Not Your Man | A Logan Howlett X Reader

not your man | a logan howlett x reader

summary: live giveth wolverine, and life taketh away. but sometimes…. the sweet, sweet void intervenes.

warnings: female!reader, reader has hair, he picks reader up but logan is literally a mutant, angst, allusions to death. a lot of smut. (f receiving oral, fingering, one (1) vein lick, slight brat tamer, unprotected sex, biting, licking, choking, finger sucking, nipple play, etc.) not spell checked.

a. note: this is my first time writing logan, and i could not have done it without my hype dog @zloshy. liz, my sweet friend, you have helped me so much throughout this process, and i cannot thank you enough. i appreciate your help, support, and lore info so much. anyways, i hope you all enjoy. this isn’t AS true to his character as could be, but practice makes perfect and i’m still feeling my way around!! enjoy xx

word count: like 6k i got really carried away w this one…

It was the kind of night that was as cold as it was dark.

The chilly winter wind nipped through the atmosphere of New York City, flurries of snow painting the canopy of the darkening night sky with splatters of ivory. There was no rest from the harsh hand of November, no matter where one looked.

You had layered yourself with two scarves, a hat, and a coat- but there was no respite from the frigid night air.

Your fingers felt like icicles as you pulled them from the depths of your pockets, pressing them to your chapped lips to blow hot air against them- a naive attempt to warm your frigid skin up.

The distant sound of drunk partygoers howled through your ears, the honking of oncoming traffic ringing against each building that you passed. The world around you and the chaotic loudness that it brought made your stomach twist with anxiety, but just a few more blocks and you’d be home.

Just a few more blocks.

By the time you reached your apartment you were exhausted, half asleep with mascara stained eyes and smudged lipstick. It had been a long day at work, and all you wanted to do was forget about it all.

There was a bottle of Jack that was calling your name atop the kitchen counter. A bottle of Jack that you had been thinking about all day.

Your keys jangled loudly, and when you stepped inside, you were surprised to see the golden light of the living room fan expanding across the room, painting shadows of moving figures across the walls. You heard hushed whispers that sounded more angry than friendly, and you wondered if Wade had annoyed someone by bringing up strip poker again.

“Uh, heyyy!” You heard a nervous laugh from your roommate, who appeared out of the shadows. “So I, uh… I’ve got some news.”

You turned your head slowly, dragging your palm down the side of your tired face. Now was really, really not the time.

“Wade, I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“I just thought you’d want to know-”

“Well you’re wrong. All I want is my bottle of Jack, my bed, and my vibrator.”

“Yeah, about that…”

At the sound of the hesitancy which racked his voice, your neck snapped in record speed towards the kitchen island, where you saw your beloved bottle of whiskey missing. Your actions moved quicker than your brain, and you found the collar of your roommates shirt tight in your grasp.

“Where is it, Wilson?!” You snarled, eyes wide with the promise of a fight. You were shorter and definitely not as strong, but you were willing to battle it out with fucking Deadpool himself if it meant you’d get your After Work Treat back.

“He took it.”

“He?”

“Yeah, he. Not to be confused with hee hee.” Wade struck a pose that closely resembled a Michael Jackson dance move, his voice raising three octaves in order to do his shit impression. He was nervous. That much you could tell.

You groaned out in annoyance, pushing him away. “Who is he, Wade?!”

He held up his little finger, shoving it in to your face. “Pinky promise me you won’t be mad?”

“I won’t be mad, Wade. I won’t.” You gently wrapped your finger around his, shoulders slacking as you stared up at him. “Just please tell me who it is.”

Wade nodded slowly, backtracking to your bedroom door. He ratted his knuckles across the wood. “She’s here, Claw Man.”

Claw Man?

You could feel your heart beating against the cage or your ribs, you could taste the rising bile of anxiety peeking its head at the back of your throat, and as you grasped the arm of the love seat, you were half sure you were about to pass out.

The door opened with a loud bang, revealing a shirtless, sweaty Logan Howlett. There he was, in all of his brooding, dark, angry glory.

You could feel the hot, bitter sting of tears biting at the corners of your eyes, the guilt and the anger and the suffocating pull of regret clawing their gnarled fingers down the expanse of your back.

It wasn’t true. It was an illusion. A magic trick. A prank.

“What kind of sick joke is this, Wade?”

Memories of the last time you ever saw Logan flooded into the field of your mind. The way his fingertips cascaded tenderly down the sides of your body, too worried he would hurt you. The way his lips felt pressed into the crook of your neck, biting and sucking and marking. The way his words sounded, so gentle and tender, a softness that had only ever been reserved for you.

“That’s it.” He had whispered, each thrust deeper than the last as he rutted himself in to you. “That’s my good girl. I love you, y’know that?”

The echo of his memory faded away, and you were left staring at this ghost.

“Is this…. is this some kind of sick joke, Wade?” Your tongue tangled around each word, your cheeks now wet with bitter tears.

And for a moment, a real moment, Wade became deathly serious. “No, no. Of course not. I found him in the -well, it doesn’t matter where I found him. But I did! We saved the world together. But that’s neither here nor there. I brought him back to you.”

This new Logan stood in the doorway, broad and dumb and angry looking, and you felt a surge of annoyance pump through your veins. He was looking at you so stupidly, as though he had never seen you before, as though he had never known you before.

It made something in you snap, made something crumble undone until all you could do was stare and huff through your nose like an angry bull in front of a red flag.

“I don’t want it.”

Wade scoffed. “He’s not exactly a puppy I can take back to the shelter-”

“Get him out of here.” You walked towards Logan, blinking slowly. “And you. Do you even talk? Or do you just stand in doors like a fucking moron?” You went to poke his chest, before the man in front of you caught your wrist.

His palm was rough and calloused, the most familiar thing in the world. You knew that hand like your own, knew every vein and ridge and scar and knuckle.

It made something deep in your stomach twist and turn, and you felt heat rising up your body.

Your chin jerked up, and you saw him clench his jaw tightly. “Don’t try it.” Logan warned.

“Seriously. Don’t try it. He’s got no issue knifing all night long. Isn’t that right, peanut?”

“Shut up!” You both snarled at Wade in unison.

“I want you out of my apartment tomorrow-”

“He owes me. So he’s not going anywhere.” Wade explained, twirling his fingers together. “And I did kinda sorta say he could share your bed. Whoops! Sorry! Bye!”

“Wade!” You shouted, watching as he skipped away. “Wade, come back here!”

“What was that? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my incredible match making abilities. You two love birds have fun!”

Looking up at Logan, you stood your ground. “You owe me a bottle of Jack.”

He scoffed, following you into your room.

“Is that all you do? Scoff and brood? Turn around.” You snapped, going to change out of your work clothes.

Logan didn’t budge.

“Fine.” You began undressing, and you watched his eyes trace over you. “What? Don’t you have your own version of me? It’s nothing new.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

You stopped fumbling with the buttons of your coat. “What?”

“I don’t have a version of you. Wade said you had another-”

“Don’t.” You whispered softly, shaking your head. “Please.”

There was a long stretch of silence that fell gingerly upon the both of you, the type of silence shared between two people who had known each other for many moons. It was organic, familiar, and at the same time, the most foreign thing in the entire world.

Your Logan wasn’t here anymore, he hadn’t been for many, many moons, but before you stood a near perfect replica of him. Sure- a little rough around the edges, a little annoying, a little handsy with certain liquors, but he was Logan.

Not your Logan. But…. a Logan. That had to count for something, right?

“I wonder where your… me…. went.” You pondered, shrugging off your coat and untying your scarves.

Logan shrugged, his eyes scanning you. “You do look familiar.” He finally spoke. “Might have picked you up in a bar, might have seen you at a store.”

You scoffed out a laugh. “A bar. Yeah…”

“Hey there, pretty lady.” His hands trailed down your sides as you shook the martini mixture, a kiss pressing to the back of your neck.

The bar was quiet that night, a dingy little dive that traveling bikers and alcoholics frequented. Despite its flaws, it paid the bills, so you kept coming back.

“Logan, I’m at work!” You giggled, gently nudging him away with your hip.

“I know. I came for a drink.” He explained himself, a hint of mischief in his voice. “‘Member that night we met?”

“I’m not flirting with you, I just want a drink.” You mocked his tone from that night, and you both laughed in unison. “Yeah. Of course I remember.”

“‘Course you do. It was the best sex of your life that night.” Logan ran his fingertips down your back, gently resting his palm on the curve of your ass.

“No need to get cocky now, Howlett.”

“You love it when I get cocky.”

He held you close from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as you poured the vodka into each glass. You felt him pressing up against you, the hardness of his cock right against the small of your back.

You hummed out an answer, turning to glance at him. “Think I could manage to squeeze in a thirty minute break sometime soon?”

“Thirty? Give me fifteen and I’ll make you cum twice.” He promised, nipping at the lobe of your ear.

“-Did you hear me?”

Your impromptu roommate’s voice rang through your ears as you came to, your fingers still at the hem of your jeans, mind racked with memories of a life that no longer felt like your own.

There was the weight of emptiness now sitting upon your shoulders, the weight that was once taken up by the man you loved.

“Hmm?”

“I asked what side do you sleep on?”

“Right.”

Logan nodded, tugging off his shirt. You stopped what you were doing and stared, eyes tracing over the familiar vision. Each ab, each vein, each ridge- just like your Logan.

You swallowed thickly, wiggling out of your pants before throwing on a shirt to sleep in. Your eyes travelled lower, before you stopped yourself.

Best not to speculate if it was the same beneath the belt.

“Try not to touch me. I run hot.” He explained, sliding in to the bed.

“Try not to touch- dude, this is literally my bed!” But before you could continue on with your protests, he had turned his back to you, ignoring whatever else you had left to say. You let out a deeply annoyed sigh, switching the lights off. “Whatever.”

You were nearly at the edge of the bed, soft snores from behind you filling the air. Slowly you turned, staring at the expanse of his back.

In the dark room, in the middle of the night, it felt real. All of it did. It felt like your Logan, your love, your honey. He was just the same. The broadness of his shoulders, the curve of his waist- it was as though he had come back for you, laying there, sleeping with you once again.

You felt tears brim at the corner of your eyes, and you hesitantly reached out, placing the palm of your hand flat against his back, running warm be damned.

His familiar skin, rising and falling with each shallow breath. You sniffled, the pad of your thumb gently circling a stray freckle across his spine.

You scooted closer until your chest was pressed in to him, unsure if he would wake. You doubt you would care if he did, you’d probably just pretend you were sleeping.

Slowly, your arm crept around him, your palm resting tenderly upon his belly. You held him, close and tight, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder blade.

You knew.

You knew it wasn’t him.

But he smelled like him, looked like him, sounded and felt like him. And for once, for the first time in years, you just wanted a respite from the pain you had consistently lived with, a break from the fact that you had gone so long without the love of your life. You just wanted it to feel real, if only for a single moment.

His body twitched against yours, his snores stopping as he adjusted his body against the mattress. You had awoken him, but he made no move to push you off of him. Logan’s hand slid up, resting on your own.

A sob stifled in the back of your throat as he laced his fingers with yours.

“I know what it’s like.” He murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Loss.”

You nodded against him, taking in a sharp, stuttering breath of air.

“I’m not him…. but, you know. I think I get it.”

“You are him.” You muttered. “You’re you. Just… just from a different reality.”

“Was he nice?”

You nodded a bit. “To me. Took him a long time to really open up though.”

Logan nodded and you felt his thumb gently sweeping across the side of your hand. “How did he-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s alright. We don’t have to.”

A moment of silence passed across your bodies, and you were sure he had fallen asleep again. You gently kissed his shoulder, moving to turn back around. Before you could, Logan grabbed your arm, holding you tightly in place.

“Don’t go.” He muttered. “Just- stay.”

You nodded, your arm wrapping tighter around his body.

“You’re lucky, you know. Having someone who loved you. I never had someone that would hold me like this.” He admitted to you quietly, leaning his head back until it was pressed into yours.

You swallowed thickly, nail tracing across the side of his finger. “You could. If you wanted.”

Logan didn’t say anything for the rest of the night.

It went on like that, for a few weeks.

You would barely speak during the day, but once the sun set and you two were beneath the covers, he would wind up in your arms.

Tonight, rain was pattering against the window, a crackling storm coming down hard outside, flurries of snow mixing with heavy drops of water, creating a sweet sheen of sleet against the surface of the building.

Logan had nestled himself into your embrace, his face buried in your chest, arms loose around your waist. You were running your fingers through his dark locks of hair, humming quietly as you watched the weather.

He was dozing in and out of sleep, eyes fluttering as he dreamed. You looked down at him, and your entire body ached with something you would never get back.

“Come on, baby. Just lay with me.” He whispered, grinning lazily at you from the couch. “Just for a few minutes.”

“I have so much to get done-”

“It’s Saturday. It can wait, can’t it?” You scoffed, watching Logan extend his arms towards you. “Don’t make me make you.” He warned playfully.

You gave in, slinking over towards him until you were straddling his lap, arms thrown around his neck as you planted a kiss to his lips.

“There she is.” Logan purred against your mouth, hands traveling to your ass as he held you there tightly, as though he were afraid to ever let you go.

“You said a few minutes!” You laughed playfully as his fingers found the hem of your sweatpants, his digits brushing against your bare skin.

Logan moaned a bit through a charming sort of laugh, biting down on your shoulder softly. “That’s all I need, sugar.”

Something shifted in the Logan you were holding, and his soft breaths turned into angry groans.

You watched his eyes snap open as he rose up from the bed and on to his feet, bloody claws unsheathing from their confines behind his knuckles.

A nightmare had awoken him.

“Logan?” You called, sitting up. “Are you okay?” Your voice was soft, sweet- he fucking hated it.

Venom was coursing through his veins, the metal of his claws shimmering beneath the weeping moonlight.

“Don’t fucking talk like that.” He growled, lips twisted in to a viscously animal like snarl.

“Like what?” You sputtered, standing up from the bed.

“Like I’m your Logan. I’m not your fucking Logan!” He snarled, and you took a cautionary step back, watching as he slinked towards you.

“I-I never said-”

“Never had to.” He had you pressed into the wall now, chest rising and falling against your own.

“What’s the matter?” You asked quietly, extending a hand out to him. You eyed the blades, letting out a quiet breath.

“You.”

“Me?”

“I was fine before you. I was alone, didn’t have fucking jack shit to bother me. And then you come along. I’ve got enough of it during the day, seeing your face, watching you undress- but now my dreams are full of you.” Logan’s words were angry, tense, full of a rage that was unknown to you. He was practically growling, a caged animal ready to pounce.

“Logan, d-”

“Shut up.”

“Logan I just want to-”

“Shut the fuck up!” He snarled, hands moving to grasp your hips. His fingers dug so deep into your skin, you were sure they would leave imprints upon your bones, searing their way through your flesh. You knew even once he let go, his touch would still linger for the days to come.

You gasped out as he pulled you close to him, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted as he panted. The vein in his forehead was throbbing, his neck tight as he seethed through his barred teeth.

“I can’t fucking stand it. Can’t fucking stand you.” You kept your mouth shut, eyes welling with tears as he scanned over your features. His face was tinted with the red blood of his anger, knuckles raw against his exposed claws.

“Let me go. This isn’t like you-”

“This is exactly like me. I’m not your fucking Logan!”

You let out a soft gasp as he pulled you closer to him, your bodies molding together. His nose, nostrils flaring, pressed into your own, dark eyes boring into your soul as he held you.

“I can’t be that for you.” He finally whispered, his voice cracking ever so softly. “I can’t be him.”

“You already are.” You mumbled. “You’re just like him.”

He shook his head while you nodded, and you gently brushed your thumb across his wrist that held you in place. “Mean, angry… drunk.” You laughed softly through your tears, pressing your forehead closer to his. “You never feel good enough, never feel whole- no matter how damn hard I try.”

Logan’s tongue swept across his lower lip, and you heard his claws retract back into his hands. He stood before you, more man than he had ever been, a broken husk of who he once was, of who he could be.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t make a sound. All he did was take your face in his hands and press his mouth into yours.

Effortlessly your lips melted together, as though your mouths were created for the sole purpose of meeting one another. You gasped softly, your fingers instinctively reaching for his hair as his tongue pressed into your mouth, exploring every inch of you, tasting you until you were the only thing lingering against his teeth.

Logan picked you up easily, carrying you to the mattress before dropping you. He slid on top of you, his knee resting between your legs as his hungry mouth fell to your neck, teeth grazing across your jaw, your neck, your collarbones- anywhere they could reach.

And God, he knew just what to do. Knew just how to grind himself into you to make those sweet moans escape your mouth, knew just how to suckle at that spot beneath your ear to make you purr, knew just how to run his hands down the curve of your sides.

He wasn’t your Logan, but he already knew you just as intimately, as though the universe had ordained him to be yours all along, as though he had been waiting all of his life just to get a taste of you.

“Logan…” You moaned softly as he tugged your pants down, his hand finding the warmth of your cunt as he cupped it within his palm.

“What is it baby?” He cooed tauntingly, his thumb slowly swiping across your swelling clit. “Need something from me?”

“Yes.” Your back arched off the bed as he rubbed you through the thin material of your panties, peppering a string of kisses down the valley of your breasts.

“Use your big girl words.” He teased, engulfing a hardened nipple between his lips. Logan rolled the tender bud against his tongue, his eyes flicking up to meet your gaze. He raised an eyebrow, another inquiry.

“Yes. Y-yes sir. I need something from you. Need you to make me cum.”

Logan moaned out at the title you had bestowed upon him, and he released your nipple with a gentle pop noise.

Pushing the material of your underwear to the side, he sunk two of his fingers deep within the velvet folds of your cunt, his eyes glimmering with mischief at the sound of your wetness.

“She needed me real bad, didn’t she? Poor girl.” He tutted, hovering over you until his mouth was right above yours.

“Mhm.” You whimpered, nodding frantically as he curled his fingering, hitting that spot that always made your legs quiver.

“Yeah, that’s right. Who’s making you feel like this, baby? Who?”

“You! Oh, God. You.”

Logan growled, kissing you fervently as he grinded into the mattress, his boxers tight around his thighs as he pushed deep into your folds.

“Yeah, that’s fucking right. I’ll make you cum so many times you see fucking stars, make you scream my name so loud the whole neighborhood will know who you belong to.”

“You.” You moaned, holding on to his shoulders as he fingered you. “I belong to you.”

And it was true- you always had, you always would. It was the nature of your reality. He had always been yours, and you had always been his.

He hummed out in approval, ripping your underwear away. You gasped out, still amazed by how effortless his strength was, and watched as he undressed himself.

He slid his shirt off, and you couldn’t help but reach forward, your hand tracing down the muscles of his chest and stomach, reaching the vein that followed the happy trail on his lower belly. You sat up, your hands trailing down his waist, lowering your head until you were face to face with his boxers.

Extending your tongue, you traced the vein on his abdomen, the saltiness of his sweat pooling in to your mouth.

“As nice as that seems, and believe me, I want to take you up on that offer- I’m not done with you yet.”

You whined out in protest as he repositioned you, sliding between your legs until your knees were hooked on top of his shoulders.

He leaned forwards and pressed his nose to your clit, taking in a deep inhale that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Fucking delicious.” Logan muttered to no one in particular, before he sucked your clit between his lips, gently rolling as his tongue traced light shapes across the tip.

You gasped out at the familiar action, your hands shooting to the sides of his head as he tasted you. His tongue pressed within the folds of your throbbing pussy, and he fucked you slowly with the muscle, his grip tight on your thighs as he held you closely in place.

His name fell from your lips, over and over again like a prayer. Logan explored you, tracing and tasting every inch of your sweet arousal, until his beard was soaked with the perfect scent of you.

Logan could understand why your version of him was with you. How could he not?

You were a pretty little thing, feisty yet sweet, funny yet caring- and you didn’t talk and talk and fucking talk like Wade mother fucking Wilson.

He had, in not so many words, grown to care for you.

Logan reckoned, late at night when you had already dozed off, that perhaps you were his version all along. That perhaps he was right where he was meant to be, and his whole life has accumulated to this very moment.

Oh, but the thought enraged him. He was fine without love. Wasn’t he?

Your sweet moans brought him back down from his thoughts, and he gently brushed his thumbs over the soft expanse of your legs, pushing them back until you were spread open for him.

You whined out as he circled your clit with his tongue, thighs shaking against his head as his steady palms held you in place, tight and firm against the mattress.

"Logan!" You snapped, pulling at the tufts of dark hair atop his head. "Fucking.." you groaned out in exasperation, back arching off the bed. "Fucking stop it. Stop teasing me!"

He let out a low snarl of warning, teeth nipping at the flesh of your inner thigh before he went back to your pussy, his tongue slowly flicking up your folds, collecting pools of your wetness.

Logan wondered if you tasted this sweet in every reality. He wondered if he could make you come undone like this in every lifetime, wondered if his name always sounded this pretty rolling off your tongue.

The thought made him grind down into the mattress, and he knew he had no other choice but to draw out your pleasure as long as he possibly could.

It was selfish, sure, but you sounded so angelic like this, a whimpering mess just for him. It was a sweet moment of relief, a gentle escape from the chaos that so typically surrounded him, and he was going to relish in it.

But you, on the other hand, well- you were getting annoyed now.

You could feel the heat of anger rising, building, flooding your chest, and every bone in your body ached for release. You slammed your knee into his shoulder, teeth gritting so tight you were sure a molar would be cracked in half by the end of the night.

"Now, Logan! Fucking stop it. Make me cum. Now!"

Logan felt the vein in his neck bulge as he snapped up to look at you, and the anger that crossed atop his irises was deep and intimidating. It sent a cold spell straight through you, and you were suddenly very aware of what you had just done to him with your knee.

"I-" You began to apologize, but he stopped you, a hand flying to your jaw.

He held you tightly in place, moving up to you until his nose was pressed into your own. "Shut up."

"Logan-"

"Stop fucking talking!" His voice echoed off the walls, and you stared at him wide eyed and quiet, your mouth slightly open with surprise. "You're going to lay back on the bed. You got it?"

A long moment of silence passed, and his fingers dug tighter into your cheeks. "You. Got. It?" He seethed through gritted teeth.

You nodded. "Yes- Yes. Yes sir."

His lip twitched at the name. "You're going to lay back on the bed, and you're going to watch me fuck you until you're a dumb fucking mess. And if you’re a good girl, maybe, just fucking maybe, I’ll let you cum.”

You whined softly, slowly laying back. “Fine.”

“What was that?” He countered, eyebrow raised.

You groaned beneath your breath. “I meant yes sir.”

Logan shuffled towards you, the tip of his heavy cock resting at the entrance of your pussy. “That’s what I thought.”

He slowly eased his weeping tip, throbbing and angry at the head, within your folds, his jaw clenching as you adjusted around him. Logan leaned forward, his arms placed on either side of your head, and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Logan.” You breathed out softly, fingertips tracing down the side of his beard.

The man let out a stifled growl, a deep whine that made your cunt clench around him. “Felt that.” He muttered arrogantly, biting down against your neck. It was a hard bite, the kind of bite that would leave marks of his teeth for the hours to come.

You yelped out, feeling him licking at the wound with his hot tongue, easing the pain ever so slightly. He bit the lobe of your ear next, much more gently, then your shoulder, then your left tit and your right one, all the while slowly filling you up with the entire length of him.

Logan kissed his way back up, your arms thrown lazily around him as he allowed you to adjust. He was an asshole, sure, but not that kind of asshole.

And then, he began to thrust deep and steadily within you, the sound of his hips slapping against you and your sweet whimpers of pleasure, the only sound in the room. He pulled away, and you looked up at him, admiring him in all his beautiful glory.

He looked so gorgeous like this, beneath the silver kiss of the starlight poking in from the storm outside. Shadows danced across the tightness of his chest, and the sheen of sweat on his body only made him sexier.

Logan grabbed your wrists, pulling them to his hard stomach. You traced your fingers over each muscle, moaning out as his fingers found your clit, slowly circling it with the pad of his thumb.

His cock felt just the same as you had always known it to be- stinging with every thrust, stretching you out so perfectly.

“Look at you, sweet little thing.” Logan finally conceded. “I can see why he loved you so much.” Your eyes met his, brows furrowing as your mouth shaped itself into a perfect o. “Mhm. I’m not lying. So pretty, so young. And you feel so fucking good.”

His head snapped back, gaze now on the ceiling as he focused on the feeling of your pussy, fucking you deeper and harder with each rut of his hips.

“You getting antsy, baby? Getting close again?” You nodded. “Yeah? Think I should let you cum?” You whimpered out, nodding again. “Use your words, baby doll. Let me hear that voice.”

“Please, Logan.”

He grunted through a chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back down. Logan grabbed you neck in his hands, and saw the surprise widen at your eyes. He moved your legs on his shoulders, leaning down until you were nearly folded in half. The look of shock on your face was evident,

“Oh. Your Logan never fuck you like this? Hmm? Never fucked you so hard you saw fucking stars?” You whined, and at the movement of your mouth opening, Logan shoved two fingers against your tongue. His eyes ordered you to suck, and so you did, tasting yourself against the calloused tips of his digits.

“I can feel how wet you’re getting. You like it, I know you do. Getting taken like this by me. I ain’t your fucking Logan. I’m better.” He was arrogant now, smirking in satisfaction as your tear dotted eyes looked up at him behind your beautiful, wet eyelashes.

“Don’t cry, baby. I’m here.” He held you close, and he meant it. He was there.

You moaned against his fingers, biting down ever so gently on his knuckles. His thumb was still flicking your swollen, throbbing clit, and your thighs shook around his waist.

“Alright baby, alright. Let it go, let it all out.” His voice was a coo in your ear, a soft respite from the normalcy of his gravelly, angry voice.

You cried out so loud you were sure everyone would be awake, back arching off the mattress as your nails clawed trails of broken flesh down his back. Logan was next, unable to contain himself at the feeling of your fluttering pussy.

Ropes of hot, white cum painted your walls, filling you up until it was dripping on the bed sheets, until you were covered in the scent and mark of him. Of this Logan Howlett.

Logan rolled over beside you, and for a moment you were certain he would turn his back to you and fall asleep.

But he didn’t. He took you in his arms and pulled you close, his chin resting on top of your head.

There was a long brush of silence, until he broke it. “Got a cigar by chance?”

You smiled, leaning over into the nightstand and pulling out a pack. “He… never got to finish them.”

Logan nodded quietly, placing one between his lips. “Then I will.” He looked down at you, watching as you held a lighter to the end. Logan’s eyes softened, and he brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I’ll finish the job.” He murmured, nodding to himself.

You leaned your head in his shoulder, taking in the familiar scent of sweat and smoke.

“I’d like that.”

Logan threw his arm over your shoulder, rubbing circles into the tender flesh of your bicep. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, his cheek momentarily resting atop your head.

As you two sat and stared at the wall, allowing the sweet kiss of peace to blanket your bodies, you heard Wade Fucking Wilson giggling outside.

“Oh you two are SO hearing about this in the morning!” He shouted gleefully.

You both groaned in unison. “Shut up Wade!“

Imagine aegon going into sub space for the first time

This is such a great question anon!! I can't believe I've actually never discussed Aegon going into subspace for the first time.

Originally I planned on only writing about the first time he went into subspace but I ended up also just talking in general about the first few weeks of him starting to submit as well so I guess you guys are just getting more sub!aegon than planned. Anyway, sub!aegon below the cut!

So firstly, I definitely think there would be a few times he came very close to subspace in non-sexual settings first??? Like, he so desperately wants someone who can guide him gently.

And gently really is the key word there.

Alicent ‘guides’ him all the time, but she’s harsh and cold and she makes him feel bad. When you smile gently at him and take his head and suggest that maybe he should let the master coin finish their sentence before he kicks them out… he melts. And then when he listens and then dismisses the master of coin and you praise him for being so good? He’s a puddle. You no longer have a husband you have a happy little puddle at your feet, absolutely zero thoughts left.

Anyway point is, those types of interactions are the first times where he starts to come close to subspace. This is especially true when you’re sitting alone with him in your shared bedroom. When the fire is roaring and the blankets are so soft and you’ve got a hand in his hair, of course he’s gonna start to feel all fuzzy and warm and it’s utterly perfect.

Once you start to show that guidance aspect, he stops with the summoning of you to your shared chambers to try for an heir. He can’t do that anymore when he starts to see you as the most special thing he’s ever had. He doesn’t care how much Alicent yaps on and on about him getting an heir, he won’t do that, not when he can spend that time genuinely feeling safe again.

Of course because it’s Aegon things will turn sexual eventually. And this is an idea I had a while ago but I haven’t found a reason to bring it up so I’m just gonna do it now: once that intimacy starts he stops going to brothels and stops fucking servants, he can’t do it. He can’t do anything with anyone else. But this of course does eventually cause a bit of an issue because he’s a very sexual person.

Long story short, the first time he goes into subspace properly with you is after a few weeks of him not going to any brothels. He ends up taking an impromptu nap in your shared bed after he had spoken to you for a while and he wakes up so hard. He’s cuddled against your chest and grinding his hips down against your thigh and of course when he wakes he’s absolutely mortified.

But well, he’s been so good. Of course you’re going to help him.

You end up giving him a hand job, letting him hide against your shoulder as you slowly stroke him and he loses his little mind because it’s perfect.

That’s the first time he truly reaches subspace, and you can tell because he’s actually quiet. Usually he’s a babbler, always talking, never being able to stay still or silent, but now he’s relaxed back into your arms not making a single sound besides the occasional little whine when he breathes out. He cums with just a whisper of your name and then turns to nuzzle into your chest, his body completely devoid of tension.

(Side note: Aemond is the opposite, he’s loud in subspace, so so loud)

You get worried actually, because you’ve never known him to act like he is right then. But at the same time, he’s clearly happy?

When he recovers and finds the ability to speak again, you ask him if he’s alright and what can you do to help him and he just says he’s fine, he’s absolutely perfect in fact.

Unscripted (Fabien Frankel x Y/N)

Actress Y/N L/N, who stars as one of Alicent’s children, and Fabien Frankel, the notorious Ser Criston Cole, show exactly why they’ve become the fan favorites.

TW // Strong language and profanities, sexual innuendos.

The studio was alive with anticipation as the lights dimmed and the familiar jingle of The Late Late Show with James Corden played.

The audience clapped and cheered, excitement bubbling in the air. James Corden walked onto the stage with his signature wide grin, waving to the audience before taking his spot behind the desk. “Alright, alright, settle down folks!” James said with a laugh, raising his hands to quiet the audience. “We’ve got an incredible show for you tonight. Now, unless you’ve been living under a rock, you probably know that the second season of House of the Dragon is just around the corner, and let me tell you, the internet is losing its collective mind over these next two guests.”

The crowd’s cheers grew even louder as James continued. “They’ve become the newest darlings of the internet, the power duo everyone’s talking about. Please welcome, the brilliant Y/N L/N and the charming Fabien Frankel!”

The applause reached a fever pitch as Y/N and Fabien walked out onto the stage, waving and smiling at the audience. They exchanged a quick glance, already feeding off each other’s energy, before taking their seats on the couch beside James.

James leaned forward, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Welcome, welcome! You two are everywhere right now. How does it feel to be the internet’s newest obsession?”

Y/N chuckled, sharing a playful look with Fabien. “Honestly, it’s a bit surreal. One minute we’re just doing our jobs, and the next, there are memes, fan edits, and people shipping us like crazy.”

Fabien nodded, grinning. “Yeah, and some of those fan theories… I mean, they’re really out there, but I kind of love it. The internet is an incredible place, full of very imaginative people.”

James leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together, clearly enjoying the vibe. “So, Fabien, Y/N,” He began, “you’ve both mentioned how much you enjoy interacting with the fans. But let’s be honest, do you ever really lurk around the internet, you know, just to see what people are saying about you?”

Y/N's lips curved into a knowing smile as she nudged Fabien, who was already trying to suppress a grin.

Fabien raised his hand, a little too eagerly. “Oh, absolutely. I’ll confess right here, right now—I’ve got a burner account. Actually, I’ve got multiple burner accounts.”

The audience erupted with shocked murmurs, and even James looked momentarily stunned. “Wait, wait, wait—are you serious? You’ve got burner accounts to sleuth around the internet?”

Fabien nodded, clearly delighted by the reaction. “Oh, yeah. I’m like a ghost in the comments section. I leave little breadcrumbs, drop some hints here and there. Sometimes I’ll just throw in some wild theories to see if anyone bites. It’s my guilty pleasure.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head fondly. “He’s not lying. There was this one time he spent an entire afternoon on Twitter, hyping up a completely fake spoiler about our show just to see if it would trend.”

James was hunched over with laughter at this point. “This is incredible! So, what kind of comments are you leaving? Are you out there defending yourself, correcting people, or just stirring the pot?”

“Honestly, a bit of everything,” Fabien admitted with a satisfied smirk. “I’ll defend myself when I need to—like when someone said Criston Cole didn’t deserve to have his head intact. But mostly, I’m just there to mess with people.”

James wiped away tears of laughter, his eyes wide with delight. “You are absolutely diabolical, Fabien! I can’t believe I’m just hearing about this now. Have you ever accidentally exposed yourself, like, has anyone figured it out?”

Fabien shook his head, though his grin suggested he enjoyed the close calls. “Not yet. I’m very careful. But if someone ever does figure it out, I’ll probably just deny everything.”

Y/N interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, ‘careful’ is definitely not the word I’d use. He’s this close to getting caught every other day. I keep telling him he’s going to slip up eventually.”

The audience couldn’t get enough, roaring with laughter while James, still chuckling, clapped his hands together. “Right, this has been brilliant! But, of course, the fans also want more answers. They want to know everything—behind-the-scenes secrets, your personal lives… Shall we give them what they want?”

Y/N smirked, her playful side coming out. “Oh, we can give them something, but I’m not sure they’re ready for everything.”

Fabien leaned closer to the camera, adopting a dramatic whisper. “Careful what you wish for, folks.”

The audience chortled, and James shook his head in mock exasperation. “Well, since we’re all in such a good mood, I think it’s time to up the stakes. What do you say we play a little game? How about a round of Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts?”

Everyone cheered their approval, and Y/N and Fabien pumped their fists in the air. “Bring it on!” Y/N declared, her eyes shining with excitement.

“Alright then!” James said, clapping his hands as the crew wheeled out a table covered with an array of truly disgusting things that barely passed as foods. From bull’s penis to bird saliva, the table was a nightmare. And don’t even mention the smells. Horrid. Y/N and Fabien both grimaced, but the challenge only seemed to fuel their competitive spirits.

James explained the rules with an evil grin. “We’ll take turns asking each other very personal questions. If you don’t want to answer, you have to eat one of these delightful delicacies laid out in front of you. Simple enough?”

Fabien eyed the spread with a mix of curiosity and mild horror. “I already regret coming on this show.”

Y/N laughed, clearly enjoying Fabien’s discomfort. “Oh, come on, it’s just a bit of fun… or pure torture. Same difference.”

James started off, picking up a card with a wicked smile. “Y/N, we’ll start with you. Which of your House of the Dragon co-stars is the biggest diva on set?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, a nervous laugh escaping her. “Oh no, you’re really trying to get me into trouble here, aren’t you?”

James wiggled his eyebrows, holding up a plate of beetle jelly. “Well, you could always try this lovely treat instead.”

Y/N grimaced, glancing at the plate before shaking her head. “You know what? I’m just going to say it… Matt Smith. But only because he insists on having his tea just the right way, and if it’s not perfect, he sends it back!”

The audience roared with laughter, and James looked positively delighted. “Matt Smith, the tea diva! Who knew?”

James nodded appreciatively. “Okay, so Y/N’s not backing down. Fabien, let’s see if you’re as brave. What’s the juiciest piece of gossip you’ve ever heard about a co-star?”

Fabien raised an eyebrow, glancing at the plate in front of him. It was filled with some unidentifiable, gelatinous blob that looked like it might have once been alive. He hesitated for a moment, the audience holding their breath, before he sighed and reached for the fork. “You know what? I think I’ll just eat this… whatever it is.”

The crowd groaned in disappointment as Fabien took a cautious bite, his face contorting in disgust. “Oh, that is vile,” he muttered, barely managing to swallow.

James laughed, clearly chuffed by Fabien’s reaction. “Oh, you’re going to regret that later! Alright, let’s keep this going. Y/N, who’s your celebrity crush?”

Y/N flashed a sly grin, completely unfazed. “Fabien already knows this—I’ve had the biggest crush on Mads Mikkelsen for as long as I can remember. Zero shame here,” she declared, raising her hands in playful surrender.

Fabien nodded sagely. “Understandable. I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s Mads Mikkelsen we’re talking about.”

James smirked, turning the tables on Fabien. “Alright, Fabien, since you love a good bit of gossip… Who’s the worst kisser you’ve ever worked with?”

The crowd ooohed in anticipation, and Fabien’s eyes widened slightly. He glanced at the plate in front of him—this time, it was a glass of clam juice. He sighed, clearly torn, before finally muttering, “I’m sorry, but I’d rather not end my career tonight.”

Fabien then downed the clam juice as if he is taking a shot, his face scrunching up in pure disgust. “That’s… that’s really something,” he choked out, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

James was in his element, loving every minute of the chaos. “Oh, this is too good. Let’s keep going, shall we?”

The game continued with more outrageous questions and even more disgusting foods. Y/N held her own, answering questions with wit and humor, while Fabien’s love for gossip almost got the best of him several times—though he managed to dodge some of the more damning questions by bravely (or foolishly) sampling the revolting dishes.

Finally, James delivered the knockout punch—a question so juicy that even Fabien, with all his gossip-loving tendencies, knew he couldn’t answer it. “Fabien, have you ever had a romantic relationship with one of your House of the Dragon co-stars?”

The crowd gasped, leaning in closer, and even Y/N’s eyes widened as she glanced at Fabien. The camera zoomed in on his face, capturing every flicker of emotion as he considered his options. After a long, tense pause, Fabien shook his head, smiling ruefully.

“James, I’m not going to give you that satisfaction,” he said, reaching for the plate in front of him. It was a stomach-turning concoction of pig’s blood and fermented tofu. He grimaced as he brought it to his lips, the audience groans and visibly shudders as he took the plunge.

Fabien swallowed the foul mixture, his face is a bit green now, before slamming the cup back on the table. “That… was a mistake,” he gasped, earning a round of applause from the audience.

James was doubled over, barely holding it together as genuine tears of laughter streamed down his face. “Well, Fabien, I think you’ve earned yourself a spot in the ‘Spill Your Guts’ Hall of Fame. This was absolutely brilliant.”

Y/N leaned over as she patted Fabien on the back. “You’re a better man than me. I’d have cracked.”

Fabien shook his head, finally managing to swallow. “I think I just did. That was the worst decision of my life.”

Y/N and Fabien collapsed back into their chairs, sharing a triumphant yet slightly delirious high-five, both still reeling from the culinary horrors they had just endured. Fabien was barely holding it together, his face a mix of pride and regret, while Y/N was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

“Honestly,” Y/N gasped, “I think we’ve just signed ourselves up for a week of bed rest and a diet of nothing but bland toast and water. Our bodies are probably planning a revolt as we speak.”

Fabien nodded, still trying to scrape the taste of whatever monstrosity he’d just eaten off his tongue. “If I don’t end up with food poisoning after this, it’ll be a miracle. I can already feel my stomach sending out SOS signals.”

James slapped the table repeatedly, trying to catch his breath. “Well, I hope you two have plenty of detox plans, because after tonight, I’m pretty sure your bodies will never forgive you!”

Y/N wiped the sweat that has trickled down the side of her face, nodding in agreement. “I’m going to need a cleanse, a prayer, and probably an exorcism after this.”

Fabien slumped back in his chair, looking over at Y/N with a half-serious expression. “If we survive this, we’re never doing this show again. I think my taste buds are filing for divorce.”

James finally wraps up the segment. “Well folks, I don’t know about you, but I think we’ve just witnessed the bravest—or maybe the most foolish—duo in late-night history. Let’s give it up for Y/N and Fabien, who are probably going to be recovering from this for the next decade!”

The audience roared with applause, and Y/N and Fabien, still laughing through the pain, waved to the crowd, knowing full well they’d be regretting every bite once the cameras stopped rolling.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

Y/N had never been one for the spotlight outside of her acting career, especially not on social media. Her TikTok account was mostly where she reposted fan edits, clips from House of the Dragon, and the occasional behind-the-scenes moment that her fans seemed to devour with endless enthusiasm.

But something had changed recently. Maybe it was the thrill of the show’s success, or perhaps it was Fabien’s relentless teasing about her being a “social media ghost” compared to other Gen Z stars. Whatever it was, she decided it was time for her first proper post.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch in her cozy London flat, Y/N set up her phone on the coffee table, propping it up with a stack of books to get the angle just right. She tapped into TikTok and scrolled through the various trends until she landed on one that had been making the rounds lately: the Hi kids, this is your mother trend, where people documented their current lives as a kind of digital time capsule for their future children. It was sweet, a bit nostalgic, and seemed harmless enough.

With a deep breath and a quick fluff of her hair, she hit record.

“Hi kids, this is your mother!” she began, her voice soft and slightly hesitant. “I’m recording this to give you a little glimpse into what my life was like before you were born. It’s 2024, and I’m currently starring as Princess Daenaera Targaryen on House of the Dragon. It’s a bit surreal, really, playing a character so different from who I am in real life.”

She paused, glancing around the room, trying to think of what else to say. “I’m in London right now, and this is my flat. It’s not much, but it’s home. I spend most of my time here, reading scripts, watching movies, and sometimes even attempting to cook. I’m still terrible at it, by the way.”

Y/N chuckled at her own self-deprecation, her smile genuine and warm. “I don’t know if you’ll end up seeing this, or if TikTok will even exist by the time you’re watching it, but I thought it would be fun to document this moment in time. Who knows what the future holds?”

She was about to wrap up the video when, out of nowhere, Fabien appeared behind her, his face suddenly filling the screen. “Hi kids, this is your father,” he said with a wide grin, throwing a casual arm around her shoulders.

Y/N gasped in surprise, her eyes widening as she turned to look at him, completely caught off guard. “Fabien! What are you doing?” she exclaimed, though she couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up in her throat.

Fabien's sudden appearance had completely derailed Y/N’s carefully planned TikTok, but the impish grin on his face told her that he was thoroughly enjoying every second of it. Her initial shock melted into laughter.

“You absolute menace!” she managed between giggles, trying and failing to push him out of the frame. Fabien, of course, wasn’t going anywhere. He plopped down next to her, still beaming as if he’d just pulled off the prank of the century.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart,” he teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “You know this video needed a bit of excitement. Imagine our future kids watching this and thinking, ‘Wow, Mum was a bit dull before Dad showed up.’”

Y/N rolled her eyes in annoyance. Fabien took full advantage, leaning into the camera and continuing his monologue.

“Listen up, kids,” he began in an exaggerated, serious tone, “this is the flat where your mum and dad first started dating. That’s right, you heard me—dating! It’s where we had our first fight over who’s worse at cooking—spoiler alert, it’s me—and where we binge-watched the entire Grey’s Anatomy series.”

Y/N’s laughter reached a new peak at that, her attempts to shut him up devolving into her grabbing a pillow and whacking him over the head with it. Fabien, undeterred, grabbed the pillow out of her hands and used it as a makeshift shield.

“And yes, kids,” he continued, voice muffled by the pillow he now held in front of his face, “this is also where I successfully defended myself against your mother’s violent tendencies. Never forget, I’m a survivor.”

“Oh, my God, you’re impossible!” Y/N cried out. Her face was flushed, her hair a mess from all the tussling, but she didn’t care. The camera was still rolling, capturing every crazed, unfiltered moment.

With a dramatic sigh, Fabien lowered the pillow and turned his attention back to the camera. “In all seriousness, kids, your mum’s amazing. She’s smart, funny, and way out of my league, and I still can’t believe she puts up with me.”

Y/N’s laughter softened into something more tender, and she glanced at Fabien, her heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it always did whenever he said something sweet. “You’re not so bad yourself, Frankel,” she said, nudging him with her elbow.

Fabien grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “See, kids? That’s the kind of love and affection you’ve got to look forward to.”

At this point, Y/N realized that what had started as a simple TikTok trend had morphed into something else—possibly an accidental relationship announcement to the world.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” she murmured, half to herself.

Fabien chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Neither can I, but it’s too late now. The world’s about to find out.”

Y/N sat up, composing herself just enough to address the camera one last time. “So, yeah… I guess this is how we’re telling you all that we’re dating. Surprise?”

Fabien flashed the camera a peace sign and a cheeky grin. “Surprise! Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got to tackle the laundry mountain that’s threatening to take over our place. Priorities, right?”

With that, Y/N finally stopped the recording, her cheeks still aching from all the laughter. She turned to Fabien, who was watching her with that infuriatingly adorable smile of his.

“Well, that escalated quickly,” she said, biting her lip to keep from laughing again.

Fabien shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Hey, at least it wasn’t boring.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the affection in her gaze. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Fabien pulls her into his arms for a quick, playful kiss. “Now, let’s see how much chaos we can unleash on the world.”

Y/N hit post and not even a minute later, the notifications are piling up at an alarming rate. Comments were flooding in, ranging from shocked reactions to excited squeals to memes being born in real time.

————————————————————————

𝙊𝙈𝙁𝙂 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙔’𝙍𝙀 𝘿𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂?! 𝙄 𝙆𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙄𝙏! 𝙄 𝙆𝙉𝙀𝙒 𝙄𝙏! 𝙈𝙔 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙋 𝙄𝙎 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙇!!!

[𝙃𝙞 𝙠𝙞𝙙𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧] 𝙁𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙚𝙣 𝙁𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙚𝙡 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙡 💀💀💀

𝙁𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙚𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙞𝙙, 𝙄’𝙢 𝙖 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙫𝙞𝙫𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙒𝙖𝙧 𝙄𝙄𝙄 𝙤𝙣 𝙏𝙞𝙠𝙏𝙤𝙠

𝙍𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙤 🙋‍♂️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♂️

————————————————————————

“Wow, they really don’t waste any time, do they?” Y/N muttered, scrolling through the chaos. She looked up at Fabien, who was casually folding a pile of clothes as if they hadn’t just set the fandom on a rampage.

Fabien glanced over, grinning as he picked up his own phone. “Well, since we’re already in the middle of this, might as well show them how glamorous our lives really are.”

Without missing a beat, he snapped a quick selfie of the two of them, surrounded by piles of laundry. He captioned it, When you’re done breaking the internet but still have to tackle Mount Laundry. Then, with a satisfied smirk, he posted it to his Instagram story.

“There,” he said, holding up his phone to show Y/N the post. “Let’s see how they react to that.”

Y/N glanced at the screen and snorted. “Dork. You really just did that?”

“Of course,” Fabien replied, deadpan. “We’ve got to keep it real.”

“Honestly, they’re probably more impressed by the fact that we’re actually doing laundry on a Sunday,” Y/N joked, tossing a pair of socks at Fabien.

He caught them with a grin. “Just wait until they find out we actually sort the whites from the colors. Y’know mind-blowing stuff.”

As they continued sorting clothes, the laughter between them never faded.

Practice [L.H]

pairing: Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Your roommate Logan lets you practise giving a blowjob on him for your date with another guy.

warnings: smut, 18+, oral sex (f&m receiving, reader’s first time), Logan is a liittle mean but just a little and he gets softer towards the end, spitting,  jerking off, Logan keeps his socks on I think it’s hot okay 😭😭, Logan calls reader bub, baby, good girl, pretty girl; Wade is mentioned but I’m imagining a younger Logan than in DP&W

word count: 3.2k (this was supposed to be a drabble lol idk what happened)

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Logan asks from the sofa as you walk past him in your pretty date outfit. You’ve got some time left before your date but you decided to get ready early in a bout of nervousness.

“This guy I’ve been seeing,” you tell him, trying to seem nonchalant. You haven’t yet mentioned to Logan that you’ve been on a few dates. He spends a lot of time in his room, away from you and Wade, and he just never happened to be there to hear about your dates.

Logan mutes the tv. “What guy?”

“Met him online.”

“And he’s so good to you that you get this pretty for him?”

You smile at his indirect compliment and sit down next to him.

“Yeah, he’s nice. I… I think we might go a step further today,” you feel your cheeks heating up, “I’m kind of nervous.”

You see his jaw clench slightly, “If he’s a good guy he shouldn’t make you nervous.”

“I’m not nervous because of him, it’s just that it would be my first time. And I don’t want to be bad.”

He chuckles and leans back, “You won’t be bad. Just make him go on top.”

Logan isn’t taking your hint, so you take a deep breath to gather your courage. “What if he wants me to go down on him and I don’t know how to do it? Will you…” your voice falters as his eyes meet yours.

“Will you help me?” you stutter and Logan immediately begins to smirk. Embarrassment spreads through your body.

“Help you how?” He asks, smug.

It’s too late to go back now. “Well, I don’t know. Like, explain how it works or.. you could show me?” you shrug.

“You probably know better than me how to find porn online.”

“No, I mean show me on you.” That’s all the courage you can muster for the day and you wonder if you will even have the strength to look back into Logan’s eyes. He solves that problem for you, putting a finger under your chin and pushing it up so you’re looking at him.

“You wanna suck my cock?” He sounds annoyed and you immediately want to die.

“It wouldn’t have to mean anything,” you look at his cheeks, his nose, anywhere but his eyes, “I just wanna know if I’m doing it right. It’s okay if you can’t cum, I just want to practise.”

Logan scans your face for a sign of discomfort – other than your embarrassment – but he doesn’t find any. His features soften, “You really wanna go down on me, bub?”

You nod quickly, “For practice.”

“Mhm, for practice.” He’s mocking you, but all you can do is ignore it.

A thrill shoots through your body at his next words: “C’mere then.” He spreads his legs, clothed in jeans that strain around the thickness of his delicious thighs. You can see the outline of his abs through his tank top. You can’t believe this is happening – you’ve had a crush on him since you saw him for the first time.

Logan beckons you between his legs and you move to sit on the carpet, its fluffiness stopping your bare knees from hurting. Your short skirt rides up your ass and you pull it down self-consciously despite what you’re about to do.

“You sure about this, bub?” Logan asks again from above you. You gulp when you look up at him. How does he look even better from below?

“Yeah,” you assure him, your panties already growing wet. You sit down and try to patiently wait for instruction but you end up squirming. When you look back up at Logan he’s got one of his eyebrows raised.

“You don’t know how to open a belt either?”

“Well, yeah but don’t we have to–” your mouth starts to water when the rough clink of his belt interrupts you. He’s all but ripping open his belt; he unbuttons his jeans and takes out his hard cock. You almost get goosebumps.

“Oh,” you say.

“If a guy likes you, he doesn’t need any time to get ready. Foreplay is just to get the woman nice and wet,” Logan tells you, although you’re barely listening. All you know is that you wouldn’t need the foreplay either, you’re uncomfortably wet, trying to get friction against your legs that are folded underneath you.

Logan watches you stare at his erection, “Take your top off. I like seeing your pretty face but that’ll make it an even nicer view.”

“But I’m not wearing anything underneath,” you thumb at the thin straps of your top.

He smirks, “even better.” He reaches down to pull the top up by your waist but then hesitates.

You nod but Logan rolls his eyes. “Use your words.”

“You can take it off,” you say but you nevertheless put your arms in front of your tits when he pulls your top over your head. 

Logan chuckles, “Baby, I’ve been dying to see your tits since I first met you. You really think you gotta hide?” The nickname makes you melt and your arms immediately drop to your sides. 

You sit up straighter as Logan lets out a low moan, “God, look at you. So fucking perfect.” He reaches out to grope your tits almost clumsily. His cock bobs in front of you as he leans down to touch you and you feel yourself getting addicted to him already. You just want to start.

With a last rough squeeze of your tit, Logan leans back. “Wet your lips,” he instructs. You lick your lips.

“Wetter,” he says, and your eyebrows crease in confusion as you lick your lips again.

Logan huffs, spits into his hand, and smears his spit over your mouth, “There. Don’t you look fucking pretty like this.” You just about purr against his hand and then push against it with your cheek.

You place your hands on either of his knees and lean in to kiss the tip of his cock, all swollen and ready. You immediately feel the urge to go further but your shyness takes over, so you keep pressing wet kisses to his length.

“God,” Logan groans, leaning his head back in pleasure as you keep kissing, and you start to use some more spit.

“Look at you, don’t even need me to tell you what to do,” he pulls his arms behind his head smugly, like an asshole, and you smile, getting shy again. You kiss along the underside of his cock some more, getting more desperate with every second.

“What now?” You ask. 

Logan softly smiles at you for a second, pulling his jeans and boxers further down his thighs. You pull them off completely as he pulls off his top. He’s naked in front of you now, except for his socks, and you take a second to appreciate all the broadness and his muscles. The hair from his chest all the way over his abs and down to his cock is begging for you to kiss every inch of it but you force yourself to focus.

Logan takes his cock in his hand to lift it out of the way, and slowly starts to jerk off. His eyes go to you and then to his balls, and you get what he wants you to do. Still, he gives you one word: “Lick.”

You move forward, inhaling all his manly smell, instinctively going to press another wet kiss to his cock. You let spit pool in your mouth and begin to lick all over his balls, feeling the heaviness of them on your tongue.

“Take as much as you can, baby,” he rasps, continuing to jerk off. You almost slap his hand away – you want to be the one making him feel good – but you stop yourself.

You do as he tells you, opening your mouth to cover as much of him as you can, the warmth of his balls against your tongue making you drool.

“Yeah, baby, juuust like that. That’s a good girl,” he breathes heavily.

Your pussy clenches around nothing at his words, and you have to take a deep breath to focus on anything but the wet ache between your thighs.

His balls move against your tongue from his jerking off, and you gently suck on the skin, moving around a few inches every few seconds. But the movement from his hand on his cock is becoming distracting and, without thinking, you instinctively push his hand away. 

He stills and then smiles, lifting his hand away. He lightly leans his elbows on the back of the sofa to the sides of him. 

“You can start sucking my cock now if you’re ready, baby. Been doing such a good job.”

“I don’t know if I can take all of it,” you pout. Even just imagining his dick down your throat feels too much, though not in a bad way. He’s just so fucking big. 

“Just take as much as you can. I bet you can take more of me than you think.”

His words motivate you. You go up slightly on your knees, carefully wrapping your hand around his cock. You spit on it, letting it slowly slide down the sides as you begin to spread it with your hand. 

Logan huffs out a laugh from above you, “So adorable. You don’t need to be so careful. Here, do it like this.” He wraps his much bigger hand around yours and he starts to jerk off with your hand, showing you how rough you can be as he starts to fuck your fist. 

You clear your throat, “Can I use my mouth now?”

He bites his lip, “Ready when you are, baby. Just breathe through your nose and relax.” Oh, you’re relaxed. Being between Logan’s meaty thighs is the best you’ve felt in your life. 

You press another kiss to the tip of his cock and part your lips to take him in your mouth. The first second you feel the heaviness of his cock on your tongue is like heaven. Logan lets out a low moan and you look up to find his eyes already on your face. He looks like a god from below, his muscles starting to glisten with a thin layer of sweat.

Opening your mouth wider, you take more of him. You start to jerk him off where your mouth can’t reach but you do your best to go as deep as you can, moving up and down with your wet mouth.

The feeling of Logan’s cock in your mouth is addicting, and the quiet sounds he is making even more so. 

“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” he whispers, voice weak. You look up into his eyes as you suck his dick, spit starting to run down your hand, and a smirk spreads on Logan’s face.

“Such a pretty girl,” he leans his head back.

Your jaw is starting to strain because he’s so big but you never want to stop doing this. You swallow down the taste of his precum and can’t wait to actually make him come. He’s starting to pulse in your mouth, abs contracting with every time your tongue moves.

You’re wondering how much long–

“Y’gonna make me come, baby. Gonna come so hard,” Logan moans, and you figure he’s warning you but you want nothing more than his cum in your mouth.

You put in all the effort you can, sucking Logan’s cock further down your throat, cheeks hollowing. You start to feel him at the back of your throat, spit spilling from your lips.

Logan groans, and then he’s filling up your mouth, pumping his cum down your throat as you eagerly swallow. You look up at him through your lashes, taking in his face, his eyes shut and mouth hanging open in pleasure as a long, almost pathetic, groan comes out.

He’s coming longer than you’d expect, coming in your mouth in sticky ropes, a hand guiding the back of your head. You still pout when he’s finally drained and he slowly pulls his hips back.

Logan sighs a last breath of pleasure and holds his hand in front of your mouth. “What?” you ask.

“Spit.”

“Uh, I swallowed,” you say.

“Really?”

You stick out your tongue for Logan to see your empty mouth.

He smirks. “God,” he huffs, “so fucking perfect. C’mere.” He pulls you up to the sofa and sits you on his lap, your bare chest against his. Logan pushes his mouth against yours, kissing you like he’s filled with a new desire, as if you didn’t just make him come.

You don’t get to kiss him for very long though, because he pulls you to lie down on the sofa, turning so your legs are spread around him.

“‘m gonna show you what it’s supposed to feel like for someone to eat your pussy. Just so you know your date is doin’ it right, ‘kay?”

What date? You almost ask. You remember for a second but then, looking at him, all of your thoughts are replaced with Logan again. “Yes,” you nod hornily, “Please.”

“There you go, got you even saying please now. You want it that bad, huh?”

All you can do is nod as he pulls down your skirt and panties. He almost goes cross-eyed when he sees your pussy for the first time.

“God, baby, you coulda said something. Such an eager little thing. You got that wet from having my cock in your mouth, hm? Gonna make you come so good, yeah?”

You nod again and he bends down to press another sloppy kiss to your lips, kissing down your neck and stopping at your chest, “Can’t get enough of these,” he plays with your tits, desperately grabbing at them like a man seeing a woman naked for the first time.

He smiles up at you when he realises how much time he’s spent at your chest, pressing a last kiss to your sternum before placing one of his big hands on your tit and kissing further down. You assume he’s going to stop before he gets to your pussy, just to tease you, but he kisses all the way down from your belly button to your clit, starting to make out with your pussy.

“Logan,” you moan, your hand flying to his hand on one of your boobs.

“Feel good?” He asks, and you almost faint when you look at his head pushed between your thighs. He looks exactly right, as if this is where he was meant to be the entire time.

“Mhmm.”

He chuckles against your pussy, tongue darting out to play with your clit. The ache between your legs starts to get worse with him there, and you feel your pussy clenching around nothing.

Logan smirks and pushes your thighs further apart with a rough hand. He starts to gently rub your clit, and you’ve finally got the friction you’ve been needing this entire time. You’re already close. 

You let out an involuntary moan as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you, and you grip his hand on your tit harder, and he squeezes you there, lovingly. 

“I got you, baby,” he says into your pussy before starting to fuck you with his finger, pushing another one in as he begins to rub a sweet little spot inside that you can never reach yourself. 

He leans in to start licking your clit again, circling it with his tongue and, ever so slightly, beginning to suck. 

You’re so close, the waves of pleasure almost, just almost, flooding over you. You squirm, your knees pushing together, held open by his broad shoulders. 

Logan sucks harder, fingers fucking into you with your clit pulsing against his tongue. 

It only takes a few more seconds of Logan’s mouth on your pussy for you to come. Pleasure explodes within you and floods your entire body as you arch your back, pushing further into him and his wet mouth and thick fingers.

Logan doesn’t stop until you’re satisfied and your legs go numb around him.

He grins at you, biting his lip to stop his smile from spreading too far, and he presses a kiss to the middle of your belly, squeezing your tit gently before letting go. You feel cold without him there.

With your legs still around him, you instinctively pull him in and he lies down next to you on the sofa, gently caging you against the back of it to give you the more comfortable side as he balances on the edge.

“You wanna know how good you taste?” Logan asks, not waiting for an answer before he kisses you. You slide your hand behind his neck to pull him in, tasting yourself on his tongue.

He stops kissing you. “So.. you still going on your date?”

You feel your cheeks getting hot, “What if I told youuu…” you twirl a strand of Logan’s hair that’s hanging over his forehead, “that there never was a date. Or a guy.”

Logan breaks out in a smile, “You were too shy to ask me to fuck you so you made up an entire person?”

You hear the key turning in the lock in that moment, and even though you’ll be covered by the back of the sofa Logan shields you with his hands as best as he can, reaching for your clothes.

Wade comes in and you immediately sit up, holding Logan’s hand and forearm to your tits to cover them.

“Guess what happened?” you squeal at Wade.

Wade’s eyes go over to you and then to Logan, and he drops his bags of grocery shopping to jump up and down, “Was it my plan? I told you my plan would work!”

You grin, “It was your plan.”

Logan looks between you and Wade, rolling his eyes but he’s unable to hide a smile.

“It was a good plan, right? I told her she could just ask you out but she was too shy so I told her to make up a guy she’s dating,” Wade explains.

“Alright,” Logan laughs quietly, “Now fuck off so I can fuck my girl again.”

Wade’s eyes go wide and he says what you’re thinking, “My girl? I’d faint if he called me that. You owe me,” he points at you.

You blow a kiss at Wade and he pretends to catch it, pressing it to his lap. You roll your eyes and smile, waving at him, “You heard him, we’ve got stuff to do.”

The almost animalistic smirk Logan gives you when Wade is gone should scare you, but it only makes you want him more. He picks you up in his arms, carrying you to his room. You can’t wait for what’s to come.

-

P.S. Logan thinks good girls reblog and comment on the fics they enjoy 🩷🫣

something more

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.

word count: 6.6k

warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!

a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily

༄

Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.

Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.

Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.

He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.

Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.

It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.

Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.

Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.

“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”

“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.

“I should really get this done-”

“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”

With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.

That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.

“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.

“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”

Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”

He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’

“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”

“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.

“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”

You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.

“Okay, put me to work, boss.”

“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.

“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.

He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.

Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.

Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.

As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.

When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”

Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.

“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.

“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”

Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.

In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.

“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”

“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”

“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”

JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.

You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.

-

Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.

You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.

It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.

You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.

Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.

The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.

“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.

“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.

“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”

And he still wanted to check on you.

“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”

“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.

“Get in here, Hotchner.”

You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.

So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.

Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.

You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.

Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.

“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”

He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.

He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”

You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.

“Who taught you that one, huh?”

“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”

“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”

He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.

During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.

“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.

“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.

“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”

And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.

By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.

“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”

“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.

On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.

You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”

You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.

Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.

You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.

In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”

“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.

“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.

This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.

-

The flight home from a case always feels the longest.

On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,

Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.

If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.

You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.

The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.

Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.

“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.

You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.

“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”

“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”

“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”

“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.

“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”

“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”

You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.

You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.

He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.

It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.

Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.

When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”

His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.

He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”

You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.

When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.

Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.

Hopeless, she thinks.

Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.

It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.

“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.

“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”

Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.

It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.

Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.

He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.

“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”

“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.

“We fell asleep, but we landed.”

“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”

“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.

-

You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.

It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.

That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.

Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.

You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.

“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”

Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”

He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.

“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”

Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.

“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”

“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”

“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”

Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.

“Really?”

“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“

“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”

When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.

He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.

You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.

Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.

You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.

You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.

As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.

“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.

He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.

“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”

“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”

“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.

“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.

“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.

On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.

“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”

Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”

He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.

He likes that idea, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”

First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”

Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.

“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.

“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.

“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”

Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.

And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.

-

You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.

You guess that this time might be up for debate.

When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.

Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.

“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”

“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”

“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.

In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.

So, your instincts weren’t so bad.

Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.

After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.

It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.

He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.

By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.

Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.

His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.

Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.

“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.

You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.

“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”

For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”

The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.

The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”

His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.

“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”

Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.

Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.

“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”

“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”

One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.

“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.

“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”

“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”

“If you say so, Hotchner.”

He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.

“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”

“Learned from the best,” you say.

You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.

Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”

Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”

Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”

-

+1

Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.

When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.

This year, you’re on a mission to change that.

While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.

You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.

Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.

Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.

While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.

“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”

Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”

You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.

“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”

He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.

Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”

For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.

No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.

So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.

You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.

Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.

When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.

“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.

Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.

“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”

Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.

“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”

Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.

It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.

His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.

You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.

It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.

When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.

“It’s perfect,” he says.

The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”

Similar words come from the rest of the team.

“Finally,” from Emily.

“About time,” from JJ.

“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.

A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.

Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.

And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.

༄

thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3

PAST LIFE⋆

dofp!logan howlett x mutant fem!reader

cw:fingering, cursing, dirty talk, mentions of motherhood, fluff

logan should've known when he accepted the mission to come go back in time to stop the sentinels that you would still be here.

"is there an issue here, hank?"

the sound of your voice made logan's heart flutter. you were barely peaking out from behind the door but logan could see you just fine. he couldn't stop staring.

"no, everything's fine." hank assured you. just as you turned to return to charles's office, you hear the door burst open. this handsome stranger hits hank right in the nose before continuing up the stairs to you.

logan had to take you in for a second. his beautiful future wife stood in front of him and she has absolutely no clue that their married because she's only twenty-five years old.

had you always been this gorgeous? was that even fair? all of these were questions that floated around in his mind.

"who are you and what do you want?" you asked as he reached out to touch you.

"so you've always been this beautiful, huh, princess?" he purred, tucking away a piece of your hair behind your ear.

sure, he was attractive in his brown leather jacket and sunglasses but this man looked in his mid-forties. logan was too busy staring down at your frilly yellow babydoll dress to notice where you're looking at him. his left hand; more specifically the gold band on his ring finger.

"i don't mess with married men." you glare at him. he couldn't help but chuckle darkly down at your innocence.

"oh, my wife wouldn't mind."

god, logan felt like such a pervert for coming on to you but he couldn't help it. you're ethereal beauty was unreal. not that you had aged much since present day, as you two have the slow aging processes in common. older hank would always tell logan that he should be lucky that you agreed to date him because there were plenty of people who would love to take his place. sure, logan believed him but now, he really understood what hank meant.

"where's charles at, sweetheart?" logan asks, inhaling your floral sent.

before you could respond, charles comes barreling down the stairs drunkenly calling after you.

"where've you been?" he asked you then turned to logan. "who the hell are you?"

this should be good.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"how do we know that you're actually from the future?" you asked, sitting atop charles desks, swinging your legs. hank and charles stood outside in the hallway discussing whether or not to trust logan.

"you've always been this stubborn?" logan says under his breath, rolling his eyes.

"how do we even know each other in the future?" you finally asked.

for the past hour, this man has tried to sell this absurd story about how future charles and magneto sent him here together in order to save mutants from sentinels. so far he's managed to convince charles but hank and you were still on the fence.

"we're married, sweetheart." logan smirks wickedly.

there was absolutely no way that you two were married. this man is grumpy, mean looking, and wears dark brown leather. you are an academic scholar who adores pastels and helping other mutants. he had to have you mistaken.

you squint up at him and laugh, "we are married?"

logan nods, walking over to you until he's standing in between your legs.

"tell me something only i would know then."

"your favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry, you hate the cold and winter, anytime you drink coffee you get nightmares, your favorite color is green; but your favorite shade is the color my eyes get when i look at you." logan could see the way your eyes widen, slowly starting to believe him more and more. he couldn't help but feel cocky. "would you like me to continue?"

"im not sure... think you're gonna have to prove it. another way." you challenge him. logan's hand trails up your thigh, playing with the soft yellow material.

"c'mon sweetheart, this is too easy." he mutters against your neck, placing soft kisses and nibbling on the skin.

logan knew you like the back of his hand. he knew exactly what you like and dislike. sometimes you would even tell him that he knew you better than you knew yourself.

"you like when i pull your bottom lip when we kiss. you blush every time i offer for you to sit on my face. one of your favorite ways to fuck is pressed up against a wall or bent over a table..." logan could go on and on.

"we do that...?" you whisper embarrassed by this version of yourself, trying to avoid his burning gaze.

"oh, all the time. sometimes you pull me down on the floor when i come home, begging to ride me right then and there." logan says, once he captures your attention again. you chew on your bottom lip adorably.

a small whimper passes your lips before you remember that hank and charles aren't that far away from the room. one of your hands comes up to logan's chest, slightly pushing him back despite not wanting to.

"w-we should stop." you warn him. "they can hear us."

this was when logan knew that you hadn't discovered part of your mutation yet. he had already assumed that you hadn't but this confirmed it.

"need you to relax, princess." he says, moving higher up to your jaw. your body betrays everything your mouth says, eating out of the palm of his hand. "i promise once you relax, it'll feel like time has stopped."

logan's lips taunt yours; not quite giving you what you want. fed up, you overpower him and push his lips into yours. the only word floating around in your head was 'relax'.

carefully, logan lays you back on the desk. something about being held in the strangers arms set you at easy; maybe he was really your husband?

"you don't know this yet..." logan huffs. "but you can stop time."

you scoff, thinking that you caught him in a lie. "no, i can't."

"if you relax like i said, then you can." logan mutters against your collarbone.

one of his hands slides up your thigh while the other rubs circles on your hip bone. was this wrong of you? if he is telling the truth –and it seems like he is– then technically he is your husband and it's not wrong to mess around with your husband.

"open up for me, babydoll." logan mumbled against your collarbones, placing wet kisses and nibbling on the delicate skin.

your legs spread with easy as his callused fingers rub over your cotton panties. the soft material of your dress is bunched at your tummy as he tugs your panties off, pocketing them for himself. his thumb returns to rub your button.

"p-please..." you whimper, looking up at logan with bambi eyes. "need more."

"anything for you, princess." he groans, slipping two fingers inside of you as gently as he could. this earned a loud moan from you when he nudged that spot deep in your gummy walls with ease.

"see how well i know my wife?" logan gloats, pressing soft kisses to your lips but never letting you catch him. "you usually prefer it rougher than this but i'm not cruel."

"y-you can go... can go faster." you pant, never having anything quite his size yet.

"i don't want to hurt you, baby." he says in a condescending tone. "wanna know something 'bout the future?"

it was difficult but your managed to nod your head despite how clearly fucked out you were at this point.

"a couple weeks ago, you came home telling me how much you want to be a mom; how you've always wanted to be a mom." he pulls back to look at your pretty face, lust darkening your eyes and slick pouring out of you, practically dripping down his palm onto the desk. "so, every chance we get alone you've been begging for me to go raw inside of you."

logan loved how even as you're all spread out for him, you're still blushing at his filthy words.

"look at you, blushing while you soak my hand." he mocks with a smirk.

"i'm s-so close, please!" you beg so politely.

his thick fingers pick up the pace as you clench down on them; jaw dropped and head thrown back. logan's other hand supports your back while your cute painted blue nails dig into his wrist as your climax starts to wash over you.

"hey sweetheart, look out the window." he chuckles, moving your chin to stare hazily out the glass window.

you couldn't believe it. every car, bird, street light, everything was stopped. everything but you and logan.

"how did you know that i could...?"

"you can't always control it but when you calm your mind, it's easier for you to do it."

"does it always happen when we...?"

"when we have sex...?" logan chuckles as you hide yourself in his chest. you nod. "no. over time you've found ways to control it. sometimes if we need more time, you might manipulate it."

"future me sounds cool." you giggle, lifting up to look at him. "how do we meet?"

"i can't tell you that." he smiles.

"well, then where are you in this timeline? how can i meet you sooner?"

"i'm not a very good man during this time, baby. you'll meet me when the time is right."

"what if you don't want me then? how do you know we will still get together?"

logan looks down at your pouty lips, swiping his thumb across it.

"i'll always come back for you. no matter the timeline or where we are in life; i'll find you again."

"promise?"

"i promise you, sweetheart. don't worry that beautiful mind of yours." he assures, kissing the tear strolling down your cheek.

logan reaches down and kisses you tenderly, pulling you out of the time freeze. suddenly the door swings open on the two of you. thank god, logan had quick reflexes, pulling your dress back down to cover you.

charles calls your name then asks, "what are you doing?"

"it's okay, he's my husband."

a loud laugh escapes logan at your lovey dovey tone, almost making hank and charles eyes fall out of their heads. you couldn't wait to meet logan again in the future.