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jake-g-lockley · 2 years

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I’m Cold... (Poe Dameron x gn!reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

Warnings: None, fluff. (Edit: alcohol, i forgot the alcohol warning AHAHAHA)

Word Count: 1.3k words.

Summary: Commander Dameron is cold, drunk, and silly.

Gif from @userpoe

A/N: I woke up cold yesterday so I wrote this cuz why not. Let me know if someone has done something similar HAHAHAHAH

Tagging: @ahookedheroespureheart

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up to someone bashing your door and instantly, you grab your blaster and point it to the door, clutching your blanket and bantha stuffie close.

“Y/N, wake upppp…!” a loud voice groaned from the other side.

You scowl at the voice, anger bubbling in the pit of your stomach as you glance at the clock beside you.

2 am.

You had a 9 am meeting with General Organa today and you only managed to go to sleep at about 12 am. You knew he was doing this on purpose.

“Commander Dameron, why are you trying to break my door down?” you say putting your blaster down but not moving from the comfort of your bed.

The second you met the leader of the Black Squadron, you decided to declare that he was your enemy and he seemed to do the same. Yes, sure, the both of you were fighting for the same cause, but a million stormtroopers could not come close to the disdain you had for your commander. The both of you stubbornly drove Finn, Rose, Rey, General Organa and the rest of the resistance up and over the wall with your constant bickering, arguing and competition.

“Open up, pleaseee. Your commander commands you to let him in.” he giggled and you hear him slump against the door.

Great, he’s drunk.

“Dameron, please go back to your room, I have an early meeting, I need to get back to bed.” you say, still not opening the door.

Suddenly, you hear the familiar whirls and beeps from the pilot’s droid and your eyes widen as you hear him keying the passcode into the keypad with BB-8’s instructions. Two seconds later, the door whooshes open, light flooding in and you see the familiar outline of your commander, your eyes barely adjusting in time to catch BB-8 rolling away at high speed.

“BB, I SWEAR, I'M GOING TO TAKE YOU APART WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER AND SELL YOU AS SCRAPS!” you yell from your bed at the runaway ball of metal.

The pilot slumps inside and smacks the keypad behind him and the door whooshes close, sending the room back into darkness

“What could you possibly want that could not wait till more civilized hours, Commander?” you ask, hatred dripping like venom from your words.

“I’m cold.” he simply says.

“You decided to wake me up at 2 am, because you are cold?” you growl through gritted teeth.

“Mhmm.” he smiles, that big toothy grin that would charm anyone into absolution and invites himself to sit on your bunk bed, next to your legs and starts taking off his boots.

You throw the bantha at his head and he catches it with accurate precision, his reflexes still sharp, despite being drunk. He sets the bantha aside and continues to take off his boots.

“Y/N.”

“What, Dameron?” You say, slowly leaning up on your forearms and shifting away from him.

“I’m cold.” He repeats, looking at you with his big dopey, soft eyes.

“Yea, you already said that, I can’t do anything to help you with that.” You huff, trying to ignore the little twang in your heart that sounded when you briefly met said dopey eyes.

You scan his face, taking in the pink tint lightly covering his cheeks and nose, his one day old stubble, the gorgeous curve of his jaw, his soft pillowy lips.

Your hand itches to tuck the little stray curl that had popped away from his mass of black hair. And then you find yourself staring again at his beautiful brown orbs. You often find yourself getting woozy over those eyes, especially when no one is looking.

Ugh, why does he have to be such a pretty boy?

“Pretty boy?” Poe smirked, scooching closer to you.

Whoops.

“I-i didn’t say that, I meant, pretty b-bossy.” You quickly stutter but Poe smiles and without a warning he laid his soft head of hair down onto your stomach and stared up at you, legs still planted awkwardly onto the floor outside of the bed. You tensed, surprised at the sudden contact but eventually relaxed.

“What are you doing, Poe?” You whisper, letting autopilot take over as you run your hand through his soft curls.

He sighs, pressing the side of his face further into your tummy, his eyes fluttering shut. You swore your heart was begging to tear itself out of your chest cavity with how hard it was pounding and you were pretty sure Poe could hear it too.

“Can you cuddle me, please, Y/N?” He whispers back, opening his eyes slightly to meet yours again.

Without thinking twice, you find yourself nodding fervently as he moves his head off your tummy and lays down properly beside you. You immediately bring his head close to your chest, as he pulls himself closer to you, entangling his legs with yours, arms snaking around your body. You slowly cover the both of you with your little blanket.

He nuzzles close and you find yourself relaxing, the unknown creature inside you taming with the soft whooshes of his breath on your skin. You breathe his scent in, leather mixed with masculine aftershave plus the familiar smell of Jet Juice on his breath.

“Can you play with my hair again, please?” He whispers after a while, and again you instantly oblige, not understanding what is making you feel this way.

But you didn’t feel robotic. No. This felt natural and normal. The same way the arguments and bickering felt normal with him. Maybe you were doing this because you hoped he wouldn’t remember a thing tomorrow. Maybe you were doing this just because you longed to do this for so long.

“I’m in love with you.” he whispers, and the words reverberated through your chest and coated your heart like sweet glazed honey making it grind to a halt.

“You’re drunk, Commander.” you teased, once you regain your sense of consciousness.

“I know you love me too.” he says and you didn’t dare deny it.

You knew he was the other reason you got out of bed every day. You fought with him because you cared about his safety and hated his recklessness. You wanted to kiss him every time a mission went right. You cried yourself to sleep silently when he took too long to return from the secret missions that the General sent him to. You never wanted to admit your feelings for him and you were glad that this man was stupidly observant enough to do it for you.

Instead, you bent forward and gave him a soft lingering kiss on his forehead, hands still slowly playing with his curls and he sighs, hugging you tighter.

“Sleep, pretty boy, we have all the time in the world to talk.” You whisper and immediately you feel his breathing slow as his grip on you relaxes.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up to the sound of a camera flashing loudly and you groaned, pulling Poe’s shifting body back closer to you, wrapping your legs around him to keep him from escaping.

“RISE AND SHINE, LOVEBIRDS, WE HAVE BETS TO COLLECT.” Finn, Rose and Rey say in unison as you slowly peak over Poe’s head at them, hiding your heated cheeks. BB-8 was happily rolling around in one spot and beeping in glee.

“What the hell do you mean by bets?” Poe groaned and turned to look at them.

“Oh please, the whole Resistance has been waiting for this.” Rose squeals, waving the polaroid at your face.

“Even the General had placed her bets. Oh, we’re gonna be so rich.” Rey says, slapping Poe’s back, making him wince.

You facepalm and Poe swings his leg which catches Finn’s shin, making him yelp.

“Should we tell them that nothing particularly spicy happened?” you whispered, lifting Poe’s face to look up at you.

“Let them have their fun.” Poe asks, giving you a boyish smirk. “Ready to face the shame of today?”

“Ready when you are, Commander.” You smirk back.

#poe dameron x gn!reader #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron angst #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron smut #oscar issac #oscar isaac #fluff #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #moon knight fluff

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kaylasficrecs · 1 year

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poe dameron recs

you'll never keep him | one shot, angst | @bensolosbluesaber (tw)

safe with you | imagine, flangst | @storyarcscribe

hope | imagine, flangst | @im-poe-dameron

something forgotten | one shot, flangst | @bensolosbluesaber

the commander & the star | imagine, flangst (but more fluff) | @phantomspiderr

steady | imagine, flangst | @crestfallen-dameron

sometimes you love someone... | imagine, flangst | @softlyspector

say it again | one shot, flangst | @oscarseyebrow

tucking the sheets around them | imagine, fluff | @userpoe

the pink and blue ribbon | one shot, flangst | @the-little-ewok

the f-word | one shot, fluff | @the-little-ewok

nine | two shot, the trifecta (smut/fluff/angst) | @foxilayde

feeling you | one shot, flangst | @multifandomsw

in the stars | imagine, flangst | @bensolosbluesaber

i didn't mean to love you so much | one shot, flangst | @d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n

dress | imagine, flangst | @starryevermore

get well soon | imagine, soft fluff | @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

heal | one shot, fluff | @eyelessfaces

risk it all for you | one shot, trifecta | @flightlessangelwings

invisible string | one shot, fluff | @campingwiththecharmings

content affection | imagine, fluff | @softlyspector

home | au, imagine, fluff | @never--doubt

golden age | imagine, fluff | @ichorai

did you mean it? | imagine, fluff | @jake-g-lockley

crush | one shot, fluff | @batshitbimbo

my heart seeks yours | imagine, angst | @gooddaykate

protection squad | imagine, angst | @writefightandflightclub

birthday wishes | imagine, fluff | @stormkobra-5

heartless | one shot, flangst | @youvebeenlivingfictional

snowfall | imagine, flangst (more fluff) | @dilf-din

never before | imagine, smut | @melodygatesauthor

risky kiss | imagine, fluff | @dailyreverie

family man | imagine, flangst (more angst) | @rqgnarok

rituals | imagine, comfort flangst | @rqgnarok

together by the force | drabble, fluff | @youvebeenlivingfictional

hate to love you | one shot, trifecta | @marc-spectorr

rookie mistake | series | @groguspicklejar

collateral damage | one shot, flangst | @the-little-ewok

pièce de rèsistance | imagine, fluff | @the-little-ewok

better safe than sorry | series | @eyelessfaces

poe thought you were dead | drabble, flangst (more angst) | @starryeyedstories

the promotion | one shot, fluff | @reallyrallyauthor

a light, a song, a bluebird | one shot, flangst | @millllenniawrites (tw)

#star wars #poe dameron x reader #masterlist #fic recs

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mrcspectr · 2 years

Note

*pokes head in* yeah it's a real quote by him! One of the uh...*hand motions* merchandise? things for The Force Awakens was iirc, special gogurt editions that had the main characters on the packaging!

We really went from "you can drink gogurt out of my head" to "they can call me daddy, if they want to," and THAT my friends is growth.

#tegan i can always count on you #and that's why you have my whole heart #userpoe #asks

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writefightandflightclub · 1 year

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You look good

Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader

Summary: you and Santi have been dancing around This Thing between you for some time now. Is a costume party the place to make it happen? Even if Santi hates costume parties?

Genre: Some silliness, some steam, some fluff.

Rating: M (18+ only, minors DNI!)

A/n: this is a heinously late Halloween blurb I forgot in my drafts, pls forgive 🥹

Warnings: alcohol/party, teasing poor Santi, flirting and suggestive language, use of “bad girl”, mild dim/sub dynamic (sorta), making out.

Gif by @userpoe

“You didn’t even dress-up, loser?” Benny shouts across the now cramped space of your living room. Apparently even your prime real estate feels tiny with three burly guys and one Short King plus you in there.

“I didn’t have time,” Santiago yells back over the rendition of Red Right Hand Frankie is currently blasting through your Bluetooth speakers.

Benny takes a generous swig of his beer, which is cut short by an eruption of a hyena-like laugh from his mouth. “Bull shit. Look at you!”

Watching the exchange from a slight distance as you stir up the bowl of punch, you simply have to laugh. How many years has it been now, and he’s still so damn susceptible to being wound up?

It’s too easy.

Santi has an uncanny ability to look inordinately tense at times. This mother fucker is cool as a cat in the field, and yet when things cut loose sometimes he can be just a little… stiff.

Case in point - here he is, perching his generous ass right on the edge of your couch, looking all serious, despite being surrounded by Benny the zombie boxer, Frankie dressed as Woody from Toy Story, and Will as… whatever the hell Will is.

“Come on,” Benny continues, as Santiago becomes increasingly tetchy. “Like you didn’t spend two hours getting ready?”

“I don’t need that long to look good, dipshit.”

“You do look nice, Pope,” you compliment as you wander over, dishing out fresh glasses of punch. He does. Looks so good it makes your loins ache. Has you entertaining all sorts of fantasies you know will likely come to nothing.

“Thanks,” he responds bashfully, blinking up at you from beneath those impossibly long lashes of his.

“But, we were all supposed to be something.”

There he goes again, instantly on the defensive, his eyebrow arcing - all perturbed, like. “Why are you picking on me? What in the hell is Ironhead supposed to be?”

“Well… Will has a hat,” you defend, your nose crinkling since, in honesty, you’re not exactly sure. He has a point. Will looks at the floor and shakes his head, clearly disappointed that none of you dum dums get his niche references.

“You gotta dress up, pendejo,” Frankie slurs, mid-boogie.

“Is he drunk already?” Benny asks behind his hand as Frankie continues obliviously throwing shapes as the track skips on to Monster Mash. Looks like the infamous Five Drink Frankie is in town. Good - he’s a hoot.

“It’s rare that he has a babysitter,” Will rationalises. “He’s making the most of it.”

Five Drink Frankie pipes up. “Never fear Santiago, we can find you a costume.”

He waves his palms dismissively in front of him. “Eh, I don’t think so.”

“We can wrap you in toilet roll,” Will snickers, winking at you as you both watch Santi get riled up - with increasing amusement.

“No. Noooooo!” Frankie protests with gusto. “Tin foil. Gotta be.”

“Why does it gotta be, hermano?” A laugh bobs in Santi’s throat but it’s nervous. He scoops his palm around his stubbled jaw.

“Because you should be the tin man.” Frankie states, point blank at Santi, and for a long, stretched moment, the man shows no signs of humouring him. He’s obviously not getting the joke.

“Alright,” he finally concedes, voice taut amidst the rolling laughter of his companions in the room. “Hit me with it.”

Frankie winds up with relish. “You should be the tin man. ‘Cause you’re part silver and your knees creak if they’re not oiled.” He emits a throaty chuckle. “Oh and because you’re a heartless S.O.B.,” he adds for good measure, clearly in jest.

It’s funny. Frankie turns to high five Benny. Your chest tightens with mirth.

It’s funny, and it’s made all the more funny by the fact Santiago is not even remotely amused. For Christ’s sake - he knows fine well that Frankie adores him, and yet he still can’t mange to take it entirely on that perfectly sculpted chin.

“Ooh! But I do kinda like that idea,” you encourage with a shit-eating grin. You always did enjoy riling him. Had always entertained the idea that at some point he’d finally make you pay for it in ways you would enjoy. “We could wrap you in tin foil, you’ll be good to go.”

His dark eyes flick towards you, silently admonishing you for egging Morales on, and his stern look sends a flare of heat to your middle. “How about no.”

You jut out your lower lip and put on your best baby voice. “But you can cook like a little potato on the dance floor.” You jiggle your arms in a cute little dance.

Santi, for his part, squirms uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah. Look. Costume’s just not gonna happen.”

You plonk yourself next to him on the couch, wrapping your arm around him and giving him a friendly jostle. Shit he smells good tonight. “Aww. Come on. Why are you being such a stick in the mud, Santiago?”

“I just don’t want to look stupid.”

“Like the costume was ever the problem there,” Benny snickers, and there is a resurgence of laughter in the room.

“Why not?” Will needles, evidently seeing a thread the rest of you have dropped. “Who you trying to impress, Pope?”

He tenses. Rubs his palms together like they’ve suddenly become clammy. Clears his throat several times and squirms a little in his seat. “N-Nobody.”

God you hope he’s trying to impress you. You and he have been skirting around this thing for months now, and you are practically begging that he’ll finally drum up the courage to make a move.

You all but beg him now with your eyes, flashing him a sultry stare. “Okay. Fine,” you drop your voice lower, leaning in to him. “Be a spoilsport if you like. But if you don’t dress up, I’m not putting my outfit on.”

His head swivels towards you, expression non-plussed. “I don’t care.”

You hold his gaze. “Oh, but you will. Because my outfit is very, very slutty.”

Santiago clears his throat again. Begins to nod, ever so slowly. Opens his mouth and closes it wordlessly, pouting his beautiful lips together.

“I’ll get the tin foil, hermano!” Frankie shouts jubilantly, seeing Santi collapse like a house of cards in the face of your expert negotiation.

“Nicely played,” Will praises as Santiago is frogmarched towards the kitchen, still grumbling but not quite protesting as much as he had been prior.

“Fashion him a little hat, Francisco!” Benny calls after him, face glowing with sheer, childlike delight.

“Fucking… Pendejos,” Santiago curses through his teeth as Frankie plants his hands firmly on his shoulders from behind, pressing him onward.

He pats him on the shoulder. “I’ve seen her outfit, man. Trust me. You’ll be thanking me later.”

With glee, you skip to the drawer and fish out the tin foil, holding it up with a giggle of delight.

He sighs, ever so reluctantly positioning himself in the centre of the floor, arms and legs spread out like a starfish, and resigned to his fate. “Come on then. Just do it.”

“Get him sorted, will you, Frankie? I’m going upstairs… to hold up my end of the bargain.”

You wink at Santiago as you sweep out, your chaotic laughter trailing behind you.

You do so enjoy riling him. You just really wish he’d finally do something about it.

***

You spring down the stairs as soon as Will calls to announce your Lyft is arrived, and you squeal as you see Santiago glinting in his aluminium costume, nestled amongst the throng of men gathered in your hallway.

“Haha! Cute!” you praise in delight, clapping your hands together with glee as you note that Frankie did indeed fashion him a little hat. You admire it, sat all askew and pointy on top of that bed of curls, secured under his chin with a piece of blue cooking twine. Damn. Frankie really got good at the crafting thing since his daughter started pre-school, huh?

Santiago swivels towards the sound of you, crinkling as he does so. And, when he sees you, his face drops in shock… and not in a good way. “Wait. Where’s your outfit?”

“Meh. I decided against it. A little too cold out there for something so skimpy.”

The other boys titter at how well you played him, and they begin to pile out of your door towards your waiting ride.

Santiago however, remains standing there, getting his little panties all in a twist. “Well then what are you? What have you come as?”

“Mmm,” you hum, sliding your body up beside him. Dipping your mouth all close to the shell of his ear. “What have I come as, Santiago?”

“Uh huh.” A hard swallow bobs down his throat as your breath fans against his neck. You know fine well that you get him all hot and bothered - a fact you take pride in.

You pause, lightly licking your lips for effect. And, when your voice comes again, it is dripping with honey. “I’ve come as someone that you’re gonna hook up with later. Is that alright with you, Santiago?”

The man is frozen -welded- to his spot in the doorway. Entirely arrested there, even as you sweep off down the path. You turn, watching him stupefied, and you offer him a cheeky, smug wink.

You can see the possibilities swimming in his lust-blown stare, but, naturally, the boys ensure he is torn all too harshly from his burgeoning fantasies.

“Shit!” Frankie shouts as he notes his buddy stood there, completely frozen. “Oil his knees! Somebody oil his goddamn knees!”

Laughter erupts again, and Santiago finally regains the power of movement as the undesirable teasing snaps him out of his stupor.

You take sudden pity on him, and you hold out your hand for him as he crinkles his way up the path. “Come on my little potato,” you encourage with a lopsided smile, even as the rest of the boys continue to rib him.

“Worth it.” He says through gritted teeth, as though psyching himself up for a whole night of this. “It’s gonna be worth it.”

You dip forward to plant a chaste kiss on his grumpy cheek and then you clamber inside, all of you taking your seats and clipping in.

You end up in the row to the front with Frankie and Will, Santi and Benny buckled in directly behind you. You can’t help but tune in to their conversation as the car pulls off, wheeling its way toward your destination.

“You look fucking stupid man,” Benny howls as he gets another fresh look at Santi.

“Right. And you don’t?” he bites.

“No,” Benny responds confidently, characteristically unphased. “Because I’m owning it.” You can’t even see Benny right now, but if you had to guess you’d say he’s likely flexing.

“Well whatever. Pretty sure I’m going to get the last laugh.”

“How come?”

“Because she says she’s hooking up with me tonight.”

Your lips curl into a smug grin, and you can practically feel those dark delicious eyes of his boring into the back of your head.

Oh he wants you, alright. He knows fine well you can hear him too. Such a tease.

“Aww buddy,” Benny consoles, tittering lightly and it’s not at all the reaction Santi was expecting - you can tell.

“What?”

“She’s said that to all of us.”

It’s true. You have. To every single one of them.

You’ve been bad.

Bad like you’re trying to get a rise out of him. Trying to piss him off. Is it really your fault if a lot of your fantasies are quite… specific? That you’d like him to… punish you a lil bit? You don’t think that’s so terrible, right?

You swivel in your seat, turning your head just enough then to see Santi’s aggrieved stare. You counter it, with a wolfish grin and a devilish wink, and he continues to stare you down.

“Oops,” you purr innocently, and you thrill as you watch Santi seethe, eyes blackened and brows drawn down.

Oh oh. Were you really so bad?

Sure you were. But is he going to do a damn thing about it? Probably not. He never does.

Safe to say, he’s pretty quiet for the rest of the journey.

You can only wonder what he’s thinking about, while you imagine kissing him senseless.

***

You pull up to the venue and you all pile out, already pretty raucous before you’ve even gotten inside.

That is, except for Santiago, who has become disconcertingly still all of a sudden. Unusually quiet, and even more intense than usual.

And, moments before you enter, lagging behind the group, your wrist is caught by the firm grip of his warm hand and he holds you back, guiding you towards the nearest wall. Walking forward until he pins you in place.

“You’ve been a real bad girl tonight, huh?” he purrs, the brown in his eyes engulfed by his lust-blown pupils. “You know that?”

“Of course I do.” You jut your chin out to him defiantly. “But what the hell are you gonna do about it?”

You challenge him. You look at his plush mouth. You drag your tongue along your lower lip, devouring him with your gaze. And in just a moment of you eyeing him hungrily it happens.

Happens like it always does. Unfortunately.

He loses his nerve.

In a split second, all of his bluster has gone. Collapsed. Evaporated. No more.

It’s… disappointing.

It’s less than ideal.

Of course, you could make the move yourself. Have entertained the possibility more times than you could count. But, considering the stories you’ve heard about him - the way he loves and leaves - you want him to be very sure about you. You want him to show you that he’s sure, and all you’ve had so far is him blowing hot and cold.

“Hmm. I thought so. Your problem is you’re all talk, Santiago. Like you were finally going to make an actual move on me? I should know better.”

His brows draw down, but other than that he has no response.

It’s always this way, and that’s just not going to work for you. You like a man who knows exactly what he wants. Who makes you feel sure he can handle you. Yes - even when you’ve been “bad”.

You press your palms against his chest and create some space for you to extricate yourself. “Always some excuse. This time it’ll be the costume, right?” You wait, but still he has nothing. “Foiled again.” Still nothing. You rap your fist on his tin man chest. “Your heart’s not in it.”

Still. Nothing.

Right. Okay. Figures. But he’s running out of chances. Does he want you or not? All signs point to yes, but it never quite materialises.

What’s stopping him?

You throw your hands up in the air dismissively, and you turn on your heel to walk away. Maybe for the last time. But, Santi’s small voice arrests you. “I should have come as a lion.”

You spin back towards him and fold your arms tiredly, stomping one heeled foot. “What?!”

“I should have come as the cowardly fuckin’ lion.”

You examine his expression, and he looks entirely earnest. Okay. You’re keen to see where he’s going with this. “Why? Is the tin foil too scratchy or…?”

“No, dumbass.” He walks towards you, and he gently unknots your arms, talking both of your hands in his. The warmth of his touch sends tingles snaking up your arms. “Because I’ve wanted to be with you for so long, but I’ve never had the courage to show you.” Your breath hitches in your throat as he powers closer, clear purpose and intention roping through his body. “Never had the courage to do this.”

“T-To do what, Santiago?!”

And, in answer to your question, he finally kisses you. It’s a sure kiss. Not a scrap of hesitation on the man any longer.

It is everything you have waited for. Dreamed of.

His broad hands are splayed and coursing up your back, to your neck, cradling your head as he dips his lips towards yours. You feel oh so secure and safe in his strong encircling arms.

His sturdy body is clamped close to yours, his torso arching and his tummy pressing up against you. His ample thigh is jammed in between your legs and offering an insistent pressure against your mound. You cant your hips against him and the shift sends a pleasant, resonant hum right to the tips of your toes. A warmth folding around your rib cage.

His tongue is leading, supple and confident and opening you up, the kiss deep and dirty and smug, delving into you with a promise that this is only the beginning. That he has a whole lot more to give.

He’s in control, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You melt into him, into his form, liquid in his arms, and snake your fingers into his grizzled curls, pulling his kiss even deeper. His stubble grazes your cheek as his mouth works hungrily against you, and you deliver abortive, breathy moans into the cave of him as he devours you.

He overcomes you. His force, but also his tenderness. The way his sure grip offers a promise to take care of you but also to hold you safe in his arms. You feel weak, knees shaking with this energy. With the sheer possibility of it all, his kiss snaking under your skin like an electric current, bedding down into your centre. Blooming out to the far-reaches of your limbs.

You bury your head in the crook of his neck as you break for a more substantial dose air, panting gently and a buzzy feeling thrumming in your skull like he’s made you feel light-headed.

He moans. Moans for you and the way your contours feel as his broad hands rove over your body, seeking out every scrap of skin he can find bared to him.

He shifts, seamlessly tilting your head and baring your throat to him, and your stomach lurches pleasantly as you feel Santiago’s stubble graze the column of your neck, honey snaking down your spine and crawling into your bones.

“You have been a really bad girl, haven’t you?” he grits, his voice deep and dark as a pit. His tone heavy -burdened- with lust, and another rolling wave of warmth sinks right into the pit of you, your core becoming liquid.

“I know,” you manage to respond breathily as his teeth nip at your ear lobe. You whimper lightly into the air for him, coming completely undone, and yet you claw desperately for that upper hand. For some composure, and somehow, you find it. “But I’m confident I can get you to forgive me.”

He sucks at your throat, his tongue flattening over the cords of your neck, and it makes you shiver with need. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you angle your hips against his, skimming the hard promise straining beneath his clothes. Looping your arms loosely around his neck you pull back, looking him in the eyes, his gaze heavy and half-lidded. “I think you’ll forgive me as soon as you see my costume,” you purr wantonly. “Like I said, Santiago. It’s very, very slutty.”

The broken groan Santi expels from his throat then might be the hottest sound you’ve ever heard, and, God. If you’re finally going to hook up with him tonight - if he’s finally mustered the courage? You want to make sure it’s everything you’ve wanted it to be.

And so, a gentle smile lilts over your mouth as you figure it out. If you want Santiago to punish you, you’d better be really bad first.

That shouldn’t be a problem. After all, he’s so easy to wind up.

You take a purposeful step back from him and hold your hand out for him to take, tossing your head towards the door of the venue, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Come on then my little potato. Let’s get you inside.”

“You’re in for it later,” he promises darkly.

And finally, there it is. You’re about to have everything you want from him; and yet… suddenly that’s not all you want.

You realise that he has far more than that to offer you.

Santiago is looking at you some kind of way - a delectable heat sparking in his eyes. And yet, beneath that, something softer and far more adoring is dancing there. In the way he holds you. In the way his gaze flits steadily around your face.

You’ve always known the man was your walking fantasy, but you’ve done him a disservice. You forgot to see the reality of him too.

Still - better late that never.

You finally see it.

You think he finally found the courage tonight to live up to all your fantasies - true.

But you realise that -despite him being dressed as the tin man- you have never once doubted his heart. He’s never given you cause to.

Besides. Okay. He really does look cute in that little silver hat.

“You don’t look stupid by the way,” you intone softly, dropping the teasing edge.

“No?”

“No. You look good, Santiago.”

The softest smile claims him as you lead him inside.

For now, there is dancing to be done. And, later?

Well, later, you definitely intend to fulfil your end of the bargain and throw on something skimpy.

You finally think you’ve teased the poor man enough.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #just a quick one sorry if it’s bad

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dailyreverie · 2 years

Text

"Who did this to you?"

Another one requested by @treasureswordsgirl55 😗💖

Pairing: Marc Spector x reader

CW: Mentions of street violence

[gif by @userpoe]

Your hands were shaking and your breathing quickening by the second. Never before had you felt like that, impotence and confusion making your limbs tremble as you stood there, unmoving, waiting for the shock to pass.

Marc found you like that, hidden in the same alley you were ambushed on your way home. His voice was a distant mumble as you tried to regain composure, but everything felt blurry, even his strong hands against your shoulders.

"Hey, baby, what happened?" His voice urged, his eyes looking for yours, but you couldn't focus. You heard your name coming from his lips in a distant echo, but the words from the men who attacked you were still sounding in your head.

The knife that had been pressed to your throat made a feeling of cold metal linger on your skin, and there were red marks around your wrists, it was all too much for you to focus on reality. Marc noticed it when your hands instinctively reached for him, delicately holding your wrists and examining your arms.

"Shit," he mumbled, pursing his lips when he put two and two together. "What happened?"

"I- I don't- I-" your stutter made Marc sigh in displeasure, his chest heaving as he looks around the street.

"Hey, honey, look at me." He called you as gently as he could, moving his hands from your arms to your cheeks, small circles caressing your skin. "Look at me." He repeated when he saw his efforts to bring you back to him were working, your eyes focusing on him. "Who did this to you?"

You looked at him in silence for a second, bottom lip quivering, your hands flying to grab his arms for support. "They had that tattoo." As you spoke you noticed the white cape falling from his shoulders, which could explain why it all had happened. A petty revenge, an easy way to get to his nerves...

"Fucking Harlow." ...and it was working. Marc's eyes went wide and dark, cursing to himself. He pulled you to his broad chest with a kiss on your forehead. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." he kept saying, as if it had actually been his fault. "Shit, I'm so sorry." Marc said one last time, holding you tighter against him.

"It was not your fault."

"But I wasn't here." He moved back to look at your face, thumbs cleaning rogue tears with a deep frown set on his face. Grabbing your wrists with soft fingertips he lifted them to his lips, placing small kisses on them before doing the same to your lips. "I got you now, let's get you home."

As you could you nodded, letting his strong arm warp around your shoulders to walk you both home, knowing quite well his head was already working on his next move.

******************

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fanfic #marc spector imagine #marc spector blurb #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction

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spacecowboyhotch · 2 years

Text

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

#steven grant x you #steven grant fics #steven grant x y/n #gn!reader x steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x gender neutral reader #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x reader #marc spector x gn!reader #gn!reader x marc spector #moonknight x reader #moonknight fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfiction #arson writes marvel

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