summary: miguel hasn’t come home in weeks. he tries to make it up to you.
warnings: smut, porn with minimal plot, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, a bit of angst, we're a bit mean to miguel because we're mad at him
tags: f!reader, sub!miguel (hell yeah), we make miguel suffer (sorry bb),
word count: 1k
masterlist | taglist | ao3
Miguel hadn’t come home in weeks, and it was with a guilty pinched smile and a bouquet of flowers that he reappeared at your doorstep.
When you first saw him, you wanted to take the flowers from his hands and slam the door right in front of his face, but you knew that he certainly had a good reason and excuse to have done what he had done.
He didn’t tell you much about it; you figured it was more about his spiderman activities than about his work, because he rarely told you about the spider stuff, wanting to keep you as far away from it as possible. You were sometimes mad that he wouldn’t tell you anything about it, but he kept on insisting that it was for your own good, that you shouldn’t get too close to it. He had already paid the price.
He apologized, apologized and apologized about not coming back for so long. You told him that it was fine, but he knew it wasn’t, he knew that you were hurt, he saw how you wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
He didn’t need this; he didn’t need you to hate him, it might be even worse and scarier than every universe collapsing.
He owed you an apology, a real one. He didn’t know if what he had in mind could work, but he could try.
Which was why he found himself with your thighs caging his face, your hand tightly gripping his hair. He sometimes got carried away, kissing and biting at your thighs while he repeated that he was sorry, over and over again, before you tugged his hair into diving back into eating you out like it was the last time he did it.
If you repressed your moans to let him know that you were still mad, he was doing all the contrary. He deeply enjoyed this, and he wanted you to know it. If he could spend the whole night between your thighs he would, and even though his crotch ached for some friction, all that mattered to him at that moment was you and your pleasure.
He mouthed at your pussy as if he was making out with it; licking long, slow and languid stripes through your folds, gathering your slick over his tongue as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted.
He pulled away to kiss the inside of your thighs, and just as you were about to scold him for it, he left a kiss at your clit before gently curling the tip of his tongue around it, making a strangled moan leave your mouth.
He smugly smiled at your reaction but quickly got back to work; he actually thought of something better, and pulled away, making you groan at the loss.
He laid down on the bed and pulled you on top of him so you could straddle his chest, and you huffed out a laugh when he started to beg you to sit on his face, pulling your hips higher up his body so you could use him as you wished.
“Use me baby, I deserve to be used”
And it was a good idea, you had to admit. You could control it all now, grinding onto his face as if he was just an object. His nails were digging into the meat of your thighs, marking crescents into your skin as he hummed against you, his broad hands then shifting to your ass so he could knead the tender flesh, pushing you even lower onto his face. You even wondered how he could breathe, but your concern quickly flew out the window when his nose rubbed against your clit.
Your hand had unconsciously fisted onto his hair to hold him in place as you rocked yourself harder against his tongue, fucking it until you lost your mind; you pulled away and straddled his chest just as you were about to come, leaving him confused and wondering as he caught his breath, the lower half of his face drenched in your juices.
He licked his lips clean, looking up at you with half lidded eyes, so fucking pussy drunk. He sounded so gone when he asked you why you pulled away, but he looked even more gone as you got rid of his pants and explained that you wanted to come on his cock but that he wouldn’t get to come.
He let out a small whimper when you lowered yourself onto him, his hands finding and gripping your hips in a bruising hold.
You bounced on him at an unforgiving pace; his head was thrown back into the pillows as he let out small moans, trying to contain himself.
You leaned onto him and kissed his neck, softly biting at the warm skin before repositioning and putting your hands over his chest, his muscles softly twitching under your touch, your soft moans driving him even crazier.
You were close, you knew it, and so did he. He watched down to where you were connected and bit on his bottom lip as he guided your hips up and down, your rocking more languid as you tried to reach your peak. You felt him twitch inside of you and reminded him not to come, and he responded with a small wail as he nodded, still biting hard on his bottom lip, the poor skin almost bleeding.
You came with a silent cry, his hips snapping up into you and burying himself even deeper as he worked you through your orgasm, focusing on every muscle of his body to try not to come as you rode out your high on his lap, his own about to tip over the edge.
He whined as you climbed off of him, his orgasm stolen away from him, just as you had promised.
You watched with awe and a sly smirk as his body stiffened, his cock twitching desperately in front of you, his hands pawing at the bedsheets in frustration.
You smirked proudly, putting a hand at his cheek before kissing his lips then his forehead, his eyes shutting tight.
"Look at you baby" you cooed, looking down at your hand softly stroking his thigh to tease him even more, so damn close to where he needed you. “Maybe I'm a bit less mad at you.”
—
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spiderman 2099 taglist: @bubuslutty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt @roxannarichie @vicolangelo @amb3rrz @inluvvwithme @friedwings @chaotic-neon-sign @foxglove-grove @ilovemiguelohara @pandq707 @gobblegluckgluckgod @weasleybuns @midgardian-witch @daemontqrg
You're Spider-Woman, and you've been tasked with babysitting Mayday. Maybe you have a bit of stress that you need to vent about, and Hobie comes along quite conveniently for that purpose.
Genre: Fluff, reader having anxiety, Hobie giving her advice, very cute, reader is a Jessica Drew variant, perhaps mutual pining if you squint, takes place during the movie but before Miles arrives to the Society, terrible british slang attempts (sorry Hobie :'))
Word Count: 2.4k
Babies are hard to wrangle when they’re crawling up walls.
Of course, Peter B. Parker said that he needs a nap, just this once, and he needs someone to watch over Mayday while he sneaks away into the sleeping pods in the Spider-Society-System. Sometimes he and MJ don’t get sleep for days at a time, so you get it.
But Mayday is so curious, and you find yourself having to pull her prying hands away before she inadvertently tampers with things around Miguel’s labs and causes either a mass outage or a explosion or Miguel’s wrath. You understand why Peter is a little exhausted.
She’s a very cute baby, though, and you can’t help but coo at her as she clambers off the wall into your arms.
“Who’s a good Spidey? Who’s gonna be the best of us?” You shake her up and down and she giggles, wrapping her arms around you.
You instinctively flinch, feeling your Spider-Sense go off.
“Large statement to make. But I see where you’re coming from.” Spider-Punk comes up from behind you, and you turn to him. “She’s definitely punk.”
“Hey, don’t go claiming someone else’s kid as one of your own.” You joke, and Hobie scowls as he pulls off his mask.
“Don’t believe in claims. Or labels, for that matter.” He scratches his hair, looking effortless as he ever does, and you roll your eyes. “She is… who she is. Forgive me for using a descriptive word, Spider-Woman.”
“I get it.” You hold Mayday as she squeals at the sight of Hobie, and she motions in an uppy-uppy motion. She wants to be held by him, but he ignores her.
You never quite know how to feel about Hobie Brown. The Amazing Spider-Punk is revolutionary, known for being better than just his words– he holds himself to the very essence of anarchy. He practices what he preaches.
But you can’t quite get a read on the guy. You don’t know if he’s pulling your leg– or taking the piss as he would say– when he gives his bouts of advice while somehow simply being amazing through it all. He somehow knows what to say but he also isn’t the most comforting, and that in itself makes you drawn to him. He just happens to be kind of rough around the edges, and it’s because of that you know he truly means what he says.
No sugar-coating, ever.
But you hate yourself, because you’ve somehow managed to fall for him.
It’s not uncommon for Spideys to fall for each other. Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy. But you know this is the one time it just wouldn’t end well for you.
You can already hear Hobie’s comments if he ever found out. He’d probably rebuke you even though you’d never try anything. Tell you he doesn’t feel that way and you’re delusional for potentially thinking that he would ever tie himself down. Spiders are meant to be swinging free and all that.
Even worse, he just happens to be beautiful. You’re positive that if Hobie wasn’t so anti-everything he would have stuck with being a runway model. His face is molded in a distinctive way that has you trying to catch his glance, even if he only looks at you with nonchalance, completely unbothered, not a hint of chemistry in his eyes.
It is with great displeasure that you find yourself wanting his bored attention anyways.
And so you’ve been swallowing your crush for the greater part of a year now. You’re sure it will pass like all things do.
Pavitr, as much as you love him, has told you many times about the “chemistry” between you and Hobie– and you have told him every time to fuck off. Not in an actual harsh way, because again you can’t help but love the guy, but because you don’t need false hope.
You’re just Spider-Woman. Another red-and-yellow suited variant of Jessica Drew, you might as well just be another Peter Parker. You know that’s not how you’re supposed to think of yourself, but it’s just how it is. Canon events brought you here, and according to Miguel, it’s not something you chose– you just happened to be there at the right time and place. You’re no Jess, who comes in on her motorcycle, raging heat and excitement on her toes– you are one of the many, instead of being exceptional like the few.
You’re not like Hobie, who is as far as you know, one of a kind.
“What’s on your mind, Spider-Woman?” Hobie asks as he picks through random tech on the desk in Miguel’s lab, taking what he feels is useful for whatever it is he does with the stuff. He’s never used your name, because he doesn’t know it.
You and a few other Spider-People have chosen to stay anonymous, for different reasons, and only Miguel and Margo know who you really are. Hobie has told you before that that’s pretty cool– he only chose to give up his name because it was easier to get along with people that way. Hobie knows there’s power in people.
“Just babysitting. Obviously.” You motion to Mayday, who takes this moment to thwip out a web and swing away from you– but you’re faster and you grab her back into your arms, and she pouts.
“Nah, nah. I mean that sour expression upon your lovely little visage, imbecile.” He pokes your masked cheek, and you find yourself blushing but pulling away from him. Hobie is like that– overly familiar and no real sense of space because he doesn’t care.
“It’s not lovely.” You retort, fully convinced of it because he has never seen your face, only your incredulous expression through the eyes of your mask.
You think that Hobie is again being sarcastic about your unknown appearance, and because his back is facing yours as he searches through random shelves now, you don’t catch how his face frowns at your response.
“Disagreements about your anonymous-but-surely beautiful face aside– not that looks matter, mind you– you’re clearly miffed about something.” Hobie turns and crosses his arms, and it’s with a little embarrassment and comfort that you want his advice. Even if it’s kind of to do with him.
“Well, I guess, uh… lately I’ve just been feeling kind of down. Like what’s the point of all this?” You bite your lip, knowing Hobie’s feelings on nihilism. “I don’t mean like nothing in life matters, Hobie. I mean more that I don’t matt– I don’t… anyways, I feel useless. I don’t have anything special about me, I don’t really bring anything to the Spider-Society that wasn’t already brought.”
"Whoa whoa whoa. Nah, lady, you've got your priorities all twisted." Hobie pulls your arms, bringing you kind of closer to him, and rests his hands on your shoulders, making you listen. "This inner hatred stuff– that sick urge to feel shame and then blast it inside of yourself, all that repression, yeah? It's a crock of shit."
"Huh?" You and Mayday both peer up at him. You behind your mask, and she with her crocheted one.
Hobie picks up Mayday, finally giving into her wishes to be held by him, and she immediately giggles. There’s a subtle smile on his face that warms him to you a little.
"It might feel good in the moment. It might even feel revolutionary." Hobie scowls, and scratches his jaw. "It's worthless. Notice, Spider, I didn't call you worthless. The very action is garbage, a visceral thing that brings no productive value– that's what they want you to feel."
"Ah, because then I'll never fight against the establishment, right, Hobie? I'll be too busy fighting myself." You say mockingly, taking on a fake-pretentious-Cockney accent, mimicking him, but Hobie gives you a chill look and nods.
"Now you're getting it."
"Aw." You slump and slouch and sit on the counter full of gadgets and gizmos next to him. "I know you're right, but… don't you ever get people getting mad at you?"
"You've lost me."
"Like… being so responsible." You roll your eyes as Hobie snickers and whispers the spider-mantra you all know so well. "Or just living by your own ideology so… efficiently. It's almost like a slap in the face to the rest of us Spiders. We don’t know how to cope, and here comes along Spider-Punk with all his personal assurance that even if things aren't alright, he'll make it alright for himself."
"Oi, trust me, it wasn't all that easy." Hobie sniffs and sits down next to you, holding Mayday close and then letting her go as she crawls onto the wall in front of you. "You really think I haven't had a bad day? I haven’t had my moments of self doubt, huh?”
“Uh… well. When you put it like that, it does sound kind of crazy.” You admit, and nudge him with your shoulder. “I didn’t mean any harm, Hobie. I just feel so… inadequate.”
“Just stop.” He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, and you feel that yet again, he’s somewhat unreadable. “Don’t think those things. You’re not inadequate.”
“But I–”
“Stop.” He grasps your hands, and squeezes them tightly in his own, and you wonder if Hobie has ever looked this seriously at you, his eyes soft yet firm with affection.
You’re in trouble, you think. Your heart is pounding and you’re really glad he can’t see your face.
“I don’t think you know how important you are.” He utters so quietly, in that very deep voice that has you leaning in to hear him better. “You’re not nothing, Spider-Woman. You’ve done a lot of good for your Earth-257, I’m sure, and that makes you something special. Like the rest of us– you’re kind of irreplaceable, right?”
“I guess.”
“Not ‘I guess.’” Hobie punches the side of your arm and you pretend to say ow, laughing a little. “If you didn’t exist, we’d all be poorer for it. Peter couldn’t ask you to chill with his baby, and I couldn’t be here talking your ear off.”
“But I’m not– I don’t really compare to her, you know?” You say without thinking, and then immediately squint at your own stupidity.
“Who’s her?” Hobie is wary of how your expression is shifting. “Stacy?”
“Uh, no.” You inhale, exhale, and then decide it’s time to get it over with. “Jess.”
“Jess? Jessica Drew, huh?” Hobie smirks a little. “You don’t want to be adopted by her, do you?”
“More complicated than Gwen’s weird fantasy.” You shift on your spot on the counter, and pull off your mask after a minute of tribulations. “I’m… also Jessica Drew.”
You feel incredibly shy as Hobie takes in your face, wary of his every move as you feel yourself sweating, and he grasps your face gently, peering into your eyes and taking a look at your features, as if he’s really trying to remember them.
“Huh.”
“What is it?” You say a little too defensively, and he shrugs.
“You do have a lovely visage, you silly little sod. Even if it’s completely different from Jess’ face.” He laughs as you shove him away, covering your face in your hands. “No, don’t do that.”
He’s tracing your jaw, and he murmurs. “Maybe you could use a few piercings… a tat or two… ever thought about it?”
“No.” You shut your eyes. “I’m not cool like you.”
“Oh, shut it.” He leans in imperceptibly closer, and you blink, eyes open. Maybe Pavitr had a point that Hobie and you have something, because there’s not really another explanation for that look in his eyes. “You’re plenty cool, Jessica Drew. It was just a shit suggestion of mine.”
You think Hobart “Hobie” Brown is sweeter than you previously thought. You have half a mind to tell him about your feelings.
You and Hobie both look up, Spider-Senses tingling, and sure enough, Mayday is cooing from the ceiling– she leaps into your already waiting arms. She giggles at your expression.
Oh well, you think. There’ll be some other time to work up the courage to tell him.
Hobie half-smirks at her. “Way to interrupt us, Mayday.”
She looks at him all confused, tilting her head in a “huh?” motion, and you feel the same way, not entirely sure what Hobie meant by that and not willing to assume either.
He answers you by pulling your face in a sudden, swift motion, connecting his lips to yours, and in between the two of you, Mayday shrieks and laughs. She crawls off to the side of you, no longer smothered between your torsos.
Hobie is weirdly insistent– you feel like he’s been wanting to do this for a while, maybe longer than the length of your conversation (you don’t know if this is just a funny little fling for him, but you’re fairly sure it isn’t) and he’s a lot taller and lankier than you, so he really has to tower over you to reach your mouth better. He’s grasping your jaw and neck and the back of your head with a lot of intensity– you feel wildly dizzy when he pulls away.
“Uh.” Peter B. Parker is standing in front of you both, mouth wide open, and you look back at Hobie and he grins rather coolly, not really giving a damn. It’s enough to make you snort. “Wait, who are you?”
“Oh. Spider-Woman from Earth 257.” You remember Peter has never seen your face, either. “Jessica Drew?”
“Right, right.” Peter raises his hands in a whoop-de-doo motion, like he should’ve known that. “Nice to know what you look like behind the mask. Not nice to know that you’ve been avoiding your babysitting duties. Why are you two fooling around like prepubescent children? What happened to responsibility?”
“Ahhhhh, please, Peter. Live a little.” Hobie stands up, his full length of height drawing him to about the same height as Peter if not an inch taller. He picks up Mayday and hands her off to him. “Let’s not act as if you and MJ weren’t shacking up in the sleeping pods last week, yeah? Does Miguel need to know about how irresponsible you were?”
You think he’s kidding, but Peter pales and you clap your hands over your mouth, trying not to laugh. Miguel would absolutely throw a fit if he found that out.
“Uh…” Peter swallows. “At least that’s not an interdimensional tragedy-in-the-making like you two.”
“There’s no rules against that, I don’t think.” Hobie shrugs. “And if there are, fuck them. Miguel doesn’t know it all.”
“He really is punk to the very end.” Peter groans and leaves out to the hallway with Mayday.
Hobie flashes a smile at you as he sits back down, ruffling your hair.
guys gals and pals if you’re ever feeling that maybe you should just settle remember hozier wrote the words “when my time comes around/ lay me gently in the cold dark earth/ no grave can hold my body down/ i‘ll crawl home to her”. if they wanted to they would ok.
YOU SLEEP IN THE GUEST BEDROOM AFTER AN ARGUMENT — JUJUTSU KAISEN
feat : gojo satoru, itadori yuuji, fushiguro megumi, geto suguru + nanami kento
ღ warnings — the aftermath of an argument but it’s all fluff, gojo being gojo >.<
ღ note — a lil bit of comfort for you guys with my favourite babies <3
・✶ 。゚GOJO SATORU
you groan when you feel yourself being shaken awake, squinting to allow your eyes to adjust to the darkness in the room—only to be met with a very sleepy satoru looking back at you. his crystalline eyes are a little darker underneath than usual, his hair messier from the endless tossing and turning it feels like he’s done, but his palm is still warm when it rests against your cheek. “morning, how ‘bout you come back to bed, angel, yeah? sleeping so pretty without me, you’re breaking my heart here.” satoru murmurs, his voice raspy and low with sleep and you can’t help but nod at his request when you feel his thumb graze along your cheek soothingly. feeling his arms wrap around you as he gathers you in his arms and guides you back to your shared bed, pressing you tightly against his chest while leaving a few soft kisses against your temple. satoru’s still gentle when he places you down, but there’s a lazy grin on his lips when he’s climbing in next to you and wrapping his arms around your waist, his voice smooth as his lips move against the skin of your neck “i know you’re gonna say i’m annoying, but you put up with me so well, baby—and you’re kinda hot when you’re mad.”
・✶ 。゚ITADORI YUUJI
itadori blinks at you from his place stood in the doorway of the guest bedroom, his pillow held tightly against his chest as he sniffles, tiptoeing over to your sleeping figure. there’s a wobbly smile on his lips as he gazes down at your peacefully sleeping expression, and he doesn’t hesitate to lift the blanket over you in favour of sliding in next to you. the sudden but familiar warmth causes you to shake wake when you feel his arms pull you against his chest. “yuuji?” you murmur, rubbing your eyes to look at your boyfriend and you watch him pout down at you. “i-i’m sorry, i love you so much.” yuuji breathes, his words a little broken as he exhales shakily, his cheeks still a little damp with tears—he hated arguing with you. but your touch alone soothes him when your hand rests against his broad chest, a comforting silence settling in the room before he speaks again, voice a little steadier this time “we’ll be okay right?” he asks and you soften before you reply “always.”
・✶ 。゚FUSHIGURO MEGUMI
megumi lay awake as he let his words from earlier swim through his head, still expecting you to join him in bed after everything, giving him an opportunity to apologise—but when you don’t, he can’t help but look for you. he knows where you’ll be, but he doesn’t expect to find you in the guest bedroom with damp cheeks and slightly swollen features—the sight weighing heavily on his heart as he blinks down at you, smoothing his thumb along your cheek soothingly. megumi’s touch is chaste but enough to wake you and he exhales shakily when you blink up at him, your eyes still puffy. “gumi?” you whimper and the familiar nickname has hope warming his chest as he kneels down beside you. “i, i just didn’t want you getting cold. do you wanna come back to bed?” megumi breathes, his features soft while a pout sits subtly on his lips and you can’t help but melt when he sends you a gentle smile, his sleepy face framed by his messy dark hair. his hand resting over your own. “we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
・✶ 。゚ GETO SUGURU
you were still awake when you heard a noise from beside the guest bed, nuzzling deeper into the pillow as you squeeze your eyes closed—already missing the familiar warmth of your boyfriend around you. you jolt when you suddenly feel something smooth over your arm, turning to be met with a very sleepy looking suguru as he pouts down at you, his eyes narrowed and heavy with sleep as he crawls in next to you. “relax, pretty. you really think i’d let you go to sleep upset?” he drawls, turning on his side to blink at you before his hand rests against your waist—cautiously, not wanting to make you uncomfortable incase you were still mad. you shuffle closer, giving suguru a nod before he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist and its tighter than usual, hearing him sigh against your skin when he finally relaxes, until he’s pulling back to pull you in for a quick kiss. “hate seeing you sad, baby. turns out i can’t sleep without you either.. we’ll talk tomorrow, alright?”
・✶ 。゚NANAMI KENTO
you’d been trying to sleep for so long so you were already frustrated when you felt yourself being shaken awake gently, blinking the haziness of sleep from your eyes to be met with an equally tired looking nanami as he leans over you. he’d never wanted to let you leave the room but he knew you needed the time alone before he looked for you. “what’re you doing?” you murmur, sitting up slightly and you hear your boyfriend grumble in response, his voice deep as the sound rumbles through his chest “i wont stay if you don’t want me to, sweetheart. just making sure you’re alright is all.” nanami mumbles, returning to tucking the extra blankets he brought from your bedroom around you until you’re securely wrapped, already feeling a lot cosier when he blinks down at you—the lack of sleep visible on his features even in the dim lighting of the room. but despite everything you don’t hesitate to reach for him when he turns to leave, watching him turn with the ghost of a frown on his features “stay” and then you watch it soften before a soft, relieved smile twitches at the corner of his lips.
© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.
moonboys and a reader who maladaptive daydreams?
hi, nonnie! thank you for this request, you must’ve seen my blog description haha. this is my first fic request which is very exciting! my inbox is always open so if you’d like to request something, i’d appreciate it. :) anyway, i hope you like it!
IMPLODING THE MIRAGE
Moon Knight x afab!reader (primarily Marc Spector) (10.6k+)
You’ve been escaping into yourself more and more often, and the boys are starting to notice. How are you supposed to explain to them that you don’t want to live in the moment, when the version of your life inside your head is so much better than reality on the outside?
RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: maladaptive daydreaming, insecure reader & negative perceptions of self, depictions of injury & violence, kidnapping, miscommunication, SMUT (inappropriate fantasizing, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics if you squint)
imploding the mirage — the killers
i had to do it, i had no other choice you’ve got to listen to the inside voice a bullet train will get you there fast but it won’t guarantee a long last sometimes it takes a little bit of courage and doubt to push your boundaries out beyond your imagining
He was the moon, and she was the stars.
It was serendipitous, how the couple had come to fall in love throughout the course of their divine adventures alongside each other—two servants to a pair of primordial Egyptian deities, serving as Avatars to protect those who could not protect themselves. She’d met him at a meeting of the Ennead, when he’d been called upon to answer for his actions against a human named Arthur Harrow, who was accused of attempting to raise Ammit from eternal isolation.
The trial hadn’t gone well, and certainly hadn’t worked in his favor, but her goddess protector had a soft spot for Khonshu, the God of the Moon—after all, he was the reason she had been given five extra days with which to bear her five children.
So her Avatar was secretly assigned to keep watch over the Moon Knight, to aid in his fight to keep Ammit contained and offer her services should he need them.
He was resistant at first, but Khonshu insisted that having Nut as an ally could only serve to benefit them in their journey—after all, she was the sky, and without her, the Moon could not rise.
Marc Spector and his alters didn't anticipate becoming so infatuated with the soft curve of her Avatar’s smile or the cosmos she seemed to hold within her eyes. But as time passed, they grew closer, and when she saved him again and again, the navy blue of her armor shimmering with glowing silver emblems of stars, he felt as if his soul was tethered to her. It seemed to be fate, as clear as a constellation, that their lives were somehow intertwined and their happenstance meeting was actually the result of some unseen gravitational pull, guiding them through the darkness until they found solace in one another.
He heard her sandal-clad feet softly hit the solid ground, her body drifting down from the sky to land beside him after her short flight in the air. He turned to look at her—the flowing robes of her ceremonial armor billowed in the evening breeze, her hair pulled back intricately with thin glittering bands of silver, adorned with five-pointed stars that captured the moonlight in her curls. She was ethereal, heavenly, celestial, and when she turned and smiled at him, he swore the planets aligned in some brief moment of rapture.
“Where to next, Moon Boy?”
She teased lightly, her nose crinkling with amusement. His hands twitched at his sides, unable to control the movement of his arm as it reached for her hand.
He heard Khonshu chuckle deeply from somewhere behind him, condescending and slightly mocking. Still, he always spoke kinder about the woman beside him than any other being on this Earth.
“I should’ve known you would become enamored with the little star. Nut always finds a way to reunite the beings of the night sky.”
Marc ignored him—he was too enthralled by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his fingers brushing her own, the hood and mask of his armor receding to reveal the tenderness of his gaze. He turned to face her, his other gloved hand reaching to cradle the side of her jaw. He watched as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and he smiled.
“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”
He leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, swallowing her contented sigh as she melted into his touch—
“Jesus Christ!”
You nearly toppled forward when Marc abruptly yanked his arm away from you, his face contorted into a look of pain. You blinked once, then twice, eyes clearing to focus in on the blood staining your hands and the curved needle that was pinched tightly between your forefinger and thumb.
“The fuck was that? Are you even paying attention to what you’re doing?”
Marc hissed at you, cradling his injured forearm to his chest, gritting his teeth as your eyes widened in realization.
“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Marc, I zoned out, here, just let me see—”
“Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.”
He snatched the suture from your hand and laid his arm back on the marbled countertop of your bathroom sink, giving you a clear view of the mistake you’d made—you’d laid the stitch nearly a full inch from where the edge of the gaping incision had started, sinking it into completely uninjured, healthy skin.
“Marc, stop, I’ll do it.”
You stopped him before he could hurt himself even more—he never had the patience to treat his wounds properly, but for ones that were this deep, it was smarter to close them by hand than wait several hours for his magical suit to heal it on its own.
He grunted in protest, but nonetheless allowed you to retrieve the needle from his hold and lean over his arm, tongue pinched between your teeth in concentration.
You were much more careful, this time, deliberate with each pull of the thread beneath his skin, finishing sewing shut the injury quickly. When you’d finally finished, you leaned forward to bite the end of the stitch and tear it away with your teeth. You reached for a piece of gauze, pouring a generous amount of saline solution onto the cloth in order to blot the excess blood from his skin.
You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into your skull as if he was trying to read your mind. You sulked.
“I said I was sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Your words were soft, and he could hear the guilt that was churning in your stomach. He didn’t flinch when you began dabbing at the drying blood around the wound.
“S’fine. But—what happened? It’s like—you just tapped out for a second, there. Did you even hear what I was saying to you?”
You frowned.
“No, I’m sorry. I just—got lost in thought.”
“Hell of a time for that to happen.”
He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you didn’t laugh. Your eyes were still fixed on the skin of his arm, even though you’d successfully wiped away most of the remaining blood.
“I was just saying that—that I appreciate that you’re willing to do this for me.”
Your eyes darted to his face, surprised at the vulnerability he was displaying by expressing his gratitude.
“I mean—I never figured that when I’d stumbled onto your balcony all those months ago, beaten to all hell, that I’d meet someone who was willing to patch me up over and over again. Well—at least, before you stabbed me with a needle.”
Your eyes fell again, cheeks reddening at his jab. But he just laughed warmly, lifting his arm to rest his hand on your shoulder. Your bristled beneath his fingers, although his touch was nothing more than a friendly expression of appreciation.
“I’m just teasing you. But either way—just wanted to say thanks. Steven told me that I don’t say it enough, so...”
Now you laughed. It was more of a scoff, really, accompanied by the roll of your eyes as you reached for the knobs on the faucet, rinsing the blood from your fingers.
“Of course Steven made you.”
A lopsided grin found its way onto his face, and when you looked at him again, there was a twinkle in his eye. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you gazed at him—ebony curls spilling messily against his forehead, his lips quirked upwards at the corners, the fondness that was lingering beneath his brown irises. Was it possible? Could he really care about you the way you cared for him?
You turned away, standing and exiting the bathroom quickly before you could make a fool of yourself, face heating up at your own naïveté. Of course he didn’t feel that way about you. You were just—you. Only in the sanctuary of your imagination would he ever look at you and see anything beyond just a nurse playmate, or even maybe a friend.
You heard his heavy footsteps follow you back into your flat, where you wandered into the kitchen and retrieved a couple glasses.
“Do you mind if I—”
“Spare bed’s already made, I washed the sheets since last time you bled all over them and didn’t even tell me.”
You turned on the tap to fill the two cups with water. You were certain Marc hadn’t remembered to drink anything since his most recent escapade as a masked vigilante, and being around him always tended to make your mouth run dry.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
You slid the glass of water across the countertop towards him, leaning back against the kitchen island to sip at your own. You watched him above the rim of your glass—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he took a large swig of the cool liquid, the way a stray droplet of water dribbled down his chin when he pulled the glass back, the way his hand came to wipe it away, the plush of his bottom lip supple beneath the swipe of his fingers.
She fell back against the mattress, breath temporarily stolen from her lungs as she felt the heat of his lips hungrily mouthing at any exposed skin it could reach—her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. A soft whine fell from her mouth and Marc swiftly lifted himself back to her face to swallow the sound, tongue sinking into her mouth to taste her.
Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting and yanking him impossibly closer, legs lifting to wrap around his waist to press the heat of her core against the growing tent in his pants. A low groan escaped his chest as he rutted against her, pulling back to take stock of the hazy fog of lust that clouded her eyes and the O-shape of her lips as she let out a shaky exhale.
“Fuck, Marc.”
She whispered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.
“Want you—need you so bad.”
“You’re doing it again.”
You blinked once, then twice, finding Marc's dark gaze staring straight at you as his voice pulled you back to reality. Your brows lifted in horror when you realized you’d shamelessly been ogling at him, too engrossed in your thoughts to notice how long you’d been standing there.
“Shit, I—sorry.”
You rubbed at your eyes with your fingers, hoping that maybe if you pressed hard enough, the image of Marc’s body hovering above you would erase itself from your mind. It didn’t work.
You heard the clank of his now-empty glass as he set it down on the granite countertop, his arms crossing over his chest.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
You should be used to the rush of heat to your face by now—just being in Marc’s company caused you to blush uncontrollably, but still, the discomfort of your ruddy cheeks made your pulse quicken. Your gaze flickered down to your feet, eyes meeting the stupid fucking bunny slippers that you wore to accompany your fleece pajama bottoms. Fucking embarrassing.
“It’s nothing, Marc.”
You whispered quietly in response, although nausea was beginning to settle in the pit of your stomach. You were out of control—this man was driving you insane.
He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when you didn’t look back up at him, he just sighed.
“Okay. I’ll just—leave you alone, then. Goodnight.”
There were tears pricking the back of your eyes. You wanted to ask him to stay, to come share your bed instead of the one in your guest room, to kiss his stupidly handsome face.
“Towels are folded in the bathroom for you, and there’s clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change.”
You said instead, turning to refill your glass of water in the sink behind you. If he heard you, he didn’t respond—you listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall before the door to the guest bedroom creaked shut with a quiet click. Your shoulders immediately slumped forward, eyes squeezed shut tightly in an effort to combat the desperate urge to break down.
Her eyes were full of detestation as she glared down at him, nostrils flared with rage. He wanted to shrink beneath her disapproval.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
The woman started, and in spite of her towering figure looking down at him, he couldn’t help but gawk at the way the moonlight framed her, her silhouette outlined by the subtle glow of the night sky behind her. She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to yank him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness.
“You’re lucky I was here, Lockley, or things would’ve ended differently.”
She hissed, dusting herself off as if to showcase the strenuous effort she had put into saving his ass. He scowled behind his mask, the blood from the wound on his forearm beginning to soak through the bandages of his suit, tingeing the cream-colored fabric a dark crimson.
“I don’t need your help, estrellita. I was handling it.”
She scoffed as he turned on his heel to stomp away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
“Yeah, sure looked like you were handling it—why didn’t you call me? Nut had to drag me out of bed so you didn’t get yourself killed. Didn’t the old bird tell you we were together on this?”
He scowled, eyes narrowed in contempt.
“Yeah, he did, and I said no. We are not partners. We’re hardly even friends.”
He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, the way her face fell and her brows creased causing a pang of guilt to stab through his already-sore chest. He sighed.
“Estrellita, I didn’t mean—”
“Why do you push me away?”
She interrupted, and Jake was taken aback by the question.
“What do you mean?”
“You need me, Jake. We need each other. I’m just—I just want to help you, why won’t you let me help you?”
He didn’t respond, just stared at her as her eyes flooded with tears. At his silence, she shook her head, turning away to stare up into the star-filled sky.
“We’re supposed to be a team, Moon Knight. The stars and the moon—you can’t have one without the other.”
He could see the reflection of the crescent-shaped moon in her glassy eyes, the soft glow painting her face with silvery beams of light.
You’d left the balcony door wide open—your routine was fairly habitual, now. A mug of warm tea was cradled in your fingers as you curled up in the wicker chair, eyes flitting across the scattered stars that were visible from your tiny apartment complex.
You watched him sit down beside you in your periphery, the movement to your left pulling you from your reverie. He reached for the glass of bourbon you'd set out on the table in front of him.
You sat in silence for awhile, finding comfort in the man’s quiet presence. You liked that about Jake—you never felt like you had to fill the air with meaningless conversation. He was perfectly content to just enjoy your company, the same as you enjoyed his.
You heard the ice in his glass clink against the side as he took a sip.
“Are you going to tell them?”
Neither of you looked at each other when he spoke—the question was spoken out into the world, not really directed towards you, although you knew what he meant.
Jake was too fucking perceptive for his own good. Even when he was silent, he was always there, watching, listening, observing—even if the other alters were oblivious to the yearning that was thinly veiled within your eyes, he certainly wasn’t. You sighed.
“No.”
He hummed in acknowledgement, but something about his lack of verbal response bothered you, itching at the back of your brain. You turned to scowl at him.
“What?”
Jake hardly spared you a glance, barely quirking a brow at your emotionally-charged reaction as he shook his head.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.”
You glared, fingers anxiously tapping at the rim of your mug. The contours of Jake’s face were sharp in the dim light of the moon, features accentuated by the shadows. He finally turned to look at you.
“You know what I think, nena. You’re only hurting yourself. And your constant...daydreaming. It’s not as subtle as it once was. You—You should talk to them. Or me.”
The last bit of his proposal caught you off guard. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere when he said it, staring into his half-empty glass of liquor, but your brows lifted in surprise.
“I—you?”
He glowered playfully.
“Don’t sound so surprised, nena. I always listen to you.”
That was true. Some of your fondest memories with Jake were of late nights spent out on your balcony, getting drunk on cheap wine and sharing stories.
“Yeah, you’re good at listening, but not so much the talking part.”
Jake shrugged, although he nodded in understanding. He was all too aware of his own weaknesses.
You took a sip of your chamomile tea, letting its warmth combat the chill of the evening air.
“Why won’t you tell me?”
You asked quietly, and even without elaborating, Jake knew what you were referring to. He sighed, tossing back the last of his bourbon before setting it on the small table between you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“I’ve told you before. It’s not my place. I know what they think, but not what they feel.”
You huffed quietly, although deep down, you knew he was right. It wasn’t his place to share how Marc or Steven felt about you. You sort of admired the way he was so strict in his moral obligations—especially considering the lengths you were willing to go in order to change his mind.
Jake stiffened when he felt your hand rest on his bicep, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing lightly.
“But what about how you feel?”
His jaw rippled, and you felt the muscle beneath your fingers tense at your coy words. You could feel the restraint within him as he sat up abruptly, pulling away so his arm fell from your grasp. He still didn’t look at you.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel, nena. Not until you talk to Marc. He—you were his first. I’m not going jeopardize your relationship with him until he knows the truth.”
Anger flared within you.
“I’m not his. I don’t belong to anyone. My choices are my own.”
Jake flinched, eyes softening as they flickered over to you.
“You’re right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you have to understand. He—I can’t go behind his back like this. Yo no sería capaz de vivir conmigo mismo.”
“But you can’t even tell me if he feels the same way?”
You asked, and he could hear the pain in your voice as your tone wavered slightly. You’d had this conversation many times before, but things had been escalating recently—perhaps because it was getting increasingly difficult for you to be content in the reality you lived in.
Jake’s eyes were full of sympathy as he regarded you.
“No, nena. I’m sorry.”
You turned away.
“But you need to tell him. And Steven, too. They deserve to know. And so do you.”
You heard his weight shift as he stood to head back to bed, having spent too much time keeping the body awake—he didn’t want his alters to grow suspicious at the exhaustion when they woke in the morning.
“What if he breaks my heart?”
He paused in the threshold on the doorway, glancing back at you when he heard the thickness in your throat as your eyes welled with tears.
“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”
Jake pursed his lips, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he pondered his response. Finally, he released a long sigh.
“I don’t think you have to worry about that, nena. He’d be crazy not to.”
The smell of cinnamon wafted down the hallway as Steven rose from his slumber. There was a gentle melody floating in the air as he pulled himself from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bare feet padding along the tiled floor towards the source of the noise.
She was singing quietly to herself, back towards him as she chopped the fresh strawberries into fourths. He couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of it all—the woman he loved, that he fought beside, making breakfast for them to share. His heart felt whole.
He sidled up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and his body pressing flush against her back. He placed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, her hair pulled up in a sloppy updo.
“G’mornin’, darling.”
He hummed sleepily, and he felt her chest rumble with an airy giggle as she leaned into his touch.
“Hi, handsome. Sleep okay?”
He reached over her shoulder to steal a strawberry from the cutting board, taking a bite of the succulent fruit before offering the other half to her by pressing it to her lips. She smiled and happily accepted his offering.
“Would’ve slept even better if I’d woken up to your face beside me.”
She threw her head back, leaning against his chest as she laughed brightly—his favorite sound.
“Oh, boohoo. Sorry for getting up early to make you breakfast.”
She teased, and Steven pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her coconut shampoo enticing him. His arms reached to rest on the countertop to either side of her, successfully caging her in. He heard her breath hitch as the movement of the knife in her hand stalled, his body pressing up more firmly against her—enough so that she could feel the hardness of his manhood against the flesh of her ass.
“The strawberries are sweet, darling, but I’d rather have something even sweeter for breakfast this mornin’, yeah?”
“G’mornin’, darling.”
The knife fumbled in your grasp and the blade slipped across your fingers, slicing a divot in the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.
“Steven! Shit!”
You immediately dropped the knife and rushed towards the sink, rinsing your wound under the cold water to inspect the damage and dilute the blood.
“Oh, Gods, m’so sorry, love—are you alright?”
You could feel his body creeping up behind you, an arm reaching around to grab yours in an attempt to investigate the source of your discomfort. The warmth of his presence against your back startled you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as you reached for a towel and sidestepped, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.
“It’s—I’m fine. It’s just a tiny cut, it’s no big deal.”
You brushed it off, although your palm was beginning to throb. You pulled the washcloth away from the afflicted area, finding it soaked with a generous amount of your blood.
“Looks like it hurts. Can I—may I help you with it?”
There was trepidation in his big brown eyes, obviously put off by the hastiness with which you’d pulled away from him. You surrendered yourself, offering a sigh and a slow nod.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
You found yourself in a similar position to the previous night, although this time, the roles were reversed—and your wound was from an unfortunate kitchen incident, not a scuffle with a group of evil antique smugglers.
Steven’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he secured a piece of gauze on the injury with medical tape, winding it around your palm so it fit snugly against the area. His hands were nimble and his touch was painfully gentle, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over your skin in an effort to prevent you from more discomfort. A chill crept up your spine at the close proximity.
He looked rather satisfied with himself when he’d finished, shoving the medical supplies back into the bin beneath your sink that you had specially packed for him.
“There we are—good as new.”
He smiled cheerily at you, and it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but grin back at him. Your mind briefly darted back to your conversation with Jake the night before; then the unholy thoughts you’d been having this morning when Steven had snuck up on you. Gods, you really were getting out of control...
Steven led you from the bathroom and you returned to your post, rinsing the knife and the sliced strawberries to ensure they weren’t contaminated. You stepped over to the stove to check the steel-cut oatmeal that had been simmering—Steven’s favorite. You gave it a few good stirs before deciding that it was finished, filling up two bowls with generous servings and sprinkling the top with strawberries, brown sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. Steven was already seated at you breakfast bar when you turned to offer him his meal.
“Bon apétit.”
You flourished playfully, passing the bowl in front of him as you seated yourself on the stool across the way. His eyes crinkled with appreciation when he smiled.
“Oh, it smells bloody lovely. Thank you, darling.”
He always called you that, you rationalized. It was nothing more than a term of endearment—a friendly pet name.
You ate in silence for awhile, save for the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain and the birds chirping from your open window. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him as he slipped a strawberry past his lips, something reminiscent of a moan escaping him as he savored the flavor of the fruit. Your face flushed bright red.
“Yes, darling—just like that, please.”
He was whimpering beneath her, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at her from where she straddled him, sliding her naked and exposed core over his boxer-clad erection.
“You wanna be inside me, Steven?”
She cooed, leaning forward to kiss along his stubbled jawline, and he moaned wantonly, hips rutting up against her.
“Gods, yes, love, please, I can’t—”
“S’there somethin’ on my face?”
Panic flooded you at the bewildered expression on Steven’s face, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth in case you'd been gawking at some remnants of food on the corners of his lips.
You shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks already turning pink.
“I—No, no, there’s not, I—sorry. I was just—just thinking.”
He gave you a brief scrutinizing look before shrugging and diving back into the remainder of his oatmeal.
“What were you thinkin’ about?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Oh, it’s—nothing, really. Sometimes I just—space out, I guess.”
You offered sheepishly, toying with the last few bites of your food with your spoon—your appetite was suddenly gone.
“You seem to do that a lot, yeah? S’everything alright?”
“Yes.”
You answered him a bit too quickly, hastily jumping to end the conversation before it even began. His brows furrowed, watching as you quickly grabbed both bowls to busy yourself with cleaning up.
He wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer—in fact, it only served to startle him more. He watched you carefully as you began to viciously scrub at the blue porcelain bowls with a sponge.
“Are you...sure? I’m just—you’re worryin’ me a bit, yeah? And with last night, with Marc—if somethin’s the matter, you know you can always talk to us, ‘lright?”
You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take in a slow, careful breath in an effort to soothe your frazzled nerves.
“Yeah, I know, Steven—thank you. But—but everything’s just fine, really.”
She’s lying.
Steven was surprised to hear Jake’s voice echo from the back of the headspace—it wasn’t often that he offered internal commentary to any conversations outside of when he was fronting.
And how do you know that?
Marc quipped back in his mind—Steven hated when they argued in the headspace, especially when he was the one in control of the body. His brain felt too full and it was easy for him to get overstimulated.
What—you think she’s telling the truth, jefe?
Marc didn’t respond, and Steven was silently grateful that their quarrel had ended quickly. Still, he knew his alters were correct—you definitely weren’t ‘just fine.’
But the last thing he wanted to do was push you away, especially since it already felt like you were putting up a wall between you, keeping him at arm’s length.
He let out a long sigh, standing up from the bar to get ready to depart for his shift at the museum.
“Well, thank you for brekky, love, and for—everything else.”
You startled when you turned, finding him standing directly behind you, pulling you into his warm embrace without any due warning. God, why was he so fucking sweet? Guilt gnawed away are your insides—Jake was right. He really did deserve to know the truth, why you were spending more time living in your fantasyland than grounded in reality—but surely it’d scare him off. Marc, too.
Perhaps it was just better to keep imagining what it would be like to be loved by them—at least without being outright rejected, there would always be that small sliver of hope gleaming in the back of your mind, that tiny semblance of ‘what if’ that you let linger.
You melted into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.
“Anytime, Steven, really. It’s my pleasure.”
There was always a smile on her face when they departed—even if their time away from each other was difficult, she knew she could look forward to the next time they'd see each other. The way his big brown eyes would light up with elation when he saw her, like an overexcited puppy reuniting with its owner.
The grin remained on her face, still, after he’d kissed her goodbye and they parted ways. She hummed softly to herself as she journeyed down the hallway to remake the bed and tidy up the room.
He never did remember to tuck in the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself and she entered the room, filled with the distinctive cypress scent of him. She reached to fluff the pillows—
Oh. That shouldn’t be there, should it?
Your fingers wrapped around the small white trinket, strung along on a leather braided band. You lifted it up to your face to inspect it more closely—it was an pendant carved from ivory, shaped like a cross with a loop at the top. An ankh—the key of life—you recalled, as Steven had once taught you. There was a certain texture that ran along the sides, and only when you brought the object right up to your nose were you able to see that there was a teeny tiny pattern etched into the surface. Hieroglyphics.
Shit, you realized. This looked like something that would be in the museum Steven worked at—although it looked a bit too high quality to be sold in the gift shop. Nonetheless, you realized that it must’ve slipped from his pocket while he was getting dressed. What if it was important?
You wandered back to the kitchen and tried calling his cell, once, then twice, without receiving an answer. He was probably already being berated by Donna—oh, well. The museum was on your way to work anyhow, just one bus stop before the café that you worked at. You could swing by and give it to him before your shift.
You glanced down at your phone to shoot him a quick text.
hey, you forgot something here i’ll drop it off for you in a bit x
It was only when you were strolling down the street with the pendant strung around your neck that a thrill of excitement ran up your spine.
What if this was from his latest mission?
It wasn’t something you’d considered before, but now that you thought about it, it seemed like the likeliest explanation. The boys didn’t tell you much about their escapades as the masked lunar vigilante, save for the vague explanations about the injuries they asked you to patch up—but you knew enough to be two-and-two together. This must be the ancient artifact he had been sent to retrieve on Khonshu’s behalf the previous night.
You suppressed a smile by sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, filled with giddiness. You were actually helping.
“Where is it?”
A venomous voice seethed, peering down at the crumpled form of the man at his feet. Marc was hunched over, arms chained behind his back, blood from his abdomen beginning to soak through the white fabric of his suit. His mouth tasted like copper, teeth coated in the sticky red substance as a gruff hand came to harshly grip his jaw, forcing his eyes upward. He sneered.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
Another punch collided with his face, this time connecting with the bridge of his nose and sending him careening backwards, landing against the concrete with a grunt.
“You’re full of shit. We know it was you at the burial site, Spector. We have eyewitnesses. You’re the only person in the world who could have possibly taken it.”
To the man's utter surprise, Marc Spector began to laugh. It was a wet sound, his mask receding so he could spit out a wad of crimson-tinted bile as he chuckled wolfishly, his lips curling up into a snarl. The perpetrator felt fear shoot through him at the look on his face.
“You’re wrong, actually. See, I was there.”
He clarified, eyes glinting dangerously. His attacker stumbled backwards as a harsh silver light blinded him briefly, and when his vision cleared, the Moon Knight had risen to his feet, freed from his shackles.
“I just wasn’t alone.”
The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowly turned around, met face to face with intense glare of a woman, her eyes still glowing with residual power. She tilted her head at him condescendingly, before lifting her right hand—the white ankh charm was dangling from her fingertips as she smiled coyly up at him.
“Looking for this?”
She cooed, smirking innocently, and before the man could even blink, she had pounced, wrestling him to the floor and pressing his face down against the cold flooring, cheek smushed against the pavement. She straddled his back, using her weight to hold him still while her fingers made a curling motion in the air—a rope of pure silvery light materialized with the sweep of her hand, binding the man’s hands behind his back with tendrils of starlight.
Her partner was dealing with the other two lackeys, one already laid out on the ground and the other lifted in the air by his neck, one of Marc’s gloved hands raising him up with his fingers pressing beneath his jaw.
When he stopped resisting, Marc let his body collapse to the floor in a heap before he turned back to face the woman, whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths. Even after a fight, she somehow appeared graceful and collected—she reached upward and pulled a stray hair from her eyes, tucking it back into it’s place beneath her star-laden headdress. Their eyes met briefly.
“Thanks.”
Marc swallowed, his head bowed low in embarrassment. He waited for the jab to come—‘I told you so.’ He deserved it, really. It was stupid to come in alone.
Instead, he was startled when she approached him softly, her eyes glittering as she lifted her hand to gently brush over his cheekbone, her smile gentle and kind.
“I’ll always have your back. You know that, right?”
He looked away, ridden with guilt and remorse, but she urged his eyes back to her with the nudge of her fingers.
“Marc. I mean it.”
He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he sniffed, trying to play off his emotions with fabricated nonchalance.
“Yeah, I know.”
She nodded once, withdrawing her hand from his face before lifting the ancient artifact up to his face, waving it for emphasis.
“We should probably get this to the old bird, then, huh?”
Her head snapped to the side at the gust of wind that abruptly passed them, her eyes trailing up the heavenly form of the aforementioned deity, the slope of his ebony beak towering above her. She swallowed—she’d never actually seen him before, only heard of him in passing from his Avatar. Khonshu.
Time seemed to freeze, briefly, as her breath slowly made its way back to her lungs. The skeletal bird tilted his domineering skull downward, staring her down with intensity.
“Wake up, little star.”
Her brows furrowed, her jaw dropping to reply, but he interrupted.
“You are not a part of this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Her head started to swim, the image in front of her turning hazy as her vision began to blur. She blinked profusely. This isn’t a part of the script, this isn’t supposed to happen—
“Wake up!”
With a jolt, you were pulled from your daydream—just in time for a hand to slip over your mouth to muffle your scream before everything went dark.
When your eyes blinked open, heavy with exhaustion, you were staring up at the white ceiling of your bedroom. You made a move to sit up, but the movement caused a throbbing pain to bloom in the back of your skull, forcing you back down against the pillows as a groan of discomfort fell from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regain your bearings, when a set of heavy footsteps grabbed your attention from the hallway.
He faltered in the doorway when he made eye contact with you, his dark brows furrowed heavily with concern, dark purple bags settled beneath his lower lashes. When his initial shock wore off, his jaw set as he approached you slowly, a glass of tap water clutched in his left hand. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful not the nudge you.
“Marc?”
You croaked, your throat hoarse and dry, and he wordlessly reached forward, propping you further up onto the pillows before lifting the glass to your lips.
“Drink.”
He said sternly, pressing the rim to your mouth, and you obliged blindly, letting him tip the contents of the cup back into your mouth as you took slow, tentative sips. When he was satisfied with your water intake, he pulled the glass away and set it on the bedside table, the movement punctuated by a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him carefully, brows knit together in confusion.
“I—what happened?”
You asked slowly, sitting yourself upward just a bit more. The pain in your head was lessening, although their was still a dull ache lingering at the back of your neck. You could see his jaw ripple again as he clenched his teeth, his body facing the door and his eyes focused on the wall across from him. You studied his profile carefully before he ran a tired hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers.
“What do you remember?”
He prompted, and you hesitated, thinking back on the last thing you recalled. You remembered leaving for work, and finding the little white pendant you were planning on returning—and you remember getting lost in another fantasy before a hand clamped around your mouth and—
“Was I kidnapped?”
You asked incredulously, eyes blowing wide with realization as you recalled the sensation of a strong grasp around your face and neck before your fell unconscious. You watched his lip twitch with frustration.
“No. Well—yes. But you, I mean—what the fuck were you thinking?”
He finally turned to look at you, and when he did, you immediately wanted to shrink away and evaporate. His eyes were fiery, burning red hot with fury, the disapproving expression on his face striking something deep in your chest.
“What do you mean?”
You asked quietly, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes, and Marc stood up, running a hand through his unruly curls as he took in a deep breath, obviously attempting to maintain some semblance of composure.
“You almost got yourself killed—bringing that charm with you, parading it around like a trophy.”
“I didn’t know, Marc, I just—”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you get wrapped up in all of this—fuck, if I hadn’t been there...”
His back was towards you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, his body heaving with heavy panting breaths. You felt small, like a child being reprimanded. You felt your eyes flood with tears.
“I was just trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, don’t.”
His voice was firm and harsh as he snapped over his shoulder at you, glaring.
“You can’t help. You’re not a part of this.”
You felt your heart hammering in your chest, desperation clawing inside of you as you threw back the blankets, swinging your legs off the side of the mattress so you could approach him.
“But maybe I can, Marc, if you’d just give me a chance, if you’d let me—”
“Stop!”
He whipped around to face you, voice louder than you'd ever heard it before. He was yelling, towering over you as he snarled, fuming.
“Just stop. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people hurt. You’re not a fucking Avatar—”
“You don’t think I know that?”
Marc flinched when you matched his intensity, the tears falling down your cheeks a stark contrast from the sheer anger that dominated your expression.
“You don’t think I realize that? Or think about it every goddamn night when I have to sit here, alone, wondering if you’re gonna show up, or if you’re somewhere dead and I can’t do anything but wait.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to swallow your tears down as you broke down in front of the man, your internal conflict reaching a boiling point and spewing out of you without warning.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could be out there with you, doing something, helping, anything—how often I imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t fucking useless, if I was actually a part of—”
“What did you just say?”
Your eyes snapped open, and your anger faltered when you saw the look of pure horror on Marc’s face, his skin looking several shades paler than it had before. Your mind was reeling, trying to look back on what you said, what your mistake had been, but he quickly clarified for you.
“Did you just—are you saying you wish you were an Avatar?”
His body was rigid, his expression suddenly stony and impenetrable as he looked down at you, offering a barely perceptible shake of his head as he grimaced.
“How could you—how could you possibly want that? Why would you ever—”
You could see his eyes turn glassy as he turned away, his chest beginning to heave again as he ran both of his hands through his hair anxiously, his gaze suddenly appearing frenzied. His words were laced with something adjacent to betrayal.
“You have no idea what—what I wouldn’t give to go back to my life before all of this, to—to not carry this weight, to not—I fucking kill people, do you not understand that? I’m a monster, because my life is fucking controlled by a monster, and you wish you were like me? You wanna suffer like this?”
“At least we’d be suffering together.”
It was barely more than a whisper, your addition, but Marc caught it. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—you turned and sat back on the bed, folding your hands in your lap and staring down at your fingers as your heart finally poured out of your chest.
“I don’t know what else I could do, Marc. I don’t know any other way to get you to actually see me.”
“See you?”
He asked incredulously, face marred with confusion, and your lip quivered as you looked anywhere but at him, awaiting his rejection as you spoke.
“I just—all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to help you. To—for you to trust me, for you to—to care about me, and—and the only scenario I can actually imagine you wanting me is if I’m not myself, I’m a version of myself that’s actually strong and capable and—”
You stifled a sob, your face scrunching up as your arms wrapped around yourself in a protective stance, huddling inward as you cried.
“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I just—I want to be more than I am because—because I want to matter to you, Marc, but I know that won’t happen because I’m just—I’m just me.”
Marc fell silent. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you squeezed your bleary eyes shut, forcing yourself to take slow, deliberate inhales despite your desire to hyperventilate. You felt like the room was closing in on you, the walls shrinking and shrinking and you wished the space would swallow you whole.
“What have I done to ever make you think you don’t matter to me?”
His voice was soft and quiet, and when you blinked your tear-filled eyes open, he was staring at you, a look of genuine hurt on his chiseled features. You stuttered.
“I—what?”
“I—”
You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.
“Why would you ever think that I don’t care about you? That you have to—to be someone else for that to happen?”
He sounded broken, his big brown eyes wide and imploring, and the sight made your chest feel tight. You pressed the butts of your palms into your eyes.
“I don’t know, Marc. You’re—you’re a fuckin’ superpowered badass who was chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to beat up monsters and go on these epic missions, and—and how can I even compete with that? I don’t even understand why you waste your time with me.”
“Why do you keep saying things like that?”
You startled when he took a few hulking steps towards you, his brows creasing in a look of frustration.
“If you’re so convinced that I’m some superior being to you—which I’m not—then rationalize that, for me. Why would I keep coming back if I didn’t care about you?”
Confusion flashed across your face as you contemplated his question.
“Because—because I patch you up when you get hurt, and I—and I take care of you. You only come here when you need something—”
“But that’s not true.”
He insisted, sounding exasperated with your obstinance.
“I have a magic suit of armor that heals me, I don’t even need you to stitch me back together—”
“But you told me—”
“Well, I lied.”
He snapped, his arms crossing over his chest, and you felt a foreign feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach as his hands came up to rub at his jaw—a nervous habit.
“It was an excuse, and honestly, not even a very convincing one. An excuse to see you.”
Your head was starting to pound again, a dull ache blooming behind your eyes as your mind continued to reel. It didn’t make any sense.
“But you—you never needed an excuse. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Marc—for all three of you.”
“I know.”
He nodded sadly, his face pained as he flinched at your words.
“And that’s what’s so bad about all of this. I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m—it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying so hard to push you away because if something happens to you, if you get hurt—that’s on me. And I don’t know what I’d do with myself if—”
“I’m a big girl, Marc.”
You defended, and he seemed impressed with the conviction of your tone.
“You’ve never been anything but honest about the kind of life you live, the kind of things you do—if that scared me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. I made that choice for myself.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting to scold you or deny your claims, but there was resolve in his eyes. You watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, slumping into a seated position beside you, utterly defeated.
“I know.”
It was difficult for you to focus with the proximity of your bodies. He’d left a generous gap between the two of you, but his legs were spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and your legs were almost touching. It was unbearable.
“I always thought you were taking advantage of me.”
You spoke smally, a bit ashamed and hesitant to admit the truth, and you saw Marc’s shoulders tense before he hung his head low, a deep sigh coming from his chest.
“Yeah. Jake told me that you might be feeling that way.”
Your eyes darted to his face, taken completely by surprise.
“He—he did?”
Marc chuckled ruefully, scoffing a bit at his alter.
“And I never fuckin’ listened. Told me I needed to come clean—be honest about how I feel, or else I’ll just keep hurting you more—”
“I didn’t realize he’d actually tried to talk to you about it.”
Marc’s brows furrowed.
“Wait, are you—did you tell him that?”
You blushed, feeling somewhat guilty as you nodded. You weren’t proud of the fact that you’d been talking about Marc and Steven behind their backs to their other alter.
“Why did—why didn’t you just talk to me?”
Marc leaned towards you, trying to catch your gaze with his, but you quickly looked forward again, eyes focusing in on your shaky hands.
“I didn’t know if—I never had to question things with Jake. He’s never been shy about how he feels about me.”
“Jake’s never been shy about anything in his entire goddamn life.”
You actually giggled at that, Marc’s tone sour and somewhat envious, but a soft smile easily curled on his lips at the sound of your laughter. When your amusement faded slightly, your breath caught in your throat when you felt a warm hand fall atop your knee, thumb rubbing over the flesh gently. You stared at the place where his skin met yours, heat flushing your cheeks.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I would’ve known sooner—if he’d have told me—”
You shook your head quickly, dismissing his apology.
“No, don’t. I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell you. And—and the reason I didn’t say anything is, well—he would never tell me if you felt the same, so I didn’t—I just kind of assumed you didn’t.”
“I don’t understand why you think so little of yourself.”
His fingers gripped your knee a bit more firmly, the heat of his hand traveling upwards despite your attempts to stop it.
“You really think—thought the only way I’d want you is if you were an Avatar?”
You laughed wetly, swiping the last of your tears from beneath your eyes as you shook your head abashedly.
“When you say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid.”
“Hey, it’s not stupid.”
He corrected, and you froze when you felt his hand lift from your knee to reach towards your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see you more clearly. His fingers slipped beneath your jaw and gently coaxed your head to face him. You forgot how to breathe.
“It’s just not true.”
“Baby, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Avatar or not.”
She let out a quiet gasp at his confession, face lighting up with delight as he surged forward and captured her lips with his own, whimpering against her mouth as his arms encircled her body. He guided her back towards the bed, laying her out beneath him, looking absolutely heavenly, truly ravishing, and the sight made him ravenous as he worshipped her, starting by dragging his tongue—
“Hey. Where’d you go?”
It was only a brief moment of wistfulness, your daydream, but Marc saw the way your eyes misted and filled with a faraway look. He let his fingers dance across the softness of your neck before reaching to cradle your jaw in his hand, fingers threading into the hair behind your left ear.
You blinked away your reverie, trying to ground yourself in the present regardless of how desperately you wanted to fantasize about how much you craved him, how much you just wished he wanted you—
“Sorry.”
You uttered, voice barely above a whisper, and you blinked up at him through your wet lashes, doe-eyed. Your shame quickly melted away into something entirely different when you saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips.
“What were you thinking about?”
Your breathing stuttered, and you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off quickly, the timbre of his voice low and gravelly.
“You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it was, whatever you want—I’ll give it to you.”
It all became too much too quickly—the swirling heat of desire coiling lowly in your abdomen, the warmth of his exhales across your face, the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your cheek, the almost taunting gleam in his dark eyes. His promise emboldened you, and without much thought, you surged forward and captured his lips in your own, whimpering against his mouth as your arms encircled his body.
He was quick to meet your pace, his free arm twisting to wrap around your lower back so he could pull you into his lap, one of your hands sinking into his brown curls and the other digging into his right shoulder. You heard him groan into your lips and you took the opportunity to sink your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body flush against him, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible.
When his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw and throat, you were pulled out of your stupor.
“Wait—wait.”
You whispered, fingers tugging at his curls so you could see his face. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked at you with worried eyes, his lips dewy and kiss-swollen.
“What’s wrong?”
He asked carefully, his voice gruff but still attentive, and you lifted both hands to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as you drank in his features, studying his face carefully.
“I just—”
You let out a shaky exhale, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.
“I need to know that this is real. That you’re—that this is all real.”
He pulled away from you slightly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at you.
“This is real, baby—does it feel real?”
You nodded eagerly, your lips still tingling from the severity of his kisses, and he pulled you in for another one, his touch deliciously bruising.
When he pulled away again, you felt his fingers trace down your arm before he grabbed your hand in his. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he guided your grasp between your bodies, but your hips jolted when he pressed your hand into the hardness of his bulge in his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, fingers curling around his length to squeeze him. His lashes fluttered.
“Yeah, baby—you feel what you do to me? That’s fuckin’ real.”
You felt yourself grow increasingly desperate at his words, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head with abandon. He seemed in tune with your own neediness because pretty soon, clothes were being ripped off and haphazardly tossed around the room, lips meeting newly-exposed skin at every opportunity.
You were laid out beneath him, his body slotted between your parted legs as he hovered over you, pumping his cock languidly as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.
“I’ve pictured this, too, you know.”
You felt a small smile find your face.
“Really?”
He bit his lip, the pace of his hand jerking his length speeding up just slightly.
“Oh, fuck yeah, baby. You’re even more beautiful than I ever imagined.”
His sweet compliment was a stark contrast to the depravity of the current situation, but you could hear the sincerity in his words. You smiled up at him, reaching forward to take his cock in your grasp and line him up with your awaiting entrance.
“And you’re even bigger than I ever imagined.”
You purred, watching his eyes flash with pride as he leaned forward to brush the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, causing you to mewl unsurepetitiously.
“Please, Marc, shit—I can’t wait anymore, please.”
He grinned wickedly down at you, and before you could even take a breath, he was plunging into you with force, his cock sheathing itself fully within the softness of your cunt.
He choked above you, his arm slamming down on the mattress beside your head for support, his fist curling into the sheets.
“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”
He breathed out, his expression almost pained with just how perfectly your walls were squeezing him.
The sudden intrusion was a startling sensation, but the burn of the stretch was quickly evolving into an addictive sting of pleasure.
“Oh, God, yes—move, Marc, please.”
You begged, brows furrowed deeply, and Marc quickly obliged, starting a rapid pace as he hammered into you, his hips snapping forward with jarring strength. The sound of slapping skin echoed within the room and only served to add to your arousal, the noises leaving your lips sinful and completely involuntary.
“Fuck yeah, baby—is this what you wanted? This what you’ve been daydreaming about, huh? My cock filling you up?”
You moaned wantonly, back arching at Marc’s words. His curls were falling across his forehead, dampened with sweat, and you reached up to grip his shoulders for support, fingernails digging into the carved muscle.
“Yes, fuck, yes—so good, Marc, so fucking good—”
He reached down and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, the new angle earning a sharp cry. Your walls were fluttering around him.
“Yeah, you wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?” He hand reached between your bodies to thumb at your clit, and the added stimulation sent you suddenly toppling over the edge into your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let out a long, drawn-out moan.
“Yeah, attagirl—fuck yeah.”
Your walls were clamping down on him, pulsing rhythmically over the ridges of his cock, and he felt his release rapidly approaching.
“You want my cum, baby?”
You nodded frantically at him, eyes wild with desperation, and Marc groaned as his pace began to stutter.
“Where, baby? Where do you want it?”
You fingers sank further into the flesh of his shoulders.
“Mouth—want you to cum in my mouth.”
Your request alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.
“Oh, shit, gonna cum—”
He pulled out of you quickly, hand reaching down to fervidly fist at his cock as he crawled forward to straddle your stomach on his knees—you eagerly leaned forward just in time as his balls drew up tight, his cum shooting straight across your awaiting tongue as you opened your mouth wide for him.
“Oh, baby—fuuuuckkk—”
His hips thrusted into his fist with each pump of cum that escaped him, some shooting above your lip and dribbling down your chin. He grunted harshly as he tapped the tip of his cock over your tongue, coating the head in his release that had pooled within your mouth. You quickly closed your lips around him and suckled the tip into your mouth, swallowing all of his seed as you swirled your tongue around his length.
He let out a low groan before he finally reached forward to tug you off of him, collapsing onto the mattress beside you heavily.
You both caught your breath for a few moments, coming back down to Earth after your intense climaxes.
It was Marc who broke the silence first, a deep chuckle coming from his chest.
“If this is what you’re constantly daydreaming about, then fuck—you gotta tell me. I will make every goddamned one come true.”
Your laughter matched his own as he reached over to wrap an arm around you, pulling you towards the warmth of his body comfortingly. Your smile quickly faded as the heat of the moment made way for reality.
“Was this—I mean, this wasn’t just—just a one-time thing... right?”
Marc pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering along your hairline.
“No, baby. Besides—Jake and Steven haven’t even gotten their turns with you.”
His attempt at a joke fell flat.
“That’s not what I mean.”
You said quietly, and Marc sighed, letting his head rest atop yours as he held you close.
“Sorry. I know what you meant, but still, the answer’s no. Kinda hoping this is an all-the-time thing.”
Now, you laughed, and he swore it was his favorite sound in the entire world.
You had a brief conversation with Steven about your mutual feelings, later—although he was a stuttering mess, his smile was wide and eyes were bright with elation when he finally kissed you. He fell asleep holding you close to him, and you listened to his breathing slow as you began to doze off beside him.
Just when you were about to fall asleep, his arms around you squeezed tighter.
“Told you so.”
Jake’s voice taunted jokingly, and you lifted a fist to punch his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckled, and you tilted your head so you could see his face—he looked relaxed, truly at ease, and you practically melted into his touch.
“Yeah, I guess you did.”
You admitted defeat, and Jake gave you a cheeky lopsided grin before he leaned down and gave you a soft, chaste kiss that left you breathless.
You rested your head back against his chest, but he interrupted your peace yet again.
“Can I ask you somethin, nena?”
You nodded.
“You told Marc you imagined being an Avatar. ’m just curious—what kind of things do you think about?”
You felt your face flush with embarrassment, still feeling silly and insecure about admitting to your daydreaming habits, but Jake gently encouraged you enough until you relented, explaining how you’d always had an infatuation with the deity Nut and liked the poeticism of the pairing of the moon and the stars.
“And you called me estrellita.”
You informed shyly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing just slightly.
“Estrellita?”
He questioned, and you lifted your head to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Yeah, it—it means ‘little star.’”
You explained, and he shook his head.
“I know that, but I—hmm.”
His lips pursed, and you nudged him, his confusion worrying you.
“What? What’s wrong?”
He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before staring back up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative
“No, it’s nothing. It’s just—today, when Khonshu came to tell us that you were in trouble, he—he called you that. Little star.”
You bolted upright, the color quickly draining from your face.
“He fucking what?”
Jake shrugged uneasily, but you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest, recalling the bizarre intrusion Khonshu had made in your fantasy today, interrupting your own train of thought. Was that—actually him?
Little did you know, Khonshu had been eavesdropping on your daily mental escapes for some time, entertained by both your active imagination and the elaborate stories you seemed to conjure up on a whim. As a matter of fact, both he and Nut found great amusement in your investment in the life of the Egyptian deities, and should something happen to the Goddess of the Sky’s current Avatar—she knew exactly where to find her next candidate.
AN: No one asked for this but it came to me, and I wanted it so, hope y'all enjoy lol.
(Un-beta’d)
In which Poe is a handsy, overly-affectionate drunk.
Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,863 Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader Warnings: alcohol consumption, kissing, frottage/thigh riding, semi-public sex, soft!Poe, sub!Poe (if you squint), fluff, PDA, cursing, Poe being the adorable menace that he is. AO3
———
The spotchka sloshes out of your glass as you clink it with the others at the table, the sounds of raucous laughter and general gaiety filling the room as everyone celebrates the Resistance’s latest win. It’d been a big one, one that had been fought for long and hard; years of sleepless nights and an innumerable number of undercover missions later, it was finally over. Everyone was thrilled, of course, but none more so than Poe Dameron.
You take a sip and smile as you watch him cheer, his elation and relief obvious. He’d been neck deep in the middle of it all as the General’s right-hand man, taking charge of at least a third of the missions that had gotten all of you to this point; if anyone deserved to celebrate, it was definitely Poe.
It’s why you haven’t tried to pull him away yet, why you haven’t stopped him from drinking jet juice like it’s water. You know you probably should but…he’s just having so much fun, and you can’t bear to be the one that ends it. He’s definitely sloshed, laughing at the dumbest things and stumbling around like a baby that’s just learning how to walk. It’s been pretty amusing to witness, if you’re honest.
You watch as the people he’s been speaking with move on, clapping him on the shoulder as they head toward another group that’s taken up residence in the back corner. Once he’s alone, he sits quietly, smiling softly to himself for a moment, before his brow suddenly furrows in confusion. He looks around, an exaggerated frown on his lips as he searches for something. When his eyes meet yours, his smile returns, wide and a little dopey, as he stands to his feet and unsteadily shuffles over.
You chuckle when he plops down onto the chair beside you, his arm draping over your shoulders as he leans in so close, his nose bumps against your cheek.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice raspy from all the cheering and screaming. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
An involuntary shiver runs through you at the roughness of his voice, conjuring memories of the other times he’s sounded like this for you (his forehead pressed to yours, breath puffing against your lips as he pushes into you again and again—). He pulls you closer, his lips brushing your cheek as his other hand falls to your knee.
“Maker,” he groans, kissing his way over your jaw toward your ear. “Baby, you smell delicious.”
You tilt your head slightly to better accommodate him, your chuckle a little throaty. “I do?”
He hums, pushing his nose against the side of your neck and breathing in deeply.
You chew your lip, eyes darting around the room as he resumes kissing you, this time on your neck, the hand on your knee slowly inching its way up to your thigh.
“Poe,” you warn, squirming a little in your chair as you halt his hand’s upward progression with your own. “We’re in public.”
He grunts, nosing aside the collar of your shirt to nip at your collarbone. “So?”
Your chuckle morphs into a whine as he worries a mark there with his teeth, arousal pooling in your gut at the mild sting. He groans into your neck when your fingers find their way into his hair, curling around the soft, thick strands. Gently, you pull him off of you, his eyelids heavy, mouth slightly agape as he stares at you. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the way he looks at you, so much unabashed love and adoration, so much want. Unable to resist, you lean in and kiss him softly on the lips.
As you pull away again, you say. “C’mon, flyboy, let me take you home.”
The two of you say goodnight to everyone before stumbling from the cantina, Poe’s arm laid over your shoulders. Your arm wraps around his waist in an effort to keep him upright, only to have him lean heavily against your side, humming contentedly as he buries his face in your neck again. You manage to get him to the door just outside the living quarters hall before he starts trying to grope you, hand slipping not-so-stealthily toward your chest.
“Stop it,” you chuckle, rolling your eyes as you swat his hand away.
He snorts into your neck, his mouth once again exploring the area. “Stop what?” he asks between kisses, lips dragging over your skin. “‘m not doing anything.”
You hum skeptically, pausing to key the entry code to the door. As you wait for it to slide open, he pulls your earlobe between his lips, his teeth nipping at the edges. Your breath hitches in surprise, and he must hear it because he smiles. You drag him into the hall once the door opens, silently thanking the Maker that everyone seems to still be out celebrating.
Poe’s quarters aren’t far, and normally take just a few minutes to reach, however, what should be a quick trek is hindered by the fact that a certain drunk commander can’t seem to stop touching you. You fend him off without issue, though, biting back your laughter at the terrible pick-up lines he’s throwing your way.
“You do know that I can’t carry you, right?” you tease, snorting as he knocks you into the wall with his weight again.
He chuckles as he attempts to right himself, but only succeeds in making you even more lopsided. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t help that I am trapped in the gravitational field of your smile.”
You scoff, shaking your head fondly as you turn the corner to the hall that (blessedly) houses Poe’s quarters. “You’re an idiot.”
He laughs again, and you grunt as he leans into your side yet again, his breath puffing against your cheek. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”
It’s cheesy, but the truth of the statement makes something warm lodge itself in your heart all the same.
You’re almost there, can literally see his door as you both plod awkwardly down the hall. He’s quieter now, but you’re so focused on getting him into his room, you don’t think to ask why.
Without warning, he leans into you again, throwing you off balance and pinning you to the wall with his hips. Before you can scold him, he covers your lips with his own, stealing your words as well as the breath from your lungs. He tastes like a Keshian spice roll, sweet and a little tangy, and you melt into him, your fingers curling into his shirt to keep him against you. His tongue is warm, insistent, as it slides hungrily against yours, coaxing a soft moan from your throat.
He sighs, grinding against you clumsily as he devours your mouth. His hands are everywhere; on your face, your hips, your ass, his strong fingers gripping and pulling, manipulating your body like he would his ship. You whine as he slots his thigh between your legs, pushing it up against your core, mumbling something about wanting to see you fall apart. You moan at the friction, canting your hips as he pulls his mouth from yours to groan into your neck. Your fingers weave into his hair as you both continue to grind against each other, the pleasure building steadily in your gut.
“Poe,” you sigh breathlessly, eyes flying open when you remember where you are. “Baby, your room is right there.”
He grunts in response, his mouth latching onto your neck.
You open your mouth to respond, then promptly choke on a moan when he shifts his leg, the movement pressing the seam of your pants against your clit.
“Maker, I love all the pretty, little sounds you make,” he slurs, voice raspy as he pulls back to meet your eyes. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”
The greedy look in his eyes sends another jolt of pleasure through you, your breath hitching as you cant your hips, seeking your release.
“Poe,” you whine, telling him that you’re close (so close), that you just need a little more—
He shushes you softly, pressing his forehead against yours, his own hips still rutting lazily against you, and when you come, he kisses you, swallowing your moans.
The first thing you notice when you come back to yourself is that Poe’s rock-hard cock is digging into your hip. When you open your eyes, he’s watching you, his smile soft, eyes heavy-lidded, still blown wide with lust.
That’s when you remember where you are.
Shit.
Panic slices through you as you wriggle in his hold, trying to push yourself off of the wall (and his thigh). You’re mortified—had anyone seen you? Had they heard? You groan (and not in the pretty way Poe likes), eyes darting around in search of any onlookers. Poe chuckles, nose nudging against yours as he tries to reclaim your attention.
As you return your attention to your menace of a boyfriend, you can’t seem to stop the laugh that escapes you, clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. He laughs too, snorting when you place your other hand over his mouth. You smile at each other as your combined giggles subside, Poe’s eyes crinkling a little by his eyes.
“Let’s get you to bed, commander,” you say finally, fingers toying with the curls at the base of his neck.
He nods, a little glassy-eyed as he stares at you with a fondness and affection that makes your stomach flip.
When you (finally) make it into his room, he attacks you with his lips again, licking into your mouth as his hands clumsily attempt to remove your clothes. He walks backwards, bringing you along with him as he untucks your shirt from your pants. You chuckle as he struggles with your belt, grunting in frustration when he can’t seem to get it unbuckled. He huffs after a moment, abandoning his attempts and slipping beneath your shirt instead.
Suddenly, he grunts, tripping and falling heavily onto his bed and pulling you right along with him. You laugh softly, pushing yourself up on your forearms to look down at him; his eyes are glazed with want, dark curls splayed across his blanket in a messy halo, eyelids heavy.
“Slow down, baby,” you whisper, smiling softly as you lean in to kiss him again.
He melts into the mattress, moaning into your mouth as his hands slide up your back, hips pushing against yours. You grind down onto him slowly, gently, swallowing every sigh and whimper that falls from between his lips. He comes with a choked moan not long after, fingers digging into your skin as his hips stutter against yours.
You pull back when you feel him sag in relief beneath you, your hands combing through his hair. His eyes are closed, body limp and heavy, and you realize—he fell asleep. You snort, smiling fondly at him before pressing a kiss to his forehead. As you try to slip from his hold though, he tightens his arms around you, murmuring softly for you to stay.
Unable to deny him anything, you do.
If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖
🌟 Masterlist 🌟
i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.
hi!!! I reached 2000 followers back in... august I think? but never really had the time/strength to celebrate properly, so now's the time I guess!
everything's happening through my inbox and anyone can participate :)
status: opened
—💍fmk: give me three characters and I’ll choose who I fuck, marry and kiss. (no killing here)
—🧠would you rather: make me choose between two situations!
—🧡be nosy: feel free to ask me any question you want!
—📷 paparazzi: send me a 📷 and I’ll reply with a random picture of oscar!
—🐝bzz: send me a 🐝 with a character and I’ll tell you a random headcanon I have for them!
—🎧hand me the aux: send me a 🎧, I will randomize my playlist and give you a song recommendation!
—💭thoughts: send me headcanons, thoughts (or thots) about one character I write for and I'll let my wild mind run with it!
I don't know how long this celebration will last, I'll see how it goes and I'll update the status at the top of the post!
thank you for 2k!!!
tagging some lovely mutuals<3 @my-secret-shame @whatthefishh @spacecowboyhotch @campingwiththecharmings @midgardian-witch @nowritingonthewall @ominoose @alwritey-aphrodite @dameronshandholder @missdictatorme @foxilayde @spider-starry @moonknightly @eatingyouryoung @lunaesidus @melodygatesauthor
Rose I She/her or they/them I 20 yo I Bisexual disaster I Only there to simp I ⚖ ☼
154 posts