loganspet

[loganspet]

He’s so big, beefy, and deliciously hairy choke me…

big papi 😩

[loganspet]

please guys the prominent vein reminded me of Logan

p!link him seeing readers pretty lace !! I’m sick, I shamefully have so many p!links in mind I’m a whore.

“Y’wearin’ this for me, huh?” His voice is a rasp against your neck, low and close. “Knew I’d lose my fuckin’ mind seein’ you in this. Look at you, sittin’ there pretty. Beggin’ f’it without even sayin’ a word.”

“Gonna split you open real nice, sweetheart. That what you want? Want me to fill that smart little mouth first, or get you cryin’ for it right here?”

[loganspet]

My baby daddy

uhm first time posting here kinda nervous..

[loganspet]

What about being in a fairly new relationship with old man Logan and him learning that you’ve never been eaten out so he rectifies that for you until you’re shaking from how many times he’s made you cum

Anon you read my mind because I’m horny might edit this again and add more 🤍

𝐀 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

. . . ─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ─── 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Pairing:

Old man Logan x Fem!Reader

@loganspet

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

With some late-night reruns, an old television hums. The sound of subdued laughter coming from a comedy that neither of you is actually watching. You're in bed, nestled against Logan's side, under his flannel. The buttons are loose from being yanked and tugged and worn out from years of wear, and the sleeves are excessively long on your arms. It has his natural scent to it. Every time the fabric shifts against your skin, it’s like being touched by him. You bury your face a little deeper into the collar, pretending to be focused on the screen, but really just inhaling him, flushed and fluttery with a kind of sweetness you don’t quite have words for.

You’d only been seeing each other a few months. New enough that you still got nervous when he looked at you too long. Still called him sir by accident

As Logan absently flips through a page of whichever battered paperback he's working through, he wears his reading glasses, pushed low on his nose, the soft lamplight glinting in the silver hairs on his neck. His hand conveys a different message than his furrowed brow, which suggests that he is concentrated. It has moved below, Lazy fingers stroking your side, dragging heat along your ribs with every absentminded touch. You were flushed everywhere. Too warm. Too wound up.

Nerves in your throat, Warm all over. Knees drawn under you, bare legs pressed close. Just his flannel and a soft pair of shorts. Nothing else. You’d borrowed the shirt after your shower, hoping he’d say something.

He didn’t. He just looked at you—really looked—like he was deciding whether to eat you alive.

So you made the first move.

You crawled over his lap, soft and sweet, sat on your knees and whispered, “I wanna try something…”

“Logan.” you whispered again, this time with a whine, the bed shifting beneath you

He hummed low in his throat, the sound almost a growl. “Yeah, babydoll?” The book lowered. His gaze dragged over you.

You rolled onto your back, kicking your bare legs up, letting the hem of the flannel slide higher on your thighs. “I’m bored.”

He hums low in his throat. Doesn’t look up right away. “That so?

You crawl over his lap, soft and slow, and press your lips to his jaw. “Logan,” you whisper again, barely a breath, “kiss me?” His skin was hot. It burned.

Then you looked up at him. Right into his eyes, over those fogged-up reading glasses. You stared at his mouth.

He didn’t answer right away. Logan was weighing a hundred different reasons to say no. But none of them made it out. His hand came up to your cheek.

Rough. Gentle. “You sure?” he asked, voice low, husky.

You nodded. And it was everything.

Soft, slow, deep. His hand on your cheek, your fingers curling into his chest, your breath catching when he sighed into your mouth he’d wanted this—you—for far too long. He waited so long.

He kissed you again—hotter this time. A little wetter. Mouth opening just enough to let his tongue brush yours, a sound catching in his throat Logan couldn’t help it. Your lips were lubricant when he pulled back. A string of warmth connected your mouths.

The book hit the floor with a dull thud.

And when he pulls back, both of you flushed and panting, he murmurs, “You tell me if anything’s too much, hmm?” He kissed your cheek. The corner of your mouth. The soft spot below your ear. “I’ll take care of you.”

You nodded. Your fingers slide into his hair he adjusted his glasses absently, he’d forgotten he was wearing them, and it made something twist low in your belly— inspecting you clearly because even now, with his body towering over yours, Logan’s gentle as he can be. Still holding himself back.

Until you guided his hand.

You reached for his wrist and brought his hand to the space between your thighs. His knuckles brushed the inside of your shorts and you gasped—it was too intimate, too bold, and you swore you felt him twitch beside you.

He cupped you through the fabric, large hand covering everything, and you felt his chest rise as he watched you.

He groaned, your name mouth trailing kisses down your neck. “Fuck, you want it bad?”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper. “Please, Logan—”

When his fingers flexed just right, you jolted, thrusting your hips into his palm as if you couldn't resist. He had slid his hand into your shorts. He began gently caressing you while groaning, "So fuckin' soft." "Have you ever touched yourself in this way?" rubbing slowly in circles over your flesh. Embarrassed hot all over, you blinked up at him.

“No”

“Good, don’t worry pretty I’ll make you remember.” he slides your shorts down, slow,

He licked you until you were crying. Until your thighs clamped around his ears and your hips rolled without you even realizing, slick soaking his beard and chin. You whined into the flannel bunched in your fist, grinding down on his face, riding his mouth as if it were the only thing that could save you.

“Nah, baby. Not done. Gotta learn how this feels, yeah?”

Logan didn’t stop. Not even when you whimpered, not when you sobbed his name, not when you came—shuddering, fluttering, overstimulated and soaked. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he licked through it, letting you use him.

“Shit—Logan—Logan—ohmygod—”

“That’s it, babydoll,” he rasped, voice rumbling against your cunt. “Ride it. Use me. You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you come.”

He swatted your ass—just once. Sharp enough to make you cry out, soft enough to make your knees go weak. His nose bumped your clit as you rocked against on him, chasing the next wave.

You didn’t even realize you were in position until you leaned down, trembling, and caught sight of his cock. Thick. Leaking. Pressed up against his stomach, twitching in time with his hungry mouth.

You whimpered.

Still riding his face, you bent forward, kisses trailing down the hard line of his belly until your lips brushed the head of his cock. He groaned beneath you, fingers bruising your waist.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re gonna kill me—”

You kissed his tip. Licked the bead of precum off with a little moan. Then you wrapped your lips around the head and sucked, soft and teasing.

He bucked.

He gave you a little nibble, kissed the swell of your ass, and squeezed your tits beneath the flannel. You continued reverse 69, unkempt, drenched, and absolutely filthy. He moaned into your cunt like it was both heaven and hell at the same time, and you licked his cock while he ate you. He grabbed you by the waist, lifted you as if you were weightless, and threw you onto your back when your thighs began to tremble once again. Slick and heavy, his cock slammed against your belly. Because he had been sucking you, his mouth was swollen.

You barely caught your breath before he was on you again.

“C’mere,” he growled, grabbing your hips and dragging you into his lap. You straddled him, knees bracketing his thick thighs. His hands gripped your waist mouth trailing kisses up your chest, your neck— wrapping his hands around your neck just a little. just enough. His fingers wrapped gently but firmly around your throat, tilting your head back as he thrust up once—

“Look at you,” he rasped, staring up at you with lust-glazed eyes. “So fuckin’ sweet. All mine. Gonna ruin you now, baby.”

He knocked the air out of your lungs with the next thrust.

You collapsed into him, arms around his shoulders, head buried in his neck as he fucked you open—deep, rough, like he couldn’t get close enough. His hand loosened at your throat, fingers stroking your neck where your pulse pounded.

“Couldn’t fuckin’ wait,” he groaned, “been dreamin’ about this—bout you—‘bout makin’ you come on my tongue ‘til you cry.”

He leaned down and kissed you—deep, wet, tongue messy in your mouth he wanted you to taste yourself on him. You moaned into it, fingers digging into his back, legs wrapping around his hips before you even realized it. His cock—thick, heavy, leaking—pressed right up against your entrance. No hesitation. No lube. Just spit and desperation and the wet heat of your arousal coating his length as he started to grind into you slowly, not quite pushing in yet. “Fuck,” he growled, forehead pressed to yours, hips rolling instinct.

“Gonna feel you for days.” You both gasped when he finally pushed in—slow, deep, the stretch brutal without prep, but your body welcomed him anyway.

You nodded weakly, fingers clawing at his back, riding every punishing move. It was obscene—the sound of it. His hips lgrinding more than thrusting at first, he wanted to feel every inch. Your fingers clawed into his back, your moans muffled around his fingers still in your mouth. Your bodies were tangled, no space between you—hugging, clinging, in a frenzy. His other hand was everywhere—gripping your ass, groping you everywhere, slipping between your legs to thumb your clit as he pounded into you. You came again. You screamed.

Your body locked up—trembling, spasming, milking his cock in desperate pulses. Logan held you through it, kissing your neck, sweet praises in your ear. Deep thrusts, each one pushing the breath out of your lungs. Your legs shook. Your brain went foggy—slutty and slow, you couldn’t think of anything but him inside you.

Then he pulled out—sudden, groaning.

“Fuck—I can’t—I’ll fill you up if I don’t—” You moaned, in his chest, too far gone to pretend otherwise.

He came in rough strokes, fist gripping his cock as he jerked himself off with his forehead pressed to yours, cum streaking your belly.

“Still bored?”.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

[loganspet]

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 ♡ ૮ › ‹ ྀིა

. . . ─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ─── 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

. . . @loganspet

When Logan Howlett, your sugar daddy, finally gets his hands on you again, there’s no holding back.

Pairing:

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Daddy Kink, Dom! Logan, Sub! Reader, Rough sex, Teasing, Banter, Age gap, Dirty talk, Fingering , Use of pet names, Bimboification, Reader has piercings, Minor Ass spanking, No control, Explicit language, Explicit sexual content, Dog tags, Unprotected Sex (p in v).

Cotton Candy is Readers Nickname meaning docile and approachable

Inspiration nsfw link :3

Half asleep, I can’t shake the thought of him slipping into my bed, so I wrote this .

. . .

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] I’m booooored.

[Lo:] And?

[You:] And you should entertain me, duh.

[Lo:] Ain’t my problem, princess.

You scowl at your screen.

╰─..★.──────────╯

You roll your eyes, sprawled across the plush sheets of your king-sized bed. Technically, it’s your bed, in your penthouse—but let’s be real. It’s all because of him.

Logan keeps you in luxury, a spoiled little thing in lace and diamonds. He likes you soft, pretty, with a closet full of designer and a credit card you still haven’t hit the limit on. But right now? He’s being a pain in the ass.

Your manicured fingers tap against your phone.

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] Umm, actually, it is. You signed up for this so fucking mean. Ugh.

[Lo:] That right? Ain’t mean. Just don’t cater to whiny brats.

You picture him now, probably kicked back in his Chevrolet, cigar clenched between his teeth, jaw tight. He’s never been much for texting—too impatient, too old. You giggle at the thought.

[You:] You literally do tho. My closet says otherwise. What’s wrong, old man?

He leaves you on read for a second, which makes you scowl. You hate when he does that—like he’s got something more important than you. So, naturally, you decide to push.

[Lo:] Keep runnin’ that mouth, Cotton Candy see what happens.

You roll onto your back, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

[You:] Ooo, scary. What’re you gonna do, Lo? Ground me?

╰─..★.──────────╯

You smirk at your own sass, but when he doesn’t respond immediately, you pout. Logan’s such a grump. He doesn’t chase—not the way men your age do, falling over themselves for a chance with you. But that’s exactly why you love teasing him, making him snap.

A new idea.

You look in your vanity mirror. Your mirror is a dream—glossy lips, untidy hair, barely-there underwear, and something dangling between your tits. His dog tags. You bit your lip. Tits spill out. The cool metal rubs against your pierced nipples, barbell jewelry visible through the exquisite lace the lace he bought. Sliding your phone up, you angle the camera perfectly—pouty, teasing, tits pushed up, You make sure the tags are in focus, resting against your pierced nipples like they belong there. and attached it to a new message.

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] Ruin me, daddy. Please?

Delivered. Read.

You smirk.

Three dots appear. Vanish. Appear again. Oh, he’s pissed. The response takes seconds.

[Lo:] You wanna play that game, huh?

Your grin widens. Your stomach flips

[You:] Mmhmm. You get all growly ‘n’ bossy when you’re mad. So hot, Lo.

[Lo:] ‘Lo’? The fuck kinda name is that?

You giggle, twirling a strand of hair again.

[You:] Short for Logan. Duh.

[Lo:] Don’t call me that. I hate it

He loves it

[You:] Aww. Someone’s grumpy. Lemme guess—you’re sittin’ there, puffin’ on one of those nasty cigars, pretendin’ you’re not hard as hell right now.

Three dots appear. Vanish.

You’re kicking your feet.

[You:] C’mon, daddy. Bet you can’t handle me tonight.

Still nothing. Fine. You decide to push harder, slipping your fingers into your lace panties, dragging them low—just enough to tease. Another pic. Another message.

[You:] Bet you won’t do a thing about it.

Delivered. Read.

The response is immediate.

[Lo:] Bet your fuckin’ ass I will. Open the door.

Your breath catches.

Wait—

[You:] …You’re already here?!

[Lo:] Got in the car the second you sent that first pic. Ain’t in the mood for your games, bubs. Open the door, now.

Oh, shit.

You scramble up, heat pooling between your thighs, heart pounding. Your phone vibrates again.

[Lo:] And take those fuckin’ panties off before I get in there. If you’re gonna act like a needy little brat, you’re gonna learn what happens when daddy finally has enough.

Your whole body shivers.

You’re so in trouble.

╰─..★.──────────╯

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

You barely have time to process before there’s a heavy knock at your door. Sharp. Impatient.

Your pulse jumps.

Oh, you really did it this time.

Scrambling off the bed, you toss your phone aside and tug your panties down, just like he ordered. A rush of excitement floods through you—nerves and need tangled together. You love this part, the chase. Pushing him, testing the limits of that patience.

And now? You’re about to see what happens when you finally snap it.

You unlock the door with trembling fingers. The second it swings open.

Big hands. A rough grip. Logan grabs you, one hand fisting your hair, the other bracing against your jaw, forcing your head up to meet his glare.

He smells like cigar smoke and leather, like pine and something dangerous.

“Y’think you’re cute, huh?” His voice is low, thick with something darker than irritation.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Logan’s eyes flick down, and fuck, you swear you see his jaw tighten when he sees his tags between your tits, resting against your soft skin like they were made to be there. back when their little arrangement was still just that—an arrangement. He paid for your apartment, your designer bags, diamond bracelets. You let him grab you by the waist, let him pull you into his lap when the two of you were alone, let him drink in the way you looked in all the things he bought. It was a game, a back-and-forth, push-and-pull. Spoiled you rotten, the perfect little doll for him.

But one night, You saw them. His dog tags. Hanging off the hook in his bedroom like they didn’t belong to him, like they weren’t something personal, something worn close to his heart.

You wanted them so you took them

“Y’just don’t know when to quit, do ya?” He mutters, stepping inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

You give him a slow, syrupy smile. “Not really.”

His nostrils flare.

Then he’s moving—shoving you back against the wall, pinning you there like you belong beneath him. His grip tightens around your chin, thumb pressing against your glossy bottom lip.

“Daddy asked you a question.” His voice is rough, a quiet rasp of warning.

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “Which one?”

His expression darkens.

“Brat.”

Oh, you love it when he gets like this—when his rough hands and mean mouth are too much for anyone else, but perfect for you.

“I missed you, Logan” you sigh, tilting your head, giving him a coy smile of yours that drives him wild.

His thumb drags against your lip, just barely dipping between your teeth.

“Yeah? That why you were sendin’ me filthy fuckin’ pictures while I was drivin’?” he growls, his breath hot against your skin. He always loves hearing his name from you—especially when it comes out so sweet, so innocent, even though he knows exactly what’s underneath that pretty, ditzy exterior.

Your grin widens. “Mhm.” you hum, drawing out the sound just enough to drive him wild. “I missed everything about you, Logan”

His thumb presses against your tongue, just enough to make you gasp.

“Everything, huh? Got no patience for your games tonight, sugar. Y’been beggin’ for my attention all fuckin’ week.” He leans in, breath hot against your cheek. “Now you got it.”

“I want you so bad,” you whisper against his lips, your breath coming faster, need building. “Do you want me, Lo?” You whimper, thighs pressing together. Of course he did if he didn’t he wouldn’t be here.

His lips brush against your ear. “What was it you said?” His voice is pure gravel, his grip sliding down your body, over soft curves, possessive and firm. “Bet I won’t do a thing about it?”

A sharp little gasp slips out before you can stop it.

Then his hand grips the inside of your bare thigh. Just enough to sting. Just enough to make you ache.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

His voice is a growl against your ear, rough like gravel, thick like smoke.

“You really got no shame, do ya? Bubs”

You giggle, all soft and sweet, batting your lashes up at him. “Not when it comes to you, Lo”

Logan exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s trying to keep his shit together. You know that sound. It’s the same one he makes when he’s gripping the steering wheel too tight after you’ve spent the whole car ride teasing him with your pretty little mouth.

His hand is still on your thigh, big and hot, pressing in just enough to remind you who’s in charge. His other hand trails up, fingers catching on the chain of his dog tags—right where they sit between your tits.

You see it then, the way his eyes darken, locked on the cold metal resting against your warm skin.

He loves it.

He hates how much he loves it.

“You think just ‘cause you’re wearin’ these, you get to act like a fuckin’ menace?” His thumb brushes the tags, then trails down, grazing your nipple through the thin lace. The metal is cold against your skin.

You gasp, arching into him. “Mmm. Maybe.”

His grip tightens.

Maybe it’s the pout you give him. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not wearing panties, just like he told you to. Maybe it’s the way your skin is warm and soft under his rough hands—so delicate compared to him.

Whatever it is, Logan’s patience snaps like a frayed wire.

He fists the chain and tugs. Not enough to hurt, just enough to pull you closer, to make you feel who you belong to.

“You got no fuckin’ idea what you just started, Cotton Candy.”

You shiver, looking up at him through heavy lashes. “Guess you’ll have to show me.”

His nostrils flare.

Then, without another word, he grabs you—lifts you like you weigh nothing and tosses you over his shoulder, one big hand landing a sharp slap against your bare ass.

You squeal, wiggling in his hold.

“Fuck Logan!”

Another spank, harder this time.

“What was that?”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together, breath shuddering. “Daddy.”

His smirk is damn near feral as he starts toward your bedroom.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Logan kicks the door shut behind him, the sharp click of the lock sliding into place making your stomach tighten.

You’re still slung over his broad shoulder, ass on display, his fingers kneading at your soft flesh like he’s debating whether to spank you again.

He takes his time.

Lets you feel every step—every shift of his powerful frame, every roll of his muscles under your body. It’s dizzying, being manhandled like this, thrown around like you weigh nothing. And fuck, you love it.

“Dunno if you deserve my time tonight, sugar.”

“Daddy,” you whine, squirming in his grip. “You’re being so mean.”

Logan flicks open his lighter with a practiced ease, the small flame illuminating his face for just a moment before he brings the cigar to his lips. The end glows ember-red as he takes a slow drag, cheeks hollowing, the scent of burning tobacco filling the air. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t break eye contact. Just watches you through the curling tendrils of smoke, that sharp-toothed smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A chuckle. Deep, throaty. Cruel.

“Yeah?” he drawls, voice thick and amused, the cigar bobbing between his teeth as he speaks. His palm finds your ass again, fingers kneading into soft flesh, teasing, taunting. “’Cause I ain’t the one sendin’ pictures, beggin’ to be ruined, huh?”

You pout, not that he can see it. “It was just a little tease.”

You swallow hard, heat curling in your stomach, but Logan just snorts, exhaling a sharp puff of smoke through his nose like he doesn’t believe a damn word out of your mouth.

“Yeah? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

And then you’re falling.

Your back bounces against the bed as Logan drops you without an ounce of gentleness, and a little oof leaves your lips. But before you can complain, before you can even think about sitting up, he’s already on you—big, warm, and so much, caging you in with that solid body like you’re tiny beneath him.

His knees press into the mattress, one rough hand spreading your thigh open like it’s his to play with. His other arm braces beside your head, keeping you right where he wants you, making you so, so helpless under him. You’re not, of course—you know how to push his buttons, how to whine and get your way.

Logan knows better.

Knows you’re a spoiled, needy gorgeous thing. Knows you love pushing him to his limit just to see how far he’ll take it.

Tonight, you’re fucked.

“You like bein’ a whore, huh? Like makin’ me work for it? Huh, bub?”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, his fingers dip between your thighs, sliding through your already-messy slick.

“Damn,” he mutters, voice low, guttural. The rasp in it sends a shiver down your spine. “Drenched for me already, huh?“

Your breath hitches when he slides a thick finger inside, slow at first, teasing. He watches your body react, watches the way you arch and whimper, all pretty and desperate under him.

Your hands curl into the sheets as you whine, bottom lip wobbles “M’not easy.”

Logan just chuckles, dark and knowing. His free hand grips your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him.

“You sure about that, sweetie?” His fingers press a little deeper, his thumb circling your clit in lazy, unhurried strokes.

“This is mine”

You gasp, back arching, legs spreading instinctively. His touch is firm, practiced—he knows exactly how to unravel you, how to work your body until you’re shaking.

“I-" your voice squealing with delight, the more you cry for him.

“Yeah?” His thumb drags over your pouty bottom lip, like he’s thinking about stuffing it in your mouth.

And then—his fingers speed up.

The shift is sudden, brutal. From slow, teasing drags to deep, fast thrusts, curling just right, fucking you open with rough, unrelenting precision. His palm smacks against your soaked little cunt with every stroke, the sound loud, wet, filthy. The kind of sound that makes your cheeks burn. The kind of rhythm that makes you forget how to think.

Your back arches off the bed, legs trembling, hands fisting the sheets, desperate to grab onto something, anything.

“Oh,” you gasp, nodding eagerly, shivering when he fingers your swollen, desperate cunt. eyes going all glossy and unfocused. “Oh—Logan—” ..★ ..★

Your face burns, but you don’t deny it. Can’t. Not when he’s got you like this—pinned beneath him, fingers buried deep, dragging you toward the edge like it’s nothing.

“Daddy,” you whimper, hands flying to his shoulders, clinging tight, nails digging into muscle like you need to ground yourself.

He hums in approval, lips quirking into a smirk.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, teasing. “Say it nice. Show me you deserve it.”

You’re already panting, thighs trembling as the pressure builds, but you force yourself to meet his gaze, batting your lashes. And then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. Not gentle. Logan kisses like he fights—rough, unrelenting, a clash of heat and dominance that steals the breath from your lungs. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, a sharp nip that sends a jolt of pleasure straight through you. You whimper against his mouth, but that only makes him bite harder, dragging his teeth along the plush curve before soothing the sting with his tongue.

The taste of copper blooms between you.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest as he licks into your mouth, tasting the blood, tasting you. He groans when his tongue meets the cool metal of your piercing, rolling against it, sucking your tongue into his mouth like he’s starved for it. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly as the kiss deepens into something messy, desperate.

Your lips are swollen, slick, the faintest trace of blood smeared between them as he finally pulls back, panting, his grip on you still tight, still possessive. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, smearing the crimson before he shoves his thumb past your lips, pressing down on your tongue.

“Look at you,”

“Please, Daddy,” you breathe, voice dripping with sweet desperation. “Please fuck me. Want you so bad—”

Your words cut off in a gasp when he pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty, aching.

Logan brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, groaning low in his chest like he’s savoring you.

“Logan… Screw you” you whine, lifting your hips in an attempt to chase the pleasure you crave.

Wrong move.

His palm cracks against your ass, sharp and punishing.

“No,” he commands. “Stay still.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

The sound of his belt unbuckling makes your breath hitch. That sharp clink of metal, the slow drag of leather through the loops—it’s enough to have you clenching around nothing.

Logan knows it too. Knows exactly what that does to you.

He smirks, cigar between his teeth, letting his belt fall to the floor with a heavy thud. Then his hands go to his jeans, flicking the button open, dragging the zipper down slow—making you watch, making you wait.

You whimper, shifting under him, body already arching in silent desperation.

“Always so impatient,” he mutters, kicking his jeans off, watching you with those dark, heated eyes. “You know how this goes, sugar.”

Yeah. You do.

Because this isn’t the first time you’ve begged him like this, all messy and desperate, no teasing, no buildup—just pure, aching need.

And Logan’s never been the type to deny you.

You barely get the chance to breathe before he’s gripping your thighs, spreading you open, fitting himself between them.

No warning. No preparation. Just the blunt, thick head of his cock pressing against your slick, dripping entrance, pushing in deep.

You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs trembling at the stretch.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

You don’t remember exactly how it happened—how a night of harmless flirting turned into something permanent.

But somewhere between the stolen kisses in the dark and the way he fucked you, Logan decided you were his.

And you loved that.

You loved being spoiled.

Liked being taken care of.

Loved the feeling of his rough hands on your soft skin, the contrast of his calloused fingers slipping expensive jewelry onto you like you were some pretty little doll for him to dress up.

He made sure you had everything.

“You wanna act like a spoiled little thing—” he had rasped once, pinning you against the wall, cigar dangling from his lips.

You had just giggled, chewing your bubblegum, watching his eyes darken when your lips pouted around the pink sweetness.

“I am spoiled, daddy.”

Logan had exhaled, thick smoke curling around you both as he dragged his mouth up your neck, biting at your jaw, his voice a low growl—

“Yeah? Then I better make sure y’know who spoils ya.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Now, with your legs wrapped around his waist, his dog tags bouncing between your tits, his teeth sinking into your neck.

You know.

It burns—God, it burns—but you don’t care. You love it. Love how rough he is, how he takes you, he owns you.

“Fuck,” Logan growls, head dropping to your shoulder, voice thick with need. “So goddamn tight Cotton Candy —”

You whimper, legs wrapping around him, heels digging into his back. “Daddy, please—”

That’s all it takes.

With a low, ragged growl, Logan pulls back—just enough to slam back in, burying himself to the hilt.

Your back arches off the bed, lips parting in a soundless gasp.

He sets a brutal pace, fast and deep, no softness, no hesitation—just pure, unrelenting need.

Each thrust punches the air from your lungs, leaves you gasping, whining, begging.

“Fuckin’ ruined for me,” Logan growls, voice thick with possession. “Ain’t no man ever gonna fuck you like this, baby. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, babbling out a breathless, “Yes, Daddy—only you, only you—”

Logan grunts in approval, pace punishing now, skin slapping against skin. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall, but you don’t care.

All you care about is him. His hands gripping your hips, his breath hot against

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Logan shifts, gripping your hips, pulling you up until your legs wrap tight around his waist. The new angle makes you see stars ..★ ..★ —his cock pressing impossibly deep, stretching you wide, claiming every inch of you.

Your lingerie—what’s left of it—is already slipping off your shoulders, straps hanging loose, fabric bunched up around your ribs. Logan’s fingers roam up your torso, curling around the delicate lace, and with one sharp tug—

Riiip.

You gasp, eyes wide, body jerking from the sudden tear of fabric against your skin.

“Logan!” you gasp, half-scolding, half-turned on.

He just smirks, watching the shredded lace fall from your body, leaving you completely bare. His voice is rough, teasing as his thumbs skim your nipples. Click—the dog tags hanging between your tits clink together.

“I’ll buy you another one, Cotton Candy,” he murmurs, like it’s nothing. Like he’ll buy you a thousand more just to tear them off again.

Your head falls back against the pillows, shivering as his hands roam, feeling every inch of you like he owns it.

And he does.

Logan leans down, chest pressing flush against yours, his cock hitting deeper—making you gasp. His shirt’s still on, fabric rough against your bare skin, but it doesn’t last long.

One-handed, he tugs it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

God, he’s huge.

Thick and broad, every inch of him veined and solid, muscles shifting beneath his scarred skin as he moves. The happy trail leads down to where he’s buried inside you, disappearing between your trembling thighs.

The cigar still hangs lazily from his lips, the ember burning low. A slow curl of smoke wafts up toward the ceiling.

Logan smirks down at you, rolling his hips slow, grinding against you—making you feel every inch of him.

“Needa fill ya to the brim, bub where you're already sweet and ready for me, is where my cock goes—where my dick belongs." he rasps, voice heavy with lust.

“Oh god…” You gasped, eyes wide, looking down at the way his cock was bulged inside of you.

Your lips part, a shuddering whimper slipping past. “Mm… Lo”

His smirk widens, hand sliding down to grip your throat, thumb brushing your jaw.

“Yeah, sugar,” he mutters, leaning in, breath hot against your lips. “Real deep. Make sure ya feel me all fuckin’ night.”

His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss sloppy, rough, all teeth.

His canines graze your lip before he bites, sharp and deep—just enough to sting, to bruise.

You whimper, fingers tangling in his thick hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

He groans at that, hips snapping forward, cock slamming into you so hard your back arches off the bed.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he growls, licking the blood from your swollen lip.

Then he grabs your hips and fucks you stupid.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Your brain turns fuzzy, all soft and sweet, floating somewhere between pleasure and delirium.

Logan’s weight keeps you pinned, his body hot, muscles flexing, his hips slamming into you over and over until all you can do is take it.

His cock stretches you impossibly wide, dragging along that sensitive spot inside you with every brutal thrust. Your nails claw at his back, but you’re weak, barely able to hold onto him as your body trembles beneath him.

“D-Daddy—mm—s’too much…” Your voice is all breathy, slurred, almost drunk on him.

Logan just chuckles, that low, gravelly sound rolling through his chest. His cigar’s long gone now—probably crushed somewhere on the nightstand.

“Aww, what’s wrong, baby ?” he drawls, licking up the side of your throat. “My dumb lil’ candy can’t take it?”

Your head lolls back against the pillows, eyes glassy, lips parted. Every thrust punches another little whimper out of you, soft and broken, your thighs trembling around his waist.

He smirks at the way you’re gibbering now, no real words left—just babbling, whining, fists clenching and unclenching against his shoulders.

“C’mon, bubs,” he grunts, voice thick. “One more. Give me one more, yeah?”

You sob, shaking your head, but your body betrays you—your walls fluttering around him, sucking him deeper.

“Fuck—there ya go,” Logan groans, his rhythm stuttering, movements getting erratic. He’s close—real close.

His grip tightens on your hips, his pace turning sloppy, grinding deep until—

He pulls out at the last second, thick ropes of cum spilling across your chest, dripping down your belly.

You gasp, body twitching, still lost in the aftershocks.

Logan groans low in his throat, watching the mess he made, his fingers tracing through the pearly streaks painting your soft skin.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, half outta breath, voice wrecked.

You blink up at him, all fuzzy, pretty, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in little gasps.

Logan smirks, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

“Y’look real good like this, baby,”

…

[loganspet]

“Logan uses bub as an insult” so what if I’m into that? now, what? what if I’m turned on? cuff me.

[loganspet]

need him to fuck my brains out that’s all

[loganspet]

daddy!oldman!logan and reader in the bathtub 🛁 🫧 🧸 cute and filthy and all kinds of dubious and corrupted pretty please with sugar on top? 🫣 i love your work! please and thank you😋

Thank you for being a sweetheart 🤍

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐲

. . . ─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ─── 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

. . . @loganspet

. . .

Pairing:

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Daddy kink, Dom!Logan, Sub!Reader, Fingering

Water’s still warm, the scent of your strawberry bubble bath clinging to the steam curling around the room. The tub’s almost too small for the both of you—your legs draped over his thick thighs, your back resting against his hairy chest. You’re sunk deep into the water, surrounded by floating bubbles and your little pink rubber ducky that keeps bumping against Logan’s arm.

“Didn’t think you’d fit,” you giggle, voice soft and sticky-sweet, tilting your head back to rest against his shoulder. Your hair is damp, curls clinging to your cheeks, lips glossy and wet as you pout up at him.

Logan grunts, He kissed your temple slowly, he had nowhere else to be. You could feel his beard, scratchy, the way his lips lingered, yhe couldn’t get enough of you. One of his hands drifted down into the water, resting low over your pelvis.

You wiggle in his lap, just a little. Just enough. And there it is—the low, warning growl rumbling from deep in his chest, vibrating against your spine.

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart,” he mutters, his breath hot against your cheek as one of those big hands dips below the waterline, palming your tummy before sliding lower. “You wore that skirt on purpose. Bounced on my lap at dinner beggin’ for it.”

“I was just bein’ cute,” you whisper, lashes fluttering. “You love when I’m cute…”

His nose brushed your cheek as he nuzzled you, then dipped to kiss just beneath your ear. “Been a long week. You earned this.”

You nodded, your pigtails brushing his chest, wet and clinging. “Mhm. Thank you, Daddy…”

That word always did something to him. His arms tensed slightly, and you felt him exhale slowly through his nose. His hand dipped lower under the water, spreading your thighs apart, big palm completely dwarfing your body.

“You look so pretty, sittin’ on my lap” he whispered.

You whimpered when his fingers slipped between your legs, dragging slow and easy through your slick folds. The water sloshed gently as he moved, the warmth only making you melt more.

“Bet you like bein’ my good girl, don’t you?” he murmured, kissing your shoulder, biting gently. “Bet you love sittin’ here with your legs spread while Daddy touches you real nice.”

You nodded again, breath hitching. “I love it… love Lo”

You whimpered when his fingers slipped between your legs, lazy and confident, parting your folds under the water with the kind of ease that only came from knowing every inch of you. He was slow with it—teasing—like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.

“Daddy…” you breathed, hips twitching. You were already melting for him, thighs floating open, head lolling back against his shoulder.

“Hm?” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “Somethin’ you need, sweet girl? Use your big girl words for me.”

You flushed, heat blooming low in your belly and up your chest. “Want you to touch me…”

He chuckled—low, rough, pleased. “Yeah?” His hand stilled for a moment, cupping you. “Where, baby?”

You grabbed his wrist with your smaller hand, trying to guide him without thinking, but Logan just chuckled again and nipped at your neck. “C’mon. That mouth’s not just for suckin’ on Daddy’s cock, is it?”

You gasped, your thighs twitching around his hand. “Want you to touch my pussy, Lo, please—”

“There that wasn’t so hard,” he growled, finally giving in. His fingers began to move again, sliding over your clit in slow, tight circles, making you whimper into the steamy fogging up the mirror across the room.

“My good girl,” Logan rumbled against your neck, his beard dragging along your damp skin as his fingers moved in slow, practiced circles. “So fuckin’ soft down here. All warm for me.”

You keened, back arching, head tipping against his shoulder. The water sloshed gently as your thighs flexed around his thick wrist, pigtails clinging wetly to your cheeks.

“You like that?” he asked, voice low and gravel-slick, barely more than a growl. “Sittin’ here in my lap, bein’ so sweet for me while I play with you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you breathed, squirming in his hold. “Feels so good, Daddy…”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t rush. Just keeps working you open, touching you like he’s memorized every nerve. You’re trembling in his lap, little sobs catching in your throat.

“Could sit here all fuckin’ night,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Touchin’ you. Listenin’ to you whine.”

“Keep beggin’, baby,” he urges, lips hot against your ear. “Wanna hear you say how much you need it.”

“Please, Daddy,” you cry, rocking helplessly. “Please don’t stop—feels so good—feel you everywhere…”

“That’s ‘cause you perfect for me,” he rasped, his free hand palming your chest, thumbing your nipple, cupping your tits. “Takin’ care of you as promised.”

You gasp when his fingers press deeper, thick and steady under the water. Your hips twitch forward, but his other arm wraps firm around your waist, keeping you still against him.

“Logan,” you whisper, squirming, reaching back to grab at his forearm—thick, veiny, dusted in damp hair. Your painted nails dig into his skin, and he doesn’t even flinch. Just groans low into your neck, then sinks his teeth softly into the skin just beneath your ear.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he rasps, mouth open and hot as he kisses along your neck. “Can’t get enough’a this skin, these sounds. Look at you—already all floatin’ and fucked-out on just my fingers.”

His free hand slides up, slick with bubbles, until it grips your jaw and tilts your head toward his. “Gimme those lips, baby.”

You turn, pliant and aching, mouth already parted—and he kisses you like he’s starving. It’s deep and wet and filthy, his tongue curling slow into yours as his fingers keep moving, sliding through your folds with practiced, sinful rhythm. Your moans melt into his mouth, breathy and broken as he swallows every one.

When he pulls back, his hand is still on your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek while his fingers keep working below.

“Look at me,” he says rough, eyes dark with heat. “Keep those big pretty eyes on me while I ruin you in my tub.”

You try. God, you try. But then he tightens his grip just slightly around your throat—not enough to hurt, just to hold, to anchor. His lips crush into yours again, desperate and possessive, like he’s trying to devour you whole.

Your thighs tremble under the water as he pushes his fingers in deeper, curling them until your back arches and your breath stutters against his mouth. He groans again, hand sliding down to your chest, palming one of your breasts through the slick water, tugging at the soft flesh like it’s his.

“Every inch of you,” he pants against your lips, “mine.”

Your voice is high, needy. “Yours, daddy.”

His eyes flutter like he’s losing control—his restraint fraying at the edges. He kisses you again, slower now, messier, tongue dragging across your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth.

The tub rocks gently with the motion of your bodies. Water splashes softly over the edge as Logan’s hand glides from your chest down to your hip again, gripping it hard enough to bruise.

Then his forehead drops to yours, both of you breathing heavy, chests rising and falling in tandem.

“You feel that, baby?” he growls, pressing himself up against your lower back, his hard length twitching between you under the water. “I’m gonna need you ridin’ me real slow when we’re done in here. Think you can handle that?”

You nod breathlessly. “Yes”

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Daddy’s good girl.”

You cried out, gasping his name—“Logan”—as your climax crested, warm and tight and dizzying. Your body locked up in his lap, thighs clenching, water sloshing as your pleasure poured over you like heat, like light.

“My sweet baby.” You melted into him, boneless and trembling, his arm wrapping firm around your belly as he held you through the aftershocks. You could hear the deep, steady sound of his breathing, the occasional kiss he pressed to your wet temple.

Logan shifted a little, careful not to jostle you too hard, reaching for a soft towel near the edge of the tub. He pulled you closer, letting you curl up against his chest while he gently cleaned you with warm water and slow strokes, like you were precious.

“You okay?” he murmured, nose brushing your temple.

You nodded, soft and dazed. “Mhm. Thank you,…”

“Yeah,” he whispered sweetly. kissing your cheek again “You’re welcome”

…

[loganspet]

He’s so soft please

[loganspet]

Hello! Do you have a masterlist? Your work is wonderful!

Hai !! I’ve been working on it, but 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬. are here! I’ve got a ton more on the way—it’s just taking a bit since I want to make sure everything’s perfect. Thank you ! I’m glad that you love writings!!

[loganspet]

　!! .　˚　. 　 ˚　𐔌  !! Hai ,, MDNI

　.　˚　. 　 ˚　𐔌  .  . links -𝐌𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬-

.　˚　. 　 ˚　𐔌  .  .  ! ៸៸៸ feel free to send me prompts! or asks!

 ! ៸៸៸ writes anything that I don’t have an issue with since it’s FICTIONAL ! ៸៸៸ I will NOT write non-consensual content | Incest Involving even “step” stuff—no | “weird” or extreme kinks (scat, bestiality, etc) | dubious consent that isn’t clearly navigated or affirmed |

 ! ៸៸៸ I change my blog aesthetic often , I try to follow back often I forget asking to be mutuals is probably the best!!

dividers from @/anitalenia 🤍

[loganspet]

𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲! 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 who lifts you onto his horse like it’s the easiest thing in the world, one strong hand steadying you, the other resting warm at your waist. He’s all quiet confidence and gravel-soft reassurances—“You’ll be a natural, darlin’. Just hold on.” He’s already a natural himself—dirt on his boots, worn denim hugging his thighs, a half-unbuttoned flannel clinging to broad shoulders, chest hair peeking out, and a piece of straw hanging lazy from his lips.

killing myself

[loganspet]

𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲! 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭

i need

[loganspet]

𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐓

𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓 ♡ ૮₍ ˶′ ᵕ ‵˶ ₎ა

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 !!

. . . ─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ─── 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

. . . @loganspet

Breeding Kink

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ⋆｡˚⭑ ❝—𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! ❞ ⋆｡˚⭑

Explicit Content, Soft Dom! Logan, Sub! Reader, Mutual Pleasure, Edging, Overstimulation, Praise, Claws Come Out, Creampie, Body Worship,Implied Baby-Making,(P in V), Marriage, Handjob, Fingering, Pussydrunk

Logan filling you to the brim NSFW!!🍰

Logan smelled you before he even stepped into the bedroom. Something warm and sweet, vanilla curling through the air, woven between the flicker of candle wax. It was soft—too soft for a man like him—but fuck, it was you.

And then he saw you.

Perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped up in lace and tiny pink bows.

He stopped in the doorway, boots still on, belt still half-undone from the long drive home. His body ached—not from the usual strain of old wounds and old sins, but from the simple fact that it had been too long. Too many nights of passing touches, of restless sleep, of not having the time to really hold you.

“Jesus.”

You pouted at him, shifting slightly, letting the lace cling to your curves. His favorite lace, the one that barely covered a damn thing, all sheer panels and delicate straps.

“Do ya’ like it?”

Logan’s hands flexed at his sides. His jaw ticked. Like was an understatement.

“Hun—”

“You haven’t touched me yet.”

His fingers curled into fists.

Your voice was honeyed, teasing, but there was something else under it, something softer. You knew what today was. He hadn’t mentioned it, didn’t think much of birthdays anymore. You had thought about it.

He could smell your arousal, could see the way your nipples peaked against the lace, could hear the too-steady rhythm of your breathing, waiting for him to do something. Anything.

Logan exhaled sharply and dropped onto the edge of the bed, running a hand down his face. His belt hung undone, jeans loose on his hips, Logan’s his body was tight. His hands braced against his thighs, shoulders hunched forward like he was waiting something out. A sigh, thick with exhaustion, left his lips.

Your lips parted. This was your moment.

You slid into his lap, straddling one thick thigh, your hands running up his chest, your mouth brushing against the rough line of his jaw.

“I missed this. Lo”

He inhaled sharply, his chest rising against yours.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the curve of his neck.

“Missed you too,” he admitted, voice rough.

You felt the friction as you shifted against him, riding the denim just a little bit. His breath caught. In order to anchor you, his other hand reached up and grabbed your rib cage. You could sense the little trembling in his fingertips and the warmth of his palm. Logan put his fingers through yours, not just holding you there. Warm and strong, his wedding band felt chilly against your flesh. Slowly moving his thumb over your knuckles, he rooted himself in you and the sensation of your hand in his.

His head tipped back slightly, giving you better access. You kissed his throat again, open-mouthed, sucking gently against the thick muscle.

“Shit,” he exhaled.

And then you felt it—the moment he let go.

The moment wolffish instincts took over.

His body melted into you, broad and warm, his thighs spreading wider beneath you, giving you more space. His other hand smoothed down your side, tracing the sheer lace, his fingers brushing against the soft curve of your breast.

And then you palmed him through his boxers.

His head jerked forward, his hands gripping, his breath stuttering.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he rasped.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t want to stop you.

You stroked him slow, teasing, feeling the way he grew harder under your touch. His pupils were blown wide, needy, and his lips parted slightly, dragging in shaky breaths.

“Look at you,” you whispered, voice thick with affection. “My beautiful husband.”

Logan groaned low in his throat. His fingers squeezed around yours tight for a moment before releasing, bringing your joined hands up to his mouth. He kissed the back of your hand, his lips warm, his breath uneven.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’m not gonna last long, baby.”

Your smile was soft as you leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Then let go for me,” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He shuddered. His free arm wrapped around you then, pulling you in tight against his chest. His breath was ragged against your hair as his hand splayed wide across your back, holding you against him as if keeping you this close might keep him from falling apart.

It didn’t.

He gasped as he came, body shaking, his claws snikt out, tearing through the lace. His whole body tensed—then melted—his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he let out a shuddering breath, low and broken. His fingers slid between your thighs.

“Oh, baby,” his breath came out ragged, his body still twitching from the aftershocks. His claws had sliced through the fabric the second he came, shredded ribbons of lace now barely clinging to your soft skin. And fuck, you smelled good. Warm. Sweet.

It was all over his hands, all over his thigh where you had rubbed against him, all over his skin where you had kissed him soft and slow while driving him insane.

His pupils were still blown wide when he moved.

“Missed you, Lo” you whimpered, voice muffled against his chest. “Missed you so much.”

His grip on you tightened.

“This what you missed, baby?”

You nodded, back arching instinctively.

Logan didn’t hesitate.

He rolled you onto your stomach, dragging you against him, pressing his weight over you, keeping you close. His chest was firm against your back, his breath warm at the shell of your ear. His free hand found yours again, lacing your fingers together above your head.

And then his mouth was on you—sharp teeth sinking into the plush curve of your ass, making you cry out.

His lips soothed over the mark immediately, warm tongue flicking against sensitive skin before he bit again, this time at the dip of your hip, dragging another whimper from your throat.

“Fuck, my darlin wife,” he muttered against your skin, breath ragged. “You feel so good.”

His hands spread you wider, his rough fingers slipping between your thighs, teasing, stroking, pressing inside so slowly. You gasped, your hands tightening around his.

Logan chuckled against your skin, His lips found your collarbone, pressing open-mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, nipping at the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. His fangs scraped your pulse point, making you shiver. “Hurts so good, don’t it?”

Your breath hitched.

“Yes—” riding back against his hand.

Logan groaned, his cock twitching against his jeans, his self-control hanging by a thread. He squeezed your hand in his before slipping a third finger inside without warning.

You cried out, thighs trembling, your whole body arching off the bed.

Logan held you there, anchored against him. His breath was ragged at your ear, his body warm and solid against yours. His lips brushed your temple, his voice deep, possessive.

. . .

His pants were finally gone, discarded somewhere on the floor, leaving nothing between you.

Logan didn’t rush—not yet. He took his time, dragging those rough hands over your body, memorizing every inch of bare skin. The shredded lace that barely clung to you? That didn’t stand a chance. His claws unsheathed with another sharp snikt, and in one fluid motion, he sliced through the delicate fabric, tearing it away completely.

His eyes were wild, dark with want, flickering between your heaving chest and the mess between your thighs. His breathing was heavy, his jaw tight, as he ran his palms up your body, cupping the swell of your breasts, his thumbs grazing over your sensitive nipples.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he murmured, leaning down, his lips brushing over one peak before closing around it. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, and you gasped, moaning.

He groaned, suckling hard, one hand kneading the soft flesh, the other sliding down to grip your hip, his fingernails digging into your skin.

“You were made for me,” he rasped, dragging his mouth lower, kissing down your stomach, nipping and sucking until he reached the place where you were dripping for him.

He swiped his fingers through your slick folds, gathering the wetness before pressing them into your mouth. “Taste yourself, sweetheart,” he whispered, his gaze locked on yours, full of hunger and reverence.

You whimpered, sucking his fingers into your mouth, tongue swirling around them.

Your tongue swirled around his fingers, sucking them in as your eyes fluttered shut. Logan groaned at the sight, his jaw clenching, his breath ragged.

“Hell”

His fingers slipped free with a wet pop, and before you could beg, before you could even breathe, his mouth was on you.

His tongue curled against your clit, lapping broad and slow before narrowing to a precise flick that sent a shudder wracking through your body. His mutton chops scratched against the insides of your thighs, rough and hot, his breath burning where it ghosted over your soaked skin. He growled low in his chest, the vibrations sparking through you, making your hips buck up into his mouth.

“You’re so good to me—so good—”

He groaned into your cunt, his tongue curling deep inside you, his breath hot, damp against your soaked skin. The sound of your praise made him ache, made him desperate to pull more from you, to make you feel every bit of his devotion

His hands tightened against your thighs, holding you still, forcing you to take it. “Stay still, baby,” he mumbled between hungry licks, his voice dark and breathless.

“Lemme eat yeah” He was so beautiful like this—wild and hungry,

You whimpered, barely able to form words, your fingers threading into his thick hair, tugging hard. He groaned at that, pressing his face deeper between your legs, lapping at you like a man starved. His tongue flicked over your clit again, relentless now, faster, harder—fuck. Logan’s hips rutted against the mattress, barely aware of the way he was grinding against the sheets, so lost in the way you sounded, the way you tasted, the way your body moved under his tongue.

Your body tensed, your thighs trembling around his head as he devoured you, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet of the room. His mutton chops were damp, slick with your arousal, shining in the candlelight as he kept going, as he drank you in like he couldn’t get enough.

“Made for me,” he panted against you, tongue dipping deep, fucking into you before sliding back up to suck your clit between his lips. “You were made for me, sweetheart. This pussy—fuck—” He groaned, pressing his face harder against you, his nose nudging against your swollen flesh, his tongue flicking faster, deeper.

“Come for me,”

He lapped up every drop, his tongue still working you through the aftershocks, still flicking against your overstimulated clit, making you whimper, thrash beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his body trembling with restraint. Logan didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. He kept licking, kept lapping up everything you gave him, drinking you down, his breath coming fast and heavy as you trembled against him. His mutton chops were damp, his lips slick, his hands shaking as he finally pulled back just enough to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh—soothing over the marks he’d left with his teeth, his stubble.

“Fuck, too much—Logan—” you gasped, your voice shaky, pleading.

“Sweetie” he murmured, crawling up your body, his lips pressing against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock was aching.

“Need you,”

…

Then, in an instant, he was pressing you into the mattress, pinning you beneath him, his cock heavy and leaking against your entrance. You gasped, suddenly straddling his waist, your hands splayed against his broad chest. He was still inside you, still stretching you open, still filling you so deep you swore you could feel him everywhere.

Logan groans as he watches the way you shudder beneath him, your body still fluttering around nothing when he pulls out, leaving you empty and aching. A whimper spills from your lips, your brows furrowing as you try to clench around the absence of him.

“Don’t pout, princess,” he rasps, “Gotta make sure you really want it.”

Your breath stutters when he fists himself, his cock slick and shining with your arousal, the thick head rubbing against your swollen clit, smearing a mess of both of you over your skin. You let out a needy little whine, reaching for him, desperate.

“I want it so badly,” you whisper, eyes big, pretty, pleading.

Logan grins, slow and sharp, still pumping his cock right above your trembling body. “You wanna help, sweetheart? Hm?”

You nod quickly, licking your lips as you wrap your fingers around him, your small hand struggling to close around his girth. Logan curses under his breath, his hips jerking slightly when you stroke him, slow at first, teasing the thick vein that runs along the underside of his length.

“Fuck, that’s it, sugar,” he groans, his hand covering yours, guiding you to go faster, tighter. “Knew you had it in you—such a good girl, knowin’ how to take care of her man.”

Your other hand drifts down to cup his heavy balls, rolling them gently, and Logan growls, his grip tightening on your wrist.

“You keep that up,princess, ‘m not gonna last,” he warns, but you just smile up at him, lashes fluttering as you pump him faster.

“Don’t wanna wait,” you murmur, tilting your head. “Wanna see you make a mess for me, Lo.”

He curses, his head dropping forward, his body tensing above you. And then he’s spilling, thick ropes of cum landing hot across your stomach, some dribbling down to your swollen folds, making a filthy, sticky mess of you.

You hum in satisfaction, running your fingers through the sticky heat, smearing it against your skin like you want to keep it there forever. Logan watches, breath still heavy, his gaze dark as he leans down, rubbing his fingers into the mess along with yours, pressing some back against your folds.

Before you can catch your breath, he’s pushing your thighs apart again, rubbing the mess of him against your fluttering entrance, teasing your overstimulated core.

Wet slap of skin meeting skin fills the room, his name spilling from your lips between gasps.

“There she is,” He groans, watching your face twist in pleasure, watching your chest rise and fall, the way your pretty tits bounce with every thrust. He moves a hand to your belly again, pressing down, feeling himself inside you. His lips brushed against your ear, voice husky and deep.

Your nails sank into his back as he pushed deeper, stretching you around his thick length. His skin was hot, damp with sweat, his muscles tense beneath your fingertips. you up just like he promised, thick heat dripping from where you’re still joined. He stays there, stays, pressing deep, as if making sure it takes.

Logan groaned, pressing his forehead against yours, his hips rolling slow, Your fingers dragged down his back, nails raking over his skin, drawing thin, red lines that healed almost instantly—only for you to mark him again.

The pain spurred him on. A snarl tore from his throat as he snapped his hips forward, setting a punishing pace, fucking you deep, raw, desperate.

His claws dug into the mattress, shredding through fabric and wood as his body moved with yours, chasing pleasure, chasing the overwhelming need to claim you.

You were sobbing his name, your nails carving deeper, and the sharp sting only made him thrust faster, harder, like his body was built for this—for you.

His mouth is on you—everywhere. Devouring you, You grip his hair, tugging him back up to you, gasping when his mouth slants over yours—hungry, demanding, the kiss hot and desperate. You taste whiskey and cigar smoke.

It’s too much, too full, your breath catching as he stretches you open, deeper than he’s ever been. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you open for him, his voice a ragged growl.

Logan snarls. “You’re squeezin’ me so damn tight, baby—shit—gonna pump you full”

You scream his name, body breaking, shaking, pleasure so raw and all-consuming that you see white.

“There we go,” he groans, gripping your hips as he starts to move again,

“Yes—yes, Logan, please—”

Your body broke around him—shaking, sobbing, gripping him so tight he stayed—buried deep, holding you close, making sure you felt all of him. practically dripping from his seed.

“Love you darlin’”

“Love you too,” you reply softly, your voice a little breathless but full of affection.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Think we might need a new bed.”

You glance at the wreckage—the mattress askew, the frame half-split from the sheer force of his movements, and the claw marks etched deep into the fabric. The bedframe is a mess. The thought of it makes you laugh softly.

“I think you ruined it.”

He smirks, running his hand through his hair, the sharpness of his claws now retracted but still visible in the way his muscles flex as he stretches. “Couldn’t help it” His grin widens. “Neighbors are definitely gonna know we had a good time.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the giggle that escapes you, still a little dazed from the intensity of it all.

Logan watches you, his gaze softening as he wipes a strand of hair from your face. “Guess I’ll just have to get another bed.” The thought of replacing the bed not bothering him in the slightest.

You curl into his side, your head resting on his shoulder as you try to calm your breathing. “I think I’ll let you deal with the aftermath of that, Lo.”

“You know we got the goal I wanted, though, right?”

You nod, the contentment in your body proof of his success. “Yeah, I know.”

He pulls you closer, kissing the top of your head. “Good. ‘Cause you’re gonna make me a damn good daddy one of these days.”

You laugh softly, teasing. “I guess we’ll see about that, huh?”

. . .

[loganspet]

HELP ME don’t worry daddy Logan is coming back 🤍

𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐒 & 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒

𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 ♡ ૮ › ‹ ྀིა

. . . ─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ─── 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

. . . @loganspet

Bad decisions.

Pairing:

Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

Explicit Content, DBF (Dad’s Best Friend), Bodyguard/Client Dynamic, Age Gap, Power Imbalance, Rough Sex, Public Sex, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Manhandling, Logan Being a Little Pervy, Humiliation, Possessive Logan, Bimboification, Risk of Getting Caught.

This is pure filth.

It had started the way it always did—with your daddy asking Logan for a favor. That was just how it was between them. Years of loyalty, built on sweat and blood, on bar fights and backroom deals. And when your old man asked for something, Logan always delivered.

This was different.

“Just keep an eye on her for a bit,” your father had said, brushing it off like it was nothing. Said you were too reckless. Too spoiled. That you’d never had to work a day in your damn life, too used to getting your way.

Logan had damn near scoffed at the request. He wasn’t a babysitter. He had bigger problems than running around after some hellraiser with a daddy’s credit card and a bad habit of testing limits.

He saw you. And that was the problem.

You weren’t the awkward little thing he half-remembered from years back, always hiding behind your daddy’s leg, big-eyed and quiet. No, you were grown now. Tight fabric , dazzled, hips that swayed knowingly, a tramp stamp peeking out just above your waistband. You had trouble written all over you, and Logan knew better than to get involved. Your father was paying him good money to keep you in line.

And Logan? He never turned down good money. Real good. And Logan always took the job when the price was right.

…

You were exactly where you shouldn’t be.

Logan knew it the second he stepped inside. He spotted you immediately. Didn’t matter how crowded the place was—you always stood out. Short skirt, glossy lips, that sweet little smirk that said you knew exactly what you were doing.

And that asshole had his hands on you.

Logan saw red.

The kid was some cocky, greased-up son of a bitch—twenty-something, leather jacket, dumb enough to think he had a shot. He was holding onto your waist like he owned you, like he deserved to be touching you.

Logan scoffed, deep lines creasing at the corners of his mouth. The neon glow from the bar caught on the rough edges of his face, casting shadows across the wrinkles carved into his skin—wrinkles that deepened when he narrowed his eyes, giving the kid a look that made smarter men back down.

“You got a death wish, kid?” His voice was rough, low, thick with that heavy accent.

The guy barely spared him a glance. “Relax, old man. We’re just havin’ fun.”

Logan let out a slow, humorless chuckle, cigar shifting between his fingers as he exhaled a thick plume of smoke. “That right?” His lip curled, deepening the lines along his mouth. “That why she looks bored outta her fuckin’ mind?”

The guy bristled, but Logan didn’t give a damn.

His gaze flicked to you, dark and unreadable. “Ain’t got a single lick of self-preservation, do you?” His voice had that gravelly rasp, that weight that came with years of knowing better. “This the best you could do?”

You just smirked, slow and sweet. “Jealous?”

Logan snorted. Jealous? Of this? Some dipshit who probably thought wearing a cheap leather jacket made him dangerous? Please.

The guy turned to him fully now, puffing up like he actually thought he had a shot. “Listen, grandpa, why don’t you go find a seat before you break a hip?”

Logan’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it got deeper, dragging those wrinkles into sharp relief, the years carved into his face making him look meaner. He ran his tongue across his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“That so?” His voice was soft—too soft. A warning.

The guy was still standing there, still talking, still touching you, like he didn’t realize he was about two seconds away from losing a few teeth. “What, you her dad or somethin’?”

Logan’s smirk vanished.

His knuckles twitched.

Then—before the dumb bastard could react—Logan grabbed your arm, yanking you back, away from those hands that never should’ve been on you in the first place.

“She ain’t yours,” Logan muttered. “So fuck off.”

The guy opened his mouth, but one look at Logan’s face shut him up real quick.

Logan scoffed, deep and rough, shaking his head as he turned his focus back to you. Your breath had quickened, your pulse jumping beneath his grip. You licked your lips, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

You were testing him.

Again, You’d been pushing him for weeks, teasing, taunting, sucking that cherry lollipop like you wanted him to snap.

Logan exhaled sharply, like he was trying real hard to shake off whatever the hell was crawling up his spine. He let go of your arm like you were something hot, something dangerous, something that burned worse than the cigar between his fingers.

“Move,” he muttered, voice gruff, already leading you toward the exit.

He shouldn’t be touching you. He knows that. He shouldn’t have grabbed you by the wrist, shouldn’t have yanked you out of that damn party, thrown you into the passenger seat of his car, scowling the whole drive.

“Fuck,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on the wheel, knuckles tight. “Makin’ me chase after you like I ain’t got better things to do.”

You just smiled, slow and lazy, popping the lollipop out of your mouth with a wet little pop.

“You like chasin’ me, Mr. Howlett.”

His jaw twitched. His hands flexed against the leather. And then—

Logan had his hands tight on the wheel, jaw locked, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he tried like hell not to look at you.

And you?

You were out in the passenger seat, jacket unzipped, legs kicked up on the dash, still sucking that damn lollipop. Every time you pulled it out with a wet little pop, Logan’s fingers twitched against the steering wheel.

“You always drive this slow?” you hummed, rolling the candy against your tongue.

Logan exhaled hard through his nose. “You always run your mouth this much?”

“Only when I got an audience.” You grinned, dragging your nails up his arm, slow, teasing. “You listenin’ to me, Mr. Howlett?”

“Shut it.”

…

The car sputtered. Stalled. Died.

Now?

Now you’re stranded on some forgotten backroad, the sun having long since dipped below the horizon, leaving nothing but thick, sticky heat behind.

Logan stands by the hood of the car, shirt damp with sweat, jaw tight as he mutters a string of curses under his breath.

“We’re fucked,” he grumbles, kicking the front tire.

Big mistake.

The car lets out a pathetic creak, and Logan groans, raking a hand through his hair.

“Guess that means we’re stuck, huh?” Your voice was light, teasing, as you tilted your head, letting the heat lick along your throat.

“You think this is funny?” he muttered, stepping closer.

Logan levels you with a look. “Don’t start.”

You just smiled, slowly uncrossing your legs, letting your skirt ride up just enough.

“Start what?” You bat your lashes, innocent as sin.

“You’re talkin’ awful big for someone who ain’t doin’ nothin’ about it,” you whispered, voice saccharine-sweet, just begging for trouble.

That was all it took.

Logan steps closer, crowding you against the side of the car. Heat radiates off him in waves, his scent—sweat and cigars, whiskey and engine grease—curling around you like smoke. The hard press of his belt buckle digs into your stomach, and you know then—you’ve won.

And that’s when it snapped. Then—he steals the cherry lollipop right outta your hand, shoves it into your mouth, pushes it deep You gag, just a little, the sweet, sticky taste coating your mouth, and Logan, eyes wide.

…

“Keep suckin’, girl,” Headlights cast deep shadows over his face, exaggerating the sharp cut of his jaw, the deep lines bracketing his mouth, the furrow between his thick brows. The silver streaks in his hair caught the light

He had you down on your knees, squatting between his legs, your lips wrapped around his cock, sticky cherry lollipop forgotten in the dirt. You obeyed, dizzy with the heat, the way the sweat dripped down his neck, the way he loomed over you, broad and towering, his scent thick with leather, smoke, and musk. You barely had time to whimper before he shoved himself past your lips, heavy and hot, stretching your mouth.

And just how wrong this was.

“C’mon, open wide.” His tone was mocking, condescending in the way that made your stomach twist, the heat curling low in your belly. “Been runnin’ that mouth all day—‘bout time you put it to good use.”

You obeyed, letting your jaw go slack, tongue curling around the leaking tip. He groaned, something deep, something primal, his fingers flexing in your hair.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered, a dark sort of approval dripping from his words. “Knew you’d be good for somethin’.”

You sucked harder, desperate for it—for the way he cursed low under his breath, for the way his muscles tensed, the way his broad, sweat-slick chest heaved as you worked him deeper. Your lipstick was ruining him, staining the thick veins, smearing over his base where your lips kissed his skin.

Logan grabbed you by the jaw, forcing you down, your throat tightening as he filled your mouth, the taste of salt and musk overwhelming. You gagged, tears welling at the corners of your eyes, but he didn’t let go.

“Nah, take it,” he growled, voice nothing but gravel. “You wanna act like a slut, I’ll treat you like one.”

“That’s it,” Logan rasped, one calloused hand heavy on the back of your head, guiding you, forcing you to take more. “Look at you—daddy’s spoiled little girl, sucking cock on the side of the road. What would he say if he saw you like this?”

Your nails dug into his thighs as he fucked your mouth, dragging himself out only to push back in, groaning as you drooled around him, a filthy mess of spit and cherry-red lipstick smeared across his skin. The heat, the risk, the taste of him—it had you aching, wrecked and desperate for more.

You moaned around him, the sound vibrating through your throat, and Logan cursed, hips bucking.

He dragged you off his cock with a wet gasp, strings of spit and precum connecting your lips to his skin. Your chest heaved, eyes glazed, and Logan?

“Get up,” he ordered, voice sharp. “Ain’t done with you yet.”

His fingers brushed the tramp stamp at the base of your spine, tracing it almost mockingly.

“Y’know what this means, right?” he muttered, grinding against you, thick and hot. “Means you were made for this. Made to be fucked.”

“You don’t even fuckin’ know what you do to me,” he mutters, palming the outline of his cock through his jeans, big hands twitching like he’s about to wreck you right here, right now.

You just blink up at him, all feigned innocence.

“What d’you mean, Mr. Howlett?”

His grip snaps tight around your chin.

“You know exactly what I fuckin’ mean.”

Then he’s grinding against you, hands rough, cruel, dragging up your bomber jacket, fisting the thin fabric of your skirt, shoving it up past your hips.

His breath is hot against your ear.

“You on somethin’,? Ain’t got the patience for a damn rubber”

Your head’s spinning, too turned on to think. “H-huh?”

Logan growls, hips pressing forward, cock grinding against your soaked panties. The blunt, heavy press of his cock against your soaked folds.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” Logan groaned, dragging the head along your slit, teasing, testing. He should stop. He should get his goddamn head on straight, but—

“Please,” you gasped, pushing back against him. “ Mr.. Howlett- Logan—please—”

“The pill,” he clarifies, voice low, dangerous. “Tell me now.”

Your heart stutters, pulse slamming against your ribs.

You nod. “Y-yeah.”

Logan just chuckles, deep, dark.

“Good,” he mutters, yanking your panties to the side, ripping them clean in half. You, dazed, only half aware.

He spits down between your legs, watching the slick mess pool over your folds before rubbing it in with two thick fingers.

“’Cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ pull out.”

He thrust inside in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out, nails scraping against him, your body stretching, breaking, molding around him.

Logan groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging bruises into your hips.

“Christ,” he hissed, jaw clenched tight. “Tight fuckin’—shit.”

The heat was overwhelming. Sweat dripped from Logan’s temple, slid down his spine, his broad chest heaving as he pulled back and slammed back in.

Your mind was white noise.

He was wrecking you.

Raw, messy, desperate, every snap of his hips punching moans from your throat, every filthy grunt in your ear making your body melt beneath him.

“You like this, huh?” Logan taunted, voice rough. “Like havin’ my cock stretchin’ you open, like knowin’ your daddy’d be so fuckin’ disappointed—”

Your breath hitched. Your walls clenched around him.

“Yeah,” Logan growled. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he was fucking into you like he meant it.

Your skirt bunched up around your waist, sweat slick on your skin, your bomber jacket slipping from your shoulders. Logan had you spread, trembling, ruined, his fingers curling in your hair, yanking your head back as he bit your throat, leaving bruises to mark you as his.

“Mine,” he muttered against your skin, voice dark, possessive. “Mine now, sweetheart.”

And the worst part?

You fucking loved it.

Logan grabbed your chin, rough and commanding, forcing you to meet his eyes. Big hand gripping your jaw, yanking you forward.

“C’mere,” he rasped, dragging your mouth to his.

You reached up before you could stop yourself, fingers tangling into his thick hair. His breath hitched, his body going rigid as your nails scraped against his scalp, just barely tugging at the strands. You felt him shudder, even as he clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth like he was trying to hold something back.

“Uh-huh,” you babbled, nodding fast, breath hitching as his beard scratched against your jaw. “Mmh—yeah, yeah, it ain’t right—”

You smirked, dragging your nails against his scalp again, slower this time. “Feels good, doesn’t it?

“Then why you lettin’ me do it, huh?” His voice was rough, laced with something dangerous. “Why you out here with your legs wide open, beggin’ me to touch ya?”

“Dunno,” you breathed, all dizzy, lips parting as you rocked against him again, needy. “Just—feels good—” And then his mouth crashed against yours.

The kiss was filthy—sloppy, brutal, all teeth and tongue and ownership. His lips were hot, wet, desperate, claiming every gasp and moan you made. He kissed like he fucked—like he was taking, stealing, swallowing you whole.

You were drowning in it, in him, in the heat of his breath and the weight of his body pressing you into the hood of his car.

When he pulled back, a thin string of spit connected your mouths. thumb swiping your swollen, messy lips. theen he spat down into your open mouth, watching you shudder as he forced you to swallow it.

“Now lemme see that tongue.”

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, thumb pressing into the wet muscle, feeling it twitch.

You whimpered, hips jerking against him, too far gone to care how filthy it was. You were gasping into his mouth, hands fisting the front of his shirt, nails scratching at his scalp, tugging at his graying hair. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything except whimper and take it.

Then, without warning, he spat down again—slow, deliberate, watching it pool on your tongue.

“Swallow.”

You did—mouth closing, throat bobbing—and Logan groaned, hips grinding into yours. Then he kissed you again—sloppy, brutal, all-consuming—like he was trying to pull every last sound from your mouth. Teeth dragging down your jaw, tongue licking into the corner of your lips, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your throat. He sucked, bit, left bruises that would linger for days.

“Fuck,” he growled against your skin, lips hot, desperate, wet as they moved down your neck, sucking so hard it made you whine.

He caught your mouth again, shoving his tongue inside, messy and brutal, taking and taking. The kiss was hungry, devastating—like he needed to taste you, swallow you, make sure you never forgot who you belonged to.

Lips swollen, smeared with spit and lipstick, cheeks flushed, breath shaky.

“S’good, so good, mmh—Logan, please—”

Your panties? Nothing but a ripped, useless mess tangled around his thick shaft, soaked through.

Shaking his head at the ruined fabric before stuffing them deep into his jacket pocket.

A souvenir

You blinked, still swollen, thighs trembling as you finally caught up to what had just happened—what you’d done.

The world felt too loud, too bright, like reality was finally sinking in.

And then—the distant rumble of an engine.

The tow truck.

Shit.

You scrambled, smoothing your skirt down over your thighs, trying to look like you hadn’t just been fucked stupid on the side of the road.

Logan? Completely unbothered, cigar already between his lips, smirking as he watched you fumble.

“Better fix that lipstick, baby,” he murmured, voice low, amused. “Don’t want Daddy askin’ questions.”

A road stretched ahead, endless and bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun. The tow truck was long gone, leaving nothing but the hum of the engine and the heavy tension thickening the air inside the car.

You still felt him.

Even as you shifted in your seat, trying to sit still, his cock was still there, a ghost between your legs—stretching you, stuffing you, filling you over and over. Your thighs clenched together, trying to suppress the dull, throbbing ache he’d left behind.

Logan grunted, shifting, his belt barely tightened, the lingering evidence of his stamina still present in the looseness of his slacks. His hips had rolled into you over and over, relentless, dragging out every ounce of his stamina until your body was boneless, ruined. He knew it too—he could see it in the way you twitched every time the car hit a bump, your body still remembering the way he split you open.

His fingers flexed on your thigh, slow, deliberate.

The car rumbled beneath you, a low, steady hum that barely masked the thick silence stretching between you and Logan. The air inside was humid, sticky, thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and the lingering musk of his cigar.

Logan drove like he did everything else—slow, steady, in complete control. His left hand gripped the wheel, fingers calloused and sure, while his right stayed exactly where it had been since you got back in the car—high on your thigh, thumb brushing absentminded circles into your skin.

Between his lips, a cigar burned low, smoke curling up into the hot summer air as he took slow, lazy drags.

You swallowed hard, staring straight ahead, but you could feel his gaze flicking toward you every now and then, watching, smirking.

You hated it. You hated how smug he was, how satisfied. He knew your legs were still shaking.

A deep, rasping chuckle slipped from him, sending a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks. “Still so fuckin’ quiet, huh?” Logan exhaled another drag of his cigar, the smoke spilling past his lips in a lazy plume. “Ain’t like you were quiet back there.”

Absolutely mortified

Bastard.

His hand flexed, fingers pressing in just enough to remind you that he could still feel the heat radiating off you, the mess he left between your legs.

“Bet you still feel me.” His voice was thick, low, like he was enjoying every second of this—of watching you squirm in your seat, wrecked and sore, still molded to the shape of his cock.

You refused to answer, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip.

Logan just chuckled again, slow and mean, flicking a bit of ash from his cigar out the open window.

“Yeah,” he drawled, “bet you do.”

[loganspet]

He about to finger my holes tonight

[loganspet]

Holy shit

Old man Logan p☆rn links

A porn link post dedicated to old man Logan because he IS the hottest Logan and I'm ovulating so badly rn I gotta satisfy this craving somehow if I can't actually have him😔

You can find part 1 by clicking here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

• No matter how many times you cum on his cock, old man Logan needs you to give him one more, he loves seeing you cum for him.

• The best things that come with having sex with old man Logan are the intimate, naked cuddles afterwards.

• The closer you and old man Logan get to cumming, the needier and sloppier your kisses become.

• The way you run your hands through his greying hair while you make out has shivers running down old man Logans spine (this is literally the hottest video i have ever seen guys this is getting me too horny, if I can't kiss my man like this i dont want him)

• Old man Logan is more than cabable to drive the limousine with only one hand if his needy girl sits next to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You guys loved the first part, so here is a second. I know, I may sound deprived, but WHO THE FUCK is the guy in the first few videos? Asking for a friend I need to know ASAP🙏🏻

I can't stop watching the fourth video its making my stomach do flips ya'll I wanna make out w Logan like that for hours. Why is life so unfair

Born to be old man Logans wife, forced to write fanfics about him and cry