Latest Posts by eatingyouryoung - Page 2

Poe Dameron: 1

Average Single Dad experience 🧘🏻

I FINISHED IT FCK ME-

Florence

Summary: You and Layla enjoy your honeymoon the way honeymoons are meant to be enjoyed.

Pairing: Layla El-Faouly x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: wlw, smut 18+ only, fingering (Layla receiving), porn with like a sprinkle of plot, bad smut most likely you've been warned

A/N: Had this in the works for a few months but here it is! If you enjoyed it you have @pennyserenade to thank for it because she gave me the final push to finish this.

Ever since you’d slipped your ring onto Layla’s hand, you’ve gone a little feral. There’s barely been a moment you’ve spent outside your room, though Florence glitters in the hot sun like a jewelled labyrinth, waiting to be explored. 

You suppose that honeymoons were never really meant for tourism anyways. 

You can’t really look at Layla without a primal little sprout growing in your chest, a curl of possessiveness that shuts off all other thoughts except for ‘mine’. 

Mine. 

Gods, you want to bite her, to swallow her whole. You have bitten her, the evidence clear on her skin, and she has done the same to you in turn. 

Though this is anything but the first time you’ve had her in bed, screaming until her voice is hoarse, it’s the first time that it’s felt like this. Each brush of her skin against yours, the fan of the sounds spilling from her plush lips raise wave after wave of desire in you in ways you’ve never experienced before. 

One look, one kiss, one glance at her ring and you find yourself pressing her down into the sheets, and wrapping your hand around her throat, determined to see what kind of noises you can coax out of her this time. 

She seems to only egg you further, asking for more, more, harder and faster, until she’s quivering. Until her legs are gooey and mushy and there’s a sheen of sweat on her chest that you’ll be depraved enough to lick it away, bite down and make her whine from the overstimulation and the pain. 

This time had started innocently. 

In the bathtub, her back pressed to your chest, you found your hand wandering, trying to clean away the traces of sex from her skin with the tepid, sudsy water. You had worked at her shoulders, tried to loosen the tension knotted into them. 

It really had been innocent, a well-needed break for the both of you to rest and eat before the next rounds. 

It would have been innocent had you been with anyone else but Layla. 

And then she had to go and moan in that delightful way that she did. 

The water only came about halfway up to her stomach, her chest bare and exposed, golden skin even more golden in the low light of the washroom.

Her pussy shimmered for you from underneath the bubbles on the surface of the water. 

You’d abruptly changed course, fingers on her nipples, playing with them until they hardened over for you. Her body always responded to your touch as easily as if it was the only thing she knew how to do. 

Layla had asked you what you thought you were doing and you’d shushed, pressing your lips against her neck and taking in the smell of her. On instinct you’d nipped at the skin, soothed the spot over seconds later with your mouth. 

When she hadn’t complained and only moaned in earnest this time, her back arching sharply for you, you’d gotten out of the water to lay down a towel on the ground and all you’d seen after that was the red hot colour of the ember of lust. 

You’re manhandling her, her body soaking the towel underneath her, the cold grip of her ring against your hip driving you up the walls. 

In seconds you have yourself hovering over her cunt. You press down and the softness of her wet flesh against yours makes you cry out, dizzy and disoriented for a couple of seconds. 

The hardened nub of her clit brushes yours, and you come to. There’s a fucked out look in her eyes and that makes you want to bite her. 

With another press of your hips, you lean forward, follow the line of her throat with your nose and decide where you want to sink your teeth in now. 

There are no other thoughts running inside your head except for mine, mine, mine. 

Building up a steady rhythm, you choose the soft skin about her collarbone, before biting her just on the other side of harsh. The sound she makes goes straight to your head, a heady combination of a cry and a moan. Letting go, you soothe the spot over with your tongue, though a depraved piece of you wanted to keep on the grip you had on her skin and tear off a piece for yourself. 

Your hand goes underneath her lower thigh and you hike her leg up, moving her around the way you please. The angle switch for her seems to do it all. She moans and cries out for you, a gentle tremble starting to grow in the muscles of her leg like the beginnings of an earthquake. 

Her reaction to such a small change is so intense and natural that it makes you laugh gently, “You like that, Layla?” 

She groans. “Fuck, baby.” 

You start to arch your back further before each time you grind down onto her pussy to get better leverage. The mixture of your arousals drips everywhere and gets stirred in with the bathwater on your bodies. Yours and Layla’s thighs are wet and soaked. There’s the faint, wet click each time your hips meet hers and it’s music to the sounds she’s making underneath you. 

The humidity in Italy has done wonders to her hair, and it splays out underneath her and makes her look like an angel. 

Moving your hips in circles, you raise an eyebrow at her teasingly, “You want a finger, baby?” 

Her eyes open only to see if you’re in earnest or only teasing her in the way you’re often fond of at home, keeping her tethering on the edge for hours at a time, coming up behind her and kissing her neck and making her soak through her jeans. She nods frantically, her hips coming up to meet yours with each thrust of yours. 

Pressing two of your fingers in her mouth, she starts to suck at them. You circle her tongue with your fingers and she moans again, muffled, and you can feel the vibrations of it through your hand. You continue your rhythm against her cunt and her chest arches up for you. You move her leg to rest on your waist before you take her breast in your hand and just hold it for now. 

Taking your fingers out of her mouth, you reach behind you and run them through her folds. Lust is so strong with you that you marvel at the control you have over yourself to be able to play her body so well and leave her at a loss for words. 

You press inside her easily, and her pussy sucks you in almost instantly, barely letting you move your hand and fuck her. 

You slow down your hips to move measured and deep presses against her cunt, in time with your fingers as you move them slowly in and out of her. 

You remember the first time you slept with Layla. The olive slip dress she’d worn through the dinner all through the night, the way she was so clearly not wearing a bra underneath. The way her legs went on for miles with the heels she was wearing. 

She had walked you back to her place and you’d invited her in for another drink, which she never did get, but she did get to be pressed up against the wall with the wine rack against it. She had sighed and moaned and wrapped her leg around your waist because her dress also had a delightful little slit in it that you could slip into and trace up her inner thigh to run through the dark curls between her legs. 

Right there against the wall, you had rubbed her clit over and over in a teasing, come-and-go pattern that her shaking as she gripped onto you for dear life as she came. 

That was when you knew how much fun you could have with Layla. 

Then she’d pressed you back onto bed and licked at your core until she made you come three times and then she’d moved you into much the same position you have her in now and rubbed her cunt against yours until she was crying out in pleasure and gripping onto your forearm for dear life. 

The next morning, you’d woken her up and repaid the favour and didn’t let her leave your bed until well-past noon, rolling around until the sheets had fallen onto the floor. You’d pressed her up against the door to your apartment and only let her go after she made you promise that you would come over the next evening and let her make you dinner. 

Right now, she’s starting to cry out in the way that lets you know that she’s close. Your thoughts have aroused you so much that you know that simply seeing her release will push you over yours. 

You push in a third finger and her pussy squelches for you. The sound makes you break out into a trilling laugh, you want to touch the towel underneath her and see how wet it’s gotten from just her arousal, “Gods, Layla.” 

Building up a quicker pace with your hand and hips, you roll the pebble of her nipple between her fingers until she’s breaking out into short pulses of moans and cries. She comes with a scream of your name and a sharp arch of her back. 

As you had expected, the marvellous sight in front of you of a goddess drowned in pleasure, pleasure you’ve given her, pleasure you only will give her from now on because she’s your wife, sends you into a white hot release, your palm on her breast, your grip firm. 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here.

Oscar Isaac with his Moon Knight merch

If Oscar Isaac had a nickel for every time he played a comic book character who took a guy's face off, he'd have two nickels

out of sight, out of mind

poe dameron x reader

this fic is the prequel to better safe than sorry. therefore it doesn't really matter if you haven't read it because it's a PREquel, but then you know what to read next :)

summary: saying that you're terrified at the idea of losing someone you love again is an understatement. poe dameron happens to be the most reckless person you know.

warnings: reader has trauma and ptsd, mentions of death, angst (I mean, a lot), mentions of injuries, mentions of sex, alcohol consumption

tags: f!reader, absolute idiots in love, friends to lovers, poe is in love, reader makes questionable choices but she has trauma okay, poe is so very sweet in this and it has me screaming, fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 7.1k (personal record for a one shot, wow)

huge thanks to @eatingyouryoung for beta reading and for motivating me, supporting me and most of all bearing with me and the multiple mental breakdowns I had while writing this. love you bestie, thank you, really. <3

masterlist | taglist | ao3

There are moments where it’s only those memories, only those flashbacks clouding your mind and filling up the space for any other thoughts in your head. It eats everything else and doesn’t leave room to breathe, it engulfs everything on its way.

It is impressive how just a few minutes can determine the rest of your life, it is impressive how fast it can eat up everything else that matters.

It can play in your head over and over again when it wants to, like somebody’s favorite holo movie, rewatched when you should be asleep after a long and tiring day, and sometimes you get flashes of it during the day, even if you’re busy and should not be thinking about something other than what you’re currently doing, as if the images where screaming at you that hey, they existed.

You knew all too well that they existed, and for some obscure reason, you didn’t want to forget them. 

You should want them to fade away, to disappear completely, to vanish into oblivion until nothing is left of that day, but something inside of you sticks there, holds onto those few minutes and doesn’t want to let go. 

You don’t want the images to shatter into pieces, you don’t want it to be pooling at your feet like something you know you’re never going to be able to put back together. You don’t want to let go of it, you don’t want to let go of your last memory of her.

These moments aren’t present really often, at least not as much as before, but when they are they’re omnipresent and always remind you of how afraid you are at even just the thought of losing someone again.

Right now is one of those moments, the images play in the back of your mind again, it has become a regular occurrence for them to manifest themselves at the least convenient moments. Maybe Jess was right, maybe you should go see a professional so they could help you manage the manifestation of those memories.

The only thing faintly keeping you connected to reality is Poe’s voice mixing with the scene inside your head as you watch him speak, and even though it’s muffled and his words are barely distinguishable, it’s your only anchor, and you know that if you focus hard enough, it will bring you right back where you are, in the briefing room where he’s explaining everything concerning how the previous mission went and how things could have gone easier for everyone, tactically speaking. 

You do and it works, and you’re back just in time to catch Poe’s gaze sticking to yours, a small wink directed your way drawing a wide and foolish smile from you before he looks away, leaving a heat creeping up your cheeks. 

You’re barely able to focus for the rest of the meeting because of that simple thing, making it so you haven’t listened to any of it at all. 

He dismisses everyone, chatter filling the room before it emigrates out of it, and you wait for him to be done talking with someone and he joins you.

“Hey” he smiles, walking out the room beside you, his arm wrapping around you, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You okay?” he asks as he tilts his head to take a look at your face.

You hum positively, or you hope it sounds positive, and you look up at him with a small smile to prove your point. “Just tired” you shrug.

His lips pinch in a compassionate smile, and his hand shifts from your shoulder to bury into your hair. 

"Wanna come over tonight?" he asks cocking an eyebrow. "Just you, me, a bottle and my quarters"

"Is it really that obvious that I'm not feeling well?" you ask stopping in your steps with a small sigh, looking up at him.

He snorts, shrugging. "Obvious I don’t know, but I know you better than yourself" he chuckles, his hand shifting to your arm so he can squeeze you against himself. "So is that a yes?"

"It sure is" you smile, and he mirrors it before leaving a kiss at the top of your head.

—

Your eyes are watery from the alcohol, and you can feel the dizziness starting to manifest itself as you can see that your vision is slowly starting to delay like a screen's bad frame rate.  

"So" Poe starts, taking the bottle from your hands. "Do you wanna talk about it?" he asks finally coming to the subject you've been thoroughly avoiding before, taking care of telling him about your day. 

He brings the bottle to his mouth, frowning at the small shrug you offer him in response. He swallows the liquid as he raises his chin at you, handing you back the bottle. “It’s fine if you don’t, but you know that I’m always here if you need someone to lis–”

“It’s her death. The memories of it”

“Oh” his eyes soften, and he shifts closer to you, still sitting crossed legged on his bed.

“They’re less and less frequent, but when they resurface it’s all there is” you pinch your lips, a single nod showing that you’re accepting your fate despite how cruel it is. "And it's still so vivid, I still remember it like it was yesterday. Everyone loses people they love in this war, and it's almost been two years and yet I can't move on" you chuckle before drinking from the bottle, wincing at the strong taste of the drink. “I feel ridiculous”

"No one does" he nods, raising his eyebrows in a reassuring way. "No one moves on" he declares, taking the bottle from you when you hand it over. "You learn to live with it, but you never really move on." He watches as you chew on your bottom lip, looking down at your lap. “And this is not ridiculous at all.” he tilts his head to emphasize, putting the bottle down on his nightstand.

His hand reaches for yours, and you let him hold it. It feels warm, and his touch feels comforting, and you can feel your heart beat faster when he starts running his thumb back and forth on the back of your hand. “My mom died when I was eight, I’m a grown man and I haven’t moved on and I never will. I just had to learn to live with it.” You look up at him with compassion, but you also feel worried at the thought that it’s probably going to be a long, long way before you can recover from this experience and everything else it involves.

“But the fact that you lived and saw it makes it even harder, and you shouldn’t blame yourself for feeling stuck.”

You closed your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose maybe a bit too hard, as if you were trying to squeeze the images out of you. 

"I watched her die in front of me, she was right before my eyes and I had to leave her there" the words leave your mouth in a hurried and panicked, trembling plea, throat burning with the tight knot that only seems to get bigger inside as your words remind you of the moment in question, just as if you were there again, anxiety starting to loom menacingly over you again.

A soft exhale leaves Poe’s mouth as his expression turns into one of helplessness, and he gently pulls your body to his so you both lay down on the bed as he holds you close to him, your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around you. 

"I know baby, I know" he whispers, pressing gentle kisses to your hairline, trying to ease your trembling and labored breaths.

You’re not crying, you can’t, you feel so full yet so empty.

—

The ringing, high pitched sound in your ears doesn’t help your current state of tiredness and the growing migraine slowly but surely beginning to anchor into your head, and you can soon feel a throbbing pain hammering into your skull.

It’s fairly late and everyone on base is back to their quarters and for the most fast asleep, save for the ones like you still focused on work. You should get some sleep, you need it, you crave it, but you refuse to leave the empty room before you're done filling your report, wrapping up the paperwork session you've been at for two hours now.

You almost drop your datapad at the sudden feeling of hands over your shoulders, a shuddery gasp slipping from your mouth. It wakes you up a little, your current fatigue making the effect of surprise even more intense, your heart thrumming into your ribcage and reverberating inside your whole body.

The momentary panic fades away when Poe walks around to the desk in front of yours, revealing that it's only him as your eyes follow him as you're trying to catch your breath, a relieved smile growing upon your face. You haven’t seen him since yesterday, both of you drowning under a crushing pile of work. You feel awful when you remember the state you were in, but you also remember that it’s Poe so he doesn’t mind and above all, he’s not one to judge.

"Sorry sweetheart, didn’t mean to scare you" his lips quirk in a soft smile as both of his hands grasp onto the back of the chair in front of you.

"S'okay, I just didn't expect any visit this late. Why aren't you sleeping?" you ask as you put the datapad down on the desk, looking up at him as you sink back into your chair, crossing your arms. 

“Why aren’t you” he asks as he cocks an eyebrow, almost as if accusing you of the same crime.

You sigh as you raise your eyebrows, taking a hold of the tablet you put down not too long ago. “Well Leia will kick my ass if I don’t fill out all of this, and she kinda scares me when she gets mad, so I’m stuck here until I’m done with paperwork”

“I don’t blame you for that” he snorts. "Need some company?" he asks as he pulls the chair from under the desk.

"I'm almost done but sure" you declare, pointing your hand towards his chair to offer him to stay with you.

He sits down, a slight clinking sound resonating through the empty room when he puts his feet up on the desk. 

You dive back into work, and he would have so many things to tell you about his day but he knows that you're desperate to finish what you're doing so he instead just looks at you, drinking in any movement of yours, even the littlest, admiring the way you look when you're focused, smiling at the way you bite down onto your lip in concentration all while he absent-mindedly fiddles with the ring attached to the chain around his neck.

It doesn’t take too long for you to finish your work and for Poe to escort you back to your quarters, finally getting to tell you about his day while on the way. 

You’re disappointed when you see you’re already there, and if you weren’t so tired you would have invited him inside so you could keep chatting. 

“You still haven’t answered my question” you say as you stop in front of your door, turning on your feet so you could face him, stopping him in the middle of his story about BB-8’s checkup.

“What question?” he frowns, a confused expression taking over his face, lowkey nervous that he forgot about something important.

“Why you’re not asleep.”

“Oh. I was revising details for tomorrow’s last minute mission" he nods as he crosses his arms, leaning his side against the wall.

“Last minute mission?” you repeat, your eyebrows slightly rising in curiosity.

He nods as he pinches his lips. “I’m leaving for a few days. Our contact found something interesting about the First Order, and I have to see this with my own eyes” 

“Be careful” you nod once, the inner corner of your eyebrows angling up in worry, and he can see in your eyes that you’re pleading him. He’s not the most cautious recruit on base, far from that, but he knows what’s good for his cause, even if he sometimes has to pay the price, but you also happen to be more important than his constant desire for recklessness. 

“I will, promised. Goodnight sweetheart.” he smiles softly as he stands in front of you.

“Goodnight Poe.” He turns to his feet, ready to leave, but you grab onto his wrist before he can. He turns to you, eyebrows raised, awaiting anything from you. “Thank you for yesterday. I really needed someone to talk to.” you nod, with a tired but genuine smile.

He smiles back at you, the corner of his eyes crinkling softly.

He leaves a quick kiss at your cheek before leaving, and you wait for him to be out of sight to finally go inside your quarters, and you can’t tell if the sigh leaving your mouth is one of longing or relief.

—

You’re sprinting through the base hallways, and even though it’s really not an uncommon thing to do there, you feel stupid for being in such a rush hoping that he isn’t gone yet. 

Once you arrive in the hangar, catching your breath, it is flooded with orange jumpsuits, making it hard to recognize anyone if they’re not directly facing you, but you just happen to spot the little droid that indicates that Poe’s not far away.

Poe’s eyes light up when you approach and he realizes you’re here to say goodbye, and you shake your head as you walk up to him, almost sprinting once you’re close.

“You do anything risky, I’ll kill you” you threaten as you throw yourself into his arms, the end of your sentence muffled against him.

“Okay. Where's my goodbye kiss?” he asks as he lets his hand rest at the back of your head, and he smirks when he hears your muffled chuckle.

“if you come back without a single scratch,” you start, pulling away from the embrace, looking back at him. “You’ll have a welcome home kiss.” 

His right eyebrow rises in interest, and a sly smirk grows over his face. 

“Now that’s an interesting deal.”

You point a finger to his chest, the tip pressing against it, your head slightly tilting to the side, looking right into his eyes.

“Not.” you push your finger deeper. “A.” deeper again, and—

“–Scratch, yes.” he completes your sentence, taking a hold of your hand, closing it into a fist and pressing it against his chest.

“That’s right. I’ll check” you tease, your other pointer finger pressuring him.

He snorts, “I’d love to show you every single part of my–” his voice quietens as he suddenly looks down at his feet, at the circular droid nudging him. “Yeah buddy” he looks back up at you. “I should get going”

“Alright. Goodbye handsome, be careful” you smile, and he bites down on his lip as he lets go of your hand before starting to walk backwards. 

“You gave me a reason to be, I will be” he shouts from a distance, pointing back at you as he walks away, towards his ship. 

—

The few days he had announced to be the time where he would be gone transformed into a whole week, and though you were busy every night either with work or with friends, you couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing at random moments of the evening. 

Thankfully feedback from coms said that everyone was okay and that the mission was going exactly as planned, so your state of worry was greatly diminished.

You still couldn’t stop thinking about him and you hated yourself for being so attached to Poe Dameron, but at the same time how could you not when he acted the way he did around you.

You were walking around base with friends when you heard word from a passing group of people that Poe’s squadron had gotten back from their mission, and even though it was getting late and you could wait see him the next day or whenever you would run into him next, the curiosity and apprehension to find out whether he had gotten injured or not took over you.

You apologized to your friends for having to leave them, and hurriedly made your way through the base to join the hangar.

Once you arrive there the scene in front of you is pretty much the same as when you joined Poe before he left; a sea of orange figures, ships on the ground, metallic sounds and indistinct chatter filling the room. 

Poe sees you before you see him and rushes towards you, a sly smirk over his face as he sprints across the hangar, and the moment you finally see him is the exact same moment you want to warn him about the ship wing that’s about to– 

It hits his head with a loud thud.

A yelp that quickly transforms into a groan escapes his mouth, both of his hands covering and pushing against the area of impact as he momentarily curls up on himself in place because of the sudden pain. 

Your mouth is gaping in shock before you sprint to join him.

“Fuck are you okay?” you ask hastily, a nervous chuckle leaving your mouth as your hand rests at his back while his eyes are shut tight, his hand grabbing onto your arm.

“Yeah I’m okay, I’m okay” he nods, his other hand still clinging onto his forehead. He sighs a curse word under his breath, shaking his head as he frowns before he snorts.

“I was uninjured before this.” he chuckles as he looks at you, a skeptic smile over his face. “Not a scratch”

“Mh? Well that’s too bad.” you tease, putting your hand over his shoulder. “Come on, medbay.”

“No no that’s fine I’m o–” 

“Nuh uh I don’t wanna hear it, we’re going to medbay” you insist, pulling onto his arm, raising your eyebrows and tilting your head towards the direction of interest.

Poe reluctantly goes to medbay with you, the medics check him up rather quickly, and everything turns out to be okay; you only have to stay there sitting face to face to hold a cold pad to his forehead to prevent a bump from appearing.

“So, how’d the mission go?”

“Great. Couldn’t have been better. Got into some ambushes but we crushed them” he smiles. “And not a scratch, nothing” he nods proudly.

“See, you can make efforts when you’re interested in the promised outcome” you chuckle, shifting in place so you could get a better position to hold the pad over his forehead. 

He winces, “S’cold as fuck”

“That’s the point” you huff out a laugh, and he smacks your thigh playfully in response.

“So” he starts, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat. “Can I get my price?” he asks, a sly smirk growing over his face.

“...I don’t know” you hum, a fake skeptic expression over your face. It’s hard to refrain from smiling when you see his semi-pouty face, “You technically didn’t respect the conditions.”

“What? It shouldn’t count!” he starts bargaining like a child that has been wrongly accused for something their sibling did, and you huff out a small laugh seeing how he reacts to you simply teasing him.

“I mean, you got hurt” you shrug.

“The mission was over”

“I told you to come back uninjured, mission or not, or else what's the point”

“Fair enough, but you didn’t specify beforehand”

“Well, now you know” you say, a small exhale leaving your mouth when you get up from your seat, and Poe doesn’t waste any second to follow you, tossing the cold pad onto the nearest surface.

“Alright, okay, but now I want a second chance at this so it’s fair game” he bargains, following you closely when you exit the medbay.

"Alright, alright" you agree as you turn back to him. "Come on now, you need to rest" you turn to your feet again, towards the hallway extending before you.

He remains standing in place when you start walking again, just looking at you and pondering. It takes him a few seconds before he catches up and joins you again, walking by your side.

The both of you are silent for most of the walk to Poe's quarters; it's pretty uncommon for Poe to remain quiet for more than thirty seconds, and it has you thinking.

"You really want your kiss, huh?" you ask rhetorically, stopping in your steps and turning to him once you're in front of his door.

He pauses, and takes a look at you before answering. "Of course I do" he chuckles, and you nod as your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

Poe barely has time to process you getting substantially closer to him before you grab the collar of his flight suit and put your lips over his, gently pushing him against the wall. 

The quarter of second it takes for him to fully be aware of what's happening leaves him sighing against your mouth, and once he's sure that it’s all real, his hand cradles the back of your head, pulling you even closer. 

His other hand rests at your hip, your own hands leaving his collar and resting at the back of his neck, and low hum vibrating against your mouth when your fingers bury into his short curls there.

You pull away just for a second before he yanks you towards him, kissing you back with even more vigor.

His lips are warm and pressed tight against yours, the heat of his body feeling omnipresent even though you're the one caging him.

You smile at the sight of the starstruck expression left over his face when you pull away, and your heart sinks at the way his warm eyes look at you. 

“I was messing with you, I always keep my promises” you tease with a grin as you start to back away, your hands behind your back, giving him space again.

“Admit it, you didn’t want to be kind to me, you just wanted to do it” he smirks, a teasing tone in his voice before he bites down onto his bottom lip. “You wanted to kiss me”

You smirk back at him, shrugging before turning onto your feet and leaving for good, retracing your steps.

Poe stares at you leaving until you're out of sight, and he can't help but smile to himself when he enters the code to his quarters, still not fully believing what just happened.

You, you should feel overjoyed, but you can’t help but acknowledge that bittersweet feeling starting to get to you as you’re walking back to your quarters and being faced with reality again, your mind starting to overfill with too many thoughts; you’re getting too attached. 

—

You toss and turn in your bed, and all you’re able to do instead of sleeping is hating yourself for kissing Poe, for certainly making him feel like this meant that you were ready to give him what he had been wanting from you for so long.

You do have feelings for him, and that’s where the problem is; you can not love anyone, and certainly not someone as reckless and impulsive as him, not someone you could lose technically so easily. 

You can’t go through this again, you know you wouldn’t be able to carry the weight of his loss.

Maybe it’s selfish, maybe you’re making the biggest mistake of your life – no; you’re sure of that – but you’re also sure that you wouldn't be able to handle enduring this again; the simple thought crushes you.

You toss and turn in your bed, and while Poe is certainly delighted of what happened, you hate that you’re going to have to distance yourself from him because you fucked everything up.

—

It has been a week since you and Poe had kissed, and it seemed like you were thoroughly trying to avoid him ever since, hurrying out of the room after every briefing, taking advantage of the crowd and of the people wanting to talk details with the commander. 

You happened to never eat at the same time as him anymore, and you were nowhere to be found when he looked for you in places he knew you would usually be.

Poe was left confused, and even though he had a lot of work and technically other things to think about, the fact that he couldn’t catch you to talk even just for five minutes was bothering him and leaving him wondering if he had done something wrong, especially with what happened last time.

He had thought this kiss would change things between you, would lead you somewhere and that he would finally get what he had wanted for ages; you.

He knew it was no coincidence that you wouldn't stop ignoring his presence, that you wouldn't maintain eye contact through the briefing room for more than two seconds; that you wouldn’t run into him anymore; he knew he had been just a fool, too stupid to think that this could lead him somewhere, lead the both of you somewhere, that you would feel the same way he felt for you.

—

You took it as a sign that your friends had understood something was wrong when they practically dragged you to go get some drinks, and while you weren’t particularly in the mood to do that, you had to admit that you needed some distraction.

You needed to be busy in order to avoid thinking too much, to avoid getting too deep into your own head, because you knew that if you did you would break.

And the distraction technique actually works; you’re having a good time, chatting and laughing, forgetting about everything else going on besides that, and it feels really good, the illusion feels good.

There comes a time when you start to feel the drinks you’ve downed, the slight drunkenness starting to manifest itself as well as your need to pee.

You're still in a pretty good shape, drinkingly speaking; you're not fully drunk yet, just tipsy – the feeling is still pleasant, and you just have to stop for a second to maintain balance on your feet when you get up from your seat to join the cantina's bathroom.

The room is empty when you go and lock yourself into a stall, and the muffled music gets clearer when a group of people enter the room seconds later, their loud and high pitched laughs almost fully covering the sound of the loud music before it gets muffled again.

“So” one of the girls starts as she recovers from her laugh, “How’d last night end?” she asks, and the question elicits curious gasps from the other girls of the group.

“Yeah, we didn’t see you after you left the room with Commander Dameron” another girl teases, putting emphasis on the rank and last name, and your eyes widen at the sound of that.

Well. Try to forget about something and it’s shoved into your face right back away.

This catches your interest nonetheless, and you make sure to wait a little before you wipe yourself, not wanting to miss a beat of the conversation.

"Well," another girl starts, the girl who you assume is the girl who left the room with Commander Dameron. 

"We were both drunk and it was sloppy but damn is he good at it” she declares proudly, a fit of giggles filling the room.

Oh.

She's talking about something else, right? 

This can't possibly be, right?

Right?

"No way you slept with a commander, Jana. This is like a special success, something to check off a list" one of them chuckles.

"Sure did." Jana replies, and this is cliché and a bit not-feminist but you can just imagine her putting another layer of gloss on her lips.

Fuck.

It's with a half lie about not feeling well that you leave your friends and go home to your quarters, trying to repress the tight knot in your throat when you don’t even bother to change into your sleeping clothes and curl up into your bed.

—

The next briefings after that are awkward and feel delicate, and even though they already were before, you now can not look at Poe without internally wanting to scream and break something.

You hurry out the room faster than before if it’s even possible, and you need to be constantly distracted and busy with something in order not to think about him and all of your current situation with him.

You make your way out of the seemingly way-too-busy room once more, apologizing as you slalom through the crowd of people, an exhale of relief escaping once you get some relatively fresh air in the hallway.

“Hey” your heart jumps when you recognize Poe’s voice as he grabs your arm, and you sigh softly when you’re forced to turn to him. He must have disregarded everyone’s questions to exit the briefing room that quickly. “Why won’t you talk to me? Why do you barely even look at me?” he asks, and his voice slightly cracks at the middle of his sentence. He’s not fully scolding you, he genuinely wants answers.

A soft exhale leaves your mouth, and you can feel and hear your heart starting to beat fast in your ears.

“Did you sleep with Jana?”

The question is dropped like a bomb, and you know it’s going to have the effect of a bomb no matter what happens – it’s going to destroy everything, but at this point there isn’t really anything left to lose, nothing left to save either, it’s all doomed.

You already know the answer, you already know he’s going to respond positively because he’s an honest man and definitely not a liar; it’s something you have always appreciated in him.

“I–” he is speechless, and his mouth is gaping, trying to come up with anything to say though he knows damn well what he has to say if he wants to be honest with you, even if it’s going to ruin everything, until– “Yes.”

You expected it, and yet it still hurts. 

You had secretly hoped that the girl in the cantina bathroom had made that lie up to impress her friends, and you deep down knew she hadn’t, but you somehow buried yourself deep into denial, thinking that hoping otherwise would somehow manifest the truth to be different.

“I can’t wait for you forever. I don’t want to.” 

Immediately and like a reflex your eyes close, your lips pinch and you nod, trying to ignore the sick feeling bubbling inside your chest though it’s impossible. 

It hurts, everything hurts, nothing will ever be the same with him and it’s entirely your fault, you brought it upon yourself.

He’s not yours after all, and you made sure of that, so you shouldn’t be upset, you shouldn’t feel your heart sink. It’s not legitimate.

“You know that’s not what I meant” he starts again, the inner corner of his eyebrows angling up in compassion when he sees your reaction. “I could wait for you forever.” he nods, a bittersweet smile over his face. “But you’re making me feel like a fool. I don’t want to feel like a fool forever” he nods one last time as his lips pinch to repress something, and you can see his eyes glistening a bit, and your heart aches at the sight.

You bite down on your lip trying to contain your frustration, or your growing state of misery; you’re not sure, and all you’re able to reply is just–

“Okay.”

It’s bland, cold and dry, but it’s truly all that can come out.

You don’t have the heart to bargain and beg for your cause, and it would feel unfair and dishonest for him anyways.

“I’m sorry” Poe immediately says, and you feel bad that he is the one to be sorry, that he feels like he is the bad guy in that whole story when all of this is entirely your fault.

“No, no, I am. I get it” you try to reassure him, forcing a small smile out of you, still trying to make it seem like you’re doing fine, though you know there’s no use trying to when he knows you so well. 

You can’t stay here any longer or you will break, and you don’t have anything left to say anyways, not when you know it probably has to end that way.

You leave as fast as you left the briefing room earlier, and Poe feels sick when he watches you go, feels the need to puke when his head somehow fills with every memory you’ve ever made with him.

You’re glad your back is facing him when you have to frantically wipe away the single tear rolling down your cheek.

—

It feels strange not having Poe in your life anymore, at least not properly; and it's probably worse that way, the fact that he's still around and that you're still often being confronted to each other, forced to pretend not to care about each other.

It hurts that he's now back to being "just" a commander to you, a colleague, that you're both back to being basically strangers, that the eye contacts don't linger anymore and just leave a bitter feeling lodged inside your chest when they used to leave butterflies in your stomach.

Your heart aches every time you catch a glimpse of him, and it’s hard trying to stay focused when you work around him, go on missions with him. 

You feel terrible for what you’ve done to him, you feel sick that he feels like he's been played with when all you wanted to do was protect yourself, you feel bad that he has to be collateral damage. 

You truly hope he doesn’t hate you, and you think that this might be your biggest fear.

That the only man that has ever truly believed in you, that the man that you love could hate you, even if he has all the reasons in the world to and you wouldn’t blame him if he did. 

Now is not the time to think about it, because you've been assigned and sent on a mission with him, and you're kinda thankful it's not the kind of mission that only requires two people and you just happen to be paired with him – you're thankful people are with you for this one.

It should be an easy mission, you just have to get something back.

A smuggler had stolen something that was supposed to get sent to the Resistance, but the guy happened to be tougher and more skilled than expected, and the logical solution to get back up on this was to get the Resistance itself.

You’re making your way through a quiet alley bathed in darkness, following the target from a distance, observing each of his movements to calculate how you could get an opening so you could get to him and steal – no, get back what’s yours.

Your group has split up, everyone trying to join the guy from different points and accesses across the area. 

If all goes well you can surround him in case you don’t have the opportunity to attack before, and technically he shouldn’t be able to get away, at least not until you have taken back what he has stolen.

You're doing pretty good so far, the guy hasn’t noticed he is being followed, so you have been able to gradually get closer and you're so close to being able to attack and if you could just shoot him in the leg and get back what's yours–

You're suddenly and abruptly yanked out from the main alley, and even before you can react at what’s happening and scream in surprise and fear, a hand pushes over and blocks your mouth, the other hand wrapping tight around your waist, your back pressed flush against your assailant's chest as their own back rests against the wall of the small, secluded alley you’ve been pulled in.

Your eyes look around in fear, your head unable to move, blocked by the strong hand covering your mouth; you want to scream, trying to wriggle out of whoever's grasp you're trapped in, panic starting to creep up your chest, until–

"Calm down, don't panic, it's only me." the soft and gentle whisper of Poe's voice in your ear makes you relax in his grasp, waves of relief washing over you. "He knows that we're following him, he was waiting for you to get closer to trap you" he explains, and you start to loosen up when his hand leaves your mouth and he lets go of you. “Sorry I scared you”

“Thank you” you nod as you face him, your hands resting over your knees as you catch your breath from the sudden rush of fear and adrenaline.

Your eyes widen and you look back at Poe when you hear a fight starting not so far away from where you are, shouts and sounds of blasters firing.

“I’ll go” he declares, hastily taking off his jacket. “Stay there and keep this for me, will you? You were shivering while I was holding you” he smirks teasingly, throwing you his leather jacket.

You chuckle as you catch and look down at the piece of cloth, and he waits for you to put it on to shoot you a smile before leaving, not even giving you time to beg him to be careful and not do anything stupid.

At least you’re now certain that he most definitely does not hate you.

—

Poe is sitting in the grass on a hill not so far away from base, looking up at the starry sky, just enjoying the fresh air of D'Qar. It feels nice after the particularly busy and tiring day he just had, his muscles still sore and tense from the mission, especially the muscles joining his neck and shoulders. 

“Hey” the sudden sound of your voice tears him out of his thoughts, and he even thinks he hallucinated it before he turns to you.

“Hey” he pinches a smile as he looks up at you.

“I wanted to give you your jacket back” you say as you look down at the jacket you’re currently wearing, and you must admit that you’re a bit reluctant at the idea of having to give it back – it smells just like him, a mix of his natural comforting scent and his aftershave, and it feels like the closest you’ve ever been to him in your life.

“Oh. No need to, you can keep it, you look good in it” he smiles wide, and you scoff softly.

"Alright. Can I?” you ask, referring to sitting down next to him.

“Hm? Sure” he nods, patting on the grass. You sit down next to him and watch him as he looks in front of him, admiring the view extending before him. The sky is pretty, the stars are especially bright tonight.

"Thank you again for earlier. And… I'm sorry for even earlier" you say, and his gaze drops down to his lap. "I'm sorry I was being an asshole and I made you feel like an idiot just because I don't know how to deal with my emotions." He looks back up in front of him, and you're scared when he doesn’t say anything and just stares ahead, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "Can you forgive me?"

His face turns to you, and he nods, a pinched, awkward smile over his face. "Of course. Of course I can"

You can't help a relieved smile from forming over your face, and you look at the stars for a moment before looking back at him. He looks almost heavenly, bathed in the stars' light.

“You know I love you, right? Poe, please tell me you do.” you ask, almost beg, still scared that he could believe the opposite. 

"I do. I know it" he nods softly, looking at you. He pauses before continuing, as if he was thinking of the right words to say. "But I don't want you to feel forced to be with me if you're not ready yet" he continues, and his hand rests over your thigh as he looks at you sternly, wanting to show you that he means it.

Your heart sinks at how considerate he is, even after how you've been treating him, but you're not even surprised; he's the kindest, most gentle man you've ever met, you have always known this.

"I can wait for you, and I will, I'm not going anywhere." he looks down at your thigh when your hand covers his, and he looks back up at you. "I mean it."

It shouldn't have the effect it has, because you've never wanted him as much as you do now, but you have been wanting him for long anyways so it doesn't really change anything. 

“I’m terrified of losing you.” you mutter under your breath, saying this as if you were justifying yourself though you know you don’t have to.

“And why would you lose me?” he asks, almost sure it's a rhetorical question, his hand moving so it could grab yours. His fingers intertwine with yours and the gesture makes a chill run down your spine, you're sure it's not the fresh breeze of the night.

“You’re the most impulsive and reckless person I’ve ever met, Poe. That might simultaneously be your biggest blessing and flaw” you smile softly.

He scoffs. “But I’m also the best pilot in the Resistance, so…” he tries to reassure you with a fake sly smirk, for once, holding tighter onto your hand. “Trust me, will you? I know it’s hard for you, I know what you’ve gone through and I know what you're scared of but I promise you that we’ll be okay.” he nods, and you happen to believe him, he is able to do that.

"You don't have to wait for me, then" you declare, your head resting over his shoulder. He smiles as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, leaving a kiss at the top of your head before his rests over yours.

You will love him anyways, you will be terrified anyways, and if you have to live with the fear that everything could stop suddenly, you would rather do it by his side.

if this flops and if I get no feedback on this I will scream, cry, break something and consider retiring from writing so if you've read all of this please give me feedback or a comment or a reblog I'm literally begging you on my knees........

—

masterlist | taglist | ao3

star wars masterlist: @apollo-enthusiast @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious

Blorbo thought of the day #5

Repetition: (Marc Spector x reader)

A/n: a little fluffy blurb 🥰 Starts with angst but Marc provides comfort and it’s lovely because he is lovely.

Warnings: (Reader has some abandonment / self-esteem issues, canon typical allusions to Marc’s past, implied off-camera sexy times) Not proofed!

GIF by @anhandfulgirl18

“You a’right?” Marc asks you in his gruff morning voice as your sigh billows dolefully against the bare expanse of his chest. The room is golden hued with sunlight, bright and easy, and your mood as you wake certainly does not match it.

“Bad dream,” you explain curtly, deepening the niggle in your brow. “Just thinking.”

Marc crushes his chin to his chest in an attempt to get a better look at you. Smooths a warm, broad hand down your bare back, the gnarled patterned sheets pushed down around your middles. “What dream? What are you thinking?”

You stiffen, snapping out of your gloomy mood a little as you realise that you’ve been awake for a mere 30 seconds, and yet you have already managed to make his voice sound like that. Despondent. Taut with concern.

Your head still resting on his chest, his heartbeat thudding steadily beneath the shell of your ear, you let your fingers dance lightly over his pec, trailing in slow, repeating circles, round and round. “It’s just….” The words feel too big to come out, like there’s a traffic jam in your throat when you try to say it out loud.

It’s stupid. You know it is.

“What?” Marc encourages, whisper soft, his voice and his hands as gentle as the slip of fresh golden sun into the room.

You push yourself up. Lie on your front next to him, propping your chin on your fisting hands. Despite the tension roping through you, looking at Marc instantly makes you smile, even if the gesture itself is a subdued, somber sort of thing.

You reach up and ruffle his thick, dark strands with the rake of your fingers, fondly combing the tendrils back from his forehead, and he hums for you, low and soft.

God. This man. He always looks especially beautiful on a morning. The mussed, chaotic curls. The shadow of stubble darkening his jaw. The way he fans his long lashes, attempting to blink away the bright morning, always a complete snuggle fiend and wanting to lay in the dark with you just a little longer. The glisten of his Magen David pooled in the hollow of his throat, bobbing there as he swallows. His skin bare and warm and his natural scent not yet polluted by his morning shower.

You don’t think you could ever tire of this sight.

“It’s nothing. Not really. It’s just… Every now and again I get this… horrible gnawing feeling. Like one day you’ll… I dunno. Get bored of me?”

That wakes him up, and for the second time this morning you feel guilt writhe your belly. Marc, meanwhile, looks at you with a pure concern. Gaze flitting over you. Examining you as though you’ve been severely wounded - and he’s only now seeing it. “What do you mean?” He moves, the surprise animating him, and he shifts his elbows backwards to prop his torso up. His necklace elongates, settling into place in the valley of his shapely chest, and his mop of curls flopping once again over his forehead. “Honey. How could I ever?”

You play with a little bit of lint on the bed covers, suddenly intent on it. Retreating away from Marc’s intense, searching stare. “You know. You could. Maybe. From the repetition of it.” Your voice cracks like sun-baked earth - as though the golden morning has already dried you out. “You could get bored. Waking-up next to me every day? Hearing me talk about the same stuff all the time? Fucking me, over and over.”

At that comment, Marc’s brows knit and raise in the middle. His tongue fleets along his lower lip, his mouth turning down at the corners. God, those puppy dog eyes of his never get old.

“But you know I love fucking you over and over, shortcake.”

You shake your head softly. Self-conscious around him, and you have no idea why. “Marc.”

With the wet way you say his name, Marc turns immediately on to his side, still propped up on one elbow, his muscles popping as they bear his weight. And, his freed arm just as immediately is reaching for you. Fingers trailing down your back. You look at him and he looks pained. “Did I… Did I do something to make you think that-“

“-No.” Shit. You shouldn’t have said anything about it. Marc gets so in his head about these things. Always blames himself, as though, if you’re insecure, it means that he isn’t doing a good enough job of loving you. In fact, that could not be further from the truth. “No, Marc. I promise. It’s…” You sigh out a long breath. “It’s just how I feel sometimes. Like eventually, you’ll realise you want someone else. I mean, if I were you, I’d get tired of me too, you know? Sometimes it just feels… inevitable.” Your final word is so heavy that is weighs the tears that pool in your eyes, and yet, even through the blur, you risk a glance up at Marc again.

His palm comes to cradle your cheek. His eyes shine steadily on you. Even glint with an unexpected amusement, despite the situation, which you don’t yet comprehend.

“Baby. Do you never think about who you’re talking to, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. I love repetition. Same thing, over and over? Fucking heaven.”

Your insecurities press you to dispute his statement, and your mouth even drops open to counter him; but, actually, when you think about it…

Marc?

This guy?

The guy who eats the same thing everyday for breakfast, except on Saturdays? Who does all of his tasks in the same way, in the same order, every time? Who watches the same three movies on repeat any time he gets a chance? Who buys four of the same shirt so he rarely has to change it up?

“Yeah. Okay,” you concede. “But, why though?Because it’s… easy? Convenient?” That’s not what you want to be for him.

Marc caresses your cheek with his palm again, gaze flitting fondly over your face. He frowns, like he’s never really thought about the why before. Because it had never really occurred to him to think about it. “No. Not exactly. I guess because… It makes me feel… safe.”

“Safe?”

Safe. Is that what you are to him?

“Yeah. Safe like…”

Not like home. Not like the place that never was; safe.

Safe, like the jumper you knitted him, maybe. Safe, like repeating stitch after repeating stitch wrapped around him, keeping him warm.

Repetition as comfort. Routine as the home he never had, built for himself, block by block.

Like that, maybe? Or, like something else?

You swallow harshly. “Safe like… boring?”

“No,” Marc says calmly, still thinking. “No, baby.”

Then, he moves. Crawls on top of you until his nude body is covering yours, boxing you in all safe.

You see the effort plainly in his face. See from the weight in his brow that he’s painstakingly searching for the right words. That he’s reaching for a way to make you get it. Searching for something which he knows for certain you’ll truly understand. “Safe like…” A lightness settles over Marc’s face as he lands on the very thing. Something you can both understand. No chance of misinterpretation. “Safe like… how Steven makes you feel, you know?” Then, he cocks his head to the side, a slow drag of a smile inching, lopsided, over his plush mouth. “Except, in a less brotherly way. Obviously.”

You can’t help it. You tear up. You know what Steven means to Marc. That Steven represented the first time Marc had felt loved. Protected. That Steven made you feel that same way too. “I really make you feel like that?”

Marc’s eyes glow softly with a smile, crinkles appearing around his eyes, since he’s finally beginning to make you understand. “Yeah. Now you’re getting it. And hey. You’d never get sick of that, would you?”

You wouldn’t. “Never.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your lips. Buries his face in your neck, lips sliding tenderly down the column of your throat. Holding you tightly, his body covering you. He kisses along your collarbone, his tongue laving there. “I’ll never be bored of you.”

“Promise?”

Marc props himself up on his forearms, boxing you in either side of your head and nuzzling the tip of his nose against yours. “In a thousand lifetimes? I’d love you over and over and over and over.”

Finally, you submit a watery smile to him, releasing your sadness and your fears and your tension. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling his mouth down to yours for a deep, tender, loving kiss.

“Well,” you suspire when you break for air. “Then I suppose I like repetition too.”

“Oh yeah?”

You kiss the tip of his nose and his face crinkles with a delicious smile. “Yeah. Because I wanna wake up beside you every single day, Marc Spector.” He smiles in awe at you, eyes glistening with unadulterated adoration and you kiss along his jawline. “And sometimes Steven or Jake too,” you add as an aside. “That I’ll allow.” Marc’s face splits into a beaming smile. “Now, kisses for you all.” You grasp his face in your splayed hands and plant three kisses in turn. One on the cheek, one to the centre of his forehead, and one on his lips, which is all for him.

Marc’s eyes flutter closed as your kiss puckers against him. “Now, get off me, will you?” you tease fondly. “I’ll get us some breakfast. I’m gonna need you fuelled-up.”

“What for?”

“For all of the repetitive fucking we’re about to do.”

Marc flips obediently on to his back, folding his arms behind his head and baring himself entirely to you as you sway -naked- towards the kitchen. “Oh, is that right?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, shortcake.”

You are. You’re feeling much better thanks to Marc and the way in which he loves you - which, you’re discovering, never gets old.

“What are we having?” he asks as you begin to raid the cabinets.

“The usual.” you glance towards him, a smirk on your mouth. “I mean. If that’s okay with you.”

He smiles softly at you in return. “The usual sounds perfect.”

It’s funny.

Marc always did love a little repetition.

jessica chastain photographed by emilio madrid

Boxer Miguel Boxer Miguel Boxer Miguel B-

Wasted On You

AN: No one asked for this but it came to me, and I wanted it so, hope y'all enjoy lol.

(Un-beta’d)

In which Poe is a handsy, overly-affectionate drunk.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,863 Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader Warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, frottage/thigh riding, semi-public sex, soft!Poe, sub!Poe (if you squint), fluff, PDA, cursing, Poe being the adorable menace that he is. AO3

———

The spotchka sloshes out of your glass as you clink it with the others at the table, the sounds of raucous laughter and general gaiety filling the room as everyone celebrates the Resistance’s latest win. It’d been a big one, one that had been fought for long and hard; years of sleepless nights and an innumerable number of undercover missions later, it was finally over. Everyone was thrilled, of course, but none more so than Poe Dameron. 

You take a sip and smile as you watch him cheer, his elation and relief obvious. He’d been neck deep in the middle of it all as the General’s right-hand man, taking charge of at least a third of the missions that had gotten all of you to this point; if anyone deserved to celebrate, it was definitely Poe. 

It’s why you haven’t tried to pull him away yet, why you haven’t stopped him from drinking jet juice like it’s water. You know you probably should but…he’s just having so much fun, and you can’t bear to be the one that ends it. He’s definitely sloshed, laughing at the dumbest things and stumbling around like a baby that’s just learning how to walk. It’s been pretty amusing to witness, if you’re honest.  

You watch as the people he’s been speaking with move on, clapping him on the shoulder as they head toward another group that’s taken up residence in the back corner. Once he’s alone, he sits quietly, smiling softly to himself for a moment, before his brow suddenly furrows in confusion. He looks around, an exaggerated frown on his lips as he searches for something. When his eyes meet yours, his smile returns, wide and a little dopey, as he stands to his feet and unsteadily shuffles over. 

You chuckle when he plops down onto the chair beside you, his arm draping over your shoulders as he leans in so close, his nose bumps against your cheek. 

“There you are, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice raspy from all the cheering and screaming. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” 

An involuntary shiver runs through you at the roughness of his voice, conjuring memories of the other times he’s sounded like this for you (his forehead pressed to yours, breath puffing against your lips as he pushes into you again and again—). He pulls you closer, his lips brushing your cheek as his other hand falls to your knee. 

“Maker,” he groans, kissing his way over your jaw toward your ear. “Baby, you smell delicious.” 

You tilt your head slightly to better accommodate him, your chuckle a little throaty. “I do?” 

He hums, pushing his nose against the side of your neck and breathing in deeply.  

You chew your lip, eyes darting around the room as he resumes kissing you, this time on your neck, the hand on your knee slowly inching its way up to your thigh. 

“Poe,” you warn, squirming a little in your chair as you halt his hand’s upward progression with your own. “We’re in public.” 

He grunts, nosing aside the collar of your shirt to nip at your collarbone. “So?” 

Your chuckle morphs into a whine as he worries a mark there with his teeth, arousal pooling in your gut at the mild sting. He groans into your neck when your fingers find their way into his hair, curling around the soft, thick strands. Gently, you pull him off of you, his eyelids heavy, mouth slightly agape as he stares at you. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the way he looks at you, so much unabashed love and adoration, so much want. Unable to resist, you lean in and kiss him softly on the lips. 

 As you pull away again, you say. “C’mon, flyboy, let me take you home.” 

The two of you say goodnight to everyone before stumbling from the cantina, Poe’s arm laid over your shoulders. Your arm wraps around his waist in an effort to keep him upright, only to have him lean heavily against your side, humming contentedly as he buries his face in your neck again. You manage to get him to the door just outside the living quarters hall before he starts trying to grope you, hand slipping not-so-stealthily toward your chest.  

“Stop it,” you chuckle, rolling your eyes as you swat his hand away. 

He snorts into your neck, his mouth once again exploring the area. “Stop what?” he asks between kisses, lips dragging over your skin. “‘m not doing anything.” 

You hum skeptically, pausing to key the entry code to the door. As you wait for it to slide open, he pulls your earlobe between his lips, his teeth nipping at the edges. Your breath hitches in surprise, and he must hear it because he smiles. You drag him into the hall once the door opens, silently thanking the Maker that everyone seems to still be out celebrating. 

Poe’s quarters aren’t far, and normally take just a few minutes to reach, however, what should be a quick trek is hindered by the fact that a certain drunk commander can’t seem to stop touching you. You fend him off without issue, though, biting back your laughter at the terrible pick-up lines he’s throwing your way. 

“You do know that I can’t carry you, right?” you tease, snorting as he knocks you into the wall with his weight again. 

He chuckles as he attempts to right himself, but only succeeds in making you even more lopsided. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t help that I am trapped in the gravitational field of your smile.” 

You scoff, shaking your head fondly as you turn the corner to the hall that (blessedly) houses Poe’s quarters. “You’re an idiot.” 

He laughs again, and you grunt as he leans into your side yet again, his breath puffing against your cheek. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” 

It’s cheesy, but the truth of the statement makes something warm lodge itself in your heart all the same. 

You’re almost there, can literally see his door as you both plod awkwardly down the hall. He’s quieter now, but you’re so focused on getting him into his room, you don’t think to ask why.  

Without warning, he leans into you again, throwing you off balance and pinning you to the wall with his hips. Before you can scold him, he covers your lips with his own, stealing your words as well as the breath from your lungs. He tastes like a Keshian spice roll, sweet and a little tangy, and you melt into him, your fingers curling into his shirt to keep him against you. His tongue is warm, insistent, as it slides hungrily against yours, coaxing a soft moan from your throat.  

He sighs, grinding against you clumsily as he devours your mouth. His hands are everywhere; on your face, your hips, your ass, his strong fingers gripping and pulling, manipulating your body like he would his ship. You whine as he slots his thigh between your legs, pushing it up against your core, mumbling something about wanting to see you fall apart. You moan at the friction, canting your hips as he pulls his mouth from yours to groan into your neck. Your fingers weave into his hair as you both continue to grind against each other, the pleasure building steadily in your gut.  

“Poe,” you sigh breathlessly, eyes flying open when you remember where you are. “Baby, your room is right there.” 

He grunts in response, his mouth latching onto your neck.  

You open your mouth to respond, then promptly choke on a moan when he shifts his leg, the movement pressing the seam of your pants against your clit.  

“Maker, I love all the pretty, little sounds you make,” he slurs, voice raspy as he pulls back to meet your eyes. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” 

The greedy look in his eyes sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your breath hitching as you cant your hips, seeking your release.

“Poe,” you whine, telling him that you’re close (so close), that you just need a little more— 

He shushes you softly, pressing his forehead against yours, his own hips still rutting lazily against you, and when you come, he kisses you, swallowing your moans.  

The first thing you notice when you come back to yourself is that Poe’s rock-hard cock is digging into your hip. When you open your eyes, he’s watching you, his smile soft, eyes heavy-lidded, still blown wide with lust. 

That’s when you remember where you are. 

Shit.  

Panic slices through you as you wriggle in his hold, trying to push yourself off of the wall (and his thigh). You’re mortified—had anyone seen you? Had they heard? You groan (and not in the pretty way Poe likes), eyes darting around in search of any onlookers. Poe chuckles, nose nudging against yours as he tries to reclaim your attention. 

As you return your attention to your menace of a boyfriend, you can’t seem to stop the laugh that escapes you, clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. He laughs too, snorting when you place your other hand over his mouth. You smile at each other as your combined giggles subside, Poe’s eyes crinkling a little by his eyes.  

“Let’s get you to bed, commander,” you say finally, fingers toying with the curls at the base of his neck. 

He nods, a little glassy-eyed as he stares at you with a fondness and affection that makes your stomach flip.  

When you (finally) make it into his room, he attacks you with his lips again, licking into your mouth as his hands clumsily attempt to remove your clothes. He walks backwards, bringing you along with him as he untucks your shirt from your pants. You chuckle as he struggles with your belt, grunting in frustration when he can’t seem to get it unbuckled. He huffs after a moment, abandoning his attempts and slipping beneath your shirt instead.  

Suddenly, he grunts, tripping and falling heavily onto his bed and pulling you right along with him. You laugh softly, pushing yourself up on your forearms to look down at him; his eyes are glazed with want, dark curls splayed across his blanket in a messy halo, eyelids heavy. 

“Slow down, baby,” you whisper, smiling softly as you lean in to kiss him again. 

He melts into the mattress, moaning into your mouth as his hands slide up your back, hips pushing against yours. You grind down onto him slowly, gently, swallowing every sigh and whimper that falls from between his lips. He comes with a choked moan not long after, fingers digging into your skin as his hips stutter against yours. 

You pull back when you feel him sag in relief beneath you, your hands combing through his hair. His eyes are closed, body limp and heavy, and you realize—he fell asleep. You snort, smiling fondly at him before pressing a kiss to his forehead. As you try to slip from his hold though, he tightens his arms around you, murmuring softly for you to stay. 

Unable to deny him anything, you do.

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MARGOT ROBBIE "Barbie" Celebration Party (June 30, 2023)

ok, confession time.

pairing: miguel o’hara x reader

summary: confession time ٩( ᐛ )و

warnings: none.

a/n: I caved…

“Alright, hear me out.” “No.”

Miguel interrupts without missing a beat. You scoff as you watch him turn his back to you as he refocuses on the many projectors in front of him. “All that technology is going to rot your brain,” you mumble out under your breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Anyways,” you curl your two middle fingers inward towards your palm as you direct a web to the floating island Miguel was on. “As I was saying, hear me out.” You hear a distressed sigh coming from the man in front of you but decided to brush it off. He was going to hear you out.

He remained silent, an indirect indication for you to continue your thoughts.

“Being stressed all the time is going to do no good for the spiderverse.”

“Arachnoid humanoid poly multiverse.”

“Yeah, that, so as I was saying… having one dinner wouldn’t doom the multiverse.”

Another sigh was let out this time, but this time it was out of exhaustion. He calls out your name causing your back to straighten as he finally turns to face you.

“The fate of the multiverse,” he begins before getting cut off by a web, coming from you, connecting with his torso and jerking him towards your direction.

He tilted his head at you once you stopped pulling him closer, leaving probably three centimeters of space between you two.

He wasn’t surprised by this action, no, you’ve done this multiple times. Pulled him too close for comfort, causing all logical thoughts in his brain to short circuit as it filled with thoughts of you.

You could hear his heartbeat. It’s one of the pros that come with being a spider person, your heightened senses. In moments like these where your own heartbeat was far too hard for you control you’d rely on his to calm you down, however it seemed to have done the opposite.

Why was it so fast?

Hearing your name managed to take you out of your momentarily dazed self.

“Is everything alright?” Miguel, whose body was practically leaning on yours, lightly shook you for he was disturbed by your suddenly quiet self.

“Yeah,” you replied far too quickly as you forced yourself to take a few steps back to create some distance between you two.

“Anyways,” you stuttered out, “I was just going to say how you always loose me whenever you start talking about the multiverse. Yeah, always manages to make my brain shut off.”

Miguel stared at you confused as you start to awkwardly ramble on about how the very premise of the multiverse is strange.

“And it’s so weird how technically-“

“Stop talking.”

You immediately close your mouth.

For the third time tonight, Miguel lets out a sigh as he closes the distance between the two of you. One second your mouth is opening to question why he’s taking more steps than necessary, and the next it’s occupied by the mouth of his.

When you don’t push him away and instead lean into his body, his hand travels up to your neck and his thumb presses against the area where your adams apple would’ve been to tilt your head up slightly more.

The one to end the kiss first is you, Miguel attempts to follow and close that distance once again but gets interrupted by the hand you put on his chest to stop him.

For a second Miguel starts to think he read the entire situation wrong. But you leaned into him so what does that mean-

“Miguel,” you begin saying softly and you looked up at him, “how did you know,” when he gives you a blank expression you let out a small snicker before continuing, “that I liked you.”

He tilts his head again as he looked down at you, “You thought I wasn’t able to sense your heartbeat? Cariño, even though I don’t have the spider sense that you have, my senses are still heightened.”

“Oh,” you say dumbfounded. Right.

“Yeah,” he says quietly as he tries to kiss you again.

“Wait,” you interrupt. “So, do you…like me too?”

“…We just kissed.”

“Yeah but, friends with benefits exist-“

Miguel groaned as you began to ramble on about how kissing doesn’t mean requited feelings, and while he understood what you were saying he’d much rather feel your lips on his than watch them speak about a scenario that wasn’t the case with this situation.

“Ok, then how about we get dinner.”

You widened your eyes at his words, a smile threatens to show on your face but you try to keep your composure, “…Ok. So…is this a date?”

“Yes,” he exhales, “Yes, it will be a date.”

“Ok.” You say excitedly before connecting a web with the ground beneath you two and jumping down, “See you in…?”

“Does thirty minutes sound good?”

“Yeah,” you start to smile, “yeah, thirty minutes sounds good.” You give him an actual smile before turning around getting ready to run through the halls of hq to tell Peter and Mayday all about this interaction.

“Ok,” Miguel says under his breath as he watches you leave.

“Why are you so awkward?”

“Lyla shut up.”

Anything For You

Jake Lockley x f!reader

Warnings: Absolutely none, Jake Lockley is just a big fat cinnamon roll he is just so <3

A/N: Hi this was kind of self indulgent and written in like an hour or two to help feel better after school has officially ended. But it's also a little love note to @melodygatesauthor because Mel you're so special and our convo about this favourite boy made me think and you deserve a special treat because you're the specialest girl (Jake's words!! he has even confirmed it)

-Clem

Synopsis: Jake Lockley always takes care of his favourite girl.

Word count: 1336 (ahhh)

You shuffled into the lightly lit apartment, quietly closing the door behind you. You dropped your bag, rubbing your face as a yawn broke out of you and your shoulders sagged in exhaustion. There was no one to witness your tiredness but the moon as it peeked through the windows.

"Amor?" Jake's sleepy voice came, and soon he emerged from the bedroom, a soft sleepy smile on his face. "Thought I heard you," You smiled weakly. "Hi, didn't mean to wake you-" You started before he waved you off, wrapping an arm about you. "It's alright, amor. I was staying up but I didn't realise you were coming home so late," He kisses the top of your head, and immediately you melted into him, feeling the exhaustion and pain of the past few weeks bubble up and nearly spill over. Your eyes filled with tears but you were quick to press your face to Jake's chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist as you breathed him in. He grounded you, all three of them always did- whether from an epic night out or a really bad day, they always helped bring you home.

Jake frowned, hugging you back tightly. "Bebita? What's wrong?" You shook your head. "I'm tired, Jake. I'm so fucking tired of everything," If you only listened close enough, you could hear his heart squeeze and shattered at your words. You were almost fragile, your voice heavy with worries and problems and you looked ready to collapse. He didn't like seeing his girl hurting so much. "Oh amor..." He pressed his lips to your head, gently rubbing your back. "Mi poor princesa. You've been working so hard haven't you? Coming home late every night and leaving so early, when was the last time you had a good sleep, mm? Or a proper meal?" You shrugged, too tired to answer. Didn't matter, he knew. He gently squeezed your hips, then hooked a finger under your chin and lifted it up to face him. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, and for a second, your mind emptied of everything- everything but him and you in this moment, lips locked together in such a soft, delicate kiss it made you ache. You missed him. He pulled away, peppering small kisses all over your face. "I'm going to take care of you, okay bebita? You're going to relax and let me make you feel better, sí?" You nodded, "Okay..." He nodded too, sweeping you off your feet and into his arms as he carried you to the bathroom. "I'm gonna run you a bath, okay? And you're gonna sit in there and relax for at least an hour to yourself, while I make you something to eat. And then, we're going to sleep, and you're going to take the day off tomorrow," He stated as if all matters were already decided and sealed. He placed you down on the side of the tub when you reached the bathroom and turned on the hot water. "But- I have work tomorrow." "Like I said, take the day off," "I can't just do that," You frowned. He shook his head as he rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out your nice smelling candles and your favourite body oils and creams. "If you don't call them, I'm going to," "You wouldn't," He turned to you, grinning widely. "Sí, I would. And if I forget- which I won't- then Steven will. Or Marc. You don't want Marc to call them, would you?" That was an easy answer. Marc always get too angry if someone tried to deny you the day off. You nodded, sighing in defeat. "Okay. Day off tomorrow. Will you stay with me then?" He chuckled, kissing your temple. "Of course, princesa. Always," He smiled. "Now, off with the clothes," "Very demanding.." You teased, lifting your shirt over your head, followed by your pants, and then underclothes. He lifted you up, placing you very dramatically in the now full tub, and placing an equally dramatic kiss on your forehead. "I'm gonna wash your heart, bien? And then you can sit and relax until you want to come out," He knelt by the tub, smiling like the most precious man in the world as he squeezed out some shampoo into his hands and started carefully lathering it in your hair. You sigh in relief, feeling the tension slowly drift away as your body relaxes under his touch. Your mind began wandering as your eyes flutter shut while Jake rinses out your hair, humming quietly to himself. A while passed as he took care of you, giving you the treatment he always excelled at- pampering and devoting his full attention to every part of your body. He massaged your back and shoulders, working on the tense knots and helping melt away all the tension left in your body. You hadn't realised that you'd drifted in sleep until you felt him get up from beside you, and your body lost the warmth of his contact. "Where ya going'?" You mumbled, barely lifting your eyelids. He chuckled, "Goin' to make you some food, mi luna," He gave you a quick kiss on the lips. "You can come out when you're ready, bien? If not, I'll come find you when food is done," You giggled, sinking a little more into the water. "Okay...thank you, by the way it mea-" "Shhhhh," He pressed a finger to your lips. "Don't even start. Princesa you don't have to thank me for taking care of you, si? You're my girl, hm? I like taking care

don't make it sound like it's a burden," You kissed his finger, smiling a bit. "Okay. I love you," "I love you too, amor," He said, winking and then leaving the bathroom. You sighed, relaxing back into the warm water as your mind drifted back into a quiet hazy sleep.

You weren't sure how long passed before your eyes fluttered open again, your mind scrambling to get aware of its surroundings again. You yawned, slowly getting up and stretching out the fatigue. You had no idea how long you'd been in there, or if Jake had even come back to check up on you, but it didn't matter. You felt better, and that was that. You grabbed a towel, wrapping it around yourself as you stepped out of the tub and starting to dry yourself off. You hung the towel once done and put your hair up in its special towel, before pulling on your clothes. Well.. not your clothes, but Steven's comfy sweater and little shorts under. You waddle out of the bathroom, very slowly dragging yourself to the kitchen where you find Jake, in all his beautiful gorgeous glory, in a cute apron making a couple of sandwiches. You can't help but chuckle as you rush up to him, wrapping your arms around him from behind and pressing your face to his back. He stiffens at the sudden contact before relaxing when he realises it's you. "Hi bebita. Nice nap?" "Shut up, Lockley," You mumbled. He laughed as he finished off the food he made, smiling proudly to himself. He turned his body to face you, rubbing your sides gently. "Wanna watch a movie?" You shrugged. "Dunno," He hummed. "Bien, we can just eat and sit in silence," He kissed your forehead for what had to be the millionth time, before grabbing the tray of food and leading you to the couch. You sat down in Jake's lap, curling up as he wrapped a big cozy blanket around you.

You sat together in peaceful silence as you ate, watching some horrible National Geographic animal documentary and before long, the endless weeks started catching up to you as your eyelids grew heavy and you rested your head on Jake's chest, feeling his arms wrap tighter around you.

There was no doubting, you thought as you fell into a peaceful sleep, you knew your boys would do anything for you.

Stolen from @535zip on Twitter

[X]

The Two Faces of January (2014)

lets just say that they would *not* get along

Patching him back up.

tousled, stubbled, tired

miguel o'hara x reader

well basically I've been obsessed with the concept art for miguel so it is heavily inspired by those (x). not my fault he looks so boyfriend

summary: miguel is on the edge of a burn out, and he's the only one not seeing it.

warnings: none too important I think, just miguel being really tired because he works a lot. swearing, one small (and cringe) innuendo.

tags: gn!reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort?, nerdy miguel<3

word count: 2.1k

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Miguel hadn’t slept at home in days; you had been fairly accustomed to him leaving in the middle of the night for safety matters in Nueva York and coming back early in the morning, but now that the threat was multiversal and now that he was the leader of the spider society, he didn’t even bother getting to bed in the first place.

He in fact barely even left the spider society; the rare times he did were for missions, and when he came back he didn’t even take the time to catch a break; he always had something to fix, something to build, a new suit to work on, a machine to program, meetings, briefings, then more missions.

You wondered how he still had all that energy and where it came from, and you wondered how he hadn’t burnt out yet. 

Even the small naps he took from time to time – against his will, you had found him passed out on his desk one day, head resting over folded arms, mouth slightly opened, soft snores escaping – couldn't possibly make up for his lack of sleep, and even though his mutation may grant him more stamina and allow him to stay awake longer than the average human being, the dark circles under his eyes were the visual proof of his fatigue, and it was all you needed to try to drag his ass back home so he could get some rest.

You watched from a distance as Miguel was sitting on the floor, a monkey wrench in hand and a screw sitting between his lips. He looked focused, a small crease forming between his eyebrows as he tried to fix his machine – you had no idea what it was for, but you figured it must be important considering the significant amount of time he had already taken trying to fix it. 

Miguel gasped in surprise at your contact, slightly jumping at the sudden feeling of your hands over his shoulders, your unexpected and unannounced presence tearing him out of his developing state of drowsiness.

“Shit you scared me” he grunted softly, grabbing the screw at his mouth before turning to look back at you.

"Sorry" you apologized, bending to leave a kiss at the top of his head, your thumbs rubbing where his suit was peeking out under the baggy clothes he had been wearing for probably way too long. His shoulders muscles were stiff and you felt them tense even more when he turned back to his machine with a small sigh.

You joined him and pushed the hammer and nails out of the way before sitting down next to him. 

"When was the last time you went to the cafeteria for something other than the coffee?" you asked accusingly as you looked down at the empty mug beside him on the floor, your hand resting at the back of his neck, playing with the hair there.

He shrugged, still looking at the open hatch of the machine in front of him. 

“A bagel won’t keep me awake” he muttered, his voice slightly muffled by the object in his mouth as he tightened a bolt, putting his tool back on the floor with a clinking before grabbing another.

“You still need to eat, you won’t get to finish fixing this machine if you die first” you scolded him as your hand left him, looking at him sternly.

He turned to you and let go of his screw before putting a hand at your arm, his tired eyes boring into yours.

“I'll eat, I promise, but I'll do that once I'm done. I’m really close to getting it, I almost have it solved.” he declared, tilting his head towards the machine as his grip around your arm lightly tightened.

You closed your eyes and nodded once before you opened your mouth to talk again, but Miguel had already turned back to work at his machine. You let out a small sigh and grabbed the screw he previously had at his mouth to fiddle with it.

"When was the last time you had a real night of sleep? Because I don't recall seeing you in our bed in what– almost a week at least?"

"Are we playing 21 questions?" he asked sarcastically as he turned to you again, clearly beginning to lose patience. 

You paused and looked away from him, a small sigh leaving your mouth before you looked back in his direction.

"We're playing 'I'm worried about my boyfriend', it's a game where said boyfriend barely takes care of himself and drowns in work and in which everyone around him witnesses his vital needs getting neglected." you said as you didn’t even try to make it sound like a joke, just blatantly showing him how upset you were.

He pinched his lips before his gaze dropped to his lap.

“Miguel” you called. “Take a break. Please. This is a request for now but if you keep on being stubborn this is gonna become an order” you said as you shifted closer to him. 

"I don't wanna fight with you. I really don't" you nodded as you put a hand to his shoulder. 

"And you would lose, because you don't have enough energy to outbid, and it's gonna hurt your ego so it's best for the both of us if you just listen to me" you explained, a smile appearing over your face when he softly chuckled and shook his head. "Okay?" you asked raising your eyebrows, awaiting his response.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay" he nodded, his half lidded, tired and bloodshot eyes looking up at you. 

"Good" you pinched your lips in a smile as you brushed away the shorter strands of his tousled hair falling over his forehead, before leaving a kiss there.

He tiredly smiled at you when you pulled away, leaning into your touch when your fingers ghosted over the light stubble on his cheeks that had grown over the past few days.

You shrugged. “I like it” 

“I don’t.”

You chuckled at his harsh response, your hand fully resting at his cheek. “Come back home with me and we’ll shave it.” you shrugged. “After a well needed shower” you continued, teasing him as you pinched your nose and faked a wince, making him nudge your side as he huffed out a laugh.

“I know it’s getting critical, I just haven’t had the time for it” he said grunting as he got up from the floor. “Lyla even said 'I don’t have olfactory sensors but I know that you stink'” he mocked as he took a higher voice and imitated the sassy attitude of his AI, making quotation marks with his hands.

You laughed at the a-bit-too-accurate imitation and got up too when he offered you his hand to help you up.

"Come on, let's get you something to eat and go back home"

—

You were already sitting on your bathroom counter, razor in hand when Miguel came out of the shower, towel loosely hanging around his hips. 

“Sure you don’t wanna keep it?” you asked teasingly, pointing at your own face to refer to his five o’clock shadow as he walked up to you.

“No. I don’t wanna look like Peter B” he grumbled as he joined you. You huffed out a laugh and caged him with your legs, bringing him closer to you.

He let his forehead rest against your shoulder, planting his hands at either side of the counter while you brushed his wet and dripping hair back, almost shuddering as you felt the gentle scruff of his stubble against your skin when his face shifted to your neck.

“Alright” 

He tilted his head back up at you, the worn out expression over his face paining you. 

You took a hold of his face and shaved him in silence, and you didn’t blame him for the lack of conversation and clever things to say. He probably had been dealing with a lot of stuff this week, trying his best so things wouldn’t turn out to be catastrophic so he probably wanted it all to be quiet now.  

Following along his sharp and defined jawline, you shaved to the shape of his face, razor gently and thoroughly following each line, careful not to go too fast and slip and cut him. 

“I'm so tired. Working twenty-four seven didn’t give me time to realize it but now it's crushing me” he mumbled, his voice barely louder than a whisper so his movements wouldn't be too harsh and wouldn't make you slip.

“I know. It all comes crashing down one moment or another” you said with an empathetic smile, rubbing your thumb over his left cheek once you were done with that area. He responded with a small hum.

It didn't take too long for you to be over with your task, and you put the razor down by the sink before grabbing the aftershave bottle, squeezing the lotion onto your hands and gently lathering it over his face, appreciating the smell you never realized you were that used to.

"Done. All clean shaven" you declared as he put his hands at either side of your neck, smiling tiredly before slotting his lips against yours.

"Thank you" he softly smiled.

"Come on, let's get you dressed and let's get you to bed" you called as you jumped down from the counter, exiting the bathroom as he followed you to the bedroom.

—

“You know, at this point you could build us quarters at the spider society” you chuckled, rummaging into the closet looking for the same kind of comfortable clothes he had been wearing lately.

“Don’t tempt me, I could make that happen” he declared as he shifted from his sitting position to lay down onto the bed with a grunt. “That’s actually not a bad idea”

You hummed in reflexion. “I could look after you, make sure you’re not doing too much” you shrugged as you turned to him to throw him a pair of clean boxers.

“Forget about what I said. ‘Don’t need you to try to babysit me all the time, I already have Lyla for that” he chuckled as he let the towel down to put on the clothes you were progressively throwing at him.

“Where was she to babysit you these past few days?” you asked as you joined him and crawled onto the bed.

“Had to turn her off. You, I can’t” he teased with a small smirk plastered over his face before putting his shirt on, grunting as you pushed him back down onto the bed.

“Asshole” you playfully hit his chest, leaning down next to him. "Right, you could only turn me on." You stared at the ceiling as you waited for any type of response, a chuckle, a small laugh, a nudge, but nothing came, nothing happened. 

Your look darted to his direction, and you giggled as you watched him trying to hold back a laugh.

"That's a bad joke, for my defense I'm exhausted so it doesn't count" he shook his head, covering his eyes with his hand, desperately grunting.

"Yeah, right" you huffed out a laugh as you let your head rest over his chest. 

The tension quickly diffused, the atmosphere getting calmer and the room getting quieter as you absentmindedly let the tip of your fingers trace patterns over his chest slowly rising and falling.

"Thank you" he softly muttered, breaking the silence, tearing you out of your thoughts.

"What?" you asked, confused, your fingers stopping in their trail. 

"Thank you for dragging me out of there, out of this hole"

You paused and shifted so you could look back at him, propping your elbow next to his face, holding your chin in the palm of your hand.

"Miguel, you know I'll always have your back, right?" you rhetorically asked, your fingertips now tracing his face, all soft from the aftershave.

He nodded as his eyes darted to your face.

"Yeah. I know" he pinched his lips in a soft smile as he looked at you, fighting so his eyes could remain open. 

You mirrored his smile, leaning over so you could leave a kiss at his lips, running your fingers over the side of his face one last time.

“You can rest now. I got you”

He softly hummed before his eyes closed under the weight of the responsibilities weighing on him, a small sigh of relief leaving him as your fingers raked through his hair. 

It didn't take long for you to register he was asleep, his breath slowing down, the steady heaving of his chest and a peaceful expression over his face.

You couldn't bring yourself to move, couldn't bring yourself to leave him.

—

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That Kraven movie looks like a mess but baby, listen, LISTEN he looks like a whole ass snack on level 200% so yes I will watch. But not in a theater, from the comfort of my home when it’s released to steaming. On a night I’m alone and my partner is working so I can be ridiculous.

Yeah they know their audience. Our thirsty asses will sit thru a crap movie to drool over this.

i just KNOW they have beef (alt panel i scrapped under the cut)

Oh, Little Horned One of the Old Oak Tree

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader

Summary: Becoming the avatar of an ancient Celtic god came with some unforeseen side affects; side affects which you are yet to tell Steven about.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: language, slight body horror if you squint, Steven is a ridiculously supportive boyfriend in the face of fuckery and we love him for it

a/n: giving the reader a supportive god/avatar relationship because it's what they deserve

It's not that you hadn't tried to clean the blood, you'd done your best. But it stained the tips of your fingers and left the porcelain tiles of the bathroom a dark red.

You weren't entirely sure where it had all come from, but the damp, matted hair surrounding where the antlers had sprouted from your head served as a good indicator.

It shouldn't be happening, not yet. You had at least another fortnight till the next eclipse, (if your notes were anything to go by.) But you knew the moment your muscles began to ache and your bones began to creak that it was indeed happening, and it wasn't going to stop regardless of how upset it made you.

You'd tried to call Jake. Then Marc. But you didn't want to risk Steven answering the phone.

The bathroom was the closest refuge you could find and as it would seem it was far from the most ideal of places. You'd torn down the shower curtain in your haste to hide and all but shattered the delicate tiles beneath your feet.

The mirror had also fallen victim to your havoc, an almost artistically applaudable webbed crack spreading out from the centre of the glass where your elbow had made contact. A handful of rouge shards littered the floor and made quick work of slicing open your palm.

You glared at the offending piece of glass before picking it out of your hand and throwing it across the room with enough force that it was embedded in the opposite wall like a well-aimed dart.

You could still make out your reflection through the broken glass pane. Antlers sprouting from the crown of your head, winding off in all different directions. There was a pale glow to your eyes and ruins and ancient symbols wrapped around your arms and the expanse of your chest. And if your abundance of new features hadn't already qualified you for your own Magic: The Gathering card, you'd also doubled in height.

This would be a fucking delight to explain.

You took a moment to thank the gods for Stevens's late shift at the museum before steadying yourself with a deep breath.

You'd felt every bit of it; the stretching, twisting and growing of entirely new bones. And if the persistent pain in your chest and spine was anything to go by you figured it was far from over.

You could hear the deep, resonant voice of your deity, distant and far off, like rushing water over rock. His words were gruff and shaped by his accent as he apologized profusely; and as ego-boosting as it was having an eldritch being admit defeat and practically beg for your forgiveness, you found yourself in too much pain to truly enjoy the moment.

“Cernunnos,” you cursed the god's name.

Your legs were still crammed uncomfortably against your chest and the bathroom door whilst your antlers continued to do a glorious job of scrapping the paint job off the ceiling.

Another wave of pain hit, burning through your veins and seizing hold of your lungs. You coughed and spluttered, each attempt at a breath snagging in your throat like leaves catching on dead branches. The horrid sensation of shifting bones hit your chest and you doubled over with a hiss.

“Please make it stop.”

“I'm sorry, fia beag,” (little deer) the god said, his reflection appearing in the mirror shards. His antlers filled out the frame, putting your own to shame and his eyes, (despite, like the rest of his body, being those of a stag, which as far as species go aren't the most emotionally expressive–) were almost apologetic. “I've tried my best, I asked Manannan to reverse the tides to change the lunar phase and buy us time but it's too late.”

It was heartwarming really; how Cernnunos cared so much, enough to ask a fellow god to inconvenience the entire ocean all in the name of saving your love life. You were glad to have him, even if he was the reason you were going through pain worse than fucking childbirth.

“I'm sorry.” The god's ears flattened against his head and you wondered if you'd said the last part aloud.

“What's the point of all this again?” You'd shifted before but it was never irregular and never this bad.

“A thousand years ago my worshipers adored when my avatar arrived at Imbolc in this form!” Cernnunos sounded excited.

“So it was to show off?”

“To make the people feel seen and protected,” he countered.

“And it's something I have to go through because–?”

The god was quiet for a moment. “Old habits die hard?”

Cernnunos had off-handedly mentioned (downright bragged) about the pact he'd made with the moon sometime before the construction of Newgrange. That his avatar would be gifted with a godly form the night of each lunar eclipse. You weren't well versed in ancient deals between eldritch beings but apparently, it's not the kind of agreement you can back out of a millennia down the line.

And apparently, another moon-related god had initiated an eclipse two weeks ahead of schedule. (your money was on Khonshu over Artemis.)

“It will be alright, little one,” Cernnunos promised. It was soothing having him near, but he tended to have that effect. With him, you were like a fawn, comforted by the knowledge that it was protected by its elder. “Besides, it's not as though this night could get much worse for us.”

Almost comedically, the struggle of key in lock sounded and then the front door opened.

You and the god stared at each other, quite literally, like deers in headlights.

“Love? I'm home–”

Steven's voice sent your flight, fight, freeze response to full throttle and you beckoned for Cernnunos to leave as quietly and frantically as you could. The god seemed reluctant, but another chorus of a British accent from the other side of the door and he relented.

The glass rippled like water on a lake and then he was gone.

You could hear Steven moving around the flat, carrying out his usual routine of removing his name tag, unbuttoning his over shirt and tossing his bag on the couch.

You held your breath when the floorboards of the bedroom creaked and silently prayed he'd just call it a night in favour of finding you hiding in the bathroom looking like something straight from Pans Labyrinth. When he called out for you again you sent your head back against the wall with enough force to crack the tiles.

“Love, you alright?” There was three gentle raps on the door. “Darling?”

“I'm fine,” the words were unsteady. And had your voice gotten deeper?

There was a beat of silence outside the door then, “You don't sound fine.”

“I'm just not feeling great,” you managed. Just go, Steven. Please just go.

“Oh, darling, are you sick? Here let me–” The terrifying sight of the door handle turning caused your heart to almost hammer out of your chest. You rushed to press your foot against it and watched in horror as the timber split right down the middle. The door was barely clinging to the hinges.

You could hear Steven's shock on the other side of the door, a string of curses followed suit. “Y/N–”

“Just leave it, Steven!” you bit out. You hadn't meant for the words to sound so animalistic, so angry. But the only thing currently preventing your life from crumbling was a splintering door and your refusal to move your foot. You were allowed to be rash, you thought.

“Alright, you're scaring me now–”

The universe really wasn't letting up with its ironies today.

The wooden door panels creaked and splintered as Steven tried to open it from the outside. You kept your foot firmly pressed to the middle, but as the hinges began to groan you felt the sturdiness give way. It felt like you had your foot against a wet piece of tissue paper; you were going to tear right through it.

With one more shove from Steven's side, you were forced to surrender.

The door swung open with truly theatrical measure and Steven stumbled in behind it. Instinctually, you pushed yourself against the back wall, forgetting your new height and putting your head through the ceiling as you did.

Chaos is too kind of a word for what followed.

The sound that left Steven fell somewhere between a startled shout and a scream of genuine terror. You reached out and Steven fired back, his feet tying themselves in knots and sending him to the floor.

You struggled to pull your head out of the crater you'd left in the roof. A fine layer of debris and dust covered you and somewhat important-looking wires were strung across your antlers like poorly hung Christmas lights.

Almost on cue, the bathroom light flickered twice and came away from the ceiling, ending up in several pieces on the floor.

The dark apparently did nothing in making you look less menacing as Steven continued to voice his fears. And loudly at that. He hadn't moved, still frozen to the spot just outside the door.

“Steven, please–” you crawled forward at a snail's pace, each movement purposely slow.

He watched you with frantic eyes, his heart hammering like a rabbit against his chest. You'd never seen him so scared.

As he clambered to his feet, you dared to inch closer, but it was the opinion of the shattered tiles beneath your feet that you weren't moving nearly fast enough. You slipped on the porcelain shards and were all but thrown in Steven's direction.

Your rack broke your fall by all but embedding the tips of each spike in the wall surrounding the door frame. You'd put your head through so much wood and plaster in the past few minutes you were beginning to sympathize with mounted deer heads.

Steven was staring now, expression boarding on mild fear and absolute confusion. Then, his eyes flicked to the broken mirror behind you, and then his reflection in the mirror to his right.

Marc and Jake had taken their sweet time.

Steven looked between you, the mirror and the window and then back at you. Then it visibly clicked.

“Oh, oh my gods, Y/N you, you're-” he swallowed. “-what's happening?”

“It's my time of the month.” The joke went down like a led balloon. Steven swayed on his feet.

“Steven, are you alright?”

“Yeah, sort of. No, not really.”

You craned your neck as far as your current predicament would allow for. “Are you going to pass out?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay,” you said the word beneath your breath. He hadn't run which, all things considered, meant this was going fairly well. Even from the awkward angle you were stuck in you could feel his eyes on you, shifting from one monstrous feature to the next, lingering on the markings and the fucking antlers and the–

“Love, you have blood– you're bleeding.” And just like that, a flip switched in Steven's mind at the sight of you wounded. This man was a true enigma and a wonderful one at that. “Here–”

He approached and then almost immediately hesitated, bouncing back on his heel the moment you shifted.

You weren't exactly a threatening sight, shoulders wedged in the door frame, covered in dust and splintered wood and head practically pinned to the wall. You looked like a drunk stag that had lost a fight to a tree.

Steven shook himself and stepped close enough that your laboured breaths ruffled his curls. He was doing an admirable job of hiding the fact that he was shaking.

“Alright, bloody hell um–” He regarded the situation and then nodded. “I'll push, you pull.”

Steven braced his hands against your shoulders and you grabbed hold of the door frame. It's not that you needed the extra help; out of all the things you'd conquered whilst serving as an avatar freeing yourself from a plaster wall ranked fairly low on that list.

But Steven was touching you in this form, his palms pressed to your broadened shoulders and you weren't about to jinx it.

The wall cracked and fissured as you freed yourself, several deep punctures left where your antlers had been. You twisted and manoeuvred your way out of the bathroom until you could straighten up to your full height.

Thank god Steven lived on the top floor. Higher ceilings.

“Okay, woah–” Steven took several steps back as you stood. You towered over him, antlers bleeding into darkened shadows against the ceiling. Okay, now 'intimidating' might be a more fitting word.

You lowered yourself to your knees in an attempt to seem less frightening. Now that you were eye to eye, Steven could see the worry in your expression as you regarded him softly.

“It's alright. I'm adjusting,” he said, voice still trembling. “Just need a quick adjustment period...”

You gave him time and let him lead.

And that's how you ended up in the kitchen, legs crossed as you sat on the floor whilst Steven sat on the counter in front of you. He held a wet flannel in his hand, droplets of water creeping down his arm.

A dry cloth sat folded on the counter beside him, as well as a box of plasters with 'good job!' written across each one.

It was as if his rationality was being overridden by his need to care for you as well as his overall steveness.

Steven dabbed the crown of your head gently, his hands shaking as he did. There was still a dull ache where the antlers had sprouted. Steven rung out the flannel over the sink and the sight of the blood running through his fingers and over his knuckles made you feel ill. His hands were always so soft, they weren't meant to be stained with blood.

You blinked as a small trail of blood seeped from your head and trailed down between your brows. Steven diligently stopped the flow with the cloth and clean you up. Your nose twitched at the dampness of the cloth and Steven smiled.

The first smile you'd seen all night.

His actions slowed, hand stilling as he watched you. Beneath the pale glow of your eyes there was something so familiar. He smiled again.

“Hiya love,” the words were so soft they made you feel warm.

“Hi.”

You raised your arms, the markings and symbols on your skin catching in the dim light. Your hands circled Steven's wrists gently. He pulled back and for a terrifying moment you thought he'd gone completely; deciding that he'd had enough, that you were too much like this and he was drawing the boundary line here.

Instead, he dropped the blood-stained flannel in the sink basin and held his hand back against yours, palms pressed together. It was an adorable comparison. The tips of his fingers barely brushed the top of your palm, in fact, you were certain you could close your hand over the entirety of his own. There was a moment shared in comfortable silence then Steven asked, “Y/N, what is going on?”

The question was gentle and filled with wonder. There was still a trace of a smile on his lips. It made you feel like you could finally tell him.

“Avatar stuff. I suppose my god is a little more... flamboyant than yours.”

Steven laughed and the sound comes as a relief. “Khonshu didn't want to give me the time of day, let alone a– a bloody godly alter ego.”

A beat of silence.

“Did it hurt?”

It was heartwarming that that was his next question.

“A little,” you answered somewhat honestly. “But I'm alright now.”

He finished cleaning you up in a peaceful silence. He took the time to wash the blood from your hair as best he could and plaster your injured hand, (for the emotional boost more than anything.) It took several plasters to cover the expanse of the wound, each overlapping so the supportive catchphrase now read 'good good job good.'

He sat in front of you now, having spent the last few minutes tracing the spirals and patterns on your arm. His earlier fear had completely given way to wonder; it wasn't easy to forget that the man was a mythology nerd through and through.

A boyish laugh crept past his lips. “I wonder how Marc and Jake will react.” He looked up at you to gouge a reaction and his smile fell slightly. “Oh.”

“Steven–” you scratched the back of your neck. This was going to be a bitch to explain. “-Jake only knows because... well–” you made a vague motion with your hands that the four of you had come to recognize meant 'Jake.'

Steven nodded in understanding.

“And Marc just sort of found out by accident.”

Steven nodded again and you could visibly see the process going on behind his eyes.

“And um– why didn't any of you tell me?” His voice adopted a higher pitch at the end of the question, likely in an attempt to take the edge off.

You took a sudden interest in the floorboards. “I didn't want to– you know.”

It was quiet for a moment. Then Steven gasped.

“Oh, oh love, you didn't think... you didn't think I'd be scared did you?”

A quick exhale of amusement from you. “You seemed fairly scared.”

“I- well yeah, yeah.” He conceded. “But not of you. Never of you.” His hands found yours again, the staggering difference in size almost humorous. “I just wish you could have felt like you could have told me, that's all.”

A warmth settled in the centre of your chest and you felt the corner of your eyes dampen. Any attempt of yours to not cry was immediately foiled as he inched closer and put his arms around your neck. His knees bucked against your crossed legs and he sank against your chest.

“For what it's worth,” you smiled against the crown of his head. “I think your reaction probably ranks highest out of the three.”

“Yeah?” He asked lightly. His curls tickled the end of your nose.

“Yeah. Jake used some pretty colourful language, most of it was in Spanish. And Marc pulled a gun on me–”

“He pulled a gun on you–?!” With the exclamation, Steven shot back to look at you.

“Like I said, you take first place.”

“Well, the bar wasn't set awfully bloody high was it?” He glared at his reflection in the kettle and you smirked, closing your arms around him and caging him to your chest. There was something so soothing, so primally comforting about being able to hold him, hold all of him, like this.

You nuzzled against his chocolate curls and to anyone on the outside looking in the action would have looked downright primal. Animalistic. But it couldn't have felt more intimate.

“I could get used to this, I think.” Steven's words were barely above a breath. “You're just a big teddy bear, really. More of you to love.”

His hands slowly and deliberately retraced your shoulder, then your neck, down the expanse of your chest... “What do the patterns mean?”

“Some of the symbols stand for attributes or characteristics; strength, courage, loyalty,” you regarded your arm, from your bicep down to your wrist. “Some of them are his symbols, some he added when I agreed to be his avatar and others, I've never really taken the time to find out–”

Steven hummed, not in a dismissive sense, rather in a way that showed he'd listened to each word like the gospel.

“I've got a book on ruins and ancient symbols, only bought the thing for the hieroglyphics really but maybe we could have a look? Do some homework?” A playful nudge accompanied the last question and you caved. As if you stood much of a chance to begin with.

That's how you ended up laying on the bed, (well, mostly on the bed. Your back was against the headboard and your legs still hung over the edge. Steven straddled your middle, an open book and notepad to his right, a highlighter between his teeth and a marker in his hand. His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and his brows furrowed as he traced his thumb over a symbol just beneath your collarbone.

You shivered despite yourself.

He'd mapped everything out, using the marker to gently draw on your skin, making connections and jotting down notes. It was like watching a scholar at work and you were honoured to be his study.

“Sorry about the bathroom,” you said rather out of the blue.

Steven glanced up at you, rebellious curls falling against his brow. His confusion melted into gentle amusement. “Don't worry about it, love. Needed redoing anyways, I reckon.”

Then, as if it were the most mundane thing in the world, he went back to his translations.

In a form that most could only phantom in the darkest corners of their imagination and with a god willing to bend the seas and skies at your will, Steven Grant somehow remained among both the most curious and most cherished things you had.

Key ➳

Cernnunos - Celtic god of wild things, fertility and animals

Manannan - (Manannan Mac Lir) Celtic god of the sea

Imbolc - the Celtic festival that marks the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It celebrates the return of life and light as it is the time when the ewes come into milk, when the first flowers appear and when the day noticeably lengthens.

Newgrange - famous 5,200 year old passage tomb in Co Meath, Ireland

‘fia beag’ - gaeilge for ‘little deer’

thank you for reading!

tag list: @bakerstreethound @yoditopascal @moonlighy @linkpk88 @spideysimpossiblegirl @noahspector @malaanii @ineedmorejakelockley @drmeowingfangirl @loonymagizoologist @othersideoftheparadise @doozywoozy @mywellspringoflife

Erotic and awkward is my forte.

𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 ; “𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬”

had this silly little thought where you ask miguel a bunch of questions about the multiverse

miguel o’hara x gn!reader

warnings ; this is stupid, miguel is confused, mentions of pregnancy/having a kid, my spanish knowledge is below zero so i used google (feel free to correct me)

“ what did you just ask me? ”

“ i asked what would happen if two people - ” you were pestering miguel with questions about the multiverse for the past hour or so. at first it was a basic conversation regarding what were canon events and how are they established, how the portals work and all the other boring stuff.

“ i heard you the first time. just- where did you get that question from? ”

“ don’t tell me you’ve never wondered how it would work if for example we were to have a kid. like, we’re from different universes. i’m just curious what would happen to the kid in this predicament. ” if you were anybody else he would probably just glare at you and go on with his work but due to your position in his heart he just stood there, absolutely mortified at the example you just provided.

in all honesty you weren’t even that much into the topic but being able to bother miguel just a little and watch him scrunch up his nose whenever you mentioned something that would probably classify you as mentally deranged was your favorite hobby.

“ dios por favor dame fuerza*. no, actually i’ve never thought about that. also that example was really uncalled for. ” he thanked his past self for making the office so dimly lit. if it was any brighter in here he’s 97% sure you would be able to see how his neck and ears go all red.

“ so you admit you don’t know what would happen? ”

“ sí, ahora ¿podemos cambiar el tema?* ”

“ okay, okay… there’s actually one more thing i was curious about. ” miguel only sighed and looked at you with an unimpressed expression.

“ should i be scared? ” at this point he had no idea what to expect, in fact he kinda expected anything. and his imagination was not helping him. you looked up at him with those big pleading eyes that at the same time were full of mischief.

“ if, for example, we were to start dating, would that make me you know… kind of a pedophile..? ” there was an awkward silence and the look he had was to be described only with the sentence “what the fuck”

“ what on god’s green earth are you talking about? ”

“ i mean, you’re from year 2099 right? and im from 2023 in my universe. so that would kind of suggest that technically i would be in my 40s or 50s when you were born right? that just… kind of weird to think about i guess? ”

that, he did not expect in any of his wildest scenarios.

“ i’m going to lose my fucking mind. ” he slumped forward hiding his face in his hands.

“ aw come on miguel! it’s a genuine problem i’m thinking about here! ”

* god please give me strength

* yes, now can we change the subject?

tender

Poe Dameron x f!reader

Summary: You're miserable when you wake up overwhelmed by the ache of period pains, but Poe does his best to make you feel better—in more ways than one.

Word Count: 1.7k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, unprotected p in v, creampie, PERIOD SEX, fingering, BLOOD, fluff, soft Poe, filth

A/N: This is for @pumpkinpoes and the nonnie that sent in an additional request for it as well 💖. The introduction starts off with fluff, and then it's divided off where it dissolves into something far...filthier.

You wake to the feeling of a sharp stab of pain clawing its way through your abdomen, and a small whimper falls from your lips as you clutch the comforter closer to your chest. Poe stirs at the feeling of you tugging at the blankets, your sounds of discomfort pulling him from the edges of sleep, and he opens his eyes to find you curled into a miserable ball beside him. He scoots across the mattress, closing the gap between your bodies and resting a hand against the side of your face.

“Hey,” he murmurs gently, brushing his thumb over the curve of your jaw. “You okay?”

“No,” you whine, pressing your hand firmly against your stomach in a feeble attempt to stifle the agonizing throb.

“Is it…” he trails off.

“Yeah,” you breathe out between clenched teeth. 

He nods, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed. Your consciousness floating somewhere between your desire to go back to sleep and the bright bursts of pain preventing you from doing so, you only vaguely register the shuffling noises coming from across the room. 

Poe returns a few moments later, urging you to roll onto your back. You glance at him, bewildered and annoyed at the request, until you notice the hot-water bottle he’s cradling in his hands. Once you adjust yourself, he places it over your stomach, and your eyes fall shut as the heat begins to soothe the pain’s sharp, biting edge into a dull ache. 

“Thank you,” you breathe out.

He walks off again, making his way back over with a mug. He sets it down on the small bedside table, and as you eye the steam rising from the tea, a pleasant floral scent wafts toward you. 

“Try drinking that when it cools down. It helps with inflammation.”

You offer him a grateful smile, wincing slightly as an insistent cramp overshadows the pleasant warmth on your abdomen. “Should I call you Dr. Dameron now, or what?”

Poe scratches the back of his head, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as he bites his lower lip and glances down at his feet. “My dad used to make that for my mom when I was younger.”

Your chest clenches, though this time it’s an ache in your heart at Poe’s mention of Shara. Lifting up your arms, you beckon him to climb back into bed with you, though you know all too well that he has a busy day ahead of him. He obliges anyway, slipping under the covers beside you, resting one arm over your chest and burrowing his face against the dip between your shoulder and neck.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it to today’s flight drills,” you lament, feeling weary at the mere thought of sitting in the cockpit of your X-wing and trying to focus on flying in between the nauseating waves of pain.

Poe’s hot breath tickles the soft, delicate skin of your neck as he chuckles, “Is this your way of getting out of that race you challenged me to last week? People are betting on us, you know.”

You turn your head sideways, coming nose to nose with him. 

“What’s the point in betting if I’m going to win anyway?” you smirk, though it ends up being a grimace as you twist your body at the feeling of another cramp coming on.

“We’ll see about that.”

Poe’s brown eyes sparkle with mirth, and he gently presses his mouth to yours, hand coming up to cup the side of your face as he distracts you from your discomfort with the plush feeling of his lips. He kisses you tenderly, his curls brushing against your face, fingers trailing over your collarbone, and your veins begin to ooze with warm, syrupy contentment. 

And while Poe offers to call off his own day entirely, you shoo him out the door as you take a sip from the mug of tea before collapsing back against the pillows.

--

You spend the day wrapped up in blankets, going so far as to take a hot shower before crawling back into your cocoon as you oscillate between bouts of nearly unbearable pain and few and far between moments of relief. When Poe finally makes his way home later, he doesn’t hesitate to join you back in bed after stripping off his flight suit and washing off the day’s grime.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he lays down on his side facing you, tilting your chin upward slightly and leaning in for a kiss.

“Like a Wookiee is trying to claw its way out of me,” you grumble.

“Okay, well I have an idea.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious as to what else Dr. Dameron could possibly have up his sleeve. “Do tell.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I’m willing to try anything at this point, Poe.”

“Roll over,” he instructs, though he doesn’t move to grab another hot-water bottle this time.

You shift onto your back, letting your head fall to the side on the pillow as you glance over at him curiously. Head propped up with one hand, he holds your gaze as he reaches out with the other, laying it atop your abdomen. His fingers begin to slip inside the waistband of your underwear, and your face heats up.

“Poe, what are you—“

“Trust me, please.”

“But I’m blee—“

“Let me do this,” he breathes out.

Your mouth snaps shut as his fingers trail over your folds, slick with blood. A wave of arousal courses through you as he slowly drags a digit through your slit, which you’re nearly ashamed to acknowledge. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper, heart pounding in your chest. 

“Does it feel good?” Poe asks calmly, pushing a finger into your entrance.

“Yes,” you breathe out, eyes snapping shut.

“Look at me.”

You tentatively open your eyes, and your breath hitches in your throat as you take notice of Poe’s heated gaze, his lust-blown pupils, the way his lips are slightly parted.

“It feels so good,” you whimper as he slides another finger into your wet cunt, your back arching up off of the mattress slightly.

“You’re allowed to enjoy this, baby,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

And so you do. 

You let yourself go boneless under Poe’s touch, legs spreading further apart as he shifts closer, leaning over top of you as he plunges a third finger inside of you. 

As Poe’s groin brushes against your hip, you can feel just how much he’s enjoying this, too. His hard shaft strains at the front of his boxers, and when you reach down to grasp it, he rocks into your touch, groaning. 

“Can I…” he trails off, panting.

“Please,” you nearly beg, fisting the collar of his shirt and pulling him on top of you entirely of you as you seek out his mouth in a desperate kiss. 

You shimmy out of your underwear, body thrumming with anticipation, and Poe reaches out toward the other side of the mattress, hand flopping around until he finds what he tossed there before getting back into bed with you: a towel.

Lifting your hips, Poe swiftly slides the material underneath of you before dipping back down to claim your mouth with his own again. He nips at your bottom lip as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Poe.”

He pauses. “Yes?”

Tone laced with uncertainty, you fumble to find the right words. “It’ll be…messy.”

He kisses you again, lips slotting against yours insistently, tongue darting its way past the seam of your mouth. You’re breathless once he stops, and his warmth breath dances over your wet, swollen lips.

“I want it to be messy.”

At that, he begins to sink his throbbing cock into your fluttering entrance. You both moan in unison at the ease with which his thick shaft penetrates your hole, your channel greedily sucking him in, slick with blood and arousal.

“Poe,” you whine, fingers digging into his back. “It feels—“

“I know,” he chokes out, forehead falling against yours, thumb stroking your collarbone.

“So fucking—“

“So fucking wet.” His voice is rough and wrecked.

You writhe underneath of him as Poe begins to work his cock in and out of you, the slick, damp sounds from each plunge into your cunt magnified by the additional fluids pouring out of you. Though he tries to maintain a rhythm as he repeatedly splits you open, you’re both too lost in way your nerves are on fire, dizzy with pleasure and need. 

The ache between your thighs drives a blazing path up your spine as you rock into Poe’s thrusts, and sweat begins to trickle down the side of your neck. His hands wander, pushing up your shirt to reveal your swollen breasts. A breathy sigh tumbles from your lips as he begins to fondle them, and you brazenly moan as he flicks his thumbs over your tender nipples.

Poe’s hot, wet mouth quickly replaces his hands, and your cunt throbs around his cock as he goes back and forth between your breasts, eagerly sucking at them. 

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, fingers tangling in his hair as you hold him there, urging him not to stop. 

He moans, teeth scraping over one of your nipples, hips stuttering as he continues to fuck you at a frantic pace. At the feeling of your pleasure nearing its peak, you reach between your bodies, but Poe beats you to it, fingers slick with blood and arousal as he begins to play with your clit.

Your muscles tighten in anticipation, body overloaded with the pleasure rippling through it, and your vision goes white when you climax finally punches through you. Limbs trembling, you gasp as Poe’s cock continues to piston in and out of your cunt while you soak his cock with your release. He cups the back of your head, kissing you hard as he slams inside of you to the hilt, moaning into your mouth as he empties himself deep within you.

Once you’ve milked every last drop of his seed, Poe carefully removes his softened cock from your channel. You both stare at one another, breathing hard, and as you feel his cum start to seep from your entrance, you realize what a fucking wet, sticky mess you’ve both made.

But before you can attempt to apologize or anything of the sort, still worried that perhaps this was a little too filthy for him, Poe cuts you off with an impish grin—

“Please tell me why we haven’t done that before."

—

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Clingy (Miguel O'Hara x Reader)

At the beginning of your relationship, Miguel was distant from you as you expected him to be. He didn't want to get close to you because he didn't want to feel the need to depend on you. He lost so much and he was afraid if he got close to you he'd lose you too. But as time went on he grew more attached to you. You were so kind and beautiful he just couldn't get enough of you.

But as he got more attached his fear of losing you grew and it got more clingy towards you, afraid if he let you go you'd somehow die on him. He didn't want to smother you of course and he kept his distance when he realized he was doing too much but you honestly didn't mind his clinginess. It always reminded you of how far you came with him and you felt loved.

Nights were the worst for Miguel though, he always clung to you when you both went to bed and if he woke up and you weren't in his arms he'd always check the bed and every time you were there. He'd reach his hand out to touch the fabric and your body was always there to meet with his hand. Then he'd pull you closer to him and he'd fall back asleep. He was afraid in the night someone would take you away from him, it was one of his worst fears.

Because of his anxieties, you tried not to get out of bed at night. If you needed to use the bathroom you'd try to be quiet to not wake him and freak him out. And you always succeeded. But tonight was different. You woke up and felt your throat was abnormally dry. You couldn't fall back asleep with your throat like this, it just wasn't possible. So you quietly got out of bed and headed to the kitchen.

As you were in the kitchen Miguel woke up. He felt you weren't in his arms anymore and he reached out to touch you… But you weren't there. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and continued to search for you, but still nothing. Then his eyes shot open and he noticed the empty spot next to him and the panic set in. He sat up and called for you, "Y/N?!" He yelled. His anxieties were telling him the worst, he was afraid someone kidnapped you or even killed you.

He hopped out of bed and pushed through the bedroom door, "Y/N?!?" He yelled again. You jumped as the impact of the door hitting the wall scared you. His body psychically untensed when he saw you in the kitchen with a glass of water in your hand. "Miguel? Honey, what's wrong?" You ask as you set the glass on the counter with a concerned look on your face. His body was visibly shaking and his breathing was hard. You walked over to Miguel and gently brushed your hand against his cheek. "I'm okay… I was just getting some water… I'm still here with you, don't worry." You say while resting your hand against his chest. You felt his heart beating fast and you frowned. "Go back to bed Miguel… I'll be there in a moment, okay?" You say with a reassuring smile. Miguel nodded and slowly walked back into the room.

You walked back to your glass and drank down the liquid. When you finished you placed the glass into the sink and walked back into the room. When you walked in Miguel was sitting up in bed and looking down at the bed in sadness. Your heart broke at the sight of him looking so defeated. You walked over to Miguel and ran your fingers through his hair.

He leaned into your touch and sighed. You crawled into his lap and straddled his hips. You pulled him into a hug and he wraps his arms tightly around your body. He rested his face into the crook of your neck and you rubbed your fingernails gently along his scalp and his back.

"I'm sorry…" Miguel mumbled. "You have nothing to be sorry for… It's okay to be afraid." You say while placing a kiss on his head. "Yeah but… I feel like I'm smothering you…" Miguel murmurs. "Miguel. Look at me." You say while pulling away and cupping his cheeks. He looked into your eyes and you noticed the tears in them, you frown even more. "You're not smothering me. I love being close to you and I understand why you're afraid. Nothing that you have done has ever bothered me." You say with a reassuring smile. Your words seemed to relax Miguel. He nodded and he blinked away the tears in his eyes. "Okay… Now, let's go back to sleep hm?" You say before placing a kiss on his nose.

As you were about to crawl to your side of the bed Miguel stopped you. One of the hands that were on your waist traveled up and cupped one of your cheeks. He then leaned in and kissed your lips and you returned the kiss with a smile. The kiss was gentle and full of love… Just full of love, nothing else. He pulled away and smiled at you. You smiled back before crawling to your side of the bed. You went under the covers and laid down, Miguel doing the same. He pulled you close to his body and held you tight and you returned the favor by wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. He sighed in relaxation and he felt comfortable and content with you.

"Te amo más que a nada mi amor…" Miguel whispered in your ear as you drifted off into sleep.

MILES!!!.png

i would like to talk about the miguel concept art

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Peter B Parker and Mayday. Happy Father’s Day!