aresrambles

[aresrambles]

so, i just finished s2 and holyyyy shit.

[aresrambles]

hi hello i’ve received some asks regarding writing for mark so i’ll just drop a general note for now!

i do intend to write more for him, i’ve just been a little busy on my end lately with some unforeseen circumstances. rest assured i’ll have something up soon. thank you for your patience lovely readers. ♡

[aresrambles]

hey i’ve written one you can read here

there is a worrying lack of mark scout fanfic on here

[aresrambles]

Crossing The Line

mark scout x fem!reader - touch starved innies barely holding it down in the office. steamy but nothing crazy. reader is in helly’s shoes. (1590 words)

a/n: made in response to the awful lack of mark x reader fics out rn. please writers better than i, get to work!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Irving is observant, almost unnervingly so.

He watches the way your eyes linger a second too long on Mark during morning briefings, the way your posture stiffens when he gets too close, and the way your breath hitches when he smiles in that way you’re still trying to figure out. It’s subtle, but not subtle enough to evade Irving’s sharp gaze. They say when you’re in love, you begin to see it everywhere.

“Alright,” he says with a knowing look, slipping his hands into his pockets as he glances between you and Mark, “Dylan, please accompany me on a walk to Optics and Design. We need to gather some… information.”

Dylan looks up from his screen with a quirked brow, but doesn’t protest—Irving’s strange requests have become routine by now. Especially when O&D is involved.

But you? You feel your pulse quicken, heart thumping inside of your ribcage like a rattled chicken. You wonder if anyone hears the change in your breathing in the stillness of the room.

A moment of silence passes as you glance at Mark, but his gaze is fixed on the paperwork in front of him. He doesn’t seem to notice the subtle shift in the air. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just pretending not to.

Irving gives you one last glance, something almost like a smirk tugging at his lips. “It’ll be a short walk. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” The words hang in the air, mocking you, and for a split second, you swear he knows exactly what’s going on with you guys.

Mark’s eyes flicker up to meet yours, a small, unreadable glance. The door shuts behind Irving and Dylan, and the air between you both quickly thickens with tension. You try to recall the last time you two were alone like this.

You don’t dare look up again, not yet. You can feel his gaze on you, the weight of it making your skin prickle.

“Are you alright?” Mark’s voice is low, quiet, the kind of tone that invites you to lean in, to listen more closely.

You nod, straining a smile, but you know he can see right through you. You know he’s waiting for something more. Do your outie’s palms sweat this bad when she’s nervous too? Fuck.

You’re startled as Mark’s hand brushes against your arm. He’s reaching for a file; one you’re not actually sure he needs.

As he leans over to grab the paperwork, the side of his neck comes within inches of your face, and you can’t help but inhale. The scent is soft, almost too subtle to pinpoint at first, but then it unfurls—green tea, fresh and delicate, with a hint of something sweeter beneath it. Fig. It’s ripe, comforting.

Mark’s scent pulls at something inside you. It’s a feeling that grows, subtle at first, but undeniable, spreading like warmth, directing south in a way that’s both unexpected and impossible to ignore. You wonder if he knows how his scent lingers, how it’s impossible not to notice, not to be drawn to it.

Mark pulls back but you can feel lingering heat of his touch, the warmth that spreads to your fingertips like a silent invitation. A single breath passes between you both, shared, too intimate for something so fleeting. His knuckles brush your wrist as he pulls the file closer, his eyes meeting yours—searching, questioning, as though he’s trying to figure out how far this could go before it snaps.

It’s a dangerous game. And for the first time, you wonder if either of you knows the rules.

“I… don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” he finally says, almost sheepishly, his voice cracking slightly at the edges. The way he says it sounds genuine, like he’s afraid he’s misstepping, even though it’s clear he’s already crossing the line between professional and personal. His body moves back from yours, hovering, like he’s debating whether to pull away completely or if it’s alright to stay near you.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you murmur, the words escaping before you can stop them. The thought feels like it’s been building inside you, a quiet, pressing thing you’ve kept hidden away until now. “This… the pretending. The distance.” The confession hangs in the air, raw and unguarded, and suddenly you regret opening your mouth.

Mark doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes drop to the file in front of him, his jaw tightening ever so slightly, as if fighting some internal battle. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, before he speaks.

“I’m not sure that… I understand what you mean.” His voice is too calm, too measured, as if he’s playing it safe, trying to distance himself from the vulnerability that hangs between you. But there’s a tremor there. It’s small, fleeting, but it’s there.

You both know the truth, even if neither of you wants to say it out loud.

Mark leans in just slightly. It’s like he’s drawing you in without saying a word, that gravity between you becoming harder to resist. Your heart races in your chest, a quick, uneven beat.

You close the gap.

It happens in a blur—his lips against yours, soft at first, hesitant even. But it doesn’t stay that way for long. The kiss deepens, almost desperate, as if you’re both trying to prove something: that this moment, this feeling, is real. And neither of you can deny it any longer.

His hand comes up to your cheek, fingers splayed, rough and warm. The pressure of his palm against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. All your mind can focus on is the way he feels, the way he’s pulling you closer, as though you were always meant to be this way. You wonder if Mark’s outie would kiss like this— whether he’d want to kiss you at all.

Then—just as suddenly as it started—he pulls back. His chest rises and falls, his eyes darker than before, pink lips slightly parted and dark hair mussed up and wild. He looks as though he’s searching for words that won’t come. You both breathe, the silence ringing louder than anything else in the room. The door opens again behind you and your hear the sound of footsteps walking inside.

“What the shit?”

[aresrambles]

there is a worrying lack of mark scout fanfic on here

[aresrambles]

mission complete was amazing!!!! curious as to if there would be a possible part 2 perhaps?? maybe with some jealously involved 👀🙏

hey! first off, thank you so much for the kind words- i really, really appreciate it! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

concerning a pt. 2 for mission complete, i’m not entirely sure where i’d like that storyline to go. because of that, i won’t outright confirm or deny right now!

[aresrambles]

Mission Complete

logan howlett x fem!reader - in which you and the wolverine shack up in a shitty hotel after a mission. nsfw, afab terms, there's only one bed, 18+reader (always), “kid”, pining!logan, pining!reader (3911 words)

a/n: just one night with this man... just one fucking night. also yes, first wolvie post but defo not the last.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Logan pauses in the doorway, his gaze lingering on the double bed crammed into the corner of your shared hotel room. He steps inside, trying to appear nonchalant, but his eyes dart around, searching for an alternative—a sofa, a chair, hell, even a futon. Nothing. He sighs heavily, dropping his bag with a thud, his mind racing through the options. Sharing a bed with you? That’s out of the damn question. He could sleep on the floor, or better yet, maybe there’s another room available. Spending the night with you would be some sick kind of torture; he can’t restrain himself that long.

If you notice his hesitation, you don’t show it. You slip past him with a casual brush of the shoulder, making a beeline for the bathroom. “Dibs on the shower!” you call out, rummaging through your backpack for what he figures must be a change of clothes. Logan grunts in response.

“This mission wasn’t even that bad,” you continue, your voice muffled as you dig deeper into your bag. “We’re leaving early tomorrow, so you should probably shower tonight too. Don’t need you slowing us down in the morning, old man.”

Logan doesn’t dignify your jab with a response. Instead, he turns on his heel and heads back out, letting the door click shut behind him. He’s got a better chance of dealing with the front desk than with sharing that bed. He fishes out a cigar, biting down on it as he stalks down the stairs, striking a match as he goes. The no-smoking signs? They might as well be invisible to him. If they didn’t notice him before, they’d sure as hell notice the smoke.

When he reaches the lobby, it’s empty. Logan rings the bell—once, twice.

“Hello?”

Silence. He rings the bell again, harder this time.

“Hello? Anybody here? I was just—oh, for fuck’s sake.”

His eyes land on a neat little sign perched on the desk: ‘Front desk will be available again from 7:30 a.m. tomorrow.’

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, he thinks, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke in frustration. What if there’s an emergency? What are people supposed to do, wait until morning?

Logan growls under his breath, stubbing out the cigar on the polished wood of the counter, leaving a smoldering mark as a parting gift. He storms back up the stairs, mentally preparing himself for a night on the hard floor. It could be worse, he muses, but only just.

Logan swings open the door to a piercing shriek, slamming it shut almost as quickly as he’d opened it, his hand still gripping the doorknob with a trembling force. Okay, it could definitely be worse, he thinks, his mind spinning.

Inside, you scramble to cover yourself, your heart racing as you realize what just happened. “Seriously? Do you not knock?” you shout, your voice laced with a mix of panic and humiliation. Your face burns as you try to process the situation, the mortification almost too much to bear. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” you mutter under your breath, hurriedly yanking on the oversized t-shirt you had planned to sleep in, your hands fumbling in haste.

“Why didn’t you change in the bathroom?” Logan shoots back, voice gruff, trying to mask his own flustered state. He grinds out his cigar underfoot, his mind replaying the moment he just witnessed, over and over. His ears burn hot, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t shake the image of you—shirt halfway over your head, bare and vulnerable, your skin still glistening from the shower. Fuck. He looks down, his jeans now uncomfortably tight, the ache in his groin a harsh reminder of why sharing a bed with you is a terrible idea. He can barely keep himself together when you’re fully dressed, let alone in a state like that.

You take a moment to steady your breathing, trying to push the embarrassment down. “You can… you can come in now,” you stammer, your back turned to the door as you pretend to be engrossed in your phone, anything to avoid facing him.

Logan doesn’t reply. He pushes the door open and slips inside, his movements quick and stiff as he heads straight for the bathroom, needing to put some distance between you both. The door closes behind him, and you let out a groan, burying your face in your hands. This moment was going to haunt you for a very long time.

So, you had a little crush on Logan. No big deal—just a harmless, schoolgirl crush. At least, that’s what you told yourself. But you couldn’t deny that you and Logan made a damn good team. So good, in fact, that the Professor had been pairing you two up for missions more often than not lately. And that silly, schoolgirl crush? It had started to grow into something much harder to ignore.

Your stomach churns as you roll over onto the bed, face buried in the pillows. It’s hard to admit, but part of you got a little turned on by what just happened. The searing embarrassment of having your body on display like that for the man who’d starred in so many of your late-night fantasies… It was almost too much to handle. You sigh deeply, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks again.

But then reality sets in. Logan didn’t feel the same way—how could he? The way he bolted for the bathroom was proof enough. Why would someone like him ever be interested in you? You’ve heard the stories about Logan’s past flames, women who were nothing short of extraordinary. And here you are, just another teammate, a brief moment of awkwardness quickly forgotten.

You try to push the thoughts away, deciding it’s best to just turn in for the night. There’ll be plenty of time to torture yourself with these thoughts later. For now, sleep is the only escape from the swirling mess in your head.

It was true—Logan couldn’t get away fast enough, but not for the reasons you thought. As he stood under the scorching spray of the shower, letting the steaming water cascade over his body, his eyes remained fixed on the tiles beneath his feet. His regenerative abilities could heal wounds and stitch him back together, but they never quite banished the constant ache that clung to his bones, a dull throb that even the hot water could only barely soothe. But the ache in his abdomen? That was something else entirely.

Logan couldn’t shake the image burned into his mind, the sight of you, bare and beautiful, just moments ago. He gritted his teeth, his thoughts straying where they shouldn’t. How would those perfect tits look under the water with him, droplets sliding down your skin while he took you against the shower wall? Would you mewl softly, or would you gasp, nails digging into his back? Would you cling to him, or would your legs give out, collapsing into his arms?

He let out a rough grunt, twisting the shower knob to ice-cold in an attempt to snap himself out of it. The icy blast hit him hard, but he welcomed it, hoping it might douse the fire in his veins. He could touch himself—hell, the thought crossed his mind more than once—but not with you just outside, not when you were so close. It felt wrong, too damn wrong.

The cold water eventually worked its magic, easing the unbearable tension that had built up inside him, but it took nearly an hour to do so. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Logan stepped out of the shower, drying off and pulling on a pair of sweatpants. As he looked at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror, he knew one thing for certain: this was going to be a long, restless night.

Logan steps out of the bathroom to find you huddled on the floor, passed out in a tangled mess of blankets. He rolls his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he carefully scoops you up and lays you down on the bed.

“I don’t need th’ bed,” you mumble, your voice so soft he almost misses it. He huffs through his nose, a fond smile creeping onto his face. “Where else you gonna sleep?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. You blink sleepily, trying to focus as the darkness settles around you, the only sound the gentle rustling of sheets as he adjusts you on the bed.

“Sorry about earlier,” he adds, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.

You don’t reply, too embarrassed to form words. Instead, you turn your face away, hoping he won’t notice the flush of heat creeping up your cheeks. But in the stillness of the night, it feels like every little movement, every breath, is amplified.

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you finally confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “There’s space for both of us.” The words hang in the air, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of how close Logan is to you. You can almost feel the warmth of his breath against your face, the proximity making your heart race. But then, just as suddenly, he shifts away, the moment passing like a whisper in the dark.

It’s silent for some time, like he’s thinking. You almost speak up again but he beats you to it, just as you part your lips.

“Scoot up, kid,” he says, his voice gruff but not unkind.

You do as he says, moving over to make room, your pulse still thrumming in your ears. Logan settles in beside you, and the bed dips slightly under his weight. The space between you feels impossibly small, yet you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Despite his shower, the faint smell of cigars still lingers in the air. It’s oddly comforting, grounding you in the surreal reality of the moment. You take a deep breath, trying to steady the wild thoughts racing through your mind. “Good night Logan,” you murmur, hoping that sleep will come quickly and spare you from the ache of wanting what you can’t have—craving the feel of his strong arms around you, the way his hands might tighten against your throat, and the sound of his voice purring dark promises in your ear.

“G’night,” he replies, his voice a low rumble as he turns away, leaving you back to back.

Logan is in Hell.

He can feel your warmth through the thin gap between you, every soft breath you take a reminder of just how close you are. His mouth had agreed before his mind could stop him, and now he’s paying the price. Lying next to you, with your soft body and those innocent eyes that see right through him, is torture. He wonders if there’s still time to slink back into that pile of blankets on the floor.

His muscles tense as he tries to push down the desire clawing at him, the instinct to reach out and pull you close nearly overwhelming. The scent of your skin, the way you whispered his name—everything about you is a test of his control. Logan knows he’s walking a fine line, and the longer he stays here, the harder it gets to keep himself in check.

His fists clench under the covers, every muscle in his body taut with tension. Logan can hear your soft, rhythmic breathing, the quiet rustle of sheets as you shift slightly beside him. The scent of your skin lingering in the air is really what’s holding him hostage. He tries to focus on anything else, but all he can think about is how close you are—how easy it would be to reach out and just touch you.

You lie there, eyes wide open, staring into the darkness. The silence of the room is thick, almost suffocating, but you know you’re not the only one awake. You can feel it- an awareness that runs deeper than simple intuition. All those missions together, all those nights spent side by side—you’ve learned to read him in ways that go beyond words.

Without needing to glance back, you know Logan Howlett is still awake. It’s as if his presence hums in the air between you, a silent energy that’s becoming increasingly impossible to ignore. There’s a tension there, a subtle shift in the way he breathes, the way he holds himself so still, as if he’s trying not to disturb the fragile peace of the night. But you can sense it: something’s bothering him.

You wonder if it’s the same turmoil that’s been gnawing at you, the same restless desire that has kept you on edge ever since you laid down beside him. The thought of Logan feeling the same way sends a shiver through you. It’s a strange kind of comfort, knowing that you might not be alone in this.

But then again, the Wolverine is a man of secrets, you know him well, better than most, but not as well as you’d like. Not in the ways that matter most right now. And yet, lying there in the dark, with only your thoughts and the steady rhythm of his breathing to keep you company, you can’t help but wonder if the walls he’s built around himself are cracking, just as yours are.

You can’t take it anymore. Tentatively, you let your hand drift to the space between you, your fingers brushing against his side. Logan stiffens at the contact, a sharp intake of breath the only sound in the darkness. Emboldened by his reaction, you let your hand slide further, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen. You’re on fire, body moving on its own accord. This wasn’t you, it couldn’t be.

“Darlin’, you don’t know what you’re startin’,” Logan growls, his voice thick with warning and something else that you couldn’t quite identify yet.

But you do know. You know exactly what you want, and you’re tired of pretending otherwise. You turn onto your side, pressing your body against his back, your breath hot against his neck.

“I don’t know. Maybe I do,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation.

Logan turns to you with a gentleness that catches you off guard, his hand sliding to your waist with a tenderness that feels almost reverent. He pulls you close, but it’s not with the raw urgency you expected. Instead, it’s slow, deliberate, as though he’s holding himself back by a thread. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense, searching for something, perhaps a final permission.

It’s you that closes the gap. The pressure of his lips against yours is gentle, but the undercurrent of need is undeniable, simmering just beneath the surface. You can feel the restraint in every brush of his lips, every measured caress, and it only makes you clench tighter.

Logan’s hands begin to roam, exploring your body with a hunger that has clearly been held back for far too long. He takes his time, fingers tracing every curve, every dip, as if memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “This is all I could think about out there, in the woods… how you’d feel, how you’d taste.”

His words send a rush of heat through you, a deep flush spreading across your skin. His hands slide up your thighs, teasing the edge of your shirt before slipping underneath, the warmth of his touch igniting every nerve. His fingers trace lazy circles on your skin, his lips moving down your collarbone, and you realize with a start that you’re trembling beneath him.

You find yourself arching into his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Logan’s mouth curls into a smile against your skin, sensing your desperation. “‘s that what you want, darlin’?” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that vibrates against your skin, making you shiver. “You want me to take you apart, piece by piece?”

You nod, breathless, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you silently plead for him to stop teasing. “Please, Logan,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please…”

He chuckles softly against your skin, a dark, throaty sound that sends another wave of heat through you. Logan pulls back, his gaze heavy with desire as he sits up. You watch, breathless, as he reaches for the hem of his vest, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The sight of his bare chest visible only by the flecks of moonlight, muscles rippling beneath his skin, takes your breath away (though this wouldn’t be the first time). You reach out, your fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch.

Logan watches you with dark, hungry eyes as he reaches for the waistband of his pants, removing them with deliberate slowness. He seems to take pleasure in the way your breath catches, in the way your gaze follows every movement as he slides them down, revealing the full, impressive length of his dick. Logan is big. It’s not just long, but it’s fucking big. Veiny, girthy and leaking precum at the tip, you can’t help but instinctively bite your lip.

The sight of him, hard and ready, makes your pussy ache for him in a way that’s almost painful. “Logan… please,” you whisper again, your voice barely more than a breath as you look up at him through your lashes.

His gaze darkens, a satisfied smile curling at the corners of his mouth as he finally gives in, his hands moving with purpose as he strips you of your t-shirt. The moment your body is fully exposed to him, Logan pauses, his eyes raking over you with a possessive hunger that makes your heart skip a beat. He takes you in, every inch of you, committing the contours of your body to memory.

When he finally positions himself between your legs, you’re trembling with anticipation, your body aching for him. But Logan doesn’t rush. He takes his time, guiding himself to your entrance, the head of his cock brushing against your wetness before he pulls your panties to the side. He watches your face, his gaze dark and intense, as he teases you, pushing just the tip inside before pulling back. Bastard.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rough but laced with tenderness, his lips brushing against your ear. “Because once I start, I can assure you; there’s no going back.”

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel him inside you. “I need you inside me.” you whisper, your voice heavy with desire.

Logan growls low in his throat, and finally, mercifully, he pushes inside you, filling you with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes you gasp. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch and fullness making your head spin as he sinks deeper, inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt. He pauses, letting you adjust, his lips brushing yours in a soft, almost reverent kiss.

Then he begins to move, each thrust deep and powerful, driving you both closer to the edge with every stroke. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he moves inside you, his gaze locked on yours as if he’s taking in every expression, every moan, every gasp.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. You do, your eyes meeting his in a drunken haze. You moan, your body trembling beneath him, the sensation of him inside you overwhelming. Every thrust, every movement, is perfectly timed, his body attuned to yours in a way that almost didn’t feel real.

“Logan,” you breathe, your voice trembling with need. “It’s so… much.”

He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “I know, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice full of rough affection. “But you can take it,” He spits.

The praise, the way he’s looking at you, it all builds the tension inside you to a fever pitch. His gaze never wavers, holding yours as he moves deeper, harder. You can’t help the soft whimpers that escape your lips, your body tightening around him with each powerful stroke. Logan’s grip on your hips tightens, and he groans, his eyes darkening further as he watches you come undone beneath him.

“Don’t hold back,” he growls, his voice full of animalistic need. “Let me see you, I want it all.”

“Logan… I—” The words catch in your throat as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, your body arching beneath him.

He growls your name, a primal sound full of need, as he moves faster, harder, both you and Logan knew you were close.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice ragged, his gaze locked on yours.

And you do. With a cry, you shatter around him, the pleasure crashing over you like a wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. Logan follows you over the edge, his own release tearing through him as he groans your name.

When it’s over, Logan collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is quiet now, the air thick with the scent of sweat and satisfaction. You nestle against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. The tension that had built up between you over the past few days finally snapped, and here you both are, tangled in the aftermath.

You shift beside him, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat. He turns his head to look at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a hint of unease, maybe even regret. “You sure this was okay?” His voice is rough, laced with concern, and that old nickname hangs in the air like a habit he can’t break. “Kid.”

You meet his gaze, holding it, making sure he sees you clearly. “Logan,” you say, your voice steady, “I’m not a kid anymore. You need to stop treating me like one.”

He exhales, a long, controlled breath, as if he’s trying to push down everything he’s feeling. “I just don’t want to hurt you,” he admits, the words heavy.

A small, wry smile tugs at your lips as you prop yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him. “You’re not taking advantage of me, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Your tone is straightforward, cutting through his doubts. “I wanted this as much as you did. I think, maybe even more…” You trail off.

He looks away, eyes flicking back to the ceiling, his hand finding its way to your back, fingers brushing your skin in a gesture that feels almost hesitant. “I’ve done things... seen things. Sometimes I’m not sure what’s right anymore.”

You lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to make sure he feels it, really feels it. When you pull back, you hold his gaze, your voice low but firm. “I know what I’m getting into.”

He’s quiet, his hand tightening on your back just a little, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on. He doesn’t say anything else, just pulls you closer, holding you like you’re the one solid thing in a world that’s always shifting beneath his feet.

[aresrambles]

go about things the wrong way

description. LOGAN HOWLETT proves himself to be a bit of a hypocrite

includes. SMUT 18+, age gap (reader is implied to be mid20s, logan assumed to be mid30s), protected piv, denial is a river in egypt logan fucks them younger, logan calls reader "kid", insomnia trope, slightly brat reader, remnants of angst, set during early x-men

wc. 5k

a/n: photo creds unknown. title from how soon is now? by the smiths

You should be in your own bedroom. 

It’s a nice room, decorated better than your childhood room in your parent’s house, likely because you’ve grown since your mint green and chevron phase. It’s silent in your room, no other inhabitants except you and your pet fish that was somehow still hanging on. There’s no reason for you to leave your room, it has everything you need. But it’s not right. 

The loneliness is uncomfortable amidst your inability to sleep. It hovers over your bed, staring down at your shuffling frame as you try multiple positions, each one leaving you as restless as the last. You know that’s why you venture off to the kitchen, the search for companionship outweighing the desire for a treat. You just need to talk to someone, remind yourself that you aren’t all alone. There are other people like you, and you live with them. You’re safe. 

You ended up finding what you desired—a non-freezer burnt ice cream bar buried beneath frozen waffles, and a warm body to stand opposite of as you steadily made your way through it. 

You wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, maybe not even yourself, but you had hoped to run into Logan the entire time. Ever since his return you had been itching to get a glimpse of him, but between shadowing Storm, Scott, and Jean, and tending to whatever menial chore Professor Xavier tasked you with, you didn’t have any time for run-ins. Nothing but quick passing in the hallway where you were too shy to do much other than meet his eye for a second, wave, and then scurry along towards the end of the hallway. 

But you had gotten what you wanted when you heard the soft thud of feet followed by the sound of Logan speaking. 

“Is there another one of those?” 

You face him with your mouth stuffed with ice cream. It takes you a second to chew enough to speak around the food without making a complete fool of yourself in front of Logan. 

“This is the last one …” you swallow, ignoring the sting of the cold at the back of your throat. “Sorry.”

Logan shrugs like it’s no big deal and he steps to the fridge. You move out of the way, even though you weren’t really in the way at all, and try to be casual as you chew the remains of your bar, ignoring the sudden warmth in your body now that he’s here. 

Logan doesn’t say anything. You watch the top half of his body disappear as he reaches into the fridge for something, coming out after a minute and some soft shuffling later with a beer bottle in his hand. You don’t know when it got there, and you’re amazed that it was still there and not stolen by some eager teenager. You try not to stare as he takes his first sip, but you sneak a few glances. 

You finish your sandwich, throwing the wrapper out in the drawer trash can and trying your best to ignore Logan’s eyes on you the entire time. He gets halfway through his beer before he says something. 

Leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle and one arm tucked across his chest, he asks, “Can’t sleep, right?”

You nod, not shocked at all that he has you pegged. It’s not unsurprising for a mutant in this place to be unable to sleep. 

Logan nods as if he understands and you know he does, you remember the incident with Rogue just a year or so ago, that and the stories you hear about him wandering the halls at night. It’s why you’d always been so eager to slip down here during restless nights, constantly hoping that this would happen to you. 

And now that it has happened, you don’t know what to do. There’s not much for you to discuss with Logan, the two of you don’t have all that much in common. He’s far older than you, for starters, at least a decade and a half on you from what you’ve gathered. He’s been gone for a while, but you think the others have caught him up on everything that he’s missed already. 

So you just build onto what you have. 

“I just can’t fall asleep. Every time I start, I shake myself awake.” 

Logan takes a swig from his beer and pulls his lips tight, a face of sympathy sliding over his features—eyebrows pinched, lips downturned, eyes a little narrowed. 

“Yeah?” You nod your head. “Sounds horrible, kid.”

Kid. You know you’re younger than him, it’s obvious, but you’re not a kid. You don’t see why he thinks of you that way. Rogue and Bobby are kids and you’re older than them. More mature, no longer a student but now practically a teacher. 

You don’t want Logan to see you as a kid. You know what you want him to see you as, but it seems to become more and more impossible by the day. 

You don’t say anything, lifting your foot enough to press the toe of your slippers into the cleaned grout between the tiles at your feet. 

“Tell you what,” he begins, promoting your head to lift, “next time that happens to you, you come find me, alright? I know how much it sucks to be alone like that so if you need me, come find me.”

That’s what you did. 

After you left the kitchen, finally letting your grin break free since no one was around to see it during the trek back to your room, you told yourself you would only go to Logan if you needed him. 

You tried to sleep, snuggling yourself in a cocoon of blankets and pillows around your head. You lit a candle, counted sheep, made up scenarios to doze off (ones that definitely didn’t involve Logan tenderly holding your hand and stroking your cheek and—), but nothing seemed to work. 

So you found yourself standing in the doorway of Logan’s bedroom, one hand still on the doorknob and the other toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your tee shirt. The bedroom is dark, save for the moonlight peeking through his opened curtains, but from the hallway light behind your back you can see Logan’s frame under the sheets. 

His back faces you until you harshly whisper his name, which at the call of he lifts his head, looking at you, and then rolls over completely to click the lamp on his nightstand on. 

“What’s wrong, kid?”

You feel so meek when you explain, like you are a kid, crawling to your parents after a nightmare. 

“You told me to come find you.”

His squint relaxes. His entire frame relaxes actually. He sits up, jerking his head in a beckon. You click the door shut behind you as softly as you can, approaching the bed timidly until you stand on the other side. 

And then you just hover. You stand there hesitantly, staring down at the slightly unmade side of the bed. Logan doesn’t say anything for a minute, but once the silence and hesitance stretches to an uncomfortable end, he speaks up, his voice groggier and raspier than it was before. 

“You gonna sleep from there? Is that some mutant power that I didn’t know about?” He says it like he’s teasing you, and when you look at him you can see the small smile on his lips. It’s similar to the one he sports when he’s messing with Scott but with more softness in his eyes. 

You scoff, trying to play it cool when Logan lifts the sheets for you and you climb under them. This side of the bed is cold and unused and you wonder if you’re the first person to use it. 

You get as comfortable as you possibly can. You fluff the pillow and create the perfect indent for your head, you pull the sheets up to your shoulders, you lay on your side and face the window, and then when Logan clicks the light off, you close your eyes and try to sleep. 

You don’t know how you thought this would be any better than struggling to sleep in your own bed, because it’s so much worse. 

In your own bed, you were left with the out-of-reach fantasies of Logan. You laid in bed, giggling to yourself as you imagined what it would be like to lay next to Logan. You filled your head with blurry images of Logan’s frame, what he would look like with his eyes closed and his face completely relaxed. You tried to imagine the heat of his body in the cold of your room, trying to change your body temperature just with a thought. 

But now it’s all right beside you, left there for you to catalogue so you could never forget this moment. 

The feeling of his body so close yet so far from yours. The sound of his breathing. The smell of his body wash and the way it lingered on his sheets. You’re finally in Logan’s bedroom, but you’re not getting what you want. You truly don’t think you ever will. 

It’s impossible for you to sleep now. You try to keep your tossing and turning to a minimum, only moving when absolutely necessary and doing so with tentativeness. You’re trying to be meticulous with your movements, all with a goal to disturb Logan as little as possible. You’re a guest here, after all. 

But even if he wasn’t an attentive mutant you knew he would’ve eventually gotten fed up. 

He calls your name, soft yet sounding like a warning, and you’re quick to apologize. 

He doesn’t say anything else for a second, then, “Whatever’s on your mind, squash it. Jus’ let it go.”

You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do when you say, “Easier said than done.”

Logan shifts and turns around until he’s facing you. You stay facing the window. 

“What usually turns your mind off?” he asks. “A glass of warm milk?” 

When you laugh it’s halfhearted and maybe this is the final indicator that something about you is off. 

“Look at me.” You obey embarrassingly quickly. 

You can’t really see him in the dark, but the white light from outside illuminates the slope of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. You can sort of see his eyes too, the usually light green darker because of the environment, but the shadowy fan of his eyelashes is as distinct as usual. 

“Seriously, tell me what’s going on. Anything I can help you with?” He lets the question linger in the air for a second before adding on. “You need me to rough a few kids up? You being bullied?” He says it like a joke.

“No,” you say. 

Logan makes an ‘ah’ sound. “Yeah I’m sure you could handle yourself.” The sheets lift again. “Come ‘ere.”

Shit, shit, shit. 

You listen to him, scooting closer until you’re wrapped in Logan’s arms, enveloped in his warmth. It’s nice and comfortable, the sound of Logan’s heart right next to your ear, the security of his arms wrapped around your frame. 

“Does this help you?”

You hum affirmatively, already starting to feel more comfortable than you had before. Your heart beats painfully hard in your chest and you start to get self-conscious, knowing that Logan can definitely hear it.

Right on cue, he laughs a bit against your head. 

“Nervous?”

“No.” God, you’re so obvious. 

Logan’s laugh grows until he’s snickering, doing a terrible job of stifling his laughter. “‘s alright,” he eventually says. “Nothing wrong with that.”

You make yourself as comfortable as possible, pressing your back to Logan’s chest, trying to ignore the hard feeling of his body behind you. You can basically feel everything, the plane of his chest pushing through his tee, the ridge of his sweatpants against your lower back, his legs against yours—tempting you to intertwine them together, his feet hanging right under yours. You’re not exactly dressed for this and your shirt has ridden up, bunched at the top of your ass and exposing your panties. You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he cares. 

This is helping you a lot, but there’s still something on your mind. Something you need to solve before you can go off to sleep. 

You don’t know what it is that makes you confident, that makes you want to ruin a good moment. Maybe it’s the dark providing you comfort, but you lay it all out. 

“You treat me like a kid.”

Logan takes a second. You can just barely make out the hitch in his voice. “...Yeah?”

You’re glad he can’t see you when you pout. It wouldn’t have done much to help your case. “I’m not a kid, Logan. You don’t treat Rogue like a kid.”

“Rogue is different.”

“How? I’m older than her.”

“Just … can we not argue?”

“We’re not arguing.”

“Yeah? Then whaddya call this?”

“A conversation between two adults.”

He hums as if he’s unconvinced. 

You won’t let it go. “How is Rogue different?”

“Go to sleep,” he admonishes.

“Can’t. Not until you answer my question.”

Logan sighs. “‘cause I’m not attracted to her, alright?”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Wait … what?

You’re sure your silence is enough to express your confusion because Logan adds on. 

“I’m trying to set boundaries between us, kid—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He corrects himself with the use of your name instead, but it comes out the same way. “We need boundaries between the two of us. You think I don’t see how you look at me? ‘s not good.”

“If you’re setting boundaries why did you invite me in here.”

“Because I wanted to help you.”

Why is he making you feel crazy? He just told you he’s attracted to you, but he wants to set boundaries? There are barely any boundaries here. You’re alone with him, in his bedroom, tucked away at the end of the hall surrounded by mostly empty bedrooms instead of bedrooms of asleep mutants, curled up against his chest. This is the most opportune time, yet he didn’t want to make a move.

Maybe you were reading too much into it. 

You go to pull away from Logan’s embrace but he keeps you pulled tight to his chest. 

“Don’t do that,” he says it like a command and just to piss him off you consider pulling away. But you’re really comfortable and this is a comfort you aren’t sure you’re ever going to find again. 

“Just go to sleep, alright,” he says your name again, much softer this time. He says it like he’s coaxing you like your name is the final tune in a lullaby. 

Maybe Logan has other powers you aren’t aware of because just that one sentence is enough for you to let it go and submit to the sudden exhaustion that settles over your body like a weighted blanket. 

You don’t know if Logan’s been avoiding you. Mostly because you’ve been avoiding him.

It’s not often that the two of you would have to run into each other, but there were a few times when Professor Xavier extended the invitation to observe an upcoming class, and you declined upon learning that Logan would be subbing. 

You kept your distance as much as you could, even keeping yourself locked up in your bedroom throughout the night, no matter how restless you got. You were miserable, not only because you wanted to be near Logan, but because you were fucking exhausted. 

You could barely stay awake throughout the day, always sneaking off for power naps, taking whatever you could get even if it was only five minutes. 

But you finally have the rest of the afternoon to yourself and you intend to use it to sleep. Uncaring of how much it threw off your sleep schedule, you just needed a solid half hour curled up at the foot of your made bed like a dog, sleeping to your heart's content. 

Of course, it’s on your way up to your room that you run into Logan. You try to ignore him, continuing your path up the stairs, praying that Logan will continue on his path downstairs. 

You don’t know what it is about you that says come talk to me! but Logan stops in his journey, turning to face you. He calls your name, continuing even when you don’t respond. He follows your trek up the stairs and down the hallway, always right on your heels and within arm's reach. 

By the time your hand reaches for your bedroom door, Logan is practically breathing down your neck. 

You know there’s no avoiding him now, but you also don’t want to. 

You stand still, hand wrapped around the doorknob, waiting for Logan to say his piece. 

“Why’d you lead me to your bedroom?” The way he says it, with such arrogance and assurance woven into that same joking manner as if he wasn’t the one who turned you down just a few nights ago. 

“Fuck off, Logan. I just wanna get some sleep.”

You twist the knob and this is what wakes Logan up. “Okay, wait.” His hand reaches out and rests on your elbow. Just this one touch strikes you still. “Will you look at me?”

You turn around, trying to keep your gaze hard even as you take in his appearance for the first time in days. 

The bags under his eyes, the relaxed smile that’s constantly on his face when he’s around you, the thickness of his eyebrows, the points in his hair. You’re staring at his hair, wondering if it’s naturally like that or if he does it himself, and when you look at his eyes again there isn’t a connection. He’s staring at your lips instead. 

You lift your eyebrows impatiently, already imagining the sleep you’ll get after you ruminate until you can’t form a coherent thought. 

Logan opens his mouth. “Look, I’m sorry if you got a little hurt from the other night. Is just this age gap and your little crush is not gonna wor—”

You’re already turning around, deciding whatever else he’s going to say isn’t important at all, but Logan stops you. His movements are fluid, they flow naturally from his body and straight into yours, causing you to move with a coordination you didn’t expect. He spins you back around and pulls you straight to his chest, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, while his hands rest on your hips and your cheek. 

The movement is quick, it happens within a couple of seconds, and it makes the moment after feel so much longer. Nothing but shared blinks as Logan looks at your lips and you look at his. You’re so close to him, even closer than you were the other night, but neither of you makes a move. 

You’re considering making the first move, opening your mouth as if to ask him a question that was still unknown to you, but then Logan’s grip on your cheek tightens as if he’s holding you still and he moves in closer, and closer, and closer until his lips ghost over yours. 

In the end, it’s you who crosses the bridge. 

Your lips touch, sandwiched together, but neither of you do anything. Not until you take a tiny step closer, really nothing but an adjustment of your feet, is Logan pulling you into him. He digs his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, that one hand possessing all of the aggression that doesn’t exist in the hand holding your cheek. 

It’s like the touch of two different men—one who wants to devour you whole and the other who wants to treasure you. You hope that they’re able to coexist as you desperately want both. 

You let Logan kiss you feverishly, an intensity unlike anything you’ve ever seen him display settling in his lips. The Logan you knew was always relaxed, walking around the mansion with a carefree, practically laissez-faire, attitude. He didn’t meddle, he kept his hands to himself, always wrapped around a cigar or a beer. 

But now those hands were wrapped around you for the second time this week. 

You press your hands into the shoulder of his white tee shirt, starting to slide them up towards his hair before you resist. You want to get comfortable kissing him, but you’re still out in the hallway. 

Having the same thought, Logan pulls away from your lips with enough time to open the door, latch his hands onto your hips, and blindly steer you backward until you’re in the room. He stares down at you the entire time, that same smirk on his lips as he kicks the door closed behind him with a single boot. 

And then he has you pressed against the wood, sandwiched between a rock and a hard place. 

He looks at you for a second, his gaze lingering, and then he gets back to it. 

If even possible, Logan has more passion this time around. He sinks his hands to your thighs, pulling one up by his hip. He slots his legs into the opening until your center is hovering over his thigh. You don’t know what to expect, but when he flexes the muscle and presses his limb right up against you, you’re already trying to get more. 

Logan smiles as he kisses you, clearly entertained by your anguished need to get off. He doesn’t verbally reassure you, he doesn’t help you grind yourself down, he doesn’t do anything but continue kissing you. 

When you need to come up for air, knocking your head back into mahogany as you intake large gulps, Logan dips his head down and explores as much skin as he can. He creates a path of kisses from your jaw, down your neck, to the exposed parts of your chest. 

You tilt your head down, locking your hand into his hair and trying to redirect his lips back to yours, but he stops you with a hand pinching your cheeks. 

His eyes flick back and forth between yours, nothing but mischief and arrogance in the green. You wrap a hand around his wrist with the initial want to tug him away, but you like the hold he has you in. You like the look in his eyes. 

“Good?” His voice is softer than his grip. 

You nod, trying to grin as best as you can when your lips are forcibly puckered. 

Logan smiles right back at you. “You got a rubber?”

You nod again, scurrying to your nightstand once Logan lets you go. He tells you to get on the bed and you take the liberty of throwing your shirt off and bra as you go. You have enough sense to step out of your shoes, unclasp your jeans, and tug the zipper down in the path. 

By the time you’re sitting on your bed, you can feel the anxiety thrumming through your body. It’s a good kind, the kind you’ve been seeing less and less of lately. You’re still a little tired and still desiring a solid nap, but it can definitely wait. This is your main priority. 

Logan speaks to you as he undresses. 

“You still doing okay?” he asks as he’s pulling his tee over his head. When you nod, he moves to his belt, thick but deft fingers undoing it and leaving it hanging open and hooked into his belt loops. 

“You tell me if you wanna stop,” he says as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them right after he steps out of his boots. You give him a look and he clocks it immediately. 

“You think you can take it, bub?” He laughs. “Yeah? Don’t you think you’re talkin’ a big game?”

Petulantly, you roll your eyes. “Logan, I’m not a fucking kid, I’ll be fine.”

Wrong. So, so, so stupidly wrong. 

You are fine, but the sight of Logan’s dick sends nerves down your spine. You’ve talked yourself up, you can’t go back, so you do what you can. You let him peel your jeans and panties off, hoping you look as seductive as he does. You keep your eyes on his abdomen, tracing the vein that runs from the right of his navel down to his cock, breathing as well as you can while Logan lines himself up. The first push burns, just like you expect it to, but you adjust quicker than you thought. Eventually, all you can feel is pleasure. You’re so full when he’s only halfway in you. You feel stuffed as soon as he bottoms out, his heavy ball sack resting flush against you, a thick forest of pubes pressed against your cunt. 

Logan is so much, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. Hovering and staring down at you as his hips rock into yours, slowly and experimentally at first. It’s not until you draw a leg up over his hips that he increases the strength of his rocks. 

He has one hand keeping himself steady and the other holding your waist. It’s so intimate, and not only because he’s fucking you, but because he’s staring down at you the entire time, his teeth bared as he watches you for every single reaction. His eyes rake down your body, watching the way your tits jiggle before dipping lower to watch the way he’s entering you. You can’t see his gaze, but you can feel it, the weight of it comparable to the weight of his cock in you. 

There’s an inhuman nature to it, hidden deep below the surface as if he’s trying to hold back, but it’s there. You’re made aware of it when you clench around him and he growls. It comes from the back of his throat but it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. It’s so Logan, you don’t think anyone other than him could make a sound like that as erotic as it is. You want to hear him more, you want your moans to blend together amongst the four walls of your bedroom, but he keeps his sounds to himself. It’s like there’s a disconnect between the both of you, like Logan’s still holding back even though he’s balls deep in you. 

“Logan,” you whine, getting his attention. He looks at you with concern in his eyes, his hips slowing down. You shake your head, pushing more towards him. “Please,” you beg, praying he knows exactly what you want. 

“What? What d’you want?”

“More.”

Logan gets rougher. He’s grinding up into you like his life depends on it, blunt nails delving into your skin as if he wants to break it. You wish he would. You aren’t regenerative like he is, but you still desire the broken skin, the beads of blood, the marks left behind. 

You’re thinking about it, eyes lidded and falling closed when Logan knocks his forehead into yours once. He moans, closed-mouthed as his head lolls to the side, a shiver shaking him from the bottom of the spine up. 

“Jesus, baby,” he says. It’s all he says, but it’s more than enough. He keeps going, digging his tip into you deeper and deeper until it feels like he’s swimming in your guts. 

He drags his head down until he can wrap his lips around one of your nipples, licking and sucking before moving on to give the other one the same treatment. You desperately want him to mark you up, you want a reminder that this—the thing you’ve been wanting since Storm and Scott came back with two new mutants in tow—actually happened. Bravely, you reach out and tangle your hand in his hair, surprisingly softer than you thought it would be. You don’t hold him down much, just enough to communicate what you want nonverbally. And then after a few tortuous seconds of hesitation, his lips wrap around the skin atop your left breast and he sucks. The strength in it stings, it reminds you just how strong Logan is, but it feels so good. 

Unexpectedly, you feel your muscles seize. It starts in your tummy, deep down near where Logan’s been massaging, and then it just doesn’t stop, likely because he doesn’t stop. 

It’s like he’s spurred on by the feeling of you cumming, motivated by the way your back arches and you reach for the heavens as you clench around his cock. 

He gets a burst of energy, fucking you like he has something to prove when really it’s you with something to prove. 

You’re overstimulated, struggling to keep up with Logan, but you don’t want to tap out. You talked a big game, you can’t back down now. So you remain silent while Logan pulls another orgasm out of you, hoping he won’t notice the way your eyes brew tears without your consent and the way your lips quirk with the impending request to slow down. 

Of course, he notices. 

He’s grinning with sympathy—you don’t know if it’s sincere or faux—when he takes a hand and strokes your cheekbone. 

“I see ya, kid. Feels good, yeah?”

For some reason, when he calls you kid like this, you don’t completely hate it. 

There’s no point in lying, so you nod. 

“So tight,” he winces, eyebrows pinched together as he flashes his teeth, a dimple in his right cheek appearing with it. 

Just as you didn’t warn him before, he doesn’t warn you when he cums. You feel it though, the way his thrusts get sloppier and faster just before he gives you one punctual one, and then you feel the confined warmth of his cum shooting into the condom. 

You wish you weren’t as exhausted as you were, because the next time you’re conscious, it’s dark out and the bedsheet is covering your body. You’re hot, hotter than you usually want to be when you’re sleeping, but you’re bare naked. That and you only have a thin sheet covering your body. 

It doesn’t take much investigation to figure out what’s making you so hot, not when it’s attached to your back with one meaty bicep slung around your neck and keeping you pulled against him. It takes you a bit to fall asleep, but once you do, you’re out for the rest of the night. 

[aresrambles]

life update ★

hi guys! long time no see. thanks to those of you that have stuck around despite my lack of posting.

i lost inspiration to write for a while and i'm in my last year of university now. i also have a lovely boyfriend who grants me the luxury of being able to live the experiences i used to write about, hence the quiet on this blog.

anyway, i wanted to say that after midterms i'll probably be back to churn some stuff out before i get to work on my dissertation. i really enjoyed interacting with the fic community on tumblr and hope to be able to post more soon!

reader, i hope you're well. if you're not, have trust things will turn out okay. have a wonderful day/night and i hope to see you soon.

[aresrambles]

re: comments

i want to apologise for not replying to any queries directly commented under my posts. this blog is actually a sideblog so i'm unable to reply to any comments under this name HOWEVER i will readily answer questions/messages through my inbox.

anyway, that's all. if anyone has any requests please do have a skim through my rules before sending them through. good morning/afternoon/night dear friends!

[aresrambles]

BRO!!!

Part 2 of A Little Quiet was so good!!! The ending legitimately made me cry a bit. I feel for the reader a lot. That would suck so much :(.

Thanks for writing and sharing your work!!!

I’m on my knees begging for more, tbh.

ahh- thank u so much anon! i'm glad you were able to sympathise for the reader, they're in a tricky spot right now! ★

as for more, i got a few comments asking whether i will add on to this mini-series. the answer is yes! right now i'm planning on which direction to take it, but there'll definitely be a new chapt in the semi near-future.

once again, super chuffed you enjoy my writing. have a great day!

[aresrambles]

A Little Quiet [ Part. 2 ]

Read Part 1 Here

morpheus x gn!reader - explicit nsfw, straight up filth, afab!reader, fwb, reader (18+) is in college, morpheus is still learning how to not be an asshole, a smidge of angst (1325 words)

a/n: please see below [gif creds to @/vampgf]

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Dream's slender fingers glide along your chest, dragging a line from your collarbone down to the stiff peak of your nipple. His previous words ring in your ears, as you muster the courage to meet his gaze.

'I will retain your attention through ways of my own.'

A shiver travels down your spine as your mind races through the implications of his promise, walls clenching around nothing. As if he can feel it, Dream grunts and moves his fingers downwards, closer toward the throbbing ache inside of you. "It seems that you are impatient tonight." He mutters, chest rising in a soft chuckle. It does nothing to amuse you, red-hot embarrassment flushing through you, and yet, your body continues to seek friction against his. You writhe desperately in the hopes that he will stop with the frivolities and just touch you already, but it seems that Dream has been consumed with an odd mood tonight. One that involves teasing.

His godforsaken fingers continue to skim over your navel, your hips, your thighs, until finally you crack.

 "Just touch me." You practically mewl in frustration, eyes tight shut and body all too hot to bear.

"Oh no, sweet thing." 

At this, your eyes flutter open again, all movement ceasing. Dream's pearly admiration of you had a tinge of darkness behind it, glowering from beneath the surface.

"You are not in the position to be making demands."

You feel as though all time has paused, that all in the Dreaming has suspended in mid-air. There is nothing in this moment aside from the fathomless eyes that are pouring themselves into yours, daring you to object to his statement. You're not exactly sure you even want to do so.

"Alright, Lord of the Dreaming." you murmur, not missing the audible groan that graces his lips upon hearing such a formal manner of address.

"It'll do you good to keep that attitude," he continues lowly, the raspiness of his voice making your ribcage tremble something in-between fear and arousal. "I find that it suits you." You almost object to that last quip of his but Dream has you beat, finally thrusting a finger inside of you. You moan so loudly that it would be mortifying if you were back in your college dorm, but here in the Dreaming, you were safe. Morpheus keeps a staggering slow pace, inserting another finger and pumping deep inside of you all whilst his eyes don't leave yours. It all feels too much, his presence is overbearing and somehow still not enough. You bite down the urge to ask him for more, but in true Morpheus fashion, he reads your body language with ease and adopts a more steady rhythm.

When his heavy panting begins to align with yours, you realise that Dream has been stroking himself with his free hand, honouring the same pace he maintained with you. The tip of his dick bobs in and out of view as he strokes himself, hips fucking into his palm. The sight makes you clench once more, although this time around something of substance. Dream's movements stutter slightly before speeding up, making the sounds of your wetness echo harshly throughout the chamber.

"You're doing so well for me." He hums, his own movements becoming sloppier with frantic urgency. After a few more thrusts, he abruptly stops, removing his fingers and moving his hands to your waist. You shoot him a confused look before he flips you over with ease, your cheek now pressed flat against the dark sheets. At times, you forget that he is an Endless. It is scarily easy to do so, especially in moments of passion, but Dream always manages to remind you. His extraordinary nature will always triumph over his humanity. Always.

You do not have time to dwell on the matter, however, as you feel something hot and hard prodding at your entrance. Morpheus drags his dick across your folds as you sigh in satisfaction at the pressure, sticking your ass out for more relief. 

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?"

You jump when you feel his voice in your ear, lips grazing your helix as he breathes warm air down your neck. It scatters throughout you like a log catching on fire, your body breaking out into a desperate sweat. "With you, always." You reply shakily, relishing in the feeling of his cool fingers moving the damp hairs off of your neck. He hums blissfully in response, aligning himself against you once more before sliding it in, this time with no teasing to be seen.

Dream is relentless. He pounds you as if there is nothing after this, after this moment. You cry out in pleasure, the pressure inside of you completely different to before. You felt undeniably full, fucked out of your mind as your body rocked into the sheets in synchronisation with his. You wish for this moment to never stop. You wish to feel his weight upon yours forever. But as your orgasm builds, so does the fear. When you are done, he will undeniably tear away from you. As per your routine, you will awaken alone in a cold sweat, in a small, overpriced college dorm in the middle of nowhere. You will go about your day pretending that he didn't take up every other thought in your mind, and then you will bear the intense, one-sided longing until he felt to see you again.

Though you are once again distracted, Dream does not mention it. Or perhaps he doesn't notice. His broken gasps eventually bring you back to him, to your Morpheus right in front of you, as he struggles to keep himself upright over your scalding body. His arms waver as he speeds up, choking back the groans that begin to rise in his throat. These are your favourite moments, when he is becoming undone, unruly. They are only yours, for now. 

You begin to feel that familiar twitch in your own abdomen now, snaking your hand down to apply pressure onto your clit. Dream swats it aside before replacing it with his own, deft fingers working in quick circles against you. "Fuck," You croak into the sheets, muffled and tired and wanting. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-" 

"Come on, sweet thing. Come for me." He pleads. You are unable to see his glassy eyes trained on the side of your face visible to him, holding on to every twitch of your features, every flutter of your lashes. He wishes to lean down and kiss it, but he won't. There is a distance he must adhere to and a line that must not be crossed. He can only watch in admiration as you finally catch your release, gasping and writhing beneath him. Your fingers clench around bundles of satiny fabric as you feel Dream catch up with you, his legs giving out and slumping over your body after he comes inside of you.

There is beauty in the silence that follows, the only sounds in the chamber being the mismatched breaths that belong to the two of you and the thump of the mattress, as Morpheus finally rolls onto his side. 

"Thank you." You murmur, not facing him. You cannot bear to. 

"You are always exquisite." He returns hesitantly, hands flexing at his side. Dream, too, casts his eyes toward the ceiling, unable to look at your face- undoubtedly glowing. He fears that if he were to turn and look at you, that line would be crossed. His self-control has been wearing increasingly thin; it is unlike him to go wandering through the Waking World for selfish matters such as pleasure. He hates himself for knowing where his heart is beginning to lead, but he hates you more for his growing desire to let it.

"I think we must talk," He begins, but the bed feels suddenly emptier next to him. Dream turns his head to look at the dishevelled sheets beside him and sighs, your body long gone, scattered into atoms and washed back into the Waking World. Perhaps another time.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

a/n: holy shit thank u all so so so much for all the feedback on the last post. i am so eternally grateful for all the wonderful tags and comments in particular. i've tagged some specific commenters/rb's that i thought might want to see the part 2 below (let me know if u guys would like me to remove you!) once again, thank you so much and i hope you enjoy this addition. any feedback/criticism is always welcomed!

tags: @pistachoz @layla2-49 @prettyouttherethoughts @silverhart93 @radskadattle @littlenymphie

[aresrambles]

thank you to those of you that have left comments on my work directly or in the tags when reblogging, i cannot tell you how much it means to me. i write so that others might enjoy the same things that i do, and it brings a real sense of fulfillment!

i am working on a part 2 to the fwb fic that i posted last night, so keep tuned for that!

once again, thank you to those of you that send me little comments, it really is the difference between me feeling motivated and posting regularly, versus not at all.

have a good day/night everybody!

[aresrambles]

A Little Quiet

morpheus x gn!reader - fluff turned implied nsfw, fwb vibes, reader (18+) is in college, morpheus maybe a little ooc, deadlines (1203 words)

a/n: i've been wanting to write smth abt morpheus since finishing s1 but i've hit a writing block. hopefully this gets me going.

Read Part 2 Here

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

"Is this what has been keeping you from me?"

You head shoots up from your desk, startled by the rumbling voice behind you. 

Your head whips around only to met with none other than the King of Dreams and Nightmares, who is seemingly peering at your laptop from over your shoulder. Your cheeks heat up at the sudden proximity between you both, before you hurriedly divert your attention back to the screen, lest he catch sight of your discomposure. In this moment, your room had never felt so confining.

"Hello, Dream." You croak, pretending to scan over that same shitty paragraph you had been stuck on for the last half hour. When he doesn't reply, you carefully continue, acutely aware of the fact that he has yet to move away from you. "What are you doing here?"

"You haven't visited the Dreaming in two nights. You haven't slept at all, in three."

Oh. You had not expected the King of Dreams to have noticed your absence, let alone find you here so he could question it.  The fact of the matter was that the crunch time for this assignment had rolled around far quicker than you had anticipated, resulting in a few all-nighters and barely-there naps that you managed to sprinkle in to prevent hallucinating- though, that last part may be up for debate. Dream of the Endless has never visited you in the waking world, before.

"So now you're here?" You continue, faking casual disinterest.

He pauses at this, suddenly moving away from you. You almost wished you had kept your mouth shut if it meant that he would have remained closer for a while longer. 

"I am simply doing a welfare check. It is a... responsibility I carry."

Despite knowing your place in Dream's life, you couldn't help but deflate at his statement. Of course, he was only here to carry out his duty, nothing more. You fail to see the rigid posture that he adopted; adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat. 

"Will you be returning any time soon?" He asks somewhat sarcastically, although it feels like an accusation. Where have you been? When are you coming back?

"That's the plan. Just after I submit this stupid paper, and then I could sleep for an eternity."

Dream's fingers twitch, steel gaze redirected to your hands as they mindlessly work to fill the word-count. "An eternity." He hums under his breath, "That is a long time, even for one such as myself." You chuckle in reply to his deep grumbling behind you, and come to realise that his presence has provided you with some sort of inspiration. The words were coming naturally to your brain, flowing through you like some sort of spirit had taken over your body. You silently muse over whether this is Dream's doing, but continue with your assignment nonetheless. Wherever this was coming from, as long as you submit the damn thing and free yourself from this torment, it was fine by you.

He remains silent until the last tap of your keyboard indicates that you had sent off your work, and then swivel around in your chair to face him.

Dream stares back at you owlishly, and it's only then that you begin to process the gravity of his being in your room, perched on the edge of your tiny bed like some sort of well-trained house cat. You force yourself to keep a straight face whilst nervously speaking up, "Well, it seems that I'm done."

"Indeed."

"I can sleep now."

"You can."

Dream does not move from your bed, infact he does not move at all, simply eyeing you as you awkwardly clamber around him and settle down on top of the sheets. You can't help but breathe a sigh of relief as your head hits the pillow, every joint in your body beginning to voice its previous discomfort. The Lord of Dreams simply readjusts his position so that he sits parallel, next to you, making no move to leave.

"Sleep. I will see you soon." He murmurs, eyes not meeting your gaze. You feel the dulcet tones of his voice rumble in your bones, and before you know it, you have succumbed to the seductive call of slumber.

When you awaken, you realise your floral cotton sheets had been traded for a more sophisticated black satin, the bedding seeming to go on for what felt like miles. The sheets wrapped you in a soft cocoon, providing an excellent shelter of warmth and quiet, even in a realm as fantastical as the Dreaming. Despite the dark, gloomy interior of the chamber, it did not feel unwelcoming. Infact, rather the opposite. 

"I find it quite ironic that one who never sleeps would require such an extravagant bedroom." You murmur, turning over to meet his gaze.

Morpheus looks at you in an expression that remains unreadable, bringing his fingers up to skim your cheek. "Welcome back." He utters in a husky whisper, and it's only then that you become aware of how silent it is here. No white noise from your deskfan, no annoying keyboard clicking, no bed creaking under your weight. Just your combined breaths, and perhaps your rapid heartbeat.

His hair is a sultry mess of charcoal, wild and stark against his skin.

His skin.

Porcelain and gauzy, you had never laid eyes on something so touchable and sheer with streaks of desire. Intense eyes, haughtily good-looking, you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from the man in front of you.

"Do not deprive me of yourself." He commands, casting a soft echo across the chamber, though it is not harsh. "Do not punish yourself by taking leave of this place," Morpheus brings his lips close to yours, barely skimming against them before hovering just left of them. "Do not put such meaningless tasks before me." Goosebumps prick at your skin as you stare at his lips move, aching to close the gap. Every cell in your body was chanting his name, begging for it even. "Do I make myself clear?"

You can only nod, hypnotised by his every movement.

He's tying you down, smiling like a panther in the dim lighting but you cannot see past his pupils; eyes sleek like two pebbles places upon his face.

"Magnificent, you are magnificent." He's fumbling, hot breath tickling your ear. His saliva is said to have contained medicinal properties: numbing. 

You are unable to believe the tales as it seems your skin is scalding; nothing short of aluminium reacting with bromine. How a man who seems so pale and cold, can radiate such a searing heat is beyond you.

You think back to the example of your lab professor had performed back in your last year of high school. She had just burned her index finger and- Agh! Morpheus burns your neck in a similar fashion.

"You are... distracted." He hums. 

"If I don't focus on something else other than what you're doing to me right now, I'm scared I'll combust." He huffs through his nose at this, and you at first think it is annoyance. You are unable to see the smirk that graces his lips as he brings them back down to your neck, before moving them against your skin in languid motions. 

"It matters not. I will retain your attention through ways of my own."

[aresrambles]

i just found ur blog!! and went thru all of your writing, and i loved them!!! could i plz request something fluffy then spicy for din djarin, like he comes back from a hunt and sees reader in the bunk sleeping in our of his shirts?

Hunter's Prize

mando x gn!reader - fluff turned nsfw, afab terms, tired!din, sleepy!reader (1109 words)

a/n: first off, i cannot apologise enough for how long it took for me to complete this request, thank u for being so patient. secondly, AAH thank u so much! that means so much to me. i had a lot of fun w this request so i hope u enjoy reading this!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Din's body ached with every step he took onboard the ship; the only thing keeping him afoot being the remnants of fiery adrenaline from the bounty chase earlier on. It had ended even more successfully than Din hoped it would, with the bounty struggling to put up any sort of a fight. He came along willingly after short game of cat and mouse, and even strangely requested to be frozen in transportation. Whatever, the Mandalorian wasn't about to complain about his luck. At long last, his body would be able to surrender itself to the alluring call of slumber and sink into that almost comfortable cot of his, and-

Ah. 

A seemingly, occupied, cot of his. There you lay, the rise and fall of your chest being the only indicator of life in the otherwise all-too silent room. But Din was never one to complain, not when you looked like that. Tired eyes rake over your sleeping form, elegantly splayed out in amongst those itchy blankets he had gotten Maker knew how many moons ago. You made his den look like the most comfortable place in the galaxy. And perhaps, the safest, too. Even through the helmet, he was able to smell you, faintly. The soft scent of what would've been yours and Grogu's dinner, your sweet-smelling shampoo from the market, you, you, you. 

The Mandalorian begins his nightly routine of shedding the layers of beskar that conceal him from the world, it has almost now become ritualistic. First his gloves, then his forearms, shoulders, cape, chest-plate, thighs, calves, boots- 

He stops at his helmet, fingers skirting along the ridges before dropping back down to his side. For now, this is enough. A fleeting thought of its removal passes through Din's mind before it is trampled upon by his better judgement. At least, what Din thinks is his better judgement. These days, it is becoming harder to tell. 

The low shuffling from his cot brings him back to the room, to you, and before he knows it, the Mandalorian is at your side, palm resting upon your head.

"I'm back." He murmurs, though it comes out bluntly through the modulation of his helmet. 

"All in one piece?" You ask, only half-joking. Your hands reach out to him under the dim lights, as if to confirm this is indeed true, before you feel a soft chuckle rise from his chest. He grunts in what can be loosely translated as a 'yes', and flops onto the cot right next to you.

"Hey, you almost crushed me!" You laugh, now a little more awake. You feel strong arms snake around your waist and tug you closer to him, and breathe a sigh of contentment. It hadn't been long since Din had left, yourself and Grogu had become used to waiting much longer, but even a few hours away from the man resulted in an embarrassing amount of yearning. You craved Din's presence on this ship. His heavy footsteps from above in the cockpit, the way in which he fathers Grogu. The domesticity of it all makes you feel like some sort of family. The thought makes your tummy fizzle.

"Stop squirming around."

"I can't. It's cold."

"That's definitely not why you're wriggling like a sandworm. You're wearing my thermal."

Your face gets hot as you look down and realise that Din is indeed correct. Wearing his clothes wasn't unusual for you, but he had never caught you in the act. Usually you would curl up in one of his old capes or undershirts while he was away, and safely return it when you felt like the Mandalorian would show up any time soon. But this felt like he had caught you red-handed. 

Din on the other hand, felt hot elsewhere upon making this realisation. Blood coursed downwards as he rested his helmet into the crook of your neck, dragging his fingers underneath the tight cotton against your skin. "I don't mind." He murmured, "It suits you."

"You can't even see me." You groan, rolling your eyes.

"Yes I can. My helmet has night-vision. When you're underneath me, when you're on top- I see it all. I can see everything."

Silence. Your eyes widen in horror as you think back to the countless nights of intimacy. Expressions you thought remained unseen by your partner in the darkness of the room, had indeed been witnessed. Forget about earlier, your stomach was now doing backflips.

"And... And I want to see it again. Now, I mean."

Permission, he's asking for your permission. Din's hands feel so hot all of a sudden on your waist, as you become hyperaware of his dick pressed firmly against your ass. Despite the slight embarrassment, your grind your hips against him in approval. The Mandalorian always made you feel at ease, and this was no exception. Din grunts as you apply pressure on his crotch and begins murmuring sweet nothings almost immediately.

"S'fucking beautiful, you're so beautiful." He whispers, moving against you in slow rhythm. "You're always so good for me."

You feel yourself get wet at his words and put your hand through your thighs, relieving Din's cock from its restrains and guiding it to sit against your clothed pussy. You had only your underwear on under his shirt, but it almost felt like nothing against the head of Din's dick. You were so wet that he would've been able to make out every detail of your pussy through the slick material of your panties. It clung against you like a second skin. You feel the back of your neck begin to prickle with sweat as you guide the tip against your folds, holding back moans everytime it grazed your clit. Din brought his fingers up to your mouth and stuck them inside, opening it up wide and playing with your tongue.

"Louder." 

It was a command you were more than willing to follow, allowing your frustrated moans to reach his ears. Din flipped you over with ease pushing your panties to the side and sticking two fingers inside of you. The pressure almost makes you cum there and then but you try your hardest to refrain, clenched around the slow pumping of his fingers. 

"Just like that, pretty thing." He mumbles, the cool of his helmet being the only thing to stop you from overheating. The way he's slumped against you tells you that despite all of this, Din is tired. His shoulders are slouched and his movements a little duller than usual, not that you mind.  Tonight, you will laze in bed until dawn, bodies intertwined and hushed confessions of love before he will once again take his leave. But for now, this is enough. His closeness, his touch. It is enough.

[aresrambles]

hi guys! i’ll be traveling soon so i might not be updating as frequently as i’d like for the next 3 weeks but i have another din request i’ve been working on that i’ll post soon, so look out for that ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა i hope everyone is well, have a great day/night

[aresrambles]

Hi can you do dinxreader, where the reader is friendly and a bit talkative and all of the sudden din says something that’s makes the reader go completely quite. They just remain quite rest of the way Bcz they’re hurt and din just gets weirded out by the silence. I love angst lol. Thank you so much!

White Noise

mando x gn!reader - din snaps at reader, (maybe toxic!din?), angst, fluffy ending (1028 words)

a/n: thank u for ur request anon!! i hope this is okay, i ended it with a fluffy ending. i'm not great at angst yet but hopefully i'll improve when i keep at it ☆

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

"Remember the last time we were on Coruscant? I had the craziest kriffing time."

You happily chatter away next to your stoic companion, who stares at the array of dimly lit controls that lay in front of you.

"Maybe it's because I'm just from some lame village," You lean your head back against the headrest and sigh, eyes becoming glossy due to the bright shooting lights of hyperspace. "But Coruscant has always been so attractive to me." You're unaware of Din's twitching fingers, and instead fixated on the expanse of stars behind the glass. Perhaps if you had been paying a little more attention, you would have read the uncomfortable posture your companion had adopted; jealousy settling into his nerves. He remains silent as you continue, not offering any sign of acknowledgment of your monologue.

"The city is insane, and some people there look so high-class. Those silky evening dresses and shirts! Maker, such stupidly unique fashion and the droids are so advanced! I think I went clubbing once and there was this one particular type of droid that-"

"Can you shut up?" Din finally snaps, helmet glaring at you. You immediately pause in the midst of your ramble, eyes wide and heart racing at the sudden outburst. You were accustomed to seeing Din act coldly, however he had never treated either you or Grogu in this manner. Not ever. You can only clamp your mouth shut and redirect your gaze down to your boots, humiliation taking ahold of your body. Were you speaking too much? Did you say something to irritate him? The Mandalorian seemed fine when you had all boarded the ship, and had even insisted on putting the kid to sleep to allow you some time to rest. You wish for the seat to swallow your body up so you didn't have to bear the now aching silence of the cockpit. You wish for Din to tell you what you did wrong. A half-hearted apology begins to crumble and travels down from your mind into your mouth, but you stop yourself. You haven't done anything wrong, to your knowledge, so why did Din feel the need to act like that? To make you feel so shitty for just trying to make conversation?

Instead, you turn your body away from him and settle further down into the seat, face turned away from him so your expression would be unreadable. Or so you thought. Din watches your face through the warped reflection in the glass screen surrounding you both, fixated on every minor twitch or blink on your features. He knows his reaction was unwarranted, but when you don't reply to him at all, he begins to worry. How was he supposed to say that the first time he saw you back in Coruscant he was hellbent on keeping those so called "high-class" bastards away from you? That he trekked through the city in a selfish stakeout to keep you out of harms way, and coincidentally run into you at a bar in the midst of the night? That the very idea of you being impressed by those narcissistic and sleazy bastards was making his stomach turn?

He's unable to do any of those things, and can only grip onto his levers a little tighter than before as the Crest runs the course of its journey in an unsettling quietness. The sort of discomforting silence that it hadn't experienced since back when Din would travel alone. Although it was an unwelcome change to your journey, Din couldn't find it in him to speak once more. Guilt nestled itself between all of the silent gaps and soon enough the only thing to have caused any commotion was Grogu's soft cries once he had awoken from his nap. You inwardly thank the Maker for his well-timed disturbance and rise from your seat to tend to him, before feeling cool leather wrap around your wrist.

You both remain there, still for a few seconds, before Din gets up properly and tugs you back away from the ladder. He leaves you alone in the cockpit whilst Grogu's distressed gurgles turn into barely there snores- no doubt the result of his father's swaying and cooing. The thought makes your stomach tighten in what can only be embarrassingly described as affection. You don't hear him when he returns, too absorbed in your own thoughts to be aware of the faint clank of DIn's feet against the floor.

"I apologise."

"Oh. No, it's fine. I guess all fathers want to spend quality time with their kids."

"What?" DIn's helmet cocks to the side in confusion, before he shakes it and settles back into his seat. "No, I mean about earlier. It was... wrong of me to behave in that manner. I'm sorry."

Oh. You can only shrug your shoulders and smile in an attempt to brush it off, not wanting to make a big deal out of it in front of him. Din seems to know that you're putting up a front, and continues,

"I love hearing you talk, but Coruscant- I'm sorry. It's selfish but it's like it threatens to take you from me. It may be beautiful but it's... unsafe. I don't like remembering when you were back there. What if I can't protect you this time? What if you get hurt?"

Your eyes struggle to focus on the beskar-clad man in front of you, becoming fuzzy with tears. "I thought that I had done something to upset you." You mumble, irritation dissipating. Din was, as always, simply concerned for your safety. You shake your head and stifle a pained chuckle, wiping your eyes. "That was messed up." you end up on, inching towards him.

Din welcomes you with open arms, guiding your head into his chest and settling his helmet into the crook of your neck.

"I really am sorry, I won't ever speak like that to you again. I just need you safe, meshla."

You hum in understanding as his hands drop to your back, drawing soft circles underneath your shirt. It was a sweet warmth in comparison to the icy atmosphere prior, and your mind begins to relax completely. Soon enough, the Crest's quiet doesn't seem so awful anymore.