes slide the rest of the way open, his gaze heavy and lingering as it ventures down to where your thin shirt sticks to your skin, outlining every curve.
“Oh yeah?” he prompts, his voice a little rougher now. “Thinkin’ about what, baby?”
“You,” you say easily, fingers slipping down to your thigh. You bring your other leg up, perching it against the opposite armrest. Your thighs spread wide enough that you know Logan has a full view of the wet spot growing along the gusset of your panties.
The hitch in Logan’s breath has you stifling a smug smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch the way his chest starts rising faster.
"That's real sweet, sugar," he drawls, an unimpressed look on his face as he drags his eyes back up to your own. "But if you're tryin' to get me over there, you're gonna have to do better than that." His voice slides through the air heavy and warm like molasses.
You bite back a grin, enjoying the slow game that's unfolding between the two of you.
"Maybe I don’t want you to come over here," you let your fingers trail a little lower, just to the edge of your panties, teasing. “Maybe I like you right where you are.”
Logan’s brow raises, his thighs tensing before he spreads them just a touch wider. The fabric of his boxers goes taut over the strong muscle, riding up to expose even more hairy skin to your greedy eyes.
"You're playin' with fire, kid," he warns.
The tent in his shorts is obvious now, the hard length of his cock pressing against the fabric where it lays across his thigh. Your other hand twitches by your side at just the sight, your pussy throbbing with the sudden need to be filled.
"Am I?" you murmur, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, just enough to make sure he knows exactly where this is headed. ”It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it, you’re too busy pouting."
With a deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers lower, brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to let out a soft gasp at the contact. You arch your back slightly, relishing in the way the air feels against your skin, hot and sticky.
You want him to see how badly you need him—how his heat is the only thing that could truly satisfy the insatiable ache building between your legs.
Logan's nostrils flare, jaw tightening and eyes darkening at the sight of you teasing yourself. His restraint is slipping, and you can practically feel the tension building in the room, thick and stifling like the oppressive summer heat.
But he still doesn’t move, doesn’t rush over like you expect him to. Instead, he shifts his hips slightly, spreading his legs wider and letting his hand fall on his thigh.
You can’t help the way your breath quickens at the sight, the way his fingers drift dangerously close to his own growing bulge, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him.
You tilt your head to the side, gazing at him through your lashes. “You're really just gonna leave me hanging?” you goad, fingers circling lazily around your sensitive clit. “Come on stud, whip it out.”
Logan chuckles low, a sound that sends shivers through you. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asks, voice thick and taunting, a smirk curling on his lips. “You want me to whip it out for you?”
“Yeah,” you murmur breathlessly, biting your lip as you maintain eye contact, your breath starting to come in short bursts. “I need to see you, Logan. Need to see how hard you are for me.”
“Need to, huh,” he muses slowly, fingers finally grazing over the hard length of his cock. “What’s in it for me?”
“How about this?” You slip your hand out from your ruined panties, fingers glistening with your own wetness as you hook your thumbs on either side and drag them down your legs.
You let the soaked cotton fall to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to him.
Logan’s pupils dilate, an inky black completely swallowing the warm hazel. He licks his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth like he wants to sink them into you. His cock twitches visibly beneath his shorts, the growing tension in the air between you thick enough to choke on.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly, more of a growl than a word.
You smile, shifting in the chair to give him an even better view, your legs spreading wider. "Yeah?" you purr, running your fingers over your slick inner thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your own skin. “You like what you see?”
Logan swallows hard, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, palming his cock as he watches you. “You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than before.
You let your hand trail back down to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as you hold his gaze. “Then show me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea now. "I wanna see you."
Logan lets out a low, rumbling groan, his fingers making quick work of shoving his shorts down enough to free his cock. It springs free to slap lewdly against his stomach and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips at the sight.
He strokes himself slowly to start, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction, feeding off the way your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.
"Like this?" he asks, his tone taunting as he strokes himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head with a low hiss. “That what you wanted?”
Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, straining and in his hand. The sight of his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock sends a hot, electric pulse through your body, your hand between your legs moving in time with his slow strokes.
"Yeah," you whisper, voice trembling with need. "Just like that."
You slip your hand lower, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a low moan. Logan groans like he’s the one being touched, his hand speeds up, eyes glued to where your fingers disappear in your slick heat.
His cock leaks pre-come over his knuckles each time his fist passes over the dripping head, the wet sound of it mixing with the low hum of the fan and your own breathy sighs.
"You look so fuckin' good like this honey," Logan groans, his voice rough, strained. "All spread out, playing with that pretty pussy for me."
You whimper at his words, your body aching for more than just your own touch. You need him, need the feel of his rough hands on your skin, his mouth, his cock—anything.
Your fingers move faster, slipping deeper inside with each pump, but it’s still not enough. The stretch is nothing compared to taking Logan, to the feeling of him carving a place for his thick cock inside your pussy, hitting that spot inside you that your fingers can’t quite reach.
Your hips buck up towards your hand, your back arching off the chair as your free hand clutches the armrest tightly.
Logan’s pace quickens, his fist pumping his cock with a new urgency, heavy balls bouncing with every rough tug.
“God, look at you, such a needy fuckin’ thing” he growls, chest heaving as his gaze flicks between your flushed face and the glistening mess you’re making of yourself like he can’t decide where to look. “You want it bad, don’t you?”
"Please," you whine, desperation creeping into your voice. Too keyed up to draw this out any longer. “I need you inside me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore.”
Logan groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand falters slightly on his cock, squeezing hard around the base as your words push him dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you, and with a growl, he stands.
The last threads of his restraint snapping.
He crosses the room in two long strides, towering over you where you sit. His cock swollen and hard, sways between his legs with every step, glistening with pre-come that drips to the floor. His eyes, hooded and burning, drink you in as he reaches down, yanking your hand away from your slick heat.
“Thought you said it was too hot to move,” you tease breathlessly, unable to quit egging him on even when your legs start to tremble with need, spreading wider to welcome him.
Logan ignores you, tugging your hand to his lips. Your breath catches in your chest, a weak moan escaping you as he takes your soaked fingers in his mouth. His tongue swirling along your skin to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.
“Changed my mind,” he growls, strong hands rough and possessive as they drop your wrist and haul you out of the chair so he can spin around, collapsing into it with you in his lap. The wood gives a warning creak beneath you but neither of you care.
Not when his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding as he slides his tongue past the seam of your lips. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, but you welcome it—craving the weight of him on you.
You melt against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, every inch of him alive and pulsating with need. Logan’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a rush coursing through you.
It’s intoxicating, the way he devours you, his hands exploring every inch of your back, grasping and pulling you impossibly closer.
The hard jut of his cock presses against your thigh, a thick plane of heat that makes your pussy throb with need. You shift your hips, grinding down on him in messy circles.
“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “That’s all for you, darlin’.”
“Need you,” you whimper, grinding down against him faster, desperate for the friction that sends pleasure rippling through you. “Please, Logan, I need you inside me now.”
“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending sparks all up your spine.
He dips his head, capturing your lips again, while his hands roam hungrily down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs to urge your legs open wider. “You wanna tease me, you’re gonna have to get off just like this.”
Logan angles his hips so that his cock slips between your drenched folds the next time you roll your own down.
The hot, slick glide sends electric shocks of pleasure racing through you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You gasp against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair as you push down, desperate for more.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, his voice dripping with lust as he watches your movements with hungry eyes. “Just for me, huh? She’s droolin’ just for me.”
You nod breathlessly, chasing the friction, craving the feel of him so close. You lift your hips and rock back down again, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your swollen clit, and you feel your body pulse in response.
“More,” you plead, leaning in to nibble at his lower lip. “I need it.”
Logan pulls away, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Come on, tough shot,” he says, giving your ass a quick smack and kneading the tender flesh in his hand roughly. “You’re gonna come like this, you can do it baby.”
You whine, dropping your chin to your chest. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the strong muscle. Your chest slips slickly against his, the front of your tank almost entirely soaked with sweat.
Yours or his, it doesn't matter. The white cotton turned transparent enough that your breasts are on full display, nipples hard and visible.
You watch a single bead of sweat make its way down the length of his throat. It trickles down and down and down until it dips between the pronounced muscles of his chest.
You duck your head, dragging your tongue up the valley of his pecs. A deep moan bursts from your lips, pussy drooling more slick over Logan’s cock at the coarse feel of his thick hair on your tongue, at the heady taste of his sweat filling your senses.
Logan groans, hands tightening their hold on your waist. The dull ache his strength leaves behind is enough to let you know that two hand shaped bruises will be blooming over your skin by tomorrow morning.
“Come on, girly,” he encourages, nipping at the sweaty column of your throat, the sharp points of his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin deliciously. “Fuck me, give it to me good.”
Your hips speed up, his hard cock sliding through the slick folds of your cunt faster. The tip bumps against your clit deliciously with every move, smearing pre-come along the way to add even more to the mess between your legs.
“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he groans, breath puffing warm and hot agasint the slick skin of your lips. “Pump you so full of my come you’ll be leakin’ for a goddamn week.”
He shifts underneath you, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance just enough for it to push inside on the next grind of your hips.
The barely there fullness has you coming with a sharp cry, nails roughly dragging down Logan’s back hard enough to leave red welts that heal as you go.
The pain mixing with the pleasure of finally getting to feel the warm, wet suction of your pussy has Logan coming with a rough shout of your name. He throws his head back, hands tightening their grip on your hips enough to have your bones grinding together as he pumps you full of his come.
“Logan…” you mewl, your pussy fluttering over the tip of his cock, greedy little clenches like you're trying to suck him the rest of the way in. Drunk on the way his release paints your insides, how you can feel each thick spray coating your walls to claim you in the rawest way.
Logan pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watches you squirm in his lap.
"You’re not tapping out on me already, are you?" he teases, his voice rough and gravelly. "I thought you were tougher than that."
A weak, breathy laugh escapes you, but it’s cut short when he applies just a little more pressure, making your thighs quiver. "Not tapping out," you manage between shallow breaths, your head falling back against the chair. "But you’re—fuck—you’re insatiable."
Logan smirks, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to send shivers coursing through you.
"When it comes to you, baby?" he murmurs against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over your pulse point. "Fuckin’ always."
A lazily smile takes over your lips as you tighten your core and push, the rest of Logan’s come leaking out over his fingers. Logan groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder to try and ground himself.
His cock throbs where it sways heavily between his thighs, still hard and ready to go even after he just came. His hand slips down your body, thick fingers running through the creamy mess of come and slick to messily push it back inside you.
“Fuckin’ shit, honey,” he groans lowly, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Before you can respond, he stands again, gently placing your trembling form back into the chair and dropping to his knees in front of you.
Your breath hitches, legs widening despite the way your pussy shakes with overstimulation, like you can’t help but spread your legs for Logan anytime he wants.
Logan smirks up at you from between your legs, his lips already ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Look at you," he growls, voice low and filled with lust. "Still so needy."
The slick heat of his tongue runs along your folds, lapping at the mess he just made of you. You let out a sharp gasp, thighs trembling as your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer.
The sensation is overwhelming—the rough, demanding pace of his tongue as it swirls around your clit, teasing you, while his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, keeping you spread open for his tongue.
Your body arches off the chair with a loud cry, every nerve alight with raw pleasure as he feasts on you, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin.
"Fuck! Logan," you moan breathlessly, head falling back as you try to keep up with the sensations he's pulling from you.
The heat that was pooling low in your belly reignites, stoked by the way his tongue flicks faster against your clit, each stroke sending you higher.
Logan doesn’t let up, his tongue delving deeper, drinking in every moan, every shaky gasp as he drives you closer to the edge. He moans into your pussy, his own arousal clear in the way his hips buck into the air, seeking any kind of friction.
You tug on his hair harder, desperate for more, for release. "Logan, please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with need.
"Atta’ girl," he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come for me again?"
Every lick, every rough squeeze to your thighs, every teasing stroke sends you spiraling closer to that edge you’re dying to reach again. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your soaked skin and driving you wild.
“Logan, I—” You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, urging him closer, closer, closer. “I’m so close—”
His eyes flick up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, nose and jaw glistening in your juices.
"Give it to me," he growls, the rough rasp of his voice sending a shiver through your overheated body. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."
It’s all the encouragement you need. With a strangled cry, your body tenses, thighs quaking as the orgasm crashes over you.
Logan keeps his mouth on you, tongue working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, your body boneless in the chair.
When you finally come down, panting and spent, Logan pulls away. With one last kiss pressed over your clit, he makes his way up your body, not dropping eye contact as he settles over you.
His hand comes up to your face, thumbs meanly hooking into either side of your cheeks to gently force your mouth open. You part your lips willingly, the heat still radiating between you, a mix of lingering pleasure.
Logan leans in, and the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex surrounds you as he spits what he collected from between your legs back into your own mouth.
Your cheeks burn with shame, a broken moan ringing through the space between you. Your glassy eyes stare into Logan’s, his own gaze so intense and all consuming you fight the urge to squirm.
"Swallow," he commands, unwavering.
You hesitate for just a moment, caught off guard by the pure audacity, but the way his eyes darken with hunger makes your resolve crumble. With a breathless whimper, you obey, tasting the remnants of your own pleasure mingling with his, the act both humiliating and intensely arousing.
Logan watches you closely, his gaze never straying as you swallow, a dirty smirk creeping onto his lips. “That's my girl,” he praises, his tone thick with satisfaction.
As the taste lingers on your tongue, you can feel the weight of Logan’s stare like a physical touch.
“Think you can handle another round?” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “I don’t plan on letting you off that easy, kid. Not with all that mouthing off earlier.”
You catch your breath, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re relentless,” you whisper, a hint of laughter in your voice, though your body betrays you, already craving more.
“Only for you, baby” he replies, brushing the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty forehead behind your ear. “Only for you.”
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mini nat's note: i started my period today chickens...that explains it...
Summary: Logan takes you on a camping trip, but his survival skills are hilariously outdated. Between using a rock instead of a proper camping tool and attempting to start a fire with his claws (which ends up in a mini bonfire), you can’t stop laughing. Eventually, you both end up cuddled in the tent, sharing ghost stories that lead to goofy scares and unexpected confessions of affection.
Pairing : Wolverine!Logan Howlett x Female!Human-reader
Genre : Fluff
The sun was already dipping low behind the trees when Logan parked the truck. He got out like he was about to conquer the wild, while you stood there, looking at the woods and trying not to laugh at the seriousness on his face. Logan wasn’t the camping type—or at least, not the “modern” kind. He was more like the “rough it with nothing but your fists and claws” type.
This was going to be interesting.
“So, what’s the plan, Bear Grylls?” you teased, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.
Logan grunted, pulling out a rolled-up tent from the back of the truck. “Survive. That’s the plan.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Wow, so detailed. I feel so prepared.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve done this a hundred times. Just follow my lead, and we’ll be fine.”
Oh, boy.
You made your way into the clearing Logan had apparently scoped out beforehand. It wasn’t bad, actually—nice little spot near a river, surrounded by trees that rustled softly in the evening breeze. As soon as you set your stuff down, Logan got to work... sort of.
He started with the tent. You watched him as he unfolded it, frowning like the damn thing had personally offended him. “These damn things get more complicated every year,” he muttered, trying to shove a pole into one of the sleeves.
“Need some help?” you asked, biting your lip to keep from laughing as he wrestled with it.
“Nah, I got it,” he grumbled, jamming the pole so hard it almost snapped.
Five minutes later, the tent was half-collapsed, one corner flapping in the wind, and Logan was cursing under his breath.
“I think it’s supposed to stand up, Logan.”
He shot you a look, then glanced back at the tent. “It’s fine. I’m just, uh... testing its durability.”
You let out a snort, shaking your head. “Right. Maybe you should just let me handle that.”
“I’m a grown-ass man,” he muttered, glaring at the tent like it had insulted his mother.
“Yeah, and you’re losing a fight to a piece of nylon.”
After another moment of watching him struggle, you stepped in and started putting the thing together while Logan, not exactly one for sitting still, decided to gather firewood. He disappeared into the woods with nothing but his claws, because why bring a hatchet when you’re Logan?
By the time he came back, arms full of sticks and logs, the tent was up and looking perfect. You leaned against it, smirking as he dropped the wood into a pile.
“See?” you said, gesturing to the tent. “That’s how it’s done.”
Logan grunted, clearly not impressed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see you start a fire.”
You crossed your arms. “Watch and learn, old man.”
He grinned, that dangerous little glint in his eye. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”
Logan, being Logan, didn’t just gather some twigs and light them with a match like a normal person. No, that would’ve been too easy. Instead, he pulled out his claws and crouched next to the fire pit, sparks flying as he struck them against a rock.
“Logan, that’s not how—”
Whoosh!
The pile of wood lit up like someone had dumped gasoline on it. Flames shot up higher than you thought possible, and you stumbled back, laughing your ass off while Logan jumped up, cursing.
“Goddammit!” He swiped his claws through the air, trying to beat the flames down. “I meant to do that.”
“Oh, sure,” you choked out between laughs, wiping at your eyes. “That’s the perfect height for roasting marshmallows, right?”
Logan glared at the mini-bonfire for a second, then at you. “Next time, you can light the damn thing.”
You couldn’t stop laughing, the sound of it bouncing around the trees. Logan finally cracked a smile, though he tried to hide it behind a gruff mutter.
After some careful maneuvering (read: Logan finally letting you fix the fire), you both settled down for the evening. The fire was low, crackling softly, the night air cool around you. Stars were starting to peek through the darkening sky, and the only sounds were the soft hum of the forest and Logan chewing on beef jerky.
You leaned back against a log, holding your hands out to the fire. “So, what now? Gonna show me your impressive ghost story collection?”
Logan raised an eyebrow, gnawing on his jerky like a wild animal. “Ghost stories? What are we, twelve?”
“Come on,” you teased. “Everyone knows camping isn’t complete without ghost stories. It’s like... the law.”
He scoffed but leaned back, his eyes glinting in the firelight. “Alright. You want a ghost story? I’ll give you one.”
“Oh, this oughta be good.”
Logan cleared his throat dramatically. “So... once upon a time... there was this girl. Thought she was real tough. Real smart.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Is this about me?”
“Shhh, I’m tellin’ a story here,” Logan said, smirking. “Anyway, she thought she could survive out in the wild with just a little ol’ tent and her wit. But one night, she heard a rustling in the trees... something... watching her.”
You leaned in, playing along, even though you knew exactly where this was going. “Oh, yeah? What was it?”
Logan’s eyes widened theatrically. “A bear! Big, ugly thing. Twice her size. It came into her camp, sniffin’ around, and you know what she did?”
You shook your head, grinning. “What?”
“Nothing. She just froze. The bear ate all her snacks, tore up her tent, and left her sittin’ there in her own piss.”
You burst out laughing. “Wow, Logan. Truly terrifying. 10/10. I’m gonna have nightmares for weeks.”
Logan grinned, leaning closer. “I got more. You’ll be beggin’ for mercy by the end of the night.”
You pushed his shoulder lightly. “You’re such an ass.”
As the night deepened and the fire began to die down, you both retreated into the tent. It was surprisingly cozy inside, the faint warmth of the fire lingering outside while you snuggled into your sleeping bag. Logan stretched out beside you, his body taking up way too much space, but you didn’t mind.
“Comfy?” you asked, glancing at him as he wiggled around.
“Like a fuckin’ sardine,” he muttered, trying to adjust in the small space. “Who the hell makes these tents so damn small?”
“They’re meant for normal-sized people, not... whatever the hell you are,” you said with a smirk.
Logan snorted. “Mutant privilege. I need bigger accommodations.”
You both lay there for a few minutes, the quiet settling in around you. Logan’s breathing was steady, his body warm next to yours, and despite his earlier grumblings, you could tell he was content. This whole camping thing wasn’t so bad, after all.
“Alright,” you said suddenly, turning to face him. “I’ve got a ghost story.”
Logan raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything, so you went on.
“There’s this guy, right? Big, tough, hairy—like, really hairy. The kinda guy you wouldn’t wanna meet in a dark alley.”
Logan rolled his eyes, but you kept going.
“And one night, he decides to go camping with this totally amazing girl—smart, funny, great taste in camping snacks—”
“Wow, I wonder who this is about,” Logan deadpanned.
“Shhh,” you said, stifling a laugh. “But the thing is... the guy? He’s got a secret. See, he acts all tough, like nothing scares him, but deep down? He’s terrified of one thing.”
Logan looked over at you, eyes narrowing. “What?”
You grinned, leaning in close. “Commitment.”
Logan blinked, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”
“Maybe,” you said, smiling. “But you know I’m right.”
He didn’t deny it, just stretched out a hand to pull you closer, his arm wrapping around you with an ease that made your heart flutter a little too fast.
“I’m scared of plenty of things,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Just not the same kinda things as you.”
“Like what?” you asked, curious now.
Logan looked at you, his eyes serious for once. “Losing people. People I care about. That’s what scares me.”
The confession was quiet, unexpected, and it hit harder than you’d thought. You swallowed, unsure of what to say, but Logan just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, pulling you in tighter.
“Guess that makes you a real badass,” you whispered after a moment, your voice barely breaking the stillness of the tent.
“Damn right,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now shut up and go to sleep before I start tellin’ real scary stories.”
You smiled against his chest, warmth spreading through you as the sound of the river and the soft crackling of the dying fire lulled you to sleep. And maybe, just maybe, you’d both survived the great outdoors after all.
