Characters : frank castle, matt murdock, peter parker, kurt wagner, wade wilson, eric brooks, scott summers, remy lebeau, logan howlett, johnny storm
You wake up slowly, the first thing you register being warmth. It was solid, steady, protective.
Frank is still asleep beside you.
The room is quiet in that early-morning way, sunlight barely slipping through the blinds and casting soft lines across his bare shoulders. One of his arms is wrapped around your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. His grip isn’t tight, just… certain.
You shift slightly, testing the space, and his arm tightens immediately. Instinct.
“Don’t go,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, barely conscious.
You smile to yourself.
Last night lingers in the air, not in details, but in feelings. The closeness. The way he looked at you like you were something rare. The way he stayed, instead of pulling away like he usually does.
You trace a finger over the scars on his chest, careful, reverent. He stirs again, eyes fluttering open. For a moment he looks disoriented—then he sees you.
And everything softens ever so slightly.
“Hey,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your hip. “You okay?”
You nod. “Yeah. I am.”
He studies your face like he’s committing it to memory, jaw tense, like he’s bracing for you to regret staying. When you don’t move away, when you lean in instead, he exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he admits.
You kiss his shoulder. “I wanted to wake up with you.”
That’s what gets him.
Frank pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours. No armor. No walls. Just a man who stayed the night and woke up to someone choosing him in the morning.
He presses a gentle kiss to your hair.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”
You wake up tangled in warmth, limbs lazy, sheets a mess that tells a story neither of you are pretending didn’t happen.
Remy’s half on top of you, one leg hooked over yours like he claimed you in his sleep and never let go. His hair is a disaster, eyes still closed, lips curved like he’s already amused by something.
You shift just enough to get comfortable.
He hums immediately.
“Mmm… careful, chère. Dat kinda movement’s dangerous.”
You snort and grumble a grouchy, “You’re the one crushing me.”
One eye opens, cherry red on black, bright with mischief.
“Crushing?” he repeats, offended. “Non. Dis is cuddlin’. Very affectionate.”
“Your knee is practically a weapon.”
He grins wider and adjusts — somehow making it worse on purpose, pressing intentionally against the inside of your thigh.
“Funny. Didn’t hear you complainin’ bout my knee between your legs last night.”
You swat his chest, but he catches your wrist easily, presses a kiss to your knuckles instead. The teasing fades just a notch, replaced by something softer.
“You still here,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your palm.
“Still here,” you confirm.
That earns you a slow, satisfied smile. He leans down, kisses you properly this time — unrushed, warm, smiling into it like he’s got all the time in the world. His hand traces familiar paths, unhurried, like he’s savoring the morning as much as you.
“You know,” you murmur, “most people make coffee when they wake up.”
Remy laughs low in his throat.
“Chère,” he says, voice dropping, “I got somethin’ sweeter in mind.”
He slides down under the blankets, eyes never leaving yours. There’s a crooked smile on his lips now. Pure Remy. But his gaze is soft, reverent, like this isn’t a game so much as a promise. He settles between your thighs, spreading you gently as his breath ghosts warm and slow, hitting your bare cunt, making you gulp in anticipation.
— and he looks up at you like he’s exactly where he belongs. The softness of that crooked grin sending shivers through your body.
“Bon matin,” he murmurs.
Morning comes quietly.
You’re the first to wake, tucked against Matt’s side, his arm slung loose but possessive around your waist. The city hums faintly outside, distant traffic and early footsteps filtered through the cracked window. His breathing is steady, warm against your shoulder.
You shift just a little.
“Mm,” he hums immediately. “If you’re trying to sneak away, you’re terrible at it.”
You smile. “You were asleep.”
“I was resting my eyes,” he says lightly. “Big difference.”
You roll onto your elbow, looking down at him. His head is turned toward you, looking just over your shoulder, lips curved in that knowing little smile that always makes you feel like you’ve already lost.
“You know,” you say casually, “I expected more stamina from the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”
One brow lifts. Intrigue. “Oh?”
“Tapping out after four rounds?” you continue, thoughtful, “Kind of pathetic.”
He hears the lie immediately, hears the amusement threading through your pulse, the way your body gives you away even when your mouth doesn’t.
And he grins like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket.
“Four,” he repeats, savoring it. “That’s tapping out now?”
You shrug, trying to hide your smile so that he wouldn't be able to hear it in your voice,“I had higher expectations.”
He lets out a soft hum, deep in his chest, clearly enjoying himself far too much.
“Funny,” he says, voice warm, teasing. “Because your heart says you were very… satisfied.”
“Your hearing is overrated.” you scoffed, tugging his earlobe for emphasis, making him chuckle.
“Mm. Maybe.” He tilts his head, “But you’re smiling.”
Before you can fire back, his hands are on you — confident, gentle — sliding up your bare thighs as he pulls you easily on top of him. You barely have time to register the movement before you’re straddling his hips, his touch grounding, familiar.
His hands settle at your waist, thumbs brushing slow, deliberate arcs that make it very hard to remember your argument.
Matt smiles up at you — innocent, almost angelic, like he isn’t absolutely enjoying this.
“Well,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t want you walkin’ away disappointed.”
That hum again, low and pleased.
“Go on,” he adds, brown eyes somehow finding yours as they scrunch cutely with amusement, “Prove your point.”
Your cup his cheeks and your press your lips to his for the sole purpose that he would be able to feel your smile," You asked for it, counsellor."
You wake up warm, pleasantly sore, wrapped in blue limbs and silk-soft sheets that smell faintly like incense and ozone.
Kurt is curled around you protectively, one arm tucked beneath your neck, the other resting light at your waist like he’s afraid to hold too tight. His face is peaceful in sleep, lashes dark against his skin, lips parted just enough to look tempting.
And then there’s his tail.
It’s draped lazily over your thigh — except not lazily at all. The tip twitches the moment you shift, curling, tightening, giving him away long before his eyes open.
“Kurt.” you murmur.
His eyes snap open immediately.
“Guten Morgen, Liebes,” he says, voice gentle, careful. Too careful.
You tilt your head, “You look… composed.”
He nods solemnly. “I am being very good.”
The tail flicks.
You bite back a smile. “Your tail disagrees.”
He freezes.
Slowly, he glances down. The traitorous appendage tightens around your thigh like it’s trying to make a point of its own. His ears flush a darker blue.
“…It has a mind of its own,” he says weakly.
“Uh-huh.” You stretch deliberately, enjoying the way his breath catches despite his best efforts. “You’re staring.”
“I am not,” he protests.
The tail tightens again.
He exhales, resigned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Forgive me. It is just-” He gestures vaguely, “You look very… happy.”
“Happy?”
He swallows. “Deliciously… content.”
You laugh softly, reaching out to trace the fuzzy edge of his ear. “Well... you were pretty damn good last night.”
That makes him smile — soft, shy, pleased in that uniquely Kurt way. “I tried to be restrained this morning,” he admits, “Out of respect.”
His tail betrays him by sliding higher.
You raise a brow and snort,“You’re doing a terrible job.”
He laughs quietly, giving up, pressing his forehead to yours. “Ja,” he murmurs. “I fear my self-control is… limited.”
The tail curls possessively around your waist now, and Kurt sighs like a man who has accepted his fate. His golden eyes warm, affectionate, absolutely undone by you.
“But,” he adds softly, smiling, “I regret nothing.”
Morning light cuts through the blinds in thin, pale stripes. You wake up first, tucked against a solid wall of warmth that is very much Eric Brooks pretending he isn’t awake.
His arm is heavy across your waist. Protective. Familiar.
You shift and feel him tense instantly.
“You’re awake,” you say softly.
A pause. Then a low sigh.
“…Yeah.”
You turn slightly, catching sight of the faint mark at your shoulder in the mirror across the room. Two small impressions, already fading. You touch it without thinking.
Eric notices immediately.
His jaw tightens. “ fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, quiet but firm. “I didn’t mean to—”
You roll toward him before he can spiral, smiling. “Hey. You stopped.”
He frowns grouchily, “Still shouldn’t have happened.”
“You’re half-vampire,” you point out gently, “And you were hungry.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
You reach up, thumb brushing along his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “It kind of is. And you showed a lot of control.”
That does it.
He snorts softly, shaking his head, clearly uncomfortable with praise. “You’re givin’ me too much credit.”
But you hear it — the tiny hitch in his breathing. Feel it in the way his grip tightens just a little, like the words landed somewhere deep.
You grin. “C’mon. Most people would’ve left more than a mark.”
He leans down abruptly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Right over the bite like he’s trying to erase the compliment before it sinks in. Then another, softer one. Then one to your jaw.
“You talk too damn much,” he mutters.
“And you hate being appreciated,” you shoot back.
A corner of his mouth lifts despite himself.
He pulls you closer, forehead resting against your shoulder, voice low but warm. “You scared?”
You shake your head, “Not even a little.”
That makes him pause. Then he exhales slowly, tension easing, and brushes his thumb across your waist with surprising gentleness.
“…Good,” he murmurs.
You smile, completely content, while Eric Brooks pretends he isn’t glowing inside over being trusted.
You wake up to exactly zero peace.
“Mornin’, beautiful~ wow, okay, still unfairly hot. Did I ever tell you how talented you are with your mouth?”
His mouth is everywhere. Your cheek. Your jaw. Your temple. Each kiss punctuated with commentary delivered at machine-gun speed.
“—seriously, Olympic-level effort last night, ten outta ten, would absolutely risk my life again—”
“Wade,” you mumble, trying to surface from sleep.
“And the confidence? The enthusiasm? The way you—”
You pinch his nipple.
Hard.
“YOW—!” He jerks back, eyes wide, then immediately breaks into a grin," Oh no. Oh wow. File that under unexpectedly into that.”
You roll your eyes. “Please shut up.”
“Can’t. Won’t. I am physically incapable of not praising you for-”
You cut him off by leaning in, pressing a quick kiss to his scarred cheek, softer than all the others.
“Wade,” you say sincerely, “you were really sweet last night. And you make me feel… safe. Wanted.”
Silence.
Actual, honest-to-god silence.
His grin falters. Not gone, just stunned. His eyes soften in a way that makes your chest ache. For half a second, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do with something that genuine.
Then-
You blink, and suddenly he’s above you.
Pinned.
Your wrists gently but firmly held over your head, his weight settling between your legs, hips pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.
He’s grinning wildly now, unrestrained joy written all over his face.
You swear - swear - you see little cartoon hearts practically floating in his eyes.
“Well,” he says, delighted, “now I gotta reward you for how fucking cute that was.”
You groan out an amused," you slut.”
He leans down, nose brushing yours before he literally licks the tip of your nose, “And you looove me.”
You do, unfortunately.
You wake up before him, which feels rare enough to be a small miracle.
Logan is sprawled beside you, sheets tangled around his waist, broad chest rising and falling slow and steady. For once, there’s no tension etched into his face. No scowl, no clenched jaw. Just calm. Rest.
It makes your chest flutter stupidly.
You prop yourself up on one elbow, studying him like he might disappear if you look away too long. His dark hair is mussed, lashes resting against his cheeks, brow still faintly furrowed even in sleep.
You reach out carefully, smoothing your thumb over that crease.
He snaps forward without warning, teeth chomping the inside of your wrist — not hard, but just enough to make you yelp.
“Logan!” you gasp.
He doesn’t even open his eyes at first. Just smirks hotly.
“Shouldn’t poke dangerous animals,” he murmurs from having your wrist beteeen his teeth, voice rough with sleep.
“You were asleep!” you accuse with a glare.
“Was restin’,” he says with a snort, “You’re noisy.”
You glare harder at him. “I was being affectionate.”
He releases your wrist, bringing it closer to inspect like he’s deciding whether to apologise for the faint mark he had left. His thumb rubs over the spot, gentler now.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
That’s as close to soft as he’ll get, and it makes you grin.
“You looked peaceful,” you tease. “Didn’t know you were capable.”
“Careful, darlin'. ” he warns. “I got a reputation.”
You lean down and press a sweet kiss to his scarred knuckles — slow, deliberate, affectionate.
That’s all it takes.
Logan’s breath hitches immediately. His eyes darken, and in the next second he’s pulling you down against him, hand fisting lightly in your hair as he claims your mouth in a heavy kiss. All heat and hunger and unmistakable intent, tongue sliding against yours like he’s been waiting for an excuse.
When he finally pulls back, forehead resting against yours, he exhales sharply.
“…You do that on purpose,” he growls.
You smile, completely smug. “Maybe.”
He snorts, already leaning back in. “Smart mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”
"Well, my smart mouth made you cum three times last night, so-"
His teeth nips your bottom lip, glaring at you but the smile twitching onto his lips told you all you needed to know.
You wake slowly, cocooned in warmth and soft sheets, your body pleasantly heavy. For a moment, you don’t move. Just breathe.
until you realize the weight against you isn’t just the blankets.
Scott.
He’s curled into you, his head resting against your chest, one arm loosely draped around your waist like he belongs there. His face is relaxed in sleep, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth parted just slightly. For someone who always carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, he looks… peaceful. Safe.
Your heart does a small flip.
His hair is a complete mess, dark strands sticking up in every direction, and when your gaze drifts lower, you notice them... two faint bite marks along his collarbone, already blooming into soft bruises.
Heat rushes to your face as last night crashes back into your mind in vivid fragments.
“Oh my god,” you mumble to yourself, mortified and amused all at once. “I’m such a horny mess.”
A quiet snicker answers you.
You freeze.
Scott looks up at you, his eyes shut tight as he gives you a charming smile, “You say that like I didn’t enjoy every second.”
You groan, lifting a hand to cover your face. “You were awake.”
“Mm. For a while.” His voice is still rough with sleep, low and warm. He shifts closer, tilting his head so his lips brush your skin. “Couldn’t bring myself to move.”
You reach toward the nightstand, fingers searching blindly, and he takes that as an invitation as your body hovers over him more.
His mouth trails along your collarbone, slow and lazy, punctuated by soft kisses that linger just long enough to make you shiver. A gentle nip here, a teasing suck there - like he’s leaving reminders.
“Scott,” you laugh breathlessly, finally grabbing his glasses and nudging them toward him, “You can’t even see.”
“Minor detail,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss before slipping them on. Once his glasses are secure, he looks up at you properly, that familiar fondness settling into his expression, “Besides, I know you pretty well by now.”
You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “So confident for someone who uses a laser-proof sleep mask.”
“Hey,” he protests lightly, fingers tracing idle patterns along your side. “You like my sleep mask.”
“I tolerate it.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced.
The banter fades into something quieter as you lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. Then another. You let them trail lower, over his jaw, down his neck, across his chest, feeling his breath change beneath you.
By the time you disappear beneath the blankets, his breathing is already uneven, a sharp inhale catching in his throat as your breath ghosts against the inside of his thighs.
His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through gently - not guiding, just holding on. You were his tether.
“God,” he exhales, head tipping back with a pant, “You’re dangerous.”
You smile to yourself and take him into your greedy mouth.
You wake up warm and hazy, reaching instinctively for him—
— and finding nothing.
Your eyes blink open, frown forming immediately as your hand pats the empty space beside you. The sheets are still warm, which somehow makes it worse. You let out a quiet, dramatic huff and flop back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling like you’ve been personally wronged.
Then you hear it.
The toilet flushes.
A moment later, the bathroom door creaks open, and Peter pads back into the bedroom in nothing but soft pajama pants and a sheepish grin, chocolate brown hair still damp from splashing water on his face.
“Oh no,” he says immediately, voice amused. “That face. That’s the ‘I thought you disappeared forever’ face.”
You turn your head slowly, eyes narrowed. “You left.”
“For, like, thirty seconds,” he laughs, crossing the room. “I promise I didn’t swing off into the sunset.”
He barely gets back under the covers before you’re on him, arms and legs wrapping around his middle like a sleepy octopus. He lets out a surprised laugh, automatically curling into you, one arm snug around your back.
“Missed me that much, huh?”
You mumble something incoherent into his chest, fingers clutching his shirt. He smiles softly, pressing a kiss into the top of your head, lingering there. His hand drifts lazily over your side, warm and familiar, tracing over your hip and down your thigh.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay?”
“My legs are sore,” you mumble, half-asleep.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Peter stiffens just slightly.
“Oh,” he says, flushing instantly. He clears his throat, ears definitely red now. “Uh— I mean— I can— I can carry you? Today. Around the apartment. If you need. Like, totally heroic bridal carry situation.”
You snort, lifting your head to look at him. “You’d do that?”
He nods earnestly, trying very hard not to think about why your legs are sore. He needs to remember you're not as flexible as he is. You seriously were put through the ringer last night, your legs being manhandled in every which direction.
“Absolutely. Doctor’s orders. I’m the doctor. Of… being your boyfriend.”
You laugh, settling back against him as he relaxes again, pressing another gentle kiss to your hair.
“Stay,” you whisper.
He tightens his hold just a little. “Wasn’t going anywhere.”
You wake to friction and heat, your body responding before your thoughts can form. Johnny is behind you, breath ragged against your ear, every exhale hot enough to make you shiver. There’s a slow, deliberate pressure as he moves, unhurried, like he’s savoring the way you melt beneath him.
You groan, half protest, half invitation.
“Easy,” you mumble, trying to sound annoyed.
He laughs softly, low and dangerous, and shifts closer. One of your legs is lifted with effortless confidence, opening you to him, fitting you exactly where he wants you. The contact sends a spark straight through your core, your back arching without permission.
“Funny,” he murmurs into your ear, voice rough with memory, “you weren’t saying that last night. Pretty sure you were the one pulling me closer.”
Your breath stutters. The words do things to you— do things with him pressed so close, heat radiating off his skin. Johnny always runs warm, but this is different. Sweat gathers along your spine, the air thick, charged. He’s a heater, coiled and barely contained.
A faint flare ripples along his shoulders, light licking through his hair. He swears under his breath and moves quickly, smoothly, rolling you onto your back before the fire can get out of hand. The mattress dips as he settles between your legs, bracing himself above you.
“Hold on,” he mutters, grin flashing as the glow fades. “Don’t need to set the place on fire.”
His hands slide to your hips, firm and grounding. He leans in, forehead resting briefly against yours, breath mingling with yours, the tension unbearable.
Then he shifts — just a fraction — and the world narrows to sensation. There’s a slow, steady press, a shared inhale, the unmistakable feeling of being filled as your cunt welcomes him again. A sound slips from your throat as he stills, eyes locked on yours, heat humming between you.
Johnny exhales, satisfied, reverent. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Just like last night.”
your university roommate han solo finds a rival (and love interest) in student council president leia skywalker, but both of them are too stubborn to admit that they have feelings for each other. luckily, you and her twin brother, luke, devise a plan to get the two of them to spend more time together. challenges arise, however, when you start to develop a crush on him.
a/n: rotj luke vibes for this chapter (being philosophical about his own mental health to avoid actually confronting his feelings and burdening those around him). rotj leia vibes in this chapter too (conspiring with lando to walk right into danger with the hutts and get han out of trouble). also this chapter is very dialogue heavy i apologize if that’s not ur thing! enjoy!!
You woke up to an empty bed. Noticing that the morning sunlight had yet to seep in through his blinds, you glanced at your phone. It was a little after five o’clock in the morning, you noted. Luke had probably had a nightmare.
Deciding to check on him, you crawled out of bed. You assumed he was in the bathroom, so that was the first place you looked. You were half expecting him to be gripping the sink and trying to regain his composure, but when you reached your destination, he was nowhere to be found. He was probably in the kitchen then. However, when you made your way into the next room, he wasn’t there either. Slightly panicked, you checked the living room and the guest room as well. Nothing.
You hurried back into the living room to make sure you hadn’t overlooked him sleeping on the couch or something, turning on the lights. Your hopes had been in vain, as the room appeared to be empty, and you briefly considered waking the others up. Surely Leia would know what to do.
You turned the lights back off and paced for a second, trying to decide if you were overreacting. He had seemed alright when you all were on the balcony earlier—
And that’s when you realized you’d forgotten to check there. The blinds had been drawn on the glass doors leading to the balcony, so you held your breath and crossed your fingers when you opened the door.
There, a blanket hanging over his shoulders and what looked like a mug in his hand, stood Luke. He was leaning over the railing and looking out at the cityscape, his hair blowing in the early morning breeze. He didn’t look at you when you walked out on to the balcony, but you were certain he’d heard the door open. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, unsure if you should disturb him or let him be.
“Sorry if I woke you up,” he said then, his voice a bit scratchy.
“You didn’t,” you replied, still unsure of whether or not you should join him, “Just happened to wake up, and then I noticed you were gone. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m okay,” he told you, his back still turned to you, “Thanks for checking. You can go back to bed.”
You hesitated. Did he want you to leave, or was he just trying to put your concerns for him to rest? Several seconds ticked by as you remained put.
“It’s really okay,” he assured you again, and you heard him sip from what you could only assume was tea, “You don’t need to worry.”
“I know,” you said quietly, and then, blurted, “I just missed you.”
He turned sharply at that, finally looking at you. When you saw his face, it was clear that he’d been crying earlier. Now, however, he just seemed surprised.
“What?” he asked, brows furrowed.
“I missed you,” you repeated, “And I don’t really want to go back to bed without you.”
He stared at you for a moment, and then gave you the smallest of smiles. Something about it seemed sad, but you were still glad to see it. You smiled back.
“You’re sweet,” he told you, his back leaning against the railing as he continued to stare at you. His eyes raked over your entire body, slowly, and lingered on your bare arms for a moment before he beckoned you.
Confused, but always willing to oblige him, you stumbled over to him, your bare feet hitting the cool concrete below. He lifted the blanket with his free hand, and you startled a little when you felt his arm wrap around you. He turned, and now the two of you were sharing a blanket and leaning over the balcony railing at five in the morning. You had never seen the city from this height at this hour before, and you realized with a strange delight that it was still waking up. A few cars were beginning to occupy the streets, and you could make out a couple of businessmen trying to get an early start as their heavy briefcases nearly dragged them to the ground. A few particularly ambitious people were completing their morning runs, and you briefly thought that Luke might fit in well with them. You watched as a few coffee shops and cafes turned on their lights, a beacon of hope for all of the early birds who had risen earlier than the sun. Not fully understanding why, you smiled.
“It’s comforting, isn’t it?” he said suddenly, his gravelly voice breaking you out of your trance. You turned to look at him, only to realize that his expression mimicked your own, and that his focus was entirely on the city below.
“Yes,” you replied, “But I’m not really sure why.”
He hummed and took another sip of tea, drumming his fingers lightly against the side of his mug.
“Nightmares aren’t fun for anyone,” he said thoughtfully, still staring at the quiet streets below, “But I’m not sure if they bother everyone in the same way that they bother me. Like, as a concept. Does that make sense?”
“No,” you admitted, and he giggled a little beside of you, “But I’m not a philosophy major.”
“Point taken,” he chuckled, “I could have articulated that better. What I meant was that I consider myself to be a pretty social person. I like people. But other people sleep, usually through the night. I don’t. So there’s a part of my daily routine where I’m completely alone, and it’s usually right after my mind has conjured up some sort of horrible distortion of my own memories. It feels like an oddly personal attack, and as a concept it bothers me almost as much as the nightmares themselves.”
You had never heard anyone describe nightmares as a concept rather than as something deeply personal and scary. You considered his words, but you weren’t really sure what to say. And of course Luke was fond of a philosophical approach to understanding every day life—it was his major, after all, and you’d seen his bookshelf—but you realized then that you’d never really seen him exercise that part of his personality before. He was usually upbeat and funny, even when he had to force himself to be. You rarely ever saw him like this: contemplative and melancholy.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and you panicked when you realized that he was about to dismiss his previous spiel as anything less than genuine and important, “That probably sounded stupid. It’s early, and I’m tired.”
“No!” you blurted, and he turned to look at you then, brow quirked in amusement, “No, sorry, just—I think it’s interesting. If you’re comfortable saying more, I’d like to hear it.”
He stared at you for a moment before offering you another small smile, gazing back out at the cityscape.
“Okay,” he hummed, “Well, there’s another thing I don’t like about the concept of nightmares—or my nightmares, at least. Like I said, I like people. I think people are inherently good. Are you familiar with Mencius?”
“No,” you confessed, finding his fast pace difficult to keep up with at this hour; though, you still wanted to listen.
“He was a Confucian philosopher. I’m not a Confucian or anything myself, but I agree that human beings have a certain innate goodness. Mencius says that if a child falls into a well, most people will stop what they’re doing and help, because people are good. I think he’s right.”
“Maybe,” you replied, trying to process his philosophy lesson at five in the morning. It was a lot.
“You don’t have to agree,” he told you, grinning a little, “It’s what I think, though. But the people in my nightmares are never like that. Most of my dreams are about the same memories, but with an even worse twist where everyone is cruel and ill-intentioned. No one is ever kind.”
You weren’t exactly following. You rubbed your eyes and waited for him to continue.
“Despite telling myself that I really, deeply believe in the goodness of people, my subconscious seems to disagree. So that’s the second thing I hate about the concept of my own nightmares. They challenge my beliefs about the world. It really bothers me,” he confessed, his voice trailing off at the end. He sighed and, almost nervously, sipped from his tea again.
You digested his words for a moment before responding. Luke had managed to sidestep talking about his nightmares by discussing them as a philosophical concept instead. Nevertheless, he’d granted you entry into the inner workings of his mind. Regardless of how sparse he was being with the details, this was perhaps the most vulnerable he’d ever been around you. Was this the real him? Solemn, introspective, and generally frustrated with his own subconscious?
You thought back to all of the times you’d seen him genuinely happy. When Leia was performing and the entire barricade was practically shaking with his excitement. When you had breakfast with him and let him choose your meal. He was radiant, energetic, and so full of life you could hardly believe it sometimes.
The duality of Luke Skywalker was puzzling, and yet, it made sense all the same. Was he social, happy, and generally grounded, or was he alone, sad, and confused by who he was? Perhaps both things could be true: Luke really did have a genuine love for life, but he harbored a certain kind of sadness than ran much deeper than you’d originally thought. You’d always noticed that he had a bit of an edge to him, and even the first time you’d met him, you felt that he was trying to steer your focus away from any personal details about himself.
“Do you know what intellectualizing is?” you finally asked. You felt him look at you, but now it was your turn to keep your gaze honed in on the gradually brightening city below.
“No,” he said, and you saw him cock his head at you out of the corner of your eye, “But based on the look on your face, I’m gonna venture to guess that you’re psychoanalyzing me.”
You turned sharply, surprised by how quickly he’d come to that conclusion when you hadn’t even said anything yet. When you met his stare, however, he didn’t seem upset. Just curious and a little detached.
“Sorry,” you muttered sheepishly, looking back at the skyline, “What you’re saying is interesting and smart. You’re interesting and smart, and I’m really grateful that you’re comfortable telling me all of this.”
“But?” he prompted you, and of course he picked up on your reservations. Luke not only loved people, but he knew them too. He was reading you like a book.
“But you’re approaching your nightmares academically. It’s not as obvious at first because your lens is philosophical, but that’s still what you’re doing, isn’t it? Sure, conceptually, they challenge your beliefs about who you are. But that’s not why you wake up crying.”
Time seemed to stand still for a moment. It was the bluntest you’d ever been with him, and you weren’t even quite sure why you’d said it, but it felt necessary. You knew his eyes were boring into the side of your face, and surely he was studying you now. Finally, you heard him chuckle.
“I guess you’ve seen through me,” he said quietly, giving you a sad smile as you both turned to look at each other again. He looked like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. You felt like you were missing something.
“It’s not bad,” you clarified, meeting his eyes, “I’m just saying that I hope you have people in your life that you can talk to about how your nightmares make you feel. Or about why you have them. Those aren’t things you have to share with me, but I just—I don’t know. I hope you’re not bottling all of those emotions up.”
He blinked, and his expression somehow grew even more solemn. He looked down.
“I’ve worked through all of it already. It just lingers in the back of my mind, I guess.”
“How long have you had them?” you asked, gently touching his arm. He looked up at you again.
“Well,” he sighed, chewing on his bottom lip a little, “They started when I was six, but I didn’t get diagnosed with parasomnia until a while after that. I had it under control in high school, actually. I mean, I’d have nightmares once every week or so or something, but not like I do now. Now it’s every night again.”
You frowned. That sounded exhausting.
“Did something happen?” you asked cautiously, and he leaned into your touch a little, “Like, recently?”
“Yes,” he replied quietly, and he seemed to grow even more nervous, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can talk about this anymore.”
“Don’t apologize,” you assured him quickly, bringing your hand close to his face to tuck his hair behind his ear, “I didn’t mean that you had to tell me everything. I just meant that I hope you’re addressing how this stuff makes you feel instead of intellectualizing as a defense mechanism. Sorry, I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you, I just—“
He giggled and, to your surprise, wrapped his arms around you. He placed a kiss on top of your head and held you for a second. You were too caught off guard to speak.
“Leia thinks I surround myself with people who don’t think twice about this kinda stuff on purpose,” he admitted, still holding you close to him, “She says I do it so I don’t have to risk being confronted when I seem off."
"Do you?" you asked, your voice muffled by his proximity.
"Not knowingly," he huffed, before pressing another kiss to your head, "But that's not the point. I just wanted to say thanks, I guess."
"For what?"
"For seeing through me. And for not seeming to mind when I'm a little off-putting. Sorry for subjecting you to my overthinking at five in the morning, by the way."
"No," you said quickly, your brain scrambling to produce something articulate, "I enjoy this. Not you being sad, but just talking to you. I like honesty. And I like you. The city looks cool in the morning too."
"Doesn't it?" he replied, his mood brightening a little at your comment, "Like I said, my nightmares are isolating and generally pessimistic. But sometimes, I wake up at the same time as a few other people in the city. And I come out here to watch. Makes me feel less alone.”
“That makes sense,” you agreed, the two of you turning to look over the railing again.
You watched as more businesses turned on their lights, further illuminating the streets. You squinted to see a woman on her morning run stop to pick up what looked like a piece of trash. You wondered if Luke saw it too, but your suspicions were confirmed soon after.
“And that’s the second reason why I like coming out here after a bad dream,” he said, “To remind myself that people are good.”
She threw the litter away, and then sprinted down the street until she was too far for you to see anymore. You turned to look at Luke. He was smiling.
For such a small good deed to feel like a personal triumph to him warmed your heart a little. You had always believed that Luke was a nice person, but it was then that you realized that he truly embodied good in every sense of the word.
The more you got to know him, the more you surrendered yourself to the fate of being wholeheartedly infatuated with Luke Skywalker.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
You had managed to get Luke to go back to sleep, and, as it turned out, he was still exhausted from the prior night’s events. He passed out in your arms, head tucked under your chin as you rubbed his back.
You woke up a few hours later to find that you were wrapped in his arms as he held you closely to his chest. You studied his features for about thirty seconds before Han’s knuckles were banging against the door, startling him awake. He jumped a little, but you were quick to caress his cheek and assure him that everything was alright.
“It’s just Han being annoying,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He let out a tired giggle.
“I can hear you,” Han called out from the other side of the door, “Are you two decent?”
“Yes, but—“
“Then get out here. We have to go.”
You didn’t know what the hurry was. You reluctantly tried to untangle yourself from Luke’s arms, but with little success. You looked at him skeptically, only to find that his eyes were once again closed.
“Luke,” you said, trying to weasel your way out of his grip, “I bet Chewie’s here with the van. I gotta get up.”
“I’m asleep,” he replied coyly, a small smile stretching over his face.
“Maybe Leia’s right. You’re getting spoiled.”
“I can drive you home later,” he offered, eyes still closed. You lightly hit his shoulder, in spite of your limited mobility.
“I already made him spend the night here. I should really go.”
“Like he took much convincing,” he snorted, and you laughed in spite of yourself.
“Like I said, I can hear you,” Han snapped, and Luke sighed as he reluctantly rolled over on his side, freeing you from his grip. You got up and stretched, and Luke watched you from bed.
“You look good. Wear those home,” he said, eyes lingering on the small bit of your skin that was exposed by his worn out shirt collar. You rolled your eyes.
“Don’t get excited,” you told him, and you heard Han sigh from the other side of the door.
“You make it difficult,” he replied, voice groggy with sleep but still carrying an air of mischief.
“I’m gonna leave you here,” Han threatened, banging on the door once again.
“I gotta go. I’ll see you soon.”
“Hey,” he said, suddenly sitting up, “Before I forget, I wanted to ask you something.”
You froze.
“I’m all ears,” you replied nervously, and you felt your heartbeat increase.
“I have a home game next weekend. It’s a playoff game. I have a few free tickets reserved for family, but my parents can’t come and Leia has a concert the same night. Would you wanna come? One of my aunts is coming, so you wouldn’t have to sit alone. There’s no pressure or anything, but—“
“Yes,” you agreed without a second thought. His face lit up instantly.
“Really?” he asked, suddenly much more awake than he had been before. And how could you regret your quick agreement when he looked so happy?
“Sure,” you replied, swallowing hard. You would do anything for him if it meant that you could see him smile like this all the time.
“That’s—Wow. I was really scared you’d say no. That’s why I haven’t asked you to come to a game yet.”
The idea that you could possibly make Luke Skywalker nervous was almost laughable.
“I have to see if you’re as good as you say you are,” you teased tiredly, leaning over to mess up his hair. He didn’t even bother slapping your hand away; he just smiled.
“I’ll make sure to put in the extra work for you,” he replied, tone flirty but still weighed down by his exhaustion. You blushed and laughed.
“I gotta go before Han kills me. Thanks for letting me stay,” you said, giving him a small wave as you headed towards the door. When you opened it, your roommate practically dragged you down the hallway. You heard Luke chuckle from his pile of blankets on the bed, and he called out a goodbye to you as you struggled to keep up with Han.
“Did you say bye to Leia?” you asked, not seeing her in the living room or kitchen.
“Yes?” he replied, looking at you like you were stupid.
“I was just making sure you didn’t leave without saying anything.”
“Don’t worry,” he grunted, tying up his boots, “I won’t sabotage your chances with Luke by having bad manners with the princess. I’ve been on my best behavior.”
You smacked him in the arm and didn’t bother humoring him with an additional reply. You stumbled out the door and into the elevator, Han’s hand on your upper back as if he were expecting you to turn around and run back into Luke’s arms. As usual, he was being dramatic.
Chewie had his hazard lights on in the fifteen minute parking in front of the apartment complex. When he caught sight of Han, he got out and moved into the passenger seat. Han always preferred to drive. You crawled into the back.
As Han put the van into drive, you saw Chewie’s eyes widen. Then, he broke out into a quiet snicker. You heard Han sigh.
“What?” you asked, trying to follow Chewie’s eyes. Wordlessly, he tugged at Han’s shirt collar and pointed.
There, at the base of his neck, was the beginning of a trail of hickeys. You audibly gasped.
“Not a fucking word,” Han snapped, grip tightening on the steering wheel.
You entertained his request, but you wore a shit-eating grin the whole way home. Every time he made eye contact with you through the rear view mirror, he would let out that same tortured sigh.
In the entire time that you’d known him, you’d never seen Han with a hickey. He prided himself in being a giver, but he was never willing to be tied down to any one person. To him, hickeys were a warning for others to stay away. He didn’t allow his partners to leave a mark. It just wasn’t his style.
Until now, apparently.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
Unfortunately, the following week wasn’t great. Han was increasingly absent, which could only mean that he had been serious about repaying his debt to his former employers. You hoped that Lando would make good on his word to keep your roommate out of harm’s way, but you had no idea what he and Leia had discussed. Han didn’t come home until extremely late in the night, and you couldn’t stop yourself from leaving your bedroom door cracked so you could hear him enter the apartment. You couldn’t sleep until you knew he’d made it home, but the earliest he’d returned all week was two in the morning.
In other words, you hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep.
You also got your cast off this week, but because your appointment was later in the afternoon and Han’s work with the Hutts started as soon as he was out of class, you’d had to walk there. You were a little bitter about it, and your mood was further worsened when you actually got the cast removed and saw how dry and red your skin was underneath. The doctor told you that you should expect some additional pain as you began to use your wrist more, but you were still irritated the following day when it turned out that she’d been right.
You were practically a zombie by the time Thursday rolled around. There was a dull ache in your wrist and the skin surrounding it looked unappealing to you. On its own, this wouldn’t weigh heavily on you, but the situation with Han had made you so nervous you felt like throwing up every time you thought about it. A combination of your lack of sleep, the manageable but incessant pain, and not knowing whether or not Lando would show up at your doorstep to tell you that the Hutts had gone too far and Han was in the hospital again all had you feeling nauseous and exhausted.
You were so out of it, in fact, that you apparently hadn’t seen Luke wave at you earlier. When you got home, you opened your phone to a few concerned texts from him.
Luke: heyyyy are u ok? waved at u earlier and u didn’t even see me D:
You frowned. You hadn’t meant to upset Luke. You replied immediately.
You: omg i’m so sorry it’s been a rough week i’m just really out of it :(
You likely wouldn’t hear back from him for a while, seeing as it was now evening and he was likely at practice. You needed to try to get some sleep before you went to his game on Saturday. You didn’t want to look ungrateful or disinterested because you were tired.
You sat down on the couch to dull your mind with reality television until Chewie got home later in the evening. Your exhaustion must have been catching up with you, because it didn’t take long for you to doze off.
You awoke with a start when you heard someone knocking at the front door. You looked around in mild panic. You didn’t get many visitors, and Han and Chewie weren’t home yet. You were half expecting the person on the other side of the door to be a police officer who had come to tell you that Han’s work with the Hutts had put him in critical condition again, or worse. With your stomach in knots, you reluctantly rose from the couch and forced your feet to carry you to the door. You were shaking a little when you twisted the knob, but when you finally opened it, you were more confused than anything else.
Luke was standing there, hair tousled and slightly damp, oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants with Adidas slides on his feet. The change in style suddenly reminded you that he was an athlete. He must have just showered and come from practice.
Instead of greeting him, you just stared, eyes wide and tired. He had never shown up unannounced before. He had never even shown up on his own at all, actually. Your eyes drifted down to his hand, which was holding a large brown takeout bag. You blinked.
“Hey,” he said, his brows furrowed as he studied your face, “Can I come in? I brought dinner.”
Despite his obvious concern for you, he still did his best to give you a comforting smile. The gesture made you feel emotionally overwhelmed. You swallowed hard and stepped to the side, afraid that you’d break down crying if you tried to speak.
He smiled again and shut the door behind him, kicking off his slides and placing the bag on the counter. He began unloading its contents, and you realized then that he’d brought you Italian takeout. He’d even ordered a little box of garlic cheese bread. Before you could ask how he even knew where the dishes were, he was reaching into your top cabinet and pulling out two plates. You couldn’t muster the energy to protest and tell him that you were capable of getting your own serving, and you watched idly as he prepared a plate for you.
“Sorry I’m stopping by so late,” he said, focused on his task, “I just got out of practice, but I smelled really bad so I showered in the locker room before coming here. If you want some alone time, feel free to chase me off after I’ve seen you eat something, okay?”
You didn’t reply, instead just watching him fix your food while your mind grew distant. It was dark outside, you realized. Han was out there somewhere. You frowned.
If Luke noticed, he didn’t say anything. He put your plate down on the table and placed his own across from you. Without as much as a word, he put his hand on the small of your back and guided you towards the table, pulling out your chair for you in a display so gentlemanly you’d normally tease him for it. You just didn’t have the energy to do that tonight. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before circling around to his own chair and taking a seat.
“I can go pick up something else if you don’t like it,” he told you, smiling at you again, “Or I can cook something for you. Whichever you’d prefer.”
You opened your mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Instead, you felt your eyes begin to burn with tears that threatened to spill. You would not cry in front of Luke Skywalker. It didn’t matter how stressful this week had been. That would just be humiliating.
“Hey,” he said softly, standing quickly and returning to your side of the table. He knelt so that his eyes were level with yours, even as you were sitting. It was a nice gesture meant to make you feel more comfortable, but having to look him in the eye just fueled your panic. You kept your gaze fixed on your hands.
“Sorry,” you mumbled weakly, swallowing your nerves as you tried to pull yourself together, “It’s been a hard week.”
“Don’t apologize,” he told you, and he pulled out another chair so that he could sit across from you, “If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry. I showed up uninvited and unannounced.”
He was so close that your knees were touching his. You swallowed.
“It’s fine,” you assured him, rubbing your eyes, “It’s not your fault. I’m just a little embarrassed for you to see me like this.”
“Why?” he asked, cocking his head at you, “You’ve seen me cry before. It’s natural.”
You supposed you had seen him cry. For a brief moment, you wondered how your fake relationship had spiraled into something as intimate as this.
“I just—You brought me dinner. And you’re trying to be sweet to me and do something nice. And now I’m about to cry.”
“I don’t see what’s wrong with that,” he told you softly, taking one of your hands into his own, “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Dinner will get cold.”
“We can reheat it. But if you’d rather eat now, we can do that first. It’s up to you.”
“I won’t be able to make much small talk with you during dinner,” you admitted sheepishly, frowning. He laughed.
“You should know that I can talk plenty to make up for it.”
You gave him a half-hearted smile, and that’s all he needed before he was sliding back into his own seat across the table from you.
Luke finished his food rather quickly, likely starving after exercising so much during practice. He decided to fill the silence by talking to you about a book he’d been reading for one of his classes recently. You nodded every now and then and listened intently, but didn’t feel up to giving much of your own commentary. To your surprise, it didn’t feel awkward at all.
When you were finished, he took your plate for you and placed it in the sink. He then presented you with one of the tastiest looking cannolis you’d ever seen.
“I never skip dessert,” he told you, and he placed the small plate down in front of you.
Your mood was slightly improved by the flavorful dinner and dessert, and you felt a little better after eating. You hadn’t exactly put a lot of effort into making sure you had been eating full meals this week, and you were suddenly very grateful that Luke had picked up where you’d been slacking.
Despite your protests, he washed and put away the dirty dishes.
“Alright,” he said when he was finished, smiling at you as if he’d been happy to do the work, “I’m all yours for the rest of the night. Did you still wanna talk? It’s also okay if you just wanted to hang out. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“Han and Chewie aren’t home,” you mumbled, sighing, “We can just sit in the living room.”
He nodded sympathetically, as if he could pick up on how lonely the absence of your two roommates was making you, and he followed you into the living room. You took a seat on the far end of the couch, facing him, and he sat in the middle with his legs criss-crossed, as if he were about to meditate. It was so Luke that you nearly giggled in spite of yourself. Once you were settled in, a stiff silence befell the room. You squirmed a little, but Luke didn’t seem uncomfortable at all. He was just patiently staring at you with honest, bright eyes.
“Are you okay?” he finally asked you, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so tender you could’ve cried then.
“I guess so,” you replied, sighing, “It’s Han. I’m just really worried about him, and I haven’t had a conversation with him all week. I’m scared he’s gonna get hurt again.”
Luke nodded, expression earnest and kind.
“He’s working with those guys again, yeah?” he asked. Leia had likely told him already, but you weren’t sure to what extent they’d talked about it.
“Yeah. I think he’s been really on edge since the Cloud City stuff. He’s worried they’ll kill him if he doesn’t make more progress on paying off his debt, so he’s working with them again. I hate it.”
“It was traumatic for you too,” he said softly, now holding one of your hands in his own, “It would make sense for you to be worried even if you hadn’t been there that night, but I can only imagine that this makes it even harder. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you mumbled, surprised that his focus was on you and your feelings rather than trying to reassure you about Han’s predicament, “I’m just kind of a nervous wreck. I don’t think I could handle seeing him like that again.”
He nodded, and then another thought suddenly entered your head.
“I should be going with him,” you said, startled by the realization, “He only made it out last time because other people were around. If I start going with him, then—“
“No,” he replied softly, the slow brushing of his thumb over your knuckles a stark contrast to your abrupt panic, “Putting yourself in danger isn’t going to make him any safer. And he has Lando there, doesn’t he?”
“Did Leia tell you anything about that?” you asked, growing a little desperate and frantic.
“Not much. Just that Han and Lando used to be involved in that scene together, and that Lando assured her that they’d be okay.”
You’d been wondering about what Leia’s intentions were from the moment Lando had admitted that she’d contacted him, and who would know her better than her own twin brother?
“How involved do you think she’d get?” you asked, “From what Lando said, it seemed like she might try to set something up where the Hutts get into some legal trouble. But she’d have to know a lot about them to pull that off—“
“She’d do that,” he confessed, sighing and looking down, “She’d walk right into trouble for the people she loves. That’s just how she is.”
“Then shouldn’t I be doing something to help too?”
“Leia is calculated,” he said thoughtfully, “But she can also be reckless. And you’ve already gotten hurt with this stuff before. I don’t think you should be involved.”
“I wish he would stop,” you snapped, throat closing up, “He won’t let me help him at all. I offered to cover his rent and he said no. He just wants to do it all by himself.”
“He’s stubborn,” Luke agreed, now placing his hand on your shoulder, “I’m sorry. I wish there was something more I could do. I’m sure we could make a payment on some of his debt—“
“There’s no way he’d let you do that.”
“I figured,” he sighed, rubbing your shoulder soothingly, “I’m not sure that we can do a whole lot then. Unless you want to go behind his back and turn the Hutts in, but that seems like it could already be Leia’s plan.”
“I feel helpless,” you admitted, slightly panicked once again, “It’s only been a week, and this is driving me crazy. I don’t even know how much he owes them. Or the full story of how the got involved in all of this. How long do I have to stay up wondering if he’s safe or not?”
“I’m sorry,” Luke said again, gently wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a hug, “I can’t change things with Han, but if there’s anything I can do for you while all of this is going on, I’m more than happy to. Just let me know if you need anything at all.”
And you couldn’t help it. You really did start crying then. How could you not? His hand had slid down to your back, and was now rubbing small circles into it. You quietly cried into his shoulder, your head buried there as you couldn’t bring yourself to face him. If he looked at you in a way as loving as how he was cradling you, you would certainly only cry harder.
You felt confused in every sense of the word. You were confused about Han’s plan, and about how Leia and Lando factored into it. You were confused about why Luke had come here in the first place if your relationship was only a facade. You were confused about your feelings for him.
You craved certainty, and you would’ve done anything to have a clear answer about something in your life right now. Something tangible that you could hold on to, because all you had to hold on to right now was Luke, and you weren’t quite sure how real this even was.
“I can’t do it,” you whispered into his shoulder, shaking with the effort it took to speak, “It’s only been a week. He and Chewie are all I have. I can’t lose him.”
Luke didn’t tell you that Han wouldn’t get hurt. He didn’t tell you that he was sure your roommate would be perfectly fine. He didn’t reassure you of the man’s safety at all, and he didn’t try to offer some sort of timeline for how long he thought this would take. Part of you wished he would, but you knew deep down that he couldn’t possibly tell you those things truthfully, because there was just no way for him to know. He was as clueless as you were, and if there was one thing you’d learned about Luke, it was that he was honest. Private, secretive even, but he didn’t seem to make a habit of lying to you.
Instead, he cradled the back of your head as he held you with his other arm. And then, in a small, uncertain voice, he spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered sadly, as if he knew that he wasn’t giving you the kind of reassurance that you so deeply craved, “I know it’s not the same, but they’re not all you have. You have me. If there’s anything I can do to make it easier on you, just say the word. I promise you have me.”
That could mean so many things, couldn’t it? You continued to cry softly as he held you, and he continued to take this task very seriously, giving you light and comforting touches while keeping you grounded in his arms. It was exactly what you needed. He always seemed to know exactly what you needed.
After several minutes, you finally pulled away a little, though your bodies still remained touching. He looked devastated when he actually saw the remanence of your tears, and he gently brushed one of them from your cheek with his thumb. He offered you a sad smile then, and you felt so incredibly guilty for making him anything other than happy.
“I think Chewie is working and staying out of the house as much as possible because he can’t stand Han not being here,” you said with a shaky sigh, “He stays busy so he doesn’t feel his absence as much.”
“That makes sense. They seem really close.”
“They are,” you agreed, “But we all are. And now I’m spending my nights here alone. I feel like I’m the only one who can’t get used to this.”
“That’s not true,” he assured you, “You just said it yourself. Chewie’s probably as upset as you are, but he’s just showing it differently. You’re not overreacting.”
You gave him a smile that you knew didn’t reach your eyes. Sometimes, you felt like Luke was leagues ahead of you when it came to emotional intelligence. You knew that he cared for Han and Chewie as well—you’d witnessed as much—but his focus throughout this entire interaction had been you. He knew exactly what was out of his control. He couldn’t change how Han and Chewie were behaving, but he could help you process your emotions.
“Thanks for saying that,” you said sincerely, reaching out and squeezing his hand, “And thank you for listening. I know it’s kind of messy.”
“I’ve had my own share of messy situations,” he replied, and you giggled, “And you can tell me anything. I might not be able to do very much to help, but I want to try.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” you mumbled, blushing a little, “You being here is enough. Can I pay you back for dinner?”
“Absolutely not,” he argued, grinning.
“I figured,” you sighed, sinking into the couch, “Well, it’s getting kind of late, and I know that you have a busy weekend coming up. Don’t feel pressured to stay.”
“I’ll go if you want me to go,” he replied, “But I wouldn’t mind watching something with you, if you want.”
“You don’t have to,” you reiterated. He shook his head like you were being ridiculous.
“I like spending time with you. I’d do this every night if I could.”
You were momentarily too caught off guard to reply. In fact, you didn’t manage to reply at all, instead just nodding and reaching for the remote as your mouth went dry. He must have noticed your reaction, because he was hiding a smile behind his hand.
“If you’re gonna stay, you can’t make fun of me,” you warned, lightly slapping his knee. His smile only widened.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he teased, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to him once more.
You put on a cheesy 80s movie that you were sure he hadn’t seen before. As the film played, you noticed that his eyes kept drifting from the screen to you. When you caught him, he didn’t appear to be bashful or ashamed. Instead, he just continued to admire you, a certain fondness in his expression that you had a hard time believing was reserved for you.
I swear to gawddd I need someone to ramble abt Luke x OC ships with. Bump brains. I need to ramble abt my silly little guy and I need to hear abt someone else’s silly guy. Symbiotic relationship. Please.
I've been loosely working on a Formula 1 AU I would like to work out into a more complete thing, I need someone to yap back and forth with bc I gotta fill the grid aaggHHHH-
The few slots I have locked in are Luke Skywalker for Red Bull Racing, Hera Syndulla for McLaren, Lando Calrissian for Mercedes, Han Solo for Ferrari, Tech for Williams, and Biggs Darklighter for Racing Bulls (who I might just revert back to Toro Rosso because I want to)
theres so much slop in the luke x reader tag dear lord. why do i have to dig so deep to find actual luke x reader content because it keeps getting spammed full of random shit </3
and as you bare your fangs, just as you were taught, he just stares at you with that solemn gaze as if you're a scared animal, and no matter how much you scream that you will, deep down you know you won't bite.
i wasnt gonna post this version but uhhhh . oops <"3 oc x canon angst
A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss.
A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.
An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.
Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.
Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift.
French kisses where they trace every tooth with their tongues as though trying to memorize them.
Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.
A kiss that lasts so long, they are sharing each other’s breaths.
A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.
Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.
Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.
Butterfly kisses against the other’s cheeks.
A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished.
A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick.
One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.
Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.
Teasing kisses where one person blows air into the other’s mouth and runs away.
One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.
Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.
A chaste kiss given to each other because they are in mixed company.
A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.
A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating.
Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer.
Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.
Brushing a kiss along the shell of the other person’s ear.
Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.
One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.
Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force.
Weak, sweaty kisses because it’s unbearably hot.
Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.
A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.
An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.
Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.
An awkward kiss given after a first date.
Starting with bunny kisses before moving on to soft kisses.
Cleaning the other person’s lips with a lick and a kiss.
Whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss.
Kissing tears from the other’s face.
A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.
Kisses shared under an umbrella.
Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.
A kiss pressed to the top of the head.
Tentative kisses given in the dark.
Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.
A lingering kiss before a long trip apart.
A kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged.
One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.
Short and sweet kiss after meeting up for a date.
A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.
gift for @hypnoswrites bc my old art was due for an update + she changed her hair color from blue to red. have fun with ur government assigned fursona my love <3
𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first multi-part series. clone fever hit hard. i'm actually really happy with this for a change. This chapter is the set-up for the conflict at hand :) im currently on s6 of TCW and AUFHHGHH i just got past the Fives arc. im a bit insane atm. anyways ENJOYY
“I promise, you will get your rifle back when you leave the premises. It’s just procedure- you’re not authorized to carry any weapons into the Jedi Temple.”
You gritted your teeth at the Guard blocking your path as firmly held onto your sniper rifle, as if he’d have to pluck it from your cold dead hands if he wanted to take it from you.
Despite your stubborn attitude, you knew your faux little display of rebellion was a losing battle. As much as you refused to trust the Jedi, you were left with little choice but to go to them for help.
There was very little on your planet for you to return to, other than the remnants of the cities the Separatist forces had quietly seized for themselves. A sparsely populated planet circling a neutron star, right near the outer edge of the mid rim. Nothing remarkable on its own, but full of mining communities ripe for the Separatists to exploit for their excessive droid production.
For as far as you knew, you were the only one who’d been able to penetrate the blockade.
You sniffed, still agitated as you dropped the sniper rifle into the storage bin. The thought of the poor working conditions your people were being put through to mine materials for those bastards was enough to temporarily put yourself past your distaste for the Republic.
“Thank you.” the Guard responded dryly, unable to hide the hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Be careful with it.” you sneered, almost shoulder checking the man on your way past him. If you were being honest with yourself, you had to acknowledge you were being unreasonable with this poor man. He was only here to do his job and people like you did not make it any easier. But being subject to an invasion had clouded your sense of self, and maybe your ability to be reasonable. Just a little.
You were led to a woman dressed in robes, but you did not know enough about the clothing habits of the Jedi to tell whether she was one of them or not. She nodded, exchanging a few friendly words and beckoning for you to follow her. Your arrival was expected.
A sense of unease washed over you as you made your way through the towering hallways of the Temple. The air tasted warm and stale, the building’s age and the many people that passed through it permeating through its scent. The hallways were far from empty, used for conversation, and in some cases even training, judging by the bright light emitting from those unsettling trademark blades they carried.
Keeping your head low, you ignored the passing glances that were being sent your way.
A morbid part of you wish you’d died and the torch of fate had been passed on to another unfortunate soul, one more equipped to deal with diplomatic matters such as these. But these were the cards you’d been dealt, and you had little choice but to play them now.
The tapping of the lady’s shoes accelerated as she swiftened her step, opening the door for you. She moved out of the way, gesturing for you to head inside as she stood outside the door. It was clear she was not accompanying you any further, so you gave her a curt nod and stepped through the opening.
When the heavy metal doors fell shut behind you with a loud thunk, you were met by several pairs of eyes fixated on you. As if you were a scared animal, you could feel the hair in your neck begin to rise. Despite your feverish thoughts of reassurance and weak attempts to ease your nerves, your sense of unease had failed to dissipate.
There were three of them. None of their heads adorned the same mask as the woman that had guided you through the hallways, and two of them were sporting similar robes, though there were some differences in how they wore them. Jedi, you were sure of it.
As soon as you’d entered the room, the taller of the two Jedi took a step forward. He had a striking appearance, eyebrows casting a shadow over his blue eyes. Across his right ran a scar, marking his experience in combat. His robes were black and reddish brown, much darker than those of the red-robed young togruta who stayed in her place by the table. You did not fail to take note of the weapons hanging off their hips, subconsciously feeding into your discomfort even more.
The man in the corner stood out from the two. He was clearly not a Jedi. In the absence of robes, his body was instead covered in full white armor painted with blue stripes. This included his head, covered by a broad helmet covered in markings. A clone, you realized, eyes widening slightly. Your life being mostly secluded to a neutral planet in a neutral system, you’d only ever see brief glances of them on propaganda posters and on the occasional business trip to systems under Republic control.
You were snapped out of your thoughts when the tall Jedi cleared his throat. When you gave him a good look a second time, you noticed he’d moved his hand to cover the hilt of his lightsaber, as had the younger one in the back. Right, Jedi. Mindreaders.
“Welcome.” he began, giving you a small nod. You nodded back, waiting for him to continue.
“My name is Anakin Skywalker. This is my Padawan, Ahsoka Tano.” He gestured towards his apprentice, who in turn also greeted you with a small nod. You briefly glanced at the clone in the corner, but he did not speak up to introduce himself, nor did Anakin make a move to introduce him. Oh well. Maybe he was not to be in contact with you directly, who knows what hierarchy they set up in these Temples?
“[Name].” you responded briefly, nothing more, nothing less.
“[Name].” Anakin echoed your name back at you. “It was your distress signal we received last week, then. We know the basic details of the situation described, but following your message, the Council has been unable to make contact with any representative from your planet. Would you mind explaining what’s going on back there?”
You scoffed.
“I would, actually. Having said that, I want to make it clear I am not telling you anything before we have laid down some ground rules.”
Despite the hints towards their ability to read your mood and mind from earlier, this seemed to catch them all by surprise. Anakin’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and Ahsoka exchanged a glance with the clone behind him.
“Not telling u- But you’re the one who contacted us for help.” His voice was stern, but mostly laced with surprise.
“The only reason I visited this war-forsaken place was because this is the Jedi’s conflict to resolve! Nobody else’s!” you snarled, somehow working up the courage to jab him in his chest. “The Hakheen system has been a neutral system for the entire duration of the war that you started. We’ve done everything we can to keep ourselves uninvolved with the conflict- and a decade of hard work was undone when you decided to take over our only two neighboring systems! Your thoughtless actions are what put us on the Separatist radar which has now resulted in a full hostile planetary takeover!”
“What?” the togruta spoke up for the first time, giving you a wide-eyed stare.
It was just as you feared. Hakheen’s takeover had been effectively kept a secret from the rest of the galaxy. Not only did that mean the Jedi Order would only have your word to go off, it also meant you really had been the only person to escape the droid suppression and the blockade around the planet.
“You’re sure? The entire planet has been subject to a takeover, not just your region?” Anakin chimed back in, putting himself past your hostile disposition towards him.
“Trust me, General, I don’t want to be here either. I’d rather have come groveling at the feet of anyone before I came licking the boots of the Jedi Order. But the scale of this invasion has left me with no choice but to come knocking at your door. Like I said, this is your responsibility and you are to fix this mess that you made. After we have been liberated, the Republic will leave us be and we can call this even.”
Ahsoka struggled to speak for a moment, the markings across her brow furrowing.
“But that’s not a fair assessment to make.” she retorted. Your gaze met with hers, feeling your blood begin to run a few degrees hotter with building anger. “The Jedi Order only steps in when-”
“Snips.” Anakin’s firm voice interrupted her. The Jedi had turned his head to face her, shooting her a warning glance. “Enough.”
This was difficult enough as is. You clearly did not trust either of them, which meant that any form of discussion or negotiation was going to be a struggle. Even if they didn’t agree with your point of view, there was no point in arguing against it. Letting the Separatists enslave the population of a planet being used for a large-scale assault against the Republic was not something they could ignore regardless.
You were grateful for the intervention. Ahsoka was clearly younger than you, but given the situation and your emotional state, you don’t know how long you could’ve kept your cool.
“I agree that we should stage a counterattack. It’s in everyone’s best interest, from what you have described.” Anakin explained calmly.
“But that doesn’t mean we can just blindly agree to your terms. Regardless of whether or not we believe you- and trust me, we do- we will need more concrete proof that what you are saying is true. And if we are to negotiate terms like this with you, you need some form of political status.”
Averting your eyes, you stared at the ground. You didn’t have a proper response to that. Sure, you had political aspirations growing up, but the situation you grew up in did not allow many people from Hakheen to pursue their dreams. Despite your promising education, like most people, you were forced to sell animal parts you and your family hunted to make ends meet. There was no room and no budget to invest in some vague ambassadorial aspirations, and this was likely the furthest you’d come in that regard.
“There were others.” you decided to pivot, realizing there was no lying your way out of this anyways. “I was with a group of six escapees. Among them was our Minister of Intersystemary Affairs and two ambassadors to different planets in the Outer Rim, don’t know which.” For the first time in that conversation you looked desperate. You eyed Anakin questioningly, slightly hopeful your presumptions were incorrect.
“We… haven’t heard anything but your distress signal.” he responded quietly. “I’m sorry.”
You could feel your heart skin in your chest. That severely complicated the situation. Although you hated to admit it, Anakin was right. Nobody on Coruscant had any reason to take someone of your age and status, or rather lack thereof, seriously.
After a moment of silence, Anakin took a step back. “Either way, this is enough information to alert the Council and to send people to look into the situation. Especially considering the urgency, this will be dealt with swiftly.”
You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose in thought and frustration. “Even with how long the Senate takes to allow, well… fucking anything?”
“For matters that impede our ability to defend ourselves we don’t have to run it by the Senate. Otherwise we’d be handing our asses on a plate to the Seppies at their every move.” He cracked a grin at his own joke before quickly steeling his expression again. “Considering what you told us about an imminent attack on neighboring systems, I consider that more than enough probable cause to take action.”
You softly exhaled a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding. Seems like something was going your way at the very least. Bitterly, you thought how the impending attack on the Republic was the only incentive they had to act so quickly. Still, you’d take their selfish help over waiting for your people to die anyday.
“You two, with me.” Anakin turned around. “We will be right back.”
The clone and the padawan followed right behind him, and you watched the door close, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
Just as you were, Rex was also left to stew in his own thoughts as he followed the two Jedi out of the meeting room. The information weighed on his mind. He’d of course heard the stories of how the Trade Federation attempted to pressure Naboo into signing a treaty with a takeover and a blockade. It wasn’t entirely new territory for the Jedi Order to deal with. But he’d never heard of a successful quiet overtake to this extent before. This was on a whole new level, even for the Separatists.
Furthermore, he was not entirely sure what to make of the character they’d just met. Although he had nothing against you personally, you did not present yourself as the easiest person to work with. They were going to have to find a way past that if you really were the only person who could testify about what the Separatists were carrying out on Hakheen.
Still, there was a lot he admired about you, even from such a short interaction.
Separatist blockades could be a serious hazard. Those things had cost the Republic a lot of men over the years, both regular pilots and clones alike. It was nothing short of a miracle you had managed to break through one, but was also undoubtedly a sign of skill on some level.
He also had to admit he admired your resolve. For as far as he could tell, you weren’t military. Time and time again he’d seen that the challenge of stepping up for what was right was too difficult for many people, even if the situation forced them too. You’d proved well enough you were not a part of that group.
“Rex, a moment. Snips, you go on ahead.”
On queue, the clone captain straightened his back. “General Skywalker.”
Anakin looked between him and Ahsoka rounding the corner at the end of the hallway before continuing. “I think you should stay with our guest. I was originally going to have Ahsoka stay with them while I discussed our plan of action with you, since she’s probably a bit better at small talk than the two of us. But, as you could see, our friend isn’t exactly comfortable around a bunch of Jedi.”
Your discomfort was hard to miss, even without the outright spiteful curses you spat at them.
“Good point, sir. But don’t you think this discomfort extends to any aspect of the Republic?”
“Eh, not really.” Anakin shrugged. “But it’s worth a shot. It’s not what I sensed, anyways. And I don’t think they’re particularly eager to hang out with Snips after what happened back there. We need them around here in case the Council wants to question them. Just act relaxed, try to put them at ease.”
Rex hummed. “Alright sir. I’ll await further instructions.” he stated, nodding quickly before turning back around.
Though you couldn’t discern what they were saying, the fact you could hear their voices humming faintly through the thick doors made you uneasy. They were talking about you, you were sure of it. The General had sounded sincere enough when you explained your situation to him, but you had no way to tell whether he was being sincere or not. The Jedi had a reputation for being deceptive, and for likening themselves to heroes despite being warmongers.
For all you knew, you’d done nothing but initiate a second territorial takeover with this stunt. But, then again, doing anything to try and fix the situation was worth trying over being complacent with the millions of deaths on your home planet.
You were snapped out of your restless train of thought by the door sliding back open, revealing the clone captain from earlier standing in the doorway. The Jedi were no longer with him. Probably they’d gone off to relay your message to that Council they mentioned earlier, you figured.
As the man headed towards one of the chairs on the other side of the meeting room table, your eyes followed him sharply, though it was more out of curiosity than distrust. Although you’d seen and heard a couple of clones distantly during your business trips to nearby Republic systems, this was the first time you encountered one up close and personal.
Of course you'd seen that helmet plenty of times, whether it be on Republic propaganda posters or the holonet. It almost looked fake to be met with one in real life. Though you noted his was far more decorated than the ones you’d seen in illustrations before. Aside from the two deep blue markings glaring at you above his visor, the surface was absolutely covered in tally marks. You could only guess whether it represented the number of lives he took or the number of battles he’d fought his way through, but you didn’t doubt it marked his skill in combat.
“Ah, right. Sorry. Where are my manners?” His modulated voice snapped you out of your gaze. You could feel the embarrassment rise up in your chest as you realized you’d been staring at him like a frightened lothcat.
Swiftly, the man removed his helmet, leaving it to rest on his hip under his arm. Once again, the face you were met with was one you’d definitely seen in illustrations many times before, but never had you seen it in person.
“No, no, I’m sorry.” you apologized with a dull tone, too flustered to keep looking him in the eye. “I was staring.”
Rex cracked a small smile as he placed his battle-worn helmet down on the table, taking a seat diagonally across from yours. Quietly, he still wondered how he was going to approach you, considering mediation was not exactly his specialty. However, it seemed that Anakin was right to a certain extent at least. They’d only just left the room and your attitude was already nothing like it was five minutes ago.
“I’ve never met a clone before.” you continued at his silence, feeling the need to explain yourself.
“Right. We don’t go to neutral systems unless we have a good reason to. Having our men on ground untouched by the war usually causes more unrest than it is worth. You don’t visit Republic systems often, then?”
“Not much, no.” you replied, slacking your shoulders a little. “Sometimes, though. To sell our stuff elsewhere. We're hunters.”
Rex rested his elbow on his knee, leaning forward. “Hunters, eh?” he asked, interested. His position did not often require him to make small talk with civvies.
“Yeah. Most of our planet’s exports are minerals. My family members from a few generations back or something decided to capitalize on something else. I mean- We sell most of our meat on Hakheen, but the horns and bones are sought after in other systems. But… yeah, that’s probably not something that’s going to draw any clones to our booth.”
“Guess not.” Rex chuffed, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms. The captain was not exactly familiar with your planet or the wildlife it contained, but he figured it wasn’t a small deal if it was worth the transport to other systems to sell your products.
The room became quiet again as you both struggled to find something to say. You found the courage to look up at him again, giving his face a proper look.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt you’d seen that face countless times online before, but there were a lot of details to his appearance that set him apart from the mental image of a clone you’d built up over the years. The most obvious was that his roots were blonde, as opposed to the trademark brown you were used to reading about. You vaguely wondered if he dyed it to stand out as an individual, or if it was a phenotypic abnormality he was born with.
The second thing that caught your attention were his eyes. They were nothing like the cold, battle-hungry stares you’d come to learn they all supposedly had. There was a certain tension to his posture that stayed present even as the two of you conversed about nothing, but his eyes carried a strength that was more reassuring than threatening. It honestly made him a lot more handsome than the faces you remembered from the posters.
Rex cleared his throat, thinking of a sensible way to ask the question that weighed on his mind.
“If you don’t mind me asking, sir… How were you able to penetrate the blockade? We’ve lost a lot of good men to those, no matter the size of the blockade. It might help us strategize on how to get through.”
You took a deep breath, your fingers interlocking nervously. You hated thinking back to that day. The trip to Coruscant had been a laborious traumatizing trip on its own, but it did not compare to the hell you had to endure to break through the Separatist army.
“Apologies. I shouldn't have asked that until General Skywalker is back.”
“No.” you quickly responded. “No, it’s fine. Honestly though, it’s probably not the answer you’re looking for. I just- I just got lucky.” Feet rubbing together in a nervous tic, you continued. “I know none of the crafts near the west of the capital did not even make it out of the atmosphere. My group all managed to overwhelm the droids stationed at the southeastern airport for long enough to hijack a few spacecrafts. From there on out I guess I just got lucky.”
“It takes more than just luck to survive something like this.” Rex reassured you gently. Though he sounded genuine, you couldn’t agree with him.
“To a certain extent, perhaps. But I was panicking and I guess that ended up being in my favor. We all decided to split up to heighten our chances of one of us breaking through. I heated up my hyperdrive as soon as I passed the atmosphere and just prayed to whatever gods I could think of that I wouldn't blast myself through a star.”
“You didn’t do calculations?”
“No, none. I was right above a city south of the capital when I made the jump. Didn’t end up seeing any ships from the blockade, but they must have been there. Nobody else I left ever contacted me after I made it through.”
Rex made a mental note to ask you about the details of that location later. Identifying a potential weak spot in their blockade could be vital to a successful mission, but he sensed you’d been asked enough about this for today.
“It’s good that you took that risk. I promise your case is in good hands with General Skywalker. He personally insisted on tackling it as soon as he received your distress signal. We will do everything to ensure your planet will be free of Seppies when we leave.”
Despite sighing through your nose, you managed to flash him a weak smile. Even if you weren’t particularly fond of the Jedi Order and the factions it was allied with, you had desperately needed someone to just be kind to you after the horrendous situation you’d found yourself in for the past week.
“Thank you, uh…” Your voice trailed off as you stared at him, questioningly.
“Captain Rex. At your service.”
You gave him a proper smile this time, nodding. You were about to open your mouth to continue the conversation, when a high-pitched beeping started emanating from Rex’s wrist. His comlink. You stared as he pressed the button, a light blue hologram of the General you’d met earlier springing up from the device.
“Rex, you should come over here. Both of you.”
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