peachidin

Latest Posts by peachidin

writing is hard but coming up with a cunty title and catchy summary will slay even god's strongest soldier

MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU!!!! Created by George Lucas in/sp

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

it may take me a month to put out a chapter but at least im not using ai to write it.

IT MAY TAKE ME A MONTH TO PUT OUT A CHAPTER BUT AT LEAST IM NOT USING AI TO WRITE IT

picking up the pieces

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : hurt/comfort, crying, reverse comfort (kinda), not proofread, neighbour!frank, established relationship, petnames summary : frank’s self-deprecating comments finally get to you wc : 2.2k a/n : guys i’m #alive and #thriving don’t worry stop asking me if i’ve died thank you though🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

not when he barely said a word for the first three months you lived next to him. not when you figured out pretty quick that he came home with bruises that didn’t match the kind of work he’d told you he did. not when you’d catch him sitting on the front stoop, covered in sawdust or blood or both, breathing like the air hurt.

but somehow it just… happened.

he came over once because you left a note on his door. hey - package came to mine by mistake. he looked confused when he knocked, like he didn’t think you’d actually write something so simple. you watched him glance at the box, then back at you, and you could tell from the way he cleared his throat that he didn’t know how to say thanks.

after that, he started showing up more.

bringing your mail. checking on the leaky faucet you mentioned offhandedly. standing a little closer each time, like he didn’t want to leave.

then one night, you knocked on his door.

you were crying, and you didn’t say why. just said can i come in? and he nodded, stepping aside without asking anything. he held you all night and didn’t ask a single question. but the next morning, he made coffee and you found out he took his black, no sugar. you told him that was insane and he just said, “you’re insane,” with the ghost of a smile. and from that point on, it was… different.

you kissed him two weeks later. he kissed you like he’d been waiting years.

it’d been eight months since that first night. eight months of quiet dinners, long showers, fingers laced tight under the covers, and frank’s body curled protectively around yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world.

right now, you’re curled up in his lap. it’s raining outside, soft and steady, and frank’s got one hand on your thigh, his thumb dragging slow lines across your skin. the tv’s playing something neither of you are really watching.

he smells like soap. like flannel and heat and something that always makes your stomach flip.

“you know,” you murmur, “you could stand to take a compliment once in a while.”

his thumb stills. “i take ‘em.”

“you deflect them.”

“same thing.”

you glance up at him, turning to rest your cheek against his chest. “i said you were a good man earlier and you said ‘debatable.’ what even is that?”

frank snorts softly. “it’s honesty.”

you make a face, nudge his ribs with your elbow. “you saved that guy last week. the one in the alley? you didn't even know him.”

“guy was gettin’ his ass handed to him by two meth-heads. it ain't that deep.”

you push yourself up a little, looking at him. “yeah, well you didn’t have to get involved. but you always do. because that’s just who you are.”

he looks at you then. just for a beat. his face unreadable.

“…maybe i just like pickin’ fights,” he says finally. there’s a rough edge to his voice, but it’s not angry. more like resigned.

you laugh softly. “okay, tough guy. sure.”

he grunts. “’s the truth.”

you lean in, brushing a kiss to his jaw, then nuzzle into the space under his arm again. “you’re good, frank. whether you believe it or not.”

he mutters, almost to himself, “i’m just a mess, sweetheart. you’re gonna get tired of picking up the pieces.”

you freeze.

it’s not that what he said is cruel. it’s not even new - he’s done this before, poked at himself like he’s just some walking mess. but tonight, it lands different. heavier. sharper.

you don’t answer. just stay still, curled against him, eyes open and fixed on nothing.

frank doesn’t notice at first. his hand moves back to your thigh, slow and steady, but something about your silence must click. eventually, he tilts his head down, squinting at you in the dim light.

“…hey.”

you blink.

“what?” your voice is too soft, too tight.

“you okay?”

“yeah.” you try to smile, to brush it off. but it’s barely there, and your eyes won’t meet his.

frank shifts a little to get a better look at you. the arm around your back pulls you closer, like he’s anchoring you to him. “what’s goin’ on in that head?”

you shake your head. “nothing. just… tired, i guess.”

he studies you for a second, then lifts a hand and brushes your hair gently behind your ear. “you don’t look tired.”

you glance at him for half a second before looking away again. it’s too much. he’s too much.

because he’s here. breathing and warm and solid beside you. and somehow, even after everything, he still doesn’t understand what it means when you look at him and say you’re good.

you press your face into his shoulder like you can hide there.

but the tears are already coming.

you try to turn your face further away, but you’re curled toward him, wrapped up in him - there’s nowhere to go. your hand comes up to your cheek instinctively, wiping the first tear before he can see, but you know he does.

you feel his whole body shift slightly.

“baby,” he says, low. confused.

you shake your head again, voice trembling. “it’s nothing.”

he leans forward just a bit, trying to see your face. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing, i swear - i just…” your throat closes up. you press your lips together and try to breathe through your nose, but it doesn’t work. your shoulders shake. “god, i don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

his hand cups your jaw suddenly, tilting your face gently toward him.

“hey,” he says again, firmer. “sweetheart. look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are glassy, lashes wet, cheeks red. you feel stupid. overly sensitive. like you’ve just ruined the softest moment with your own mess.

but he’s holding your face like you’re glass. like you’re made of something precious.

you blink up at him and your voice breaks.

“i just - i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

frank’s lips part slightly. he doesn’t speak. his thumb brushes under your eye, catching the tear that slips down.

you exhale shakily, a little embarrassed now that it’s all out in the open.

“you say stuff like that,” you whisper, “like you’re some kind of monster. like you’re not good. and it just - it kills me. because you’re… you’re everything to me. you know that?”

his brows furrow. he looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

“…i don’t - ”

“i know you’ve been through hell. i know you think all that stuff ruined you. but it didn’t. not to me.” you swallow hard. “you love me like no one ever has. you take care of me. you make me feel safe. like i can breathe.”

your voice cracks again and frank just moves, pulling you into his lap before you can say another word.

he wraps both arms around you and holds you tight against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head like you might fall apart if he lets go.

“shh, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “c’mere. i got you.”

you bury your face into his neck and let yourself cry, finally giving in. it’s not loud. just quiet, broken little gasps against his skin as your fingers clutch the back of his shirt.

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t say anything else for a long time.

just rocks you slightly, thumb tracing slow circles into your spine.

when your breathing finally evens out, he shifts just enough to look down at you. you don’t pull back. you stay pressed to him, arms tight around his waist.

“…you sure you ain’t got me mixed up with somebody else?” he says quietly.

you lift your head, watery eyes searching his face. “frank,” you whine.

he gives a soft sigh, like he already knows what you’re about to say but needed to hear it anyway.

“you’re mine,” you whisper. “you’re so good to me. you don’t have to be perfect, you just have to stay.”

he cups your face again and kisses your forehead. not rushed. not distracting. just gentle, grounding. and then another kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your mouth - slow and soft and deep.

when he finally pulls back, he’s looking at you like maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to believe it.

“you ain’t goin’ anywhere either,” he says. “you hear me?”

you nod. your hand slides up to rest on the back of his neck. “i’m right here.”

“yeah you are.”

he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

and for a long time, the only sound in the room is the rain outside and the soft hum of his breath against your skin.

the rain’s stopped by morning. the quiet hum of the house is almost peaceful, except for the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen and the distant chirp of birds outside the window. you’re curled up in the same spot you were last night, still wrapped in the warmth of frank’s body. the bed’s slightly colder now where his body had been, but you feel tethered to him in a way that’s grounding, safe.

he’s already up when you open your eyes, the soft scrape of the kitchen chair against the floor letting you know he's busy. you don’t rush to get up, letting yourself linger in the comfort of the bed, still feeling the traces of his arms around you. the scent of coffee wafts into the room, pulling you from your hazy morning thoughts.

frank appears in the doorway a few moments later, coffee in hand. his hair’s a little tousled, and he’s wearing that worn, grey t-shirt of his you love. the sight of him makes your heart stutter in a way you still haven’t gotten used to. 

he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his gaze soft and steady as it meets yours. there’s a quiet understanding between you, something built from the words left unsaid last night, from the vulnerability you shared. there’s a gentleness to his presence now, like he’s giving you space to breathe without making you feel like you have to speak.

after a moment, he walks over and sets the coffee down on the nightstand, then sits down next to you, the bed creaking under his weight.

you shift slightly, leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it feels like everything, like the world is aligning in these quiet moments. there’s a peace here, one that’s fragile but steady.

he picks up his mug, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “ain’t used to somebody cryin’ over me and stickin’ around,” he mutters, voice low. the words aren’t heavy, but they’re raw - like he’s still figuring out what it means for someone to care that much.

you don’t answer right away, just let yourself settle deeper into his side, the warmth of his body grounding you, making everything feel a little less sharp. you close your eyes for a moment, feeling the beat of his heart against your cheek, the weight of his arm around your shoulders.

finally, you speak, your voice soft but steady. “you don’t have to get used to it. i’m not going anywhere.” 

his hand brushes against your hair, gentle and comforting, before he lets it rest on your shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles. “yeah?” he asks, his voice almost tentative, like he’s still unsure if this is real.

“yeah,” you whisper, barely more than a breath. “i’m here. always.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. you don’t need to. the quiet fills the space between you, wrapping around you both like a blanket. it’s comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t feel heavy, but full of understanding. full of trust.

you finally pull back just enough to look at him, meeting his gaze. there’s a softness in his eyes now, a flicker of something you haven’t seen before - something like hope, quiet but steady.

he looks at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if he can believe it. then he sighs, almost to himself, and leans down to kiss the top of your head, slow and tender.

the rain’s long gone, and outside, the sky’s starting to clear, the sun creeping in. but in here, in this quiet moment with him, everything feels like it’s finally falling into place.

you feel his breath against your skin as he holds you, his arms strong but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he lets go. but you don’t need to be held that tight, not anymore. you’re grounded now, by him, by this quiet, simple love.

the morning moves slowly, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself breathe, really breathe, without the weight of everything else hanging over you. with frank, it’s different.

🛍️FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

Ohhhhh I ate this up fr!

fall with me {frank castle}

synopsis: short n sweet. the one where frank meets a girl at a bar, and agrees to go home with her.

warnings: none! cotton candy clouds of fluff ahead, folks.

“Tonight's the night, pal. I can feel it.” 

“Yeah? Can you feel this?” Frank scowls around the rim of his beer bottle and flips David the bird. 

“I won't take that personally, Frank,” He sniffs before taking a gulp from his own bottle. “Even though I think you'd prefer it if I did.” 

Frank waves him off with a scoff and mumbles, “What's your fixation with me gettin’ laid, anyway?”

David's blue eyes widen before he elicits a breathless guffaw. “It's hardly a fixation, Frank. Consider it a genuine concern for your well-being, cause I can't even imagine the state of your balls right now.” 

“Jesus,” He lets out an exasperated laugh and shakes his head. “‘Fuck outta here, Lieberman.” 

The younger man laughs along with him, before taking another drag from his bottle and shrugging. “On a purely self-indulgent note, I’m hoping it'll turn you into a less grumpy bastard.” 

Frank's only response to that is a muffled grunt. 

“Besides,” He shrugs. “I hate to break it to you, Frank, but you could really benefit from a little joy every now and then.” 

David Lieberman was never someone he assumed would take a permanent position in his life, so his words hit him in a surprising way. Sharing a beer with him now, it’s obvious that he's one of a scarce handful of people who have his back in every sense of the word. 

“And like, let’s be real for a second,” David clears his throat and signals to the bartender for another beer. “If you can make out with Sarah, talking to any pretty lady here isn’t going to be too much of a stretch.” 

Frank’s eyes fall shut before he utters a string of hoarse curse words. He wonders briefly if David’ll ever let him forget it, and then figures he probably won’t. He certainly wouldn’t if it were Maria. A surge of grief passes over him like a rain cloud on a sunny day, and when his eyes open again, David is pointing very indiscreetly to someone at the other end of the bar. 

“Someone like her, for instance.” 

Frank huffs before turning around to view the poor soul in which David has so glaringly singled out and wants to wave him off, but he’s dumbstruck by the mere sight of her. She’s wearing what can only be described as a hideous cowboy hat; some sort of leopard print number with gold stars and a pair of well-worn fire-engine red cowboy boots. She's laughing loud and genuinely with a small group of her friends, and he's inexplicably wondering what it would feel like to be the cause of that laughter when she glances up at him as if hearing his thoughts. He licks his lips and quickly averts his gaze. 

“Go up and talk to her,” David smirks. “I double-dog dare you.” 

Frank rolls his eyes. “Christ, what is this? Middle school?” 

He's about to let David have more of a piece of his mind when the piercing sound of microphone feedback splits the chaotic din of the bar in half, drawing his attention to the makeshift stage upfront.

A man leans into the microphone and taps it twice to check that it's in good working order before announcing, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to karaoke night at Rudy's. First up tonight is a first-timer who wants to apologize in advance if she-" He leans forward, squinting at the paper in his grasp and laughs. “- Who wants to apologize in advance if she sucks. Please put your hands together for our first guest!” 

Frank chances a glance back at the cowgirl at the bar and notices she's gone, but that her friends are creating uproarious applause for her on the stage. She lifts a hand to shield herself from the glaring spotlight and grins. 

“Howdy, y'all. Here goes nothin’.” She tilts her head to the side and winks at someone off stage and the opening double bass notes to Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots Are Made For Walkin’ crackle to life, filling up every space of the bar with glorious sixties nostalgia. 

Frank's powerless to wipe the smile from his face as he watches her dance around the stage. Despite her lacking any semblance of natural grace, she commands presence from the small crowd before her, and like a moth to a flame, he finds himself drawn to her light.

You keep playin' where you shouldn't be playin'

And you keep thinking that you'll never get burnt, ha!

I've just found me a brand new box of matches, yeah

And what he knows you ain't had time to learn

More than anything, he can tell she's having the time of her life up there. She seems bolstered by the raucous cheering from her friends, but he gets the feeling that even if she were alone, she’d be the same way.

“Are ya ready boots?” She simpers into the microphone. “Start walkin’!” 

She twirls around the stage, kicking her boots (entirely out of time) to the finishing notes. When the song ends, she bows so low that her hat falls from her head, and in one swift motion, she's upright again, fastening it back on with a cheeky grin. Frank’s gaze follows her as she jumps from the stage into the open arms of her cheering friends. 

“Well that was unexpectedly charming,” David laughs. “Consider me unexpectedly charmed.” 

Frank glances back at him and nods his head. “Yeah, me too.” 

“You should buy her a drink, Frank.” 

David's singsong tone itches just beneath the surface of his skin, and causes him to roll his eyes. “How did I know that was comin’, huh?” He finishes off the rest of his beer, and sets his bottle back against the scarred wooden countertop with a resounding clank. “I got no business buyin’ her anything, Lieberman. She can take care of herself. She’d probably tell me to go pound sand if I offered.” 

He’s expecting a smart-ass remark from the man next to him, but all he gets is silence, and a growing smirk. 

“What?”

Someone clears their throat behind him.

“My friends and I are celebrating tonight. Can we buy you two a drink?” 

Frank swivels around on his stool, he's so close to her that he can smell the floral scent of her perfume on her skin, and it makes him slightly lightheaded. 

David sighs dramatically and rises from the bar stool, patting the back pocket of his jeans to check that his wallet is still there.

“While I would love nothing more than to tie off a couple more cold ones, my kid's got a piano recital at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow morning,” he turns to Frank. “You still coming, right?” 

Frank nods. “Wouldn't miss it.” 

David shoots him a thumbs-up, and then turns to grin at the cowgirl. “Keep on yeehawin’ in the free world, lil' lady.” 

That makes her laugh, and she salutes him as he turns his back to leave. 

“So, what'll it be then?” She asks, once they're alone.

Frank clears his throat, shakes his head. “Ah, I'm okay, thanks. Nothin' more for me.” 

She looks momentarily crestfallen. 

Frank clears his throat again and tilts his head toward the handsome young man at the other end of the bar. “Why do you wanna buy me a drink, huh? He looks like he could use one.” 

She wedges her bottom lip between her teeth and shrugs. “Because, he wasn't looking at me up there the way you were.” 

Frank doesn't blush often, and thanks a higher being that David's no longer there because he would've noticed it immediately, and Frank would've never heard the end of it. 

“Why are you celebrating tonight?” He asks, by way of changing the subject. 

“My friends bet me that I wouldn't get up in full western attire and do karaoke tonight.” 

A gruff laugh erupts from Frank. “You sure proved them wrong. You were uh… pretty great up there.” 

Despite the minimal lighting in the bar, Frank can clearly see the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks and he chokes back a smile at the notion that he caused it.

“I definitely was not, but it's very kind of you to say so.” 

Silence settles between the two of them before she plucks up enough courage to ask for his name, and he hesitates a beat before telling her. 

“Frank Castle,” she savors the combination of his letters on her tongue, and he decides right then and there that his name sounds infinitely better when she's saying it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Frank.” 

A smile dances on his lips. “Pleasure’s all mine, ma'am.” 

It's quiet between them before she asks, “Well if you won't let me buy you a drink here, will you at least let me make you one at my place?” 

He's taken aback by her audacity, and he allows himself a moment to briefly ponder what that drink could end up entailing, while also ignoring the sudden spike in his heart rate.

“Not to brag, but I do make a mean redneck margarita.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, as if the mere mention of mountain dew and jose cuervo could sway his decision her way, and Frank can't help laughing at that. 

When the dust eventually settles, he very quietly assures her that she does not want to go home with him; he stops himself just short of saying - I'm bad news bears, kid. He lets the silence linger a while longer before shrugging. “Besides, I'm sure your friends aren't done galavanting around for the evening.” 

She shakes her head, adamantly. “They aren’t. But I'm done for the night. Maybe for a while, even, and I can promise you that.” 

Any excuse he can think of crumbles entirely when David's mug appears to him, his words from earlier ringing through the confines of his mind like a bell.

At this point, what is there to lose?

“Alright,” He resigns. “Show me the way."

He spends the majority of the ride to her apartment convincing himself that there is no conceivable way the beautiful woman next to him wants him, so he’s a little surprised when she jumps out of the truck first, cocks her head to the side, and asks if he’s coming today or tomorrow. 

He shakes his head, and lets out a low, incredulous laugh before eventually nodding. “Right behind ya.” 

Frank follows her into her apartment, and waits patiently while she flicks on a couple of lamps which bathe her quaint space in a soft, orange glow. She sets her purse down on the coffee table and falls back against the wall next to her expansive bay window with a soft sigh.

Taking a steadying breath, she eyes him and confesses that she doesn’t make a habit of doing these kinds of things.

Frank keeps his distance and shrugs. “Neither do I." 

His heart pounds harder the longer they gaze at each other, and the irony that it doesn’t do that nearly as intensely when he punishes, isn’t lost on him.  

“Will you do me a favour, Frank?” She asks. 

He swallows hard; knows they're quickly approaching a precipice, of which there can be no turning back.

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Come here and kiss me.” 

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Closing the distance between them in a couple of strides, he takes her face in his hands, and kisses her. It’s an ornate push-and-pull that could go on until he takes his last, rasping breath, as far as he's concerned. He’s positive he could get drunk on the sheer taste of her; all spearmint gum, and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, and it only succeeds in making him hunger for more of her. He comes up for air first, resting his forehead against hers while he tries - in vain - to regulate his breathing. 

“Was that alright?” His voice is all gravel and shattered glass as he brushes the calloused pad of his thumb over the rounded curve of her warm cheek and leans forward to kiss it. He doesn’t realize how much he’s missed doing that small thing until he has the pleasure of doing it to her.

“Yeah,” she whispers, and reaches down to take his hand. “Come with me, Frank.” 

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he steps past the threshold of her bedroom door, and releases a pent-up rush of air. While she flicks on the lamp beside her bed, Frank wonders how on earth it’s possible that it feels like he’s known her for years, instead of a mere hour.  

“I need another favour from you.” 

He swallows. “Name it, Boots.” 

“Will you lie down with me for a spell? I’m entirely out of practice with this sort of thing.” 

Frank agrees, and crawls into bed beside her, turning so that they’re nearly nose-to-nose.

“We don’t gotta do anything, you know.” 

She stifles a yawn. “Oh no, we are. And it’s going to be nothing short of mind-blowing when we do.” 

Frank laughs. “Alright, then.” 

It’s quiet in her room, the only other muffled sounds are that of the city outside her window. 

Her fingers dance across the chiseled line of his jaw, and down his neck to the gold chain around it. A lump swells in the hollow of his throat as he waits for her to ask about it.

“There’s a story here.” She whispers, tracing the warm metal of his wedding band.

Frank nods. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” 

He clears his throat; has a desire to be honest with her, even though he really doesn’t have to, and maybe shouldn’t. 

“I had a wife, and kids. They’re uh… they’re gone.” 

He’s stopped saying he lost them, because it’s not as if he could ever find them again, no matter how badly he wants to sometimes. 

“I’m sorry.” She swallows. 

Frank brushes a stray piece of hair from her eyes, his voice barely above a whisper when he tells her he's been 'workin’ on making my peace with it.'

“How’s that going?” She asks. 

He manages a small shrug. “Some days are better than others.” 

Like earlier in the evening, the silence that settles between them isn't uncomfortable, and he reckons it’s the kind of silence he could live in for the rest of his days.

She traces a fingertip down the bridge of his crooked nose and smiles. “This is a good nose, Frank. I like this nose.” 

His frown morphs into a curved smile. “You’d be the first, Boots.” 

“Boots, huh?” She yawns. 

He nods. “On account of the ones you had on earlier. And the song.” 

“And the song,” She hums. “It's a classic.” 

“Sure is.” Frank agrees. 

“I might fall asleep on you,” She warns. “Will you still be here when I wake up?” 

Frank lifts her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to each of her knuckles. “If that’s what you want.” 

“It is.” She smiles at him once more before her eyes close for good, and he feels a block of ice the size of Jersey chip away from his left ventricle. 

“Sweet dreams, Boots.” 

Be My Baby

Summary: Frank takes you on a weekend trip to his cabin after you have a rough week at work. Your first stop? The enormous bathtub with enough room for soooo many activities.

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.8k

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a/n: hello! i'm back! my personal life is still a wreck but i missed writing for frank. this is probably the most self indulgent fic i've ever written lol it is quite literally the most ooey-gooey romantic plot before the softest smut imaginable. what can i say? i'm a hoe for soft frank. enjoy & thank you to the nonnie that requested something similar to this!

warnings: softest smut imaginable, fluff to the max, 'i'm an asshole to everyone except you' trope, a teensy little bit of crybaby reader if you squint, frank would burn the world for reader, reader is sOoOoO in love with frank (who isn't??), they're both a little wrapped up in each other's world and don't give a shit about what's happening outside of them type of vibes, pet names, etc.

From what you had seen, Frank’s cabin was cozy and warm, but since your arrival half an hour ago, you’d only had the luxury of soaking in the tub while Frank took care of unloading the car. He’d insisted on doing it alone, claiming his girl shouldn’t have to lift a finger for anything, and honestly after the week you’d had, you were temporarily glad he was as stubborn as a mule. You were sure that sentiment would fade the next time you were feeling bratty, but for now, you tried your best to relax and forget what an awful week it had been at work.

The heat of the bath water sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine, enticing a low groan from your lips. Sinking further into the water, you realized just how big the tub was. It stretched at least six feet across and was almost deep enough to stand, clearly a custom made feature of the cabin. You supposed Frank probably needs the room, being as large a man as he is. Still, it felt like you were in a luxurious hot tub, rather than a regular bathtub.

“There’s a button to turn on the jets if you want ‘em.”

Frank’s gentle voice carried across the bathroom, startling you from your relaxed state. You hadn’t even heard him come in. You turned, eyeing his powerful figure as he made his way toward you and sat on the edge of the tub. It was easy to get lost in the way he moved, and you tried your best to not stare at the muscles straining against the black longsleeve he was wearing.

“You okay?” He asked, reaching out to softly run his knuckles along the curve of your damp cheek. He was always gentle with you, but the desire to take care of you was even more present in his eyes than usual. It really had been a shitty week.

“This place is amazing.” You said in awe, turning your face away to hide your grin. His hand, already knowing what you were trying to do, softly gripped your jaw and turned it back to face him.

“You barely saw the place.” He chuckled.

“Whose fault is that?” You raised an eyebrow at him and sat up, fully exposing your bare chest to him. His eyes briefly flicked down to your nipples, hardening as the cool air touched them, before returning his gaze upwards. “Get in. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

He nodded and stood, but began walking in the opposite direction of the bath. You furrowed your brow, watching him tug his shirt off and throw it on the counter. When he saw your expression, he grinned.

“Hang on. I brought something for you.”

“What do you mean?” You called after him, but he was already moving again.

He disappeared through the doorway, generating even more confusion, before returning with an assembly of things tucked under his arms. You watched as he worked his way around the room, placing various objects here and there until finally he flicked off the lights and turned to face you again.

The room was now aglow with flickering candle light, coating Frank’s looming figure in a warm haze. He’d gone for mostly unscented, knowing how strong smells could give you headaches, but had left in a few lavender candles because he knew how much it relaxed you. He also managed to sneak an entire bottle of champagne into the car without you noticing, of which he was pouring into two flutes. You blinked back tears as he handed you your glass, unable to express how warm your chest felt at the effort he was putting in to make you feel better.

“Frank.” You murmured, smiling bashfully, “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” 

“‘s what you deserve.” He shrugged, stepping out of the rest of his clothes. 

He sank into the tub next to you, tugging your body against his in a swift motion. He sat with his back against the edge, allowing you to easily settle your knees on either side of his thighs, facing him in the dim room. You sat just a little taller than him at this angle - chest pressed against his warm skin, arms resting on his broad shoulders - and God, he looked divine. The drive had taken a few hours, just long enough for the stubble to return to his cheeks after this morning’s shave, giving him a rugged look that you thought was just so handsome. You were unable to resist the temptation of running your nails over it in a soft scratch, eliciting a groan from deep in Frank’s chest. The rumble reverberated through your chest as you pressed yourself fully against him, seeking more of his affection. He tugged your head down onto his shoulder and began running his fingers along the base of your neck in a soothing pattern.

“You never answered my question earlier.” He murmured, resting his jaw against your head. “You okay, sweet girl?”

You sighed, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment as you mulled over your feelings. You were a sensitive soul to begin with, and your boss had been on edge all morning when he finally snapped at you for something you had no control over, which ultimately had you tearing up for the rest of the day. When you’d walked through the door crying, Frank’s eyes flashed violently between anger at your boss and sympathy for you. The sympathy had won, and now you were in a beautiful cabin in upstate New York, wrapped in his strong arms. Still, you weren’t sure how you were going to deal with your boss’ temper when you returned to work on Monday.

“I don’t know,” you finally replied, shrugging, “Can you ask me again later?”

You felt his cheeks widen into a small grin. He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Don’t think I won’t.” He teased, calling you on your avoidant tendencies before you could even notice them yourself.

“How long have you had this place?” You wondered, nuzzling into his heated skin.

“I bought it a few months after Maria and the kids.” He said softly, almost whispering when he had to relay his wife’s name aloud. “Thought maybe I was done with the city. Change can be good, ya’ know?”

“But you came back.” You lifted your head from his shoulder so you could look him in the eyes. 

“But I came back.” He parroted, nodding. “And then I met you.”

“And you stayed.” You finished for him.

“Of course I stayed. Couldn’t leave you behind, sweet girl. ‘ve been sweet on you since the day I met you.”

This was true. From the moment you’d met, he’d been nothing but gentle and kind toward you. You had no idea, of course, that this type of behavior was incredibly far away from Frank Castle’s usual attitude until you’d met Matt Murdock, who was so shocked at Frank’s subdued personality and general softness around you that Frank had to physically close Matt’s gaping jaw for him.

“But you never sold the place?” You questioned.

“I figured we might need somewhere to run away to every once in a while. Are you mad that I didn’t tell you about it before today? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

For a moment, he looked genuinely worried that he might’ve upset you.

“How could I be mad when I’m sitting in this enormous tub, surrounded by candles and champagne, pressed up against the man of my dreams?”

He smiled then, and you could tell it was a genuine smile because of the way his cheeks dimpled at the corner of his laugh lines. It was an award winning smile, you thought. You gently set the empty champagne glasses on the edge of the tub before cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“My Frankie,” you mumbled, running your thumbs across his cheekbones, “What would I do without you?”

You really hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but every time you looked at him, you felt yourself being pulled closer and closer to him. His compassion and kindness toward you, even after everything he’d been through, was something you couldn’t avoid leaning into. All your life you’d been taking care of others, and finally, here was someone begging to take care of you.

“You don’t have to worry about that, okay? ’m here to stay.” He mumbled, bringing the pads of your fingertips to his lips for individual, soft kisses. “I love you, and ‘m gonna take care of you forever.”

Tears welled in your eyes as an overwhelming rush of emotion passed over you. In your arms was a man that should’ve been bitter and angry at the world around him. He had earned the right to become spiteful and hardened, and no one could fault him for that. And yet - and yet - in your arms was a man that loved you with his entire being. Who understood you at your core, saw the dark parts of you, and loved those parts even more. Who was soft for no one but you. Who you loved, too.

A tear slid down your cheek as you kissed him, long and slow and sensual because you wanted nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and never let go. He smiled into the kiss, cradling your head with his beautiful, calloused hands. It wasn’t enough. You needed his gentle touch everywhere. Pressing yourself against him, you felt yourself sliding along his achingly hard cock, raising the already warm temperature in the room to searing. Heat pulsed between your legs, begging to be touched.

“My pretty girl,” he mumbled against your lips, kissing the corner of your mouth before following the curve of your jawline to your neck, “My pretty, sensitive girl.”

The praise made your head swim. You rocked your hips again, sliding along his length until you were hovering directly over him, waiting for the go ahead to sink down. He grunted, pressing open mouthed kisses up your throat before coaxing your hips lower and lower. You gasped when he finally pushed into you, and Frank took the opportunity to lick the inside of your gaping mouth as he did so. You shuttered against him, wanting everything he had to offer and more.

“P-please, Frankie.” You murmured, arching your back as he bucked his hips upwards.

“Please what, sweetheart?” He breathed, wrapping one of his enormous hands around the back of your head, forcing you to look down at him as you rode him. His other arm was wrapped around your torso, tugging your hips forward and back to stimulate your clit against the base of his cock. It was such an erotic way to be held that you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. He leaned his head against your forehead and kissed the tears that made their way down your flushed skin. “Tell me, sweet girl.”

“I l-love you.” You purred, stuttering as he made his way down your body, kissing everywhere he could reach. When he got to your pebbled nipples, you sucked in a sharp breath. He knew exactly how to get you off, and he was staring right at them.

“I love you too, pretty girl.” He grinned and pressed a chaste kiss to each of your nipples, eliciting a pornographic moan from deep in your chest. 

He continued to push and pull your hips in a steady rhythm, grinding your clit against his pelvis as you bounced up and down his length. Slowly, in a teasing manner that had a new wave of fresh, needy tears streaming down your cheeks, he leaned forward and circled his tongue around the sensitive nub. You whined with impatience as he pulled away, only to offer the same kitten lick to your other breast. You knew he would take care of you like he always did, but his teasing was making your entire body tremble with anticipation. 

“I know, I know,” he cooed, kissing the valley between your breasts, “‘t’s okay, baby. Be patient. I’ll take care of you.”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as you let out a mewl. You felt the hand Frank had been using to hold your head steady loosen its grip, and suddenly, he was softly wiping the tears away from under your eyes with his thumbs.

“You’re doing so good for me, bunny.” He murmured, and you very nearly came at the pet name he loved to praise you with. “‘m gonna make you feel real good, okay?”

“Please,” you begged, digging your fingers into his shoulders, “Need you.”

That was all it took for Frank to finally snap. In one swift motion, he wrapped his lips around your breast and began to run his tongue across your sensitive nipple. His hand traveled from cradling your cheek to rubbing small, sloppy circles around your pulsing clit. You keened, overcome with so much pleasure that you felt your entire body trembling against Frank’s.

The bathroom was big enough for your soft moans to echo, and other than the sloshing of the bath water, that was the sound Frank heard as you came apart on top of him. Your head was spinning as the heat in your gut finally found its release, uncoiling in waves of overwhelming pleasure that sent you reeling. 

“That’s it,” he breathed, “Just like that, pretty girl. You’re so good for me, baby.”

His fingers hadn’t stopped circling your clit. You were quickly growing overstimulated and conflicted, wanting nothing more than to keep riding him while also needing to get away from his dexterous and sinful fingers. He watched you for a moment, in awe - the way your lips parted every time a moan slipped out of your mouth, the heaving of your chest as your heart rate tried and failed to return to normal, the intense trembling of your limbs every time he circled your clit. He wasn’t worthy. He knew that. He didn’t care. He’d take care of you for as long as you’d let him, and he’d enjoy every second of it.

“F-Frankie,” you stuttered in between heaving breaths, “I can’t- I’m- It’s sensitive.”

“Shh, sh, sh, sh, I know, baby. I know,” he cooed, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone and up your neck, “Can you give me one more, bunny? Be good and give me one more.”

You shuttered against him, resting your forehead against his and breathing out a sultry whine. He continued his onslaught of kisses along your jawline, following the upward curve of your chin until his lips were on yours again. His agile tongue swept into your mouth mid-moan, sending heat into your already molten core.

“Wanna feel you come around me again, baby.” He groaned and tightened his hold around your torso, sweeping his tongue along your bottom lip before capturing your mouth in his again. 

He had brought you to the brink again already. You squeezed around him, earning a rare groan from Frank. The usually stoic and quiet man let out another sinful moan when you arched your back and squeezed again. He was as close as you were to the edge, and God, the tension was palpable. 

Finally, in a moment of pure bliss, he nipped at your bottom lip and let out a soft, barely there whimper, which sent you careening off the edge and into oblivion. You could feel yourself clenching around him as you came, but your head had been sent straight to a euphoric haze. Your heart thundered in your chest as Frank wrapped his arms around your torso and held you tight against his chest, coming inside your sensitive, throbbing pussy. 

You’d both worked yourselves into a haze, high off each other’s touch. The comedown was gentle and warm - soft caresses of each other’s skin, chaste kisses pressed to collarbones and fingertips, thundering heartbeats slowing in unison. The bath water was surprisingly still warm, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle into Frank’s chest with languorous, droopy eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, running his fingers up the length of your spine.

You nodded into his chest, sighing. “I’m perfect.”

“‘m glad.” He responded, kissing your forehead lightly. “‘m sorry you had such a rough week.”

“I’m not.” You giggled, glancing around at the luxurious bathtub you were in. “This place is like a dream.”

He held you tighter against him, resting his chin on your head before responding. 

“You don’t know the half of it, pretty girl.”

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𝓓ISTANCE.

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : slightly suggestive, implied age gap, super light barely there angst, implied size diff, fluff, established relationship au, petnames summary : you miss your boyfriend more than anything, even though he’s currently sitting right next to you wc : 1.7k

the apartment felt too big, even with frank sitting just a few feet away. he was at the kitchen table, leaned back in one of the rickety chairs, his broad shoulders and solid frame making the furniture look almost laughably small. he was nursing a beer, gaze trained out the window like there was something out there worth watching.  

but you weren’t looking out the window. you were watching him, the way his forearm flexed when he tipped the bottle to his lips, the way his jaw ticked as he thought about whatever was running through that head of his.  

frank castle, in all his quiet intensity, was here. but for some reason, it felt like he wasn’t, and you hated it more than anything.

“are you all good over there?” you asked, breaking the silence.  

he didn’t turn to look at you, but his lips twitched at the sound of your voice. “yeah, baby, m’fine. just thinkin’.”  

“you’ve been thinking all day,” you mumbled begrudgingly, leaning against the couch and crossing your arms.  

this time, he did glance at you, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “what’s wrong?”  

“nothing.” you bit your lip, shifting under his gaze, feeling the pout start to form on your lips. the truth was, you missed him - his touch, his warmth, the way he always made you feel so safe without even trying. but saying that out loud felt silly, especially when he was right there.  

frank, however, didn’t let much slide. “don’t look like nothin’,” he said, setting the bottle down and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”  

you hesitated, cheeks warming under his scrutiny. “it’s dumb.”  

“you know i don’t care if it’s dumb, sweetheart,” he said, his tone softening. “what‘s the matter?”  

you huffed, feeling a little ridiculous but knowing he wasn’t going to let it go. “i just… really miss you, i guess.”  

frank frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “miss me? i’m right here.”  

“i know,” you said quickly, looking away, feeling small under the weight of his gaze. “it’s stupid, i know. but it’s like… you’re here, but you’re not really here, you know?”  

he didn’t say anything right away, and the silence made you fidget. finally, he let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm. “c’mere.”  

you blinked, looking back at him. “what?”  

“i said, c’mere,” he repeated, sitting back in his chair and holding out a hand. “if you miss me so much, then come over here, baby.”  

you felt your cheeks heat even more, but you didn’t hesitate. pushing yourself off the couch, you crossed the small space between you and slipped into his lap, your arms looping around his neck instinctively.  

frank’s hands settled on your hips, big and warm and steady, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief at the contact.  

“that better?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.  

“a little,” you admitted, resting your head against his shoulder.  

his chest rumbled with a quiet laugh, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “needy little thing, aren’t you?”  

“maybe,” you mumbled, nuzzling closer.  

“it’s cute,” he said, his hands moving up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. “you’re cute.”  

you tilted your head to look up at him, your heart fluttering at the softness in his gaze. “you think so?”  

“yeah,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a small smile. “damn adorable.”  

you felt a little ridiculous, sitting there in his lap, your arms tight around his neck like you couldn’t get close enough. but it didn’t matter. the way frank’s hands were soothing your back, the way he was looking at you, made everything else disappear. you weren’t aware of the world outside the two of you anymore, just the warmth of his chest beneath your cheek and the steady beat of his heart that you could feel through the thin fabric of his shirt.  

"so you really miss me, huh?" frank's voice was low, a bit rougher than usual, but there was no mocking in it. just something soft, something a little unexpected.  

you nodded, unable to say anything else. your fingers idly traced the line of his jaw, the stubble there a little rough against your touch. you could feel your heart race just being this close to him.  

“that’s cute,” frank murmured, his voice a little softer now as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. "you know you're all i need, right?"  

“yeah, but you’re still so far away sometimes,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his neck as you settled against him more comfortably, your body fitting into his with an ease that surprised you.  

he tensed for a moment, but it wasn’t from discomfort. he just seemed… caught off guard by your neediness, the way it pulled at something inside him. you could feel his breath hitch when you nuzzled closer, the tip of your nose brushing his collarbone.  

“it’s not far away,” he said softly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “just been distracted, sweetheart. i’m here now.”  

you melted a little more at his words, your heart swelling. "i know."  

frank leaned down, pressing his lips against your temple in a gentle kiss that made everything inside you feel light and soft. his large hands moved again, this time running up your back before settling at the back of your neck, fingers gently threading through your hair.  

“you get all soft like this, and i can’t resist,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.  

you laughed, the sound shaky but happy. “i’m not that soft.”  

“yeah, you are,” frank teased, his lips brushing against your jaw now as his fingers lightly massaged your scalp. “so damn cute. don’t know how you do it.”  

“do what?” you asked, your voice a little breathless from the closeness, the heat, the overwhelming affection in the air.  

“make me wanna kiss you all the time,” he said, the words soft but full of meaning. “make me wanna keep you close, make sure no one else gets the chance to take you from me.”  

you bit your lip, your hands sliding up to tug at the collar of his shirt, the movement a little desperate but filled with a need you couldn’t quite hide. “don’t want anyone else. just want you.”  

that made his chest rumble with a soft laugh, but this time, there was something undeniably tender in it. he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he looked at you with that soft intensity you rarely saw.  

“good. ‘cause i’m not lettin’ anyone take you,” he said, his lips curling into a smile.  

you could feel the playful energy crackling between you, even as it was all wrapped in something softer, something more intimate. you weren’t entirely sure how you’d gone from missing him to practically begging for his touch, but it didn’t matter. all that mattered was that he was here, pulling you in even closer, his hands a warm anchor against you.  

“come here,” frank murmured, his lips brushing yours in the faintest of kisses. “let me show you how much i want you too.”  

without waiting for a response, he tilted his head, his mouth capturing yours in a deeper kiss, more forceful than before, but still tender. it felt like an anchor, like a reassurance that this - whatever this was between you - was real.  

you let yourself fall into it, your hands roaming down his chest, feeling the solid muscles beneath his shirt, your fingers tracing the lines of his body like it was the first time you were allowed to touch him.  

his hands slid down your back, his grip tightening just enough to pull you even closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that had your heart skipping a beat.  

“you sure you’re alright?” frank asked against your lips, his voice heavy with desire but still laced with concern.  

“yeah,” you breathed out, your fingers tugging at the waistband of his pants, the simple touch making him exhale sharply. “i’m more than alright now.”  

he smirked against your mouth, pulling back just slightly to look at you. “thought you were just missin’ me, not all... this,” he teased, his voice low, filled with amusement and affection.  

“missed you,” you confirmed, voice thick with the need you could no longer hide. “missed everything. all of you.”  

there was something about the way he looked at you then, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. and you didn’t care how needy you seemed, didn’t care about anything other than him.  

frank brushed a lock of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering along your jaw. “you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, eyes soft as he looked down at you.  

you smiled, finally feeling the weight of his attention in the most perfect way. “only for you, frank.”  

his lips quirked up in that familiar, barely there smile, his hands pulling you in again. “damn right, sweetheart.”  

and just like that, you were lost in him again, caught up in the softness of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, the undeniable need to be close to each other - always.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

— love language

chapter summary: You and Matt are now dating, but you haven't told anyone. How long will it take your friends to notice?

word count: 3.4k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: i had this idea after writing goodnight n go (which is technically the first part, but you don't need to read it to understand this). anyways, here's a bunch of fluff

warnings/tags: after endgame but date is not specified, best friends to lovers, reader works at stark industries, matt is a cocky little shit, making out

Things moved on normally, the only thing that had changed in the past month was that you two weren’t just friends but dating.

You didn’t realize it, but you were already quite close to Matt.

Matt chuckled, his arm hooked around yours as the two of you waited in line for coffee. “Really?” He asked sarcastically.

“Ugh.” You elbowed him. “You’re an ass.”

“I’m just saying, what kinda friends have a toothbrush at their place?” He tapped his cane against the floor lightly.

You tilted your head. “Uhhh… pretty sure at one point Foggy had a toothbrush at your place.”

“That he never used other than one time.”

You scoffed, nudging his side again. "Still counts."

Matt smirked. "Does it?"

"Yes, because that means I’m not the weird one here. You just have a habit of letting people leave their stuff at your place."

Matt tilted his head slightly, feigning thoughtfulness. "Interesting theory. Except you’re the only person whose toothbrush has stayed."

You opened your mouth to argue, then paused, realizing he was right. "Okay, fine, but that’s only because—"

"You stay over all the time?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, squeezing your arm lightly before stepping forward to order.

---

Foggy opened the door to Matt’s office. “Hey, did you ever finish the deposition for the Martin case?”

Matt put down the fork to his Pad Thai, leaving it in the Styrofoam container. “Yeah, I did.”

You took the opportunity, snatching the fork from his container and stealing a bite of his Pad Thai. Matt huffed, but you could hear the amusement in it.

"Really?" he murmured.

"You put it down," you said, chewing. "That means it's fair game."

Foggy barely glanced up from the papers in his hand. "She’s got a point, Matt. You know the rules."

Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he blindly reached for the fork still in your grip. You dodged, keeping it out of his reach as you took another bite.

Foggy flipped a page. "Anyway, judge pushed the hearing back a week, which is good because it gives us time to go over the new witness statement. Karen’s taking a look at it now."

Matt hummed in acknowledgment, still trying to reclaim his fork. You smirked, shifting slightly in his lap. He retaliated by sliding an arm around your waist, pinning you in place.

"You gonna give that back?" he murmured.

"Maybe," you teased, holding it just out of reach.

Foggy sighed, still not looking up. "If you two devolve into a full-on fork battle, at least take it outside. I don’t need Pad Thai in the depositions."

Matt smirked, finally managing to grab the utensil from your grip. "Noted."

You huffed but didn’t move, resting your elbow on his shoulder instead. "Fine. I got what I wanted anyway."

Matt chuckled, shaking his head as he twirled the fork back into his food.

Foggy snapped the folder shut. "Alright, well, since you two seem busy, I’ll go see if Karen needs help."

"Let us know if you need anything," Matt said easily.

"Yeah, yeah," Foggy muttered, already halfway out the door.

---

Josie’s was loud and crowded as always, but at this point it was like a second home. You were telling Karen about an incident in the lab. “—Levi somehow hooks the string around the sprinkler and pulls. I get an alert on my tablet and rush over to the lab. Turns out, when he pulled the sprinkler, he also pulled part of the main water line. All for a tiny qubit that got stuck on the ceiling.”

Karen snorted, shaking her head. "Please tell me this guy got fired."

"Nope," you said, sipping your drink. "Because technically, it worked. The qubit came loose. He just, y’know… flooded half the floor in the process."

Karen groaned. "God, Stark Industries sounds like a nightmare sometimes."

"You have no idea," you muttered, setting your glass down.

As you kept talking, you felt your shirt strap slide down your shoulder. It wasn’t anything major, just a slight shift, but before you could adjust it yourself, Matt did it for you.

His hand found your shoulder with ease, fingers brushing your skin as he hooked the strap with two fingers and guided it back into place. It was quick, thoughtless, something he’d probably done a hundred times before without even realizing.

Karen barely blinked.

You didn’t think much of it either, continuing on. "Anyway, Levi tried to convince me it was an 'engineering breakthrough' and that 'technically' he proved a new method of remote retrieval—"

"You’re kidding," Karen deadpanned.

"Oh, I wish."

Matt smirked beside you, listening quietly. His arm was resting along the back of your chair, close but not overbearing.

Karen leaned forward, taking another sip of her drink. "So what’d you do?"

You grinned. "Told him if he ever did that again, I’d make sure the next thing he got stuck was his own head in the centrifuge."

Karen burst out laughing. "And let me guess—he immediately backed down."

"Pretty much," you said smugly.

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. "You really are terrifying sometimes."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, echoing the same words you’d said to him earlier that morning.

Matt tilted his head slightly, smirk deepening. "Guess I have a thing for danger."

Karen rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. She was too used to the way you two interacted, and nothing about tonight seemed different from any other night.

---

“You didn’t have to come.” Matt murmured, as your hands combed through his hair. “It’s just a mugging case.”

“And yet,” you pulled your hands away. “You were goin’ to walk in there with hair like that.” You gave him a grin. “I helped you devil boy. Oh, wait.”

You pulled his red-lensed glasses off before cleaning them with your shirt. Matt huffed, tilting his head slightly. "You know, most people don’t manhandle my things without permission."

"Most people aren’t me," you shot back, flipping the glasses open and sliding them back onto his face.

Matt’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue.

Foggy sighed from beside you. "How do you two have time for this while standing outside a courtroom?"

Karen smirked, arms crossed. "Multitasking."

You grinned. "Exactly. I’m helping him and annoying him at the same time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You really do take your job seriously."

"Obviously."

Before Foggy could reply, the courtroom doors opened, and the previous case let out, lawyers and reporters filing into the hallway. The four of you straightened slightly as Matt rolled his shoulders, settling into courtroom mode.

"Alright," Matt murmured, adjusting his tie. "Let’s get this over with."

You reached out instinctively, running a hand down the front of his suit, smoothing the fabric. "You’re good."

Matt caught your wrist before you could pull away, his thumb brushing over your pulse for just a second longer than necessary. “You going to stay?”

“Yep. I’ll be sittin’ in the front row looking pretty.”

Foggy snorted. "Sittin’ pretty? That’s your plan?"

"Someone’s gotta balance out Matt’s whole intimidating blind lawyer thing," you teased, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.

Matt smirked. "Intimidating, huh?"

"You know what you do," you muttered, patting his chest once before stepping back.

Karen chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, let’s get in there before we miss the good part."

The courtroom was already filling up when you and Karen slipped into the front row, Matt and Foggy making their way to the bench. You crossed one leg over the other, leaning back slightly as you pulled your phone from your bag, muting notifications.

"You know, sometimes I forget you don’t actually work for them," Karen mused, watching as you settled in.

You glanced at her. "Why?"

Karen shrugged. "You’re here so often, always involved in their cases, bringing them food, making sure Matt doesn’t walk into court looking like he just crawled out of a dumpster—"

"Hey," you cut in. "I don’t make him look good. He just listens to me when I tell him to fix his tie."

Karen smirked, tilting her head. "Mhm."

You rolled your eyes, looking toward the front of the courtroom. Matt and Foggy were talking in hushed tones, Foggy flipping through a stack of papers while Matt leaned slightly toward him, nodding at something he said.

Karen was still watching you, but you ignored her.

The judge entered, and the room settled as the proceedings began.

---

The hearing wasn’t long, but it was long enough for you to notice Karen sneaking glances at you every so often. You didn’t say anything, keeping your focus on the case.

Matt and Foggy handled it well, as expected. You knew Matt’s confidence in the courtroom was unmatched, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the red lenses, you knew he was completely locked in, analyzing every shift in the judge’s tone, every heartbeat in the room.

By the time the judge adjourned the hearing, you were stretching slightly, rolling your shoulders as you stood.

Matt and Foggy approached, gathering their things. "Well," Foggy said, stuffing papers into his briefcase. "That went about as well as it could’ve."

Matt hummed in agreement. "We should have a decision in a few days."

Karen exhaled. "That was exhausting to watch, so I can’t imagine how you two feel."

Matt smiled. "Used to it."

You reached out, fixing the fold of his pocket square before he could tuck his cane under his arm. "You did good."

Matt turned his head toward you slightly, smirk playing at his lips. "Yeah?"

You huffed. "Yeah, Murdock. Try not to look so smug about it."

Foggy raised a brow, gaze flickering between the two of you for a second. Karen, too, was watching, something unreadable in her expression.

Neither of them said anything.

"Alright," Foggy finally broke the silence, snapping his briefcase shut. "Lunch? Please? I need food after all that legal jargon."

"Agreed," Karen said.

You nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Matt tapped his cane against the floor once, falling into step beside you. Karen shot one last glance between the two of you but still said nothing.

---

You pulled out an expired container of milk. “Matty, I seriously don’t know how you, of all people, didn’t notice you had 2-week expired milk in your fridge.”

Matt smirked from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You think I make a habit of sniffing my milk cartons?"

You made a face, waving the expired container in his direction. "Considering you should be able to smell the rotting dairy in your fridge? Yeah, actually, I do."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, stepping forward as you popped the lid open and took an experimental sniff—only to gag immediately.

"Jesus Christ," you muttered, shoving the carton at him. "Smell it. I dare you."

Matt wrinkled his nose, taking a slight step back. "I’ll pass."

"Uh-huh, that’s what I thought." You shut the carton and tossed it in the trash before opening the fridge again. "When’s the last time you actually bought groceries?"

Matt leaned against the counter, lips twitching. "Don’t know. You usually do it for me."

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "That’s not the win you think it is, Murdock."

"I don’t know," he murmured, stepping behind you, hands settling at your waist. "Feels like a win to me."

Your breath hitched as he leaned in slightly, lips brushing just behind your ear. You huffed, pushing him back lightly with your elbow. "No, you don’t get to distract me. Your fridge is a disaster."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle but didn’t let go entirely. "I’ve survived this long."

"Yeah, because I keep you alive," you muttered, pulling out a sad-looking bag of spinach and holding it up for him. "This? This is a crime."

Matt smirked. "Pretty sure I deal with actual crimes for a living."

"You’re so lucky you’re cute." You tossed the bag onto the counter with a sigh. "Alright, that’s it. We’re going grocery shopping."

"You say that like I have a choice."

"You don’t," you said, shutting the fridge and turning in his arms.

Matt smiled, fingers brushing over your hip before he dropped his hands. "At least let me buy you dinner after."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Bribing me with food?"

"Wouldn’t be the first time."

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk you tried to suppress still made its way onto your lips. "Fine. But you’re carrying all the bags."

"Deal," Matt murmured, reaching for his cane.

You grabbed your coat, glancing at him as he adjusted his watch. "And I’m making sure you don’t buy anything that will expire in two days."

Matt chuckled. "Now that’s just cruel."

---

The grocery store was relatively quiet for a Friday night, the kind of late-evening lull where the only customers were people grabbing last-minute dinner ingredients or, in Matt’s case, replacing an entire fridge’s worth of expired food.

You pushed the cart while Matt walked beside you, his hand resting lightly at the crook of your elbow. "Alright, first things first," you said, steering the cart toward the produce section. "You’re getting actual vegetables. Not just things that used to be vegetables before they died a slow, tragic death in your fridge."

Matt smirked. "I resent that."

"You resent having to eat vegetables," you shot back, picking up a head of lettuce and tossing it into the cart.

Matt tilted his head slightly, like he was considering. "That might be true."

You sighed dramatically. "It’s like taking a toddler shopping."

"You did sign up for this," Matt pointed out, casually trailing his fingers over the display of apples as he passed.

You side-eyed him. "Did I? I don’t remember agreeing to supervise you."

"You knew what you were getting into," he teased, reaching past you to grab an apple and setting it in the cart.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, adding a few more. "What else do you need? Other than everything."

Matt hummed, fingers tapping lightly against the handle of the cart. "Bread. Eggs. Coffee."

"Obviously," you muttered, already steering the cart in that direction.

As you walked, Matt’s hand slid from your elbow to your wrist, fingers idly tracing over your pulse before his hand found yours, linking your fingers together like it was nothing.

You squeezed his hand slightly. "If you think holding my hand is gonna distract me from making you buy actual groceries, you’re wrong."

Matt huffed a quiet laugh, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Worth a shot."

"Mm-hmm," you mused, scanning the shelves as you walked. You paused near the coffee aisle, reaching for a bag of Matt’s usual blend.

"That one’s good," Matt said, nodding toward it.

You smirked, holding up a different one just to mess with him. "What about this one?"

Matt tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "That one’s decaf."

Your lips parted in mock surprise. "Wow. Look at that. Guess you do pay attention to your groceries."

Matt exhaled a laugh, leaning in slightly. "I pay attention to you."

Your stomach flipped, but you covered it with an eye roll, tossing his usual coffee into the cart before dragging him toward the next aisle.

---

By the time you made it to the checkout, the cart was full. Probably more food than Matt had ever willingly bought for himself.

"You’re never gonna finish all this," he mused as you unloaded onto the conveyor belt.

"You will if you actually cook," you shot back. "And don’t tell me you can’t. I’ve seen you do it."

Matt smirked, handing the cashier his card before you could stop him. "Guess I have no choice now."

You squinted at him. "That sounds suspiciously like a challenge."

Matt tilted his head. "Maybe it is."

You grinned. "Alright, Murdock. Guess I’ll be the judge of whether or not you can actually cook."

Matt chuckled, grabbing the grocery bags as the cashier finished bagging them. "I did offer to buy you dinner."

You crossed your arms. "I thought we were talking restaurant dinner, not Murdock’s Mystery Kitchen dinner."

Matt smirked, shifting the bags in his hands. "I never specified."

You rolled your eyes but reached out, grabbing a couple of bags from him. "Fine. But if you burn anything, I’m taking over."

"Noted," Matt said, leaning in just slightly. "But I wouldn’t underestimate me, sweetheart."

You huffed, shoving a bag at him before walking toward the door. "We’ll see about that, devil boy."

---

“Where’s my shirt? You know, the soft blue one with a star embroidered on it?”

Matt, who was sitting on the couch, fingers tracing a braille legal document, tilted his head. “…Where are your clothes?”

“My—that’s what I’m asking you.” You replied, hands on your hips, leaning against his bedroom door.

Matt’s lips twitched, setting the braille document down on the coffee table. He turned his head slightly, his attention fully on you now. "You’re asking me where your clothes are?"

"Yes, Matty." You sighed, crossing your arms. "I took a shower, and now I can’t find my damn shirt. The soft blue one? The one with the star embroidered on it?"

Matt hummed, pushing himself up from the couch, his movements slow, deliberate. "And you think I did something with it?"

"You have a habit of stealing my clothes," you pointed out. "So yes, you’re my prime suspect."

Matt smirked, stepping toward you. "Interesting accusation, sweetheart."

You didn’t flinch as he closed the distance, his fingers barely brushing along your forearm, trailing up to your shoulder before settling against your jaw.

"You’re not wearing any clothes."

You rolled your eyes. "I am wearing clothes. Just not the ones I want."

Matt exhaled a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly. "Bra and underwear don’t count."

"Tell that to every guy who’s ever seen a Victoria’s Secret ad," you muttered.

Matt grinned. "Is that what this is? A show?"

You huffed, lightly swatting at his chest. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, echoing your words from earlier, his fingers still lazily tracing the edge of your jaw.

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t pull away. "Are you gonna help me find my shirt or not?"

Matt’s lips twitched. "I’m starting to think you just wanted an excuse to walk around like this."

You scoffed. "Matty, if I wanted to walk around half-naked in your apartment, I would. I don’t need an excuse."

Matt grinned. "Good to know."

You rolled your eyes, stepping back. "So are you gonna help or—"

Before you could finish, Matt turned toward his dresser, fingers trailing over the top before he grabbed something and held it out.

Your missing shirt.

Your jaw dropped. "You knew where it was this whole time?"

Matt shrugged. "You left it here last week. I thought it was mine."

You squinted at him. "Since when do you own a soft blue shirt with a star embroidered on it?"

Matt smirked. "I don’t, but you leave your stuff here so often, I figured it was fair game."

You snatched it from his hands. "Unbelievable."

Matt huffed a laugh, crossing his arms. "You gonna put it on, or do I get to keep enjoying the view?"

You shot him a look, but the heat in his voice sent something warm curling in your stomach. You turned away, slipping the shirt over your head, and when you glanced back, Matt was still smirking.

"Happy now?" you muttered.

Matt hummed, stepping closer again. "Not yet."

Before you could respond, he leaned in, catching your chin between his fingers before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, his smirk deepened. "Now I’m happy."

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart was hammering in your chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

---

It was late at night when Matt convinced you to stay. Foggy and Karen were out of the office for the night, leaving just you and Matt doing your separate work.

The office was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of paper and the distant hum of the city outside.

You were perched on Matt’s couch, cross-legged, a set of blueprints spread across your lap while he sat at his desk, reading over a case file. Neither of you spoke, lost in your own work, but there was a comfortable ease to it.

"Are you even getting anything done over there?" Matt asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn’t look up. "Are you?"

He hummed. "I was. Until I realized how unfair this is."

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. "What’s unfair, Matty?"

"You get to sit all comfy on my couch, while I’m stuck here, hard at work."

You snorted. "Hard at work, huh? I didn’t realize whining counted as work."

Matt pushed his chair back, standing slowly. "I think I deserve a break."

You barely glanced up. "Then take one. I’m actually doing something productive."

Matt made his way toward you, hands in his pockets. "Are you?"

You narrowed your eyes, lifting a brow. "Yes. Unlike some people, I have deadlines to meet."

Matt hummed, stepping in front of you. "And yet, you’re still here. With me."

"Because you asked me to stay," you reminded him, flipping a page. "You coerced me."

Matt smirked. "Did I?"

"Yes, you—hey!"

In one swift motion, Matt plucked the blueprints from your lap and set them aside. Before you could protest, he leaned down, hands bracketing your sides as he caged you against the couch.

"Take a break with me, angel," he murmured.

You exhaled, glaring up at him. "You are so—"

Whatever insult you had lined up died in your throat as Matt leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw. His lips brushed over your pulse, deliberate, teasing.

"Annoying?" he murmured.

You swallowed hard. "Distracting."

Matt grinned against your skin. "Mm. I’ll take that."

Your fingers curled around his tie, tugging slightly. "You are so lucky I like you."

Matt chuckled, dipping his head until his lips were just barely grazing yours. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You closed the distance, kissing him properly.

Matt exhaled against your lips, deepening it immediately. His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him. You barely noticed when he guided you backward, until the edge of his desk dug into your lower back.

"Matty," you murmured between kisses.

"Mm?"

"I thought we were taking a break."

"This is my break," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your throat.

You huffed a quiet laugh, threading your fingers into his hair. "Productive."

Matt grinned against your skin, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt. "You’re the one distracting me, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. His lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a kiss that left your head spinning.

Neither of you noticed the sound of the front door opening.

At least, you didn’t.

Matt either didn’t hear it, or—more likely—just didn’t care.

"Hey, Matt, I left my phone—"

Foggy’s voice cut through the air like a record scratch.

You froze.

Matt, however, barely reacted. His lips left yours just enough for him to let out a quiet sigh—like he was annoyed—before pressing one last kiss to your jaw.

"Should’ve knocked, Fog," he murmured.

Your entire body was on fire. You didn’t dare turn around. Foggy, for his part, just stood there. Silent. Karen was the one to break it. "Uh."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back against the desk. "Jesus Christ."

Matt still didn’t move. He just turned his head slightly in their direction. "You left your phone?"

Foggy blinked. "Yeah." A beat. "But now I kinda wanna leave it here forever."

Karen coughed, her voice tight with suppressed laughter. "Should we leave?"

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

Matt just smirked. "You could, but I doubt you will."

Karen cleared her throat. "Y’know what? I suddenly really need a drink."

"Yeah, me too," Foggy muttered, grabbing his phone off the desk and speed walking toward the door.

Karen cast one last glance between the two of you, shaking her head before following. The second the door shut behind them, you finally shoved Matt away.

"You knew they were coming, didn’t you!?"

Matt grinned, shrugging. "You said it yourself—I have a habit of coercing you."

You gaped at him. "Murdock."

He just leaned in again, lips ghosting over your ear. "You gonna finish what you started, angel?"

Your face burned. "I started!?"

Matt chuckled, nudging his nose against yours.

"You’re impossible," you muttered, still flustered.

"And yet," Matt murmured, smirking, "here you are."

— goodnight n go

chapter summary: You and Matt are childhood friends who met at the orphanage. But people always assume you two are dating.

word count: 3.6k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

notes: as an og matt murdock stan, i can't believe i've never wrote for him. i hope this is accurate to his character!

and the title goodnight n go is a song by ariana grande from her album sweetener - which i fully believe is an underrated album

also i consider this taking place between dd s3 and ddba

warnings/tags: mentions of twirling/playing with hair, after endgame (so tony is dead😭), best friends to lovers, fluff, pining, oblivious idiots, slight angst, mention of injuries and blood

“And don’t forget to clean the coffee filter. I don’t want anyone getting sick. Again.” You said, grabbing your purse.

“I swear, sometimes your worse than my mother.” Foggy replied, sipping from his mug.

Karen quirked a brow, “your mother isn’t exactly a role model for parenting.”

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "She’s got a point, Foggy."

Foggy sighed dramatically, setting his mug down. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll clean the damn filter. But if I get coffee poisoning or whatever, I’m blaming you."

"You’ll live," you said, amused. You glanced at Matt, reaching out to fix the slightly crooked knot on his tie. "You should eat something before court."

"Not hungry," he replied, though he didn’t move away.

"You never are," you muttered, smoothing your hands over his lapels before stepping back. "Text me if you need anything."

Matt tilted his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. "You say that like you won’t just show up unannounced."

"Don’t tempt me." You grabbed your coat, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "See you later."

"See you," Matt said, voice softer now.

You gave a quick wave to Foggy and Karen before heading for the door.

Foggy exhaled loudly as it closed behind you. "That was totally normal. Super normal. Just two friends being weirdly affectionate in front of their other friends."

Matt ignored him, reaching for his cane. "We’re close. That’s all."

Karen shot him a look. "You’re also full of shit."

Matt just smirked and walked out.

---

It was late by the time you made it to Matt’s apartment, balancing a takeout bag in one hand as you knocked. You didn’t have to wait long—there was the distinct sound of locks clicking before the door swung open.

"You didn’t text," Matt said, leaning against the doorframe.

"You didn’t either," you shot back, stepping inside without invitation. "So I figured you probably forgot to eat. Again."

Matt sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on his face as he closed the door behind you. "You don’t have to keep feeding me, you know."

"You don’t have to keep skipping meals, but here we are," you said, setting the takeout on the counter.

Matt chuckled, walking over to the couch and sinking into it. "How was work?"

"Same as always. How was court?"

"Long," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "But we won."

"Then that calls for a celebration." You grabbed the food containers and joined him on the couch, handing him one.

Matt took it, his fingers brushing over yours briefly. "You really didn’t have to do this."

"Yeah, well, I was already out, and I know your fridge is probably empty."

Matt smirked. "You checked my fridge?"

You rolled your eyes. "Not today, but I have a pretty good guess. And considering you didn’t argue…"

He huffed out a quiet laugh. "Fine. You got me."

You both ate in comfortable silence, the familiar hum of the city filtering in through the window. When you were done, you leaned back against the couch, letting out a content sigh.

Matt shifted beside you, his arm resting along the back of the couch. It was second nature when you tucked yourself closer, your head resting against his shoulder.

"You tired?" he asked, voice low.

"Mm, a little," you admitted.

Matt's fingers absently played with the ends of your hair, a familiar and comforting habit.

"You could stay," he murmured.

"You always say that," you said, eyes closed.

"And you always do."

You huffed a soft laugh but didn’t argue.

---

The scent of coffee pulled you from sleep, warm and rich, mingling with the quiet sounds of the city outside. You cracked one eye open, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling before remembering—Matt’s apartment.

You stretched, groggy but comfortable, the sheets soft and warm around you. The space beside you was empty, but the dip in the mattress told you he hadn’t been gone long.

Dragging yourself up, you padded toward the kitchen, yawning as you leaned against the counter. Matt stood by the stove, pouring coffee like he had all the time in the world. He was still in the sweats and T-shirt he’d worn to bed, hair slightly messy, looking impossibly at ease.

"Didn’t wake you, did I?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"You and your super-hearing," you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "I would’ve kept sleeping if your coffee didn’t smell so damn good."

Matt smirked, reaching for a second mug. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly as you stepped closer, resting your forehead against his shoulder. He huffed out a quiet laugh, free hand settling at your hip like it was second nature.

"Tired?"

"Mm. Your couch is comfy, but your bed is better."

"You say that like you weren’t the one who crawled in."

"Yeah, yeah," you mumbled, peeling away just enough to steal his coffee and take a sip.

Matt didn’t even try to stop you. "I was going to give you your own."

"You’re too slow."

"Or maybe I just like it when you steal from me."

You smirked against the rim of the mug, not missing the way his hand lingered at your waist. Instead of calling him out, you took another sip and turned toward the fridge.

"Pretty sure you don’t have food in here," you said, opening the door.

"You’d be correct," Matt said, completely unbothered.

You sighed, grabbing one of his hoodies off the back of a chair and pulling it on over your sleep shirt. "Guess we’re getting breakfast, then."

Matt hummed, setting his mug down before reaching out, fingers brushing over the sleeve. "You know you keep stealing my clothes, right?"

"You gonna do something about it, Murdock?"

His lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile. "Not a thing."

You grinned, grabbing his cane and tossing it to him before heading for the door. "C’mon, Devil Boy. Breakfast is on me."

"Generous," Matt mused, following after you without hesitation. "Just don’t expect me to let you steal my coffee and my food."

You didn’t bother responding. He’d let you do both anyway.

---

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your outfit, eyeing yourself in the mirror one last time. It wasn’t often that you got this dressed up—definitely not for work—but a Stark Industries gala demanded something a little more refined than your usual jeans and hoodie.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. When you opened it, Matt stood there, looking effortlessly put together in a sleek black suit. The tie was perfect, the hair just slightly tousled, and the way he carried himself made it impossible to tell that he wasn’t seeing any of it.

"You clean up nice, Murdock," you teased, grabbing your purse.

His lips quirked into a small smile. "You’re one to talk."

His voice had that subtle shift, the one that always came when he was taking you in—not with his eyes, but in the way only he could. He wasn’t just listening to your words; he was listening to the way your breath hitched slightly, the way your heartbeat quickened when he leaned in a fraction too close.

You cleared your throat, stepping back. "Ready?"

"Always," Matt said, offering his arm.

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, his touch steady and warm as the two of you headed out.

---

The gala was exactly what you expected—sleek, extravagant, and filled with people who had more money than they knew what to do with. The chatter was loud, glasses clinking as servers weaved through the crowd with trays of expensive champagne.

Matt stuck close to your side, his fingers lightly grazing your arm as the two of you maneuvered through the room. It wasn’t like he needed to be guided, but the contact was easy, familiar.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" he murmured near your ear.

"Because I asked nicely," you replied, plucking two glasses from a passing tray and handing him one.

"Mm. That must’ve been it."

You huffed a quiet laugh, taking a sip. The atmosphere was buzzing, but Matt seemed relaxed—more than you expected.

"Surprised you’re handling this so well," you admitted. "Figured the noise would drive you insane."

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. "I’m filtering most of it out. But you—" He shifted just a little closer, lowering his voice. "You’re easy to focus on."

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. He did not just say that with a straight face.

Before you could come up with a decent response, someone approached—one of your higher-ups at Stark Industries. You smiled, exchanging pleasantries, introducing Matt with an easy, "This is my friend, Matt Murdock."

Your boss smiled politely before turning to Matt. "It’s great to meet you. And what do you do?"

Matt’s lips twitched like he was holding back amusement. "I’m a lawyer."

"Ah, an honest profession," your boss said, clearly impressed. "And you’re here as—?"

"Her date," Matt said smoothly, with absolutely no hesitation.

Your brain short-circuited for half a second. Your boss nodded approvingly before launching into some talk about Stark’s latest legal team, but you barely heard a word of it.

Matt, meanwhile, looked completely unfazed. Like he hadn’t just said something that made your stomach flip.

The conversation wrapped up, and as soon as your boss was out of earshot, you leaned in slightly, keeping your voice low.

"Date?"

Matt just smiled, lifting his glass. "Figured that was easier than explaining whatever this is."

You squinted at him, but he only took a sip of his drink, calm as ever.

Damn him.

---

At some point in the night, the gala turned into something more social—music playing, people moving toward the open dance floor. You weren’t much of a dancer, but Matt, of course, looked completely at ease, even without seeing the way people moved around him.

"You’re staring," Matt said suddenly, lips quirking.

You scoffed. "I am not."

"You are," he countered, setting his empty glass down. Then, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, he extended a hand. "Dance with me?"

You blinked. "You hate dancing."

"That’s not true."

"You avoid dancing."

Matt smirked. "And yet, I’m asking you."

You hesitated for half a second before sighing, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm as he pulled you toward the floor.

His other hand settled at your waist, light but certain. Yours rested against his shoulder, and for a moment, the world shrunk to just the two of you, the music humming around you as Matt led with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible.

"You’ve done this before," you murmured, impressed despite yourself.

"Few times," Matt admitted. "But this is the first time I’ve actually enjoyed it."

Your breath hitched, heart stuttering before you could stop it. And from the way his lips twitched, you knew he caught it.

"You’re doing that on purpose," you muttered.

"Doing what?"

"This. Being all—" You gestured vaguely.

Matt just smiled, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Maybe."

You narrowed your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you let yourself relax into him, your fingers idly tracing the fabric of his suit as the two of you swayed.

It didn’t feel friendly. It didn’t feel like some casual thing you could brush off. It felt like something else, something real, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name just yet.

And from the way Matt held you—careful, close, like he knew exactly what this was—he knew it, too.

---

It had been a few days since the gala, and life carried on as usual—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You pushed open the door to Nelson, Murdock & Page, a takeout bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. The office was quiet, save for the sound of Foggy typing furiously at his keyboard and Karen flipping through a stack of papers at her desk.

"Tell me you guys have eaten," you said, setting the bag down with a thud.

Karen looked up first, lips twitching. "We have now."

Foggy groaned in relief, already reaching for the food. "You’re a lifesaver. Matt’s in his office, by the way."

You hummed in acknowledgment, grabbing the coffee before heading toward the glass-paneled room at the back. The door was slightly open, and Matt was exactly where you expected—leaning back in his chair, fingers pressed against his temple like he was nursing a headache.

"You look like hell," you said, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.

Matt’s lips quirked at the sound of your voice. "And yet, you still bring me coffee."

"Because I’m nice," you teased, setting it in front of him.

Matt reached for the cup, fingers brushing yours in the process. You ignored the way your pulse jumped at the contact, shifting to sit on the edge of his desk.

"You should eat, too," you said. "I brought—"

"You didn’t have to do that," Matt murmured, cutting you off.

You rolled your eyes. "You say that every time, and yet here I am, making sure you don’t keel over from malnutrition."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, fingers curling around the coffee cup. "I appreciate it."

"You better."

There was a pause. The usual kind, the kind that never used to feel weighted—except, lately, it did.

Matt turned his head slightly, like he was studying you in that way he always did. "You okay?"

The question caught you off guard. "Me? You’re the one who looks like he’s been through hell and back."

Matt huffed. "Occupational hazard."

You folded your arms, watching him for a moment. His tie was slightly loosened, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was the faintest shadow of exhaustion under his eyes. The usual signs of Matt Murdock burning the candle at both ends.

You reached out without thinking, adjusting the knot of his tie like you had at the gala. He stayed perfectly still, letting you.

"You really need to take better care of yourself," you muttered, smoothing out the fabric before pulling back.

Matt caught your wrist before you could move too far, his thumb brushing over the inside of it—absent, thoughtless, but lingering.

"You do that enough for the both of us," he murmured.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it. His lips twitched.

Damn him.

You pulled your wrist free, shaking your head. "Eat your food, Murdock."

Matt smiled like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Yes, ma’am."

---

A knock at your door this late was never a good sign.

You barely had time to process it before a second, weaker knock followed. Frowning, you unlocked the door and swung it open—only for Matt to nearly collapse against the frame.

"Jesus, Matt—" You grabbed his arm, steadying him as he exhaled sharply. His suit was torn in places, blood staining the red fabric, his lip split, and a nasty bruise was already forming along his jaw.

"You gonna let me in, or…?" His voice was rough, strained, but still laced with that familiar teasing edge.

You didn’t answer, just hooked an arm under his and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut behind you. Without hesitation, you grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet and shoved him down onto the couch.

Matt let out a quiet grunt as he sat, shifting carefully. "You don’t have to—"

"Shut up." You dropped to your knees in front of him, flipping the kit open. "Take off the suit."

"You don’t waste time, do you?"

"Matt."

"Alright, alright," he muttered, wincing as he pulled the top half of the suit down, exposing bruised ribs and a gash along his side. He also took off his helmet.

You inhaled sharply but said nothing. This wasn’t new—you’d patched him up more times than you could count. But something about tonight felt different.

The room was quiet as you worked, disinfecting the wound, pressing gauze to the worst of it. Your hands lingered, fingertips brushing over the edge of a bruise, tracing the uneven rise and fall of his breath.

Matt didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it, just slightly.

"You’re mad at me," he murmured.

You scoffed, pressing the bandage to his ribs a little harder than necessary. He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Of course I’m mad, Matt," you snapped, voice low but edged with frustration. "You show up at my door looking like this, you don’t tell me where you were or how bad it was—do you even think about what it’s like for me? Sitting here, waiting for you to—"

Matt cut you off the only way he knew how.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t questioning. It was firm, certain—like he’d already decided long before this moment that it was inevitable.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away. His hands found your face, fingers ghosting along your jaw, mapping you out the way only he could.

You exhaled against his lips, your own hands grabbing onto his bare shoulders, nails pressing just slightly into his skin, but Matt didn’t pull away. If anything, he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding from your jaw to the nape of your neck. His fingers tangled in your hair, his touch light, careful—like he wasn’t sure how much he could take before you stopped him.

You didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back, frustration melting into something else entirely. The heat of it, the way he breathed against your lips like he needed this just as badly as you did—it sent your heart hammering in your chest.

Finally, you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, forehead brushing against his.

"Matt," you whispered, voice unsteady.

His hands stayed where they were, fingertips still curled against the base of your neck. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice low, rough. "And I will."

You exhaled, fingers flexing against his skin. "I don’t want you to stop," you admitted.

Matt’s breath hitched. You felt it more than you heard it—the way his chest rose sharply beneath your hands, the way his grip on you tightened like he was committing this moment to memory.

Then, as quickly as it started, his lips were on yours again—slower this time, deliberate.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, caught up in him, but when you finally pulled away, Matt’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing over your skin like he was still grounding himself.

"You’re still hurt," you murmured, running a hand over his ribs, where fresh gauze was now taped in place.

Matt let out a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. "You’re the one distracting me."

"You kissed me, Murdock."

"Mm. And you kissed me back."

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t move away. "You need rest."

Matt hummed, not agreeing but not arguing either. His hands finally dropped from your face, settling instead at your waist, like letting go completely wasn’t an option.

"You staying?" he asked, voice softer now.

“Yeah. Afterall, you are in my apartment.”

Matt let out a quiet hum, his hands still resting at your waist, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. He wasn’t letting go, and you weren’t pulling away.

"You’re on the floor," he murmured.

"Yeah, no shit," you said, raising a brow.

His lips quirked. "Come up here."

You hesitated, but only for a second before shifting, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Matt adjusted just enough to make room, one arm draping along the back of the cushions. His other hand found your knee, thumb brushing absentmindedly against it.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, leaning your head back against the couch.

"How so?"

"You come here half-dead, I patch you up, and then instead of resting, you start—" You gestured vaguely between the two of you.

"Kissing you?" Matt supplied, smirking.

You shot him a look. "Distracting me."

Matt exhaled a quiet laugh, tilting his head in that way he always did when he was focused on you, listening. "Do you regret it?"

The question made your breath catch, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you reached over, your fingers trailing along the edge of his jaw, ghosting over the bruise forming there. Matt didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into your touch.

"No," you admitted softly.

His grip on your knee tightened just slightly. "Good."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "You do need rest, though."

Matt hummed, clearly not in a hurry to move. His fingers slid up, resting lightly against the curve of your hip. "Stay?"

You exhaled, shaking your head. "Matt, I live here."

"Right. Convenient." He smirked, thumb brushing against your skin.

You huffed, shifting to lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He didn’t hesitate, his arm slipping around you like it was second nature.

For a while, neither of you spoke. His breathing was steady, the warmth of him grounding, familiar. You could feel the tension in his muscles start to ease, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.

"You’re not going out again tonight, right?" you asked, voice low.

Matt didn’t answer right away, which was already an answer.

"Matt."

"I won’t," he murmured.

"You better not." You tightened your grip on his arm, just slightly. "Or I’m locking you in here next time."

Matt let out a quiet chuckle. "Terrifying."

"Damn right," you mumbled, letting your eyes slip shut.

He didn’t say anything else, just pulled you closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

And for once, Matt actually stayed still.

i had a lot of fun writing this - the idea of falling in love with your best friend is just so cute! (curses to my childhood self for not having a male best friend to fall in love with😭)

it may be slightly unclear but reader is an engineer at stark industries!

and, one more thing, i'd love to write more of these two! if you have any requests, send them in! i fear that that shower scene in that ddba trailer has taken up my mind... so don't be surprised if i write shower sex with matt soon...

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ rekindling

chapter summary: You and Logan celebrate your 5th wedding anniversary.

word count: 6.1k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: the ending of this chapter might be one of my favorite scenes

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, mention of sickness (not reader), fluff, logan is a lovesick puppy, gala mission, star wars reference

series masterlist - chapter 8 → chapter 10

Some years ago, right after the two of you got engaged, you tried making and fermenting your own beer for Logan. Turns out, beer doesn’t need to and shouldn’t ferment for more than a few months at the most.

So, you pivoted, and made homemade whiskey, which had been sitting in a secret part of your lab for the better part of 5 years.

And now, after Logan had taken you out on a date to an Italian place and a nearby observatory which he booked for the two of you, you dragged him to your lab, where you had the bottle of homemade whiskey.

You pulled out a drawer and grabbed the small, but hefty, gift bag. Its weight made your arm dip slightly as you turned to face Logan, who was leaning against the counter in your lab with a quizzical but amused expression. His hair was still slightly tousled from the wind at the observatory, his sleeves rolled up casually from dinner.

"What's this, sweetheart?" he asked, nodding toward the bag. "Another one of your science experiments?"

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your glasses as you handed him the bag. "Just open it. And no, it’s not radioactive or alive. This one’s safe, I promise."

Logan smirked as he pulled the tissue paper out, revealing a dark amber glass bottle sealed with a simple cork. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he held it up, reading the handwritten label: “Logan’s Reserve – 5-Year Aged Whiskey.”

"Wait a second…" His eyes narrowed, a grin spreading across his face as he looked at you. "Is this what I think it is?"

You nodded, clasping your hands behind your back nervously. "Yeah. Remember when I tried making beer for you right after we got engaged? And it… well, it exploded in the basement?"

Logan chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "How could I forget? Smelled like a brewery down there for weeks."

"Exactly. So, I switched gears and decided to try something a little more… sophisticated." You gestured to the bottle. "I distilled it, let it age, and hoped for the best. Five years later, here we are."

Logan stared at the bottle for a moment, then at you. His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something deeper. "You did this… for me?"

You shrugged, feeling the blush creep up your cheeks. "Of course. I wanted to give you something special. Something that lasts, you know? Like… us."

For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the lab equipment. Logan set the bottle down carefully on the counter, then stepped toward you. His hands rested gently on your waist, pulling you closer.

"You’re somethin’ else, darlin’," he said, his voice low and full of affection. "Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me before."

You smiled up at him, your shyness melting away under his gaze. "Well, there’s a first time for everything."

He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was soft but full of unspoken gratitude. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

"Let’s crack it open," he said with a grin. "I’ve waited five years for this, after all."

You laughed, grabbing two small glasses from a nearby shelf. As Logan uncorked the bottle, the rich aroma of aged whiskey filled the room. He poured a small amount into each glass, the amber liquid catching the light.

"To us," you said, raising your glass.

Logan clinked his glass against yours. "To five years… and many more."

You both took a sip, and Logan’s eyes widened slightly as he savored the taste. "Damn, sweetheart. You’ve outdone yourself. This is better than anything I’ve had in a bar."

You beamed. "Really?"

"Really." He leaned in and kissed you again, the whiskey still warm on his lips. "Best anniversary gift ever."

As you stood there, sharing the moment and the whiskey you’d poured your heart into, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Life hadn’t been easy—especially the past few years—but moments like this made it all worth it.

---

You were making chicken noodle soup for Rogue, Kitty, and Jubilee, who all somehow caught the same stomach bug at the same time.

The three girls sat at the table in the corner of the kitchen, after being asked by Logan to “move, or else you’re gonna get her sick.”

Now, while the three waited, they also watched. Rogue, Kitty, and Jubilee sat bundled in sweaters with mugs of tea that Logan had insisted they use instead of touching anything else in the kitchen. The soup was still simmering on the stove, and Logan leaned casually against the counter near you, your perpetual shadow.

Jubilee nudged Rogue with her elbow and whispered, “Look at him. He follows her like a freakin’ lost puppy.”

Rogue, pale but still managing an amused smirk, turned her attention to Logan, who was wordlessly following you as you shuffled over to the pantry. All you had done was mutter, "need a new bottle of parsley," and Logan had immediately fallen in line, watching you like you hung the moon.

“He does,” Rogue said, shaking her head. “I swear, I’ve never seen him this whipped.”

"Right? Like, what does she do to him?" Kitty chimed in, half-giggling despite her queasiness. “The man’s basically walking PDA.”

The three of them stared openly now, watching how Logan stood slightly behind you, his hand instinctively brushing the small of your back as you reached up for the spice jar.

“See that?” Kitty whispered, her voice thick with poorly stifled laughter. “His hand is always on her. Shoulder, back, waist—doesn’t matter where, just as long as he’s touching.”

“Bet he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it,” Rogue murmured, propping her chin on her palm.

You turned back toward the counter, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of your nose as you set the parsley down near the cutting board. Logan was immediately there, adjusting the spice rack for you, though it wasn’t even askew.

“Thanks,” you murmured softly, giving him a small, shy smile.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he replied without hesitation, his voice laced with warmth.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound that…” Jubilee paused, wrinkling her nose in thought, “...soft.”

Logan shifted closer, his hand brushing against your waist as he leaned in and glanced at the soup. “Need anythin’ else, darlin’?”

You glanced up at him, adjusting your glasses. “No, I think I’ve got it. Maybe grab a loaf of bread from the fridge for dipping?”

He nodded and moved toward the fridge like it was his life’s mission. Jubilee blinked slowly.

“He cooks now?” she whispered.

“Logan,” Rogue called across the room, “do you even know how to make soup?”

Logan didn’t even glance back as he grabbed the bread. “Nope. I just carry the bread. Y/N handles the rest.”

The three girls stared at each other, jaws slightly agape.

“He’s domesticated,” Kitty said in awe. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

You didn’t seem to hear any of this, far too focused on stirring the soup and rambling softly about the science of cooking. “The steam comes from the water molecules vibrating faster with the heat. They spread out, break apart from the surface tension…”

Logan’s low hum of acknowledgment interrupted you, his hand returning to rest lightly against the curve of your back. You leaned into the touch without thinking, comfortable in his presence.

Kitty let out a mock-dramatic sigh, dropping her head onto the table. “I can’t watch this anymore. It’s too cute, and I feel like death.”

Jubilee grinned slyly, glancing at Rogue. “What if we pointed it out to him?”

“Don’t you dare,” Rogue warned with a half-laugh. “Man’s happier than I’ve ever seen him. Leave ‘em be.”

The three shared a conspiratorial smirk but kept their remarks low enough to remain unnoticed. Even if Logan somehow picked up on their teasing with his hyper-sensitive senses, he showed no sign of it.

You turned back to the girls, smiling softly. “It’ll be ready soon. How’re you all feeling?”

“Like crap,” Jubilee said with zero hesitation.

“Marginally better,” Rogue offered, though it was mostly for your benefit.

“It helps watching Logan act like a lovesick Labrador,” Kitty muttered with a grin. Rogue elbowed her.

You glanced at Logan, eyebrows raised slightly. “What are they whispering about?”

“Not a clue,” he lied smoothly, focusing on slicing the bread.

You didn’t push it, simply chuckling and going back to your task. Logan leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear.

“You’re good at takin’ care of everyone,” he murmured. “Never stops amazin’ me.”

You flushed under the quiet praise, your heart flipping in your chest. It wasn’t much—just one of his usual tender comments—but coming from Logan, it felt monumental every single time.

---

You paused walking again in the hall, adjusting your liner socks for your heels. Just a few months ago it was your birthday, and Scott got you the pair of heels you’d been wanting, probably only knowing about them from Jean.

It was too cold back then, but now it was warming up and you could finally wear them.

Other than the fact that blisters are probably forming on your feet from them fitting improperly. It wasn’t Scott’s fault; they were the right size and everything, they just didn’t fit your feet.

While you were bent down adjusting your heels in the hallway, Logan walked up behind you silently, his hand brushing gently against your back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and concerned.

You looked up briefly before going back to fiddling with the strap on your shoe. “The heels Scott got me for my birthday—they don’t fit as well as I’d hoped. They’re a little tight, and I think I might’ve miscalculated how much walking I’d have to do today.”

Logan let out a soft, knowing grunt. Without warning, he scooped you up in his arms effortlessly, one arm around your shoulders and the other under your legs. He shifted your heels into his hand with the same movement, holding them beneath you like an afterthought.

“Logan!” you exclaimed, instinctively gripping his shoulders. “What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like?” he replied, already walking. “If the shoes are botherin’ you, you’re not gonna wear ‘em.”

You sighed, flustered. “I can walk perfectly fine! It’s not that bad, I promise.”

Logan didn’t even slow down. “Yeah, sure. Tell that to the blisters you’re about to get. Don’t argue, darlin’—you’re stuck with me now.”

Your protest was drowned out when Logan rounded a corner and found Scott mid-lecture in one of the training rooms. The students turned toward the two of you with wide-eyed curiosity.

“Logan, come on,” you whispered, mortified, but Logan only tightened his grip.

“Hey, Summers!” Logan barked, his voice cutting through the room.

Scott paused, looking up with an annoyed but inquisitive frown. Before he could say a word, Logan tossed the pair of heels directly at him. They smacked him square in the chest before falling into his hands.

“Next time, get the right size,” Logan said flatly, turning back toward the door.

“Logan!” you gasped, half-horrified and half-apologetic, your face heating up. “I’m so sorry, Scott!”

Scott was still standing there, stunned, holding the shoes as his class erupted into barely stifled laughter. “What—” he started, but Logan didn’t stick around long enough to let him finish.

Logan carried you straight to the common room, ignoring your continued protests. He set you down gently on the couch, crouching in front of you. “Stay put,” he commanded, already moving toward the med kit nearby.

“Logan, seriously, I’m fine—”

“You’ll be fine when I say you’re fine.” He popped open the first aid kit and returned to kneel in front of you. “Now, lemme see.”

You sighed, defeated, as Logan gingerly took your foot in his hand, inspecting the reddened spots on your heels. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as he applied adhesive bandages to the forming blisters.

“I don’t even feel it that much,” you muttered.

“Uh-huh,” Logan said dryly, not buying a word of it.

When he finished bandaging the other foot, he paused, still crouched with one of your feet resting on his knee. Instead of moving back, he began to gently knead the arch of your foot, his fingers deft and soothing.

“Logan…” You blinked, taken aback.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said softly, not looking up. “You’re always takin’ care of everyone else. Lemme do somethin’ for you for once.”

The words, combined with the warmth in his tone, sent a wave of unexpected emotion through you. You leaned back against the couch, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. His touch was firm yet tender, every movement speaking volumes about how much he cared.

As his thumbs worked over a particularly sore spot, you bit back a laugh. “When did you learn how to do this?”

Logan glanced up with a hint of a smirk. “Long life. Picked up a few tricks here and there.”

“Pretty sure you’re better at this than a licensed professional.”

“Damn right I am,” he said with mock seriousness, though his smile softened.

When he finally set your foot down, he stayed kneeling for a moment longer, his hands lingering on your legs. “Feel better now?”

You smiled down at him, your cheeks warm. “Yeah. Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded, pushing himself to his feet and bending down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. Now you just sit here and relax for a bit. I’ll grab you some tea or somethin’.”

As he walked away, you couldn’t help the affectionate smile that spread across your face. Moments like this reminded you that, despite his gruff exterior, Logan had a heart bigger than anyone you’d ever known.

---

You realized you should’ve told Logan this before he found out for himself.

For the past 4—5 years?—you hadn’t worn your cherry lip gloss, only because you couldn’t find it anywhere once you ran out. Turns out, it was discontinued. So, you pivoted to regular nude lip glosses or chapstick.

But this past weekend when you, Jean, and Ororo went on a girl’s shopping trip to the mall to hang out, you found a cherry lip oil that in your opinion had a better texture, and a less artificial flavor, than your original discontinued one.

The hallways of the mansion were buzzing with the usual mid-morning energy: students rushing to classes, a few sparring matches audible from the training rooms, and the faint hum of voices echoing off the walls. You adjusted the strap of your satchel, balancing it against your side, and smoothed the hem of your cardigan as you made your way toward your classroom.

As you turned a corner, Logan appeared from the opposite direction, walking toward his next class. He spotted you instantly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes softened. This was routine by now—a quick kiss or two between classes, a quiet moment to ground yourselves in a sea of chaos.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and rough in the way that made your heart flutter.

“Hey,” you smiled back, the warmth in his tone settling over you like a blanket.

He leaned in for the usual kiss, his hand brushing against your lower back as you tilted your face up to meet him. But instead of the brief, customary peck, Logan lingered. His lips pressed against yours with a sudden, deliberate intensity, and his other hand rose to cradle the back of your head.

You stiffened in surprise at first, but quickly melted into it, your hands lightly gripping the fabric of his flannel shirt. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, with Logan angling your head slightly for better access. He tasted faintly of coffee, and the familiar warmth of him flooded your senses.

“Logan,” you managed to breathe out between kisses, your voice breaking the silence in short bursts. “We need—” kiss “to get—” kiss “to our—” kiss “classes.”

“Fuck, I missed that,” Logan murmured, his voice rough and filled with a longing you didn’t quite understand. Before you could respond, his lips captured yours again, his hold on you firm but careful, as though he was memorizing the moment.

The sound of a throat clearing broke through the haze, and you both froze. Turning your heads, you found Charles sitting in his wheelchair a few feet away, a bemused but patient expression on his face.

“I do hate to interrupt, but I believe there are a few dozen students waiting for their teachers at the moment,” Charles remarked, his tone light but pointed.

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you stepped back, adjusting your glasses and smoothing your hair. Logan, unfazed as ever, gave a small shrug, though you could see the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Right,” you stammered, gripping your satchel strap tightly. “Sorry, Charles. We were just—uh—”

“Testing the laws of attraction?” Charles quipped, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Logan grunted, his hand still lingering on your back. “We’re goin’. Don’t get your wheels in a spin.”

Charles merely chuckled and rolled past, leaving you to shoot Logan a flustered glare.

“You could at least pretend to be embarrassed,” you muttered, adjusting your satchel again.

“Why?” Logan asked, his voice tinged with amusement. “You look cute when you’re all flustered.” He leaned in close, brushing a final kiss against your temple before stepping back. “See you later, darlin’.”

As he turned to walk away, you shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. You brushed your fingers over your lips, still tingling from the intensity of the kiss.

---

Logan adjusted the cufflinks of his tux, muttering under his breath about how "these damn things are more trouble than they’re worth." The sound of his grumbling carried through the slightly ajar bathroom door, making you smile as you finished touching up your lipstick. Jean’s red shade was bold, but it worked, complementing your minimalist black dress.

You capped the tube and gave your reflection a once-over. The dress fit perfectly, the sleek design emphasizing your figure without feeling over the top. You adjusted your glasses and smoothed a hand down the fabric before stepping out into the bedroom.

Logan was by the dresser, still fidgeting with his cufflinks, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his hands stilled. His lips parted slightly, the earlier irritation on his face melting into something softer, something almost reverent.

“You clean up nice,” he said, voice lower than usual. His gaze roamed over you, lingering on the curve of your waist before meeting your eyes. “Real nice.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling a heat creep up your cheeks under his scrutiny. You crossed the room, and as you did, Logan closed the distance between you in two strides. His hand found your waist, warm and steady, before moving to rest gently against your stomach.

“Turn around for me,” he said, his voice a mix of request and command. His fingers pressed lightly, guiding you into a slow spin. As you moved, his hand never left you, sliding from your waist to the small of your back, then back to your waist again when you completed the turn.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he said, his words filled with quiet admiration. “Should’ve made you wear this dress sooner.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not exactly standard mission gear.”

His other hand came up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Maybe not, but you wear it better than anyone at that gala’s gonna.” His thumb grazed your jaw, and for a moment, the mission faded from your mind entirely. It was just you, Logan, and the soft pull of his presence.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself back to reality. “We should get going. The sooner we get in, the sooner we can find what we’re looking for.”

Logan smirked, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re the brains of this operation, sweetheart. Lead the way.”

---

The gala was held in a grand hotel in the heart of the city, the kind of place that practically dripped with wealth and excess. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses. You and Logan entered arm-in-arm, blending seamlessly into the crowd of well-dressed elites.

The two of you moved with purpose, your fingers lightly resting against Logan’s arm as he guided you through the throng. You kept your movements casual, your faces relaxed, though beneath the surface, the tension of the mission buzzed like static. The target was somewhere in this room—or at least someone who knew how to access the server room where the sensitive information was being stored.

“Keep your eyes open,” Logan muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Always,” you replied, offering a soft smile for the benefit of onlookers as you tilted your head toward him. “You see anything yet?”

“Just a bunch of rich assholes,” Logan said, his tone gruff. “No sign of the guy.”

You nodded subtly, letting your gaze sweep across the room. The gala attendees were exactly as you’d expected—wealthy, polished, and exuding an air of untouchable arrogance. The kind of people who could fund black-market experiments on mutants and still sleep soundly at night.

Jean’s voice crackled softly in your hidden earpiece. “Remember, the server room is two floors down, heavily guarded, and keycard access only. If you can get the host’s card, it’ll save us a lot of trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” Logan grunted, briefly touching his ear to acknowledge the message.

You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. Just follow my lead.”

Logan shot you a skeptical look, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smirk. “You’re the brains, sweetheart. I’m just here to look good in a tux.”

“And to punch people if necessary,” you teased, your voice light despite the weight of the mission.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That too.”

As you approached the bar, you caught sight of the host—a tall, broad-shouldered man with slicked-back hair and a predatory smile. He was surrounded by a small group of sycophants, his laugh too loud and his gestures exaggerated. On his lapel was the small, telltale glint of a security badge.

“There he is,” you murmured, leaning slightly into Logan as though sharing a private moment.

Logan followed your gaze and grunted in acknowledgment. “What’s the plan?”

You considered for a moment before replying. “We split up. I’ll distract him and see if I can get the keycard. You keep an eye on the exits in case things get messy.”

Logan’s hand tightened slightly on your waist. “Don’t get too close, darlin’.”

You smiled, the expression meant to reassure him. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I always do,” he said, his voice softer now.

With that, you slipped away from him, weaving through the crowd with ease. You approached the host with a disarming smile, your movements graceful and deliberate.

“Excuse me,” you said, your voice carrying just the right mix of politeness and charm. “This is my first time at one of these events. You wouldn’t happen to be the host, would you?”

The man’s eyes lit up as he turned his attention to you, his smile widening. “Indeed, I am. Samuel Kane, at your service.” He extended a hand, and you shook it lightly, careful not to show any hesitation.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself, tilting your head slightly. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the man behind all of this.”

Kane laughed, clearly pleased by the flattery. “Well, I do my best to keep things interesting. And you, my dear, are an absolute vision. Your husband must be a lucky man.”

You felt a flicker of unease at the comment but maintained your composure. “He’s around here somewhere,” you said with a laugh. “But he’s not much for mingling.”

As you engaged Kane in conversation, you subtly shifted closer, angling yourself to get a better look at his security badge. The clip was loose, the badge slightly askew—a small detail, but one that worked in your favor.

Behind you, Logan lingered near the edge of the room, his sharp eyes never leaving you. He sipped his drink, outwardly relaxed, but you knew better. His tension was palpable, even from across the room.

Kane was still talking, his voice smooth and practiced, but you weren’t really listening. Instead, you focused on the timing, waiting for the perfect moment to make your move. When Kane turned slightly to greet another guest, you acted quickly, brushing against him just enough to unclip the badge without drawing attention.

“Oops,” you said, feigning a stumble as you steadied yourself against his arm. “Sorry about that. These heels aren’t the most practical.”

Kane laughed, clearly oblivious. “No harm done.”

You smiled apologetically before excusing yourself, slipping the badge into your clutch as you made your way back to Logan. He raised an eyebrow when you returned, his expression a mix of amusement and approval.

“Got it,” you whispered, holding up the badge for him to see.

Logan smirked. “That’s my girl.”

He slipped the badge into his jacket pocket, and the two of you began weaving through the crowd toward the hallway that led to the restricted areas. You kept a pleasant smile on your face, casually nodding at attendees as you passed. Beside you, Logan's body was tense, ready for a fight if it came to that.

Reaching the hallway, you slipped through the door labeled Authorized Personnel Only. Logan glanced back to make sure no one was following before pulling the door shut behind you.

The ambiance changed immediately, the buzz of the gala replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional beep of security monitors. The luxurious carpet was gone, replaced by plain industrial tile.

“Where to, sweetheart?” Logan asked in a low voice.

“The server room’s at the end of the hall, on the left,” you whispered, nodding ahead.

Logan led the way, his posture relaxed but his hands loosely curled at his sides. You reached the server room without incident, and Logan swiped the badge through the reader. It flashed green with a soft beep, and the door clicked open.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, racks of servers glowing faintly with green and blue lights. You stepped in first, your eyes scanning for the console you needed. Logan followed, closing the door quietly behind him and planting himself by it.

“You do your thing. I’ll keep watch,” he said, his voice steady.

“Got it,” you replied, already making your way to the terminal in the corner.

Sitting down, you pulled a flash drive from your clutch and inserted it into the port. Typing quickly, you navigated through the system, bypassing firewalls and locating the files you needed. Jean’s earlier instructions echoed in your mind—what to look for, how to find it, how to pull it without alerting any alarms.

Logan’s voice broke the silence. “How’s it goin’, darlin’?”

“Almost there,” you murmured, biting your lip as a particularly stubborn firewall slowed your progress. After a few more keystrokes, the file began to download.

“I’m in,” you said softly. “Just need a few more seconds.”

Logan didn’t reply, but you could feel his sharp gaze fixed on the hallway outside, ready for anything.

The download finished with a soft ping, and you quickly ejected the flash drive, slipping it back into your clutch. As you stood and turned to Logan, his head jerked up slightly, his ears picking up on something you couldn’t hear.

“Guards,” he muttered. “Two of ’em, comin’ this way.”

Your mind raced. “Okay, uh… we can do what they did in that movie we watched the other night. You know, the spy one!”

Logan frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

“Logan,” you hissed, stepping closer to him. “We have to pretend we’re—” Before you could finish, you reached up, gripped his shirt, and tugged him down into a kiss.

Logan tensed for a split second before relaxing, his arms instinctively sliding around your waist. The kiss deepened quickly, his lips pressing against yours with a mixture of surprise and intensity. One of his hands rested at the small of your back while the other gently cradled the back of your head.

The sound of footsteps stopped just outside the server room.

“Hey!” one of the guards called out, his voice sharp.

You and Logan broke apart abruptly, panting softly as you both turned to face the guards. The red lipstick you’d meticulously applied was now smeared—not just on your face but faintly on Logan’s lips as well. One of the guards squinted, clearly caught off guard.

“This area’s off-limits,” the other guard barked.

Logan’s arm was still around your waist, and he stepped forward slightly, putting himself between you and the guards. “Sorry ’bout that. Thought we were sneakin’ off for some privacy. Didn’t realize we weren’t supposed to be here.” His voice was gravelly but calm, carrying just enough irritation to make the act believable.

The guards exchanged looks, then groaned in unison. “Just—get out of here,” the first one said. “Go back to the gala before we have to call someone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan grumbled, steering you back down the hallway. He kept his hand at your back, a silent reassurance.

You stayed quiet until you were back near the main gala floor. When Logan finally looked down at you, his lips quirked into a sly grin.

“You’ve got some guts, darlin’,” he said, his voice filled with approval.

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “You’ve got lipstick on your face.”

His grin widened as he rubbed his thumb against his mouth. “You sayin’ it’s not my color?”

“Not exactly,” you teased. “But it definitely makes a statement.”

He chuckled, slipping his hand into yours as the two of you rejoined the party, the flash drive safely tucked away.

---

Logan had given in, allowing you to finally trim his beard. You sat perched on the bathroom counter, knees brushing against his sides as he stood in front of you. His rugged face was in your hands, the razor gliding carefully over his jawline.

As you worked, you started rambling, like always when you were focused on something. “Did you know razors date back to the Bronze Age? They found tools that were basically sharp stones or metals people used to shave with. Imagine that—scraping your face with a rock.”

Logan gave a quiet, non-committal grunt, his eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

You weren’t deterred, though. “Then in the 18th century, straight razors became popular. Those were sharp as hell, like something out of a horror movie. Then King Camp Gillette comes in and invents the safety razor in—Logan?”

You suddenly paused, pulling back the razor to wave your hand in front of his face. His eyes snapped up to yours, startled.

“What?” he rumbled.

“You weren’t listening,” you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I was listening,” he argued, his voice dipping into a softer tone, almost playful. “Just… got distracted.”

You arched a brow. “By what?”

His gaze dropped, just slightly. His focus lingered for a second too long, and then it dawned on you. You glanced down and realized the problem. Since you were sitting on the counter, your chest was right at eye level for him.

“Oh my God,” you blurted, rolling your eyes as heat crept into your face. “Is that the only reason you agreed to let me do this?”

Logan’s lips curled into a small smirk, one that almost made you drop the razor. “Maybe,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “I had a good view. Figured I’d let you have your fun.”

“You’re impossible,” you huffed, swatting at him lightly.

His chuckle was a quiet rumble in his chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t decide if you were more annoyed or charmed. Maybe both.

“Finish up, darlin’,” he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Can’t have half a beard. Not a good look for me.”

Shaking your head, you returned to your task, though the edges of your mouth tugged upward in a reluctant smile.

---

Later that day the two of you decided to watch a movie in the common room. The bowl of popcorn was already empty, thanks to Logan, but you were more than content to watch the new DVD Scott got you to replace the heels.

It was Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Season One, with director’s cut episodes, behind-the-scenes featurettes, and a few other things.

By the time the fifth episode came on, Logan had fallen asleep. His head rested face down against your stomach, his arm draped lazily over your waist, hanging off the edge of the couch. The quiet sound of his breathing filled the room, his broad shoulders rising and falling steadily.

You smiled down at him, your hands gently weaving through his hair. You couldn’t help but feel a certain tenderness as you sat there, watching the animated battle play out on the screen while he snored faintly against you. This was rare—Logan being so unguarded, so completely relaxed. It was a stark contrast to the usual gruff, sharp-witted man you saw most days.

For once, you were grateful he’d conked out. Not that you didn’t love spending time with him, but movie nights with Logan usually involved endless questions.

"Wait, who’s the green guy again?"

"What kind of idiot jumps into a fight with no backup?"

"So these clones just follow orders without asking questions? Sounds like bad programming."

Sometimes it was cute; other times, it was infuriating. Now, though? Peace. No commentary about Yoda’s battle strategies or sarcastic remarks about Anakin's life choices.

You shifted slightly to readjust, trying not to disturb him, though the weight of his head made it tricky. When you moved, he let out a small, contented grunt, his grip on your waist tightening just a little.

The scene switched to an intense lightsaber duel, and you caught yourself absently stroking Logan’s hair again. He groaned softly and nuzzled his face further into your stomach.

"Mm, warm," he mumbled, his voice gravelly, not quite awake.

"Logan," you whispered, shaking your head with an amused smile. "Are you seriously sleep-talking?"

"Not talkin'," he grunted, burying himself further against you like a sleepy dog finding the perfect napping spot.

"Uh-huh," you said, unable to suppress a laugh. Your fingers stilled for a moment, then continued combing gently through his thick hair. His faint snoring resumed, the small hitch in his breathing telling you he’d sunk back into whatever dreamland had him so quiet.

This—this was your Logan. The Logan who melted around you, softened in ways no one else ever saw. It made all the challenges—the struggles, the years of trying for a baby, the losses—feel worth enduring. You might not have everything you'd once wished for, but you had this. A quiet moment of contentment, wrapped in an old blanket on a threadbare couch, Logan safe and completely at ease in your arms.

For the first time in a long while, your heart didn’t ache for what could’ve been. Instead, you closed your eyes briefly and focused on the gentle weight of him, the comfort of his presence, and the sound of his steady breath.

When you opened them again, the episode was winding down. You grabbed the remote carefully, switching to the next before setting it down. Logan shifted again, his arm curling tighter around you.

“Y’can keep playing it,” he murmured groggily, not lifting his head.

"Thought you were asleep."

"I am," he muttered, eyes still closed.

"You mean you were," you teased.

"Same difference," he rumbled, the corner of his mouth tugging into a tiny smirk before he pressed closer. "Now stop talkin’. I’m comfortable."

You chuckled and let him settle again, absentmindedly tracing circles at the base of his neck. If this was Logan at peace, you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb him, not even for a galaxy far, far away.

that was 2010!

and i can't help but make a star wars reference whenever i can! especially a clone wars reference cause i'm a prequel girly... which is only because of anakin but-

if you don't like star wars literally just imagine anything else (no need to leave rude comments!)

➤All the places that Matt Murdock loves to fuck you-

A/n: Matt is such a cutie

Matt Murdock isn’t a man who allows himself many indulgences. His life is filled with shadows, sacrifice, and the weight of the city pressing down on him. But when it comes to you—the quiet, kind-hearted nurse who’s softer than anyone in his world should be—he finds himself craving every part of you.

And while you turn warm so easily,squeaking under his touch, Matt learns quickly that once he gets you alone, there’s a fire beneath that shyness.

A fire only he gets to stoke.

1. His Apartment – Against the Bookshelf

✨:

It started innocently enough.

You had come over to check on his injuries—again. Despite knowing he heals fast, you had been adamant about making sure he wasn’t reckless.

Matt had been sitting on the edge of his couch, listening to your heartbeat flutter as you pressed gentle fingers to his ribs.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up and let me do this, Murdock,” you had mumbled, heart rate spiking

He smirked.

And then, something shifted.

Maybe it was the way your fingers lingered too long against his skin.

Maybe it was the way his own hands itched to touch you, to map out every inch of the woman who had become his quiet salvation.

Either way, the next thing you knew—Matt had pinned you against the bookshelf, lips devouring yours.

You had gasped, hands gripping his shoulders, and the sound had destroyed him.

He had lifted you easily—one hand beneath your thigh, the other bracing against the shelf behind you. The books dug into your back, but you didn’t care. Not when Matt was kissing you like that.

Desperate. Rough.

Like he had been starving for you.

And by the time you were both done, you were breathless, shaken, and laughing softly when he finally let you back down on shaky legs.

You two didn’t even bother fixing the books that had fallen to the floor.

2. Your Bedroom – With the Windows Open

✨:

Your apartment was small but warm—much like you.

And Matt had fallen in love with it.

Not just because it smelled like vanilla and the faintest hint of antiseptic, or because you had soft blankets everywhere (which he would never admit he loved).

No.

He loved it because it was yours.

And when he was in your bed, tangled in sheets that smelled like you, listening to you whisper his name, he felt like he could breathe.

One night, with the windows cracked open, letting the cool night air in, he had taken his time with you.

Letting his hands trace every inch of you soft, warm skin.Letting his mouth memorize every spot that made you whimper.

Letting you fall apart beneath him, whispering his name like a prayer.

And when you came apart on his fingers, your voice barely above a breath—the city outside had disappeared.

Because in that moment, it was just you and him.

3. His Office – On His Desk

✨:

It was a mistake.

You both knew it the second you walked in, wearing that damn dress.

Foggy had already gone home for the night. Karen had left too. It was just you both—you had stopped by to drop off something he had forgotten at your place.

But the second he heard your heartbeat spike—the second he smelled the faint scent of your shampoo, your perfume, the lingering traces of something sweet on your lips and the rustle of the fabric of your dress.

He had lost all control.

You had barely set down the folder before Matt had you pressed against his desk, your hands gripping his tie as you gasped into his mouth.

“Matt—”

“Tell me to stop,” he had murmured against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, listening to the way your pulse fluttered.

You hadn’t.

Not when he had lifted you onto the desk, pushing papers aside.

Not when he had slid his hands beneath your dress, pulling a moan from your lips as his fingers brushed your core through your panties.

Not when he had taken you apart right there, in the very office where he fought so hard to be the “good man.”

Because around you—he didn’t always want to be good.

He just wanted you

4. The Rooftop – Under the Stars

✨:

You had never been a fan of rooftops.

They made you nervous, made you feel like one wrong step would send you plummeting.

But when Matt had pulled you up there one night, promising he wouldn’t let you fall, you had followed.

And somehow, sitting there with him, the city below wasn’t so scary.

You had leaned into his side, warm beneath his touch, whispering about your day, his scars, the things you two never told anyone else.

And maybe it was the intimacy of the moment.

Or maybe it was just Matt Murdock, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing in the world worth touching.

Because suddenly—his lips were on yours.

Slow. Gentle.

Not like before—not rough, not desperate.

But like a man who had finally come home.

And there, under the stars, with nothing but the wind against both of your skin and the city buzzing beneath you both, Matt made love to you like you were something sacred.

And for once, you believed him.

5. The Church – When it Shouldn’t Have happened

✨:

It had been wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Matt had been struggling—torn between his faith, his demons, his feelings for you.

And you had just wanted to comfort him.

But when he had pulled you into the dimly lit confessional, hands gripping your waist, breath hot against your ear, you had known that you both weren’t going to stop.

And you hadn’t.

He had touched you like he was searching for salvation.

Matt Murdock is not an easy man to love.

But you love him anyways. You love his scars, his sins, the way he worships you when no one is watching.

And no matter where you two are—

His apartment.

Your bed.

His office.

A rooftop.

Even a place that was meant for prayers, not sins.

You will always comes back to him.

And Matt?

Matt always lets you.

Because he loves you, more than life it's self.

before you jerk it to another fetishized dbf joel fic read something new, think critically, and do something with what you learn

applied to fandom: accessible anti racist policy/practice

racism and structural violence: interconnected threats to health equity

Racism, whiteness, and burnout in antiracism movements: How white racial justice activists elevate burnout in racialjustice activists of color in the United States

racial equity tools

anti-racism resources (the beginning is more local to this org, but there's more later in the list)

anti-racism resources for white people

recources for white people to learn and talk about race and racism

this blog post from 2020 that is more relevant than ever:

I am Black. This is what I Need (& what I Don’t) from White Allies:

Frank & Matt Parallels for @anna-hawk ❤️

PEDRO PASCAL Materialists | 2025

whatever you do, don’t think about how matt murdock’s holy silver cross necklace dangles in front of your face while he fucks you oh-so-deviously.

don’t think about how matt murdock's breath against your neck was like that of a silent confession, each exhale a sinful prayer that made you tremble from the need of it all.

don’t think about how matt murdock will have you moaning out a variety of expletives and the occasional ‘oh god, matt’ when he angles those dexterous hips just right.

don’t think about how matt murdock smirks at you with such sinful lips, or how they had been buried between the plush of your thighs only moments before.

don't think about how matt murdock's voice, intoxicating and rough, pulled you in like a prayer you didn’t want to answer. every word he uttered was like a unholy promise that set your heart racing with an urgency that was impossible control.

don’t think about the way matt murdock uttered praise down at your blissed out form was practically unhallowed — “come on, angel, you can get louder than that.”

don’t think about how matt murdock’s very touch was downright unholy. your skin beneath his tempting hands burned with nothing but pure need and desire, and it was practically etched into just features just how well he knew.

don’t think about how matt murdock’s pace was a rough, steady assault, each movement building a tension too intense to bear. it was almost if he was testing your limits, drawing you closer to the edge with every deliberate and divine thrust.

and absolutely don’t think about the way matt murdock has your back arching, eyes rolling back as pure euphoria washes over your angelic form. that silver cross of his dangled before you, taunting, served as an all too familiar reminder of how every intimate encounter with matt murdock was sure to be sacrilegious.

needy pt.1

chapter summary: You're Scott's younger sister and for months you've been secretly dating Logan. How much longer can you and him keep the secret?

word count: 8.3k+ (19.3k+ total)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: don't ask how or why this is so long, it was meant to be be less than 10k words but it just kept going. i was having a lot of fun writing this, and if people want to see a continuation or some other part of the story with these two, don't be afraid to ask! for now, enjoy cause there are like 3 smut scenes

there are two parts! tumblr has a word limit so i had to split it up!

warnings/tags: smut, unprotected piv, slight exhibitionism, slight pain kink, creampie, age gap (that's obvi), oral (f!receiving), slight praise kink, fingering, secret relationship, jealously, some possessiveness, peter maximoff being a little shit, fluff, slight angst

❀ part 2 ❀

“That’s it sweetheart.” Logan drawled, his body hovering over yours while slowly thrusting into you. “Doin’ so good for me.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, nail indents healing immediately.

Logan let out a low, rough chuckle against your throat. "Feisty, huh?" His voice was thick with heat, lips dragging along your pulse as he thrust deeper. "Go on, doll, mark me up all you want. Ain't like it'll stick—but I like feelin' you try."

Your breath hitched, legs tightening around his waist. "Shut up and move, Logan."

His smirk was all teeth. "Bossy." But he gave you what you wanted, picking up the pace, the bed rocking under both of you.

Knock. Knock.

Your body stiffened instantly. Logan froze too, just for a second, before his head snapped toward the door.

"Y/N?"

Scott.

Your stomach flipped. Logan's grip on your hip tightened. "You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," he muttered under his breath.

"Shut up," you hissed, slapping a hand over his mouth. He raised an eyebrow at you, clearly amused despite the situation.

Scott knocked again. "You in there?"

You scrambled for an excuse, trying to keep your voice normal. "Uh—yeah! What do you want?"

Logan leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, "Think he knows his baby sister's gettin' fucked dumb by the big bad Wolverine?"

You smacked his shoulder. "You're not helping."

Scott sighed on the other side of the door. "Jean said you weren’t in your room, and you missed training this morning. You okay?"

Shit. "Yeah! I'm fine! I just—I was asleep."

Logan stifled a laugh against your neck. "Not a total lie," he murmured, nipping at your jaw.

You shoved at his chest. "Stop it," you mouthed.

Scott hesitated. "You sure?"

Logan's hips rolled, and you barely bit back a moan. "Positive," you choked out. "Just… tired. Can we talk later?"

A pause. Then: "Alright. Just checkin'." His footsteps retreated down the hall.

Logan didn’t wait. The second Scott’s footsteps faded down the hall, he was back on you—mouth hot, breath rough, hands greedy.

"You shoulda heard yourself," he murmured, lips dragging along your jaw. "Tryin’ to sound all innocent when I got you stuffed full like this."

Your nails dug into his back again, legs still locked tight around his waist. "And whose fault is that?"

His smirk was downright filthy. "Mine. And I ain't even a little sorry."

He moved again—slow, deep thrusts that had you gasping against his shoulder. You bit down on his skin, just to keep quiet, and he groaned low in his chest. "Fuck, doll, do that again."

You did, dragging your teeth over his collarbone, then licking over the mark like an apology. His pace stuttered for half a second before he pressed you deeper into the mattress, forearm braced next to your head.

"You wanna play dirty, huh?" His voice was a growl now, rough as gravel. "You're gonna be real sorry 'bout that."

And then he set a punishing rhythm—hips slamming into yours, his body pressed so tight to you that you could feel the heat of him everywhere.

You couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Every drag, every thrust had you unraveling under him, nails clawing at his arms, his back, his shoulders—anything to ground yourself.

"Logan," you gasped.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Yeah, sweetheart, I know. I got you."

His breath was hot against your skin, his weight solid, grounding. But there was nothing slow or sweet about the way he moved now—his hips drove into yours with an intensity that made your nails sink even deeper into his back.

"Fuck, Logan," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, rough and dark. "S'what I like to hear," he muttered, dragging his teeth along the side of your throat. "All those little noises—only I get to hear ‘em, huh?"

Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking just enough to make him grunt. "Maybe if you'd shut up and—oh, shit—keep going—"

Logan didn't need more encouragement. He pressed you further into the mattress, keeping you pinned beneath him, his pace relentless. Every roll of his hips sent a sharp, toe-curling heat through you, your pulse thudding loud in your ears.

Then—his mouth was at your ear again. "You still think Scott bought that bullshit excuse?"

Your stomach tightened, pleasure warring with panic. "Shut up," you hissed.

His smirk was pure sin. "Nah. Kinda fun knowin’ he was just outside while I had you like this—"

"Logan," you warned, biting back a moan.

He just hummed like the idea amused him. "Bet he'd lose his fuckin’ mind if he knew, huh? His sweet, innocent baby sister—" His hips slammed into yours, forcing out a sharp, breathless gasp. "—gettin' wrecked by the guy he hates most."

You slapped a hand over his mouth again, eyes flashing. "Do you want us to get caught?"

Logan just huffed against your palm, but his eyes burned with something darker. Amused. Possessive. A challenge.

Then, just as quickly, he shifted, dragging your hand away and pinning it above your head, his fingers laced through yours. "Nah, I like keepin’ you all to myself," he murmured against your lips before claiming them in a kiss—deep, messy, all tongue and teeth and heat.

The knock at the door had long since faded into silence, but the risk still lingered—your brother was right there, just down the hall. The thought alone made something coil tighter in your gut.

"Logan," you whispered, half warning, half plea.

"Shh," he muttered, his free hand slipping down your body, gripping tight at your waist as he drove into you again. "Just focus on me, sweetheart. Nothin’ else matters."

And for now, with his body pressing you deeper into the sheets, his breath ragged against your skin, and his hands branding you in ways that would never fade—he was right.

---

Dinner was already a disaster, and you hadn’t even sat down yet. Scott was in full big-brother mode, still eyeing you like he wasn’t convinced by your excuse from earlier. Jean had that look too—like she could hear your heart rate spike every time Scott brought it up. And Rogue? She was the worst of them all, smirking every time you so much as shifted in your seat.

“So,” Scott started, arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “You sure you’re okay?”

You grabbed a plate, keeping your expression neutral. “Yeah, Scott. Just tired. I overslept.”

Scott frowned, clearly skeptical. “You never oversleep.”

Rogue snorted into her drink. “Maybe she had a long night,” she said innocently, then flicked her gaze toward you with way too much amusement.

Your stomach dropped. You shot her a glare, but she just smirked over the rim of her cup.

“Long night doing what?” Scott asked.

Jean sighed. “Scott.”

“No, seriously. She missed training. That’s not like her.”

“Maybe she was busy,” Rogue said, taking a slow sip. “Real busy.”

You swore you were going to kill her. Right here. At the dinner table.

Scott’s frown deepened. “Doing what?”

Before Rogue could dig your grave any deeper, Logan walked in like he owned the place, rolling his shoulders and grabbing a beer from the fridge. He barely spared you a glance, but you knew he was enjoying this way too much.

“Doin’ what, Summers?” Logan popped the cap off the bottle and took a swig, looking entirely unbothered.

Scott gestured toward you. “She missed training this morning. Said she was sleeping, but she never oversleeps.”

Logan shrugged. “Guess she needed it.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “You don’t think that’s weird?”

Logan leaned against the counter, looking unimpressed. “What’s weird is you interrogatin’ her like she committed a crime.”

Rogue let out a cough that sounded a hell of a lot like a laugh.

Jean, who had been watching the entire thing unfold, finally spoke up. “Scott, drop it. If she says she was tired, she was tired.”

Scott exhaled sharply, clearly still unconvinced but finally letting it go. “Fine.” He grabbed his plate and moved to sit down.

Logan smirked over the rim of his beer before taking another sip. You didn’t even have to look at him to know exactly what was going through his head.

As soon as Scott turned away, Rogue leaned over and muttered under her breath, “You’re lucky Jean shut him up.”

You kicked her under the table. She just grinned.

---

Later that night you were in your bedroom reading a book when someone knocked on your door. “It’s open!” you called out. You knew it wouldn’t be Logan, not when it was only 9 pm.

Rogue plopped down beside you, stretching her legs out and giving you a shit-eating grin.

"So," she drawled, nudging your shoulder. "How's your nap?"

You groaned, already regretting not locking your door. "Not you too."

"Oh, especially me," she said, grinning. "C'mon, sugar, I deserve some details after helpin’ cover your ass at dinner."

You shot her a glare. "You almost got me caught."

"Please," she scoffed. "Scott's dense as hell when it comes to you. If Jean weren’t there, he’d still be tryin’ to figure out what was ‘off’ about you today." She smirked. "Meanwhile, I know exactly what was off."

You grabbed a pillow and smacked her with it. Rogue just laughed. "Hey, I ain't judgin’! I just think it’s funny how not subtle you two are."

You gave her a look. "We are subtle."

"Uh-huh. Sure," she said, rolling her eyes. "So subtle that I had to watch Logan barely contain his smug-ass smirk at dinner. You realize you got played, right? Scott started pushin’, and Logan shut it down in, like, two sentences."

You frowned. "That wasn’t playing me—that was helping me."

Rogue snorted. "Girl, Logan lives for this. He’s gettin’ off on the fact that he’s sneakin’ around with Scott Summers' baby sister."

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You hated that she was probably right.

Rogue grinned. "Bet he’s got a real nice ego boost right now."

You sighed, flopping back against your pillows. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," she said cheerfully. "But you do love makin’ bad decisions."

"Logan is not a bad decision." She raised an eyebrow. You crossed your arms. "He’s not."

Rogue just smirked. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, sugar."

You groaned. "Are you done?"

"Not even close," she said, kicking her feet up on your bed. "But I’ll give you a break—for now."

"Gee, thanks."

She chuckled, then eyed you for a moment before her smirk softened just a little. "You really like him, huh?"

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Yeah. I do."

Rogue nodded, like she already knew. "Then I guess I’ll keep coverin’ for you."

You smiled. "Thanks."

"Don’t thank me yet," she said, grinning. "If you two do get caught, I wanna be front row for Scott’s meltdown."

---

A few nights later, you barely made it two steps into your room before a rough hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside. The door shut behind you with a quiet click.

“Jesus—Logan!” You turned, ready to shove him off, but the moment you saw the look in his eyes, your stomach flipped.

His hands were already on your waist, pushing you back until your spine hit the door. His body was flush against yours, heat radiating from him.

“You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy all day,” he muttered, voice low, rough. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place like he needed to. “Sittin’ across from me at dinner, actin’ all innocent, while I’m still thinkin’ ‘bout the way you came on my cock the other night.”

Your breath hitched, pulse spiking. “Logan—”

“Could barely keep my hands to myself,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. “You think Scott noticed how damn quiet I was?”

You swallowed hard, hands clutching at his arms. “You were quiet?”

Logan chuckled against your skin. “See? You weren’t payin’ attention either.” He pressed closer, one thigh slotting between yours, and you felt him—hot, hard, ready.

“Logan,” you breathed, your fingers twisting in his shirt.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His lips brushed your ear, teasing. “Tell me what you want.”

A sharp knock made you both freeze. Again? Your stomach dropped as Logan exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath.

“Y/N?” Scott’s voice.

You shut your eyes, biting back a groan. Logan’s forehead dropped against your shoulder, his whole body tense.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he whispered.

You shoved at his chest, mouthing move. He just smirked, staying right where he was.

Scott knocked again. “You in there?”

Logan's smirk widened, eyes gleaming with something smug. You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to sound normal. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Open up.”

Panic shot through you. Logan just raised an eyebrow, amused. You shoved at his chest harder, whispering, “hide.”

He grinned. “No.”

Your glare was sharp. “Logan.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes before finally stepping back. “Fine.” He moved toward your closet, muttering, “This is fuckin’ humiliatin’,” under his breath.

You didn’t have time to argue. The moment he was out of sight, you exhaled hard and cracked the door open.

Scott frowned down at you. “Why’d that take so long?”

You forced a casual shrug. “I was getting ready for bed.”

Scott squinted at you, then looked over your shoulder, like he expected to find some kind of evidence of your lies. “You sure?”

Your heart pounded. “Yes, Scott,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “Why are you here?”

Scott still looked unconvinced, but finally said, “I wanted to see if you wanted to train in the morning. Just us.”

You blinked. “Uh… sure?”

“Cool. Early morning session. Don’t be late.” He gave you another suspicious look before stepping back. “Night, Y/N.”

You gave him the fakest smile you could muster. “Night.”

The second the door shut, Logan was out of the closet, shaking his head. “You owe me for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, poor you. Hiding for thirty seconds.”

He stepped close again, hands sliding back onto your waist. “Not the hidin’ part that pissed me off,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to your throat. “It’s the part where I didn’t get to finish what I started.”

Heat curled in your stomach. “Then finish it,” you whispered.

Logan’s grip tightened, fingers digging into your waist as he pressed you back against the door, his body flush against yours. Heat radiated off him in waves, thick and consuming.

"Thought you'd never ask," he murmured, his voice all gravel and dark amusement. His lips traced a slow path along your jaw before dragging down to your throat, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, desperate to hold onto something as his hands moved—one sliding up your side, under your shirt, rough fingers splaying against bare skin. You sucked in a sharp breath as he pressed his thigh between yours, the pressure making your head spin.

"Logan—"

"You were teasin' me all damn day," he muttered against your skin. "All wide eyes and sweet little smiles like you weren’t sittin’ there with my fuckin’ marks still on you."

Your breath hitched. His teeth caught on the spot where your shoulder met your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp. "Not my fault you left them," you whispered, your own hands slipping under his shirt, tracing over the hard muscle of his stomach.

Logan chuckled—low, dangerous. "Oh, it was on purpose, sweetheart. Wanted you rememberin' exactly where my mouth was."

His lips skimmed your jaw, his stubble scraping your skin as he worked his way lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of your throat. His hands were firm, fingers digging into your waist, holding you against him like he needed you there.

"You should've finished before Scott interrupted," you muttered, breathless, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Logan chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. "Sweetheart, you really think I’m the kinda guy to rush this?" His teeth scraped over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. "Nah. You started this game, now you gotta deal with the consequences."

His hands moved—one slipping beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your ribs, rough and warm. The other slid lower, down the curve of your hip, before gripping the back of your thigh and hauling it up against his side. The movement sent you pressing closer, heat meeting heat, and you gasped.

"You feel that?" His voice was a low growl. "Been hard all damn day because of you."

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him even closer. "Then do something about it."

His smirk was pure arrogance. "Oh, you got some fire tonight, huh?" His hand on your thigh tightened, his other sliding higher beneath your shirt, grazing the underside of your breast. "I like that."

Before you could snap back, he kissed you—hard. No hesitation, no teasing. His lips crashed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he was claiming you, like he'd been waiting for this all day. And maybe he had.

Your back hit the door harder as he pressed into you, deepening the kiss, swallowing the quiet moan that slipped from your throat. His hands were everywhere—roaming, gripping, pulling.

Then, with no warning, he lifted you. You gasped against his lips, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he turned, carrying you toward the bed like you weighed nothing.

"You just gonna manhandle me now?" you teased, breathless.

Logan smirked, dropping you onto the mattress with a bounce. "Damn right I am."

Before you could recover, he was on you—hands braced on either side of your head, knee pressing between your thighs. His lips were back on yours, insistent, hungry. He kissed like he fought—relentless, determined, and utterly in control.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and the growl he let out sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, dragging it up, his knuckles grazing heated skin as he peeled it over your head. The second it was gone, his mouth was everywhere—kissing, nipping, sucking at the newly exposed skin like he had something to prove.

"Logan—" Your voice hitched as his teeth scraped over your collarbone.

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, lips moving lower. "Let me enjoy this."

His hands found the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with far too much ease, his lips still moving, still teasing. You barely had time to process the cool air against your skin before his hands were on your thighs, spreading you open.

He looked up at you, eyes dark, heated, hungry. "You are gonna be real quiet for me, right?" His voice was nothing but rough gravel and amusement. "Wouldn't want your brother to come knockin' again."

You should've had a smart-ass response ready, but the moment his mouth was on you, your brain short-circuited. A sharp gasp tore from your throat as his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, a teasing flick before he sealed his lips around you and sucked. Your fingers shot to his hair, tangling in the thick mess, your back arching off the bed before you even realized it.

"Logan—"

He growled against you, the vibration sending a shock straight through your system. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Quiet, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his mouth away just enough to speak. His lips were slick, his voice dark with amusement.

You clenched your jaw, the reminder making your face burn—but not enough to stop you from tugging his hair, shoving him back down where he belonged. Logan chuckled, but didn’t argue.

He buried himself between your thighs again, tongue pressing, curling, teasing. Every flick sent heat pooling deep in your stomach, every slow, deliberate movement dragging you higher and higher, the tension coiling tight.

Your breathing turned uneven, fingers clutching at the sheets. "Logan," you gasped, your thighs threatening to clamp shut.

He didn’t let you. His hands flexed, holding you open as he devoured you, his pace slow and maddening, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"You’re close," he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. He pressed a kiss right where you needed him most, almost gentle. "I can feel it."

You bit down hard on your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of begging. But Logan had other plans. He sucked, hard and sudden, and your whole body jerked.

A sharp cry broke from your throat, your hands flying to muffle yourself as heat crashed through you. The tension snapped, pleasure rolling through you in shuddering waves, your body trembling beneath his hold.

He groaned against you, like he was savoring every second, like he lived for this.

Only when you finally slumped back against the sheets, breathless and spent, did he pull away, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Sweetheart," he muttered, his voice thick with heat and satisfaction. "You taste so fuckin’ sweet when you come for me."

Your face burned, but you still shot him a glare. "Cocky."

Logan smirked. "Damn right."

Then he was on you again, lips crashing against yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His body pressed flush against yours, his jeans rough against your bare skin, and—

Yeah. He was still hard as hell.

"You got yours," you murmured against his mouth, reaching between you. "Now let me return the favor."

His breath stuttered as your fingers brushed against the hard length straining behind his zipper, but before you could do anything else, his hand caught your wrist.

"Not yet." His voice was rough, strained. "I need to be inside you first."

Your stomach flipped. He reached down, making quick work of his belt, his jeans, shoving them down just enough. You caught the briefest glimpse of him before he was lining himself up, the heat of him pressing against you.

"Fuck," he groaned as he pushed inside, slow, stretching you open inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

Your mouth parted, a soft, breathless moan slipping free at the feeling of him—full, deep, overwhelming in the best way.

Logan shuddered. "You feel so fuckin’ good, doll," he rasped against your ear.

Then he moved. A slow, deliberate pull before thrusting back in, setting a steady, deep rhythm. Every movement sent sparks through your system, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your breath coming in soft gasps.

Logan groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Fuckin’ hell, I missed this."

You clung to him, your body tightening around him in response. His pace faltered for half a second before he growled—and snapped his hips into you. A sharp cry tore from your throat, and Logan grinned. "That’s what I thought."

Then he really started moving. Deep, rough thrusts, dragging you higher and higher, your nails raking down his back as pleasure coiled tight again, building faster this time.

"Logan—"

"I got you," he muttered, voice wrecked. "Come on, sweetheart, let go for me."

You did. The pleasure crashed through you, your body trembling as you came around him, his name falling from your lips in a breathless moan.

Logan groaned, his thrusts turning erratic before he buried himself deep, his whole body tensing as he followed you over the edge.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just tangled together, catching your breath.

"You’re heavy," you muttered, pushing weakly at his chest.

Logan huffed a laugh but finally rolled onto his side, dragging you with him.

"You love it," he muttered, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple.

You snorted. "You wish."

He just grinned, pulling you closer.

---

You and Logan rarely have date nights. It was hard to find a quiet, empty space in the mansion that you knew no one was going to go into.

Let alone Scott letting you go out at night, even if you were 25.

But, tonight, you had a way around that. Rogue had already gone out with Bobby to the carnival that was in town which gave you a perfect excuse to leave the mansion.

You walked to the front door and barely put your hand on the doorknob when Scott’s voice rang out.

"Where do you think you're going?"

You froze, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral before turning around. "Carnival. Rogue and Bobby already went, so I figured I’d go check it out."

Scott crossed his arms, eyeing you suspiciously. "Since when do you like carnivals?"

You shrugged. "Since now." Scott frowned like he was trying to figure out what was off. You didn’t give him a chance to ask more questions. "You gonna let me go, or are we really about to have a whole interrogation over funnel cakes and rigged games?"

Before Scott could answer, Logan came strolling down the hallway, clearly on his way somewhere—until Scott turned to him.

"Logan, drive her."

Logan blinked. "What?"

Scott gestured toward you. "She’s going to the carnival. Drive her."

Your stomach flipped. You had to fight to keep the surprise off your face. This was perfect.

Logan’s expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to catch the slight twitch of amusement in his eyes. "Why?"

Scott gave Logan a flat look. "Because I don’t want her going alone."

"I can handle myself," you said quickly.

Scott ignored you, still looking at Logan. "Just drop her off and make sure she actually goes inside. Then pick her up when she’s ready to leave."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "I’m twenty-five, Scott. Not fifteen."

"And yet, you’re still my little sister," he shot back.

Logan sighed like this whole conversation was exhausting. "Fine. C’mon, kid," he said, jerking his head toward the door.

You clenched your jaw at the nickname, knowing exactly why he used it in front of Scott. But you didn’t argue. Instead, you grabbed your jacket and walked past them, ignoring the smug look Scott gave you like he’d just ensured your safety for the night.

The second you and Logan stepped outside, he let out a low chuckle. "Well, ain’t this convenient?"

You shot him a look. "Don’t be smug."

"Too late."

---

The drive was quiet at first, just the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of Logan shifting gears. You knew Scott had probably expected Logan to drop you off, watch you go inside, then leave. But instead, Logan was taking the scenic route, driving further away from the carnival.

"You know, if Scott ever finds out about us, he’s gonna kill you," you said, watching the streetlights blur past.

Logan smirked, eyes still on the road. "Nah. He’s gonna try."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading in your chest betrayed you.

After a few minutes, Logan pulled into a small lot near a bar you both knew was usually quiet on weekdays. He killed the engine and turned to you. "So, what’s the plan, doll? We head in, grab a drink, then pretend you spent the whole night winnin’ stuffed animals?"

You smirked. "Something like that."

Logan leaned in slightly, eyes darkening. "Or… we could skip the drinks and find somethin’ else to do."

Your breath hitched, heart pounding. "Temptin’."

His smirk widened, but he didn’t push. Instead, he just reached for his door handle. "C’mon, let’s make this date look real."

You followed him inside, the warmth of the bar a stark contrast to the cool night air. It wasn’t crowded—just a few regulars, a couple playing pool in the corner, and a bartender who barely looked up as you both walked in.

Logan led you to a booth near the back, out of the way, and slid in across from you.

"So," he drawled, resting his arms on the table, "you gonna let me win you a giant teddy bear later?"

You snorted. "You? Win a carnival game? Please."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "You doubtin’ me, sweetheart?"

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing smile on your lips. "I’m just saying… those games take skill. Precision. A soft touch. You’re more of a… smash things and ask questions later kind of guy."

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. "You got a real smart mouth, you know that?"

"Yeah, and you love it."

He smirked. "Damn right I do."

The bartender came by, and you both ordered drinks. Logan, of course, got whiskey. You opted for something lighter. As soon as the bartender walked away, Logan reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

"Been wantin’ to do that all day," he muttered.

Your heart flipped. You curled your fingers around Logan’s, warmth spreading from the simple touch. He never did this at the mansion—not where anyone could see. But here, away from prying eyes, he was different.

"Yeah?" you murmured, teasing, but your voice was softer than you intended.

Logan’s thumb traced lazy circles against your skin. "Yeah." His eyes flicked up, locking onto yours, something unreadable in them. "Kinda hate sneakin’ around all the time."

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the weight behind his words. "I know."

He didn’t push, didn’t say anything else—just held your hand, like that was enough for now. And maybe it was.

The bartender dropped off your drinks, barely sparing either of you a glance. Logan finally let go, but not before giving your fingers one last squeeze.

You picked up your drink, taking a sip. "So, you actually gonna win me that teddy bear later, or were you just talking shit?"

Logan smirked, reaching for his whiskey. "Sweetheart, I ain’t losin’ to a rigged game."

"You sound awfully confident for someone who doesn’t exactly scream ‘hand-eye coordination.’"

Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

"You’re the one dating me."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, but the smirk tugging at his lips said he didn’t mind one bit.

The two of you sat there, drinking, talking, stealing quick touches when no one was looking. It felt easy—like it was supposed to be like this all the time.

You didn’t know how long you stayed, but eventually, Logan leaned back in the booth, stretching his arms across the seat. "Time to make this date look real."

You raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning we go to the damn carnival, you let me win somethin’, and we make sure Summers doesn’t think you were out doin’ somethin’ reckless."

You smirked. "Technically, I am."

Logan snorted, throwing some cash on the table before standing up. "C’mon, trouble. Let’s get you a prize."

---

The carnival was packed, neon lights casting everything in a bright, chaotic glow. The scent of fried food, sugar, and asphalt filled the air, mixing with the hum of laughter and the occasional shriek from a nearby ride.

You walked beside Logan, your fingers grazing his every few steps, but neither of you reached out. Not here.

"Alright, hotshot," you said, stopping in front of a shooting game. "Let’s see if you’re actually as good as you claim."

Logan stepped up to the booth, rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. "You doubtin’ me?"

You crossed your arms, smirking. "I don’t doubt that you’re good at a lot of things, but precision? Patience? Not exactly your strong suit."

Logan just grunted, dropping some cash onto the counter. The guy running the booth handed him a plastic rifle, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"You gotta hit all five targets," the guy drawled, popping gum in his mouth. "You miss one, you lose."

Logan spun the rifle in his hand like it was nothing, raising an eyebrow at you. "Watch and learn, sweetheart."

You huffed a laugh, but then—

Crack.

The first target dropped.

Then the second.

Then the third, fourth, fifth—so fast the guy running the booth barely had time to register it before the last one clattered down.

Logan set the rifle down with a smirk. "Told ya."

You blinked. "Okay. That was… impressive."

"You're damn right it was." He turned to the booth guy, jerking his head toward the line of stuffed animals. "Pick whichever one she wants."

You looked at the rows of plush toys, pretending to think before pointing at the most obnoxious, oversized teddy bear in sight.

Logan’s smirk faltered. "Really?"

"You said I could pick," you reminded him, grinning.

He muttered something under his breath but took the giant bear when the guy handed it over, tossing it at you. "Happy now?"

You hugged the ridiculous thing to your chest. "Very."

Logan shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You’re gonna be the death of me, doll."

You grinned, looping your arm through his as you walked. "Yeah, but what a way to go."

---

By the time you got back to the mansion, it was late. The house was mostly quiet, save for the faint murmur of the TV in the common room.

Logan parked in the driveway, shutting off the engine. Neither of you moved right away.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "You know we can’t keep this up forever."

Your chest tightened. "I know."

Silence stretched between you for a beat. Then he spoke, "you worth the trouble, sweetheart?" Logan’s voice was softer, rough in a different way.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. "You tell me."

His lips twitched, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached over, curling a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a slow, deliberate kiss.

It was different from earlier—less teasing, less rushed. Just warm, steady, like he was trying to say something without actually saying it.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a second before he exhaled and pulled away completely. "Go on. Before Summers comes lookin’."

You rolled your eyes but grabbed the stupidly large teddy bear and climbed out. As you walked inside, you didn’t have to look back to know Logan was watching.

---

"Jesus, sugar. That’s a big teddy bear," Rogue said, leaning against your doorframe with her arms crossed, smirking.

You flopped onto your bed, the ridiculous oversized bear landing beside you. "Yeah, well, I earned it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Did you? ‘Cause I got a feelin’ Logan earned it, and you just picked the biggest, most obnoxious thing you could outta spite."

You grinned, not even trying to deny it. "He said I could pick."

Rogue let out a snort and stepped inside, flopping down next to the bear and poking its fluffy face. "So, how was date night with our favorite bad decision?"

"Great, actually," you admitted, hugging a pillow to your chest. "We got drinks, he won me this monstrosity, and Scott still thinks I was eating funnel cake and riding the Ferris wheel all night."

Rogue let out a dramatic sigh. "That boy is so clueless, it’s almost sad." Then she shot you a look. "But you know he’s gonna find out eventually, right?"

Your stomach twisted, but you shrugged. "I know."

She tilted her head. "And?"

"And… we’ll deal with it when we have to."

Rogue studied you for a moment, then smirked. "You’re fallin’ for him."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, you grabbed the teddy bear and smacked her in the face with it.

She cackled, shoving it away. "Oh, sugar, you are so screwed."

"Shut up."

"Nah, I love this," she teased. "Big, bad Wolverine gettin’ all soft for little ol’ you. It’s cute."

"He is not—" You stopped yourself, because… yeah. He kind of was. At least with you.

Rogue grinned, smug as hell. "I bet he’s outside your window right now, just sittin’ there, all broody, waitin’ for me to leave so he can sneak in."

You rolled your eyes. "He’s not that predictable."

A faint tap at your window made you both freeze. Rogue's eyes went wide before she burst out laughing, smacking your arm. "No fuckin’ way."

You shot her a glare before pushing off the bed, crossing the room, and pulling the curtain back.

Sure enough, Logan stood outside, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. You cracked the window open just enough to whisper, "Are you serious?"

Logan just smirked. "You gonna let me in, or what?"

Rogue was still laughing behind you. "Oh, sugar, I’m never lettin’ you live this down."

---

“Where’d you get that necklace?” Jean asked, looking over the rim of her coffee mug.

You barely paused as you stirred sugar into your coffee. "Bought it for myself," you said, keeping your tone casual.

Jean hummed, watching you for a second longer before taking a sip. "It’s nice. Simple."

You nodded, fingers brushing over the small silver Earth pendant. "Yeah. Thought so too."

Across the table, Rogue smirked into her cup but said nothing. You could feel her amusement radiating off of her, but you refused to look at her. If you did, you’d probably give yourself away.

Jean, thankfully, didn’t press. She just shrugged and leaned back in her chair. "Well, good for you. You don’t usually wear jewelry."

You forced a small smile. "Guess I’m changing things up."

Rogue let out a quiet snort. You kicked her under the table.

Jean’s gaze flicked between the two of you, like she was debating whether or not to ask what that was about, but before she could, Scott walked in, yawning as he grabbed a cup of coffee.

"You training today?" he asked you, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Yeah," you said. "After breakfast."

Scott nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. He didn’t seem to notice the way Rogue was still fighting laughter or how Jean kept glancing at your necklace.

You exhaled quietly, focusing on your coffee. Crisis averted. For now.

---

Later that day, you found Logan in the garage, leaning against his bike, arms crossed as he watched you approach.

"You know," you said, stopping in front of him, "Jean noticed the necklace."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You tell her?"

"Nope," you said, rocking back on your heels. "Said I bought it for myself."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Smart girl."

You smirked. "I try."

Logan reached out, hooking a finger under the chain and tugging you closer. "Y’could’ve just told her the truth."

You gave him a look. "Oh, sure. ‘Hey Jean, thanks for noticing! My secret boyfriend who my brother would literally kill bought it for me. Cool, right?’"

Logan smirked. "I’d pay to see the look on Summers’ face if you ever actually said that."

You rolled your eyes. "You just wanna see him lose his shit."

"Maybe," he admitted, voice full of amusement.

You sighed, shaking your head. "You are such a menace."

Logan’s grip on the necklace tightened for a second before he let it go, letting his fingers trail lightly over your collarbone. "You still wearin’ it, though."

Your breath hitched slightly at the touch, but you kept your expression neutral. "Yeah. I like it."

His smirk softened, just a little. "Good."

For a second, you just stood there, his fingers still ghosting over your skin, the garage quiet except for the distant hum of voices from the mansion.

"You gonna let me take you somewhere tonight?" Logan asked, tilting his head slightly.

You raised an eyebrow. "Somewhere like…?"

Logan shrugged. "Just a ride. No missions, no Scott breathin’ down your neck. Just us."

Your stomach flipped. You hadn’t had much alone time with him outside of stolen moments in your room or hidden corners of the mansion.

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Yeah. Alright."

Logan’s smirk widened. "Good girl."

Your face heated, but you ignored it, turning on your heel before he could say anything else. "I’ll meet you out here at eleven," you called over your shoulder.

"Don’t be late, sweetheart," he said, and you didn’t have to look back to know he was grinning.

---

The night air was cool against your skin as you stepped off the mansion’s back porch, your pulse quickening with every quiet step. You stuck to the shadows, moving with practiced ease—this wasn’t your first time sneaking out. But it was always a gamble. Always a risk.

Still, that didn’t stop the thrill from curling low in your stomach.

Logan was already waiting by his bike, leaning against it with his arms crossed, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. He exhaled, watching you with that familiar smirk—half amused, half something darker.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, flicking the cigar away.

“I said eleven," you shot back, coming to a stop in front of him. "It’s eleven."

Logan glanced at his watch like he didn’t believe you, then shrugged. "Close enough."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything else, he grabbed the helmet from the handlebars and held it out. You hesitated for half a second before taking it, slipping it on as Logan swung a leg over the bike.

"Hop on, doll."

You did, settling in behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist automatically. He was warm, solid beneath your touch, the scent of leather and faint cigar smoke clinging to him.

"You gonna tell me where we're going?" you asked, voice slightly muffled behind the visor.

Logan reached down, gripping your thigh just enough to make you feel it. "Nope."

Your stomach flipped. Before you could push for an answer, the engine roared to life beneath you, and then you were moving—tearing down the quiet backroads, the wind rushing past, the world blurring into streaks of light and shadow.

You didn’t ask again. You just held on tighter.

---

Logan didn’t stop until you were well outside of town, pulling off onto a secluded dirt path surrounded by thick trees. The headlights cast long shadows against the trunks as he killed the engine. The night settled around you, quiet except for the faint hum of crickets and the cooling tick of the bike.

You pulled off the helmet, shaking out your hair before looking around. "This is either really romantic or the start of a horror movie."

Logan snorted, stepping off the bike. "Guess that depends on your definition of romantic."

You smirked, handing him the helmet as you stood. "So? What’s the plan, tough guy? You bringin’ me out here to bury a body?"

He huffed a laugh. "Nah. Just figured we could use some real privacy for once." He jerked his head toward a break in the trees. "C’mon."

You followed him down a small path, stepping carefully over the uneven ground. After a few minutes, the trees thinned out, revealing a stretch of open sky and a lake shimmering under the moonlight.

Your breath caught for half a second. You hadn't expected this.

Logan glanced at you, catching the look on your face. "Not bad, huh?"

You crossed your arms, pretending to consider. "It’s alright, I guess."

He smirked. "Brat."

You grinned but didn’t argue. Instead, you kicked off your shoes and stepped onto the wooden dock that stretched over the water, feeling the worn planks creak under your weight. Logan followed, hands in his pockets as he leaned against one of the wooden posts.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The air was crisp, the reflection of the stars rippling over the water’s surface. It was quiet. Peaceful. Something you didn’t get much of at the mansion.

Then Logan’s voice broke the silence. "You ever think about leavin’?"

You blinked, turning to him. "What?"

He kept his eyes on the water. "The mansion. The team. All of it."

You frowned. "Why would I?"

Logan let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. "Dunno. Just seems like sometimes you’re tryin’ to be somethin’ you ain’t."

You stared at him, caught off guard. "And what exactly do you think I am?"

Logan’s eyes finally met yours, something unreadable in them. "Someone who don’t belong in a cage. No matter how nice they make it look."

Your stomach twisted. You knew what he meant. The mansion was safe, sure. But it was also rules, expectations, eyes always watching. You’d built a life there. A good one. But was it really yours? Or was it just the one Scott expected you to have?

You swallowed, looking away. "And what about you?"

Logan tilted his head slightly. "What about me?"

"Do you ever think about leaving?" You asked.

A pause. "All the damn time."

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything. Instead, you stepped closer, reaching for his hand. Logan let you take it, his fingers curling around yours automatically.

"You don’t have to stay, you know," you murmured. "If you really wanted to go."

Logan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, doll. I do."

Your throat tightened. You knew what he meant. He wasn’t staying for the team.

He was staying for you.

For a moment, you just stood there, his hand warm in yours, the lake stretching out endless and quiet beneath the stars.

Then, finally, Logan smirked. "This is gettin’ a little too sentimental. You wanna go for a swim or somethin’?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "It’s freezing."

"So?"

You rolled your eyes. "You go first, tough guy."

Logan didn’t hesitate. He kicked off his boots, shrugged out of his jacket, and before you could even process what was happening—

Splash.

You gasped as water sprayed onto the dock, the surface rippling wildly where Logan had disappeared. You stared at the disturbance for half a second before Logan popped back up, slicking his hair back with both hands. "Water’s fine."

"You’re a liar," you laughed.

Logan grinned, then suddenly shot out an arm—grabbing your ankle.

"Logan—!"

Too late.

You yelped as he yanked, throwing you completely off balance. The last thing you saw before you hit the water was his smug, grinning face. The cold was a shock—freezing against your skin, stealing the breath from your lungs as you surfaced, gasping.

"You asshole!" you sputtered, shoving wet hair out of your face.

Logan just laughed, the deep sound echoing across the water. "You deserved it," he said, treading water.

"You’re dead," you threatened, lunging at him.

Logan dodged easily, still grinning. "Gotta catch me first, doll."

Oh, it was on now.

You lunged again, cutting through the water as fast as you could, but Logan was quick—too quick. He moved just out of reach every time, smirking like the smug bastard he was.

"That the best you got?" he taunted, backstroking away like he had all the time in the world.

You narrowed your eyes. "You realize I have powers, right?"

Logan’s smirk widened. "Then use ‘em, sweetheart. Let’s see what you got."

Oh, he was asking for it. You didn’t hesitate. You focused, letting energy pulse through your limbs, giving yourself a boost as you surged forward. Logan’s eyes barely had time to widen before you tackled him, sending both of you under the water.

Bubbles rushed around you, the muffled sound of movement filling your ears as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, dragging him down with you. You knew he could hold his breath longer than you, but you weren’t planning on letting this turn into a real fight.

Instead, you twisted, using the momentum to flip him over so you were the one pinning him, hands braced against his shoulders. Even underwater, his smirk was there—amused, challenging.

You rolled your eyes and pushed off, breaking the surface first.

A second later, Logan popped up in front of you, shaking water from his hair. "Not bad," he admitted, voice rougher than usual from the cold. "Didn’t think you had it in you."

"Yeah, well, you underestimate me a lot," you shot back, treading water.

Logan’s smirk softened just a little. "Never."

Your breath hitched, pulse stuttering for a second, but before you could dwell on it, Logan moved—closing the distance between you in one smooth motion. His hands found your waist under the water, steady, warm despite the chill.

"You’re shivering," he murmured.

You rolled your eyes. "Because you threw me in a freezing lake, dumbass."

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, but instead of teasing you again, he just pulled you closer. The warmth of him was instant, the solid weight of his body pressing against yours. His hands slid up, fingers tracing along your ribs, your back. You swallowed, heartbeat thudding as his lips brushed against your temple, then down to the edge of your jaw.

"You wanna get out?" he murmured, voice low.

You nodded, but neither of you moved. Instead, Logan dipped his head, lips ghosting over yours, slow and teasing, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. Like he wanted you to.

But you didn’t. You closed the space, pressing your mouth against his, your fingers slipping into his wet hair as he kissed you back—deep, slow, like he had all the time in the world.

The water rocked around you, your bodies drifting, the night air cool against your skin. It was dangerous, reckless—standing there like this, kissing in the open where anyone could find you.

But you didn’t care.

Not tonight.

Eventually, Logan pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get you warmed up."

His smirk was back, but there was something else in his eyes now—something softer, something real.

You exhaled, nodding. "Yeah. Okay."

Logan didn’t let you go as he led you back toward the shore, his grip firm, steady. Like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

a few things - one, reader's powers are energy manipulation. two, i think it's in the next part, but reader has a degree in something nature/environmental related. it's not heavily described though. anyways, enjoy part 2!

❀ part 2 ❀

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ this is me trying

chapter summary: You and Logan try IVF.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: another short chapter!? who am i? (also this gif is 😙🤌)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, angst, talks of fertility and pregnancy, smut, slight sub!logan unprotected piv, creampie, ghost hunting

series masterlist - chapter 7 → chapter 9

“—and we need to… Logan!” You exclaimed, breaking him out of whatever stupor he was in while staring at you.

You were explaining the new calendar you made that coincided with your IVF treatment, meaning no sex some days before retrieval and no sex some time after.

“Yeah, ‘m listening,” Logan repeated, his eyes flickering back to you like a magnet drawn to steel. He leaned lazily against the counter in your lab, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement—or distraction. Probably both.

You narrowed your eyes, tightening your grip on the whiteboard marker. "Then what did I just say?"

“You need to… no sex before, no sex after," he recited slowly, as if carefully testing each word to make sure it wouldn’t backfire.

“And?" You crossed your arms, one hand on your hip, the other holding the marker up like a teacher about to deliver a pop quiz. "Do you know why?"

Logan’s gaze swept over you, taking in the way you’d planted your feet and stuck a pen behind your ear in your 'professor mode.' “Because you’re ovulatin’ or somethin’? Or tryin’ not to? Hell, I don’t know what half this stuff means.”

You sighed, turning back to the giant whiteboard on the wall. It was cluttered with colorful timelines, reminders, and arrows pointing every which way, all carefully laid out for the IVF schedule. In hindsight, your meticulousness might have been a tad over the top, but you weren’t about to admit that now.

“It’s because we want to maximize the egg retrieval,” you explained, your tone firm but not unkind. “No sex three days before stimulation so it doesn’t mess with your—ugh, never mind. Just stick to the rules. I made this board so it’s clear.”

Behind you, Logan huffed, a warm, rumbling sound that made you turn sharply to find him grinning.

"What?" you asked, brow furrowing.

“You’re real cute when you’re like this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at you. "Hands on your hips, pen behind your ear—looks like you’re about to lecture me ‘bout quantum somethin’."

Your cheeks flushed instantly, but you steadied yourself, standing taller. “That’s because you’re not listening,” you fired back. "And I have been over this calendar twice. Maybe I should give you a quiz.”

Logan’s grin widened, his teeth flashing. “You gonna give me detention if I fail?"

Ignoring the heat rising to your face, you tilted your head in mock seriousness. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, clearly enjoying this far more than he should. “Guess we’ll find out if I get somethin’ wrong.”

“Fine.” You capped the marker and tapped it against your hand like a gavel. "What’s the first thing you have to remember?”

Logan straightened slightly, locking eyes with you. “No sex three days before retrieval.”

You nodded, reluctantly impressed. “And after retrieval?”

“No sex for a week.”

“Why?” you pressed, though your voice lost some of its sternness.

“‘Cause it’s somethin’ about keepin’ the process steady—don’t wanna screw up your hormones or somethin’. You didn’t get this doctorate for me to screw it all up.”

You stared at him, unable to mask your surprise.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, although his smug grin didn’t waver. “Just ‘cause I’m lookin’ at you doesn’t mean I’m not payin’ attention.”

Taking a second to compose yourself, you finally nodded. “Fine, you passed.”

“But what about my detention?” His smirk turned wolfish, leaning just a fraction closer.

You stumbled over your words. “Is this—ugh, is this one of your… you know?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I don’t know, darlin’. What’re you talkin’ about?”

“You know!” you exclaimed, waving the pen for emphasis. “Your… fantasies or whatever it is you call them.”

His grin was practically sinful now. “Well, now it is.”

“Logan!”

“Relax, sweetheart.” His voice softened as he reached out to pluck the marker from your hand, setting it aside on the desk. His other hand slid to your hip, grounding you as he bent just low enough to kiss your forehead. "You’re doin’ great. And we’re gonna get through this—whiteboard rules and all."

You sighed, your tension easing slightly under his touch. “You’d better not fail me on this, Logan.”

“Never,” he said with an almost reverent sincerity, the teasing gleam in his eyes softened by something deeper. "You’re the one thing I’ve always been real good at keepin’ up with."

And damn it if he didn’t mean it.

---

Since today was the last day you could have sex before your retrieval in 4 days, you decided to surprise Logan. Though you weren’t sure if this was going to backfire on you or not, you thought you’d give it a try.

You had put on something that was the most stereotypical ‘teacher like’ outfit, a white button-up blouse, a black pencil skirt, and some small heels, and went through the regular motions of the school day.

Then, once classes were over, Logan came to your classroom instead of your office like you told him to earlier in the day.

Logan pushed the classroom door open, his shoulders broad and his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. His gaze swept over the rows of empty desks before it landed on you. You were sitting at your desk, legs crossed, glasses perched on your nose, and a teasing little smile playing at your lips. The whiteboard still had the day’s lesson scrawled across it, but you weren’t thinking about teaching anymore.

“This where you wanted me?” Logan asked, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You adjusted your glasses, standing up slowly. “Yes, Mr. Howlett. You’re late.”

His eyebrows lifted, the faintest smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t know this was official business.”

“Sit down,” you instructed, gesturing toward your chair behind the desk. “You’ve got some rules to follow if you’re going to avoid detention.”

Logan chuckled under his breath but obeyed, sauntering over and lowering himself into the chair. He sprawled comfortably, his legs spread wide, making it look far too small for him. “Alright, darlin’. What’s next?”

You stepped around the desk, your heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. “First,” you began, fingers going to the buttons of your blouse, “you’re not allowed to touch me. At all.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his smirk growing into a full grin. “That so?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, undoing the top button of your blouse. His gaze tracked the movement like a predator watching its prey. “You’re here to listen and behave. Understand?”

“Guess I’ll behave,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You let the next few buttons fall open, revealing the delicate lace of your bra beneath. His sharp inhale didn’t go unnoticed, but he kept his hands firmly on the arms of the chair, his knuckles tightening as you slipped the blouse off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Stay just like that.”

You moved your hands to the zipper of your pencil skirt, tugging it down slowly. The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving you standing there in nothing but your bra, panties, and those heels. Logan’s jaw flexed, and you could see the restraint it was taking for him to stay still.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“I told you, no touching,” you reminded him, leaning down just enough to place your hands on the arms of the chair, your face inches from his. “Think you can handle that?”

Logan’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze locked on yours. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart.”

You straightened up, taking your time to slip onto his lap. His hands twitched against the armrests, but he didn’t move them, his breathing ragged as you settled yourself over him, the heat between your thighs pressing against the denim of his jeans.

“See? You’re doing great,” you teased, trailing your fingers along his jawline. He let out a low growl, but his hands stayed put.

“You’re evil,” he said, his voice thick with want.

“Maybe,” you replied, reaching between your bodies to undo his belt. His hips jerked slightly, but he stayed obedient, watching as you unzipped his jeans and pushed them down just enough to free him. He was already hard, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Not so evil now, huh?” Logan quipped, but his breath hitched as you slid your panties to the side, positioning yourself over him.

“Remember,” you whispered, lowering yourself slowly. “No touching.”

Logan let out a low curse, his head falling back against the chair as you took him in. His hands clenched the armrests tightly, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the effort of keeping them there.

“Darlin’, you’re killin’ me here,” he rasped, his voice rough and shaky.

You started to move, your hips rolling slowly against his. The friction sent shivers through your body, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. Logan’s eyes were locked on yours, dark and hungry, but his hands didn’t budge.

“You’re so good at this,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw. He growled low in his throat, his self-control hanging by a thread.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, his hips bucking up into you. “How’m I supposed to just sit here?”

“Discipline,” you teased, your breath warm against his ear. “Isn’t that what detention’s all about?”

Logan let out a breathless laugh, the sound strained and desperate. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much.”

You didn’t answer, your movements quickening as heat coiled low in your stomach. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the room, mingling with your own gasps. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut with tension as he fought the urge to touch you.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered, your voice catching as your rhythm faltered. Logan’s eyes softened briefly, the teasing gleam replaced with something deeper.

“So are you,” he managed, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly you thought they might snap. “But I’m about to lose it here.”

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Not yet,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly. He groaned into your mouth, his restraint finally breaking as his hands left the armrests and gripped your hips, holding you firmly against him.

“That’s it,” he growled, guiding your movements now, his strength taking over. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set a brutal pace, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was all heat and desperation.

The classroom faded away, the only thing that mattered was him—the way he filled you, the way he moved, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. And when you finally tumbled over the edge together, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you knew this was worth every moment of waiting.

Breathless and trembling, you rested your forehead against his, your glasses askew. “So much for following the rules,” you muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Logan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Rules are overrated anyway.”

---

“Honey, if you can’t do it, I can. It’s just a little needle.” You said, holding your hand out for the needle, a simple hormone injection that has to be done before the embryo transfer.

Logan stood a few feet away, the needle in his hand looking laughably small against his thick fingers. His jaw was tight, and his brows knitted together in a way that made him look like he was contemplating defusing a bomb instead of giving you a hormone injection.

“I can do it,” he said gruffly, though his eyes darted between the syringe and your exposed stomach like he didn’t quite believe himself.

You softened at his hesitation, lowering your hand. “It’s okay if you’re nervous. I can just—”

“I’m not nervous,” Logan interrupted quickly, his voice firm but not unkind. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the situation. “Logan, I get stabbed with needles all the time. This is nothing.”

He shot you a look. “Not the same.”

You tilted your head, watching him as his eyes lingered on the syringe. His hands didn’t tremble—Logan was steady, always—but there was a vulnerability in his posture that made your heart ache. This was the same man who had faced armies, wars, and unimaginable pain, yet here he was, worried about causing you the smallest discomfort.

“Logan,” you said softly, reaching for his free hand. He let you take it, his rough palm engulfing yours. “You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you.”

His gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, he just stared. Then, with a deep breath, he nodded. “Alright, darlin’. Let’s do this.”

You leaned back slightly on the edge of the couch, pulling up your shirt to expose your stomach. Logan crouched down in front of you, the syringe still in his hand. He studied the instructions you’d written out earlier—meticulous as always—before glancing back at you.

“This the spot?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, resting a hand on his shoulder for support. “Right there.”

Logan’s hand hovered over your skin for a moment before he finally pressed the needle in with careful precision. It stung, but not enough to make you flinch. His gaze stayed fixed on the syringe, his focus unshakable as he slowly pushed the medication in.

“All done,” he murmured after a moment, pulling the needle away. He pressed a cotton ball gently against your skin, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. “That okay?”

“Perfect,” you assured him, your smile warm. “See? Told you it was nothing.”

Logan scoffed lightly as he stood, disposing of the syringe. “Didn’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

You reached for his hand again, pulling him back toward you. He let himself be guided, standing between your knees as you looked up at him. “You did great.”

His lips twitched into a small smile, but his eyes were still searching yours, as if looking for any sign that he might have done something wrong. When he found nothing but sincerity, he finally relaxed.

“You’re a hell of a lot braver than me, you know that?” he said, his voice soft.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I don’t know about that. You’ve done way scarier things.”

“Not like this,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “This is new.”

You leaned into his touch, your hand covering his. “We’re in it together, Logan. Every step.”

He nodded, bending down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Together,” he echoed. “Always.”

For a moment, the weight of the last few years lifted, leaving just the two of you in the quiet. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was enough. And that was all you needed.

---

“I think the mansion is haunted.” Rogue said. “There is no way ya haven’t heard the creakin’ in the night!”

Bobby rolled his eyes, “it’s probably just the AC or someone walking in the hallways.”

Kitty looked over at you as you graded things in your classroom. Though the three of them weren’t technically students anymore and had ‘graduated high school’, they still lived at the mansion because they were X-Men.

“Y/N, do you believe in ghosts?” Kitty asked.

You looked up from your papers, a red pen twirling idly in your fingers, as Kitty’s question hung in the air. The corners of your mouth twitched with curiosity at the way all three of them had their eyes fixed on you—Kitty looking earnest, Rogue mildly skeptical, and Bobby wearing his usual mask of rationality.

“Ghosts?” you echoed, tilting your head. “I don’t know if I’d call them ghosts, exactly.”

“That’s not a no,” Kitty pointed out, leaning forward on her desk as if your opinion held the weight of undeniable truth.

You tapped the pen against your chin thoughtfully. “There’s a theory,” you began, slipping into your natural cadence as a teacher, “about residual energy in spaces where intense events have happened. That energy could, in theory, manifest in ways that we interpret as paranormal.”

Kitty nodded enthusiastically while Rogue crossed her arms, clearly unsure. “What about creakin’ floorboards? That doesn’t sound like ‘residual energy.’”

“Well,” you conceded with a small smile, “this mansion is over a century old, and wood expands and contracts with changes in temperature.”

Bobby smirked. “Told you.”

Kitty huffed. “Yeah, but what about the piano playing by itself? Bobby doesn’t even believe me about that!”

“Probably one of the students pulling a prank,” Bobby retorted with a shrug.

“Or an actual ghost,” Kitty shot back, lifting her chin defiantly.

The sound of Logan clearing his throat from the doorway drew everyone’s attention. “What’re we talkin’ about?” he asked, stepping inside with his usual lazy saunter, his eyes cutting to you instinctively.

“Ghosts,” Rogue said flatly. “Kitty thinks the mansion’s haunted.”

Logan chuckled low in his chest, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Haunted, huh? Sounds like you kids’ve been watchin’ too many movies.”

“It’s not just movies!” Kitty protested, turning to him. “Y/N agrees there could be something! Residual energy or whatever.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to you, one eyebrow raising in question. You shrugged lightly, “how ‘bout this. We meet here at midnight and go ‘ghost hunting’. I’ll prove that it’s just residual energy so Rogue doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“Ghost hunting, huh?” Logan drawled.

You shrugged lightly, capping your red pen. “Why not? Might as well settle this once and for all so Rogue can sleep without thinking she’ll get haunted.”

“Hey, I never said I was scared!” Rogue interjected quickly, her Southern drawl edging her words. “I just think there’s somethin’ weird goin’ on.”

Kitty grinned, nudging her playfully. “Sure, you’re not scared.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “This is gonna be a waste of time. But fine, I’ll come. Someone’s gotta keep you all from freaking out over creaky floorboards.”

You pushed your glasses up, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Alright, it’s settled. Midnight. Bring whatever you think you’ll need—flashlights, cameras, whatever—and I’ll bring some equipment from the lab.”

Kitty’s eyes lit up. “Like an EMF detector? And maybe a thermometer?”

“Exactly,” you confirmed. “We’ll keep it scientific, not superstitious.”

Logan snorted softly, pushing off the doorway. “You’ve got this whole thing planned, don’t you?”

“I do,” you said simply, already mentally organizing the tools you’d need. “And you’re coming too.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t,” Logan replied with a shrug. “Just think it’s funny how serious you’re takin’ this.”

Rogue shot him a look. “You’re not gonna ruin it for us, are ya?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Logan said with a smirk, but his eyes flicked back to you, his expression softening.

---

At exactly midnight, the group gathered in the classroom, flashlights in hand. Kitty and Rogue had brought a handheld camera and an audio recorder, while Bobby carried what looked like an oversized camping flashlight. You walked in with a small case of lab equipment, Logan trailing behind you like your ever-present shadow.

“Alright,” you said, setting the case on your desk and opening it. “We’ve got an EMF detector, a digital thermometer, and a few other tools to measure environmental changes. If there’s anything abnormal, we’ll catch it.”

Kitty practically bounced on her toes. “This is so cool. I feel like we’re in a movie.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning casually against the desk. “Let’s hope it’s not the kind where everyone dies.”

“Logan,” you warned, giving him a pointed look.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just sayin’.”

You divided the equipment among the group, handing the thermometer to Kitty and the EMF detector to Rogue. “We’ll start in the east wing,” you said, adjusting your glasses. “That’s where Kitty said she heard the piano, right?”

Kitty nodded vigorously. “I swear, it was playing by itself.”

Logan’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, letting you take the lead as the group headed down the dimly lit hallway.

---

The east wing was quiet—eerily so. The air felt heavier, the old wood creaking beneath your feet as you moved through the corridor. Kitty had her camera rolling, and Rogue was carefully monitoring the EMF detector, though so far, it hadn’t picked up anything unusual.

“So, what’s this ‘residual energy’ thing you mentioned earlier?” Bobby asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “It’s the idea that strong emotions or events can leave an imprint on a place. It’s not a ghost in the traditional sense, but more like… a recording of something that happened before.”

“Like an echo,” Kitty added, her eyes wide.

“Exactly,” you said with a nod. “It’s one explanation for paranormal activity.”

“Or it’s just people imaginin’ things,” Logan muttered.

“Not helping,” you shot back, though your tone was more amused than annoyed.

The group reached the end of the hallway, where a grand piano sat in the corner of an old parlor. The room was bathed in shadows, the faint moonlight streaming through the large windows.

“This is it,” Kitty whispered, her camera trained on the piano.

Rogue glanced at the EMF detector, which remained stubbornly still. “Nothin’ so far.”

You stepped closer to the piano, pulling the thermometer from your pocket. The temperature was steady, no sudden drops or spikes that might indicate something unusual.

“Well?” Logan asked, his voice low.

“No signs of residual energy,” you said, your tone thoughtful. “But let’s—”

A sudden noise interrupted you—a faint, melodic note from the piano.

Everyone froze.

“What the hell?” Bobby muttered, his flashlight beam darting around the room.

Kitty clutched her camera tightly. “I told you! I told you it plays by itself!”

Logan straightened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped in front of you instinctively. “Alright, what’s goin’ on here?”

You moved closer to the piano, studying it carefully. “It could be the strings,” you murmured, leaning down to inspect the inner workings. “If they’re loose, they might vibrate on their own.”

“Or it’s a ghost,” Kitty said, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

You glanced at her, adjusting your glasses. “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.”

Another note echoed through the room, this one softer, almost mournful.

Rogue’s grip on the EMF detector tightened. “It’s doin’ it again.”

Logan’s eyes darted around the room, his posture tense. “Alright, fun’s over. Let’s wrap this up before someone gets spooked.”

Kitty frowned. “But we just—”

“Logan’s right,” you said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got enough data to analyze. Let’s head back.”

Reluctantly, the group agreed, though Kitty and Rogue exchanged skeptical looks as you packed up the equipment. Logan stayed close to you, his protective instincts clearly on high alert.

As you walked back down the hallway, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to hear another note. But the mansion remained silent, the mystery of the piano lingering in the air like an unsolved equation.

“Ghosts or not,” Logan murmured as the two of you trailed behind the others, “you’re braver than me for stickin’ your nose in somethin’ like this.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his. “It’s just science, Logan.”

“Whatever you say, darlin’,” he said, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and affection. “But if that piano starts chasin’ us, I’m not stickin’ around to fight it.”

---

Two weeks after the embryo transfer your pregnancy test came back negative.

You stared at the single line on the stick, your throat tight as the bathroom tile seemed to blur and shift under your feet. The tiny piece of plastic felt unbearably heavy in your hand. You’d tried so hard not to get your hopes up this time, to remind yourself that IVF wasn’t a guarantee. But after years of trying—after Clomid, after IUI, after the miscarriage—it had been nearly impossible not to hope.

Logan’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Sweetheart?” His knock was soft but insistent against the bathroom door. “You alright in there?”

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “Yeah,” you managed, though your voice sounded foreign even to your own ears. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He didn’t push, but you knew he wouldn’t leave either. Logan never did when he thought you needed him.

You took a shaky breath and forced yourself to move. You wrapped the test in some tissue and tossed it into the trash, then splashed cold water on your face. When you opened the door, Logan was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression as steady as it always was—but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart ache.

He didn’t say anything, just stepped closer and waited. You shook your head slightly, and that was all he needed. His arms were around you in an instant, holding you close as you buried your face in his chest. The tears came then, hot and fast, and he let you cry, his hand moving gently over your back.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “Don’t you dare apologize for this.”

You tried to say something else, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Logan didn’t press, just pulled you back into his arms and held you tighter, as if he could shield you from the weight of the disappointment pressing down on you both.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Logan stayed close, finding small ways to comfort you without making it obvious. He brewed your favorite tea, even though he always grumbled about the smell of chamomile. He didn’t say a word when you spent an hour re-organizing the bookshelf in the living room, one of your favorite ways to distract yourself when you didn’t want to think too hard. And when the two of you finally went to bed that night, he wrapped himself around you like he was trying to hold all the broken pieces together.

---

The next morning, Jean found you in the kitchen, staring blankly into your coffee mug. She didn’t need to ask how it went—your face told her everything she needed to know.

“Oh, Y/N,” she said softly, pulling out the chair next to you. “I’m so sorry.”

You forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her tone gentle but never pitying. It was one of the things you appreciated most about her—she never treated you like you were fragile, even when you felt like you might shatter.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “There’s not much to say. It didn’t work. Again.”

Jean reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “I know how hard this is,” she said. “But you’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling right now. You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”

Her words broke something loose in you, and before you knew it, you were spilling everything—the years of trying, the heartbreak of the miscarriage, the hope you’d tried so hard to suppress this time. Jean listened without interrupting, her hand a steady anchor in yours.

When you finally stopped, she gave your hand one last squeeze. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” she said. “And you’re not alone in this. Logan, me, everyone—we’re here for you.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Anytime,” she said with a small smile. “Now, how about I make us some breakfast? You look like you could use something other than coffee.”

You let her bustle around the kitchen, the simple, familiar act grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

---

That evening, Logan found you in your shared office, your glasses perched on your nose as you stared at a stack of papers you weren’t really grading. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you for a moment before speaking.

“You don’t have to do this, y’know,” he said.

You looked up, frowning slightly. “Do what?”

“Act like everything’s fine,” he said, his voice low but steady. “It’s okay to feel like shit, darlin’. Hell, I feel like shit too.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Then, with a sigh, you took off your glasses and set them on the desk. “I just don’t know what else to do, Logan,” you admitted. “If I stop moving, I feel like I’ll fall apart.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, crouching in front of your chair so he could look you in the eye. “Then let me catch you,” he said simply.

You blinked, the tears welling up again despite your best efforts. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he said, his hands resting gently on your knees. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll figure it out, one way or another. But right now, you don’t gotta be strong. Just let me be strong enough for the both of us, alright?”

You nodded, your voice too thick with emotion to respond. Logan stood, pulling you into his arms, and for the first time that day, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d get through this. Together.

---

You and Jean had gone to see your fertility doctor, mostly for the two week check up since the embryo transfer.

When Jean drove the two of you back to the mansion, Dr. Harper’s words rang in your head, over and over.

“We can try again, but I’m going to be honest. My medical opinion is that continuing down this path may yield diminishing returns. That’s not to say there’s no hope—we absolutely could continue to try—but I want to make sure we’re balancing hope with your overall well-being. I know you are a person based on facts, and I’m sure you know that once you hit your early 30’s, your fertility starts to slowly decline. Given that you’re already having a hard time… the choice is yours.”

The truth was, you were getting older. Everything Dr. Harper said was true, and you hated that you couldn’t argue with her. If you hadn’t been able to get pregnant at 28, why would anything be different now? You stared out the car window, watching the trees blur together as Jean drove back to the mansion. Her presence was steady, calm, just like always, but you could feel her glancing at you every so often, as though trying to gauge whether you were on the verge of breaking.

“You’re quiet,” Jean said softly, breaking the silence.

You adjusted your glasses, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m just… processing.”

Jean nodded, her hands steady on the wheel. “Take your time.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the engine. Then you sighed, resting your forehead against the window. “It’s just—what if it doesn’t happen, Jean? What if this is it? We’ve tried everything.”

Jean pulled into the driveway and put the car in park before turning to face you. “I can’t pretend to know how you’re feeling, Y/N. But you’re not alone in this. Logan loves you, and no matter what happens, that won’t change.”

Her words should have been comforting, and maybe they were, but they didn’t erase the ache in your chest. You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Jean.”

She reached over, squeezing your hand. “You’re stronger than you think. And no matter what happens, I’m here for you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the car. The mansion loomed in front of you, its familiar silhouette both a comfort and a reminder of all the life happening inside its walls—life that felt so out of reach for you.

---

The evening was unusually quiet, with the kind of stillness that felt heavy rather than comforting. You sat in your office, papers scattered in front of you, though your focus was anywhere but on them. You twirled your pen absently, watching the slow circles it traced on the desktop.

Logan leaned in the doorway, his usual casual stance—arms crossed, shoulders slightly slouched—but his eyes were sharp, locked on you like he could see through the calm façade you were trying to maintain.

"You’ve been quiet all day, sweetheart," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Somethin’s eating at you."

You hesitated, chewing on your lower lip as you adjusted your glasses. "Logan, I…" You set the pen down, unable to meet his gaze. "I need to talk to you about something. It’s… it’s important."

That got him moving. He crossed the room in a few strides, crouching in front of you like he often did when he wanted your full attention. His hands settled gently on your knees, his thumbs brushing idle circles.

"Whatever it is," he said, his voice low and reassuring, "just tell me. You don’t have to go through it alone."

You took a deep breath, gathering the courage you didn’t feel. "I went to see Dr. Harper today," you began, forcing your eyes to meet his. "She said… she said we could keep trying if we want to, but the odds are getting lower. IVF isn’t working. She was honest with me—she said my chances aren’t great. And I know she’s right, Logan. I feel it every time."

His expression didn’t change, but you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration. Not at you, but at the situation. He stayed silent, waiting for you to finish.

"I’m tired," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how much more I can take—physically or emotionally. But if you want to keep trying, we can. I… I just needed to tell you how I feel."

Logan was quiet for a moment, his hands still on your knees, grounding you. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Darlin’, you’ve done more than anyone could ever expect. You’ve put yourself through hell tryin’ to make this work—for us. And if you’re sayin’ you’re ready to stop… then we stop."

Tears welled in your eyes, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "You’re sure?"

He smiled softly, the kind of smile that was rare from him but filled with nothing but love. "I’m sure. What I want more than anything is for you to be okay. You’re all that matters to me—you always have been. Kids or no kids, that ain’t ever gonna change."

You broke then, leaning forward as he wrapped his arms around you. The tears came fast, but they weren’t all from sadness. There was relief, too—a heavy weight lifted from your shoulders after years of carrying it alone.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice breaking.

"I love you too," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "And no matter what, we’ll get through this. Together."

The papers on your desk went forgotten as Logan pulled you closer, holding you in the kind of embrace that told you, without words, that you would always have him—and that was enough.

that is 2009!

i felt like after so many years of trying for a baby, it would get tiring with no progress. and even as a writer, i knew there was only so much i could write about them trying. but of course, we know they have gabby in the future, so don't worry about that!

That fic you wrote?

The one about the ship no one else cares about, or the deeply unpopular character, or the extremely unusual AU?

The fic that got no comments or kudos when you posted it?

Months or years from now, that fic might be exactly what someone is looking for in the sea of fics about all the popular characters, ships, and AUs.

Your fic might be the only fic out there that has what someone is looking for. The only fic that scratches the itch that it turns out you and that reader share.

And that's awesome.

sparring 2/2

Din Djarin, The Star (XVII) 🌠

more of pedro's characters as tarot cards can be found under the # pedro tarot cards 💌

so, uh... i've always thought about how logan is a thigh person and i haven't really written about it 'till i saw this post. and last night i just sat down and wrote this in one go because i was inspired. it's also a different style from what i normally do, but i hope y'all like it!

warnings/tags: fem!reader, thick thighs, fluff, thigh fucking, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), slight overstimulation

Logan loves every part of you, no matter who you are or how you look. But if you have thick thighs? He’s a goner.

He loves it when you wear leggings or anything that accentuates them.

If you choose to wear shorts or a skirt you always complain about them riding up and chafing, so he always has lotion and an extra pair of shorts (that are longer) even if you never wear them.

Logan’s hand will never leave your thigh if you’re sitting next to him. At dinner? Hand on thigh. In the common room? Hand on thigh. In the car? Hand. On. Thigh.

You were embarrassed at first when you wore skinny jeans—or anything pair of pants that made that awful swooshing sound.

Logan only noticed it because you would slow down in the hallway before resuming your normal pace before doing it all over again. Multiple times.

Logan doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you do that little shuffle-stop thing over and over. Then, after the fifth or sixth time, he huffs. "Darlin', what the hell are you doin’?"

You freeze mid-step, feeling heat crawl up your neck. "Nothing."

"Uh-huh." His gaze drops to your thighs, eyes narrowing. "S’yer jeans, ain’t it?"

You groan, throwing your head back. "They make that stupid noise!"

Logan smirks. "Yeah, I noticed. Cute."

You glare at him. "It's not cute. It’s annoying."

"Nah," he says, stepping closer, his voice dropping. "But know what is? The way those jeans hug ya." His hands—warm, rough, possessive—find your hips. "Don’t gotta be self-conscious, sugar. Just means I get t’hear ya comin’."

18+

Logan isn’t afraid to try something new in the bedroom, and you’re okay with experimenting. So when his cock brushed your already wet cunt but didn’t push in, you just thought he was going to tease you (again).

When his cock slides between your thighs, hot and hard, Logan lets out a low, satisfied growl. "Damn, sweetheart… told ya I love these thighs."

Your legs are over his shoulders, the muscles flexing as he moves, the slick glide of his cock between them making everything feel impossibly intimate. You can feel every pulse, every twitch, the heat of him pressing in close but not quite where you expected.

You let out a whine, shifting beneath him. "Logan—"

"Shh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your knee. "Just relax, darlin’. Lemme enjoy this."

His rough hands grip your thighs, squeezing, kneading—appreciative, greedy. He loves the way they frame him, the way his cock slides through the tight press of your skin, the friction enough to drive him wild.

"You’re so warm," he mutters, voice thick with need. His thumbs stroke over your soft flesh, then press in, urging your thighs to tighten around him. "Fuck, that’s it."

You whimper when the tip of his cock drags over your clit with each slow thrust, the teasing, rhythmic pressure enough to have your toes curling.

"You feel that?" Logan smirks, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches your face. "Bet you love it, huh?"

Your breath hitches. "Y-yeah—"

"Good." His voice is rough, gravelly, dripping with satisfaction. "’Cause I could do this all night."

One hand slips down to cup the back of your knee, keeping your legs in place as he speeds up just enough to have you gasping.

"Logan—" Your fingers dig into the sheets, nails biting deep. "Please."

He groans, pressing forward until your thighs are flush against his abs, his cock still gliding between them, slick with both of you. "Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so good, sweetheart."

And then—his lips on your skin, his teeth scraping, the sharp bite of them against your inner thigh making you jerk beneath him. He soothes the sting with his tongue, then chuckles at your reaction.

"Sensitive?" He smirks against your skin. "Gotta remember that."

You’re gasping now, fingers tangling in his hair as he mouths at your thigh, his breath hot and heavy. Every thrust of his hips sends sparks through you, your thighs slick and trembling against him.

And when he finally pulls back to look at you, pupils blown wide, breath ragged, he grins—slow, lazy, devastating.

"You’re gonna let me do this again," he murmurs, dragging his cock against you one last time before pulling back just enough to position himself. "Ain’tcha?"

You can’t even form words—you just nod, desperate, whimpering, thighs still trembling.

"Good girl," he growls, sinking into you at last.

And when he does fuck you, Logan's got you where he wants you—on your side, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the other pressed into the mattress beneath his weight. His hands grip the meat of your thigh, fingers sinking in as he uses it for leverage, each slow, deliberate thrust pressing you deeper into the sheets.

His breath is ragged, his voice rough against your skin. "Fuck, sugar… feel so damn good like this." His fingers tighten, spreading your leg just a little wider, just enough to make the drag of his cock that much deeper.

You let out a gasp, nails biting into his forearm. "Logan—"

He hums, lips brushing the soft inside of your knee. "Yeah, darlin’?" Like he doesn't know exactly what you want. Like he isn't already giving it to you.

The angle has you feeling everything—every thick inch of him sliding deep, every twitch, every pulse. You can’t do much more than whimper, thighs shaking as the pressure builds.

"S’what I thought." He smirks, dropping his head to nip at the tender skin of your thigh. "You’re all fuckin’ talk ‘til I’ve gotcha like this."

His thrusts pick up, the steady push and pull making the bed creak beneath you. His grip is bruising, his body all heat and muscle as he keeps you exactly where he wants you.

"Fuck, look atcha," he mutters, dragging his gaze over your body. "Spread open f’me, takin’ it so fuckin’ good." His hand drags over your thigh, palm rough, possessive, before squeezing. "Made for this, huh?"

Your breath hitches, the pleasure twisting tight in your belly.

Logan grins—slow, wicked. "Yeah, you are."

He fucks you like that for what feels like forever, keeping you right on the edge, dragging it out just to watch you squirm. The smirk on his face is nothing short of smug when your fingers tangle in his hair, desperate, needy.

"Logan, please—"

He groans, shifting his grip, his fingers pressing deep as he pulls your thigh up higher, pushing in until there’s no space left between you. "That’s it," he rasps. "Let me hear you, darlin’."

You whimper, arching beneath him, the new angle hitting something that makes your vision blur.

His voice drops lower, gravelly. "Mmm, bet that’s real good, huh?"

You don’t answer—can’t answer—not when he’s got you like this, not when every thrust has you unraveling beneath him.

When he finds himself between your legs, whether it’s you on your back or you sitting on his face, he can’t help but think that this is exactly where he wants to be.

If you’re on your back, Logan’s got your thighs pinned apart, hands pressing into the soft flesh like he’s got no intention of letting go. His grip is firm, possessive, like he’s staking his claim right then and there. "Fuckin’ perfect," he mutters, dragging his lips along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Could stay down here forever, darlin’."

He’s got a habit of teasing, dragging things out just to watch you squirm, but the second you thread your fingers through his hair and give the slightest tug? That’s it—he’s gone. He groans against you, rough and low, and then his tongue is on you, hot and unrelenting.

His stubble scratches against your skin, leaving the perfect mix of rough and soft, and when he catches the way your thighs start to tremble, he just tightens his grip. "Nah, sweetheart," he murmurs between slow, wet strokes. "Ain’t lettin’ you run from this."

And if you try to close your thighs around his head? Oh, he loves that. Growls into you, lets his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, holding you open despite the way you’re shaking. "That’s it," he groans, voice muffled against you. "Fuckin’ take it."

But when you’re on top of him? That’s a whole different kind of feral. He’s lying back, arms hooked around your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wants you. His gaze is heavy, dark with hunger as he watches you hover over him, breath hitching when you lower yourself down.

The second you settle against his mouth, Logan groans like he’s been starving for this. His grip tightens, fingers flexing against your thighs before dragging you down even further. "C’mon, sweetheart," he rasps against you, "lemme have it."

He lets you move at your own pace—at first. But it doesn’t take long before he gets impatient, before his hands tighten and his tongue flicks just right and suddenly, he’s guiding your hips, making you ride his mouth the way he wants.

The sounds he makes—fuck, they’re sinful. The low growls, the groans vibrating against you, the sharp inhales when you tug on his hair. He’s fucking obsessed, and he doesn’t care if you know it.

"Taste so damn good," he mutters between deep, deliberate strokes of his tongue. "Could do this all night, darlin’."

And if you try to pull away—too much, too intense—Logan just growls, arms tightening around your thighs to keep you exactly where you are. "Nope," he grits out. "You stay right there, sugar."

He’s relentless. Keeps going until you’re shaking, gasping, fingers tangling in his hair as you lose yourself against him. And even then, even after you’ve come undone, he presses a few more slow, teasing kisses against your sensitive skin, smirking when you whimper at the overstimulation.

"Mmm," he hums, finally pulling back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, eyes full of mischief. "Think I might be addicted."

don't ask what happened or why it's so long, 'cause i don't have an answer😂

i was on a roll (and possibly ovulating - what? who said that?)

feels like fake news

I'd wanna hold you (just for the night)

A drunken call, a second chance. 

Poe Dameron x f!reader

Rated M - 7.9k

Tags: Smut, PIV, No Protection, Drinking/Drunk calls, Characters in Peril, Reader struggles with anxiety

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Authors Note: Hello! Thank you all again for the love on my current fics, it really means the world. I am someone who can only write one story at a time, and I cannot move on until I finish. So, as you could tell, this fic is taking me a long time to wrap up, so I decided to post in in two parts! This Poe is different than Crawlin' Back to You, he makes questionable decisions, he sometimes doesn't do the right thing, but this is a story about two people finding their way back to each other, despite it all. The ending is nearly done, but I thank you all for still showing interest in this story while I worked through it. Again, no beta reading for this, I honestly just wanted to get it out to you all, haha. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated and I will see you soon!

Divider by @/saradika

Your night wasn't meant to be like this. You were relaxed. Or at least, trying to be. Cozied up in your small quarters, the day's transgression far behind you as you sip from your glass, the chill of alcohol easing down your throat. From broken bones, to laser burns, you had quite literally seen it all in the medics zone. But, you were working on putting it behind you, so you quickly focused your attention back to the novel laying forgotten in your lap. Your space felt smaller, you realized, and you shivered as you tried to shake the thought from your mind.

You couldnt think about it.

You couldnt think about him. 

Throwing back the rest of your drink, you devote your time to your reading, trying to get lost in the pages. 

You indeed get lost, but not within the pages as you planned.

The sharp ring of your phone sends you shooting up, your eyes quickly searching for some sign of danger before landing on the phone somewhere beside the couch you had most definitely passed out on. You frown as you place the comm beside your ear, clearing your throat before speaking. 

“Hello?”

There's a shuffle, and curse, and you can hear loud music pouring out from the other side until it dies down. A soft sigh. A sniffle.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

You freeze, that voice wrapping itself around your heart and squeezing. You try so hard to not react to his name, to avoid the pitiful stares, to show you had meant this. And yet, three simple words were making your heart race faster than it had in months.

“Poe, its…” you glance at the nearby clock, shocked to see it reading 2am, “It's late Poe, why are you calling me?”

“I, I just-” you wince as you hear a gasp, and then a loud thud. No doubt, Poe tripped. The smoothest pilot in the galaxy just ate shit on the phone with you. The realization of exactly what this call was made anger rise within you. 

“Poe, are you drunk?”

His voice warbles on for a bit before it seems he finds his comm link once more. “No-I mean, yes, but I really did just want to call you.” His tone is pleading, and you can already imagine his eyes, so brown and soft batting up towards you. You let out a puff of angry air, shaking your head as you rise from the couch. 

“Poe, this is exactly what we shouldn't be doing.”

“I know, I know, it's just-”

“Just what, Poe? It's been seven months, I told you, we are over.”

There's a chill from the other end of the line, and you almost think he's ended the call. There's a small hiccup, and a sob, and you can't believe it but Poe Dameron is crying on the other end of the phone. 

“I messed this all up, didn't I?” He breathes out shakily. You can imagine him sitting outside some god knows where cantina, sitting in the rain or snow, clinging to this call like it was all he had. 

And you would be right.

Poe sniffles, wiping at his nose as he sits on the curb, the icy night air chilling him to the bone. But he couldn't give up, not when he had you on the line, finally. Yes, he hadn't wanted to be drunk for this call, hell, he didn't even think he was drunk enough to get kicked out of Oga’s but here he was. 

“You deserve so much better than what I gave you, sweet girl.” He adds after a moment, thinking back to that time where he wasn't drunk calling you any chance he had. When he wasn't wishing you were somewhere in the crowd of people welcoming him back home. 

Back to that time he was yours. 

---

You met Poe in the medical bay on D’Qar in the Ileenium system. You rush into the hidden shelter, a large crowd gathered around a single cot, effectively keeping you out. 

“I am a medic! You need to move!” You call out, trying to move past the throng of bystanders. You were paged in for an emergency crash, something about a pilot being hit and needing serious attention. You were well prepared for any situation, you had spent years saving lives, but despite it all, nothing prepared you for him.

There Poe sat, smiling in the cot, looking as healthy as ever. You frown, glancing around, trying to see if perhaps this was a mistake, maybe another pilot was getting moved in. 

“Ah, so this is the famed medic of the rebellion!” 

You turn slowly, locking eyes with said pilot. You nod slowly, watching with awe as he waves a hand and the crowd disperses, leaving you two alone together. 

“I’m sorry they called you in like that, but I’m fine! Only slight scrapes,” he flashed you an arm with minimal cuts, and you try to not stare at the strong muscled physique he obviously had. 

“I would still like to do an examination, Mr. Dameron-”

“Poe.”

You pause, looking at him with furrowed brows. Poe just tilts his head, giving you a lopsided smile. “My friends call my Poe.”

You nod briskly, approaching his side to check over his vitals. “Your vitals look fine, but I just want to make sure you have not suffered any brain injuries from the crash.” You explain, leaning over his cot to shine a small light into his eyes. You notice he takes in a quick breath, his pupils dilating, and his heart rate spiking. “Are you okay?” You ask quickly, looking over him for any signs of trauma. He shakes his head then nods. 

“Yes, yes, more than okay. I’m great-Fine! Actually.” He stammers, his fists tightening on the thin sheets of his cot. You raise an eyebrow, giving him a quizzical stare. 

“Alright, if you say so.” You double check his vitals, just to be safe, and sigh as you push the screen away. “Seems like you have no internal trauma, just a few scrapes, I’ll get some bandages for you and you can be on your way. You begin to leave, but you hear the rattle of the cot, turning your head to see Poe trying to clamber his way after you. “I’ll be right back, Mr.Dameron-Poe.” You quickly adjust, trying to avoid staring at the wide smile that spreads on his face at your words. You tell yourself you only said it to make him stay.

 “Alright, I’ll wait for you.” He says happily, returning to his seat. It baffled you, his carefree attitude, his abundance of charm. But you could feel that pull to him others must feel as well, like sitting in the sun when you're with him. You quickly gather some bandages and return to his side, carefully turning his forearms over so you could smooth the patches over his tanned skin. His corded muscles flex under your touch, and you try to ignore the burning heat of his eyes on you. “Alright,” you smile softly, approving your quick work, “Looks like you are set to go. Just try not to fall out of your x-wing next time.” You say, giving him a small smile as you cross your arms over your chest. His eyes track the movement before he shakes his head, nodding to your words. 

“What? You don't want to see me again?” He asks, his voice dripping in confidence and pride. You let out a chuckle, waving him off as another medic motions for you to follow them to another cot, “I would prefer to not see you injured and in this tent at all.” You challenge, giving his arm a gentle pat before turning to leave. 

Poe, as usual, had his own plans.

A week later, you stare at Poe, his face grinning sheepishly as he sits in front of you in another cot. You were called down for, and you repeat, “a life threatening injury”. Instead, Poe was settled in the room before you, happily shifting his body against the thin sheets. 

“Mr. Dameron-”

“Poe. Remember? You said it last time?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face as you feel your heart rate elevate. “Mr. Dameron,” you emphasize, giving him a sharp look, “I was called down here for a life threatening injury, but it seems you are very much not life threateningly injured.” You frown, tapping your foot impatiently against the cool metal flooring. Poe gives you a nervous chuckle, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’m not even sure why they called it in like that! It was only a droid to the ankle.” He explains, pointing down to his slightly bruised leg. You huff, quickly moving to his bedside and touching his ankle. Poe hisses, and your eyes snap to his, gauging what level of pain he really was in. 

“I’ll give you some pain tabs.” You say quickly, leaning back up straight to glance down at him. From this angle, you can see the way his deep brown eyes glow as he looks at you, an infuriating sight when you have so much work to do. 

“Your name, also, that would be nice.” He says softly, his hands folded so politely in his lap it makes you want to curse. Your brows furrow as you look away, pretending to be so busy you couldn't have even heard him. You move away, only a few cots down, and begin to rebandage another squad member's burns.

Poe always preached about patience.

So he waits, watching you move around him in displeasure, but it doesn't lessen the smile from his face. He enjoyed watching you work, even if he knew you were pretending to forget to give him his medicine. The dull throb in his ankle was worth it to see you this close. Poe considered himself a pro at what he did, so it made him intrigued to see you move so masterfully in tense situations like this. You smiled, joked with younger patients, lent a shoulder to older ones, you even laughed.

He was sure that sound would haunt him in his dreams.

“I think the pain is beginning to become life threatening!” He calls out playfully, pretending to wince as your head snaps to him. You try to lessen the flush in your cheeks as you realize he was still here, you had actually forgotten to make him leave. Maybe, you didn't forget, the sensation of his gaze burning into you was too prevalent to ignore, and it horror, you realize that maybe you even liked it. You grab a small bottle of painkillers and thrust them into his hands, and you try not to flinch as his warm hands brush against yours. 

“There, sorry for the wait.” You mumble, trying to look around for any chance of escape.

“Well, I’m not sure your supervisor would like to hear about the medical negligence of the rebellion's favorite pilot now would they?” Poe grins, knowing he has you trapped. Your mouth opens and closes, trying to form some comeback, but maker, you were trapped by his puppy dog gaze. 

“You can say no, but I know a great place for dinner. Whenever you're off. I can wait. If you want to say yes, that is.” He adds quickly, pulling his hands back to his lap. What surprises you, isn't his request, but rather the nervous tremble of his tone, the way his hands are gripping the bottle so tightly.

Poe Dameron, the golden boy of the resistance, was nervous to ask you out.

You could feel your mouth twitch up, a lopsided smile, and you can feel the words tumble out of your mouth before you could even think. 

“I’m off in 3 hours, and I like anyplace that has a good drink.” Is all you say before you scoot away, quickly heading to one of the private screening rooms to sort through the flood of emotions coursing through your body.

Poe Dameron just asked you out?

You just said yes?

You listen carefully as you hear the calls of people saying bye to him, Poe knowing each medic by name, before the silence of his departure reaches your ears. 

You try to finish the rest of your shift without thinking too much of what waited for you after, and you especially tried not to think of why your heart was beating so fast. Luckily, all the other medics were able to pick up after you as you managed to almost deliver the wrong bandages to two different patients, or how you began to stop in the hallways, a sigh escaping your lips. 

You were a mess. 

Time crept by slowly as you continuously glanced at the clocks around the medbay, each one moving slower than the last. Eventually, it was close enough that even your supervisor motioned for you to head out. 

“Does everyone know about this?” You mutter under your breath, carefully removing your uniform and shoving it into your locker. Other medics around you chuckled, nodding vigorously. 

“I’m afraid Poe has told at least half the rebellion you agreed to this date.” One of them giggles, letting out a blissful sigh. “It's just so romantic.”

Romantic?

Your past trysts within the rebellion had been nothing grand, quick dalliances with mechanics or other pilots. You all had a goal at hand, and a relationship would distract you all. You weren't used to this gawking, these envious stares from others. You were a medic, appearing only when needed and then disappearing when you were done. Maker, half of your team didn't even know your first name. Yet somehow, with one simple question, Poe has made everyone know exactly who you are. Your skin began to itch under the weight of it all, your civilian clothes feeling too tight. There was a reason you avoided this attention, it wasn't like you. 

You weren't sure how long it had been, your head resting against the once cool metal of your locker, until a gentle hand pulls you from your thoughts. 

Everyone had left the break room, even the lights were dimmer. Your eyes drift from the tanned hand on your shoulder, up and along the white clad arm until you reach his eyes. 

Brown, so wide and concerned. 

“Hey,” Poe says gently, giving you a small smile. You instantly feel bad, how long had he been waiting? How could you have let your mind drift so far from you, you should have known better- “It's okay, sometimes I get stuck in my head too.” 

You blink, taking in his words. Your body aches as you begin to feel the life return to your fingers and toes, your sense of self finally reaching every point of your being. 

“Sometimes, I get really nervous before missions, so nervous in fact I spend most of the night before staring at a wall, thinking of everything that could go wrong.” He adds, gently squeezing your shoulder. The touch sparks another warmth in you, your cheeks flushing as you can't deny how good it feels. 

“But then the mission comes along, and even though I’m nervous, it never goes as bad as I thought. Sometimes, we just make life harder for ourselves, hm?” He grins, lowering his hand and you so desperately want to reach for it once more, to hold it close to you. You open your mouth to speak, surprised at how dry it feels.

“I’m…I’m sorry I made you wait so long.” You say softly, turning your back against the locker to look at him fully. Poe was dressed nicely, a crisp white button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Nice black pants, forming shapely to his body. And here you were, in a long sleeve tunic and pants. You hadn't even thought about changing after work, and another flush of embarrassment rushes through you. 

Poe simply shakes his head, “I didn't wait long at all, honestly, our food took a while so I asked for it to go, figured we could eat out in the fresh air.” He smiles, shaking the bag in his other hand for emphasis.You knew he was lying for your sake, and another flush courses through your body. Poe takes a breath, his eyes flicking up to yours nervously, “Did I ruin this? I just, I wanted to take you out since I first saw you, but I feel like I did it all wrong-” 

“I wanted to!” You interject, surprised by your confident response. It was true, you did want to join him this evening. “I’m just not used to the attention, everyone knows about it and I'm not exactly forward with my private life here.” You explain softly, dragging a hand along your arm. “It made me nervous, it felt like this was all a test. At least half of the other medics here would have no second thoughts on killing me for this spot.” Poe stares at you intently, a smirk on his lips. 

“It was you or nothing, sweet girl.”

Before you could even speak, Poe reaches forward, taking one of your hands in his free one. He leads you through the medbay, and out to the night sky, the cool air brushing against your face. His x-wing was landed outside of the medical area, glowing under the night sky. Your eyes widened at the massive ship, never having seen one so close before. He pulls you closer, tugging you along to a small ladder leading up onto the x-wing. You glance at Poe, who only smirks back as he begins to expertly climb up the ladder all while balancing your meals on the other hand. He practically disappears at the top of the machine, your head having to crane back to try and grab a glimpse of him. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, the only sign of him even being up there was a few curses and clanks of metal. You begin to back up, trying to spy on what he was up to before his voice cuts through the night air. 

“Okay sweet girl! Come on up!” His face peers over the side of the ship, grinning happily down to you. “Just climb up and I’ll get you!”

You take a breath, approaching the ladder and carefully making your way up. The top of the x-wing was slick, causing your body to move slowly as you finally reach those very last few rungs. A warm hand takes your wrist, helping you pull yourself up as you gasp at your surroundings. From this height, you were fully surrounded by the night sky, stars and other galaxies twinkling down from above. 

And maker, the sight before you easily rivaled it.

There was a few blankets placed on the cockpit canopy, making a soft resting place on the hard exterior. The meal Poe had brought was now on plates, and set carefully in the center of the blankets along with two glasses and a bottle of alcohol you recognize from the dining hall. 

You let out a small laugh, the realization of his actions finally hitting you. 

“You set this all up for us?” You ask him softly, letting him guide you down to the plush blankets. Poe shrugs, moving along the top of the X-wing with ease, settling down right across from you. “You're surrounded by people all day, I thought a change would be nice. Just me, you-” There was another clank and crash, the ladder to the w-wing rattling aggressively. “BB-8!” Poe groans, leaning his body over the edge of the ship, talking down to a disgruntled orange droid below. Your smile widens, your gaze quickly raking over his form as he leans back up, chuckling shyly. 

“This is all not going as I planned, exactly.” He admits softly, running a hand nervously through his hair. You shake your head, reaching for the cups as you begin to pour your drinks. “Poe, this is amazing, honestly, no ones ever done anything like this for me before.” You admit to him, passing him the drink and trying not to shiver as your fingers brush against one anothers. He only smiles, waiting for you to bring your cup up to his with a soft clink. “I’m glad, or else I’d have to figure out what pilot was taking you out on dates on their X-wing.” He finishes with a grumble, taking a quick sip of the bubbly alcohol. You laugh, really laugh, for what feels like the first time in awhile. “What? Only you can do it?” You ask with a smile, taking a sip of your own drink. Poe shakes his head, leaning back onto his psalm as he gazes up at you. “No, I don't care if they do it, it only matters if they did it with you.” 

Poe was honest. Actually, probably the most honest person you had met. Despite his constant flirty comments, none of them felt fake, or false, but rather true. Straight from his heart almost. You flush, glancing away from his radiant smile as he watches you. You both move to the food, digging into the multiple plates Poe got, and you smile as you watch him shrug sheepishly. “I didn't want to get you the wrong thing.”

“So you ordered the entire menu?”

Poe grins, but waves your question away as he holds out half of a sandwich to you. You eat and talk, Poe regaling tales of his adventures, and vice versa. Poe watches you with wide eyes, taking in every detail of your stories from the medbay. Soon the meal was done, and Poe had somehow moved from his spot in front of you to beside you, both of you reclined back on the canopy and watching the stars. It was perfect. He had somehow given you the date of your dreams, without even knowing. Yet, those thoughts continued to swirl in your mind, why, why, why? You hadn't noticed the conversation growing quiet until you felt the tap of a finger on your forehead. Poe gazes down at you, kind eyed, a smile on his lips. “What's going on in there, Doc?” He asks gently, pulling his hand away slowly. You hold your drink to your chest, biting your lip as you begin to get lost in your thoughts again. 

Of course he noticed. 

Poe Dameron, perfectly aware of your anxious spirals. 

“Why…” You begin, setting your glass down with a shaky hand. “Why did you ask me on a date, Poe?” The question hangs in the air between you both, and Poe bites his lip as he thinks, only for a few seconds. He adjusts himself beside you, leaning on his side with his head held in his bent arm as he looks down at you, your eyes trapped within his. 

“I wanted to ask you out because you treated me like a person. You didn't rush to my aid because I was me, but because someone was hurt.” He begins softly, tapping his fingers nervously on the metal of the canopy. “How could I not want to get to know someone like that, someone so selfless and kind?” His words send a heat straight through your veins, your skin practically glowing from the inside. Your heart pounds as you nod, taking in his thoughts. 

“I mean, I’m not anyone special-”

“You are.”

Poe smiles, boyishly, kindly, reverently. 

“You are special.”

You gasp, the breath tearing through you as tears well up in your eyes. Poe leans into you quickly, reaching for you with concern as you wave him off, a laugh emerging from each of you. Poe's hand reaches up, gently wiping at the tears in the corners of your eyes. Here he was, the golden boy of the rebellion to everyone else, but simply Poe to you, looking down at you like you were the brightest star in the galaxy. Your mouth opens, unsure of what to say to him. His hair hangs over his face as he looks down at you, an easy smile on his lips. There's an intimacy in this closeness, in the lack of conversation verbally. His eyes roamed over your face, as if committing you to memory. You take the chance to look at him, fully, your eyes sweeping over every eyelash, every scar. 

Who knows how long you both stay like this, simply caught in the beauty of one another. 

---

Poe makes it a point to bring you lunch every day.

He grins, expertly twisting around the bunches of nurses and patients until he reaches you, grinning from ear to ear. “Lunchtime, Doc.” He smiles, leaning against the wall as you finish administering medicine to a mechanic. You smile, shaking your head as you excuse yourself from your patient, greeting Poe with a small kiss to the cheek. 

You gasp excitedly, peering into the lunch bag with glee, “I've been craving this! How do you always know!” You smile, looking up to Poe’s sheepish grin. 

“Just thought you'd like this for lunch today. I’m going on a small mission for the next few days, so I won't be around to bring you lunch.” He explains, casually reaching for your hand as you both walk to the front of the medbay and exiting the sterile smelling area. You nod, listening to his words, crushing the lunch to your chest with your one hand as you think of what it was going to be like not seeing him so often. Poe sighs, seeing your eyes wander off and gently cups your face, bringing your gaze up to his. “Hey, I can practically hear your mind at work.” He teases gently, pulling on your cheeks gently. 

“Just, be safe, don’t do anything reckless.” You tell him softly, meeting his gaze. Poe gives you that lopsided grin, nodding to your request. “I have to do what I must, you know how it is.” 

Before you could fully process his reply, you hear his name being called, fellow pilots waving their arms from down the way, signaling it was already time to go. Poe sighs, but even as your eyes drift back to his face, you know his gaze never left yours. 

“Okay, I have to go now.”

“Okay, be safe.”

“Anything else?” You let out a confused laugh, shaking your head, “Please? Please be safe?” You amend, causing Poe to laugh loudly. He gently rolls your face in his hands, shaking your head from side to side. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He whispers softly, but his eyes hold that warm glow they always did when he looked at you. Poe pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around your shoulders tightly as he buries his face into your neck, breathing in deeply. Your hand remains crushed between you both, holding onto your food while the other wraps itself around his torso, running along his spine soothingly. He gives you one last squeeze before pulling back, keeping you tightly in his arms. “Only a few days, m’kay?” He sighs, leaning forward, brushing his lips against your forehead gently. You blink rapidly, still feeling the heat of his lips even after they leave your skin. 

“‘Kay.” You smile softly, feeling the heat leave your body as he pulls back, giving you one last look over before making his way to the pilots quarters, gearing up for his mission. 

You take your lunch, heading back into your breakroom. You begin to unpack, but pause, the feeling of multiple eyes on you. At least every nurse or doctor was staring at you impatiently, and you glance down at yourself self consciously, maybe something was amiss with your clothes?

“I would hate to overstep,” A voice begins, causing your gaze to snap up. You find an older nurse approaching you, one you worked with often in the emergency bays, smiling gently as she takes a seat beside you. “I know it probably is so stressful dating the most famed pilot of the rebellion, but…” The nurse clasps her hands together tightly, staring at you with a stern look, “You couldn't give that boy one kiss goodbye?” 

You blink.

No…kiss?

You had, hadn't you?

You begin to rethink your entire conversation earlier, replaying every moment in your mind until you remember. 

‘Anything else?’

He was waiting for you. 

You shoot up from the table, a rush of heat heading to your cheeks. With Poe, you felt comfortable, his gentle nature making you feel taken care of. 

Your past couplings were emotionless, simply to fix a need everyone got. You never kissed them, it was too romantic, too intimate. 

You didn't even think to ask him for something like that.

But you wanted to. 

“Shit!” You screech, taking off from the breakroom, barely able to hear the thunderous cheers and uproars of people cheering you on. You rush out of the medbay, seeing the large crowd of people gathering near the X-wings, waving goodbye to their loved ones or friends. You gently shove through the throngs of people, looking around quickly, hoping you weren't too late. You finally break through the front of the crowd, glancing around the lines of ships waiting for take off, pilots beginning to climb into the cockpits. 

“Poe!” You call out, cupping your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice. You move through the machines much to the dismay of the controllers, yelling at you to move out of the way. You know he is here, you couldn't be too late.

Could you?You feel your throat tighten, the rush of feelings all of a sudden too much, threatening to pour out of you at this stupid mistake you made. He made you feel safe and seen, something you had never experienced yet with someone else like this. You quickly swivel your head, looking around at the sea of orange flight suits milling around. You could feel that anxiety and panic, clawing its way up your body and into your head.

You're too late.

Too late.

Too late.

With one final breath, you stand firmly, rooting yourself to the ground while mustering up all the courage you had left.

“Poe Dameron!”

---

Poe could sense something was wrong. He was adjusting his suit for the umpteenth time as he lingered near the ladder to his X-wing. He couldn't help his gaze wavering from his task at hand to the distant crowd of people, all waving to his squad. He liked to set up farther away from everyone, giving himself time to focus and quell the negative thoughts before a mission. He was only taking his time because he could swear he heard your voice, calling out for him. He shook his head, chuckling lowly at the idea. He left you at the medbay, that honeyed look in your eyes as you looked up to him was enough to keep him going through this mission. Even if he wanted something more, he would wait, wait until you told him you were ready. 

He realized, with a startled laugh, he would wait forever for you. 

“Well, BB-8, time to head out.” He said softly, giving his droid a gentle nudge. His hands begin to haul himself up the ladder before he pauses, one last tingling sensation at the back of his neck. Instead of a sea of orange flight suits like his own, he could spot one spec of grey in the center of it, moving around aimlessly. 

‘It couldn't be…’

He hops off the ladder, walking cautiously closer.

Poe could never describe the feeling he had when he heard you call his name again. 

His legs break out into a sprint, weaving through the masses of pilots all cheering him on until he reaches you, out of breath, but a smile remained on his face. 

You look up at him, wide eyed as your hands reach for his arms. “Poe-” You begin, breathing quickly as your eyes scan over his face. He just smiles, drinking you in.

“What are you doing here? We're about to take off.” But his voice held no urgency, he would take however long you needed. 

Your throat constricts, your hands slowly dropping from his body. 

He was here.

He found you.

“Poe, I just, well, I wanted to tell you something-”

“You really ran out here, evading X-wings, just to tell me something? Careful, I may fall in love-”

His words were cut off by the sensation of your lips on his, kissing him urgently, your hands bunched up in the scratchy fabric of his suit as you yank him down to you.

Poe only needed two seconds before he grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist as he crushes you closer, angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Cheers erupt around you, but you don't care, only focused on your hands on his warm skin and the feeling of his hands holding you to his body. Poe pulls back, just enough for you to catch your breath, your noses rubbing together gently. 

“You alive, Doctor?”

You nod shakily, a smile breaking out on your face. Poe leans in once more, tenderly kissing you, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. 

You never knew someone could taste so sweet, so intoxicating. 

You pull back, trying to even out your breathing. “That's all I wanted to tell you.” 

Poe smiles, running a thumb along your kiss swollen lips, “Thanks for telling me. I’ll see you when I get home.” He murmurs, leaning forward to place one last kiss on your forehead. 

You smile happily, waving as Poe makes his way up the ladder and into the cockpit of his X-wing. He waves back, grinning as he sets up for takeoff, trying his best to keep an eye on you as you are ushered off of the runway. There was no better way to start his missions now, he decided. 

---

Poe was gone for 6 days, and you were a nervous wreck. 

“He said it’d only take 3 or 4 days? What if something happened?” You ask your nurse, barely focused on the patient files before you. She just shrugs, patting your arm empathetically. “It's a rebellion, things can happen, but I’m sure Poe is fine, he's a strong boy.” She replies, but your heart is still thundering in your ears. 

How did other couples do this? This feeling of terror lurking at every corner? No communications, no idea if he was okay, it was debilitating. 

On the 8th day, you hear the familiar screech of X-wings nearby. You were in your home, trying to relax, but you jump up, racing out of your quarters to the runway. You wait, eyes wide as you count the number of X-wings, holding your breath until you realize two x-wings were missing. 

You wait with bated breath, those dark thoughts creeping their way up to your mind.

You wait among the masses of people, the crowd cheering as the pilots begin to exit their ships. It isn't until you notice a familiar orange droid hit the ground near the end of the runway.

You run.

You grin as you find yourself in the arms of this man, the one who has made you worry so much. 

“I told you I’d be home, didn't I?” He grins, and you can barely hold back the tears as you look up at his face, unmarred, uninjured.

“I was so worried, it took way longer than you said-”

“A few of my pilots were shot down, I had to go retrieve them and bring them to another rebel base on a nearby planet.” He explains, running a hand along your spine. You frown, a complaint on your lips before he presses his mouth to your, all worries fading away as you wrap your hands around his neck.

“Take me home, hm?” He murmurs against your neck, his hands splayed out along your lower back pulling you impossibly close to the hard contours of his body. You gasp as you feel him, all of him, his desire for you evident even now. You nod, smiling widely as you lean back up, taking his hand in your as you both begin the walk back to your quarters, laughing side by side, but you liked how he said it.

Taking him home. 

---

Your back hits the bed quickly, Poes body covering yours with urgency. 

“Fuck, I missed you-” He gasps, his hands entwined with yours as he pins you to the small bed. You moan, arching up against him, desperate for any friction. “Poe, please,” You beg, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Poe gasps, a shiver running through his body as he involuntarily thrusts against you, sending a delicious jolt of pleasure through you. “Fuck, baby, hold one I want to last-” He moans, dipping his head to your neck, biting down as a warning. 

You hadn't known pleasure like this, how much desire you felt for him. The way your body sang for him, and likewise the way you could send shivers down his spine with the slightest touch was intoxicating. You bite your lip, stifling down a moan. Poe leans up, smirking as he begins to shuck off his clothes, revealing his golden skin underneath. You sit up, watching him until your hands move to his chest, reveling in the new sensations of his bare skin on yours. He watches you, enjoying the pleasure this gives you. “You just gonna touch me all night, pretty girl?” He teases, taking one of your hands up to his lips, kissing your palm gently. You smile, nodding seriously, “I wouldn't be opposed, you're beautiful, Poe.” You wish you could photograph his face, the shy grin that spreads along his features. 

“Flirt.” He grins, lowering himself back down onto you, the weight of his body pushing you deeper into the mattress. He kisses and suckles along your neck, biting gently as he coaxes little moans and sighs from you. 

“Poe, my clothes-” You beg, but only get a few words out as his hand expertly flies to your top, removing it quickly as his lips attack the new expanse of skin. Your hand rests on his head, threading your fingers through his thick hair. 

Next was your bra.

Then your pants.

Until you both were before each other, utterly bare. Poe drags his hand along your thigh, stroking gently as you watch him. “So beautiful…” He murmurs, turning his head to look up at you. Your smile, this heat making your heart flutter with excitement. 

“How do you want me, sweetgirl?” He asks, kissing his way up your stomach, across your breasts, until he reaches your lips. You flush lightly, his forwardness so refreshing and new. He was yours, in every sense of the word. 

“I want to be on top.” You decide, and Poe smiles with the light of the sun. “Thank the maker.” He grins, flopping onto his back and settling himself against the headboard. You giggle as you crawl over him, watching the way his muscles flex as he anticipates your move. You had this power over him, only you.

You straddle his lap, the heat of him pressing hot to your core, causing you to moan out already. Your hands fall to his shoulders, and with ease, you slide yourself down until you are fully seated on him. Poe shudders, gasping as his head hangs forward, resting on your shoulder. “Fuck, sweet girl, you feel perfect.” He babbles, his hips already beginning to try and move. You smile, you hand cupping the back of his head gently as you place a kiss on the side of his head. 

“I’ll make you feel good, Poe.” You promise, carefully lifting yourself up and breakdown experimentally. The choked gasp he emits only makes you move more. Poe was always mouthy, but here, now, he was absolutely filthy. 

“Fuck baby, you feel so good, absolutely milking my cock, I’m already so close, fuck-” He spasms below you, his hands gripping your hips as he slams up into you. “Fuck-Poe-” You gasp out, trying to keep your pace as he moves himself to meet your thrusts. You could feel his hands bruising your skin, but you didn't care, you were utterly bewitched by the man here with you. You feel that twitch of his member inside you, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he moans louder. “I’m yours, Poe, please-” You gasp out, and Poe only growls as he bites down onto your shoulder, licking over the wound before he hisses out.

“No-fuck-I’m yours, sweet girl, only yours-”

His release erupts from him, his thrusts remaining deep inside of you as you feel your own release follow his, your body shaking and clenching around his. You collapse forward, falling into his arms as you both try to regain your breath. Poe doesn't even try to separate you, keeping you close in his arms as he settles down into your bed, your eyes growing heavy from exhaustion. 

“Poe?” You ask softly, looking up to his face. Poe opens one eye, looking down at you with a smile. “Yeah, pretty girl?” 

You bite your lip, running your hand along his chest. “I was just, really worried about you.”

Poe shakes his head, closing his eyes once more as he relaxes into your pillows. “I was fine, but I couldn't leave my crew, you know? I'm their leader.” You nod at his words, but you were surprised that the nagging feeling in your chest wasn't quelled. “I know, but you don't have to throw yourself into danger at every turn.” You say, and you watch as his eyes open with a frown as he turns to look at you. 

“I have to. I’m their leader, it's my duty to make sure everyone gets home safe.” 

“I know, it just, I see first hand these pilots, the aftermath of war. I don't want to show up one day and it's you laying there in that cot.” You admit to him, leaning forward to place a kiss onto his shoulder. “I know you need to keep your team safe, but just, don't be reckless.” You ask, looking up to his eyes, happy to see them softening at your words. 

Poe leans forward, brushing your hair back as he places a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I promise, I’ll do my best.”

And you believed him.

---

You and Poe dated happily for a few months now, becoming the famous couple of the rebellion. You were happy, undeniably so. Yet, that dark nagging feeling still lingered in your brain, and you knew it wouldn't last like this forever. 

You were worried, the first time he showed up in the medical bay after a mission.

“Had to fly back to collect data!” Is all he says, wincing as you apply a salve to his burns.

You were upset the second time he was in that cot, his foot swollen and his arm in a cast. “There was a family, I had to get them to cover!”

You were furious the third time Poe Dameron was in your medical bed, his head wrapped in bandages as he slept soundly. “A rogue blast nearly took out his entire X-wing.” His second in command told you. He didn't wake up for two days. 

It started to become constant, Poe’s acts of heroism turning into your worst nightmares. But this was what you signed up for wasn't it? Dating the hero of the rebellion? This continued on for another few years. Your patience waning as Poe continued to ignore your pleas, your murmured gasps against his skin as you lay with one another at night. 

“Please just stay, this one time?” You would beg, but Poe thought you only meant the night. 

It was eating away at you, the thought that every kiss you shared with Poe may be your last. 

Poe began to stay mainly with you, even having a small corner for his own items when he was at home with you. You loved it at first, being able to share every second with him in between missions and shifts at the medical unit. It became harder, when he would lay there injured, your inner professional making sure he was taking his medicine, or icing his sprains. 

It was even harder those days he would leave without saying anything, not wanting to hear your worries before his mission. 

You had even left him a note  once, asking him to resign from a mission due to your anniversary coming up. His second in command could lead, you hadn't had a date night in months.

He tucked the note away into his pocket, heading out to tell the crew how he would miss this mission. The General found him, imploring him to lead the mission, he was their only hope, he was like a son to her.

He left promptly and without complaint. 

It was becoming obvious, Poe loved his team, his crew, this rebellion. 

But he did not love you more than them. 

He could not. 

It ended on a day like any other.

You sat at your kitchen table, a warm cup in your hands as you sipped its contents slowly. You could hear his laugh through the hall, before hearing the rattle of his scan card and the door sliding open. He smiled widely, waving goodbye to the pilots who trailed behind him. He moved towards you, kissing your head swiftly as he began to undress, changing into his casual clothes.

“Poe?” You called out, turning yourself in your chair to watch him. He always stole your breath, his beautiful form, the kindness in his face.

It made this all so much harder. 

“Yeah, sweet girl?” He smiled, adjusting his necklace back under his shirt. The thin metal that held his mothers ring close to his heart.

Only you knew that, he told you once.

Would someone else know that one day?

Your eyes began to water, and Poe frowned, rushing over to cup your cheeks. 

“Hey now, what's wrong? I’m sorry my mission took so long, I tried to come home earlier but there was this-”

“That's it, there is always something else, Poe.” You sob out, shaking his hands off of your face. He stands there, stunned as you stand up, wiping furiously at your eyes. “All I’ve ever asked you was to not be reckless, but, every mission, I have to wait here, seeing if you make it back alive or not. All because you need to play the hero!” You cry out, your fists shaking at your side as you hold his gaze. Poe frowns, your words stabbing into his heart. 

“I’m the leader of this rebellion, I have a duty to these people-”

“But not to me?” You shoot back, crossing your arms in front of you defensively. “You love this rebellion, I know, you love these people, I do too, I just thought-” You choke on the words, the realization finally creeping in, “I just thought you loved me more, Poe.”

As you expected, Poe could not tell you otherwise. 

He leaves your room, his items carefully balanced in his arms as he exits, the door sliding closed behind him. He moves automatically, making his way back to his own quarters keeping himself together.

He simply smiles and shrugs when people ask where you are, why you haven't been seeing him off.

He keeps himself together when he asks to see a medic who isn't you.

He keeps it together, despite it all. Until he realizes one thing, months later. 

His biggest regret, he now realizes, is he did love you, more than all of it.

And he would never get to tell you that.

A PLACE IN THE SEA OF STARS

anakin skywalker x f!naberrie!reader word count: 10.4k (my longest yet... i'm so sorry) warnings: two idiots pining, pining, reader is padme's younger sister (whether biological or adopted is up to you), first time having sex, soft smut, angst synopsis: a life spent in padmé amidala's shadow and never once did she ever think she'd be envious of her sister. that is, until anakin skywalker walks his way into her life and she finds herself praying that one day, he'd look at her the way he does at padmé, that she'll be given a place in the sea of stars, that her destiny will include him.

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 It came as no surprise that Anakin Skywalker would be enamored with her second-to-oldest sister.

 After a life spent behind Padmé Amidala’s shadow, she’d grown accustomed to it— being overlooked. But for once, just this once, she wished history wouldn’t repeat itself, wished the prophecy could be rewritten and for once, let it be her who was chosen, who was noticed. 

 But of course, it’s futile. 

 You can sink to your knees and pray to whatever higher being is in the sky but at the end of the day, there are millions of lost souls just like you doing the same. You can have faith, you can believe that someday you’ll be heard but with each silent day that passes, your voice still falls on deaf ears. 

 She’s done her time playing the fool who sinks to her knees and pleads with the night sky to find her a place in the sea of stars, so that she may fit in a constellation too. She’s been the statue who's been made to wait— and she’s started to crumble. 

 She remembers the day she started to pray like it was yesterday. It was the day she first met Anakin Skywalker, back when he was only a Padawan, still searching for his own place in the world. Her parents were restless then, having heard of the multiple assassination attempts on their dear second oldest daughter. Of course she was worried too, but she still could feel the guilt that settled into the marrow of her bones when she found herself pondering whether her parents would react the same way if it had been her life at stake instead. 

 She remembers helping her eldest sister, Sola, and her mother with dinner in preparation for the arrival of their sister Padmé and her Jedi escort. She’d been tasked with bringing a bowl of fruit to the table and she remembered nearly being trampled over by her nieces, Ryoo and Pooja, as they squeal Padmé’s name, sprinting for the door. 

 She remembers huffing, mumbling a curse in an alien language beneath her breath just as their guests step inside, looking up from where she leaned over the table, dropping the bowl down onto the surface. She remembers her breath catching in her throat when her gaze found a sea of blue that put the Naboo waters to shame. 

 Padmé’s lips curved into a grin as she exclaimed her sister’s name, circling the table to capture her in an embrace. Her sister wrapped her arms around her and her chin found Padmé’s shoulder as the blue that took her breath away crashed into her and she swore everything changed in that moment. 

 She remembers the first time Anakin Skywalker looked at her. It was a brief, friendly locking of the eyes but a fleeting moment for him felt like lightyears for her. His eyes were the blue of the water where the sun’s reflection gently ripples and warps. They were the blue of the sky after it rains and the sun begins to spill through the cracks of the wall of clouds. 

 She’s never understood what it meant to be speechless, for something to literally steal the breath away from her lungs. But from the moment her eyes met his, she began to understand. 

 “Anakin! This is my youngest sister,” Padmé announced, pulling away from their embrace. Her spine stiffened when her sister introduced her and she watched as his full, pink lips moved to form her name. His voice is like nails scraping against the itch she can’t reach on her back, his voice is like velvet she can swallow, deliciously soft and rich against her throat. 

 “It’s nice to meet you,” Anakin dipped his chin in greeting, the silly, little braid falling off his shoulder. She drained the lump that had formed in her throat, bowing her head. Her lips trembled and her breath was shaky as she prepared her salutations but her words fell dead on the tip of her tongue when Padmé’s squeal permeated the room. 

 “And my eldest sister Sola!”

 And just like that, all attention rolled away from her and onto her eldest sisters but she still watched him, heart beating against her chest. 

 And that was the moment she began to pray. 

 She prayed, even though the looks he’d given Padmé didn’t go unnoticed. The way he watched her, even when she wasn’t the one speaking, the way he’d soak in every word, every praise for her that fell past her parents’ mouths. The way he stared longingly at her sister when he was certain nobody was watching— and no one was, for their attentions were on Padmé, save for hers. 

 It was typical. 

 It should come as no surprise that everyone would worship the ground her sister— the former Queen, current Senator of Naboo— walked on. She’s not surprised that someone young and benign like him would fall in love with her sister— she’d only seen it happen more times than she ever really cared to count. 

 And she’d never really cared about all the suitors on their knees at Padmé’s feet before— they were her sister’s problems, not hers. She’d never even really envied her sister, at least in that sense. 

 But everything changed the moment Anakin stepped through the door. Everything changed the moment their eyes met, if only for the most fleeting of seconds. 

 So she prayed. 

 Inside the inner realms of her mind, she sinks to her knees and stares into the void above her, the stars that beamed down at her twinkling, almost as if they taunted her. She swallowed her pride, folding her hands together and raising them to her chin, brow dipping as she pleaded with the higher being in the sky to hear her cry. 

 “Please, hear me, Maker,” she whispered into her mind, externally staring at Anakin, internally losing her gaze amongst the stars as if the Maker himself would appear between them. “Hear my plea. Whatever destiny you’ve pre-written for me, please be sure it includes Anakin Skywalker.”

 She didn’t see Anakin Skywalker again for another year after that. 

 Apparently, being a Jedi means he’s constantly from place to place, but next time they do end up in the same place, it’s even more fleeting than the last. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever see him again, if she was foolish to continue hoping that he might notice her, that he might even love her. But she still remembers the way his eyes flickered in recognition when they caught hers across the courtyard of Theed Royal Palace. His hair was longer and he didn’t have that ridiculous braid or tiny ponytail on the back of his neck anymore. The Chancellor was speaking to him and another Jedi with umber hair and a matching beard, but his attention was on her. 

 He looked… darker. As if the years of war had finally begun taking its toll on him. But he’s still the same man he’s always been, still the same one she’s dreamed about. He even looked better.  

 They don’t get the chance to talk, only share knowing glances, as he was on duty and their paths unfortunately didn’t cross. But that gleaming in his eyes, the one that blazes with knowing is all the kindling in the pit of her belly needs to bloom, to blossom into a raging wildfire. 

 So, she prayed again. 

 “Maker,” she said into that night sky inside of her head. The stars shone brighter, as if to laugh at the foolish girl beneath them. She ignored them of course— because she truly believed that one day, she’d prove them wrong. “Please. Hear my plea. Let Anakin Skywalker see me again. Give me a place in your sea of stars and make sure it is in Anakin Skywalker’s orbit.”

 She doesn’t see him again for another two years. 

 But still, he lingers, just like a phantom weaving through every corner she passes, cloaked in shadow. She sees Anakin Skywalker everywhere she goes— in the lakes of shining waters out in the country, in the rain that falls on a dark, cloudy day, in the litany of stars that idle in the sky. 

 She sees him in her dreams, staring the way he did at Padmé. Only, in her dreams, his gaze finds her. Almost like he had that day in the courtyard, but in her dreams, his eyes would linger longer. 

 His voice calls out to her whenever she’s sleeping and it lingers in gooseflesh on her skin, frosting over her bones. She’ll open her eyes when he calls but she’s never truly awake. Alas, if dreaming is the only way she’ll see Anakin Skywalker again, she’d gladly succumb to her sleep and trick herself into believing it is real. 

 Except tonight, she does not think she can take it much longer. 

 “Anakin,” she whispers one day when she peels her eyelids open after he calls. She says his name like it’ll be the last time she ever will. That look is on his face again— the one she’s seen so many times directed at her in her dreams, she’s nearly forgotten it wasn’t meant for her in the first place. 

 She used to wake and long for sleep to come again, just so she could watch him look at her like that. 

 But three long years of waiting and foolishly praying to beings who do not hear have begun to rust the illusion she’s deluded herself into hopelessly believing in. Three long years of silence and she’s finally cracked. She is broken— she sees it now. She’s grown weary of hoping he’d be the one to fix her. 

 His lips curve to form a smile and for three years, she’s fooled herself into believing it could be for her— truly be for her, outside of her dreams. But to be forthright, she’s tired. She’s grown tired of pretending, tired of clinging onto the dying embers of mere memories of how a man looked at someone that wasn’t her— but rather her sister. She’s grown tired of hoping, waiting, praying that one day, he may wander back into her life and thread his way into the tapestry that her destiny’s been woven into.

 Tonight is the night she forfeits with her palms to the sky, tonight is the night she yields to the stars that have taunted her for far too long and admits her defeat. That they were right all along. Tonight is the night she blows away the ashes she’s desperately held so close to her chest and sealed away in secret urns inside for far too long. 

 Tonight is the night she lets go. 

 When she wakes the following morning, birds chirp outside her window. Sunlight spills into her room as it rises over the mountains across the lake and she yawns, stretching her arms over her head. Today is merry— it is the day her sister, Padmé Amidala, marries. 

 Today is merry but instead, she feels dread seep into the marrow of her bones. She’s happy for her sister, really, she is, but it serves only as a reminder that her time is ticking, and time has turned vexing. It serves as a reminder that she must make haste to find her own purpose, to find someone who will cherish her the way she’s spent many fortnights dreaming about. Sola’s already married and found her purpose, and Padmé’s had her entire life laid out before her since she was only fourteen years of age. 

 Sola, the wife and mother, Padmé, the Queen and then the Senator, and then there’s her. Unsure. Undecided. An ellipsis. 

 She’s envious. How could she not be? She’s envious that she’ll never be the perfect mother like Sola, envious that she’ll never live up to Padmé’s legacy, she’s even grown envious of the stars: they simply idle in the night sky but even their idleness has a purpose because their places have reason, to create constellations that in turn, tell stories. 

 She knows that after today, the pressure of fulfilling whatever destiny’s been written for her will only further suffocate her. She will suffocate beneath the weight of this pressure and she will be expected to continue breathing. She’s tried for so long to keep the air in her lungs but it’s so hard when with each day that passes by, the darkness grows more appealing. 

 She’s tried so hard to find the right path she’s supposed to take, but there are so many roads, so many choices and so many consequences. She’s afraid— and it’s why she’s allowed herself to hide in her sisters’ shadows for so long. But it feels so stifling now. 

 She sighs and blinks up to the terracotta ceiling. And then of course, dread wears her bones for an entirely different reason. Because it’s inevitable that she’s going to see Anakin Skywalker today. And things will be different. 

 It’s been lingering like an annoying, little insect since Padmé announced she’d invited her Jedi friends to the wedding, ever since she heard Anakin’s name being read off the list. Things were certain to change because he is but a mere guest, and not the groom. 

 It may have come as no surprise that Anakin would fall for her, but it certainly came as a shock that Padmé wouldn’t fall for him. 

 It makes her flesh blaze with a strange anger she’s not quite sure how to describe. How could her sister have something she so desperately wanted but not pursue it? How could she reject Anakin when he would willingly break and bend to her every whim? Why must her sister take his infatuation for granted— why could it not be given to her instead?

 She thinks it must be some cruel trick the Maker is playing on her, dangling Anakin in front of her like that, cursing him with an unrequited love when she was right there. She thinks it must be the Maker’s— damn him— cruel way of taunting her, as if the sneering stars had eyes, his eyes. Even if part of her is relieved Anakin is not marrying her sister, it still feels like a blaster wound to her chest, puncturing her skin and searing her insides. 

 She hears her name called from outside her room’s door and groans. 

 “What do you want?” She replies in displeasure as the door slides open. Her eldest sister, Sola, steps into the room and glowers at her youngest sister’s tone. 

 “Well, good morning sunshine,” Sola remarks and she rolls her eyes. Sola makes her way towards the bed, dropping a dress the color of fire onto the mattress. “Is there a reason for your ill-temper today?”

 She pushes herself to sit upright, wrinkling her nose at the dress as she takes a fistful of it in her hand. “Orange?” She scoffs, tossing it back down onto the bed. “I thought we were wearing blue?”

 Sola shrugs, plopping down onto the mattress. “Padmé changed her mind last minute,” she says. “I suppose if we wore blue, we’d mesh with the background, don’t you think?”

 She sighs and flops back down against her pillows, one arm folded over her stomach, the other folded behind her head. Sola pokes her forefinger against her knee and she grumbles, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling. 

 “Now, answer the question,” her oldest sister insists. “What’s the matter with you?”

 Her eyelids flutter closed and she wishes more than anything that she could simply wink out of existence. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be here for Padmé, she does, but she’s uncertain how she could possibly explain how she feels to Sola in a way she could understand. It’s exactly this that’s made her feel so alone all these years. 

 She’s never had someone who could understand her, really get her. She’s always been different from her sisters, even before marriage and coronations and political promotions. It’s something she’s certain her sisters have known, that even her parents must’ve known. She’s never been jovial and nurturing like Sola, or clever and independent like Padmé. She’s always preferred silence and privacy, and maybe that’s been her problem. But it’s all she knows, being alone. 

 Sola’s never spent years yearning for a boy who yearns for another, so she couldn’t possibly understand. She doesn’t think she could even make her understand. 

 She sighs, lolling her head to the side until her gaze finds Sola’s. 

 “Not looking forward to wearing that dress for the entire evening,” she says instead. Sola’s eyes roll and she leans over to pinch her calf beneath the covers. She hisses and swats her sister’s hand away as she clicks her tongue, moving out of the way. 

 “Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Sola tries to reason. 

 “It’s hideous,” she deadpans. 

 Sola deflates with the acceptance of her defeat. She grabs her sister’s knee, giving it a shake. She glares at her older sister. 

 “Come on, that can’t be the only reason why you’re in such a foul mood,” Sola insists, her bottom lip rolling in a pout and she swears it’s almost comical how her eldest sister can act like such a child. It’s a wonder how she has children of her own. 

 She blinks at Sola as a sort of realization creeps onto her eldest sister’s face and she blinks, internally grimacing. For she knows that whatever is bound to come out of her sister’s mouth next is going to be completely and utterly wrong. 

 “I think I get it now,” Sola’s tone is softer, her face falling to match it. “You’re upset you’ll be the last of us to be married.”

 And there it is. 

 She internally cringes at just how wrong Sola is but she says nothing, further prompting her sister to lean forward, reaching for the hand that rests on her stomach. Her muscles stiffen when she takes it and she wills herself to stay still. It was better to let Sola say whatever she had to say than recoil and deny it— it’s not like she had any better excuse anyways. 

 “I know it can be tough,” she begins. “Feeling like you’re left out. Believe me, I had my fair share of it. I was so jealous of yours and Padmé’s relationship when you were younger because I was so much older, I felt like I just didn’t quite fit in with you two.”

 Her eyes finally meet Sola’s and she begins to see her eldest sister in a different light. All this time, she’s believed she’s the only one who’s felt this way— lost, left behind. While this isn’t quite the same context, she still feels her heart tremble in her chest for her sister, still feels like something’s shifted. It’s at least one thing they can understand each other on. 

 “But then, I found my husband. And then I had Ryoo and Pooja,” Sola continues. “And it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve never been so happy in my life.”

 Sola’s grip tightens around her hand and she leans forward to place her other one on top. “I know it must seem hard, seeing as both Padmé and I are married— well, almost anyway.” Her lips curve into a soft, reassuring grin. “But you’ll find that same happiness one day. I just know it. So don’t fret, little sister.”

And there, she fears, is where her sister misses the plot. 

 She almost wants to laugh at how ridiculous this all sounds. She remains silent, however, and Sola gives the back of her hand one last reassuring pat before she lets go, sliding off of the mattress. 

 “Anyways, I’m going to breakfast. You should come too before all the blue waffles are gone.”

 She watches as her eldest sister slips out of the room, the door sliding closed behind her and she sighs, digging her knuckles into her closed eyelids until the galaxy shimmers before her. How could Sola have come so close to understanding her one minute only to read her so wrong the next?

 She doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed and in all honesty, she wishes she could simply stay here forever, or at least for the rest of the night. At least long enough that she doesn’t have to face Anakin Skywalker. 

 Because even though she’s already promised herself that she’d let him go, she wasn’t entirely certain she could hold true to her own word when she sees him again.

 The day goes by in a blur. In the blink of an eye, she’s wearing a satin dress in that deep orange she finds hideous beside Sola who stands beside Padmé. Padmé stands facing her husband-to-be, fingertips delicately placed in his palms as they recite their vows. 

 The sun paints the villa’s terrace with an orange glow and she watches it sink beneath the mountains across the lake from the corner of her eye. The sunlight looks like fire rippling in the gentle waves of the water below and she has to look away because she thinks of Anakin, how his eyes glimmer just the same. 

 She’s determined to keep her gaze away from the audience, however, because she knows he’s there, the incarnation of all she’s ever wanted, of all her bad ideas, of everything she cannot trust herself with in one. She searches the ground below, watches the way her dress ruffles with the breeze, like fire askew in the wind. 

 Padmé says something that makes the audience erupt in laughter and it startles her, so much that the hair on the back of her neck erects. When she flinches, she makes the mistake of blinking up— right into the eyes she’d been bound to avoid all night. 

 The world around Anakin Skywalker seems to stir until it’s all wet, blurry hues of orange, green, and white. Anakin is the only one she sees in high resolution— she can see every lock of wavy, dark blonde hair, every rippling wave in his irises, the scarlet line that slices just beside his right eye. She’d never seen this scar before— it must be new. 

 But what’s the most peculiar of all is that she meets his eyes— she meets his eyes. She’d blinked up to find he’d already been staring, already transfixed on her by the time their gazes met and his eyes had illuminated with that same knowing gleam she’d seen in them that day in the royal courtyard. 

 Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she is not in a dream. It’s both momentous and utterly devastating all the same.

 She isn’t quite sure whether to look away or not. This is what she's mooned over more times than her pride will allow her to admit. She’s dreamed this many nights, for Anakin Skywalker to simply look at her and now he is. Anakin Skywalker is looking at her and she should feel elated but instead she feels… conflicted. 

 Does her heart flutter in her chest? Sure. 

 Does her stomach twist itself into knots? Certainly. 

 She felt so confident just the night before when she threw her hands up in surrender to the black sky, admitting her defeat to the stars who spent many moons mocking her that she was done. She felt so confident that she was ready to move on, to let go of this desire she’s harbored for Anakin for so long. 

 With the simplest of looks, Anakin Skywalker has proven capable of crumpling the paper walls she’d placed around herself. She was left feeling feeble, exposed and any sense of courage she thought she had was now lost. 

 Because three years of waiting and praying to higher entities who did not hear her pleas could not cease overnight. Her attraction to Anakin Skywalker could not cease in hours. She thought she’d extinguished the last flames of her withering hope but, as it turns out, a single dying ember remained. It means a part of her still yearned for him. A part of her still burned for him. 

 She wonders now, that he’s still looking at her, what possibly goes on inside his head. Why does he look at her now? Why does he stare, why do his lips twitch before curving in a smile when their eyes meet, why do they irradiate the longer her gaze lingers on his? Why does he not look sad at the wedding of the woman he loves? Why does he not even look at Padmé?

 Her mind swirls like a tempest— churning with unhinged, vicious anguish. She has to look away before the acid that bubbles in her throat can come to fruition but she can’t, and Anakin seemingly can’t tear his gaze away from her either. It’s all the more sickening and earth-shattering nonetheless. Her heart swells and pounds in her chest, the border of her vision beginning to blur with the familiar sting of tears. Her head is aching and it’s all just too much— she needs an escape. 

 “I now pronounce you, husband and wife.”

 She blinks away her emotion to the best of her ability, using the end of the ceremony as an excuse to look away as the crowd around her thunders with applause. Her mind is reeling and she feels like her head is spinning as she subconsciously claps her palms together, the sound muffled like water in her ears.  The watercolor around her stirs until it’s clear again and the entire world suddenly seems to move again— it’s her, this time, that’s in slow motion. 

 The cheering sounds like thunder, the applause like rain pelting against a window, and her mind begins to crumple, just like metal. She longs for escape, to flee and to be beside herself for the rest of the night. Padmé and her husband begin walking back down the aisle as their guests congratulate them, tossing flower petals into the air above them. She thinks that this is her chance to escape, she thinks everyone is distracted enough that no one will notice her leaving. 

 They never cared to notice her before anyways. 

 She begins to shuffle away but she doesn’t make it very far before her stomach lurches when someone clasps a hand around her wrist, tugging her forward. She snaps her head to the source to find her eldest sister, Sola, with her face illuminated by a grin. 

 “Come on!” Sola exclaims, dragging her down the aisle and back inside the villa. “It’s time to party!”

 Dread drains the blood from her cheeks but she’s given no time to protest before she’s being dragged down the aisle, right past Anakin Skywalker. She doesn’t dare look up but she feels him when she passes by, a mere brush of the arms, the feeling of his elbow brushing going just as fast as it came. 

 And it’s still enough to make liquid of her insides. 

 She drowns in a sea of people as she and Sola find Padmé, wrapped in their mother’s arms. She can hear her heart drum in her ears as Sola releases her hand to draw Padmé into an embrace, tears streaming down the apples of her cheeks. Everyone around her is so happy and she should be too— but she still feels like she’s beside the altar, caught in the trap Anakin has seemingly laid out for her. 

 A tear that’s been painfully dormant in her eye falls and she’s certain her distress shows on her face but it must be easily mistaken for tears of joy, because Padmé pulls away from Sola to turn to her, drawing her in for a hug. Her sister’s arms wrap around her body, a palm on her back, the other cupping the back of her head. Even Sola reaches forward to give her upper arm a reassuring squeeze, undoubtedly thinking back to the conversation they’d had earlier. 

 “Don’t cry for me, baby sister,” Padmé laughs tearfully beside her ear. She can feel Padmé’s smile against her shoulder. She pulls away and rubs her palms up and down the length of her arms. “I’m still the same Padmé I’ve always been.”

 She’s unable to reply— again, she’s misunderstood. But it’s her sister’s wedding day, she won’t burden her with her own confliction. So she swallows the boulder-sized lump in her throat, curving her lips just enough to form a tight-lipped smile. 

 “I’m just… happy for you,” she manages. Padmé cups her cheek and soothes the pad of her thumb over her skin before Ryoo and Pooja draw her attention away. Padmé’s hands fall from her arms and finally, she can breathe. 

 But even that is momentary. 

 “You make a perfectly fine bride if I do say so myself, Senator.”

 Her spine stiffens. She knows that voice. And she knows exactly who is near when she hears it. 

 Padmé laughs and tosses her hands. “Obi-Wan,” she greets him just like an old friend would, pulling him in for an embrace. “And little Ani.”

 How is it that she’s already seen him more tonight than she has in the past three years? She sees Anakin’s dark boots from the top of her vision, not daring to tear her gaze from the ground. 

 “Padmé,” Anakin’s deep, enriching voice sounds and rumbles deep in her belly. She shifts uncomfortably where she stands, desperate to flee. She thinks she can manage it now— Obi-Wan and Anakin are engrossed with Padmé now, right? 

 She begins to make her first attempt of escape, taking slow, careful steps to the side until her second effort crumbles when Anakin speaks her name. 

 Ice frosts over her spine and she’s no choice but to acknowledge the man she was so intent on avoiding the entire evening. Padmé and Obi-Wan are engrossed in their own conversation but Anakin’s gaze remains on her, eyes even sparkling when she finally meets them. 

 Her mouth is a desiccated oasis and her throat feels like a desert as it constricts painfully when she swallows. Still, she manages to breathe out, “Anakin.”

 It’s the first time she can ever recall having a true, proper conversation with him. The last time being when they said their goodbyes that very first time before he and Padmé left for the Lake Country. It’s confusing how this is everything she’s ever wanted yet, she feels an urge to push it all away. 

 Anakin clears his throat and his eyes flicker to his feet for a moment as if he could possibly be nervous before they find hers again. “You look good,” he says and her heart stops beating in her chest. “That dress is beautiful on you.”

 She thinks she could punch him. 

 Or kiss him. 

 She has to look away, or she may very well do the latter. 

 She wonders if this is some cruel, senseless joke the Maker is playing on her. She wonders if she’d upset him by unlatching herself from his hook and this is his way of reeling her back in. She hates that it has the potential to work. 

 “I…” she stammers and closes her lids frustratedly, willing air back into her lungs. She shakes her head— she cannot be here any longer. She may very well explode if she has to succumb to this torture for even a second more. “…thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

 And then, she bolts. 

 She’s lost track of how long she’s been locked in her room, sitting in the window, staring at the moonlight that ripples in the water below. It was long enough for the chatter downstairs to quiet to murmurs until it finally ceased altogether. The villa is now quiet and suddenly, her room feels suffocating. 

 With a sigh, her feet meet the floor and she pushes away from the window seat, cupping her neck to roll it around her shoulders as she pads towards the door. It slides open and she slips through, making her way down the hallway leading towards the main foyer. Her dress flows behind her like flames in the wind, the satin cool against her legs as she walks. Fresh, night air greets her and she inhales, letting it flood her lungs as she saunters to the wide terrace ahead. 

 She stops at the stone arches of the railing and exhales, feeling the wind sift its fingers through her hair, breathing on her skin like a lover in the throes of passion. It caresses her neck and rolls down her back, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. 

 She’d spent many nights just like this one. Staring at the moon rippling through the water, at the stars that twinkle overhead, the sky that blackens behind them. She’d spent many nights praying, releasing her pleas into the air and letting it drift away with the breeze. 

 She does not pray this time. When she lifts her head to brave the dark that faces her, she merely asks why. 

 “Why, Maker,” she whispers beneath her breath. There’s an edge, a strain to her voice that stings her throat, that feels like daggers to her chest. “Why must you be so cruel? I have done everything, I have given you everything. Why wasn’t it enough? Why do you mock me now?”

 The stars overhead gleam as they cackle, sneering at the misfit below. “You’ll never have a place among us,” they seem to say. Tears well in her eyes and she drops her head, fingernails scraping the stone edge of the railing. She leans back on her heels and wills herself to breathe before a sob could wrack her body. 

 She feels lost and utterly alone, and she truly begins to feel like the weight of this prolonged pain has started to fall on top of her. She’s lost and alone and her entire world has started to crumble around her. And then she hears her name. 

 It’s like the call that haunts her every time she closes her eyes, the same velvety voice that caresses her ear every night when she lies down in bed. But it is not a ghostly whisper this time, because it is real. 

 Footsteps sound behind her and she further scratches her nails against the railing. 

 “I was wondering where you wandered off to,” Anakin remarks as he approaches and she can feel him beside her, like a whisper of shadow creeping along her skin. She rolls back onto the balls of her feet and stands straight, sniffing. 

 “Anakin,” she says, steadily, methodically. As if it took great effort to say it without stammering. She can see him out of her peripheral, dark blonde curls falling when he leans an elbow against the railing, tilting his head in an attempt to meet her eye. 

 She does not move. 

 “I was looking for you, you know,” he continues. “You must’ve found a good hiding spot.”

 She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I was in my room,” she replies simply, a steely, monotone in her voice.

 Anakin inhales and hums. “Then it makes sense why I could not find you. I would never barge into a lady’s room.”

 It’s an attempt at humor but she feels anything but. She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place with seemingly no clear solution in sight. She could walk away. She should walk away. She shouldn't spend a single second more in Anakin Skywalker’s presence— she simply couldn’t trust herself to not betray her own vow. 

 Or she could stay. She could stay and once again succumb to the fool’s game she’s been playing. She could stay and let Anakin Skywalker tie another noose around her neck, allowing him to drag her along for another three years. 

 She knows what is right. She knows what she should do. 

 But she’s frozen. 

 She cannot move, cannot even bring her lips to move so she can speak. She instead wilts, like a rose who once stood beautifully now losing its color, shriveling in on herself until she inevitably withers away. 

 She can feel Anakin draw himself just an inch closer beside her, and he’s like a single drop of rain that’s enough to somewhat salvage the husk of who she once was. 

 “Why do you avoid me?” He asks and it’s a question so simply but so damn infuriating all the while. She’s been a volcano in dormancy up until this point, but there’s a rumbling deep within her, threatening to erupt. 

 “Why are you doing this?” She questions, snapping her head towards him, brows dipped and drawn. Anakin blinks and draws back, a dent forming between his own brows. 

 “Doing what?” He asks and that feeling of wanting to ram her fist into his face comes back. She turns to fully face him and he pushes off the railing, uncertainty warping his features. 

 “This,” she gestures between them. “Staring at me. Talking to me. As if we’ve spoken more than hellos and goodbyes to each other.”

 Anakin raises a brow, the one his scar pierces, and it warps with the movement. 

 She continues. “And then you have the audacity to tell me I look beautiful in this gods-awful dress just to spite me.” She is a volcano, no longer dormant, no longer overlooked. She is exploding and Anakin is unfortunate enough to be in her wake. 

 He shakes his head. “Spite you?” He repeats. She begins to pace, a hand on her hip, the other rubbing her chin. Anakin follows, exactly like a lost puppy. “I wasn’t— I would never—“

 “Don’t say you’d never,” she turns on him, sticking an accusatory finger in his face. He blinks from it back to her, that ocean in the irises of his eyes raging, lightning cracking in the sinkhole at its center. She drops her hand and it curls at her side, her fists two shaking balls of fury. Blood bites her cheeks and she thinks of all the times she’s imagined speaking with Anakin Skywalker, of being alone with him. 

 This certainly was not how she’d ever imagined the scenario playing out. 

 She inhales. “Don’t say you’d never do anything to spite me while you are actively using me to get over Padmé,” she exhales, braving the stormy sea in his eyes. The tide shifts and his manner does too and she believes she’s already cracked him. She thinks she’s already shattered the illusion he was trying to create, that she’s lifted the wool he’s tried to veil over her eyes.

 She thinks that he believes whatever game he was trying to play was over. 

 Anakin straightens. “You have no idea what you are talking about,” he says and she scoffs, backing away. 

 “Don’t I?” She retorts. “You don’t think I’ve noticed how you’ve always looked at her? How you’ve always loved her?” 

 It brings her great pain to merely mention it. Her palms wipe at her face as tears begin welling in her eyes again, her cheeks warm as she desperately tries to quell the beginnings of a sob that stutters through her chest. She realizes now that by keeping all of these emotions, these feelings she’s harbored for Anakin for so long bottled has made her restless, has made her tick like a time bomb. 

 And her time to detonate has come. 

 He says her name again and tries to step forward, reeling back when she steps away from him. His hand wrapped in a leather glove hovers in the air between them and he drops it with an exasperated sigh. 

 “Your sister means a great deal to me, yes,” he begins. “But it is not—“

 “My sister is the sole reason why you torment me!” She snaps. “And you have no right to use how I feel against me just because she does not love you back.”

 Her words are an arrow meant to strike, to pierce through his chest, his heart her target. Her words are meant to cut deep, to draw blood, to make him bleed just like she has everyday since they met. She thinks they will, she thinks her blows will etch deep, will even leave scars in their wake. Part of her longs to see that pained expression upon his face, just like the one she wears now. 

 But her arrow merely grazes, soaring past until it sinks in the shining waters below. 

 Anakin’s face shifts but it is not in the way she thought it would, not in the way she hoped it would. His brows dip and his eyes swarm with a pained sort of desperation she’s never seen before in someone. She certainly never expected to see it in someone like him. His chest rises and falls with his breaths as he steps forward again. She stands still, unable to move. She is stunned— Anakin Skywalker has surprised her. 

 “Padmé does not love me,” he admits. “I met her when I was only a child. The only girl I’d ever seen before her was my own mother. So, of course, I felt drawn to her.” Her jaw tightens and her lips fall together in a firm, thin line. Anakin’s brows knit closer together and there’s a flicker in his eyes that she swears looks like the predecessor to tears. 

 She doesn’t quite want to believe it. He could not cry. 

 “And I spent a decade pining, a decade praying that I’d one day see her again, a decade hoping she’d been counting down the days until she saw me again, just like I was.”

 She doesn’t believe what she’s hearing. It’s a reflection of her own story, her own foolish pining, her own foolish praying but not hers, but Anakin’s. Her heart stutters in her chest and she forgets to breathe, having to gasp to gather air back into her lungs. 

 She’s never once felt like she could be understood. She’s never once felt like anyone else could experience the inner turmoil she has, the seemingly fruitless yearning she has. 

 But she’s realizing now that that's not true. Not anymore, at least. Everything is changing right before her eyes. 

 “And then I did,” Anakin shakes his head, a humorless laugh leaving his lips. “And I felt nothing. But I tried. I tried to convince myself I loved her. But I just… didn’t.”

 Her brow furrows and Anakin’s gaze darkens as it finds hers. 

 “I spent a decade obsessing over someone I didn’t really know, and how could I? I was a child.” His eyes search hers, searching for something unbeknownst to her. But she lets him. “I didn’t know what love was. All I knew was infatuation. I didn’t know what it meant to truly feel seen, to truly feel drawn to someone.”

 Anakin pauses and she gets the feeling that whatever he says next will be calamitous. 

 “Until I saw you again, that day outside the palace.”

 Her lips tremble and her breath shudders, an icy chill frosting over her skin. To think he’s thought about her everyday since their eyes briefly met in the midst of a crowded courtyard was hard to believe yet, when she looks at Anakin Skywalker now, she sees the softening of his brow, the quiver in his lips, the honesty in his eyes. 

 She’s only ever imagined one look in his eyes. Desire. 

 But she looks at him now and finds an entire galaxy— there’s longing, there’s earnest, there’s optimism, there’s burning. As it turns out, living creatures are not black and white like she initially thought them to be. Anakin Skywalker is a complex creature, made of flesh and blood and of an intricacy she’d never stopped to consider before. 

 He’s even better than she’s imagined he’d be. 

 Every moment spent under the stars, praying that she’d one day have a place among them, that she one day would sit among them with purpose rather than in an ellipsis suddenly begins to feel like it wasn’t all for nothing after all. Every prayer she’s whispered into the night breeze with Anakin Skywalker’s name in it suddenly feels like they begin to matter, like they begin to come true. 

 Still, she is wary, and Anakin seems to recognize this caution. 

 He takes a step closer and he steals the breath from her chest, just like he had the first moment she saw him. Her fingers twitch, itching to find his, her palms tingling with the desire to feel his skin, her lips buzzing with yearning. She does not touch him, she does not kiss him, she does not do anything. She simply waits for the rest of his story to unfold and her brain aches with the hope that it will unravel into hers. 

 “I saw you that day at the palace to find you were already looking at me. That you were already seeing me,” he mutters, a little breathlessly. “It may have been for… for only a moment but when you looked at me, I felt…” he trails off, a furrow in his brow as he searches for the correct word. “…I felt… like something shifted.”

 She watches as he rolls his lips together, watches as the moonlight catches how they glisten with spittle. Her breath catches a little bit, her gaze lingering there, her desire to lap it all up flaring. 

 “It felt like there was a string there between us I’d never noticed before,” he continues. “There was a connection I’d never realized until the moment our eyes met. I felt you, and I felt you see me. There hasn’t been a day that’s passed by since where I didn’t feel you, where I didn’t feel like we were connected, like we were two stars written in the same constellation.”

 Her chest rises and falls to the erratic beating of her heart as Anakin draws nearer, the hand with his glove meeting her cheek with a tenderness she’d felt from no one before. She’d never realized how starved of touch she’s been until now and it feels so invigorating. Her stare drops to his lips and she feels that string Anakin must’ve been talking about, feels it drawing her closer into his mouth. 

 “Padmé does not love me back, and I do not care,” he says in just above a whisper, his voice rising and falling in a way that jellifies her knees, that makes liquid of her insides. “Because I am burning– foolishly, maybe, yes– for you.”

 She inhales sharply and it truly feels like all her prayers are finally being answered, like she’s being inducted into her rightful place in the sea of stars. And in her constellation, Anakin Skywalker resides too. 

 She reaches up with a hand to hold the crook of his elbow that’s strung between them as he brings his other, ungloved hand to rest on her other cheek. She feels his skin on her cheek as the pad of his thumb soothes over the warmth of her flesh and her body quakes with shivers that roll down her spine all the way to her toes. He begins to lean in, his breath hot where it fans against her skin but she tilts backwards, just enough for him to halt, a quirk in one of his brows. 

 “I will not let you settle for me, Anakin Skywalker,” she whispers, admitting that insecurity still lingers, despite his words. Anakin’s eyes narrow as he uses his hands on either sides of her face to draw her in, his lips but a mere whisper away from hers when he murmurs, “settle? This is not settling. This is binding.”

 Then, his lips are on hers in an electrifying bind that shatters her spine with cracks of lightning and she falls into him, her hands on either of his forearms to keep herself steady. 

 Anakin kisses her with an ardor she could never even dream up in all of her wildest of fantasies. He kisses her and she feels like she finally fits in her dress, as it is the color of fire and she’s engulfed in flames. He kisses her and he is the flame that lights her candle, the flame that melts her from the center, that makes heat course through her that washes all the way down to her toes. He kisses her and she is melting, right into him. 

 His tongue pirouettes over hers and she hums into his mouth, feeling his fingers thread through her hair. Her heart is pounding and her lips are buzzing but all she feels is Anakin, she feels the muscles in his arms, the warmth that radiates off his body and spills into her. She feels the push and pull of the passion, the yearning he’s kept inside all this time. She feels her own longing and fervor pour into him and they are floating, two clouds that collide into one another to become one. 

 Anakin steps forward and steps backwards until she hits a wall. When they pull away for breath, she realizes he’s backed her into one of the pillars, a vine caught in the hair on the back of her head. Their chests heave with the weight of their breaths and she watches as Anakin’s hand, not the gloved one, but the one with skin rises, following it as it reaches for her neck. She shudders when he touches her collarbone, exposed from the side of the fiery satin of her dress. His fingertips sear her skin as it drags to the neck of her dress, following the satin where it wraps around her throat, all the way to the back of her neck where the lace falls. 

 Her breath catches when his fingers find the small strings keeping her dress together. Her gaze finds his again to find he’s already staring, a narrow, earnest look upon his face that darkens his eyes and hardens his features. There is a silent question that hangs in the air between them: “do you want to stop?”

 Maybe they’re moving too fast. Maybe this is crazy, maybe they’re simply caught up in the moment, high off the feeling of burning for someone who burns for them too. But after years of pining, of waiting, of praying, it only feels right. 

 But still, she asks, “what if someone sees? Someone like Obi-Wan who can get you in trouble?”

 Anakin shakes his head, “they won’t. Now, I don’t want to talk about Obi-Wan. Do you want to stop?”

 The shake of her head is all Anakin needs to see before he unlaces the strings holding her dress together, the satin falling like a spark blazing down the frayed edges of a rope until it pools at her elbows. Her breasts spill from the dress and the night’s ghostly whisper chills her skin, peaking her nipples. 

 Anakin’s eyes devour and she is prey. 

 His stare pierces through her skin to the marrow of her bones that catch a chill and she quakes. He meets her eyes again as his hands drift lower, dipping until they finally find her chest. A sharp gasp escapes when his palms cup either of her breasts and she arches into his touch, already aching for more. 

 “Anakin!” She gasps in a breathy exclaim when he dips his chin to press a kiss over the top of one of her breasts, heat blossoming in his lips’ wake. His eyes catch her again, a little warily. “Is this okay?” He asks, his voice low and gravely, scratching the itch in her brain she didn’t even know she had. It makes her knees feel weak and if it hadn’t been for his body pressed up against hers, she would’ve crumpled straight to the ground. 

 “Yes,” she breathes, chest heaving into his palms. “I’m sorry, I’ve just… never…”

 Anakin’s lips curve and she can see a flash of white peek between them. He shakes his head. “Me neither,” he admits with a breathy laugh and she titters too, grateful for the fact that she’s not the only one who’s a little green. 

 “Can I keep going?” He questions and his voice is liquid desire, melting straight down to her core. She swallows the lump that’s formed in her throat, nodding. “Please,” she adds, feeling her heart beat straight into his palm. 

 Anakin’s head dips again and she watches, cheeks warm as he places an open-mouthed kiss just above her nipple. His palm kneads the other breast as his lips venture just an inch lower, finding the peaked bud that awaits, suckling it into his mouth. 

 It’s like electricity flooding through her veins. 

 She throws her head back, lips falling agape as her eyelids snap closed, soaking in the pleasure of Anakin’s lips on her nipple. He cautiously flicks his tongue against the bud, watching through his lids as a moan falls from her lips, encouraging him to do it again. He flattens his tongue against her nipple and licks a long, fat stripe from the underside of it up, feeling her tremble in his arms. He lets go of her breast with a wet pop, trailing kisses through the valley between them to make his way to the other. 

 Touching him, feeling him, kissing him is somehow even better than she’d ever imagined, even after all those years of dreaming for moments like this. She can’t believe she’s gone so long without feeling him like this, she doesn’t think she can ever stop touching him. 

 Anakin suckles on her breast, flicking his tongue against her nipple as his hand not wrapped in a glove ventures down her body, past her waist, down her hip. He pulls the satin material of her dress up until his arm can sneak his way beneath it and she shivers when his fingers find her center over her underwear. Her nails dig into his sleeves above his shoulders, holding her breath as he finds the wet spot in her underwear, gently pressing against it. 

 Her hands tighten on his shoulders and ceases all movement, peering up at her. “You’re wet,” he says rather matter-of-factly because of course she is, how could she not be? She nods down at him, swallowing thick layers of saliva down her throat. “Can I touch you here?” He asks and his voice drops to that silky, velvety tone that makes her core ache. She presses her lips together to stifle her groan, head vigorously nodding up and down. 

 “Gods yes, Anakin,” she moans, slowly rocking her hips against his finger. “Please.”

 She feels filthy in a way for asking, for needing friction so desperately. She’s only ever taken her own fingers when she’s too lost in pleasure at night to sleep, never been touched by anyone else but it’s all she craves now, for Anakin’s fingers to touch her, for him— whatever part it may be— to be inside her. 

 A flame had been ignited in the pit of her belly long ago, back when Anakin first stepped through the door the day they met. It’s sat stagnant for too long, waiting for its moment to further bloom and now it has. It blossomed when her eyes met Anakin’s that day in the courtyard but it’s now in full bloom, now that they burn together, now that his kisses have seared her skin, now that his fingers are pulling her underwear down her thighs, just enough that he can reach her center. 

 When his fingertips brush her clit, she bursts. 

 Anakin’s arm wraps around her waist as she practically collapses into him, his middle finger drawing circles against her clit, his breath hot as his lips rest on her brow. 

 “Is this good?” He asks against her forehead. “Do you feel good?” He questions again as he adds his forefinger to the mix, applying just a little more pressure and it makes her eyes roll. 

 “Yes, just… just don’t stop,” she exhales, feeling her stomach twist itself into a knot, his fingers against her clit threatening to pull it undone any moment. 

 So he doesn’t. 

 He’s unrelenting in the way his fingers press to the aching bud in her center, tracing tight circles until her eyes squeeze closed so hard, milky-ways shimmer behind her lids. He dares venture lower, gathering her slick on the pads of his fingers as he teases near her entrance. It’s a foreign and strange feeling, it’s a pattern she’s traced many times with her own fingers but never been touched by someone else. Even in spite of how many nights she spent trekking that path wishing it was Anakin’s fingers instead, but it’s still strange feeling him there now. 

 She clutches his arm tighter and he slows, beginning to retract his hand. She stops him, lifting her head until their eyes meet again. 

 “No,” she pants, shaking her head. “Don’t stop, just… just take it slow.”

 He nods, his finger a little unsure as it circles her entrance, unintentionally teasing until she begins to crack. She’s panting, trying to wiggle her hips so that she can draw his fingers in, seeking that feeling of being full. Anakin dips his forefinger into her hole and she tosses her head back, her lips parting for an “oh” to emit. 

 He watches her face, even if she can’t see it, she can feel his gaze behind her closed lids. He is testing the waters, learning what makes her moan, what makes her squirm, what makes her come. Slowly, he sinks his finger further in and she feels every single millimeter that drags along her walls until he’s knuckle deep. Her legs feel like jelly and her knees begin to wobble, nails clinging to his sleeves like they were her lifeline. 

 Pressure builds in the pit of her belly as Anakin carefully retracts his finger, just to sink it back in again, a slow, cautious rhythm that leaves her mind spinning. His fingers are so much bigger than hers and she already feels so stuffed despite it only being one finger. Somehow, it’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

 “Ana… Anakin,” she gasps, peeling open her lids to find he’s already looking. His finger slows but picks up its pace again when he realizes she’s not in any pain. “Another.”

 His brow dips and his head tilts in confusion, uncertain what she means. She gathers moisture on her lips, trying to speak through the pleasure-driven haze in her mind. 

 “Another finger. Please.”

 Their eyes lock and there’s a flicker in his, a hint of doubt. 

 “Are you su—“

 “Please.”

 So, Anakin gathers her lips with his and she mewls into his mouth when he presses his middle against his pointer, sinking them into her cunt until they reach as far as they can. She’s trembling against him but he keeps her upright, with his arm and with his lips. 

 Just one of Anakin’s fingers had made her feel stuffed but two of his fingers made her feel full to the brim. Her walls clench around his fingers and she gasps his name like the beginning of a prayer, pleading for more. 

 It’s a twist on the prayers she recites to the Maker every night. It’s rewriting her every broken hymn, transforming it into something entirely new. She moans Anakin’s name and his fingers turn it into a song so that she cries like a dove into the night. The Maker may have left her feeling broken, wasted, unimportant but Anakin has found her, patched her up, polished her until she’s brand new. 

 The tangle in her belly begins to rupture, slowly unraveling and so she pushes his arm away, his fingers sliding out of her cunt, her walls pulsing with the loss. They both pant and Anakin’s face hardens in question as his chest heaves. 

 “What is it?” He asks, searching her face. 

 She gathers air deep in her chest. “I want…” She trails off, her embarrassment washing over her cheeks in blood. Her gaze drops and Anakin tilts his head to find it again, their eyes locked. He says nothing, only the nod of his head encourages her to continue. “…I want more. I want… I want you to…”

 She purses her lips in frustration. For heaven’s sake, she’s talking to the man who just had his fingers inside of her mere moments ago. Why does she feel embarrassed now?

 She takes another deep breath, mustering the courage to tell what she truly wants. “…I want you to feel good too.”

 Something shifts in Anakin’s eyes. It could be easily mistaken as a trick of the light but she sees it, she feels it. Anakin is burning just the same as her, his pupils becoming a backdrop behind the fires of desire, and she burns within it. 

 She watches as Anakin’s hand sinks below the belt around his middle, all the way down to the waistband of his trousers beneath his dark tunic. She watches with her breath lodged at the base of her throat as he pulls down his pants, just enough for his cock to be set free and oh, it is just like her dreams but even better. 

 Nothing could have ever prepared her for the sight of Anakin Skywalker’s cock. Not even the wildest of her dreams could ever capture the essence of the art of Anakin Skywalker. He is handcrafted by the gods themselves— he is the physical embodiment of masterpiece. 

 He steps forward and towers over her, his breath like smoke rolling over her face. She peers up at him, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing. His hands find either side of her face and she stops breathing altogether, wondering what he will do next. 

 Then, “put your arms here,” he whispers, guiding her arms over his shoulder. “And hold on.”

 She squeals when he drops his hands to the undersides of her thighs, lifting her off the ground so that her ankles lock behind his back. Her arms tighten around his neck as he presses her back against the pillar, his chest pressed into hers. She can feel his length as it’s squeezed between either of their bodies and her walls clench around nothing, practically sobbing to feel him inside. 

 For a moment, the world stills around them and it’s like when she sees him in the audience during Padmé’s wedding. The night stirs and blurs until it’s dark watercolor, but Anakin is what she sees in high resolution. It’s the perfect mirage— she and Anakin feel like two stars in the middle of the black abyss above, forming their own little constellation. 

 And when Anakin finally slides himself inside of her, she feels like her place in the sea of stars has been cemented. She finally feels like she’s where she belongs.

a/n; SO! MY LONGEST IMAGINE YET.... may or may not have gotten a bit carried away (more like a little too wordy...) BUT! i really hope some of you enjoy and i truly appreciate anyone who reads this all the way through. i know 10k words is a lot 😭 also i hope this doesn’t seem too insta-lovey… this idea just came to me in a dream so i wrote what I dreamt lol

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

@your-nanas-house

@chaoticevilbakugo

@k1ttenmittonz

BIPOC Authors and Fics Masterlist!

Thank you to everyone who submitted so many recommendations to celebrate all the fantastic works of BIPOC writers in the Pedro fandom! Please read, share, and enjoy all of these incredible authors and fics! 🥹 If you have any other writers or fics you want to share, inbox or DM me, so I can keep this as up to date as possible!! Thanks for helping to spread some love 💛

Authors (listed in alphabetical order):

@80ssong A03 masterlist (Joel Miller, Javi G, Frankie Morales)

@artemiseamoon masterlist for PPCU (all Pedro characters)

@cxrsed-angel masterlist for PPCU (Joel Miller, Marcus Acacius, Reed Richards)

@damneddamsy masterlist for Joel Miller series

@flawssy-227 masterlist for all writing (Joel Miller)

@flightlessangelwings masterlist for all writing (All Pedro characters)

@flordeamatista one-shot: A Sweeter Place (Joel Miller)

@gothcsz materlist for all writing (Javier Peña, Marcus Acacius)

@inclusivepedro-oscarlibrary another source for POC authors!

@joeloverture masterlist for all writing (Joel Miller)

@kedsandtubesocks masterlist for all writing (all Pedro characters)

@kilamonster one-shot: Lola (Javier Peña)

@letsgobarbs one-shot: Joel Miller x Logan Howlett

@liltangerineart masterlist for all writing (Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Joel Miller)

@lovesbiggerthanpride masterlist for all writing (Javier Peña, Frankie Morales, Dave York, Dieter Bravo, Javi G, Joel Miller)

@megamindsecretlair one-shot: Break My Heart (Javier Peña)

@mostclevermiss one-shot: Sic Simper Tyrannus (Marcus Acacius)

@nerdieforpedro masterlist for all writing (All Pedro characters)

@ovaryacted masterlist for all writing (Joel Miller, Javier Peña, Marcus Acacius, Dieter Bravo)

@pedroscurls masterlist for all writing (Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Javier Peña, Marcus Acacius, Marcus Pike)

@pedrospatch masterlist for all writing (Joel Miller, Javier Peña)

@penvisions masterlist for all writing (Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Din Djarin, Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels, Javi G, Ted Garcia)

@superhoeva masterlist for Frankie Morales series

@stargirlfics masterlist for Joel Miller

@thundermartini masterlist for all writing (Joel Miller, Javier Peña)

@yxtkiwiyxt masterlist for all writing (Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Dave York, Dieter Bravo)

Specific Fic Recs (By Character):

Joel Miller

A Sweeter Place by @flordeamatista

Loopholes (series) by @yxtkiwiyxt

Stages of Devotion (series) by @penvisions

Deadfall by @joeloverture

Falling by @damneddamsy

All I Do by @flawssy-227

Butterfly by @stargirlfics

So Much Goddamn Talk by @stargirlfics

Let's Go by @thundermartini

Let Me Show You by @pedroscurls

Javier Peña

Unscripted Desire (series) by @gothcsz

Neighbors (series) by @gothcsz

Lola by @kilamonster

Complicated by @ovaryacted

Lap Dance by @yxtkiwiyxt

Break My Heart by @megamindsecretlair

Touch Tank by @thundermartini

Frankie Morales

Game Changer by @kedsandtubesocks

The Margay (series) by @ohforficsake

Take me Home Tonight by @80ssong

The Realm of Love by @80ssong

Marcus Acacius

Sic Simper Tyrannus by @mostclevermiss

III by @gothcsz

Din Djarin

Healing Pains by @liltangerineart

Dieter Bravo

Fire Starter by @kedsandtubesocks

Dave York

Homecoming by @letsgobarbs

THE MANDALORIAN CHAPTER 8: REDEMPTION

There’s A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka the professional boyfriend

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)

Dick Grayson is a vigilante. He’s a master martial artist and gymnast. He’s something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that he’s basically a professional boyfriend. That he’s your professional boyfriend.

And pride really is the right word. He’s so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when you’re too tired and make you laugh like it’s his job. He’s absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.

You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried the navy one is too…much.” You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.

He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, “Too much?”

You look over at him, matching his expression. “It’s really short. I mean it’s cute and I like it, but…I don’t know, this is kind of a fancy event isn’t it?” 

He puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Short’s good. I like short.” Yeah, you’d noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.

You laugh, “And I’m sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.”

His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. “The black one’s good too.”

You peer over into one of the bags, “Or there’s the red one with the—”

Dick shakes his head quickly, “Not red.”

You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. “Then why did I get it?”

“Just for me.” He pauses, “Or for something my brother won’t be at.” He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. “No, the black one looked great on you. And we won’t have to go searching for a matching tie.” 

Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.

You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. “Will you please let me hold some?” You frown.

“Will you please hold my hand?” He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You don’t notice it, but he’s got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.

You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, “Don’t touch that!” followed by him clamoring like you’re about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.

“Oh my god..” you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look. 

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.

“Not a thing.” He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, you’re surprised he didn’t attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.

He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. “When do we need to leave?”

“Uh…” he glances at the wall clock, “Not till seven.” He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. “You wanna get something to eat before we go?”

You muse, “This is the one with those mini stakes, isn’t it?” He nods. “No, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.”

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when you’re interrupted by his relentless fervor.

“Ah, ah.” He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. “Give me a kiss.” 

“Dick.”

“Just one.” Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. “Thank you, baby.”

You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. “Ah, I’m not new around here. I know where this’ll go if I let you.”

He nods complaisantly, “Then let me.” His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay.  

It doesn’t last too long though because the second you’re back in the room he’s trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.   

He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too. 

“I wanna marry you.” He murmurs into your neck after a while. 

You laugh incredulously, “Have you been drinking when I have my back turned?”

“‘M serious.” He nudges you off him so he can look at you.

You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re being very…” you scrunch up your mouth to the side, “…Ostentatious today.” 

He barks out a laugh, “Wow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?”

You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. “I’m going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.” you say, running your finger over his lips. 

He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Let me marry you?” 

You sigh bashfully, “Dick—”

“Please?” He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. You’re not convinced he doesn’t have a superpower in that area.

You know he’s not really proposing right now, he’s too much of a romantic to do it like this. He’s just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. It’s working.

“I’d be such a good husband to you.” He kisses your collarbone, “So good.” He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. He’s being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to.  

“Mrs. Grayson…” he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. “Doesn’t that sound pretty?”

It really does. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about marrying him before. He’s nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.

Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. “Buy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ‘n a big party just for you.” He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.

He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. “Come home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,” He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. “Kiss this pretty pussy.” He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re not nearly as hesitant on this as you’re pretending to be, and you both know it. But he’s perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend you’re not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. “I’ll think about it…” 

He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.

He’s trying real hard to land that promotion.

🩵 reblogging = supporting; likes don’t do the job

I'd wanna hold you (just for the night) *TEASER

A drunken call, a second chance. 

Poe Dameron x f!reader

Rated M

Divider by @/saradika

A/N: Hello everyone! I have been gone for a bit, dealing with work and life, but I wanted to drop a little preview of my next one-shot! This all stemmed from, yes, Poe Dameron would drunk call you in the middle of the night to get you back! At all costs!!!! It may start with some angst, but I promise, the story will be much sweeter in its ending. I hope you all enjoy this teaser and thank you all so much for the love on my last fic, Crawlin' back to you, I'm so thankful so many of you have enjoyed my work and my version of Poe. I hope I do him justice this time around as well! I am also looking to branch out and write some other works, like X-men and DC. But! We will see, I have been slacking on writing. And yes, Crawlin back to you Poe was a 'baby' guy, this Poe is a 'sweet/pretty girl' kinda guy.

Your night wasn't meant to be like this. You were relaxed. Or at least, trying to be. Cozied up in your small quarters, the day's transgression far behind you as you sip from your glass, the chill of alcohol easing down your throat. From broken bones, to laser burns, you had quite literally seen it all in the medics zone. But, you were working on putting it behind you, so you quickly focused your attention back to the novel laying forgotten in your lap. Your space felt smaller, you realized, and you shivered as you tried to shake the thought from your mind.

You couldnt think about it.

You couldnt think about him. 

Throwing back the rest of your drink, you devote your time to your reading, trying to get lost in the pages. 

You indeed get lost, but not within the pages as you planned.

The sharp ring of your phone sends you shooting up, your eyes quickly searching for some sign of danger before landing on the phone somewhere beside the couch you had most definitely passed out on. You frown as you place the comm beside your ear, clearing your throat before speaking. 

“Hello?”

There's a shuffle, and curse, and you can hear loud music pouring out from the other side until it dies down. A soft sigh. A sniffle.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

You freeze, that voice wrapping itself around your heart and squeezing. You try so hard to not react to his name, to avoid the pitiful stares, to show you had meant this. And yet, three simple words were making your heart race faster than it had in months.

“Poe, its…” you glance at the nearby clock, shocked to see it reading 2am, “It's late Poe, why are you calling me?”

“I, I just-” you wince as you hear a gasp, and then a loud thud. No doubt, Poe tripped. The smoothest pilot in the galaxy just ate shit on the phone with you. The realization of exactly what this call was made anger rise within you. 

“Poe, are you drunk?”

His voice warbles on for a bit before it seems he finds his comm link once more. “No-I mean, yes, but I really did just want to call you.” His tone is pleading, and you can already imagine his eyes, so brown and soft batting up towards you. You let out an angry sigh, shaking your head as you rise from the couch. 

“Poe, this is exactly what we shouldn't be doing.”

“I know, I know, it's just-”

“Just what, Poe? It's been three months, I told you, we are over.”

There's a chill from the other end of the line, and you almost think he's ended the call. But then you hear him.

There's a small hiccup, and a sob, and you can't believe it but Poe Dameron is crying on the other end of the phone. 

“I messed this all up, didn't I?” He breathes out shakily. You can almost imagine him sitting outside of some maker knows where cantina, sitting in the rain or snow, clinging to this call like it was all he had. 

And you would be right.

Poe sniffles, wiping at his nose as he sits on the curb, the icy night air chilling him to the bone. But he couldn't give up, not when he had you on the line, finally. Yes, he hadn't wanted to be drunk for this call, hell, he didn't even think he was drunk enough to get kicked out of Oga’s but here he was. 

“You deserve so much better than what I gave you, sweet girl.” He adds after a moment, thinking back to that time where he wasn't drunk calling you any chance he had. When he wasn't wishing you were somewhere in the crowd of people welcoming him back home.

 Back to that time he was yours.

trilogy logan>>>>