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@sarahghetti
hi, all 👋 I'm sarah! 18+, minors please dni!
welcome to my writing blog! this is a sideblog, so any interactions from me will be from my main (@sarahinara). I'm multifandom, but currently have a strong interest in moon knight!
requests: open!
moon knight masterlist
mcu masterlist
arrowverse masterlist
Jake’s car motifs ,, yes
direction to perfection; j.l.
pairing: jake lockley x reader, marc and steven are briefly alluded to but do not make an appearance
summary: one day, your vigilante lifestyle leads to you to crossing paths with a moon-serving weirdo in white bandages. jake promises that he won't get in the way, but there's something about his smirk that has your spidey-sense tingling, and what do you know—
he sets a building on fire.
it's not supposed to be romantic.
warnings: depictions of fighting and violence, injuries, hurt and comfort, reader is a spider-person and thus has a spider-person sense of humour😭.
word count: 3.8k
notes: part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'bonfire”
MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS
You have a love-hate relationship with your spidey-sense—it’s useful enough to give you a heads-up, but it’s not exactly a get-out-of-danger-free card.
It kicks in as you’re soaring through the air, an errant pulse in your veins that tells you one thing: MOVE. But there’s no time—before you even manage to lift your web-shooter, one of Doc Ock’s mechanical arms whips around and collides hard against your torso. For a moment, you feel your ribs crack underneath the metal, the sharp pains accompanied by a real stupid thought, even by your standards: guess I’m going to call in sick tomorrow—
—and then you finally hit the brick wall behind you. The air is ripped from your lungs and your thoughts short-circuit into nothingness. New York’s evening rush hour is drowned out by high-pitched ringing. If it weren’t for your wallcrawling ability, you’d be falling forty stories down onto the traffic below. Instead, rooted into the small crater you’ve made into an office building, all you can do is languish in what surely must be multiple broken bones and a slightly bruised ego for not being able to dodge a hit that you saw coming.
Speaking of—there’s another one heading towards you right now.
You leap upwards without a second thought, just narrowly avoiding becoming a shitty claw-machine prize as the arm lodges into the wall where your head used to be. Spots dance across your vision and you groan—your body does not want to move.
Suspended between two buildings, Doc Ock’s mechanical arms dig into concrete and brick as she follows you up. Her voice is deceptively empathetic. “Down so soon, little spider? I expected more from you!”
One of the arms rears back again but distantly, there’s the clench of a trigger—and it gets pinned behind her by a golden grappling hook.
The wire grows taut then there he is, using the reeling mechanism to lunge upwards. All the momentum is channeled into his crescent blade as Jake jams it between the plates of the trapped arm; it jerks like a wounded animal, suddenly uncoordinated and stiff. When it lashes out again, he easily dodges and jumps across the buildings onto the fire escape next to you.
“Mierda! You okay?”
Glowing white eyes, wide with concern—the sight is enough to shake you out of your concussive stupor. Jake extends a hand, and you take it readily, allowing him to help you up onto the rickety platform.
“Just peachy,” you wheeze as you lean almost your entire body weight against him.
This was supposed to be a simple mission. It wasn’t even supposed to be a mission in the first place, but one detained drug dealer led to another, which led to a smuggler and a mercenary and a goddamn gym teacheruntil you were faced with a whole corrupt laboratory that tied back to Doc Ock’s operations.
Jake got looped in somewhere between the mercenary and the gym teacher, apparently answering some kind of divine calling of his own. Egyptian god of the moon? Protecting travelers of the night? You just call the people you save New Yorkers, no fancy labelling here.
But you’re not so prideful as to turn away help when you need it, especially when it comes gift-wrapped in superhuman strength and a bullet-proof cape. Even though you catch him giving himself these looks in the windows you pass by or having whole conversations to himself under his breath—you’ve seen weirder.
Like now: There’s a clear conflict happening in—on?—Doc Ock. The damaged arm flails wildly through the air, and the other three can’t seem to decide between trying to calm it down, retreat, or kill you.
Those white eyes turn to you. “Sure you don’t want me to shoot her?”
“No!” Now you remember why you were initially wary of him—because when you first met, he was holding one of his blades to a lackey’s throat. Danger, danger! You didn’t even need your spidey-sense to tell you that; he wears the warning like a badge of honour. “We just need to subdue her till the cops come. Follow my lead.”
Jake gives you a mock salute. Fortunately, Doc Ock’s lab was deserted—except for her—when you crashed the place. Whatever supersecret bioweapon she’s cooking up will still be waiting for you to destroy it after you capture her.
With just one press of a button, you’re soaring back into action. The arms seem to have coordinated themselves again—having decided to kill you, how lucky—but so have you and Jake. One lunges towards you, and you pull upwards on your web, going feet over head as you as you flip backwards out of the way.
In that split-second moment when you’re fully upside-down, your arm extends downwards and thwip!—your web attaches to the titanium plating. The world realigns itself, and your momentum carries you in an arc below the arm, dragging it behind you as you continue in your original direction.
As soon as you land on the side of the opposing building, you yank hard. Immediately, your other hand comes up to shoot a dozen or so webs to attach the claw onto the wall. It won’t last—the brick is already crumbling under the force—but it gives Jake enough time to shake off Doc Ock’s attention and join you.
Closer than you were before, you can see just how much force it takes for him to drive his blade through the circuitry. Sparks burst like little fireworks around his hand. He makes it look easy, but a shudder crawls down your spine—you just know what he’s capable of.
You both leap out of the way as the arm thrashes erratically; Doc Ock cries out in frustration. That’s two arms down, and two that are busy suspending her in the air. You’ll have to catch her once you take out another one, but that’s no biggie.
“Jake!” You gesture towards the nearest arm, and he nods in understanding. Despite the pain radiating through your limbs, you grin. For all his snark and murderous tendencies (which you hope are just a joke), he’s a half-decent partner.
It’s too bad, then, that Doc Ock doesn’t seem to care about how good of a time you’re having. Her mouth twists into a snarl, and in a blink of an eye, she’s scrambling away. Retreating? Your poor, bruised head is hopeful for the night to end.
In a way, it’s right—she is trying to get away from you. Unfortunately, it also recognizes that she’s retracing your steps, right back to the lab where you first found her.
“Oh, damn it!”
Your injuries and Jake’s limited modes of superhuman transport make it impossible to gain any real ground as you chase after her. Doc Ock climbs through her shattered window half a minute before you do, and even if your conscious mind doesn’t realize it, some part of you does—it’s an ambush.
You dive to the ground just as a mini fridge is thrown in your direction. Pain shoots down your side, your vision blurring with tears. The sheer wave of nausea that washes over you makes your mouth water and fuck, you might actually puke like this.
There’s something else coming but you can’t do anything other than half-heartedly roll behind the nearest object. The workbench shields you from—what, a chair? You aren’t afforded anymore time to think about it because she rips off the counter next, several important-looking valves raining down around you. Through the noise, you just barely manage to pick up a quiet hissing in the air as you try to gather your bearings.
A line of workbenches down the centre of the room, an aisle on either side.
On the right: sinks and fume hoods.
On the left: whiteboards.
Directly in front of you: the absolute bane of—and possible end to—your existence, holding up that chunk of black countertop as if it were a hammer and you are a nail.
You brace yourself for the hit, but it never comes. There’s a surprised yelp from above you, and your peer through your arms at just the right time to see Jake land a brutal kick into Doc Ock’s chest, sending her flying. You don’t see her land, but you do hearit; equipment crashes to the ground, glass shattering on the linoleum.
With a hand from Jake, you’re back on your feet. Doc Ock is reeling at the far end of the room. The walls are littered with long, deep gashes—some from your initial confrontation with her, some likely from her mechanical arms flailing from Jake’s hit. Several of the fume hoods are missing their windows entirely, which definitely bodes ill considering that there are still chemicals in some of them.
Gritting your teeth, you somehow manage to get the words out, “Just stand down, Olivia!”
A hand is clutched at her side, and some petty part of you hopes that her ribs are broken too. “This isn’t over.”
You gesture to her mechanical arms, two of which are still malfunctioning like headless chickens, then to yourselves, who are (mostly) in one piece. “Well, it sure is about to be.”
She raises her eyebrows at Jake. “You raid a Spirit Halloween and suddenly think you can defeat me?”
“Yeah, sure, let me just take fashion advice from someone cosplaying as an octopus.”
Jake leans towards you. “Do you always talk this much?”
At that, Doc Ock’s eyes narrow, filled with determination. She’s not backing down this time, which means neither can you.
You both ready yourselves like you have countless times before, straightening your stance and setting your shoulders back. But Jake doesn’t show the same patience. No—he sees the remaining mechanical arms twitch in preparation, and a blade is already leaving his hand with deadly-precise aim.
Wait, wait, the hissing sound—the gas—
“Get down!” You ram your body into Jake’s, bringing you both to the ground as the blade makes contact with the titanium, sparks flying out and—
BOOM.
It’s like your heart stops.
For several moments, you don’t register anything at all. You aren’t even sure if you’re still breathing.
Slowly, your senses return. The scent of burning plastic invades your nostrils—even the air tastes like it too. Something’s landed on top of you, pinning you down with a surprising amount of strength. Warm and sturdy and pressing into all the wrong places, but you can’t even hear your own whimpering—there’s nothing but ringing in your ears.
Are your eyes closed? You can’t bring yourself to check. All you can do is try to remember how to live, and figure out what the hell is happening.
Your spidey-sense has gone quiet. That’s—that’s good. Hopefully. Or maybe it’s just been knocked out of you by the blast. You let that last thought get washed away into the muddled mess of your head; you could probably use a bit of positive thinking right now.
Everything hurts. That’s been true for the past hour, really, but there’s no gut-wrenchingly painful burn anywhere on your body like what you expected from a lab explosion. The closest thing is just that warmth against your back, in a thick arm across your chest, and encircled around your wrist, where it lingers along your pulse point.
Something brushes up against your cheek, roughly textured but trying to be so, so gentle. Words start to pierce through the hearing damage. “—estás bien, te tengo. No te preocupes, estás bien.”
“Jake?” Your voice comes out small and tinny, unsure of how loud to speak when everything sounds like it’s underwater. You receive an affirmative rumble, and the tension seeps out of your limbs, just a tad.
Tentatively, you open your eyes. And there’s—nothing. Just a white sheet of fabric covering your entire field of view. Jake huffs out a laugh at your confusion before finally standing up, his cape pulling back from where it was draped on top of you.
“Oh.”
It’s like a bomb went off. Nearly every surface has been scorched black, save for the perfectly untouched flooring around you where Jake shielded you both from the blast. Any equipment in the room has been reduced to pieces—if not completely combusted into ash and soot—and fires still linger despite the efforts of what’s left of the sprinkler system.
No sign of Doc Ock anywhere—she must’ve gotten away. Jake lets out a long string of curses under his breath, then finishes it off with an eloquent: “Fuck.”
The fire alarm is incessant, and the sprinklers have all but drenched your suit. If you had half a working brain left, you’d feel the shivers wracking your body and realize that you’re still bleeding out in several different places, but the only thing that crosses your mind is how tired you are.
You throw your mask off with a groan. The sirens in the distance only add to your growing headache. So close, you were so close this time.
“Come on.” Jake’s stands over you, mask retracted, and you can see the grimace on his face from how the mission turned out. Wordlessly, he offers to help you up, and is promptly ignored. He keeps his hand extended towards you, shaking it a little for emphasis, but you refuse to budge.
That is, until your mind so helpfully strays and wonders—how big was the blast?
Your eyes widen, and your body jerks upright as though electrocuted. Oh, God—you didn’t see anyone else in the lab other than Doc Ock when you arrived, but what about the other floors? What about the pedestrians on the sidewalk below, who might’ve had glass and debris rained down upon them when the windows were blown out?
It takes several tries to get to your feet, none of which are entirely successful because Jake has to intervene halfway through to hold you upright. Your second wind catches him off-guard and his brows furrow as you try to leap back into action. “Whoa—talk to me, bug. What’s happening?”
“Need to—” You try to shrug him off. His grip loosens for all of a moment before you’re stumbling again, and then he returns, as firm and steady as ever. “Was anyone hurt?”
“You.”
“Not what I meant,” you scowl. It’s thoroughly ineffective. The only response you get is a subtle tilting of his head, then a loss of his undivided attention as he listens to something—someone—in the room that you aren’t privy to.
His gaze flickers back to you, marginally softer. “No one else was hurt. You need to rest.”
You don’t dignify that with a response. What’s the point of superhealing if you can’t bounce back after a fight? This time when you struggle against him, Jake lets you go, crossing his arms as you limp around the room.
Fortunately, most of the smoke is being pulled out the windows; what’s left is enough to burn and scrape down your larynx, but you push through it. Doc Ock has to have left some kind of trace—if not during her escape, then in the work she left behind. But kicking around in the ashes yields nothing. There’s no conveniently placed folder full of evil plans, or vial labelled SUPER SECRET BIOWEAPON (ONLY COPY - NO NEED TO SEARCH ANY FURTHER).
Jake sighs. “What are you looking for?”
What are you looking for? The building is still on fire, for Christ’s sake—you should have been gone ten minutes ago. Still, your stubbornness is steadfast. “There has to be—something.”
He sweeps out an arm, gesturing to the resounding nothing around you. With wet curls stuck to his forehead, his tone veers on sardonic. “Oh? Your little spider-sense tell you that?”
“Spidey, and—and it’s not a radar, I can’t just turn it on,” you bristle. His ensuing snicker lands all wrong, and your mouth twists into a scowl. “Funny, is it? Blowing up a building?”
“Hey.” The lightness disappears from his expression. “How was I supposed to know about the gas leak?”
It’s a valid question. Still, the anger in you can’t help but flare up anyways, running on his words as if they were diesel. You bite back a retort at the last second, which isn’t enough because the resulting silence is accusatory in and of itself.
He takes a step towards you, chin raised as water continues to rain down on you both. Solid, sturdy—unyielding. The sight twists your stomach into knots, but you stand your ground, placing your hands on your hips even though it pulls painfully at a handful of your muscles. “Shit happens, bug. It’s no one’s fault—well, maybe a bit my fault, but—”
“I had her.” It’s a blatant lie, but full of conviction as it leaves your lips.
He’s nothing short of incredulous. “Did you?”
“Yes—”
Faster than your hazy mind can register it, his hand shoves at your shoulder. Not hard, but it didn’t need to be—you practically crumple, hands scrambling to find something to hold on to before you land flat on your ass, but Jake wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you.
You swat at his chest. You hate that his warmth is familiar. “Let me go.”
He counters: “What’s wrong?”
“You, asshole.”
“’m the bad guy now? You want a fight that bad?” His eyebrows cock upwards, regarding you like some unruly child.
He’s being inflammatory on purpose and it’s working. You’re an elastic band in his fingers, one that he keeps stretching and stretching and stretching until you snap. “I don’t want a fight, I want a—”
Win, you almost admit. You wanted a win, after all this time you’ve spent chasing after Doc Ock. Countless sleepless nights and lackeys thrown behind bars, only to fail in the final moments when it really mattered. The realization is debilitating, even in the confines of your own head, and so you lash out again, distracting yourself from the bitterness on your tongue by spewing it out instead.
“We’re not all out for blood, you know.” Then, because you can’t help yourself— “I’m not you, Jake.”
“Is that what this is about?” His hand tenses almost imperceptibly against your back, but you manage to catch it. Of course you do, with every sense on high alert, blood rushing in your ears. “You mad ‘cause I’m a killer?”
Something dangerous underlines his tone when he says the word and you flinch, trying to create some distance between the two of you on instinct. Jake doesn’t grant you that—his other arm comes to hold you as well, pulling you in even though you think you might suffocate in his presence.
“You knew this from the start. Don’t tell me you’re going to try to turn me in now.”
“Maybe I should,” you say in a rush, gaze steely as it meets his. For all your superhuman powers, none give you the ability to read what’s going on behind the storm in his eyes. You’re so close, you can almost feel the heat radiating off his skin, hear the words in his mouth before he even says them.
“You’re the one with the spidey-sense.” His voice is low. Somewhere in the back of your mind, through the shame and anger and desperation—you note that he’s called it by the right name this time. “You tell me. Am I a threat?”
Your heart is beating a mile a minute and your stomach is all fluttery and weird but—no. There’s no tingling at the back of your neck, no hair-raising along your arms. Petulance makes you want to lie and say yes anyways, but you can’t bring yourself to form the words. It just… isn’t true. And for some reason, you have feeling that this would be going too far, even as a rash potshot.
When you don’t respond, Jake’s expression softens, the lines of his face giving way to an understanding look that makes you feel smaller than his antagonism ever could. The fires have mostly died down now, but warm reds and oranges still flicker along the side of his jaw, in corners of his irises. His arms feel less like a cage and more like a lifeline, keeping you from drifting out to sea.
“Just—thought I finally caught her,” you mumble, and he pulls you the last few inches into a proper hug. Exhausted, you let yourself melt into his arms, the adrenaline beginning to seep away despite the cacophony of sirens in the background. “It’s been so long, Jake.”
“I know.” He doesn’t, not really—you haven’t divulged just how far this rivalry goes, but you don’t have to think very hard to realize that he’s speaking from experiences long before he ever met you. “We’ll get her next time.”
You snort softly into his suit. “What, you staying?”
It’s silly, the tinge of hopefulness that laces your voice just minutes after you’ve essentially accosted him. But Jake’s grinning when you pull back to look at him, all boyish confidence, and you nearly forget to breathe. “I could be convinced.”
Wait—what? He’s thrown you off-kilter. You—you didn’t think he’d actually— “Well—!”
At your stammering, he lets out a laugh, throwing back his head. It’s a wonderful sound, and when you flick his arm in response, there’s no real force to it.
“Well, you know what they say,” you sniff, trying to maintain your composure. “Friends close, enemies closer, and all that.”
“Right, right,” he nods gravely. The effect is severely diminished by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Keeping one arm around you, he starts to lead you towards an exit. “Don’t know how you’ll handle it—your spidey-sense going off all the time with me around.”
On the way out, he picks up your mask from where you discarded it, slapping it a few times against his leg to brush off the soot and ash. His own mask and hood come up to envelope his face as he hands it to you. Distantly, you wonder how his glowing white eyes would look in the dark. Probably a bit stupid, is your conclusion.
“I’m sure I can manage,” you sigh, and once you slip on your mask, he gives you a little pat on the head before you can bat him away. Jake leans away enough to avoid your attempts to tug at his hood, but at the next opportunity, he reaches over again, the little shit, hand drawing in close, and your spidey-sense, superhuman and extraordinary, it’s—
It’s never been quieter.
AAAAAAAAAAAA JUST THE IDEA OF THIS AU IS TOO GOOD. TOO AMAZING. IM GOING TO YELL SO LOUD.
Danger, danger! You didn’t even need your spidey-sense to tell you that; he wears the warning like a badge of honour. <-YEAAAAAA BABY
He makes it look easy, but a shudder crawls down your spine—you just know what he’s capable of. <-🤭😋😝
For all his snark and murderous tendencies (which you hope are just a joke), <-🤭😇😇😇
Something brushes up against your cheek, roughly textured but trying to be so, so gentle. <-OHHH... GOD.
He keeps his hand extended towards you, shaking it a little for emphasis, <-jake lockley i am going to kiss you.
With wet curls stuck to his forehead, <-
When you don’t respond, Jake’s expression softens, the lines of his face giving way to an understanding look that makes you feel smaller than his antagonism ever could. The fires have mostly died down now, but warm reds and oranges still flicker along the side of his jaw, in corners of his irises. His arms feel less like a cage and more like a lifeline, keeping you from drifting out to sea. <-im gonna scream this is so so beautiful…
Jake’s grinning when you pull back to look at him, all boyish confidence, and you nearly forget to breathe. <-yeah,
On the way out, he picks up your mask from where you discarded it, slapping it a few times against his leg to brush off the soot and ash. <-JAKE LOCKLEY I AM GOING TO KISS YOU.
Distantly, you wonder how his glowing white eyes would look in the dark. Probably a bit stupid, is your conclusion. <-😭😭😭
once you slip on your mask, he gives you a little pat on the head before you can bat him away. Jake leans away enough to avoid your attempts to tug at his hood, but at the next opportunity, he reaches over again, the little shit, hand drawing in close, and your spidey-sense, superhuman and extraordinary, it’s—
It’s never been quieter. <-
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH… OH... OUGH… THIS WAS SO INCREDIBLE. AS ALWAYS. OUGH. OH. OHMYGODDDDDDAAAAAAAAUUUGGGHHHH. I AM SO IN LOVE WITH HIM… AND THIS WORLD YOUVE CREATED… AND YOUR WRITING… JUST TOO GOOD… TOO AMAZING… TOO BEAUTIFUL... TOO PERFECT… GOD… the way you describe everything and anything… just so phenomenal. i am so in love with it all. always.<3
❤💕💖💗❤❣💞😭 I will never be able to express how grateful I am for your comments, j!!! pls know that they always make my day, and I am SO SO SO happy and glad to hear that you liked my writing!!! thank you so much!!!!!!!! ❤❤❣💕💞
marc spector- the wedding dress
Summary: The closer your wedding day gets, the grumpier your Man of Honor, Marc Spector, is. When he sees you in your dress, you realize it's not the wedding that’s putting him in a bad mood. It’s that you’re marrying someone else. (~2k)
Contents: fem!reader, friends to lovers, that thing where 2 dummies should’ve realized they were in love a long time ago
-----
“When I said I’d stand up for you at your wedding, you told me I didn’t have to do all of this stuff,” Marc said, his hands in his pockets, scowling at the wedding dress store.
You sigh, annoyed at him. “I just want you to look at it. The 3 other people on my side have seen it a million times and I need fresh perspective.”
Marc mutters to himself, glancing in the mirror.
You look around to make sure you two are alone, then you point at him. “Don’t even think about forcing Steven out here. I asked you to be in my wedding. You said yes. So sack up and and get ready to be honest.”
He half-rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t talking to Steven or Jake. I said, if you don’t like the dress then maybe you should pick another one.”
“I’ve tried on every fucking dress in this place,” you say, throwing up your hands.
“Okay, easy, watch the language in front of the dresses,” Marc says with a smile. “They still believe weddings are about love and not a multi-billion dollar industry designed-“
“Oh my God, shut up about that please.” You take the oversized garment bag off the rack and drape it over your arm. The dress shop had set it aside for you to try on a third time.
“-designed,” Marc keeps going, “to make you spend twenty grand on one event, when you could just go to the courthouse, and spend that money on a resort in Bora Bora, sipping drinks and getting railed.”
You glare at him.
He seems to realize he might have ranted a little too hard. He takes a step back. “Or whatever,” he says lamely.
Your lips shut tightly, you shut yourself into one of the changing rooms.
You try to tell yourself that the dress is the only problem, and not indicative of a whole bunch of problems you’ve had with this wedding.
Problems that your fiancée is no help with, by the way. He hadn’t wanted a big wedding either.
In a bid to try to get you to tone it down, he was stubbornly refusing to help you at all. Even when you'd told him that the wedding was important for your family.
“I told you,” you say to Marc through the door as you strip off your street clothes, “we wanted to get married and have a party. And if we’re going to have a party, I want a dress. And if I’m wearing a dress, then we might as well have a ceremony. You know what all that’s called? A wedding.”
You can practically hear Marc rolling his eyes.
You unzip the bag and study, again, the way the dress hangs. You bite your thumbnail.
It’s gorgeous.
Isn’t it?
It has a flouncy skirt with enough tulle to give it a bounce. The silky fabric has beading and stitching that look like vines and flowers running down the bodice and skirt, around the back and down the train. It’s low-cut in the front, with two straps so you won’t have to keep hiking it up all night.
You’d thought it was your dream dress, but something’s not right.
You take it off the hangar and dive into it, fighting to get it on all by yourself.
Your face is a little hot by the time you finish. You pull your hair back into a messy bun, hoping Marc can visualize it with a veil and everything. You move the train aside so you’ll be able to get out of the changing room.
“Okay, Spector, here we go. Look alive,” you say.
You open the door and step back into the main area.
Whatever reaction you’d expected to get pales in comparison to how Marc looks when he sees you. His dark eyes don’t blink. They stare at you. Up and down your dress, drinking you in. He’s literally slack-jawed. His lips move slightly, like he wants to speak, but can’t.
If you’d felt hot before, you're fire now, from your forehead all the way down to your belly button.
Marc’s never looked at you like this. Like his eyes can’t get enough of looking at the details of your dress and body. Almost like he-
He shakes his head.
“You look great,” he says gruffly, turning away.
You hold the skirt of the dress in your hands and move toward him.
Part of you wants to change back into your jeans and shirt. If you did, nothing would change. You know it in your heart.
But the way Marc had looked at you. Not like a friend.
Exactly like you wanted the love of your life to look when he saw you in your wedding dress for the first time.
“Marc,” you say softly, “why didn’t you say something?”
He lets out a short, harsh sigh. You expect him to brush it off, like he used to do with emotions. But in the few years you’ve known him, Marc's become different. Maybe it was getting to know Steven and Jake more, or maybe it was you. Probably both.
He’d said once that you were his first real friend. The only one he’d met in his adulthood who hadn’t wanted anything from him, who made him comfortable, who he trusted to look out for him. Even if he was way better at the protection thing because of the superhuman powers.
You knew he appreciated that you brought him groceries because your sixth sense told you they'd forgotten again. Or you found him a better gym, closer to his place. Made him do normal things like go to restaurants and watch trash TV.
You love him. But you’d never considered being in love with him.
You’d been in a relationship when you’d met Marc. Gotten engaged soon after.
Now, the wedding planning didn’t seem to be going right in any way, shape, or form.
Maybe because the most important thing about it was wrong.
Of course it was Marc. It always had been.
You reach out and touch Marc’s shoulder. Once upon a time, the gesture would’ve made him retreat from you. Instead, he turns around so he can face you, his brown eyes serious and his brows pulled down.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
A laugh snorts out of you. “Right now, your face says otherwise.”
He wiggles his eyebrows to unstick them. His mouth turns from a straight line to a mostly-smile. He can’t take his eyes off your dress.
He holds out his hand and you take it. He helps you turn a slow circle so he can see the back. When you face Marc again, he moves carefully closer to you. He slips a big hand around your waist.
His fingers trace the side of your face. You can tell how difficult this is for him. “If you really want to marry that guy, I’ll support you. But I gotta say, sweetheart, you’re making a huge mistake if you do.”
You rest your hands on Marc’s chest. He smells like shaving cream and Jake’s soap. Your heart beats hard against your chest. When his hand cups your face, you lean in to rest your forehead against his.
“I can’t marry him,” you say. “I know that now. I wish I’d known it two years ago.”
Marc’s thumb runs back and forth over your cheekbone. “I was a fucking mess when we met. And you seemed to have it all together. I thought I’d settle for having you in my life in any way I could. Even if was just Thursday trivia nights and group dinners.”
“Even if you had to watch me marry someone else?” You ask, your eyes opening to look into his.
Your foreheads and noses touch gently.
“I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you for months now. Steven and Jake stopped fronting the last couple of weeks. You might’ve noticed. They said I needed to tell you before it was too late. But I-“ he swallows, “-I was scared you’d never see me as more than a friend.”
Your body relaxes, like now that it’s all out in the open, everything can fall into place.
Your hands move up his chest and around his shoulders. You swear you feel him tremble.
“I love you, Marc. I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it,” you smile. “Or, I mean it in a different way.”
The hard muscles of his shoulders lose their stiffness. He straightens his head so he can look at your face fully.
“I want to kiss you so bad right now,” he says, his expression almost soft, “but I’m not going to. Not until you’re single. I want to start this the right way.”
The corner of your mouth lifts into a smile. “Yeah, and our first kiss probably shouldn’t be the same day I was going to put the final deposit down on a reception venue for a wedding to someone else.”
“And wearing the wedding dress.”
“And that,” you say, laughing.
Marc shakes his head, going serious again, thinking things through like he tends to do. “This is going to be hard for you, telling everyone, but I’m here. I can help.”
“Thank you. It’s easier now than if I’d figured it out in five years, that it’s you I’ve been in love with all along,” you say.
Marc smiles at you, a bigger smile than you’ve ever seen on his face.
“One kiss,” he says, unable to stop himself. “Hold still.”
He licks his lips lightly, his hand still holding your face. He leans forward, turning at the last second to kiss your cheek next to your mouth. His lips are warm and soft. It's a small gesture, really, but it means everything to you, and to Marc. You hold your breath, time standing still.
He pulls his face away.
You play with the curls of hair that meet his neck. “I never thought a sweet little kiss on the cheek could be so hot.”
“You just wait until I can kiss the rest of you,” Marc says with a teasing grin.
You tug his hair lightly, and you swear, you see a bonfire start in his eyes. You take note for the future.
“Stop flirting with me or you’re going to make me sweat. Then the dress would get dirty and I’d have to actually buy it," you say.
Marc looks down at your cleavage. “Might be worth it. What’s it cost?”
You hesitate.
He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Really?”
“It’s 3 grand.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” He backs away, his arms dropping away. He puts his hands on his hips.
You shrug. “In a way, it’s worth every penny. It got you to tell me how you really feel.”
Marc looks surprised, but pleased with the idea. “You’re right. In that case, it’s a steal. But if we ever get married, please don’t buy a dress that’s 3 thousand dollars.”
Your stomach flutters, but you don’t say anything.
Marc realizes his slip up, but doesn’t do more than smile and wave his hand at you. “Go put your real clothes back on. I’ll take you for burgers before we turn your life upside down.”
You have an uncontrollable smile as you walk back to the dressing room. “We’re not turning it upside down. We’re turning it right side up.”
You take off the dress carefully, but not before you take some pictures of yourself in it.
Maybe you’ll ask the dress shop to still keep it on hold. Or better yet, you’ll put some money down on it.
You bring the enormous garment bag back out with you and Marc takes it from you. You start to go to the counter to return it, but Marc grabs your hand and pulls you toward the exit. The sales staff smile and wave goodbye to you. One of them mouths “congratulations” at you.
“Marc, wait, the dress,” you say.
“Looks perfect on you,” he opens the door and gestures you outside. He grins. “And it was worth every penny.”
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dad!santiago- a night off
Summary: This one's for all the people out there who, after I posted Mission Mother's Day, revealed themselves to be as as horny for dad!Santiago Garcia as I am.
Contents: 🔥 18+ nsfw, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, little bit of praise/dirty talk (~3k)
-----
“I’m telling you, a resort’s the way to go,” Frankie argues over beers.
The bar’s a total dive, but quiet enough that they don’t mind a loud group of four guys arguing and telling the same stories over and over once week.
“I know it seems lame but trust me, not having to think about prices or activities or anything is the ultimate vacation,” he says, knife-handing all over the place, trying to make his point.
Santiago shakes his head. “It sounds boring.”
“It’s a vacation, pendejo,” Frankie says. “They have nannies on-site. So you and the mrs can have as much alone time as you want.”
“That might change my mind,” Santiago holds up his beer and Frankie taps it with his own.
Ben shrugs. “Could be fun. I’m down to bang milfs for a couple of weeks.”
Will shakes his head, disappointed but not surprised. “You’re not crashing their family vacation.”
“Come on. You love milfs. I know you lost your virginity to a woman significantly older than you,” Ben says, finishing off the dregs from his bottle.
There’s a few seconds of silence around the table.
Will licks his lips, avoiding eye contact.
“You gotta tell us,” Santiago says with a grin.
“Never,” Will says. “That one dies with me.”
“I’ll tell it,” Ben says with a smile. “She was the mom of a friend we had growing up. Will comes home on leave after he graduates boot camp. He runs into her at the grocery store, and she ends up cooking him dinner and taking his virginity.”
Will shoves his brother. “You’re an asshole.”
“I bet she let you have that too,” Ben says.
“Boooooo,” Frankie says.
“You are an asshole,” Santiago says with a grin.
Ben shrugs, looking around the table. He points at Frankie and Santi. “I mean, if anyone’s into milfs, it’s two guys with wives like yours. We were all there when Pope met the love of his life, and I’d bet cash money that Will and I both did the math on if we could get her away from your rickety-ass.”
Will shakes his head. “Speak for yourself.”
Santi’s eyes narrowed. “Did you just say you wanted to hit on my wife?”
Ben hesitates, but holding back has never been his strong suit. “She’s hot. So, yes?” He laughs. “And for the record, she’s still hot.”
Santiago takes a sip of beer. “Quit while you’re ahead, Ben. Only I get to call my wife a milf.”
His phone buzzes and he looks down.
Mrs. Garcia: Can you come home? Not an emergency, but I need you.
“I gotta go home,” Santi says, texting that he’ll be there asap.
“Everything okay?” Frankie asks. “Please tell me she’s not going into labor. It’s way too early.”
Santi shows him the text while Ben gets the check. Will DD’s everyone home, Santi first.
He bounds through the front door, going from room to room quickly. This time of night, you’re probably upstairs in bed. Which should’ve been the first place he checked, but he can’t help his instinct to clear the house first before he heads up the stairs.
He checks in on his sleeping son, glad to see he’s taken to his big boy bed tonight without a fuss. He and his son could go to sleep anywhere, as long as you were there to tuck them in.
Santiago finds you in the bedroom, lying down with your feet up on two stacked pillows, blankets a tangle at the bottom of the bed, your eyes closed.
“Baby, are you okay?” Santi sits on the bed and grabs your hand.
You start awake. “You fucking scared me.”
He looks confused. “You texted me that you needed me. I came home so fast I left my shoes on in the house,” he says, toeing off his boots. “What’s the rush, sweetheart?”
You look sad, but lately, your hormones are out of control, so really it could be anything.
“I ruined your boys night,” you say quietly.
“I spent most of my 20s sleeping next to those guys in freezing cold desert. Trust me, I’d much rather be here with you,” he smiles. It fades when he sees tears track down your face. He brushes them away. “Hey, what is it?”
Your chin wobbles. “I’m just really horny and I’m sorry I bothered you.” You cover your face and burst into tears.
He smiles, glad you can’t see. He doesn’t want to make light of your feelings, but the idea is ridiculous.
Santiago pries your hands away from your face and holds them. “First of all, you should always tell me what you’re feeling. I want to know about it. You know that. Second, all I want is be with you. Every second of every day.”
You sniffle. “You do so much, though. You deserve a night off.”
He blinks at you. “A night off? From you? Baby,” he pulls you in with a groan, “being with you is my time off. Every day since I met you is the garden of fucking Eden compared to my life before.”
You laugh, leaning on his shoulder. He kisses your head.
“You gonna let me take care of you?” He asks.
You look at him, frowning. “Don’t say it like you’re changing the oil on your truck.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Santi says with a raised eyebrow.
“I know. I’m so horny and sensitive from these stupid pregnancy hormones,” you say, grumpy.
“Okay, so what was your excuse before you were pregnant?”
You smack Santi’s arm and he laughs. He rubs the corners of his lips with his thumb and forefinger, then runs his hand over your thigh, catching the bottom of your nightgown under his thumb.
He pushes up the material, letting his hand drift to the inside of your thigh.
His brown eyes go almost black when his fingers touch your bare, sensitive skin.
“No underwear?” He says quietly.
“I had some on before,” you say, teasing him with the truth, “but as soon as I got in bed, I started thinking about that time we went to Bar Harbor. That little cottage on the water.”
Santi’s fingers play with the wetness between your legs. His other hands pushes you back gently so you lay down. You grab one of the pillows and work it under your hips.
“You got so needy you thought about 3 years ago, when I woke you up by eating you out?” Santi says, settling between your legs, like the sight of you is a magnet for his mouth. “Did you touch yourself?”
You shiver as he presses soft kisses inside your thighs.
“Yes, but it wasn’t enough. So, I texted you,” you say.
Santi props himself up on his elbows so you can see his face over the curve of your stomach. “This probably isn’t politically correct or whatever, but I think hearing you say that you can’t get off without me, made my dick harder than it’s ever been.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” You say, running your hand through the curls at front of his face.
He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin. “Not yet. This first.”
Santiago bends his head and wastes no time. He pushes his tongue into you all the way, one long thrust, licking and swirling inside of you with a satisfied moan. He pulls back and kisses your skin, letting his lips linger over your clit and the scruff around his mouth rub over your sensitive skin.
Your stomach’s big enough now that you can’t see Santiago between your legs anymore. You usually love to see his eyes looking up at you.
But within seconds, you’re not sure if you can remember your own name. You arch your hips toward his mouth, already on the edge.
“You’re so wet,” he licks through your skin, like he’s trying to scoop out your first orgasm with his tongue. “Fucking love it when you get like this.”
His deep groans vibrate his tongue as he licks and sucks on you, bringing you closer and closer to what you desperately need. You feel yourself start to tighten around his tongue and he inserts two fingers deep inside of you, massaging you, coaxing you to breathless orgasm. You turn your head so you can moan loudly into your pillow.
Santiago’s other hand snakes up your belly to play with your nipple and you sob, your thighs tightening around his head as you ride his fingers and mouth, letting your body shudder around him.
His hands keep your legs spread as you come down from your orgasm. He licks up every drop of liquid he can find inside and out.
He sucks gently on your clit and you arch, pushing him back.
“Sensitive,” you hear him say against you. He kisses the insides of your thighs, which you realize are shaking slightly.
He takes his t-shirt off as he rises onto his knees, smiling down at you.
“Do you want me to turn around?” You say, pulling your nightgown off the rest of the way.
“No, baby, stay right where you are.” He unzips his pants and shoves them off. “Don’t move. I want to look at you like this.”
He stays kneeling, spreading your legs even wider and letting your feet down on the mattress to brace yourself. He lifts your hips to fit against him. You feel the soft, hot tip of his cock immediately pop inside of you. He looks down at it, then traces his hands and his gaze up your belly, holding onto it as his eyes drink in the rest of you, finally landing softly on your face.
Santiago’s lips part and you could swear, for a second or two, he’s speechless.
He licks his lips, his eyes telling how much he loves you. “You’re so beautiful.”
You haven’t felt that way lately. You feel like you’re getting fatter every hour that goes by. Your skin is different, your emotions are out of control, and you’ve had a nagging fear at the back of your brain, that you’re doing everything wrong.
“I didn’t ask you to come home just for sex,” you say. “When we went to Maine, that was the first time you said you loved me.”
Santiago strokes his hands along your stomach, down your hips and thighs. “I still do.”
You smile at him, more relaxed than you’ve felt in days.
“So, do you want to,” you wave your hand toward the area where you can feel, but not see, Santiago about an inch inside of you, “or is this a 'just the tip' kind of night?”
He laughs, shaking his head at you. “I’d never lie to you like that. You know I’m an all or nothing kind of man. If you still want to.”
You nod. “I need it. I need you.”
“Fuck, the things you do to me,” he says, his smile fading as his hips push forward, filling you with his hard cock, stretching you out in a way that always feels just as good as that first time.
Santiago’s eyelids close, his lashes fluttering on his skin as he sinks all the way inside of you. His lips part and you can see his bottom lip quiver, just a touch, before it disappears, caught between his teeth.
This is why you’d needed him.
To feel loved, and to show him you love him. And to see the pleasure on his face.
His eyes open quickly, like he can feel you staring at him.
“You’re beautiful too,” you say.
He pulls out of you slowly, his eyes lost in yours, and pushes back in faster, to steal your breath and anything else you might say.
“No,” he says, a determined look on his face, “there’s nothing as beautiful as you right now.”
He thrusts steadily in and out of you, his thumb pushing against your clit, rubbing just fast enough to have your hips rising and squirming against him.
Your moans build as he fucks you faster, harder, the sound of your skin slapping together echoing in the room. You’re so wet Santiago actually slips all the way out of you once or twice. You’re sure you’re making a mess of his thighs and the sheets, but Santiago fucks you so good you don’t care about anything else. Just the slippery, hot way he fills you over and over again. How hard his hand grips your hip, holding you at the perfect angle so the head of his cock hits you exactly right. His other hand reaches up to find yours. Your fingers link into his.
“Let me watch you come,” Santiago says, his voice desperate and thick. “Please, fuck, sweetheart. So pretty when you come on my cock.”
You whine, your muscles starting to strain, your nerves tingling.
Santiago thrusts a touch faster. Your eyes pop open.
“There you go,” he says, looking almost drunk on the sight of you, his hips rocking against yours. “Right there. There’s my girl.”
You moan his name, your hand squeezing his so hard it almost hurts, but you need somewhere to put all of this pressure, the overwhelming feelings, like your body is going to snap and break apart, Santiago the only one who can put you back together again. The smooth snap of his hips and the rough pads of his fingers on your clit are the only air you need to breathe ever again.
A bead of sweat tracks down his forehead, over the curve of his nose, the rounded tip, before it falls off and onto your stomach.
“Come on, baby, I know you want to. Let me get you there,” Santi says. “So fucking good for me.”
Your soft walls start so squeeze around him, molding harder around his cock. His control slips just a fraction and he stutters into you. That’s what pushes you over the edge, the way he calls you his good girl one second, and then completely loses himself in the next.
Your beautiful Santiago.
You come for him so hard and loud, he has to reach up and cover your mouth with his own hand. Before your eyes squeeze shut, you see him smile, and feel him shove deeper inside of you, unable to hold back his own release, with you clenching around him like a second skin.
You scream his name over and over behind his fingers, Santiago fucking into you for as long as it takes. As long as you stay suspended in ecstasy, body shaking under him, he keeps going. What feels like an eternity of bliss and connectedness.
Santiago takes his hand away as your muscles start to relax again. When you can finally open your eyes, he uses his knuckles to wipe away tears you don’t remember crying.
His tan chest and shoulders heave up and down. He wipes his forehead with his bicep.
His eyebrows raise up, a silent question.
“I’m okay,” you say, relaxing deeper into the mattress. “That was perfect.”
Santiago looks down as he pulls out of you, using his discarded t-shirt to make sure you’re not too much of a mess. He squeezes your thigh and helps you turn and lay on your side.
He kisses your stomach, then your mouth, and pads off to the bathroom for a routine that you’re used to now. It never gets any less loveable. You hear the water run for a few seconds, and Santiago reappears.
“I can take care of myself,” you say quietly as he sits down on the bed with a warm washcloth. “I’m just going to shower anyway.”
“This is my second favorite part of sex,” he says. “Don’t deprive me.”
You chuckle as he starts gently rubbing your skin, just above your kneecaps and slowly higher. “Second favorite?”
He glances up at you before going back to work. “Third. Maybe.”
You smile, until you hear his phone go off from his pants, thrown in a heap on the floor. “You could still go over to Frankie’s. I’m sure he’d love the company. He’s solo parenting this week because of that last-minute work trip.”
Santiago looks at you like you’re crazy.
“What?” You say, propping yourself up on one of your elbows. “I cut your whole night short.”
Santiago snorts. “Please,” he say wryly.
“But they’re like your brothers,” you say, guilt gnawing at your gut again. “I feel like I owe you a night out now.”
Santi leans in to put his arms around you. “I love those guys, but you’re my everything, baby. They may have saved my life over the years, but I’ve saved theirs too. So, we’re all even. You? I could never repay you.” He rests his hands on the generous curve of your stomach. “Two perfect children. A life I never thought I’d have.”
“It’s not like that,” you say, rubbing your hand over his face. His sharp cheekbone and the raspy hair along his jaw. “I love you. And you deserve love. I know you still feel like you don’t sometimes. You don’t owe me anything, Santiago.”
He sighs good-naturedly. “Same goes, sweetheart.”
“Okay,” you give in. “I guess we’re stuck with each other, then.”
“We are. All four of us. And I wouldn’t change a thing,” Santiago says, his hand sliding around your body to rub along your spine.
You groan, relaxing into his touch, telling yourself you’ll get up in a minute and shower. Check on your son. Make sure the lights are off.
But you’re asleep in seconds, just like Santiago knew you would be.
It’s true, marriage isn’t about keeping score or who does what for who. It’s just as true, though, that everything he does is for you and the kids.
He used to care so much about the mission, whether something could be labeled success or failure.
What you’ve given him, he can’t even put into words.
You let him be himself. Completely himself in a way no one ever has.
No, it’s not about repaying you, Santiago thinks as he carefully covers your sleeping body with the sheet and blankets. It’s about loving you the best way that he can, for as long as he can. A mission he’ll never need a night away from.
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please lmk if you'd like to be removed- i promise not to take it personally!
I really and I mean i absolutely love your moon knight fics like thank you ❤️❤️ I want to appreciate the love and hardwork you put into your fics 🥹 I want to say more but im incredibly sleep deprived but still i thank you 🥰
THANK YOU SO MUCH 💕💕💕 this is so so kind of you, it has me smiling even though I've been doing assignments all day 😭 hopefully I can get back to writing soon!! school has been super busy but I think about the boys all the time, I miss them so much!!!
I’m sorry 🥺
you know what we don’t talk about enough???
santi flinching when the first shot rings out and the way his eyes immediately harden and turn cold and and and ugh
bringing back my own post to say this also just fucking shows how talented oscar is🫶🏼
one day I’ll finally write that ridiculously elaborate fanfiction that I’ve been carefully constructing in my daydreams for months and then you’ll be sorry. you’ll all be sorry.
let it out, let it in; m.k.
pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader
summary: how the boys support you through disordered eating.
warnings: disordered eating, body insecurity, mentions of food, hurt and comfort.
word count: 1.9k
notes: disordered eating looks different from person to person, and so I've tried to keep these headcanons as general as possible while also drawing from personal experiences. please heed the warnings, and take care of yourselves 💕
MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS
they’re too perceptive for their own good—maybe you keep declining food, have lied one too many times that you’ve already eaten or aren’t hungry—but they get a suspicion about your habits before you open up to them about it.
“you feeling alright?” jake frowns at your plate, still mostly full even though he’s finishing up. you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.
“still full from breakfast, I guess.”
marc is quick to chime in. “she barely ate anything this morning.”
jake hums, chewing slowly to give them some time to think. they don’t tend to hide their internal conversations from you, though to be frank—they don’t know how to bring it up. they’ve never had to deal with something like this before.
the worry tightens in their chest, but no one has any suggestions. you swallow uneasily, and he pretends to not notice you squirming in your seat. whatever it is, now is clearly not the time to talk about it.
so instead, jake just smiles kindly at you, nodding. “okay, then.”
steven reads. he’s read tombs and textbooks and has an encyclopaedias’ worth of knowledge in his head, and loves to tell you about his newest discoveries just as much as you love seeing his eyes light up with wonder.
but when they first start to suspect that something is wrong, he starts a little collection on body image as well—the ways that insecurity can affect someone’s thoughts, signs of disordered eating, how to support a loved one when they’re struggling.
while steven shares the information with the others through many mirror discussions, it’s ultimately decided that he’s the one who should talk to you about their concerns.
it’s a quiet night. you’re curled up on steven like a cat, head resting on his chest as the credits to a movie roll on the television in front of you. you should probably start getting ready for bed, but his arm is so warm around your waist that you have half a mind to just fall asleep on the couch.
“I love you.” everything about him is soft as he turns to you, and you can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips. “you know you can tell me anything, right?”
“of course,” you reply, laughing a little at the seriousness of his tone. “what’s this about?”
when he holds your gaze, eyes warm as they are sad, you realize—they know. they know, and the embarrassment lumps in your throat, it’s so stupid—
steven doesn’t let your mind spiral any further, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.
“it’s okay, love. you don’t have to say anything right now.” his lips move gently against your hair. your heart might beat its way out of your chest. “all of us. any of us. whenever you’re ready, we’ll be here, yeah?”
they hold true to those words; they don’t pressure you after that conversation with steven, being as understanding and caring as they’ve ever been as they give you the space to work through things on your own.
when you finally open up to them about your struggles, it’s both terrifying and relieving. you’ve had to hide from them for so long—the weight lifts off your back as you speak, and even though it’s marc who holds you when tears start to form in your eyes, you feel all their love surround you.
of course, it’s not perfect right off the bat.
marc is hypervigilant, and sometimes goes a little overboard in trying to make sure nothing triggers you.
steven frets a lot, and you feel his not-so-secret glances towards you whenever you pause during a meal.
jake is a big words of affirmations guy, and has to consciously remind himself that even positive comments on how you look can be detrimental sometimes.
but they’re always trying to be better in supporting you, and eventually, it becomes second nature for them.
cooking is one of marc’s love languages. you feel the guilt settle in your stomach whenever you decline something that he’s lovingly made for you, but he knows better than to take it personally.
it’s a difficult conversation, but marc makes you tell him of any food rules you might have—what you will and won’t eat, your preferred methods of preparation. your face might burn furiously, admitting them aloud, but he doesn’t judge you at all, only listening intently to make sure he doesn’t miss anything.
he makes sure that the kitchen is always stocked with your safe foods and won’t even hesitate to pivot on what he’s making if you tell him that it’s a bad day.
“sorry,” you mumble as marc pulls out the necessary ingredients, making room on the counter beside the actual dinner he had planned. you can’t bring yourself to look at him, but he casually waves off your embarrassment.
“don’t be.” he gives one last look at the spread in front of him. “this is everything, right?”
you nod, still facing the ground, and he hums triumphantly. it’s a surprise when his hands suddenly grip your waist, lifting you into the air, and you yelp as you reach out to steady yourself on his shoulders.
“marc—!”
“I’ve got you.” he places you on the dining table, giving your thigh a reassuring pat before turning back. “keep me company as I cook?”
well, you would’ve agreed without the manhandling, and you open your mouth to tell him that, but then you realize his intent—up on the table, you have a clear view of the counter and stovetop. you’ll be able to watch everything he does, and you won’t have to worry about there being too much or too little of anything.
his consideration makes your retort die on your tongue. if marc notices, he doesn’t mention it, only raising an eyebrow as he waits for your response.
the corner of your lips tugs upward. “of course.”
steven gently encourages you to talk to someone about your issues if you aren’t seeing one already.
the boys started seeing a therapist a few months back (mostly for marc’s benefit), and he notes how helpful it’s been for them, just having someone give another perspective on things.
if you’re nervous about anything, he assuages you by opening up about their own experiences—what each session is like, how they knew their therapist was right for them.
he kind of. really gets into helping you find the right one.
steven’s got his reading glasses on as he peers down at his laptop, scrolling slowly through a list of headshots and short biographies of therapists in london so that you can read through them. there’s several piles of pamphlets scattered across his desk, and a notebook scrawled with his handwriting beside him.
“what about him?” he gestures to one of them, and to be honest, you’re not sure what to glean from some dude’s picture.
“I mean, I guess he looks fine?”
he jots something down and you make an indignant noise. from what he’s told you, that’s a thing that happens in therapy a lot, but it still makes you burn with curiosity.
“you can always switch therapists if you don’t get along,” steven reminds you. at your pointed gaze towards his notebook, he slides it over so you can see that he’s just crossed out the guy’s name. “but you should feel some kind of connection before going to meet ‘em. wouldn’t want to spill your guts to a complete stranger, would you?”
“won’t they be a stranger regardless?”
“well, yes, but—” the cursor dances across the screen as he speaks with all the crispness of a judge on a cooking show. “—personally, I think this guy looks funny, and she looks like a librarian who’d shush you for breathing too loud, and he doesn’t seem to believe in the oxford comma—”
“okay!” you laugh, and he beams at the sound. “yeah, okay, I get it. we can keep going, then.”
steven meets your gaze with a grin—two lovers on a mission. “ab-sol-utely.”
once you finally settle on someone, jake drives you to and from every appointment, no questions asked.
one hiccup is that there are mirrors all over the flat. of course there are—it makes it easier for the boys to talk to each other.
but that does mean that you tend to see your reflection wherever you turn: in the washroom, beside the front door, on a fridge magnet.
even if you don’t mention it to them, they figure it out anyways. the boys are the boys, after all.
jake’s never been one for subtlety. his arms wrap around your torso as you stand in the living room, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “do you want to cover the mirrors?”
“what?”
“the mirrors.” his eyes flicker to yours in the reflection of the one in front of you, holding your gaze even as you shift uneasily. “do they bother you?”
so they have noticed. you twist your face while you think, knowing better than to try and downplay your emotions. the mirrors definitely don’t help, but…
“don’t you guys need them?”
jake snorts, shaking his head. “couldn’t get these pendejos out of my head even if I tried.”
despite his lightheartedness, you furrow your brow. he presses a kiss to your cheek.
“we’ll be fine,” he states, then slips away to grab the discarded cloth at the foot of the mirror. he drapes it over the frame and immediately moves along to his next target. a tiny square one is plucked off the wall and tucked under his arm without ceremony.
you trail after him at he picks away at the flat. “you don’t have to do this now, it’s alright.”
“why not?” he clicks the tri-mirror shut. “still worried about us, querida?”
“well, I mean—”
his voice shifts, soft accent disappearing into something equally as familiar. they haven’t shifted—it’s still jake in front of you, but when he speaks, steven’s voice is what comes out. “seriously, tell her we don’t mind.”
you stop in your tracks. jake’s skill in impersonation is unparalleled, and it surprises you every time. he continues, this time, marc’s dry wit seeping through. “if anyone’s going to be bothered by the lack of mirrors, it’ll be mr. knight over here.”
your laugh catches you off guard. jake grins at his alters’ antics, still crystal clear in his mind even when he’s pulling you into a hug.
“you see? we don’t need mirrors.” he taps a finger at his temple. “now, let’s finish up, hm?”
because at the end of the day, the boys are there for you.
they’ll never want to make you feel like a burden because of your issues, and will always do their best to support you.
they might mess up at times, but there’s never a doubt in your mind that they care.
and even on your worst days, when you feel out-of-control with your habits, they’re waiting with warm arms and kind words. your wonderful, sweet boys—making living so much easier for you, and hopeful for your future to come.
oughhhhhghghghgh rereading this beautiful fic again…
when he holds your gaze, eyes warm as they are sad, <-screams and wails
it’s marc who holds you when tears start to form in your eyes, you feel all their love surround you. <-cries
his consideration makes your retort die on your tongue. if marc notices, he doesn’t mention it, only raising an eyebrow as he waits for your response. <-face in my hands sobbing
your wonderful, sweet boys—making living so much easier for you, and hopeful for your future to come. <-WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
sob sob sob i love this i need this i love them i need them. so much. thank you so much for this perfect amazing sweet lovely healing heartwarming fic, op. i am holding it very close and i am cherishing it very much. your writing is so so gorgeous. </3 <3 🫶 🫂
thank you so so SO much for the kind words 💕😭 it makes me so happy to hear that you liked my fic (I cannot accurately represent it through text alone, seriously I am GIDDY), just--thank you thank you thank you!!!!
poe dameron- first loves
Summary: Rekindling the romance you’d had with Poe as teenagers takes a backseat to the war and the Resistance. But when he convinces you to join up, you have no idea if you can finally be together, or if you should find someone who puts you first.
Contents: no gender pronouns, fluff, past relationship, one OC (male, love triangle guy), The Angst, friends to lovers (~6.6k)
-----
"First loves never last."
"I would say your mother was my first love."
"I don’t believe that for a fucking second."
Kes laughs, a low rumble that fills the kitchen. "Not in every way. But in the ways that mattered. She was my first. And my only."
"I can't settle for less than what you and mom had."
"I wouldn't expect you to, son. And you'll have it. Too much of your mother in you not to. I mean, the only settling she ever did was for my dumb ass."
"Yeah, you did have a way of luring her in."
"Arguing, you mean. I argued my way right into her heart and into her bed."
"Whoa, okay."
"I'm only saying that true love, like your mother and I had, well, it looks different than you might expect. Might even be that you didn't recognize it the first time you came across it."
Poe sighs. "First loves never last," he says again.
And you, outside, hearing the exchange, know he's talking about you. It’s your own fault.
Eavesdroppers never hear anything good.
But Maker, hearing Kes and Poe talking over breakfast like this, it was just so tempting, so homey. The kind of everyday thing you had dreams about. Poe.
So you'd leaned against the outside wall and listened.
It was only right you'd heard something that broke your heart. You shouldn't have been listening in the first place.
You usually made yourself busy when Poe came home to visit. A passing hello at a cantina, a quick hug if you dropped something off to Kes, a nod to each other at the market. Anything to avoid a real conversation.
Just as well apparently.
Maybe you should say yes the next time someone asked you on a second date, or a third. Maybe what you'd been waiting for, that thrill, that excitement, maybe Poe was right and all of that was just the sparkle of first love.
It wasn't right to expect it to feel like that with anyone else.
Still hung up on the boy you loved when you were a kid. It was difficult to admit how pathetic you sounded.
Footsteps.
You bound off the porch and turn right back around, making it look like you were just walking up.
Poe comes out the kitchen door, face lighting up with a smile when he sees you. He pulls you in for a hug. The stubble on his jaw scratches your cheek and makes you ache.
"Hey, been awhile,” he says. His eyes are still big and friendly, putting you at ease even with everything you’ve just heard.
"Yeah, months." You hold up the bag of parts you brought. "Couple of things for Kes's droid that's laid up."
His hand is still on your back where he’d rested it when he hugged you. He pulls with the slightest pressure. "Come in, we're just having breakfast. There's enough for three."
He would be this nice, after he's unwittingly broken your heart a second time.
"No, I have to get to work," you smile and hand him the bag, knowing it’ll get him to stop touching you. "Tell Kes if he can't get the wiring swapped out, I can drop by tonight and work on it."
Poe glances in the bag. "Why don't you drop by anyway, have dinner with us?"
"Oh did I say tonight? I meant tomorrow."
Poe's smile falters. "Right. Well, maybe I'll see you in town? Buy you a drink."
"Maybe." You nod. "Lot of repair work though, almost harvest time."
"Yeah, you’re taking over your dad’s shop right? Congratulations."
"If I can ever get him to retire. Thanks."
"Actually, I had a bit of a problem with my landing gear when I got here. I know you've always wanted to get your hands on Black One. If you can spare a couple hours, I could use your hands with the repair."
You raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious.
"What?" He shrugs, grinning. "You won't talk to me so I have to think of something. And it's not a lie. Job would be a lot faster with you. Hell, you'd probably finish it faster without me."
He reaches out, runs his hand down your arm. "Please say yes."
"You know all my weaknesses," you say with a brief smile.
"Yeah, they're mostly mechanical." Poe smiles back. "Except, well, you know," he says, his tone turning personal, teasing, just the kind of flirting that's natural to him, and now, completely painful for you.
You look away. "I'll come by tonight after work."
Poe frowns, lines in his forehead that he didn't used to have, deepening at your uncomfortable reaction. "Thanks. I appreciate it."
Kes leans against the doorway, judgmental without moving a single muscle. He nods to you as you wave goodbye.
*****
“And yes, we have mechanics. Obviously. But we don’t have anyone like you. You’ve always had the touch. Maybe it’s because I dared you to lick the uneti tree so many times when we were kids and you always did.”
“Poe.”
“And your heart. You have this tough exterior, but we need that in the Resistance. You never wore your heart on your sleeve, but be real, though, we both know your face says everything you’re thinking.”
“Poe.”
“I’m sure I could get you stationed on D’Qar with me. Just until you get your feet under you. Unless you don’t want to. I understand. Things have been weird between us for awhile now.”
“Poe.”
“But this has been good, right? Fixing a ship together. Like old times.”
He finally takes a breath to look at you. The sun is going down behind him, a warm, distracting halo. His dark, curly hair waves a little in the breeze. You haven’t gotten your hands through that hair in years, but you easily recall the feeling. How much he liked it pulled and tugged when you’d sit on his lap and kiss him, hands and lips all over each other for hours at a time.
“What?” He says.
“I finished ten minutes ago.” You look away from his hair. Every part of him is a distraction.
“Oh,” he ducks his head to look up into the belly of Black One. “Shit. Looks like I was right. Faster without me.”
“Would’ve been faster without you monologuing in my ear the whole time,” you joke. You wipe your hands and start to do the same to your tools, putting them carefully back in the pack you used to bring them over in.
“It’s not a monologue. It’s a recruitment speech,” he grins. “How’d I do?”
You pretend to think it over, dramatically, winding up for a sarcastic reply. But for the first time, you think maybe he’s right. He’s out there doing something important, just like his parents had done before him.
“It’s not forever,” he says, his gaze softening. “The war, I mean. We’ll win eventually. Every person we have makes a difference. You would make a big one.”
You squat down to zip up your pack. “Me? One mechanic?”
He half shrugs. “Having you there would make a difference to me. Plus, I know Leia would love to meet the woman who used to lick the uneti tree.”
“You did not tell Leia Organa about that,” you stand up and push his shoulder, mouth agape.
“I definitely told her about it. She said it was a meditation she’d never heard of, and she wanted to know what it tasted like,” Poe laughs.
“Tell her it tasted like tree bark,” you say, laughing with him.
“Tell her yourself.” His hands rest on your arms, sliding down to take your hands. He grips them firmly, thumbs rubbing over your skin. “There’s a Resistance ship coming through not far from here next week. I’m putting your name on the list for pick-up. Find a way to get on it.”
You look back toward the Dameron house, at the beautiful, lush trees and gorgeous sunset. You think of your parents, starting dinner by now, lovingly bickering at how spicy to make the meat. Your brother and his wife, who’d been through so much to find each other, hoping to get pregnant soon. It’s all you’ve ever known.
As if he knows what you’re thinking, Poe wraps his arms around you, holds you to him. So close you hear his heartbeat.
“Yavin Four isn’t going anywhere. It never does,” he says.
Your arms hug him back of their own volition. You close your eyes, wishing things had been different. Wishing that you could have something different. But this is what Poe has to give you. A chance to be part of something bigger, something that matters, something that will protect everything you love. Including him.
“You smell like home,” he says as he kisses your temple.
It stops your heart. You pull away from him.
“Okay,” you say.
His face goes from warm and loving, which you’re sure means something different to him than it does to you, to almost shocked. “You’re joining the Resistance?” He says, gigantic smile forming.
You nod. “You’re right. It’s not forever. And I can’t let you get all the glory, can I?”
Poe hugs you hard, leans back to look at you again. “You’re going to love D’Qar. I’m sure we’ll have to move on eventually, but it’s almost like home. Green and it has some really beautiful rivers and lakes. The food’s not as good, but nowhere’s as good as here.”
He puts his hands on either side of your face and kisses your lips. It’s quick and hard, something halfway between lovers and friends.
“It’s hard work, but you’re going to be great at it,” he says excitedly.
“I’ll have to be, to keep up with you and the rest of your pilots.”
His face falls slightly. “I didn’t even think about that. I’m going to have to share you with the rest of the fucking base. Well, I’m cutting the line. Old boyfriend’s privilege. Plus, not to brag, but Black One’s going to be your favorite fighter. Just like I’m your favorite pilot.”
You roll your eyes. “Overconfident as always.”
He cups your face in his hands, still smiling. “Pays to be overconfident. I just got the best kriffing mechanic in the galaxy to join the Resistance. The ideas you’re going to have,” he says, “I can’t wait. You’re going to love it.”
*****
You hate it. The transport to D’Qar is crowded. More people than you’re used to seeing in one place unless it’s a wedding or a funeral, all packed into a ship not meant to hold this many.
Anxiety keeps you from making eye contact, even though people seem friendly enough.
A man in a suit lays his hand on your arm as you walk by. He shuffles over to make a space for you, helps you stow your bag under the bench.
He looks a little older than you, the face of someone who’s curious about everyone he meets, handsome and charismatic. Not in the same way Poe is, a little more polished. But a friendly face is a friendly face and your gut tells you that he’s genuine.
He shakes your hand. “I’m Renford.”
You introduce yourself. “I’m new.”
“That nice to hear. We need everyone we can get.” He smiles warmly. It makes you smile, feel less anxious.
“Are you in the Resistance?” You say.
“Yes, but I’m a diplomat. I don’t usually wear a uniform.” He sounds a little apologetic about it, wistful.
“I’ve never met a diplomat before,” you say, sitting back in your seat. “The Resistance isn’t an actual government. What does a diplomat even do? Sorry, that sounded rude.”
“No, it sounded honest.” He smiles. “I do a lot of talking, convincing. I try to find sympathetic ears and hope they have deep pockets and supplies to spare.”
“That sounds exhausting. I work with machines. At least those come with an instruction manual.”
Renford laughs. “You’d be surprised what you can learn from a person just from a first meeting. For instance, I can tell that you’re nervous about joining up.” He looks around, everyone involved in their own conversations, or trying to settle in to sleep. “You know, I was a little reluctant at first, too. Not because I didn’t believe in the cause. I just wasn’t sure I could do much. I was a teacher before I joined. But my mother told me that it wasn’t about experience or even numbers. It was about hope. And that, I always have.”
The perspective is reassuring.
“I think I have that too. I just haven’t really known what to hope for,” you say.
It’s an answer that clearly makes him think.
During the trip to D’Qar, you spend the entire time talking to Renford. Someone from an entirely different place, with an entirely different story than yours.
When he asks if you’d like to have a drink with him after you get settled in, you say yes.
Poe is the first person you see after you land, as you walk down the ramp from the ship. And your heart soars when you see him, waiting for you. He runs up to hug you, taking your bag and putting his arm around your waist.
He has a small cut on his face and a bruise on his chin. It makes your stomach queasy, thinking of how regularly he gets injured. Although, it could have been a cantina fight. He’d never been one to start them, but he knew how to finish them.
“Renford,” Poe says with a nod. His brown eyes sharpen as he notices the way Renford is still standing next to you. “You two know each other?”
“We met on the transport,” you say, stupid nervous energy threading through your voice. “He was going to show me the cantina after I drop my stuff off.”
“Come by the command center when you’re ready,” Renford says to you. “I’ll show you that mapping system we talked about. I’d like to see what you think about it before we go for a drink. Commander Dameron.” He leaves with a friendly smile.
Poe’s jaw is a little stiff as he watches Renford walk away. “Big fish,” he says to you.
“What?”
You start walking across the tarmac, Poe’s arm still around you.
“Renford,” Poe says, studying you out of the corner of his eye. “He’s a big deal. His family’s important to the Resistance. Was big news when they defected with Leia.”
“He said he was a teacher,” you say. Now that you think about it, his suit was a little too nice. He has the best manners of anyone you’d ever met.
“Well, he’s no Poe Dameron.”
You roll your eyes. “You can’t be serious. Poe, you’re not-“
“What? Jealous? I’m allowed,” he says with an uneasy smile.
“I'm not yours to be jealous about Poe. You don't think of me like that anymore.”
He stops outside of one of the buildings. “I never said that.”
You cross your arms. “Not to my face you didn't.”
Poe frowns, lips pouting slightly. “What do you mean by that?”
You can’t look him in the eyes. “First loves don't last,” you say.
Even in your periphery, you can see the immediate recognition on his face. As much as Poe loves to talk, he tends to remember everything.
He looks unhappy with himself. “Okay, I did say that but-“
You shake your head. “You were right.”
“Right,” he says reluctantly, “I mean, no. I was wrong.”
Your heart aches. “Poe, I didn’t come all the way here to make things awkward. And I didn’t come to try and get back together with you.”
His lower jaw works left and right, something that tells you he’s thinking, considering.
“So, you’re not open to that?” He asks.
“I don’t think so. Not anymore.” You force the words out of your mouth. Something you could never say before. But maybe the more you say them, the more true they’ll be.
He clears his throat, looks away. “Your quarters are in this building. Your roommates should be in the mess hall waiting for you. I told them all about you.”
Poe hands you your bag.
“Thanks.”
He nods, looking at you. “You could do worse than Renford.”
“It’s not like we’re getting married or anything. It’s one drink,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.
“It’s one kiss,” he says with a grin.
Your stomach swoops. The same words he’d used to convince you to give him your first kiss when you were teenagers. But it hadn’t stopped there.
Months and months of sneaking off together, making out under the stars, making plans, changing them, re-making them.
“I made a lot of reckless decisions back then,” he says. “I still do, sometimes. I know I hurt you. The way I left Yavin.”
“It was years and years ago. Things are good between you and Kes now. And between me and you.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t talk to me anymore,” he says firmly.
You shrug. “What is there to say?”
“I’m sorry. That’s what I have to say.” His tone softens as he pulls you into a hug. You drop your bag and hug him back.
“I appreciate it.” You squeeze him and let go, but Poe doesn’t.
“I regret a lot of things-“
“Stop. It means enough that you said you’re sorry for the way you left.”
“I was going to say that I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch.” He holds your head securely against his shoulder. “Prettiest face I ever saw.”
Finally, he lets you go, picks up your bag and hands it to you a second time. His brown eyes are… for the first time ever, you look into Poe’s eyes and you’re not sure what he’s thinking.
*****
Your routine in the Resistance is simple.
You wake up, go to the maintenance briefing, work, eat lunch, work, and work, and work, and work, then dinner (sometimes liquid at the cantina), flop into bed exhausted and satisfied with your day.
True to his word, Poe jumps the maintenance line so you’re always the lead on whatever Black One needs. He takes a lot of shit for it, but absorbs it all with a big smile.
Somehow word gets around that you’re an ex of his. Not a casual one like you’ve heard he has around base, but one from Yavin, and you think it’s kept anyone from asking you out. Not that you’d have time anyway.
Everyone’s so friendly. Poe was right, it’s like a family.
He’s what makes it feel like one.
You’re hunched over a datapad, late one night, getting some fresh air outside of the hangar, overalls unzipped and eating a half a sandwich.
A familiar arm settles over your shoulder. “Whatcha reading?” Poe says.
You flip it over and set it on a cargo container. “None of your business.”
“I’m nosy by nature. You can’t keep a secret from me.” He grins. “I see you have dinner covered, but we’re going to have drinks and talk bullshit if you want to come. I’m leaving for a week or so, be a good chance to hang out for awhile.”
You look at him, his smile and brown eyes in the moonlight. It will never not make your heart twist. “No, I have some studying to catch up on.”
“For what?” He asks with mocking patience.
Oh boy. He isn’t going to like this.
“I wasn’t going to say anything until it was sure, but I’m thinking about switching fields.”
Poe looks at you seriously. “To what?”
You hesitate. Poe takes his arm back, rolling his eyes.
“Kriff, not that. Come on. Tell me it’s not him.”
“It’s not Renford,” you say, “but you know we talk whenever he comes back and he sees something in me.”
“I bet he does,” Poe says dryly.
You kick his boot with yours good-naturedly. “Shut up. He thinks my brain is good for something other than engines and toolboxes.”
“Of course it is. You couldn’t do half the things you do without a genius brain in your thick skull.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “There was a compliment in there somewhere.”
He grins. “You’re a genius. You know it. I know it.”
“He agrees. But he sees how good I am with the systems and working parts of a starfighter and thinks I can use those skills on a bigger scale. Maybe fleet planning or even politics. He says I pick up the details of things faster than anyone he’s ever seen.”
“Yeah, because usually if you don’t get the details right, BB-8 bumps his round little ass into you to complain that he almost got ejected out into cold, dead space.” Poe sighs, runs a hand through his messy hair.
You smile.
He smiles back at you. His shoulders lift and drop in resignation. “I wouldn’t want to hold you back,” he says. “Go for it, if it’s what you want.”
You aren’t totally sure what you want. It’s not like you’re trying to change jobs and get away from him, but you were thinking of it as a perk.
You settle for the simple truth. “Honestly, I haven’t made up my mind. It sounds like a good opportunity.”
You rub your hands over your arms and Poe reaches out to pull up your overalls for you, helping you put your arms in, untuck the collar so it sits right.
His hands are warm. His fingers fiddle with the zipper as he stands too close to you.
“It’s none of my business,” Poe says quietly.
“But?”
“I think you’d be great at it,” he says after a beat of silence. The heat in his eyes cools slightly.
“Really?” You say.
He looks tired. “You’d be great at anything.”
“Poe, come on. I mention another guy one time, a guy I’m just friends with by the way, and you act all mopey?”
“I know,” he says, hands sliding up your arms to cup your neck and face. His gaze is searching, looking into you and drawing out everything you feel. “But you’re mine. Always have been.”
You close your eyes, knowing he probably already saw the sheen of tears in them. “So I’m supposed to wait around, being yours, and you’re not mine? You get to fly around almost getting blown up? Flirt with everyone? Have a couple of ex-partners who still size me up whenever I see them?”
“I know it’s not fair, but I can do better,” Poe says.
You open your eyes. Poe’s face is determined. You know that look.
“Let me try to do better by you,” he says.
“I don’t want to be with someone who thinks of me as hard work,” you say sadly. “If we were meant to be together, it wouldn’t be this difficult. You wouldn’t have to try so hard.”
“I wouldn’t have to try so hard if you’d stop resisting.”
“It’s called the Resistance,” you tease him.
He smiles. “How about this, you meet me a couple of times a week. We catch up. Sit outside under the stars for awhile. Like we used to.”
You give him a wide-eyed look.
“Maybe not exactly like we used to. But if you're offering,” he grins. “I’ll bring a blanket just in case.”
First loves never last, you tell yourself.
Poe sees the shadow pass over your face. He kisses it away.
He’s warm. His lips are soft, but there’s nothing soft about the way he pulls you against him. Like he’s been desperate to do this very thing for a long time now.
His scruff rubs against you as he turns his head, changes the angle of the kiss so he can fit his lips against yours again, open enough to tease you with the tip of his tongue.
“I still love you,” he whispers into your mouth. “Forget what you heard me tell my dad, please.”
“I love you too. Tell me you didn’t mean what you said to him,” you say, kissing him again.
He licks your lips, one of his hands running down your body to grip the flesh of your hip. “I couldn’t be with you, not when you were back on Yavin and I was here. That’s what I meant by ‘first loves don’t last.’ People change. I thought we’d changed too much to be together anymore.”
You moan lightly as you kiss Poe, your fingers tangled through his hair. You pull his head back slightly so you can look on him.
“Is that really why you recruited me?” You ask.
His face is a mess of emotions. “Not the only reason. Your work speaks for itself. People are literally mad when you don’t have time to put hands on their machines.” He takes a deep breath. “But it was personal too, of course it was. I love you, but I don’t think I could be with someone who sat out this entire war. Did nothing while the First Order tries to destroy the galaxy.”
You let your hands fall out of his hair, a pit forming in your stomach. “I wasn’t doing nothing.”
He almost winces, sensing his mistake. “I know.”
“My brother can’t leave Yavin because of his wife. She needs him. My parents are older than Kes. I was over there every morning and every afternoon, doing things for them. Fixing something or making sure they’d gone to the market. I wasn’t hiding.” You back away from Poe, the night air making you cold again. “Not everyone is like you, Poe. Brave enough to run into a firefight. Feeling like you have nothing to lose.”
He tilts his head. His shoulders stiffen. “I have everything to lose. We all do. You’ve seen what the Order is doing out there.”
“I meant personally, Poe. You go into every mission like you don’t care who you leave behind.”
“That’s not true,” he says sharply. “I always say goodbye to you before I leave, just in case.”
“I appreciate that, I do. It doesn’t change anything, though. You don’t make safer choices, you don’t-“
“I feel like I’m always trying to drag everyone forward with me,” he grunts in frustration. “I feel like I’m pulling the entire fucking Resistance by myself sometimes. If you want me to care less, then you don’t love me. You don’t even know me.”
“That’s not what I mean,” you say.
Everything’s coming out wrong.
Poe’s heart is the best thing about him. You know leadership doesn’t weigh easily on his shoulders, but he does it because his heart tells him to. And your heart has, honestly, always been his.
Yes, the injustice and pain that the First Order is causing makes you work long, hard hours. But you try, every day, to support Poe. Whether it’s a semi-crazy plan he has that he swears will work like a charm, or making sure BB-8 is cleaned up after a mission.
You’ve been doing everything you can for him. It stings that he hasn’t seen it that way.
“I want to help you win the war,” you say.
“Then act like it.” Poe stalks a few steps away. He rubs his forehead. “I can’t fight with you right now, I have to leave early. I should be in bed already.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “Fine. We can talk another time.”
Poe shakes his head. “Maybe we shouldn’t. A guy can only handle so much rejection. Especially when he's not used to it.” He tries to smile, but it’s thin and tired looking.
You reach out for him, but he’s already walking away from you.
“I’ll see you when I get back,” he says. “But don’t wait for me anymore, okay? If you can move on, maybe you should. Maybe we both should.”
He says it casually, like it’s not breaking both of your hearts.
Without a backward glance, he’s gone.
*****
When Renford holds your hand, it gives you a warm feeling.
Not the tingles. Not butterflies. But it’s solid and real.
It could be love, if you let it grow. Not the tangled, lush jungle you had with Poe. But something you’ve cultivated on purpose, carefully nurtured to bloom. There’s beauty in that, too, you think.
You go whole stretches of the day now without thinking about Poe Dameron. Without feeling that clutch of pain in your stomach when you hear someone talking about him. When you can feel happy for his success, without the stab of wanting to run over and hug him.
The ache, though, never goes away. Sometimes you can almost feel your fingers go numb.
Your mind wanders and you wonder why you’re thinking about a cold glass of water with grease smeared on the outside of the cup. A grinning face holding a tool just out of your reach until you stopped acting so serious and smiled.
It’s because when you used to work at your dad’s shop after school, Poe would bring you a snack and talk to you while you worked. You’d split a piece of fruit and something cold to drink.
You can’t even work without thinking about him. It makes you feel weak.
BB-8 rolls over to where you’re trying to re-wire someone’s comm system without your mind drifting to the one person it shouldn’t.
He bumps into you a little harder than usual.
“Good evening, BB,” you smile at him. BB doesn’t chirp back. He just bumps into you again. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I have to finish this if-“
BB beeps and chirps loudly.
“Fine, if it’s so important,” you say. “Don’t blow a fuse. I’m coming.”
You leave the tangle of wires and wipe your hands on your pants as you follow BB quickly out of the hangar and down the hallways towards your quarters.
“Is someone hurt? What could be so…”
Poe and Renford are standing at your door. Arguing.
Your stomach churns as you rush over.
Renford doesn’t usually get mad, but his face is a little red. “It’s not Leia’s job to back every lunatic scheme you come up with.”
Poe points at Renford. “She has vision and you don’t. I used to only think about today. Tomorrow. She taught me to think beyond that. That ending the war isn’t the only thing there is. Having faith in each other is all we really have.”
“I feel the same way, Commander. But you can’t base all of your decisions on feelings,” Renford says heatedly.
“Why not?” Poe rests his hands on his hips.
“Because it hasn’t worked out so well for you before, has it?” Renford says. “You end up hurting the very people you’re trying to protect.”
Poe’s jaw goes tight. You see the muscles of his face twitch with anger.
They’re not talking about Leia and whatever meeting they just came out of.
Renford looks at you. “I’m tired of seeing you heartbroken over him. I can’t watch it anymore.”
“You're not broken,” Poe says to you, his eyes burning into yours. “You're strong.”
Renford sighs. “You shouldn’t have to be strong all the time."
A flicker of something flashes on Poe’s face. Regret or pain. He brushes his fingers across his forehead and turns to leave.
“Poe, wait. Come in and talk for a minute,” you say.
He stops and glances back at you.
Renford’s face is dark.
“Just to talk,” you tell both of them. You squeeze Renford’s arm. “I’ll be okay. I’ll come find you later, okay?”
He reluctantly nods as he watches you and Poe walk into your quarters. You make sure the door is shut before you start speaking.
“I’m sorry,” Poe says immediately.
“Don’t apologize. You’ve been doing a lot of amazing things lately. We should all be thanking you.”
He looks tired, though. Whether it’s from the long hours or the pressure he puts on himself. You remember him saying how he felt like he was doing all the work alone sometimes.
He smiles joylessly. “Yeah, I’m on kind of a hot streak in every other part of my life."
He looks at you so intensely that you almost want to open the door again because it feels too hot in your room, too enclosed, too crowded with feelings you’ve been trying to erase.
“Sit down,” you say, going over to your small couch, grateful your roommates aren’t here.
Poe sits, drops his head back and stares at the ceiling. “We were doing a really good job of avoiding each other until today, right? Really solid work. And then I had to go and pick a fight with your boyfriend.”
You fold your arms. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Poe’s dark eyes swing over and look at you. “But you have been avoiding me?”
“Yes, obviously.”
Without looking, his hand reaches out and you let him unfold your arms, take your hand in his.
“He was right, though. You’ve always had to be the strong one,” Poe says quietly.
“You’re the heart and soul of this place, Poe,” you say.
“That’s not what I mean, and not accurate by the way. All I do is try to remind people that we need to stick together. Ironic, considering I’ve never felt further away from you.”
You squeeze his hand.
“You were strong for me when we were kids, there for my dad when I left. You held up your whole family. I took you for granted,” he says.
You turn, tucking your feet up so you can face him fully. “You’re the most supportive person here. You’re the first one to tell me how much you appreciate the work I do. It means a lot to me.”
“It’s not about the work.” He looks almost ashamed. “I hate myself for this, but part of me was kind of happy that every time I got back in touch with you, you were single. Even here. I should want you to find someone who can give you the kind of relationship you deserve. Instead, I’m standing in the hallway, yelling at the one person who seems to make you happy, who you’re probably already in love with.”
He winces. “I didn’t mean to say that last part. None of my business.”
You look away from Poe.
Hope and love are the greatest forces in the galaxy. You’ve heard it all your life. It used to be easy to believe. Now, they’re both so tangled up with this man. Maybe they always were.
“I don’t know how to do this with you,” you say quietly. “I’m tired of feeling anxious all the time. I hate working on Black One, but not talking to you. Still feeling the way I feel, even if you don’t want me to.”
“Who says I don’t want you to?” He raises his head back up.
“You did. That night outside when we- when we kissed. You told me not to wait. That I wasn’t doing enough for you.”
Poe’s face drops. He looks so miserable, you almost want to take it back. But you can’t live like this anymore.
He licks his lips, thinking. “The not waiting thing is true. Yes, I don’t want you to think I’m standing in your way. Date who you want, love whoever you want.”
You can hear the nerves in his voice, how he’s straining to sound neutral. Trying to seem like he doesn’t care either way.
He swallows, almost nervously. “As for you not doing enough, that was immature of me to say. It’s not true. You’re one of the only people who knows me, knows my past. One of the only people I feel really safe with. I got frustrated that night.”
“Me too,” you say.
He exhales, relieved.
“I’m the one who made things awkward between us,” you say. “I’ve been avoiding you for years because I- you know why. I’ve never been able to let you go. I thought you didn’t feel the same way. Now it’s scary because maybe you do feel the same way I do, a little.”
Poe lifts a dark eyebrow. “More than a little. I feel like I don’t have the right to want anything from you, though. I already dragged you into this war. I know you’re scared every time I go on a mission.”
“The war involves everyone in the galaxy,” you say. “You reminded me of that, yes, but it was my choice to join. And as far as being scared, well, I’d feel that way whether we were together or not.”
Poe bites his bottom lip, his fingers massaging your hand. “You still want to be together? Even after I was a complete asshole that night?”
“It was the first time we’ve ever talked, as adults, about all of this.” You shrug. “Not everything’s perfect on the first try, right?”
A smile ghosts over Poe’s lips. “I meant it when I said that I’ve thought about you for years. You didn’t have to join the Resistance. I’ve always loved you.”
“Thank you,” you say, relief washing over you.
“I always thought I’d tell you how I felt after the war, but we’ve had so many friends die out there. We keep losing people. And I was afraid that there might not be an ‘after’ for me. I never would have gotten the chance to tell you,” he runs his fingers over your chin, cupping your face and neck, his thumb soothing the skin of your cheek. “I love you so much.”
Tears well up in your eyes, a few spilling over as Poe pulls you close to him. He frames your face with his hands.
“Please,” he says, his voice hoarse, “do you love me too?”
“Yes, I love you,” you say quickly, “and I feel so stupid-“
“No, I’m stupid. My reputation for poor planning is, sometimes, unfortunately, true.” He presses his lips against yours. “You know what this means, right?”
Your heart pounds in your chest. “Not really, no. I’m scared to say anything. I don’t want what happened last time to happen again. We fight and don’t talk. That was awful.”
Poe smiles, his face still close to yours. “If you stopped arguing with me, I’d think something was wrong with you. No, I meant you have to break up with your boyfriend.”
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” You ask, pretending to be annoyed.
“I’m not, no,” Poe says with a grin. “I’ve had a stomach ache for a fucking month over you.”
“Poe,” you smile. “He’s not my boyfriend. He could’ve been. But, even when I thought we might never be together, I never really gave up hope. For you and me.”
His eyes light up. “I’m so used to hoping things for the galaxy and the Resistance. I kind of forgot to hope for myself.”
It’s so Poe. Not meaning to hurt anyone’s feelings, just so wrapped up in helping other people, and what he can do to improve anything, that he loses focus. Loses his sense of self, sometimes. You won't let that happen again. If anyone deserves happiness, it's Poe.
“I hope,” you say, your face close to his, “that we love each other even half as much as I think we do. I can’t live without you.”
You feel the tension drain out of Poe’s body. The lines in his forehead disappear. “I hope, for you. Always. None of this means anything without you.”
It’s easy to love Poe. It’s why he was your first love. But this is deeper, not just a rush of feelings beyond your control. This is intentional, a decision to spend the rest of your lives together. Not just a first love, but a forever one.
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OH MY GODDDD !!!
this is so beautifully written and!!! I'm so!!!! I have not stopped thinking about it since I first read it a few days ago 😭 the inherent PAIN that comes with LONGING and the characterization is SO on-point I just LOVE THIS SO MUCH 💕💕💕
"You're not broken," Poe says to you, his eyes burning into yours. "You're strong." Renford sighs. "You shouldn’t have to be strong all the time."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
hm funny you would spell "love of my life" that way. it's spelled "poe dameron" to me but okay^^
POE DAMERON 🜸 Poe has a charisma. A natural spark.
@swsource star wars week: day #1 – favourite character @lgbtqcreators bingo: poster design [insp] | for @djarin ♡
Oscar Isaac for the Brioni Spring/Summer 2024 Campaign
okay so I'm DEFINITELY not finishing this last piece for the mk bingo like I thought.... it's at 4k words and I'm maybe halfway done???? 😭 childhood friends-to-lovers has me so weak until I realize... I actually have to write the childhood bit........
here's a very very short snippet:
"You should’ve just gone with Marc. You shouldn’t have let yourself be pressured by a public prom-posal from a guy who you never liked in the first place, but Brooke had called dibs on asking your best friend to homecoming and someone else said that it was girl code not to interfere even thought he’s your best friend and you didn’t even get the chance to talk to him about it because then Seth pulled out a fucking poster in the middle of chemistry class with shitty sparkly block letters only to make out with Nora Gutierrez not one hour into the night—"
is it cringe if I make poe say "save an x wing ride a pilot" in a smut fic. because don't tell me he wouldn't
