dameronshandholder

[dameronshandholder]

WHY ISN’T HE REAL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

The way you write him is just too good 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

You’ve crafted the perfect Poe ever and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

plumbing therapy

firefighter!poe dameron x reader

part of heat me up au

summary: you have to tell him, or you will never go forward; neither of you will.

tags: f!reader, angst, slight arguing, mentions of ghosting someone, fire trauma, mentions of panic attacks, nightmares, ptsd, fluff, kissing

word count: 2.7k

heat me up masterlist

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ☕︎

Poe is standing at your doorstep. Here, unannounced. 

Some part of you is glad to see him, strangely relieved even after you’ve been purposefully avoiding his texts and calls. So you’re quickly aware of the other part of you that feels guilty. It’s a strange mix of feelings, but after all, it’s in line with the way you’ve been feeling this past week, caught between wanting to reach out and wanting to disappear. 

You’re holding onto your open door, your mouth slightly agape with the uncertainty of what you should say or do, what would be the right reaction to his presence if there even is one, but he talks before you can figure any of that out.

“I’ve been told you had a leaky faucet” Poe casually declares with a faint smile that very obviously catches you off guard and strips you off any kind of coherent response, before he brushes past you and makes his way inside like it’s the most normal thing to do after you have disappeared on him for days on end. 

You remain unsure what to say or how to act as he observes your kitchen sink, inspecting the source of the issue as he picks tools from the box you keep in that cabinet. It’s like it all goes too fast for you to comprehend it; he’s being way too nice for the way you have been treating him, like nothing ever happened on his end, it’s almost disconcerting. You were going to text him back, eventually. Once you would have figured it all out on your own, once you knew you could face him without feeling like you were lying to his face and not telling him everything.

You watch as he moves, as he’s sitting on the floor, head under your sink cabinet. “Do you want coffee?” you eventually ask, trying to make yourself feel useful, to not just stand there and do nothing but watch him, speechless.

“Yeah, sure” he responds, his voice muffled under there. 

By the time you’re ready to hand him his steaming cup, he’s already finishing up on repairing the sink. “Here you go,” he stands back up, wiping his hands over a dishcloth before he puts it aside and takes the cup from your hands with a small smile. You try not to linger on the way your fingers brush, giving him a weak smile.

“That was quick.” you mutter. “Thank you. You didn’t have to,” you nod, still a bit embarrassed by the whole situation.

He pinches his lips softly, pointing a thumb back at the sink. “You really think I came here just for the sink?” he asks, raising an eyebrow before he brings the mug to his mouth. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” you start– 

He immediately counters. “You weren’t answering me.”

You blink. “I know. I’ve been busy.”

He sighs, scoffing. “Don’t do that,” he pleads in a faint whisper, eyes falling shut as he shakes his head frustratingly. 

Your teeth guiltily sink into your bottom lip, and you both stay silent for a while, until Poe distances himself, setting the mug down on the counter when he realizes you’re not going to say any more. 

Truth is, you’re not sure what to do – tell him the truth, come up with a lie that would cover it all, or nothing. 

Poe runs a hand over his face, turned away from you. “Is it something I did?” he eventually asks, turning back to you.

“No” you’re quick to reply, simply because you’re telling the truth here. Your eyes flicker up and down his figure in vulnerable uncertainty. You want to keep him away from this without having to hurt him, but you know it’s going to be easier said than done. 

“What is it then? I thought we were doing fine” he hesitates, his voice straining lightly. The confused and hurt frown over his face makes you feel horrible. “Look, if you think we’re better off as friends–”

“No– no” you firmly counter with haste, immediately stopping him. It’s none of that, and that is the one thing you’re sure about, deep down. “We were doing fine. We are” you nod. “That’s not what it’s about.”

“Then what is it?” he frowns, extending his arms in incomprehension. 

“Nothing.” you shake your head, and try to rub off the headache that is blooming at the center of your skull. You feel Poe shift his position without much patience. You wish he would drop it, but you know him too much to know he simply won’t.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he pleads, his gaze over you softening as he tries to coax you into it. And you actually consider it for a second. Then, you can see yourself being the drag at his feet when you imagine it. 

You try not to dwell on it for too long and you sigh softly, a scattered breath. “It’s nothing. Just– I’m sorry, okay”

He nods slowly, biting on his lip reflectively. “You know what? Forget it.” he mutters before he walks past you, shaking his head as he grabs his jacket resting over the back of a chair.

You’re speechless again. “Poe, come on–” you call out, knowing you fucked this up.

He turns back to you when he reaches your door. “You don’t want me here.”

Just like that, he’s gone, and your apartment is awfully quiet now that the steady, annoying plic ploc of your faucet isn’t a thing anymore.

—

Your hands are shoved down your jacket pockets. 

You’re waiting in the empty briefing room that almost looks like a classroom; rows of lined desks and chairs facing a white board with official Chicago Fire Department posters displayed here and there over the walls. 

Finn left you here after telling you Poe was in the chief’s office and that he’d knock there to let him know you were here waiting for him. Everything from his tone to the way he brought you in a room where you could keep your soon–to–come conversation private told you that he knew about the situation. Finn was always happy to see you but he also knew how to handle people’s moods.

You push yourself off the desk you have been leaning against when Poe enters the briefing room and closes the door behind him. “Hey,” he says softly. 

You give him a small, earnest smile in response. He steps closer to you, and you glance up and down at him. He looks good in his firehouse clothes, but given the situation, you keep the remark for sometime later. “How’s the shift?” you casually ask, a smile tugging at your lips.

He looks around and stops at the clock on the wall. “Uh, pretty fucking slow.” he grins. “Just a call so far, but you know, there’s six hours left, and when we make remarks about it being a slow shift that’s usually when the calls come” he chuckles. You huff out a laugh and nod. “Jeez, six hours left, what are you doing here so late? It’s two in the morning” he questions, a startled frown drawing over his face as he realizes.

“Couldn’t sleep, owed you an explanation and that firehouse is roughly a five minute walk from my apartment” you explain, drawing a small chuckle from him. 

“Alright. Get it on” he spurs you on.

You sigh heavily, rubbing a hand over your mouth before you start. “Okay, uh– I get nightmares about the fire.” you finally admit. Poe adjusts his position onto his feet but doesn’t say anything, just intently listening to you, waiting for you to go on. “Not only nightmares. It's been… present. And it’s been manifesting through the form of panic attacks” you confess, your throat tightening just from having to talk about it, giving it life when you say it out loud.  

“That's why I’ve been distant. Because I felt like keeping it from you was like I was lying to your face, and I didn’t want you to know, because I didn’t know how to handle it all” you nod, your gaze finally meeting his. “I do realize this wasn’t the right thing to do, though”

His gaze roams over your face attentively. He's slightly upset, you can see it on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, hurt, borderline offended.

“You already see so many things here on the job. Things I can’t even imagine. I didn’t want to feel like a burden.”

“That’s not the same thing!” he huffs out, sharper than he means to. You shrug, bringing a hand to your face, rubbing your eyes tiredly. He comes closer, his hand coming to rest against your arm. “We could have handled it together” he eventually says, his voice steadier, softer, and your gaze darts back up to his face. 

“I know, but god, don’t do that” you sigh, pulling away. It’s right here, right in front of you. Everything you have been dreading. 

“Do what?” he blinks, clearly thrown off by your reproachful tone.

“Look at me like you have to fix me.” you say, harsher than you mean to. “Like I’m some fucking wounded animal”

His brows knit, and he takes a breath like he’s trying not to react too fast. “That’s not– That’s not the way I see you, baby.” he shakes his head, stepping closer to you again, cautiously. The nickname makes your heart feel heavier. “The whole opposite, actually. You’ve been handling this better than you think.” he declares, his hand cupping the side of your face, the pad of his thumb grazing your cheek. You can’t help but lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut. “Believe me,” he murmurs. “I know what I’m talking about.”

You swallow hard and pull yourself into him, the tension in your chest and your shoulders beginning to wash off, your jaw unclenching as you step forward and fold yourself into him. His arm closes around you, his hand gently weaving into your hair. “It doesn’t feel like it” you murmur, your throat compressed with the weight of it all. 

Your cheek is pressed against him as he just holds you for a moment without either of you saying anything, the silence between being just as telling as the actual conversation. 

“How long have you been having those nightmares?” he eventually asks, his voice low. You feel his arm loosen up around your back until only the ghost of his touch remains, guiding you so you can face each other.

“Since the fire”

“The panic attacks too?”

You shake your head. “Strangely, no” you admit quietly. “I mean, I could get anxiety about the fire at moments but it intensified when I moved into my new place. I think I'm scared it could happen again now that I finally have a place of my own again” you explain.

He exhales through his nose and hums softly, thoughtfully. “Okay. Look, I wish I could tell you I know how to do this and how to help you” he says, his fingers brushing a stray strand of your hair behind your ear before resting lightly along your jaw. “But the truth is, I pull people out of fires then my life goes on. That's the job. We save people then we let em go” his voice falters a bit, like he’s second guessing the supposed detachment in that. “But I’m not letting you go. And I'll do my best to help you through this, okay?” 

Your gaze flickers, eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “Okay,” you croak out, your voice cracked. The gentleness and warmth in his eyes could easily make you believe anything he says.

“One thing I know is it's very unlikely to happen a second time” he nods. “But I can get everything checked out if you want me to. Vents, radiators, power outlets, everything. If it can help you feel safer”

Your throat tightens again, but for a different reason. Feeling seen. Feeling cared for. 

“Thank you” you whisper under your breath, meaning it more than you have ever meant any other thank you. He nods, giving you a hopeful smile, quickly wiping away the stray tear running down your cheek.

“But most of all,” he starts, his expression shifting. “You have to get professional help” he nods. Your lips part slightly, hesitantly, your heart racing again at the thought of having to think about it again in detail, but you don’t interrupt. “I can hook you up with a therapist specialized in cases of PTSD” Poe reaches for your hand and squeezes it, grounding you again. “Support groups are great too. You’ll be able to talk with people who experienced the same thing”

Your mouth closes in a tight line before you offer him a tired smile and a nod. He raises his eyebrows in silent questioning, a request of approval, like he’s asking you to promise you’re going to go through with this.

You offer him a second, firmer nod before he blinks proudly and takes your face into his hands, leaving a kiss at the top of your head. 

“Hey, you could sleep here for the rest of the night if you feel better having someone around” he offers. “You know I have my own office so my bed is excluded from the dorm area. I could stay there with you. I have a ton of paperwork to go through” 

You accept it easily. “Okay” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah” you nod. He smiles, and rests a hand at the small of your back to lead you out of the room.

“Oh yeah, just one thing” he adds as he opens the door, “You could get woken up by an alarm” he grins. 

You chuckle. “Noted.”

You quickly get there after crossing the dorm area; it makes you realize that being a lieutenant certainly has its advantages, for the perk of having that small office alone. It’s just a single bed and a desk facing the wall, but even if you’ve seen it before, it somehow feels safer and more familiar now.

“Get comfortable” Poe says as he shuts the glass door behind him before turning on the warm desk lamp that casts a soft glow in the room. You sit on the bed and watch as he closes the blinds to the half glass walls, except the one for the door that is visibly broken.

“Hey, Poe” you call softly, putting your shoes aside after taking them off. He turns to you, walking over to sit down beside you on the bed. “I didn’t get to apologize properly. I’m sorry. I mean it.” you nod. You reach for his hand, and he gives it to you with no hesitation, threading your fingers together. “I should have never shut you out. You’re the kindest man I’ve ever met”

A broad, bright smile grows onto his face, one that you can’t help but replicate from how infectious it is. The back of your fingers brush along his face, and you let your own face get so close that it only becomes natural for your lips to press against his. 

The kiss is soft though desperate, your hand shifting to bury into his curls. “It gotta be unprofessional,” you jokingly whisper once you break the kiss, still remaining close, earning a warm laugh from him.

“If no one’s here to see it, nah” he teases, cupping the back of your head to kiss you back. 

You both pull away when the alarm suddenly goes off and announces the call, making you listen attentively. “It’s for the ambo. Just Rose and Rey” Poe declares. “See? You jinxed it” he grins.

You grin, interrupted by a yawn so intense that it makes your eyes water. Poe notices your tiredness and watches you with a soft look in his eyes as you hum softly, leaning back on the bed and curling onto yourself.

Poe lifts a hand to gently stroke your arm. “Rest up,” he murmurs, standing and walking back towards his desk, pausing only to glance back at you once and make sure you’re really okay.

Just before he sits, you murmur sleepily, your eyes barely open, “Thank you again. For everything. Breakfast’s on me when you get off”

You barely take in his answer, already beginning to fall asleep, but whatever it is, it only makes you smile.

—

please reblog! any kind of feedback means the absolute world to me!! writing for this alternate universe makes me the happiest

heat me up masterlist

poe dameron taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious 

@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly 

@pigeonmama @c-losur3 @klillaah @Spicydonut25 @buckyssugarchick

@xenop0p

[dameronshandholder]

“Lieutenant Heart Eyes” I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS 🥹🥹🥹

Poe being so smitten is just everything to me because I get to imagine those beautiful brown eyes being filled with deep love 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Honestly the way you write him is everything! He’s just so comforting and I can’t wait for the next part!!!!!

sooner or later

firefighter!poe dameron x reader

part of heat me up au

summary: “Is it official yet or something?” she asks, earning a smirk from Sam.

“No, not really. We’re–”

“Friends that kiss” Sam fills in with a nod.

“We’re taking it easy” you breathe out, “That’s what I was about to say.”

Or, Poe properly meets your friends, and despite how well they get along, you realize not everything is bound to be that easy.

tags: f!reader, fluff, kissing, fire trauma, casual alcohol consumption and drunkenness, it's silly and happy until it gets angsty, depiction of a panic attack

word count: 2.5k

heat me up masterlist

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ☕︎

It had struck you as a bad idea, at first, when Jay requested it. 

It had worked out once when everyone helped you move in, but you weren't sure about a whole settled evening where the attention wasn't focused on something else entirely. It had been easy when your cramped apartment was filled with labelled boxes and when your only worry was figuring out where each piece of furniture would be going. 

Bringing Poe within your group of friends should feel natural, because by the book, he was one of your friends as much as your other friends were; only he wasn’t, because you weren't stealing kisses from your other friends, you weren’t actively wondering if if their knee accidentally brushed yours under the table they would keep it there, and you weren’t staying up at strange hours texting them while they were on their night shift.

And while the idea of the setting of you, Poe and your group of friends made you nervous at first, your worries were quick to be eased and you rapidly came to the point of telling yourself you had had no reason to worry about it all, because Poe's natural charisma and social abilities could make every situation go smoothly. So smoothly that even Olivia who is usually wary and skeptical of the guys gravitating around you is already nodding along and drinking his every word while you look at them from afar, with a foolish smile that Sam certainly doesn’t miss. 

You huff out a laugh when you turn back to her and she’s looking at you sternly, her eyebrows raised teasingly. “Don’t look at me like that,” you grin, glancing down at the drink in your hand. 

“Like what?” she asks, feigning innocence. The glint of malice in her eyes makes you scoff and roll your eyes; you know where it’s all going, and the thought of it makes your heart beat faster. It always does when it’s about him. As if on cue, Sam turns to look at him, while your gaze remains on her to avoid proving her non–spoken point. “He’s very…” she trails off, not completing her sentence.

“Very what,” you ask. 

She glances back at you with a slight tilt of her head. “Very easy to read.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you scoff with a confused frown. 

She takes a breath, and shrugs. “That means he should maybe rebrand his fire jacket to ‘Lieutenant Heart Eyes’”

She draws a genuine laugh out of you before your heart drops when you suddenly feel a hand over your shoulder. Luckily, when you turn around, it’s not Poe, it’s Jay reaching for her drink you have ordered for your table, while you’re waiting for the bartender to finish preparing the others. “Ah, Lieutenant heart eyes” she teasingly sighs dreamily, letting go of her glass without even drinking from it to instead lean with you against the counter. “Is it official yet or something?” she asks, earning a smirk from Sam.

“No, not really. We’re–”

“Friends that kiss” Sam fills in with a nod.

“We’re taking it easy” you breathe out, “That’s what I was about to say.”

Sam and Jay exchange a look while you hide half of your heating face behind your glass, sipping on your drink with a stern stare towards them. Jay takes a deep breath before she tilts her head and points at you. “No you know what? I think it’s nice. No pressure, no complications, just…”

“...Just two friends who happen to make out occasionally” Sam finishes with a smirk. Jay tuts at her before she jokingly rolls her eyes, and though you know Sam means to be light hearted, you can’t help but feel the urge to defend yourself.

“Actually, yeah,” you start, taking a quick glance at the group’s booth across the bar from over your shoulder. “It doesn’t have to sound frail or deconstructed or something” you explain, lowering your voice. “Maybe we’re just friends that kiss sometimes for the moment but I think I like it that way” you nod, chewing on your bottom lip as you glance back down to your drink in hand. 

Sam is quick to wrap her hand around your forearm. “Of course” she nods seriously, dropping her sarcastic act. “Hey, you’ve gone through so much these past few months with the fire, losing your apartment and crashing at our places. It only makes sense you’re trying to take it easy now” she smiles reassuringly. “I’m just playing around” she nods. She gives you a light squeeze when you give her a forgiving smile, and your attention is drawn back when the bartender slides the last drink over the counter as your order for the table is finally ready.

You slide back next to Poe, the feeling of his fingers lightly brushing against yours as he takes the drink from your hand with a smile when you hand it to him being strangely intimate.

It is so pleasant to see him blend in so well with your group of friends that you almost forget he’s not originally supposed to be a part of it; you laugh unworried if the sound of it might seem uncharming, because you can’t seem to care about holding back. Not when it’s that easy and that comfortable, not when he seems too good at making people feel like they’ve known him their whole lives, not when it feels so natural to have him fit within your close circle so effortlessly.

You actually realize how close you’ve come to be when everyone except the both of you leaves to go play darts. Poe’s arm is slung over the back of the seat, and there’s still little space between the both of you from being cramped when everyone was squeezing in that booth; it doesn’t seem to bother him though, and you figure it would be going against your own wants if you decided to give it more space. 

“You didn’t want to play?” you ask, watching as he shugs what’s left of his drink. He shrugs when he’s done, tipping his glass towards you in a silent same as you. 

You nod, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you sitting in the comfortable lull of a conversation, before he eventually speaks before you do. “Are you having fun?” he asks.

You look at him, a content smile over your face. “I am,” you nod. His lips curve as he mirrors a single nod. “Are you?” you ask back, tilting your head slightly as you watch him. 

Poe exhales a short laugh through his nose, as if it’s not obvious enough. “Yeah” he says, and there’s something deeper in his gaze as he looks at you when he says it; like he’s not just talking about tonight, not just talking about the way he charmed your friends so easily just by being himself. Everything in his eyes when he looks at you tells you he’s talking about this, whatever is going on between you, what exists in small moments like this. 

The words are out before you can think to stop them. “You’re really good at this, you know?”

He tilts his head, a curious frown growing over his face. “At what?”

“Being here. With them.” You take a glance toward the group, where Mike is bursting laughing mischievously after what must have been an impressive throw. “Blending in. It feels like you’ve always been part of the picture.”

“Maybe I like the picture,” he grins, his voice teasingly low though you know he means what he says. 

“Yeah?” you huff out.

“Yeah.” he doesn’t hesitate. “I like your friends.” he smiles, his hand resting along the seat behind you coming to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “I like you”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, your voice veiled with playfulness. It would be so easy to lean in just a little, to just let your shoulder press into his, let your hand find his under the table like you’ve done before in smaller, more stolen moments. 

So easy that you allow yourself to.

He hums in confirmation, instinctively intertwining his fingers with yours when your hands touch. 

He’s always so warm, his touch always so inviting and his tender gaze over you always stripping you off reasonable intentions. Because you know that if you were about to be reasonable you should probably leave it at that before it turns into something your friends will notice. 

Only your free hand moves to cup his face, and maybe that same reasonable part of you intended to just leave a kiss at his cheek, but the moment your lips brush the skin there that same part of you decides it’s a half assed response and your lips find his before you can even start to think of second guessing it. 

His lips are soft, his breath mingling with yours as he stills for a fraction of a second that is already long enough for you to wonder if you’ve startled him, before you eventually feel his lips curving into a smile. 

It’s strange, the way he manages to make you feel lighter than the drinks you’ve had, the way having him close seems to wash away everything that has ever been wrong. 

—

“I like him,” Olivia declares, looking at her own reflection in the mirror as she wipes along the edge of her bottom lip the lipstick that has smeared from downing drinks throughout the evening. “For now”

You scoff. Leaning against the cool tile of the bathroom wall keeps the heat of your tipsy state from being too overwhelming, though now that you’re isolated from the people and the sound you truly realize how inebriated you are. “So do I”

She smiles, still looking through the mirror. “I’ll be easy on him, he saved your life”

Your lips pinch in an uncomfortable smile. There are times where you hate to think about it. Despite all of the good Poe brought in your life, you hate to remind yourself of it when it’s not to lightly joke about it. Not because you’re not grateful; you will always be grateful. 

Olivia’s eyes flicker to your face through the mirror, but you don’t see it. 

“It’s okay if it still gets to you, you know”

You force out a laugh, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. “What, Poe?”

“No,” she huffs out. “The fire.”

Just the word alone makes your stomach tighten, independently from the alcohol you’ve had. You shake your head, and the movement only makes it all worse. 

“You don’t talk about it” she remarks.

“Because I’m fine” you answer, too quickly, too mechanically. 

You swallow, throwing your head back to look at the ceiling, to steady yourself. It works for a moment, but the moment you close your eyes and you try to not think about it too much, the heat is already burning tenfold, clinging to you like a second skin, and you’re suddenly back in that bed, that night, smothered by a phantom weight pressing against your chest that makes it hard to breathe.

The tiles aren’t cold anymore, the walls feel too close, like the room is shrinking around you. 

You know it’s not real, you know being drunk probably makes it worse, but stopping it is out of your reach. It’s happening too fast, slipping through your fingers like smoke, the way it always does when you let your guard down. You should have seen it coming, you should have known better than to let it creep up on you. 

When you go back, you have no idea how long all of it lasted, you just know it seemed like an eternity because everything might seem painfully endless when you can’t breathe anymore.

“Hey,” Olivia calls your name, grabbing your wrists, trying to tame your shaky hands. “You’re okay, breathe” she nods, a concerned frown etched over her face as your eyes roam along her figure like you’re trying to convince yourself she’s really here. “Breathe” she repeats, like it is suddenly a manual thing for you, not something out of instinct. And you have to force it out of you for it to become normal again. It’s shaky, scattered, and once you learn to do it again, it feels like every ounce of energy has been drained out of you. 

She’s still carefully looking at you, worryingly trying to figure out if you’re fully back to yourself, back to reality. 

“I’m sorry I triggered it. I’m not the one who should talk about it” she mutters. 

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault” you glance away, dragging in another shaky breath. “It’s been a long time coming”

It’s always there, somewhere inside you, waiting to catch up on you, to grab you by the throat. Trying to repress it often makes it worse once it unleashes, having it build up makes it all more painful once it all comes out.

“You should tell him.”

The knot inside your throat tightens. You know who she means, she doesn't have to say any name, you know she's not talking about Mike.

You walk away from her taking in another painful breath, still feeling trapped between her body and the wall behind you. The idea of telling Poe, of giving life to this thing that’s been haunting and gnawing at you feels impossible. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable once already, pulled you from the smoke and wreckage with his own hands. You don’t want him to see how much of it still lingers, you don’t want to burden him with this thing he sees every other day.

“I don’t–” you start, but Olivia cuts you off.

“You can’t keep it to yourself like this,” she says, walking back up to you. “You’re not doing fine like you pretend to be” she frowns, her eyes roaming over you with concern. This is exactly what you dread. The pity. The look in their eyes telling you they finally see you the way you’re seeing yourself in those moments. “You should talk to someone. And I think we both know who you’d want that to be.”

You don’t answer, you don’t say anything, you just turn away from her once again to join the sink and let the water run over your hands, letting it cool down your overheating skin, letting it anchor you.  

She’s right, because it would be a lie to say you haven’t thought about it before. Because you have imagined it – Poe’s face if you told him, the way his eyes might change, might soften too much like you’re fragile again, like you were just the shadow of how strong you pretended to be. Like you need saving again.

And maybe that’s the worst part – how much you want to tell him. How badly you wish it didn’t feel like peeling your own skin back just to let the words out.

But the truth is, when you meet Poe’s eyes again when you walk back to your booth, you know you don’t want him to know. 

—

please reblog! any kind of feedback means the absolute world to me!! writing for this alternate universe makes me the happiest

heat me up masterlist

poe dameron taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious 

@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly 

@pigeonmama @c-losur3 @klillaah @Spicydonut25 @buckyssugarchick

@xenop0p

[dameronshandholder]

I have yearned for Poe to be there for me when I’m sick and this just made me YEARN more 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

canon!poe or hmu!poe with a reader who's... very ill. like flu ill. like concerningly ill, who doesn't want to go to the doctor because they don't wanna hold anyone up or the costs. pls I beg I need a man to take care of me rn (very very ill myself) ilysm 😭🙏

I got you. canon poe

—

You almost think you’re hallucinating the presence in the room and the dip in the mattress behind you, until you truly feel a hand settling at the back of your head, gently smoothing along your hair. Poe cringes with guilt when he hears the faint whine escaping you. “Hey,” he gently calls, and you feel the warmth of his hand now moving to rest at your back, just in between your shoulder blades. 

Having to open your eyes seems like the toughest thing you’ve had to do in ages, and the heaviness in your forehead that comes with it feels like a cruel punishment of being alive and not succumbing to sickness.

Your mouth is dry, your lips chapped from having to breathe through your mouth because of your congested nose, so the weak sound that comes out of you to make Poe know you’re conscious almost sounds like a starving, water deprived creature giving its last breath. “I withdrew from today’s mission” he declares, his voice soft, like anything louder might kill you.

His words make you turn to him as fast as your aching body will allow. “Why?” you croak out. “No, you need to–”

He shushes you, shaking his head. “That’s fine” he assures. “Someone needs to look after you”

You try to sit up with difficulty, a gravelly cough shaking your whole body. “I don’t–”

“You look awful, sweetheart” he says, weakly smiling in empathy as you cough some more. 

“Thank you” you groan sarcastically once your body allows you to talk again. Poe shifts to sit closer to you, his hand coming to press against your forehead. His palm feels warm, an obvious contrast to the chill that has settled in your bones since the fever took hold of you, and you lean into his touch despite yourself, the simple gesture offering a glimpse of the comfort and tenderness you desperately crave from him. 

“You’re burning up,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His brows are knitted together in concern, his thumb rubbing along your temple before he pulls away. The tenderness in his eyes as he watches your poor state is almost too much to bear, and you’re almost embarrassed he has to see you like this.

“You didn’t have to skip on the mission just because of me” you whisper, your voice hoarse and fragile, your attempt at sounding nonchalant quickly dismantled when the truth bleeds and your voice cracks. You want him here, and that terrifies you more than sickness ever could.

“Of course I did” he murmurs, his voice low as his hand covers your own. “You think I could focus out there knowing you’re like this?”

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he’s being an idiot, but the words die in your throat when you start to choke on coughs again. Poe is instantly at your side, his hand leaving your own to support your back, the other grabbing the glass of water at your bedside table. 

“Easy,” he says, his voice soft as he helps the glass to your lips. You’re almost sure that the shiver that runs down your spine when his hand rubs up and down your back has nothing to do with the fever. 

When you finally pull back and he sets the glass back at your bedside, you find him watching you intently again, his warm brown eyes gazing at you like you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever seen. It’s overwhelming, the weight of it, the want in his eyes that mirrors your own.

“You need to go to the medbay” he declares with his ‘commander tone’, as you like to call it whenever he suddenly gets a little too serious.

You groan, burying yourself down your bed again. “I’m fine, I just need to sleep it off” you mutter, pulling the covers up to your chin as you turn to the side, away from him. 

“You need medicine, I saw you almost fainting mid briefing, this is serious” he counters, though his voice remains low as to not worsen the unbearable pulsing inside your skull. “You need to get checked up and treated” he declares firmly. You whine in discontentment at the mere idea of having to get out of bed and drag yourself through the base, and Poe calls your name like he’s scolding you. “I’ll drag you here myself if I have to.”

You chuckle. “I’d like to see you try”

“You know I will.”

You sigh deeply, bringing a hand over your eyes. “Poe, please, I don’t wanna argue with you,” you whimper, burying your face into the pillow.

“Then don’t”

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, so the silence stretches until you eventually hear him sigh and feel the mattress dip closer behind you when he shifts closer.

“Look at me” he demands gently, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm as he tries to coax you into reason. He knows how to play this out, he knows you ultimately can’t refuse him anything, you will always give in to him, no matter what, no matter how stubborn you can be. You turn around to face him, your aching limbs acting like this was a monumental effort. Poe’s thumb brushes along your cheekbone, and you lean into his touch without even thinking. “I’ll get someone to come here, okay?” 

You close your eyes in contentment, forcing a small sound from the back of your throat to let him know you’re acquiescing to that option.

“But you should get some rest first” he says quietly. 

You nod weakly, though the moment he tries to pull away, you find yourself holding onto his wrist. “Stay” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Please”

“Okay” he shifts on the bed so that he’s fully seated beside you now, his back resting against the headboard. 

You hesitate for a second, then slowly, with the little strength you have, you move closer to him, letting your head rest over his lap. For a moment, Poe’s hand just hovers over you, unsure if this is okay, if it’s too much, before he gives in and his fingers start to gently thread through your hair, his other hand resting at your shoulder, his thumb rubbing slow circles through the fabric of your shirt.

For a while, neither of you speak, and the room is only filled by the sound of your uneven breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric when Poe adjusts his position to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. Every now and then, his fingers drift from your hair to trace along the curve of your neck down to your shoulder before they return to combing through your hair again. 

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” he finally mutters, low enough so it wouldn’t wake you up if you happened to have fallen asleep already. 

You manage a weak smile through the haze of sleepiness that is clouding your mind, lulled by Poe’s gentle touch. “You know… takes one to know one,” you mumble sleepily.

You hear him chuckle, but it all feels distant the more you relax into his touch, the more you feel at ease right where you are. 

For the first time in hours, you feel the tension in your body begin to melt away, and it feels right to be here with him, like this, and you know that the butterflies at the pit of your stomach are not caused by your fever.

—

poe taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious 

@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly 

@pigeonmama @c-losur3 @klillaah @Spicydonut25 @buckyssugarchick

@xenop0p

[dameronshandholder]

His apology in bed is just so… UGH I LOVE HIM AND HIS PUPPY DOG EYES 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

I could never stay mad at Llewyn because one look from him is enough for me to be convinced everything is fine 😌😌😌

“The lights cast a golden glow over Llewyn's face, significantly shrinking the wide room, wider than it could ever seem to be just a few months ago. They shoot a warm, intimate ray around him, around the stool he's perched on, his guitar close to his chest as he leans into the microphone.” THIS WAS BEAUTIFUL TOO!!!!! HIS FACE MUST LOOK SO AMAZING IN THAT GOLDEN GLOW 😩😩😩

wilting

llewyn davis x reader

summary: llewyn finally has an opportunity for his music career, but it only seems to be driving you apart.

tags: gn!reader, established relationship, angst (we're talking about llewyn), fighting, fluff, fear of abandonment and loneliness

word count: 2.4k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

You'd been expectantly sipping on your drink, an anxious ache dwelling in your chest; you were probably more nervous for Llewyn than he was for himself, if it happened to be anything that could help his career – which you hoped it would be. 

“Think it’s business related?” Jean had asked you like she was reading your mind, an uncertain look on her face as she watched over the pair talking. Llewyn was frantically nodding at the guy, listening intently.

“Hope so,” you had sighed in a hoarse breath, the taste of your drink harsh on your throat. “It'd be good for him.” you affirmed, glancing at the guy that had cornered Llewyn even before he could put his guitar back in its case, wondering for what other reason he would come up to him after his gig if not to offer him a career. 

And the guy happened to be the son of a major player in the music business – that was the way Llewyn put it when he walked back to you and Jean, anyway, so you had been right, and it was finally happening for him.

And it feels amazing to see him like this, at first. He’s so happy about it that he spends his past two weeks savings in a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers and the rather expensive tartan wool scarf you had been fantasizing about each time you walked past the shop window – which wouldn’t be considered much to the average middle class household but is a lot to the two of you struggling to make ends meet.

And while it feels exciting at first, the promise of a new life for him and ultimately for the both of you, weeks pass, and the flowers wilt. Too fast for your liking. The vase holding them at the center of your kitchen table looks way too big for them now that they are dead, dry and sagging, and you feel way too alone in that apartment you share with Llewyn when on the surface, barely anything has changed; only it feels like everything has changed. 

The initial excitement on your side has guiltily faded, letting loneliness and frustration take over as Llewyn slowly but surely lets himself get consumed by work.

He’s composing and writing songs back to back, he’s already working on them when you leave for work and he’s still working on them when you come back from work; it’s almost impossible to tear him out of it too.

A sigh leaves your mouth as your glance falls onto him that evening, determinedly writing down on his messy sheet of paper as you innocently stand in the threshold of your apartment, just hoping to share a moment with him after a long day – for the both of you, probably. It can’t be healthy for him even if he seems so driven by it.

“Hey,” you call, nudging the door shut with your foot. The sound of your voice paired with the click of the door draws Llewyn’s gaze over you for a split second. “Hey,” the ash of the cigarette hanging from his mouth is threatening to fall. 

His attention quickly drifts back to his makeshift working station – the couch and most of the space on your coffee table that is surrounded by sheets of paper all over the floor.

“I picked up takeout on the way back from work,” you declare, holding up the bag that’s in your hand, trying to catch his attention again.

“Nice” he replies absently, his focus now placed on the chord progression he’s playing over and over again to make sure it sounds good. 

“From Hudson Square, your favorite” you add, hoping to draw more than a one word response from him.

“Thank you, babe,” he mutters, barely looking up as he hastily writes something down in his notebook after he puts his guitar away. 

It only gets quieter apart from the sound of his guitar and his low humming as you start eating, sitting on the floor and over the small part of the coffee table that’s not occupied by his mess – it’s a battlefield gathering crumpled notes, cigarette ash and his empty coffee cup that you can guess has been knocked over at some point from the stain on one sheet. You watch him expectantly as you eat your noodles, his own box practically untouched as he keeps on working on his song; how naive of you to hope you could share a moment with him.

“It's gonna get cold” you point out, hoping to coax him into taking a break, your voice resonating with a tinge of frustration Llewyn doesn’t seem to decipher. He hums quietly in acknowledgment, though you’re not so sure he has really listened to what you just said, seemingly utterly absorbed in his work, scribbling on a chaotic sheet of paper.

“Llew what the fuck is that. You need to take a break” you sigh. You feel awful. Not just because he’s ignoring you – mostly because you can’t seem to match your energy and excitement to his. 

The fact that you barely interact anymore takes a toll on you, but you can’t help but feel like there’s something else beyond that – maybe it’s the suddenness of it all, the fact that it all seems too good to be true and that Llewyn probably already starts to believe this is the end of his struggles.

“I have to submit three songs as soon as possible” he says, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray that sits among the mess. His eyes are bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles, you can notice it now.

You frown, equally confused and concerned. “Don't you already have those three songs?”

“I need backup in case it's not working for them” he declares with a shrug, looking through the scattered sheets of paper laid before him.

“You're insane” you chuckle, “This is insane.” you watch him as he doesn’t even look back at you. You’re not sure what to say anymore to get him out of this. “You’re good at this. The songs you already have are gonna be good”

“I need to be sure.” his voice is flat, his response automatic.

You frown, watching him go like nothing exists outside of what he's doing. Act like it is the only thing that matters anymore.

“Do you have any idea how painful it is for me to see you like this?” you snap, an ache inside your chest as you say it.

He truly looks up at you for the first time since you entered your shared apartment, his eyebrows knitting into a small frown.

“Painful? Really?” he scoffs in disbelief. “I finally have something good going on.” 

You sigh. “I know, and it’s great, and I’m happy for you Llewyn” you say trying to keep your voice steady and to say the right thing. “But you’re slowly gonna go crazy”

He laughs, a harsh sound with no hint of real amusement. “No, I was going crazy when I was running around New York all day, every day, trying to make a career.” he retorts bitterly; at least, you have his attention now. “I finally have a reason to keep going, my sacrifices were all for something”

You nod awkwardly. “Yeah, I know, but come on Llewyn, look at you. You’ve barely eaten, you haven’t slept properly in days, and we don’t even talk anymore.” you sigh, your hands letting go of the chopsticks from the takeout you had hoped would make him take a break.

“I’m doing this for us. Don’t you get that?” he asks, his face pleading for your understanding though there’s an obvious hint of reproach in his voice.

“It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’ve lost you to this... fucking obsession.” you say pointing to the mess in front of you, and it all comes out more harshly than you mean it to.

“You know this is important to me.” he affirms, his voice hardening in a defensive way.

“And you’re important to me, so I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself!” you retort, your voice cracking with your frustration spilling over. He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. 

“I’m not destroying myself. I’m building something. For us.” he insists, and though you know his intent is genuine, the reality of it feels much different.

“You can’t build something for us if you’re actively ruining us at the same time.”

“Well what do you want me to do? Give up? Go back to playing shitty gigs for pocket change?” he snaps.

You sigh, not knowing what to say, not knowing where to go with it anymore. Your throat contracts with the knot growing inside it, your facade threatening to break.

Maybe calling him out had been a bad idea. Maybe you should have let him dig his hole, or maybe he was right, he was doing fine, and it was all just you feeling too alone and too selfish about it.

“I’m playing tonight” he eventually says in a mumble once things flatten, breaking the tense silence stilling in the air.

“Yeah, I know” you nod, swallowing your feelings. “Take your keys, I'm not going. I'm exhausted”

“Whatever” he mutters, turning back to his work, and your takeout meal suddenly makes you feel sick as you realize just how far apart you’re drifting and how serious it has become.

—

When you’re usually asleep when Llewyn comes back from gigs, the sound of the front door opening and closing interrupts you from overthinking your argument with him a few hours before. 

You turn around in bed – like you’ve done so many times tonight trying to find sleep – hearing the sounds of him moving around the apartment, the familiar thud of his guitar case being set down, the squeak of your worn out couch as he sits down.

It’s not long before you hear his footsteps and he enters the bedroom, your eyes closing in pretend as he stealthily sifts through the room to get ready for bed. The mattress dips slightly under his weight once he slides in bed behind you, and you shift just slightly when you feel the warmth of his body radiating not far from you; it’s enough for him to guess you’re not asleep and to shift closer to you, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. His lips brush against your shoulder, leaving a faint kiss there. “You’re not sleeping, are you?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. You can clearly hear the tiredness in his voice.

You don’t respond, keeping your eyes closed, but your body betrays you, instinctively relaxing into his embrace. He takes your silence as a yes, pressing you even closer to him.

“‘m sorry” he mumbles against your shoulder, the prickle of his beard teasing your skin. “I know you're upset” you exhale softly, and he continues. “And I know I work too much. But I don't wanna fuck it up” 

You don’t trust yourself to speak, not without your voice cracking, so you just nod slightly, letting him know you’re listening. “I’m taking my chance, that’s all it is dove.” his voice is hoarse from tiredness, slightly muffled against your skin. “I have to try”

Your hand covers his, your thumb mindlessly rubbing his skin. “I miss you” you finally mutter, your voice weak. “I feel like I’m losing you.” you admit, turning around to face him. The lights outside cast shadows over his face, highlighting the signs of exhaustion. “I've always supported you, through anything,” His hand comes to rest against your face, his thumb tracing along your cheek. “So I'm happy you finally have something good going on but I thought it'd feel better for me to see you like this” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I really need this” he says, his voice barely audible too. “You’re not losing me” he insists, his eyes searching yours. “I love you, you know? I love you. I can’t earn a career and lose you. You just have to trust me. I’m trying to make things good for us”

“I know” you blink, eyes heavy and tingling with tiredness. “I just don’t want you getting fucked up in the process”

“You know I’m already fucked up” he scoffs.

You grin. “Yeah, you are” 

Your hand reaches his face when he kisses you, the faint taste of whiskey and cigarette on his tongue as he presses his warm body closer against yours. 

You pull away just slightly, still feeling the brush of his beard against your chin. “Your songs are good. I would know better than anyone else. You don’t need to beat yourself up” 

He gives you a modest smile, or a tired one, you can’t really tell.

—

The lights cast a golden glow over Llewyn’s face, significantly shrinking the wide room, wider than it could ever seem to be just a few months ago. They shoot a warm, intimate ray around him, around the stool he’s perched on, his guitar close to his chest as he leans into the microphone.

You’re standing half hidden in the shadows near the back, arms crossed, watching as his eyes flutter closed once he starts to sing a tune you know all too well, a song you’ve known in its early stages of creation, in its fragmented form. 

Hearing it whole, complete and out to the world, to all those strangers, locates a bittersweet ache deep inside of you, and for a brief second, Llewyn’s now opened eyes meet yours. 

There is no shift, no wavering in his expression, but there is something special in the way his gaze lingers, ever so slightly weakly softening before he looks back down at his guitar. 

You don’t know what he sees when he looks at you. Maybe it’s the person who believed in him before anyone else did. Maybe it’s something, someone entirely different now that things are so different from how they used to be seasons ago.

Tears start to run down your face before you even realize you’re crying. 

You smile through them as Llewyn sings as if he’s baring his soul to his audience, stripping himself off and displaying the vulnerability of his work to the world, being everything you always believed he would end up being, standing in the spot he belongs to. 

His gaze locks with yours once again, and as you feel the sting of the tears you have to blink away, you force a quivering smile, one you hope will carry all the words you will never be able to say.

—

as you can maybe guess, this is an open ending, up to interpretation, that could be seen differently depending on how you choose to look at it!

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

llewyn taglist:

@scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry 

@mystinky-butt @anightshift @campingwiththecharmings @dameronshandholder @spider-starry 

@spxctorsslxt @dowbastan @hammerhead96 @unear7hly @Spicydonut25

[dameronshandholder]

You always nail it when it comes to writing Poe and you have no idea how grateful I am 🥺🥺🥺🥺

BEAUTIFUL (like Poe’s eyes) fic like always!!!!

ahead, ahead

poe dameron x reader

summary: “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

or; your fear of the future forces you to reject the man you love.

warnings: rejecting poe but we're not actually truly rejecting him (who, in their right mind would reject this man), talks of the war, of being scared of the future, extremely brief mentions of an injury, death and grief

tags: gn!reader, idiots in love, angst, fluff, celebration, kissing, idk man I hate tagging this stuff you'll see

word count: 2.9k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

lmao hey I'm back ig if this fic doesn't hit ten thousand notes in 48hrs I'm dipping again

The night is fairly quiet, save for the occasional crackle over the comms. You and Poe are tucked away in an observation post, overlooking a seemingly endless empty desert; it feels like you've been here for hours, time blending now that the only light around is the shining stars and the small dots of your devices. 

Poe lightly clears his throat, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “You can't go away from any conversation right now, so,” 

You shouldn’t even be surprised that he can not keep his mouth shut for longer than three minutes. “Why won't you let me take you out on a date?”

You sigh. “Poe, not now.” 

You can feel his eyes burning holes through you, knowing exactly what gaze he’s using on you, knowing his big, warm, pleading brown eyes will have the exact effect he intends to cast over you if you happen to turn to him.

You keep watching ahead, trying your best to ignore his too obvious firm gaze over you in your peripheral vision, feigning focus on trying to notice anything unusual in the broad land of sand ahead of you. He makes it really hard.

“What? Perfect situation to talk about this” he says, his gaze on you unwavering. “For me” he shrugs with a teasing smile.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping that your silence will make him drop it. But he’s Poe Dameron. 

“Tell me. Tell me why. I genuinely want to know your reasons.” he says, leaning back into his seat. “Hurt my feelings if you have to. I just wanna know”

You can feel the pressure starting to pull down on you. You know he won’t let it go, but you also don’t want to hurt your friend while you’re stuck with him for what could be hours.

“So what, because no one ever says no to you you can’t take someone rejecting you?” you scoff, turning to him before you check the comms again though you know there’s nothing new. 

He laughs, a choked, startled laugh. “We both know it’s not that. You kissed me”

You sigh, tension coiling tight and your heart leaping in your chest as you set the comms down again, at this point begging the maker for something to happen, maybe even for a First Order ambush just to get you out of this conversation. “Maybe I was just pitying you.” you mutter under your breath, busying yourself out of it by picking the underside of your nails.

“Oh, you were shitting your pants at the idea of losing me. That's why you kissed me. You were so scared I might be dead you ran to kiss me when you found out I wasn't.” 

Your eyes close wearily. He’s on point. 

“And you almost could have chipped my teeth with how hard our mouths clashed, so,” he trails off. “Come on. Why won’t you tell me? I really just wanna know. I can handle it.” he murmurs, more softly this time. Your head shakes as you tut impatiently. His gentle tone doesn’t make it less painful to be in this situation. “I promise you won’t hurt my feelings, you already kinda did anyway, so I guess I’m not really–” Poe stops when you suddenly grab his arm and hold a finger up, your eyes widening as you freeze.

“Listen”

Poe halts and goes silent, alert to any sound around, any faint wind breeze, any footstep, anything. 

“...I’m not hearing anything” he declares after a while, eyebrows furrowed.

You recline into your seat, releasing your grip on him. “Exactly. How peaceful”

He lets out a soft, bitter chuckle and looks away, into the waves of sand, pretending to get his focus back onto the task at hand. 

He finally, as you wished, lets the tight space be silent again, but after a while, you come to admit that the heavy silence is arguably more agonizing than having Poe run his mouth about something you don’t really want to talk about.

“You'll always care about the Resistance more than you could care about me.”

“What?” Poe scoffs and glances back over you, eyebrows raised. You give him a small shrug. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

Your gaze darts to him before you look back out the window at your side. “It’s not even a bad thing, it’s who you are, and that’s why people follow you, that’s why I follow you, but–”

He stares at you, his gaze burning through you again, caught somewhere between confusion and frustration. “But what? What makes you think that?” 

You can hear the startled hurt in his tone, the clear bewilderment, the clear need and urge in him to argue.

“You're a busy man. You're always on the run–” 

“So are you” he cuts you off.

“That's what I mean. We’re both so busy with this– this endless fight. We barely have time to sleep, let alone,” you gesture vaguely between the both of you, catching the pleading gaze you were desperately trying to avoid earlier, hoping he will get what you mean without you having to say it out loud, without having to stab him right through the heart once again.

“So what?” he insists, his tone firmer. “We both know that. That’s part of the deal. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t make it work”

You shake your head, sensing it will only keep going down from there. “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

The thick silence painfully grips at your throat, and just when it feels Poe might start to speak again, the comms crackle with a signal, alerting a presence on the grounds. 

You stand up and gather the stuff you need, the mission you let aside needing your full focus again, and as you take your blaster out of your holster, you can still feel Poe’s lingering gaze over you, your chest tightening in a sense of guilt you’ve never felt before.

—

It’s spontaneous and unconstrained when you fall into Poe’s embrace, but you do, and it’s like nothing ever happened in that observation post a few weeks ago. Your hands fist tightly into the fabric of his flight suit while you're still careful not to press yourself too close against his wounded arm. The general hubbub of celebration is rumbling on the ground of Ajan Kloss, thrumming through the air, and you can only feel relief as Poe’s hand cups the back of your head, pulling you closer into the embrace. For a brief moment, you just stay here, mingling with each other, breathing him in like you didn't completely push him away the last time you faced him.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you pull back slightly, looking you up and down, eyes raking through as he searches for any sign of injury.

“Are you?” you ask back, eyeing his arm wrapped in a cloth and held against his chest by a sling. 

He shrugs, grimacing as he quickly waves it off, trying to downplay it. “That's fine. Nothing I've never seen before. I got things to celebrate before I start whining about this” he grins. 

He smiles wider when he sees your smile, your cheeks warming up as his gaze lingers over you, taking in every detail of your face. You have barely been able to catch each other for longer than two minutes outside of missions these past few weeks, so knowing he will now be able to see you for maybe three minutes longer now that the galaxy isn’t at stake anymore brings another layer to the wider sense of relief of this war being over. “I’m glad you made it out alright” he says quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the noise. 

“Couldn’t have done it without such an amazing leader” you tease, and he lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head, but your own laughter fades as he gets cornered by his fellow squadron pilots, pulling him away from you.

You smile when you see his eyes crinkle as they cheer with him, and you give him another smile and nod when he mouths you a quick apology as they drag him away.

—

You stare off into the distance, a small smile tugging at your lips when from afar, you notice Finn being swirled around by Rose, all smiles. 

There’s a bittersweet feeling to this, all of this. It’s supposedly all over, but you also have no idea what to expect for tomorrow, and the next day, and all the ones after that, and the idea is terrifying. 

You put your glass down beside you on the crate that serves you as a bench, turning when you feel a presence approaching.

“Hey” Poe smiles, sitting by your side on the wide crate.

“Hey,” you reply, a hint of tiredness in your voice though his presence lifts you up a little.

“Overwhelmed?” 

You scoff, giving him a half nod, barely a tilt of the head. “Yeah, you could say that”

He gives you a nod of comprehension, staring off at the loud, joyful celebration in the distance. 

Puffs of dirt are flowing off the ground from being beaten by dancing feet, the particles visible from the strings and poles of lanterns set up for the occasion, revealing the figures of people overflowing with energy though that layer will peel off and reveal the true exhaustion stemming from the battle soon enough.

The night is warm, making sweat cling to skins, making tears of all kinds short-lived, visual proofs of joy and grief drying and disappearing quickly.

Poe’s gaze turns back to you, his hand settling over yours. “You should join us. You shouldn’t be staying by yourself at a time like this” he prompts, lightly nudging your side, a gentle smile on his face.

“I will, eventually” you nod, glancing at a couple linking foreheads, swaying side by side. “Just having a moment,” you chuckle softly, bringing your glass back to your lips.

“Ouh, okay” he teases, begrudgingly removing his hand. “Mind if I have this moment with you?”

“Sure,” you scoff, silently offering to share your glass with Poe, disposing of it again when he silently declines.

“So, what now?” he questions, a renewed brightness filling his voice. “What are your plans now that this war’s over?” he asks, eyes roaming along your figure.

You take a deep breath, clearing yourself of a discomfort you barely realized had been smothering your chest. “I don’t know. That’s what’s terrifying” you admit. He hums in agreement, nodding. “But maybe I’m gonna apologize to a certain pilot I pushed away first” you grin, glancing at him, meeting his eyes that crinkle in the corners as he smiles. “I wanted to apologize earlier. Before they snatched you away to worship you for your feats” you tease.

He scoffs. “Sorry. Busy man as you said”

“Yeah” you exhale, taking a sip of your drink. You lick the liquid off your lips, before looking back at Poe. “I was too harsh on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you” 

He gives you a single nod and a forgiving smile. “I know. We don’t have to talk about that”

You shrug softly, averting your gaze from him again. All those people cheering and laughing and kissing could have been you and Poe instead of that slightly awkward tension between you, in a parallel reality where you hadn’t pushed your pride to the first plan, leaving your feelings behind. 

You glance at him, at the way his brown eyes catch the warm glow of the lanterns. “I wanted to kiss you again” you admit, in a faint murmur. “When we came back winning.”

Your gaze falls to your lap, your fingers drumming against your glass as you feel the weight of Poe’s gaze over you, attentive to your every word. “But I didn’t want you to think I was playing with your feelings and being cruel again, just the way I was in the observation post”

Poe’s gaze softens, his hand closing as he tries to keep himself from reaching for you again. He nods in understanding, unsure how to go on from this admission. 

“It’s not about cruelty,” he mutters, still looking at you. “It hurt because I knew you were scared. And I didn’t know how to make you not be.”

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage, your eyes briefly closing at his words. You nod, having to admit he is probably right. Scared of losing any more people you love, for the cause that has already taken so much from you.

Scared of losing him when your feelings already weighed enough on you.

“Hey,” he calls, tearing you out of your knot of blooming thoughts, nudging your knee with his own. “That’s why we’re here tonight. Because we made it” he nods. “We're all supposed to be less scared now, to enjoy the celebration and to properly take time to process our griefs.”

A faint smile grows over his face when you rest your head against his shoulder. You try to ignore the tears threatening your eyes.

“So things are supposed to be quieter now, right?” you question quietly, feeling his arm wrap around your back.

He hums in reflection. “There’s still a lot to do but, yeah, supposedly”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always”

You let out a small, vulnerable sigh. “I never thought this day would actually happen. It was just a distant vision” you confess. “And now that it’s here I don’t know what to do”

He slightly tilts his head, glancing at you without dislodging your head from his shoulder. “You’ve never fantasized about what your life would be like after the war?”

You stay quiet for a bit, thinking about it. “Not really. Not seriously. Mostly because it didn’t really feel like this day would come, and now everyone knows what they want for themselves and I feel completely lost”

He nods. “You don't have to figure it all out now. The Resistance still has lots to sort out” he affirms, his thumb idly caressing your arm. “But you can think about it differently. You have every option now. You can start again” You pull your head away from his shoulder, considering this point of view as you grab your drink to finish it. You hum softly, rubbing your eyes when you let go of your drink, trying to chase the lingering doubts away.

“Come on, we should join the others” he clutches your shoulder before standing up. “And you need a refill”

You nod, looking back at your empty glass, propping yourself onto your feet. “Poe, wait” he turns back to you, an expectant curiosity painted over his face, watching as you step closer to him. 

“If you asked me out again,” you say, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “I’d say yes. It’d be part of my new life”

His grin widens as he fully turns to you. “Oh yeah?” he asks, an eyebrow raised and a teasing edge to his voice. 

His eyes roam over your face, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you nod. “Yeah”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking as his hand brushes yours before he holds it again, this time more deliberately and more confidently. “You should have. Kissed me” he murmurs as your gaze darts to your linked hands then back to him, unable to repress the smile growing onto your face.

“I know,” you chuckle, watching him let his fingers intertwine with yours when you don’t pull away, his touch firm, grounding you with a peacefulness you haven’t felt in what seems to be ages. “But who says it's too late?”

“If I was that petty, I would” he grins, a teasing glint in his eyes, but the warmth in them conveys the playfulness of his words. 

You lean in to kiss him before either of you can overthink it, your free hand instinctively grabbing at the back of his neck like he can somehow still slip away from you, your fingers burying in his mass of hair damp from the heavy atmosphere.

His hand slides out of yours to cup your face and the kiss lingers, warm and unhurried, neither of you caring about the laughter and music of the celebration in the background. When you finally pull back, your foreheads touch, and you see the playful grin on his face that makes your chest ache with fondness. “Took you long enough” he teases.

“You’re so desperate” you shoot back, your tone lacking any real bite, significantly softened by the smile that refuses to leave your face. 

“You were hard to get.”

“Alright, okay” you scoff, your hand sliding to rest against his torso, adjusting the collar of his shirt on the way. 

The teasing slowly fades from his face, his hand reaching up to cover yours over the rise and fall of his torso, gently closing around your fingers

“I’ll make time for you.” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Between work, flying, building everything we’ve lost and our lives again… I’ll make time for us. I promise”

You find yourself nodding, swallowing his every word, blindly trusting him; because if there is one thing you know for sure, it is that Poe Dameron never makes empty promises.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, and for the first time in what feels forever, moving forward doesn’t seem as terrifying.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

star wars taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

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[dameronshandholder]

I'd like to request for Poevember: sliding hands under their clothes ❤

Poe's eyes flutter half open, stirring awake when he hears faint footsteps in the room. Right before he can speak, you're already murmuring an apology, your voice low and rough from exhaustion, the shadow of your figure moving through your dark shared room.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbles sleepily, extending a hand toward you. “Come here”

You don't hesitate, your body on autopilot as the bed dips under your weight when you move closer, draping yourself over Poe in a quiet sigh. He presses his face into the crook of your neck when he cups the back of your head, his breath warm, the prickle of the stubble gently chafing against your skin.

His hand finds its way to your back, moving in slow, gentle back and forth movements, and without thinking, his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing over your bare skin, his hands somehow always warm, no matter the situation.

“How was your mission?” he asks in a drowsy mumble.

“Boring. Not a lot of action, just observing. You would have hated it” He huffs out a small laugh, his hand worming its way higher up your back. “Still got me exhausted though”

You lift yourself up slightly, enough to be able to take a glance at him. He’s all disheveled, his face heavy with sleep. “Sorry for waking you up. I know you gotta wake up early tomorrow”

He gives you a tired smile. “That’s fine. I’m happy I could catch you before I leave” he pulls your face close to his, his lips gently brushing against your forehead. “I’m gonna miss you.”

His eyes close when you gently brush his hair back, his arms wrapping around your waist. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

He hums softly, the sound vibrating against your neck when he buries his face here.

You lay in a comfortable silence, Poe’s hands still running idly against your back.

He feels you slowly begin to relax over him, your muscles easing under your touch, your breath growing ticker, until you give up on consciousness and slide into something much more comfortable here with him.

—

poe taglist: @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious 

@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly 

@pigeonmama @c-losur3 @klillaah @Spicydonut25

[dameronshandholder]

ARE YOU KIDDING???? WILLIAM??? AS A VAMPIRE????

I CANNOT WORK IN THESE CONDITIONS AS IM TOO BUSY IMAGINE MORE OSCAR CHARACTERS AS VAMPIRES 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

I'm obsessed with vampires... what if William Tell.

Me too 😭 I hope I did this one justice! <3

A Secret In Your Throat

Vampire!William Tell x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: You meet a man at the bar.

Warnings: swearing, kissing, oral sex, p in v sex, cream pie, blood, biting, gonna say a little dub con because of vampires hypnotizing powers, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1507

He’d seemed nice, non-threatening, when he asked if he could buy you a drink at the casino bar. He’d stayed a respectable distance, not crowding you in the slightest. And for some reason that made you want to get closer, caused you to shift your seat a few inches nearer. 

He’d asked soft questions, there was just something about his voice that made you want to float on the sound. He listened to your answers, hardly talking about himself and steering the conversation back to you again and again and again.

He said his name was William. Like the conqueror. It had made you laugh more than it should.

You didn’t notice the bartender give you both a knowing look when you invited William to your hotel room. You didn’t notice that when he lightly touched your waist you went giddy, light headed and dazed. You didn’t even notice how sharp his teeth were when you kissed him outside of your room’s door, too preoccupied with how he licked into your mouth and wrapped his arms around you. 

You didn’t notice the faint sheen to his eyes, how his skin was just a fraction too cold. Like he had been outside for hours in the dead of winter, not in all be in an air conditioned but well temperature regulated environment. 

He pulls your clothes off without allowing you to even unbutton any of his own, pushing you down onto your bed and burying his head between your thighs. 

You moan, arching up into his touch as he licks and sucks and groans. His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you spread as wide as possible for him as he devours his banquet. 

You gently pull at his hair with one hand, rocking against his face as he lightly guides your hips to buck. 

His name falls from your lips as pleasure twists deep within your stomach, making you lightheaded, dizzy. Even more so than before. Like you could just slip into a fevered sleep right then and there. You blink heavily, despite the way his tongue moves, pulling you higher and higher, you fight against it. Struggle with that blanket of slumber that is trying to drown you. 

You press him closer, pulling his right hand from your thigh and wrapping one leg over his back. He groans softly, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and surprise. 

His eyes catch yours, like a rabbit in a snare. You can’t look away, can’t breathe. Every single part of you is frozen, paralysed as he slowly moves his mouth, moving back the smallest fraction, but just enough for you to see the flash of oh so sharp canines. 

Your stomach drops. Adrenaline screaming in your ears. 

This wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. You try to move, your limbs stuck fast and useless, a nightmare turning your blood to stone. 

William bites down, his teeth sinking into the top of your mons while he tongue still flicks against your clit. 

You gasp, finally able to breathe, the pain cutting through the haze and quickly dissolving into a syrupy pleasure. 

“Fuck,” the word escapes your lips like a prayer, you should push him back, get the fuck out of there but instead your grip in his hair tightens as you hold him closer. 

That thick blanket of haze dissipates, a fog lifting as you moan and buck your hips, needing him. 

You miss the look in his eyes as you push your head back against the pillows, the flicker of surprise that is quickly followed by a growl.

He bites harder, letting his canines sink into your skin. Your blood is so sweet as it wells up and fills his mouth, mixing with your slick. The endorphins hit his tongue like treacle, tingling along his spine. He squeezes your leg posessively, swallowing and lapping desperately. 

His cock throbs in his trousers, begging to be freed. The sensation is almost alien, the need to fuck while feeding is one that hasn’t raised it’s head in such a long, long time. And now it is almost undeniable, screaming in his ear and pulling at his limbs.

His usual method was practised, practically an art form. A light seduction and back to the target's room. 

He’d make sure they’d come with his mouth on them, a small bite to just get a taste, and then when they fully fell under his spell they’d sleep and he’d feed from their thigh before sealing the wound. Enough to fill him for a week or so.

The victim would wake in the morning with a dry throat and headache, but nothing worse than a mild hangover. They’d remember him sucking and licking and coming and that was all. It would be a nice memory, a pleasant one. They got an orgasm and he got a meal. A fair exchange. 

But you weren’t sleeping. Weren’t falling further and further into that state of suggestion. 

He pulls his fangs free of your skin and sucks your clit into his mouth until you scream, legs shaking as you come hard. Pleasure washes over you in waves, sapping the energy from your muscles as it shots along your limbs. 

William snarls, sitting up quickly and undoing his belt and trousers just enough to pull his aching cock free. 

He presses one hand on your thigh, pushing himself in with little ceremony as your pussy is still fluttering and pulsing. 

You cry out, grabbing hold of his arms and the back of his neck to draw him closer, pull him deeper. 

He bends his body over yours, bearing his blood stained teeth as he grabs your jaw and thrusts inside. 

You gasp, tensing as he fills you, hitting so deep you can practically feel him in your heart. 

He stares at your eyes, trying to force the drowsiness to overwhelm you, but it just won’t come. 

“What are you?” He growls. 

You rock against him, sobbing as he presses so wonderfully deep. “What?” You bite your lip, your eyes rolling back as you move, needing him to fuck you in earnest. 

He leans forward, unable to stop himself as he kisses you roughly, licking into your mouth and moaning when you reciprocate, your come and blood on his tongue. 

You whimper, urging him to move and gasping when he finally starts to. He groans, letting his body buck automatically, sinking in and out in a long hypnotising roll of his hips. 

Your blood tastes human, your heartbeats under his hands as he squeezes your chest. Your words and cries are only truthful as you beg. 

It makes no sense. 

“Please, please, please,” you wrap your legs around him, matching his deep thrusts. The patch of dark curls between his legs brush against your clit with every rock, pushing you further and further into pleasure. 

“What do you want?” He growls, his forehead pressed against yours as he moans and runs his hands all over you, marvelling in how you writhe and lean closer. 

You sob, not really knowing what you want, not knowing how to put it into words. A deep craving settling low in your chest. 

You pull his hair, push his face into your neck. “I need you to,” you hiccup.

For the smallest second William thinks about refusing. About stopping himself.

You swallow, your heart thudding in your arteries.  “I think, I-”

He bites down harshly, whining as your blood spills into his mouth like honey. 

You scream, your back arching as the sensation flows along your body and pushes you over the edge with one swift hit. 

Pleasure pumps into your veins, spiralling and twisting, making you shake and writhe. You grip him tight, squeezing your legs and arms around his back as he pistons his hips and swallows your blood. 

Your body sings, your orgasm stretching on and on and he keeps feeding. 

William groans, thrusting twice before he spills deep inside, filling you with his cum as he drinks. He pulls his mouth away a fraction and slices his tongue against his teeth before licking his own blood over your wound. He’s drunk more than he normally would, but hardly more than a blood donation. 

Your skin tingles, tightens over the puncture marks before they heal over, leaving nothing more than a very faint scar. 

William stays close, lazily lapping the last drops from your neck as he softens inside you. He’s purring slightly, a small vibration echoing from his chest as the sweat cools on your skin and your breathing returns to normal. 

You lift your head up to look at him, with his dark, dark eyes. His teeth have retracted back, his face flushed and warm. 

He watches you slowly before leaning forward and kissing you softly, the purring in his chest growing when you reciprocate. 

“You’ll let me do that again, won’t you?” His voice is low, thick with want and you’re not sure if he mean fucking you or drinking from you, or both. 

But you nod anyway. 

Thank you for reading!

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[dameronshandholder]

Finally! More Brioni behind the scenes!

[dameronshandholder]

The way I would combust if Poe watched me eat a pizza 🥺🥺

Thankfully he’s firefighters so he can just put me out later!!!!

deep crust

firefighter!poe dameron x reader

happy poevember<3 here's this little alternate universe oneshot as a treat! it takes place not too long after the events of ashes to ashes, but you can read this even if you haven't read it (though it's probably more enjoyable if you have the whole context!)

summary: poe is utterly horrified to hear you've never tried a chicago pizza.

warnings: none<3

tags: poe being a drama queen, poe being absolutely whipped, fluff, kissing, just sweet stuff and moments tbh

word count: 1.2k

I gotta admit, my non american ass had heard of chicago style pizza but had never seen what it looked like before writing this so I realized it lowkey looks unappetizing (I'm so sorry chicago people)

heat me up masterlist

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

The topic comes around the first time you officially invite Poe to have dinner at your new apartment. He's properly appalled, his jaw dropping in shock as he lets go of his fork.

“You’ve never had a deep dish?”

You smirk, knowing it would draw this reaction from him – or from anyone you know here, as a matter of fact. You know from experience, and it being so amusing each time kinda participates in the fact you’re refraining yourself from trying those famous Chicago style pizzas.

You give him a shrug of your shoulder, indifferently keeping on chewing on your salad. 

“That’s fine. I’m doing fine living this way” you chuckle. 

“Oh but you’re missing out.” he shakes his head, his hand closing around his glass of wine. “You don’t know it but you’ll realize and you will hate yourself for not trying them sooner.”

He sips on his wine and you scoff, looking at him, at his handsome face bathed in the warm glow of your apartment light. “You’re so dramatic.”

He points a finger at you, a stern expression over his face. “This is a proportionate reaction.”

You huff out from your nose.

He shakes his head in feign disappointment. “I can’t believe I kissed someone’s mouth who’s never had Chicago pizza” he mutters under his breath, a laugh escaping him when you playfully swat him with the back of your hand. 

From there, Poe takes it as his personal mission to get you to try a Chicago pizza.

At first, it’s just a running joke. Every time he sees you, he manages to smoothly slip it into the conversation. 

“I still can’t believe you’ve never had a deep dish,” he’ll sigh, shaking his head in fake dismay as you roll your eyes. Or he will go off on mini monologues, exaggerating the “wonders of Chicago’s pizza crust” – as he calls it, then proceeding to babble out an elaborate description of the layers of cheese and sauce with a genuineness that borders on comical. 

And each time, you brush him off with a laugh, stubbornly sticking to your claim that you’ll get around to it eventually.

But Poe is nothing if not persistent. And the principle of making you try a Chicago pizza is also what would be considered a date with you.

One evening, you receive a text from him, a link revealing “the top ten pizzerias” in Chicago, even though he knows which one is his personal favorite. 

“It’s so you have multiple options to choose from. Whichever seems the most appealing to you” he attaches to the link.

You receive another text not long after. “I’m willing to drop my favorite place but I know the owner and he would be pissed if he learned that the man that put out his kitchen fire went to another pizzeria.”

You can’t help but laugh and text him you will think about it, but he still doesn’t let up, because he has not won until he's leading you arm in arm to a pizzeria. 

Finally, the very next morning, you receive another text from him while he’s on shift at the firehouse. “Even my crew thinks it’s crazy you haven’t had a real Chicago pizza. Don’t let us down here.”

You smile, shaking your head as you type back, “You’re relentless, Lieutenant”

Seconds later, his reply comes. “This is important. History is watching”

Characteristically dramatic. Then, a picture pops up. His face, mouth twisted into a small pout, and a something in his pleading eyes that makes you think he knows exactly what he’s doing because you’re quick to text back,

“Fine. Pick me up on Friday”

—

“I’m gonna show you the best in town” he assures you on Friday, his face lit up with excitement and a hand at your back as you get close to his pizzeria of choice. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You know, I have high expectations now” 

“Yeah, maybe I’m overselling it,” he laughs. “But trust me” he grins, pushing the door to the place open. 

Comes the time you’re served and you take your first sample of your awaited first Chicago deep dish experience. Poe has pushed his own plate aside, waiting for the conclusion, the denouement of that whole affair.

“So?” he asks after a while, forearms leaned against the table as he intently awaits your reaction. His teeth sink into his lip, gaze thoroughly focused on every micro expression of your face as you take your time chewing on your first bite.

You lightly clear your throat once you’re done, taking the time to wipe your mouth with a napkin. 

Poe impatiently shifts his position onto his seat, and you take a deep breath for the dramatic effect and impending suspense.

“Don’t get mad,” you start, pinching your lips. He stammers, his expression turning into a remorseful one at the idea you think he would truly be disappointed for you not liking it, his hand reaching for yours over the table. “–I should have listened to you. You weren’t lying” you smirk as you continue, witnessing his face clear up almost instantly, a startled laugh escaping his mouth. 

“You had me in the first half” he admits with a grin, leaning back in his seat. “See? I would never lie to you.”

You glance up at him when you savor your next bite, but he’s not eating – he’s just watching you. There's a soft look of satisfaction and an underlying sweetness in his gaze, and the expression is so open and so unmistakably Poe it makes your stomach flip. 

“You can breathe now,” you tease, lightly nudging his foot under the table. “Come on, eat before it’s cold” 

—

You keep on teasing him when you exit the restaurant, telling him that maybe his reaction was a bit too excessive and dramatic for something that is “just pizza.” Only he’s quick to exaggeratedly counter, telling you that “it’s not just pizza, it’s a life experience”

It’s cold outside as you walk side by side down the street, in a comfortable silence between the both of you. 

Your hands lightly brush and Poe's smoothly slides into yours, taking a glance over at you to make sure it is fine, and without even looking over at him, you squeeze his hand in silent assurance, firmly looking ahead of you as the feeling of his touch makes something flutter inside your chest. 

His hand is warm and his grip is steady against your fingers numb from the cold, and it feels undoubtedly right to be holding his hand.

When you finally reach your building, he pauses, still holding your hand as he faces you, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Can I kiss you again now that you’ve tried Chicago pizza?”

You laugh wholeheartedly, spontaneously nodding, a wide smile over your face as you lean into him. His lips are soft as they press against yours, his grip on your laced fingers tightening when you rest your other hand at the side of his face. 

“Goodnight,” he says quietly, the feel of him lingering as he pulls back with a soft smile.

“Goodnight, Poe.”

You feel hollow saying this, already missing his presence.

You only let him go after kissing him again.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

poe dameron taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

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@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly 

@pigeonmama @c-losur3

[dameronshandholder]

ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? THIS IS SO FREAKING CUTE 🥺🥺

I wouldn’t mind getting married in a living room at all if it means having Santiago 🥹🥹🥹🥹

say yes?

santiago garcia x reader

summary: the first time he asks, you say no. the next few times become a game to him.

warnings: refused proposal, angst (with a good ending), mentions of the operation from the movie, tom is mentioned like once or twice (yes this counts as a warning), brief mentions of ptsd and unhealthy ways to cope with it (drinking), a tiny smut scene

tags: gn!reader, fluff, santi being silly, the first few scenes are really angsty but I promise it mainly gets silly and cute after that!!

please mind that for artistic reasons (lmao), the first few scenes are not following a linear chronology (I wanted to point that out in case it gets confusing)

word count: 3k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

The tip of your fingers drum nervously against the counter; the sound is awful mixed with the aggressive rumbling of the coffee machine. Like every other morning, you watch the birds outside the kitchen window, pecking through the bowl of mixed seeds, and like every other morning, you feel Santiago’s hand gently resting over your lower stomach as the prickle of his stubble scratches your cheek when he kisses it.

You hear him pull the stool to sit at the bar table, like every other morning, and like every other morning, you give him the coffee you just made – though hesitantly, this time – before you make yourself one.

And just like every other morning, he checks on his phone as he waits for his coffee to cool down, the smoke curling up in the air, swirls visible through the ray of sunshine piercing through the kitchen.

You gaze at him, at the way he scrolls through the news page on his phone, your stomach churning at the fact you’re both trying so hard to act like yesterday was an evening like every other one and like this morning is the natural follow up of a perfectly normal situation.

Then, all you can hear is the coffee machine, your coffee pouring and the birds outside, chirping.

“Are we gonna act like nothing happened?” 

He looks up from his phone, to you. 

“Isn’t that what you want?” he quirks an eyebrow at you, his morning voice deep and raspy.

You huff out a small breath through your nose. “No” the coffee machine stops, but you remain facing Santiago. “I want things to be clear between us.”

He puts his phone down onto the counter, with a small chuckle as both of his hands rub the sleep off of his face. “You made things clear sweetheart.”

—

Your body was curled at the edge of your side, your arm hanging off the bed, fingers brushing the cool floor. Sleep had been hard to find, for the both of you; you felt Santiago move behind you across the bed, turning to face the opposite direction. 

How could either of you possibly sleep tonight?

Your heart ached inside your chest, your mind full and feeling like your head was about to explode, so you couldn’t even imagine how he must feel.

“Santi,” your voice was weak, quieter than you had anticipated. 

He hummed softly in response, just enough to let you know he was listening. 

You waited an instant. It all burned your tongue, everything you could possibly say to him.

“I love you” you reminded him, as if innocently trying to press a bandaid over the wide crack you had managed to create earlier. It felt stupid. You knew this wouldn’t fix the broken pieces.

Maybe it was even making things worse.

Santiago could hear the beating of his own heart reverberating through his ears; for you, the room was dead silent, and it remained like this for what seemed to be an eternity, during which you considered leaving the bedroom to take a breath outside, before he finally said, 

“I know.”

—

The ride back home had been oppressively quiet. Santiago's playlist, though playing at the lowest volume, had somehow managed to mingle with the shitload of thoughts running through your mind, and the rhythmic drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel felt like a desperate attempt to ease the sickening tension between the both of you and to make it feel like it all wasn’t awfully awkward.

Back at your shared home, you watched as he slid his jacket over the coat rack like he was on autopilot before you followed, hanging yours beside his. 

You glanced at him as he mindlessly tossed his cap over the couch. It felt like the right moment to address the elephant in the room – though you weren't truly sure there was a right moment to talk about this.

“Santi I–” you started, words dying in your throat, unsure where you were even going. He turned and sat against the back of the couch, knowing where the conversation was headed, his hands shoving into his pockets. “It’s alright,” he said quietly, his voice low, resigned. “You don’t have to explain anything. I get it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to marry you.” you affirmed. His gaze hardened, his lips pressing into a tight line as he looked at you. Out of all the things you could say, he hadn’t anticipated this. 

You could distinctly see the hurt and confusion in his flickering eyes. “Then what is this? Because that’s sure as hell what it felt like tonight.” 

You hated this. Hated to see him ache, knowing it was all your fault. Hated to hear the self defensive sarcasm in his voice – hated to see his conflicted furrowed brow. “It's just– not the right time.” you explained. You took a breath, stepping towards him, getting closer, but not too much. You could already see the frustration building up inside him, you didn’t want him to feel cornered.

“You don't know what you're doing. You're still processing what happened in South America” 

It had only been a month; he was still having nightmares, was still dissociating at random times, was still pouring himself a glass at random times of the day, more often than he should.

You knew you were right. You wondered if he thought you were. 

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, and you talked again when you started to see the defensiveness, the way his mouth gaped slightly as he searched for his words.

“You’re not doing this for us. You’re doing this for you, because you’re scared. You’re scared of things slipping away from you, so you jump head first into things to feel like you have control over your life. That’s what this proposal felt like” 

He rubbed the stubble of his chin, nodding, not like he understood or agreed, like he acknowledged what you were saying. His hand buried in his jeans pocket again. "You think this is just because of what happened? I’ve been sure about this for a long time. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t." his eyes darkened, his jaw working as he processed the conversation. “You think I don’t mean it.” he said quietly, more of a statement than a question.

“I'm not sure,” you pinched your lips, stepping towards him, desperate to make him understand. “I mean, I know you mean it. I know. But Santi… Ever since you came back–” you shook your head. His jaw tightened, the crease of his brows becoming more visible. “You’re trying to hold on to something, to control something, because so much of what happened out there was out of your hands. That proposal– it felt like a reaction to everything, like you’re trying to ground yourself, to finally have control over something in your life.”

He shook his head, a small sigh leaving his mouth. “It wasn’t. I just didn’t want to waste any more time.” he nodded, a pleading look over his face. Your heart clenched inside your chest. “I know it may seem rushed after what happened, with Tom and everything, but–” he stopped when he saw you wince. “I want to make the most of my life. With you”

The confession should make you feel all giddy, just like the proposal was supposed to. It just makes your heart tighten inside your chest.

“So, I’m right.” you raised your eyebrows at the way he just proved your point. “You’re doing this because of the operation.” 

You sighed with a shake of your head, your hand trying to rub away the ache lodged inside your skull. “So no, I don’t want to marry you out of emergency. Ask me again when we have it all sorted out, and I’ll say yes”

He nodded, biting his tongue. He knew he didn't have room to talk back on this, because he knew you were probably right.

“Jesus, Santi” you sighed, shaking your head once again, before you disappeared through the hallway. 

—

“I don’t want you to feel like shit over this,” you say, turning away to pick up your coffee. His lips tighten into a sheepish smile before he brings his own cup to his mouth. 

A soft frown grows over his face as he points a finger at you, his mouth still full. “So, next time,” he starts, having barely finished swallowing his sip. “Bigger ring, better speech, delivery?” he asks teasingly, testing the waters. 

You huff out a small, genuine laugh, relieved he’s taking it lightly, and an easy smile grows over his face when he sees yours.

You lean in against the counter, onto your forearms, humming in reflection. 

“Ring is perfect. Speech, delivery… I’d say save your talent in smoothness for our vows” you grin.

“Okay,” he chuckles, “So we're really getting married at some point” he grins, sliding his hand into yours.

“At some point,” you shrug playfully, gently squeezing his hand. “It just has to be the right time” you nod, more serious now.

“The right time…” he hums pensively, nodding slowly.

—

It starts rather innocently, at first, before it becomes a silly little game to him. 

The tension regarding the proposal has gradually eased between the both of you, and you have managed to find your regular dynamic again, not needing to sleep on opposite edges of your shared bed anymore.

It happens for the first time two weeks after the proposal, while you are getting ready to go to work; you’re almost done brushing your teeth, Santiago standing by your side doing the same, when he asks, out of the blue, “Would this be the right time?”

You frown at his reflection in the mirror, unsure what he means, leaning above the sink to spit out your foaming toothpaste. 

“What?” you ask, turning to him – his toothbrush is hanging from his mouth, his hand holding an open ring box. You freeze, once again, the same way you did the first time. 

“Marry me?” he asks, the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth moving as he speaks, his toothpaste-full mouth making the question almost unintelligible. You would think he’s being serious if he didn’t go back to brushing his teeth with his free hand as soon as he asked the question, and if he didn’t immediately follow into breaking into a laugh, rushing to empty his mouth full of toothpaste in the sink. 

“Very funny,” you sigh, your heart still thumping inside your chest as you watch him rinse his mouth.

“Oh you should have seen your face, babe” he chuckles facing you again, a playful grin plastered over his face. 

“Too bad you will never know my answer to the question,” you tease. He huffs out a laugh, wiping away the bit of dry toothpaste in the corner of your mouth before he kisses you. 

The next time it happens is more spontaneous, less staged on his part and more subtle – though still somewhat gently pushy. 

You’re trying to assemble a shelf, reading over and over again the instruction manual that might as well be written in another language; Santiago’s sighing as he checks every side and angle of the half built piece of furniture, trying to figure out where it went wrong, when he confidently affirms, “If we can get through this, I think we can go through marriage.”

And from there, it goes on, and on. 

It's little jokes about it thrown randomly through the weeks, making you playfully hit his chest with the back of your hand.

It's him getting on one knee, looking up at you with soft eyes, before he eventually just ends up tying his shoe.

It's him opening the ring box at the most random situations.

It all gets so frequent you don’t even get surprised when he kneels to grab something from the shelf when you're out for groceries, then shifting to one knee and dramatically pulling the ring box out of his jacket to present it to you.

“Santi, c’mon, your knees!” you urge him up, offering your hand for help, giggling like a teenager as you look around making sure no one actually thinks he's serious. He laughs and gets up, putting the item he was originally grabbing in the cart. “Are you really carrying that ring everywhere with you?” you scold him, pulling on his arm as you cling to him.

He shrugs. “You never know when it might happen,” he grins playfully.

He's not, in the slightest, kidding. He even does it in the middle of sex once.

He's under you, his grip hot and firm over your hips as you roll against his lap, small gasps leaving your lips swollen from kissing; he pulls your upper body down to his, silencing your desperate moans by licking into your mouth as he fucks up into you, one hand pressed against your back, the other gripping your side. 

His hand comes to rest at your neck once he pulls away. “If this doesn’t make you wanna marry me, I don’t know what will” he breathes out, reaching to his bedside table to grab the small box resting there.

You grip his wrist. “Don’t do that to me. You know I’d say yes to anything right now” you whine, drawing a huffed laugh out of him. “You’re not playing fair”

He laughs into your neck, planting a kiss there.

Spring quickly fades into summer, so it gets more and more frequent for you and Santiago to spend your weekend evenings at the boys’; it is at Will’s place this time, so like each time you’re there, they play poker, and because Benny is a sore loser, he ends up hanging out with you by the firepit, further away from the group. 

“So, are you actually gonna say yes one day?” Benny asks, handing you your glass refill, pulling the empty chair by your side to sit down next to you.

You smile, amused as you take your glass from Benny’s hand. You know the subject is no secret to anyone, but it still manages to make your heart leap inside your chest each time someone mentions it.

“It would require him to actually ask” you say with a tilt of the head before you take a sip of your drink.

Benny hums thoughtfully. 

There’s a silence between you before you can hear a sudden commotion of laughs further away and Frankie’s familiar bragging sneer, breaking the prior focused mood of their poker table. You smile as you watch them, your attention drifting back to Benny when he nudges you with his bottle of beer. “You know, for as long as I’ve known Pope, he’s always had commitment issues.” he nods, a small scoff breaking through. “Could rarely keep a girlfriend long enough for us to see her twice. Hell, you should see how many girls he’s had casual sex with, it’s–” 

“Okay Benny, you don’t have to–” you scoff, holding a hand up to stop him.

“I know, I know, it’s not something you wanna hear” he laughs, shaking his head. 

“What I mean is if the Santiago Garcia I know is asking you to marry him, he means it.” he shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.

“I know,” you mutter casually, like he just said the most banal thing ever when in reality your stomach flutters at Benny’s words and you suddenly feel like a teenager with a crush. 

The night goes on and quiets down until eventually, everyone ends up leaving or going to bed; Will offered his sofa bed for you and Santiago to sleep on, and you both agreed to accept, admitting you were too tired to drive back home. 

“So how many games did you win?” you ask him, sliding underneath the thin cover to press yourself against him. 

He chuckles, extending his arm so you can slot close to him. “Only one” 

“You suck”

He grins at your teasing. “I’ll never be worse than Benny” 

You chuckle, pressing your lips against his stubbled cheek. His hand slides down your back, pulling you even closer against him before he slips it underneath your shirt, his thumb dragging back and forth against your bare skin. 

Your mouths meet when his other hand cups your face, his broad hands roaming onto your sides and back when you fully lie over him, the kiss deepening as his tongue slips into your mouth and you start full on making out; you would be fucked if anyone came by the living room to use the bathroom, but either of you could care less.

“Hm, I could ask you to marry me right now” he hums, barely pulling away from your lips; he’s still so close, so close that you can feel him smile. You chuckle, your hand burying into the short curls at the side of his head. “No, I mean it,” he affirms in a serious whisper, adjusting his position under you. “Look, I’m done joking. Marry me”

You back away, enough to be able to read his expression. 

Something in his eyes tells you he might be serious, this time. “Really?”

He nods. “Yes. Fuck, I don’t even have the ring right now.”

You grin softly, shifting to rest by his side again. “You’re good. You’re really good.” you prop yourself onto your elbow, your other hand resting against his chest. “Because you’ve done it so many times throughout literally months and I’m actually surprised now that you’re asking for real” he smiles at that, his hand resting over yours. 

“You know, I’m still waiting for my answer” he grins. 

You shrug playfully. “Eh, you don’t have any ring, so I don’t know–” you tease, stopping when he rolls over you and presses his mouth to yours. You kiss him back, your hands burying into his hair again. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

He smiles contentedly, his eyes softly roaming over your face.

“I meant it the first time I asked” he admits, pinching his lips into a small smile. You mirror it, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone.

“But I get why you said no. And you were right to. But it’s kinda crazy that it’s now happening in Will’s living room” he snorts up a laugh, and you burst out laughing, before you quiet yourself with the palm of your hand against your mouth.

“I know, right? But it could have been at Walmart, so”

He chokes up a laugh, burying his face against your chest. 

“Yeah, it could have been at Walmart.”

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

triple frontier taglist:

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @alexxavicry 

@grxywindd @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @luxisluxurious @dowbastan 

@unear7hly @pigeonmama @mari-thesimp

& @missdictatorme :p

[dameronshandholder]

I really have no words since everything was perfect 🥹🥹🥹🥹

after hours

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: he's here again, like so many times before, standing in your living room in the middle of the night; you're not sure you can do this again, but he needs you to.

warnings: reader has trauma and ptsd, mentions of death, injuries and a disastrous mission

tags: spiderperson!reader, gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, ?? to ?? honestly but they have history, fluff, it ends well!

word count: 1.2k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

He does his best not to look at your apartment, not to check if the soft glow of your bedroom light is on like it is when you can’t sleep at night. But just the thought, the subconscious reminder that he shouldn’t check up on you is enough to make him take a glance at your building, because when it comes to you, he has no inner restraint.

The dim, warm light of your bedroom is on, making it the only lit up square frame of the dark grid of your building. He remembers this kind of night with you all too well; the way you would toss and turn beside him in the bed, the way he would pull you flush against him with a grunt because your agitation would slightly annoy him, the way you would instantly relax into his hold as he pressed sleepy kisses to your hair. 

You know what it’s about when you hear a thud outside of your bedroom, in your living room. Your eyes close with a sigh that comes deep from your chest, and your hands instinctively ball into fists out of sheer frustration. You do consider not moving, just to see if he’s going to do anything, if he’s going to knock on your bedroom door or something like he’s even supposed to be there in the first place– you spare yourself of that stupid stunt and drag yourself out of bed to join your living room, where he’s leaning against the wall he just climbed to enter your apartment. 

“You gotta stop this,” you sigh. “You have to stop climbing up my window” you shake your head in disbelief. He shoots you a weak apologetic smile, the same every time he does that, one that tells you he’s not really sorry.

“What the hell are you doing here this time? it’s fucking… three, Miguel. You can’t keep doing this”

“Four”

“Okay” you huff out in a soft fazed chuckle. “That doesn’t answer my question”

He stands way taller than you, and even though he should seem intimidating from this height, his sagging shoulders attest of the gloom equally painted over his face.

“I knew you were awake” he starts. 

He blinks, runs a hand over his face. You stare at him intently, expecting anything to come your way. “I need you to come back to the society”

You shake your head without thinking about it twice. “No– you know I’m not doing this anymore” you scoff, like he just said the stupidest thing ever. 

“I know” he holds a hand up, as if to stop the flood of resistance he expects from you. “We need you, though– really”

“No,” you half laugh. It takes a split second for you to get serious again. “This is it? I can go back to bed?”

Miguel sighs. “Look, I know it traumatized you– all of it. But,” 

He knew. Of course he knew. He was the one who dug through the debris and pulled you out, after all. He was the one who found you, broken and barely breathing, and carried you to safety. He saw what it did to you—how the aftermath of the battle left you shattered, both physically and mentally.

You scoff, cutting him off. “Really? You think so? You think it traumatized me to kill dozens of innocent people and almost myself because of something I thought I could take care of alone and that ended up being one big fucking disaster?” 

Miguel sighs, shaking his head.

“What did you expect Miguel? Did you expect you would come here and I’d say yes?”

“No, but maybe if you let me talk you would know what I want” he bows his head, a stern expression over his face. He steps closer to you when he sees you might finally be willing to leave him room to talk, your guard ever so slowly starting to drop. “I know everything that happened was hard on you and I know you were hard on yourself too. But I also know you were good at what you were doing, despite what you may think. The spider society seriously took a toll when you decided to leave” he nods, his gaze on you a little warmer than it is to anyone else.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes wearily. “Miguel, don’t–”

“I am not trying to convince you to come back. Not this way at least” a sense of hope courses through him when he sees the soft frown appearing over your face. “We need you for strategies. You always had great plan ideas– You’d be staying at headquarters. No field.”

You huff out a breath and walk around him to sit on your couch. 

He watches you at first, waiting for anything to happen, for any response from you. He sits down next to you, huffing out a breath when you don’t say anything, your forearms resting over your knees like you're trying to digest the offer.

His hand comes to rest over your back, and his mouth opens slightly before he decides to talk.

“And I miss having lunch with you in my office” he grins, trying to lighten the mood even though it’s usually clearly not his thing.

You glance at him and you let out a quiet scoff.

“Yeah, well” you murmur, trying to rub the tiredness off your eyes. “I’m not sure– I’m not sure coming back there is such a good idea”

His hand slides lower, gently coming to rest at the small of your back, and even though you should feel uncomfortable and awkward considering how far things have drifted between you, the gesture feels strangely comforting, strangely familiar.

“I’m not just doing this for the professional part of this, you know” he mutters. “I meant it. I miss you. I miss splitting nights between my universe and yours. I miss you scolding me when I start to lose my mind working too much”

A weak smile tugs at your lips, nostalgia cutting through you as you think about it all. You lean your side against him, your head coming to rest over his shoulder just the way it used to. “I'm sorry I broke up with you.”

Miguel lets out a soft sigh, pulling you closer to him. “I get it. You needed your time alone.”

You quietly hum in response. 

“Look,” you say after a moment. “I’m not against the idea of working at the society again. Just– don’t ask me to go on missions. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to have to think or talk about it ever again– Everything that happened.”

Miguel nods, his jaw clenching slightly as he looks at your face. “You don’t have to. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

A small appreciative smile creeps up your face, and his hand cups the back of your head. His touch is steady and reassuring, and for the first time in a long while, you manage to feel safe again.

“If I say yes, do you promise me you won’t climb up my window in the middle of the night again? I grew used to it but you have no idea how terrifying it can get to hear someone break in the middle of the night”

He snorts up a genuine laugh and presses his mouth against your temple.

“I promise.”

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

miguel taglist: @bubuslutty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry

@jakecockley @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt

@roxannarichie @vicolangelo @amb3rrz @inluvvwithme @friedwings

@chaotic-neon-sign @foxglove-grove @ilovemiguelohara @pandq707 @gobblegluckgluckgod

@weasleybuns @I-like-eating-leaves @doudou00125 @luxisluxurious @himesuedi

@daisydark @koyukiki @Tyranicalsaurusrex @violet-19999 @melaisnthere

@dowbastan @hammerhead96 @unear7hly @pigeonmama @c-losur3

[dameronshandholder]

THE YEARNING IS EVERYTHING 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

This entire fic has me SCREAMING into my pillow 🤤🤤🤤🤤

One image to describe it all:

You're Safe With Me

Poe Dameron x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 6: Sex Work

Summary: Poe gets captured on a mission and you're the closest to his last location.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

This prompt was super difficult and I have kind of just done something that vaguely relates to it.

Warnings: resistance!reader, bad guy here is VERY gross, imprisonment, slavery, implied future sex slave, kissing, sex pollen, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2131

When you’d been told that Poe had run into trouble during a supply run on Tel’Ra you’d expected jail, the first order, him hiding up somewhere with a blaster wound. 

You had not been expecting… this. 

You’d been the closest to the planet and had found the traders quickly when you landed. Only to find out that there had been a miscommunication somewhere. They had thought Poe was the payment, not the negotiator. 

Fucking hell.

You’d spend the better part of the last thirteen manic hours tracking him down, going from trader to trader until you got here, a meeting with the quadrant Tsar. 

He was a large Terlion, powerful in his golden armour. He’d greeted you in his native tongue, and you knew enough about the culture of Tel’Ra to reply in basic. If you even said one word in the Tsar’s language then that was all he would speak, and everything would get very messy. 

“This… humanoid,” the Tsar formed the word slowly, “He is yours?” 

You nod and he pauses.

“I paid good coin for him.”

“So you admit he’s here?” You keep your tone even and calm. 

The Tsar smiles and gestures to one of his guards, speaking in Krazel. You understand enough of the language to understand that they’re bringing Poe here. 

Relief floods your veins, that was something at least. 

“The traders had no right to sell him to you.” You repeat. 

“But a trade was made, wasn’t it? You received goods for him?” The Tsar smiles.

“The trade was for Keseun. Not him.” You swallow, the guards in the room make your skin crawl, there were too many. Even if they had been troopers there was no way you could get out of an altercation alive, besides Terlions were large, physically powerful. One alone could snap you in half with two fingers. 

You keep your chin held high, they respected confidence, straightforwardness. They wouldn’t attack unless you made a faux pas. 

The resistance needed them to stay outwardly neutral to the rebellion. The planet was no fan of the first order, but would trade with anyone that showed respect. 

You couldn’t blow this. 

“Keseun.” The Tsar repeats, stroking his chin. 

“I would offer you the same, for this inconvenience.” 

He nods slightly, thinking when the door opens and Poe is pushed into the room.

You try your very best to hide the shock on your face.

You’d assumed that he had been sold as a labourer, or a servant. Not as… not as a… 

Your gaze hinges on his scantily clad form, soft thin fabrics and lace and dripped in gold jewellery. 

Your mouth dries as heat runs along your skin. That’s when you notice his expression, the relief plasters all over his face as he sees you. 

You shake your head ever so slightly, trying to clear your not so pure thoughts, and chastising yourself. 

“This is the humanoid?” The Tsar asks, beckoning with his hand. The guard pushes Poe forward to him. 

He stumbles slightly, and you see the gold chains are not just for decoration. 

“Yes.” You nod. 

Now that he’s closer you can see the thin gold bar across his lips, the chain connecting around the back of his head, keeping his mouth closed.

The Tsar touches Poe’s cheek, grabbing hold of the back of his neck when he struggles and flinches away. He chuckles. “He is a spirited one.” He pulls Poe closer, forcing him into his lap and you stand, anger blazing through your veins. 

The guards around you tense, but you keep your hands open and away from your weapons.

The Tsar laughs again, waving his hand and the guards relax. 

Poe looks at you imploringly, at first you think he is begging for your help. But then you realise he is pleading for you to leave, for you to not get hurt for the sake of him. 

“He has quickly become my favourite.” The Tsar grumbles, holding Poe to him, “I will enjoy taking-”

“He is mine.” You snarl, taking a step forward. Oh, this was risky, far too risky, but you don’t know how else to play this. 

The Tsar raises an eyebrow, amused “Yours?” 

“Mine.” You swallow, you might as well go the whole distance now. “My mate. Mine.” 

Poe gives you a confused look as the Tsar freezes, his fingers digging into Poe’s side. This was a faux in Terlion culture, this had implications for the Tsar. 

“Your mate.” He repeats and you nod. 

“My mate.”

“You did not say this before, why?” There’s anger in his voice. 

“I did not want to cause embarrassment over a mistake, however, you touching him and flaunting,” you shake your head, injecting as much rage into your voice as you can to cover the panic. “I cannot stand for it.” 

The Tsar’s grip loosens on Poe, but there is fury burning in his gaze. “Humanoids… lie.”

“I am not lying about this-”

“I have no way of knowing if you are other than your word. Which is worth little.” 

You clench your jaw to stop it shaking. 

“If he is… yours. Then he would pass the test of Seva. He would resist the touch of anyone but you.”

You swallow. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. You’d heard of Seva, a plant extract that caused extreme arousal that was banned in half of the galaxy and highly regulated in the other. It had been used in the past to prove the loyalty of royalty’s romantic partners. If someone took it and were truly devoted to their spouse then they would only accept the affections of that person while under the influence. But if they weren’t… well, anyone’s touch would do.

You and Poe weren’t together. This was going to end very, very badly. 

“I am insulted that-” You try to argue, but the Tsar cuts you off. 

“The test will be taken, and if he goes to you then you may take him from here without payment,” he pauses, “as I will deal with the traders myself, however if he doesn’t crave only your touch, I will keep him and wear your skin as a trophy and nail your tongue to the wall as a warning to other humanoid liars.” 

Somehow you keep his gaze. “Very well.” 

You were going to be sick. There had to be something, some way out of this. You rack your mind, searching for anything, anything.

A servant brings an ornate pot to the Tsar, bowing as they take off the lid and use a golden spoon to measure a serving of the fine seeds. 

The Tsar undoes one of the chains at the back of Poe’s head, finally allowing him to open his mouth. He looks at you, about to say your name. 

“It’s alright.” Your voice is soft, even. Somehow sure of itself even if nothing else about you is. 

He keeps his shining eyes fixed on you as he opens his mouth and swallows the seeds when offered. 

The servant steps back, retreating and the Tsar smiles. 

“It will only take a few moments, Seva is strong on humanoids.” He muses, “If he is not yours as you say, I will claim him now to relieve him of its effects.” 

Poe shivers, blinking hard. Heat starts to run along his skin, first like a gentle breeze, a caress that is not unwanted. 

The Tsar strokes his back amused as Poe shakes his head, trying to clear his quickly clouding vision. 

The touch is… nice. Soothing almost. Poe leans back into it, sighing. He needed to do something, there was something he was trying to remember… but his thoughts just wouldn’t hold. Would slip out of his grasp the second he tries to focus. 

A weight settles in his stomach, his muscles clenching. He wanted…

The Tsar laughs as Poe sighs, pushing back as he runs the tips of his fingers along his skin. Triumph in his eyes. He takes Poe’s chin and turns him towards himself.

Poe goes with the touch, lightheaded and… he freezes, pain spikes into his chest. There’s a pause, a look of horror on his face before he practically throws himself off the Tsar, and scrambles back. He shakes his head rapidly, his eyes wild and glazed. 

The Tsar frowned, about to speak. 

“Poe!” You rush forward, panic gripping your chest. “Are you a-”

The second he sees you, relief rushes into his mind, presses solidly into his bones. He grabs hold of you, his skin hot and sweaty, “Baby, baby, baby,” he slurs, practically sobbing as you help him to his feet. Which is easier said than done.

He presses his body against you, whining the second there is a fraction of space. 

“Poe, it’s okay,” You soothe, trying to keep him upright. 

He buries his face into your neck, shivering and breathing hard. “It hurts.” He whimpers and you hold him tighter. 

The Tsar drops to his knees, “A great insult has been cast to you by myself.” The guards all fall to their knees as well.

“I-” Your own gasp cuts you off as Poe kisses your neck, lightly sucking on your skin as he grinds his very obvious erection against your leg.

“I will sort this disservice with the traders, please, I offer any future trades to go directly through me and my house to ensure its standards.”  

“Thank you,” you manage to get out, as you grip Poe’s wrists to stop him from undressing you then and there. “There is no ill will, please let me leave you with Keseun as a sign of my appreciation.” 

The Tsar nods deeply, “I will accept, and will repay you for your generosity in the future.” 

Poe wriggles one hand free, pushing his fingers under your shirt.

“I, thank you,” you bow your head, “I need to be getting back to my ship and-”

Poe kisses your cheek, nipping lightly at your jaw as he tries to press his lips to yours. 

“Please,” The Tsar gestures to the side, “Let me show you our hospitality, at least while the effects are still strong in your mate.” 

You want to refuse, you want to get the hell out of there. But there’s no way you can get Poe to your ship like this. 

You nod and are quickly guided to a lavishly decorated room. You barely get the chance to thank the servant before Poe’s tongue is in your mouth. 

It’s dizzying, desperate the way he moves against you, how his hands slide and tug at your clothing. He pushes you back, up against the door.

“Poe– Poe,” You manage to pull yourself away, to resist getting caught up in his warmth. You have no idea how this worked out, maybe Poe had gotten himself together for long enough to throw himself away from the Tsar and to you? 

“You okay?” You hold his cheeks, stroking his feverish skin. 

“Need you,” he moans, his eyes soft and dilated. 

“I’m so sorry.” You mutter. God, you had to find something, do something, knock him out for a few hours until his body worked this out of its system. 

“Why? Why? You saved me.” He bites his lip, rubbing his hips against yours. 

“Hey, hey, let’s see if we can-”

“I love you, you know that?” 

You freeze, your mind blanking out for a second.

“Ever since Heiran. Ever since then, I knew it, I love you.”

“Poe, you’re not thinking straight, the, the S-”

“I should have kissed you on Heiran,” he closes his eyes, pressing his face into your hands and sighing. His skin is burning, desperate for the relief of your touch. “I should have kissed you after, I was scared. Scared you’d reject me…” His eyes are shining when they open, “But you can, you can say no. I won’t…”

He lets out the sweetest sob when you lightly kiss him, moaning into your mouth as you wrap your arms around him and pull him close.  

“I should have kissed you on Heiran,” you whisper, “I wanted to.”

He groans, rocking lightly against your legs to take the edge off the deep ache in his stomach. “I…” He bites his lip, it hurts. The weight is so much, too much. All consuming now that he knows you want him to. 

“Here, it’s okay,” you turn him around so that his back is flush with your chest. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” You kiss his temple, his skin feverish and sweaty as you slide your hand under the fabric around his waist.

He moans, grabbing hold of you desperately as your fingers touch his velvety length. 

“It’s okay.” You soothe as you start to stroke him in earnest. “You’re safe with me.”

Thank you for reading!

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Third In Line

Steven Grant x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 10: Anal

Summary: Steven's a little frustrated at being third.

A/N: This was meant to be for kinktober 2023 (I'm so sorry). Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

Warnings: kissing, swearing, a bit fo showing off, anal(afab! receiving), please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1123

It was petty really. Steven knew it was.

But he just couldn’t help himself, couldn’t let go of it, couldn’t stop the thought from burrowing in and festering. 

It would jump to the forefront of his mind every now and then, dancing disgustingly for his attention. He tried not to let it bother him. He really did. 

Because it was petty. Childish. Trivial. Insignificant. 

And still it caught on his mind like a constant hangnail. 

Marc had been the first to kiss you, taste you, feel the pleasure of your mouth. That was fine.

Jake had been the first to sleep with you, to wake up in the morning with you naked in his arms. That was fine too.

Steven had been the first to meet you. He tried to console himself with that, knew it was so stupid to even care about who did what first and when. Especially when you kissed him and held him and loved him just as much.

But still. It got under his skin. 

He had let it slip by accident. Mainly grumbling to himself as he moved some of Marc’s fantasy baseball notes out of his way. He had his own desk to leave his stuff on. And you’d heard, just caught the tail end. 

His face had burned with enough intensity when you’d questioned him that for a not so brief moment, he seriously considered just opening the lid of Gus’s tank and shoving his head in there. 

It would have certainly changed the direction of the conversation at least. 

Instead, however, he simply repeated his mumbles as quickly and quietly as he could while looking at his hands. It was silly. It was stupid. He shouldn’t be jealous. You’d think he was an idiot-

You smiled mischievously. “Well, there is something I haven’t done with either of them that we could do?” 

Steven’s gulp had been audible. 

And that’s how it had started.

You hadn’t done anal before. 

It had taken a little bit of forethought and planning, using toys even before Steven was able to get the smallest of his thick fingers inside of you. Working over a few weeks until he was satisfied that he wouldn’t hurt you. (You’d been more than willing for him to try in half the time.) 

But now that he was inside you, all his previous thoughts and worries had turned into liquid mush. 

You were face down, ass up on the bed, clutching one pillow to your chest while two others propped up your hips. 

Steven groaned, biting his teeth together to try to keep a hold on himself. “You okay, love?” His voice was strained, breaking at the end. 

You nod, wiggling a little as he bottoms out. “Yes.” 

He huffs through his nose as you move, a small whispered “fuck,” slipping passed his lips.

“Does it feel okay?” 

“It feels bloody marvellous, I,” he groans again, cutting himself off as he pulls out a fraction and then slides back in. “How does it feel for you?” 

“Full,” you moan softly as he moves. It’s a different sensation, heavy in the base of your spine. But his cock seems to push from the inside, rubbing against your vaginal wall and pressing your hips into the pillow. 

With every pull and push your clit draaags against the cotton, twisting the knot of pleasure tighter and tighter in your stomach. 

“But good.” You moan and Steven gulps. 

He keeps his hands on your hips, rocking gently, moving out slightly further with each thrust. 

He’d buried his face between your legs for what felt like hours beforehand, teasing and teasing until you were right on the edge and practically begging him, with tears in your eyes, to let you come. 

Not that he did. But you’d both agreed on that before you’d started.

Slick gushed from your core, mixing with the copious amounts of lube Steven had used. It trickled down and pooled onto the pillow below you. 

You moan, you’re so highly strung, so close to coming it is almost painful. 

“Steven, please.” 

He picks up his pace slightly. Not enough. “I don’t want to hurt you, love.” He tries to keep his voice even, calm, normal. But he’s so close to losing control and rutting into you like a wild animal. 

You arch your back, rocking to meet his thrusts a little harder.

“Fuck.” He swallows, his fingers digging into your skin. “You feel so, so good. I…” He bites his lip as you squeeze around him. “Tha-thank you for letting me.” His voice raises at the end, his eyes half closed as he starts to let his body overpower his mind. 

You moan, practically drowning in pleasure as he thrusts, still so carefully, but firmer this time. Your clit throbs as it rubs deliciously on the pillow, the sensations rupturing through you as pleasure assaults you from both sides. 

“I’m gonna,” you manage to sob, “Steven, you can let them see.”

He groans, leaning forward a fraction and having to brace one hand on the mattress as he bucks faster, nearing his peak. “Fuck, thank you, thank you,” he kisses your shoulder, nipping lightly at your neck. 

Swears fall out of your mouth, punched from your lips with every thrust. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, burning as liquid heat spreads higher and higher. 

Steven manages to pull at the back of his mind, hooking into their shared space just enough to raise Marc and Jake’s attention. 

‘What’s wrong?’ ‘You okay?’

It takes them a moment to catch up. 

‘Fuck.’ Jake’s voice echoes close to Steven’s ear as Marc groans.

“Steven,” You whine, your muscles tensing, rocking back onto his throbbing cock with all the strength you have. “Please!”

‘Fuck.’ ‘Shit.’

A small smile tugs at Steven’s lips, he lets them watch, lets them feel the ghost of sensation. And then your sharp cry overtakes any other thought, you squeeze around him, so tight he is blinded by it. 

Pleasure snaps through you, pulling you down and swallowing you whole. You come hard, moaning his name until your throat is hoarse and your release is soaking into the pillowcase. 

Steven groans, snaps his hips once before he follows and comes into the condom with a long drawn-out sigh. 

His muscles turn to jelly, and he eases himself out of you and then lays down by your side. 

Steven kisses your cheek, wrapping his arms around you as you nuzzle close and kiss him back.

‘You two can piss off now.’ 

‘Steven-’ ‘Fucking rude-’ ‘You’re a little shit, you know that?’ ‘Did this on purpose-’ ‘Showing off-’ ‘I want to-’ 

But then both politely fade back when you look up and stroke his face, smiling.

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BATEMAN???? AS IN NATHAN???? THE CROSSOVER I DIDN’T KNOW I NEEDED HAS HAPPENED 😩😩😩😩😩😩

Full And Filling

King John x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 10: Toys

Summary: The King receives a gift.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

Warnings: kissing, pet names, dildo (anal - m!receiving), p in v sex, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1755

“And what’s in this one?” You ask, lightly touching the edge of the gilded box. 

The King shrugs, “Some things Lord Bateman brought back from his travels.” 

You smile, lightly teasing, “More gifts?” 

He tuts at you, but it’s playful. “Cannot the King of the realm be bestowed with gifts from his subjects who belove him?” 

You snort, giving him a look from where he’s reclining on the sofa in front of the fire. “Subjects who would like to get on your good side, you mean.”  

He grins and waves his hand dismissively. “He’s already on my good side.” 

“And he wants to stay that way,” you smile and gesture to the several boxes littering the table, his desk, and floor. “And this is only a fraction.” 

The King shrugs, snuggling down in the seat as he smiles wickedly. “I like gifts.” 

“I know you do.” 

You turn back to the box, you’re not sure why this one in particular is drawing your attention. There are more beautifully and luxuriously decorated ones. 

“You can open it.” John yawns, stretching. “I haven’t looked inside most of them yet.” 

“Are you sure, Your Highness?” 

He pouts, blinking at you. “I told you not to call me that when you’re here with me.” 

“I like the expression you make.” You tease and he tries to scowl and not smile. 

He sits up, leaning on his arms to watch as you open the box. 

There are a few things inside. First, wrapped in silks is an ornate glass vial of a thick, clear liquid. You admire it for a moment before you put it back down.

“A drink?” The King asks. 

You shake your head, “I’m not sure.” and unwrap another item. You chuckle in spite of yourself.

“What is it?” He asks, his head tilted to the side in interest. 

“Lord Bateman has an interesting taste in gifts.” 

He raises an eyebrow.

You turn and hold out the object to him. It’s smooth, polished wood that almost feels like glazed pottery in your hands. A perfectly carved, large, cock with a solid base at the bottom. 

To your surprise, and absolute delight, a flush runs across the King’s skin, reddening his cheeks. His mouth opens a little, his eyes widening. 

“Oh, is this the kind of thing you used to do with Lord Bateman?” You grin, glee bubbling in your chest as you goad him. 

“I… it was not.” He doesn’t sound very convincing. 

“Oh, it is.” You’re unable to stop yourself. Suddenly the liquid in the vial makes much more sense. You grab hold of it in your left hand, the phallus in your right, and step towards the King. 

He watches as you move around and stand directly in front of him. You hold out the wooden sculpture, wiggling it ever so slightly. 

He swallows. His eyes dark. 

“It must be for you.” He says, his voice quiet, softer than usual. 

You shake your head. “Oh, I don’t think so.” You smile, leaning towards him. “I think this is especially for you.” 

He holds your gaze, shifting a little. “How?” He asks, knowing the answer. His mouth dry. 

“Inside.” You say softly, sitting down on the edge of the sofa and leaning closer, your chest touching his. 

“Inside?” 

You nod. “Inside.” 

He groans, biting his lip and titling his jaw up. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you closer, using your little gasp of surprise to lick into your mouth greedily. 

You kiss him back fiercely, trying your best to keep up with him. He trails his lips down to your jaw, sucking at your neck and pushing his fingers under your clothing. 

You moan his name, low and needy, and he chuckles. He takes the vial and cock from your hands, throwing them to the side, as he sits up and pulls you into his lap. 

It’s dizzyingly fast how quickly he pulls your clothing from you, and you're thankful for the warmth of the fire and heat from his body. 

He groans as you squirm against him, nips at the spot just below your ear as he runs his fingers along your core. 

“Seems you like the idea of me having things inside.” He chuckles into your skin as he spreads the wetness between your legs up to your clit.

You jump, grabbing hold of his shoulders. Your mouth open to speak. But you don’t get the chance. 

He pushes two of his thick fingers inside you greedily, his mouth agape and watching you intently as you gasp and whine. 

“That’s it, that’s it.” He soothes, rocking his painfully hard cock against your leg. He grins when you whine, arching into his touch. “I know, I know, feels so good, doesn’t it?” 

He curls his fingers as he rubs your clit with his thumb, stroking your walls in a motion that is ingrained into his memory. 

“Your Highness,” You breathe, unable to stop your voice from rising in pitch at the end. 

The King moans, the air catching in his throat. “Not playing fair, my love.” He rocks against your thigh harder as he speeds up his fingers, stroking you expertly to rush you towards your pleasure. 

Your legs burn and shake as you chase the rhythm of his hand. Your breathing growing louder as you tease and pulse around him. 

“Wait, wait,” he says softly, his eyes dark and lidded. 

You bite your lip, somehow managing to slow your hips as he pulls his fingers from your heat. You whine softly and he strokes your cheek with his free hand as he licks your slick from the other. 

“One moment, my love. I promise.” He groans, his eyes rolling back at the taste. 

He gently urges you off him and into the sofa before he quickly strips and takes hold of the wooden dildo and vial. He opens the bottle, pouring the liquid liberally onto the sculpted cock. 

He bites back a moan when he sees you watching. “Here,” his voice is strained, weak, as he passes you the base and settles back against the sofa, one foot on the cushions the other on the floor so that he is spread wide and open to you. 

“Please,” he says softly. “In here.” He slides his hand along his thigh to his opening, watching you with needy eyes. 

You don’t need to be told twice. 

Gently you press the tip against him, pushing gently. 

He gasps, throwing his head back for a second as you tease his entrance, pressing against the tight ring of muscle. “Harder, I can take it.” 

“I’m sure you can.” You tease and he gives you a wicked glare. You wait until he breathes in to speak before you push firmer, finally breaching him with the bulbous head.

He moans loudly, grabbing hold of your arm and nodding rapidly. “More.” 

“Greedy.” You mutter and he nods. 

“Oh, so greedy for you. For everything that you can give.” He whines at the end as the cock slides in deeper, deeper, deeper. 

You watch in awe, marvelling at how it disappears into him. How his heavy cock twitches and pulses with every inch he takes.

“Oh god,” he moans, his voice musical as the base finally settles flat against him.

“How does it feel?” 

“Wonderful, wonderful,” he shifts his hips a little, squeezing experimentally before he sits up slightly and urges you back into his lap. “Not as wonderful as it’s about to feel though.” He gasps as he eagerly spreads your lips with his hand while he guides his aching cock inside you. 

He notches his tip at your entrance and licks his lips. “Now you were so gentle, and took your time with me, my love.” He strokes his hand up to your waist. “Too kind. But I know you can handle this much faster.” 

He doesn’t give you time to answer as he rams up, grabbing you and forcing you down at the same moment. 

You let out a soft cry, your eyes closing as the sensation of him filling you cracks up your spine so suddenly. You whine his name, grabbing hold of his shoulders as he bucks and fucks into you at a brutal pace. 

“So, so, good, my love.” He swears, pistoning his hips, slamming up into your heat and then down onto the dildo. Pleasure sparks along his skin at the twin sensations, making him whine and shudder. 

He hits so deep, his movements breaking you apart so easily, like he has etched the spot to please you into his muscles.

“That’s it, that’s it.” He groans as you pulse around him, your walls squeezing him and sucking him deeper. “My love, oh god,” he closes his eyes as they roll back, biting his lip as sweat beads on his forehead and between your bodies. 

You hold onto him for dear life, unable to hold back your cries of pleasure as he keeps pushing you closer and closer with every rock and deep grind of his hips. 

He pulls you in for a searing kiss, swallowing your moans like they held the secrets of the universe. “My love,” he groans, the strain of holding off his orgasm clear in his voice. “I wish for you to fill me and be filled by me every day, every moment. Need you more than air, more than anything. I-” 

Your own cry cuts him off. Liquid pleasure races through your veins, alights every nerve as you pulse and sob, riding out your high on top of him before the strength is robbed from your bones by the force of your orgasm. 

The King moans, trying to watch you as you tense and come all over his cock. But he’s unable to stop himself from succumbing to his own pleasure. He thrusts twice before he comes deep, keeping you both pressed as close to each other as possible as he fills you.

He lays back fully on the sofa, pulling you on top of him and fully against his chest. He kisses the top of your head and you press your lips to his skin. 

After a few moments you lift your head, a cheeky smile on your face. “May I ask a question, Your Highness?” 

He frowns a little, knowing you are up to something. “Yes.” 

“Is the carved cock perhaps modelled after Lord Bateman’s-”

He growls and you squeal as he wraps one arm around you tight and tickles your side with the other.

Thank you for reading!

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He’s such a whiny baby… I want him 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

What Did You Take?

A One For The Road Bonus Chapter

Cecil Dennis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 9: Sex Pollen

Summary: Cecil took... something.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

Warnings: kissing, swearing, talk of drunks, sex pollen, flesh lights, jacking off, p in v sex, oral (afab! receiving), please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1556

You answer Cecil’s call almost instantly. He was one of the few people who preferred calling (or video chatting) over messaging, always said he liked to hear your voice. 

You liked to tease him that really it was because then he could make sure he was speaking to the correct person, and hadn’t accidentally sent a saucy pic (his dick) to the wrong contact (poor Harry one too many times).

“Hey Cec,” you lean down, grabbing a tin of soup and putting it into your trolley. 

“Hey,” He draws out the word, his voice soft and breathy. He was definitely jerking off. 

“I’m food shopping.” You say with a smile on your face, “Literally grabbing tins.”

“Uh huh,” he swallows, the sound clicking. 

You frown a little, sure Cecil had a big libido, but you were sure even he couldn’t find you picking up ingredients that interesting. 

“What you doing Cec?” You tease.

“Jerking off.” 

“I got that.” 

He whines, a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. “I got the fleshlight between the sofa cushions and I’m…” he moans, “Fuck, it feels really good.” 

“Yeah?” You grin. “Had to call and tell me about it?” 

He hums an affirmative. “I… I can’t…”

You wait a beat, listening to his heavy breathing. 

“I can’t get off.” 

“What?” 

“It’s not working, like, it feels good, so good, but I can’t get to the end.” He whimpers. “I, I took…”

“What did you take Cecil?” Worry spikes into your chest. 

“It’s this… thing,” he always was so helpful with descriptions. “It’s, so it’s meant to make you super horny and keep going,” he groans and you hear a particularly wet thrust in the background, “and I thought because we’re hanging out later that it would be good for you if I was… if I could just keep fucking you and so I took it and fuck.” He sobs.

“Cecil?” 

“It worked so quickly and I feel so hot, and I wanted to just come and take the edge off and I can’t.” His voice breaks at the end.

You’re already at the self-checkout, quickly paying for your items so you can get the hell out of there and over to him. “When did you take it?”

“Ummm,” he groans, the sound of his thrusts growing louder, “about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” 

“And twenty.”

“Cecil! Fuck,” you grab your shopping and head to your car, how long could someone have an erection before they needed to go to the hospital. “So this is like super Viagra?” You say as you sit down and fasten your seatbelt. 

“Sort of.” He groans, “God, talking to you helps actually,” he whines, “Feel so close.” 

“Where did you get this anyway?” You pull out of the parking lot. 

“Benny.”

“Benny?” You swear. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Noo,” Cecil whines, “He’s not that bad, he always gives me good deals, a friend discount.” 

“Cecil, he sold you that weed that had roofies in it.”

“That was an accident-”

“And that ritalin and-”

“Can we not talk about him,” Cecil gasps, “please, I was really close.” 

You pause, “My voice helps?” 

“Oh god, so much.” He whimpers, swallowing thickly. 

“I’m on my way over.” 

He moans loudly, shivering. “Thank you, oh fuck, thank you, need to see you so bad.”

“Can’t leave you alone for a second can I?” You drive through the light on amber. 

“You can’t.”

“Or you’ll go and take weird drugs that could put you in the hospital.”

“You could, um,” he groans deeply, “put me in you or something, I’m sorry, there’s an innuendo there somewhere, I can’t get to it.” 

“Okay, now I know something’s wrong.” You tease, trying to make light of the situation and ease your slowly building tension. 

He snorts through moans, and then whines pitifully. “I can’t come.” A little sob shakes through him. “I need to so, so, so bad. It hurts.”

 “Fuck Cec.” 

You make it to his house in record time, using your key to open the front door and practically throwing yourself inside. 

Cecil is on you before you even get a chance to call out a greeting. 

“You came,” he sobs, he’s naked, his skin flushed and feverish. His heavy cock bobs between his legs as he moves, slick from the lube he’s been using.

“Of course I did,” you stroke his cheeks, looking into his dilated eyes. “I told you I was on the way.” You say soothingly, he still hasn’t become used to you not stringing him along. 

“Thank youuu,” He groans, leaning forward and kissing you messily, slipping his tongue into your mouth eagerly. Drinking in your air like it was his only source. 

“Cec, Cec,” You manage to pull back, your hands on his cheeks.

He whines pitifully as your lips leave his. 

“We should go to the hospital.”

“No, please,” He shakes his head rapidly, “Please, let’s, please, I need you so bad, let’s just fuck and try.”

“Fuck and try,” you snort despite your worry and he grins, his eyes lighting up.

“Yes, yes, try.” He drags you into the living room, yanking at your clothing and kissing your neck. 

“Cec, maybe we shouldn’t in the living room, I mean, Harry’ll-”

He lets out a whine of frustration, taking his mouth off your skin only so that he can pull off your top and undo your bra. He licks your chest eagerly, focusing on one and then the other, his eyes rolling back as he sucks.

You gasp, your fingers instinctively sliding through his hair as he works.

He slips his hands down to your hips, hastily undoing your trousers and pulling them down to your knees. 

“Cec,” you bite your lip, unsure if you should really be doing this and not taking him to the emergency room. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. He drags you onto the floor, finishes stripping you bare in a matter of seconds. 

He’s everywhere, all over, licking and sucking and moaning in your ear as he squeezes and pinches and impatiently pushes his fingers inside. 

You shiver at the intrusion, a little gulp escaping your lips. You shouldn’t be enjoying this quite so much, having him so desperate and needy for you. 

Cecil whines, gasping and rutting against your leg as he curls his fingers and strokes your walls. “Fuck, oh god, oh god, oh god.”

You don’t even think he realises he’s speaking anymore, just letting whatever thoughts he has fall from his lips. 

Pleasure cracks up his spine, makes his vision spin. He groans, bucking his hips faster as he buries his head between your thighs and sucks your clit into his mouth greedily. 

You swallow, desperately grabbing at him as your body moves with his, chasing after the sensation he’s lavishing upon you. 

He whines, whimpers, so, so close he can almost taste it, but still not close enough. He pulls away from you quickly, muttering apologies at your huff of frustration at the loss. 

“Can I? Can I? Can I?” He kneels, taking himself in hand and notches himself at your core, the words fluttering out of his mouth in such a wanton mess they are nearly indistinguishable from each other. 

You barely get a chance to nod before he’s pushing in, trying to slow the rapid buck of his hips by squeezing the base of his cock. 

“Ohhhh fuuuuuuck.” He sobs, sounding even whinier than usual. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, feels so nice.” He rocks further in, pressing so wonderfully as he stretches you wide. 

“Cecil,” you bite your lip as he just sinks down, thrusting shallowly as he bottoms out and presses his chest to yours. 

“Yeah?” He sounds floaty, lost in the sensation as he rolls and rocks, keeping his length as deep inside as possible while he rubs the base of his cock against your bundle of nerves in a way that has your mind short-circuiting. 

He feels so good like his body was made to fit inside and please you. You grab at his biceps, his curls, moaning against his lips as his fingers dig into your skin in desperation. 

“Fuck, baby, please, ah, please can you squeeze my neck, please,” he splutters, his eyes screwed up so tight. “Gonna come, please, need to, I’ll take care of you after, I promise, I promise, I-”

You put your hand on his throat, a warm strong pressure, barely squeezing, more there to ground him than anything. And he sobs. 

He ruts twice, frantic. His voice rises to an impressive pitch as he comes deep, his orgasm washing over him and robbing him of all other thoughts. 

You expect him to collapse on top of you, nuzzle into your chest. 

But he doesn’t.

He keeps moving, keeps bucking, causing pleasure to race along your nerves.

“Cec?” You bite back a moan, pushing his sweaty curls from his forehead. 

“Fuck, that was so good, so good, fuck.” He grinds his hips, picking up the pace as he fucks his still very erect cock into you. 

“Still hard, gonna come again,” he whines, all high pitched and breathless. “Gonna make you come with me this time.” He bites his lip, looking down at you with hazy, lust filled eyes. 

It was going to be a long night.

Thank you for reading!

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[dameronshandholder]

“So I gotta make you come again, yeah?” 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

Play Me

Llewyn Davis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 8: Fingering

Summary: You run into Llewyn at a party.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

Warnings: kissing, fingering, swearing, terrible jokes, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 849

It wasn’t how you’d exactly planned to spend your Tuesday evening, with Llewyn pressed up against you in a cramped little room. 

Your friend had dragged you to a friend’s of a friend’s of a friend’s party in their newly moved into apartment. 

And with the amount of people there, it looked like their new place was going to need a huge clean up after the night was over. 

Your friend had only really wanted to go so she could shoot her shot with some guy she’d been making eyes at who was going too. She’d been very upfront about it and you’d agreed to go as moral support. 

You’d planned to just hang out and eat as much free food as you physically could. 

So your current situation was a little different than your previous objective. 

When you’d run into Llewyn you’d been pleasantly surprised. 

“And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” You’d teased and to your shock, he’d smiled. 

“I’m just here with Dave,” he’d motioned to the crowd behind him. “You?”

“I’m just here for the free food.” 

“Excellent idea.” He’d grinned at you, leaning against the wall. “I’ll join you.” 

Halfway through your makeshift feast you’d paused. He’d been regaling you with stories and anecdotes the whole time, beaming when you snorted and laughed. 

“How come you’re in such a good mood?” You’d asked.

“Aren’t I usually?” He’d leaned close, nudging his shoulder against yours.

“Llewyn...” 

“It’s just nice to see you.” He’d shrugged a little bashfully, “Is that okay?” 

. 

You’d followed him when he took your hand in his and pulled you into a tiny utility room, kissing him back when he pressed his lips eagerly to yours as he pushed you up against the wall. 

His mouth was warm, the faint taste of beer on his tongue as he slipped his fingers under your top and ran them along the waistband of your jeans. 

He pulled back, breathing hard. “Can I make you come?” 

Your brain had malfunctioned for a moment, your ears taking a second too long to process. 

“Please?” He asked sweetly, his voice husky and thick. 

You’d swallowed and nodded, not trusting your voice. 

He grinned, eyes sparkling as he undid your trousers and pulled them off your legs dizzyingly fast, yanking down your underwear with them. 

“Here,” he’d hooked your left leg over his hip, kissing you hard as he slowly ran his left hand down your stomach and to your folds. 

You jumped as his touch grazed your clit and he groaned into your mouth, humming in appreciation as he slipped two fingers inside. 

The sound of your slick echoes in the small space, your wetness allowing him to glide in so easily.

He moans louder, swearing as you gasp, “fuck, you feel nice.” 

You bite your lip, breathing hard as he slowly works his fingers in and out of you, circling them as he rubs your clit with his thumb in time. 

He kisses you again, licking into your mouth and pressing close. 

You grab hold of his shirt, holding onto him for dear life, rolling your hips as he moves. “Oh god…”

“That good?” 

You nod, barely able to form words as pleasure runs along your nerves.

He grins at your expression. “Knew you liked me.” He breathes.

You manage to give him a glare, about to tell him to lovingly fuck off but he strokes your walls purposefully at the exact moment you open your mouth, making you cry out. 

“Fuck yes, that’s it.” He groans, watching you intently as you squirm and shake. “You can be loud, no one’s gonna fucking hear.” He rocks against you, pressing his straining erection against your thigh to take the edge off.

“Llewyn,” you whine.

He picks up the pace, fucking you faster with his fingers and making colour dance at the edge of your vision. 

The deep stretch is maddening, the way he curls and strokes sending shivers of sensation up your spine. 

“Your fingers are so big,” you mutter in a half sob. 

“That’s not the only thing that’s big.” He groans and then chuckles, “Sorry, that’s awful.” 

 You pull him closer, licking into his mouth and yanking at his curls until he whines blissfully against your lips. 

The pressure in your stomach tightens, twists, makes you gasp and quake until finally it shatters. 

You cry out into his mouth, smothering your moans with his lips as your body convulses under the weight of the pleasure.

He works you through it, stroking and teasing and only stopping when your body starts to relax. 

When he pulls back he’s smiling softly and slowly pulls his fingers out of you as he places your leg back to the floor. Llewyn stays close, while you recover, stroking your cheek with one hand while he shoves his fingers into his mouth and groans. 

“That was fucking great sweetheart, but I didn’t get to see you finish.” He slowly drops to his knees, running his hands up your thighs. “So I gotta make you come again, yeah?”

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[dameronshandholder]

“You’re meant to be coming.” He moans against your lips. “Want to see you, want to paint you in the throws of ecstasy.” 

Like One Of Your

Laurent LeClaire x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 7: Thigh Riding

Summary: Laurent wants to paint, but he gets distracted so easily.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!

I'm just gonna gesture vaguely at this.

Warnings: kissing, thigh riding, Laurent being a little shit, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1202

 “A little to the left.” The smile in his voice is undeniable. 

“Laurent.” You turn your head back to face him, scowling, and he just chuckles.

“To the left.” He says, sweet as can be as he lightly touches your jaw and tilts your head back and to the side in the angle he requires. 

“This is ridiculous.” You repeat.

His laugh shakes you slightly from your position. 

“I need the light,” he repeats his pitiful excuse, “this spot is perfect.”

“And why do I have to be sitting on your lap while you paint?” 

“It’s not my lap, my love, it’s just one leg.” He tenses the muscle for emphasis.

“Laurent…”

He grins, leaning close and pressing his face to your neck and breathing deeply. “You only ever use my name when you’re annoyed.”

“I am annoyed.” You huff. 

“Hmm,” his voice rumbles in his chest pleasantly. “I like it, the tone it gives you.” 

You roll your eyes playfully. “Of course you do.” 

When he sits back, he’s beaming wickedly, “I need to be close so that I don’t strain my poor eyes.” He gestures to himself with the end of his dry paintbrush. He hasn’t even put his canvas on his easel yet. 

“You expect me to believe that?” 

“The truth?” He bats his large brown eyes at you, the image of innocence. 

You tut. “When have you ever told the truth?” 

“All the time?” He mock gasps, one hand to his chest. “You think when I profess my love to you I’m lying?”

“I think-”

“That when I tell you I would gouge out my own eyes if I couldn’t look upon your face ever again?” 

You can't help but laugh. “I think you’re dramatic. And,” he opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can speak. “And that you have a silver tongue,” You tap the tip of his nose lightly, “that you use to get your own way.”

He smirks. “Silver tongue is it?” 

You watch him as his smile grows, trying to work out what wickedness he has in store.

“How about I show you and you can see?” He pokes out his tongue quickly and dives for you, wrapping one arm around your waist so that you can’t completely escape.

You burst into a fit of giggles, pressing one hand against his chest, the other to his forehead to stop him from licking you. “Laurent!” 

“Alright, alright,” His grin doesn’t fade, but he moves back, settling into his seat. “I’ll behave, here look,” he picks up his canvas from the floor, still keeping one arm wrapped around you, and puts it on his easel. “I’m painting.” 

You slowly lower your hands. “Of course you are.” 

He smiles as he prepares his paints, making a bit of a show of it. After a few seconds you relax a little and move back into the position he’d asked of you, with your face turned towards the window. 

The quiet grows comfortable as he begins to paint, the minutes ticking by. Every so often he lets you know with a soft word that you can move and you stretch and wiggle, taking a sip of water from the glass next to you before you get back into position. 

You readjust yourself, rolling your shoulders ever so slightly as you sit, and Laurent lets out the smallest breath. 

The sound is a little above nothing, and perhaps you would have ignored it if his fingers on your hip hadn’t tightened, if he hadn’t pushed then pulled you closer a fraction. 

“Laurent-”

“Being this close to you is painful, you know that?” He mutters, his breath thick as he stares at the canvas. He’s pretending to paint, his brush not touching the surface. 

“Why?” You ask softly, recognising the slight flush of his cheeks, the thickness to his voice. 

“Because it is.” He bites his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to…”

You stay quiet, giving him space to voice his desires. 

“I want to…” he swallows as he puts his paintbrush down and fully takes hold of your waist with both hands. He tilts your hips gently, making you arch toward him before he pushes you back an inch on his leg. 

You gasp, biting back a moan as the thick material of his trousers and warmth of his thigh run along your core. 

Laurent groans, watching your face in awe. “That’s it, that’s what I want.” 

He pulls you closer, angling you even more so that your clit fully rubs along him. 

You whimper, grabbing hold of his shoulders, “Laurent,” your voice comes out so weak and desperate. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he pushes you again, swallowing hard. “Move with me, my love, move with me, please.” 

You do as he asks, your body following his wishes on autopilot as you rock and rub against the strong muscle of his thigh. 

Pleasure sparks up your spine as your wetness seeps into your underwear making the drag against him all the more vivid.

You press your lips together, shuddering as he urges you to rock particularly slowly and firmly. 

He tuts, taking his hand away from you so that he can press his thumb against your mouth. “Ah, none of that,” he breathes hard, sounding almost as wanton as you. “Let me hear you.”

He leans close, practically breathing in your air, rolling his hips in time with you as he gets caught up in your pleasure. 

“You’re meant to be painting.” You pant.

“You’re meant to be coming.” He moans against your lips. “Want to see you, want to paint you in the throws of ecstasy.” 

You want to bite back at him with a sharp comment, but your mind has turned to mush. All your possible thoughts are consumed with how his body feels against yours.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, screwing up the fabric as you grind.

Your breathing comes out in short gasps, your legs shaking as your stomach muscles clench the closer you're pushed to the edge.

“Please,” falls from your lips in a whimper and Laurent groans desperately. 

“Please what, my love? Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll give you everything your heart desires.” 

You gasp, close to sobbing as he helps you to move faster, bliss so close that it colours the edge of your vision. 

“Oh, god,” Laurent groans, his voice deep and strained, “I could, could come like this, watching you, feeling how warm you are against my skin.” 

You whine, your back arching as his words push you over the edge. Pleasure runs through you as you ride out the wave.

You gasp out his name, collapsing into his waiting embrace, breathing heavily. 

He kisses your temple, holding you close as you recover from the strength of your orgasm. 

You can feel his erection straining against his trousers.

As you sit up, mouth open about to speak, he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. He kisses you hungrily, slipping his tongue into your mouth and groaning when you reciprocate.

When you break away for air he grins, “I think we should see what other things this silver tongue of mine can do?”

Thank you for reading!

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