I'd Wanna Hold You (just For The Night) *TEASER

whatever you do, don’t think about how matt murdock’s holy silver cross necklace dangles in front of your face while he fucks you oh-so-deviously.

don’t think about how matt murdock's breath against your neck was like that of a silent confession, each exhale a sinful prayer that made you tremble from the need of it all.

don’t think about how matt murdock will have you moaning out a variety of expletives and the occasional ‘oh god, matt’ when he angles those dexterous hips just right.

don’t think about how matt murdock smirks at you with such sinful lips, or how they had been buried between the plush of your thighs only moments before.

don't think about how matt murdock's voice, intoxicating and rough, pulled you in like a prayer you didn’t want to answer. every word he uttered was like a unholy promise that set your heart racing with an urgency that was impossible control.

don’t think about the way matt murdock uttered praise down at your blissed out form was practically unhallowed — “come on, angel, you can get louder than that.”

don’t think about how matt murdock’s very touch was downright unholy. your skin beneath his tempting hands burned with nothing but pure need and desire, and it was practically etched into just features just how well he knew.

don’t think about how matt murdock’s pace was a rough, steady assault, each movement building a tension too intense to bear. it was almost if he was testing your limits, drawing you closer to the edge with every deliberate and divine thrust.

and absolutely don’t think about the way matt murdock has your back arching, eyes rolling back as pure euphoria washes over your angelic form. that silver cross of his dangled before you, taunting, served as an all too familiar reminder of how every intimate encounter with matt murdock was sure to be sacrilegious.

before you jerk it to another fetishized dbf joel fic read something new, think critically, and do something with what you learn

applied to fandom: accessible anti racist policy/practice

racism and structural violence: interconnected threats to health equity

Racism, whiteness, and burnout in antiracism movements: How white racial justice activists elevate burnout in racialjustice activists of color in the United States

racial equity tools

anti-racism resources (the beginning is more local to this org, but there's more later in the list)

anti-racism resources for white people

recources for white people to learn and talk about race and racism

this blog post from 2020 that is more relevant than ever:

I am Black. This is what I Need (& what I Don’t) from White Allies:

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

Hello, thank you so much for wanting to read my stories! Here is a list of what I've written so far for you to navigate.

STAR WARS:

I'm on the run (with you) | Din Djarin x f!reader [series]

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

We could be together, if you wanted to | Din Djarin x f!reader [oneshot]

Crawlin back to you | Poe Dameron x f!reader [one shot]

I'd wanna hold you (just for the night) | Poe Dameron x f!reader [series]- (part 1) (part 2)

WORKS IN PROGRESS:

Divider by @/saradika

PEDRO PASCAL Materialists | 2025

We could be together, if you wanted to

A Jedi. A Mandalorian. A choice.

din djarin x f!reader

Rated M - 6.2k

Tags: Jedi!Reader, alluded past attempted SA , eventual smut, inappropriate use of the force, unprotected PIV, fingering, yearning Din, like really pining, very noncanon timeline, no beta read we go down with this ship

Divider by @/saradika

My first time writing a longer story, sorry if the POV switches are confusing, but I hope you enjoy it!

It wasn't supposed to have been like this. You groan as the cantina music pounds ruthlessly against your skull, the hot air sticking to your skin like a second layer. Your arm moves across the table, fumbling for who knows what against the scattered bottles of alcohol you threw back only hours ago. 

Hours? 

It was a pitying scene, your Jedi robes removed and scattered on the ground, leaving you in only a thin long sleeve and pants. Your lightsaber, the thing you worked so hard for, forgotten somewhere on a betting table. This was your reality now.

A fallen Jedi they called you.

Another groaned turned sob escapes your lips, your hands shakily rising to cover your face as if you could simply hide away from this life. Lost in your wallowing, you almost didn't hear the cantina bands music dull down to a few notes. The subtle stall of conversation in the cantina. The icy feeling of being watched from somewhere, or, everywhere at once. The force, plucking gently at your instincts through the layers of grief and drinks.

Run.

Your body moves on instinct, throwing up the large wooden table as a gloved hand reaches for you. Your feet sludge through your clothes and you let out a curse, your gaze swaying as you try to steady yourself. A flash of metal, and you move once more, the other cantina patrons shoving past you to escape out the few available exits. Your head whips around, trying to catch a glance of your assailant, but somehow they melt into the darkened corners surrounding you. Your eyes flutter shut, reaching out to that warm feeling surrounding you, that gentle pull that's been with you all your life. The Force thrums to life, spiking with intensity behind you within seconds. You gasp, flipping around just in time to face him.

He was huge, his frame surrounding all points of your vision as he stalks towards you. The beskar armor reflects the few light sources above, making him practically invisible. You move towards your belt but your hand is only met with open air. Your curse as your eyes see your lightsaber only a few tables away, gleaming in the dark. 

“I don't want any trouble,” you manage to say, your voice rough and scratchy from the hours of wailing your heart out before. He stands only a few inches in front of you, causing you to tilt your head fully back to look at the small visor on his helmet. He tilts his head as if he were actually regarding your plea. You should have known better.

His hand quickly grabs for your arm and waist, practically holding you to the spot with minimal struggle. You hear the clink of bracers from his belt as his other hand smoothly brings them towards you. You struggle in his grip trying to push away from him. Even the Force seemed to slip away from you causing a bitter laugh to rise in your throat.

“I don't regret it, making him hurt.” You whisper, the thought leaving your lips before you could catch it. It was an admission of what you did and yet the Mandalorian paused.. Your heart continued to pound in your chest as you waited for him to continue with his mission, to feel those cold pieces of armor clamp around your wrists. Your eyes glance to his hand still frozen at his side and your ears could pick up the soft squeak of leather from his grip as he tightens his hold on you and the metal cuffs. Your gasp draws his attention back to you as he lowers his hand on your waist, letting it fall to his side. 

“Was told a Jedi went rogue, attacked a Senator in his home.” His modulated voice was softer than you would have imagined, and you blink up at him as you register his words. You nod, your throat drying as the events flood back to your mind. 

“The Senator has been known to disregard the protection of male Jedis. I was sent instead, exactly as he requested.” You state, the practiced cool of your voice barely wavering as you take in another breath. 

“I merely protected the other Jedi they would have sent after me. He needed to understand that that would never happen to anyone again.” His screams still lingered in your ears; his petrified face locked onto yours as you unsheathed your lightsaber. It wasn't a killing blow, but it left a big enough scar so that he would never forget who gave it to him. The Mandalorian seemed to nod, and you glanced around nervously as the last remnant of alcohol burned from your system. 

“So, are you taking me back?” You whisper softly, trying to peer into the darkened T of the helmet and imagine just who was underneath. His hands move quickly and your body jerks back in surprise. His movement halts to a complete stop, before continuing slowly, placing the cuffs back onto his belt. 

“I am meant to complete my mission.”

Your stomach drops at his words, yet you nod firmly, accepting what was to wait for you back with the senate. They already claimed you betrayed the Jedi order, they already set a bounty on you. A once honorable Jedi knight now turned enemy.

“But the bounty escaped.”

Your eyes jerk back up to his, your breath hitching in your throat as you take in his words. The Mandalorian turns silently, moving to one of the nearby exits. He turns back to look at you, tilting his head as a sign to follow. You scrabble to gather your discarded clothes in the wreckage of the bar as you shuffle to follow him out. Your eyes land on that piece of metal that seemed to call out to you, pleading for you to bring it along. What was a Jedi without their lightsaber? You sniffle as you trace a loving finger over the hilt you had grown up with. The cantina wasn't a complete mess, but enough debris remained that you could spot a broken slat of wooden floor near the table you had thrown. Deep enough to hide something and inconspicuous enough to not be examined in detail. Carefully, you place the saber into the hole, sliding it until it was out of view and lost somewhere under the wooden flooring. The roar of a ship interrupted your thoughts, reminding you that he was waiting, and you were to join him.

That was months ago. Now, you sit lazily in the copilot chair on the razor crest, watching the coordinates Mando punched in with ease. 

“Ti’yar again? Really?” You ask excitedly, turning to face the bounty hunter. He just nods, placing the ship into autopilot for the foreseeable future.

“A lead recommended Ti’yar for information on a bounty.” Is all he says, standing up to make his way back to the shared living space outside of the cockpit. You watch him leave with a fond smile. It took some time before you grew accustomed to his curt words but now you found yourself understanding the Mandalorian better. He was kind, in his own way. Most people projected their kindness with loud actions, but Mando preferred his to go unnoticed if he couldn't help it. It started back when you first boarded the ship. How he scavenged up some clothes for you to change into. Or how he made a small storage room into your own personal space. When you tried to thank him he simply waved you off.

“It's nothing. Besides, you have your own work cut out for you.”

He wasn't wrong. You began helping him locate his bounties as a way to “pay” him back. The Force didn't leave you as you once thought it would, instead, it moved differently than you were used to. Your relationship worked and you wouldn't trade it for anything. 

But that's all it was. Business.

Sometimes you wondered if it could be more. 

You follow him deeper into the ship as excitement pours out of you. Ti’yar was a coastal city nestled in thick green forests. The first time you visited you wondered if the place was even real. With delicious food and festivals, you made it known this was your favorite stop on your journey so far. A part of you wondered about his reason for the sudden voyage. 

‘The bounty doesn't have any known ties to Ti’yar, so why stop..’ 

Your feet continued to propel you forward as you tried to understand, causing you to smack into the solid back of the bounty hunter. Mando quickly turns around as his hands gently land on your shoulders to steady you. 

“You ‘kay?” He grumbles, his hands quickly retreating to his sides so quick you almost missed that subtle flex of his leather clad hands after they touched you. 

“Mhhm.” You couldn't help the smile spreading across your face at his gentle actions. 

“Be ready in three hours.” Is all he says before turning back around and heading to his room farther down the hall. The feeling of his hands still warmed your shoulders, and you couldn't help gently running your hand along the spots he had touched, as if you could feel some sort of remnant of him there. 

The Jedi code didn't care when it came to physical relationships.

The Jedi code warned against attachments. 

Attachments led to fear and jealousy.

You were no longer Jedi.

The thought still churned your stomach, but the concept of freedom melted across your tongue like honey. You had choices now. This was something that could be yours, by your decision. Your mind began to form an idea. One that made your heart race with desire. Did you even know what desire was? Passion? You wondered how it would feel to choose someone for more than just the reason of being there. Would he even want that?

Three hours didn't seem long enough to quell your hurricane of a mind before the ship began its descent, your future only a few hundred feet below you.

The Mandalorian emerged from his room, moving back to the cockpit to steady the Razor Crests landing. He found himself looking for you. His gaze automatically sweeping the ship before they landed on you, your body tucked carefully into the copilot chair. You were wearing a flowing tunic, the material so thin and light he imagined he could tear it with a touch. You turned, wearing that maker damned smile you always wore when you looked at him. The smile that made his chest clench with some unknown feeling. 

“Ready to catch a bounty?” You grinned as he sat himself into his seat, fighting the urge to adjust his body under your stare. 

“Just information.” He reminded you, his voice stuck in his throat for whatever reason. He could tell from the heat of your gaze you wanted to say more to him and he thanked the maker the ship began its landing protocol before you could. Something felt different. The air felt heated more than it ever had. He always made sure you were comfortable. He kept his touches gentle and when he was capable, always with warning. That day still haunted him. Receiving the bounty for some Jedi the Senate proclaimed as dangerous, only to find you alone in some dingy bar crying by yourself. He had moved without thought as he approached you. His hand reaching out for what? He barely had time to react as you flipped that table. In any other case he would have been proud and when you told him what you did to that Senator, he knew he wasn't turning you in. 

You were the most fierce and beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

You didn't need him to protect you but he would be damned if he didnt keep you as safe as he could. 

“Mando? Mando-”

He was torn from his thoughts as he glanced back at you. Your eyes, so wide and trusting. His hand tightened into a fist as he stood up and moved towards the docking bay of the ship. Your footsteps chased after him quickly as he exited the ship and stepped onto the soft ground of Ti’yar. 

“You are ignoring me!” You huff as you finally make it back to his side and he only felt a small twinge of displeasure at making you feel ignored. 

“We have things to do.” Is all he says when really, that's all he can manage. He can feel your shock and frustration as he begins to walk the trail leading down into the town.

“Mando!” You call after him and he swears just one order from you would bring him to his knees.

Then you speak.

His body stops. His heart pounds in his chest. He turns towards you slowly to keep his instincts at bay.

“What did you say?” The gravelly tone of his voice seems to surprise you. You let out a groan as you cross your arms over your chest.

“If you tried to catch me like a bounty, how long would it take you?” The words leave your voice with a false air of confidence despite the slight shake in your body. You move down the trail carefully while keeping your eyes locked onto where you imagined his were staring right back at you. 

“I've always wondered since that day, if you had seriously tried to catch me, and I tried to run, how long would it take you to get me?” You say again. Despite his face being hidden you could feel the air begin to change with sharp spikes of electricity. The Force, tugging at your heels.

Run.

Run.

Run.

“If I wanted to catch you, it wouldn't take long at all.” The Mandalorians' voice rasped out and hearing it sent a thrill down your spine.

“I’m a little hurt you think so little of me-”

“I could never think little of you.”

His interruption caused your eyes to widen as you stared at one another. That unknown heat began to rise in your body, demanding to be felt for once in your life. This was it. Your decision. Your desire.

“I want to try then.”

He waited for you to explain.

“I want to run from you, and I want you to chase me. Or at least, I want you to want to chase me." You couldn't stop the words from pouring out of your mouth. "I want to make this choice, and I want you to have one as well." Those inner dreams and desires finally see the light of day in your new life. The silence rings loudly in your ears as you wait for him to do anything. You begin to feel the panic rise in your chest. “You can choose to follow me or not, Mando, but I am going, and if I have to prove to you I am serious about this I will-" Your words cause him to step towards you once more.

‘Oh maker, I’ve messed this all up,this is too much for him, I’m too much-’

“I’ll give you thirty minutes to get to town.” His modulated voice cuts through the air, sending chills down your spine. Mando huffs and adjusts his stance before you, "And I know you're serious about this, it's just-" You can hear him sigh as he shakes his head, opening his bracer to set a time limit before snapping it back shut. “We will use these comms to communicate when needed.” He moves forward once more, placing a small comms link into your hand.

“Once I am hunting you, I won't stop, and once I catch you, you will have another choice to make." He says simply, his hand lingering over yours. You stare up at him, the beating of your heart filling the air. "Once I catch you, I'll let you go, if that's what you want. You can keep running." 

Your face is so flushed and beautiful he has to fight the urge to groan at the sight.

 "And if I decide to not run?" You ask softly, looking up to his masked face.

The Mandalorian takes another breath, finally pulling his hand back. "If you decide to stay, you're mine." 

There it was, his choice, the desire for you palpable in his words. You wanted to know what he wanted and there it was.

It would always be you.

Excitement ran through your body as you two stood closely together.  “I guess you'll have to catch me to know my answer.” You whisper up to him, laced with that teasing tone he had grown so used to.

All he does is nod. It's all he can do.

The game was afoot. 

Ti’yar was just as breathtaking as you remembered. The streets were full of merchants and shops with smiling faces calling out to you. It only took you a few minutes to get into the center of town, and you felt confident about your good timing. You glance around the tall buildings before spotting a small lodging near the water's edge.

“A beautiful establishment, very romantic.” A small voice speaks from beside you, your eyes looking down to the small framed grandmother sweeping the ground next to your feet.

“Do they have any openings?” You ask politely while you will the Force to gently push the pile of dust together for her with ease. The elder laughs with glee but says nothing about the act.

“Tell them Inana sentcha’, they’ll give you the best suite for you and your partner up there.” 

Inana gestures towards the Razor Crest only a few miles away, just a small glint of metal on the skyline. You grow flustered quickly opening your mouth to oppose her words before she moves away from you, humming happily. The lodge catches your eye once more, glowing against the ocean in a hypnotizing way. You bite your lip, weighing the options. You had enough to pay for a great room, but would Mando realize that you weren't hiding in the actual town too quickly? Inana passes in front of you once more and you smile as an idea enters your head. You quickly take out a handful of credits and approach Inana, taking her hand and placing them into her frail hand. Inana lets out a gasp as she sees the amount now in her possession.

“Whatever is this for?” She asks, her eyes wide and curious. 

“If a Mandalorian comes this way, please let him know you saw me enter that building over there.” You explain, pointing to a building a few streets up from the plaza. Inana shakes her head, her face contorted in confusion. 

“I guess I can, that Mandalorian was always trouble, but, whatever for dear?” She asks, and from the care and kindness in her voice you have half a mind to just stay here with her. 

“I care about that person a lot. I want to prove to him I am not as delicate as he thinks I am.”

Inana clucks her tongue at you, causing a bashful flush to rise to your cheeks. 

“I’m sure he knows that young lady, but your secret is safe with me.” She smiles, patting your hand gently. 

The sun was already beginning to set, warm rays of reds and yellows painting the scenery around you. You take a deep breath as you stretch and take in the salty air. Your thirty minutes was almost up. Careful to walk along the busiest parts of the roads you slip in between groups of people, hoping they would hide your footprints as much as possible. The lodge wasn't too far from town, but the sun was already sunk behind the sea by the time you approached the front doors. The Twi’lek at the front desk happily accepted your credit and recommendation from Inana and tugged you along to a room facing the water. It wasn't too high of a floor nor too low, so if Mando was to even come this far out it would give you ample time to form a plan before he found you. 

The room was beautiful. Calm colors painted the room and you could spot a large bathtub with copious amounts of soaps. The bed centered against the wall took your breath away by the amount of blankets and pillows alone. Your fingers roamed over the fine silk of a robe the staff left out for you on the mattress and you knew you would be dreaming of this place forever. A grin practically splits your face as you slip into it only to be interrupted by the sharp hiss of the device in your ear.

“It was smart to send me in the wrong direction.” His voice was low and husky, even more modulated by the crackle of the device. 

“Don't tell me you badgered an old woman into giving you directions, Mando?” You smiled despite the surprise of his realizing your game already. You carefully moved up onto the soft sheets, noticing how easily two people could fit on the bed.  

“She gave me an earful about, what did she say, how much you liked me?” 

You gasped and flew up on the bed, heat rising to your face with ferocity. 

“I said care! How much I cared-” You slapped a hand over your mouth, inwardly groaning as a chuckle crackled from his end of the connection. 

“Good to know, sweet girl.”

Any comeback you had for him sizzled out on your tongue. 

“Now, where are you?” 

You roll your eyes, stretching out on the silken comforter while a groan escapes your lips. You could swear you heard a small hitch in his breath at your noise and you couldn't help the boost to your ego.

“Miss me that much already?”

“If I say yes will you just come home already?”

Home.

You weren't sure if he even realized what he said by the constant grumbling coming from his end of the call. “I’m a strong fallen Jedi, it would take more than some flirting to bring me back.” You tease, waiting to hear some sly remark back. You are met with static.

“Did I make you feel like you weren't?” He asks. His voice was soft and almost, you realized with curiosity, vulnerable. 

“No, you didn't, just-”

“Just what?”

“I like that you take care of me.” You state, almost impressed by the confidence in your voice. You take in a small breath before continuing, “I like it, but I needed to know it was what you wanted. The Jedi live devoted lives, it's how I was raised but now, I can choose too.” You can hear him exhale on the other end, and you could practically see his head nodding along to your words. “I want you to have that choice too, I mean you're already coming for me, unless you changed your mind, which I would still support-”

He chuckles once more at your ramblings, and the sound goes straight to your heart to tuck away for later. 

“Noted, but I’m not leaving you.” Is all he says, the warmth in his voice seeping into your mind with ease.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy despite the racing of your heart. This was nice. It was rare you and him got a chance to speak so freely. You yawn as you stretch out and nestle into the mountain of pillows arranged on the bed, a content and happy smile on your lips. 

“You tired, sweet girl?” He asks softly, and you could almost swear there's a crackling sound of ocean waves from his end. 

“Not at all…” You whisper as your voice trails off, confirming his suspicions. 

“Do you want to know why we stopped on Ti’yar?” He asks suddenly. You nod, not even thinking that he couldn't see your response. “I remembered how much you loved it when we came last time. Your eyes just, glowed, seeing the ocean and town. I wanted to make that happen again.You deserve this, you deserve more than what I can give you cyar’ika.” 

You want to protest, to tell him he is everything you deserve and more, but sleep overtakes you, only allowing a small whisper of acknowledgement to Din. He doesn't mind, rather, hearing your small huffs of sleep makes him feel better. Knowing you were in this lodge safe, proving you could run from him. It took him longer to find you than he anticipated. That old woman certainly tricked him, but he couldn't help the pride in him when he realized how smart you had been. His gaze travels up to take in the waterfront lodge. It was beautiful. Exactly the kind of place he hoped you'd find. He enters the front door, briefly talking with that same Twi'lek as before. He mutters some lies along the lines of wife and husband before they tell him what room you were in. He carefully stalks towards your room, his bounty hunter instincts urging him to move faster and faster. He finds your door, pushing it open gently. There you were, nestled so peacefully on the bed it almost made him want to leave you.

Almost.

He approaches you gently, taking in your form swathed in some silken robe that made his jaw clench. The lights flickered on to a dull glow, just enough light to see your form before him. His hand reaches out, gently brushing the soft skin of your cheek against the cool leather of his glove. You groan softly, and he has to stifle a similar noise leaving his lips. 

“Cyar’ika.” He says softly, watching with bated breath as your eyes flutter open. You roll over, unsurprised to see him before you. 

“How did I do, bounty hunter?” You ask with a sleepy smile despite the hot sensation of his hand on your cheek. 

“You did wonderful.” He says quickly, his tone so sure and confident. You sigh as you sit up and Din isn't sure if he should remove his hand or not. He decides on the latter, and gently lowers his hand before you snatch it up in your grip tightly. You pull him closer and you can feel the tautness of his body. He found his bounty and was ready to strike.

“You caught me.” You whisper softly, sitting up on the sheets to look up at him. The bed was high enough that as you sat on your knees you easily were at eye level with him. 

You already knew your choice.

You both knew.

You carefully pulled his hand to your waist, like he had all those months ago. Instead of that gruff hold he once used now he barely grips you. His hand shakes as if he is fighting himself to stay there. 

“I trust you.” Is all you say, giving him a soft smile as your hands move forward towards his armored chest. You hiss at the cold sensation of the beskar on your palms but continue roaming over his body. Your movements seem to calm him enough that you feel his hand finally rest fully on your waist, his thumb rubbing a rhythmic pattern on the silk robe.

You hum as you examine his body even further, your hands trailing up to his pauldrons and resting easily along the fabric of his cloak secured around his neck. His breath hitched only slightly and you wished you could see it for yourself. 

“You touch me as if I’ll vanish.” You muse gently. Your head tilts back to gaze up to his visored face. His head tilts to the side, exposing the smallest sliver of tanned skin underneath. 

“Sometimes I’m afraid you will.” Was his response. Mando’s tone is surprisingly soft despite the edge of his modulator. His hand tightens only slightly, barely inching up towards your ribcage. “I’m afraid you will realize you could do so much better than be stuck with me.”

His words strike you. Your eyes glance up to him with concern, “The only place I want to be is with you.” Your whispered confession floats up to him.

You are not sure who moves first.

Your body is crushed against his, those gloved hands roaming across your body as his cold metal helmet pushes itself into your neck. He’s mumbling, low and intelligible and it makes you giggle as your hands scrape against the rough fabric of his flight suit. You gasp as you're suddenly pushed down onto the plush bed. Mando’s hand still splayed on your lower back, pulling you up and against him. You gasp at the sudden friction as he moves himself between your thighs.

“Tell me what you want, cyar’ika.” He says in a low tone while trailing his hand from your back down to your thigh. Your thoughts were frazzled. A deep heat rising to your cheeks as you try to stammer out your desires. 

“I want-I want to feel you.” Your plea is met with quick movements from him, his hands quickly tearing off the leather gloves to reveal tan skin underneath. You reach for him slowly, shocked to feel just how warm he was. His hands were rough and calloused but they felt so right. You pull his hand to your face, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. The Mandalorian groans, his body jerking against yours. You grin at his reaction. 

“All that for a kiss, Mando?” You tease, pulling his hand down your neck and leaving him to the skin revealed under your robe. There's a modulated gasp and maker you think you just discovered your favorite sound. 

“Can I?” Mando asks through gritted teeth, fisting the silken robe on your body. All it takes is a whispered yes from you before your body is revealed to the cool night air. He lets out a hiss as he takes in your naked form, glowing under the soft lights within the room. You begin to worry, maybe it was too forward, but any thoughts were squashed as his hands began to roam over your skin, leaving no spot untouched. 

His thumb brushes against one of your hardened nipples and you have to bite down on a moan from how sensitive you felt below him. You had dalliances with other Jedi, all quick and to the point. But none held you like this. None touched your body with so much reverence.

“So fucking beautiful, cyar’ika.” He moans out, his hips grinding down against yours. Your legs part, making room for him as his hands struggle to decide where to go and another groan of frustration leaves his lips.

“Mando-please-” 

“It’s Din.”

In your fevered state, you still manage to glance at him with confusion.

“My name is Din.” He emphasizes before his hand trails down your stomach and to the slick pool growing between your legs, gently coaxing small moans from your lips. His fingers move deftly across your folds, rubbing that spot so perfectly before stopping completely. You let out a frustrated groan, trying to grind against him for any kind of friction to relieve yourself. Din chuckles as he shakes his head. 

“Say it, sweet girl. Say my name.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as your body aches from the lack of contact. “Please, Din, I need you-” You barely could finish your begging before his fingers plunged into you, arching your body off the bed. Din moved with expert precision, finding that sweet spot with a simple curl of his fingers that made you see stars. Then you felt it, that warm pull at the edge of your senses. You tried to focus, but every thrust of his fingers made you gasp, and you were losing control quickly.

“Din, I want to, if you'd like-”

“You can do whatever you want with me.” He interrupts, the words ringing so true between you two. You spent so much time wanting to be his so badly, it almost surprised you to hear just how badly he wanted to belong to you. 

You moved the Force like syrup, rolling lazily towards Din until it reached lower, and lower-

Din made a startled gasp as his hips stuttered, grinding into the space between you..

“Cyar’ika-” He chokes out, but continues his rhythmic movement with his fingers. You moan encouragingly, willing the sensation surrounding his clothes bulge to grow stronger, rubbing teasingly along his length. 

It almost made you blush at realizing just how much of him was hidden away.

“Fuck, sweet girl, youre so perfect-” He gasps, his fingers speeding up within you. You gasp and writhe underneath him, that tension rising within you and so ready to snap. He was close, you could tell, and you gently drew the Force back from him, his body shaking with pleasure. “Din, I need you inside me-” You plead, grinding your hips up to his. Din nods, pulling his fingers out of you with a wet sound as he fumbles with his armor and belts. 

You smile, sitting up carefully to assist him. Your hands bump against each other as you both laugh softly, trying to remove the beskar quickly. Eventually, he is in his flightsuit, and you can spy the small zipper over his lower half. You scoot forward, gently bringing your hand to the zipper and pulling until his thick length bobbed out for you to see. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, your body leaning down to him before Din chuckled, gently grasping your chin as he shakes his head. 

“Next time, cyar'ika, I don't think I will last.” He growls, pushing you back onto the bed gently, “And I want this to last.” His chest plate brushes against your breasts, causing you to gasp as his weight consumes you. He breathes heavily above you, lacing your hands with his beside your head.

“You want this?” He asks, his tone now soft and gentle. His body stays above yours, so close to bringing you that pleasure you desired. “Even though I can’t remove my helmet, you want this?”

You could practically hear the other question he wanted to ask.

Do you want me?

A shaky breath escapes your lips, your eyes peering up to his face. You nod, squeezing his hand. “I want you Din. I always will.” You tell him softly, leaning up to place a kiss on his helmet. Din chuckles before carefully guiding himself into you, hissing at the tightness surrounding him.

“Maker, you feel more perfect than I imagined,” He gasps, sinking all the way into you. You let out a shaky breath, nodding at how perfectly full you were. 

“You were made for me, cyar’ika, now I’ll never let you go.” He growls, slapping his hips against yours, a sharp moan leaving your lips as he drives into you. 

“Shit, Din, please-” You weren't sure what you were begging for, but with each thrust you were losing more and more logic. You turn your head, biting down onto the fabric on his forearm as he hits that sweet spot repeatedly. The bed was creaking across the floor, but neither of you cared, pleasure blinding you both from any consequences or care.

“I’m close, sweet girl, where do you want me to-”

“Inside me Din, please, I want to feel you inside me.”

Din wasn't sure what he had done to deserve you. He thrust into you, faster and faster, your moans turning into a scream of pleasure as his hand touches you once more, bringing you to deafening pleasure. Din was not far behind you, thrusting only a few more times until you could feel his warmth coating your insides, filling you up even more than you thought possible. He groans, sinking down on top of you, his weight adding an extra sense of security as he stays inside of you. You both stay silent, aside from the short gasps between the both of you as you try to regain control over your hearts.

“Was that good?” You finally ask, trailing a hand along his back. 

He chuckles, shaking his head at your tone. “I think you've destroyed me cyar’ika.” He mumbles, causing you to laugh softly. The lights in the room began to dull as the sun rose over the ocean, filling the walls with those same streaks of red and gold like you saw last night. You can feel Dins breathing slow as your hand strokes his back, sleep consuming him quickly. 

Maker, when was the last time you felt like this? So safe and happy? Your eyes began to flutter closed as well, even as Dins arms tightened around your body and secured you to him. 

“You’re mine, cyar’ika.” He grumbles, and you nod in agreement at his words.

“I'm yours, always yours.”

The Jedi and Mandalorian lay with one another under the soft rays of sunrise, their breathing matching one another's even as the town awakens, a new day beginning.

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

so, uh... i've always thought about how logan is a thigh person and i haven't really written about it 'till i saw this post. and last night i just sat down and wrote this in one go because i was inspired. it's also a different style from what i normally do, but i hope y'all like it!

warnings/tags: fem!reader, thick thighs, fluff, thigh fucking, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), slight overstimulation

Logan loves every part of you, no matter who you are or how you look. But if you have thick thighs? He’s a goner.

He loves it when you wear leggings or anything that accentuates them.

If you choose to wear shorts or a skirt you always complain about them riding up and chafing, so he always has lotion and an extra pair of shorts (that are longer) even if you never wear them.

Logan’s hand will never leave your thigh if you’re sitting next to him. At dinner? Hand on thigh. In the common room? Hand on thigh. In the car? Hand. On. Thigh.

You were embarrassed at first when you wore skinny jeans—or anything pair of pants that made that awful swooshing sound.

Logan only noticed it because you would slow down in the hallway before resuming your normal pace before doing it all over again. Multiple times.

Logan doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you do that little shuffle-stop thing over and over. Then, after the fifth or sixth time, he huffs. "Darlin', what the hell are you doin’?"

You freeze mid-step, feeling heat crawl up your neck. "Nothing."

"Uh-huh." His gaze drops to your thighs, eyes narrowing. "S’yer jeans, ain’t it?"

You groan, throwing your head back. "They make that stupid noise!"

Logan smirks. "Yeah, I noticed. Cute."

You glare at him. "It's not cute. It’s annoying."

"Nah," he says, stepping closer, his voice dropping. "But know what is? The way those jeans hug ya." His hands—warm, rough, possessive—find your hips. "Don’t gotta be self-conscious, sugar. Just means I get t’hear ya comin’."

18+

Logan isn’t afraid to try something new in the bedroom, and you’re okay with experimenting. So when his cock brushed your already wet cunt but didn’t push in, you just thought he was going to tease you (again).

When his cock slides between your thighs, hot and hard, Logan lets out a low, satisfied growl. "Damn, sweetheart… told ya I love these thighs."

Your legs are over his shoulders, the muscles flexing as he moves, the slick glide of his cock between them making everything feel impossibly intimate. You can feel every pulse, every twitch, the heat of him pressing in close but not quite where you expected.

You let out a whine, shifting beneath him. "Logan—"

"Shh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your knee. "Just relax, darlin’. Lemme enjoy this."

His rough hands grip your thighs, squeezing, kneading—appreciative, greedy. He loves the way they frame him, the way his cock slides through the tight press of your skin, the friction enough to drive him wild.

"You’re so warm," he mutters, voice thick with need. His thumbs stroke over your soft flesh, then press in, urging your thighs to tighten around him. "Fuck, that’s it."

You whimper when the tip of his cock drags over your clit with each slow thrust, the teasing, rhythmic pressure enough to have your toes curling.

"You feel that?" Logan smirks, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches your face. "Bet you love it, huh?"

Your breath hitches. "Y-yeah—"

"Good." His voice is rough, gravelly, dripping with satisfaction. "’Cause I could do this all night."

One hand slips down to cup the back of your knee, keeping your legs in place as he speeds up just enough to have you gasping.

"Logan—" Your fingers dig into the sheets, nails biting deep. "Please."

He groans, pressing forward until your thighs are flush against his abs, his cock still gliding between them, slick with both of you. "Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so good, sweetheart."

And then—his lips on your skin, his teeth scraping, the sharp bite of them against your inner thigh making you jerk beneath him. He soothes the sting with his tongue, then chuckles at your reaction.

"Sensitive?" He smirks against your skin. "Gotta remember that."

You’re gasping now, fingers tangling in his hair as he mouths at your thigh, his breath hot and heavy. Every thrust of his hips sends sparks through you, your thighs slick and trembling against him.

And when he finally pulls back to look at you, pupils blown wide, breath ragged, he grins—slow, lazy, devastating.

"You’re gonna let me do this again," he murmurs, dragging his cock against you one last time before pulling back just enough to position himself. "Ain’tcha?"

You can’t even form words—you just nod, desperate, whimpering, thighs still trembling.

"Good girl," he growls, sinking into you at last.

And when he does fuck you, Logan's got you where he wants you—on your side, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the other pressed into the mattress beneath his weight. His hands grip the meat of your thigh, fingers sinking in as he uses it for leverage, each slow, deliberate thrust pressing you deeper into the sheets.

His breath is ragged, his voice rough against your skin. "Fuck, sugar… feel so damn good like this." His fingers tighten, spreading your leg just a little wider, just enough to make the drag of his cock that much deeper.

You let out a gasp, nails biting into his forearm. "Logan—"

He hums, lips brushing the soft inside of your knee. "Yeah, darlin’?" Like he doesn't know exactly what you want. Like he isn't already giving it to you.

The angle has you feeling everything—every thick inch of him sliding deep, every twitch, every pulse. You can’t do much more than whimper, thighs shaking as the pressure builds.

"S’what I thought." He smirks, dropping his head to nip at the tender skin of your thigh. "You’re all fuckin’ talk ‘til I’ve gotcha like this."

His thrusts pick up, the steady push and pull making the bed creak beneath you. His grip is bruising, his body all heat and muscle as he keeps you exactly where he wants you.

"Fuck, look atcha," he mutters, dragging his gaze over your body. "Spread open f’me, takin’ it so fuckin’ good." His hand drags over your thigh, palm rough, possessive, before squeezing. "Made for this, huh?"

Your breath hitches, the pleasure twisting tight in your belly.

Logan grins—slow, wicked. "Yeah, you are."

He fucks you like that for what feels like forever, keeping you right on the edge, dragging it out just to watch you squirm. The smirk on his face is nothing short of smug when your fingers tangle in his hair, desperate, needy.

"Logan, please—"

He groans, shifting his grip, his fingers pressing deep as he pulls your thigh up higher, pushing in until there’s no space left between you. "That’s it," he rasps. "Let me hear you, darlin’."

You whimper, arching beneath him, the new angle hitting something that makes your vision blur.

His voice drops lower, gravelly. "Mmm, bet that’s real good, huh?"

You don’t answer—can’t answer—not when he’s got you like this, not when every thrust has you unraveling beneath him.

When he finds himself between your legs, whether it’s you on your back or you sitting on his face, he can’t help but think that this is exactly where he wants to be.

If you’re on your back, Logan’s got your thighs pinned apart, hands pressing into the soft flesh like he’s got no intention of letting go. His grip is firm, possessive, like he’s staking his claim right then and there. "Fuckin’ perfect," he mutters, dragging his lips along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Could stay down here forever, darlin’."

He’s got a habit of teasing, dragging things out just to watch you squirm, but the second you thread your fingers through his hair and give the slightest tug? That’s it—he’s gone. He groans against you, rough and low, and then his tongue is on you, hot and unrelenting.

His stubble scratches against your skin, leaving the perfect mix of rough and soft, and when he catches the way your thighs start to tremble, he just tightens his grip. "Nah, sweetheart," he murmurs between slow, wet strokes. "Ain’t lettin’ you run from this."

And if you try to close your thighs around his head? Oh, he loves that. Growls into you, lets his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, holding you open despite the way you’re shaking. "That’s it," he groans, voice muffled against you. "Fuckin’ take it."

But when you’re on top of him? That’s a whole different kind of feral. He’s lying back, arms hooked around your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wants you. His gaze is heavy, dark with hunger as he watches you hover over him, breath hitching when you lower yourself down.

The second you settle against his mouth, Logan groans like he’s been starving for this. His grip tightens, fingers flexing against your thighs before dragging you down even further. "C’mon, sweetheart," he rasps against you, "lemme have it."

He lets you move at your own pace—at first. But it doesn’t take long before he gets impatient, before his hands tighten and his tongue flicks just right and suddenly, he’s guiding your hips, making you ride his mouth the way he wants.

The sounds he makes—fuck, they’re sinful. The low growls, the groans vibrating against you, the sharp inhales when you tug on his hair. He’s fucking obsessed, and he doesn’t care if you know it.

"Taste so damn good," he mutters between deep, deliberate strokes of his tongue. "Could do this all night, darlin’."

And if you try to pull away—too much, too intense—Logan just growls, arms tightening around your thighs to keep you exactly where you are. "Nope," he grits out. "You stay right there, sugar."

He’s relentless. Keeps going until you’re shaking, gasping, fingers tangling in his hair as you lose yourself against him. And even then, even after you’ve come undone, he presses a few more slow, teasing kisses against your sensitive skin, smirking when you whimper at the overstimulation.

"Mmm," he hums, finally pulling back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, eyes full of mischief. "Think I might be addicted."

don't ask what happened or why it's so long, 'cause i don't have an answer😂

i was on a roll (and possibly ovulating - what? who said that?)

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ rekindling

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

word count: 6.1k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

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

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

series masterlist - chapter 8 → chapter 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You beamed. "Really?"

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He cooks now?” she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like crap,” Jubilee said with zero hesitation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan, seriously, I’m fine—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan…” You blinked, taken aback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could at least pretend to be embarrassed,” you muttered, adjusting your satchel again.

“Why?” Logan asked, his voice tinged with amusement. “You look cute when you’re all flustered.” He leaned in close, brushing a final kiss against your temple before stepping back. “See you later, darlin’.”

As he turned to walk away, you shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. You brushed your fingers over your lips, still tingling from the intensity of the kiss.

---

Logan adjusted the cufflinks of his tux, muttering under his breath about how "these damn things are more trouble than they’re worth." The sound of his grumbling carried through the slightly ajar bathroom door, making you smile as you finished touching up your lipstick. Jean’s red shade was bold, but it worked, complementing your minimalist black dress.

You capped the tube and gave your reflection a once-over. The dress fit perfectly, the sleek design emphasizing your figure without feeling over the top. You adjusted your glasses and smoothed a hand down the fabric before stepping out into the bedroom.

Logan was by the dresser, still fidgeting with his cufflinks, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his hands stilled. His lips parted slightly, the earlier irritation on his face melting into something softer, something almost reverent.

“You clean up nice,” he said, voice lower than usual. His gaze roamed over you, lingering on the curve of your waist before meeting your eyes. “Real nice.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling a heat creep up your cheeks under his scrutiny. You crossed the room, and as you did, Logan closed the distance between you in two strides. His hand found your waist, warm and steady, before moving to rest gently against your stomach.

“Turn around for me,” he said, his voice a mix of request and command. His fingers pressed lightly, guiding you into a slow spin. As you moved, his hand never left you, sliding from your waist to the small of your back, then back to your waist again when you completed the turn.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he said, his words filled with quiet admiration. “Should’ve made you wear this dress sooner.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not exactly standard mission gear.”

His other hand came up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Maybe not, but you wear it better than anyone at that gala’s gonna.” His thumb grazed your jaw, and for a moment, the mission faded from your mind entirely. It was just you, Logan, and the soft pull of his presence.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself back to reality. “We should get going. The sooner we get in, the sooner we can find what we’re looking for.”

Logan smirked, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “You’re the brains of this operation, sweetheart. Lead the way.”

---

The gala was held in a grand hotel in the heart of the city, the kind of place that practically dripped with wealth and excess. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses. You and Logan entered arm-in-arm, blending seamlessly into the crowd of well-dressed elites.

The two of you moved with purpose, your fingers lightly resting against Logan’s arm as he guided you through the throng. You kept your movements casual, your faces relaxed, though beneath the surface, the tension of the mission buzzed like static. The target was somewhere in this room—or at least someone who knew how to access the server room where the sensitive information was being stored.

“Keep your eyes open,” Logan muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

“Always,” you replied, offering a soft smile for the benefit of onlookers as you tilted your head toward him. “You see anything yet?”

“Just a bunch of rich assholes,” Logan said, his tone gruff. “No sign of the guy.”

You nodded subtly, letting your gaze sweep across the room. The gala attendees were exactly as you’d expected—wealthy, polished, and exuding an air of untouchable arrogance. The kind of people who could fund black-market experiments on mutants and still sleep soundly at night.

Jean’s voice crackled softly in your hidden earpiece. “Remember, the server room is two floors down, heavily guarded, and keycard access only. If you can get the host’s card, it’ll save us a lot of trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it,” Logan grunted, briefly touching his ear to acknowledge the message.

You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. Just follow my lead.”

Logan shot you a skeptical look, but the corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smirk. “You’re the brains, sweetheart. I’m just here to look good in a tux.”

“And to punch people if necessary,” you teased, your voice light despite the weight of the mission.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That too.”

As you approached the bar, you caught sight of the host—a tall, broad-shouldered man with slicked-back hair and a predatory smile. He was surrounded by a small group of sycophants, his laugh too loud and his gestures exaggerated. On his lapel was the small, telltale glint of a security badge.

“There he is,” you murmured, leaning slightly into Logan as though sharing a private moment.

Logan followed your gaze and grunted in acknowledgment. “What’s the plan?”

You considered for a moment before replying. “We split up. I’ll distract him and see if I can get the keycard. You keep an eye on the exits in case things get messy.”

Logan’s hand tightened slightly on your waist. “Don’t get too close, darlin’.”

You smiled, the expression meant to reassure him. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I always do,” he said, his voice softer now.

With that, you slipped away from him, weaving through the crowd with ease. You approached the host with a disarming smile, your movements graceful and deliberate.

“Excuse me,” you said, your voice carrying just the right mix of politeness and charm. “This is my first time at one of these events. You wouldn’t happen to be the host, would you?”

The man’s eyes lit up as he turned his attention to you, his smile widening. “Indeed, I am. Samuel Kane, at your service.” He extended a hand, and you shook it lightly, careful not to show any hesitation.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself, tilting your head slightly. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the man behind all of this.”

Kane laughed, clearly pleased by the flattery. “Well, I do my best to keep things interesting. And you, my dear, are an absolute vision. Your husband must be a lucky man.”

You felt a flicker of unease at the comment but maintained your composure. “He’s around here somewhere,” you said with a laugh. “But he’s not much for mingling.”

As you engaged Kane in conversation, you subtly shifted closer, angling yourself to get a better look at his security badge. The clip was loose, the badge slightly askew—a small detail, but one that worked in your favor.

Behind you, Logan lingered near the edge of the room, his sharp eyes never leaving you. He sipped his drink, outwardly relaxed, but you knew better. His tension was palpable, even from across the room.

Kane was still talking, his voice smooth and practiced, but you weren’t really listening. Instead, you focused on the timing, waiting for the perfect moment to make your move. When Kane turned slightly to greet another guest, you acted quickly, brushing against him just enough to unclip the badge without drawing attention.

“Oops,” you said, feigning a stumble as you steadied yourself against his arm. “Sorry about that. These heels aren’t the most practical.”

Kane laughed, clearly oblivious. “No harm done.”

You smiled apologetically before excusing yourself, slipping the badge into your clutch as you made your way back to Logan. He raised an eyebrow when you returned, his expression a mix of amusement and approval.

“Got it,” you whispered, holding up the badge for him to see.

Logan smirked. “That’s my girl.”

He slipped the badge into his jacket pocket, and the two of you began weaving through the crowd toward the hallway that led to the restricted areas. You kept a pleasant smile on your face, casually nodding at attendees as you passed. Beside you, Logan's body was tense, ready for a fight if it came to that.

Reaching the hallway, you slipped through the door labeled Authorized Personnel Only. Logan glanced back to make sure no one was following before pulling the door shut behind you.

The ambiance changed immediately, the buzz of the gala replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional beep of security monitors. The luxurious carpet was gone, replaced by plain industrial tile.

“Where to, sweetheart?” Logan asked in a low voice.

“The server room’s at the end of the hall, on the left,” you whispered, nodding ahead.

Logan led the way, his posture relaxed but his hands loosely curled at his sides. You reached the server room without incident, and Logan swiped the badge through the reader. It flashed green with a soft beep, and the door clicked open.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, racks of servers glowing faintly with green and blue lights. You stepped in first, your eyes scanning for the console you needed. Logan followed, closing the door quietly behind him and planting himself by it.

“You do your thing. I’ll keep watch,” he said, his voice steady.

“Got it,” you replied, already making your way to the terminal in the corner.

Sitting down, you pulled a flash drive from your clutch and inserted it into the port. Typing quickly, you navigated through the system, bypassing firewalls and locating the files you needed. Jean’s earlier instructions echoed in your mind—what to look for, how to find it, how to pull it without alerting any alarms.

Logan’s voice broke the silence. “How’s it goin’, darlin’?”

“Almost there,” you murmured, biting your lip as a particularly stubborn firewall slowed your progress. After a few more keystrokes, the file began to download.

“I’m in,” you said softly. “Just need a few more seconds.”

Logan didn’t reply, but you could feel his sharp gaze fixed on the hallway outside, ready for anything.

The download finished with a soft ping, and you quickly ejected the flash drive, slipping it back into your clutch. As you stood and turned to Logan, his head jerked up slightly, his ears picking up on something you couldn’t hear.

“Guards,” he muttered. “Two of ’em, comin’ this way.”

Your mind raced. “Okay, uh… we can do what they did in that movie we watched the other night. You know, the spy one!”

Logan frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

“Logan,” you hissed, stepping closer to him. “We have to pretend we’re—” Before you could finish, you reached up, gripped his shirt, and tugged him down into a kiss.

Logan tensed for a split second before relaxing, his arms instinctively sliding around your waist. The kiss deepened quickly, his lips pressing against yours with a mixture of surprise and intensity. One of his hands rested at the small of your back while the other gently cradled the back of your head.

The sound of footsteps stopped just outside the server room.

“Hey!” one of the guards called out, his voice sharp.

You and Logan broke apart abruptly, panting softly as you both turned to face the guards. The red lipstick you’d meticulously applied was now smeared—not just on your face but faintly on Logan’s lips as well. One of the guards squinted, clearly caught off guard.

“This area’s off-limits,” the other guard barked.

Logan’s arm was still around your waist, and he stepped forward slightly, putting himself between you and the guards. “Sorry ’bout that. Thought we were sneakin’ off for some privacy. Didn’t realize we weren’t supposed to be here.” His voice was gravelly but calm, carrying just enough irritation to make the act believable.

The guards exchanged looks, then groaned in unison. “Just—get out of here,” the first one said. “Go back to the gala before we have to call someone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan grumbled, steering you back down the hallway. He kept his hand at your back, a silent reassurance.

You stayed quiet until you were back near the main gala floor. When Logan finally looked down at you, his lips quirked into a sly grin.

“You’ve got some guts, darlin’,” he said, his voice filled with approval.

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “You’ve got lipstick on your face.”

His grin widened as he rubbed his thumb against his mouth. “You sayin’ it’s not my color?”

“Not exactly,” you teased. “But it definitely makes a statement.”

He chuckled, slipping his hand into yours as the two of you rejoined the party, the flash drive safely tucked away.

---

Logan had given in, allowing you to finally trim his beard. You sat perched on the bathroom counter, knees brushing against his sides as he stood in front of you. His rugged face was in your hands, the razor gliding carefully over his jawline.

As you worked, you started rambling, like always when you were focused on something. “Did you know razors date back to the Bronze Age? They found tools that were basically sharp stones or metals people used to shave with. Imagine that—scraping your face with a rock.”

Logan gave a quiet, non-committal grunt, his eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

You weren’t deterred, though. “Then in the 18th century, straight razors became popular. Those were sharp as hell, like something out of a horror movie. Then King Camp Gillette comes in and invents the safety razor in—Logan?”

You suddenly paused, pulling back the razor to wave your hand in front of his face. His eyes snapped up to yours, startled.

“What?” he rumbled.

“You weren’t listening,” you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I was listening,” he argued, his voice dipping into a softer tone, almost playful. “Just… got distracted.”

You arched a brow. “By what?”

His gaze dropped, just slightly. His focus lingered for a second too long, and then it dawned on you. You glanced down and realized the problem. Since you were sitting on the counter, your chest was right at eye level for him.

“Oh my God,” you blurted, rolling your eyes as heat crept into your face. “Is that the only reason you agreed to let me do this?”

Logan’s lips curled into a small smirk, one that almost made you drop the razor. “Maybe,” he drawled, voice low and teasing. “I had a good view. Figured I’d let you have your fun.”

“You’re impossible,” you huffed, swatting at him lightly.

His chuckle was a quiet rumble in his chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t decide if you were more annoyed or charmed. Maybe both.

“Finish up, darlin’,” he said, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Can’t have half a beard. Not a good look for me.”

Shaking your head, you returned to your task, though the edges of your mouth tugged upward in a reluctant smile.

---

Later that day the two of you decided to watch a movie in the common room. The bowl of popcorn was already empty, thanks to Logan, but you were more than content to watch the new DVD Scott got you to replace the heels.

It was Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Season One, with director’s cut episodes, behind-the-scenes featurettes, and a few other things.

By the time the fifth episode came on, Logan had fallen asleep. His head rested face down against your stomach, his arm draped lazily over your waist, hanging off the edge of the couch. The quiet sound of his breathing filled the room, his broad shoulders rising and falling steadily.

You smiled down at him, your hands gently weaving through his hair. You couldn’t help but feel a certain tenderness as you sat there, watching the animated battle play out on the screen while he snored faintly against you. This was rare—Logan being so unguarded, so completely relaxed. It was a stark contrast to the usual gruff, sharp-witted man you saw most days.

For once, you were grateful he’d conked out. Not that you didn’t love spending time with him, but movie nights with Logan usually involved endless questions.

"Wait, who’s the green guy again?"

"What kind of idiot jumps into a fight with no backup?"

"So these clones just follow orders without asking questions? Sounds like bad programming."

Sometimes it was cute; other times, it was infuriating. Now, though? Peace. No commentary about Yoda’s battle strategies or sarcastic remarks about Anakin's life choices.

You shifted slightly to readjust, trying not to disturb him, though the weight of his head made it tricky. When you moved, he let out a small, contented grunt, his grip on your waist tightening just a little.

The scene switched to an intense lightsaber duel, and you caught yourself absently stroking Logan’s hair again. He groaned softly and nuzzled his face further into your stomach.

"Mm, warm," he mumbled, his voice gravelly, not quite awake.

"Logan," you whispered, shaking your head with an amused smile. "Are you seriously sleep-talking?"

"Not talkin'," he grunted, burying himself further against you like a sleepy dog finding the perfect napping spot.

"Uh-huh," you said, unable to suppress a laugh. Your fingers stilled for a moment, then continued combing gently through his thick hair. His faint snoring resumed, the small hitch in his breathing telling you he’d sunk back into whatever dreamland had him so quiet.

This—this was your Logan. The Logan who melted around you, softened in ways no one else ever saw. It made all the challenges—the struggles, the years of trying for a baby, the losses—feel worth enduring. You might not have everything you'd once wished for, but you had this. A quiet moment of contentment, wrapped in an old blanket on a threadbare couch, Logan safe and completely at ease in your arms.

For the first time in a long while, your heart didn’t ache for what could’ve been. Instead, you closed your eyes briefly and focused on the gentle weight of him, the comfort of his presence, and the sound of his steady breath.

When you opened them again, the episode was winding down. You grabbed the remote carefully, switching to the next before setting it down. Logan shifted again, his arm curling tighter around you.

“Y’can keep playing it,” he murmured groggily, not lifting his head.

"Thought you were asleep."

"I am," he muttered, eyes still closed.

"You mean you were," you teased.

"Same difference," he rumbled, the corner of his mouth tugging into a tiny smirk before he pressed closer. "Now stop talkin’. I’m comfortable."

You chuckled and let him settle again, absentmindedly tracing circles at the base of his neck. If this was Logan at peace, you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb him, not even for a galaxy far, far away.

that was 2010!

and i can't help but make a star wars reference whenever i can! especially a clone wars reference cause i'm a prequel girly... which is only because of anakin but-

if you don't like star wars literally just imagine anything else (no need to leave rude comments!)

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