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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

MY HEART! MY HEART! MY HEART! AHHHHH! AMAZING!!!!

fight or flight — poe dameron.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: you and poe have never seen eye-to-eye. most days, you wonder if you ever will.

─── pairing: poe dameron x solo!reader.

─── warnings: reader is gender neutral, reader is han & leia's child, no use of y/n. lots of snarky banter. this was supposed to be flirty fluff but it turned into an angstfest so, yeah, sorry for that. finn eavesdrops and chewie is sassy bastard.

─── word count: 1.6k.

     “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.”

     Poe ducks his head and quickly manages to conceal the wince creeping onto his features just in time, but crouched in the cockpit beside him, Rey still feels his shoulders go stiff. She presses a hand to her mouth in a weak attempt to stifle her laugh, but she’s not quite successful as Poe shoots her a glare.

     She doesn’t blame him, really. You are… Well, sort of scary when you’re angry.

     There’s more than just a spark of your mother’s fire in you, that’s for sure.

     Glancing over her shoulder, she finds you standing in the doorway, regarding the pair of them with a ruthless glare so sharp it might leave a mark.

     Rey is suddenly pretty sure that Poe didn’t talk to you like he said he would.

     “I go for a nap because I haven’t slept properly in two days after you—” The finger you jab in Poe’s direction might as well be a knife, the way he flinches, “— get us stranded in First Order territory after leading us on a wild goose chase, knock out the comms and the navigation with your, frankly batshit, behaviour which I have spent hours trying to fix, and then I left you with one simple instruction.”

     Which… Alright, not all of that is strictly fair, Rey thinks, because at least half of the chaos of the past few days can be attributed to sheer bad luck, and another third can be blamed on decisions made under pressure whose outcomes boiled down to bad or worse.

     It’s not really Poe’s fault. Not anymore than the rest of them, at least.

     But Rey knows how you feel about this ship. The Falcon is your inheritance, the only real home you have left in the world. It’s all that is left of your father.

     You were protective of it even before he died, and since—

     Rey clears her throat. “I’m just gonna… go check on Finn.”

     Poe’s expression reeks of betrayal as Rey scoots past you to go and find Finn, who’s loitering in the main hold with Chewbacca, but she’s not about to hang around and get caught in the crossfire between the two of you.

     She doesn’t have a death wish.

     Finn looks just suspicious enough, when she locates him, that she doesn’t even bother scolding him for eavesdropping. She’s about to do the same, after all.

     “He told me he checked it was alright before we started reconfiguring the navicomputer.” Rey folds her arms across her chest, frowning in the direction of the cockpit. Your voice is still rattling down the corridor towards them.

     Finn clicks his tongue. “Evidently not.”

     In the cockpit, Poe pushes himself to stand, resting a hand on the back of the captain’s chair. Your voice is hard as duracrete as you take a step towards him, crowding the small space with so much of your frustration that it feels difficult to breathe.

     Poe wonders if the sensors are on the blink, and someone popped an airlock somewhere, because the air feels a little thin. You jab in the chest with your finger, and all he does is blink, suddenly lightheaded.

     “I gave you one instruction. I said, the nav systems are rebooting, I’m going grab some shuteye, don’t touch anything. And what do you do?”

     “The console was beeping!”

     “I don’t care if a damn mynock got in here and started eating it, I said don’t touch it.”

     “But it’s alright for Rey to touch it?” He’s being petty, he knows that, but an angry flush has started creeping up your neck, and he wants to know what you look like with your cheeks coloured that delightful shade of pink.

     “Rey didn’t break it!” A ragged breath tears from your throat, and you rake a hand roughly through your hair. “She knows what she’s doing. I trust her.”

     “And you don’t trust me, is that it?” Something like sadness swirls low in his gut as he waits for your response. It hurts him to ask, even though he’s wearing his bravado like a mask, even though he likes pushing all your buttons because when your eyes flash like that, it’s like standing in the eye of a hurricane or falling in zero gravity.

     You’re not friends, he knows that. Not since the day you met, and you pressed a blaster up against his neck in the cargo hold of your old ship and he’d grinned down at you as if getting his life threatened was his favourite pastime.

     He’d been trying to steal it. You’re still not sure what happened, exactly, except that there were Stormtroopers firing at your ship — which, honestly, was held together by little more than string and sheer stubbornness at that point — and your mother’s favourite flyboy watching you with a bizarre hope in his eyes, and you’d just… hated him, in that moment.

     Hated him for crashing into your life and dragging you, kicking and screaming, back to the life you’d fled. Hated your mother for her good heart and your father for running away. Hated the whole damn galaxy for not killing you when it had the chance.

     Poe had wanted you to take him to D’Qar, but you’d spent too long leaving things behind to go back now, so you’d dropped him at the nearest safe outpost and prayed you’d never see him again.

     Clearly, the universe had other plans.

     It’s been years since that first encounter, but neither of you have warmed to one another since then. There’s very little point, you think. He’s unbearable, always needling at you, picking at all of your defences as if he has a right to know you.

     It doesn’t matter. In the end, everyone leaves, one way or another.

     You just wish he’d hurry up and do it, already.

     You’re not friends, but you’re something more and something less, and the way your lower lip twitches at his question feels like a punch to the gut.

     “Why should I?” You blink at him, and a moment later you realise how close you’ve grown, almost chest-to-chest with this man who drives you mad. With a rough swallow, you force yourself to take a step back.

     He doesn’t move. Hardly dares to breathe, with his mouth curled into that little half-smirk he knows you hate, because it hurts that you don’t trust him, but it would hurt more if you knew it.

     “Why shouldn’t you?”

     A scoff. “Well, for starters, I don’t think you’ve ever had a plan that didn’t blow up in your face.”

     The familiar howl of Finn’s laughter rolls down the corridor, quickly cut off by a quiet thump and a low, pained groan.

     Poe blinks at you. “Excuse me?”

     “And you don’t take proper care of the Falcon!” The controls and all their exposed wires serve to prove your point.

     Turning on your heel, you march out into the corridor, abandoning him in the cockpit. He stares at your retreating form, unable to kick his brain back into gear for a few seconds, but a moment later he’s striding after you.

     “I take care of the Falcon!”

     A huff of laughter bubbles out of you, entirely lacking in humour. “Lightspeed skipping.”

     “That was one time!” His voice squeaks out of him much higher than he’d like, and as they emerge into the main hold, he clears his throat. “And the Falcon was fine.”

     You come to a stop so suddenly that he can almost hear your shoes screeching on the floor. “It was twice, and just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. That seems like a lesson you should’ve learned by now, but no, you keep pushing it!”

     Reckless and stubborn, headstrong and utterly selfless. Not for the first time, you regret being dragged back into this mess. Your life hadn’t exactly been peaceful before — you are your father’s child, after all — but it wasn’t this.

     How many more heroes will you watch die before all of this is over?

     How much of it can you take?

     You watch one of those heroes stare at you, now, and it feels like you’ve swallowed a handful of broken glass.

     Behind you, sitting at the dejarik table and making absolutely no attempt to disguise his eavesdropping, Finn leans close to Rey. “You’d never guess they were married, huh?”

     He’s whispering, but it’s not exactly quiet.

     As if you’re suddenly possessed by the same entity, you and Poe whirl around, mouths agape. “We are not married.”

     An uncomfortable heat curls around your spine at the thought of it. Married to Poe Dameron? You cannot imagine anything worse.

     Chewie, seated opposite Finn and Rey, makes an exasperated sound. Rey can’t help but snort.

     You narrow your eyes at your father’s oldest friend, resting your hands on your hips. “‘Could’ve fooled me?’ Chewie, what are you talking about?”

     As your wrath settles upon a new victim, Poe takes the opportunity to slip out of sight, with every intention of hiding in the Engineering Bay on the opposite end of the ship until the danger has passed.

     Marching quickly down the corridor, Poe drags a hand over his unbearably warm face and feels like something beneath his ribcage is itching to crawl out. He thinks it might be his heart.

Married to you. Yeah. He can’t think of anything worse, either.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

come alive

pairing: poe dameron x reader

kiss prompt: #22 …in a rush of adrenaline

warnings: 2.0k wc. mentions of violence, shooting, weapons. curse words.

notes: thank you to the lovely anon for submitting this prompt! i decided to make this its own post bc i wrote quite a lot. also i haven't watched star wars/written for poe in a hot minute so pls be nice to me lol. hope you like it!

—

“What’s the escape plan?”

At the question, Poe shoots you an odd look that is quite concerning. “Escape plan?”

“Yeah, the escape pla—oh my god,” you say in a hushed whisper, blinking at him. “You don’t have one.”

“I don’t have one yet. Don’t worry, I’ll come up with something quick and then—”

“—and then we get captured, locked up behind bars to rot or until they decide to—”

Your ramblings are cut short when Poe puts a hand over your mouth, gently shushing you. Three stormtroopers approach the stack of oversized crates, shrouded in darkness due to the absence of sun at this late hour.

You freeze and hold your breath, waiting for them to pass. Fortunately, they march right by without problem, oblivious to the fact that you two are hiding behind them.

As happy and relieved as you were when Poe first showed up to free you, you’re now back to thinking that you will die at the hands of the First Order. It’ll only be a matter of time until someone realizes their imprisoned Resistance spy has escaped. You’ll never get out of here, especially without a plan. You’re doomed.

You swallow thickly and try to distract yourself from the dread and panic clawing inside of you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating. Glancing around wildly, you need to focus on something else. Anything.

Eventually, you have no choice but to settle on having your attention on the pilot’s stupidly handsome face. You keep your eyes on him, inhaling and exhaling deeply to gather your composure. All the while, you wonder— has he always been this good-looking up close? You have never realized how pretty of a shade his dark eyes are or how much they sparkle in the low light. You’ve never seen such thick and curly hair like his, and you have the biggest urge to card your fingers through it.

“Sweetheart, hey—relax,” Poe murmurs when you grow quiet on him, his watchful gaze flickering every now and then to check your surroundings. “Breathe. We got this.”

Poe has long dropped his hand from your mouth, but it remains on your face, cupping your cheek as he assesses you for any injuries. You feel your pulse pick up a beat. You’re sure it’s mainly from the threat of danger you’ve found yourself in. Certainly not because of Poe, your good friend, and crush ever since the day you joined the Resistance.

No, it definitely cannot be that.

“Okay,” you sigh out, nodding. You take a quick glance at the perimeter yourself this time, mostly to hide away from his gaze. “Now what? We can’t stay and hide here forever.”

“You’re right,” Poe agrees. He steps closer to you, his chest brushing against your back as he scans the area with you. “My ship’s past the tree line. Best course of action is to sneak out without alerting anyone. But if things don’t go our way, we use these.”

Slipped into your hand is a blaster. You take a deep breath and tighten your fingers around the grip. You hope it doesn’t come down to a shootout between you, Poe, and the dozens of armed guards patrolling the place. Violence isn’t really your strong suit. That’s why you preferred missions that involved laying low and gathering intel. Too bad your cover got blown on this assignment.

(And yes, you are still sore about that).

“I’m a shit shot, just a heads up,” you warn Poe. You turn around and bump into him, forgetting that there’s barely any space between you. He doesn’t make an effort to step away, and surprisingly, you don’t either.

Poe’s lips curl into a smug grin. He holds up his own weapon in his hand. “And I’m very much not. See, we’re a perfect match. On a scale of 1 to 10, how’d you rate my spur-of-the-moment escape plan?”

You bite back a chuckle and shake your head. Leave it to Poe to distract you from your worries, even if it only lasts a minute. In all seriousness, you have faith in him. He can be overly cocky sometimes, but he’s smart and skillful. You’ve seen and heard what he’s capable of. There’s a reason why you and plenty of others admire the hell out of him.

“I’d give it a 7.5, mainly ’cause I trust in your confidence too much. Plus, it’s not like we have other options.”

“That’s the spirit,” Poe beams. “Sorry if I worried you about not really thinking this through earlier. Once I found out you were being held out here, I kinda just... went for it, y’know? I didn’t have time to waste. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You smile at him, ignoring how your cheeks are warming up against the crisp nighttime air. You’re touched by Poe’s statement. Grateful that you’ve crossed paths with someone like him. Who else would be this reckless and determined to dive into an impromptu rescue—or insane enough to risk their life to save yours?

The thought has your heart feeling tender, but you can’t get caught up in it at this moment. You and Poe need to make it out alive first. Fuck, now the nerves are starting to creep back in.

“Thank you. If we come back to the base both in one piece, dinner’s on me.”

“You mean when we get back,” he corrects. He holds his hand out for yours. “Deal. It’s a date. Alright, you ready?”

Poe’s question almost doesn’t register in your head after he refers to your dinner offer as a date. He doesn’t seem to be joking around. He sounds serious, and you don’t question it. You find yourself more than okay with calling it that.

Clearing your throat, you give Poe a slight nod, ready as you’ll ever be. Both of you have to get out of here alive. Your date depends on it.

Staying undetected as you move through the shadows was easy in the beginning. Few are out on patrol this evening, and when you do encounter someone, Poe manages to evade them. Surely this isn’t his first go-around at something like this.

You do your best not to allow your anxiety of getting caught to cause you to lose focus. The warmth of Poe’s hand in yours helps soothe you, an assurance that if anything goes wrong, you’re not alone.

When you spot your way out, relief floods over you. You tell yourself you’ll be home soon. That you’ll be back in your bed in no time, tucked under the covers, safe and sound. No longer would you be fearing for your life in the way you are right now.

You’re nearly there— the clearing is just within sight. Less than a hundred yards away more and…

Sirens suddenly blare. So loud that they ring in your ears and leave you disoriented for several seconds. The quiet of the night quickly descends into chaos as guards pour out from every which way. The radioed orders your ears pick up are clear and bone-chilling: they are searching for you, and if found, they want you gone permanently. 

“There you are, scum,” a trooper snarls from behind, weapon pointed at you. They’re about to pull down on the trigger, but Poe reacts much quicker. The blaster in his hand fires, and the man instantly drops to the ground.

You barely have time to process what happened when Poe grasps your hand tightly, holding onto it uncomfortably tight, but his touch is grounding. The two of you share a knowing look as the sound of distant voices and heavy footsteps grow closer.

“We gotta keep moving. Shoot anyone who’s chasing after us, got it?” He says, his voice a blur over the erratic pounding of your heart.

Poe doesn’t wait for your acknowledgment. He makes a mad dash towards the gate leading out of the compound. He wasn’t lying when he said he was not a shit shot, taking down a few men with such ease— they were no match for him.

Luck seems to be on your side tonight. The moment Poe tugs you past the gate, you run across the field and into the woodlands as fast as possible, the fastest you’ve ever moved. Your muscles are sore, and your head is dizzy. It feels like you can’t get enough air in your lungs.

Still, you run. You run and run, even if you’re starting to think that your legs will give out at any moment. You have to get as far away as you can from the place that has kept you captive. It’s your best bet if you want to survive.

Finally, Poe’s ship comes into view. He glances behind you, and you mirror his action, seeing that the guards have lost track of you in the dark. The relieved smile on your face remains for only a split-second, however. As soon as you turn your head back, you see the stormtrooper emerge from the thick bushes, aiming to shoot at an unsuspecting Poe.

It’s like everything is in slow motion. From you realizing that Poe is in imminent danger to the way you forcefully push him out of the line of fire and draw your blaster.

Adrenaline buzzes through your veins. Your chest rapidly rises and falls. You steady your hand even as it fights to tremble. Without thinking twice, you fire your weapon. The first shot narrowly misses the enemy, but the following two blasts hit them fatally, and they slump to the ground, unmoving.

Luck truly is on your side tonight.

You gasp a breath in surprise when a pair of solid arms suddenly wrap around you, your nerve endings still on high alert after all that has transpired. 

Poe’s gentle voice saying your name cuts through your foggy mind, and you meet his gaze. Your heartbeat continues to drum sharply against your ribcage as you stare at him for several moments, tracing the deep, worried lines etched on his face.

You don’t know what comes over you after. You’re unaware of what you’re doing until you’re right in the middle of it.

One second, you’re holding onto Poe—feeling some of the tension in your body seep out upon seeing that he’s okay, he’s unharmed— and the next, your lips are on his, soft and warm. Exactly the way you had imagined they would feel.

Poe doesn’t kiss you back right away; it is the only thing that snaps you out of this haze. Have you misread him all this time? He’s a major flirt, but you thought he was genuine with you. A knot of confusion and embarrassment forms in your stomach. How could you be so wrong? How could you have fucked things up?

You immediately pull away, taking a few stumbling steps back. Poe looks at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, but he doesn’t say a word. You glance down at your feet, not wanting to see his expression as you fumble out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Poe. I don’t know… I was just—”

You are interrupted when Poe lets out a breathless chuckle. He closes the short distance you had put between the two of you, his hands cupping your face, fingers stroking your cheeks ever so gently.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. “I wasn’t expecting you to do that. It did feel very nice, though.”

Poe’s breath fanning warm over your skin causes yours to hitch. Before you can respond, he slowly leans in and recaptures your lips in a sweet kiss. Your heart stutters and skips for a whole new reason now. Something more electrifying replaces the fight or flight sensation surging within you, making you light-headed in the best possible way.

The kiss abruptly ends at the sound of dried leaves rustling and branches snapping from different directions. You notice faraway lights becoming brighter, no doubt more stormtroopers closing in on you and Poe.

“I’d like to keep kissing you, but we gotta go,” he laughs, nodding towards the ship. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we can go on our date.”

You grin in agreement and place your hand into Poe’s hand. Being with him makes you feel alive, like you can handle almost anything the universe throws at you. You could get used to this.

“Take me home, flyboy.”

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Egg Fried Rice

Marc Spector X F!Reader  Rating: T  Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Summary: Out of the three of them, Marc had met your mother last.

Warnings: Angst & fluff. Mentions of previous abuse (Wendy Spector) but doesn't go into detail. Typos - I am notoriously bad at catching them. Swearing.

A/N: I've used corvase's 'lovely little domestic prompts: “your mom is coming over today.” “tell her to bring fried rice or she’s not invited.” “you tell her, she’s your mom.” “but she likes you more!”' - and it ended up being a lot more angsty than I inteaded. I changed the prompt words a touch as well. Steven & Jake make a little appearance too.

Word Count: 1689

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites

--------------------------------------------

You had been in the shower when your phone rang. It was on silent, as usual, but by chance the light caught Marc’s attention as he put the clean laundry away. 

The display read ‘Mum’. 

He swallowed, a flash of nerves hitting him for a second before he pushed them away. He could just wait it out, pretend he didn’t see it. 

The soft material of a pair of your fuzzy socks in his hand suddenly became much heavier; the cartoon duck on the side no longer looked friendly. There was a judgemental tone in its eyes.

 “Fuck you.” He narrowed his eyes and hissed at the cartoon, the absurdity enough to bring a small smile to his face.

Quickly, without giving himself too much time to really think about it, he grabbed your phone and answered the call. 

“Hello!” Your mum’s voice was like sunshine itself. 

“Hi, it’s-”

“Marc! Ah! How lovely to get you!” 

He grinned broadly, warmth bubbling up in his chest. She recognised his voice. Straight away she recognised his voice. 

“I was wondering if I could pop by today? I have a little something for you all.”

Your mother knew all three of them, but her first meeting with Marc had been almost five months after she had met Steven and Jake. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to meet her, he did, it was just... difficult. Panic spiked up in his spine and made him sick whenever the arranged date to introduce himself grew close. 

His alters’ voices constantly in his ear. “She’s so lovely.” “You’ll get on well with her hermano.” “She’s nothing like-”

It hadn’t mattered. He had chickened out four times. The third when he was in the car with you outside of your mother’s house. He just couldn’t. Couldn’t. Had checked out and left it to Steven and Jake.

He would stay away for days, the worst being the second occasion when he didn’t front for nearly two weeks afterwards and had refused to speak to Jake or Steven. Even staying quiet when Steven had said he would let Jake grow a moustache if Marc didn’t say something. 

When Marc finally did front he had refused to talk about it. Point blank. Not to Steven, not to Jake, not to you. He knew that made it worse. 

It had caused more than one internal and external argument.  

You had tried to bring it up carefully, calmly, telling Marc that there was no need to rush, he hadn’t caused any offence, that he didn’t even need to meet your mother if he didn’t want to.

But instead of staying quiet, nodding, or any of the countless peaceful options Marc had gone into defensive mode. Unable to explain his fears even though you knew about Wendy, unable to accept your kindness and care and love when he was so sure he didn’t deserve it. He wanted your anger.  

“Oh, so you don’t want me to meet your Mom then?” 

His tone had taken you by surprise even before his words had registered. “Marc that’s...” you shook your head, playing back what you had said, checking for how your words could have been misunderstood. “I didn’t mean that, I-”

“Maybe you should think before you speak in future.”

“Marc-”

“She’s got Steven and Jake, guess I’m not as important as them?”

It had just escalated from there. Your tone and words grew more agitated despite your best intentions as he kept going and going. 

There had been something on the tip of his tongue, something nasty and untrue but based on your own securities. Something that was intended to hurt. He had begun to speak it, shout it, trying to push you in punishing him when everything shifted. 

It was the first time you had seen Jake forcibly front, spitting out a hiss of words obviously not aimed at you and breathing hard. 

“¡No te atrevas a decir eso!” Don’t you dare say that. 

He had sat on the settee, closed his eyes and crossed his arms. His legs were spread wide in an apparent guise of relaxation but you could see the tension thumping in his neck. 

After a moment to calm yourself you had sat down next to him, slowly, and leaving some space between your bodies. 

Jake had kept his eyes closed; his jaw clenched as he listened to Marc, but did not reply. After a few minutes he had taken your hand in his, pressed kisses to your fingers and knuckles tentatively before he opened his eyes. 

You had smiled weakly at him, your eyes glassy. “Is he okay?” 

Jake let out a humourless laugh. “He’s on the naughty step.” He moved closer, letting go of your hand to wrap his arms around you. “He’ll stay there until his manners improve.”  His voice was low in your ear, making you shiver, but you knew those words were more directed at Marc than to you. 

Marc had watched silently whenever Steven or Jake were with your mother. The ease of conversation, the joking, smiles, hugs, kisses on the cheek and small gifts. 

You had found him once, on a morning so early it should have been night, crouched down by the coffee table in your flat. His arms wrapped tightly around his legs as he stared at a small paper bag on the floor. 

Your mother was notorious for giving gifts, things that made her think of others. The previous day you and Steven had visited her for dinner. She had spoken animatedly about her day, a visit to Greenwich park and market before brandishing, a golden pin with the Eye of Horus engraved for Steven (who spoke animatedly and excitedly about the meaning behind it for a good ten minutes before worrying he was ‘going on a bit’, and then another fifteen when your mum shhhed him and eagerly asked him to continue.)

Champurradas for Jake, which you hadn’t heard of before, “Oh Jake and I were talking about them the other day, and I just so happened to see a stall with all sorts of food. I just had to get them for him.”  (You were eighty percent sure she had purposely looked for somewhere that sold them and had gone to Greenwich specifically with the goal in mind.) She had playfully smacked your hand when you had asked to try one, “Shhh! They’re for Jake! You’ll have to ask him if you want one.” You laughed. 

She had held out a small paper bag to Steven as you were leaving, “this is for Marc.” 

“Oh, you didn’t have-”

“Shhh,” your mother was the master of the ‘shhh’, “I wanted to. I love all of you very much.” She had kissed his cheek and pressed the bag into his warm hands.

You had told your mother briefly about Wendy after the second time Steven had visited instead of Marc, no details – as you felt it wasn’t your place. 

And now Marc sat staring at the keyring resting on top of the paper bag like it held the answer to the universe. 

It took you a moment to recognise the logo as the Chicago Bears and knew, for certain, that she definitely hadn’t found that in Greenwich market. 

He turned towards you suddenly at the creak of the floorboard under your feet, eyes red and shining. 

You froze, afraid that anything you did, anything you said would cause hurt. 

“Steven told her I’d confused my keys with our key for here.” His voice broke at the last word and you rushed forward, falling to your knees and wrapping yourself around him. “She, she remembered.” 

You had held him and kissed him and soothed him as his tears soaked into your pyjamas and finally, when you had coaxed him back into bed, hugged him tightly the whole night.

The keyring never left his keys. 

You had both visited your mother soon after that, Marc nervously gripping a large bouquet of flowers as you walked to the front door. He knuckles white under the tension. 

When your mother opened the door Marc had quickly blurted out, “here, I’m Marc, nice to meet you.” In a voice that sounded far younger than his age and thrusted the flowers towards her. 

Your mother didn’t even miss a beat, she had fawned over the flowers, ‘the nicest ones she had ever received’ and lavished attention on your boyfriend the entire day, kissing his cheek and hugging him tightly when you left. Saying nothing when he held onto her a little too tightly and for a few beats too long. 

You heard Marc laughing as you came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and padded down the hall to your bedroom. 

He was sitting on the bed, facing away from the door, holding your phone to his ear. A few items of clean clothes next to him, you couldn’t help but smile as you realised he had put the others away. You hadn’t asked him to, he had just done it knowing your intense dislike of the final part of the clothes washing process. 

Marc turned as you came in, giving you a little wave. “She’s just finished.” He spoke into the phone. “Your Mom!” He said to you. 

“Hi Mum!” You yelled, a little over the top. 

The muffled sound of your mother laughing and saying ‘hello love!’ filtered back. 

You opened your wardrobe, absentmindedly chewing on your bottom lip.

“She’s gonna come over later, she said she’d pick up Chinese on the way?” 

The questioning tone at the end of his sentence warmed your heart. You had told him countless times that your flat was his flat; but he still wanted to check things with you, protective of your space.

“Tell her to bring egg fried rice or she’s not invited.” You teased. 

Marc gave a mock gasp of shock and you could hear your mum laughing on the other end of the phone. 

“You tell her, she’s your Mom!” He grinned. 

You turned around, hands on your hips and pulled a silly face. “But she likes you more!” 

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Thank you so, so much for including me in a list with such wonderful authors and fics! Ahhh, you are too kind!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎

「 ✦ poe dameron ✦ 」

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all poe dameron stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

┌──────────────────┐

MASTERLIST ✩ OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS ✩ 4/25/24

★ @theowritesstuff

☼ the droid problem

★ @eyelessfaces

☼ love bites

☼ us, now

☾ you and poe always promised to act on your feelings towards each other once the war is over. this time has come.

★ @whirlybirbs

☼ why are you crying

☼ risks

☾ cadet!reader & poe dameron butt heads after a mission

☼ damsel doing damage

★ @the-little-ewok

☼ an unorthodox method

☾ All you want is a hot shower, some clean dry clothes, and to crawl into bed. What you absolutely do not want is Poe Dameron in that bed with you.

☼ a little help

☾ Poe brings BB-8 to you every week insisting something is wrong but you can never find anything, His droid is always in perfect condition. But BB-8 has decided his master needs a little help with you…

★ @youvebeenlivingfictional

☼ heartless

☾ When you landed at the Resistance base on D’Qar, you had nothing but the clothes on your back, your mother’s heart pendant, and fifteen credits in your pocket. 

☼ effective

☾Your family loves to rib you for being single. This Christmas, you learn that bringing your best friend Poe with you can make the holiday a little more enjoyable.

☼ the stars

☼ the force

☾ Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force

★ @campingwiththecharmings

☼ invisible string

☾ You're a new medic in the Resistance and you keep running into a certain pilot in the medbay.

☼ never have i ever

☾ Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab one of the shots in front of you and down it, coughing a little as the alcohol burns down your throat. As you set the glass back on the table, you slowly meet your best friend’s gaze.

He stares at you with slightly narrowed eyes, his lips parted as he absently tongues the inside of his cheek. “You’re messing with me.”

☼ fo!reader (co written w/ @runa-falls )

★ @softlyspector

☼ hard landings

☾ Everybody in the kriffin galaxy seems to know you...Except for Poe.

★ @januaryembrs

☼ hot under the helmet

☾ Poe finds out the hard way the best mechanic in the resistance is also most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; too bad you’re so hot headed. 

★ @jake-g-lockley

☼ did you meant it?

☼ feels right

☾ "you are, without a doubt, the most annoying person i've ever crossed paths with. and don't even get me started on the sound of your voice." and "please shut up. i can't stand how appealing your voice is."

★ @reallyrallyauthor

☼ sunk

☼ the promotion

☾ When you parents call you home to marry someone you’ve never met, you turn to your best friend, Poe, for help

★ @ichorai

☼ working in the dark

☾ poe should know better than to sneak up on you in the dark.

★ @bensolosbluesaber

☼ something forgotten

☾ Poe Dameron is the love of your life, but he can’t remember you. Still, Poe finds himself drawn to you and seeing flashes of a life he has forgotten.

★ @starryeyedstories

☼ one kiss

☾ Poe likes you. You like him. You’ve sworn to yourself you won’t get involved with anyone until the war is over. Poe has sworn to himself that he’ll get you to kiss him before then.

☼ black leader, shutting up

☾ Poe loves missions, especially when you’re manning the comm systems.

★ @batshitbimbo

☼ crush

☾ one moment he was just some pilot and the next he was your Poe.

★ @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

☼ tangerine, tangerine

☼ move over

☾ You let Poe share your bed when he's too drunk to go back to his own room. He, however, can't seem to stop himself from taking up all the space humanly possible.

★ @foxilayde

☼ nine ten, eleven, twelve

☾ Idiots in love. You’re the idiot, mainly. You happen to hear something quite salacious about your bestie. And oooh boy, are you awful at keeping your shit together.

★ @spctrsgf

☼ late

☾ another day, another mission where poe is (not just a little) late.

★ @angel-of-the-moons

☼ baby wings

☾ Poe teaching reader who’s a new pilot for the resistance some of his tips on flying.

★ @happyhauntt

☼ fight or flight

☾ you and poe have never seen eye-to-eye. most days, you wonder if you ever will.

★ @marc-spectorr

☼ come alive

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

us, now

poe dameron x reader

summary: you and poe always promised to act on your feelings towards each other once the war is over. this time has come.

warnings: themes of war, death, injuries. one small reference to spice (drugs) but blink and you'll miss it.

tags: feelings. fluff, lots of it. gn!reader, a bit of angst, friends to lovers

word count: 0.6k

a/n: I'm really proud of this one. it all came naturally to me and I'm really happy with the outcome! I wrote it under less than two hours too, that's a huge accomplishment for me :'))

Poe’s fingers ghost over the hollow of your cheeks; his touch is feather-like but doesn’t fail for the butterflies to flutter into your stomach. You tenderly smile at him, feeling high on this feeling that floats in your belly, head and heart. 

You step closer to let your nose brush against his and he closes his eyes in contentment, bringing his hand at the nape of your neck as he leans forward to capture your lips with his.

His lips feel soft against yours, surprisingly. His lack of care for them isn’t noticeable, not with the precision he takes to kiss you.

His kiss is delicate, nimble and thoughtful. He wants to do this right, he needs to do this right. He has wanted to do this for years and now’s the time so he can’t screw it up. He would never forgive himself if you just walked away after that.

He pours all the unspoken feelings that have built up over the years into that kiss. Every glance thrown from across the briefing room, every wink furtively thrown at you, every hug after a mission, every late night conversation; they’re all here. In that kiss.

When he pulls away it’s not that he wants to. He’d stay with his lips against yours for the rest of his life if he could.

You finally open your eyes back, chuckling as you lick your lips to feel Poe’s intoxicating taste one last time.

You cup his cheeks as he smiles like a man under the influence of spice. It’s all he’s ever dreamed of; this war over and won, and you, here with him with no fear that you might not make it, like he’s always wanted you.

“You’re hurt” you point out, voice barely louder than a whisper, realizing that you hadn’t even taken the time to really care for what he looked like before celebrating him coming back alive.

Your thumb traces the rough stubbled skin of his jaw and he leans into your touch like he hasn’t been given affection in decades. 

“But I’m here” he responds, trying to ease the worry in your eyes. It’s over, you’re both here, you both made it. And he can finally have you, and he looks at you like he has won everything.

“You need to get checked up baby” you try to negotiate, though you know that if Poe doesn’t want to do something, he won’t. But since it’s you, he might just consider it.

“i’ve never felt better while injured” he declares as he leans forward to leave a kiss at the top of your head. “Believe me” he nods slowly as he wraps his arms around you, face diving into your neck.

You press yourself against him as close as you can, wrapping your arms around him and firmly gripping his dusty, muddy, bloody shirt. Almost as if you don’t he will slip through your fingers, that it will all go back to feeling plagued by fear when he’s away from you.

“I love you”

It slips from your lips. Not that you didn’t mean to say it, but you sound numb though really, you feel too much. You hope it sounded sincere because it was. But you know that he knows it.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder and close your eyes, tiredness taking over your body. You don’t care if he doesn’t say it back, really it doesn’t matter, you just need to–

“I do too. I love you.” he mumbles against the aching skin of the juncture between your neck and shoulder before punctuating his sentence with a kiss there. “And it feels good to finally be able to say it without fearing jinxing it.”

The war is over.

Something else can start.

—

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!!

star wars taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @beccabecs521

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

poe dameron x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: love bites

warnings: mentions of sex... come on guys it's kinktober, so obviously. aside from the obvious ones because of the kink, I don't think it has any warnings!

word count: 0.5k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

“Better make use of that scarf of yours” you’d told him teasingly, leaving a kiss at his shoulder when he examined his neck in the refreshers mirror.

The surface was covered in bite marks and hickeys, small trails of red and purple spots covering his olive skin, the contrast of the colors faint yet …noticeable by the quantity.

"It's not even cold" he murmurs, the tip of his fingers lightly grazing the area, head tilted to the side so he could access it.

You press yourself closer to him, your chest pressed flush against his back, your lips almost grazing his ear.

"Well, if you prefer everyone knowing what their commander did tonight…" you whisper, smiling, and he chuckles at your words, a snide smirk over your face as you wrap your arms around his waist, tucking your face in the crook of his neck, leaving a kiss over the fresh marks on his warm skin.

You hadn’t even meant to mark him that much, at first. 

It had been a long, prolonged session of languid, slow love making, and when you had changed positions and started ever so slowly and lazily bouncing on his lap after a couple orgasms, you noticed the thin, shiny overlay of sweat having built up over his neck, and you had been rather enticed by the idea of licking it off of him.

A low grunt coming deep from his throat had left his mouth when you tasted the saltiness of his skin as you simultaneously licked and kissed it, his hands gripping tighter and his fingers pressing harder onto your hips, guiding you up and down his cock as he threw his head back to give your mouth more access. 

Despite how pleasant it was at the moment, he hadn’t anticipated the remnants of your actions over his skin, and he should have known, considering how eagerly you had begun to bite and suck at his neck, the work of your mouth contrasting with the lazy rolling of your hips, the only energy left after your few orgasms now poured into abusing his muscular neck and tender skin.

He could not say he was mad at you, though. 

There was something exciting about seeing his reflection in the mirror, the colored spots over his neck standing out and proving he was yours, and you were the one that did this to him, that claimed him. 

Maybe if positioned correctly, the collar of his flight suit would cover them, and no one would know, and this option would be the most professional one, but the most boring one.

He could use a little spice, and he knew that everyone would notice but no one would actually dare asking questions about it, and something about this fact lit something in him.

"You know what," he starts, watching into your eyes as you lift your head from the crook of his neck and look at him through the mirror. A smirk grows over his lips. 

“I think I want them to know.” 

—

as always please reblog and tell me your thoughts it helps a lot!!

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

+ @flightlessangelwings

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

AHHHHH!! THIS IS SO SWEET!!!!

hi theo could i request "That's the 6th time you've complimented me today" with poe dameron pls pls pls and thank you!🥰🥰🥰

The Droid Problem

Poe Dameron x gn!reader

A/N: I hope it’s okay that I wrote this with a droid repair person reader, I just love poe x any type of repair person

Request a prompt & a character

General Taglist: @nptnewr @violetrainbow412-blog

Poe sighed, pulling his helmet off his head. He jumped out of his X-Wing, and gave the ship a pat. He’d just gotten back from a test flight after some repairs had been made. He was about to make his way to the repair man to affirm that everything was working okay when you caught his eye.

He watched as you walked down the landing area, a small blue droid rolling behind you. You gave it a smile as you talked with it, the droid beeping back enthusiastically. He couldn’t help but admire the way you cared for the droids. He’d seen people treat them horribly, and couldn’t imagine letting anyone hurt BB-8, so when he’d first heard that Leia had found a droid repair person and he’d seen you with them, he practically swooned.

He was pulled out of his trance when he felt someone give his back a rough pat.

“You’re staring again.” Finn said behind him.

Poe pulled his eyes away from you to turn to look at Finn.

“I wasn’t staring.” He scoffed.

“You were definitely staring.” Finn smirked. “Why don’t you just talk to them?” He asked.

Poe sighed, walking around various ships and pilots. “I have. A lot. And every time I do, I sound like an idiot.”

“You? The Poe Dameron? Sound like an idiot? Impossible!” Finn mocked him.

“Oh shut up.” Poe said.

Finn laughed, then left him to finish his work for the day. Poe sent continuous glances in your direction throughout the rest of the day. He’d been trying to flirt with you for a while, but maybe he needed to turn it up a notch, make it a little more obvious.

The next day, Poe woke up with a plan. He was going to drown you in compliment after compliment. Surely that will make you aware of his feelings for you, right?

He saw you in the cafe, at the end of the line to pick up breakfast. He took a deep breath, then walked up behind you, and grabbed a tray.

“Good morning Y/n.” He said.

You jumped a little, the greeting taking you by surprise. You turned to see Poe, a nervous smile on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He let out a breathy laugh.

“It’s okay, I just wasn’t paying attention.” You assured him.

His mind ran a mile a minute, trying to think of something to say to you that might make up for his awkward fumble.

“Is that a new vest?” Was what his mind decided was the best thing to say.

You looked down at your vest. It was a standard vest given to any repair workers in the resistance. The beige fabric was covered in pockets to hold small tools.

“Uh, no, it’s just my usual vest.” You tell him.

“It looks great on you.” He says quickly. He kicks himself internally, and has to physically keep himself from sighing.

You can feel your face heat up under the gaze of the pilot. “Thank you Poe.”

Poe nodded, then let you get your food and eat in peace, slightly afraid he might say something else that would make him want to throw himself out of his ship mid-flight.

Poe spent the rest of the day “coincidentally” crossing paths with you. He’d stumble through a compliment, occasionally earning a laugh, but always earning a smile from you, and honestly? That smile was good enough for him.

He ate dinner that night with Finn and Rey, their table only a few away from yours where you sat with some of the other repair people.

“Is he making any progress with Y/n?” Rey asked Finn.

Finn shrugged. “If awkward, one-sided conversations are progress.”

“I’m right here guys.” Poe said to them. He picked at his food. “I’ve never been so bad at this before, it’s just whenever I’m around them, everything goes to shit, and I just short-circuit.”

“Short-circuit? That’s funny.” Finn laughed.

“Short-circuit!” Rey exclaimed, causing a few others around them to look at her.

Poe immediately shushed her. “Why are you shouting?”

“They fix droids, so have BB-8 short-circuit or something, then you can see them privately, and you’ll have time to actually talk.” She explained.

It didn’t seem like a bad idea to Poe. Being able to talk to you without having other people around should be a lot easier. And BB-8 had been complaining about his moping around in their room.

“Alright, I’ll try anything at this point.”

Poe explained his plan to the orange droid, who beeped happily in response. He apologized profusely as he unscrewed a bolt on one of his panels, causing the droid’s beeps to wiggle in pitch. He slipped the screw in his pocket, then walked with BB-8 to your office.

Your office was in a usually busy part of the resistance base. You shared an office space with various engineers and repair people, all of whom usually worked out of office, while you tended to droids at your secluded desk.

Everyone else had gone to their rooms for the night, you were just about to head out as well when you saw Poe walking down the corridor. BB-8 followed behind him, zigzagging along his path.

“Sorry, I know it’s late, but the BB doesn’t seem to be feeling alright.” Poe gestured to the droid, who beeped out one, long, deep note.

“Come on in.” You ushered them into the office. “What’s wrong little guy?” You knelt down to inspect him. You frowned when he made a sad beep.

Poe watched your hands hover over his droid, careful touches to the metal. “What’s wrong with him doc?” He asked.

You laughed and looked up at Poe. “Nothing too serious, he looks like he’s missing a screw on this panel here.” You stood up and rifled through some drawers. “Found it.” You took a screwdriver out of your vest, and screwed the panel back in. “How does that feel buddy?” You asked BB-8.

BB-8 beeped an excited string of beeps, and rolled around the room.

“You really are amazing.” Poe said quietly as he watched BB-8 zoom around the room.

“You know, that’s the sixth time you’ve complimented me today.” You tell him.

Poe turns back to you, and raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. Not that I’ve been keeping count or anything! It’s just, I don’t know weird.” You shrug.

“It’s weird?” Poe asks. A frown falls over his face. Was he making you uncomfortable?

“You’re not weird! It’s just weird because it’s me. I haven’t really done anything spectacular enough to deserve all that attention.” You turn away to reorganize your drawers. “Plus, you’re you. The poster boy of the Resistance. It’s kind of nerve wracking.”

“Nerve wracking? I make you nervous?” Poe sounds surprised.

“Well yeah flyboy, of course you do.” You almost laugh.

“You make me nervous. I can’t think straight when I’m around you.” Poe sighs.

A look of surprise takes over your face. “Me? Why?”

Poe laughs. “Because you’re amazing. Everything you do for them,” he gestures to BB-8, “I see it all, and I can’t help but feel like Maker gave us an angel.”

You’re speechless. You can’t take your eyes away from Poe, but you can’t put any words together to form any kind of response either.

He steps forward, closer to you. He slowly places a hand on your cheek. “Can I kiss you?” His voice is so quiet it’s almost inaudible.

You reach up to grip his beige shirt, hands finding the collar, and pull him into a kiss. You can feel him smile, his nose softly brushing against yours. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, but pulls away when BB-8 bumps into his legs.

“Okay buddy, okay.” Poe lets go of you, and walks backward toward the door. “Breakfast tomorrow? Just the two of us? And no horribly awkward compliments, I promise.”

You shrug and give him a smile. “I kind of liked the awkward compliments.”

Poe gives you a breathy laugh and nods. “See you tomorrow angel.”

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

The Best Ride in the Galaxy (one-shot)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You have a thing for Poe's flight suit. He decides to be a cocky asshole about it. Sexy shenanigans ensue. Word count: 2k

Warnings: Explicit 18+, MDNI! Mostly porn with a little plot // Established relationship, thigh riding/dry humping, vaginal fingering, swearing, name calling, use of pet names (English and Spanish), dom!Poe, brief light violence (slap to the face), Poe uses a Spanish pet name (bebita) which is probably not canon but idc it's hot, no physical description of reader besides being AFAB and being taller standing than a sitting Poe, Poe makes a corny joke, Poe being a cocky smug asshole comes with its own warning, no use of y/n

a/n: This picture of Oscar & his thick-ass thighs, and @for-a-longlongtime mentioning how Poe-coded it was, inspired this fic in its entirety. A little over 24 hours later and here it is! This is my very first posted fic, so please show it some love, send it to someone who might enjoy it, and feel free to give (constructive) feedback if you wish! If I missed any warning tags, please let me know and I'll add them in. Big big thanks to @for-a-longlongtime for beta-reading and cheering me on, it means the world to me.

You run outside as soon as you hear the X-wings land, your heart in your throat. 

It’s been 7 days, but when he left, Poe promised you it wouldn’t take more than 4 for his small band of rebel fighters to complete the covert mission. Of course he insisted on going with them; he’d been stir-crazy as of late, the endless strategy meetings and arguments amongst leadership boring him to tears. He jumped at the chance to get back into the pilot’s seat. You paced restlessly those last 3 days, imagining the absolute worst had happened to him, with no way of knowing if he was even alive.

So when you rushed out to the tarmac and spotted him climbing out of his X-wing, immense relief flooded your body, followed quickly by a potent swirl of both anger and anxiety. He spotted you, his eyes lighting up, jogging towards you with that brilliant smile.

“Hey good-lookin’,” he crooned as he approached, “didn’t miss me too much, did you?”

What he didn’t expect was for you to slap him straight across his face.

You surprised the both of you - Poe was staring back at you, open-mouthed and silent, a rare occurrence; you were staring at him, anger flashing in your eyes, your palm stinging slightly from the impact.

“Baby, I know you weren’t keen on me leaving,” Poe stammered, “but this seems a tad bit–”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD, YOU ASSHOLE!” you snapped at him, loudly enough for the people around you to look around for the source of the outburst. “You told me four days, Poe, and it’s now DAY FUCKING SEVEN.” You turned and started storming back to your pod, Poe on your heels.

“Bebita, I told you it was a small team,” Poe tried to explain while keeping up with you. “We hit some hiccups in the plan and had to hide out a bit longer than we thought. If I’d tried to contact you, it would have given away our position. You know how these missions go.”

You angrily punched in the access code to the door of your pod. “Yes, I know, which is exactly why as co-general you’re not supposed to be out in the field putting yourself in harm’s way.” The metal door slid open, and you walked forward, not even looking back at him. “I don’t care if you got bored playing politics, that doesn’t mean you get to go rogue and get back in the cockpit.” Slamming your hand on the button to slide the pod door closed, you finally turned to face Poe since slapping him. You let out a shaky breath as your rage subsided. Your stomach was morphing into a simmering pool of nerves and regret. 

“Look,” Poe said, “I just… getting cooped up on base listening to those talking heads was making me crazy. I miss flying and I saw the opportunity and took it.” You knew what he said was true, but it didn’t make it any easier on you. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you scanned his body for signs of injury, until you realized… he was wearing his flight suit.

Fuck. That damn flight suit always did things to you. Obviously he had to wear it for functionality’s sake, but god, it was almost like he was made to look good in them. His shoulders looked so strong and broad, and the unisex, utilitarian cut of the orange suit somehow did nothing to hide the curve of his ample, round ass, one of your favorite features of his. You felt your mouth water as you drank the sight of him in, arousal slowly kindling in your belly.

That suit was your weakness, and the cocky smile slowly dawning on his face let you know he knew, too.

“I mean,” Poe smirked,  “at least you get to see me in your favorite outfit of mine.” Walking slowly away from you to give you a clear view of his rear, he turned and sunk into the chair in your room. You followed, magnetically drawn to him while simultaneously being flustered that he caught onto your ogling. You crossed your arms and put on your best annoyed face.

“I’m sorry for slapping you, but I’m not sorry for being mad,” you said, pursing your lips and looking away. “And trying to seduce me with your stupid uniform isn’t working.”

It was, in fact, working too well. Your breathing got shallower as you tried to ignore the gentle heat filling your body from your center outwards. Poe’s smirk deepened.

“It’s a good thing you’re not a covert operative because you are the worst at lying,” he said, grabbing your thighs and coaxing you closer to him. You acquiesced, trying and failing to look irritated, the desire plain as day on your face. Poe ran his hands slowly up and down your legs from your hips to your calves. Sliding his palms back and around your ass, he squeezed and your breath hitched. You looked down and those liquid brown eyes were staring up at you, twinkling with mischief. “I know you better than that, sweet thing,” Poe teased. “You absolutely cannot pretend that me wearing this suit doesn’t make you cream your panties.”

You fought to control your traitorous body, breathing slowly through your nose as Poe lifted the hem of your shirt and planted soft kisses on your belly, right above your pants. “Fuck you, you cocky asshole,” you tried to spit viciously, but it came out sounding slightly strangled instead. This Maker-forsaken stupid man and his stupid bubble butt and this stupid suit, you thought, your fingers weaving into the curls on his head. 

Poe’s smile only turned even more predatory, like a cat playing with a mouse. “Oh, I would, baby” he whispered, nipping your torso lightly, “but I haven’t showered in days. How about this instead…”

Suddenly Poe grabbed your hips, pulling you down into his lap and forcing your knees to buckle, your legs on either side of his thick thigh. His right arm wound around your lower back, holding you in place while his left hand snaked up your neck and into your hair. He pulled you in for a slow, soft kiss, which snapped the final tether preventing you from melting for him like he knew you wanted to. You surged forward, kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth and tasting the minty aftertaste of the gum he always chews while piloting. He groans, biting your lower lip, then sliding his tongue along yours. This draws your first moans out from somewhere deep in your chest, and his eyes quickly darken when you begin grinding on his thigh.

“Oh, you like that,” Poe crooned, lips turning up into a smirk. “So fucking eager for me. So desperate to cum.”

“Fuck you, Maker-damn it,” you pant, burying your face into his neck, the smell of sweat, jet fuel, and him invading your senses. “This stupid suit is going to be the death of me.”

Poe smiles wickedly. “Why don’t you take a ride on the best pilot in the galaxy before you die, then, honey?” he purrs into your ear. You roll your eyes at his cheesy line until you feel him flex the thigh you’re straddling, creating the most delicious friction against your clothed core. You let out a breathy moan and clench your own thighs around his, starting to rock your clit against his ridge of muscle through your clothes. Slick starts dripping out of you with each roll of your hips against him. Poe moves your arms to brace on his shoulders, then slides both of his hands onto your hips to help you ride him.

The pleasure in your core starts to ratchet up, and you grind yourself harder into Poe’s thigh, throwing your head back with a moan. Poe leans to your ear, kissing and lightly licking just behind and below your earlobe, that spot he knows drives you wild. “That’s it, baby, ride it out,” he whispers into your ear. “Use all that frustration to make yourself cum on my leg.” You mewl, circling your hips and chasing your high. Your pussy contracts around nothing, and suddenly all you can think about is how much better it would feel if Poe was inside of you.

“Poe,” you whine, “I need more.” Your slick is soaking through your underwear, the smell of your arousal filling Poe’s senses. He groans, his cock painfully hard in his flight suit.

“What do you need, bebita?” he says, kissing your forehead sweetly while gripping your hips like a vice, a contrast that has you moaning wordlessly. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I need you,” you beg, “I need you inside of me, I need you to fuck me, please.” You can feel your clit throbbing, almost painfully. Poe moans into your neck. “Baby, I told you, you do not want me to unzip this suit,” he chuckles. “But I think I can still help. Lean back a little.” You comply, and watch with glazed eyes as Poe stares right back at you, slipping his middle and ring fingers into his mouth to get them wet. A shudder rips through your body when he slips both digits past the waistband of your pants and into your underwear. He groans loudly when he feels your slick folds.

“Fuuuuck me, baby, you’re absolutely drenched,” he breaths out. “Is this all for this dumb orange jumpsuit I’m wearing?” That cocky smirk reappears as he laughs at his own joke.

Letting out an annoyed breath, you huff, “it’s for you, idiot. You fucking drive me crazy. You’re the only one that’s ever gotten me this wet. Now fill me up before I lose my ever-loving mind.” 

Poe lets out another chuckle. “Yes, ma’am,” he quips, and then quickly slides the length of his fingers into your cunt, forcing a moan from your lungs involuntarily. He rocks you forward again so that you’re sitting directly on his fingers, with his palm cradling your pussy. “Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he commands. “Take what you need from me.”

You do exactly that, rising and falling on his thigh, swirling your hips over his soaked digits, your clit rubbing against the meat of his palm deliciously. He adds another finger, stretching you out and making you want to scream. Your hips speed up as you desperately chase your high. The wet squelching and slapping sounds of your pussy on Poe’s hand echo in the room. Poe’s panting fills your ears and your wanton moans fill his. You invade his senses in every way possible, and he can feel his dick pulse with every thrust of your hips against his thigh.

Suddenly, you start feeling the knot in your core tighten as you rocket ever-closer to your orgasm. Poe moans as he feels you clench. “Fuck, that’s it, honey, I can feel you getting close,” he whispers. “Give it to me.” His hips start lifting up, grinding, pressing his length into you as much as he can.

“Oh Maker, Poe, oh fuck,” you cry as your walls tighten. “You want me to fucking cum for you?”

“Fuuuuuuck yes baby, that’s all I want,” Poe pants. “Fucking cum all over my fingers, soak my hand, honey.”

The filth pouring out of his mouth finally snaps the knot in your stomach, and you nearly scream in ecstasy as your release shatters and blooms through your body. Poe moans your name as a rush of your slick coats his hand, and you feel him bite your shoulder as his body tenses. Sated, you slump against him, his hand still pinned under your body, both of you sticky with sweat and panting for breath. Poe uses his free hand to softly cup the side of your face, pressing kisses slowly and gently across your cheeks and nose.

You sigh as he carefully extracts his hand. Just as you peer down at him, he closes his eyes and slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking every bit of your essence off. You shudder in pleasure as you watch him. He locks eyes with you, and you lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips.

“Feeling better?” Poe asks, the warm molten brown of his eyes having returned. You sigh and giggle a little. “Yes, thank you,” you murmur quietly, “but I wish I could have made you cum too.” 

Suddenly Poe looks sheepish, something that’s a rare expression for him.

“Well, uh…” he starts, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and averting his eyes. You pause, perplexed. He glances back at you, then down at the floor, and then back at you again. Poe clears his throat before he finally speaks.

 “I… actually did…”

You freeze silently, and then erupt into laughter. “Poe Dameron!” you screech. “The ‘best pilot in the galaxy’, commander of the Starfighter Corps, co-general of the entire fucking Resistance, fucking JIZZED in his pants like a teenager???” You start tittering uncontrollably, much to Poe’s embarrassment. “Shut the fuck up, idiot,” he grouses, which only makes you cackle even louder. He sighs, annoyed but begrudgingly satisfied.

“At least this suit needs to be washed anyway,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and you laugh so hard you start crying.

Tag list (it's here y'all!): @for-a-longlongtime @nerdieforpedro @lu62 @purelyoscar @clemdango04 @survivingandenduring @reggiesfilthylittlesecret @beezusvreeland @alltheglitterandtheroar @campingwiththecharmings @qveerthe0ry @agentjackdaniels @dizthemonster @beezusvreeland @queerponcho and anyone else who was interested!

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

JFIRIW8IFIRIDKDOWJDJD AHHHH MY HEART!!!! THEY WAY YOU WRITE STEVEN IS JUST PERFECTION!!!!! BEAUTIFUL!!!!

Proper Date

summary: steven gains some knowledge about how he and reader met…and some about himself.

pairing: gn!reader x steven grant, implied gn!reader x marc spector

contents: reader and steven’s first kiss, internalized self-doubt (steven), discussion of DID, fluff

an: hi, hello, this is my first moonknight fic so please be gentle! steven and marc’s interactions are based in how they’re portrayed in the show. steven is standard text and marc is italicized. gif credits are @userpoe.

word count: 1.2k

mcu masterlist

Steven doesn’t remember how he met you, but he remembers every moment he has with you after that as if his life depends on it. You’re his best friend, though he’s not sure why you put up with his confusion and disorganization. Every time he wonders he hears that voice, the one he’s come accustomed to, the one that’s almost become a comfort.

A companion in itself.

It’s always bothered Steven, the fact that he can’t remember the moment he met someone like you. It bothers him, even more, when he finally misses another moment. He wakes up in bed with you by his side, arms and legs tangled together. You’re in a pair of his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, your hair fanned out on the pillow.

He doesn’t want to disturb you but he’s in shock, and before he can think better of it, he’s rolling out of bed and running to the bathroom. His rushed movements wake you up and you call after him just as he slams the door shut.

He hears the bed creak as you rise out of bed– his bed– before he hears your voice, “Steven?”

“I’m just usin’ the loo,” He reassures you, before turning to the mirror.

Sometimes the voice he hears comes with a face. It's his face, but more stern and worn. The eyes of the face that stare back at him are always guarded, but this time they’re softer around the rims.

It’s okay, Steven. They’re okay. We can trust them.

Steven leans into the mirror, “You know them?”

How do you think you met them?

“Steven? Come out, please. We can talk, and get everything cleared up. It’s okay,” You say gently through the door.

Steven glances back at the door before looking back at his reflection, at his other self. The man staring back at him nods reassuringly. When he steps out of the bathroom you're sitting on the edge of his bed, a soft smile on your face as he pads toward you.

You let him get comfortable beside you before you speak, “Did you talk to him?”

Steven’s eyes widen though he realizes that the voice has already made it clear that you know each other, “Yes, but maybe you could catch me up? Who’s he?”

“His name’s Marc. I met him first.”

“And he’s…” He trails off, not sure of what fills in this bizarre blank.

You squint, something he’s noticed you do when you're deep in thought, “He’s you but not. He’s part of you and his own person at the same time. Does that make sense?”

“I’m not sure that it does.”

“We’ve never talked about it but you’ve always been confused about how we met right?” You take his hands into yours.

He frowns at being so easy to read but nods slowly, “Yeah, I have.”

“That’s because I knew Marc for months before you showed yourself.”

“Months?”

“I know this is a lot, but he told me everything. He told me about you. And then one day you just appeared, and you’re wonderful, Steven. Truly wonderful.”

“That’s all well and good, quite happy for the both of you, but what does any of this mean for me? For my life? For our friendship?” He asks defensively, pulling one of his hands away.

“I think that the first two questions are a conversation for you and Marc to have together. But as far as our friendship…” You break eye contact for the first time since the conversation has started, “that’s up to you. I’m just happy to be here with you.”

Steven’s eyes narrow at your choice of words. He needs to confirm his suspicions, “What is Marc to you?”

“We’re…together.”

He leans away angrily, removing his other hand from your grasp, “And so you just put up with me, waiting for him to come around?”

“No, it’s not like that, it never has been since I met you. I like you, Steven, just as much as I like Marc. You both mean so much to me.”

“I’m not quite sure I’m following.”

“What I mean is if you wanted to be with me…the way Marc is with me, I’d be happy with that. I’d prefer it actually, to have both of you,” You rest your hand on his cheek, running your thumb over his bottom lip.

Steven looks at you in utter disbelief, his cheeks staining a soft pink at your affectionate touch, “Y-you want to be? With me?”

Say yes.

You can’t help the chuckle that slips out of you, “Is that so hard to believe?”

He shrugs, raising his eyebrows, “Well, yeah, love, it is.”

“Believe it anyway,” You urge, scooting closer to him on the bed.

Say yes, idiot.

You see Steven roll his eyes and can only imagine that Marc’s just said something to him. He mumbles something under his breath before focusing his attention back on you, “You’re sure?”

Steven, just say yes already.

“I’m sure.”

“But what if,” He’s cut off by this strong surge of energy in his chest. It feels as if he’s not in control for a few seconds and then his lips are on yours, moving in a way that feels foreign and familiar all at once. Once in control again he freezes, but then your hands are knotting into the base of his curls and pulling him closer. All he can do is melt against you, kissing you back just as desperately as you kiss him.

Steven’s hands fall to your waist, gripping you gently before the two of you fall back into the bed. He can’t believe he gets to touch you like this, or that he even gets to kiss you at all. You're so soft, you smell intoxicating, and he imagines that he could kiss you like this for the rest of his life if he didn't have to share you. To his surprise, your tongue slips into his mouth, eager to explore as you kiss him deeply. He matches your energy, just as hungry for more.

You only break the kiss once your lungs are screaming for air, “Seems like you got some help there so I’ll ask, is that a yes? Independent of your control freak of an other half?” You smirk, knowing that’ll get under Marc’s skin and Steven hears the voice let out a slew of expletives.

He can’t help the smile that breaks across his face, not when you're smiling so brightly, “It's a yes, but he doesn't seem too happy about your joke.”

“He can take it up with me later.”

“Speaking of, has he taken you out on a proper date?”

The voice rings in his head again, Watch it.

You throw your head back, laughing loudly, “Yes, he’s taken me on a date. It's your turn now.”

“Ours will be just as good, maybe even better.”

“Hey, no, comparisons. I cherish you both,” You bend to run your nose along his before giving him a peck on the lips.

The voice, Marc as he’s accepting, his internal companion, says nothing but what Steven can identify is a mutual warmth and affection spreads through his chest. Steven catches a glimpse of Marc through the reflection of the fish tank, and Marc gives him yet another reassuring nod. They have you, both of them, and they each feel so lucky.

part 2: here.

if you’d like to be on my moonknight taglist let me know!

mcu taglist: @laurensprentiss, @angelfxllcm, @ninebluehearts, @jitterbugs927, @later-gators12

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

JFOWJCKEJF TOO LOVELY. TOO KIND. TOO WONDERFUL.

I'm holding your comment in my hands and sobbing in joy! 😭💚🫂

What A View

Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: A trip to the Shard goes a little differently.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: The Shard is the tallest building in London. Also totally another case of my mind just jumping to something else in the bingo other than what was probably implied. So this is 'High Sex' and obviously I went, 'oh, right, so high in the sky?' I am so smart. (lie).

Warnings: swearing, p in v sex, Steven kinda having an exhibition kink, overuse of italics, typos, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1329

You hadn’t expected the afternoon to play out like this. 

With your back pressed against the cool glass, Steven spreading you wide. His fingers dug into the fleshy part of your left thigh, pushing on your leg as you just about managed to keep your balance by pressing the ball of your foot against the marble sink. 

You’d spotted a discount voucher for the Shard and had asked if Marc, Steven, and Jake would like to come with you. 

Marc had rolled his eyes playfully, “I’ve seen London from up high plenty of times,” and declined.

Jake had been sleeping. 

Steven had grinned and nodded excitedly. “You know love, I’ve never actually been up the Shard? It’s true what they say, you live in London but you don’t do the normal tourist things.” 

Everything had been relatively normal on the way, though the elevator to the upper floors and viewing platform had been a little busy. Both you and Steven had shuffled into a corner, your back to his chest. 

He’d gone quiet after a few seconds, his grip on your hand tightening as his muscles stiffened. For a moment you had thought that Marc had fronted. 

Once you were on the right floor you had barely stepped out, heading towards the large wall length windows when Steven had pulled you in the opposite direction and dragged you into a bathroom. 

You hadn’t even had a chance to question him before his lips were on yours and his hands slipped under your top. 

You held onto his shoulders for dear life, up on the tiptoes of your right foot as he slammed into you. His thick cock hitting so deep you could see stars. 

You moaned against his hand, his palm haphazardly covering your mouth in a hasty attempt to muffle your sounds. You had never been much of a screamer during sex until you’d met them. 

No matter how hard you try little groans escape your mouth with every frantic thrust of his hips. He angles upwards with every buck, hitting just right on the spot he knows so well and rubbing his public bone against your clit with every motion. 

Steven’s own mouth is pressed into your neck, biting and sucking and leaving sloppy kisses as he tries to muffle his whines. He had always been a screamer. 

You pull tightly on his shirt, a fraction away from ripping the cotton as pleasure coils in your stomach, building higher and impossibly higher.

His name is muffled by his hand as you say it, breathless and needy, but he still hears it. 

He pulls his mouth away from your skin just far enough to speak, frowning in concentration as he tries to keep his voice under control. “You… okay?” 

The slap, slap, slap of skin almost drowns him out. 

You nod, eyes closed but still let out a soft whine and he picks up the pace, fucking you even harder, like he is trying to get caught, trying to make you scream his name so loudly that the whole of the city will hear you.

“That’s it love, that’s it,” he whines, nipping at your neck and groaning as you clench around him. He knows you’re so close, can feel you approaching orgasm buzzing along your skin like electricity, practically taste it in the air. He wants it so badly, needs it more than breathing. 

“You… you… gonna be…” he swallows, having to fight back his own moans even more. “You gonna… be good? Gonna… gonna…” he bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood as he pistons his hips. Everything’s too much it’s blinding, dizzying. But not enough. 

The way you squeeze him, your back arching off the glass as you meet his thrusts desperately. The bright sky behind you, the sweat on your skin. His tongue darts out to lick a stripe up your neck and he groans, his eyes rolling back.

There’s a light mist forming around you on the glass, the heat from both your bodies collecting. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, his own pleasure close on his heels. “God, can you imagine if someone was cleaning the windows,” all his words come out in a rush, “and they just, fuck, just saw us here. Saw you moaning and taking my cock so well, saw how pretty you are all full of me and just begging. Saw how I need to keep you quiet so we don’t get caught because you just, just need it so bad that you can’t stop, and, and-” He groans loudly, the sound turning into a whine. “Love, fuck, please, please, please,” he punctuates every word with a sharp snap of his hips that has you reeling, sinking into pleasure.

“I need you to,” he groans as you squeeze and clench around him, your pussy fluttering and trying to pull him deeper. “I need to hear you.” He gasps, “please, if I move my hand can you please try, can you try not to be too loud? Please. I,” he moans again, “please, need it so bad, need it, need you.” 

You nod rapidly, barely getting a chance to register his words in your hazy, lust filled mind before he rips his hand away from your mouth and grabs onto your shoulder, pressing the full length of his body up against up against yours as he pounds into you. 

“Steven,” you moan, just managing to keep your voice below your regular talking level. 

He groans in response, much louder than you. 

“I’m gonna-”

He kisses you roughly, sliding his tongue messily into your mouth for a moment. 

“Gonna come, love? Gonna come on me?” His voice rises in pitch towards the end and you nod, your thoughts all turned to mush as all you can comprehend is the feel of his skin and the heat of his body as he pushes you higher and higher to ecstasy. 

“Need you to,” he whines, tears just pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Need you to.”

You moan his name, gasping against him. Every muscle tenses as he finally pushes you over the edge you've been dancing by. Pleasure washes over every nerve, running over your spine as you convulse and cling onto him like a lifeline. 

Steven whines, fucking you through your orgasm even as he comes, pumping his hot, thick cum deep inside and filling you to the brim. 

You breathe heavily as you both come back to yourselves, holding each other tightly. The sweat starts to cool on your skin and you swallow, a sudden flash of panic flicking to the forefront of your mind. 

“Do you think anyone heard us?” You ask quietly. 

Steven shakes his head, still pressed into your neck. “We weren’t that loud.”

You laugh. “You sure?” 

“Nope.” 

You laugh harder. 

“Honestly, love, I don’t give a shit.” 

“Really?” 

“Hmm.” He looks up at you with a large grin on his face, his eyes soft and loving. “Too happy to care. Anyone says anything, I’ll sort them.” 

You giggle at his playful tone. “My hero.” 

He chuckles and kisses you softly.

“Does this count as joining the mile high club?” He giggles, sweat sticking his curls to his forehead. 

You shake your head as you laugh.

“Oh, well.” There’s a soft flush to his skin, an afterglow of his orgasm that you hate to admit makes heat pool a little in your stomach.

Steven notices the slight change in your expression, the small clench as you squeeze around his softening cock.

He groans softly and presses close to you again, mouthing at the love bites he’s left on your neck. He grinds against you slowly, not pulling out but pressing up against your clit with a roll of his hips. 

The little surprised gasp that leaves your lips makes him smile. 

“Give me a minute love,” he mutters, keeping up the soft rock and glide. “Maybe we can be louder this time.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

MEOWKXKEJROFJKWJCK THE BANTER!!! AHHHHH!! I AM SCREAMING! I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE MARC SO MUCH, HE IS JUST EVERYTHING!!!!!!!

marc spector- slow songs

Summary: Your friend, Marc, pretends to be your boyfriend at a wedding, but is it pretend? (~2.3k)

Contents: f!reader, fluff, fake dating/friends to lovers, language

part of @moonknight-events: MK spring ‘24 Bingo Event

This is the slow song:

-----

“Okay, just be calm. Stay cool, lay low.” You run your hands down your pale, blue dress.

Marc frowns at you. “That’s a terrible pep talk.”

“It’s not for you. It’s for me.” You give him a dirty look. “You’re used to lying to people’s faces, but I’m not.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I deserved that one. But as a reminder, I don’t even want to be here. How’s the suit?”

You look him up and down. He has on a dark suit with a bow tie. His curly hair arranged in neat waves away from his face. He was on a mission somewhere sunny and came back tan.

He looks so gorgeous you want to scream.

“It’s not the worst you’ve ever looked.” You grab his hand and haul him into the reception hall.

“Well, I think you look amazing, cupcake,” Marc says with a grin. “My little candy heart-shaped nugget love, whatever.”

He stretches his neck in his shirt. “I’m gonna kill Steven.”

You sigh. Steven had volunteered to be your pretend boyfriend at a friend's wedding. The only way to avoid being put at the singles table, plus you’d have someone to joke with.

But when you’d told your friend you were bringing your new boyfriend, you’d lied and said you’d grown up together. So, not Steven because of his accent, and Jake was too charming to let loose on unsuspecting bridesmaids.

So, Marc had reluctantly agreed.

Not that you weren’t friends with all three of them, but you and Marc weren’t as close. You were never sure why. Probably because his walls were up so high you could see them from space.

“Can’t we just say we’re friends?” Marc says, loosening his bow tie.

You stop walking and re-tighten it. “No, or she’s going to try to set me up with her cousin. He’s had a crush on me for years. I want to tell him to fuck off, but he’d make a whole thing about it.” You give him another once over, smooth a stray curl off his forehead. “Maybe it worked out better this way. You’re intimidating. That’s good.”

Marc looks grim as you enter the ballroom, quiet classical music playing in the background.

“Anything I should know?” Marc says. “What even is your last name?”

You turn to him, mouth open. “We’ve been friends for months. You don’t know?”

He shrugs. 

“Okay, you know what,” you say, annoyed, “why don’t you pretend to be someone else? Someone who doesn’t walk around with an ancient God’s arm stuck up his butthole, working him like a puppet?”

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Marc mutters.

Your friend’s parents walk up to you and hug you enthusiastically. You say what a beautiful ceremony it was and turn to introduce Marc.

You hold his hand. “These are my friend’s parents, Maureen and Sidney. And this is my boyfriend.”

Marc holds out his hand, a tight smile on his face. “Tony Wrinklebottom. Nice to meet you.”

You feel like you're having an out of body experience. WHAT IS HAPPENING?

Maureen’s eyes go wide. “It’s nice to meet you too. We haven’t heard a lot about you, but you’re very handsome. And such an unusual last name. Where did it come from?”

“I got it from my father,” Marc says unironically.

You squeeze his hand hard. “We’re going to go get a drink. I’m sure everyone is dying to talk to the parents of the bride. I’ll see you later.”

You plaster on a fake smile and push Marc toward the bar.

“I didn’t mean you had to make up a fake name,” you whisper scream at him.

“I panicked.” Marc leans on the bar. “Whiskey neat and a vodka soda with two limes.”

“You know my drink order, but not my last name?”

Marc takes his wallet out of his jacket to tip the bartender, generously you notice.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “What’s more important to our friendship? Your last name, or my knowing what you like to drink?”

You open your mouth. Shut it. Cross your arms. “This is a disaster.”

“Sure is.” Marc knocks back his first whisky and taps the glass for a second.

He holds his refill in one hand and holds his other arm out for you. You take it reluctantly.

“Let’s find our table,” you say, sipping your drink.

“Whatever you say, cookie-poo.” 

“Ugh,” you say, unable to stop the disgusted look on your face.

Marc smiles. “I take it back. This might be fun.”

And weirdly, it kind of is.

You and “Tony” are at a table with complete strangers. He’s not great at casual conversation, but with a face like his, people kind of go along with whatever he says.

He takes off his jacket and bow tie, and relaxes. Something you usually only see when you’re at his place watching a movie, or bringing him something you’d stress-baked.

Someone asks how you met.

Tony puts his arm around you. “My sweet pumpkin pie and I’ve known each other for years. She finally got the hint. All those times I stopped by with take out, or let her sleep with her head on my shoulder, we weren’t just hanging out.”

You smirk at him. “Pardon me for thinking we were friends.”

Marc’s eyes are almost black in the low light. His long lashes blink at you.

“You think friends plan their entire schedule, international travel, around Thursday movie nights? Friends go out of their way every night to walk you home?” His fingers tickle your neck lightly. 

You frown, your stomach feeling funny. “You said it was on your way from the gym.”

“I picked that gym because it’s close to your work,” he says with a raised eyebrow.

Marc’s face goes serious again. He pulls his arm away and takes a drink. “Look, just forget I said anything. I must be drunk.”

You watch uncertainty pass over his handsome face. You rub your hand over his forearm.

“You want to dance, Wrinklebottom?” You ask with a smile.

Marc huffs a half-laugh out of his nose. “Sure, pookie bear. Long as it’s a slow one.”

Marc’s broad shoulders are strong under your arms. His hands warm and wide as he holds your waist. He smells good. You get as close enough as you dare, breathing him in.

He hums along to the song. You're surprised he knows it.

“Jake says you’re the prettiest thing here,” he says quietly. “And Steven says he apologizes for not bringing flowers. Wait. No. He thinks I should apologize for not bringing you flowers.”

You and Steven had been in limbo for awhile now. You liked each other as more than friends. Jake had already told Steven to go for it. But you didn’t want to make Marc uncomfortable.

“Thank you, and thank you,” you say. You tilt your head away slightly so you can look at him. “And what does Marc Spector say?”

Marc’s eyes trace over your face. He licks his bottom lip. “The wedding cake was dry.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I’m going to return the gift I got them.”

Marc grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “One of those clocks where the cat’s tail swings back and forth?”

You smile. “Yeah, a big one.”

“Maybe it’s not the cat’s tail then.”

You snort out a laugh. “Stop. Weddings are romantic. No dick jokes.”

“Okay, honey lump, no dick jokes.” He pulls you a little closer. Close enough that your front sides are touching, swaying back and forth in unison. One of his hands rubs the small of your back.

“We can probably leave after this dance,” you say, even though you don’t want to. “We said hello to the bride and groom, ate, had drinks. I think that’s everything.”

“Leave? Tony Wrinklebottom doesn’t leave a party until he slow dances about four times with his girl.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Where the hell did you even get that stupid name?”

Marc’s hand rubs back and forth over your upper back now. “Jake’s watching one of the neighbor’s cats.”

“You named yourself after a cat?”

Marc shrugs. “My last name is Spector, which, given my profession, isn’t exactly subtle either. Besides, you should be so lucky. You could be Mrs. Wrinklebottom one day.”

You laugh, pressing your mouth into his shoulder to keep from drawing attention to yourself. “I always forget what a ridiculous sense of humor you have.”

“Makes you laugh, though,” Marc says.

You raise your head to argue with him, just for the fun of it. Your words die in your throat.

Marc’s looking at you with unusual softness. His head tilts slightly and you think, hope, that he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he cradles the back of your head with one of his hands, and slots it next to his, so your faces really are touching now.

“Your shampoo smells nice,” he says.

Your stomach flutters. “You look really hot.”

“I thought I looked like shit,” Marc says dryly.

You reposition your arms so they’re around his middle, your fingers brushing a little lower than they probably should.

“You’re hot and you know it. In this suit, or your other one when you’re all bloody and sweaty. As much as it pains me to compliment you,” you say.

“Yeah, we don’t really have that kind of friendship, do we? More likely give each other grief than go on and on about how you make the best lasagna. Or thank you for staying over that night last month. When you could tell I didn’t want to be alone. How good you feel in my arms. How much I-“ Marc stops. You feel his jaw tense.

“How much I love you?” You say.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But I did.”

You’ve stopped dancing. Both you standing in the middle of a crowd of people who are still moving back and forth slowly. You desperately hope that you haven’t made a mistake by saying something.

Marc’s gaze burns into yours. “Do you mean it?” He asks.

You smile. “Yes. And, not to sound full of myself, but I think you feel the same way.”

A grin cracks his serious facade. “I meant what I said earlier. About the things I do for you. Showing you how I feel.”

Love washes over you, covering your memories with Marc in warm light.

Part of you is grateful. He’d given both of you time to really know each other, set down a solid base together. But at the same time, he’d been so slow about it you want to shake his muscled shoulders.

“You’ve never even tried to hold my hand,” you say. “I thought we just had this awkward friendship, where you overdid it sometimes and retreated from me other times.”

“I was trying not to scare you away,” Marc says. “And you know how I am with feelings. I don’t like admitting that I have them.”

You roll your eyes. “I know. Talking about your feelings would really eat up your punching-people-in-their-faces time.”

“Punching people is easy.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you say.

Marc’s hands nudge your hips and you start dancing again. He doesn’t look tense, or anxious.

“If we do this,” Marc says, “I’m still your awkward friend.”

You pull him close, leaning in to kiss his cheek. His facial hair is already a little rough under your lips, even though he’d shaved just before you’d left.

“Maybe you’d get the upgrade to awkward boyfriend,” you say with a smile.

He kisses the side of your head. “I’d like that.”

“But just so you know, any time we go out, the reservations are going under your alias.”

Marc doesn’t even sigh. He just keeps dancing, his hands tracing over your body. “Mr. and Mrs. Tony Wrinklebottom.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Anthony G. Wrinklebottom.”

Marc chuckles. For the first time, chest to chest with him, you feel the deep rumble under his rib cage. You press in closer.

“Deal,” Marc says. He rests his knuckles under your chin so you’ll look at him. “So you’ll go out with me?”

“On one condition,” you say with a sweet smile. “What’s my last name?”

Marc’s smile freezes on his face. He shuts his eyes tight, but if you know Jake and Steven, they’re more likely to laugh at him than to give him an easy out.

He does that frowny smile that means he gives up, spins you around the dance floor.

He pulls you back in close to him. “I know other things about you. Like, we’re going to that place with the burgers and the fancy french fries for our first date. You can’t make reservations, but Jake knows the manager and we could skip the line.”

You groan. “I love that place.”

“I know,” Marc says smugly. “And the shop with the raspberry gelato for dessert. Walk through the park with the fountain you like. On Fridays the buskers that play Fleetwood Mac and Springsteen are there. We'll sit on the bench under the broken light, more privacy. That's where I want to kiss you.”

“Wow, that’s a good date,” you say, breath knocked out of you by Marc's words and eyes and plans.

“It should be, I’ve been fine-tuning it for three weeks,” he says self-deprecatingly.

You rest your hand against his cheek, rubbing your thumb on his skin. “This Friday, then.”

Marc nods, one of his hands resting around your waist, the other so light on the back of your neck you can barely feel him. He rests his forehead against yours as the song comes to a close.

“You look beautiful. Did I tell you that?” He says. “My little sugar bunny, cherry pie dove bean-“

You clap your hand over his mouth. “You’re what my grandma would’ve called, ‘a real piece of work.’”

He smiles under your palm, picking up the rhythm of the second slow song and easing you into it. You remove your hand, slide it back over his shoulder.

If this is the last thing you ever do as just friends, then Tony’s right. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay for all the slow songs.

-----

Square B "Fake Dating"

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Free Ride

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Your taxi driver is surprisingly familiar.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Set in London, Jake is driving a black cab in my mind for some reason.

Warnings: Jake being mistaken for Steven, kisses, awkward silences, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1161

You got into the cab quickly, the cold night air raking its nails over your skin. You pulled your coat a little higher and shivered. 

The bar crawl hadn’t exactly gone to plan. Two of your friends had had to check out early, and a third had hooked up with someone they’d met while getting a round. You’d decided to call it a night.  

“Hi,” you greeted the driver, about to give your address when you pause in surprise. “Steven?” 

Jake freezes, watching your reflection in the rear view mirror. 

“Steven Grant, you, you live on the floor above me.” You smile. “I didn’t realise you drove a cab?” 

He swallows, raising his chin up in a nod, his mind racing. He’d left it far too long to deny it. “I… just, part time.” He spoke quietly, adding a croak to his voice to disguise the difference in accent. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah… cold.” He tapped his throat, “so, erm, home?”

You nod, “yeah. Sorry you’re unwell, hope you feel better soon.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing.” 

You nod again, something about the energy in the cab seemed… odd. Different. You were on pretty good terms with Steven since he’d helped you out when you were lugging your shelves up the stairs (they were too wide for the lift.) You chatted when you ran into each other going out or coming back. Somehow you both usually ended up going to the local sainsbury’s at the same time for your weekly shop and had kind of settled into a not exactly planned routine where you would wait for each other and do it together. 

Steven talked. A lot. In the best way possible. Excitedly and passionately. Bubbly and enthusiastic. He genuinely listened as well, asking follow up questions and nodding. But even when he was listening, he wasn’t quiet. Always adding in ‘hmms’ and ‘oh right’, and little snippets of commentary that warmed your heart. 

Now he was quiet. Pulled in and zipped up. 

Maybe it was just the cold making his throat hurt. You’d have to get him something to help, maybe tomorrow you could knock on with some ginger, lemon, and honey tea. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

You stilt your head to the side as you watch him drive. He takes a turn smoothly, travelling down the late night roads without as much as a pause. Or a word. 

It just didn’t make sense. 

How unlike Steven he was being. You pause, for a second entertaining the idea that he wasn’t actually him. But that made no sense did it? He’d have to be an identical twin, and besides, he was talking you back to your flat. If he wasn't Steven, how would he know where you lived? 

“I didn’t know you could drive?” You say, speaking up a little to try to hide the spike of nervousness that had settled in your gut. You had been so sure that he’d told you he couldn’t… though had that just been an excuse? A reason to tag along with you when you went food shopping? Was his quietness now embarrassment from being caught out? 

“Hmm,” he nodded, glancing back at you again in the rear view mirror. “I don’t mention it… much.” 

You nod. “Yeah.” You pick at your fingernails as he drums his hands against the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. 

The silence stretches out, almost blanketing the low grumble of the engine. It’s sickening. Nerve wrecking. 

“How’s work?” You blurt out, and then quickly clarify. “Both I mean, how’s driving going today and how’s the museum?” He glances back at you again, the action is starting to remind you of a priest in a confessional. 

“It’s all… normal.”

“Normal?” 

“Fine. Normal.”

You don’t speak again until he pulls up by the block of flats, putting on the handbrake and getting into neutral. He puts his hands on his lap, folded neatly with his palms facing upwards.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask.

“Nothing.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing. It’s on me.” 

“Stev-”

He turns quickly, flicking off his seatbelt in a practised move so that he can twist his body fully around to face you. 

For a moment you think he’s going to say something, reveal some grand secret but instead he pauses before giving you a very weak smile.

“It’s on me.” His voice is quiet, barely there at all. And, for the briefest second you could have sworn that his accent was different. 

“Thank you.” 

He shrugs politely, dismissing it as if it was nothing. 

Before he can turn away you reach out for his shoulder, the action instinctive and leaving you lost for a reason why you did it.  

He glances at your hand for a second before looking back to your face. 

You lean forward. “Thank you.” You repeat softly, and slowly kiss his left cheek, giving him plenty of time to pull away and rebuff you if he wanted to. 

Instead he leans slightly into the touch, swallowing and turning his head towards you. His nose brushes against yours and you think he’s going to turn back to facing the wheel, but instead he presses his lips to yours hesitantly. 

You squeeze his arm, surprised but responsive as you kiss him back. 

He kisses you slowly, but intentionally. Swiping the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip before opening your mouth with his own and licking inside. He groans, low in his chest as the kiss becomes hungrier, boarding on desperation as he presses as close to you as he physically can in his position. 

When suddenly he pulls back, blinking heavily. A mumbled, ‘sorry’, just escaping his lips. 

“It’s okay.” Your voice is quiet too, your mind only just catching up with what happened. 

He turns back, putting his seatbelt on with a click and staring straight ahead. “Have a good night.” 

“I, erm, I’ll see you later.” You mutter as you get out, feeling almost shaky from what just happened. Your thoughts reeling. 

You get up to your flat in a daze. You’d kissed him, well, he’d kissed you. Did that mean anything? Had you done something to chase him off? 

You change into your pyjamas and brush your teeth, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

There’s a soft knock at your front door and you freeze. Wait. 

Maybe it’s a neighbor's door. Maybe it’s noise from another flat.

There’s a knock again, still soft and your phone buzzes. A message from Steven, ‘can we talk?’ 

Fuck. 

You head to the door, checking the peep hole and confirming that yes, it is Steven outside your door. You unlock and open it quickly. 

“Steven, I-”

You don’t get a chance to finish your sentence before he moves forward quickly and kisses you deeply. His hands settle on your hip, the back of your neck as he walks you further inside and kicks the door shut with the heel of his foot. 

____________________________________________

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

KDISJODKDLEDIDK YES!! AHHHHH!!!!

For the made up fic title game!

"Better safe than sorry"

Send me a made up fic title and I'll tell you what I'd write

Breeding but with condoms??? Or any type of protection. That's the only thing I can think of right now 😂

I'm think probably with Marc. He'd have a breeding kink but be terrified of actually bringing a child into this world.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

it’s actually so funny how challenging it is to write bona fide graphic, horny smut. like people don’t give smut writers enough credit. you are constantly running out of words to describe the same 2-4 body parts and same 4-6 motions. you are constantly attempting to do interesting and dynamic things in the prose with this extremely limited set of words. you are looking at your prose for the nastier bits and wondering if it actually sounds hot or if it just sounds goofy. you are then toning down your prose and then wondering if it now sounds tasteful or if it’s just boring. you do ctrl+F for the word “cock” and there are 37 instances of it in the doc but you hate the 1-2 acceptable synonyms so there’s nothing much you can do about it

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Tell Me No

Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Marc prefers when you take what you want.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Okay, this is really not going to be for everyone. Please look at the warnings.

Warnings: hand jobs, sub!Marc, Marc having a rape fantasy/ravishment kink, rapeplay, safe words, forced orgasm (but not really forced *dennis reynolds voice* it's the implication), this isn't noncon because both parties have agreed on this - which is also mentioned in fic but I till feel like it could cause distress in anyone that has a trigger, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 1592

“Tell me no?” Marc asked softly as he gently touched your arm. 

You turned from where you were putting plates away to face him fully. 

He swallowed, his fingers still brushing against you, looking down at your feet. His head was tilted slightly, making it even more obvious that he was shying away from your gaze. 

Slowly you hooked your forefinger under his chin and lifted his head upwards ever so slightly. Your touch delicate, but firm.

He sucked in a breath, his muscles tensing but kept looking at the floor, his eyelashes practically kissing his cheeks. 

“You want that?” You asked firmly, your voice steady but gentle. 

He nodded once, a small micro movement. 

“You gonna ask for it properly?” 

He swallowed again, the action making a gulping sound that clicked around the room. But he took a little too long to answer,

“Or do I have to make you?” You said, your voice still that same constant sturdiness. 

He nodded again and you smiled. 

It had started as an accident really, a bit of a silly joke when you were still early into your relationship. Sitting on the grass in Greenwich Park, Marc pouting and saying ‘no’ when you tried to kiss his cheeks. You had laughed and backed off every time, not touching him, when he’d bitten his lip and asked sweetly. “Do it anyway when I say no?” 

“You want me to kiss you anyway?” 

“If you can.” He’d wiggled his eyebrows at you, purposefully making you giggle. But even then you had recognised that he was trying to cover something, some nervousness with bravado. Even if you couldn’t quite put your finger on what. 

“Alright,” you smiled. “But what if you really want me to stop? How will I know?” 

He had looked to the side, in thought for a moment. “I’ll say dandelion.” 

“Dandelion?” 

“Hmm.” He nodded.

“You just chose the first thing you saw!” You laughed. 

“So what if I did?” He said cheekily. 

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have you kisses as punishment.” 

“No.” 

You couldn’t remember when the name of the game had stuck, ‘tell me no’, but Marc always said it that way, despite him being the one that would being saying the negative. It seemed easier for him to ask you that way. 

He had been awkward about it the first time he brought it up in conection to sex. More than awkward. Fumbling over his words and not looking at you, until he had given up in frustration and huffed as he walked off. But he didn’t go off to sulk, instead he wrote down what he was having such trouble saying and handed you the paper. 

‘I know it’s weird.’ The word was underlined twice. ‘And you can say no. But what if we play tell me no during sex?’ 

You had looked up at him. “That’s not weird.” 

He paused, his face completely blank for a moment. Error screen. Loading. Clearly he hadn’t expected that response. 

“Lots of people have that fantasy.” 

He paused, raising his chin ever so slightly in question. A microexpression you were used to. 

“Really,” you smiled and touched his arm, reassuring him. “I’m happy to. But we need to talk about it a little before hand, I need to know what you want, okay?” 

He nodded. “Okay.” 

Marc wanted to act like he didn’t want you to touch him, please him. He wanted you to do it anyway, to force him to come.

You kissed him deeply, pushing your tongue into his mouth and growling when he pulled away. 

“Please, don’t.” He said softly, looking down like he was ashamed. 

“But I want to.” You pinched his chin lightly between your thumb and forfinger and turned his face back towards you. This time you kissed him harsher, biting at his plump bottom lip. 

Marc groaned, allowing himself to sink into your embrace for a moment before he moved his hand away again. “Stop, please, I shouldn’t.” 

You kissed him again, grabbing hold of his biceps and walking him backwards towards the bed. 

He muffled a moan against your lips, pretending to squirm to try to get out of your grip. He raised his hands, pressing them to your chest as if he was trying to get you off him. But he used no where near half of his strength, his touch practically begging you to manhandle him. 

You push him back against the bed, pining him down under your body and straddling his hips. He whines under you, bucking upwards as if he was trying to push you off, but really he was rubbing his already half hard cock against your core. 

You bite his lip again, hard and he lets out a sweet moan. The sound turning into a stiffled breath as you nip down his jaw and suck on the sweet spot on his neck. 

“Stop, please, stop, no, I don’t want this, I shouldn’t-”

“You’ll take what I give you,” you hiss in his ear and Marc shivers, his eyes rolling back as he groans. “Gonna make you come and make a mess everywhere.” 

“No,” he shakes his head rapidly. “Please.” The stress on the word is delicious, the way he looks up at you, begging silently for you to continue. 

“Shut up you stupid whore.” You grab hold of his wrists and pin them up above his head with one hand, Marc groans, wiggling his hips a little. It would be so easy for him to move, to get away from your touch. Your fingers are just resting on his skin, not even squeezing. That’s how he likes it. The illusion of being pinned. But knowing he can move at any moment if he really wanted to. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to give up control, he does, he craves it, it’s just that past experiences have made the reality of having his hands tied a little impractical. Even if he knows he’s safe, even if his mind is begging for it, his body still reacts with adrenaline and fear. Panic attacks and gasping for breath. Neither of you want that. 

“Stop.” He mutters, shaking his head from side to side, looking at you with wide, fearful eyes that you know are dark with lust and desperation. 

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” You hiss, reaching down and pushing your free hand under his jogging bottoms and grabbing his warm, velvety length. 

He whimpers, biting his lip. “Stop! I don’t want this!” 

“You’re so dumb, you know that?” You run your fingers up and down him a few times, revelling in how he twitches and hardens under your touch. “Saying you don’t want it. Look how hard you are.” 

He lets out a sob, arching his spine in a pretend attempt to throw you off. 

“Flower Marc?” You ask softly. 

“Rose.” He says quickly, his version of green.

You start jerking him off quickly, watching his face as he whines. “Look how much your body wants it.”

“No!” He shakes his head rapidly, even as his words turn into needy moans. 

“Fucking look.” You hiss.

He keeps his eyes closed.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” 

He groans loudly, having to tense his muscles and fight against his body with an iron will to stop himself from coming at your words. He knows you’d never actually hurt him, never lay a finger on him that wasn’t wanted, that wasn’t there to cause pleasure. But the threat of it, your tone. It feels too good. 

He looks down to where you’re touching him, how your sliding your fingers over his cock and teasing his slit. He moans loudly, trying to choke back the sound. 

You pull his t-shirt up higher until the material is grumbled up at his chest, and then go back to squeezing his cock, pumping your hand up and down the burning length of him. As you get to the tip on every stroke you twist your wrist just a little, tighten your grip ever so slightly. 

Marc’s hips jerk up, his thighs tense under you as he wiggles, trying and failing not to give in and chase the sensation. 

“Please don’t,” he moans, “don’t want to come, please.” 

“You’ve got no choice in this.” 

His sounds increase, sweat beading on his forehead as he relentlessly bucks upwards into you grip. Every nerve is on fire, every thought bleeding out of his mind onto the matress, only the pleasure of your touch remaining. 

“Please don’t make me,” he whines, so close that he can almost taste it, almost touch it. 

“You’re gonna come Marc, you’re going to give it to me. Understand?” 

He groans loudly, the sternness of your voice tipping him over the edge. The command making his body obey without his say in the matter. 

He comes loudly, spurting all over his stomach in hot, thick squirts that splash all over his skin, staining it white. 

You slow your hand, but don’t stop. Still stroking him evenly. 

Marc gasps, shivering with aftershocks. His breathing is heavy, his eyes a little unfocused as he opens them to look back up at you. 

You smile, leaning down quickly to kiss his temple. 

When you move back he has his lip between his teeth, his thighs twitch under you. You recognise that look. 

“You’re gonna come again Marc.”

He shakes his head. But there’s a glint in his eyes, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “No.” He pouts. 

“It wasn’t a question.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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