#2013!logan

They all know you, and not just in a ‘I’ve loved you in every timeline’ manner of speaking, but they know you. They know how to make you roll your eyes and how to blush furiously. They know how to make you feel safe and how to comfort you. Worst of all, they know how to make you shudder, how to make you gasp in that way that sounds like an offense has been made, and they know what you like in bed.

“That’s not gonna get her nowhere.” The older version of Logan said, cock still hanging hard and swollen despite just having finished his turn in you. That Logan had been selfish, taking you all by himself before throwing you to the wolves, claiming seniority over the others which had only made them chuckle. Now he was taking swigs of a half empty bottle of whiskey as he watched you be spit roasted by the 70s version of himself and the cage fighter. Your mouth was stuffed full, your cunt split open on his cock so someone had to advocate for you.

“It’s not about getting her there yet, old man.” The cage fighter smirked, his hand grabbing onto your hair as his hips continued to slap into your ass. “We’re not done here till she’s out like a light.”

Your pussy clenches around him at his words and a shudder runs through your spent body as you whine around the cock in your mouth. “You like that, huh, darlin’?” The arrogant man from the 70s grinned, cupping your wet chin with one hand while the other remained on his hip, forcing himself down your relaxed throat. “Like being used like a good little girl?” You try to nod but the cage fighter tugs hard on your hair as he forces your attention back onto the movement of your hips.

“Don’t be so rough,” The Ronin says, pants half undone as he watches with darkened eyes from the chair by the window. “She’s just human in this timeline.”

Your eyes are watering as you feel a load shoot down your gullet and the cage fighter forces you further back onto his cock, locking his grip on your hips and fucking himself into your ruined cunt as he spills inside you as well. “Mmfph!” You gag, eyelids fluttering shut as you sit through the intensity of both of their releases.

The 70s version of Logan pulls himself out of your mouth, a string of mixed fluids tethering your mouth to him before he kisses you sloppily and groans. “Fine fuckin’ thing,” He growls, eyes locking onto your pleasure glazed face as the cage fighter slips out of your pussy from behind. “You look good all fucked out, baby, just like I remember you.”

“Move.” The worst of them suddenly falls into your line of sight and he tilts your chin up with two fingers. His eyes study you for a moment before he lets out a soft chuckle. “Never thought I’d get my hands on you like this, sweetheart. You can’t stand my ass back where I’m from.”

Before you can respond, the Ronin is suddenly flipping you onto your back and you gasp as he picks you up. You feel like a rag doll, being lifted and flipped and positioned like their personal fuck toy. And you can’t for the life of you bring yourself to stop them. “Don’t mind using the back door, do you?” Logan says, eyeing the one behind you as he sinks you onto his cock without awaiting an answer.

“Mind?” You hear the smirk before you feel his swollen head prod at your tighter hole, gripping firmly onto your ass as he spreads you and spears you. Your forehead falls forward on Logan’s shoulder, fingernails digging into his skin as he holds your waist gently. “Been dreamin’ about this.”

As the two men find a shared rhythm to bounce you along their cocks, your vision begins to blur with hot tears and your body trembles from exertion. “I’ve got you, princess.” Logan whispers, pressing a kiss to your jaw as they use you past the point of it being sex, this is pure torture.

And you find yourself relieved that the weird orange portal spat them out into your universe because you’ve missed him.

Literally wrote this on a whim as I was going through my inbox at 1am😂 Let me know what you thought, kind readers!

“You fuckin’ liar!” 

Often Logan has thought there’s not much in this life left that can rip open his meatshirt, but he's never been above being wrong.

This is one of those moments, just some of the words. 

Venom behind her tone first lashes white hot, ripping all the way to core parts of him that have been sheltered for uncountable years—only to hit cold, against his ribs.

A cold that alarms him to his bones, almost. He’d never seen her eyes, so fiercely blue, track so dark and lethal. If she’d been able to kill him with her stare alone, he’d be buried six feet under and rotting in graveclothes. 

Very few words actually had the ability to matter to him, in all his years, and he reacts swiftly—sidesteps the something that she manages to fling his direction.

It hits the wall in a muffled thump somewhere behind him, but he actually couldn’t care less about it—he watches her rip through the small cooking space, wrangling into a jacket. Her feet swiftly carry her out the door before he can round the center counter, his own coat over his arm. 

“Mare, just calm the hell down and listen to me —” 

“Why? So you can lie to my fuckin’ face?”

Her words lilt with rage, and Logan has to pull up a little shorter than he’s ever had to as she whirls about face, finger within an inch of his nose.

Her eyes narrow into lethal slits, dark and cold, as the apple of her cheeks light up with scandalous red.

“I saw. Every last pathetic, sick inch of you with her.” Her hands shove him back at the shoulders with a strength he forgot she possessed, her face twisting in the effort to contain the emotion hemorrhaging between her words, “We split off for what, a day, and you're in the arms of a different girl? Shit. Tell me, Logan, are you that desperate?” Her scoff is blade thin, “Could’ve fooled me.”

Sharp eyes drift low, to the cradle of his pelvis, then pierce him again like a knife.

“Oh, wait — duh. You did fool me. Asshole.” 

His frown deepens, managing an exasperated growl. He goes to step forward, reaching for her wrist, but she backs up with raised hands of surrender. Almost as if she’s relinquishing the argument.

 “We’ve known her for, like, a day, Logan. If you’re lucky,” Stepping back off the stone path, her boots scuff against the pavement. “And not to mention she’s like the granddaughter of your friend—shit. Shit.”

Eyes rolling upward, she shakes her head, “Y’know what? That’s fine. Great. Have a nice life, Logan, you and what’s-her-face—enjoy Japan.” 

Gesturing to the bay of open water, she turns on the ball of her foot, waving him off, “Figures—fuckin’ figures, come halfway around the world to help you say goodbye, and—” 

He does the unthinkable thing and rushes her from behind, hand grabbing at her hip to bring her about face with a passing, strong hand. The rough rasp of his voice cuts low, his lip curling when she tries to spin away.

Fingers curled into the material of her jacket tighten, however, closing the distance between the two of them. 

Anger passes visibly across her features, and Logan can scent the burst of blood from between her knuckles as familiar claws pop free of her flesh. Her lips part to insult, he's sure, but her expression blanches when he meets her blow—blocks it with a swat of his hand.

Expertly spins her around on her feet, forces her back against his chest in a hold strong enough to break most men — but she isn’t most men. 

She’s like him, in every way. Down to the mutation, to the genes. 

Designed and stitched together, intertwined with fate. 

Mariko had been a mistake, a mistake that he hadn’t anticipated. She’d kissed him with the desperation of a child, looking for connection in the shared human experience.

He hadn’t been thinking, honestly—only fate would send her right through the door, stumbling over this moment.

The look on her face he’ll never forget, passing anger. The star-crossed rage of a thousand broken pieces, the fear. 

Pain flickers inside him, sends his skin itching with unmitigated upset. The hope he’d felt bleed from her a thousand times, suddenly gone. He’d been unable to breathe as she’d hurled insults at him. Unable to answer, to think past the little tremble of fight in every one of her words holding back tears, betrayal fresh and hot. 

Any other woman would have done the same, and Logan believes it — but it wasn’t him. It could never be. He loved her, would die a thousand deaths to be within breathing distance.

God should scoff at him, strike him for letting her get this far into her doubts. 

A kiss from a stranger could not undo a decade together. He’ll make her understand that, if it kills him.

She isn’t a stupid woman, never. Smarter than him, smarter than most. 

“Yield, honey,” it’s more of a scoff than anything, he adds pressure to his hand fighting her arm, “it ain’t gonna happen.” Hand at her hip, he nods to the claws that catch the sun—they may as well be daggers stained with the blood from where she's buried knives in his chest.

“Put ‘em away, princess. Won’t ask again.” 

“Don’t you dare call me that after you’ve given her that name, Logan,” her words are slow, broken.

And she does yield, slowly. Like a dream, almost. Sapped of strength, bludgeoned of courage. He can scent the tears brimming beneath her fan of lashes.

“You’re hurting me.”

Her head turns to consider him over her shoulder, and he releases. 

It's too close. Tension in his jaw sets off muscle, and she steps away from him. Reaching for her hip, she doesn’t put much effort into twisting away, it’s slow motion. Hollywood, even. Calculated. Deliberate.

He never thought she'd be capable of pulling away from him so smoothly, so expert.

“Do you love her?” Her eyes cast low, to the ground—more tears sparkle in the high sun. He's fairly sure he can't breathe, but, oxygen pumps in his blood like a pistoning freight train.

“Do you love her? Already?” 

It’s preposterous. 

Wild. Absurd. Her stupidest moment. His frown deepens—he’ll never give a damn about Mariko, not like he does her. His sun, to which his life revolves. His Adonis, forever Icharus in the shadow of her.

The very heart beating behind his ribs aches at the thought of worshipping anyone else. Anyone else rising to take her place?

He’d divide mountains. 

Visible confusion passes over his face he knows, and he is more aggressive about his hand connecting with her hip. He manages to ease closer; she pulls back. A delicate dance of advance, retreat.

Until she’s backed into the shade of a low-hanging tree branch, hidden from the sun. Canopy of blue-gray sky. 

The flutter of her lashes tells him she hopes he can’t see the stain of tears, of pain. He could never not see her — a thousand years could pass between them and he’d always find her, again. Any lifetime. Any realm.

Logan thinks he’d pass through time for her, relive every horror if it meant having her again.

She is the first, every time. The sweetest. His only. Everything with her is the first, and it’s shut up within him like a shaking the world would never know. He can barely breathe, thinking about it.

Craves it like its sweet whiskey, the air that gives him life. 

“Not possible,” he gruffs, braving a step closer. She’d sink into the bark of the tree if she could. His knuckles graze the wet of her cheeks, his eyes snag the way she tries to angle from his touch but can’t.

“Don’t you know I can’t love anyone but you?” It’s true. He’d never love again like he does at this very moment, time standing still. Waiting to be born.

“She’s just a girl, playin’ games. And what I feel for you isn’t a game—and I told her that much.”  He shakes his head, his scoff low in his chest, “Can’t say I ain’t proud of you being bein’ jealous, though.” 

She makes a rough sound, her eyes shifting up to his. “I have a right to be jealous.” It’s a weak defense, her low lip curling inward, tenderly. Like a child. 

His fingers tuck under her chin, forcing her attention. “You do, and I want you to be.” 

“You shouldn’t temp fate.” 

“And you shouldn’t be jealous, but here we are.” He grunts, “You sorry for acting like an ass?” 

Stone cold, she shifts a little uncomfortably beneath his hard stare. “I’m not sorry for wanting you all to myself,” her tone is firm, but the gallop in her pulse betrays every edge to her tone. It’s a greenlight, the jump of adrenaline that licks at her skin, her held breath as he moves in, closer still.

“Next time I won’t be so forgiving.” 

“Won’t be a next time,” the way her breath hitches when he leans close will never cease to rip him open, “only person I wanna kiss is right here, if she’ll have me.” He knows she will, she always will. He’d waited lifetimes. Passed through fires and centuries to be here, right now.

“You still want me?” 

Pretty sure he’d continue to do so, until God decided he’d breathed enough. 

“I’ll always want you, Logan,” taking his chin between her fingers, her eyes rivet onto his with the weight of ancient worlds hanging between them. “Every part of me is for you. Just remember that the next time you up and decide you’re gonna let girls kiss you outta nowhere.” 

She’s absolutely meant for him, every part.

Every breath, every heartbeat. Fits against him like God’s design. He couldn’t let her go, not even for wild horses. Not even for fate, or God, or love and money. 

And she’s right here with him, mouth slanted against his. 

Every part of her, for every part of him. 

💌 tagging:

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

@kmc1989

@steviebbboi

A low layer of fog drifted through the pines, swirling around Logan’s boots as he hovered at the tree line. Days had passed since that night in her cabin, and every morning since, he found himself drawn to this spot, hidden among the thick trunks and tangles of undergrowth. The Tupperware container she’d packed for him - leftover stew that had seen him through a couple of cold, lonely nights - sat empty back in his cave for a while. He could have returned it sooner, but caution, and something else he didn’t care to name, kept him at a distance. He watched her through the haze, studying the routine she followed each day. She’d chop wood behind the cabin, pausing occasionally to brush a loose strand of hair from her face. She’d kneel to tend a small vegetable garden off to the side, her jeans hugging her form and her thin sweater doing little to hide her curves. Twice a week, she would leave in her still-dented sedan, returning hours later with groceries and supplies from the nearest town.

Logan told himself he was just being careful, making sure there wasn’t anyone else around - some curious friend or neighbor who might complicate things. The truth, however, prickled at the edge of his mind: he wanted to see her. Each passing day, it became harder to ignore the memory of her polite smile and the warmth of her home. He caught himself wondering if she was as alone as he was. From what he could tell, no one visited her cabin, and the few times she paused to look toward the woods, he felt that familiar jolt in his chest, half-convinced she sensed him there.

For Y/N, the days had turned into a strange vigil of her own. She couldn’t help glancing to the tree line, imagining that she might catch a glimpse of his tall, burly silhouette among the shadows. More than once, she thought she saw movement - just a trick of the light, she assured herself. Still, her mind betrayed her with images of his rugged features, those intense eyes that seemed to hold a lifetime of pain. She found herself thinking about that shower he took, about the clean clothes that once belonged to her father - and about how he managed to fill them out so well. Despite a lingering sense that it was pure fantasy, she began leaving the porch light on longer in the evenings, almost as if inviting him to return.

And finally, one late afternoon, Logan took a breath and stepped out from behind the pines, empty Tupperware in hand. The sky overhead glowed orange and pink, painting the clearing in gentle twilight colors. He moved quietly, but this time he wasn’t trying to hide. Y/N was on the porch, sweeping the dirt and leaves off. As soon as she caught sight of him crossing the yard, her heart thumped hard enough that she nearly dropped her pen. She stood up slowly, her gaze flicking between his face and the container he clutched. A cautious smile pulled at her lips. “You’re back.” She said, her voice softer than she intended.

Logan nodded, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself. His shoulders tensed, and his gaze swept over the porch, the lantern, the details of her space - anything but her eyes. “Figured you’d want this back.” He muttered, holding up the plastic container.

Y/N took a step closer, the old wood boards groaning underfoot. “I, uh - thanks, but you didn’t have to go out of your way just for that.”

He shrugged. “It was yours to begin with.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, filled only by the murmur of a light breeze through the trees. Neither of them seemed to know how to bridge the distance. Yet the tension in the air wasn’t hostile - more uncertain, like two people who’d stepped into unfamiliar territory and weren’t sure what came next.

She let out a small, nervous laugh. “Well, since you’re here…” She gestured toward the door. “Want to come inside? I’ve got some leftover soup on the stove. Not as good as the stew, but it’s hot.”

Logan hesitated, remembering the warmth of her kitchen, the way her presence had soothed him in a way he still couldn’t quite explain. Part of him wanted to bolt back into the safety of the woods. Another part, deeper still, pulled him toward that front porch light, to the promise of company on a cold Yukon evening. He gave a slight nod, then stepped closer. “Yeah,” He said at last. “Okay.”

That was then, but a short three weeks later? She wasn’t looking at the same man.

The first time Y/N caught a real glimpse of Logan’s darkness, it should have scared her. Instead, it made something deep in her stomach twist with something far more complicated.

It started with the broken lock on her shed.

She had barely stepped off the porch when she noticed it - the wooden door slightly ajar, the padlock snapped clean in half and discarded in the dirt. A curse left her lips as she stepped closer, boots crunching over frost-bitten grass. Inside, the shelves had been rummaged through, tools knocked over, a small supply of canned goods taken. It wasn’t the first time some desperate fool had wandered too close, thinking her cabin was an easy target. This time, as she exhaled sharply, she became aware of another presence behind her.

She didn’t have to turn to know it was Logan. He’d been staying later and later each evening, finding new excuses to linger - the weather, the meal she made, the stack of firewood that suddenly seemed too low for her to handle alone. She’d started waking up in the middle of the night, thinking she heard footsteps outside, only for them to be gone by morning. And now, as he loomed behind her, she could feel the tension rolling off of him like a storm cloud. Y/N turned to find his expression unreadable, but his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His nostrils flared slightly as he surveyed the damage.

Then, before she could even think to say something, Logan bent down, picked up the broken padlock, and examined it with a look that sent a shiver down her spine. “Didn’t take much to break it.” He muttered. His voice was quiet, but there was something dangerous in the way he said it.

“I’ll replace it tomorrow,” She said, trying to shake the unease creeping up her spine. “Not the first time someone’s tried this.” Logan’s jaw ticked. His grip on the broken lock tightened, knuckles whitening. She watched him carefully. “It’s fine, Logan. They’re long gone now.”

He finally looked at her, and the intensity in his stare made her breath catch. “Doesn’t mean they won’t come back.”

She swallowed. “I’ll be fine.” Logan’s silence stretched for too long. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he dropped the lock and turned back toward the cabin.

That night, he didn’t leave. Not when the dishes were done. Not when she threw a hesitant glance toward the clock, expecting him to grab his coat and mumble something about heading back. Instead, he sat on the edge of her porch, legs stretched out, a cigar in hand. He was guarding her. Y/N didn’t question it. She only locked her doors, crawled into bed, and lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, listening to the low, distant sound of Logan pacing outside.

A guard dog, she thought to herself with the faintest trace of amusement, shouldn’t be the worst thing, right?

What she didn’t quite yet realize about him was that Logan had always been an animal first, a man second. He didn’t live by the rules of polite society - never had, never would. He took what he wanted, and he knew how to make himself needed. Y/N’s life had been easy to slip into. Her home, her routine, her trust. She was soft in a way he wasn’t used to, the kind of woman who left the porch light on even when she wasn’t expecting any company. The kind to take in strangers and make them feel good, worthy. Logan had decided she was his. She just didn’t know it yet.

It had been easy. A twist of his wrist, the snap of metal, and suddenly, she had a problem he could solve. It wasn’t malicious - no, Logan didn’t see it that way. He saw it as…necessary. Y/N needed a reason to keep him around. Something small, something that made her feel like his presence wasn’t just tolerated - it was wanted. So when she had turned to him, worried and flustered over the broken lock, Logan had played his part well. He let his jaw tighten, let his fists clench just enough to make her feel safe with him, let her believe someone else had done it. He had seen the way she’d looked at him that night as he lingered outside, smoking his cigar on her porch, listening to the trees. She had wanted him there. And now, he had every excuse to stay.

A week later, when she had gotten up early, keys in hand, Logan was already outside. She hadn’t noticed him right away - just strolled toward her truck like it wasn’t an issue, like she wasn’t going to leave him behind for the next two days to run errands in town. As soon as she turned the key in the ignition, Logan heard it. The weak sputter of an engine refusing to catch. She frowned, twisting the key again. Nothing. A small crease formed between her brows as she groaned, slapping the wheel. “Damn it.”

Logan stayed where he was, leaning against the porch railing, waiting. She got out, checked under the hood - not that she knew what she was looking for - and after a few minutes of staring blankly at the engine, she let out a sigh of frustration. It was only then that Logan pushed off the porch and made his way over. “Trouble?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

Y/N sighed, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. “Truck won’t start. I was supposed to head into town.” Logan peered under the hood, pretending to inspect something. His fingers grazed over the distributor cap - the one he had loosened just enough the night before to make sure it wouldn’t start.

“Could be the cold,” He murmured, playing it casual. “Could be somethin’ worse.”

She groaned again, crossing her arms. “Just what I need.”

Logan let a beat of silence pass before glancing at her. “Guess you’re stuck here a few days.”

She let out a breath, defeated. “Yeah, I guess so.” She didn’t notice the flicker of satisfaction in Logan’s eyes.

And then, just to seal the deal, Logan left behind a small surprise they would hopefully cement his role in her life. He’d left it just at the edge of her property, where she was bound to see it on her way back from chopping wood. A fresh kill, a rabbit with its throat torn open, blood staining the frost-covered leaves. It was subtle, nothing too obvious - just enough to plant unease in her chest. And sure enough, when she spotted it, she stiffened. Logan watched from the porch, cigarette between his fingers, as she lingered over the body, her boot nudging it slightly before she swallowed and looked toward the trees. She was thinking about it. The shed. The broken lock. The idea that someone - or something - had been too close to her home.

That was all it took.

That night, as the sun dipped below the trees, she hesitated at the door before finally saying, “You could stay tonight, if you wanted.” Logan didn’t let his satisfaction show. He just nodded, stepping inside like he had always belonged there. Logan wasn’t a man of half-measures. If she wasn’t going to stop caring for him, if she was going to keep feeding him, keep letting him in, then she was his. And anyone who thought otherwise was going to learn the hard way.

So when she mentioned heading to town once her truck was fixed, talking about other people - shopkeepers, that old mechanic she always trusted - Logan’s grip on his coffee mug tightened. “You don’t need to go into town so much.” He said one morning, voice casual but firm.

She raised an eyebrow at him over her breakfast. “I kinda do, Logan. I need supplies.”

Logan shrugged. “I can get ‘em for you.”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think you wanna be my errand boy.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t like the idea of her being gone for hours, of her talking to people, of her life continuing outside of this cabin without him. Didn’t she see how much easier it would be to just stay?

“You trust me, don’t you?” Logan asked, leaning forward slightly.

She hesitated. “Of course.”

“Then let me handle it.” She didn’t argue that time, but Logan knew she still didn’t feel like she needed him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could tolerate that because she might have thought she was just caring for another stray, but Logan wasn’t the kind you could get rid of.

Having him around more often isn’t as nerve wracking during the day as the things that happen in the dark. The nights belong to Logan now, they did the moment she didn’t say anything when he started sneaking into her cabin. She should be unsettled by how often she wakes to the sound of his boots on her floor, to the slow, careful press of his hands mapping her body as if it’s already his to claim. She isn’t. She should be afraid of the way his touch lingers, of the way his heavy palm slides up the bare expanse of her thigh, fingers curling against soft flesh before retreating. She just isn’t. She is unsettled by the thought of what would happen if she told him to stop.

The first time he touches her without hesitation there had been no indication during the day that he had this planned. The routine has settled into something unspoken. She leaves her bedroom door unlocked. She tells herself it’s a habit, what if there’s a fire or if she really needs to go to the bathroom? Logan doesn’t make a sound when he enters, but she feels him; his presence thick in the air, his heat radiating from where he stands at the edge of the bed. Then he moves. The mattress shifts under his weight as he sits beside her, breathing slow and deep.

Y/N knows what comes next.

Fingertips grazing the length of her arm, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone beneath the thin strap of her camisole. His palm smoothing over her stomach, her hip, the soft curve of her thigh. A gentle squeeze, a possessive press of his hand - enough to make her toes curl under the blankets, but not enough to make her move.

Because she likes it.

She doesn’t know what’s worse - the way he touches her so carefully or the fact that he only does it when she’s like this. Still. Quiet. Open to him in a way she never would be if she were awake.

The night he kisses her started the same way. The door creaks open just slightly, then closes again without a sound. Logan steps into her room with familiarity, and Y/N’s heartbeat quickens. She’s already anticipating his hands - already waiting for the slow press of his fingers against her skin, for the possessive weight of his palm over her hip.

Tonight, however, he does something different.

Tonight, his lips touch her first. The kiss is tentative. A whisper of warmth against her shoulder. Then another. Slow and deliberate. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t move. Logan must take that as permission because his mouth drags lower, his thick beard scratching against the sensitive skin of her collarbone as he moves toward the curve of her neck. His breath is hot, his lips softer than they should be, and when his tongue flicks against her pulse, she shudders. A sleepy sound leaves her throat - a quiet little sigh meant to sell the act. She can feel the way Logan smirks against her skin. He knows that she’s awake and he doesn’t stop. Instead, his hands follow the path of his mouth, sliding under the thin covers, over the bare skin of her thighs. She’s barely wearing anything - just her camisole and panties and Logan must love that, because his fingers curl possessively around the dip of her waist, tugging her slightly toward him. She lets him. Lets him part his lips over the soft spot below her ear. Lets him suck at her skin, lets him mark her. She sighs, shifting slightly, her body arching just enough to make it seem like she’s waking. “Mm,” She hums softly. Logan finally pulls back, but only slightly. There’s a pause, a moment of tension where she can feel the heat of his breath still fanning over her skin.

Then his voice, low and rough:

“…Didn’t mean to wake you.” It’s a lie. A lazy, half-hearted apology, spoken against the delicate skin of her shoulder as he presses one last kiss there.

She swallows, letting herself really wake up now, just barely opening her eyes as his lips descend over the swell of her breasts, his fingers sliding underneath the hem of her camisole. Her heart’s pounding against her rib cage and a part of her wants to stop him, tell him that this isn’t right. Logan shouldn’t be sneaking into her room and touching her like this, she knows that, but she doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t push him away as his hands slide lower, as his lips trail a little further down, tasting her, teasing her. And when he kisses her thighs, slowly spreading them open, she exhales a shaky, pleasure-tinged sigh, and Logan just chuckles. His beard scratched against her skin with every slow, careful pass of his mouth over the damp fabric of her panties, sighing contently. As if he knew she would let him. As if he knew she had been waiting for this.

The worst part? He never apologized, never explained himself during the day. Logan acted as if he never did anything wrong, he acted like this was just what they did. And - being the people pleaser that she is - Y/N didn’t bring it up either.

Not yet.

🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️

Okay, okay, I will write three chapters because I love the angst:3

Mountain Man III

Of course, Y/N knew what fear felt like. She’d felt it when she was younger, alone in the city, walking home at night with her keys clutched between her fingers. She’d felt it when her father passed, leaving her with nothing but this cabin and a quiet kind of loneliness that settled deep in her bones. With Logan in her life now, those past fears didn’t nearly shake her as much as his presence did.

The signs were there, clear as day; the way he always knew when she was coming and going, the way she caught the scent of him in her home when she was sure she had been alone the night before. He was too quiet for a man of his size, too skilled at slipping in and out of spaces unseen. Yet, she never locked her bedroom door. Never got up when she heard the shift of weight on the floorboards in the middle of the night. Because if it was Logan - and she knew it was - then she wasn’t in any danger.

That much she knew.

The first time she found him already in her cabin, she’d just returned from town, arms heavy with groceries. She hadn’t even put the key in the lock when she nudged the door open and found him standing in the kitchen. Logan looked completely at ease, sleeves rolled up, hand resting on the counter like he had been waiting for her. She froze, not necessarily out of fear, but out of a slow-burning realization that she had no idea how long he had been inside or how he got in. “How did you - ?”

Logan cut her off with a glance at the bags in her hands. “You need help with those?”

Her pulse was steady, but her grip tightened around the paper bags. “Logan, how - ” He stepped forward, taking the groceries from her without waiting for permission, unloading them onto the counter with practiced ease. She should have asked. She should have pressed him. Instead, she swallowed, leaned against the doorframe, and let him put her food away like he had always done it.

Mornings used to be peaceful. Now, they felt watched. She would step onto her porch, steaming coffee in hand, and know without looking that he was already there. At the edge of the tree line, half-hidden in the mist, Logan stood with his arms crossed, a silent figure against the backdrop of endless pines. He never waved. Never called out. He just watched, and when she met his gaze, his expression was laden with something dark and possessive, something that sent a shiver down her spine.

She always looked away first.

Some days, he followed her back inside, stepping in like he belonged there. Other days, he stayed where he was, a reminder that he was keeping track of her. She never stayed in town longer than necessary. Not because she was afraid of what Logan would do, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Not her.

The worst part wasn’t the unspoken knowledge that Logan had been in her home while she slept. It wasn’t the way he moved her things ever so slightly, leaving traces of himself behind like a wolf scent-marking its territory. It wasn’t even the fact that, if she asked him outright how he kept getting inside, she knew he wouldn’t lie.

No.

The worst part was that she let him. She let him step closer each day. Let him hover behind her as she chopped wood, feeling the heat of his body against her back. Let him curl his fingers around her wrist once, testing, waiting for her to pull away - only to watch as she didn’t. She wasn’t afraid of Logan. She was afraid of how easy it was to let him stay.

Whatever Logan had begun with Y/N was something like ownership. He doesn’t ask for permission. He doesn’t need to. She never gave it to him, not outright, but she never stopped him either. And in Logan’s mind, that meant she was his. She just hadn’t realized it yet. So he made sure she did.

At night, his hand would linger over her clothed cunt, his fingers petting softly at her plush lips while she took in choppy breaths and held tightly onto her sheets. “Bet she’s real fucking soft, huh?” He had whispered one night, his thick beard prickling her neck as his hot breath coated her cheek. “Bet you’d cry real pretty if I stuffed her with my cock right now.”

Her heart pounded in her throat, her gut tightened as his erection pressed further against her ass and an involuntary shudder moved through her frame. Logan’s palm tightened on her mound, a small growl vibrating against her jaw while he nipped at her skin. “Hm,” She made a false sleepy sound, pretending to stretch out unconsciously to roll onto her stomach and effectively shielding herself from his large, searching hands. Logan only chuckled lowly before she felt him leave and for that she was grateful.

The day he finally showed his jealousy was probably the day she should’ve put her foot down. Y/N knew the moment she stepped out of her car that something was off. She had been in town for longer than usual, and even though she told herself she wasn’t in a rush to get back, part of her had felt the weight of Logan’s impatience more than she cared to admit. When she saw him standing on the porch, arms crossed, waiting, she realized it wasn’t his impatience she should have been worried about.

It was anger.

His jaw was clenched, his broad shoulders tense, and before she could take more than a few steps toward the house, Logan was already moving. She barely had time to react before his hand was on her arm pulling her toward the cabin with a low growl. “Inside.”

Her pulse spiked. “Logan!”

“Now.”

Maybe she should have told him he didn’t have the right to be this angry, that she could leave the damn house whenever she wanted. Instead, she let him lead her inside, let the door slam shut behind them as he exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was trying not to snap. “Who’d you see?” His voice was low, even, but laced with something darker.

She stared at him, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

“In town,” He ground out. “Who’d you see?”

She swallowed. “Logan, I - ”

“You were gone a long time.”

Something in her stomach tightened. “Jesus.” She let out a shaky breath, rubbing her temple. “You realize how insane you sound right now?”

Logan didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He was watching her, jaw tight, the muscle in his cheek twitching. And then, before she could say another word, he stepped closer. Too close. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back to keep looking at him, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough that when he exhaled, it ghosted over her lips.

“You keep leaving,” He murmured. Her breath caught in her throat, the scent of pine and frustration filling her nose. “You don’t need to,” He added, softer now, thumb brushing absently over the inside of her wrist. “You don’t need anything or anyone out there. I take care of you.” Her stomach flipped. Her mind screamed at her to push him away. Her body stayed still, however, open. Logan noticed. His lips quirked into something close to satisfaction before he finally - finally - let go.

Just like that, the moment passed. For now. Because after that he grew down right territorial.

It started subtly, Logan just happened to be around more often. If she was chopping wood, he was suddenly nearby, arms crossed, watching her struggle with the ax before finally pulling it from her hands and doing it himself.

If she was cooking, he was at the table, sharpening his claws, eyes never straying far from her as she moved around the kitchen.

If she was reading, he was sitting in the chair across from her, silent, unmoving, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

It should have annoyed her. It should have felt like an invasion of space. The longer it went on, the more it became routine; Logan helping when she didn’t ask. Hovering, keeping her in his periphery at all times, making sure she never forgot he was there.

Eventually, she had stopped locking her front door. No one else was going to get in, not with him watching all the time, pacing the perimeter of her cabin like a guard dog. It was just easier that way. Easier to pretend that it was accidental when Logan let himself in, easier to feign sleep when his hands ghosted over her body in the dark.

Tonight was different. She felt the mattress dip under his weight. Felt the slow, deliberate shift of his body under the covers. And then she felt him. The press of his chest against her back, the warmth of him seeping into her skin, the solidness of his body as he fit himself against her. Her breathing hitched, but she kept her eyes closed. Because if she didn’t move, she didn’t acknowledge him, then it wasn’t real. Then she could pretend she wasn’t letting him do this.

Logan then inhaled deeply, burying his face against her shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. He could smell her fear, her compliance, and he moved.

A slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

A firm, possessive drag of his body against hers.

Her fingers curled into the sheets. Her stomach twisted, thighs clenching instinctively as she felt him again, pressing against her backside, slow, controlled, and taunting. He wanted her to feel it. Wanted her to know exactly how much she affected him. And when she shivered, when she let out the faintest, barely audible sigh, Logan chuckled smugly, like he knew.

Like he knew she wasn’t asleep. Like he knew she wouldn’t stop him.

His hand slid over her stomach, warm and heavy, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, then lower, pressing against her thigh. Tugging her closer. Marking her with his scent in the only way he could without fully taking her. And just as she felt herself teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something she should pull away from, Logan pressed one last kiss to the side of her neck.

Then he was gone.

The heat of him, the weight, the slow press of his body vanished. And she lay there, panting softly, trembling, her body thrumming with something she didn’t want to name. Something that had been left unfinished. Something Logan would eventually come back to claim.

The moment she knew she had let him in too deep was the night he truly scared her. Y/N had needed this night. The weight of Logan’s constant presence had become suffocating, the walls of her cabin pressing in like a cage. She told herself it was harmless, that he wasn’t really keeping her there, but deep down, she knew he was always watching. Always waiting. So she went into town. She met up with some friends at the bar, drank just enough to loosen the tight coil of tension that had settled deep in her chest. She let herself laugh, let herself brush against a guy she used to flirt with before Logan ever came into her life.

And for the first time in weeks, she felt something close to free. Not having any idea that Logan was there. That he had followed her. That he had stood in the shadows, watching the way she smiled at another man, watching the way she leaned in just a little too close. That he had clenched his fists at his sides, jaw so tight it ached, blood boiling as she touched someone that wasn’t him. He had seen enough. So he left. And waited for her to come back to him.

The cabin wasn’t empty, she felt it the second she stepped onto the porch. The air was too still. Her buzz faded slightly as she reached for the doorknob only to find it already unlocked. She swallowed down her hesitation, fingers tightening around the handle. She should have turned around. Should have left. But she didn’t. This was her damn home. Instead, she braced herself and stepped inside. And there he was. Sitting on her couch, a beer in hand, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his eyes told another story.

Cold. Dark. Unforgiving.

The door clicked shut behind her. Y/N stayed frozen in place. “Logan.” He took a slow sip from the bottle, never breaking eye contact.

“You have a good time?” His voice was low, even, but there was something beneath it, something dangerous.

She exhaled carefully. “You followed me?”

Logan smirked, but it wasn’t amused. “Couldn’t exactly let you wander off alone, could I?”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach tighten. He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t giving her the illusion of control anymore. She took another step inside, setting her bag down slowly. “Logan, you shouldn’t - ”

“You smell like him.” The words hit her like a slap and she stiffened. Logan’s eyes dragged over her, slow and deliberate, his nostrils flaring slightly as if he hated what he was picking up on her skin.

She felt heat crawl up her spine. “I was just with friends.”

“Friends.” Logan scoffed, shaking his head. He set his beer down with a soft thud, then leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “That what you call rubbing up on some asshole who doesn’t know a damn thing about you?”

Her chest tightened with indignation. “Who do you think you are?”

Logan’s gaze was sharp, cutting. “You let him touch you.”

There it was.

The real reason he was here.

The reason he had been waiting for her in the dark. Her breath came shallow, her heart pounding. “Please, Logan - ”

“You’re mine.” She sucked in a breath.

Not a request.

Not a plea.

A fact.

Spoken like she had already agreed to it. Like there was no use fighting it. Because the truth was, she had let him in. She had let him sleep in her bed, let him touch her in the dead of night, let him mark her skin with his scent until she could no longer pretend she was just tolerating him, being friendly. She had let this happen, and now she wasn’t sure she could stop it. Logan stood. The space between them disappeared in an instant. Her breath caught as he lifted a hand, his knuckles brushing over her collarbone, right where the other man’s scent still lingered. A low, deep vibration rumbled from his chest, his fingers curling around her throat, not tight, not threatening, but owning.

“This?” He murmured, his thumb stroking the hollow of her throat. “This isn’t happening again.”

She trembled. “You don’t get - ”

“I take care of you,” He rasped, stepping closer, his body crowding hers, demanding her attention. “I keep you safe. No one else.” She swallowed hard. His grip tightened, his presence was suffocating. Consuming. She didn’t push him away. She didn’t pull out of his grasp. Because deep down, she knew she wouldn’t win. Logan must have seen the shift in her because his lips curled in a knowing smirk. He dipped his head lower, his nose brushing along her jaw, inhaling deeply before he kissed her throat.

Soft and slow. A silent claim.

Just as she shuddered, just as she exhaled shakily, just as she surrendered, Logan nipped at her skin, just enough to mark her, to make her gasp. Just enough to remind her that she wasn’t getting rid of him.

Not now. Not ever.

🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️

Kind readers, I am having so much fun with this tension😩🤭 I told myself I would write in some smut this chapter, but the anticipation is so steamy for me😏

“I’m telling you, Beth, the bouncer was huge. Like, lumberjack huge and he totally decked the asshole at the door. I didn’t even know people still looked like that.” She said, steering the car with barely a glance at the road.

Beth’s voice crackled on the other end of the line, her image slightly distorted on the screen due to the poor signal. “You live in the middle of nowhere, Y/N. Everyone’s a lumberjack.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Touché. Still, this one looked like he wrestled bears for sport.” Her eyes flicked to her rearview mirror, then back to her phone screen, just in time to see something - or someone - step out onto the road. “Holy shit!” She screamed, jerking the wheel to the side. The car skidded but didn’t stop fast enough. The thud was unmistakable followed by a large, dark man slamming into her windshield, cracking the glass in the process before he rolled off the hood with a grunt. Her heart shot to her throat as the car jolted to a stop. “Oh my god, I hit him - I hit a guy.” She whispered in shock, her phone tumbling from her hand. She fumbled with her seatbelt, flung the door open, and stumbled out into the dim, forest-lined road.

The man lay sprawled in the dirt, his clothes ragged, his body filthy. For a moment, she was frozen, her breath shallow as panic overtook her. Then he groaned and began to move. Y/N rushed forward. “Oh my god, are you okay? I am so, so sorry - ” Her words died in her throat as the man sat up. Blood stained his shirt and arms, but she watched in stunned horror as the gashes on his skin began to knit themselves together. Within seconds, there was no trace of the injuries she’d seen just moments before. She took a shaky step back. “What the - ”

“Eyes on the road next time, lady. Not your damn cellphone.” His voice was deep, gruff, and full of irritation. He stood, brushing the dirt off his tattered jacket. His piercing gaze locked onto hers, his expression one of pure annoyance.

“I - uh, I didn’t mean to - ” She stammered, still in shock from what she’d just seen. “Are you…how are you feeling, mister…”

“Logan,” He sighed and adjusted his jacket. “And how do you think I’m feeling?”

Her guilt quickly overrode her shock. “I am so sorry! Please, let me do something to make it up to you. I could…I don’t know, cook you dinner? Or give you a ride? You look like - ” She stopped, noticing his disheveled state, “ - like you’ve been out here for a while.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a handout. Just don’t run over anyone else, huh?”

“I - what?” Y/N stammered, still processing the fact this man was seemingly fine after being ran down by a fucking car. “Are you…okay? Seriously, I mean, I hit you! You should be - ” She gestured vaguely at his body, as though expecting to see broken bones or at least a limp.

“I’m fine.” He muttered, his eyes narrowing. He adjusted his jacket and turned as if to walk away, leaving her in stunned silence.

But the guilt continued to gnaw at her. “No, wait! Please!” She called after him, stepping closer. “Let me…let me help you some way.”

Logan groaned internally. She wasn’t going to shut up. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, scanning her face for any sign of deception. She looked sincere - too sincere. The kind of person who wouldn’t shut up unless he let her do something about her self-imposed guilt. “You’re not gonna leave me alone, are you?” He asked, his tone resigned. She apologetically shook her head, a small smile curving the corner of her lips. “Fine. One meal. Then you leave me alone.”

Y/N exhaled in relief, turning to head back into the car. “Deal.” She said as he followed her. “Are you sure you’re okay? I could stop by the hospital?” She offered as she watched him with awe and curiosity.

“No hospitals.” Logan said as he climbed into the passenger seat, the space too small for his broad frame, and muttered, “You really oughta work on that driving, lady.”

“Y/N, not lady,” She corrected with a roll of her eyes as she buckled up, muttering under her breath, “And you really oughta work on that attitude.”

Despite himself, Logan’s lip twitched into something close to a smirk as the car rumbled back to life and they headed toward her cabin. “Think I’m entitled to a little attitude, Y/N,” He shot back. “Just got hit by a damn car.”

The interior of the car is a clutter of newspapers, coffee cups, and articles of clothing that tumble off the seat as he shifts his weight. He gives the woman beside him a sidelong glance. She’s still flush of color, knuckles tight around the steering wheel, adrenaline making her breathing ragged. The smell of fear rolls off her, sharp and pungent, reminding Logan of a frightened animal. “Where’re we headed?” He grumbles, settling in as comfortably as he can while trying to ease the tension.

“My cabin.” Then, catching herself in a voice that tries for confidence, she continues more brightly, “I have a small place off the main road. Really private. You can shower there and I’ll cook you something.” He watches her out of the corner of his eye, noting the uneasy determination in her face. She’s pushing through fear with an almost stubborn sense of responsibility - likely for nearly sending him flying through her windshield. It’s not that he can’t appreciate the concern, but after the life he’s had, pity is the last thing he’s interested in.

The car rattles onto a dirt road. Snowbanks line the edges, dark pines crowding the horizon. Outside the windshield, the Yukon’s wilderness stretches wide and desolate, a reminder of why Logan is here in the first place: isolation, the kind that helps him swallow the guilt, the memories, and the grief. He’d sought out solitude like an animal crawls off to die. Except he can’t die - he heals too quickly. That was the cruel punchline to his joke of a life.

When the car jostles over a deep pothole, Y/N yelps, her hands jerking on the wheel. Logan instinctively steadies her elbow. She notices and offers a small, nervous laugh. “Sorry,” She says. “I - I just can’t believe you’re okay. You literally rolled over the hood…you really looked - well, I could’ve sworn I killed you.”

Her gaze darts to his face, where cuts and scrapes were now replaced newly healed skin. They had healed within seconds. She’s already half-regretting inviting him, but the guilt and the disbelief keep her from backing out. Logan’s half-regretting getting into the car as it seems she’s not a very good driver. In an effort to lighten the mood he grunts, “Takes more than a rusty sedan to kill me.”

They lapse into silence. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not hostile either. Y/N sneaks looks at Logan’s matted, long hair, at the bloodstains on his shirt that are drying to a muddy color. There’s a question in her eyes that she doesn’t dare ask: What are you? He feels her curiosity prick at him, but he’s used to that. He’s been an oddity for over a century - people suspect, they marvel, they fear. Normally, he’d let them keep their distance. Yet here he is, cramped in the passenger seat of a stranger’s car because she won’t stop insisting and he’s too weary to argue.

After another few minutes, a small cabin emerges on a cleared patch of land. Smoke trickles from the chimney. A battered truck is parked outside, half-buried in snow. She pulls up and kills the engine. Logan eyes the place. “This yours?”

“Yeah. My parents left it to me. I’ve been living here a couple years now - work from home.” She offers a small smile, still shaky. Her hands smooth over her jeans in a nervous manner as she hesitated for a minute. “Well, come on,” She says at last. “I’ll unlock the door. I have some extra clothes that used to be my dad’s. You…might need them.”

“You callin’ me filthy?” He asks with mock offense as he cocks an eyebrow at her and she can’t help her short, bashful laugh as she gets out of the car and hurries to unlock the door. Logan can’t remember the last time he felt the warmth of a real fireplace. Curiosity wins out over stubborn isolation, just for a moment. Grumbling, he slides out of the car and follows her inside.

The cabin is modest - high ceilings with exposed beams and a scatter of mismatched rugs. A rectangle of light spills from the back door, where the setting sun glints through the pines. Y/N is busy piling logs onto the fire, coaxing flames to life with a few deft pokes. “You can leave your boots by the door,” She says, gesturing. Logan hesitates a second before sloughing off his worn boots. Salt and mud crumble off them in lumps. He’s used to not caring about that sort of thing, but it’s her place, and she’s obviously trying to be hospitable. She straightens, brushing bark and ash from her flannel shirt, and points down a hallway. “Bathroom’s on the left. You can leave your clothes in the hall and I’ll give it a wash.”

Logan gives a curt nod and pads over the creaking floorboards. Inside, the bathroom is small, decorated with seashell trinkets that clash with the pine logs, but it’s tidy. Stepping into the shower, he cranks the knobs until a lukewarm stream cascades down. He closes his eyes, letting dried blood and grime swirl away at his feet. For the first time in weeks, he feels the vague comfort of something normal - a shower that smells like soap and flowery shampoo. He can’t help the flicker of memory: Jean’s face, her voice. He can’t shake the guilt that led him to this remote corner of the world in the first place. He scrubs his hands over his face until the image fades.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Y/N’s heart still thunders in her chest. It had taken every ounce of courage not to freak out about Logan’s…healing. She’d seen cuts close before her eyes. Seen injuries vanish. That’s not normal. Now, he’s standing in her bathroom, presumably rinsing away what’s left of the collision. She glances at the hallway, half expecting him to emerge at any moment and vanish back into the wilderness. A part of her hopes he’ll stay - he looked so…broken. Not physically, obviously, but in a guarded, pain-hollow way that clings to a person’s eyes.

After his shower, Logan emerged out into the hall with a towel wrapped around his waist. Y/N catches sight of him - not failing to notice his burly build despite fending for himself in the woods - and points him into her bedroom where she has laid the clean clothes out for him. Now Logan’s stomach rumbled as he stood in the middle of that pastel-splashed bedroom, inhaling the lingering smell of that fruit-scented body wash. He hated to admit it, but the shower had been worth the mild indignity. At least he felt marginally more human - even if he smelled like a berry smoothie. He tugged on the clothes she’d left on her dresser - a simple flannel shirt and jeans she’d tossed in the dryer to warm up. Looking down at his old neatly folded clothes, he couldn’t help but notice their wear and tear, the rips and holes a stark reminder of how little he cared for the niceties of his own appearance these days. With a small grunt, he pulled on the new clothes.

It felt strange to be indoors, in someone else’s house, surrounded by sweet-smelling candles, cheap ruffled curtains, and crocheted blankets. He took a moment, glancing around. For a small, modest home, the place felt cozy. Too cozy. The walls were lined with framed photos. A younger version of his host standing by a fishing lake, a dog at her side. Another with what looked like her parents, all smiles. Family. Warmth. The kind of life Logan had learned to keep at arm’s length. He heard a gentle clang from the kitchen - pots being moved around, silverware rattling. The aroma of something cooking - onions, maybe garlic - drifted through the door. His stomach grumbled again in response, reminding him that it had been hours since he’d last eaten.

“All right, let’s get this over with.”

Logan stepped out into the hallway and followed the faint light toward the kitchen. There she was, at the stove, stirring something in a pot. Steam rose in gentle curls, carrying a welcoming smell that made the cabin he’d holed up in feel even farther away. She turned, almost startled to see him, then managed a small, polite smile. Her face was still tinged with guilt - likely thinking about how she’d nearly run him over. Logan was used to that look, that apprehension, that curiosity. He glanced away, not wanting to encourage a conversation he didn’t plan on having. He just wanted to eat, say thanks, and get out.

“Clothes fit okay?” She asked, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

He nodded curtly. “They’re fine.”

She hesitated for a moment, as though weighing her words. “I, uh…I made a stew.” She gestured to the pot, face turning a bit flushed. “It’s not much, but I figure something warm might be nice - especially since you’ve been out in the woods. Do you want some coffee or tea or…milk?” She visibly winced at the last suggestion, possibly regretting how childish it sounded.

“Coffee’s fine.” Logan growled, pulling out a chair at the small kitchen table. She bobbed her head and busied herself with pouring him a mug. As she set it down in front of him, she looked at the heavy, worn lines of his face. If she thought him older than he looked, she didn’t say anything. If she noticed the tension rolling off him in waves, she didn’t let on.

Instead, she settled opposite him and placed a bowl of steaming stew on the table. “I hope you like it.” She said quietly, then took a spoonful herself, watching him from the corner of her eye.

Logan took a tentative bite and grunted. It was good - hot, savory, and better than anything he’d eaten in days. That grated on his pride a bit. Here he was, crashed in some woman’s house, smelling like fruit-scented soap and eating her cooking. He was grateful, but he didn’t want to show it, didn’t want to risk this becoming anything more than what it was - a nicety. “It’s good.” He finally said, which seemed to relieve her a bit.

They ate in near silence for a minute or two. Outside, the wind gusted against the house, and the bare tree branches scratched softly against the windows. Logan could see the looming pines beyond, the swirl of snow under the porch light. The cold was a persistent reminder of how harsh it could be out here - and how odd it was that he was suddenly enjoying warmth and comfort.

“So, you…um…” She tapped her spoon lightly on the rim of her bowl. “You live around here?” He paused, reluctant to share details. It wasn’t her fault for being curious - she had practically witnessed him survive a car collision without so much as a broken bone. Still, he didn’t want conversation drifting into complicated territory.

“Yeah.” He said shortly.

She pursed her lips but nodded. “I don’t meet many folks around these parts. Mostly truckers passing through or a few families in the fishing cabins come summer. But in the winter?” She shrugged. “It’s pretty solitary. Guess that’s why you picked it, huh?” Logan’s eyes flicked up to hers. Her tone wasn’t judgmental, just…friendly. Genuine. He could sense she had a kind nature, and that was reason enough for him to keep his guard up. Kind people often got hurt around him - or became something to lose. She took another spoonful of stew. “Must get lonely.”

He almost scoffed.

Loneliness had been a companion of his for decades, a constant fixture in a lifetime that stretched on and on. He’d learned to make it a part of himself, easier than letting anyone in. “I manage.” He replied, voice rough with finality.

Recognizing that tone, she averted her gaze, busying herself with sopping up stew broth with a piece of bread. “Right. Well. If you…ever need anything - a place to do laundry, a shower with, um, fruit-scented soap - ” She gave him a small, embarrassed smile, “You know, I’m…around.”

Logan said nothing for a moment. He recalled that her car was still out there, probably with a dent in the front from hitting him. The memory of the collision flashed through his mind: the squeal of brakes, the jolt, his body bouncing off the hood, healing faster than she could even process. She was probably still running on adrenaline over that whole incident. He took another mouthful of stew, forcing himself to speak up again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction, and they settled back into an uneasy quiet. After they finished their stew, she cleared the dishes, refusing his half-hearted attempts to help. He stood by the sink with a hand-towel, drying one of the bowls while she rinsed it, neither talking much. The silence wasn’t all that uncomfortable - it was…civil, normal. Something Logan wasn’t used to.

When they finished, she grabbed some leftover stew, poured it into a smaller container, then sealed it. “You can take this with you. In case…” She shrugged and held it out.

He eyed it, uncertain, then accepted it. Something about the simple gesture poked at him. Reminded him of simpler times. “Thanks.”

She nodded, awkwardness creeping back into her expression. “So, do you…need a ride? Back to where I hit you?” She grimaced at her own phrasing. “Or…wherever you were heading?”

“I know my way.” He said, not wanting to prolong this little pity party.

She offered a faint smile. “Sure.” He grabbed the jacket she’d dried for him - a battered one that had seen better days. It smelled faintly of lavender fabric softener now, which elicited a silent, humorless chuckle from him. He slipped it on and slid his arms through, his shoulders still stiff with the tension of being around someone else. Y/N coughed lightly. “So…I just have to ask: how did you - heal like that?” Her voice was quiet, uncertain. Logan’s jaw tightened. He set his gaze out the living room window, refusing to engage. After a few moments of thick silence during which he zipped his coat and pulled on his boots, she cleared her throat again. “Right, not my business. Sorry.” He swallowed, knowing she’d be haunted by that question for a while. Maybe the day would come when she’d chalk it up to exhaustion, or some weird phenomenon, or her eyes playing tricks. Maybe it’d become a story she’d joke about to friends, something half-believed. Either way, it wasn’t his problem.

Eventually, he spoke. “Just…don’t run anyone else down, they won’t all heal like me.”

Anxiously, she watched him step out onto her porch and brace himself against the cold. Logan stood there for a moment, listening to the hush of the wind through the pines. He felt the warmth of the stew container in his hand. With a small sigh, he began trudging through the drifts toward his solitary patch of woods. The faint glow of moonlight outlined his path. He told himself he wouldn’t see her again, that it was better to stay separate, keep his distance - he was just a wanderer, a cage fighter turned hermit, a man who couldn’t be killed. Still, as he walked, he could almost taste the stew on his lips and the memory of a warm kitchen with pastel curtains played at the edges of his mind. Her invitation echoed in the back of his mind - “I’m around.” He closed his eyes briefly against the biting wind, shoving the thought away. He was the Wolverine. And the Wolverine walked alone.

For now.

🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️🏔️

I really like the way this came out! Chapter two will be nsfw;) Let me know what you thought, kind readers😁

Mountain Man II

For reference: