This is my favorite outfit she wears in the series for a few reasons.
It's something Ulquiorra provided to her, clearly intending for it to flatter her and satisfied by that since he compliments her on how it looks at it's debut when he sees it on her for the first time.
And it does flatter her, but more importantly it fits with her own personal style and personality. It is an outfit that wholistically looked at Inoue and was molded to account for that.
It's modest and flashy at the same time. Form fitting to the body, highlighting her generous curves, but also tastefully detracting from them in a way that gives her a feminine "princessy" look rather than being sexy. She's covered head to toe, the full shoulders of the sleeves and the black piping over her chest balance her full bust so attention isn't unduly drawn there, but still flatters her shape.
The belt is crooked, there's an unusual hole-like curve in the front and it has an included cape that does triple duty in giving her a princessy ballgown silhouette, softening the very tight edges of the part of the dress that's tight to her body, but also highlighting her shape with the contrast of black and white.
It's elegant and quirky, showing her off and giving her room/space to hide if she wants. It's a fluid design that fits her personality, fashion tastes and is practical if she needs to fight.
From the first to the last she looks very at-ease and natural wearing it.
It's a perfect dress for her and shows Ulquiorra was very much paying attention to her during that period of surveillance Aizen had him choose who/how/where to take someone.
I just kind of love that, still pretty trapped in his void-of-feeling state, making sure Inoue looked pretty and felt comfortable was so important that he'd go out of his way not only to make sure the dress was pretty and comfortable, but compliment her.
Peaches: “Would you be so kind in lending a hand?” (18+) — Logan Howlett
summary: the friendly old man neighbor of yours is helping you with your wash day
warning: the setting of this one-shot is AU no correlation to Wolverine & Deadpool, SMUT! MDNI, fingering, female oral receiving, age gap (legal), no use of Y/N, the use of pet name peach, sir kink, squirting
wc: 3.5k (well it's a full shot not a drabble ehe)
creds: i forgot where the divider is from, creds to the creator!
The day had finally come when you decided enough was enough. The laundry had been sitting there for three days, staring at you from the corner of your room like a silent accusation. Today was the day you would conquer it. Armed with your resolve, you hauled the overflowing basket to the laundry room. But as fate would have it, the universe had other plans.
The washing machine, that steadfast appliance you’d trusted for years, chose this very moment to betray you. The once familiar hum was replaced by a groan, a sputter, and then—nothing. You stared at it, disbelief turning to frustration as you realized the mountain of clothes in your arms was going nowhere. Your favorite pair of undies, buried somewhere in the pile, would have to wait.
You let out a long sigh, leaning back against the machine, its cool surface doing little to soothe your annoyance. Arms crossed, you dialed your father’s number, hoping for some semblance of a solution.
“Dad, the washing machine broke,” you said, half hoping he’d have a quick fix, half dreading his response.
There was a pause before he spoke, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Ask Logan for help, he’s pretty handy with stuff. I won’t be back until 8 PM tonight, buttercup.”
You nearly dropped the phone. Logan. Of course, it had to be him. The very thought of knocking on his door, asking him for help, sent a thrill of anxiety coursing through you. Why did it have to be him?
Logan Howlett—the man who occupied your thoughts far too often, the man who was the face of your wildest dreams. Just the mention of his name made your heart race. And now, you were supposed to ask him for help? The universe certainly had a twisted sense of humor.
You ended the call, staring at the washing machine like it was some cruel joke. The burnt toast theory, they called it. Sometimes, when things went wrong, it was the universe’s way of steering you toward something better. But as you stood there, contemplating the inevitable encounter with Logan, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was a blessing in disguise—or a test you weren’t sure you could pass.
Logan Howlett had been a fixture in your mind for five long months, ever since he moved into the neighborhood. It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or the way he carried himself with that effortless confidence; it was the way he seemed to have slipped so seamlessly into your life. Your dad, always quick to befriend a fellow drinker, had taken to him immediately. They were practically inseparable, sharing beers on the front porch, watching games in the living room, and even lingering over meals in the dining room.
And there you were, sneaking glances every time Logan was around, feeling that unmistakable flutter in your chest whenever he caught your eye.
Today, though, was different. Somehow, you found yourself standing on his porch, heart pounding as your fist hovered in mid-air. What were you thinking? Asking Logan for help—it felt too forward, too direct. But here you were, ignoring every ounce of self-doubt, raising your hand to knock on his door.
You barely had time to second-guess yourself before the door swung open. And there he was, the embodiment of everything that had been haunting your thoughts for months: tall, effortlessly sexy, his dark hair tousled just right. He was wearing a white shirt that clung to his broad chest and shoulders, tucked into denim jeans that fit him perfectly. You couldn’t help but notice how the summer sun cast a warm glow on his skin, making the moment feel almost surreal.
“Hey,” Logan’s voice broke through your reverie, casual yet deep enough to send a shiver down your spine. He squinted against the sunlight, his expression shifting into one of familiarity. “I was about to come over. Your dad called and asked me to check on something.”
You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady as your mind raced. “Yeah, the washing machine broke. Dad said you could help… Would you be so kind in lending a hand?”
You could hear your own voice, slightly strained as you tried to strike the perfect balance. Not too high-pitched, not too low. Not too eager, not too aloof. But before you could overthink it any further, Logan flashed you a small smile, one that made your heart do a little flip.
“Yeah, sure, Peach.”
And there it was—that damn nickname that never failed to turn your insides into mush. It started innocently enough, the day your dad brought home a bag full of peaches and peach-flavored drinks. Logan had been there, chuckling at the sight, and ever since, he’d called you “Peach” with that easy, teasing tone. Now, every time he said it, you couldn’t help but melt a little, even if you tried to play it cool.
As you turned to lead him to your house through the backyard, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the universe’s way of pushing you closer to the man who had taken up residence in your thoughts.
“It made a really loud noise and it was shaking really bad, the sound was a bit scary,” you admitted, your voice tinged with worry. “And also, can you check if my clothes are alright? Did it tear them off or something?”
Logan nodded thoughtfully, a low hum of consideration escaping him as he surveyed the situation. “Where did your dad put his tools?” he asked, his gaze already scanning the room.
“Oh, it’s right there,” you said, pointing towards the shelf against the wall. Determined to be helpful, you stood on your tippy toes, stretching to reach the toolbox. But before you could grasp it, Logan moved past you with ease, his hand already closing around the handle.
“Careful, Peach. It’s pretty heavy,” he murmured from behind you, his voice close enough to send a subtle shiver down your spine. His presence loomed over you as he reached up effortlessly, the scent of his cologne mingling with the warm summer air.
You stepped back, feeling a mix of flustered and grateful as he handled the heavy toolbox with ease, making you feel small and protected all at once.
“O-okay.” The stutter slipped out before you could stop it. Seriously? Get a grip, you scolded yourself internally. Trying to regain some composure, you quickly added, “I’m just—gonna… fix you something to drink.” You gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen, hoping to retreat before you embarrassed yourself further.
Logan nodded absentmindedly, his focus entirely on the washing machine that seemed to be on its last legs. He didn’t even glance your way, which was both a relief and a disappointment. You took a nervous step back, then another, finally turning and heading to the kitchen, hoping a moment away would help you steady your nerves.
Leaving his presence created an unfamiliar ache in your chest, a tug of reluctance you hadn’t anticipated. It was as if some part of you didn’t want to leave his side, didn’t want to be apart from the quiet strength that Logan exuded. The thought of retreating to the kitchen, of putting physical distance between you and him, felt wrong, almost unnatural.
You wanted to stay. You wanted to watch him work on the broken machine, to see those skilled hands in action, to listen to the steady, assured way he moved and spoke. But at the same time, you knew you couldn’t trust yourself around him. Not when your heart raced at every little interaction, not when just being near him made you feel so unsteady.
You didn’t have the confidence to be casual, to act like you weren’t hanging on his every word and gesture. And you certainly didn’t have the strength to face the feelings that threatened to overwhelm you every time you were close to him. So instead, you sought refuge in the kitchen, hoping the distance would help calm the storm inside you, even as it left you aching for more.
Twisting the faucet, you watched as the water streamed out, the steady flow almost hypnotic in its simplicity. The kitchen was quiet, the only sound the gentle rush of water hitting the sink. You leaned forward, letting the coolness soothe your heated skin, and splashed your face with the cold water, hoping it would bring some clarity to your muddled thoughts.
For a moment, the shock of the cold jolted you back to reality, away from the overwhelming thoughts of Logan that had been swirling in your mind. You closed your eyes, letting the droplets drip down your face, trying to steady your breathing and collect yourself. It was just a broken washing machine, just a neighbor doing a favor.
You swung open the fridge, your hand instinctively reaching for your favorite peach-flavored soda. The cool metal of the can felt reassuring against your palm as you pulled it from its place. With a satisfying hiss, you cracked it open, the sweet, fruity scent immediately filling the air.
Reaching for a tall glass, you filled it with ice, the cubes clinking softly as they settled. Then, you poured the bubbly soda over them, watching as the fizzy drink cascaded down, swirling and dancing around the ice. After inserting a straw into the glass, you carefully picked it up, the cool condensation forming on the outside of the glass. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and made your way back to where Logan was.
"Here you go," you announced, placing the glass on the nearby table. Logan turned his attention from the washing machine to you, his eyes briefly darting to the drink you’d set down. A smile curved on his lips, the warmth in his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “Thanks, Peach.”
“Ehe…” You offered a nervous smile in return, your cheeks heating up at the casual endearment. Trying to steady your fluttering nerves, you grabbed the straw and shoved it into your mouth with a little more force than intended. It was your way of silencing the awkwardness bubbling inside you, a desperate attempt to keep any embarrassing sounds from escaping.
“So, your dad’s going on a date later today, huh?” Logan’s voice was light, but he noticed the nervousness you were trying to mask. His intention was to ease the tension with casual conversation.
“Y-yeah, he’s working now, but that’s what I’ve heard,” you replied, nervously fiddling with the straw. You decided to sit on the edge of the table where Logan’s drink was, adjusting it carefully to avoid spills.
Logan glanced at you, then back at the washing machine, his smirk widening. “You okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” you responded, a bit defensively.
Logan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “From what I’ve heard, you’ve never been too thrilled about him dating. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
You hesitated for a moment, the weight of Logan’s question pressing on you. Taking a deep breath, you decided to let your guard down. “Well, it’s just… I’ve always felt like I have to compete for his attention. It’s silly, I know, but it’s hard when you’re used to being the center of someone’s world.”
Logan’s expression softened, and he gave you an understanding nod. The moment of connection hung between you as Logan turned his attention back to the washing machine. He worked with focused precision, his hands moving deftly as he made the final adjustments. The clinks and whirs of the machine were soon replaced by a steady, rhythmic hum.
“There we go,” Logan said with a satisfied grin, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The washing machine was back in action, its gentle whirl now a reassuring sound.
You let out a relieved sigh, watching the machine function smoothly. “Thank you so much, Mister Howlett. I really appreciate it.” you said, your gratitude sincere as you adjusted from your sitting position to stand up. You set down your now-empty glass on the table, the slight clink of the glass breaking the brief silence.
Hearing you address him as "Mister Howlett" sparked something within Logan—an unfamiliar, yet undeniable feeling. It was a sentiment he had been trying to avoid, one that stirred within him despite his best efforts to keep his distance. The formal address seemed to intensify the feelings he had been wrestling with, making them more pronounced.
You're not the only one who has a crush, he does too.
From the moment Logan had closed the trunk of his truck while moving into the neighborhood, you had been on his mind. He remembered the day vividly—watching you step out of your car in a beautiful white sundress that hugged your upper body and flowed gracefully. The way the dress accentuated your figure, combined with the ease of your movements, had captured his attention in a way he hadn’t anticipated. As you came knocking on his door with your dad beside you to welcome him into the neighborhood, those peach-flavored pie you brought had been lingering in his mind ever since. He wondered if you smell as good as that pie where he devoured in one full bite that night. And here you are, wearing the same white sundress that's gotten him obsessed with.
As Logan took a step forward, you instinctively stepped back, forgetting about the table behind you. Your hips brushed against it gently, causing a small jolt. Logan had intended to reach for the glass of your beverage, but his proximity brought him uncomfortably close.
With a casual yet deliberate movement, Logan took the glass from behind you, his body nearly brushing against yours. He lifted the glass in front of you, tilting his head slightly with a smirk. “Thanks, Peach,” he said, his voice low and warm.
Without breaking eye contact, he chugged down the drink, his gaze locked onto yours. The act was both confident and intimate, making the moment feel charged with unspoken tension. The shared space between you seemed to crackle with a newfound energy as you both stood there, the air thick with the lingering effects of the brief but intense connection.
You cleared your throat, feeling a flush of heat spread across your cheeks as you managed to wiggle your way out from the proximity of Logan. You made your way toward the washing machine, watching it work through the glass as your laundry tumbled inside.
“Tell me, Peach,” Logan’s voice came from behind, smooth and deliberate. “Is your taste as good as this peach soda?”
Your breath hitched, and your mind raced. Am I hearing this right? Is this a dream? You thought, trying to process his words. Despite the possibility of it being a dream, you couldn't bring yourself to face him. Instead, you leaned against the washing machine, the rhythmic vibrations grounding you.
“Um—W-what do you mean, s-sir?” you managed to stammer, your voice barely more than a whisper.
You could feel Logan’s presence closing in behind you, the air growing warmer and thicker as he approached. The vibrations from the washing machine seemed to pulse more intensely against your torso, amplifying the sensation of his proximity. Each step he took made your heartbeat quicken, your senses acutely aware of the space between you shrinking.
Logan’s shadow fell over you, and you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath, though not yet touching your skin, was close enough that you could sense its warmth.
“You wanna know what ‘m thinking, Peach?” He mumbles behind your ear. You wished he didn’t hear your shuddered breath and the swallowed saliva down your throat from the way he makes you nervous.
“I don’t think so, Mister Howlett.” you managed to reply, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to maintain your composure.
“Naw, why? Afraid you might like it?” You could feel the smirk slowly forming in his face.
“I-”
“I’m thinking of bending you against this washing machine, lift up your very short sundress and get on my knees. Slowly taking my time smelling that scent… of arousal from your pussy, where I know, she’s dying to be touched, to be fingered, to be fucked, by me.” You gasp once you feel the bulge from his rough jeans, teasingly grinding against your ass earning a chuckle from him as he continues,
“Oh yes I know, Peach. I know how much you want to feel this cock inside you. Should’ve known better to close your blinds at night when your delicate… fingers desperately trying to reach that high, because I’m always watching you, Peach. Even though you’re such a pain in the ass with that, Peach flavored pie, and that fucking beautiful smile. I wanna turn those smiles into tears… Tears of pleasure from me, fucking this cunt.” You gasped loudly as Logan roughly thrust his bulge against your ass, hitting you against the washing machine.
“L-Logan,” you stammered, your voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
“Call me, Sir,” Logan’s tone was laced with full authority, each word deliberate and commanding. You choked back a swallow before you corrected yourself.
"Sir, I don't know what you're talking about." You stood on your ground.
"Yeah? Let me remind you how it feels then, this time, with me." Logan grunted in your ears before you felt a rush of cold air blowing against your damped panties resulted from Logan lifting your skirt up. You whimpered once you feel his fingers grazing against your soaking wet cunt, earning a mocking tut from Logan.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Your cunt says otherwise, Peach." He rubs you through the panties before ripping them off of you, the sound piercing through the room.
Logan crouched on his knees, proving his promise to you the one where he'd like to take his time smelling you from down your legs up to your thighs, dragging his warm tongue on your delicate skin upwards earning a moan from you. Logan hummed once he connected his lips to your glistening pussy lips, his tongue swirling and lapping your gushing juices.
You feel like god had just granted you your wishes into doing this sinful things. You finally can experience the feeling of his tongue against your throbbing cunt that keeps on gushing. Logan moaned, while he laps your juices up like a dog. "You taste just as I imagined, peach-flavored cunt." He murmured against your pussy.
A rosy hue crept across your cheeks hearing his statement. "Come on, Peach. Gimme more." Logan breathed out, his two hands that were gripping your thighs pushed and lifted you upward attempting you to bend over more over the top of the washing machine. Spreading your legs wide, you moaned out loud once you feel his tongue crazily lap your pussy like a dog in thirst.
"S-sir.." You squeaked, feeling yourself close.
"Hmm, yeah, give it to me, Peach." Logan grunted, burying his face even more.
"Ngh, I'm gonna-" Before you could finish that sentence, you froze as you heard your dad's voice calls out to you.
"Buttercup! I'm home, have you managed with the laundry yet?" He hollers from the other room. You gasped while Logan didn't even budge, he kept resuming his action.
"Y-yes, Dad! Everything's good now!" You holler back, holding yourself back from moaning.
"Do you need any help, darling?" You heard the sound of footstep, your eyes widened and hurriedly answer, "No- No, Dad! Everything's good, I'll be coming in a second." Logan smirked.
"Okay darling, I'm gonna get some rest." Your dad holler back as his footsteps fading away. You sighed in relief before you gasped when you feel Logan entering two fingers inside your cunt.
"What a naughty little girl, she needs to make herself cum before she gets back to being the dotting daughter huh?" You whimper to his words.
"Please, sir. Don't stop, it feels so good.."
"Yeah? Wait till you feel my cock." Logan vowed. He curled his fingers inside you, effortlessly flicking your g-spot before he stood back up on his feet, leaning against your back. He gently guide you to stand on your feet even though it's impossible for you as you're still in daze from his fingers still working their magic.
Logan whispered all kinds of filthy things in your head to get you to reach your high. "Is this just like what you imagined, peach?" — "Feels so good yeah?" — "Yes it does. Are you gonna cum for me?" — "Yeah come on, almost there, I know," — "Make a mess on my fingers, baby."
As you choked a loud moan, Logan's other hand went to silenced you while you came gushing down on his fingers. Your whole body shook while Logan holds you in place as you're coming down your high.
"There you go, good girl." You panted once you've gained your strength to stand on your own, you turned around and to find him smirking, a notable wet droplet covered some parts of his jeans as you now just learned, that you squirted on him a little.
He brought his fingers up to his mouth, his gaze never leaving yours as he tasted what's remained of you on his fingers.
"Hmm, taste just like a peach."
let me know if you want me to start the journey for Logan & Peach 😉
doggy with "the wolverine" era logan but you whine out "love you" midway through and he pulls your back up to his chest and cups your chin and then covers your mouth and grunts out "don't say that.. c-can't say that to me" until you repeat it over and over and he finishes <3
Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)
A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.
Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.
Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.
Word Count: 4,197 sorry
Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.
But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know.
You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep.
You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic.
But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth.
You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”
You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment.
“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours.
You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.”
You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on.
“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.
Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him.
His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.”
Anything. You wish he really meant it.
“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint.
“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind.
You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this.
Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly.
But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind.
I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind.
It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”
You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly.
Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—”
Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier.
She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out.
Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t.
“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face.
“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to.
“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows.
You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”
“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”
Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you.
“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most.
He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.”
Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—”
Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close.
“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?”
You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”
“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw.
“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.”
He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours.
“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”
“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought.
“Please.”
And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut.
And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”
His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room.
Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down.
“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything.
“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties.
He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough.
He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next.
Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”
“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties.
“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most.
There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them.
He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move.
He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard.
Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core.
His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt.
Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for.
“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”
“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance.
“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess.
Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”
He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.”
He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds.
“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”
Fuck.
But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours.
“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough.
But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you.
He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated.
With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time.
His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther.
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”
“You don’t have to,” you murmur. “I’m right here. I’m yours.”
“Mine?”
“All yours.”
And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.
He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him.
“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours.
“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation.
Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core.
It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall.
“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.”
You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?”
“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning.
“Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire.
He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist.
Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”
You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”
“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect.
“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”
You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”
“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping.
You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together.
He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed.
He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.”
His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”
“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”
summary: logan eats you for lunch.
warnings: porn! teacher!logan and student!reader, so a bit of a taboo age gap, but an established situationship. oral (f receiving), desperate logan—like he is A LEWSER, p in v, creampie because he doesn’t last long (because he’s a whore), logan is a slut for ur releases mixed together, sub!logan tbh, let me know if i miss any!
note: wow. sorry. this was also supposed to be a night of writing a longer fic. but i think this is my brand! short and sweet and salacious little things! enjoy, my loves! also i'm tagging @cavillscurls , @bren-lee-bear0404 , @ieatgoldfishy and @hughverine for this one cause...it just seemed like u guys were extra eager for it hehehe!
You can sense him behind you as you make your way down the corridor, heading for your room. You’ve just gotten out of an exam, and as the relaxation-lover you are, you’re thinking of one thing and one thing only—your bed, and curling up in it.
But just like Logan can sense you at all times, you’re no stranger to the feeling of being under his watchful gaze. It’s a heady feeling, and even though you can’t see him, you know that if you turn around he’ll be just a few paces behind you.
And maybe you shouldn’t have gotten under your history teacher in an attempt to get over him, but by now it’s far too late. Logan has all but ruined everyone for you, anyway, a fact that you’re sure he would put on a billboard if you’d let him.
You put your head down and pretend to ignore the sound of his footsteps getting faster.
You smirk. Thankfully the hallway is empty, or you’d have to answer for why your history teacher is chasing you down.
He’s not exactly discreet; or at least, not when you’re in the same room as him. Whether it’s his intense brown eyes staring you down like a challenge, or his hands somehow finding their way to your shoulders, or your hands, trying to look innocent enough…you’re pretty sure Logan’s made it obvious.
“Hey.”
There he is.
You pause, about to turn the corner, but he swings a hand around your arm and makes you whirl around to face him. His eyes are hard, but there’s a spark of mischief that has you flashing a tight-lipped smirk back in his face, blinking slowly.
“Yes, Professor?” you cross your arms, holding the textbooks in your hands to your chest. “Did I miss an assignment?”
Logan’s mouth twitches into an amused grin, and he tilts his head. “C’mere,” he says gently, and tugs you toward the nearest classroom—his own.
You’ve had your fair share of classes here, but you blush as he closes the door and sidles up behind you, his broad, heavy chest pressing against your back.
“Where’ve you been, sugar?” His voice is smooth, low, and reeks of sex. You know exactly why you’re here.
Your throat goes dry, but you swallow and turn around, taking a step back. With a wink, you keep your hands clutched to your textbook. “I’ve been working.”
You’re goading him. “If you hadn’t noticed, I still need to study for my exams,” you say nonchalantly, and watch as he confidently strides forward, following you up to the front of the room.
In no time at all, his desk hits the backs of your thighs, stopping you from your retreat. Logan’s only a step away from you and capitalizes on it. You’ve got no room to squirm away; he towers over you and puts his hands on his desk, trapping you there.
“Time for a break, I think,” he hums, nipping at your jaw when you chuckle and turn away from his attempt to kiss you. “You’ve been working that brain so hard,” he continues, tugging the textbook out of your hands and tossing it to the floor with a heavy thud. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re still pleased at the admission. You take it upon yourself to hop up on the desk, though it doesn’t give you much more leverage; he’s still got the upper…everything. “Oh, you have?”
Logan lifts a hand to cup your jaw and neck, bringing your face closer to him. His hand is rough but the guidance of his touch is gentle, and he rests his forehead against yours. His next words are a whisper. “I have,” he nods. “You look so sweet, sugar. Can’t you just take a break?”
Your stomach turns in a familiar knot, and your thighs tense. It’s not that you haven’t fooled around on his desk before. But you really do have exams to study for.
“I know,” you sigh, turning to press a series of kisses to his beard. “I know, I want to be done, too. But I—”
“Then be done,” he whispers, his other hand landing on your thigh. “You’ll pass all your exams, bub, you know you will. Such a smart girl,” he says as his hand creeps toward the inside of your leg. “Why don’t you let me do something for you, smart girl?”
You squeeze your eyes shut and bite the inside of your cheek, but it does nothing to hide your smile. “Logan,” you whine, trying your best to sound exasperated. “I can’t just drop my panties for you everytime you want.”
His hand has wandered to the waistline of your shorts; an elastic band is all that bars him from your thin panties.
“Of course,” he says, and then his eyes dart down to the crux of your legs as he hooks a finger in your waistband, tugging it away from your body. “But you sure do leave them sopping wet, don’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
Well, if they weren’t before, they are now.
Your jaw drops open an inch, and for a moment you don’t know what to say.
Another finger hooks into your waistband, and he swipes his fingertips across your lower stomach, not daring to go any further until you give him the go ahead. “Please, sugar,” he whispers, and his voice shakes as he tilts your head up, holding his lips just an inch from your own.
“I’ll be quick. I won’t even tease, baby,” he says, his hot breath fanning over your face, that delicious hint of tobacco making you flutter your eyes closed.
“Logan…” you try again, but he ducks his head into your neck and whimpers. Whimpers.
“I’ll be good and quick, bub,” he says again. “Just let me taste you. I won’t ask for anything else, I swear.”
“Yeah right,” you say breathlessly, your composure slipping. “You always want more.”
“Can’t help it,” he breathes heavily, and his hand clenches your shorts in a fist. “M’gonna go insane if I can’t taste you, cupcake.”
You’ve never seen him this desperate, this much of a loser for your pussy, that you choke out a sigh and push his hand down your stomach. His eyes go wide and his mouth stutters as his fingers reach your mound, shoulders shuddering at the velvety smooth touch of your core.
“Fine,” you say quietly, a smile growing on your face. “But just for a minute.”
“Minute’s all I need, sugar.” Logan doesn’t waste his time, molding his lips to yours with a deep groan that borders on the side of a growl, something that ignites a fire in your gut.
In a flash, he’s practically torn your shorts from your body and he’s getting on his knees, eyes flitting up to yours as he leans into your core. The flush of cool air on your lower half is almost relieving.
He pauses, closing his eyes right as he’s about to dive in. And he sucks in a breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of your arousal. It’s like a fucking ritual for him. Like a monk bent to pray, he worships the source of your sweetness.
You shake your head, carding your fingers through his hair. “You’re such a freak,” you breathe, but the humor leaves your voice as he darts his tongue out to flick your clit.
And with your hands in his hair, he growls into your pussy and laps at it like a starving man, swirling circles around your clit and wasting no time before his fingers are teasing your entrance.
“God,” you gasp, squeezing your thighs around his head.
He lifts his head, and you wish you could take a picture of how fucking desperate he looks, with his beard already glistening with your wetness and his eyes wide as a puppy’s. “Not God,” he huffs, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Just me, bub.”
“Shut the fuck up and make me come,” you sigh, tilting your head back and letting out a soft giggle. “Your minute’s almost up.”
Of course, you don’t have any plans on cutting him off. Once he gets his tongue on your core, you won’t be satisfied until he’s filling you to the brim.
He moans with every drop that slips out of you and lands on his tongue, which only makes your pussy weep more for him. “Come on, baby,” he says into you, his fingers slipping inside you and stretching you deliciously over his thick digits. “Come on daddy’s face.”
He has the gall to ask you to call him daddy? When he just spent the last ten minutes begging to get on his knees for you?
You almost laugh, but then his fingers curl inside you. He’s hitting that one spongy spot that has you arching your back, your eyes rolling back and your hand pressing down on his head, holding him to your core as you ride out your release. “Fuck, Logan,” you whine, rolling your hips into his mouth to make the ecstasy last longer.
He pulls away from you, and you can’t even lift your head before you hear the clink of his belt hitting the floor. His face comes into view, and then his tip is sliding against your slit, throwing you into a frenzy as your legs shake at the sensitivity.
“I’m sorry, sugar,” he says, voice hoarse as he circles your clit with his angry, leaking tip. “I’m close already, I just wanna…”
“You wanna fill me up,” you finish breathlessly, head resting against his desk.
“Yes,” he whimpers, and you swear you could come again at the sound of it. “Please, cupcake.”
You nod, a string of yes please falling from your lips. And not a moment later, he’s shoving himself inside, and suddenly you realize how empty you’d felt all day before this moment, before his thick cock was making room for itself in your body.
He doesn’t look like he’ll last long enough to give you another orgasm, but you don’t really care; he looks so fucking pretty like this that it’ll be enough to fuel an entire night of play when you’re on your own.
With a guttural groan and a few uneven thrusts, Logan bursts. The swing sound of metal claws unsheathing themselves is like a drug as he empties himself inside of you. “I’m sorry, cupcake,” he shudders, laying himself over you on the desk. “M’sorry I couldn’t—”
“It’s okay,” you wrap an arm around his shoulders, savoring the feeling of his dick still pulsing inside you. “I like it when you’re so…”
You trail off. Nothing can quite describe the essence of Logan when he’s begging to eat you out. But there’s something so undeniably filthy about someone like Logan—your rugged, perfect Professor Logan—shedding his grumpy exterior for a taste of you.
The two of you lay there for a few more moments before he straightens, pulling you to a sitting position. He slowly pulls out, catching his seed and pushing it gently back inside you as best he can.
You hum at the sight, and finally stand, pulling your wrecked shorts back onto your hips. “How are you gonna explain that?” You point at the small puddle of your releases, mixed together.
His hair is still messy, his fingers still shining with your arousal, but he winks. Claws retracted, he swipes a finger through the mess and puts it to his lips, drinking down the result of your pleasure.
“Frosting,” he grins, and the return of the cocksure professor you know so well has returned. He presses a kiss to your temple and whispers in your ear. “From the sweetest of cupcakes.”
⬩ pairing(s) logan "wolverine" howlett x female!reader
⬩ warning(s) language, smut, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, unwanted advances (mentioned), sassy!logan, bodily fluids, female pronouns are used, phone sex (with a twist!), sexting (i guess? with a twist?), minors dni/+18! (feel free to lmk if i ever forget anything!)
⬩ author's note i lied. could not wait. need to suck his soul out bad. <3
⬩ word count 0.6k
“Who’s this?”
You drag your mouth off Logan with a loud smack, keeping hold at the base of his cock as you glance at the phone he’s holding in his hand. Your phone, that’s vibrating for the fourth time in ten minutes with an incoming call and a name you wish you weren’t familiar with.
“Some guy from work. Has a crush on me, I think,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug and soft kiss to his tip. “Didn’t even give him my number, he just got it from the directory.”
Logan blinks and doesn’t think twice before answering the phone. You pay him little mind, taking him back inside your mouth to run a lick along one of the veins that runs all the way down to his sack.
“Logan speaking...”
Curiosity getting the better of you, your eyes dance back up to Logan, who’s holding the device to his ear with an unimpressed stare into the air. You have to hold back your laugh when he returns his gaze to you, eyelids growing heavy at the way you swirl your head before bobbing back down as far as your throat will let you.
“She’s–uh. Fuck,” Logan grits out before pausing, hips rolling to push himself deeper, twitching at the way your eyes start to water. “–a little busy right now, but I can take a message.”
Your quiet gags fill the quiet of the room, Logan’s breath picking up as he listens to the whining on the other end of the line.
“He’s asking if you’re alright,” Logan relays, a little amused. “Think’s you’re in some kinda trouble since you didn’t answer.”
“‘M fine,” you hurry out, too distracted to think of anything else to say. You suck in a long breath before sinking down his entire shaft, wiggling your head like he likes when you reach base. A patch of hair tickles your nose as Logan jerks and drops his jaw.
“Doin’ just fine,” he repeates into the phone, a hint of groan decorating the deep timbre. After another second of listening, Logan sighs. If you had to guess, the next question he hears his something along the lines of then who the fuck are you.
“I’m the guy who’s cock she’s sucking.” Logan’s voice is bordering on a frightening snarl, and you’d give anything for your desperate colleague to take the fucking hint. “There anything else we can help you with?”
Your chin and lips are all sticky with spit, shining whenever you tug your mouth just off his cock to tease the head with strong lips that dip into his leaky slit. Logan doesn’t stifle his moans anymore, one fluttering out loud and straight into the phone.
“Listen, if you don’t hang up soon, you’re gonna have’ta hear me come in her mouth, bub,” Logan groans out the second half of his sentence, vision blurring at the soft tug you give his balls. They’re warm and heavy and covered with slick as they roll in your hand, Logan’s thighs beginning to shake.
You don’t notice Logan drop the phone until he reaches to grab your face, long strings of cum shooting out into a salty pool on your tongue. He chokes on the noises that heave his chest as you suck until he’s pulling away with an uncharacteristic whimper.
“Ah, okay. Off,” he requests, hand searching blindly for something at his side. “Don’t swallow yet.”
You grin, watching as Logan pulls his phone into his grasp, punches in the passcode, and channels up the camera.
“Open.”
Your tongue moves to hang out of your mouth as you pose, all stained with Logan’s impressive load. He angles the photo with your face front and center, softening cock present and lingering to the side. When he snaps the picture, you swallow his cum in one gulp with a pleased smile.
“For my collection,” Logan winks at you before stopping to think. “Might send one to your guy at work too so he’ll learn how to fuck off.”
tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship
a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕
His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”
Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.
“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”
You can feel his eyes follow you.
Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.
But there’s something in the way he watches.
A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.
Indulging, almost. Unashamed.
You might have a crush.
You're trying not to think about it too much.
Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.
It's all bright lights.
The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.
He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.
Logan is so different from the ones before him.
Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.
Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.
It was exhausting.
Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.
Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.
It's not how you saw him, though.
His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.
You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.
Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.
You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.
Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.
He'll last longer than the others, at least.
More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.
An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.
You’ve been thinking about that for days.
There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.
But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.
It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.
The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.
With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.
A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.
Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.
You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.
Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.
A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.
There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.
"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.
A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.
"Come on, man. I saw her first."
Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."
Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.
"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."
And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.
The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.
You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.
Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.
"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.
His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"
Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.
"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.
"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"
That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."
"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.
Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.
You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.
The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.
There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.
But it hasn't been like this.
Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.
"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."
"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”
Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.
You break the eye contact first.
“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”
Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.
“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”
There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.
“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”
The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”
A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.
“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”
You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.
Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.
“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”
A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”
Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.
“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”
Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.
“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”
The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.
“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.
You’re undeterred.
“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”
Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.
“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”
All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.
The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.
Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.
“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”
Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.
“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.
The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.
Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.
It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.
“Making a mess.”
You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.
The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.
“That for me?”
Your head nods, “Logan, please-”
There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”
“Yes.”
You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.
“Ask me.” He coos.
“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”
Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.
The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.
His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.
Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.
The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.
Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.
“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”
He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.
The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open.
You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.
Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.
The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.
“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.
Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.
His other hand taps against your thigh.
“Words, sweetheart.”
“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”
His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.
A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.
Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.
“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”
He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.
“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”
It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.
The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.
It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.
“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”
The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.
His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.
Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.
“Open.”
They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.
“Good girl.”
It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.
A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.
Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.
Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.
Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.
Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.
“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.
All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.
“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”
A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.
“I’m taking you home.”
ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)
tags: dub-con (logan goes into a rut), a/b/o-lite elements (logan-only - ruts/knots/mates), breeding kink, mutual pining, two jealous dummies, size kink, fighting as foreplay, return of The Claws (claw-play?), outercourse, biting, marking, come play, rough PiV sex
a/n: pure pwp. reader has druidic-based mutant powers (wild shape, strong connection to nature/animals, influence over vines/foliage) and is from Earth-10005.
Logan knows this feeling. He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest.
Should have told you no. Should have locked himself away like he always did. Instead, he’s stuck, unable to keep his mind from wandering while his sparring partner - sweat-dewed and squirming - is pinned beneath him.
(Or - Logan’s rut begins at a most inopportune time)
Something wasn’t right.
It’s been settling under his skin for days now. Tiny hooked claws, digging into flesh. A syrupy urge low in his guts, his mind not quite his own.
He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest.
The world he lives in now is different. There’s humans, mutants, aliens. But none like him, answering to something innate that defined him in a way that didn’t matter anymore.
It’s been a while. Almost forgot how it felt, after years of tamping down this part of him. Should have recognized sooner what it was. This rippling, simmering irritation just beneath his skin, so much stronger than usual.
Should have locked himself away, when he realized his rut was returning.
In his years in his own Earth, the urge had lessened. Dulled by alcohol and grief. Managed by himself, in the few months this part of his nature did visit him.
But he hadn’t been able to tell you no. Hadn’t been able to resist, not when you smiled so prettily at him, practically begging him.
And the thought of you leaving him behind at the X-Mansion, while you went off without him - to spar with Hank, instead - made him want to rip McCoy’s arms off.
Desire swirls around him now, as he trades blows with you. Your arms snaking around his shoulders as you shoulder a well-placed hit, bringing you both down the floor.
Logan feels like a pup again, watching your breathless laugh. The clench of your thighs around his waist. The heady throb low in his guts, the pressure of his cock as it strains against his suit.
His hips lift, separating him from you. Trying to form an excuse, while his brain is rocketing into overdrive.
Fighting back the urge to close that gap again. To peel down those tight leggings that drive him mad, bury his mouth against your pussy and make you scream. Fuck you full of him, until he’s dripping out of you for days.
The though makes him growl, as he tries to concentrate.
Tough to fake an illness, or injury. You’d see right through him.
Or even worse, worry.
So all he had to do was finish out this session.
Shouldn’t be too hard.
If you can just avoid touching him… he might just make it through.
You know you shouldn’t let yourself get distracted like this while sparring with Logan, but you can’t seem to help it.
Not when you’ve been nursing this thing inside you for months now. Something planted from another earth, settling low in your chest. Infesting like the vines that sprout from you, taking over until you’re fully ensnared.
You’ve tried to ignore it. Didn’t want to ruin a good thing between you.
Out of everyone in the X-Mansion, you got along with Logan the best. Used to a solitary lifestyle after being raised among the druids, before you knew the truth to what you were, the mutant lineage that flowed through you.
It had paired well with his temperament. His anger and grouchy quips slipped from you like raindrops on a leaf. Something about spending time with you softening him at the edges - just a little bit.
He was still the hard man he used to be. Grizzled, with that scowl of his and the flecks of grey at his temples.
And despite your efforts - forgetting and moving on hadn’t been successful. Not at all.
Because it’s impossible to ignore when he’s close, like this. Pressing your back to the mat, your wrist slammed against the padded floor. A knife skittering away, because even after all this time - even with his insisting - you were still reluctant to use it.
It sends your pulse racing. He’s so fucking strong - and you think that maybe, even if you had been an equal pair, that you’d still throw these matches.
Let him win, if it gets him like this. Sweaty and pressed up against you as you struggle beneath him. A thigh jammed between yours to prevent you from slamming your heel into his calf.
You’ll think about this later.
You always do after your sparring sessions. You hand slipping between your thighs in the shower after. Bitten-back moans as you play out more in your mind - the plunge of your fingers inside your aching cunt until you’re shuddering with the pulsing pleasure, slumping back against the cold tile.
The fantasies always comes back to him.
You think that maybe Logan wants it too. Have felt his gaze on you when he thinks no one is looking, but your senses have always been keen. Animal attraction, perhaps. Pheromones. Something about his smell, his touch, beckons you - though you don’t understand what it means.
And it’s only now that you realize he’s gone still above you. Eyes blown wide, a sharp breath of air inhaled through clenched teeth. A low growl, caught in his throat.
Holding himself back. You can see it - the way his muscles string tight. How his eyes dip, flicking over your face. Down to the part of your lips. The sweat that dews your chest.
Close enough that you can inhale him - the smell of leather and cigar smoke blending with more - something inside you giving them a name.
Want. Need.
It gives you courage.
You bridge the gap, for a just a moment. A shallow lift of your hips. Encouraging, the movement pushing your tits against his heaving chest.
“Bad fucking idea, sweetheart.” He growls.
It’s rough, low. Ground-out as if to himself, a wounded sound slipping from his throat.
His response has a mark forming between your eyebrows. A soft murmuring of his name.
Logan’s face dips, eyes closing as he inhales. Then, without warning, his knuckles cradle against your throat.
Wrist flexing as two of his claws spear forward on either side of your neck. Punching through the training mats and sinking deep into the concrete beneath.
Pinning you completely under him, your hips dropping as your free hand wraps around his forearm. A tug of fear ripples through you, but he doesn’t budge.
“Logan,” You repeat, gasping, “What are you doing? What’s wrong?
This isn’t like the times you’ve sparred before. He’s never drawn his claws. You don’t heal like he does - you both know it. Never using more than a loose fist, an open palm in your sessions.
He’s breathing heavy. Holding himself over you, his other hand still wrapped firmly around your wrist.
“I’m gonna let you go.” It comes out ragged, through clenched teeth.
“And then I need you to leave, and lock me in after.” Only now does he look at you - his dark eyes burning, “You understand?”
His voice is so rough that it makes your skin prickle. Heat licking down your spine, stoking the embers that have settled low in your belly.
“I don’t.” It comes out hushed.
How can you? It’s like a flip has been switched, in those few moments. Did you truly misread everything?
His eyes haven’t left your face. There a peek of his tongue against his lips, the words coming slowly, “Don’t wanna do something you’re gonna regret.”
And for a moment, time stands still. An ache in your chest that’s so different than the one between your thighs. Finger unfurling, reaching.
Slipping up his arm, touching his cheek. He flinches, eyes fluttering shut as he holds his breath.
“What could I regret with you?”
If it were anyone else, the question would be stupid. You should be running from the man that has you pinned to the ground, claws drawn. Another twitch and you could be dead - the middle unsheathing to pierce clean through your soft throat.
“Whatever it is, let me help you.” Your voice is gentle - coaxing - and for a second, he leans into the touch. Palm pressing against heated skin, and you gasp, “You’re burning up, Logan.”
“You can’t help me with this.” He rasps with his eyes closed, voice strained.
Your head shakes, “Let me try.”
A long pause lingers. The room filled with the uneven intake of breath. Logan’s words coming slowly, as his eyes open - dropping down to your throat. And then away, like he can’t bear to even look at you, “Does the word rut mean anything to you?”
It feels like something stirs again inside you. The flutter of wings, not unlike the feeling when you tap into your power. Like threads slipping your fingertips, connecting you down to the earth below.
“Animals have ruts. Deer, elk, creatures like that.” A beat, as you begin to understand. Heat flaring in your cheeks at the implication, “But, not… not humans.”
He grunts, shifting.
It takes everything not to let your chin tip down, to look.
“They do where I come from.”
Pieces start to fall in place. His increased irritability around you lately. Territorial. Aggressive.
Blending in to what you know, in your connection to nature. Those animalistic instincts that linger in your blood long after you’ve shed your beast form.
Desire. Mating. An urge to breed.
Oh, fuck.
You squirm and he makes a warning sound without thinking - a rough rumble from his chest. His weight shifting on top of you, still hovering.
“How do you handle it?”
His eyes flicker up to yours, then away again. Jaw working, a breath before he answers, “Take care of it myself. Or, I’d find someone to work through it with me.”
Even as you’re scrambling to make sense of it, you understand his insinuation. It stuns you into silence. You cannot allow that. The thought sends your heart crashing into your guts.
Your chin tips up, defiantly.
“Let me help you.”
Those dark eyes narrow as they snap to your face. Your words softening, as your thumb sweeps across his skin, the scruff of his cheek.
“I want to help you.”
Logan laughs, the sound ragged. Showing the points of his canines with the shake of his head.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice is smoky-low. Rough as it scrapes across your skin, leaving goosebumps, “You couldn’t take me.”
Your heart feels like it’s pounding in your throat. Heat licking down your spine, and surely he can feel it - the flutter beneath the press of his knuckles.
“I can.” It comes out breathy. Insisting.
His tongue brushes over his lips as they part. A tilt of his head as he lowers himself. His knee pressing against the meat of your thigh, nudging. Opening your legs up further. Spreading them wider.
“I will ruin you.”
It’s growled in your ear. Each word coming slowly, as he lets the hard curve of his cock grind against your core. His meaning unmistakable, his voice pitching down with a ragged groan.
“I want you to ruin you. You understand?”
And, you do. It floods through you, sending your nerve endings alight. Imagining how he would handle you, take you. The space between your thighs throbs.
His admission - the rasp of his words and the heavy nudge of him against you makes you do something very selfish.
And very stupid.
You’re just able to reach your thigh holster now, with this new angle. The quick fumble of your fingers to loosen the small dagger.
The metal side of his claw pressing into your skin as your head turns. Before he can move, a flick of your wrist sends it through the air.
Your aim is slightly off, but it does the job. Seating itself in the control box by the door, a sizzle as the wires are cut.
A metallic snick as the doors lock. The lights click off, plunging the room into darkness. The ground bathed only with the stripes of sun that stretch across the floor from the row of window along the wall.
Logan lets go of your wrist, but leaves you pinned. His fist curling in the strap of your tank, knuckles pressing against your throat as he yanks you forward.
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Logan snarls, “You want me to use you?”
His words make you whimper. A soft little whine that has his hips dropping further. An unconscious rut against your core, leg muscles flexing as you clench around nothing.
You meet his second thrust, your body curving against his. Head tipping back as the seam of your leggings nudge against your clit.
“Fuck.” It almost sounds awed now, his words soft and slow, “You do, don’t you?”
Letting his full weight drop, as your hands grip onto his shoulders for purchase. You had thought you were pinned before, but he had still been using his knees, his elbows. Hovering, in an attempt to keep control.
Now, you can feel all of him, as his body maps against yours. Pulling a rough groan as his hips flex, grinding himself slowly against your core.
“Logan, please.”
He growls. Fingers unfurling from your shirt. Ghosting down your side to fit against the curve of your hip. Biting into flesh with a bruising force, as his face buried in the crook of your neck. A hot exhale against your skin, as he pants - finding a rocking rhythm, as his body curls around yours.
You can feel the way his muscles tense with each needy snap of his hips. The way each breath pitches into a near-silent whine, as he seeks friction.
It’s not enough, as much as he wishes it was.
“I need-” Logan rasps, “Tell me to stop and I will.”
The hand on your hip snakes between you. Roughly tugging on the belt of his suit, until the clasp opens. All while murmuring assurances, half to himself.
“I’ll let you go. Work through it myself-”
That need he speaks of rolls off him in waves. Facial hair scraping against your cheek. The brush of his lips against your throat, just above the cool press of his claws.
“Don’t stop.” It’s easy to answer. Easy to lean into what he offers you, all those sweet promises wrapped in steel.
The groan he makes is filthy, “Give me your hand.”
Your fingers unlatch from the vice-like hold on his suit. A broad hand wrapping around your wrist, as he tugs you where he needs you. The tips brushing heated skin, making you gasp.
“Make a fist,” He rasps, “Fuck, that’s it.”
Lining himself up, pushing his bared cock into the circled grip of your fingers. Using you like a cheap imitation of what he craves, as his desire leaks from him. Slicking up your fingers, with each roll of his hips.
He’s heavy in your hand. You can feel how your fingers stretch - flexing, opening, with each forward thrust. Barely able to circle around, fingers splitting when you reach his base.
You can’t help but move with him. Hips rocking up, to match his messy rhythm. The knuckle of your thumb pressing against your seam, nudging at where you ache for him.
“I can smell you, sweetheart,” Logan moans, his nose dragging along the curve of your jaw. Lips parting so he can test his teeth against a spot under your ear, the pressure making you shiver, “Your pussy’s leaking, thinking about me.”
Your eyes flutter shut, as you whine. Squeezing his cock a little more tightly, wishing it was filling you instead just your fingers.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” He husks, “You think you can take it?”
You want anything he’ll give you. And anything is better than the way he’s teasing you. Palm slick with his desire, your own soaking through the soft fabric of your leggings.
“I want it. Want your cock,” You breathe, “Want to fuck me, please-”
There’s a final jerk of his hips against you, his voice gruff as his thighs shift.
“Stay still then, sweetheart.”
There’s the sharp rasp of adamantium against stone as they withdraw from the floor. His knuckles easing carefully from your throat as he leans back. Eyes dropping down, considering.
Barely a heartbeat before there’s the kiss of metal against skin, as the edge of a claw hooks under your shirt. Your breath held as it slips up, between your breasts.
A tug, and the fabric is shredding. Fibers splitting until the drag of the sharp tips, from belly to throat. Baring you, the air in the open room chilling your heated skin as you gasp.
Nipples already pebbled as his mouth descends. A needy moan loosening when he kisses at the curve of your tits, his tongue flattening across a tight peak.
Your arms wrap around him, their duty forgotten. Distracting you as his claws shift down. Your breath catches, but then there’s the sound of them sheathing - slipping back under his skin.
His hands finding the slice he made in the waistband, making short work of the rest himself. Ripping your leggings open - dragging your thighs over his as he leans back on his knees.
And looking down, it’s only now that you can fully see him. The familiar, worn yellow suit that shows off how broad he is. Zipper yanked down at the crotch, his cock pulled through with his impatience.
Eyes widening, when you realize there’s more to him than you though. Hanging heavy between his thighs, pretty and flushed. A thickened bulge sitting where your fingers had split - what you had mistaken for his base.
“Need to be inside you, sweetheart,” Logan’s hand already wrapping around his shaft, dragging the tip across your cunt, “Don’t make me waste a drop, alright?”
Fingers tugging the gusset of your panties to the side. Letting the tip slap against your clit. It glides against you, slipping against your combined arousal. Seeing how you flutter as you clench, your own need spiking.
“Logan,” You beg, “Stop teasing, please-”
He makes a rough sound. Almost a laugh, if it didn’t sound so pained.
“Just listen to you. Begging like you’re in heat,” He grunts, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need.”
The tip dips down, nudging at your entrance. Lining himself up, before his hips drive him forward. The sudden pressure chokes you - a bitten-back cry as your muscles string tight, thighs clamping down around his waist.
“Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this.” He growls. Spearing into you an inch at time with a long, fluid motion. Fingers biting into your thigh, holding you open as your own scrabble against the mat - searching for something to hold onto.
“Tugging down those leggings. Fucking you into the floor.”
You can barely contain the whine. Brow furrowed, as he splits you open. Your pussy making room for him until the swollen ring at his base cradles your entrance.
Only able to inhale a short breath before he’s moving. Hands catching your legs, slipping to the joints of your knees where they press into his ribs.
Pushing your thighs back towards your chest, opening you up further, as his cock drags along your walls. He feels deeper, bigger - groaning at the way you clench so tightly around him.
Better than any of those daydreams, as he leans into you. Chasing that animalistic urge inside to bury himself fully in you, ensuring that you’ll take every drop.
Your fingers bite into his wrists. The breath pushed from you with each thrust, feeling like he’s deep in your belly, as that swell stretches at your opening.
“Thought about it too,” You admit with a gasp, as that heat inside you burns, “Wanted you, like this.”
“Yeah? I bet you did.” He grunts, as his thighs snap against your ass. Leaning over you now, eyes fixed on yours. Close enough that you can see the glaze to them, lost in his need for release.
Before his eyes drag down. Seeing where you’re stretched around him. Another shallow nudge, urging himself deeper. His thumb pressing at your entrance, before slipping back to hook around the swell.
“Good girl like you’d take my knot too, wouldn’t you?”
His knot. Your head shakes. He barely fits at is. You can feel every ridge as he ruts into you, every thick vein, “I don’t think- Logan, that won’t fit-”
The thumb shifts up. Pleasure burning through as he rolls the pad across you clit. His brow pulled in concentration, but there’s a flesh of white teeth.
“Sure it will, baby.” It’s slick, how he touches you. His cock grinding again and again against a spot that steals your breath, “You were made to take it. We’ll make it fit.”
It makes you moan. Your fingers sliding into his hair tugging at him. He comes willingly, a soft sound as his mouth dips to press against yours. Turning hungry as your lips part. Rubbing at you as his tongue strokes against yours, deepening the kiss.
The pleasure licks in your veins, a molten feeling building in your core.
A rough murmur against your lips, “Tell me you want it. I’ll make you feel good, sweetheart.”
You parrot it back to him without thinking, hips chasing the press of his thumb.
“I want it,” You keen, “Your k-knot.”
Willing to do just about anything he asks if he keeps touching you like this. If he keeps rutting against the spot that makes your arousal leak around his cock, each drive of his hips loud and messy in the quiet room.
He groans, the hand at your thigh pinching, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. The fingers at your clit slipping up to splay across your abdomen, his palm hot again your skin.
“Yeah?” Logan husks - pressing down, almost as if he can feel himself buried inside you, “Fuck, you’d look so good filled with my pups.”
His rhythm going sloppy, as a hand slips up to palm at your breasts, “These pretty tits nice and round. Wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you, baby.”
Some of his words are new to you, but your body still reacts to his tone. The need, the longing. An intrinsic understanding of what he wants, even if it’s impossible with your implant. It still doesn’t stop your hand from slipping down to replace his.
Of pretending, with him.
The circles practiced, leaving him to concentrate on his own end. Soft panting cries pulling from you as the pounding of his hips drags you closer.
He’s close, as well. Those sharp thrusts growing shallow, messy. Letting go of your thighs, letting them wrap around his waist as he drives you into the padded mats. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips pressing against your jaw. Tongue dipping out to drag against a spot on your neck that makes you go slack in his arms.
“Should mate you,” He rasps. Teeth pinching down, where his tongue just was, “Bite you right here. Make you mine.”
The words tip you over the edge. A ragged gasp as your pussy clamps down around him, blood thundering in your ears. Nails catching on the panels of his suit as you cling to him, moans ripped from your throat as you pulse around him in time with your thudding heartbeat.
There’s no sharp bite of teeth. Just a muffled groan against your skin as he grasps at your hips. The sharp feeling of pressure increasing, as something thick works its way inside you. You keen as it stretches you, swelling so he can’t withdraw.
Twin ragged moans, as you’re joined together.
He comes with you squirming on his knot, his lips pressed against your throat. Sweet nothings murmured - “squeezing me so fucking tight, baby”, “gonna need you to take every drop, atta girl” - his cock throbbing as he spills inside you, pumping you full.
Still grinding into you. It draws your own orgasm out, with the way he’s rubbing against your walls, nothing left untouched. Overstimulation flickering at the corner of your mind, but you’re locked in place as he breeds you.
Understanding what he meant by using you - you feel it now. Fucked out and boneless and it sends another gush of sticky need between your thighs.
The sharp, panting breath starts to ebb. The ghost of his teeth becomes the nuzzle of his face, that strung-tight pull of his muscles turning liquid as he relaxes into your embrace.
“Why were you so worried?”
It comes out hushed, in the now-silent room. You’re sore - will be, tomorrow. Pleasure-drunk certainly, but not quite as ruined as he promised.
Almost to your disappointment.
“That wasn’t too much.”
Logan laughs, the sound dripping with condescension. A flex of his hips, still knotted inside you. Cum leaking from your swollen pussy, smearing against your inner thighs.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He coos, “Ruts can last for days.”
His fingers drop, dragging through his spend. Finding your clit again, rubbing slick circles against the tight little bud.
Intent on doing this one himself.
“We’re only just getting started.”
I had two ideas for his claws after the movie - this was the second one! This is my first time writing something like this, so keeping it a little light with the dynamics 💖 thanks for reading!
and speaking of - I have to link this amazing alpha!logan thot by the incredible @avocado-writing! please check it out! 💕
summary: logan fucks you in your sundress.
warnings/tags: MDNI. this is literally porn. basically no correct lore/lore whatsoever. old man!logan. unspecified age gap. soft daddy!dom logan. sub!reader. daddy kink. dd/lg undertones. pet names (bub, baby, little girl). cockwarming. biting. some manhandling. riding. a smidgen of ass play. a smidgen of innocence kink. size kink. unprotected piv. one (1) spank. creampie. breeding kink. barely proofread. wc: 1.6k
He likes to keep you full. Satisfied.
There is no stress, no lines of fear or concern painted across your pretty little face when he has you plugged full of his cock. He likes to watch them disappear, like magic, rolling off you in blissful waves when you sink yourself down him and breathe that glorious sigh of reprieve.
His pretty girl, his perfect girl, who deserves to be a little mindless at the hands of the man who will bear the weight of her worries for her.
“Eyes on me, bub.” His strong fingers cradle your jaw, tilting it towards him. “There you go, that’s a good little girl. Keep ‘em here.”
He knew today would be one of those days. When you needed him a little more than usual, in ways others would fail to understand. He saw it the minute he laid eyes on you; the pout of your lips, the downturn of your brows, they called to him from across the room and stirred every instinct inside of him.
Hours later, he’s finally got you alone, straddled over his thighs on the couch with his cock nestled deep inside of you. The hem of your pretty little dress hiked over the swell of your bare ass, the straps slipping down your shoulders, revealing the slopes of your neck and the swell of your breasts to him. He’s already sunk his teeth into the flesh, marking you, a reminder for all those around you that you already belong to someone.
Your eyes, which find him on his command, are half-lidded. Dazed, nearly as wet as your lips that you keep biting every time the tip of him kisses your cervix. What were once slick, heavy bounces of your cunt up and down his shaft have now turned into desperate, wavering grinds of your hips. Your thighs tremble, having lost momentum, and your skin is sheen with sweat from the exertion of riding him.
“Daddy,” you croak, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s putty in your hands. He can’t resist, not when you talk to him like this—fucked out eyes brimming with tears and the sweetest little voice, a siren's song. “C-can’t anymore… need help.”
He’s been a little mean, having you work for it. But he wants to tire you out, get you good and loose so he can have you completely brainless. Entirely at his disposal. Then, he’ll make you come as many times as it takes until you forget what made your day so troublesome to begin with.
His massive hands on your hips have remained relatively still, save for the way his calloused fingers dig into the plush of your ass every now and then, spreading your cheeks wide to feel the stretch of your cunt around him, tips just barely teasing the puckered little hole hiding there. He wants to overwhelm your senses; the big breadth of his chest against your body, the intimacy of his touch, the familiar scent of tobacco and leather. It’s dizzying, and he knows it.
“You need help, baby?” he reiterates, a bit patronizing. You nod dumbly, still desperately trying to chase your high by rocking your hips. He feels you clench every time your clit rubs up against the hair at the base of his cock, shivering above him. The hand on your jaw doesn’t relent, but he lets his thumb slip over your lips, grinning triumphantly when you immediately part them and suck it into your mouth. He's trained you well.
“You gonna keep those eyes open if Daddy helps you? Let him see ‘em when you come?” he asks you, arching a stern brow. You nod again, a bit more eager, moaning a high-pitched promise of mmhm around his thumb.
He’d be lying if he said he isn’t getting impatient himself. You’ve been sitting here for nearly an hour, and he had not even allowed you to move for the first twenty minutes he filled you. He likes to take his time with you. Break you down bit by bit until you’re malleable, until you beg. The sweet sound of it now breaks a bit of him, too, and he can’t ignore the building urge to brand you on the inside as well as he’s done outside.
“Alright, baby,” he acquiesces, pulling his hands off your face and finding your hips underneath your dress again. “Hold on to me.”
You obey, wrapping your arms eagerly around his neck, tits pushed up and spilling out of your neckline against his chest. His eyes do a once over of the predicament you’re in, and he knows he’s a bad, bad man for enjoying this sight of you as much as he does. Sweet, young thing drooling around his cock, too impatient to even get your dress fully off of you—he wouldn’t have let you, anyway, content at the vision of pretty floral details and bows while the rest of you succumbed to corruption.
Once he’s got you balanced in the palms of his hands, he doesn’t give you the opportunity to adjust before he’s lifting you off his cock only to slam you right back down it. You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, and he sets his ceaseless pace. Flesh slaps against flesh when his hips begin to piston up off the cushions, meeting your bouncing body that he manipulates with ease.
Your jaw unhinges, and he takes in the sight with pride. A rag doll of his choosing, only to be played with by him and him alone. The thought makes him growl, and his lips lean forward to capture one of your bouncing breasts, wrapping around the peaked nipple and sucking it into his mouth. He can feel the pour of nectar stick between your thighs, coating his and the couch below. Eventually, he grows restless, releasing your hips to wrap the entirety of his wingspan around your torso, flushing you taut against his chest with nowhere else to go as he uses your sweet, dripping pussy to his hearts content.
The sounds of your hiccups and moans do little to drown out the obscene echos of squelching flesh and slapping skin. You do your best to keep your forehead pressed against his, but he takes note of the way your eyes begin to roll in tandem with your fluttering pussy.
He unravels one of his arms, only long enough to give your ass a firm smack. You yelp and your eyes fly back open, trembling fingers clinging to his hair.
“On me,” he grits, your only reminder before returning to his punishing pace.
He knows you’re close when he feels your toes curl against his thigh, when your nails dig into his scalp a bit painful, and your cunt suffocates him.
“Daddy,” you call again, garbled and hardly intelligible this time. A string of DaddyDaddyDaddy’s follow, and your breath begins to hitch in your throat, like there’s not enough air to keep you breathing. He’s stolen it from you, taken it for himself in hopes of leaving you wanting.
He’s right there with you, brows pulled in concentration when he feels the familiar clench of his lower abdomen. The tingle that spreads throughout his thighs and pulses through his cock that’s molded to the shape of you.
“Tell Daddy when you’re coming,” he commands, leaning up to steal your lips in a wet kiss and muttering against them: “Tell him so he knows when to fill this pussy up. That’s what you want, right baby? Want Daddy to fill you up real nice?”
You try to tell him yes, but it comes out warped, high-pitched, and on the verge of breaking. It’s not even seconds later that you tell him you’re coming, repeating it over and over and over again until he can feel it happening. You squeeze him like a vice, his personal pocket of unmatched pleasure, pulsing and milking around him. You keep your eyes on him, like the good girl you are, though your lashes flutter and falter with the rest of your body that convulses in his stronghold.
And he can’t help himself, can’t even starve off the buildup for a moment longer, and he's rearing forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Tickling the sweaty skin there with his beard before sinking his teeth into it again. He needs it to muffle the roaring groan that rumbles through his chest, to ground him as his cock begins to twitch and swell inside of you, borderline animalistic in the way his fingers bruise into your ribcage when he spills inside of you.
He doesn’t stop his thrusts, though they grow shallow and slow. He huffs with each spurt of his release, the growing sensitivity weakening him. But he is bound to it, the pleasure you pull from him. No amount of dominance could diminish that.
Eventually, the world stills. His breath comes back to him, his senses clear, but he does not move. Does not unfold you from him, nor make any effort to slip away. He listens to the sound of your breathing, quick and sporadic then slowing, shaky and deep. He kisses your hot temples, releases his paws from your flesh, and uses them to soothe up and down the length of your spine. He lets you slump against him, nuzzle up into his chest, body limp and satiated.
He’ll have you sit like this, full of him, for another while, he thinks. Maybe even until you fall asleep, until the shape of him is built within you, until every last drop of his seed has the chance to be inside of you.
Maybe this time, it’ll finally take.
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warnings: 18+ mdni. smut. object insertion -> unlit cigar. don't try this at home. wc: 509
an: welp, here i am, writing about object insertion once again. first time writing Logan despite pining for him since 2000. thanks to @missredherring for having no qualms about being fucked with a cigar. you're a real one.
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬
Logan lands a heavy thumb on your clit and swirls the tiny button producing an excess of slick from your glistening sex. "Want 'er nice n' wet." He brazenly informs while puffing on a lit cigar nestled between his lips.
Earlier, he tempted you into his bedroom with a grin; you didn't notice the new box of cigars tucked under his arm. He softly commanded you to lie on his bed and to hold your legs apart.
"I wanna try somethin'."
You should've known how this would turn out when he stood between your thighs and brought one of the fresh cigars to his nose, smelling it like a predator catching whiff of wounded prey.
He teases the head of an uncapped cigar along your puffy, slick opening and slowly drags the blunt end up and down, making sure to gather as much sticky arousal as he can before pushing into your warmth. "There ya go, you can take it."
The pressure is noticeable as it glides across your velvet walls. The cigar is as thick as one of Logan's fingers and grazes all the right spots as he languidly fucks you with it. "Wanna taste ya all day long."
Your stomach cramps at the thought of how inappropriate it was to be fucked with such an object, not to mention the fact that Logan would be puffing away on your pussy soaked cigar in front of people.
"Come on, kid. Drench it." Logan commands, making your cunt clench hard as he rubs tight, steady circles around your clit and forces you to come with no chance of denial.
He husks immoral praise while he continues to thrust the cigar deeper, staining it with your arousal until you try to clamp your thighs together and push at his forearms, overwrought with mind-numbing bliss. "Logan, please," you whimper pitifully as your cunt beats in time with your heart.
He smirks before sliding the cigar from your heat, eliciting a soft, relieved groan from your chest. You watch in awe as he raises and inspects the cigar. It's effectively soaked, dripping with your creamy arousal, and the thought makes you lightheaded.
Logan plucks the old cigar he was puffing on from his mouth and eagerly replaces it with the one just inside you. He cuts the cigar cap with a butterfly blade he keeps stowed in his pocket before flicking his lighter; the foot sizzles, burning like the sun before he takes a few cautious drags and tongues the freshly sodded head. Earthy smoke swirls from his mouth as he leers down at you like a dragon fresh after a kill.
"Fuckin' delicious," he mutters. The words are garbled, barely coherent, over the cigar before he rolls it to the corner of his mouth with his tongue.
A weak laugh breezes out of your throat, and you shake your head with bewilderment before two brute hands catch you by surprise and wedge your knees apart. Logan splays your thighs wide open with a wicked smile.
"Got 9 more to go, bub."
feel free to scream at me -> 💌
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