— Love Language

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

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ this is me trying

chapter summary: You and Logan try IVF.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: another short chapter!? who am i? (also this gif is 😙🤌)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, angst, talks of fertility and pregnancy, smut, slight sub!logan unprotected piv, creampie, ghost hunting

series masterlist - chapter 7 → chapter 9

“—and we need to… Logan!” You exclaimed, breaking him out of whatever stupor he was in while staring at you.

You were explaining the new calendar you made that coincided with your IVF treatment, meaning no sex some days before retrieval and no sex some time after.

“Yeah, ‘m listening,” Logan repeated, his eyes flickering back to you like a magnet drawn to steel. He leaned lazily against the counter in your lab, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement—or distraction. Probably both.

You narrowed your eyes, tightening your grip on the whiteboard marker. "Then what did I just say?"

“You need to… no sex before, no sex after," he recited slowly, as if carefully testing each word to make sure it wouldn’t backfire.

“And?" You crossed your arms, one hand on your hip, the other holding the marker up like a teacher about to deliver a pop quiz. "Do you know why?"

Logan’s gaze swept over you, taking in the way you’d planted your feet and stuck a pen behind your ear in your 'professor mode.' “Because you’re ovulatin’ or somethin’? Or tryin’ not to? Hell, I don’t know what half this stuff means.”

You sighed, turning back to the giant whiteboard on the wall. It was cluttered with colorful timelines, reminders, and arrows pointing every which way, all carefully laid out for the IVF schedule. In hindsight, your meticulousness might have been a tad over the top, but you weren’t about to admit that now.

“It’s because we want to maximize the egg retrieval,” you explained, your tone firm but not unkind. “No sex three days before stimulation so it doesn’t mess with your—ugh, never mind. Just stick to the rules. I made this board so it’s clear.”

Behind you, Logan huffed, a warm, rumbling sound that made you turn sharply to find him grinning.

"What?" you asked, brow furrowing.

“You’re real cute when you’re like this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at you. "Hands on your hips, pen behind your ear—looks like you’re about to lecture me ‘bout quantum somethin’."

Your cheeks flushed instantly, but you steadied yourself, standing taller. “That’s because you’re not listening,” you fired back. "And I have been over this calendar twice. Maybe I should give you a quiz.”

Logan’s grin widened, his teeth flashing. “You gonna give me detention if I fail?"

Ignoring the heat rising to your face, you tilted your head in mock seriousness. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, clearly enjoying this far more than he should. “Guess we’ll find out if I get somethin’ wrong.”

“Fine.” You capped the marker and tapped it against your hand like a gavel. "What’s the first thing you have to remember?”

Logan straightened slightly, locking eyes with you. “No sex three days before retrieval.”

You nodded, reluctantly impressed. “And after retrieval?”

“No sex for a week.”

“Why?” you pressed, though your voice lost some of its sternness.

“‘Cause it’s somethin’ about keepin’ the process steady—don’t wanna screw up your hormones or somethin’. You didn’t get this doctorate for me to screw it all up.”

You stared at him, unable to mask your surprise.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, although his smug grin didn’t waver. “Just ‘cause I’m lookin’ at you doesn’t mean I’m not payin’ attention.”

Taking a second to compose yourself, you finally nodded. “Fine, you passed.”

“But what about my detention?” His smirk turned wolfish, leaning just a fraction closer.

You stumbled over your words. “Is this—ugh, is this one of your… you know?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I don’t know, darlin’. What’re you talkin’ about?”

“You know!” you exclaimed, waving the pen for emphasis. “Your… fantasies or whatever it is you call them.”

His grin was practically sinful now. “Well, now it is.”

“Logan!”

“Relax, sweetheart.” His voice softened as he reached out to pluck the marker from your hand, setting it aside on the desk. His other hand slid to your hip, grounding you as he bent just low enough to kiss your forehead. "You’re doin’ great. And we’re gonna get through this—whiteboard rules and all."

You sighed, your tension easing slightly under his touch. “You’d better not fail me on this, Logan.”

“Never,” he said with an almost reverent sincerity, the teasing gleam in his eyes softened by something deeper. "You’re the one thing I’ve always been real good at keepin’ up with."

And damn it if he didn’t mean it.

---

Since today was the last day you could have sex before your retrieval in 4 days, you decided to surprise Logan. Though you weren’t sure if this was going to backfire on you or not, you thought you’d give it a try.

You had put on something that was the most stereotypical ‘teacher like’ outfit, a white button-up blouse, a black pencil skirt, and some small heels, and went through the regular motions of the school day.

Then, once classes were over, Logan came to your classroom instead of your office like you told him to earlier in the day.

Logan pushed the classroom door open, his shoulders broad and his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. His gaze swept over the rows of empty desks before it landed on you. You were sitting at your desk, legs crossed, glasses perched on your nose, and a teasing little smile playing at your lips. The whiteboard still had the day’s lesson scrawled across it, but you weren’t thinking about teaching anymore.

“This where you wanted me?” Logan asked, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You adjusted your glasses, standing up slowly. “Yes, Mr. Howlett. You’re late.”

His eyebrows lifted, the faintest smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t know this was official business.”

“Sit down,” you instructed, gesturing toward your chair behind the desk. “You’ve got some rules to follow if you’re going to avoid detention.”

Logan chuckled under his breath but obeyed, sauntering over and lowering himself into the chair. He sprawled comfortably, his legs spread wide, making it look far too small for him. “Alright, darlin’. What’s next?”

You stepped around the desk, your heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. “First,” you began, fingers going to the buttons of your blouse, “you’re not allowed to touch me. At all.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, his smirk growing into a full grin. “That so?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, undoing the top button of your blouse. His gaze tracked the movement like a predator watching its prey. “You’re here to listen and behave. Understand?”

“Guess I’ll behave,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You let the next few buttons fall open, revealing the delicate lace of your bra beneath. His sharp inhale didn’t go unnoticed, but he kept his hands firmly on the arms of the chair, his knuckles tightening as you slipped the blouse off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Stay just like that.”

You moved your hands to the zipper of your pencil skirt, tugging it down slowly. The fabric pooled at your feet, leaving you standing there in nothing but your bra, panties, and those heels. Logan’s jaw flexed, and you could see the restraint it was taking for him to stay still.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“I told you, no touching,” you reminded him, leaning down just enough to place your hands on the arms of the chair, your face inches from his. “Think you can handle that?”

Logan’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his gaze locked on yours. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart.”

You straightened up, taking your time to slip onto his lap. His hands twitched against the armrests, but he didn’t move them, his breathing ragged as you settled yourself over him, the heat between your thighs pressing against the denim of his jeans.

“See? You’re doing great,” you teased, trailing your fingers along his jawline. He let out a low growl, but his hands stayed put.

“You’re evil,” he said, his voice thick with want.

“Maybe,” you replied, reaching between your bodies to undo his belt. His hips jerked slightly, but he stayed obedient, watching as you unzipped his jeans and pushed them down just enough to free him. He was already hard, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Not so evil now, huh?” Logan quipped, but his breath hitched as you slid your panties to the side, positioning yourself over him.

“Remember,” you whispered, lowering yourself slowly. “No touching.”

Logan let out a low curse, his head falling back against the chair as you took him in. His hands clenched the armrests tightly, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the effort of keeping them there.

“Darlin’, you’re killin’ me here,” he rasped, his voice rough and shaky.

You started to move, your hips rolling slowly against his. The friction sent shivers through your body, and you bit your lip to keep from crying out. Logan’s eyes were locked on yours, dark and hungry, but his hands didn’t budge.

“You’re so good at this,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to his jaw. He growled low in his throat, his self-control hanging by a thread.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, his hips bucking up into you. “How’m I supposed to just sit here?”

“Discipline,” you teased, your breath warm against his ear. “Isn’t that what detention’s all about?”

Logan let out a breathless laugh, the sound strained and desperate. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much.”

You didn’t answer, your movements quickening as heat coiled low in your stomach. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the room, mingling with your own gasps. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his body taut with tension as he fought the urge to touch you.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered, your voice catching as your rhythm faltered. Logan’s eyes softened briefly, the teasing gleam replaced with something deeper.

“So are you,” he managed, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly you thought they might snap. “But I’m about to lose it here.”

You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Not yet,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly. He groaned into your mouth, his restraint finally breaking as his hands left the armrests and gripped your hips, holding you firmly against him.

“That’s it,” he growled, guiding your movements now, his strength taking over. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set a brutal pace, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was all heat and desperation.

The classroom faded away, the only thing that mattered was him—the way he filled you, the way he moved, the way he whispered your name like a prayer. And when you finally tumbled over the edge together, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you knew this was worth every moment of waiting.

Breathless and trembling, you rested your forehead against his, your glasses askew. “So much for following the rules,” you muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Logan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Rules are overrated anyway.”

---

“Honey, if you can’t do it, I can. It’s just a little needle.” You said, holding your hand out for the needle, a simple hormone injection that has to be done before the embryo transfer.

Logan stood a few feet away, the needle in his hand looking laughably small against his thick fingers. His jaw was tight, and his brows knitted together in a way that made him look like he was contemplating defusing a bomb instead of giving you a hormone injection.

“I can do it,” he said gruffly, though his eyes darted between the syringe and your exposed stomach like he didn’t quite believe himself.

You softened at his hesitation, lowering your hand. “It’s okay if you’re nervous. I can just—”

“I’m not nervous,” Logan interrupted quickly, his voice firm but not unkind. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite the situation. “Logan, I get stabbed with needles all the time. This is nothing.”

He shot you a look. “Not the same.”

You tilted your head, watching him as his eyes lingered on the syringe. His hands didn’t tremble—Logan was steady, always—but there was a vulnerability in his posture that made your heart ache. This was the same man who had faced armies, wars, and unimaginable pain, yet here he was, worried about causing you the smallest discomfort.

“Logan,” you said softly, reaching for his free hand. He let you take it, his rough palm engulfing yours. “You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you.”

His gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, he just stared. Then, with a deep breath, he nodded. “Alright, darlin’. Let’s do this.”

You leaned back slightly on the edge of the couch, pulling up your shirt to expose your stomach. Logan crouched down in front of you, the syringe still in his hand. He studied the instructions you’d written out earlier—meticulous as always—before glancing back at you.

“This the spot?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, resting a hand on his shoulder for support. “Right there.”

Logan’s hand hovered over your skin for a moment before he finally pressed the needle in with careful precision. It stung, but not enough to make you flinch. His gaze stayed fixed on the syringe, his focus unshakable as he slowly pushed the medication in.

“All done,” he murmured after a moment, pulling the needle away. He pressed a cotton ball gently against your skin, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. “That okay?”

“Perfect,” you assured him, your smile warm. “See? Told you it was nothing.”

Logan scoffed lightly as he stood, disposing of the syringe. “Didn’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

You reached for his hand again, pulling him back toward you. He let himself be guided, standing between your knees as you looked up at him. “You did great.”

His lips twitched into a small smile, but his eyes were still searching yours, as if looking for any sign that he might have done something wrong. When he found nothing but sincerity, he finally relaxed.

“You’re a hell of a lot braver than me, you know that?” he said, his voice soft.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I don’t know about that. You’ve done way scarier things.”

“Not like this,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “This is new.”

You leaned into his touch, your hand covering his. “We’re in it together, Logan. Every step.”

He nodded, bending down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Together,” he echoed. “Always.”

For a moment, the weight of the last few years lifted, leaving just the two of you in the quiet. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was enough. And that was all you needed.

---

“I think the mansion is haunted.” Rogue said. “There is no way ya haven’t heard the creakin’ in the night!”

Bobby rolled his eyes, “it’s probably just the AC or someone walking in the hallways.”

Kitty looked over at you as you graded things in your classroom. Though the three of them weren’t technically students anymore and had ‘graduated high school’, they still lived at the mansion because they were X-Men.

“Y/N, do you believe in ghosts?” Kitty asked.

You looked up from your papers, a red pen twirling idly in your fingers, as Kitty’s question hung in the air. The corners of your mouth twitched with curiosity at the way all three of them had their eyes fixed on you—Kitty looking earnest, Rogue mildly skeptical, and Bobby wearing his usual mask of rationality.

“Ghosts?” you echoed, tilting your head. “I don’t know if I’d call them ghosts, exactly.”

“That’s not a no,” Kitty pointed out, leaning forward on her desk as if your opinion held the weight of undeniable truth.

You tapped the pen against your chin thoughtfully. “There’s a theory,” you began, slipping into your natural cadence as a teacher, “about residual energy in spaces where intense events have happened. That energy could, in theory, manifest in ways that we interpret as paranormal.”

Kitty nodded enthusiastically while Rogue crossed her arms, clearly unsure. “What about creakin’ floorboards? That doesn’t sound like ‘residual energy.’”

“Well,” you conceded with a small smile, “this mansion is over a century old, and wood expands and contracts with changes in temperature.”

Bobby smirked. “Told you.”

Kitty huffed. “Yeah, but what about the piano playing by itself? Bobby doesn’t even believe me about that!”

“Probably one of the students pulling a prank,” Bobby retorted with a shrug.

“Or an actual ghost,” Kitty shot back, lifting her chin defiantly.

The sound of Logan clearing his throat from the doorway drew everyone’s attention. “What’re we talkin’ about?” he asked, stepping inside with his usual lazy saunter, his eyes cutting to you instinctively.

“Ghosts,” Rogue said flatly. “Kitty thinks the mansion’s haunted.”

Logan chuckled low in his chest, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Haunted, huh? Sounds like you kids’ve been watchin’ too many movies.”

“It’s not just movies!” Kitty protested, turning to him. “Y/N agrees there could be something! Residual energy or whatever.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to you, one eyebrow raising in question. You shrugged lightly, “how ‘bout this. We meet here at midnight and go ‘ghost hunting’. I’ll prove that it’s just residual energy so Rogue doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“Ghost hunting, huh?” Logan drawled.

You shrugged lightly, capping your red pen. “Why not? Might as well settle this once and for all so Rogue can sleep without thinking she’ll get haunted.”

“Hey, I never said I was scared!” Rogue interjected quickly, her Southern drawl edging her words. “I just think there’s somethin’ weird goin’ on.”

Kitty grinned, nudging her playfully. “Sure, you’re not scared.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “This is gonna be a waste of time. But fine, I’ll come. Someone’s gotta keep you all from freaking out over creaky floorboards.”

You pushed your glasses up, a small smirk playing at your lips. “Alright, it’s settled. Midnight. Bring whatever you think you’ll need—flashlights, cameras, whatever—and I’ll bring some equipment from the lab.”

Kitty’s eyes lit up. “Like an EMF detector? And maybe a thermometer?”

“Exactly,” you confirmed. “We’ll keep it scientific, not superstitious.”

Logan snorted softly, pushing off the doorway. “You’ve got this whole thing planned, don’t you?”

“I do,” you said simply, already mentally organizing the tools you’d need. “And you’re coming too.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t,” Logan replied with a shrug. “Just think it’s funny how serious you’re takin’ this.”

Rogue shot him a look. “You’re not gonna ruin it for us, are ya?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Logan said with a smirk, but his eyes flicked back to you, his expression softening.

---

At exactly midnight, the group gathered in the classroom, flashlights in hand. Kitty and Rogue had brought a handheld camera and an audio recorder, while Bobby carried what looked like an oversized camping flashlight. You walked in with a small case of lab equipment, Logan trailing behind you like your ever-present shadow.

“Alright,” you said, setting the case on your desk and opening it. “We’ve got an EMF detector, a digital thermometer, and a few other tools to measure environmental changes. If there’s anything abnormal, we’ll catch it.”

Kitty practically bounced on her toes. “This is so cool. I feel like we’re in a movie.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning casually against the desk. “Let’s hope it’s not the kind where everyone dies.”

“Logan,” you warned, giving him a pointed look.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just sayin’.”

You divided the equipment among the group, handing the thermometer to Kitty and the EMF detector to Rogue. “We’ll start in the east wing,” you said, adjusting your glasses. “That’s where Kitty said she heard the piano, right?”

Kitty nodded vigorously. “I swear, it was playing by itself.”

Logan’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, letting you take the lead as the group headed down the dimly lit hallway.

---

The east wing was quiet—eerily so. The air felt heavier, the old wood creaking beneath your feet as you moved through the corridor. Kitty had her camera rolling, and Rogue was carefully monitoring the EMF detector, though so far, it hadn’t picked up anything unusual.

“So, what’s this ‘residual energy’ thing you mentioned earlier?” Bobby asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “It’s the idea that strong emotions or events can leave an imprint on a place. It’s not a ghost in the traditional sense, but more like… a recording of something that happened before.”

“Like an echo,” Kitty added, her eyes wide.

“Exactly,” you said with a nod. “It’s one explanation for paranormal activity.”

“Or it’s just people imaginin’ things,” Logan muttered.

“Not helping,” you shot back, though your tone was more amused than annoyed.

The group reached the end of the hallway, where a grand piano sat in the corner of an old parlor. The room was bathed in shadows, the faint moonlight streaming through the large windows.

“This is it,” Kitty whispered, her camera trained on the piano.

Rogue glanced at the EMF detector, which remained stubbornly still. “Nothin’ so far.”

You stepped closer to the piano, pulling the thermometer from your pocket. The temperature was steady, no sudden drops or spikes that might indicate something unusual.

“Well?” Logan asked, his voice low.

“No signs of residual energy,” you said, your tone thoughtful. “But let’s—”

A sudden noise interrupted you—a faint, melodic note from the piano.

Everyone froze.

“What the hell?” Bobby muttered, his flashlight beam darting around the room.

Kitty clutched her camera tightly. “I told you! I told you it plays by itself!”

Logan straightened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped in front of you instinctively. “Alright, what’s goin’ on here?”

You moved closer to the piano, studying it carefully. “It could be the strings,” you murmured, leaning down to inspect the inner workings. “If they’re loose, they might vibrate on their own.”

“Or it’s a ghost,” Kitty said, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

You glanced at her, adjusting your glasses. “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.”

Another note echoed through the room, this one softer, almost mournful.

Rogue’s grip on the EMF detector tightened. “It’s doin’ it again.”

Logan’s eyes darted around the room, his posture tense. “Alright, fun’s over. Let’s wrap this up before someone gets spooked.”

Kitty frowned. “But we just—”

“Logan’s right,” you said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got enough data to analyze. Let’s head back.”

Reluctantly, the group agreed, though Kitty and Rogue exchanged skeptical looks as you packed up the equipment. Logan stayed close to you, his protective instincts clearly on high alert.

As you walked back down the hallway, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to hear another note. But the mansion remained silent, the mystery of the piano lingering in the air like an unsolved equation.

“Ghosts or not,” Logan murmured as the two of you trailed behind the others, “you’re braver than me for stickin’ your nose in somethin’ like this.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing against his. “It’s just science, Logan.”

“Whatever you say, darlin’,” he said, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and affection. “But if that piano starts chasin’ us, I’m not stickin’ around to fight it.”

---

Two weeks after the embryo transfer your pregnancy test came back negative.

You stared at the single line on the stick, your throat tight as the bathroom tile seemed to blur and shift under your feet. The tiny piece of plastic felt unbearably heavy in your hand. You’d tried so hard not to get your hopes up this time, to remind yourself that IVF wasn’t a guarantee. But after years of trying—after Clomid, after IUI, after the miscarriage—it had been nearly impossible not to hope.

Logan’s voice cut through your thoughts. “Sweetheart?” His knock was soft but insistent against the bathroom door. “You alright in there?”

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “Yeah,” you managed, though your voice sounded foreign even to your own ears. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He didn’t push, but you knew he wouldn’t leave either. Logan never did when he thought you needed him.

You took a shaky breath and forced yourself to move. You wrapped the test in some tissue and tossed it into the trash, then splashed cold water on your face. When you opened the door, Logan was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression as steady as it always was—but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart ache.

He didn’t say anything, just stepped closer and waited. You shook your head slightly, and that was all he needed. His arms were around you in an instant, holding you close as you buried your face in his chest. The tears came then, hot and fast, and he let you cry, his hand moving gently over your back.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “Don’t you dare apologize for this.”

You tried to say something else, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Logan didn’t press, just pulled you back into his arms and held you tighter, as if he could shield you from the weight of the disappointment pressing down on you both.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Logan stayed close, finding small ways to comfort you without making it obvious. He brewed your favorite tea, even though he always grumbled about the smell of chamomile. He didn’t say a word when you spent an hour re-organizing the bookshelf in the living room, one of your favorite ways to distract yourself when you didn’t want to think too hard. And when the two of you finally went to bed that night, he wrapped himself around you like he was trying to hold all the broken pieces together.

---

The next morning, Jean found you in the kitchen, staring blankly into your coffee mug. She didn’t need to ask how it went—your face told her everything she needed to know.

“Oh, Y/N,” she said softly, pulling out the chair next to you. “I’m so sorry.”

You forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her tone gentle but never pitying. It was one of the things you appreciated most about her—she never treated you like you were fragile, even when you felt like you might shatter.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “There’s not much to say. It didn’t work. Again.”

Jean reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “I know how hard this is,” she said. “But you’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling right now. You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”

Her words broke something loose in you, and before you knew it, you were spilling everything—the years of trying, the heartbreak of the miscarriage, the hope you’d tried so hard to suppress this time. Jean listened without interrupting, her hand a steady anchor in yours.

When you finally stopped, she gave your hand one last squeeze. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” she said. “And you’re not alone in this. Logan, me, everyone—we’re here for you.”

You nodded, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Thanks, Jean.”

“Anytime,” she said with a small smile. “Now, how about I make us some breakfast? You look like you could use something other than coffee.”

You let her bustle around the kitchen, the simple, familiar act grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

---

That evening, Logan found you in your shared office, your glasses perched on your nose as you stared at a stack of papers you weren’t really grading. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you for a moment before speaking.

“You don’t have to do this, y’know,” he said.

You looked up, frowning slightly. “Do what?”

“Act like everything’s fine,” he said, his voice low but steady. “It’s okay to feel like shit, darlin’. Hell, I feel like shit too.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Then, with a sigh, you took off your glasses and set them on the desk. “I just don’t know what else to do, Logan,” you admitted. “If I stop moving, I feel like I’ll fall apart.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, crouching in front of your chair so he could look you in the eye. “Then let me catch you,” he said simply.

You blinked, the tears welling up again despite your best efforts. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he said, his hands resting gently on your knees. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll figure it out, one way or another. But right now, you don’t gotta be strong. Just let me be strong enough for the both of us, alright?”

You nodded, your voice too thick with emotion to respond. Logan stood, pulling you into his arms, and for the first time that day, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d get through this. Together.

---

You and Jean had gone to see your fertility doctor, mostly for the two week check up since the embryo transfer.

When Jean drove the two of you back to the mansion, Dr. Harper’s words rang in your head, over and over.

“We can try again, but I’m going to be honest. My medical opinion is that continuing down this path may yield diminishing returns. That’s not to say there’s no hope—we absolutely could continue to try—but I want to make sure we’re balancing hope with your overall well-being. I know you are a person based on facts, and I’m sure you know that once you hit your early 30’s, your fertility starts to slowly decline. Given that you’re already having a hard time… the choice is yours.”

The truth was, you were getting older. Everything Dr. Harper said was true, and you hated that you couldn’t argue with her. If you hadn’t been able to get pregnant at 28, why would anything be different now? You stared out the car window, watching the trees blur together as Jean drove back to the mansion. Her presence was steady, calm, just like always, but you could feel her glancing at you every so often, as though trying to gauge whether you were on the verge of breaking.

“You’re quiet,” Jean said softly, breaking the silence.

You adjusted your glasses, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m just… processing.”

Jean nodded, her hands steady on the wheel. “Take your time.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the engine. Then you sighed, resting your forehead against the window. “It’s just—what if it doesn’t happen, Jean? What if this is it? We’ve tried everything.”

Jean pulled into the driveway and put the car in park before turning to face you. “I can’t pretend to know how you’re feeling, Y/N. But you’re not alone in this. Logan loves you, and no matter what happens, that won’t change.”

Her words should have been comforting, and maybe they were, but they didn’t erase the ache in your chest. You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Jean.”

She reached over, squeezing your hand. “You’re stronger than you think. And no matter what happens, I’m here for you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping out of the car. The mansion loomed in front of you, its familiar silhouette both a comfort and a reminder of all the life happening inside its walls—life that felt so out of reach for you.

---

The evening was unusually quiet, with the kind of stillness that felt heavy rather than comforting. You sat in your office, papers scattered in front of you, though your focus was anywhere but on them. You twirled your pen absently, watching the slow circles it traced on the desktop.

Logan leaned in the doorway, his usual casual stance—arms crossed, shoulders slightly slouched—but his eyes were sharp, locked on you like he could see through the calm façade you were trying to maintain.

"You’ve been quiet all day, sweetheart," he said, his voice soft but steady. "Somethin’s eating at you."

You hesitated, chewing on your lower lip as you adjusted your glasses. "Logan, I…" You set the pen down, unable to meet his gaze. "I need to talk to you about something. It’s… it’s important."

That got him moving. He crossed the room in a few strides, crouching in front of you like he often did when he wanted your full attention. His hands settled gently on your knees, his thumbs brushing idle circles.

"Whatever it is," he said, his voice low and reassuring, "just tell me. You don’t have to go through it alone."

You took a deep breath, gathering the courage you didn’t feel. "I went to see Dr. Harper today," you began, forcing your eyes to meet his. "She said… she said we could keep trying if we want to, but the odds are getting lower. IVF isn’t working. She was honest with me—she said my chances aren’t great. And I know she’s right, Logan. I feel it every time."

His expression didn’t change, but you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration. Not at you, but at the situation. He stayed silent, waiting for you to finish.

"I’m tired," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how much more I can take—physically or emotionally. But if you want to keep trying, we can. I… I just needed to tell you how I feel."

Logan was quiet for a moment, his hands still on your knees, grounding you. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. "Darlin’, you’ve done more than anyone could ever expect. You’ve put yourself through hell tryin’ to make this work—for us. And if you’re sayin’ you’re ready to stop… then we stop."

Tears welled in your eyes, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "You’re sure?"

He smiled softly, the kind of smile that was rare from him but filled with nothing but love. "I’m sure. What I want more than anything is for you to be okay. You’re all that matters to me—you always have been. Kids or no kids, that ain’t ever gonna change."

You broke then, leaning forward as he wrapped his arms around you. The tears came fast, but they weren’t all from sadness. There was relief, too—a heavy weight lifted from your shoulders after years of carrying it alone.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice breaking.

"I love you too," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "And no matter what, we’ll get through this. Together."

The papers on your desk went forgotten as Logan pulled you closer, holding you in the kind of embrace that told you, without words, that you would always have him—and that was enough.

that is 2009!

i felt like after so many years of trying for a baby, it would get tiring with no progress. and even as a writer, i knew there was only so much i could write about them trying. but of course, we know they have gabby in the future, so don't worry about that!

— goodnight n go

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

word count: 3.6k+

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

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

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

also i consider this taking place between dd s3 and ddba

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt just smirked and walked out.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Same as always. How was court?"

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

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

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

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

Matt smirked. "You checked my fridge?"

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

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

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

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

"You tired?" he asked, voice low.

"Mm, a little," you admitted.

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

"You could stay," he murmured.

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

"And you always do."

You huffed a soft laugh but didn’t argue.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tired?"

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

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

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

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

"You’re too slow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You gonna do something about it, Murdock?"

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Always," Matt said, offering his arm.

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

---

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

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

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

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

"Mm. That must’ve been it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Date?"

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

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

Damn him.

---

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

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

You scoffed. "I am not."

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

You blinked. "You hate dancing."

"That’s not true."

"You avoid dancing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Doing what?"

"This. Being all—" You gestured vaguely.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You better."

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

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

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

Matt huffed. "Occupational hazard."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn him.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don’t waste time, do you?"

"Matt."

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

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

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

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

"You’re mad at me," he murmured.

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

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

Matt cut you off the only way he knew how.

He kissed you.

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

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

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

You didn’t.

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

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

"Matt," you whispered, voice unsteady.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You kissed me, Murdock."

"Mm. And you kissed me back."

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re on the floor," he murmured.

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

His lips quirked. "Come up here."

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

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

"How so?"

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

"Kissing you?" Matt supplied, smirking.

You shot him a look. "Distracting me."

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

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

"No," you admitted softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Matt."

"I won’t," he murmured.

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

Matt let out a quiet chuckle. "Terrifying."

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

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

And for once, Matt actually stayed still.

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

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

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

Star wars men you will always be famous, i’m in love with them.

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.” 

picking up the pieces

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

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

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

but somehow it just… happened.

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

after that, he started showing up more.

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

then one night, you knocked on his door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

his thumb stills. “i take ‘em.”

“you deflect them.”

“same thing.”

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

frank snorts softly. “it’s honesty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

he grunts. “’s the truth.”

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

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

you freeze.

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

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

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

“…hey.”

you blink.

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

“you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but the tears are already coming.

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

you feel his whole body shift slightly.

“baby,” he says, low. confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you blink up at him and your voice breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

“…i don’t - ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah you are.”

he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@tcddszn

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

I'd wanna hold you (just for the night)

A drunken call, a second chance. 

Poe Dameron x f!reader

Rated M - 7.9k

Tags: Smut, PIV, No Protection, Drinking/Drunk calls, Characters in Peril, Reader struggles with anxiety

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Authors Note: Hello! Thank you all again for the love on my current fics, it really means the world. I am someone who can only write one story at a time, and I cannot move on until I finish. So, as you could tell, this fic is taking me a long time to wrap up, so I decided to post in in two parts! This Poe is different than Crawlin' Back to You, he makes questionable decisions, he sometimes doesn't do the right thing, but this is a story about two people finding their way back to each other, despite it all. The ending is nearly done, but I thank you all for still showing interest in this story while I worked through it. Again, no beta reading for this, I honestly just wanted to get it out to you all, haha. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated and I will see you soon!

Divider by @/saradika

Your night wasn't meant to be like this. You were relaxed. Or at least, trying to be. Cozied up in your small quarters, the day's transgression far behind you as you sip from your glass, the chill of alcohol easing down your throat. From broken bones, to laser burns, you had quite literally seen it all in the medics zone. But, you were working on putting it behind you, so you quickly focused your attention back to the novel laying forgotten in your lap. Your space felt smaller, you realized, and you shivered as you tried to shake the thought from your mind.

You couldnt think about it.

You couldnt think about him. 

Throwing back the rest of your drink, you devote your time to your reading, trying to get lost in the pages. 

You indeed get lost, but not within the pages as you planned.

The sharp ring of your phone sends you shooting up, your eyes quickly searching for some sign of danger before landing on the phone somewhere beside the couch you had most definitely passed out on. You frown as you place the comm beside your ear, clearing your throat before speaking. 

“Hello?”

There's a shuffle, and curse, and you can hear loud music pouring out from the other side until it dies down. A soft sigh. A sniffle.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

You freeze, that voice wrapping itself around your heart and squeezing. You try so hard to not react to his name, to avoid the pitiful stares, to show you had meant this. And yet, three simple words were making your heart race faster than it had in months.

“Poe, its…” you glance at the nearby clock, shocked to see it reading 2am, “It's late Poe, why are you calling me?”

“I, I just-” you wince as you hear a gasp, and then a loud thud. No doubt, Poe tripped. The smoothest pilot in the galaxy just ate shit on the phone with you. The realization of exactly what this call was made anger rise within you. 

“Poe, are you drunk?”

His voice warbles on for a bit before it seems he finds his comm link once more. “No-I mean, yes, but I really did just want to call you.” His tone is pleading, and you can already imagine his eyes, so brown and soft batting up towards you. You let out a puff of angry air, shaking your head as you rise from the couch. 

“Poe, this is exactly what we shouldn't be doing.”

“I know, I know, it's just-”

“Just what, Poe? It's been seven months, I told you, we are over.”

There's a chill from the other end of the line, and you almost think he's ended the call. There's a small hiccup, and a sob, and you can't believe it but Poe Dameron is crying on the other end of the phone. 

“I messed this all up, didn't I?” He breathes out shakily. You can imagine him sitting outside some god knows where cantina, sitting in the rain or snow, clinging to this call like it was all he had. 

And you would be right.

Poe sniffles, wiping at his nose as he sits on the curb, the icy night air chilling him to the bone. But he couldn't give up, not when he had you on the line, finally. Yes, he hadn't wanted to be drunk for this call, hell, he didn't even think he was drunk enough to get kicked out of Oga’s but here he was. 

“You deserve so much better than what I gave you, sweet girl.” He adds after a moment, thinking back to that time where he wasn't drunk calling you any chance he had. When he wasn't wishing you were somewhere in the crowd of people welcoming him back home. 

Back to that time he was yours. 

---

You met Poe in the medical bay on D’Qar in the Ileenium system. You rush into the hidden shelter, a large crowd gathered around a single cot, effectively keeping you out. 

“I am a medic! You need to move!” You call out, trying to move past the throng of bystanders. You were paged in for an emergency crash, something about a pilot being hit and needing serious attention. You were well prepared for any situation, you had spent years saving lives, but despite it all, nothing prepared you for him.

There Poe sat, smiling in the cot, looking as healthy as ever. You frown, glancing around, trying to see if perhaps this was a mistake, maybe another pilot was getting moved in. 

“Ah, so this is the famed medic of the rebellion!” 

You turn slowly, locking eyes with said pilot. You nod slowly, watching with awe as he waves a hand and the crowd disperses, leaving you two alone together. 

“I’m sorry they called you in like that, but I’m fine! Only slight scrapes,” he flashed you an arm with minimal cuts, and you try to not stare at the strong muscled physique he obviously had. 

“I would still like to do an examination, Mr. Dameron-”

“Poe.”

You pause, looking at him with furrowed brows. Poe just tilts his head, giving you a lopsided smile. “My friends call my Poe.”

You nod briskly, approaching his side to check over his vitals. “Your vitals look fine, but I just want to make sure you have not suffered any brain injuries from the crash.” You explain, leaning over his cot to shine a small light into his eyes. You notice he takes in a quick breath, his pupils dilating, and his heart rate spiking. “Are you okay?” You ask quickly, looking over him for any signs of trauma. He shakes his head then nods. 

“Yes, yes, more than okay. I’m great-Fine! Actually.” He stammers, his fists tightening on the thin sheets of his cot. You raise an eyebrow, giving him a quizzical stare. 

“Alright, if you say so.” You double check his vitals, just to be safe, and sigh as you push the screen away. “Seems like you have no internal trauma, just a few scrapes, I’ll get some bandages for you and you can be on your way. You begin to leave, but you hear the rattle of the cot, turning your head to see Poe trying to clamber his way after you. “I’ll be right back, Mr.Dameron-Poe.” You quickly adjust, trying to avoid staring at the wide smile that spreads on his face at your words. You tell yourself you only said it to make him stay.

 “Alright, I’ll wait for you.” He says happily, returning to his seat. It baffled you, his carefree attitude, his abundance of charm. But you could feel that pull to him others must feel as well, like sitting in the sun when you're with him. You quickly gather some bandages and return to his side, carefully turning his forearms over so you could smooth the patches over his tanned skin. His corded muscles flex under your touch, and you try to ignore the burning heat of his eyes on you. “Alright,” you smile softly, approving your quick work, “Looks like you are set to go. Just try not to fall out of your x-wing next time.” You say, giving him a small smile as you cross your arms over your chest. His eyes track the movement before he shakes his head, nodding to your words. 

“What? You don't want to see me again?” He asks, his voice dripping in confidence and pride. You let out a chuckle, waving him off as another medic motions for you to follow them to another cot, “I would prefer to not see you injured and in this tent at all.” You challenge, giving his arm a gentle pat before turning to leave. 

Poe, as usual, had his own plans.

A week later, you stare at Poe, his face grinning sheepishly as he sits in front of you in another cot. You were called down for, and you repeat, “a life threatening injury”. Instead, Poe was settled in the room before you, happily shifting his body against the thin sheets. 

“Mr. Dameron-”

“Poe. Remember? You said it last time?”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face as you feel your heart rate elevate. “Mr. Dameron,” you emphasize, giving him a sharp look, “I was called down here for a life threatening injury, but it seems you are very much not life threateningly injured.” You frown, tapping your foot impatiently against the cool metal flooring. Poe gives you a nervous chuckle, putting his hands up in surrender. “I’m not even sure why they called it in like that! It was only a droid to the ankle.” He explains, pointing down to his slightly bruised leg. You huff, quickly moving to his bedside and touching his ankle. Poe hisses, and your eyes snap to his, gauging what level of pain he really was in. 

“I’ll give you some pain tabs.” You say quickly, leaning back up straight to glance down at him. From this angle, you can see the way his deep brown eyes glow as he looks at you, an infuriating sight when you have so much work to do. 

“Your name, also, that would be nice.” He says softly, his hands folded so politely in his lap it makes you want to curse. Your brows furrow as you look away, pretending to be so busy you couldn't have even heard him. You move away, only a few cots down, and begin to rebandage another squad member's burns.

Poe always preached about patience.

So he waits, watching you move around him in displeasure, but it doesn't lessen the smile from his face. He enjoyed watching you work, even if he knew you were pretending to forget to give him his medicine. The dull throb in his ankle was worth it to see you this close. Poe considered himself a pro at what he did, so it made him intrigued to see you move so masterfully in tense situations like this. You smiled, joked with younger patients, lent a shoulder to older ones, you even laughed.

He was sure that sound would haunt him in his dreams.

“I think the pain is beginning to become life threatening!” He calls out playfully, pretending to wince as your head snaps to him. You try to lessen the flush in your cheeks as you realize he was still here, you had actually forgotten to make him leave. Maybe, you didn't forget, the sensation of his gaze burning into you was too prevalent to ignore, and it horror, you realize that maybe you even liked it. You grab a small bottle of painkillers and thrust them into his hands, and you try not to flinch as his warm hands brush against yours. 

“There, sorry for the wait.” You mumble, trying to look around for any chance of escape.

“Well, I’m not sure your supervisor would like to hear about the medical negligence of the rebellion's favorite pilot now would they?” Poe grins, knowing he has you trapped. Your mouth opens and closes, trying to form some comeback, but maker, you were trapped by his puppy dog gaze. 

“You can say no, but I know a great place for dinner. Whenever you're off. I can wait. If you want to say yes, that is.” He adds quickly, pulling his hands back to his lap. What surprises you, isn't his request, but rather the nervous tremble of his tone, the way his hands are gripping the bottle so tightly.

Poe Dameron, the golden boy of the resistance, was nervous to ask you out.

You could feel your mouth twitch up, a lopsided smile, and you can feel the words tumble out of your mouth before you could even think. 

“I’m off in 3 hours, and I like anyplace that has a good drink.” Is all you say before you scoot away, quickly heading to one of the private screening rooms to sort through the flood of emotions coursing through your body.

Poe Dameron just asked you out?

You just said yes?

You listen carefully as you hear the calls of people saying bye to him, Poe knowing each medic by name, before the silence of his departure reaches your ears. 

You try to finish the rest of your shift without thinking too much of what waited for you after, and you especially tried not to think of why your heart was beating so fast. Luckily, all the other medics were able to pick up after you as you managed to almost deliver the wrong bandages to two different patients, or how you began to stop in the hallways, a sigh escaping your lips. 

You were a mess. 

Time crept by slowly as you continuously glanced at the clocks around the medbay, each one moving slower than the last. Eventually, it was close enough that even your supervisor motioned for you to head out. 

“Does everyone know about this?” You mutter under your breath, carefully removing your uniform and shoving it into your locker. Other medics around you chuckled, nodding vigorously. 

“I’m afraid Poe has told at least half the rebellion you agreed to this date.” One of them giggles, letting out a blissful sigh. “It's just so romantic.”

Romantic?

Your past trysts within the rebellion had been nothing grand, quick dalliances with mechanics or other pilots. You all had a goal at hand, and a relationship would distract you all. You weren't used to this gawking, these envious stares from others. You were a medic, appearing only when needed and then disappearing when you were done. Maker, half of your team didn't even know your first name. Yet somehow, with one simple question, Poe has made everyone know exactly who you are. Your skin began to itch under the weight of it all, your civilian clothes feeling too tight. There was a reason you avoided this attention, it wasn't like you. 

You weren't sure how long it had been, your head resting against the once cool metal of your locker, until a gentle hand pulls you from your thoughts. 

Everyone had left the break room, even the lights were dimmer. Your eyes drift from the tanned hand on your shoulder, up and along the white clad arm until you reach his eyes. 

Brown, so wide and concerned. 

“Hey,” Poe says gently, giving you a small smile. You instantly feel bad, how long had he been waiting? How could you have let your mind drift so far from you, you should have known better- “It's okay, sometimes I get stuck in my head too.” 

You blink, taking in his words. Your body aches as you begin to feel the life return to your fingers and toes, your sense of self finally reaching every point of your being. 

“Sometimes, I get really nervous before missions, so nervous in fact I spend most of the night before staring at a wall, thinking of everything that could go wrong.” He adds, gently squeezing your shoulder. The touch sparks another warmth in you, your cheeks flushing as you can't deny how good it feels. 

“But then the mission comes along, and even though I’m nervous, it never goes as bad as I thought. Sometimes, we just make life harder for ourselves, hm?” He grins, lowering his hand and you so desperately want to reach for it once more, to hold it close to you. You open your mouth to speak, surprised at how dry it feels.

“I’m…I’m sorry I made you wait so long.” You say softly, turning your back against the locker to look at him fully. Poe was dressed nicely, a crisp white button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Nice black pants, forming shapely to his body. And here you were, in a long sleeve tunic and pants. You hadn't even thought about changing after work, and another flush of embarrassment rushes through you. 

Poe simply shakes his head, “I didn't wait long at all, honestly, our food took a while so I asked for it to go, figured we could eat out in the fresh air.” He smiles, shaking the bag in his other hand for emphasis.You knew he was lying for your sake, and another flush courses through your body. Poe takes a breath, his eyes flicking up to yours nervously, “Did I ruin this? I just, I wanted to take you out since I first saw you, but I feel like I did it all wrong-” 

“I wanted to!” You interject, surprised by your confident response. It was true, you did want to join him this evening. “I’m just not used to the attention, everyone knows about it and I'm not exactly forward with my private life here.” You explain softly, dragging a hand along your arm. “It made me nervous, it felt like this was all a test. At least half of the other medics here would have no second thoughts on killing me for this spot.” Poe stares at you intently, a smirk on his lips. 

“It was you or nothing, sweet girl.”

Before you could even speak, Poe reaches forward, taking one of your hands in his free one. He leads you through the medbay, and out to the night sky, the cool air brushing against your face. His x-wing was landed outside of the medical area, glowing under the night sky. Your eyes widened at the massive ship, never having seen one so close before. He pulls you closer, tugging you along to a small ladder leading up onto the x-wing. You glance at Poe, who only smirks back as he begins to expertly climb up the ladder all while balancing your meals on the other hand. He practically disappears at the top of the machine, your head having to crane back to try and grab a glimpse of him. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, the only sign of him even being up there was a few curses and clanks of metal. You begin to back up, trying to spy on what he was up to before his voice cuts through the night air. 

“Okay sweet girl! Come on up!” His face peers over the side of the ship, grinning happily down to you. “Just climb up and I’ll get you!”

You take a breath, approaching the ladder and carefully making your way up. The top of the x-wing was slick, causing your body to move slowly as you finally reach those very last few rungs. A warm hand takes your wrist, helping you pull yourself up as you gasp at your surroundings. From this height, you were fully surrounded by the night sky, stars and other galaxies twinkling down from above. 

And maker, the sight before you easily rivaled it.

There was a few blankets placed on the cockpit canopy, making a soft resting place on the hard exterior. The meal Poe had brought was now on plates, and set carefully in the center of the blankets along with two glasses and a bottle of alcohol you recognize from the dining hall. 

You let out a small laugh, the realization of his actions finally hitting you. 

“You set this all up for us?” You ask him softly, letting him guide you down to the plush blankets. Poe shrugs, moving along the top of the X-wing with ease, settling down right across from you. “You're surrounded by people all day, I thought a change would be nice. Just me, you-” There was another clank and crash, the ladder to the w-wing rattling aggressively. “BB-8!” Poe groans, leaning his body over the edge of the ship, talking down to a disgruntled orange droid below. Your smile widens, your gaze quickly raking over his form as he leans back up, chuckling shyly. 

“This is all not going as I planned, exactly.” He admits softly, running a hand nervously through his hair. You shake your head, reaching for the cups as you begin to pour your drinks. “Poe, this is amazing, honestly, no ones ever done anything like this for me before.” You admit to him, passing him the drink and trying not to shiver as your fingers brush against one anothers. He only smiles, waiting for you to bring your cup up to his with a soft clink. “I’m glad, or else I’d have to figure out what pilot was taking you out on dates on their X-wing.” He finishes with a grumble, taking a quick sip of the bubbly alcohol. You laugh, really laugh, for what feels like the first time in awhile. “What? Only you can do it?” You ask with a smile, taking a sip of your own drink. Poe shakes his head, leaning back onto his psalm as he gazes up at you. “No, I don't care if they do it, it only matters if they did it with you.” 

Poe was honest. Actually, probably the most honest person you had met. Despite his constant flirty comments, none of them felt fake, or false, but rather true. Straight from his heart almost. You flush, glancing away from his radiant smile as he watches you. You both move to the food, digging into the multiple plates Poe got, and you smile as you watch him shrug sheepishly. “I didn't want to get you the wrong thing.”

“So you ordered the entire menu?”

Poe grins, but waves your question away as he holds out half of a sandwich to you. You eat and talk, Poe regaling tales of his adventures, and vice versa. Poe watches you with wide eyes, taking in every detail of your stories from the medbay. Soon the meal was done, and Poe had somehow moved from his spot in front of you to beside you, both of you reclined back on the canopy and watching the stars. It was perfect. He had somehow given you the date of your dreams, without even knowing. Yet, those thoughts continued to swirl in your mind, why, why, why? You hadn't noticed the conversation growing quiet until you felt the tap of a finger on your forehead. Poe gazes down at you, kind eyed, a smile on his lips. “What's going on in there, Doc?” He asks gently, pulling his hand away slowly. You hold your drink to your chest, biting your lip as you begin to get lost in your thoughts again. 

Of course he noticed. 

Poe Dameron, perfectly aware of your anxious spirals. 

“Why…” You begin, setting your glass down with a shaky hand. “Why did you ask me on a date, Poe?” The question hangs in the air between you both, and Poe bites his lip as he thinks, only for a few seconds. He adjusts himself beside you, leaning on his side with his head held in his bent arm as he looks down at you, your eyes trapped within his. 

“I wanted to ask you out because you treated me like a person. You didn't rush to my aid because I was me, but because someone was hurt.” He begins softly, tapping his fingers nervously on the metal of the canopy. “How could I not want to get to know someone like that, someone so selfless and kind?” His words send a heat straight through your veins, your skin practically glowing from the inside. Your heart pounds as you nod, taking in his thoughts. 

“I mean, I’m not anyone special-”

“You are.”

Poe smiles, boyishly, kindly, reverently. 

“You are special.”

You gasp, the breath tearing through you as tears well up in your eyes. Poe leans into you quickly, reaching for you with concern as you wave him off, a laugh emerging from each of you. Poe's hand reaches up, gently wiping at the tears in the corners of your eyes. Here he was, the golden boy of the rebellion to everyone else, but simply Poe to you, looking down at you like you were the brightest star in the galaxy. Your mouth opens, unsure of what to say to him. His hair hangs over his face as he looks down at you, an easy smile on his lips. There's an intimacy in this closeness, in the lack of conversation verbally. His eyes roamed over your face, as if committing you to memory. You take the chance to look at him, fully, your eyes sweeping over every eyelash, every scar. 

Who knows how long you both stay like this, simply caught in the beauty of one another. 

---

Poe makes it a point to bring you lunch every day.

He grins, expertly twisting around the bunches of nurses and patients until he reaches you, grinning from ear to ear. “Lunchtime, Doc.” He smiles, leaning against the wall as you finish administering medicine to a mechanic. You smile, shaking your head as you excuse yourself from your patient, greeting Poe with a small kiss to the cheek. 

You gasp excitedly, peering into the lunch bag with glee, “I've been craving this! How do you always know!” You smile, looking up to Poe’s sheepish grin. 

“Just thought you'd like this for lunch today. I’m going on a small mission for the next few days, so I won't be around to bring you lunch.” He explains, casually reaching for your hand as you both walk to the front of the medbay and exiting the sterile smelling area. You nod, listening to his words, crushing the lunch to your chest with your one hand as you think of what it was going to be like not seeing him so often. Poe sighs, seeing your eyes wander off and gently cups your face, bringing your gaze up to his. “Hey, I can practically hear your mind at work.” He teases gently, pulling on your cheeks gently. 

“Just, be safe, don’t do anything reckless.” You tell him softly, meeting his gaze. Poe gives you that lopsided grin, nodding to your request. “I have to do what I must, you know how it is.” 

Before you could fully process his reply, you hear his name being called, fellow pilots waving their arms from down the way, signaling it was already time to go. Poe sighs, but even as your eyes drift back to his face, you know his gaze never left yours. 

“Okay, I have to go now.”

“Okay, be safe.”

“Anything else?” You let out a confused laugh, shaking your head, “Please? Please be safe?” You amend, causing Poe to laugh loudly. He gently rolls your face in his hands, shaking your head from side to side. 

“What am I going to do with you?” He whispers softly, but his eyes hold that warm glow they always did when he looked at you. Poe pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around your shoulders tightly as he buries his face into your neck, breathing in deeply. Your hand remains crushed between you both, holding onto your food while the other wraps itself around his torso, running along his spine soothingly. He gives you one last squeeze before pulling back, keeping you tightly in his arms. “Only a few days, m’kay?” He sighs, leaning forward, brushing his lips against your forehead gently. You blink rapidly, still feeling the heat of his lips even after they leave your skin. 

“‘Kay.” You smile softly, feeling the heat leave your body as he pulls back, giving you one last look over before making his way to the pilots quarters, gearing up for his mission. 

You take your lunch, heading back into your breakroom. You begin to unpack, but pause, the feeling of multiple eyes on you. At least every nurse or doctor was staring at you impatiently, and you glance down at yourself self consciously, maybe something was amiss with your clothes?

“I would hate to overstep,” A voice begins, causing your gaze to snap up. You find an older nurse approaching you, one you worked with often in the emergency bays, smiling gently as she takes a seat beside you. “I know it probably is so stressful dating the most famed pilot of the rebellion, but…” The nurse clasps her hands together tightly, staring at you with a stern look, “You couldn't give that boy one kiss goodbye?” 

You blink.

No…kiss?

You had, hadn't you?

You begin to rethink your entire conversation earlier, replaying every moment in your mind until you remember. 

‘Anything else?’

He was waiting for you. 

You shoot up from the table, a rush of heat heading to your cheeks. With Poe, you felt comfortable, his gentle nature making you feel taken care of. 

Your past couplings were emotionless, simply to fix a need everyone got. You never kissed them, it was too romantic, too intimate. 

You didn't even think to ask him for something like that.

But you wanted to. 

“Shit!” You screech, taking off from the breakroom, barely able to hear the thunderous cheers and uproars of people cheering you on. You rush out of the medbay, seeing the large crowd of people gathering near the X-wings, waving goodbye to their loved ones or friends. You gently shove through the throngs of people, looking around quickly, hoping you weren't too late. You finally break through the front of the crowd, glancing around the lines of ships waiting for take off, pilots beginning to climb into the cockpits. 

“Poe!” You call out, cupping your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice. You move through the machines much to the dismay of the controllers, yelling at you to move out of the way. You know he is here, you couldn't be too late.

Could you?You feel your throat tighten, the rush of feelings all of a sudden too much, threatening to pour out of you at this stupid mistake you made. He made you feel safe and seen, something you had never experienced yet with someone else like this. You quickly swivel your head, looking around at the sea of orange flight suits milling around. You could feel that anxiety and panic, clawing its way up your body and into your head.

You're too late.

Too late.

Too late.

With one final breath, you stand firmly, rooting yourself to the ground while mustering up all the courage you had left.

“Poe Dameron!”

---

Poe could sense something was wrong. He was adjusting his suit for the umpteenth time as he lingered near the ladder to his X-wing. He couldn't help his gaze wavering from his task at hand to the distant crowd of people, all waving to his squad. He liked to set up farther away from everyone, giving himself time to focus and quell the negative thoughts before a mission. He was only taking his time because he could swear he heard your voice, calling out for him. He shook his head, chuckling lowly at the idea. He left you at the medbay, that honeyed look in your eyes as you looked up to him was enough to keep him going through this mission. Even if he wanted something more, he would wait, wait until you told him you were ready. 

He realized, with a startled laugh, he would wait forever for you. 

“Well, BB-8, time to head out.” He said softly, giving his droid a gentle nudge. His hands begin to haul himself up the ladder before he pauses, one last tingling sensation at the back of his neck. Instead of a sea of orange flight suits like his own, he could spot one spec of grey in the center of it, moving around aimlessly. 

‘It couldn't be…’

He hops off the ladder, walking cautiously closer.

Poe could never describe the feeling he had when he heard you call his name again. 

His legs break out into a sprint, weaving through the masses of pilots all cheering him on until he reaches you, out of breath, but a smile remained on his face. 

You look up at him, wide eyed as your hands reach for his arms. “Poe-” You begin, breathing quickly as your eyes scan over his face. He just smiles, drinking you in.

“What are you doing here? We're about to take off.” But his voice held no urgency, he would take however long you needed. 

Your throat constricts, your hands slowly dropping from his body. 

He was here.

He found you.

“Poe, I just, well, I wanted to tell you something-”

“You really ran out here, evading X-wings, just to tell me something? Careful, I may fall in love-”

His words were cut off by the sensation of your lips on his, kissing him urgently, your hands bunched up in the scratchy fabric of his suit as you yank him down to you.

Poe only needed two seconds before he grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist as he crushes you closer, angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Cheers erupt around you, but you don't care, only focused on your hands on his warm skin and the feeling of his hands holding you to his body. Poe pulls back, just enough for you to catch your breath, your noses rubbing together gently. 

“You alive, Doctor?”

You nod shakily, a smile breaking out on your face. Poe leans in once more, tenderly kissing you, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. 

You never knew someone could taste so sweet, so intoxicating. 

You pull back, trying to even out your breathing. “That's all I wanted to tell you.” 

Poe smiles, running a thumb along your kiss swollen lips, “Thanks for telling me. I’ll see you when I get home.” He murmurs, leaning forward to place one last kiss on your forehead. 

You smile happily, waving as Poe makes his way up the ladder and into the cockpit of his X-wing. He waves back, grinning as he sets up for takeoff, trying his best to keep an eye on you as you are ushered off of the runway. There was no better way to start his missions now, he decided. 

---

Poe was gone for 6 days, and you were a nervous wreck. 

“He said it’d only take 3 or 4 days? What if something happened?” You ask your nurse, barely focused on the patient files before you. She just shrugs, patting your arm empathetically. “It's a rebellion, things can happen, but I’m sure Poe is fine, he's a strong boy.” She replies, but your heart is still thundering in your ears. 

How did other couples do this? This feeling of terror lurking at every corner? No communications, no idea if he was okay, it was debilitating. 

On the 8th day, you hear the familiar screech of X-wings nearby. You were in your home, trying to relax, but you jump up, racing out of your quarters to the runway. You wait, eyes wide as you count the number of X-wings, holding your breath until you realize two x-wings were missing. 

You wait with bated breath, those dark thoughts creeping their way up to your mind.

You wait among the masses of people, the crowd cheering as the pilots begin to exit their ships. It isn't until you notice a familiar orange droid hit the ground near the end of the runway.

You run.

You grin as you find yourself in the arms of this man, the one who has made you worry so much. 

“I told you I’d be home, didn't I?” He grins, and you can barely hold back the tears as you look up at his face, unmarred, uninjured.

“I was so worried, it took way longer than you said-”

“A few of my pilots were shot down, I had to go retrieve them and bring them to another rebel base on a nearby planet.” He explains, running a hand along your spine. You frown, a complaint on your lips before he presses his mouth to your, all worries fading away as you wrap your hands around his neck.

“Take me home, hm?” He murmurs against your neck, his hands splayed out along your lower back pulling you impossibly close to the hard contours of his body. You gasp as you feel him, all of him, his desire for you evident even now. You nod, smiling widely as you lean back up, taking his hand in your as you both begin the walk back to your quarters, laughing side by side, but you liked how he said it.

Taking him home. 

---

Your back hits the bed quickly, Poes body covering yours with urgency. 

“Fuck, I missed you-” He gasps, his hands entwined with yours as he pins you to the small bed. You moan, arching up against him, desperate for any friction. “Poe, please,” You beg, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Poe gasps, a shiver running through his body as he involuntarily thrusts against you, sending a delicious jolt of pleasure through you. “Fuck, baby, hold one I want to last-” He moans, dipping his head to your neck, biting down as a warning. 

You hadn't known pleasure like this, how much desire you felt for him. The way your body sang for him, and likewise the way you could send shivers down his spine with the slightest touch was intoxicating. You bite your lip, stifling down a moan. Poe leans up, smirking as he begins to shuck off his clothes, revealing his golden skin underneath. You sit up, watching him until your hands move to his chest, reveling in the new sensations of his bare skin on yours. He watches you, enjoying the pleasure this gives you. “You just gonna touch me all night, pretty girl?” He teases, taking one of your hands up to his lips, kissing your palm gently. You smile, nodding seriously, “I wouldn't be opposed, you're beautiful, Poe.” You wish you could photograph his face, the shy grin that spreads along his features. 

“Flirt.” He grins, lowering himself back down onto you, the weight of his body pushing you deeper into the mattress. He kisses and suckles along your neck, biting gently as he coaxes little moans and sighs from you. 

“Poe, my clothes-” You beg, but only get a few words out as his hand expertly flies to your top, removing it quickly as his lips attack the new expanse of skin. Your hand rests on his head, threading your fingers through his thick hair. 

Next was your bra.

Then your pants.

Until you both were before each other, utterly bare. Poe drags his hand along your thigh, stroking gently as you watch him. “So beautiful…” He murmurs, turning his head to look up at you. Your smile, this heat making your heart flutter with excitement. 

“How do you want me, sweetgirl?” He asks, kissing his way up your stomach, across your breasts, until he reaches your lips. You flush lightly, his forwardness so refreshing and new. He was yours, in every sense of the word. 

“I want to be on top.” You decide, and Poe smiles with the light of the sun. “Thank the maker.” He grins, flopping onto his back and settling himself against the headboard. You giggle as you crawl over him, watching the way his muscles flex as he anticipates your move. You had this power over him, only you.

You straddle his lap, the heat of him pressing hot to your core, causing you to moan out already. Your hands fall to his shoulders, and with ease, you slide yourself down until you are fully seated on him. Poe shudders, gasping as his head hangs forward, resting on your shoulder. “Fuck, sweet girl, you feel perfect.” He babbles, his hips already beginning to try and move. You smile, you hand cupping the back of his head gently as you place a kiss on the side of his head. 

“I’ll make you feel good, Poe.” You promise, carefully lifting yourself up and breakdown experimentally. The choked gasp he emits only makes you move more. Poe was always mouthy, but here, now, he was absolutely filthy. 

“Fuck baby, you feel so good, absolutely milking my cock, I’m already so close, fuck-” He spasms below you, his hands gripping your hips as he slams up into you. “Fuck-Poe-” You gasp out, trying to keep your pace as he moves himself to meet your thrusts. You could feel his hands bruising your skin, but you didn't care, you were utterly bewitched by the man here with you. You feel that twitch of his member inside you, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he moans louder. “I’m yours, Poe, please-” You gasp out, and Poe only growls as he bites down onto your shoulder, licking over the wound before he hisses out.

“No-fuck-I’m yours, sweet girl, only yours-”

His release erupts from him, his thrusts remaining deep inside of you as you feel your own release follow his, your body shaking and clenching around his. You collapse forward, falling into his arms as you both try to regain your breath. Poe doesn't even try to separate you, keeping you close in his arms as he settles down into your bed, your eyes growing heavy from exhaustion. 

“Poe?” You ask softly, looking up to his face. Poe opens one eye, looking down at you with a smile. “Yeah, pretty girl?” 

You bite your lip, running your hand along his chest. “I was just, really worried about you.”

Poe shakes his head, closing his eyes once more as he relaxes into your pillows. “I was fine, but I couldn't leave my crew, you know? I'm their leader.” You nod at his words, but you were surprised that the nagging feeling in your chest wasn't quelled. “I know, but you don't have to throw yourself into danger at every turn.” You say, and you watch as his eyes open with a frown as he turns to look at you. 

“I have to. I’m their leader, it's my duty to make sure everyone gets home safe.” 

“I know, it just, I see first hand these pilots, the aftermath of war. I don't want to show up one day and it's you laying there in that cot.” You admit to him, leaning forward to place a kiss onto his shoulder. “I know you need to keep your team safe, but just, don't be reckless.” You ask, looking up to his eyes, happy to see them softening at your words. 

Poe leans forward, brushing your hair back as he places a soft kiss to your lips. 

“I promise, I’ll do my best.”

And you believed him.

---

You and Poe dated happily for a few months now, becoming the famous couple of the rebellion. You were happy, undeniably so. Yet, that dark nagging feeling still lingered in your brain, and you knew it wouldn't last like this forever. 

You were worried, the first time he showed up in the medical bay after a mission.

“Had to fly back to collect data!” Is all he says, wincing as you apply a salve to his burns.

You were upset the second time he was in that cot, his foot swollen and his arm in a cast. “There was a family, I had to get them to cover!”

You were furious the third time Poe Dameron was in your medical bed, his head wrapped in bandages as he slept soundly. “A rogue blast nearly took out his entire X-wing.” His second in command told you. He didn't wake up for two days. 

It started to become constant, Poe’s acts of heroism turning into your worst nightmares. But this was what you signed up for wasn't it? Dating the hero of the rebellion? This continued on for another few years. Your patience waning as Poe continued to ignore your pleas, your murmured gasps against his skin as you lay with one another at night. 

“Please just stay, this one time?” You would beg, but Poe thought you only meant the night. 

It was eating away at you, the thought that every kiss you shared with Poe may be your last. 

Poe began to stay mainly with you, even having a small corner for his own items when he was at home with you. You loved it at first, being able to share every second with him in between missions and shifts at the medical unit. It became harder, when he would lay there injured, your inner professional making sure he was taking his medicine, or icing his sprains. 

It was even harder those days he would leave without saying anything, not wanting to hear your worries before his mission. 

You had even left him a note  once, asking him to resign from a mission due to your anniversary coming up. His second in command could lead, you hadn't had a date night in months.

He tucked the note away into his pocket, heading out to tell the crew how he would miss this mission. The General found him, imploring him to lead the mission, he was their only hope, he was like a son to her.

He left promptly and without complaint. 

It was becoming obvious, Poe loved his team, his crew, this rebellion. 

But he did not love you more than them. 

He could not. 

It ended on a day like any other.

You sat at your kitchen table, a warm cup in your hands as you sipped its contents slowly. You could hear his laugh through the hall, before hearing the rattle of his scan card and the door sliding open. He smiled widely, waving goodbye to the pilots who trailed behind him. He moved towards you, kissing your head swiftly as he began to undress, changing into his casual clothes.

“Poe?” You called out, turning yourself in your chair to watch him. He always stole your breath, his beautiful form, the kindness in his face.

It made this all so much harder. 

“Yeah, sweet girl?” He smiled, adjusting his necklace back under his shirt. The thin metal that held his mothers ring close to his heart.

Only you knew that, he told you once.

Would someone else know that one day?

Your eyes began to water, and Poe frowned, rushing over to cup your cheeks. 

“Hey now, what's wrong? I’m sorry my mission took so long, I tried to come home earlier but there was this-”

“That's it, there is always something else, Poe.” You sob out, shaking his hands off of your face. He stands there, stunned as you stand up, wiping furiously at your eyes. “All I’ve ever asked you was to not be reckless, but, every mission, I have to wait here, seeing if you make it back alive or not. All because you need to play the hero!” You cry out, your fists shaking at your side as you hold his gaze. Poe frowns, your words stabbing into his heart. 

“I’m the leader of this rebellion, I have a duty to these people-”

“But not to me?” You shoot back, crossing your arms in front of you defensively. “You love this rebellion, I know, you love these people, I do too, I just thought-” You choke on the words, the realization finally creeping in, “I just thought you loved me more, Poe.”

As you expected, Poe could not tell you otherwise. 

He leaves your room, his items carefully balanced in his arms as he exits, the door sliding closed behind him. He moves automatically, making his way back to his own quarters keeping himself together.

He simply smiles and shrugs when people ask where you are, why you haven't been seeing him off.

He keeps himself together when he asks to see a medic who isn't you.

He keeps it together, despite it all. Until he realizes one thing, months later. 

His biggest regret, he now realizes, is he did love you, more than all of it.

And he would never get to tell you that.

Frank & Matt Parallels for @anna-hawk ❤️

trilogy logan>>>>

That fic you wrote?

The one about the ship no one else cares about, or the deeply unpopular character, or the extremely unusual AU?

The fic that got no comments or kudos when you posted it?

Months or years from now, that fic might be exactly what someone is looking for in the sea of fics about all the popular characters, ships, and AUs.

Your fic might be the only fic out there that has what someone is looking for. The only fic that scratches the itch that it turns out you and that reader share.

And that's awesome.