by character: xavier thorpe || james potter || michael gray || peter parker || tom holland || finn shelby || arvin russell || benny rodriguez || billy russo || rafe cameron || poe dameron || remus lupin || sirius black || jj maybank
by length: headcanon || blurb || drabble || one shot || mini series || series
by status: ongoing || complete || hiatus
by trope: abo || angst with a happy ending || blind date || break up make up || ceo || christmas || college || dark fic || enemies to lovers || fake dating || favorite || five times trope || ffh || friends to lovers || hanahaki || homecoming || memory loss || mob || mutual pining || neighbor || new year’s eve || professor || roommate || secret admirer || single parent || social media || unrequited love || 40s ||
ahead, ahead
heat me up*
just in case
I don't love you like I did yesterday
three weeks*
uncalled for*
better safe than sorry*
day thirty*
day four
day one
deft hands
fwb
penitence
boyfriend
us, now*
orange
neurotic mess
wounds
favor
heal
poe's favorite story
are we just friends?
Summary: You expected your best friend to be as optimistic about Life Day as he is about everything else. But he's different this year. (This is set after the events of The Last Jedi if you're interested in the timeline)
Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader
Word Count: 3.1k
Content: Poe is a sad/tipsy/handsy puppy, angst, inebriation, drinking, kissing, misunderstandings, discussions of death, probably inaccurate Life Day nonsense, friends to lovers, pining, this boy's trauma deserves some attention ok
Poe wasn't at breakfast.
He missed your morning run together.
Life Day spirit was in the air and General Organa had released as much personnel as could be managed, particularly those who celebrated.
Maybe Poe headed back to Yavin 4 without mentioning anything?
Your best friend usually told you everything, so if he left without saying goodbye...
"Have you seen Poe?" You asked a few dozen people throughout the day, even going so far as to find General Organa, pleading with her to tell you if he was off on a solo mission, or a secret one.
She assured you she had ordered no such mission.
So where was he?
Deciding to head back to your room to change for the festivities, you tried to shake off the anxiety prickling your skin. After a quick trip to the fresher, you put on your best outfit - which was basically the only thing you owned that wasn't Resistance-issued attire.
Upon checking Poe's room one final time, you reluctantly made your way to the mess hall, which, for the people remaining at the Resistance base, would serve as a dance floor.
Colorful strings of lights illuminated the dimly lit room, mismatchedbulbs from droids and ships and even various lanterns. Trinkets special to Resistance members were strung up here and there - good luck charms and souvenirs from missions - anything that would reflect and sparkle and shine.
As if holiday magic itself was guiding you, the sparkle of a familiar gold necklace glinted, catching your eye. All the sudden, there he was, sitting in a corner, surrounded by people, slurring his way through a story of battle glory.
Shit, he was already tipsy? Not good.
His dark brown eyes brightened as they landed on you.
"There you are," he laughed out, reaching out for you, suddenly ignoring the others vying for his attention. "I was just talking about you, come here."
Despite the fact that he was nestled in a corner booth, he insisted you shimmy your way to sit down beside him.
"Poe, it's okay, there's no room. I can just - "
"Nooo, 'sokay," he waved his hand dismissively before reaching up to pull on your sleeve. "Sit with me, right here. Been waiting for you."
Poe was so damn stubborn when he'd been drinking...which is how you ended up smooshed up against his side, halfway on his lap.
"You smell so good," he murmured, burying his nose behind your ear as his arm slid around your waist.
Nudging him with your shoulder, you couldn't help but smile. "How much have you had to drink? It's early."
The corner of his mouth curled knowingly as he touched his forehead to yours. "Started early. You weren't here to stop me."
Your face heated up at how flirty he seemed this evening. "What are you talking about? I've been looking for you everywhere."
"Not everywhere or you would have found me here," he shrugged, pushing his half empty drink toward you. "Gotta catch up."
"Uh, no thank you," you giggled, trying to find a comfortable sitting position that didn't land you all the way in Poe's lap. On second thought, maybe if you finished Poe's drink, you could keep an eye on what else he chose to imbibe for the rest of the evening.
"Actually, give me that." You downed it in a couple gulps, to Poe's great amusement and a whoop from your table mates.
"Okay, okay, you have to play the game too," a fellow pilot informed you, nodding to a cheap looking bottle of something or other in the middle of the table. "Truth or dare?"
You glared over at Poe. "Truth or dare? How old are we?"
"Four-hundred thirty-seven," an alien pilot opposite you teased. "Haven't played Truth or Dare since I was around two-hundred."
"Exactly," you decided to let a couple of centuries make your point.
"Come onnn, play with us," Poe breathed on your ear, goosing your ribs, which sent your backside jerking against his thigh as you shrieked in surprise. You nearly lost your balance, but Poe wrapped his arms around your torso to steady you.
"Truth or dare?" You were asked again.
With a groan, you decided on truth.
"You've hooked up with Commander Dameron," she declared. Everyone at the table leaned in, ready for your answer. You should have known.
"No, I haven't. That's the truth."
"Commander?" She challenged, fact-checking your statement with Poe.
"Don't ask me, it's not my turn," he mysteriously shrugged, which elicited some 'oooh's' and made you groan.
The game continued until it was Poe's turn. He choose truth and was posed the same question as you. His answer confirmed yours - no hookups between you. That fact didn’t stop his thumb from languidly tracing circles on your stomach as he held onto you.
On your next turn, you tried to avoid another probing question by choosing dare.
"Kiss Commander Dameron," the older alien pilot challenged. You felt a chuckle rumble in his chest.
"Fine," you shrugged, turning your head to peck him on the cheek. A chorus of 'boo's' went up, but you silenced them, letting them know they didn't specify where or how you had to kiss Poe.
So, naturally, when it was Poe's turn, he chose dare, and was dared to kiss you. On the mouth.
"Okay, time for bed," you decided, attempting to climb out of your crowded seat and off Poe's thigh, which you were certain had fallen asleep by now underneath your weight.
"Aw, don't go," Poe complained, keeping a loose hold on your wrist, but not holding you back, in case you really wanted to leave. "It won't be Life Day without you. Promise I won't kiss you."
Your eyes met his and you swore you saw a flicker of sadness dance across them. "Okay, I'll stay, but no more Truth or Dare." Hitching your thumb at your table mates you whispered, "They're ganging up on us."
"Then let's go dance," Poe proposed, releasing your wrist and clambering out of the booth and onto the dance floor. Just to make you laugh, he did a silly twirl and struck a pose before offering his hand. “Shall we?”
"Wow, you are so drunk," you cackled taking his hand and following him willingly.
You made it to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, and he pulled your hand to his chest, slipping his other arm around your waist as you began to sway to the music.
Smiling at him sweetly, you released his hand, pushing your fingers up over the exposed skin of his chest, revealed by one too many buttons unfastened. Not that you were complaining. Up your fingers traced, toying with the chain nestled there, over the smooth column of his neck. His throat bobbed under your touch.
Looping your arms around his neck, you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, swaying back and forth with a silly, dramatic flare, which earned a chuckle from Poe. His hands found your hips and squeezed, dragging you closer until your chest pressed against his and his forehead dropped to yours.
"What is going on with you?" You murmured, heart fluttering in your chest as you attempted to keep your wits about you.
"Nothing, just...really glad you're here. Missed you today," he whispered, alcohol tinged breath ghosting your lips.
"Could've fooled me. I couldn't find you anywhere, Poe. I thought you went back home for Life Day without even telling me."
"Without you? No," he shook his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs. "Not without you. Without telling you, I mean."
“But I couldn’t find you,” you insisted, resisting the urge to toy with the curls at the base of his neck. It felt good to be close to him - to have his attention. But he wasn't in his right mind and you couldn't take advantage of your friendship. "I thought maybe you were avoiding me. I was worried."
His gaze dropped, jaw clenching as your swaying eased to a stop. "I'm sorry."
In a group, drinking and telling stories, he could keep up a festive facade but you saw right through him.
"Hey," you softly redirected his gaze back to yours. "It's Life Day. You love Life Day. Right? The tree and the lights?"
"Yeah," he whispered, eyes flickering down to your lips. "I just...I'm not feeling so festive this year."
Stepping back, you ran your palms down his arms and took his hands. "Wanna get out of here? Let's get some air. We can look at the tree."
He nodded, following your lead out into the night, gripping your hand as if you might evaporate right before his eyes if he let go.
You walked quietly for several moments, cheeks burning as a few passersby noticed you holding hands with the Commander, prompting you to finally release your hold. Without the tether, Poe’s walking slowed, turning into a listless stumble, which was how you realized he might not be in any shape to take a stroll through the woods.
Perhaps he was better off tucked into a booth, surrounded by people. The fact that you misread the situation and his needs brought a wave of trepidation and regret. You stopped walking and turned to him, pressing your palms against his chest.
It took his mind a second to catch up, so you guided him around the side of the closest building - closed for the holiday. Steadying him up against the wall, with hands on his chest once more, you apologized. “I should take you back to your room.”
Gripping your elbows, he stared at you so intently it made your knees go weak. As your body swayed into his, he wrapped his arms around you, gathering you close. Mistaking it for a hug, albeit an intimate one, you turned your head to lay it on his chest, but his mouth met yours, capturing your lips in a breathy kiss.
All the air rushed out of you as he tasted you, spreading his hand over the curve of your back and pressing and pulling you into him harder. The heat of his tongue and the solid warmth of his body consumed you utterly and you found yourself kissing him back with fervor.
The sound of voices and a clattering bottle nearby jolted you out of...whatever this was, sending you stumbling back, dazed. You felt as drunk as Poe apparently was, but from him alone rather than the half drink you’d downed.
Poe, mistaking your withdrawal as rejection, reached for your arms, murmuring, "No, no, I'm sorry, don't go."
Noticing his obvious distress, you allowed his touch, gripping his biceps through his leather jacket. "It's okay. I'm here," you breathlessly gasped, mind reeling and heart pounding. "Let me take you back."
"I don't want you to go," he whimpered, grip on your forearms tightening. "Don't be mad. I don't want...I can't - "
"Hey," you soothed, touching his cheek to direct his bleary gaze to yours. "I won't leave you. Not ever."
This seemed to appease him and he followed your lead back to his room. Your instincts seemed to somehow be way off with him tonight, and you regretted tearing him away from the fun he seemed to be enjoying before you interrupted.
Maybe it was you. Perhaps that's why he'd avoided you all day. Hot tears burned your eyes as you guided him to lie down on his bed. As he pleaded with you not to go, again, you hushed him, swearing you wouldn't.
You worked his boots off his feet before helping him sit up to remove his jacket. Climbing into bed, you wrapped your arms around him, guiding him to lie down on your lap. His distress calmed almost instantly as he murmured, "thank you" a few times, burying his nose in your tummy.
"Love you so much," he whispered so faintly, you convinced yourself he must have said something else.
Raking your fingers through his slightly damp curls, you shushed him a few times, realizing you'd never seen him like this. Tipsy? Yes. Drunk? Maybe once or twice. Handsy? Always. But broken? Not like this.
He fell asleep in minutes and only then, did you let tears escape your eyes. Before long, you felt your eyes grow heavy, so you worked your way down onto the bed, hoping not to wake Poe.
Somehow, exhaustion mingled with the pounding in your heart - from worry, from sharing Poe's bed, from the flavor of alcohol on your lips from his kiss. And from the words he uttered - things he probably wouldn't even remember.
Sleep finally came, granting you both reprieve.
The next morning, you awoke while there was barely light in the sky. Since Poe was still asleep, you decided to freshen up a bit and get him some toast and something hot to drink. You crept out of his room and back again as quietly as you could manage.
Upon your return, you were surprised to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees and head in his hands. Dark curls tumbled over his fingers, obscuring his handsome face from you. His shoulders slumped defeatedly.
"Hey there," you softly greeted, presenting the tray of bland food and hot tea to him like an offering. "How are you feeling?"
"Like an asshole," he lamented, voice muffled by his hands.
"Well, I'm used to that," you attempted lightly. "But you had a lot to drink last night. What was that about?"
Raking his fingers down his face, he managed to face you then, eyes bloodshot and lips parched. It was kind of endearing to see him not looking completely perfect for once.
"First of all, tell me how pissed you are. I can take it." He visibly withdrew, waiting for your verdict on how he behaved last night.
"I'm not pissed," you assured him, "just really worried. Why don't you eat something and then we can talk?"
After Poe choked down some toast, you decided to swing by your room and change while he visited the fresher. You promised to return, and when you did, he was waiting for you with open arms.
Folding you close, he breathed on your ear how sorry he was, over and over, while you pressed your nose to the clean scent of his damp neck, exposed by the clean, thin shirt he wore.
Easing back, you reached to toy with the wet curls flipping out behind his ear. "What are you sorry for?"
"Where do I begin?" He scoffed, his gaze dropping. "I ruined your Life Day. I ignored you all day. Kissed you."
"So...you're sorry for kissing me," you clarified, your stomach dropping.
"Yes. No." He shook his head, confused. "I didn't want to be alone." He winced, regretting the words as they left his mouth.
Your jaw clenched as you struggled to maintain your composure. "So you're sorry for kissing me? Or you're sorry that you kissed me while you were drunk, just so you wouldn't be alone?"
Pacing away, one hand landed on his hip while the other tore through his hair. "That's not what I meant. I...I was trying to forget everything and just drink and have fun, but not with you."
Shit. Wrong wording. Again.
"So, that's why you avoided me all day." It wasn't a question. The realization of it stole your breath from your lungs and you sank down on the bed as tears burned your eyes.
"No, baby. No." Poe was quick to kneel down before you, reaching desperately for your hands. "This is...shit, this is coming out all wrong." Seeing tears pool in your beautiful, shining eyes seared his insides with guilt and shame - his companions ever since the events leading up to the Battle of Crait.
"Tell me what's going on," you whispered. "What did I do?"
"Nothing," he insisted, bringing your fingers to his lips and kissing them urgently.
"Too many people have died," he finally confessed, his head bowed and his voice a broken whisper. "It was supposed to be Life Day, but there's only death. We lost over half the fleet."
"I know."
"So many families couldn't celebrate Life Day. Too many." His eyes met yours, wet with fresh tears. "And how many of them are dead because of me?"
"Poe, we all know what we're signing up for when we join. We're all ready to give our lives, you know that. You can't possibly take the blame for what the First Order has done to us."
"There's blame enough for me to share, believe me," he insisted. "And I just couldn't hang anything on the tree yesterday and celebrate life. Not with over half of us gone."
Eyeing him sympathetically, you squeezed his hands. "Life Day isn't only about being alive. Death is a part of life. Life Day is also about remembering the dead. And part of living is grieving the dead, and sometimes feeling a little guilty that you're still here."
“But I don’t, though,” he admitted. “I’m glad I’m here, and more than that, I’m glad you’re here. You, most of all. You're the one person I don't wanna...that I can't..."
"Come here," you coaxed. Poe joined you on the bed but never let go of your hands. "You're my one person too, you know. The person I look for after every mission. The one person I need to be okay.
"It scared me so much yesterday when I couldn't find you," you went on.
"I'm so sorry," he repeated, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "Please don't hate me for yesterday. It's been a long time since I had that much to drink. I know it's no excuse for what I did."
"So you don't remember, then...what you said?" You should have known Poe would only kiss you and utter heartfelt confessions when he was wasted.
Releasing your hand, he titled your chin up to meet his gaze. "I know what I said. I do love you. Always have." A nervous, breathless laugh escaped his perfect lips. "But I understand, you know, if you don't - "
You silenced him, pressing your mouth to his for a tender kiss. "Believe me. I do."
The sadness lingering behind his eyes started to seep away, replaced by a flicker of hope. "Is there any way we could re-do yesterday?" He proposed, tracing the shape of your jaw. "I only have one meeting today."
"That sounds perfect," you agreed, leaning into his touch.
Hand in hand, you visited the Life Day tree, said the prayers, remembered those lost. Then you had something to drink with friends - just one though, before dancing and laughing all evening.
When he kissed you this time, he meant to do it, and everyone saw it. And when you walked back to his room, he asked you to stay. And you did. Every night.
Summary: You expected your best friend to be as optimistic about Life Day as he is about everything else. But he's different this year. (This is set after the events of The Last Jedi if you're interested in the timeline)
Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader
Word Count: 3.1k
Content: Poe is a sad/tipsy/handsy puppy, angst, inebriation, drinking, kissing, misunderstandings, discussions of death, probably inaccurate Life Day nonsense, friends to lovers, pining, this boy's trauma deserves some attention ok
Poe wasn't at breakfast.
He missed your morning run together.
Life Day spirit was in the air and General Organa had released as much personnel as could be managed, particularly those who celebrated.
Maybe Poe headed back to Yavin 4 without mentioning anything?
Your best friend usually told you everything, so if he left without saying goodbye...
"Have you seen Poe?" You asked a few dozen people throughout the day, even going so far as to find General Organa, pleading with her to tell you if he was off on a solo mission, or a secret one.
She assured you she had ordered no such mission.
So where was he?
Deciding to head back to your room to change for the festivities, you tried to shake off the anxiety prickling your skin. After a quick trip to the fresher, you put on your best outfit - which was basically the only thing you owned that wasn't Resistance-issued attire.
Upon checking Poe's room one final time, you reluctantly made your way to the mess hall, which, for the people remaining at the Resistance base, would serve as a dance floor.
Colorful strings of lights illuminated the dimly lit room, mismatchedbulbs from droids and ships and even various lanterns. Trinkets special to Resistance members were strung up here and there - good luck charms and souvenirs from missions - anything that would reflect and sparkle and shine.
As if holiday magic itself was guiding you, the sparkle of a familiar gold necklace glinted, catching your eye. All the sudden, there he was, sitting in a corner, surrounded by people, slurring his way through a story of battle glory.
Shit, he was already tipsy? Not good.
His dark brown eyes brightened as they landed on you.
"There you are," he laughed out, reaching out for you, suddenly ignoring the others vying for his attention. "I was just talking about you, come here."
Despite the fact that he was nestled in a corner booth, he insisted you shimmy your way to sit down beside him.
"Poe, it's okay, there's no room. I can just - "
"Nooo, 'sokay," he waved his hand dismissively before reaching up to pull on your sleeve. "Sit with me, right here. Been waiting for you."
Poe was so damn stubborn when he'd been drinking...which is how you ended up smooshed up against his side, halfway on his lap.
"You smell so good," he murmured, burying his nose behind your ear as his arm slid around your waist.
Nudging him with your shoulder, you couldn't help but smile. "How much have you had to drink? It's early."
The corner of his mouth curled knowingly as he touched his forehead to yours. "Started early. You weren't here to stop me."
Your face heated up at how flirty he seemed this evening. "What are you talking about? I've been looking for you everywhere."
"Not everywhere or you would have found me here," he shrugged, pushing his half empty drink toward you. "Gotta catch up."
"Uh, no thank you," you giggled, trying to find a comfortable sitting position that didn't land you all the way in Poe's lap. On second thought, maybe if you finished Poe's drink, you could keep an eye on what else he chose to imbibe for the rest of the evening.
"Actually, give me that." You downed it in a couple gulps, to Poe's great amusement and a whoop from your table mates.
"Okay, okay, you have to play the game too," a fellow pilot informed you, nodding to a cheap looking bottle of something or other in the middle of the table. "Truth or dare?"
You glared over at Poe. "Truth or dare? How old are we?"
"Four-hundred thirty-seven," an alien pilot opposite you teased. "Haven't played Truth or Dare since I was around two-hundred."
"Exactly," you decided to let a couple of centuries make your point.
"Come onnn, play with us," Poe breathed on your ear, goosing your ribs, which sent your backside jerking against his thigh as you shrieked in surprise. You nearly lost your balance, but Poe wrapped his arms around your torso to steady you.
"Truth or dare?" You were asked again.
With a groan, you decided on truth.
"You've hooked up with Commander Dameron," she declared. Everyone at the table leaned in, ready for your answer. You should have known.
"No, I haven't. That's the truth."
"Commander?" She challenged, fact-checking your statement with Poe.
"Don't ask me, it's not my turn," he mysteriously shrugged, which elicited some 'oooh's' and made you groan.
The game continued until it was Poe's turn. He choose truth and was posed the same question as you. His answer confirmed yours - no hookups between you. That fact didn’t stop his thumb from languidly tracing circles on your stomach as he held onto you.
On your next turn, you tried to avoid another probing question by choosing dare.
"Kiss Commander Dameron," the older alien pilot challenged. You felt a chuckle rumble in his chest.
"Fine," you shrugged, turning your head to peck him on the cheek. A chorus of 'boo's' went up, but you silenced them, letting them know they didn't specify where or how you had to kiss Poe.
So, naturally, when it was Poe's turn, he chose dare, and was dared to kiss you. On the mouth.
"Okay, time for bed," you decided, attempting to climb out of your crowded seat and off Poe's thigh, which you were certain had fallen asleep by now underneath your weight.
"Aw, don't go," Poe complained, keeping a loose hold on your wrist, but not holding you back, in case you really wanted to leave. "It won't be Life Day without you. Promise I won't kiss you."
Your eyes met his and you swore you saw a flicker of sadness dance across them. "Okay, I'll stay, but no more Truth or Dare." Hitching your thumb at your table mates you whispered, "They're ganging up on us."
"Then let's go dance," Poe proposed, releasing your wrist and clambering out of the booth and onto the dance floor. Just to make you laugh, he did a silly twirl and struck a pose before offering his hand. “Shall we?”
"Wow, you are so drunk," you cackled taking his hand and following him willingly.
You made it to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, and he pulled your hand to his chest, slipping his other arm around your waist as you began to sway to the music.
Smiling at him sweetly, you released his hand, pushing your fingers up over the exposed skin of his chest, revealed by one too many buttons unfastened. Not that you were complaining. Up your fingers traced, toying with the chain nestled there, over the smooth column of his neck. His throat bobbed under your touch.
Looping your arms around his neck, you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, swaying back and forth with a silly, dramatic flare, which earned a chuckle from Poe. His hands found your hips and squeezed, dragging you closer until your chest pressed against his and his forehead dropped to yours.
"What is going on with you?" You murmured, heart fluttering in your chest as you attempted to keep your wits about you.
"Nothing, just...really glad you're here. Missed you today," he whispered, alcohol tinged breath ghosting your lips.
"Could've fooled me. I couldn't find you anywhere, Poe. I thought you went back home for Life Day without even telling me."
"Without you? No," he shook his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs. "Not without you. Without telling you, I mean."
“But I couldn’t find you,” you insisted, resisting the urge to toy with the curls at the base of his neck. It felt good to be close to him - to have his attention. But he wasn't in his right mind and you couldn't take advantage of your friendship. "I thought maybe you were avoiding me. I was worried."
His gaze dropped, jaw clenching as your swaying eased to a stop. "I'm sorry."
In a group, drinking and telling stories, he could keep up a festive facade but you saw right through him.
"Hey," you softly redirected his gaze back to yours. "It's Life Day. You love Life Day. Right? The tree and the lights?"
"Yeah," he whispered, eyes flickering down to your lips. "I just...I'm not feeling so festive this year."
Stepping back, you ran your palms down his arms and took his hands. "Wanna get out of here? Let's get some air. We can look at the tree."
He nodded, following your lead out into the night, gripping your hand as if you might evaporate right before his eyes if he let go.
You walked quietly for several moments, cheeks burning as a few passersby noticed you holding hands with the Commander, prompting you to finally release your hold. Without the tether, Poe’s walking slowed, turning into a listless stumble, which was how you realized he might not be in any shape to take a stroll through the woods.
Perhaps he was better off tucked into a booth, surrounded by people. The fact that you misread the situation and his needs brought a wave of trepidation and regret. You stopped walking and turned to him, pressing your palms against his chest.
It took his mind a second to catch up, so you guided him around the side of the closest building - closed for the holiday. Steadying him up against the wall, with hands on his chest once more, you apologized. “I should take you back to your room.”
Gripping your elbows, he stared at you so intently it made your knees go weak. As your body swayed into his, he wrapped his arms around you, gathering you close. Mistaking it for a hug, albeit an intimate one, you turned your head to lay it on his chest, but his mouth met yours, capturing your lips in a breathy kiss.
All the air rushed out of you as he tasted you, spreading his hand over the curve of your back and pressing and pulling you into him harder. The heat of his tongue and the solid warmth of his body consumed you utterly and you found yourself kissing him back with fervor.
The sound of voices and a clattering bottle nearby jolted you out of...whatever this was, sending you stumbling back, dazed. You felt as drunk as Poe apparently was, but from him alone rather than the half drink you’d downed.
Poe, mistaking your withdrawal as rejection, reached for your arms, murmuring, "No, no, I'm sorry, don't go."
Noticing his obvious distress, you allowed his touch, gripping his biceps through his leather jacket. "It's okay. I'm here," you breathlessly gasped, mind reeling and heart pounding. "Let me take you back."
"I don't want you to go," he whimpered, grip on your forearms tightening. "Don't be mad. I don't want...I can't - "
"Hey," you soothed, touching his cheek to direct his bleary gaze to yours. "I won't leave you. Not ever."
This seemed to appease him and he followed your lead back to his room. Your instincts seemed to somehow be way off with him tonight, and you regretted tearing him away from the fun he seemed to be enjoying before you interrupted.
Maybe it was you. Perhaps that's why he'd avoided you all day. Hot tears burned your eyes as you guided him to lie down on his bed. As he pleaded with you not to go, again, you hushed him, swearing you wouldn't.
You worked his boots off his feet before helping him sit up to remove his jacket. Climbing into bed, you wrapped your arms around him, guiding him to lie down on your lap. His distress calmed almost instantly as he murmured, "thank you" a few times, burying his nose in your tummy.
"Love you so much," he whispered so faintly, you convinced yourself he must have said something else.
Raking your fingers through his slightly damp curls, you shushed him a few times, realizing you'd never seen him like this. Tipsy? Yes. Drunk? Maybe once or twice. Handsy? Always. But broken? Not like this.
He fell asleep in minutes and only then, did you let tears escape your eyes. Before long, you felt your eyes grow heavy, so you worked your way down onto the bed, hoping not to wake Poe.
Somehow, exhaustion mingled with the pounding in your heart - from worry, from sharing Poe's bed, from the flavor of alcohol on your lips from his kiss. And from the words he uttered - things he probably wouldn't even remember.
Sleep finally came, granting you both reprieve.
The next morning, you awoke while there was barely light in the sky. Since Poe was still asleep, you decided to freshen up a bit and get him some toast and something hot to drink. You crept out of his room and back again as quietly as you could manage.
Upon your return, you were surprised to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees and head in his hands. Dark curls tumbled over his fingers, obscuring his handsome face from you. His shoulders slumped defeatedly.
"Hey there," you softly greeted, presenting the tray of bland food and hot tea to him like an offering. "How are you feeling?"
"Like an asshole," he lamented, voice muffled by his hands.
"Well, I'm used to that," you attempted lightly. "But you had a lot to drink last night. What was that about?"
Raking his fingers down his face, he managed to face you then, eyes bloodshot and lips parched. It was kind of endearing to see him not looking completely perfect for once.
"First of all, tell me how pissed you are. I can take it." He visibly withdrew, waiting for your verdict on how he behaved last night.
"I'm not pissed," you assured him, "just really worried. Why don't you eat something and then we can talk?"
After Poe choked down some toast, you decided to swing by your room and change while he visited the fresher. You promised to return, and when you did, he was waiting for you with open arms.
Folding you close, he breathed on your ear how sorry he was, over and over, while you pressed your nose to the clean scent of his damp neck, exposed by the clean, thin shirt he wore.
Easing back, you reached to toy with the wet curls flipping out behind his ear. "What are you sorry for?"
"Where do I begin?" He scoffed, his gaze dropping. "I ruined your Life Day. I ignored you all day. Kissed you."
"So...you're sorry for kissing me," you clarified, your stomach dropping.
"Yes. No." He shook his head, confused. "I didn't want to be alone." He winced, regretting the words as they left his mouth.
Your jaw clenched as you struggled to maintain your composure. "So you're sorry for kissing me? Or you're sorry that you kissed me while you were drunk, just so you wouldn't be alone?"
Pacing away, one hand landed on his hip while the other tore through his hair. "That's not what I meant. I...I was trying to forget everything and just drink and have fun, but not with you."
Shit. Wrong wording. Again.
"So, that's why you avoided me all day." It wasn't a question. The realization of it stole your breath from your lungs and you sank down on the bed as tears burned your eyes.
"No, baby. No." Poe was quick to kneel down before you, reaching desperately for your hands. "This is...shit, this is coming out all wrong." Seeing tears pool in your beautiful, shining eyes seared his insides with guilt and shame - his companions ever since the events leading up to the Battle of Crait.
"Tell me what's going on," you whispered. "What did I do?"
"Nothing," he insisted, bringing your fingers to his lips and kissing them urgently.
"Too many people have died," he finally confessed, his head bowed and his voice a broken whisper. "It was supposed to be Life Day, but there's only death. We lost over half the fleet."
"I know."
"So many families couldn't celebrate Life Day. Too many." His eyes met yours, wet with fresh tears. "And how many of them are dead because of me?"
"Poe, we all know what we're signing up for when we join. We're all ready to give our lives, you know that. You can't possibly take the blame for what the First Order has done to us."
"There's blame enough for me to share, believe me," he insisted. "And I just couldn't hang anything on the tree yesterday and celebrate life. Not with over half of us gone."
Eyeing him sympathetically, you squeezed his hands. "Life Day isn't only about being alive. Death is a part of life. Life Day is also about remembering the dead. And part of living is grieving the dead, and sometimes feeling a little guilty that you're still here."
“But I don’t, though,” he admitted. “I’m glad I’m here, and more than that, I’m glad you’re here. You, most of all. You're the one person I don't wanna...that I can't..."
"Come here," you coaxed. Poe joined you on the bed but never let go of your hands. "You're my one person too, you know. The person I look for after every mission. The one person I need to be okay.
"It scared me so much yesterday when I couldn't find you," you went on.
"I'm so sorry," he repeated, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "Please don't hate me for yesterday. It's been a long time since I had that much to drink. I know it's no excuse for what I did."
"So you don't remember, then...what you said?" You should have known Poe would only kiss you and utter heartfelt confessions when he was wasted.
Releasing your hand, he titled your chin up to meet his gaze. "I know what I said. I do love you. Always have." A nervous, breathless laugh escaped his perfect lips. "But I understand, you know, if you don't - "
You silenced him, pressing your mouth to his for a tender kiss. "Believe me. I do."
The sadness lingering behind his eyes started to seep away, replaced by a flicker of hope. "Is there any way we could re-do yesterday?" He proposed, tracing the shape of your jaw. "I only have one meeting today."
"That sounds perfect," you agreed, leaning into his touch.
Hand in hand, you visited the Life Day tree, said the prayers, remembered those lost. Then you had something to drink with friends - just one though, before dancing and laughing all evening.
When he kissed you this time, he meant to do it, and everyone saw it. And when you walked back to his room, he asked you to stay. And you did. Every night.
AN: Inspired by a prompt from this list. I'm not sure how I feel about this as it didn't turn out the way I wanted but I'm posting it anyway lol. Happy Star Wars Day! May the 4th Be With You 😊
(Un-beta’d)
Your friends set you up with The Perfect Guy™️
Rated: M-ish (very, VERY slight, honestly just rating it this just in case lmao)
Words: 1,218
Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader (pretty sure it's GN, please let me know if that's incorrect)
Warnings: References to sex but no overt sexual content, awkwardness, drinking/tipsiness, mentions of past drunkenness, please let me know if I missed anything.
AO3
——————
“Let us set you up,” they’d said. “It’ll be so fun,” they’d said. “We have the perfect guy for you,” they'd said.
The Perfect Guy. Right.
Just so happens you’ve already dated this particular Perfect Guy.
Well, maybe “dated” wasn’t the right word. “Had a history with,” maybe? Or, more like “shared a bed with”...
It was late last year, after one of many missions in the Outer Rim. You’d been having a drink at the Cantina, drowning your sorrows after the loss of a friend. He’d been doing the same for similar reasons. You’d gotten to chatting, commiserating, slinging back drink after drink, and had soon ended up outside Poe’s quarters sloppily making out against the door. He’d been solid, and warm—and such a good kisser—and Maker, you’d just needed the comfort he was offering. So, you’d slept together. You don’t remember too much, just flashes here and there, but it must’ve been awful because the next morning, he was nowhere to be found. You’d been embarrassed to say the least but thankfully you didn’t really run in the same circles. You’d never told anyone about it and it appeared he hadn’t either, so you’d just tried to forget about it.
“Poe,” you say, voice shaking slightly. “Long time no see.”
He has the decency to look at least a little uncomfortable, which gives you some hope that he’s not a complete nerf herder.
“About that–”
You cut him off with a hand, shaking your head. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
He pauses, lips still parted. He nods after a moment, briefly averting his gaze.
An awkward silence falls between you before he breaks it with a question. “Still drink spice rum?”
Your eyes widen a little in surprise—he remembered your preferred drink? “Oh, um, yes.”
He smiles gesturing toward the bar. “Can I get you one?”
After a moment’s hesitation, you nod. So, this date was still on then?
He returns and hands you the glass of rum, just the smell of it putting you a little more at ease. “Thanks.”
Silence falls between you again, but it’s less awkward somehow.
“How’s BB-8?” you ask, gingerly sipping on your drink.
Poe’s eyes light up at the mention of his droid and it kind of warms your heart a little. “He’s good, thanks. Just got back from a mission in the Mid Rim so he’s getting cleaned up by the techs at the moment.”
You nod, trying to make yourself relax a little. “So the mission was successful then? I know you can’t go into details but…”
He nods enthusiastically, his mouth otherwise occupied with his Jet Juice. “Yes, definitely successful.”
“Good,” you reply, wetting your lips.
Poe’s gaze briefly drops to your mouth and your skin heats. You swallow hard, the memory of what kissing him felt like popping into your mind unbidden.
Kriffing hell, you had to get out of here.
But you don’t, instead choosing to torture yourself with more awkward conversation. You talk about a lot of things, but none of it feels natural. Not even after four spice rums. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he offers you an out, explaining that he has an early call tomorrow. Relieved, you jump to your feet, swaying a little, your head spinning a little. Maker, maybe four spice rums was too many on an empty stomach…
You feel Poe’s hands on your shoulders as he tries to help steady you, a concerned look on his face.
“You okay?”
You chuckle, slightly embarrassed. “I think I just…stood up too fast.”
He looks unconvinced but doesn’t try to stop you as you move to walk away from the table you’d been sitting at, your legs feeling like jelly.
“Hey, um, maybe I should walk you back?” he offers, eyebrows raising hopefully.
You shake your head, then immediately regret it, the quick movement making the room spin.
“Okay,” you hear Poe say, his warm, strong hands steadying you once more. “I’ve got you, it’s alright.”
He threads your arm through his, his voice soft as he directs you to wrap your fingers around his forearm for more balance. It gets better the longer you walk, your feet less clumsy, the room less…spinny. You’re pretty much back to normal by the time you make it to your quarters.
Wordlessly, you key the door code in, the familiar snick of the door opening reaching your ears.
“Thanks for walking me back,” you tell him softly, staring resolutely at your feet.
“Of course, anytime,” he says, slowly releasing you from his hold. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” you chuckle breathlessly, stealing a brief glance at him. “Just a little embarrassed.”
He tsks, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside the door. “Embarrassed? What for? Not like I haven’t seen you drunk before.”
You snort, shaking your head at the low blow. “This is true.”
He’s smiling when you finally meet his eyes, the tension between you thawing slightly. You stare at each other for a moment, Poe’s face shifting before he looks away. He chews his lip, drawing your attention as he says, “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it but—”
“I still don’t,” you interject, averting your gaze once more. “Look, I get it. It was bad. Let’s just…be adults and move on, okay?”
Poe’s brow furrows at your words. “What was bad?”
You scoff, not daring to meet his gaze. “You know.”
“I really don’t,” he argues, sounding genuinely perplexed.
You sigh, annoyance flickering in your chest. “The sex obviously.”
“Y–you thought it was bad?” he asks after a beat, stepping a little closer to you.
His proximity forces you to meet his eyes.
“You’re the one that left,” you whisper, swallowing thickly as you begin to walk into your room. “Good night, Poe.”
His hand on your bicep halts your progress and you snap your head back toward him, the quick movement making the hallway spin for a moment.
“You were the one that left.”
Your mouth opens and closes wordlessly before you respond. “What?”
Poe leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath against your cheek. “I left to go get breakfast for both of us and when I came back, you were gone.”
No, that’s…that’s not possible…Is it?
“I–,” you begin, exhaling heavily. “When I woke up, you were gone. So I thought—-”
He curses under his breath, releasing your arm as he runs a hand through his curls. “Listen, I would never—,” He pauses, swallowing hard before continuing. “I’m so sorry you woke up alone.”
His words ignite a spark in your chest, the warmth of it permeating, spreading out toward your fingertips. “Thanks.”
“Could we—,” he begins, wetting his lips. “Could we maybe start over?”
You smile softly, meeting his earnest brown eyes. “I think I’d like that.”
He smiles back, relieved.
—
The next date you have ends in Poe's quarters again, but this time you remember every second—every kiss, every sigh, every brush of skin against skin. It's so good. He makes sure you know he's still there in the morning, too, waking you up with his head between your thighs.
Maybe your friends were right, maybe he is actually The Perfect Guy.
If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖
🌟 Masterlist 🌟
i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.
AN: Hello lovely people. As some of you might know, I participated in @the-oscar-isaac-collective's Coffee & Cream Zine which was released a couple of weeks ago. While I'll be posting what I wrote for that Zine here and on AO3 (I'm thinking one a week maybe), I do strongly encourage you all to head over there and download your own copies if you haven't already. It's completely free (and conveniently packaged in two PDFs)! There are so many great pieces in there that everyone worked so hard to create and they deserve to be enjoyed. PLEASE check it out!! (and maybe also take a moment to let each creator know what you thought of their work ❤️)
The cute barista at your favorite coffee shop has an affinity for bad pick-up lines.
Rated: T
Words: 3,182
Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader
Warnings: modern au, cheesy af, bad pick-up lines, time skips, please let me know if i forgot anything.
AO3
——————
Java the Hutt was slammed today; the line for your favorite little coffee shop was out the door and down the sidewalk, almost winding around the building. Were they doing some kind of one-day special, you wondered, or was it just because it was unseasonably cold out today? In all the months you’d been frequenting the place, you’d never seen them this busy. You sigh in resignation, joining the line and mentally preparing yourself to wait. The line actually ends up moving pretty quickly though, and before you know it, you’re inside the warm shop with only three or four people in front of you.
Once you make it to the front, you greet the cashier (Finn), make a comment about the crowd, and order your usual. You stand to the side, scrolling through your phone as you wait for the barista to call out your name for pickup. They do so a few minutes later, your cup sitting on the table beside the counter. You call out a thank you as you grab it, your attention reclaimed by an incoming call. As you slip out the door, you answer, chatting idly with your friend Rose as you make your way down the sidewalk. You take a sip from the cup and hum, the warm liquid seeping into your belly and warming you from the inside out.
You hang up with Rose when you reach your destination, pausing outside to drain the rest of your coffee. Satisfied, you move to toss the empty cup into a nearby trash can, halting when you notice writing beneath the cardboard sleeve.
If you were a triangle you’d be acute one.
You blink, staring at the writing blankly for a moment, before huffing out a laugh.
This barista, it seems, has a thing for bad pick up lines.
You snap a photo of the cup before tossing it into the trash, chuckling again to yourself as you head inside and out of the cold.
—
You stop in again about a week later. Your workday had run late and you were convinced that the only thing that could fix it was a coffee from your favorite place. There’s a girl at the register this time named Rey and she smiles warmly at you when it’s your turn to order. Somehow, her smile makes you feel a little lighter as you head over to the side to wait for your drink and you’re grateful to her for it.
As you wait, you allow yourself to people watch, briefly considering whether or not to snag the table the man in the corner just got up from when your phone vibrates. Cursing quietly, you quickly grab it from your pocket. Just as you’re about to answer, your name is called by the barista. You return your phone to your pocket, deciding you’ll call whoever it was back later as you head over to the counter.
The barista is a man with dark hair and kind eyes that you’ve seen a few times before but don’t recall knowing the name of. Your eyes flick to where his name tag should be, but are disappointed to see only an empty space. Ignoring the disappointment that lances through you, you meet his eyes, smiling at him as he hands you the cup, your fingers brushing against his.
“Thanks,” you say, nodding politely as you back away.
“You’re welcome,” he responds, his smile as soft as his eyes.
Something flutters in your belly as you turn away, clutching the cup to your chest.
Your phone rings again as you push open the door and you scoff, taking it from your pocket and standing off to the side as you answer it. You sip on your drink as your boss rants about one thing or another, and you have to fight not to roll your eyes. Just as you’re about to walk away, you notice writing beneath the cardboard sleeve. Giddiness swells in your chest as you pull it down with your thumb, your teeth digging into your bottom lip.
If you were a Transformer, you’d be Optimus Fine.
You try to smother your smile at the cheesy line but it spreads across your lips nonetheless. You’re half-hoping he’s not paying attention when you glance back inside the shop, your skin warming a little when his gaze meets yours. He nods at you through the window, smile somehow both bashful and smug. You nod back, raising your cup to him as you take another sip.
His attention is reclaimed by his next customer, jolting you back to reality. A reality where your boss is calling your name through your phone. You apologize, asking them to continue as you start to walk away. As you do, you steal one last glance inside, smiling to yourself as you head home for the evening.
—
You visit again a few days later, your belly fluttering with nervous excitement. As you wait in line, you crane your neck to try and get a look at the day’s baristas, but are again thwarted by the massive coffee machines blocking your view. Sighing, you wait your turn, smiling at Finn once you make it up to the counter.
Once you realize your admirer does not appear to be working today, you sigh, your excitement somewhat dampened. You pass the time on your phone as usual, mindlessly scrolling through news and various social media sites you’re subscribed to. Absorbed, you jolt when your name is called a moment later, head quickly snapping in the direction of the voice.
It’s him.
He smiles when your eyes meet his and you can’t help but smile back. Something in his gaze ignites your insides, burning gently beneath your skin as you approach the counter. He waits there for you, sliding your cup toward you once you make it there.
“Thanks,” you say, breath hitching slightly when your fingers brush his.
He nods, the barest hint of pink on his cheeks. “Any time.”
Your eyes dip bashfully, catching on the name badge pinned to his shirt.
Poe. His name is Poe.
He looks like he’s about to say something, but then another employee calls his name and he turns away. Disappointment washes over you and the moment is broken. Not wanting to hold up the line any longer than you already have, you move out of the way, pulling the cardboard sleeve of the cup down expectantly.
I'd like to take you to the movies, but they don't let you bring in your own snacks.
His phone number is beneath it.
You press your lips together in an attempt to subdue the maniacal smile trying to spread across your face, chancing another look at Poe. Your heart skips a little when your eyes meet his again. He raises a questioning brow at you, you feel your skin heat, quickly nodding in acknowledgment and all but running from the shop. You’ll text him later to work out the details once you’ve gathered your courage a bit.
—
He’s already waiting when you arrive, shifting on his feet by the entrance to the theater as he scans the crowd for you. He looks good, his white t-shirt a black leather jacket, tight dark-washed jeans, and combat boots giving him a bit of a bad boy vibe. Butterflies flutter in your belly as you make a beeline for him through the crowd. His eyes light up the moment he spots you and you can’t help the little jump your heart does when he smiles.
“Hey,” you greet breathlessly, praying your smile doesn’t look as maniacal as it feels.
“Hey,” he responds, his smile soft as he reaches his hand out to you.
You take it of course, your breath catching at the contact. It’s a little juvenile perhaps, the silly way your body is reacting to him, but you can’t seem to help it; there’s something special about him, you can feel it in your bones, in your soul.
You chat with Poe briefly as the two of you walk inside the theater, your hands still clasped. The movie is good, or at least you think it is. Honestly, you were so focused on him, you barely even remember it. You share a bucket of popcorn, your hands brushing every other time either of you reaches for another handful. He’s so warm beside you, so solid, his presence oddly comforting given how little you know about him.
After the movie, he takes you to his favorite food truck, insisting that popcorn is not a sufficient enough meal. You sit on a bench nearby, talking and laughing as you eat and it’s nice, so nice. He tells you about his family, about his lifelong dream of being a pilot, about his cat Bee Bee, and you, in turn, divulge your own life stories, tell him about your dreams. Needless to say, the night ends far too quickly and, even though it’s almost midnight, you don’t want to go home, don’t want to go back to a life that doesn’t have him in it. He walks you home but you’re at the steps that lead into your apartment far too soon.
“This is me,” you tell him, gesturing to the door behind you, your other hand clasped loosely in his.
You want to invite him inside, want him to stay so you can keep talking to him, can keep looking at him (because damn it if he doesn’t get more and more attractive by the minute). He hums, nodding as he takes a step toward you, the action forcing your gaze to his.
“So,” he breathes, a mischievous look in his eyes, “Are you gonna kiss me or do I have to lie to my diary?”
You snort, shaking your head at him as you try (and fail) to bite back an amused chuckle. He beams, as if making you laugh is his favorite pastime. You pretend to consider his question, looking at him slyly from beneath your lashes, then grab ahold of his jacket and pull him closer. He melts when your lips touch his, his free hand coming up to cradle your cheek. He’s warm, the taste of him sweet with just a hint of spice. Neither of you wants it to end but, regrettably, air is a necessity and you’re forced to pull away, pressing your foreheads together as you try to regain your respective breaths.
“Goodnight,” you breathe, smiling at him softly.
He smiles back, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Goodnight.”
—
At some point—you’re not 100% sure when—the bad pickup lines just become his Thing; not a day goes by where he doesn’t find a way to sneak at least one into a conversation. Some are cheesy as hell (“Four plus four equals eight, but you plus me equals fate.”), while others are so bad they’re hilarious (“Did it hurt when you fell from the vending machine? Because you look like a snack.”). Strangely though, it just makes you fall for him more.
You’ve been dating for a few months now, spending as much time together as your schedules allow. It’s the end of a long, grueling week and all you’d both wanted to do was stay in and veg. You and Poe sit on the couch, curled against each other as you watch some mindless action film. It’s getting late and you’re starving but you have zero desire to cook anything for dinner and you doubt he does either.
“What do you wanna order for dinner, babe?” you ask, you hand splayed against his chest.
He hums, considering, then says, “Pizza?”
You make a noise of agreement; pizza does sound good right now. You’re so comfortable though, nestled against Poe’s side, your head resting on his shoulder.
“Can you call it in? Please?” you ask, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “You’re so much better at it than me.”
Poe snorts, looking at you in amusement. “I’m better than you at ordering pizza? Careful with the compliments, sweetheart, I might get a big head.”
Immediately, he reaches for his phone, dialing the number for your favorite pizza place. You smile at him brightly, then lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.
“My hero,” You tease, chuckling when he playfully rolls his eyes.
The pizza comes and it gets eaten quickly and soon you’re both nodding off on the couch, another movie playing in the background. Poe nudges you gently, and when you look up at him in question, he smiles.
“Wanna share your side of the bed tonight?” he asks, quirking his brow suggestively.
You laugh, shaking your head as you playfully smacking his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
His eyes shine at your joy as he gasps somewhat theatrically. “Wow, a simple ‘no’ would have sufficed.”
You chuckle, slipping your hand up his neck to tangle in his curls.
“I never said it was a no,” you whisper, pulling him close and claiming his lips in a kiss.
—
You move in together several months into your relationship, a slightly bigger place with just a tad more space, and even a little terrace that Bee Bee likes to sun on. The two of you quickly fall into a routine, waking up early, going to work, coming home, making dinner together. Poe gets up a little earlier than you thanks to his shifts at the Hutt and has taken to making you breakfast and lunch every day. Nothing fancy, just some coffee and toast, a sandwich and some carrot sticks.
His penchant for bad pick-up lines has yet to wane, he’s even taken to writing them down. He leaves you little notes everywhere, be it in the apartment, your pockets, in your lunchbag. You smile fondly as you open today’s note, chuckling softly at its contents (“Hey, tie your shoes! I don’t want you falling for anyone else.”).
When you make it home that night, he’s already there, lounging on the couch. You greet him with a smile, dropping your things at the door and sitting down beside him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft as he wraps his arm around you and pulls you against his side.
You smile, leaning in to peck his lips. “Hi,” you whisper as you pull away, shifting to settle against his side.
He smiles back, his eyes roaming over your face languidly, as if he’s committing every detail of you to memory.
“Ya know,” he begins, his voice gentle and low, “If I had a nickel for every time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I’d have five cents.”
You sniff a laugh, your skin heating at the compliment, at the way he’s looking at you. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to it, to his sincerity, to the unabashed love that shines in his eyes. It’s clear that he means every word, no matter how cheesy.
“You’re a sap, you know that,” you tease, leaning in to kiss him again.
He hums, smiling against your lips. “I’ve been called worse things.”
You chuckle as you pull away, gazing at him fondly for a moment before shifting to settle against his chest.
He sighs contentedly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You both watch the television in silence for a minute, your fingers mindlessly tracing the chain beneath his t-shirt. Not for the first time, you think about how lucky you are to have this, to have him. He makes you happier than you’ve ever been and you’re so grateful to have him in your life.
—
Sunday mornings are your favorite, not only because you get to sleep in but also because Poe does as well. Waking up with him wrapped around you is the highlight of your week, the warm solidness of him feeling more like home than any building ever has. Today though, you wake up alone, his side of the bed mussed and cold, as if he’s been up for hours. You frown, wondering for a moment if you’d gotten the days wrong.
Then you notice the smell of freshly-brewed coffee, hear faint clanging in the kitchen just outside the bedroom door. You smile softly, realizing Poe must be out there making breakfast and sit up, stretching all the kinks from your neck and back. Just as you’re sliding out from beneath the covers, the door swings open and in walks Poe. He smiles when he sees that you’re already awake.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
You walk over, smiling as you grab ahold of his t-shirt and pull his mouth to yours. You hum at the taste of him.
“Good Morning, indeed.”
He chuckles as you pull away, letting his gaze linger on your face. “I made you breakfast.”
You sigh, hand resting on his chest. “You’re too good to me, you know that, right?”
He tsks, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “If anyone is too good, it’s you. Now c’mon.”
You follow him from the room, his hand clasped loosely in yours. Your heart skips in your chest when he guides you over to the table and see all your favorites beautifully laid out, the table set for two.
“Poe—” you begin, so touched by this display.
“Sit,” he insists, his voice soft. “I’ll go grab the coffee.”
You nod, smiling as he turns away, then settle down into the chair to wait. Your attention is reclaimed by the food as soon as he’s out of sight, a warm ache settling in your chest. He was always doing stuff like this, sweet man that he is, and it’s rarely ever for any particular reason, it’s always just because he wants to.
Poe returns a few minutes later, a mug in each hand, and sets them both on the table. He’s about to join you, when he pauses, patting his pants pockets.
“Oops, forgot something,” he mutters, heading back to the kitchen.
While you wait for him to return, you gaze again at the table and notice something you hadn’t before: the corner of a bright pink post-it note poking out from beneath your plate. You sniff a laugh, knowing it’s likely one of his little notes.
I always thought happiness started with an ‘h,’ but it turns out mine starts with ‘u.’
He’s beside you again before you realize he’s even returned to the room, and just as you’re turning to look at him, he drops to one knee.
Your heart skips in your chest, mouth falling open in shock as you meet his gaze. “Poe?”
He smiles, eyes shining as he takes your hand and slips a ring—his mother’s ring—onto your finger.
“Well?” he asks softly, raising his eyebrow in question. “Wanna marry me?”
You chuckle, tears pricking your eyes as you look down at your entwined hands then back at him. You swallow thickly, taking a deep breath to quell your nerves.
“One condition,” you whisper, leaning a little closer. “No pick up lines in your vows.”
“No promises, sweetheart,” he chuckles, a teasing glint in his eyes as he leans in for a kiss.
If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖
🌟 Masterlist 🌟 🍵Coffee & Cream Zine🍵
i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.
Poe Dameron x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 6: Sex Work
Summary: Poe gets captured on a mission and you're the closest to his last location.
A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing!
This prompt was super difficult and I have kind of just done something that vaguely relates to it.
Warnings: resistance!reader, bad guy here is VERY gross, imprisonment, slavery, implied future sex slave, kissing, sex pollen, please let me know if I have missed a warning!
Word Count: 2131
When you’d been told that Poe had run into trouble during a supply run on Tel’Ra you’d expected jail, the first order, him hiding up somewhere with a blaster wound.
You had not been expecting… this.
You’d been the closest to the planet and had found the traders quickly when you landed. Only to find out that there had been a miscommunication somewhere. They had thought Poe was the payment, not the negotiator.
Fucking hell.
You’d spend the better part of the last thirteen manic hours tracking him down, going from trader to trader until you got here, a meeting with the quadrant Tsar.
He was a large Terlion, powerful in his golden armour. He’d greeted you in his native tongue, and you knew enough about the culture of Tel’Ra to reply in basic. If you even said one word in the Tsar’s language then that was all he would speak, and everything would get very messy.
“This… humanoid,” the Tsar formed the word slowly, “He is yours?”
You nod and he pauses.
“I paid good coin for him.”
“So you admit he’s here?” You keep your tone even and calm.
The Tsar smiles and gestures to one of his guards, speaking in Krazel. You understand enough of the language to understand that they’re bringing Poe here.
Relief floods your veins, that was something at least.
“The traders had no right to sell him to you.” You repeat.
“But a trade was made, wasn’t it? You received goods for him?” The Tsar smiles.
“The trade was for Keseun. Not him.” You swallow, the guards in the room make your skin crawl, there were too many. Even if they had been troopers there was no way you could get out of an altercation alive, besides Terlions were large, physically powerful. One alone could snap you in half with two fingers.
You keep your chin held high, they respected confidence, straightforwardness. They wouldn’t attack unless you made a faux pas.
The resistance needed them to stay outwardly neutral to the rebellion. The planet was no fan of the first order, but would trade with anyone that showed respect.
You couldn’t blow this.
“Keseun.” The Tsar repeats, stroking his chin.
“I would offer you the same, for this inconvenience.”
He nods slightly, thinking when the door opens and Poe is pushed into the room.
You try your very best to hide the shock on your face.
You’d assumed that he had been sold as a labourer, or a servant. Not as… not as a…
Your gaze hinges on his scantily clad form, soft thin fabrics and lace and dripped in gold jewellery.
Your mouth dries as heat runs along your skin. That’s when you notice his expression, the relief plasters all over his face as he sees you.
You shake your head ever so slightly, trying to clear your not so pure thoughts, and chastising yourself.
“This is the humanoid?” The Tsar asks, beckoning with his hand. The guard pushes Poe forward to him.
He stumbles slightly, and you see the gold chains are not just for decoration.
“Yes.” You nod.
Now that he’s closer you can see the thin gold bar across his lips, the chain connecting around the back of his head, keeping his mouth closed.
The Tsar touches Poe’s cheek, grabbing hold of the back of his neck when he struggles and flinches away. He chuckles. “He is a spirited one.” He pulls Poe closer, forcing him into his lap and you stand, anger blazing through your veins.
The guards around you tense, but you keep your hands open and away from your weapons.
The Tsar laughs again, waving his hand and the guards relax.
Poe looks at you imploringly, at first you think he is begging for your help. But then you realise he is pleading for you to leave, for you to not get hurt for the sake of him.
“He has quickly become my favourite.” The Tsar grumbles, holding Poe to him, “I will enjoy taking-”
“He is mine.” You snarl, taking a step forward. Oh, this was risky, far too risky, but you don’t know how else to play this.
The Tsar raises an eyebrow, amused “Yours?”
“Mine.” You swallow, you might as well go the whole distance now. “My mate. Mine.”
Poe gives you a confused look as the Tsar freezes, his fingers digging into Poe’s side. This was a faux in Terlion culture, this had implications for the Tsar.
“Your mate.” He repeats and you nod.
“My mate.”
“You did not say this before, why?” There’s anger in his voice.
“I did not want to cause embarrassment over a mistake, however, you touching him and flaunting,” you shake your head, injecting as much rage into your voice as you can to cover the panic. “I cannot stand for it.”
The Tsar’s grip loosens on Poe, but there is fury burning in his gaze. “Humanoids… lie.”
“I am not lying about this-”
“I have no way of knowing if you are other than your word. Which is worth little.”
You clench your jaw to stop it shaking.
“If he is… yours. Then he would pass the test of Seva. He would resist the touch of anyone but you.”
You swallow. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. You’d heard of Seva, a plant extract that caused extreme arousal that was banned in half of the galaxy and highly regulated in the other. It had been used in the past to prove the loyalty of royalty’s romantic partners. If someone took it and were truly devoted to their spouse then they would only accept the affections of that person while under the influence. But if they weren’t… well, anyone’s touch would do.
You and Poe weren’t together. This was going to end very, very badly.
“I am insulted that-” You try to argue, but the Tsar cuts you off.
“The test will be taken, and if he goes to you then you may take him from here without payment,” he pauses, “as I will deal with the traders myself, however if he doesn’t crave only your touch, I will keep him and wear your skin as a trophy and nail your tongue to the wall as a warning to other humanoid liars.”
Somehow you keep his gaze. “Very well.”
You were going to be sick. There had to be something, some way out of this. You rack your mind, searching for anything, anything.
A servant brings an ornate pot to the Tsar, bowing as they take off the lid and use a golden spoon to measure a serving of the fine seeds.
The Tsar undoes one of the chains at the back of Poe’s head, finally allowing him to open his mouth. He looks at you, about to say your name.
“It’s alright.” Your voice is soft, even. Somehow sure of itself even if nothing else about you is.
He keeps his shining eyes fixed on you as he opens his mouth and swallows the seeds when offered.
The servant steps back, retreating and the Tsar smiles.
“It will only take a few moments, Seva is strong on humanoids.” He muses, “If he is not yours as you say, I will claim him now to relieve him of its effects.”
Poe shivers, blinking hard. Heat starts to run along his skin, first like a gentle breeze, a caress that is not unwanted.
The Tsar strokes his back amused as Poe shakes his head, trying to clear his quickly clouding vision.
The touch is… nice. Soothing almost. Poe leans back into it, sighing. He needed to do something, there was something he was trying to remember… but his thoughts just wouldn’t hold. Would slip out of his grasp the second he tries to focus.
A weight settles in his stomach, his muscles clenching. He wanted…
The Tsar laughs as Poe sighs, pushing back as he runs the tips of his fingers along his skin. Triumph in his eyes. He takes Poe’s chin and turns him towards himself.
Poe goes with the touch, lightheaded and… he freezes, pain spikes into his chest. There’s a pause, a look of horror on his face before he practically throws himself off the Tsar, and scrambles back. He shakes his head rapidly, his eyes wild and glazed.
The Tsar frowned, about to speak.
“Poe!” You rush forward, panic gripping your chest. “Are you a-”
The second he sees you, relief rushes into his mind, presses solidly into his bones. He grabs hold of you, his skin hot and sweaty, “Baby, baby, baby,” he slurs, practically sobbing as you help him to his feet. Which is easier said than done.
He presses his body against you, whining the second there is a fraction of space.
“Poe, it’s okay,” You soothe, trying to keep him upright.
He buries his face into your neck, shivering and breathing hard. “It hurts.” He whimpers and you hold him tighter.
The Tsar drops to his knees, “A great insult has been cast to you by myself.” The guards all fall to their knees as well.
“I-” Your own gasp cuts you off as Poe kisses your neck, lightly sucking on your skin as he grinds his very obvious erection against your leg.
“I will sort this disservice with the traders, please, I offer any future trades to go directly through me and my house to ensure its standards.”
“Thank you,” you manage to get out, as you grip Poe’s wrists to stop him from undressing you then and there. “There is no ill will, please let me leave you with Keseun as a sign of my appreciation.”
The Tsar nods deeply, “I will accept, and will repay you for your generosity in the future.”
Poe wriggles one hand free, pushing his fingers under your shirt.
“I, thank you,” you bow your head, “I need to be getting back to my ship and-”
Poe kisses your cheek, nipping lightly at your jaw as he tries to press his lips to yours.
“Please,” The Tsar gestures to the side, “Let me show you our hospitality, at least while the effects are still strong in your mate.”
You want to refuse, you want to get the hell out of there. But there’s no way you can get Poe to your ship like this.
You nod and are quickly guided to a lavishly decorated room. You barely get the chance to thank the servant before Poe’s tongue is in your mouth.
It’s dizzying, desperate the way he moves against you, how his hands slide and tug at your clothing. He pushes you back, up against the door.
“Poe– Poe,” You manage to pull yourself away, to resist getting caught up in his warmth. You have no idea how this worked out, maybe Poe had gotten himself together for long enough to throw himself away from the Tsar and to you?
“You okay?” You hold his cheeks, stroking his feverish skin.
“Need you,” he moans, his eyes soft and dilated.
“I’m so sorry.” You mutter. God, you had to find something, do something, knock him out for a few hours until his body worked this out of its system.
“Why? Why? You saved me.” He bites his lip, rubbing his hips against yours.
“Hey, hey, let’s see if we can-”
“I love you, you know that?”
You freeze, your mind blanking out for a second.
“Ever since Heiran. Ever since then, I knew it, I love you.”
“Poe, you’re not thinking straight, the, the S-”
“I should have kissed you on Heiran,” he closes his eyes, pressing his face into your hands and sighing. His skin is burning, desperate for the relief of your touch. “I should have kissed you after, I was scared. Scared you’d reject me…” His eyes are shining when they open, “But you can, you can say no. I won’t…”
He lets out the sweetest sob when you lightly kiss him, moaning into your mouth as you wrap your arms around him and pull him close.
“I should have kissed you on Heiran,” you whisper, “I wanted to.”
He groans, rocking lightly against your legs to take the edge off the deep ache in his stomach. “I…” He bites his lip, it hurts. The weight is so much, too much. All consuming now that he knows you want him to.
“Here, it’s okay,” you turn him around so that his back is flush with your chest. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” You kiss his temple, his skin feverish and sweaty as you slide your hand under the fabric around his waist.
He moans, grabbing hold of you desperately as your fingers touch his velvety length.
“It’s okay.” You soothe as you start to stroke him in earnest. “You’re safe with me.”
Poe Dameron X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info
Summary: 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.
A/N: A little something for @campingwiththecharmings, I hope you're feeling better 💚
Warnings: sharing a bed, Feelings TM, fingering, oral (f receiving), sleepy sex, p in v sex, typos, overuse of italics, please let me know if I've missed a warning.
Word Count: 1980
________________________________
You shift in your small bed, trying to find a position that is vaguely comfortable. Though it seems more likely that the First Order will just give up and surrender tomorrow, with the way Poe is taking up all the space possible.
You shove him a little and grumble, too tired to be polite about it. It wasn’t even his bed anyway, or his room. And it was his own fault for getting so drunk on cheap Rorian rum.
One of the most exciting things about The Resistance using this moon as a new base was the preexisting structures that included personal rooms. Even though they were small, and you didn’t really mind sharing with others, it was nice to have your own space. Was nice.
Emphasis on the was.
Poe had basically collapsed in your room, far too out of it to make it back to his own after the celebration night at the cantina. You had kindly given up half of your tiny bed, the act of altruism aided by your soft spot for the pilot. (More than a soft spot if you were being honest.)
But that was hours ago, when you were more awake and the unspoken deal had been for half of your space. Not the current 95% Poe was laying all over.
You shove him again, wriggling quickly to take up the free area you managed to push him out of so you could lay comfortably.
Poe let’s out a soft moan of confusion, but doesn’t open his eyes.
You settle, satisfied with your well earned extra room. But it’s less than a minute before he’s shifting closer again, trying to encroach on your side.
That’s it.
“Poe.” You say harshly, pushing back on him.
You expect him to wake up groggily, or at least turn over onto his other side facing away from you.
Instead he mumbles something intelligible and flops his arm over your stomach and snuggles close. He presses his face to your neck, his soft breath hitting your skin.
Heat rises to your face. This definitely wasn’t what you’d intended.
“Poe.” You whisper, your previous annoyance burned up with embarrassment. You try to push on his arm, move it back over. But your movements only cause him to grumble and hold you tighter, curling his body into yours.
You breathe in deeply. At least you had some space, right?
Eventually you drift off to sleep again. And even though you didn’t want to admit it, there was something comforting about Poe’s warmth and tight hug.
But of course his close proximity made you dream of him.
It was hazy, and not quite tangible. Part of you was vaguely aware that you were dreaming, the edges were too soft, too liquid and not quite in focus.
Except it felt real.
There was an ache between your legs that was being teased by a constant pressure. You squirmed against it, trying to find some semblance of relief.
A faint sigh pulled you further from sleep. A quiet muffled whisper of your name murmured into your neck sent a sharp thrill of sensation down your spine.
“Poe?” Your voice was heavy, saturated with sleep as you shifted slightly, moving and- oh.
He moans softly against your skin as your hip brushes against his hard cock, his fingers digging into your ribs as he holds you close, silently begging you to repeat the motion.
“‘m sorry,” he mumbled, obviously just fully waking himself. “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to,” this time he shifts slightly, raising his legs and you gasp, unable to stop the sound from spilling out of your mouth. His thigh rubs against your centre, pressing your soaked through pyjama bottoms against you.
You grip hold of his shoulder, your other hand fisting the curls at the nape of his neck as you pull him against you, needing him closer.
His breath hitches. “Is that good?” He murmured, pressing his thigh against you again and rocking it back and forward slightly.
You bite your lip and nod desperately, your eyes screwed shut.
He watches you, enraptured for a second, before he slowly leans back to your neck and places a light kiss against your skin.
You whine at the caress, rubbing your aching clit back and forth against the strong muscle of his thigh.
Poe briefly mistakes the small sound as distress, all his senses on high alert. “I can stop, I’m sorry, I don’t-”
“Please don’t stop,” you beg, your voice breaking, sounding needy and pathetic and so, so wrecked. “Feels good, please, Poe, please, I-” you moan loudly, giving up any pretence of trying to hide your feelings as he latches back onto your neck, sucking hard, and grabs hold of your hips, fucking you against his leg.
“Poe,” you whine, dragging out his name. Not sure for a moment if this is real or if you’re still dreaming.
“Fuck baby, yes,” he growls, biting at your skin before licking a stripe up your neck. “Keep moaning my name like that, keep doing it.”
He kissed you sloppily, biting at your bottom lip and slipping his tongue into your mouth, as he moved. Before climbing on top of you and hooking his hands under your knees so that he could move your legs apart and settle between him.
He moaned as he pressed his cock against your clothed heat, echoing your cry of pleasure.
“Poe,” you whimpered between kisses, so desperate for every touch and caress.
“Wanted you for so long,” he kissed you hard, trailing his lips down your jaw and neck while he ran his hands over your breasts and waist. “Always imagined what you’d sound like, feel like, taste like.”
He kisses down your chest, biting softly at your breast through the material of your top and moaning when you gasp and buck up against him.
“Always want you to make that noise,” he groans as he keeps trailing his lips downwards, dragging his fingertips lower until he can slip them under the waistband of your trousers.
You yelp in surprise as he pulls them off in one fluid motion, partially lifting you off the mattress in the process. The cool night air hits your feverish skin, but you barely have a moment to shiver before he’s pulling your legs back open. His fingers digging into your thighs and leaving bruises in his hast, not that you care.
When his tongue touches your clit it feels like heaven. You gasp and moan loudly, crying out his name as he sucks. His own groan of pleasure vibrating through you.
He presses his left forearm against the inside of your thigh, spreading his hand out across your stomach and pinning you down as he devours you.
Instinctively you grind up against him as your claw at the bedsheets. He sucks at your nub, alternating between kitten licks and rolling circles, driving you completely mad as he purposefully ignores your aching centre. Poe growls low in his throat happily as you moan and writhe under him.
“Poe, please!” You never imagined it would be like this, never dared to hope that he would want to touch you like this, and now he had pushed all rational thinking completely out of your mind, filled you utterly to the brim with only thoughts of him.
He moans again, bucking against the mattress to give himself some slight relief. “You’re so wet,” he runs his nose through your folds, following it with broad licks of his tongue. He teases your entrance, just slipping inside for a smallest moment, and chuckling when you whine and try to thrust up against him.
“How long have you been this wet, hmm?” He nips at your thigh, bringing his right hand up to trace the outline of your pussy while he keeps you pressed against the bed with his left.
“You been walking around the base just desperate for me? Just needing me to take care of you?”
“Yes,” you sobbed, your skin burning with embarrassment as you admitted it.
“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, the dark seductive tone faltering at your confession. He buried his face into your thigh, sucking a love bite into your skin.
Poe presses two fingers into you easily, slowly sliding them in and out and moaning as he feels your walls contract around him.
Your back arches, toes curling as he gently readjusts the angle, searching for the spot to make you see stars.
“Poe,” you breathe, so overcome with the sensation of his thick fingers.
He reaches up with his left hand and grabs yours, squeezing tightly. “That’s it baby, that’s it, fuck,” he bites his lip, watching your face intently.
The ache in his dick is maddening, all consuming, he’s so hard he’s sure he could cum just from watching you.
“Always need you,” he mutters, unable to stop himself as he continues to fuck you deep with his fingers. “Always so desperate for you, just want you all the time, I-” He stops himself, stumbling over the words he wants to say, that every fibre of his being demands he says.
He can’t speak those words, can’t admit them when every day is just another chance for the universe to tear you apart.
“Poe,” you grab hold of him, pulling his lips to yours and kissing him deeply before you yank off your top and tug at his trousers. “I need you too.”
He groans and kisses you back, almost completely swallowing your words. But thankfully he gets the message and helps you to tug down his trousers to his knees before he leans forward and thrusts into you.
You both cry out, moaning loud enough to wake the whole base, still just for a moment to truly feel each other before Poe starts to move.
He rocks his hips against you, thrusting in and out with long lazy strokes as he bites his lip hard enough to bleed. His features pinched together in deep concentration as he tries so hard not to cum.
“I’m not gonna… I’m not gonna last long,” he moans as you clench around him, at how tightly you grip him and how your muscles tense as you arch up to meet his every movement.
“Me neither.” You pant, every nerve feels like it’s on fire, ignited by every touch.
He presses his forefinger against your clit, rubbing soft circles around the nerve and gasping when you twitch and clamp down on him.
“Poe,” you barely get the word out, pleasure twisting in your stomach and chest and drowning your lungs.
The slow rock is driving you insane, a gentle push and pull, give and take. It would be so much easier, so much simpler if it was hard and fast and meaningless and wasn’t… wasn’t…
“Baby,” he gasps, so close and needing more, needing you to overwhelm him, to-
You cry out as you cum, throwing your head back and squeezing him hard. He sobs as he follows, thrusting once more and stays deep as he cums inside.
The sound of both of your breathing fills the room as your heartbeats return to normal.
There’s the smallest fraction of a second where insecurity raises its ugly head, starts to whisper in your ear.
But it’s almost as if Poe can hear it too. He pushes himself up to look into your eyes before kissing you softly and holding you tight.
You chuckle as he nuzzles your cheek.
“I’ve still got my shirt on.” He mutters and you laugh.
He grins and snuggles into your neck for a moment before he fumbles with the blanket, mostly managing to pull it over you both. “I’ll clean us up in a second, I just wanna…” He yawns and you smile.
“Me too.” You kiss his cheek and hug him close. He sighs happily and holds you tight.
james potter and a classic amortentia situation, but instead of being all bashful he realises this is actually the best way to confess bc what are you going to do? DENY that he's in love with you?
"PROFESSOR, MINE SMELLS LIKE HER!!"
Silence. Remus is facepalming. Sirius is grinning.
summary: Slughorn had asked for a volunteer to take a whiff of armotentia—also known as one of the strongest love potions during potions class, and James—finally seeing it as a way to pour his feelings for you, seized the opportunity faster than the crack of lightning.
pairings: James Potter x Fem!reader
warnings: none! pure fluff. James being the Gryffidor that he is.
note: thanks for this request, twin. So sorry this has taken a bit long to be written. Anyway, I hope enjoy this you lovely angel <3
James Potter Masterlist
The moment James stepped foot inside the potions lab, he was surprised by the scent that welcomed him. It wasn’t the usual musty scent that lingered in the air due to the poor ventilation of the classroom… It was something familiar, something he was sure he had smelled before but couldn’t pin a name on.
Nevertheless, James was glad for the sudden change. At least he didn’t have to sit in this classroom for an hour with his nose occasionally tucked under his shirt, trying not to be suffocated by the scent that lingered in the air.
With a smile, he strutted over to his usual seat, barely paying a sneering Snape any attention as his eyes zeroed in on you—a twinkle of mischief sparkling beneath his glasses. He didn’t even notice his three best friends who were conversing amongst themselves.
“Fancy seeing you here, love,” he greeted as he smoothly sat on the stool with the grace of a toddler who landed on his arse, purposely brushing his elbow against yours—just to feel the tiniest bit of contact with you. “You’re looking smashing today. Is that a new hairstyle?” he added, a smile still annoyingly intact.
You rolled your at James, a habit that you have now been accustomed to ever since he decided to torment your every shared potions class. You were astonished you haven’t gotten yourself blind considering that it had been exactly six months since he started pestering you. Six months of always rolling your eyes at him. It had always been like this since the beginning of seventh year—with James sitting beside you ever since the start of term. It was surprising to everyone, most especially to you, since the Gryffindor had always made it his mission to sit with Lily Evans, a Gryffindor girl who had been unfortunate enough to have caught the bespectacled boy’s attention.
But that was years ago—back when James didn’t realize that other girls besides Evans existed.
“It’s my everyday hair, Potter. Did you smack your head on the way to the potions lab? Your head seems to have grown thicker than usual,” you mumbled, tone a bit harsh, though it did nothing but widen James’ stupid smile.
He didn’t even hear the rest of your words, or maybe he did—but as usual, he let them slip from one ear and out the other, instead focusing on the way your lashes fluttered softly as you sent him a glare, nose flaring slightly in annoyance. You’re pretty, he thought to himself silently before forcefully and painfully pulling his eyes off you just as Slughorn arrived with the sound of the wooden door banging.
“Good afternoon, class!” greeted Slughorn as he paced towards the table positioned in front of the classroom—a bubbling cauldron sat just above it. He pointed at it—eyes flitting towards the sea of students. “I’d like to ask if anyone in this class has the slightest idea of what this potion might be.”
Someone raised their hand in the air—and the smile that James had donned on his face dropped as soon as he realized that it was none other than Severus Snape.
“It’s Amortentia, professor,” the Slytherin answered, prompting a frown to morph on James’ face.
He looked at his friends, mouthing a discernible ‘kiss ass’ that made Sirius and Peter chortle, whilst Remus silently shook his head with a small smile.
“Very well, and I suppose, Mr. Snape, that you know how this potion works?” Slughorn grinned—eyes twinkling blindly as if Snape had just handed him a bar of gold.
“It is a love potion; known as a powerful one.” James’ brows furrowed at Snape’s words as looked back at the front of the classroom, mouth parting in concentration as he let each syllable sink into his mind. For the first time in his entire life, James found himself listening to Snape with a look of interest—no visible signs of a frown on his face. It was as if another person was talking in front.
“The smell that this potion produces is different for each person, depending on what or who they are most attracted to. The potion is also considered dangerous as it could cause someone to become obsessive if it is drunk.”
James’ eyes almost bulged out of their sockets—a flush flooding over his senses as soon as he realized that what he might have smelled upon entering earlier could be none other than your signature scent. He blinked, once, twice—willing himself to calm down as a thought rushed through his head.
Turning his gaze at you—James let a smile grace his lips, an idea already simmering in the corner of his mind.
He didn’t even hear the rest of what was exchanged between the potions master and his nemesis—already imagining various things between you and him; ones that he would not dare to voice out lest you give him the hex of the century.
“Now—who’d like to take a whiff of this concoction?”
James’ hand shot up faster than you could say Quidditch, an excited smile stretching across his face. A cacophony of giggles flitted across the classroom—something that only fueled James’ determination to be the first one to try the potion. He could feel the heat of your eyes from the side of his face—feeling as if you were looking through a magnifying glass to sift through every nook and cranny of his mind.
He couldn’t blame you for staring, not when it was his first time volunteering in Slughorn’s class.
The professor seemed pleased at James’ insistence as he nodded, the older man’s lips widening into a smile. “Well, if you insist, Mr. Potter.”
A victorious grin bloomed on his face; looking as if he had just accomplished an almost impossible feat and was rewarded an Order of Merlin. With a small glance in your direction, he winked, leaving you all hot and slightly embarrassed as he strutted over to the front of the class as if he owned the very damn classroom.
Silence fell over the entire potions lab the moment James reached the table. Though it wasn’t entirely silent, as a couple of whispers and giggles bubbling from every corner of the room could be heard.
He could feel his heartbeat triple inside his chest from excitement—a sharp sound ringing in his ear as if someone had let a Bludger loose inside the room and smacked him square in the head. Tentatively leaning over the cauldron, the familiar scent of your clothes and hair travelled through his nostrils, leaving a warm and fuzzy feeling to wash over his entire being.
Godric, he could stay here—with his head halfway dunked into the potion and not even Slughorn could pull him out of it. Was this what Snape was talking about?
Lips curling into a smile, James dared himself to look at you, eyes holding something that made your stomach twist—sly and mischievous.
An idea popped into his head; one that made his smile even more wide. Painfully wide. With a dramatic gasp and widened eyes—James clutched his chest as if he were some maiden protagonist in one of Remus’ favourite novels. Looking as though he was about to faint any second.
“Professor,” he called, voice coming out breathless, “the potion smells like her!” he exclaimed, lips slowly morphing into a grin, index finger pointing directly at you.
There was silence. Thick and loud silence that James swore he could hear a pin drop on the stone floors. Half of the class seemed to have been frozen in their seats—eyes just as comically wide as James’, whilst the rest were smiling, clearly amused at his theatrics. Remus looked as though he might shrink at any moment, whilst Sirius and Peter appeared to be thrilled at James’ words, their shoulders shaking as they tried to contain their laughters.
You looked at him, body turning rigid as a statue. James could make out the way your nose flared even from a distance, lips twitching in embarrassment at the fact that everyone’s attention has been poured on you.
Even Slughorn seemed to be at a loss for words, not really expecting someone to be so frank. But there’s nothing really surprising when it comes to Gryffindors as they wear their heart on their sleeve like a badge of honour—especially when the Gryffindor in question was none other than James Potter.
It was a bold statement, that much he knew.
“What? Do I need to say more? It’s like what Sniv—I mean Snape said. It smells different to everyone based on what they find attractive.” He shrugged his shoulders, walking back towards your shared table as if he hadn’t just flipped your entire world in front of the class.
Oh you were sure your stool had vanished under your arse, feeling as if you were defying the fucking gravity. You could still feel everyone’s eyes on you. Burning and drilling through you.
When James neared, he stopped just a few meters from your table, wearing a stupid smile that looked as if the sunlight was slipping past his lips. He leaned in, the scent of the entire room clinging to his robes. “So now that I’ve made my feelings clear, how about a date this Saturday?”
series summary ➥ In which, james has had longing feelings for you—christmas holidays are nearing and james confesses his love towards you in the letter, expect you never read the letter, didn’t know it existed.
Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), James is complicated...ofc, nothing else
#1 she ignored my letter!
➥ In which, James writes you a love letter and hides it into your luggage carrying your clothes, not knowing he put it in a pocket you never open.
#2 she can date whoever she wants to, i don't care.
➥ In which, James and you still aren't on talking terms, he avoids you, never gets too close to you, yet complains to everyone when he sees you get close to your new charms partner.
#3 this is awkward..
➥ In which, you were fed up with James, deciding to put aside your pettiness you drag him away from the gryffindor party to talk to him.
#4 what letter? sirius, what letter?
➥ In which, you never planned on talking to james ever again, not after your last encounter with him. Luckily Sirius saves the day.
summary!!! (((smut)))) your roommate luigi wants to help you get over your breakup.
warnings: long fic so we’re starting off with fluff, smutty and rough, blowjob, head pushing and hair-pulling and choking on it bc y/n is #real, p in this v fr, Tie, jealous-ish?, (is in the kitchen public?), he’s very talkative, daddy and his good girl <333
^^ unedited and im a procrastinator
you still haven’t gotten luigi the secret santa gift. with the end of december closing in, all the other $25-and-under gifts sit neatly wrapped beside the tabletop tree. by friendsmas standards, you’re embarrassingly late.
but it was hard!!! he spent most of his time tucked away in his room, the door always cracked just enough to remind you he wasn’t entirely gone. you’d catch glimpses of him hunched over his desk, surrounded by books and papers scrawled with notes you couldn’t begin to understand. he never started conversations, only speaking up to correct you or drop some fact that left you feeling both impressed and annoyed.
it was so desperate you tried the campus bookstore, staring helplessly at the rows of penn merch to no avail. he already seemed to own everything—hoodies, mugs, even a pennant on his door. a gift card felt impersonal, but anything else felt like a gamble.
“good morning,” you hum, stepping into his room. luigi’s snaps his head up, standing shirtless by his closet, scrambling to pull on a sweater. for someone who barely left the house, the sight of his six-pack catches you completely off guard.
“what do you want?” he asks, voice gruff.
you lean against his wall. “do you prefer american or chinese food?”
he huffs out a laugh before leaning onto his blackwood desk. “what, are you taking me out on a date?”
“no, no, no, your secret santa asked me to ask you.” you lie. “they also asked if you wear a size medium or large.”
“don’t worry, i can’t make it to movie night,” he says casually. your lips immediately drop into a frown. it was the annual tradition in the house—a night where all five roommates came together to watch a terrible holiday movie and exchange department store gifts. he couldn’t miss it. “i’ve got a mandatory frat event,” he adds with a shrug. “apparently, it’s not optional this time. i’m surprised your boyfriend didn’t tell you about it.”
you feel yourself dull at the mention of him. “we’re on a break.”
luigi raises an eyebrow. “a break, huh? didn’t see that one coming.” his tone is neutral, but there’s a flicker of something underneath. “what made it happen?”
you shrug, avoiding the conversation.
luigi’s expression softens, his gaze shifting to something a little more concerned. he takes a small step closer, his voice quieter now. “you okay?”
“yeah,” you weren’t, and it was overtly obvious. luigi stands over you, his tall frame leaning closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. “i thought i heard you say you were done with all that fraternity nonsense,” you say, remembering the times he complained to your roommates about the tumultuous nights and endless responsibilities waiting for him at the phi kappa psi house. it’s strange to picture your boyfriend in that world now.
“you’re nosy,” he says.
“you specifically told my boyfriend it was a huge waste of money.”
“ex-boyfriend.”
“we’re on a break!” you emphasize, eyes narrowing. “plus, it sounds like you’re just trying to get out of secret santa.”
luigi leans in slightly, his voice lowering, teasing. “and it sounds like you’re getting me a gift card.”
you can’t help but laugh, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something that felt just a little too comfortable. “alright fine,” you say, accepting defeat. “secret’s out. what is it you want?”
he pauses, studying you for a moment, the faintest smirk curling at his lips. “what do i want?” he murmurs, his voice low, as if weighing the question. hesteps a bit closer, just enough to make the space between you feel charged. “i don’t know, what are you willing to give me?”
you flush under his gaze, unsure of what to make of this moment. you have a boyfriend—yet you’re ninety percent sure luigi is flirting with you, and about a hundred percent sure you’re liking it.
the warmth in your chest is both unsettling and familiar, a confusing mix of guilt and something else you can’t quite place. you try to shake it off, but the way he looks at you lingers in your thoughts, pulling at you in ways you didn’t expect.
he seems entertained by your befuddlement, his eyes lingering on yours in a way that makes you second-guess yourself. he looks away, breaking the moment with a soft chuckle, then turns to leave.
“i’ll see you,” he says, but it’s not casual. it’s something else, something that makes you wonder if he’s looking forward to seeing you again as much as you are him.
you bring yourself back to reality, forcing your mind to settle. you can’t flirt with him. it would upset the house dynamic, intrude on your peaceful living space—you cannot let that happen. you shouldn’t. you were on a break from your boyfriend, a small pause in something that still felt important. and soon enough, you’d be back together, just like you always were.
as much as his presence lingers in your thoughts, you remind yourself of the needed boundaries, the reasons why things can’t get blurred.
still, as you continue baking cookies, dodging glitter explosions, and downing soju bottles, his absence nags at you, a quiet reminder that you’re trying not to want something that might never be.
“you’re still awake.” luigi’s voice cuts through the quiet kitchen, startling you so much that you nearly drop the piece of ribbon you’re holding. you whirl around, clutching your chest, only to find him much closer than you’d expected—close enough that you have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze.
“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” he says as you try to shake off the way your pulse seems to have kicked off into overdrive. “you’re not tired?”
“not yet.” you shake your head. “the party didn’t exhaust you?”
“it did.” he says, exhaling. “figured i’d check if i’m eating american or chinese tomorrow before i hit the hay.”
you pretend like you’re offended. “i’d never get you something so thoughtless.”
you grab a gray glittery gift bag and toss it his way. his teasing falters for a second, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “a tie?”
“yeah, you’re always dressed fancy, going fancy places…” you say, brushing the glitter off your hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious. was it the wrong choice? did fancypants mcgee only wear silk imported from asia? “you don’t like it?”
“no,” he says quickly, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. “it’s sweet.”
you glance at him, unsure what to say, and his smirk softens into something else, something warmer. he steps closer, the space between you narrowing just enough to make your breath catch.
“guess i’ll have to step up my game,” he says, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “didn’t realize you were paying attention.”
you blink, caught off guard, scrambling to come up with something, but before you can, he leans back, breaking the tension with a chuckle. “looks like you could use some help.”
“you don’t have to.”
“i want to,” he replies, tossing the ribbon into the trash before grabbing the broom from the corner. “besides, i can’t have you using this tie to guilt-trip me later.”
“it’s weird having you be so nice to me,” you blurt out the words before you can realize the reprussions. his dark brown eyes glance up at you, eyebrows pinched together.
the regret is immediate. “i just mean we’ve never really talked before.”
luigi looks at you, his expression shifting slightly. “was that my choice or yours?”
you blink, caught off guard. you’d always assumed it was mutual. “well, that’s not really the point,” you say, trying to brush it off. “we’re friends now, right?”
his dark eyes shift away from yours for a moment, but only to return with even more intensity, holding you in place, freezing you in the moment. your heart stutters in your chest. “i was never interested in being your friend.”
“oh.” the word feels hollow as it leaves your mouth, and you instantly feel your face go pale. you scramble for something to say, anything to make the moment feel less heavy, but the silence hangs between you, thick and unrelenting.
“that’s not what i meant—“
“it’s fine of course, you don’t have to—”
“no.”
he shakes his head and runs up to you, closing the moment of confusion with an abrupt force—his mouth is on yours, tongue slipping past your lips and sliding into you.
whether it was the warmth of the kiss, his big hands groping your body, or the fact that this was just all so irredeemably wrong—you didn’t know—but the rush you got from being with him left you dizzy and dazed and desperate.
luigi laughs into your kiss. “you’re so fuckin’ eager.”
you should be reasonable. you shouldn’t be doing this, this is a mistake. “sorry, i—”
“no, don’t be sorry,” he says, smiling into another sloppy kiss. it felt so tender, so loving, when he takes you into your arms. reason flies out the window. “i want you, too.”
“luigi,” you whimper into his lips, not recognizing the desperation in your voice.
“i’ll give it to you baby, don’t worry,” he hums.
your fingers rush to unbutton your top, half-way done before luigi realizes what you’re doing and he grabs you. “keep your clothes on. i don’t need you naked to make you cum.”
he’s so strong and forward and unlike anything you’ve ever had before. in one swift motion, he turns you over, pressed against the kitchen counter as he slides his warm hand down your silk shorts and cradles your tit with the other.
“you put these on for me, didn’t you?” he tugs your lace panties, pressing them against your hot cunt. your back arches at the sensation and you feel his cock hard underneath his jeans.
“luigi.” you whimper, barely breathing.
“admit it,” he says, in between licking and kissing and biting the nape of your neck, sure to leave marks. “you wore these for me, didn’t you? wanted me to take your mind off that fuckin’ asshole, hm? wanted me to take care of you?”
you swell underneath him, shaking. he grinds his straining cock against your plump ass as he works your pussy, groaning into your neck.
“oh, baby, is that too much for you already?” luigi’s breath is hot against your neck, hands busy rubbing your clit and pinching your delicate nipple.
you felt like you couldn’t breathe. the expression on luigi’s face is smug. “you haven’t even had my cock yet, look at you.”
he brings his wet fingers up to your lips, then shoves them into your mouth without permission. you can’t help but shudder underneath his wicked touch. “yeah.” he laughs. “squirm like that, slut.”
“lu,” you pant. “i want it.”
“no, not yet,” he says, rubbing his hard big cock against your clothed ass. “see how hard i am for you? see how worked up you got me?”
“yes,” you whimper, fingers still in your mouth.
“get on your knees,” luigi grunts. “show me how much you need it.”
you needed it more than anything. dropping down to your knees, you notice a spot on his jeans wet with precum. he’s straining for you. you try to get as much of your mouth on him as you can as soon as his bottoms are off, desperate to show him how good you are.
“you’re so pretty like this,” luigi murmurs as you try to fill your mouth with his entirety. seeing that you’re struggling, he puts his hand on the back of your head and guides you down onto it. “such a good girl.”
he rocks hip forward deep into your warmth, using your face. “choke on it.” he orders. and you do. your eyes tear up at the feeling of his length touching the back of your throat. “god, you’re so fuckin’ filthy.”
before you can breathe, luigi pulls himself out of your mouth and barks out another order, “put your hands up against the wall.”
you do as you’re told. your core aches like it misses his touch. pulling your shorts down, he groans at the sight of your wetness, driving his big cock inside of you.
“slipped in so easy with your spit all over me,” he whispers in your ear. god, he’s driving you fucking crazy. the pleasure is almost overwhelming as he leans down, forces your chin back to bring your lips together, a sloppy, loving kiss.
“i knew you were gonna be like this,” he purrs into you, sucking and biting.
“like what?”
“like a fuckin’ slut.” luigi grumbles. he grabs something off the counter, and you don’t know what’s happening until you feel the silk material fasten around your wrists. the tie.
“luigi.” you gasp.
“i’ve been waiting to get my fuckin’ hands on you.”
you shiver at the confession. “really?”
he groans as he watches your ass ripple against his hips—at how easy and soft and weak you were at his mercy. he melts at the sight of you, using your binded wrists to buck deeper into you. you moan and whimper and scream on the force—he’s so harsh, so mean, so good—you’ve never even dreamt of a pleasure like this.
“listen to you.” he buries himself so deep inside you that you could feel his balls pressed against your ass. “you’re fuckin’ loud when you’re getting treated right, aren’t you?”
“please, daddy,” you whine, completely out of your mind.
luigi groans, pushing your head into the kitchen counter. “god, i didn’t think you were gonna call me that,” he rumbles, rocking his cock hard into your frothing core, rubbing against your clit and sending sparks of pleasure swirling through your body.
he pulls your hair back again, causing you to shriek. “didn’t call him that, did you?” he says it like a statement, leaving no room for correction. “god, i used to jerk myself off listening to you moan. wondering if you were riding him or bent over your fuckin’ mattress.“
“luigi.” you cry.
“always knew i could treat you better,” he growls. “always wanted to bend you over in front of everyone and make you beg for it.”
“i would’ve let you,” you mewl out, helpless.
“yeah?”
“you’re s’good.”
his thrusts come faster, more frantic. “better than him?”
“yes!”
you’re so close and so needy. your mind glows white as he fucks into you. squirming underneath him, the friction of your frantic movements growing hotter as the both of you chase your high. “good girl,” he praises, kissing all over your neck and back. “cream all over daddy’s cock, baby.”
“luigi,” you moan as your orgasm gushes beneath him, shivering as you feel his cock quiver, his load shooting deep into your cunt. he grunts with his final thrust, whimpering your name.
he kisses your shoulder as he pulls out of you. “so good,” he pants, just as helpless and shaken as you were. he unties the present you’d given him and pulls you in for another kiss.
“luigi,” you sigh against his lips.
“pretty girl,” he whispers back, running his hot wet kisses across your lips, your cheeks, your neck. “let me take you out tomorrow, yeah? a proper date. i’ll wear my tie ‘nd everything.”
you laugh—a mix of disbelief and something else—something lighter. before you can say anything, he’s leaning in again, kissing you softly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“it was a good gift, right?” you hum.
“yeah,” he agrees, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk. “versatile.”
♡ summary: luigi has never dreamed, but one night he finds you—familiar in a way he can't fathom. the dream of you blurs reality and fiction, leaving him yearning for more.
♡ w.c.: 1.6k
♡ a/n: hi. this is my first luigi fic. i was inspired by the post of luigi that has been going around about how moles are where your past lovers have once kissed you. i had to write something about it. enjoy!
—
Luigi does not dream. It’s a strange phenomena to him–one that draws his lower lip between his teeth and nibbles until the taste of blood floods his mouth. His friends are always telling him about their dreams: ones that are frightening, some exhilarating, others that are lustful. Dreams are illogical, irrational, and confusing.
There has never been an instance in Luigi’s life that he has been inherently ungrateful that dreams do not come to him in his slumber. He has other things to focus on: school, his family, his friends. Plenty of things keep him busy on a day-to-day business. Dreams are no fuss, but even he has to admit: when his friends are recalling their dreams to him, with stars in their eyes, he wonders if he’s missing out on something. That’s what bothers him.
He ponders it for hours at a time. Why doesn’t he dream? When he sleeps, why is he pulled into a vast pit of nothingness? He’s done his research, but it all just points him to the same direction: difficulty sleeping properly. But how? He’s done everything right: he gets 8 hours of sleep a day, wakes up in the morning without trouble, and feels properly rested each time. What is he missing?
Lack of REM sleep and fucked memory recollection just can’t be it.
Remembering your dreams can’t be distilled down to a science, but there are some tips you can try–
“Bullshit,” he groans tiredly, tilting his head back and dragging a hand down his face. With a sigh, he shuts his laptop and begins to prepare himself for bed. In the shower, it annoys him. As he brushes his teeth, gazing at his face, it annoys him. When he’s finally beneath the warm sheets of his bed, he is exasperated. As he falls asleep that night, Luigi’s thoughts drift into a thoughtless abyss and sleep overcomes him.
–
Something shifts that night in Luigi’s slumber. He can feel it in his bones, in his head that pulses with pain. He lets out an uncomfortable noise, shifting in bed. He suddenly becomes aware of the bed he’s in: one that doesn’t feel like his own.
There’s a soft linen beneath him, the kind he can’t imagine buying because it’s too expensive to afford, but somehow there it is. The smell of the sheets is faint, not entirely familiar, but not unpleasant. A little floral and musk, like the lingering scent of perfume.
The bed creaks and he feels himself stiffen. There’s someone beside him.
He wants to open his eyes, but his body won’t allow him. He really wishes it would because there’s a stranger in his bed (or is this his bed?). He feels the soft pressure of their arm against his own and hears the soft hum of their breath.
“Luigi.”
The sound of it is so clear, like a bell ringing out, and he realizes, even in his paralyzed state, it sounds different on this stranger’s lips than it ever has on anyone else’s. It’s quiet. It’s intimate. A tenderness he’s never quite known. If he could, he thinks he would laugh, but all he does is pause, stunned to a place that rests between awe and disbelief.
He’s dreaming. This is finally it. He’s dreaming and he knows it.
The air is thick around him, heavy with silence until they break it once more.
“Luigi,” they repeat, this time a bit louder, more insistent. It sounds like a girl. Her voice is warm and soft and so close–he feels like he could lean into her and let himself fall.
His eyes finally flutter open.
The first thing he sees is your smile. You’re looking at him with a calm, knowing expression. The sunlight catches your eyes as it slips through the cracks of your curtains. The room is bathed in the early morning light, the kind that makes everything look softer and unreal.
As he drinks in your appearance, Luigi is sure he’s never met you before. Your skin glows in the slanted light, a golden stripe drapes across half your face down to your bare neck.
It’s the oddest thing. He doesn’t question any of it as your smile softens and grows. The kind of smile he could never find himself deserving of, but somehow he’s found it anyway. Then, you lean in, pressing two soft kisses to each of his cheeks. One after the other–each more tender than the last. Your lips peck his cheek beneath his left eye, and linger further down when you bring them to the right side of his face, near the curve of his cheekbone.
At this gesture, he can’t help himself. He stares at you as though you’ve just grown two heads.
You laugh softly and melodically, as if his bewilderment is the most natural thing in the world.
“Luigi,” you say, playfully. “You’re staring.”
“I–,” he starts, voice catching in his throat, but you shake your head, still smiling.
“You should get used to this, you know,” you tease, rolling to your side. The blankets shift away from your body and your bare back is revealed to him. You stretch lazily, and he can’t find it in himself to look away. He watches you, transfixed. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You pause, crossing your arms over your chests to cover your breasts. You look over your shoulder at him, hair glowing in the light like a halo. “Except to make us breakfast,” you grin and lean over once more to quickly peck his lips. You push yourself off the bed and pick up a plain white tee, previously discarded, from the ground, throwing it over your head. It fits you, just a bit too big, covering your body. He vaguely realizes it's his.
“Breakfast?” he murmurs. The word feels foreign on his tongue, as he attempts to piece together the pieces of a puzzle he can’t recall beginning.
“Yes, breakfast,” you reply, laughing again. You make your way to his side of the bed and place, yet again, another loving kiss to his forehead. The entire motion feels so natural, so lived-in, that he swears this isn’t the first time. It can’t be, but he doesn’t even know your name.
“Unless you’re planning to keep staring at me all day,” you call over your shoulder as you make your way to the door.
I might, he thinks and he startles himself. That doesn’t sound like himself, at all. Before he can say anything, though, before he can make sense of any of it, the room begins to fade. The light dims, you’ve walked out the door and your voice is growing distant, and he feels himself slipping away. He’s being pulled into something more uncertain than this.
He’s waking up. Panic sets in, but before he can get up to follow you, it’s too late.
–
He awakes with a sharp gasp, chest heaving and back aching. His heart pounds erratically, thrumming against his ribcage frantically, while a dull sting blooms in his chest. A longing he doesn’t fully understand settles in the pit of his stomach.
When he looks around the room, he’s certain that it’s his own, but it feels colder, heavier, emptier. His blinds are drawn shut, no traces of sunlight slip through to warm his face.
He sits up slowly, hands gripping the sheets as he attempts to ground himself. His cheeks burn faintly, and he swears he can still feel it–the plush of your lips.
Luigi feels his breathing become uneven as he swings his legs over the edge of his bed. The cool floor beneath his feet jolts him into wakefulness. Something inside him screams–check, see, know. With great rendition, he stumbles out of the room, his steps unsteady but urgent. His mind chases phantom traces of his dream–the very first dream he’s ever remembered–as if he can catch it before it vanishes from his grasp completely.
When he reaches the bathroom, his hand trembles as he flicks on the light. The stark, fluorescent glow floods the confined space, and for a moment he’s blinded. Then, he steps forward but hesitates, afraid of what he might, or might not, find. Shaking his head, he leans over the sink, his gaze meeting his reflection.
His face stares back at him, disheveled and familiar, but he doesn’t look away. He stares at himself with an intensity he’s never felt before. Eyes dark and searching himself, darting over every inch of his face–his brows, furrowed; his cheekbones, sharp and shadowed in the harsh lighting; his wild curls of brown hair, tousled from his sleep. He scans himself for something–anything–that might prove what he felt was real.
His eyes trail lower, to the faint flush of his cheeks, and there, just beneath his right eye, is a small mole. His gaze lingers on it for a moment before shifting to the left side of his face, where the second one rests near the curve of his cheekbone. He lets out a sharp gasp, clutching the sink until his knuckles begin to lighten. Though he’s seen them a thousand times before, something about them feels different now, as if they’ve been marked. By you.
Something stirs in his chest, a sensation that’s warm and blazing. The flicker of a flame.
He doesn’t even realize how much he’s trembling until he releases the sink from his grasp, hands raising to touch his face. His fingertips brush over the spots where your lips pressed against his skin. The memory of your warmth lingers, faint but undeniable.
It sends a shiver through him–not from the chill of his bathroom, but from the inexplicable comfort it brings. His chest tightens as a soft, quivering breath escapes him.
“It couldn’t have been real,” he says aloud, softly, as if it could make the statement indisputably true. Still, the warmth that blooms beneath his fingers says otherwise.
For the first time in his life, Luigi feels the ache of what he’s been missing all along.
summary!!! (smut inspired by this request) you’re set to interview frat president luigi mangione for the penn newsletter!
note: fratboy!luigi but not reallyyyy associated to that cheating demon storyline. written as a standalone but could be seen as a prequel if you squint. unedited but happy new years
warnings: long fic cuz we need a reason to be fuckin, sad bc luigi’s sad, comfort, an attempt at fluff, and of course smut, dubcon (he grinds on you while you’re sleeping), so dry humping, p in dis v (VIRGINNN)
luigi mangione, as described by his fraternity brothers: “cool,” “mega smart,” and “totally chill.” all phrases you could blindly draw from a hat to describe a stranger walking down the street.
surely, this couldn’t be your debut in penn today. a spotlight on the brightest mind on campus, phi kappa psi fraternity president luigi mangione. top of his class at a mysterious luxury private high school, started a hash brown business at sixteen, and, according to his linkedin, volunteers at local libraries, elderly homes, and animal shelters during breaks back home. he’s got a first aid/cpr certification, a bartending license, and a squeaky clean record.
“he doesn’t even complain on yelp,” you groan.
your friend, lacy, sits in the drivers seat, shaking her head. “maybe he’s just nice.”
you shoot a glare at her.
she raises her hands, defensive. “i’ve only heard good things!”
“oh, well, if he was really so nice, he wouldn’t have canceled on me a hundred and one times.” as if he’d heard you, your phone pings—his name flashing on the screen.
from luigi Hey pretty! Something came up today. So sorry. Can I see you another time?
“one hundred and two,” you declare, showing her your phone screen. at this point, it felt less like inconvenience and more like cruelty. his constant rejections, delayed responses, and last-minute reschedules were a relentless reminder of your looming failure to finish the piece on the phi kappa psi house. journalism club was going to fucking kill you.
“y/n, he literally could not have been nicer.” she finally puts the car into park. the both of you look outside.
frustration had been simmering for weeks, growing with every missed promise. almost two months ago, he’d smiled big and earnest, assuring you he’d meet for the interview—yet here you were, still waiting. the distance between you two seemed to stretch with every passing day, and you couldn’t summon the energy to pretend you still cared for niceties.
you’re outside his fraternity house, calling him, he surprises you by answering almost immediately, his voice low and hoarse, like he’s just woken up. “hello?”
“hi, it’s y/n.”
“oh,” he says, tone dipping as he cleared his throat. “hey, how are you?”
“yeah, i’m fine,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt. “i just wanted to talk—”
“yeah, i know ‘m sorry,” he tells you, sincerity to be debated. “i’ve just been a bit all over the place these past few weeks.”
lacy mouths, “im staying in the car.”
nodding, you hop out, a familiar sense of anticipation lingering. it’s not your first time at the fraternity house, but each visit feels different. the mansion, though grand, has a worn charm—earth-toned walls and overgrown grass, with boys constantly darting across the yard. trash cans overflow with aluminum cans, remnants of the never-ending chaos.
“no, i get it, i do. i, you know, am busy all the time.”
“oh, i’m sure,” he says. “are you free next weekend?”
you didn’t even have to check your schedule to know you were free. but you were already here. “well, actually, i just, um…” you feel a bit of your confidence deflating as you trespass their yard. your face flushes and you suddenly feel the eyes of the other brothers staring at your silhouette like curious dogs, unsure of whether to bark or bite. “i was just passing by the neighborhood, i was wondering if i could come over now?”
he yawns. “what? you mean right now?”
“is that alright?”
“how far away are you?”
“yeah, uh, i’m outside your front door.”
“oh?” he says, clearly taken off-guard. the embarrassment finally settles in. what the hell were you doing?
“you know what, never mind. i’m so sorry,” you flush, spinning on your heel and rushing down the steps, avoiding eye contact with the other guys.
you’re not sure if it’s your heart stopping or the phone call ending, but it’s in that moment that the blackwood door opens. you turn around, and the brown-haired boy steps through, looking disheveled, with dark bags under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept. though, despite that, he’s in gray sweatpants and a long sleeved black compression shirt.
“y/n, come on in,” luigi says, his voice booming, almost too loud for the quiet pennsylvania street. he glances toward the team of players in the front yard, bringing attention to you all over again. “this is the journalist for the penn.”
you shuffle up the steps again. “it’s called penn daily.”
“right,” he nods, eyes searching your body up and down. “you want a jacket?”
you’re in leggings and a tank top. you’re shivering. “no, no, i like the cold.”
the brown-haired boy shakes his head, grabbing one off the coat rack anyway and tossing it over to you.
“you’ll like the jacket even better.”
as he guides you through the house, the weight of the silence surrounds you. you’ve only ever seen the place during parties—neon LED lights casting strange shadows, tables covered in empty Solo cups and suspicious piles of random powders. it always felt like a place of unrecognizable chaos, where everyone was too busy to think about much else but the next round of shots or whatever game they were playing. but today, in the quiet of the late morning, the house feels different. the lights aren’t flashing, the music isn’t blasting, and there’s no throng of people rushing around. it feels oddly intimate, even though it’s still just as cluttered as always.
“is this what it looks like clean?” you ask, only half-joking.
“be nice,” luigi barks, tone plain as he rolled his eyes in faux annoyance. “we had a long night yesterday,” he gestures to the crowds of twentysomethings outside, one group cleaning off the mountain of soda and beer cans off the plastic gray tables, the other playing ping pong. “another long night ahead. you should come.”
the invitation doesn’t sway you, you’re distracted by his face. though his curly hair is neatly cut, and his chocolate brown eyes hold a quiet, dark intensity. his tall frame fills up the room, the way he stands commanding attention without trying. his features are sharp, framed by thick eyebrows, and his smile is small, barely there, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. he offers it to you as if it’s expected. there’s an underlying feeling you can’t shake. it’s like you can tell it’s forced. you’ve seen enough of him in passing (and in stalking) to know this isn’t the usual “luigi” you’re used to seeing at parties or around campus.
you bite the inside of your cheek. “you know, if today’s a bad day, you don’t have to—”
“no, babe, it’s fine,” he says, the term rolling off his tongue like it’s second nature.
in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve picked up on his knack for nicknames and gathered you probably shouldn’t be flattered—all the boys in this frat were entirely too flirty.
he pushes the door to his bedroom open, stepping aside to let you in. “shouldn’t take too long, right?”
“sure,” you lie as you slip past him, fingers brushing over the notepad tucked in your back pocket, your mind racing with questions you’re suddenly too aware of.
“well then, it’s no rush,” he says.
quickly, you notice the collection of allergy medication at his desk. a heinous amount of nyquil, half-empty bottles scattered among crumpled tissues and unopened water bottles. it’s almost comical, the way his organized chaos betrays the “untouchable golden boy” image you’d pieced together. his desk, once probably neat and deliberate, now looks like the scene of a losing battle against the flu. curious, you ask, “bad fever?”
luigi laughs dryly. “something bad, that’s for sure.”
you feel yourself sink at the admission. instinctively, you reach up to feel his forehead, your fingers hovering just shy of his skin. it’s a simple gesture, something you wouldn’t think twice about doing for one of your roommates, but as soon as your hand makes contact, he stiffens, his body recoiling ever so slightly. the movement is subtle but enough to make you hesitate, pulling your hand back as his lashes flicker up to meet yours.
“jesus christ,” you gasp. “you’re burning up.”
luigi doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze lingering on you just a moment too long, his eyes a little softer than usual.
“think i’ll be fine,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice, like he’s trying to brush it off. it feels more like he’s saying it for both of you than for himself.
a pang of guilt hits you hard—a reminder of how you’d pushed for this interview while he was clearly feeling terrible. all those ridiculous, relentless messages, the nagging about deadlines while he was probably just trying to get through the day. god, you feel like an idiot.
you cup his cheeks, serious. “you should really get to bed.”
“what, and miss the privilege of being interrogated by the penn’s finest?” he teases, leaning into you. you’re struck at how warm he was, how utterly unprofessional you were coming off as, how awful it would be to pull away.
the article, you remind yourself, inching away. “if you pass out mid-question, it’s not going to make for a great article.”
“least i’ll be a shoo-in for the sympathy vote next semester,” luigi says with a wry chuckle, his tone light but laced with something deeper as he glances back up at you, almost as if testing your reaction.
“come on,” he reaches for your hand when you frown, interlocking your fingers and swaying you. he doesn’t pull you too close, something about the way he’s looking at you has you sure he’ll never give you the satisfaction, but your fingers interlock and there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips, smugness plain. “i couldn’t let you walk out here so fast. you know what they would say about me if they thought i let down a pretty girl like you?”
you feel your face go pink but your ego won’t let his flirting power last. his forehead was burning hotter than sauna, he probably didn’t know what was even happening. “you look like you haven’t even slept,” you say, matter-of-factly. “would you just sit down?”
“trust me, this headache’ll be gone before you can even say sto meglio con te,” he says, his voice a little softer than usual.
he grins as your brow furrows. “you could put that in your article. successful, speaks italian, looks like shit.”
“i didn’t mean that. i’m just worried.” ignoring the fluttering in your stomach and his persistent gaze, you turn your phone over. “i could order you some soup. there’s a really nice pho place down the road—”
“what’re you, my girlfriend?”
“mangione,” you sigh. “you’re being impossible.”
“baby,” he says, the word slipping from his lips with a teasing familiarity that catches you off guard. it pierces straight through your ego, sharp and unexpected. “i promise, ive got way more interesting things to talk about than allergies. come on, ask me.”
before you can react, another voice calls from outside, and you hear hurried footsteps approaching the door. luigi hesitates for a second, glancing at you. a younger group of fraternity brothers peeks in, looking urgent.
“hey, we’ve got a problem with the fundraising paperwork—someone made a mistake with the donations, and it needs to be fixed or we’re going to miss the deadline,” one of them explains, his voice tight with stress.
“who was in charge of that?” luigi asks, a lilt of accusation in his tone.
the younger twentysomethings look around, feigning innocence, avoiding eye contact. “whatever, it doesn’t matter,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “i’ll take care of it.”
he squeezes your hand before he leaves the room, saying, “stay put for me.”
so you sit on his navy blue bed, stiff and idle, your mind wandering as you wait. you text lacy and tell her you’ll catch up with her later as the constant sound of chaos fills your ears. you hear the house scrambling through the halls and luigi’s answering calls and questions, directing people, moving them out the way. the speakers for the party this weekend just got delivered, the delta 3 girls are inviting them to volunteer at their annual car wash, and there’s a leak in the basement that needs immediate attention. after what feels like hours, you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. exhaustion pulls at you, and without even realizing it, you fall asleep on his bed, the rhythmic noise of his busy life buzzing around you.
“y/n,” luigi exhales as he finally re-enters the room, his exhaustion evident in every step.
he’s greeted at the sight of your body sprawled across his bed, eyes fluttered shut with his jacket blanketed over your silhouette. he’s not so sure what comes over him, but he locks the door. your peaceful slumber is a stark change from the drunk mayhem on the other side of the door, and he’s intent on keeping the peace. the bed dips under his weight as he sinks down beside you, too tired for niceties. without a word or a second’s hesitation, he pulls the jacket off you and brings your tired body closer to his.
it starts off innocent. his arms are wrapped around your stomach, your body limp against his. he cradles into the nape of your neck—and you’re so soft and you smell so good, he can’t help himself. he tells himself he won’t take it too far. starting with small, sweet kisses against the side of your neck, almost tickling you out of your unconsciousness. you sleepily squirm under his hold and he’s straining in his sweatpants before he can make sense of it.
“you’re so pretty,” luigi whispers. it would be a waste, really, to have you this close without touching you. using you.
he grinds his hips against your plump ass. he’s so fucking hard, he really can’t help it. he has to have you, but he can’t bring himself to wake you—you’d been so sweet to him earlier, doe eyes wide with concern—he figures he has to return the favor somehow, right? letting you nap in his bed feels like the least he can do.
“you’ve got no idea how often i lose my mind thinkin’ about this, about you,” he confesses. the noise outside is loud, chaotic—a world away from the quiet intensity between you. it’s too loud for anyone else to know of the secret unfolding here, in the space of his touch and the weight of his gaze.
he’s rougher now, tightening his grip on your hips as he jerks himself into you. you were so worried about him earlier. you’d want this, wouldn’t you? to help him out, make him feel better?
his defense of plausible deniability falls apart piece by piece. one of his hands stray from your hip to your clothed core, rubbing you, desperate for friction. he groans into your back. you were wet, he was sure of it, he had to make sure of it. he slips his hands down your leggings and rushes to palms your wetness. he has to make sure you’re feeling just as good as he was.
you shudder at the touch, slowly bringing yourself from rem to reality. the room is hotter than you remembered, and you almost shriek as you realize luigi’s hands had been all over you. he’s quick to put his hand over your mouth, talking in your ear, “‘m sorry baby, couldn’t resist.”
his sloppy wet kisses are hot against your neck, so frantic, so desperate, so needy, his stubble unnerving you as you squirm under his hold. you can hardly make sense of what’s happening. “luigi.” you mewl as he grinds his clothed cock into you. “what’re you doing?”
he moans at the perfect blend of innocence and surprise twined through your voice. its undeniable now — he can’t spend another second not experiencing you.
“you said you wanted to make me feel better, yeah?” luigi grunts. before you can respond, he’s slipping a finger into your wet pussy. you jolt at the wild unfamiliar storm that grasps you, trying to turn your head over to him, to look at him, to ask him what the hell had gotten into him. he kisses you when your head tilts, his free hand wrapping around your throat.
“that’s so much fuckin’ better,” he tells you, stretching your core out with another two fingers. he’s so eager—so intent on making a mess of you, you’re almost humiliated at how easily you fall apart underneath.
you quiver and shake, and try to twist out of his groping hands, but he doesn’t budge, pressing harder into you. “you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart,” he swears.
“luigi,” you cry, helpless. the friction felt so hot it made you light-headed. the pleasures storms out any logical part of you. “i don’t—i don’t know what to do.”
of course you don’t. you were entirely too sweet, too well-meaning, too fuckin’ stupid to realize how badly he wanted you. running up to him after his gym workout, bright-eyed as you asked him to hang out. not on a date, not even as friends, but for a stupid fucking college paper. he should’ve taken you right there, in the parking lot, let you scream on it so loud the entire campus knew you were his, saved all this goddamn time.
“you’re a fuckin’ virgin?” luigi asks. he needs to hear you say it.
he rips his hand from your aching cunt and you cry out at the loss of friction.
“yes,” you pout.
“any good journalist knows to use specifics.” you see a cocky grin etch onto his lips before he flips you over and brings you in for a proper kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck as he sinks into you. you kiss him back. you wanted this, whatever it was. “tell me again.”
“i’m a virgin,” you admit, reddening.
he smiles against your cheek before kissing you again—“been waiting for me, yeah? you want me to take you?”
“luigi, please.”
“what’s that?” he says, cruel.
you pout again and try to please him, rushing into another kiss. he captures your lips gladly, but refuses to bring you to the satisfaction of salvation.
all too mean, he points out, “you don’t even know what you’re begging for.”
at this point you were sure you could get drunk off the warmth of him. if you bucked up into the air, you could feel his bulge raging against his sweatpants.
“i want you,” you whine. “i mean—i just—i thought you wanted me too..?”
“of course i do. look at you.” luigi grunts before he strips off his shirt, ripping down your leggings with a force that pulls your body down the bed with him. his dark gaze drifts down.
you flush at the sight of the wet mess all over your legs. “you did all that just for me?” luigi mocks. “you want me that fuckin’ bad?”
“yes,” you have no idea why but you do. you can’t imagine a world where you walk away now and never experience him.
luigi never had any intention of being nice about this. his morals and his plans for the night unraveled the moment his eyes found you sprawled across his bed. harshly, he grips your hips—sure to leave marks, hoping for it—before pounding the entirety of his length into your purity.
the stretch scorches, searing into you. you see white, red, and hell all at once. “luigi—!” you cry out.
“you’re so good,” luigi assures. he tries to pace himself as you fall apart underneath him. he tries he tries he tries—but your inexperienced pussy molds around him, so perfect and wet, he can’t help himself.
you feel everything but perfect. unnerved and wild and overwhelmed, whimpering underneath him like a sick puppy. he fucks into you like he’s itching to see if you’ll break.
“it hurts,” you whine.
“you look so fuckin’ pretty with your legs spread,” luigi says. “can’t get enough of this perfect pussy.”
you paw at him, desperate for sacred ground, grip landing on his arms, hard and toned underneath your fingertips. he smirks. “feelin’ me up, sweetheart? you like my arms?”
the sound of skin slapping overtakes your corner of the world. you’d seen him before, but never like this. you’ve never had anything like this.
“luigi.” you whimper. “i can’t, you’re so big—”
“i know, pretty, i know,” he murmurs, kissing the running wet tears down your cheeks. “d’you remember the night you went up to me after the gym? d’you remember what you were wearing?”
you can’t help but claw your fingers deep into his arm muscles, desperate to find a vice for the pain. “oh my god,” you gasp. he pounds into you relentlessly and before you realize, you’re rolling into waves of foreign pleasure.
“stupid fuckin’ tank top,” luigi groans. pleasure storms you as he gets more brazen. he pulls down your camisole, lapping at your tits, biting you, marking you. “wind blew over and i got to see your perfect fuckin’ nipples. wanted to tear you apart right there.”
“what? really?”
“had to jack off in my fuckin’ car thinking about you, about this,” he murmurs before smashing his mouth back onto yours—and this time, you feel more prepared to bear it, melting into his warmth, lips perfectly reunited. you’re shivering under the heat. he fucks you hard into the mattress, hellbent on breaking you in. you’re sure he’s accomplished it already. you’re dizzy and light and on top of the goddamn world.
he sees through you. “fuckin’ close?”
“i-i think so—”
“so fuckin’ stupid,” he muses. “stupid fuckin’ virgin, doesn’t even know when she’s gonna cum.”
“you’re so mean,” you whine.
“yeah, you think so?” he growls, his voice low and dangerous as his hand strikes your cheek. the sting blooms like fire, another cruel signature of his dominance, a mark left behind in his endless quest to tarnish the golden purity you wear so effortlessly. his wicked touch moves down to your delicate clit and the sparks of pleasure turn into storms. you’re done for, waves of white gushing around him as you cry out his name.
“oh god,” luigi groans. “such a good girl, creamin’ on it like that. so perfect.”
the jolt of pleasure within you only makes you more sensitive. this time, when his hands return to your body, they’re clamped around your neck. he’s pulling into you, punishing your delicate cunt. as you quiver and froth, his thrusts grow sloppy and he rasps again—this time more guttural, more intense—and soon enough you feel his huge cock twitch inside of you, sending streams of his seed into your stomach.
he joins your silhouette on the bed, his warmth melting into yours as he pulls you close. his arms wrap around you, steady and secure, and his lips press softly to your forehead.
“‘m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and soothing. “didn’t mean to get so rough.”
you struggle to find the breath, then the words, “no, i—i think it was fine.”
he looks at you, his smile fading into something more thoughtful, his gaze deepening with quiet admiration. “just fine?” he asks, his voice laced with a hint of playful disbelief.
you meet his gaze, your heart fluttering, and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you hum,
“penn’s finest.”
MASTERLIST ! leave me suggestions and review me <3
☆ inexperienced luigi who tutored you through high school asks you to take his virginity before he goes off to college.
it’s late afternoon, and you’ve just stepped out of the shower when your phone rings. you see it’s luigi calling, and you answer almost instantly.
"hey," he greets you, his voice warm and familiar.
"hey, lu," you reply, a grin spreading across your face. "it's been, like, forever since we talked."
"i know," he says softly, and you can almost hear the smile in his voice, maybe even picture the slight blush creeping across his cheeks.
"what’s up?" you ask, curious.
his voice shifts slightly, a little hesitant, like he’s preparing for something important.
"i was wondering if i could come over later… i just have something i need some help with," he admits, sounding almost embarrassed.
"yeah, of course," you respond, offering him a reassuring tone.
"thanks," he breathes out, sounding relieved. "it means a lot. i'll see you later, then."
the hours stretch on as you wait for him to arrive. time feels like it’s moving agonizingly slow. you try to distract yourself, but your mind keeps drifting back to the upcoming visit. you haven't seen luigi in so long. you lay on your couch, looking out the large front window at the setting sun, golden light streaming into your small living room.
when the doorbell finally rings, you get up, take a deep breath to calm your racing thoughts. you open the door, and there he is.
luigi stands on your doorstep, looking even more handsome than usual, his usual nervous energy written all over him. his dark curls are slightly tousled, and he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt and baggy jeans. his nervous fidgeting only makes him more endearing.
"hey," you greet him casually, trying to hide the rush of emotions swirling inside you.
"hey," he replies, his voice a little shaky, but his smile is warm.
he steps over the threshold, and you gesture for him to sit down on the couch. you sit next to him, maintaining a little space between you, trying to let the air settle between you both.
an awkward silence falls over you two. you both seem to be searching for the right words. then, with a small sigh, you decide to break the ice.
"so, what did you need help with?" you ask, keeping your voice light but curious.
luigi takes a moment, his eyes flitting around the room before he finally speaks up. "i was wondering if you could help me… with something personal."
you nod, trying not to look too puzzled, though a small knot of curiosity tightens in your chest.
"uh, sure," you say, your voice calm, but your mind is already racing with possibilities.
"what is it?"
he hesitates for a moment, then seems to gather the courage to say it.
"i want to lose my virginity before i leave for college," he blurts out, his voice barely above a whisper.
you're caught off guard. the vulnerability in his words hits you hard. you never expected him to say something like that, especially not about you.
all the moments you’d shared, those study sessions, the way he'd always been there to help—did they mean something more to him all along? you’re suddenly overwhelmed with a mix of confusion and honor that he’s chosen you for such a deeply personal request.
“where is this even coming from?” you ask, still reeling from the shock.
luigi's cheeks flush, and his eyes dart nervously to the side.
"i've always kinda had feelings for you," he admits, almost shyly. "but i was too scared to say anything before. and now that i’m leaving… i just don't want to go without having experienced this with someone i trust. someone who means a lot to me."
your heart races as you process his words. all those times he’d gone out of his way to help you, to be there for you, had it been more than just friendship all along?
"are you sure about this, lu?" you ask softly, your voice gentle, your hand unconsciously reaching out to touch his arm. "this is a big step. i don't want you to feel like you have to do it just because you're leaving."
he looks at you, his expression more determined now, his voice steadier. "i’ve thought about it a lot. i’m sure."
a mix of emotions swells inside you—nervousness, excitement, and something deeper you can't quite put your finger on. this is a big moment, but you can tell he’s thought it through.
"okay," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. you gently place your hand on his arm, a comforting touch as you stand up and guide him down the hallway to your room.
there's no turning back now, and as you walk together, you know this moment will change everything between the two of you.
once in your room, you close the door, and the air becomes thick with anticipation. he takes a seat on the bed, looking nervous and unsure, so you move closer to him, trying to calm his nerves.
"we don't have to do anything you don't want to," you assure him.
"we can stop anytime, just-"
"no," he interrupts you, sounding firmer than usual.
"i want this, i want you to be my first"
there's an unspoken need in his voice, and you can tell he's serious. he places his hand on your thigh as he speaks, looking you deeply in the eyes.
you bite your lip to hold back the words that want to spill out. you want him, too.
he looks at you, his expression a mixture of nervousness and need, and you can't help but smile. you reach out and touch his cheek gently, feeling the heat rising under your fingertips.
you lean in slowly, giving him time to stop you, but he doesn’t. you press your lips to his, the kiss soft and tentative at first, then growing more passionate as he returns it. his hands slide up your back, pulling you closer, and you melt into the kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck. he finds his way on top of you as you embrace him, his weight slightly pressing you into the mattress.
your bodies press together, and you can feel the heat building between you. your hands wander across his back, sliding underneath his shirt, feeling his skin warm and soft against yours. you pull his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor, then run your fingers across his bare chest, tracing shapes around his freckles. he shivers at the contact. you part your lips and break the kiss.
"is this okay?" you ask, a whisper against his skin.
his voice is low and desperate, his words coming out in a rush.
"god, yes," he says, his hands moving over your body, exploring every curve.
he slides his hands up the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your stomach. you lift your arms, allowing him to remove your shirt and toss it aside.
his hands continue exploring your body, and you feel a growing warmth between your legs. he cups one of your breasts, gently massaging the sensitive flesh. you arch into his touch, and he leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
"god, you're so beautiful," he whispers.
you moan softly, your fingers tangling in his curls, pulling him closer.
you move your hips forward, grinding against him, eliciting a groan from him.
"you know how long i've wanted to do this?" he breathes "god, all the times you were in my room studying, i was so hard just fucking looking at you"
"shut up," you say, feeling a grin spreading across your face.
"i'm fuckin' serious," he says smiling against your skin
he begins to plant kisses down your neck and along your collarbone, his tongue flicking across the sensitive skin.
"fuck," you moan, your hips bucking against him.
"i've been waiting. so. long," he says, punctuating each word with a kiss.
you grip his shoulders, holding him close.
he continues his exploration, trailing kisses across your chest, his hands sliding up your back.
his hands find the clasp of your bra, undoing it easily. he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside. he cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing against the hard nipples, drawing a gasp from your lips.
"is this alright?" he asks, his voice low and uncertain.
you bite your lip and nod, arching into his touch. he's a virgin, but he knows exactly what to do.
he leans down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking gently. you moan, tangling your fingers in his hair. he moves his hands down, cupping your ass, pulling you closer.
"god, luigi," you gasp, the feeling of his tongue on your skin driving you crazy.
he smiles against your skin, his eyes dark and hungry. he begins to tug at the waistband of your pants, and you eagerly lift your hips, letting him slide them off. he tosses them aside, his gaze never leaving yours.
"so fuckin' gorgeous," he murmurs, his hands roaming across your bare skin.
he slides a hand down the front of your underwear, and you gasp as his fingers brush against your clit.
"luigi," you moan, arching into his touch.
"you want this, don't you?" he asks, his voice soft and gentle.
you nod, feeling the wetness pooling between your legs. he presses his thumb against your clit, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. you cry out, gripping his shoulders tightly. he slides a finger inside you, curling it slightly.
"yes," you gasp, your hips moving against him.
"tell me," he groans.
"i want you, luigi," you moan, your voice needy. "i want you so bad."
he withdraws his hand, and you whimper at the loss of contact.
he strips off his remaining clothes, and you admire his toned body and his delicately placed freckles. he kneels between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs.
he positions himself at your entrance, and you moan softly, desperate for him to be inside you.
"please," you whimper.
"i need you."
he enters you slowly, a whine escaping his lips. he'd never felt pleasure so intense before. you're both overcome with the feeling of each other. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"fuck," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
he thrusts into you slowly, taking his time. you're both lost in the sensation, your bodies pressed together.
"oh god, luigi," you moan, raking your nails down his back.
"you feel so fuckin' good," he says, his voice a low moan.
you feel yourself tightening around him. he thrusts harder, hitting just the right spot.
"fuck," you cry out, clinging to him desperately.
"god, i'm gonna cum," he gasps, his hips moving faster. you could feel his need, his desire for you, his love.
"let go, baby," you whisper, cupping his face in your hands.
"i've got you."
he finishes with a cry, burying his face in your neck, his body trembling with pleasure.
"jesus," he says, his breathing ragged.
he collapses on top of you, and you hold him close, running your fingers through his soft curls.
"did you finish?" he asks, still breathless.
"no," you reply, feeling a little embarrassed. "can we keep going?"
he looks down at you, his expression one of pure bliss.
"god, yes," he says with a soft chuckle.
he kisses you hungrily, his hands roaming across your body. he reaches down, circling your clit with his thumb.
"oh god," you moan, arching into his touch. he keeps thrusting into you, and you feel him shaking and overstimulated
"you're so fuckin' tight," he says softly.
you cling to him, the pressure building inside you. you're both teetering on the edge again, the sensation overwhelming.
"oh fuck, luigi," you gasp, your nails digging into his back. he's trembling as he pounds into you relentlessly, you can feel him crying against your chest.
"i love you," he whimpers.
"oh god, i love you too."
it hits you suddenly, the orgasm ripping through your body. you cry out, clinging to him, your entire body shaking.
"god, yes," he groans, his hips stuttering. he comes undone, spilling inside you once again.
you're both spent, sweaty, and breathing hard. he pulls out and rolls onto his back, his chest heaving.
AHHHhhhhGg!!!! We need more sweetie pie fratty Lu!! beg for a pt 2 🛐
I’ve Got You — { Luigi x Reader }
Content: NSFW — MDNI kissing, dry-humping, fingering, fluffy, handjobs, LuigiTalksYouThroughIt, he finishes a little Too Soon ™️, quickie
Wc: 2,586
Notes; Luigi reveals he was a psych major before venturing into the world of CS. He helps you through what seems to be yet another crisis, in more ways than one.
This is a Pt 2 of the Divine Timing Bullshit drabble.
"Well, I was a psychology major for a minute." Luigi's voice carries a hint of amusement as he settles cross-legged on his bed. The room surprises you — a private dorm that speaks of his family's wealth, yet the space feels lived-in, humble.
Lamps with amber edison bulbs cast a warm glow over textbooks stacked beside engineering manuals.
"And so that makes you my therapist?" The words come out more bitter than intended, hanging in the air between you. You hadn't planned this visit — just a casual 'wanna hang?' text at 3 PM that somehow led to you wearing tracks in his floor, your anxieties spilling out unchecked.
"Well, no, but I probably give better advice than Liz, or Scarlett, or Johanna." His voice stays steady, eyes tracking your movement with quiet attention. The way he lists your friends' names shows he's been listening all semester, filing away the details of your life. "Not licensed, but if it makes you feel better, you—"
"Never mind." You drag your sweater sleeves across your eyes, the soft fabric catching on your damp lashes. Your chest feels tight with that particular brand of exhaustion unique to college students — equal parts caffeine jitters and existential dread. "I'm just — I'm so tired of feeling like I have no purpose, you know? Just this thing floating around, ma-"
"Come here." His voice cuts through your spiral, soft but unmistakably firm. He pats the space in front of him, the gesture both invitation and anchor. When you hesitate, hovering between flight and surrender, his lips curve into a gentle smile. "Present moment exercise."
Reluctantly, you migrate to the space before him, mirroring Luigi's posture like a hesitant reflection — crossed legs, straightened spine. The mattress dips beneath your weight, creating a subtle gravity that draws you both incrementally closer. "What's the exercise?"
"Close your eyes." His voice carries that gentle authority that seems to bypass your usual defenses, making compliance feel less like surrender and more like trust. "What do you feel right now? Not think — feel."
You hum softly, hands resting in your lap as the world shifts from visual to visceral. The darkness behind your eyelids makes every sensation sharper, more immediate.
"Your knee touching mine," you start, clinging to this exercise like a Hail Mary thrown into the depths of your winter despair. "Uh- the texture of your comforter" - soft, worn cotton that speaks of countless nights studying - "the candle you lit..."
"Good." The word comes with the warm press of his hands finding yours, and your breath catches slightly. His skin feels sun-warmed against your winter-chilled palms, his thumbs painting invisible patterns that seem to speak directly to your nervous system. "What else?"
"Your hands," you murmur, the words falling soft and honest in the space between you.
You let yourself sink deeper into the sensation — not just the mechanical fact of his thumbs against your palms, but the way his touch seems to radiate warmth up your arms, how each deliberate stroke feels like morse code tapping out a message: breathe, settle, stay. "Uh — little sparks."
"Mm, that's good." Luigi's voice has mellowed to warm honey, no longer needing to rise above your anxious litany of deadlines and mounting student loans. "What else?" His fingertips whisper along your forearms where your sweater sleeves have retreated to your elbows, each touch deliberate and grounding.
"Water." The word emerges soft as you lose yourself in the patterns he traces, his fingers creating phantom ripples across your skin.
Memories surface with each touch — the shock of cold spring water on sunburnt skin, the gentle rock of a weathered pontoon boat, the way summer light dances on the farm's pond. A smile tugs at your lips, unbidden and genuine. "Reminds me of home."
Though your eyes remain closed, you can feel Luigi's answering smile in the air between you, sense the careful attention he pays to each micro-expression that crosses your face, every subtle response to his touch. "Yeah? Take me there," he whispers, his fingertips discovering new paths now, mapping the delicate architecture of your wrist bones. "What do we see?"
In your mind's eye, reality softens at the edges, then transforms completely.
The suffocating weight of impending papers dissolves, the tyranny of five-thirty alarms fades to nothing, and the guilt of rushed mornings and forgotten breakfasts melts away like frost in sunshine.
Instead, memory blooms bright and clear as summer.
"There's uh — it smells like hay," you murmur, the sandalwood candle's warmth fading as memory takes over. Your voice grows stronger with each detail. "There's Rosie, our herd dog. And the birds are chirping in the trees." Luigi's fingers trace their way back up your forearm, slower this time, as if drawing out each remembered sensation. "The sun." You can almost feel its warmth on your skin, that particular kind of heat that's been absent since fall break left you stranded in winter's gray embrace.
"That's beautiful," Luigi breathes, his words carrying an undercurrent of something deeper, something that makes 'you're beautiful' hover unspoken in the air between you. "What do you feel now?” The question lands softly as he observes the transformation in you — shoulders that have finally surrendered their tension, lips curved in a gentle smile, hands that have shed their anxious chill for a living warmth.
"I feel comfort." The words come with a small nod, the first movement you've made since closing your eyes, since letting him guide you away from the chaos in your head. Your voice holds a certainty that wasn't there before. "I feel safe."
Luigi's touch anchors you back to the present moment, gentle but grounding. "Yeah? And we'll keep that feeling, hm?" His hands find their way to your thighs, the touch carrying no threat, no expectation – just steady warmth and presence. "Even when we're away from our safe place, we can find it still."
Something breaks open then — maybe it's the simple humanity of it all, how Luigi offered not just a listening ear but a path back from the edge where dropping out had started to look like your only escape.
Your chin trembles, and behind your closed eyelids, tears begin to gather. All you can manage is a soft "Mhmm," anything more threatening to unleash the emotion building in your chest.
"Ohh," Luigi's gentle tsk carries nothing but understanding as his thumb finds your jawline, the touch tender as a whisper. His soft coo acknowledges what he already knows — that this reaction is natural, expected even.
He'd been here himself once, tears falling during his first time with this very exercise.
When you open your eyes, a watery laugh escapes as you reach to brush away the tears tracking down your cheeks, but Luigi's already there, his thumbs gentle against your skin. "You did great," he beams at you, his smile radiant with a pride usually reserved for mountain summits or graduation stages. "Not so hard, is it?"
Your head tips forward into his touch as another laugh bubbles up, accompanied by fresh tears — a release valve finally opening on emotions bottled since semester's start. "What the fuck did you just do?"
Luigi's grin is soft as he catches each tear with careful thumbs, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way emotion thickens your voice. "I fuckin' popped that big ass dark cloud over your head." There's gentle knowing in his tone – the cloud will gather again, but now you have a way to part it, to find light.
Sniffles punctuate the quiet as you lean into his touch with a sigh, studying him with new eyes. The image of Frat Boy Luigi feels like a distant myth now; trying to picture him dominating a beer pong table seems as misplaced as a lion in a library. "Why did you switch to CS?" The question comes carefully as his hands migrate from your cheeks to your neck, thumbs finding pressure points behind your ears that he somehow knows to touch, pressing gentle circles that make your shoulders drop another fraction.
"You want the honest answer?"
Your nod is immediate.
"I was good at psychology — too good, honestly. Reading people, understanding their patterns, their defense mechanisms." His words come measured, thoughtful. "It began to feel... manipulative? Like I was collecting everyone's source code without any permission."
You raise an eyebrow, shooting him an inquisitive grin. "So, you fuck with actual source code now instead?"
"Exactly." Luigi nods, but something deeper flickers in his gaze. "With programming, everything is transparent. The computer does exactly what you tell it to do — there's no hidden agenda, no complex histories. If something breaks, you can fix it by looking at the code."
Understanding hums through you as your hands seek his, drawing them into your own, missing their warmth for reasons you can't quite name. "What happens when you start looking at people like code?"
The playfulness drains from his expression, his fingers going still against yours.
"That's actually why I switched." He straightens, fingers weaving gently through yours. "I started seeing everyone like programs running on faulty logic. Started thinking I could debug them, optimize their processes." His laugh carries a edge of self-reproach. "God, I sound like such an ass."
"No, keep going.”
"There was this girl in my Abnormal Psych class. She had anxiety, pretty severe. I thought I understood her patterns so well that I could help her rewrite them." His free hand rakes through his hair. "I ended up making it worse. Way worse. Because people aren't programs — you can't just identify the bug and patch it. Every 'bug' is part of who they are."
You study his face in the mixed glow of candlelight and distant desk lamp, catching shadows of old guilt in his expression.
"With code, there's always a right answer. A most efficient solution. But humans — fuck," he draws your hand to his cheek, releasing a soft sigh. "We're messy. Contradictory. Beautiful because of it, not in spite of it. The moment I started seeing people as systems to optimize was the moment I stopped seeing them as people."
You study him — the way he cradles your hand, his own need for contact as evident as yours. "Is that why you're so focused on being present? Not analyzing?"
His smile returns, gentler than before. "Yeah. Turns out the best way to understand someone isn't by debugging them." His lips trace down your wrist, following the same path his fingers had taken earlier, recreating that feeling of safety and home. "Being here. Feeling. Letting things be messy and imperfect and real."
You feel yourself melting further — transformed into something soft and vulnerable you never expected to become.
By all rights, you should be alone in your dorm right now, buried under your duvet until the hypnotic loop of slime videos lulled you to sleep.
Instead, here you are, receiving wisdom from someone you'd once dismissed as just another beer pong champion, your best friend's crush turned into something far more complex.
Fuck.
"And how's that working out for you?" A grin spreads across your face, warmth flooding your cheeks as your heart performs an impromptu butterfly migration. "Letting things be messy?"
He moves with purposeful grace, drawing you onto his lap, his back finding the carefully arranged pillows behind him. "Well," he murmurs, warm hands sliding beneath your sweater to grip your waist, carrying the same gentle certainty as before, "I haven't color-coded a single spread sheet this week, and somehow the world hasn't ended."
Your laugh comes out breathless as your arms find their way around his shoulders. He gazes up at you through half-lidded eyes, those stark black eyebrows relaxed like brushstrokes across his features, each detail seeming divinely crafted.
"You're different than what I expected." The confession slips out as his hands chart a careful course up your back, then down to trace the curve of your ass, maintaining their unhurried, gentle exploration.
"I won't ask." Luigi's grin carries the weight of familiar labels; valedictorian, hazer of newcomers, dean's list fixture, beer pong legend, app development champion, notorious panty dropper. "But, thanks anyway."
Your lips crash together with sudden urgency, your hips finding their home in the space between his crossed legs, your body molding against his like a missing puzzle piece. "It all worked out in the end," you murmur against his mouth, teeth grazing his bottom lip as your hips roll downward. "Wouldn't you say?"
Luigi nods slowly, lips brushing yours with each word. "I'll say whatever you want me to." His grin is a contradiction — shy yet heated, pure yet hungry — as crimson spreads across his cheeks and creeps over the bridge of his nose.
A moan escapes you, startling in its intensity, warmth flooding your cheeks.
His hips rise to meet yours, a deep groan rumbling through him as the hardness in his jeans presses against your inner thighs. “Is this the kind of messy you were talking about?” you breathe between heated, spit-slick kisses, your hips rocking with a deliberate, determined rhythm.
Luigi seems to be unraveling beneath you, his hands exploring every inch your oversized sweater allows, hiked up to your bellybutton. He watches intently as you grind against him, the obvious tent in his sweatpants twitching in response to the attention.
“The kind of messy that practically comes with a free therapy session before making you come in your sweatpants?” A smirk curls your lips, playful and devious, your gaze locked on Luigi, who looks as if he’s found heaven.
“Gonna make me come, are you?” His breath quickens, a familiar tingling sensation building deep within him.
“Only if I get to,” you reply, your words igniting a spark. His right hand slips down the front of your leggings, his palm replacing the stiffness of his groin, fingers teasing momentarily as they gather the arousal dampening your panties.
You tug the waistband of his sweatpants down below his hipbones, revealing his cock — proud yet desperate, glistening with pre-come. The whine that escapes him as you begin to stroke him speaks volumes of his growing need.
“Look at me,” Luigi begs, and your attention snaps back to him, too captivated by his size and the slickness on your knuckles to focus on anything else, wrist working in rhythmic timing over his length. “God, you’re fucking—” He’s cut off by a chorus of moans, hot and steady, as waves of arousal spill onto his abdomen.
Your hand instinctively moves to your mouth, tasting him—bitter at first, but sweet on the finish.
How perfect.
His breath comes in ragged gasps as his fingers work their magic inside you, curving just right to find that sweet spot that makes your eyes flutter and a wave of warmth wash over you. “You can do it,” he whispers, his free hand trailing gentle touches up and down your forearms, mirroring the soothing gestures he’d offered only thirty minutes prior to this. “I’ve got you.”
Your hands are still slick with his release, but it doesn’t matter. You lean forward, tangling your fingers in his hair, your lips crashing together in a desperate hunger punctuated by whimpers that signal your impending climax.
“Fuck,” you curse, your hips moving in rhythm with his fingers thrusting inside you, still gentle yet insistent. His palm presses against your clit, creating a friction that pushes you right to the edge.
His praises shower over you like a sweet melody. “That’s it, baby,” he coos, your head tilting back as you ride the wave of pleasure until you can’t anymore. “That’s my girl.”
