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MidReal Story
James
Scenario:Logan Howlett (base him off of old man Logan in the Logan (2017) movie, just him, nothing else.) comes home in the summer to his cottage after a long day of limo driving, to his wife baking a pie after she made dinner, lasagna, the windows open and the smell wafting through. Her name is Mallory. she has freckles all over. She's wearing a cute apron, her blonde hair is in a bun, and oldies is playing on the radio as she swings her hips. He feels a surge of love towards her, and he loves this domestic life. He comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, kissing her neck and rubbing her arms. he loves her so much. she's very sweet and gentle, and loves baking for him. their house is very cozy and cute, because she decorated, and he loves it because she did it. he spoils her and loves bringing her gifts. he worships her. detail their cute moments together. be very VERY detailed. make it long like a novel. just add random cute moments between them to make it longer. the house is vintage. one day, Logan invites his guy friends over to watch football, letting Mallory know after. and she's super excited. Logan is very protective over her. when the guys get there, they're stood in the living room, all talking, when Mallory brings in a plate of cookies, looking absolutely gorgeous, in Logan's jersey and a pair of leggings. Logan turns, and he just falls even more in love. she offers everyone a cookie. the guys are mezmerized by her, and think that she's absolutely beautiful, detail them meeting her and what they say to her, Logan thinks so too, but is protective. they love her, and treat her like a goddess. he pulls her close to hide her from their view. detail what she says. he's so soft with her and affectionate. detail the conversation they have. When they're watching the game, Logan's snuggled up to Mallory, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. all of the guys make fun of him for being so soft, and he gives them a look that could kill before immediately softening upon looking into her eyes, he begs for kisses, his voice low, and she presses soft kisses to his lips. his friends are in awe at how easily she can soften him. Logan would much rather be alone with just her right now. she tries to follow whats going on, and even roots for Logan's team, even if they're losing, detail what she says, and Logan's heart is just so fuzzy. detail all dialogue. he is always very sweet to her and he is only soft around her, and very rude to everyone else, only nice to her. Logan generally only likes to hang out with Mallory. he's really mean to everyone else. detail everything they both say. make him ACT like Logan in the Logan (2017) movie but very sweet to her. one day, they're on a picnic. Mallory is in a sundress, her hair down. they're on a picnic blanket, having fruit and ham sandwiches. Logan just loves her so much, and he reaches out to trace her freckles with his thumb, telling her how beautiful she is. detail what he says. she leans into his touch. he then starts to feed her fruit. make it all make sense and flow well. make it a story that makes sense and don't mention the tips i gave you in the story. he is so soft with her. detail everything. she's very gentle and wise, and quiet, but very intelligent. he tends to be very insecure about himself. one day, they're in bed snuggling, while watching one of Mallory's favorite movies, Logan begins kissing all over her face. her nose crinkles, and he thinks its so cute. he cups her cheeks, and squishes them. she gets flustered, and closes her eyes, and he just keeps praising her softly, telling her to open her eyes sweetly, when she does, he calls her a good girl, she loves when he calls her that, she practically melts. detail everything and add things too to make it more realistic. Make it known that Logan is canadian by his speech, but DON'T overdo it. DON'T mention any details I told you in the story. use correct grammar. Logan speaks a bit improper and is very rude to everyone but Mallory, he talks softly with her. add random stories of their life. be detailed. Mallory is quite chubby. be gramatically correct. make it like an actual story. add cute moments between them too. add a lot. he cusses a lot. he calls her cute nicknames. One morning, Logan goes to get up for work on a stormy morning, not wanting to leave, but Mallory pulls him back down, snuggling against his chest, mumbling his name. he kisses her, telling her sweetly that he has to go, and she sleepily tells him to stay, his heart melts, and he can't deny her, so he agrees, and stays all day, he gets back in bed and holds her, rubbing her back and pressing slow kisses to her lips, detail what he says. detail everything. he's so sweet to her. make the dialogue realistic. feel free to tweak it and not do exactly what i said. add things. he's so loving towards her, an overall green flag. he is a very good husband. he loves snuggling with her. Mallory only calls him James or Jimmy, because James is his actual name. Mallory never calls him Logan except infront of other people. he makes everyone else call him Logan. make the dialogue throughout the whole story very long and realistic. make the dialogue REALISTIC. nothing unrealistic. he treats her so lovingly. Mallory is bubbly and sweet. make everything make sense. please make the story flow and be VERY detailed. like a lot of detail. like detail everything that happens. Mallory is always happy. make the story be good. make him act like Logan Howlett from the Logan 2017 movie, down to his mannerisms and all, but he's so soft with Mallory.
Create my version of this story
Logan Howlett
He is a limo driver who cherishes his life with his loving wife, Mallory. He is devoted, tender, and sweet. He adores Mallory's baking and the cozy home she created for them. Logan feels protected and happy with Mallory by his side. He struggles with selfesteem but is confident when with her. He welcomes the attention Mallory gives him, but remains protective and considerate of her feelings. He is grateful for their happy life together.
Mallory
She is Logan's loving wife who enjoys cooking and baking for him. She is gentle, wise, and sweet. Mallory often leaves loving notes and treats for Logan, making him feel special. She rarely leaves his side and thrives in their intimate moments together. Her freckles and soft demeanor captivate Logan, who is deeply in love with her. She occasionally participates in activities with Logan's friends but prefers private moments with him alone, highlighting her shy nature.
I pull up in my limo, the sun beating down on me through the windshield.
It’s the end of a long day, and all I want to do is go inside and see my wife.
She’s always the best part of my day.
I pull my sunglasses off, tucking them into the breast pocket of my white shirt as I climb out of the car.
Locking it up, I head inside.
The minute I walk through the door, I’m hit with the smell of something really good.
I walk into the kitchen, and there’s my wife, Mallory.
She’s bent over, her hands inside a pie crust.
Her blonde hair is pulled back into a bun, and her freckles are all over her cheeks and nose.
I just stare for a minute because she’s so fucking cute.
Then I clear my throat so she knows I’m there.
She looks up at me and smile.
"Hey," I say, my voice a little gruff like it always is when I haven’t seen her for a while.
"Hi," she says, her voice soft and sweet as it always is.
She wipes her hands on her cute apron and walks over to me.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close so I can kiss her lips.
She presses into me for a second before pulling away.
"I’m all floury," she says, gesturing to her hands.
I move to lean against the counter, watching her as she goes back to whatever she was doing.
"What are you making?" I ask.
"Apple pie," she says.
"My favorite."
She smiles again, and I watch as her fingers work the dough.
The kitchen radio is on in the background, and I recognize the song that’s playing.
Mallory hums along, swaying a little bit as she works.
There’s flour dusted across her cheek, and I reach out to brush it away.
My hand lingers on her skin for a minute, and when I pull it back, she turns to me again.
Her eyes are closed, and when they open, there’s that sparkle in them that always gets me.
"Let me help," I say, moving closer to her.
She smiles again and shows me how to fill the pie with sliced apples and cinnamon.
I steal a few pieces when she’s not looking, but she catches me after a few minutes and swats my hand away.
"You’ll ruin your appetite," she says.
I pull her in for another kiss because I can’t help myself.
Standing at the counter, I reach for the spare apron hanging on the hook.
It’s the plain brown one, not her flowered favorite.
My large hands fumble with the strings as I try to tie it behind my back.
Mallory notices and steps over, her fingers brushing against my stomach as she secures the knot.
I grab the rolling pin, trying to do what she showed me earlier, but the dough sticks to the surface and tears when I try to roll it out.
She steps up behind me, her small hands guiding mine as she shows me how to dust more flour on the surface.
The dough still bunches unevenly under my rough movements.
I stand there, frustrated as it bunches up under my calloused hands.
Her warm laugh cuts through my irritation, and she moves to stand behind me.
She positions herself so that her body is pressed against mine, and I can feel her warmth through the fabric of my shirt.
Her fingers intertwine with mine on the rolling pin, applying gentle pressure.
"Like this, James," she murmurs in my ear.
She shows me how to move the rolling pin in slow, steady strokes.
Together we roll the dough, our combined efforts slowly stretching it out into a circle.
When I grunt in satisfaction at our progress, she squeezes my hands encouragingly.
Standing at the kitchen counter, I keep working the dough under Mallory’s guidance.
My movements become smoother with each stroke of the rolling pin.
The dough spreads wider, thinner, more even than before.
When my hands start to shake from concentration, Mallory’s fingers squeeze mine gently.
"That’s perfect, Jimmy," she murmurs against my shoulder.
The praise makes my chest tighten.
I grunt in acknowledgment, focusing on maintaining the steady pressure she taught me.
I pause my rolling to watch her reach for the spice cabinet.
She stretches up on tiptoe, her body arching gracefully as she retrieves the small glass jar of cinnamon.
She holds it close to her nose, inhaling deeply before turning to me with that soft smile I love.
"Let’s add some cinnamon to the pie filling," she says, her voice filled with a quiet confidence.
I raise an eyebrow but trust her judgment.
She taps a careful measure into the bowl, her freckled nose crinkling in concentration.
The warm, spicy scent fills our kitchen as she stirs it into the apple mixture.
I lean over the mixing bowl, pinching the cinnamon between my fingers.
The spice falls like snow onto the apple filling, and Mallory smiles.
She dips a spoon in to taste, then offers it to me.
I take a small sample, the sweetness exploding on my tongue.
Mallory watches expectantly, waiting for my verdict.
I nod gruffly, earning one of her bright grins.
I pull her close, and our lips meet in a soft kiss.
The cinnamon on her breath mingles with her natural scent, and I savor the taste of her.
When we part, she returns to stirring the filling, her cheeks flushed pink.
I lean against the counter, watching her pour the filling into our pie crust.
Her hands move with practiced care, making sure every apple slice settles evenly.
When some filling drips onto the counter, I grab a cloth to wipe it up before she notices.
She catches me anyway, giving me that soft smile that makes my chest tighten.
Together, we crimp the edges of the top crust - her fingers moving delicately while mine fumble through the motions.
She doesn’t comment on my clumsy attempts, just adjusts my work with gentle touches.
I wipe my flour-covered hands on my apron while Mallory opens the oven door.
The heat hits us as she carefully lifts our pie, her movements precise and practiced.
I steady her elbow as she slides the pie onto the center rack, noticing how the crimped edges are already golden.
She closes the door with a soft click and sets the timer for forty-five minutes.
Our eyes meet, and I see my own anticipation mirrored in her expression.
Standing together at the counter, we survey the mess of flour, apple peels, and spilled cinnamon.
Without speaking, she hands me a damp cloth and takes one for herself.
We clean up side by side, our silent teamwork a comforting rhythm.
I pull out Mallory's chair at our worn kitchen table, settling beside her with two steaming mugs of chamomile tea.
She wraps her fingers around her mug, blowing softly on the surface.
"Mrs. Thompson came by this morning," she tells me, her voice gentle.
"She brought us some fresh eggs from her farm."
I grunt an acknowledgment, watching how the kitchen light catches the freckles on her cheeks.
She takes a sip of tea before continuing.
"She said she might have some tomatoes for us next week."
I nod again, taking my own sip.
The chamomile soothes my throat, and I feel the tension in my shoulders ease slightly.
"How was your day?" she asks, setting her mug down.
I shrug, taking another sip of tea before answering.
"There was a passenger who complained the whole ride," I tell her, remembering the frustration that had built up inside me.
"He didn’t like the temperature, then he didn’t like the music."
Mallory touches my arm lightly, offering silent comfort.
"He wouldn’t stop talking," I continue, letting the words spill out.
"I had to remind him about the no phone rule three times."
She squeezes my arm gently, and I feel myself relaxing further under her touch. "He finally fell asleep," I say, taking another sip of tea.
"But not before complaining about the seat being too hard."
Mallory shakes her head sympathetically, and I find myself smiling slightly at the memory of the man’s disgruntled expression when he woke up and realized we’d arrived at our destination.
"Did you get a chance to eat lunch?" she asks after a moment.
I nod, finishing my tea and setting the mug down on the table.
"I grabbed something from a food cart during one of the stops."
The timer ticks steadily in the background as we sit together in comfortable silence.
I lean back in my wooden kitchen chair, watching Mallory sip her tea across from me.
The steam curls up around her face, highlighting the freckles on her cheeks and nose in the fading evening light.
She catches me staring and tilts her head slightly, a silent question in her eyes.
I reach across the table and take her free hand, running my thumb over her knuckles.
Her skin is still dusted with flour from our baking, a reminder of the warmth of our shared activity.
The kitchen smells like cinnamon and apples, and the quiet ticking of the timer marks each peaceful moment.
When she squeezes my hand back, the tension from dealing with today’s entitled passengers melts away.
The timer dings, and we rise together, ready to savor the pie and the quiet joy of our shared evening.
I lean back in my wooden kitchen chair, watching Mallory blow gently on her tea to cool it.
The evening light catches the flour still dusting her cheeks and apron.
My chair creaks as I shift forward, drawn to a loose strand of blonde hair that's fallen across her face.
She looks up, those kind eyes meeting mine, and my pulse quickens.
Without thinking, I reach out slowly, rough fingers hovering near her soft skin.
"There's something I need to tell you," Mallory says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I pause, my hand freezing mid-air, as her words hang between us.
"I got a call from the doctor today," she continues, her eyes searching mine for understanding.
I lean forward in my wooden chair, the kitchen's warmth suddenly feeling stifling.
My rough hands grip the edge of our flour-dusted table as I watch Mallory's face.
She fidgets with her teacup, her freckles standing out against her paling skin.
The pie's sweet aroma fills the air between us as she takes a deep breath.
My protective instincts surge, but I force myself to remain still, giving her time to find her words.
When she opens her mouth to speak, the kitchen timer suddenly rings, making us both jump.
Her eyes meet mine, and in that moment, everything changes.
I lean across our kitchen table, taking Mallory's small hand in mine.
Her skin feels cool against my calloused palm as I give her fingers a reassuring squeeze.
The timer continues its shrill ring, but neither of us moves to silence it.
Her tea sits untouched, growing cold while she stares down at our joined hands.
I stroke my thumb over her knuckles, waiting for her to find her words.
When she remains quiet, I clear my throat and murmur, "Whatever it is, darlin', we'll handle it together."
I stare at her across the table, my heart pounding in my chest.
Her eyes meet mine, and she takes a deep breath before speaking.
I grip her hand tightly, my mind reeling with her words.
The smell of burning crust finally breaks through my daze.
I stand abruptly, pulling Mallory up with me, and wrap my arms around her trembling form.
I pull back slightly to look at her, my eyes searching hers for any hint of doubt.
I release her from our embrace and move toward the beeping timer.
My hands shake slightly as I press the button, silencing it.
Mallory appears beside me, her hands covered by oven mitts.
She carefully pulls out the ruined pie and sets it on the counter with a soft laugh.
"We were too distracted to save it," she says, her voice tinged with regret.
While she fills the kettle for fresh tea, I wrap my arms around her waist from behind.
My hand rests protectively over her stomach as she leans back against my chest.
The kettle begins to whistle, and steam rises into the air as Mallory murmurs, "I guess we'll have to try again."
I press my lips against her soft cheek, lingering there as she washes the dishes from our failed attempt.
My hands rest on her hips, steadying her as she scrubs the blackened pie dish.
"Let's make a new pie together tomorrow," I murmur against her skin, my voice rough but gentle.
She pauses, soapy water dripping from her fingers, and turns her head to meet my eyes.
A small smile plays at her lips as she nods, then returns to scrubbing.
The future feels uncertain, but together, we are ready to face it.
I lean against the kitchen counter, watching her rinse the last of the soap from the burnt pie dish.
My chest tightens with emotion as she hums quietly to herself, her movements careful and precise.
"You know what, darlin'?"
I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
She turns to face me, water droplets falling from her fingers.
Her eyes soften as she looks at me, and I stumble over my words, trying to express everything I feel.
As I speak, tears begin to fall down her cheeks.
I pull her close, not caring that her wet hands soak through my shirt.
Her eyes meet mine, full of warmth and determination, "Always together."
The scent of her hair mixes with the lingering smell of dish soap and burnt pie.
Her damp hands clutch the front of my shirt, and I can feel her quiet tears soaking through the fabric.
I stroke her back, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine.
The burnt pie sits abandoned on the counter, forgotten in the face of our shared emotions.
As she shifts slightly in my arms, I feel her gaze on me.
I look down, meeting her eyes.
She starts to speak, but I silence her with a gentle kiss, pouring all my love and commitment into it.
We sit at the kitchen table, her hand in mine.
Her voice is soft as she talks about baby names, her eyes sparkling with hope.
I listen intently, occasionally suggesting names that make her laugh.
We discuss the nursery, debating colors and themes.
She mentions wanting to keep working on her baking, and I promise to help more around the house.
As we talk, our excitement grows.
I squeeze her hand gently, and she smiles back.
"Do you think we should tell our families soon?" I ask, my voice tinged with both excitement and apprehension.
She nods thoughtfully, her fingers tracing patterns on the table, "Yeah, I think they'd be thrilled to know they're going to be grandparents."
I grin, imagining their reactions, "Your mom will probably start knitting baby clothes the moment she hears."
