PEDRO PASCAL Materialists | 2025

More Character Studies!!

Last post of the year ofc needs to be my beloved father and son duo 💚 Happy New Year chat! 💚

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

I'm on the run (with you)

You work at a droid shop, happily, for as long as you can remember. Until one day your mentor Peli needs your help fixing up some ship. No droids. No Droids? Who would request such a thing. 

din djarin x f!reader

Rated E - 1.4k

Divider by @/saradika

Tags: canon divergence at MAX capacity, Mechanic!Reader, Does he hate me? I think he hates me?, honestly no real tags until later in the series!

Peli screaming was an everyday occurrence. The loud shriek cut its way through the drill in your hand and pierced your ears, but you shook it off, focusing your attention back onto the broken fixture at hand. The scream came again. With a huff you slid the goggles off of your face, tossing them aside as you stood, an ache in your lower back causing you to wince. Peli’s garage was moderate in size but overrun with junk from years prior. Even the small droids had a hard time navigating the mess. Carefully, you slid past old parts and machines until you entered the clearing, a large ship docked in the center. Your eyes scanned the area, finally landing on your mentor, her curly hair bouncing as she held something aloft in her hands. 

“Peli…” You sigh out, approaching the woman while your hand reaches out to rest on her shoulder. 

There's a giggle.

Not Peli’s.

You blink as you glance around your mentor's shoulder, your wide eyes meeting identical curious ones. 

“Look how cute this kid is!” Peli coos happily, bouncing the child within her arms as it stares between the two of you. You shake your head, glancing at Peli. 

“And you got this child from..?” You ask, your question drawn out as Peli waves you off with a flippant hand. 

“He needs the ship fixed and doesn't want droids to do it.” Is all she says before disappearing into the garage. No droids? You scoff at the request, moving towards the hunkering piece of machine now parked in the center of the clearing. It was worse for wear, to say the least. Your hand skims the rough exterior, roaming over the blast marks from maker knows where. Making your way around the ship you are able to run a pretty basic diagnostic, establishing what exact tools you would need for, well, any of the repairs this ship needed. It wasn't often you got to work on such a piece of equipment, and the curiosity within you bubbled at what you would be able to learn. You quickly move back to where you left your tools prior, scooping them up and jogging back out to the ship your eyes now focused on the lowered bridge from the ship. You pause, moving slowly towards the ramp, hearing low groans and scrapes from within.

“Hello?”

You place one foot on the bridge, listening intently. As you take another step forward, fast and heavy footsteps approach you, your eyes scanning up too late as a figure now stands in your way. The beskar armor shines brightly under the sun, almost causing you to shield your eyes away from it. Your gaze travels up further, settling on the face of a Mandalorian. 

“Off.” A gruff, modulated voice breaks your focus. You blink rapidly, a look of disbelief spreading across your face. 

“I’m the mechanic. So no, I’ll be fixing this piece of junk for you since you'd prefer a human over the very capable droids we have here.” You snap back, arms crossing over your chest as you wait for some harsh retort back. Instead, you are met with the icy chill of silence. Your eyes widen, the air growing stagnant between you both. You mentally curse at your short fuse, to snap at a bounty hunter for makers sake. The Mandalorians head tilts as if he was examining you. You mentally brace yourself for the consequences of your mouth, imagining just what a trained bounty hunter could do to a simple mechanic like yourself. Instead, the bounty hunter sighs, shaking his head, and brushes past you without so much as a second glance. Air returns to your lungs, and you only now notice just how much space he was taking up in front of you. You turn your head, watching the Mandalorian enter the garage, Peli’s distinct voice reaching your ears from inside. 

They know each other. 

You aren't sure what to make of this. You’ve been Peli’s assistant since you were a child, and yet, you’ve never met this estranged masked man. As much as you’d like to linger on that fact, the ship in front of you seemed to groan, pulling your attention back to your task at hand. You pat the ship gently, smiling at it with care. “I’ll get you up and running in no time.” Your hands move on autopilot, following the long list of maintenance needed just to get this thing stabilized. You work from sun down well through the night, celebrating each little victory you overcome. Once the outer repairs seemed decent, you moved deeper inside, not noticing the lingering stare of a certain masked stranger. 

It takes you 3 days to fully repair the Razor Crest. 

It was an accomplishment, to say the least, even Peli was surprised. 

“Nice work kid, you can't get much better than that!” Peli praises, giving you a pat on the back. You smile softly, looking at the ship with pride. It was a pain to repair, to say the least. Half of the requests were nearly impossible to get correct for a ship this banged up, but you tried your best. You glance around, noting the distinct lack of a certain person. 

“The bounty hunter?” You turn to ask Peli but frown as she already was back inside, no doubt cuddling that child for the last time. 

“Here.”

You jump, whirling around to find the Mandalorian impossibly close to you. “Maker, you scared me! How do you do that?” You hiss out, clutching your pounding heart. Mando simply stares down at you, making no effort to explain further. Your eyebrows furrow, waiting for him to, well, say anything. 

“Repairs should last you awhile, just, please don't bring this ship back here in that state again.” You request, your wrists sore even just thinking about all the work you would need to do again. There's no helmet tilt, no shifting of his body, no sign he even heard anything of what you said. 

This was getting ridiculous. 

“Alright, well, good luck out there I guess.” You say awkwardly, backing away from the conversation as quickly as you could. Your turn, hair whipping behind you, until you heard the faintest mumble from the bounty hunter. You turn your head, looking back.

“What was that?”

It was as if you shot him in the leg. The Mandalorian groans, a deep and gruff noise as he begins to stride towards you once more, his chest plate almost brushing against the front of your coveralls. Your breath hitches but your feet remain planted, your back arching up to just look into his visor. 

“Thanks.” It was as if the words were acid from the way he gritted them out. It almost made you laugh. 

“That's the best you got? I worked on this thing for three days with no sleep!” You huff back, staring indignantly into that dark visor. The air becomes electric once more, and you notice his hands flexing at his side. Then, there's a sigh, the Mandalorians legs shifting as if he loosened his rigid posture for the first time in years.

“Thank you. I’m sure it was hard.” The modulation disguised his voice well enough, but you could hear the notes of exhaustion within them. Your eyes widen in surprise, your reply caught in your throat. You clear your throat, looking down to the ground before responding. 

“You're welcome.” You aren’t sure why your voice softens, why it seems to float in the minimal space between you two. A loud crash and laugh from inside the garage is enough to break the spell, the Mandalorian retreating as fast as he can, walking towards Peli as she exits the garage. 

“Gave him a little lunch, so he should be all ready to go.” She smiles, passing the small being into the arms of the Mandalorian. The child babbles happily, settling into the crook of his arm. Mando turns without another word, striding onto the ship. Peli waves goodbye to the child excitedly, and you follow in suit, raising your hand in a quick wave. It was as if you could feel that stare from within his visor, your skin prickling as the ship's ramp began to shut and eventually, locking in place with a hiss. The Razor Crest hums to life, its engines firing up and lifting the ship off the ground. The bounty hunter easily maneuvers out of the depot and shoots into the sky, dissipating after only a few moments. Peli says something you can't quite hear and claps your shoulder before she heads inside, leaving you alone with your thoughts as your eyes stay glued to the sky wondering when exactly your paths would cross again. 

---

THE MANDALORIAN CHAPTER 8: REDEMPTION

Din Djarin, The Star (XVII) 🌠

more of pedro's characters as tarot cards can be found under the # pedro tarot cards 💌

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.

---

This was me writing it!! Thank you for the compliment and reading my story!

Crawlin' back to you

Maybe I’m too busy being yours, to fall for someone new.

Poe Dameron x f!reader

Rated M- 5.7k

Divider by @/saradika

tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, use of nickname "Blue" for reader, strong language, physical fight (not with MMC), cheating (not by MMC or FMC), rival pilots, unprotected piv, cream pie, praise kink, yearning Poe, ass smacking, hair pulling, we love a reader in charge!

Authors Note: Hello! As I was writing this story, "We could be together, if you wanted to" has gained some traction, so thank you all for liking my work! This idea of a yearning and pining Poe hit me, so I had to make it happen. For context, in this story there are three squadrons with order importance, Black squad, Red Squadron and Blue Squadron. Black and Red squad work on high importance missions and are ranked 'higher' than Blue Squad, which leads you, dear reader, to the story! I hope you enjoy "Crawlin back to you" as it is spicier than the others, and I hope to update "On the run (with you)" soon! As usual, I haven't reread this, I just post and hope for the best. I hope you enjoy!

Thank you!

It was only meant to be a one time thing. 

A one time thing a month ago.

You gasp as Poe’s lips attach to yours with fervor, his tongue sliding parting your lips as his hands roam underneath your long sleeve. Your legs wrap around his waist tightly, making it oh so easy to arch yourself against the growing hardness in his pants as presses you harder into the wall of his room.

Allegedly, Poe Dameron never spent the night more than once with a lover. 

This was the third time this week you've met. 

He pulls back, gasping for air before his lips attach to your neck, licking and sucking that sweet spot below your ear so harshly you almost came on the spot. 

“Poe, wait-” 

He pulls back immediately, his lust darkened eyes meeting yours eagerly. “What is it, baby?” He hums, rubbing his thumbs on the soft skin of your thighs as he waits for, honestly, anything you want.

You smile, shaking your head as your hands thread through the soft curls on his head. This was a dangerous game, you realized. He was someone you couldn't have, no matter how addictive he was.

“I have a flight maneuver early tomorrow, I should head back to my room.” You reply back, letting your fingers drift towards the hot skin of his neck one final team before lowering them  to his chest, patting it gently. His hands gave you one last squeeze before he lowered you to the floor, taking a few seconds to pull your shirt down to where it normally sat. 

He was sweet.

It was dangerous.

Poe smiles softly, almost bashfully, “Wouldn't want you to miss out on sleep.” He agrees, but his hand still lingers on your waist. One word and you could have another night of pleasure.

You nod, gently stepping away from him and gathering your pants from off the floor, quickly stepping into them as you move around his room to collect your few belongings. “I promise I didn't come here just for this, I swear I had an actual question-” You begin to ramble, suddenly feeling the need to explain yourself, why you showed up so late. 

Maker, you have never acted like this before.

Poe shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed as he watches you move through his space. “It’s fine, I’m always glad to be of service to you.” He grins good naturedly, not a trace of sarcasm escaping him. You pause in front of him, mouth opening to say anything to relieve this tension between you both. 

You come up empty.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You say softly, giving him a small wave, as if this man were just some regular pilot and not the man who gave you back to back orgasms just the night before. Poe chuckles softly, his head dropping forward before he begins to stand up, joining your side as you both move towards the door. 

“Sure, Blue.” He responds softly, and you can feel his hand lingering on the small of your back as you step out of his room, the sensation burning into your skin as his touch so often did. You turn around to face him, to try and explain the visit again, but his eyes are already locked onto yours and stealing any words you could have formed from your mouth. The air between you was thick, electricity striking your body with every noise coming from around you in the living quarters. Poe bites his lip as he raises a hand to your face as if to cup your cheek, the motion so quick you barely had time to close your eyes before a small flick hits the end of your noise.

You let out a shocked gasp as he laughs.“Be safe tomorrow, okay? Don't do anything stupid like you usually do when you get stressed.” The bedroom door slides to a close before your eyes even open again. A huff of irritation leaves your lips at his childishness, but you can't help the smile on your face as you take the long walk back to your own quarters. Even within your living space, there was no tie to the man. His room is filled with posters and plans strewn about his floors. The thick smell of cologne that almost seemed to hover like its own atmosphere. His room was so like him, warm, well lived, and well loved. Your room was bare boned. A bed and desk. Stacks of files for missions and maps coordinating future attacks organized by dates on your dining table. Straightlaced and to the point. This was who you both were. Two entities that orbited around one another but never should have met.

This was how it should have stayed.

The admired Black Squadron leader.

The calculated Blue Squadron leader.

The Blue Squadron was only a few achievements short of being on equal par with your fellow Squadrons. Poe and the Black Squadron were the primary team for any rebellion led missions, Red following as second in command. Today was your first chance of the year to prove to the general your squad was more than capable of handling complex missions, to be given the same opportunities as the Black and Red Squadrons. Your team was ready, you had been practicing for months now, and you felt it was now or never to prove to the rebellion what an asset Blue Squadron is.

And you blew it.

It was a standard attack formation, one you had prepped for so many times before. One you could do in your sleep. Your fingers moved robotically as you adjusted your coordinates, your team flying perfectly behind you. Your hand skims over the edge of the tiller, and before you realize it, your mind is drawn back into a memory of the other night.

Poe lying beneath you, his chest heaving as he bites his knuckles, your hand squeezing at his length with nervousness as you tried to sink yourself down onto him. “You couldnt mess this up if you tried, baby.” He had said to you, his hand resting on the back of your neck as you moved hesitantly against him. 

“I don't know, he didn't think I was good at this-” Your words are cut off as his lips sear into yours, his hand threading through your hair to crush your face to his. Your muffled gasp is replaced by a small moan as he sheaths himself into you, already hitting that sweet spot with ease.

“I dont give a fuck what he thought, youre perfect, Blue.” He had hissed, bucking his hips up harshly to draw out another whimper from you.”Say it.” Poe demands, gripping your hips as he plows into you from below, your hands holding onto his shoulders tightly as you nod.

“I’m perfect,” You whisper, trying to muffle your cries against his neck as the sound of your skin connecting reverberated through his quarters. Poe moans in encouragement and you have the desire to bottle up that sound for yourself. 

“Fuck yes, y-your perfect baby, so perfect for me-” He gasps, his thrusts becoming sloppy as his breath begins to come out in shorter spurts. Poe leans forward, pressing hot kisses along your chest, biting into the soft flesh of your breasts. You cry out louder, your climax nearing at a rapid pace as he pounds into you.

“P-Poe, please-”

“Please what baby, where do you want me?”

Another thrust has your vision darkening, a buzz sounding in your ear as he fucks into you harder. It was stupid. This wasn't meant to happen again. Not after the first time. But you were always a sucker for complexities. You brush your lips against his jaw, kissing messily along his skin before whispering into his ear.

“I want you to finish in me, I want you to be the first.”

If Poe wasn't gone before, he was now. His thrusts grew harsher, his fingers bruising your hips as he slams into you, mumbling incoherently. “Fuck, you want me to cum in you so bad, my perfect girl-” He groans, moving one of his hands to your slick folds to rub hard and fast against you. A sharp scream leaves your throat and you topple against his chest, your body pulsing around him tightly as you reach your orgasm. You can feel the last few thrusts before hot spurts coat your insides, Poe whimpering as his head falls against your shoulder, his back heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You tilt your head back. Your eyes glazed over with satisfaction as you both ride out your high together. You let out a little laugh and his hand quickly smacks your ass, Poe’s muffled voice coming from below you.

“I’m sensitive, you sadist.” He growls, and now you can't help the tumble of laughter pouring out from you. Poe lifted his head to glare up at you, but in that moment, your smile was so bright he couldn't help but chuckle along with you.

You shake the memory from your head, your squadron already approaching the final bend sooner than you anticipated.

“Focus, Blue, focus.” You whisper to yourself, watching your squad carefully as you begin your turn. It was sharp, but even a rookie could get through this, and you soar through it with ease. Next was more difficult, but you had practiced, you knew the formation like the back of your hand by now. You carefully lock your X-wing in, breathing out slowly as you wait for the harsher turn. The mind was always so fickle, that's why you preferred equations and plans. You could feel yourself slipping back into that same memory, a heat pooling in your lower belly. Then you hear that maker's damned voice once more.

“One more baby, give me one more.-”

“My sweet girl, taking me so perfectly-”

“I could stay in you forever-”

A hard jolt shoved you deeper into your seat, your X-wing began losing altitude. Your squad's voices blaring through your comms, overwhelming your mind as you tried to straighten your ship. 

“Squad leader-”

“You’ve been hit!”

“Land now-”

And as if your ego couldn't take enough of it, that same voice from your mind rings out, but this time unfortunately through your headset like the others.

“What the hell are you doing, Blue?!”

Your teeth grind together as you pull yourself back into place, barely registering the sound of the flight tower calling your squadron back to base. Everyone was down there. Everyone had seen. 

Cold sweat began to drip down your neck as you carefully took the time to land your X-wing, mechanics quickly running over to assess the damage to the outside exterior. You huff as you climb down the ladder, shaking your hair out of your hemet and relishing in the open air as you struggle to take deep breaths. You can hear your crew clambering to get to you, and you can hear their questions already.

What happened?

What happened?

What happened?

“Blue, what happened?”

Your eyes snap up to meet those soft brown ones you had come to know so well. Poe was gripping your shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into you whether he noticed or not. Your relief at seeing him was short lived as you remembered just why you crashed. 

“I’m fine, Dameron.” You snap, shaking his hands off of you. Poe looks at you first with worry, then agitation. 

“Obviously you're not fine, Blue. You could do this course in your sleep and you crashed!” He hisses, clenching his hands at his side. You frown, and begin to respond before another set of hands grip your shoulder. You only needed one look at Poe's glowering face to know who it was. One you had done so well at avoiding until now.

Red One.

Poe's second in command.

“Hey, what happened up there? You okay?” He asks quickly, his eyes raking over your appearance.You force a smile, brushing him off with ease. 

“Honest mistake, I was-” Your eyes flickered to Poes before returning to the helmet in your hand, “I was just distracted was all.” 

Red One was born on a planet near yours, the commonality making you both acquaintances in flight school. You both studied vigorously, and desired high marks, yet somehow both of you were always beaten by the one named Poe Dameron. The three of you grew and eventually joined the rebellion, him and Dameron taking over the Black and Red Squadron while you were assigned Blue. Despite the large amount of rebellion members, it was easy for you to drift back to him, the reassurance of something familiar in your life. While Poe was off gallivanting with his squadron across the galaxy, you both worked together on unit tactics. It wasn't long before you both began to reach for one another, quick meaningless acts of pleasure when it was needed. It was easy for it to mean nothing to you, because you both knew this wasn't forever, but at least you had one another.

It worked then.

Until Poe came around again. 

Poe was always smart, but he was also warm, and charismatic. People were drawn to him like the sun, wanting a chance to feel that splendor for themselves. Despite the fact everyone wanted to be around him, after a recent 5 month journey he had decided to follow only you around aimlessly. 

“Dameron, don't you have someone else to bother?” You muttered, clutching new plans from the general tightly to your chest. Poe walked behind you with a grin, his hands carelessly tucked into his jacket pockets as he kept up with you.

“When was it a rule that I couldn't spend time with a fellow squadron leader?” He retorts, gently nudging your shoulder with his own. You let out an exhausted sigh, rounding the hallway corner into the row of living quarters right before yours. Maybe you thought you could evade him, you weren't sure, but what you didn't expect was the door nearest you to slide open with a smooth hiss, giving you a clear look into the room. You stop so abruptly Poe barely had time to avoid colliding with your back. 

“What the fuck, Blue-” He complains before glancing down to your face. Your eyes stared blankly into the room, one you had become very familiar with over the years.

Red One’s, now occupied by the pilot himself and a mechanic you recognized from the Droid depot, clothes littering the floor as they cling to each other near the door. Red One's eyes widen and he curses, fumbling around to slip back into his flight suit. 

Now normally, Poe would make a sly comment, or laugh off the awkwardness with ease. But he couldn't. Not when he saw the expression you were making. Despite his games and jokes, he knew you well. Poes fist tightened as he stalked into the room, shoving Red One back a step. “Now, why the fuck would you do this?” He growls darkly, his brown eyes darkening with rage. You weren't sure if you have ever seen Poe like this, not even after a failed mission. Poe never resorted to violence. Never.

You move quickly, stumbling forward to grab onto his arm, tugging him back. “It's fine Poe, it's not that serious-”

“Not that serious? He had the best damn pilot in the rebellion and it wasn't serious to him?” His words make you pause, heat rushing to your cheeks as you tighten your hand on Poe's arm, giving him one last tug. 

“Blue, I can explain-”

“It's fine Red, we're going now.” You respond calmly, carefully dragging Poe out of the room until the door can slide shut. Poe tugs you along swiftly moving down hall after hall until you recognize the path to your own living space. Your hand was still on Poe’s arm, and you could feel his body shaking underneath. 

“Poe, it’s fine-” 

“How long were you two together?” He asks, his tone softer now than it was previously. You glanced up at him, his brown eyes soft once more as they bore down into your own. You blink quickly, thinking of just how many months it had been. 

“Since our first mission to Nevarro.” You answer honestly, and you don't know what to think about the string of curses that leave his lips. “Why does it matter, Poe? It was just a fling-”

“Was it just a fling to you?” He asks suddenly, his gaze hot and piercing. You try to answer, to conjure up some response, but all you can do is shake your head. “We both got what he wanted, and I'm actually surprised he waited this long to find someone else.”

 The look of anger that flashes across his face has your brows furrowing, unsure of why it bothered him so deeply. You open your mouth to speak again before Poe lets out a deep sigh, turning to face you fully as his back rests against the metal wall. His hand reaches up slowly, gently touching the soft skin of your cheek. 

“Still, are you okay?” He asks in a gravelled tone, continuing to stroke your skin with small movements. His touch was far different from Reds, you quickly realized. Red touched you briskly, his hand roaming over your body as if you would disappear. 

Poe touched you with reverence. He kept his movements small, keeping contact with your skin as if you were his center of gravity. “He's an idiot, Blue, you can do so much better than him. He can't even coordinate a landing path to Jakku without using a droid.” A surprised laugh tumbles past your lips, pleasing Poe as he stares down at you. 

“And you can't fly a straight shot to Crait even if you tried.” You shoot back, a smile still tugging at your lips. Poe’s eyes soften as you laugh before him, your usual icy exterior melting away to that young pilot he once knew so many years ago. He takes a breath, biting his lip before he speaks in a soft whisper. “I would have made you my second, if it was my choice.”

You can't control the deep flush that rush to your cheeks as you hear him. “Red is a good second in command, I still have a lot to learn-”

“You think I don't know who drafts our tactile formations? I could practically see you solving the broken flight patterns while reading them.” His voice grows more firm, demanding you to accept his praise. “I can only be a good leader with someone like you supporting me, and I'm sorry they don't realize it yet.” 

You don't cry. You don’t even cry as Poe leans in closer to you, his hand cupping your cheek as he coos words of praise to you in the dimly lit hallway. Red never acknowledged the work you did, smooth talking his way into putting his name on the plans alongside yours. You would shrug it off, under the impression if one Squadron succeeds surely the other would too. This never changed even when he began to take more missions farther out into the galaxy, while you and your squad stayed back, waiting for the chance to chart your own paths.

The truth now laid out so plainly in front of you.

You had been used.

What did you want? Had you wanted Red to choose you? Only you? Did you ever even think you would have options?

Your hands tighten into fists, sharp pain shooting through your hands. Poe pulls back with a lazy smile on his face, but it quickly falters as he sees the scowl etched onto your face. “Hey what's wrong Blue, did I overstep? I’m sorry-”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Poe's mouth hangs open as your words hit his ears, sending palpitations straight to his chest. “You want me to…”

“I want you to fuck me, yes.”

Poe can't help but chuckle as he shakes his head, his hand covering his face as he inhales deeply. “You don't want that, Blue, you're just mad and understandably so-”

“I am choosing this, Poe Dameron, I am choosing you to make me feel something. I know it's just a one time thing with you, I want one night”

Well, now this was an interesting statement. 

This he could work with. 

Poe tries to quell the smile tugging at his lips as he leans back, knocking his fingers on the cool metal wall as if it could cool down the heat racing through him. “Just one? I'm afraid you'll end up wanting more, Blue.” He murmurs, taking the chance to glance back down at you. Your eyes meet his, fiery and unwavering. Maker, you meant it. Poe tried to stifle the groan threatening to spill out of him.

“One night, I just want one night.” You promise, stepping in even closer to him. With one deep breath, your chest would rub against his, and you tried to ignore the shaky breaths emitting from the man before you. 

“But I want to set some ground rules first.” You say in a soft voice, moving your hand so it begins to trail up his arm. Poe can only nod as he stared down at you, captivated by your movements. 

“This happens in your room, I don't need you making a mess of my space.” Poe can't help the snort that leaves his mouth, but he nods his head anyways. “Two, I want to be in charge.” You were proud of how little your voice wavered as you spoke, “I get to decide how this goes.” 

Your words make Poe's jaw twitch. How often did you get what you wanted with Red?

“I promise I will be your devoted servant.” He agrees, reaching for your hand and pulling it to his lips, placing a slow and sensual kiss on your pulse. 

Maker, this was going to be harder than you thought. 

“This is a one time thing, we don’t acknowledge it after, and we dont let it change our working relationship.” 

Poe's throat only constricts a little before he nods, “Of course.” He drops your hand gently, waiting for you.

Now Poes stares at you with a burning look in his gaze, his jaw clenched as he stares between you and Red One. 

“Distracted? Blue, you could have hurt yourself.” He hisses, running a hand through his hair in an irritated manner. You frown, noticing the crowd gathering around you all now. 

“It was a mistake, a stupid one, but I’m fine-”

“Maybe if you weren't so busy sleeping with our Squad leader you wouldn't have messed up.” The insult stabs through your chest. You turn slowly to face Red One, a grim look on his face as he sighs before continuing, “I really thought you were smarter than this Blue, you really couldn't wait for me to explain what happened before you just moved on to the next available guy who would fuck you-”

You honestly aren't sure who moved first. One minute your hearing began to ring, your heart thundering in your chest, and then here you were, standing over a bleeding Red. Your fist felt like it was on fire but honestly, you didn't care. Then you feel Poe’s arms wrap around your waist, tugging you back as people begin to shout, surging in to watch the scene. 

“All those years I spent underneath you were absolute shit compared to what Poe’s made me feel in one month-” You spit out, years of rage boiling over as you watch Red sit up, his hand shakily touching the blood pouring out of his nose. “And I hope you can prove you know how to draft a mission plan because I’m going first thing tomorrow to get your name removed from all of my work, my work.” You seeth, tugging against Poe's grip one last time. You can feel his face near yours, his nose gently running along your cheek as he squeezes your arms gently. “Let's get out of here, Blue.” He whispers, and you nod, giving Red one last glare before moving through the parting crowd. You swear you can almost hear cheers as you and Poe enter the flight squads quarters, shutting yourself off from the rest of the world. 

You feel yourself enter a room, and you finally feel the world unblurring as you realize Poe brought you back to your own quarters. You can feel him gently pull at your clothes, removing your flight suit with great care, reaching into your drawers to find some comfortable clothes he slips onto your body without an ounce of alternative means. A sudden hiss leaves your lips as he bumps his hand against your injured one, and he quickly moves you to your bed. He curses before you, kneeling between your legs as he tentatively grabs your hand, assessing the broken skin on your knuckles. 

“Shit baby, you got him good.” He smiles, taking a clean rage and gently dabbing at the bloodied wounds. You wince and he immediately pulls back, waiting for you to let him continue. 

“I shouldn't have hit him,” you mumble, biting your lip as he hits another painful spot, “I’ll probably get written up.” 

Poe snorts, shaking his head. “I dont it won't be any worse than what he's gonna get. Plagiarizing plans? Falsifying records? He's lucky if the general even lets him get drinks for us.” You can't help the laugh that tumbles out of your throat, nodding along to his words. He quickly wraps your hand in a simple bandage, just tight enough to keep your hand from throbbing. You meet Poe’s gaze as he looks up at you, crouched between your legs with a serene look on his face. 

“What?” you ask softly, gripping your sheets with your other hand. Poe just shakes his head, “So, I've given you a better month than he could in years?” 

You groan as you drop your head to his shoulder, embarrassment flooding your senses. “I didn't mean to say that in front of everyone.” Poe just laughs, letting his hands run up and along your thighs. 

“It was pretty hot to see you claim me in front of everyone like that, baby.” He smiles, gently using his hands to lift your face so he can look at you. You flush brightly, your eyes unable to look anywhere else but his gaze. “Im sorry, I'm sure that was uncomfortable for you-”

 Poe shakes his head, his nose brushing along yours. “You still don't get it, huh?” Before you can speak again he pushes the two of you up and back, laying you down onto your bed as he hovers over you. “I want to be yours, Blue, I think in some way I always have been.” He says softly, intertwining your hands together as he presses them beside your head. “I've slept with people, yes, but none could get you off my mind.” His lips gently trail down your neck, biting and kissing at your skin. You gasp, your body reacting so easily for him. “You were always there, since flight school, in my mind, always competing with me. Then I leave, and I come back to tell you-” He carefully slips his hand under the edge of your shirt, feeling your skin with a gentle touch. 

As if he can't believe this is still happening.

“I come back and see you look at him like that, and I would have supported you baby I would have, but-” He hisses as your body arches against him, brushing together as heat begins to flood your body. “Lucky for me he was an idiot.” Is all Poe can say as you crash your lips to his, gripping his jaw tightly as you angle him in closer to deepen the kiss. “Fuck, I can only ever think about you Blue-” He gasps as your hand trails in between you, running your fingers along the seams of his length. “I only want to think about you, I want to be yours forever-” He rambles on, your hand moving rhythmically against him as you listen to him beg. His words fill your chest as he speaks, so plainly yet undoubtedly true. 

“Poe?” You say softly, watching as his eyes open to find yours, dark and glazed over with lust, but his attention undivided. You smile softly, only slowing your movements ever so slightly as you take a breath to speak. “I'm yours.” You whisper softly, your smile widening as you see his eyes begin to water. You gasp as you tugged up, pressed against his chest as he buries his face into your neck, holding you impossibly tight. 

“Fuck, Blue, I almost didn’t last when I heard you say that.” Poe grumbles, and you laugh loudly as your hands pull his hips to yours. 

“We're just getting started, Dameron, I can't have you tapping out so early.” You grin, letting your hands snake up the bros expanse of his back to caress his head. An idea strikes you as you hold on to one another, your hands running along the carved muscles of his body. 

“Poe?” You ask softly, turning your head to look at him as he pulls back slightly from your neck. “Can we try something?” 

His smile is lethal. 

“How do you want me, baby?”

You carefully pull back from his embrace, eyeing him playfully as you turn onto your hands and knees, movings towards the headboard with a sway to your hips, Poe’s eyes practically glow with desire, and you feel his hand run along your spine, gripping your hips dangerously before you grab onto the headboard, arching yourself against him. You can feel his chest contracting behind you, his hands moving to your hips instinctively. You loved this, feeling so crowded by his body and scent.

Poe wasted no time in shucking down your pants, tilting your head to meet his lips in a fiery kiss as the cool air of your room blows against your exposed lower body. You reach a hand behind you, finding the edge to his pants and working to pull them down, releasing his cock between the both of you. 

With a practiced precision, Poe sheathes himself into you, a satisfied gasp leaving your lips. You can already feel the headboard creaking under your grasp, but you don't care.

“Shit, baby, I'm not gonna last long-” He pants, kissing your neck while giving you another small thrust. He leaves one hand on your waist as the other snakes to your slick folds, teasing you gently as you let out another moan. “I don’t care, just fuck me Poe, please-” You whine out, pushing yourself against him with need. You gasp as you feel a sharp slap to your clit, only making you infinitely wetter. 

“I’m going to take my time fucking my girl.” He growls, and pulls you in for another thrust. Your face turns towards the board, hot pants of air escaping you as he thrust into you from below, perfectly hitting that spot within you that makes your toes curl with pleasure. He leans forward, wrapping a hand over yours as he fucks you into the headboard, his other hand tightening on your hip as he slams into you.

“My beautiful girl, so wet for me. Do you like making me so hungry for you? Driving me wild seeing you so lost in pleasure? Absolutely drenching my cock?” His words almost send you over the edge alone, only capable of giving him a choked sob in reply. 

He fucks into you mercilessly, grinding himself against you with every thrust, his own orgasm approaching as quickly as yours. “Fuck, baby, you were made for me, never gonna let you go-” You feel him shake as he begins to unload into you, his hand rubbing tirelessly over your clit and quickly sending you over the edge into your own pleasure. 

“Fuck!”  You cry out, shaking as he continues to thrust into you, emptying himself entirely. The room is filled with pants as you both lean against each other, your hands trembling as you use the headboard to hold yourself up. You feel so impossibly full. You shift gently, feeling his body tense behind you as his head rests in the crook of your neck. 

“Still with me, Dameron?” You smile, turning your head to gently press a kiss to his temple. You can feel him smile against your skin, placing his own soft kiss on your shoulder. “Always, baby.” He whispers back softly, lifting his head to gaze at you with pure adoration. You eventually separate, slinking down into your bed wrapped in each other's embrace. Any other clothes were shed, the need for urgency long behind you both as you tak in these moments of being utterly at peace. 

You rest your head on his chest, your eyes drifting close as you listen to the steady beat of his heart. “Poe?” you ask softly, running your hand along his sternum. You can feel him shift, knowing he was looking down at you.

“Yeah, sweet girl?” He asks gently, running a hand through your hair and you swear you are in heaven. 

“When did you realize you liked me? You…we, we’ve just been together for so long and I never realized.” You ask, turning your head up to look at him easier. Poe smiles, so easy and carefree, and just shrugs. 

“Maybe always?” 

You swat at his chest, a chuckle rumbling in him as he grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your pulse. “Be serious!” You scold, but the smile on your face tells him all he needs to know.

“I am serious. It was always you.”

Your smile only grows softer as you listen to him, your hand continuing to rub small circles onto his skin. “I’m sorry I took so long to realize it.” You whisper to him, reaching up to rub his jaw. Poe grins and moves over you, flipping you both until he rests on top of you. He surges forward,  kissing you as if you had all the time in this world. You both stay close, his nose brushing against yours as you gaze into each other's eyes. Poe speaks, whispering into your ear, and you know he means it.

“I would have waited forever for you”

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 ❀

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.”