#but like turning off shipping brain every once in a while is good practice

[freakurodani]

shipperbrain creates the worst takes ever

[mackjlee9]

Adam Warlock x Top!Male!Reader [Smut]

I tried okay- it's been a while since I've written an actual smut

Masterlist.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3

Requested by sal the mon on Quotev.

Well, this is not how the Guardians' trip to Earth was supposed to go.

Out of everyone, (M/n) was the only one who was reluctant to sleep over at the Quill Residence, so he decided to sleep in his small room in the Bowie, they weren't gonna stay around for too long anyway so he didn't mind staying in the ship.

He thought he was gonna be the only one on the ship, until Adam came up to him silently as he made his way out of the house, "Need anything, Adam?"

The golden boy looked up from the ground at (M/n), and shook his head.

"I lost rock, paper, scissors for one of the rooms," the way he seemed defeated about not being able to stay in Peter's home almost made (M/n) laugh, but he simply smiled and continued walking around the back of the house, toward the backyard where the Bowie was.

He yawned as the ramp lowered, and they made their way inside, closing up again once they were inside.

"Well..." (M/n) yawned again, their footsteps echoing in the silence of the ship, the sound of metal filling their ears, "I'm going to bed, good night," his wrist got grabbed before he could walk inside his room, and he looked back, seeing Adam standing there, "What?" He asked quietly, feeling quite a bit flustered and hot with Adam so close to him.

"I'm not tired yet," for a moment, (M/n) was about to ask how the fuck was he not tired with all they did during the day, he was literally about to collapse from exhaustion, until he remembered that Adam was a Sovereign, and that was what he needed to think of to make him sigh.

"Fine," he opened his room door and took swift steps toward the electronic device that could easily be an iPad made by humans and he handed it to Adam, "This app," he pressed on the screen, and the app took a few seconds to load, "Has movies and series to watch, you can have it for tonight, and don't break it."

Adam scrolled down the app, reading the title of every cover that caught his eye, he was quite interested in all of it.

"Good night, Adam," he looked up and smiled at (M/n), mumbling a 'good night' back before making his way to his own room.

//////

Despite being exhausted, (M/n) had a hard time falling asleep, every time he closed his eyes, the image of a shirtless -and practically naked- Adam would fill his mind, making him groan and sigh as he felt hot and bothered, like really mad at his subconscious for constantly bringing that memory back whenever he got distracted.

Everyone back in Knowhere was so painfully aware of the hugely obvious crush (M/n) had on Adam, except for Adam himself, and (M/n) was too much of a coward to say anything.

Turning face up on his bed, he dropped his arm over his eyes and sighed, deciding to just ignore the memory to the best of his ability. Eventually, he will fall asleep, even if it takes a while for his brain to shut off for a few hours.

And it's only been roughly two hours later that Adam came out of his room, feeling his body tingly and warm, covered in goosebumps due to the involuntary shivers he felt whenever the scene played back in his mind.

He had a faint feeling that he was watching something he wasn't entirely sure he should, but he did anyway, intrigued by the cover and title. He should've known better.

Adam gripped the device in his hands, careful not to break it, as (M/n) had requested of him, and he took quiet steps toward the (h/c) haired male's room, his mind foggy and numb as a particular image flashed past. He shook his head when he arrived at (M/n)'s door, and slowly reached to open it.

As expected, the room was quiet, seeing as (M/n) was fast asleep, and Adam sighed in relief, he didn't know why he was relieved but he was, and made his way inside, careful to not make loud noises that could potentially wake (M/n) up. He placed the device down on his desk, and turned around to leave, until he heard a quiet sound coming from him.

Adam turned to look at (M/n) who had started squirming on the bed, the low brightness of the hallway light was enough to provide a good look at him, and Adam noticed a rather prominent bulge in (M/n)'s pants.

For a moment, all Adam could do was stare, feeling his mouth watering as his mind got plagued with sinful images, those he had just watched but slightly different. They weren't of a man and woman, they were replaced by an image them, (M/n) and Adam.

And he couldn't hold himself back.

//////

A deep frown marked (M/n)'s face, his jaw clenched as muffled groans filled the room, mixing with a constant and wet gawk sound.

His body shook hard enough to make him open his eyes, taking ragged breaths in as he felt like the room was spinning. (M/n) sighed, assuming he simply had a bad dream, but he knew that wasn't it, he probably had the hottest dream he'd ever had in years, and Adam was the cause and protagonist of said dream.

He would've gone back to sleep if it wasn't for a particular feeling on his lower regions, and when he looked down, he swore he could've cum right then and there, and he wasn't far from it.

Whether this was another dream or not, he didn't care, Adam was giving him probably the best head he's ever had -not that he had many, to begin with- but, fuck... he was really good with his mouth, holy-

"Fuck..." (M/n) observed with half-lidded eyes how Adam's hips were grinding down on his bed, his gold eyes closed as he whined needy around his cock.

Adam seemed to be enjoying this just as much as (M/n) was, perhaps even more.

His hands reached down to hold onto Adam's blond locks, pulling on them a little roughly as he started thrusting his hips up, listening to the wet sounds of him taking his cock deep down his throat. Adam's eyes opened, and he looked up at (M/n) through his glossy sight, feeling his dick leaking and throbbing inside his underwear.

"You're mouth feels... So good, Adam, fuck... I'm gonna cum," the Sovereign whined louder, trying to nod while his mouth was still being used, his whole body trembling at the thought of feeling (M/n)'s cum spill in his mouth and slide down his throat.

Groans and heavy breaths left (M/n)'s lips as he approached his orgasm, pulling Adam's hair as he kept his head pressed as close as it could be, releasing a loud moan as his cock twitched, thick ropes of warm cum spilling out of his slit.

He watched with a heavy stare how Adam's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hands held tightly onto his thighs, making sure to take every single drop of his cum.

(M/n)'s breath was ragged but it was going back to normal, simply assuming this whole thing would end there, but it didn't. It won't be ending now.

Adam slowly pulled away and licked his lips before taking a deep breath, "(M/n)...?" He let out a quiet 'hm?' in response, "Can I... Do something?"

His was clouded by the post-orgasm bliss, so he was feeling pretty complacent, giving a few slow nods to Adam's question.

He knelt on the bed and simply tore his clothes off of his body, making (M/n)'s eyes widen at the sight of Adam's naked body. Oh, the things I would do to him...

(M/n) watched attentively how Adam straddled his hips, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of (M/n)'s cock getting hard under him, and he took a deep breath. He didn't know what Adam wanted to do, but he was expecting to see him slowly taking his cock inside him.

A choked moan escaped Adam's mouth, his hands placing themselves on (M/n)'s chest, tugging on the fabric of his shirt, releasing a high-pitched whimper, "So big, I... I feel so f-full..."

(M/n)'s teeth gritted, his hands reaching to hold Adam's hips harshly, feeling his mind going numb at how tight and warm Adam felt around his sensitive cock, "Oh my fucking..." He mumbled to himself, struggling to keep his eyes open, just to be able to see every little detail on Adam's expression.

They made eye contact when Adam looked down at him, tears sliding down his gold skin, which had turned some kind of copper colour over his cheeks and nose, giving the appearance of a rather cute blush.

"(M/n)..." Adam's voice was quiet and whiny, leaning down closer until their breaths were mixing, "I..."

He got interrupted by the feeling of (M/n)'s lips pressed against his, muffling his whimpers as he felt his hips being lifted and slowly lowered again. The movement made a shiver run down his spine at how he got filled up again.

At that point, Adam didn't care if (M/n) was gonna use his body like a toy, even more so at the realization that Adam's buffer and bigger body meant nothing with how easily was able to manhandle him. He loved it, and he never wanted it to end.

[tearsofcalamity]

wriofucker's fine by me lol unless u have another nickname that'd be both as accurate & funny!

i wasn't too clear earlier; i think our mandatory education goes up to 9th grade, and then it's like a minimum of 4(ish) years for a uni degree. so it's not all that different lol

nahh im telling you i had one macroeconomics class once and it fried my fuckin brain. only reason i could stand it was because the professor was too right-brained for his own good (he'd start his lectures with a song he liked. i wrote a bunch of barely-relevant shit abt environmental pollution on the exam—he was super passionate abt it—and he just let me pass<3 loved that guy). ik i said it before but good luck on ur studies!! im sure you'll absolutely kill it out there. and, thank sm! i actually finished the short story assignment last night but im too scared to submit it jdhdj

im so glad you've got more kaveh brewing omg he's so<33 bit of a shame you're not into kavetham (they make me bite & scream) but that's just fine; more kaveh/reader for the world! except the world is me and nobody else<3 can u imagine teasing kaveh in public, maybe he's even all nice & plugged up, and you're warning him not to let a single person figure out what's going on bc he's for your eyes only<3 but it's so difficult and you're relentless and it feels so, so good... he doesn't even care about people finding out anymore, but he wants to be a good boy for you... phew. lord have mercy

HAHA WRIOFUCKER IT IS THEN!! happy to have a named anon :D

ohhhh I see I see! okay yeah so it's pretty similar just a few differences! I think the only reason I'm surviving my business/econ work is cause I've got a math-wired brain lmfao. I've got autism ("high functioning" but I don't really like that term for it, I think the more acceptable one is "low support needs") and I got the "math autism" as my friends put it so that's probably a bigger part of it. I like making spreadsheets and working out equations HAHA, also thank you for the well wishes I actually just found out I passed calc 2 with an 82% so I'm very happy about that!! I'm glad to hear you got your short story done as well, sounds like you're moving through it all good <3!!

HONESTLY I don't hate the ships (like either kavetham or haikaveh I think they're different? like some shippers put the top's name first or something?? I'm not 100% sure) like I TOTALLY see the chemistry don't get me wrong, I think it's mainly just that I get so sad seeing like nearly 0 kaveh content without alhaitham included. I love both of them but kaveh's got such a unique and deep story too, yet people often just kinda treat him like an accessory to alhaitham likely cause he's 4 star and haitham is 5 star so it turns me off of the ships a bit </3 still though that's so true MORE KAVEH/READER!!!!

oh don't even get me started on teasing kaveh in public there's so many ways you could do it and each one would make him squirm more than the last... shove a nice little vibrator deep inside of him, remote controlled of course, and enjoy watching his knees practically buckle every time you up the intensity. ooh, maybe he's giving a one-time academic seminar for some kshahrewar students and you just stand in the corner, grinning at him all the while while he shakes and tries his best to keep his voice level, praying his face isn't as red as it feels...

or play around with him in the tavern, sit right next to him and brush your hand along his inner thigh while he squirms, not sure whether he wants to move closer or further way from you... this one's easier to hide since his flushed cheeks could easily be attributed to a bit too much to drink, but once he's grabbing at your wrist to push your hand into his bulge at last, he knows by your stare that he's messed up. I mean, he hadn't kept his promise to be good, had he? guess you'll just have to rail him over his workbench back at home when he least expects it! (totally ignore his needs/pretend he's not acting super horny when you get back at first, though, he'll be so good for you when you finally do bend him over)

[our-death-means-flag]

Above the Clouds and the Atmosphere

Ship: Izzy Hands x Reader

Notes: Wing AU, Izzy hasn’t been able to fly in decades. It doesn’t bother him. (It does.) Reader is the first person he’s met with wings strong enough to carry someone and fly. Not that it matters, Izzy doesn’t need to fly again. (He does.)

So, @run-me-through-but-not-like-that (hope the tag isn’t annoying!) wrote a wing fic with Izzy a while ago and it has not left my brain since. I thought that Izzy deserved to fly again and I love wing fics. So, here’s this.

Warnings: mentioned wing injuries, angst, Izzy being difficult

Title Song: Rocketeer by Far East Movement (but I’m specifically thinking of this cover by Clara C.)

It was impossible not to notice.

A crew member with wings was fairly run of the mill. If anything, they were sought after since the benefits of having a pirate who could fly were too many to count. Most crews only had two or three if they were lucky. The Revenge somehow had six five, Ed, Fang, Bonnet, Buttons, and you.

You still somehow stood out.

Your wings were absolutely massive. You had a larger wingspan than Ed which was a feat on its own. And you were without question the strongest flier on the crew.  (Yes, the crew of this clown ship had hosted a competition for that for some bloody reason, during which Izzy did his damndest to hide below deck) Though, and he’d never admit it, he did enjoy watching you. Watching you fly so smoothly when you scouted the waters ahead, watching you swoop down to attack an enemy sending them falling off the boat while you effortlessly shot back up into the air, watching you laugh and joke with the crew, wings moving almost as much as your hands as you spoke, emphasizing your words. You always flew so gracefully. Each twitch of your feathers was intentional and the gusts of wind that each flap of your wings created felt like a storm.

Every once in a while he’d purposely stand near you and when the wind from your wings hit his face it felt like he was flying again, just for an instant, but of course, that instant would pass and then he’d be slammed back into reality, grounded, permanently.

It was beautiful.

It was horrible.

Watching you was incredible but it made his wings ache. 

He was stuck. Part of him wanted to cling to you and to the memories of flying. But he didn’t. Instead he avoided you and your beautiful wings and the memories you brought, snapping whenever you dared try and get close, being significantly more hostile towards you than the rest of the crew.

Despite that, you kept trying. You were soft. Just like the rest of the crew. You were capable too, on par with what he’d expect from Blackbeard’s crew. But you were soft. You were kind and gentle and helpful. You always greeted him with a warm “Hello Izzy!” or a “Good morning, Izzy!” or a “Do you need anything, Izzy?”

It made it hard to hate you.

He wondered if it was harder to hate you or to deal with the reminders you brought of what he couldn’t do anymore.

Regardless, he avoided you. 

But avoiding you forever wasn’t practical…

A high pitched yell pulled him away from his work as he dragged a hand across his face.

“No peace and fockin’ quiet on this fockin’ ship.” He grumbled.

Usually a yell like that would have him worried that they were under attack but much to his surprise, he wasn’t really worried. He realized with no small amount of shock that it was because you’d been the one scouting today and you certainly wouldn’t be so incompetent. 

He quickly stopped thinking about how that must mean he trusts you.

Izzy stepped onto the deck and immediately noticed the source of the commotion. Practically the entire crew was crowded on the deck all clearly watching something. That something turned out to be you.

You were flying, easily keeping yourself hovering in place with strategic flaps of your wings. Clutching desperately onto you, was Lucius. The scribe looks like he was moments away from screaming again even as Izzy saw you gently comforting him and (if he was reading your lips right) telling him that it wasn’t that high up, that even if you dropped him, which you emphasized that you definitely wouldn’t do, he’d be fine.

Izzy shook his head trying to stop staring at you. He did the only thing he could think of and barked out “What the fuck are you useless lot doing?” 

A few people turned to glare at him and you looked remarkably guilty. In an annoyingly graceful movement, you landed deftly on the deck and gently released Lucius (honestly having to peel him off more than anything). 

You rubbed the back of your head awkwardly. “Sorry Izzy! Some of the crew wanted to go for a fly and I was done scouting— didn’t see anything interesting— and I’m the strongest flier… So, I figured.” You rambled and Izzy made a point of not looking at how the edges of your wings twitched as you moved your hands. “I… uh…” You seemed to lose confidence as you spoke. “Yeah…”

Some members of the crew notably stepped in between him and you as if to defend you. Not that it stopped him from opening his mouth, ready to unleash a volley of insults but the hand on his shoulder did.

“Aw, come on now. Lay off them Iz…” Edward’s voice was soft as he wrapped both his arm and wing around his shoulder, almost hiding the two of them from view.

The crew went back to talking to you, assuming that Ed would handle Izzy.

Ed took his chance and ducked slightly and whispered into Izzy’s ear, almost conspiratorially, “You know, if you asked, I’m sure they’d take you for a fly… They’re probably the only person we’ve met who could.” 

Izzy tensed. Of course you could. And Ed was right. You were very likely the only person who could. He’d never met anyone with wings as strong as yours. You definitely could carry him and fly.

Edward couldn’t. His wings were made for speed, not strength. Even though he’d been nearly dead, he remembered the first raid after his wings had gotten injured. Ed had scooped him into his arms and flown them back to their ship. He’d barely made it, actually hitting the railing and sending both of them skidding across the deck. Ed had sprained his own wings horribly after that, so Izzy never let him carry him again. He wouldn’t let his captain ground himself for his sake.

Izzy glanced at you again as you gently pulled Lucius into your arms again, comforting him before gently taking off.

The idea took over his mind. He could fly again. He’d never thought it would be possible.

No. It didn’t matter. He was fine.

He’d been fine without his flight for years. The hours he’d spent staring at the sky didn’t matter. The nights he’d spend curled up in his bunk, trying desperately to fall back asleep and dream of flying for just one more second didn’t matter.

He was fine.

Izzy rolled his shoulder pushing Ed’s hand off him. “I don’t need them.” He spat and stormed off.

He made a point of not looking at Edward’s guilty look. He knew that Ed had always blamed himself for the state of Izzy’s wings. Izzy had gotten the injuries protecting him after all. Even if Izzy knew about his captain's guilt, he couldn’t understand it. Protecting his captain came before everything else. Even his wings.

And he was fine.

—

Izzy did a double take the moment he stepped onto the deck for his late night rounds. The deck was empty, the night chilly enough to send everyone down to the bunks rather than sleeping on deck. But that wasn’t what caught his eye. Everything was done? The rigging was secure. The deck was organized and clean and he had no idea what was going on.

Until he spotted a familiar wing. 

Of course. It just had to be you. 

You were crouched near the front of the ship, wings fluttering in concentration as you meticulously checked the remainder of the rigging. So the state of the deck was probably because of you. But why? You’d usually be in bed or eating with the crew by now and you certainly didn’t have a late night shift today. So why were you here working?

Not sure how to get your attention without having to get close enough to risk touching your wings or yelling, he cleared his throat. You jumped lightly and he saw your hand shoot for the blade at your side until you looked over your shoulder and caught sight of him. Then you smiled.

“Evenin’ Izzy!” You greeted as politely as usual.

“Right,” was his curt response. “What are you doing here so damn late?”

You stood, somewhat sheepishly. “Oh, well… I figured I ought to help out a little…” He only got more confused and you seemed to notice since you continued, “well, I was the one who distracted everyone earlier and I wanted to make it up to you… so… I handled some things.” 

He furrowed his brows. “Make it up to me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t want you getting stuck with extra work cause I distracted everyone.”  You said it so matter-of-factly too, as if it was normal for you to do something like that for him.

On any other ship, if you’d do something like that, it would be out of fear, hoping to avoid punishment for slacking off. But no one on this ship was actually afraid of him since they all knew that the captains wouldn’t let him do anything. Maybe you were doing another strange thing again. Like how you greeted him and helped out.

Ridiculous.

“Fine.” He glanced at the rigging. “Not bad.” You beamed like he’d given you a huge compliment. “Go.” He dismissed you coldly, trying not to think about how much he liked seeing you smiling.

You walked past him, still smiling. Then you stopped. He was moments away from telling you to fuck off when you spoke again, “You know… my offer stands for you too.” He looked back at you.

“What offer?” He snapped.

“Flying. You weren’t on deck when I mentioned it to the rest of the crew but if you ever want me to take you for a fly, I’d be happy to. Just say the word.” He froze. “If you don’t want to do anything around the crew, let me know and I can find a time where we can fly without them around.”

Izzy stared at you. 

Did he want that?

Did he want to fly again?

He tried to picture it, the wind in his face, the ocean beneath him, your arms holding him and your beautiful wings keeping both of you in the air.

He hates the fact that he doesn’t hate the ideas.

You seem to take his silence and glare wrong as you rush to correct yourself. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to assume… I know you don’t like me and I know my wings make you uncomfortable and-

“What?” Izzy manages to force the word out, cutting off your words. 

You smiled sadly. “I'm not that oblivious. I know you keep avoiding me and whenever I fly you always seem really uncomfortable. I’m sorry. I want to be friends but if you want me to fuck off, just say the word and I’ll try to stay out of your way.”  

“Friends?” He echoed as if that was the most surprising thing you’d said. Not only had you caught on to his behavior but you were actively trying to make it up to him for them. 

You chuckled but it was clearly more at yourself than anything he said. ”Yeah… stupid. I know… I’m so sorry.”

“No.” He wasn’t sure why but he had to say it, had to get that stupid sad expression off your face. You seemed surprised. “I don't hate you.”

You froze, glancing back at him. “What?”

He groaned, realizing that he’d backed himself into a conversational corner. “I don’t hate you or your wings. Honestly you’re the most tolerable out of this whole damn crew. You actually know what you’re doing.”

You turned fully to face him, confusion and hope clear on your face. “You don’t? Then why do you avoid me?”

“Because I hate being reminded of what I can’t do!” He snapped. Then almost immediately froze as he realized what he’d said a moment after saying it. Your eyes widened. His eyes widened. “Fuck.”

His wings flexed uselessly under the many layers of wraps keeping them pressed to his back.

“You have…”

“Yes.” No point beating around the bush. “Can’t fly anymore.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Your tone of voice stunned him. You weren’t mocking him. He still remembered the way the rest of Hornigold’s crew had reacted to his sudden grounding. And get here you were genuinely telling him you were sorry without an ounce of sarcasm or mockery. You, with the most beautiful set of wings he’d ever seen.

“I don’t want your damn pity.” He snapped.

You didn’t react. “It’s not pity. I mean it. I’m genuinely sorry that happened to you.”

He didn’t know how to react to the fact he believed you.

“Thank you for telling me Izzy. If you ever need anyone to help with your wings, just ask.” Your words were so gentle, so genuine. “Goodnight Izzy.” You turned.

“Wait.” The word came out like a command, even as his voice shook. He knew if he didn’t say it now he’d probably never get the courage again. You turned, confused. But Izzy spoke before you did. “I want to fly.”

“What?”

“I’m not fucking saying it again.”

You (damn you) didn’t push or try to mess with him. Instead you just smiled. “Of course. If you’d like, we could go now?” You offered gently.

Izzy hesitated. He technically didn’t have any nightly duties left since you’d done everything aside from being on watch which he could easily do while flying. He swallowed. “Sure.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face and the way your wings fluttered in excitement. You opened your arms and smiled at him. “I’m going to have to pick you up.” 

Izzy couldn’t help but be a little grateful for you simply allowing him to come to you rather than grab him. With far more hesitation than he cared to admit, Izzy moved closer, tentatively stepping into arms reach of you.. You gestured with your arms and raised a brow, silently asking if you could pick him up. Izzy managed to mumble a “Yeah, go for it.” and he was lucky the two of you were so close since he was barely louder than a whisper.

You moved carefully, gently picking him up. One of your arms under his legs and the other resting gently against his back. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to keep himself steady and was trying (and failing) incredibly hard to not think about how you were holding him

“You good?” You asked, speaking incredibly softly. With Izzy in your arms like he was, he could feel your breath on his ear. Izzy doubted he could actually get his lips to form words but he managed a quick nod. “Alright, I’m going to stay over the deck, not too high. Then if that’s fine with you I can fly around.”

Why did you have to be so frustratingly considerate? 

Izzy nodded against your shoulder.

You smiled, even without looking at you, he could hear it in your voice. “Got it. I’m taking off on the count of 3. 1…”

Izzy took a deep breath.

“2…”

He adjusted his grip on your shoulders.

“3!”

More on instinct than any conscious thought, Izzy buried his face in your shoulder. He heard the flap of your wings, the air rushing past, and then, calm. He pulled away from your shoulder slowly and opened his eyes. The two of you were hovering over the deck, about eye level with the mizzentop, your wings carefully flapping to keep you both as still as possible. It took a moment for everything to click in his mind. 

He was flying.

“Izzy?” Your voice gently pulled him from his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

He really wanted to give some cool response maybe a smooth “never better” but instead the only sound that managed to escape him was a “mhhnngh” which not only wasn’t smooth at all but also didn’t answer your question so instead he managed to nod.

“Do you want to fly around more?” He could practically hear the smile in your voice. 

Since Izzy’s vocal chords were still not cooperating, he nodded, almost frantically.

“Alright… Let’s go…” With another powerful flap of your wings you shot off away from the Revenge. Izzy felt the wind rushing by his face, tousling his hair. He watched the ocean flicker past just below him.  You dove down, and Izzy suddenly felt the sea mist against his skin. 

When his wings had healed enough for him to attempt flying, he'd honestly already known at that point that it would be useless. He’d tried regardless. Of course, he couldn’t. He pretended it didn’t bother him. But honestly, the idea that he’d never be able to fly again burned up his mind in a way he’d never been able to shake.

But he was actually flying.

It felt like a dream.

Izzy’s eyes must have been watering from the wind and the salt. 

He definitely wasn’t crying.

He was fine.

Without even thinking about it, Izzy reached a hand out towards the sea, desperate to reach out and touch it, as if that would fully confirm for him that he wasn’t dreaming. Seemingly realizing what he wanted, you swooped lower, allowing the tips of Izzy’s fingers to skip across the surface of the waves. You soared up into the air, Izzy watching the waves created from air from your wings.  Then you dove back down. You flew laps around the Revenge, staying just close enough to be safe. Of course, you (irritatingly considerate) kept checking in with him. “Is this okay?” “You alright?” “Everything fine?” To which Izzy could only respond with nods.

By the time you were landing back on deck,  Izzy honestly had no clue how long the two of you had been flying. He’d somehow just let himself get lost in the feeling of flying. A quick glance at the sky made him suddenly realize that his watch was almost up. The two of you had flown around almost all night. Izzy was honestly a lot more reluctant to leave your arms than he’d expected to be, but the fear of someone coming on deck and seeing you both made him finally remove himself from your arms.

He expected to feel just as awful as he had when he’d first realized he was stuck on the ground the moment his feet touched the ground but that didn’t happen. He felt lighter, more comfortable, like some tension he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying was gone. He scrubbed his face with his sleeve, trying to make it look more like he was rubbing sleep away from his eyes with limited success.

“Izzy?” Your voice once again, cut through the silence. He spun, turning to see you leaning against the railing, wings relaxed and breathing a bit heavier than normal, shoulders visibly moving. It seemed that even for someone as strong as you, flying around for hours carrying someone was a lot of work. 

“You look exhausted. You should have stopped sooner.” He winced at his own words, hating how even that came out as a complaint.

You chuckled lightly, seemingly not taking his words as insulting in any way. “Yeah, probably.” You agreed as you gently stretched your wings out. Izzy was once again struck by how big and powerful your wings were. “But you seemed to be having a good time so… I only really doubled back when I realized the watch shift was going to change, figured you wouldn’t want any of the crew seeing you.”

Again with you being so frustratingly considerate of him. Izzy sighed. You still made little sense to him with all that kindness but that was an issue for another day. “You ought to go to sleep. I’ll handle your morning tasks so you can sleep in.”

You immediately waved your hands. “Oh you don’t have to do that!”

“I know I don’t.” Izzy replied matter-of-factly. “Just as you didn’t need to stay up late to help me nor take me flying.”

“You don’t owe me for any of that, Izzy. I did that because I wanted to.” 

He actually fumbled with his words for a moment. If it were anyone else, he would have immediately called bullshit, but you looked so incredibly genuine. Either you were the best liar he’d ever met, or you were being sincere. “In that case, go to bed. I’ll cover for you because I want to.” He tried to make his voice as authoritative as possible but it was incredibly hard to do that when you were looking at him so softly. “You’re not convincing me otherwise.”

You smiled. “If you insist. Goodnight Izzy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.” Izzy replied with a nod. You walked past him to the bunks, and Izzy gathered up his courage. “Thank you.” He managed to force out without turning to face you,  just as you were about to leave. 

“Of course, anytime!”

Left alone on deck for a few minutes until shift change, Izzy watched the sky.

[cronagorgonzola]

Ok so Star Trek: Enterprise really seemed to be improving in season 3 ever since they abandoned the shapeshifting lizard people as the series villain and stopped trying to put T'pol and Archer together but then we came across an episode last night that baffled us so thoroughly we stayed up for an extra hour just yelling into the void about it

So, Enterprise comes across this destroyed insectoid ship. The crew are dead and most systems are down and they dont know why. And then on the ship they find a hatchery of insectoid eggs. Babies. It's the most fortified section of the ship and the only section that still has life support.

Turns out, the crew cut power to their own life support in order to keep the hatchery running. They sacrificed themselves to save these babies. Phlox analyzes their anatomy and learns that they reproduce asexually, concludes there is likely a hatchery like this on every insectoid ship. So now we know two things: these children were loved, and the crew of this ship was not especially negligent for having them onboard, because this is a normal practice for their people.

Archer says "we gotta save these babies." The crew is skeptical, because saving the babies would take a lot of resources and put Enterprise in danger. For once i agree with Archer - they gotta save the babies. He makes a lot of really good arguments, like "we have a chance to show the Xindi that we're not the monsters they think we are," and "if this was a nursery of primate babies, you wouldnt think twice about saving them." That good Star Trek shit. No one actually directly refutes this argument, they just say they dont want to save the babies.

The whole episode goes on like this, with Archer fervently trying to save these babies while the rest of the crew stands around saying "idk i think the captain's going crazy." T'pol refuses a direct order to help with saving the babies, so Archer relieves her of command. This is seen as evidence that Archer is going crazy. Another insectoid ship shows up, and Reed blows them out of the sky without even attempting to communicate, so Archer relieves him of command as well. This is further evidence that Archer is going crazy.

Then the senior staff fucking mutinies. They say, "captain, youve taken this whole 'save these babies' thing too far, let us kill the babies." The babies have started to hatch and Archer is getting weird with it. They drag him off to sick bay and scan his brain - turns out, he was infected with some kind of alien pheromone that gave him an irresistable urge to protect these babies. He was not, in fact, following a moral code that compelled him to protect innocent life, or trying to set a good example for humanity as they join the interstellar community. He was just crazy all along! No attempt is made to refute the (very good) arguments he made in favor of saving the babies, the viewers are just meant to accept the premise that saving the babies isnt worth it actually, because it would take a lot of resources. Archer even says "yeah if i was normal i wouldve just let the babies die" and leaves it at that - no slow zoom in on his face as he realizes what that means about him, no speech about how humanity needs to outgrow old prejudices to see the sanctity of diverse life, the episode just leaves off on "those babies were creepy it wouldve been fine to kill them."

But the episode still makes a point to tell the viewer that the babies will survive, because the writers understand that when you put a bunch of babies in danger, people will naturally worry for their safety. Not the crew, though. It's super fine and normal that they were totally willing to let those babies die, the captain was definitely the crazy one for trying to save them.

[chocobothis]

Javi Reyes Headcanons

(Cause those ship infographs gave me Brain Rot.)

He’s such a foodie who is all down for the Experience of things. It leads him to microbreweries, hipster places, pop-ups, etc. He tends to drag Nico with him but the circle widens as he makes more friends in Albany. Once him and Piers get along (and Javi drops The Grudge) he’s a frequent accompanier. But, things really shine when him and Leon get actually Serious.

Speaking of Leon: They absolutely got married before they were really dating. It was more of an arrangement of convenience starting out. They already knew the clicked well as friends, Javi never saw himself getting married for romantic love, and Leon needed an Emergency Contact that wasn’t the US Government. So, the idea comes up and they agree on it because there’s legal perks worth having. Then it turns out they’re actually really compatible on nearly every level. Javi still wouldn’t call what he feels for Leon “romantic love” (he identifies as aromantic) but it’s certainly something he’s only felt once before.

Javier Reyes Valencia had a huge Twilight phase. He was so into the books, saw the movies, has some merch, etc. Because he’s a sucker for romances; its as much his own personality as growing up with a household that loved telenovelas. He’s just the right age to have been ahead of the craze and well...it stuck. 

He has several tattoos including an outline of the Andes where he grew up. All of this tattoos tend toward a delicate style that would be considered “feminine” because he loves the aesthetic. They’re gorgeous and he loves them. He has a flower tattoo for Nico and she has a crow for him.

He hates living alone. As the middle of five children, until the Outbreak, there were always people around. When TerraSave moved him to Caliban Cove, post-outbreak, he lived with his guardian/surrogate older brother and two dogs. After training in the BSAA it was Nico until she moved in with Claire. Then it became Jake Fox. Things are too quiet and he gets too lost in his mind that way.

His handwriting is immaculate. It’s unfair.

Had he not experienced zombies he would have gone on to become a paramedic. His father was a doctor, his mother a nurse practitioner, one older sister was studying to be a forensic anthropologist and the other a medical doctor as well. The twins were still young enough to consider “Indiana Jones but Better” as valid career wants.

While he was close to fluent in English before moving to Caliban Cove, Maine, he still clearly had a Colombian accent. It’s lessened over the years but it does come out strong at times. He also has a weird mixture of Southern Accent mixed in because he practiced English the most with Nico. In return, her Spanish very clearly has a Colombian accent to it. They also argue back and forth in the two languages.

He had a crush on Chris Redfield when they met. Yes he gets blushy when you tease him about it.

The medical staff, and everyone really, at the BSAA loves him because he doesn’t fight them. If he’s injured then he seeks attention. He also attends his therapy sessions if at all possible; guess who has Healthy Coping Skills? Him.

He isn’t neurotypical but honestly didn’t know it until at least his senior year of high school. His mom and dad realized something was off and supported him. They taught him how to handle overstimulation, emotional swings, etc. Because they loved their son as he was. It meant he had a 120 count box of coping skills so he handles his traumas a little better because he’s got such a strong foundation to work from. Naturally, he picked Nico Bright, the most neurodivergent person in their program in high school, as his ride or die. 

When he picked his Vice he decided that it would be putting his dick in crazy, intentionally. He sees red flags, knows they are red flags, and is like, “They’re gonna be good for a night or maybe a weekend.” because he’s not looking for Serious. It still has resulted in him had the wildest stories to tell because why the fuck are you picking this people intentionally, Javi? 

When him and Leon get more serious he actually encourages him to take a sabbatical from his work (”If the DSO wants to fight you then sic Hunnigan, Rebecca, and Nico on them. No one argues with those three and wins in any way that matters.”) which was hard for him at first. Then Leon settled into it more and mostly retired to be a house husband who consults or occasionally freelances. Javi loves coming home from work to see Leon, Cat, and whoever is possibly over. He doesn’t mind being the one primarily working because Leon’s done more than enough for the world. Let him have this break without more traumas. Seeing his husband smile is enough.

Leon takes his last name because Reyes is Important to Javi. It’s one of the only things he has left of his family. Leon also was happy to be someone else beside Leon Scott Kennedy.

Javi’s hobbies include video games, specifically handheld ones, because they’re one of the most engaging ways to tell stories. He loves reading too and gets really immersed whatever caught his eye. Genrewise, he’ll play a little of everything but doesn’t care for zombie or military things because that’s his everyday life.

His greatest fault is that he can hold a grudge like no other. Everyone he loves he protects like no other, so hurting them leaves someone perpetually on his shit list.

He’s a Capricorn Sun, Scorpio Moon, and Scorpio Rising.

In any supernatural sort of AU, he’d be connected to Mohana/Madre de Agua for his powers. Water, healing, having a supernatural beauty; it just fits him.

In a Pokemon AU, two of his signature pokemon would be a shiny milotic and a sylveon.

He shaves his chest because he grows very little body hair and is self-conscious about it.

That long, curly hair and skin though? Oh there’s so much effort put into carrying for it because he’s a little bit of peacock and enjoys looking good. Loves dressing up his friends/lovers too. 

[kamino-blues]

Wearing The Bad Batch's Blacks ♡

Rating: pg-13 & sfw

Warnings: Fluff! Hugs, kisses, and cuddling ♡ References to making out. Mentions of Crosshair being possessive, and some references to Echo having body dysmorphia.

Note: It's been a while since I wrote for tbb! Honestly I had to take a little break, but I'm excited to write for them again ♡ I hope you enjoy 💕💕💕

Crosshair

If you ask Crosshair if you can wear his blacks, his first reaction would be to say no

It's not that he doesn’t want to see you in them, it's just that he doesn’t know if he could handle seeing you in his clothes

So you have to sneak grabbing a pair from his bunk

The first time Crosshair noticed that a pair of his blacks were missing, he was honestly extremely annoyed

He was so used to his brothers messing with him by stealing his stuff, so he assumed that was the case

When he stormed into the barracks, absolutely seething, he was not expecting to see you wrapped up in his blacks

It honestly causes Crosshair's brain to short-circuit for a moment, staring at you with a mixture of disbelief and shock

But as soon as you looked up at him, asking what was wrong, he couldn’t help the smirk that fell onto his face

Wearing his blacks definitely does not help with his possessive nature over you, it fact it accentuated it

Cross will leave a pair of blacks on your bunk every morning for you to wear, and it basically becomes part of your uniform

If any of the other boys offer you their blacks (this happened once jokingly by Wrecker), Crosshair would glare daggers at the culprit and pull you away to somewhere private

Once it got to this point, usually Crosshair would pull you into a heated kiss, wanting to leave the message that you were his

However, if his possessive nature got out of hand, giving him a heads up would usually clear the air

You wearing his blacks would be enough to tame the jealousy that easily flickered in his stomach

Wrecker

Wrecker would automatically allow you to wear his blacks whenever you asked

Due to his large frame, the top of his blacks can completely cover yours, practically a dress

Wearing his shirt and a pair of shorts/pants quickly became your outfit whenever you were just hanging around the Marauder

Wrecker finds it adorable how the sleeves of his blacks cover your hands completely

He likes to grab your hands when they are completely covered, tracing his fingers over them

You wearing his blacks makes him ten times more affectionate then he usually is (which is a lot)

His hands are constantly on you - an arm wrapped around your shoulders, a hand holding yours, your legs touching as you are sitting down

Wrecker will pull you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you as you lean back against his chest

Lots of kisses, to the point that if you were with his brothers, Crosshair would end up scoffing and telling you to get a room

That didn’t bother Wrecker at all, and he’ll keep being affectionate in public

If it gets to the point where it is too much for you, he’ll completely understand, and tone it down to how he used to be

But in private he’s extremely affectionate, barely able to keep his hands off of you

Cuddles!! Constantly!!

Loves it when you lay your head on his chest, him having his arm around you as you both goof around

Echo

Echo was incredibly confused on why you wanted to wear his blacks

Truthfully he was extremely insecure about his body, so the fact that you wanted to wear HIS blacks didn’t make sense to him

He would always bring up how you would be uncomfortable due to one of the sleeves being cut short

You would have to reassure him constantly, and once you finally got the ok, you were then allowed to slip into his blacks

Echo thought that you looked so cute, but at first he would be focused on where the blacks are cut off on your right arm

On that first day Echo would need a lot of reassurance, you holding onto him as he traced your bare arm with his good hand

Over time he would get used to it, and slowly grew to adore seeing you in his blacks

You looked so adorable in them, especially when you would roll up the other sleeve so each side was the same length

Echo is a lot more affectionate when you are wearing his clothes, initiating touch a lot more than he usually does

He’s just so grateful for you! He lost a lot in his life, so having you here and helping him makes him so happy

If you are working on your datapad, he’ll come up from behind and hug you with his arms around your waist

Will lean around to kiss you on the cheek, then bump his against yours jokingly

Is constantly complimenting you <3

Tech

It would take a lot of asking, but over time you would get Tech to let you borrow a pair of his blacks

Tech wouldn’t understand at first why you wanted his clothes so much, but he would comply

As soon as you put them on and show Tech, he truthfully does not know how to react

His face would turn bright red, and quickly become a stuttering mess

Tech was honestly surprised about his reaction, but he was too enamored by you to care

Will try to play it off as if he isn’t affected by it, but as soon as you move closer to him and wrap your arms around his neck, he’s a goner

If you ever need to distract Tech from his work, throw on a pair of his blacks and his attention will be on you

Want cuddles? Saunter up in his clothes and bam! Cuddles :)

When he’s flying the Marauder, he’ll pull you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you to keep his hands on the wheel

Rests his chin on your head!

Honestly you can use this as a tactic to make him actually go to bed

If you two are relaxing in his bunk, he’ll play with your sleeves, pulling them over your hands as he leans in to kiss you

Hunter

The first time Hunter saw you in his blacks was when he went to your apartment after a long mission

He had accidentally left a spare pair of his blacks in your room, not remembering until he was off planet

When Hunter knocked on your door, he definitely was not expecting to see you dressed in his clothes as you answered the door

Blush covered his cheeks, not knowing what to say as you stepped forward to hug him

Hunter slowly hugged back, and decided that he liked that you were wearing them

From this day on, when he is away for long periods of time, he makes sure to leave a pair with you (so that you have something to remember him with while he’s gone)

The times you join Hunter on the Marauder, he would be completely fine with letting you borrow a pair to wear around the ship

All you had to do was ask, and they were yours

Hunter likes it when you wear his blacks to sleep, so he can wear them during the day and have them smell like you

Your scent comforts him, and when things get tense on the battlefield it grounds him

It also helps when his senses start to get overloaded, Hunter covering his nose with the fabric and inhaling what remains of your scent

If you feel bad about borrowing his clothes, Hunter would automatically reassure you that it helped him in more ways than you thought

Hunter will jokingly steal one of your shirts at this point, teasing you the entire time that this would have to be his new style if you didn’t want to wear his blacks

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Stella and Stolas with the male Imp Overlord

Stella and Stolas with male Imp Overlord

When you, an Imp achieved your overlord status, lets just say that was something of an issue in the world of nobility.

Imps have always been the Hells servant class, every great dynasty and empire have been built off their backs. They were always meant to be ruled over, Not rule themselves.

But with your ascension to Overlord-ship, the pair found they had a very difficult desicion to make.

They could publicly oppose you. They were sure many of there fellow nobles would follow their lead, doing the same and under their banner, they could form a formidable opposition.

The only problem with that, is while they and there allies may oppose you, their enemies would be more then happy to support you. Whether that be directly or in the shadows.

And give the fact you, an Imp, had already achieved Overlord status, the last thing they needed was you against them, with the backing of disgruntled nobility.

So they did only other viable option. They got closer to you.

They formed an alliance with you in hopes of discovering what made you so unique. As well as ensuring you weren't an enemy.

You would initially be very suspicious of the pair.

Royalty had kept Imps down there entire existance, exploiting and enslaving them sing lucifers rebellion.

So you'd naturally have little, to no trust in the pairs intentions.

But as much as you distrusted the two, doing business with them was jus too beneficial to pass up, something the two went to lengths to ensure.

As the couple expected, in only a short period of time, you became even more powerful, amassing further wealth and territory.

And with this development, the two were quite happy there gamble had paid off. With their family becoming your largest business partner and as such benefited greatly from your prosperity.

As your business with the two increased, you'd slowly find yourself trusting the pair more, the two eagerly wanting to build on that.

And well, stolas being stolas, we all know he just couldn't help himself.

Being around such a domineering male Imp, one that spoke his mind and took shit from nobody. The way you didn't care in the slightest about his title and would tell him as much to his face.

Well, I think it's safe to say, he'd become Very interested in you, very quickly.

You wouldn't really mind Stolas.

You could tell he really didn't care much for politics, or the divide between hellbornes and royalty. He was just in it for a good time as well as securing his families continued survival. You could respect that.

Really the problem would be Stella.

It's fairly obvious she isn't too fond of Imps, likely having been raised to despise anyone she doesn't deem worthy.

And while your power and status would put you far above most every other Imp in her eyes, it would take a fair amount of time before she'd develop any kind of real respect for you.

But, given the chance to see just how capable and scrupulous you could be. A part of her would come to respect your cold-blooded you could be.

The truth was, Stolas had lost his blood lust when they were married. But you, you were a beast. Untamed and seemingly unstoppable.

While she initially wasn't fond of the idea of forming an alliance with you, doing it more so out of practicality over any genuine want to associate with you. She couldn't have realised just how good an idea it would turn out to be.

You were exactly what they needed, someone who could do the more 'dirty jobs' royalty often required, not only doing the job in a timely manner, but you always did it exactly to there expectations, never letting them down in the slightest.

The two held a party not long after your alliance began to prosper.

It was a fairly standard gathering of the Goeatia families allies and vassels families, the party working to both appease there egos and allow them to raise any concerns they may have to the couple.

Of course they had invited you, as despite the more recent nature of your power, you had quickly become an important business partner and asset to the Goetia family and they wanted to continue fostering that.

You had arrived fashionably late, clearly unhappy to be around so many nobles, a faint scowl across your features.

Despite your clear disgust, you still paid your respects to the two, thinking them for the invitation.

Leaving the pair you did what one does at such a gathering, you drank, partook in small talk and generally hung about.

But even with your invitation, it wasn't long until some asshat, decided to test you.

He attempted to publicly humiliate you. Pretending you were a servant and telling you, you were at the wrong area, or should be in the back serving drinks.

The asshole ran his mouth. You could handle that, you'd delt with plenty of loud idiots in your time, it was nothing new. But when he put his hands on you, attempting to push you about.

Well. You couldn't allow that.

It was in this moment that both Stella and Stolas saw why they had made the right choice in befriending you.

With a single brutally efficient strike, you dropped the noble like a sack of rocks.

Watching his body fall before calmly walking away, going about the party as though you hadn't just incapacitated one of the most powerful demons in hell.

Needless to say, no one at the party messed with you after that.

When it came to their relationship, she had little affection for Stolas.

She was still very committed to her marriage and family, of course but the once strapping, ambitious and blood thirsty Prince she had once thought she could love, had given way to an unambitious, soft hearted, stay at home dad.

And she just wasn't attracted to that.

But you... you were everything she saught in a mate.

Ambitious. Relentless. Dangerous and insatiable. You had no limits and seemed near unstoppable.

So, against her better judgement, she found herself falling for you. Something that was quite frustrating for the noble woman.

Stolas, would have absolutely no qualms about falling for you. He of course still cared for his family, but you were something else, something he desperately wanted.

The only problem unfortunately, was his family.

But with his wife being so close to you as well, both demons would be at something of an impass.

They couldn't pursue you in fear of there better halves finding out.

You, of course, where not blind to all this.

You could tell the two were slowly gravitating towards you, Stolas being particularly unsubtle about his pull.

And you found it was surprisingly easy to play the two off each other, Stolas was practically drooling over you and while she may try to hide it, you could tell Stella was very much attracted to you.

Stolas would be the easier of the pair to control.

A kind word here, a suductive touch there, a frustrated complaint about something over there and you could get him to do just about anything you wanted.

Stella would be more difficult, as It would take a considerable amount of time to have her overcome her ingrained discrimination towards Imps.

You likely needing to do so gradually, showing her how you were just as good as any snob with a royal title.

You'd need to be careful at first, ensuring that she truly did fancy you. But once you knew for sure, it wouldn't be difficult to seduce her.

All you'd need to do was appeal to her ego and show her your more dominant side.

Unlike stolas, it wouldn't be a physical dominance, it would a dominance of the mind. The owl princess finding your ability to dominate a room without lifting a finger, quite... intoxicating.

So, finding yourself in a love triangle of your own creation, you had a very specific plan.

When the pair of them first approached you, you knew, deep down, it was done out of fear.

Imps were nothing in Hell, and for you, an Imp to become an Overlord, that scared the BlueBloods.

And it should.

But if you were going to enter a relationship with these royals, they were going to be the ones who proposition you.

You'd be damned if you were gonna be the one begging for a relationship. They wanted it, and you knew they wanted it, they'd have to beg for it.

And beg they would.

The two came to an agreement. They both wanted you, but also didn't want to split up their family, so they would approach you together.

It was an awkward affair, in part due to you playing dumb to there intentions.

Stolas, being something of a bird brain, would draw it out, trying put their decision into words, but failing miserably.

Stella would just step in, opening the proposition of a relationship.

You would playfully think it over, already knowing the answer but you enjoyed watching the pair squirm.

You'd accept, the pair releasing a deep sigh before you pulled each of them into a passionate kiss.

However, much to Stolas' annoyance, you wouldnt sleep with them that night, choosing instead to just share there bed.

With a relationship like this, you'd have to spend the first few weeks ensuring there was a solid foundation to it.

Youd mostly do this through spending time with them, getting to know them on both an emotional and personal level.

Youd definitely sleep with Stolas first, taking the prince in his office.

Pushing him onto his desk and taking him rough and passionately, just how you knew he wanted it.

Youd do something more romantic for Stella. Likely having a simple, yet majestic diner before taking her to your now shared bedroom for a night of passionate fornication.

Despite there royal status, you would be the one wearing the pants in the relationship. As you could easily dominate each of them with words alone, Stolas even easier then Stella.

Of course you understood the importance of there image and would take a more back seat role in the relationship when needed.

Youd have a surprisingly intimate relationship with the pair.

Stolas was always open to anything you suggested, often initiating them himself. And while not nearly as common as stolas, Stella would often initiate intimacy with you.

Despite the two being married, Sex between all three of you would not be very common.

As both Stolas and Stella had quite different wants and needs in the bedroom that didn't quite mesh well.

Stolas wanted to be utterly dominated in the bedroom, completely at your mercy. While Stella wanted someone who could keep her pace, if not take control in the heat of passion.

Romance would be a priority for you, often doing your best to sweep them off there feet.

Luxurious dinners, dates on the town, the theatre. Nothing was ever too much.

Octavia would be a rather large bump in the relationship, as on one hand, you were essentially a whole new person intruding on her family, on the other hand, you were a wanted third partner in Stella and Stolas' marriage, you weren't tearing the family apart by being with them.

It would take a long time, and an even longer term strategy, but she would eventually warm up to you.

Never really coming to see you as a parent, but still part of the family.

While life wouldn't be without its problems,

The balance of power being a major source of arguments, as while Stolas was easy to tame, falling completely under your sway, Stella was far more head strong.

As such she'd often but heads with her rather submissive husband, saying he didn't do enough to keep up there family status.

She would often compare him to yourself, something you would always dismiss, having to step in and calm her down.

While you could dominate her husband easily, you'd need to control her in a more subtle ways. Appealing to her ego or planting ideas in her subconscious. Having mentioned when you forced her submission, likely in bed.

So, While it would certainly had its ups and downs, your life with your royal love Birds would be an incredibly love filled one.

Having the royal pair wrapped around your lottle finger, your power and status would grow exponentially. All the while the two would willingly give themselves to you, smothering you in there love and affection.

Thanking you as they made you stronger.

[whetstonefires]

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

-

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

[lxvislxdy]

Imagine Bakugou x stoner!reader

So... maybe I got carried away, and maybe this turned into more of just you and the bakusquad being besties, but I literally love this concept and will 100% be writing more.

Warning(s): obvious mentions of drug use, and some language. All characters are 18+.

So, let’s say, just for the hell of it, that this is a quirkless!college!au 

just imagine...

- you befriend Sero and Denki first, meeting them in a class, and they love you right off the bat

- you’re personality just meshes so well with theirs, you become bffs almost instantly

- the three of you raise hell in that class, I’m convinced, like RIP to whoever sits near you goofs

- you slowly start to hang out outside of class. maybe it starts as a study sesh, but let’s be honest here. the three of you can’t focus to save your life, and eventually Sero asks if you guys wanna smoke

- and, to their complete surprise, you outsmoke them (Denki later bows down to you, literally, and proposes to you with a ring pop. he’s such a dork I love him)

- this becomes a weekly thing, as it should, and the three of you are practically attached at the hip

- your favorite part of hanging with them is, of course, all their crazy stories about their friends

- so of course they want to introduce you to the bakusquad, and you are just as eager to meet the rest of the group, if not a little nervous

- Denki and Sero assure you they’ll love you (”c’mon, you’re just like us, they’ll adore you!!!”) and they take you out to lunch with Mina and Kirishima

- now, if you thought you, Denki, and Sero was a chaotic trio, just wait until you add Mina to the equation

- Kirishima lives for the chaos and thinks you’re adorable, but the guy has his hands full keeping the four of you out of trouble, that’s for sure

- (when Bakugou’s not around, Kirishima is in charge of the braincell, I don’t make the rules)

- Mina immediately kidnaps you for a girls night, and is ecstatic about having a girl to hang out with her and the boys 

- (SIDE NOTE, Mina introduces you to Jirou, and the three of you are THE baddest bitches around, thank you. the three of you definitely have girl nights and either kick the boys out, or force them to join, face masks and all)

- anyway, you finally get the opportunity to meet Bakugou

- and, as always, he’s in a sour mood. but! you don’t let his grumpiness upset you, in fact, you take it in stride and throw his attitude right back at him

- you aren’t mean, and you certainly aren’t going out of your way to bug him, but if Bakugou makes a snide comment? you better believe you’re throwing one right back at him

- and at first, Bakugou is annoyed, and thinks you’re mocking him. like, who do you think you are? 

- but the more he gets to know you, he realizes that you’re way too sweet to be that mean. you fit right in with the idiots he’s friends with.

- and, to be honest, it drives him nuts. because he likes you. he likes you, and he likes when you snap back at him, and he likes watching you goof off and laugh with his friends

- in true Bakugou fashion, though, you’re convinced he hates you. it’s just the icing on top of the cake when one night you notice that every time you’re there, and Sero lights up, Bakugou disappears 

- when you finally tell Mina this, she laughs. actually laughs! and you’re just like ....what?

- turns out, Bakugou hardly ever smokes with them, and he’s just like that. 

“Trust me, babe,” Mina tells you, “It’s not you. Bakugou just doesn’t know how to relax, he’s got a terrible case of trust issues and a bad attitude to top it off. But he likes you, trust me! He’ll come around.”

- you weren’t so sure about that, but you take her word for it. 

- and then, one night it’s just you, Denki, Mina, and Bakugou, and he stays!

“Someone with a brain has to make sure you idiots don’t do something stupid.” He says, when you ask.

- that night ends up being one of the funniest nights of your life. the three of you are high as a kite, and everything is funny. seriously, you can’t stop laughing!

- then, you find out Bakugou’s birthday is on 4/20, and you have never been so excited in your life (so you say). it’s the funniest, most ironic thing to you

- you go up to Bakugou, grabbing both his arms by the biceps, and are going on and on about it, bouncing on the balls of your feet and giggling, and Bakugou just listens to you talk and he blushes 

- you’re adorable, and he can’t lie to himself anymore, he likes you. he really likes you. and this realization really freaks him out (he calls Kirishima later that night absolutely freaking out, and he has to totally calm him down. Kiri ships it)

- over the next month or two, he tries his best to not give himself away, but it’s so hard. 

- he starts sticking around when everyone smokes together, and sitting next to you during movie nights (because you always fall asleep, and theres a good 80% chance you end up leaning on his shoulder), and he offers to help when you complain about a class you’re struggling with

- and it all comes to a head one night when he gets jealous. 

- he was definitely reading too much into things, but he swears you’re acting clingy with Sero, leaning on his shoulder, and grabbing his arm when you laugh, and playing with his hair. he definitely has himself convinced Sero is making a move on you, and he’s pissed.

- at some point during the hangout, he gets up and storms out of the room, and no one really notices but you and Kiri. after a minute or two you’re curiosity gets the best of you, so you go after him

- he’s in the kitchen, glaring at this plant Denki and Sero have (that is totally, 100% dying, and probably can’t be saved) and he’s pouting

“I don’t think staring at it is gonna bring it back to life.” You say, and he just looks at you weird and asks what you want

- you say you’re just checking on him, and he asks why you care. and you’re just like dude ??? i care about you? hello? we’re friends ??

- and Bakugou, being himself, snaps at you and makes some kind of rude comment

- so you snap back, offended because you’d just wanted to check on him

- and halfway through you telling him what a jerk he is, he kisses you

- he kisses you like his life depends on it, because he’s still pissed off about Sero and, come on, Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t do anything halfway

- and maybe the two of you make out in the kitchen for way longer than you want to admit

- and maybe you laugh and call him an idiot when he tells you he was jealous of Sero

- and maybe Denki catches the two of you, and screams like a little girl on christmas morning

- cue protective Denki and Sero telling Bakugou he better not EVER hurt you... and then crying happy tears a minute later because you’re so cute together

- after that, Bakugou is literally never seen without you by his side. he walks you to class, cooks you dinner at least once a week, helps you study and takes you out every time you ace a test. this man knows your coffee order, and has your schedule memorized, it’s impressive 

- god forbid he see’s you eating junk food

- listen, he knows how Denki and Sero eat when they get the munchies, okay, and that is absolutely not allowed. this man is such a simp behind closed doors, he will literally make you homemade snacks for when you go smoke with the guys. 

- he’s not the greatest with words, okay, but he loves you and he shows it through small things like that. he’s always pushing you to do your best, and bragging about you, and doing little things to remind you how much he cares

- he’s also a little over protective, but he means well, and cmon it’s kinda cute when he get’s jealous, sometimes

- but overall you guys are just the cutest couple. like the bakusquad is absolutely obsessed. (you make Bakugou soft, but don’t tell him they said that)

- and sure you fight over little things every once in a while, but you learn how to handle Bakugou’s attitude quick, and it never lasts too long. 

- if you do have a big fight, you take a step back and let each other cool down, and then you make Bakugou talk it out. he hates it at first, because sharing his feelings is so not something he wants to do, but it does help and he knows it.

- if, on the rare occasion, the two of you have a bad fight you can’t resolve on your own, therapist Kiri is there to save the day

Bonus:

- now, let’s get down to the whole reason i made this au in the first place

- the first time the two of you celebrate his birthday after getting together, he makes it clear that the day of he just wants to spend it with you

- so the weekend closest to his bday, the whole squad goes out and celebrates, but when it comes to his actual bday? Bakugou has a surprise for YOU

- you show up to his apartment, not really knowing what to expect, and this man pulls out a pan of brownies

- yeah, those brownies

- turns out, he and Sero used to sell them in high school

“What? Sero already sold, and I can cook, so we just... did it. It was good money.”

“How could you keep this from me?! Have I told you recently that I adore you?”

He just laughs, “You’re such a dork.”

- so you have the PLEASURE of getting high with Bakugou for the first time

- and let me just tell you, you’re in for a treat

- Bakugou. is. so. clingy. as soon as it hits, you know, because he’s wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap

- he’s speaking so softly?? and he’s just relaxed, and content with holding you and talking about anything and everything, just cuddling with music in the background

- high! makeout sessions! with Bakugou! that’s it, that’s literally it. he is INSATIABLE 

- the man just wants to kiss you, for hours, okay? give him what he wants!!

- he used to get super paranoid, that’s why he doesn’t smoke much, but with you he’s calm and comfortable, and not anxious

- it becomes tradition to make brownies on both of your birthdays, and you look forward to it all year

- and every once in a while, Bakugou will smoke with the squad, and they quickly learn that he can’t keep his hands off of you when he’s high. they tease him relentlessly, and Sero and Denki definitely have asked him (aka whined to him) to stop hogging all your attention

- also, he definitely lights the bowl for you, because he is a gentlemen

- shotgun kisses. yup. that’s all I have to say.

before I get carried away again, this is the end. Thank you for reading! I literally can’t get enough of this au I’m in love with it!! I’ll be writing more of this au soon, hopefully, and my requests are open!! 

[roanniom]

The Night That Follows

Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 8,000~ 

Summary: While celebrating a successful mission, you and Poe accidently ingest a mysterious beverage that makes it hard to resist one another, helping you forget the stress that weighs you down and the friendship that you’ve been holding between you two as a shield. 

Note: This is my first ever non-ADCU fic and it is dedicated to the ever lovely and supportive @paper-n-ashes who urged me to get out of my comfort zone and cheered me on.  

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, sex pollen, drugged drink (it’s drugged with the sex pollen by a 3rd party and not with malicious intent but it still might be triggering), masturbation (f/m), PIV sex, unprotected sex, war-related angst 

When people talk about war, they often discuss the paralyzing fear, the numbing depression. Hopelessness that spreads through your veins like cold water as you face immeasurable odds and stare death in the face day after day. And you can attest to these feelings. You experience them with each dawn that breaks, muddy in the sky regardless of the atmosphere shrouding whatever planet you find yourself waking on each morning. Your life is transient, full of ships and bases and camps. The constants are the clothes on your back, the friends in your squadron (those who survive), and the x-wing you hop in each time danger calls.

The other constant is the part of war that people do not discuss. The rush of adrenaline every time you make it out of a tough scrape. Adrenaline that burns your veins, evaporating the icy hopelessness that had flooded you up until the minute your boots hit turf and your jellied knees catch up to the reality that you are still very much alive. The euphoria that crackles in your brain when you spy your best mate zooming down from above, finally landing and throwing themselves into your arms in the hug you never thought you’d experience again after their coms had gone down in a fire fight. The absolute debauchery of a night of celebration after such a fire fight. Because nobody needs to live quite as much as those who may die.

Which is how you find yourself here, on this non-descript jungle planet, the name of which you didn’t catch during your descent because honestly there have been so many jungle planets and they have all become little more than coordinates on a screen to you at this point. You and your squad have been set up with a mini-festival by the resistance-sympathizing locals as a thank you for your recent decimation of their First Order oppressors. The operation had been pretty seamless, thanks in no small part to the excellent teamwork between you and a one Poe Dameron.

Your flying today had rivaled some of his best, which is certainly saying something since Poe prides himself on being the best pilot in the resistance. You certainly gave him a run for his money, outflying TIE fighters and swiveling shuttle cannons in a perfectly choreographed tandem maneuver wherein the two of you manipulated your assailants to ultimately destroy themselves.

As you knock back a burning shot of the local alcoholic beverage, the liquid tingling and warming you all the way down, you search the triumphant crowd for the cocky pilot who had helped you set the stage for this celebration. You wouldn’t dwell on the earlier events of the day much more tonight. Wouldn’t think much of the comrades you’d lost in the struggle. That was an ache that would throb back to life tomorrow. Tonight, the priority is living.

It is then that you lock eyes with Poe Dameron through the throngs of semi-drunken revelers. His handsome face splits into a wide, cocky grin, so you adopt an exasperated smirk in response as he pushes his way towards you. Such is the game you play. A dance, if you will. Poe plays the role of the self-assured, overly confident golden boy while you, his long suffering partner, humble him with your good-natured criticism and ever rolling eyes.

“Alright there, Sweets?” Poe practically drawls as he reaches you, the nickname both a term of endearment and a teasing reference to the sweet tooth that keeps you hoarding candies of all kinds in your bunk, much to Poe’s own benefit. You beam up at him and upend your little glass to demonstrate its emptiness.

“On my way there, Fly Boy.”

“Looks like you’re falling behind, rookie. Like you did on that triple barrel twist today.”

You throw a punch that lands a little too lightly on his shoulder to produce the grunt and showy flail that he graces you with.

“First of all, you’re not allowed to call me rookie anymore. Your dumb ass might need to be constantly reassured that you’re ‘best pilot in the resistance,’ but by now I am, at worst, second best.” Your gut warms and you’re not sure if it’s the drink or Poe’s deep, full-bodied laugh in response. “And second of all, we don’t talk about the day if we make it to the night.”

Poe almost seems to sober at your words, a phrase of his tossed back at him. The smile remains, though, and he tosses an arm around you before dragging you over to the table that’s been set up with refreshments.

“Right you are, Sweets,” Poe agrees quietly. Louder now and injecting you two into the crowd surrounding the cluster of bottles, he continues, “as for you being second best pilot, I’d rather let the squad decide before you go getting a head too big to fit in your helmet.”

This receives a laugh from the crowd as well as another smattering of slaps thrown towards Poe’s chest.

“Dameron, we all know you already have your own helmet custom made so you can stuff that massive ego in there,” your friend Myrna.

“And those curls,” you add, reaching up and ruffling your hand through his hair in that way that always makes his nose scrunch up in mock anger.

“If you must know, there’s something else they also have to custom make me…” Poe says, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand to slide down his chest towards the bottom of his flight suit zipper and wiggling his eyebrows. You shriek and yank your hand away.

“In your dreams, Dameron.” Poe leans down toward you so that his face is close enough for you to feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“Or perhaps in yours?”

Suddenly a small, wrinkled face appears between you. It’s an elderly female member of the local alien race and she’s beaming up at you, holding two steaming mugs and smiling around a garbled statement in a language you don’t recognize.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m not sure I…” you interrupt her, glancing awkwardly between her massive eyes and Poe’s confused ones.

“I might be able to translate!” Myrna cries out, stumbling forward with a newly refilled glass in her hand.

“You sure that’s not just the liquor talking?” Poe asks with a chuckle. Myrna waves him off and kneels unsteadily to listen to the old woman. More garbled speech issues forward as the woman gestures between you and Poe with her mugs. Myrna nods several times and gives little hums of agreement and affirmation. You and Poe trade glances of amusement during the interaction, but you have to look away when the upturned corner of Poe’s mouth begins to distract you.

“Alright alright,” Myrna pipes up. You turn back in time to see Myrna standing back up to her full height, now holding the two mugs, while the woman waddles back into the crowd.

“What’s the deal?” Poe asks, slinging his arm back around your shoulders. You resist the knee jerk actions that come to mind, both to slap his touch away and to lean into it, standing rigid instead.

“She said these are for you,” Myrna says, pushing the steaming mugs into your hands and Poe’s.

“Did she say why?” You peer at the milky, opalescent contents curiously. Myrna has already moved on, however, turning back to the pilot she’d been hanging on before you and Poe had approached. You look to Poe but he shrugs.

“I don’t know, something about you guys deserving it.” Myrna waves her hand dismissively, obviously ready to get back to her own evening. You look up at Poe, unsure, but he’s nodding and smiling.

“Hear that, Sweets? Seems like word travels fast that we’re the top two pilots,” Poe says cheekily, clinking his mug to yours before throwing back his head and downing its contents in one gulp. Your insides ignite at his acknowledgment, as well as the bob of his adam’s apple, but your eyes still flit warily to your beverage.

“We don’t even know what it is and you’re drinking it?”

“Honey, I’m pretty sure that liquor we were taking shots of earlier was actually jet fuel, I don’t think we need to be too worried about this.” Poe smacks his lips and runs his finger around the inside of the mug. “And besides, it’s really kriffing good.”

Watching the way his cheeks hollow out as he sucks the last dregs of his drink from his finger makes a heat boil in the pit of the stomach. You decide you actually are quite thirsty, and since your curiosity is stronger than your apprehension, you knock the liquid back yourself.

“Atta girl!” Poe cheers you on, nudging you. The drink is sweet and thick on your tongue like a melted version of the ice cream you’d tasted once, many years ago. You can still remember the creamy texture, very much worth the credits paid to the traveling vendor who’d brought it to your village during the hottest summer of your childhood. As you swallow this liquid down, however, its cold temperature changes into a burn, similar to alcohol, though smoother than any liquor you’d ever had.

“Good, right?” Poe asks, eyebrows raised. You nod and lick your lips, sure that you’re imagining things when Poe’s eyes flicker down to your darting tongue.

“That was actually pretty good,” you concede with a grin.

“So what have we learned tonight?” Poe prompts, grabbing your mug from your hands and placing it next to his on a nearby table. You shake your head.

“Your cockiness extends to believing locals on a miniscule planet find you special?”

“The correct answer was ‘always give things a chance,’ Sweets, but you can continue being closeminded if you want,” Poe responds with a chuckle. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes to walk away.

“Fine!” You reach out and grab his arm before he can leave. When he rounds back on you with a wide smile you roll your eyes and refuse eye contact. “And just so you know, I’m a lot more open minded than you think, Dameron.”

“Is that so, rookie?” You bristle but as the glee raises in his eyes at your reaction you do your best to tamp it down.

“I’m…flexible,” you say, your grin begrudging. A hubbub breaks out beyond you in the crowd as the makeshift band that had assembled to play party music transitions to a particularly festive song, causing both you and Poe to watch as people begin forming an impromptu dance floor. When Poe turns back at you and raises his eyebrows, expectant, you throw up your hands defensively.

“No. Don’t look at me like that, Fly Boy,” you’re quick to say, but Poe’s even quicker, having already grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to him. Your body collides with his and his other hand finds the dip of your waist.

“Oh I’m sorry, what was that I just heard someone say about being open minded?” Poe asks. In a sudden fluid motion he dips you, bending you over so that your back is parallel to the ground and his face hovers over yours. “Being flexible?”

You let him pull you back up and steady yourself with a hand on his chest to catch your balance, dizzy now, most likely from the suddenness of the motion. You’re about to toss back a witty retort, possibly something that will knock him down a few pegs, but then you catch the glint in his eye and a smile spreads across your lips unbidden.

“You get one dance, Dameron.”

~*~

One dance turned into many, as it turns out. The band, upon realizing their audience’s appetite for raucous music, had begun a steady rotation of upbeat tunes. The dance floor had expanded, spilling out of its original confines in the center of the town square and into the concession areas on the perimeter. Resistance members danced and drank, their bodies jumping and moving to the beat in one chaotic mass of excess energy and euphoria. Bodies writhe against one another in all directions as people seek out friction that can confirm to them that they did indeed survive the day’s trials.

You’re experiencing friction of your own in your little portion of the dance floor. Where things had started out innocently – energetic bouncing to the beat and moving in unison – the tone had long changed. At this point Poe is behind you, arms slung dangerously low on your hips to hold you against him, hands pressed right above your pelvis. The feeling of his chest pressing against your back, his hips bracketing your ass – you’ve lost yourself in the sensations. The rhythm of the music shakes through your muscles but instead of tense and tired, they’re loose and buzzing.

Though truth be told, they aren’t the only thing buzzing. The proximity of Poe’s hands to your lower body feels charged like a magnet. Without thinking you press your hands over the backs of his, encouraging pressure on your lower abdomen. You swear you hear Poe growl behind you has his hands pull you further to him, but it could also be the roar of the crowd. Your hips move in sync, your ass grinding against him in time with the music. Escapism in its purest form is what you’re experiencing in Poe’s arms, held against Poe’s body, matching Poe’s motions. It’s heady and distracting and everything you could ask for to make living feel like living, especially in the aftermath of a day centered on death. You’re content to let this moment last as long as the universe allows.

That is until you realize that the increasing beat you’d thought was a shift in the music is actually the rapid crescendo of your own heartbeat.

Swallowing you find your throat is thick, saliva pooling in your mouth inexplicably. You take a deep breath and allow your mind to reel. How long had you been feeling like this? Why hadn’t you noticed these feelings coming on?

One of the large hands at your hip begins sliding up along the plane of your side and you get your answer. The weight of his touch lights your skin on fire as it drags up and across your collar bone. Your breath feels ragged, rattling around in lungs that can’t seem to take in oxygen no matter how high your chest rises and falls. Poe’s hand lingers on your throat for a second so you swallow again, with even less luck than before. His hand reaches up to grip your jaw which he uses to turn your head back toward him.

Oh.

Poe continues to move behind you, his motions controlling you both on the floor, but his face is strained. Sweat dots his temples, gleaming in his curls, and his teeth seem gritted, making his jaw set at a striking angle. His eyes pin you down, however, and they keep your attention as you gaze back, wide-eyed.

“You okay, rookie?” Poe’s voice is deeper than normal, huskier. The way it reverberates through your body makes a rumbling bubble up deep inside your chest. The beginnings of a moan, perhaps? You’re quick to gasp a response before such a sound has a chance to make its way into the air between you.

“I’m…feeling quite strange.”

The hand still at your waist tightens its grip while the other rejoins on the opposite side. You have to gasp again to keep from moaning. Suddenly you’re being maneuvered forward, Poe’s guidance weaving you through the crowd with ease despite the congested revelry.

Neither of you see the way Myrna is watching you both with a knowing smirk from her place draped around her own handsome pilot beau. Or the way the little old woman who’d gifted you the beverage hovers on the outskirts of the dance floor, a proud look on her wrinkled face as she eyes your retreating figures.

~*~

You’re not really able to follow where Poe is directing you, mainly because of how the imprint of his hands on your body seems to be searing into your skin through your flight suit. While your accelerated heart rate was the thing you had been most worried about, now you are equally worried about the dull ache that has seated itself in the pit of your stomach. You bite down hard on your lip to keep the moan from spilling out, the one you’ve been suppressing since the moment you became conscious to your current discomfort.

When Poe’s stride finally slows to a stop only then are you able to take in your surroundings. Blinking, you’re surprised to find that you’re now outside of the town, far from the lights and bustle of the party, walking into the silent clearing that contains the squadron’s parked aircrafts.

“Why are we all the way out here?” you ask, unsettled by how deep your voice sounds in the darkness.

“Needed to get away from the crowd.” You’re even more unsettled by how breathless Poe’s voice is as he says his first words since the dance floor. So unsettled that you turn in his arms so you can finally take in his disheveled appearance fully.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, it’s the weirdest thing. One minute everything was fine and the next…”

“You can’t catch your breath,” you finish for him and he nods gravely. Both of your chests are practically heaving, pressing into each other with each exhale. When you become aware of this, it also brings awareness of the way his chest pressed up against yours is also adding pressure to your nipples. Since when were your nipples hard? The night is balmy, a cool breeze barely able to disturb the moist warmth that settles in the jungle terrain. You feel sweat begin to collect on the back of your neck and your hairline, much like the sweat causing Poe to shine a bit in the moonlight. And yet your nipples are hard and a shudder runs through your body, nerve endings clearly ten steps ahead of you, taking in some experience to which you’d yet to catch up.

“Wait a minute, look at me,” Poe suddenly orders, his fingers wrapping around your chin to lift your face toward his. You freeze as he stares down at you, eyes widening at whatever he sees.

“What is it?” you ask, voice urgent, almost frightened.

“Your pupils are wide as planets,” he mutters, distracted fingers drawing up the side of your jaw to press to the pulse point at your throat. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“I haven’t been able to calm down,” you say, nodding but getting more worried by the second. “Why can’t I calm down? Are you feeling the same way?”

Poe’s mouth presses into a hard line and he turns away abruptly, head tilting down.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” You try to pull him back toward you but he doesn’t budge.

“I think…we’ve been drugged.”

Your blood runs cold and a hand flies to cover your mouth. You’d known tonight was too good to be true. Your mind races, making connections out of thin air, trying to place when and where you could have possibly come in close enough proximity to First Order agents to be compromised.

“But what – how – what can we do? What is it? Is it deadly?” You’re cut off by a sound issuing from Poe’s now curved body. You wonder at first if it’s a sob, which makes sense because you’re about ready to cry yourself. But then you realize it’s a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say deadly. Just exceedingly inconvenient.”

“So you know what it is then?” you prompt, tugging at his shoulder some more to try and see his face. “Tell me!”

“Well for starters I’m pretty sure it was that drink the old woman gave us.”

Fuck.

Of course. What was the one suspicious thing you’d ingested all day? The fact that you hadn’t thought about it sooner makes you want to kick yourself, but you press on instead, anxious to have the matter dealt with.

“What does it do?” You hate the tremor that colors your voice. At that Poe finally turns around and you take him in all at once, trying to assess what he could have been hiding. His tall, wide-legged stance makes it easy to notice after a few seconds. As your gaze moves lower on his body you finally see the massive tent forming below the zipper line of his flight suit.

Without even being able to mentally process what you’re looking at your body responds immediately. A rush of warmth and wetness floods the apex of your thighs and the moan that you’d so far been able to hold in finally makes it way out of your throat. Poe’s eyes, which had recently gone hooded, widen in response to the lewd sound. You clap a hand over your mouth and snap your eyes back up to his face, away from the rigid shape that had made the muscles inside you contract wantonly around nothing.

“It’s made from a plant that’s meant to accelerate sex drive,” Poe says matter-of-factly.

You almost don’t hear him because your eyes have already slid back down his body, feasting on the sight of his impressive bulge. You’d heard stories of Poe’s sexual prowess, many from the man’s own loud mouth. You knew he’d satisfied many members of the Resistance, male and female alike. But you had never truly let yourself consider what he’d be like. What he’d look like. What he’d feel like…

“Why would she possibly give that to us of all people?” You feel like you’re going to cry. The feelings coursing through your body are overwhelming.

“Maybe she went around spiking many people at the party. Maybe she just thought you and I would look hot together? You can’t blame her for that one.” Poe winks at you and it diffuses some of your angst. You let out a tense laugh and shake your head.

“How do we make it stop?” you force yourself to ask, just as you force yourself yet again to look back up in his eyes. Poe averts his own, a sheepish look overtaking his face. When he doesn’t answer you step forward and grab his arm in alarm, trying not to consider the way his bicep bulges under his sleeve. “Poe?!”

“We have to…take care of it.”

You’re launching yourself away from him before he can finish the sentence. You probably knew the answer before you’d even asked the question, but his words still sent electricity through your spine.

“We can’t. That’s…that’s crazy – you’re crazy, Dameron!”

“Hey, you think I like this? Standing here like an idiot with my dick so hard I can barely see straight?”

The sexual nature of his words, spoken so plainly and without euphemism for the first time, makes a new wave of wetness pool between your legs against your will.

“Don’t….talk about it,” you say through gritted teeth, closing your eyes in an attempt to center yourself.

“What? Don’t talk about my aching cock?” he asks, almost as a challenge. He’s frustrated now, egged on by your attitude.

“Stop it.”

“Are you about to tell me you aren’t wet right now?”

You turn your back on him in a childish and fruitless attempt at blocking out his words. When you don’t reply you hear his footsteps as he approaches from behind.

“If we’re both having the same reaction, and I’m certain we are, then I’d imagine you’re practically dripping right now.”

His words would have made your eyes cross if you didn’t have them shut so tightly. A hand molds around your hip while the other grasps at the side of your neck, both working in tandem to pull your back flush against his front. The impact, though gentle, knocks the wind out of you. Or whatever wind had been in you in the first place. His lips are at your ear then and you melt into his touch.

“If we take care of this together we’ll go back to normal.”

“…back to normal?” you ask, simply repeating and not really aware of your words.

“Exactly.”

“I…I don’t know.” Poe’s hardened length is pressing into your ass now, insistent and firm behind you. The hand on your hip migrates lower to pull you against him. A swivel of his hips causes your own to follow the momentum, gyrating in their own right.

“We can be quick,” Poe coos, his voice vibrating over your earlobe where his lips are making contact with your skin. Another low chuckle sounds. “Or I can take my time if you want. Either way, I can promise you’ll enjoy it.”

There’s your cocky Fly Boy.

You wrench yourself from his grasp and take a few steadying steps away before gaining the wherewithal to turn back and face him once more. He looks supremely disappointed, arms still outstretched in the place where you had just been.

“Does this really have to be a…team effort?” you ask, face screwed up with discomfort. Poe runs a hand through his hair and casts a distracted glance about your surroundings.

“I mean I guess theoretically one could take care of themselves – ”

“Great!” you cut him off and stalk around to the other side of his x-wing. Of course he’d brought you to his ship. You look around for your own but when you can’t find it you plop yourself down on the ground.

“Are you kriffing serious?” comes Poe’s angry voice behind you as he stomps over. “We could bang this out and feel better but you’re just going to – ”

“Oh ‘bang’ this out? Real nice, Dameron.”

“You know what I mean.” You can practically hear his eye roll.

“The other side,” you say simply, lowering the zipper on your flight suit. When you don’t hear the sound of his retreating footsteps, however, you pause. “Stay on the other side of the ship, Dameron.”

He grumbles but does as you say. When you finally hear the sound of him throwing himself to the ground, you lift the tab of your zipper again. However, the loud and sudden ziiiip indicating that he’s yanked open his own garment seems ring out then in the clearing and you’re inundated with mental images of what that must look like. Poe sprawled on the ground with his flight suit open and askew. You imagine the expanse of his chest, the way the muscle would ripple in the shadows of the jungle. You’d seen him without a shirt before, the arms of his flight suit tied at his waist as he reclined beneath his x-wing making repairs. Covered in sweat and grease. The memory and the subsequent lurid thoughts have you dipping your hand down into the small opening you’ve made in your clothes, not fully comfortable enough to expose yourself entirely to the elements. When you reach the place between your thighs you have to swallow the gasp that bursts forth at the realization that Poe had been right. You’re not just wet. You’re dripping.

“Fuck.”

You think you say it quietly but a chuckle from the other side of the ship proves otherwise.

“Need any help over there?”

You ignore him and try to focus in on your own body, closing your eyes. You allow a hand to ghost over your breast as you ease a finger through your folds. You feel the insistent thrumming of your pulse even down below and your breath is shallow in your chest. The images dancing behind your eyelids show you flashes, glimpses of things you try to banish from your mind. The angle of Poe’s jaw. His faint, ever present stubble. The arch of his eyebrow. The curve of his smirk. His ass in those pants.

“Sweets…”

Poe’s voice interrupts a whimper you hadn’t even realized you were releasing.

“Poe.” Your voice is small and it cracks around his name. Your muscles are contracting but nothing you do eases the sensation. It just continues building within you. “It hurts.”

“Just come over here. I don’t even have to touch you. Just let me help you through it.”

You ponder the darkness before you, the way it envelops the other aircrafts in this makeshift parking zone. You hear a shick shick shick behind you and your cunt aches. Completely in response to the siren call of Poe Dameron’s building pleasure. You’re immediately intensely jealous. Jealous of the way that, you assumed, he was having more luck getting himself off than you were, despite the fingers inside you right now. Jealous of the way his voice didn’t crack when he beckoned you over.

But most of all jealous of the fact that he’s the one currently touching his hard cock. Not you.

You will yourself to stand up, pulling your hand out of your flight suit but not bothering to zip it back up. On jelly legs you make your way to the other side of the ship. The far side, facing away from the town square and the distant glow of the party you’ve now forgotten.

As you round the edge of the x-wing you bite your lip at the sight before you. Poe is indeed sprawled out with his suit zipped all the way down. His thick member protrudes from the bottom of the opening, a fist moving up and down rapidly, pulling from root to flushed tip in skilled motions. However the eyes that gaze up at you from under his unruly mop of curly hair are not doused with pleasure and satisfaction as you’d imagined. Instead he looks pained, almost agonized. At the sight of you he sits up a bit and does his best to give you a reassuring smile though it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, rookie.”

“That’s the drink talking,” you dismiss, despite the way your stomach swoops as you move to settle yourself down next to him, careful not to make contact. “And you know I hate you calling me rookie.”

“I’ll call you anything you want, baby, as long as you start touching yourself.”

Your cunt pulses at his words so suddenly that you almost double over. Your breathing, already ragged, speeds up as you feel the overwhelming urge to have something deep inside you. Dropping your hand into the opening in your suit you halt, however, watching Poe warily in your peripheral vision. He catches you looking and reluctantly stills the hand moving on member.

“Would sitting back to back help?” he sighs. You nod, scrambling over so that your back is to his.

This is better. This is much better, you think as you dip your hand back between your legs and into the waiting slick. You drag a finger in tight circles over your clit and do your best to calm the racing thoughts that flit back to images of Poe’s body.

The body that is currently pressed to yours, though not at all in the manner you would prefer.

Poe grunts then, making you lose your rhythm.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted you, you know.”

You cut your answering gasp off at the source, not daring to make a sound lest it interrupt this information that you desperately needed to here. He interprets your silence correctly and continues.

“I’ve thought about you. When I’m in the cockpit on my way to some distant planet. When not even hyper speed can get me there quick enough before thoughts of you creep in.” He almost sounds mad, but you get it. The emotions coursing through your body along with the hormones are driving you wild and you don’t know how to feel.

“What…what are the thoughts about?” you can’t help but ask.

“I’d love to say it’s your smile or your brains or something sweet like that. And I do think about those things too, don’t get me wrong,” he says on a hoarse chuckle. “But it’s mainly your body.”

You slip a third finger inside your cunt as he says this, his words and the feeling mixing to cause you to let out an unchecked moan. You feel Poe’s body shudder against you.

“Shit Sweets you’re killing me.” You feel him tense as his hand begins moving faster. “I think about how you look poured into that flight suit. The way your tits and ass jiggle when you hop into your x-wing – fuck.” Another shudder wracks through his body and you can’t take it anymore. The way you’re touching yourself isn’t the way you usually do it. Not in those rare moments where you’ve got the sleeping quarters to yourself and you’re able to get yourself off in your bunk to images of a chiseled jawline, a clothed bulge, rippling muscles, soft, curly hair…

You abruptly pitch yourself forward to balance yourself on your knees and one hand while the remaining hand redoubles its efforts between your legs. The shift in position ends your physical contact with Poe and he swivels to see.

“What are you – ”

“Don’t turn around,” you gasp out. Your new angle works in your favor as your swollen clit becomes more sensitive, pulled down by gravity so that every swipe of your finger becomes more potent. “But for the love of gods, don’t stop talking.”

Poe is taken aback by your sudden forwardness, but he doesn’t let it faze him for long. Instead you hear his renewed efforts at jerking off as the sound of skin swiping across skin, made smoother by spit and precum, gets louder behind you.

“What do you want me to talk about? How much I wish it was your tight little pussy I was fucking instead of my fist?”

The whimper you release at that statement is unlike any sound you’ve ever made and it only spurs Poe on.

“And I just know you’re tight. I know it. And wet too, just like I guessed you were. I can hear it, baby,” he practically growls and you become intensely away of the slick, creamy sounds coming from the rapid in and out, in and out rhythm of your fingers delving into your cunt. “You’re dripping, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You close your eyes and hear his words and wish the fingers inside you were harder, thicker, him.

“You wish it was my cock inside you, I know you do. You don’t want to admit it but you wish I was pounding into you, making you feel good. Making the ache go away.”

Your answering whine confirms his beliefs and he lets out a triumphant grunt.

“Fuck, baby. I want it, too. Bury myself deep inside of you and fuck you till that drink wears off and you’re still screaming for me, that’s how good it would be.”

“Oh gods.”

“Tell me who you’re wet for.”

“Y-you.” It comes out small. You’re shocked that you even say it, especially with how much you’ve been fighting all of this. You want it. You want it in your bones and in your blood and in your tight, spasming cunt. But you also want Poe’s friendship. Want him to tousle your hair on the way to the hanger. Want him to keep sending you funny messages over your data pad, constantly trying to outdo your own silly riddles and jokes. Want to tease him and eat dinner with him in the mess hall and slap him when he says something stupid and yell at him when he does something dangerous and cry when he doesn’t come back on time from a mission…

A sob finds its way out of your body, sandwiched between two moans. You’re not sure Poe even heard it until his voice reaches your ears again, this time gentler.

“Sweets? Is this working for you?”

You take a shuddering breath before answering.

“No.”

You practically hear Poe slump in defeat, the rhythm of his hand on his length slowing down. You bite your lip before continuing.

“Take me, Poe.”

“What?” Poe whirls around so fast you feel the air woosh over you as he disturbs it. You jump to your feet, still facing away from him and yank your flight suit over your shoulders and down your body, stepping out so it pools on the ground. He watches as you get back down on your hands and knees before him in your underwear, ass in the air, waiting for him to catch up.

“I need you, Poe. Just…just please get inside me,” you say, reaching back to pull the damp fabric of your panties aside, exposing your glistening, swollen folds for him to see.

You don’t have to ask him a third time. He’s on you so fast that you’re confused by his motions. It takes a few seconds before you realize that he’s taken your discarded flight suit and stretched it out on the ground, positioning you over it so that your hands and knees are protected from the dirt. The sweetness of this considerate action is offset by the way his fingers dig harshly into your hips, maneuvering your ass so that it lines up with his pelvis. You tilt forward, aided by pressure on your lower back which raises your click cunt to the level of his cock.  

“I’m going to make you feel so good – ”

“No more words, Dameron. Just shut up and get your cock inside – FUCK.” He spears you mid-sentence and you immediately fall down onto your elbows. Your ass still in the air, held in place by his hard grip, receives a smack and you cry out, feeling no pain. Only pleasure as the sting ripples through you and into your clenching cunt. He feels it deep inside you and groans.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to shut up, baby.” His words issue forth from gritted teeth. “Always fucking teasing me with that fucking mouth.” His hips rut into yours, taking up an unforgiving pace, while the rest of his body folds over yours so his chest pressed flush to your back. One hand closes tightly around your chin, wrenching up your head and dragging a finger over your bottom lip which has grown plump from biting. “This beautiful, bossy fucking mouth. Always telling me off, telling me what to do.”

Your tongue darts out to meet his skin and his other fingers caress your chin in response. It’s a stark contrast to the almost feral way he is still clutching your hip and driving into you over and over.

There’s almost no resistance. You’re tight, cunt clutching onto his throbbing cock in an effort to keep him buried inside, but you’re wetter than you’ve ever been and it’s making his thrusts effortless. You assume it’s a side effect of the drink. But in some part of your brain you can’t believe that a plant could possibly make a man’s cock feel as good as Poe’s does right now inside you. How a plant could cause you to feel pleasure that is not simply rooted in the way his hand drags down from your jaw to wrench your breasts out of the cups of your bra. How a plant could in any way magnify the surely already intoxicating feeling of Poe’s mouth working at the side of your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“This working, baby? This doing it?” Poe checks in then, not relenting in his thrusts. Never relenting. “You’re squeezing me, so I know your little pussy likes it.”

A shuddering gasp kicks through you before you can answer his question and he laughs. The vibrations go straight from his cock to your clit and you whimper some more.

“Your sounds. I want to record these little sounds you’re making and play them back when I’m flying. Have you fill the space in my x-wing till I can’t take it any more.” Poe presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, nipping and then laving the skin over with his tongue. “I’m going to hear these sounds in my dreams.”

“It’s…just…the drink,” you practically hiccup, barely able to form thoughts from the way your body has focused all energy, all recognitions of nerve endings to the space between your thighs. Poe slaps your ass again and you keen.

“Just listen to yourself, baby. No drink is making you sound this hot. That’s all you, Sweets.”

Before you can argue further you do take a second to listen. To the way your shallow breaths mix with whimpers and whines. The gurgle in the back of your throat when his cock bounces against your cervix. He’s right. It is hot. You are hot. You reach a hand down to your clit, desperate to increase the already mind-blowing stimulation, greedy for more.

“You feel so good. You’re sosososogood,” you barely manage to slur. Despite your inability to fully speak you make the attempt because you assume that if hearing your gasps is egging him on, your words will amplify it. And amplify it they do. Poe’s hips stutter for a second before he drops down heavier on you, thrusting deeper and from a more primal place. A hand savagely kneads at one of your breasts, playing with the nipple.  

“I’ve never been this full. I can’t take it, I can’t…”

“Seems like you’re taking it pretty well, baby,” Poe coos, pressing more kisses to the side of your neck.

“I need m-more,” you gasp, realizing with urgency that the pressure in your core is finally building past the plateau of the last…hour? Half an hour? How long had this been going on? All night? It doesn’t matter because Poe’s inside you and he’s listening to you and suddenly you’re being slammed into with all the force he can muster. He expertly wrings pleasure from your body and you feel yourself careening toward a release that you can’t describe. Just out of reach and full of all the potential energy inherent in an object rocketing toward the moon only to soon plummet back to the depths.

“Poe! I…I…oh fuck…oh gods…I…”

“Go on, baby. Cum.”

“You ha- ahhhh. But you…y-you…” You’re babbling. You’re incoherent, not wanting to leave him behind in the blinding ache that comes before release. Your hands are fisting in the flight suit below you, desperate for something solid, something substantial to hold onto.

“Don’t wait for me, Sweets. Let go.”

And then his hands are closing over yours, fingers interlacing and squeezing down, pinning you to the ground with white knuckles that would hurt if you weren’t squeezing him right back, finally grounded in the way you needed.

And you’re cumming.

And cumming.

You feel every muscle in your body seize and spasm and bliss roils out through you in waves. You shake and stutter under him, feeling fresh wetness gush down around his cock as he fucks you through the feeling. You keep waiting for it to stop but it doesn’t, it only intensifies. It must be a side effect. Of the drink not the man. But when you feel yourself transcending the moment, the way your soul feels like it is literally floating above you, you use the out of body experience to take in the man who is causing this pleasure. The way he cages you in, bracing you through the storm of your orgasm, giving more and more to keep the flame burning as long as possible.

His muscles ultimately seize sometime around when your soul seems to sink back into your body and you’re one again enough with your senses that you can feel him paint your walls with sticky, hot cum. He doesn’t drop his weight on you like other men have after the completion of such exertions. Other men who had focused more on the destination than the journey, leaving you as wanting for release as you were wanting for air under the pressure of their body weight. Instead, Poe pulls you of you and flops to his back in the grass beside you. Without him holding you up you crumble down, face pressing into the fabric of your rumpled flight suit instead of the dirt, thanks to Poe.

A few minutes pass, silent except for the sound of your slowing gasps for air. When your breathing evens Poe sits up on his haunches to guide you back into your flight suit. You’re sticky from sweat and your combined cum, but you couldn’t care less with your bones liquified and your eyelids heavy. Gone is the buzzing ache, in its place a heavy sleepiness. When Poe lays you, now clothed, gingerly back down on the ground you automatically curl into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around your body.

Neither of you shares another word. You don’t have to.

Because shortly after you doze off. And for the first time in a long time your final thoughts before sleep overtakes you are not of the dread the morning will bring, but the solace you found in the night.

~*~

When you wake it’s to a dawn as grey as all the ones before it. Hazy with receding fog and with the promise of all the danger that looms ahead in the hours soon to follow. One of the planet’s suns has already breached the horizon, and you raise a hand to cover your eyes as you peer out from under the x-wing’s protective wing. Looking down you take stock.

Your flight suit is on but fully unzipped, leaving your chest and stomach entirely exposed, all the way down to your lower belly. A large hand covers one of your breasts, fingers twitching against your flesh as the man attached to it continues to dream. You follow the length of his arm to take in his body, tucked close into your own, equally unzipped, his broad torso showing through the gaping fabric. You watch Poe’s abdominal muscles contract with his inhales and exhales for a moment while you check in with your body.

The humming from last night is gone, that much is for certain. This makes you believe that the effects of the drink have worn off. You’re quick to question this hypothesis, however, when Poe stirs in his sleep and his hand squeezes down a bit on your breast. Your breath catches in your throat and fire shoots through your veins. A lingering symptom, you wonder. Or perhaps just a normal, biological reaction to sexual stimuli. You kick yourself mentally because of course it has to be the latter. It couldn’t be the third option which you won’t even allow yourself to fully consider.  

You require a shower urgently, it occurs to you suddenly. And food, a realization that coincides with a rumbling in your empty stomach. Knowing you’ll never have a good enough excuse to extricate yourself from this gorgeous man’s arms you steel your nerves and pull away. When you stand, Poe groans and allows an eye to crack open, his hand flying up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. You’re silhouetted against the dawn and he takes in your outline. The curves of you.

“Morning, Sweets,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep this time instead of sex.

“Morning, Fly Boy,” you reply simply with a small smile. You feel a buzzing in the pocket of your suit then and pull out your mini com unit, even more portable than your usual data pad. The message that blares across the screen and you relay it before Poe can reach his own device which had similarly vibrated.

“We’ve got a new mission. Briefing is in an hour and then we take off.” The information feels stilted as it leaves your lips. How can you feel so entirely, earth-shatteringly changed and yet in many ways everything is still the same. The sun still came up. The war still rages on.

You look down at Poe and his intense expression as he watches you makes you think that he’s wondering the same thing.

Your heart thumps in your chest, this time unaided by any drugged drink or the eyes or hands of a man whose existence seemed both your making and undoing. Routine is the only thing that can calm these nerves. Routine is what is required to survive war. Routine and protocol and boundaries.

You zip up your flight suit with finality.

“See you at the briefing?” you ask, though its more statement than question.

“Of course.” Poe’s response is quiet as he continues to watch you from his reclining position. You’re still above him and at a distance, a position he often associates with you.

You smile and give him a good natured salute before turning and making you way back toward the town where you know the rest of the Resistance members are already bustling about and preparing for the day.

Another day you hope you, and Poe, will be lucky enough to outlive.

~*~

Doing a smaller taglist since it’s a Poe fic and I’m not sure if everyone on my usual taglist is into it (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed for future work!): @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @tlcwrites @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @sacklerscumrag @jynzandtonic @millenialcatlady @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @hopeamarsu @direnightshade @leather-flannel-liquor @fizzywoohoo @aliveandlonely @wayward-rose @safarigirlsp @emeraldsiren20 @finn-ray-nal-beads @maryforyou @maybe-your-left

[echos-newlegs]

Hi!! I would love to request number 13 with Tech! I feel like he would definingly ask you to hold hands for ""Science"" (and no other reason why do you ask) Readers pronouns are she/her, and pg or smut whichever is fine :) Thank you so much!

For Science

hhh this would be so cute and we stan him asking in the name of science. Because honestly same,

Tech x Reader: “I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand..”

Warnings: semi smut. I mean it leads up to it, but the moment gets ruined so it’s mainly just kissing, lmao. 😎 I was too tired to actually write smut.

Tech wasn’t really even sure when he started liking you. Of course he always liked you. Who couldn’t? You were amazing, beautiful, strong, courageous, smart.. Plus you not only listened to him, but you rambled with him. But that was besides the point. He was catching feelings for you. The new gunman and technician that clone force 99 was assigned. And he wanted to act upon those feelings more than anything.

He started small. Bringing you caf everyday. Just the way you liked it. It made his day just seeing the smile that came across your face when he would enter the room with a steaming cup for you. Catching you in a small conversation if you weren’t too entirely busy.

Then he started with small touches. Nudging you more, or tapping your arm to gain your attention. Or squeezing your shoulder or patting your back when you accomplished something and he was congratulating you.

You never really took too much time to think about it. You thought he was just being nice, and honestly? You loved it. You were just as touch starved as they were, and the contact made you feel something. Made you feel warm and appreciated.

After a few weeks of this. Nearly a month, actually. He got a new idea.

You were sitting in the copilot seat, waiting for him to make his entry. You had nothing better to do, all your tasks finished. So what better thing to do than sit with your favorite Batcher? Talk with him while he flew you and the gang to the planet that was actually pretty far away. You honestly weren’t too thrilled about the trip at all. Long flights always bored you.

Tech made it into the cockpit. Turning your head as you were slid down in your seat. Hands on your stomach. Eyes watching as he walked over to the pilot seat and began checking over things. “Ready for the trip?” You asked, and caught a glimpse of his smile. “I guess,” he spoke. “Not really much to be ready for.” He flipped a few switches and checked over the gauges as he readied the engines.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you excited about doing the same thing we’ve done a million times, then heading back to 79’s and getting hit on by random strangers?” You were being sarcastic, and it made him snort. Smile spreading across both of your faces. You just loved it when you could make him smile like this.

He sighed when he finally got the ship out of the atmosphere and into light speed. You both relaxing a bit. Though he relaxed more than you, since you were practically already relaxed. Just hitting a few switches here and there for him since he normally always had piloting under control. Which you admired him for.

He reached over and tapped your shoulder. Catching your attention as always. "Hm?" You hummed, watching as he shoved up his glasses using his index finger. "Can I hold your hand?" He asked. His question baffled you. Blinking a couple times, but you only shrugged. Not thinking twice of it. “Uh, sure, you good, goggles?” You teased as you held your hand out. Tech gently taking it in his own. Gloved thumb running over the back of your bare hand.

You noticed his gaze was elsewhere. Not on you anymore. His face even looked pink. “Uh yeah,” he stammered. Mentally cursing himself. Clearing his throat. He honestly thought this out before doing anything. “It’s a test.” “What sort of test?” He should have known you would ask that.

He thought, darting his tongue out to wet his lips. Lifting his head once more so his eyes would meet yours. “I wanted to test out a theory I had.” He spoke, shifting a bit in his seat. His hands now playing with your fingers. You wanted to squeal, it was so cute.

“Have you ever watched an infant grab someone’s finger when a parent, or even someone at random places their own finger in the palm of their hand?” You nodded. “Yeah. On the holo, why?” You were growing intrigued. You always found his spews so interesting. Especially this one.

“That’s known as the grab affect. Infants, especially of the human species, crave touch. Well, really any age of person does. The signs just show as early as infants even up to four weeks before they are born. Sucking thumbs, grabbing their umbilical cord. Or twins will even hold each other’s hands in the womb. It shows in other species of Aliens as well.” He told you, you nodding along with him. “Like when some babies cling to their mothers, like apes for example. It’s a common craving and it all comes down to how our brains are programmed.” He added, bringing a hand up to tap the side of his head with a soft smile. Hand dropping back to his lap.

“I find it quite interesting, really. They are saying, and have even in some ways proven that skin on skin contact. Like for instance, holding hands.” He gave your hand a light squeeze,” let’s off a chemical in our brain called ‘Oxytocin.’ It’s a neurotransmitter that helps our brains release feelings of trust, generosity, and compassion.” Tech told you.

You took in this information like it was gold. Watching the words fall from his mouth with an intent look. “They have proven that a lack of touch, which is often known as touch hungry, or touch starved. With children can lead to physical disabilities, such as a stunt in growth. Plus mental ones. It’s most common in adults, the mental issues are. Adults can get severe depression or even anxiety from the lack of being touched, you know?” He informed you, and you shot him a lopsided smile. “You feeling depressed or anxious, Techy?” You asked, and he smiled at that. “Not when I’m around you.”

You felt the blush creeping up the back of your neck. Kriff this was adorable. He is adorable. “They also have found that when fingers are interlaced, like this.” He interlaced your fingers with both hands. Eyes watching what he was doing, carefully. “Heart rate goes down, blood pressure goes down, and it puts your body in a relaxed state. All because of the pressure receptors that are triggered just from holding hands, though interlaced fingers triggers more of those receptors. Which are called the vagal activity,” you hummed and nodded. Watching as he looked up to meet your eyes.

“So..” he trailed off, his voice lowering, and you waited for the question that would soon follow after. “Do you feel more relaxed, mesh’la?” Your lips pressed into a small smile at that question, and you nodded. “Yeah.. I actually do, that was really interesting, Tech.” You told him, and nearly exploded at the wide grin he shot back at you. “Really?” He asked, he always seemed so shocked when you enjoyed his lectures.

“Yeah, I did,” you assured him. Watching as he stood from the seat. Using his hands still interlaced with yours to pull you up from your seat. A sudden burst of confidence flowed through him, like a rush of adrenaline did after nearly being shot on field. Hands squeezing yours as he brought you closer. You nearly stumbling into his chest. Looking up at him with furrowed brows. “Because, I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.” He nearly whispered. Voice lowered and, well.. Deeper. Your lips inches apart, and you could nearly feel his breath on your lips. Sending a shudder down your spine.

“But with that being said, I do want to test a theory.” You blinked a couple times, then licked your lips. “And what’s that?” He leaned in a bit closer, your noses brushing now. “How much more oxytocin a kiss from you would release, than just holding your hand.” He added, and your smirked a bit. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He leaned in, finally closing the gap between the two of you and it felt so.. Euphoric. Your hands released one another’s to roam each other’s bodies. One of his hands moving to run through your hair, the other resting on the small of your back. Pushing you against him. You had one hand in his hair as well. Your other hand resting on his chest.

The two of you parted. Eyes fluttering open. Looking to one another with small huffs and pants. “So,” you started, and Tech still looked like he was trying to catch his breath. “Amazing,” he cooed. The hand in your hair moving to cup the side of your face. “So fucking amazing,” he murmured, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “How about another, then?”

It didn’t take asking him twice for another kiss. He was pulling your lips back to his in and instant. This kiss was a bit more desperate. Deeper, yet still soft. He wasn’t too rough and it drove you crazy.

Your lips parted in a gasp when he guided his thigh between your legs. The friction making you cling to him like a child. His tongue slipping into your mouth. Exploring and studying every inch of it like it was his job.

You pushed him a bit, and he backed up. Backs of his knees hitting the copilot seat and he sat down. Guiding you into his lap. Never breaking the kiss. Your legs now resting on either side of him.

He pulled from the kiss to spread kisses down your jaw. Lips leaving light and feathery trails down to your neck. Mouthing over the skin. Nipping the areas that had you gasping and nearly moaning. Your hands running under his blacks. Fanning over his stomach, then moving up to his chest. Rubbing at his tanned skin, and he groaned.

You both jumped when you heard the door to the cockpit swish open. Still sitting on his lap since his hands were still placed firmly around you. Your own hands moving to yourself. Techs shirt still hiked up right below his chest. You were both disheveled and practically holding your breaths as you stared at the door way.

Cross was standing there with Hunter. The two had shocked expressions at first, but then Crosshairs look turned into a small. What seemed to be, proud smile. Hunter just looked mortified, then glared. “You’re watching where we’re going, right?” He hissed, and the two of you were frozen. “I have the coordination set for the coordinates.” He clenched his jaw and eyes shut at his repeating of the word coordinates. Mentally cursing himself for not locking the door. “You better be paying attention, and just kissing, Maker.” Hunter muttered and walked out. Back to the bunks to probably lie down.

Crosshair was still leaning in the doorway. Pulling the toothpick from his lips with a smirk. Winking at Tech, then giving you a nod. “I knew you had it in you, Vod, don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t do.” He spoke, then walked out. Door shutting behind him.

Tech sunk into his seat. You still hovering above him. Climbing off a bit awkwardly. “We’ll never hear the end of this” Tech spoke in a mortified whisper. “It can’t be that bad... Right?” “Oh... It’s that bad.”

[cherrybyunss]

Ship: Renjun x Reader Word Count: 1.6k Tags: Smut, Explicit, Best Friend!Renjun, Clubbing, Alcohol Intoxication, Dirty Talking, Fingering, Oral (M receiving), Protected Sex

An excerpt from When It Gets Risky: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31129871/chapters/76918949

Excerpts Masterlist

_________

Somewhere in the middle of dancing, your eyes landed on Renjun. He looked hot. You always knew the boy knew how to move. But there particularly, it was having a dangerous effect on you.

You knew you’d thought yourself into wanting to fuck him.

So you walked over.

He smiled when you approached him. “Having fun?”

“Could be having more.” You said, placing his hands on your waist as the two of you moved to the beat.

His smile faded away real quick as he raised an eyebrow instead. Your arms went around his neck and you smiled at him.

“You’re hot.” You leaned into whisper into his ear, letting your lips ghost over his skin.

His grip on your waist tightened a little, his hands unhurriedly moving up your dress-clad body. And you sighed at the feeling.

You pulled away and looked at him tilting your head a little. And he stared at you with slightly lidded eyes. It made you take in a deep breath.

Just then, Renjun let go your waist and held you by the wrist instead, and dragged you towards the restroom area.

He walked into a single occupancy restroom and locked the door behind the two of you, before slamming you against the wall.

You breathed heavy for a second, having Renjun this up close to you was making blood rush to your head.

But what was another bad decision gonna hurt?

Both of you smashed your lips together, before any of you could even talk. And you knew there was no going back anymore.

You moaned at the feeling of his soft lips against yours, he kissed you like he’d waited all his life to.

He pulled away, letting the two of your catch your breath as he spoke. “We really shouldn’t be doing this, you know that, right?”

“But you want to,” You said, your fingers gently tracing his forearms. “Don’t you?”

He looked at you without saying a word.

“I mean, I don’t see why not anymore.” You smiled. “You’ve thought about this already. And I already know you have.” You said quietly.

Your smile widened a little as he averted his eyes.

“Not doing anything about it is just gonna make things worse, isn’t it? And trust me, it’s gonna get way worse if you let yourself go to sleep thinking of it.”

He gulped. Your hand traveled down to palm his bulge. He flinched a little before he took in a deep breath.

You leaned in, your lips hovering over his ear as you spoke. “Was seeing me like that this morning too much for you to take?” You said, hissing at how hard he already was. “You wanted to fuck me? Turn me into a mess under you?”

The thought was too much to take even for you.

“Should I tell you something else?” You said before your voice turned breathy. “I wasn’t wearing anything under the shirt.”

You saw him practically snap as his fingers dug into your hair and he smashed his lips against yours. He kissed you with his other hand riding your dress up to cup your core, and you moaned as his fingers started rubbing against your clothed folds.

He moved the cloth of your panties to the side and parted your folds, moving his fingers against your slit. You threw your head back when he found the clit and circled it slowly, before flicking his finger against it.

“So fucking wet.” He breathed against your jaw. “You really think I haven’t gone to sleep thinking of it before, don’t you?” He said kissing down your neck, earning gasps from you as he sucked into the sensitive skin.

He slammed his fingers into you, making you cry out. “Renjun!!”

“You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve wanted to do to you since the day you asked for the threesome.” He said, ramming his fingers in and out of you.

Your eyes widened. You had no idea he’d paid it any heed at all. But you couldn’t get your brain to form any more cohesive thoughts with the way he worked your body.

He scoffed. “You definitely look, and sound, prettier than anything I’d imagined.” He said as he bit the lobe of your ear.

You cried as his other hand reached down to rub your clit. Your legs went weak as you felt your high approaching. You grabbed onto his shoulder.

It’d sounded so absurd in theory, but as you stood there, whimpering against him while he lit your entire body on fire, you felt stupid for ever having waited this long. “Fuck.” He said. “So fucking pretty.”

You wanted your best friend to ruin you.

“Happy birthday, baby girl.” He said with his fingers buried deep inside you, and you were sure something like that should not have made you lose your mind like it did.

He pinched your clit once and you saw white. You trembled as you came onto his hands. And he kissed you through it.

After letting you ride your high out, he withdrew his finger from your core and brought them to your mouth, his eyes ordering you to lick them clean. And you did. Never taking your eyes off his, you licked and sucked onto his digits, and saw his eyes get darker and darker.

He hissed as he palmed himself.

You caught onto the action and took his fingers out of your mouth before slowly sliding down against the wall looking at him. You unbuttoned his jeans and felt high on want when his member sprung free from his boxers.

He caressed your hair, and you shuddered at how condescending the action was. You looked up at him as he stroked his member, spreading the precum around, before he guided his member into your mouth, groaning when you took it in.

You moved your tongue along the underside of his length, flicking your tongue at the junction with the head. And his grip in your hair tightened. You hollowed your cheeks out as you let your lips glide against his member, and he threw his head back.

The fact that Renjun was feeling that good because of you… Fuck, it was too much to take.

“Fuck.” He groaned when you took him in once again, in one swift motion. “Can I fuck your mouth?” He asked. And it almost made you whimper. Seeing this side of Renjun was proving to be lethal.

You sucked him out once again before you looked up and him and nodded, opening your mouth for him to abuse. And he caressed your hair once again before a tight grip held your head in place against the wall.

He slapped his dick against your tongue before slamming himself into your mouth.

You gagged and moaned as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat repeatedly, trying your best to maintain the suction. But it was hard with the wanton force he was fucking your mouth with.

“Fuck!” He moaned. And his voice sent vibrations down your core.

Your free hand inevitably went down to rub your clit as he recklessly abused your mouth. And you moaned against his dick.

Just when you thought he might have been getting closer, he stopped, and pulled out.

You looked up at him questioningly, and he stared down at you before pulling you up and shoving you against the huge mirror atop the counter, letting your hands support your weight, and grabbed your hips in place in front of his own.

“Look at yourself.” He said. And pulled you up against his chest so your ear was directly against his lips. “How the fuck am I supposed to not lose my mind?” He said, and bit down into the crook of your neck before shoving you down against the counter again.

Fuck, you’d never thought you’d see yourself with Renjun like this. But here you were, and it was just so hot.

Looking up into the mirror, you saw him pull his wallet out of his jeans, and out of his wallet, a condom, and your eyes widened a little.

Renjun carried condoms around in his wallet.

And obviously he did, it had no reason to make you feel the way it did.

But it did anyways.

He rolled the condom on and moving the cloth of your panties aside, slammed his member inside you.

And you screamed in pleasure.

He pounded into you like his life depended on it, groans leaving his lips as he did.

“Fuck, Renjun!”

He leaned in and bit down onto your shoulder, earning a loud gasp from you in the middle of moaning, the visual in front of you not helping the case at all.

You looked, and felt, like a mess getting fucked by him.

“Fuck. You’re killing me.” He breathed out against your ear, looking straight at your reflection in the mirror. And you whined at how your body reacted to his voice.

Your hand went around his neck as you turned to the side to kiss him while he continued to fuck you with wanton abandon.

One of his hands went down to rub your clit, and you positively lost your mind.

You screamed as you came for the second time.

And he did not help, for he drove you to overstimulation as he continued to pound into you, chasing his own high.

“Renjun!! Fuck!!!”

He rammed his hips against yours one last time, and that was it. He stilled as his orgasm washed over him.

And fuck did he look ­gorgeous.

You’d just fucked your best friend. And loved every single second of it.

_________

Read the entire fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31129871/chapters/76918949

Excerpts Masterlist

[olderthannetfic]

Ah, I do see your points, anon. I'm not going to post all your asks publicly because if you really feel that unsafe, it's probably best not to have a bigass chunk of your text for people to analyze and try to guess your identity from. I think one of the best points you made is about how close to home it hits when the non-fave is not only your fave but is similar to you in some way like demographic. You're not wrong for having those emotions. I do wonder if they make it hard to see how some other people feel similarly embattled on other axes.

TBH, I think one of the big problems here is that the large aggregate patterns you're talking about are racist, but most individual fics and fans are not really the problem. It's hard to know how to talk about this or who to tell to "fix" it when we're looking at free, hobbyist art.

A lot of people's tastes are certainly formed by shitty society, but once they're formed, they don't change fast if at all. Asking someone to rewrite their libido is a big ask, yet tumblr does it all the time as though it's as simple as snapping your fingers.

This leaves me with the sense that a lot of tumblr is... like... the political lesbians of porn fic or something: desire is not real, only choosing based on logic and politics. Or maybe people are so asexual that they just don't understand the lizard brain's "YES!" at some porn things and complete indifference to others?

I don't think it's great if great swaths of people feel like bottom!Nicky is super hot and top!Nicky fundamentally isn't, but I also don't think they can necessarily just turn it off like flipping a switch.

(If someone reading this doesn't like their current tastes and wants to attempt to alter them, I do think it's possible. What you should do is line up a large slate of media that prominently features characters of the ethnicity or whatever that you don't find hot/interesting. These should be leads whose emotional development drives the plot and is supposed to be central to the audience's enjoyment of the media. Watch/read/etc. this media all the time. All. The. Time. Try out many pieces because you won't like every character or every show, and we're looking for genuine enjoyment, not the fandom equivalent of a pity fuck. Spend enough time on this, and your unconscious sense of who's hot and interesting will eventually shift somewhat. This is a project you should expect to take a few years.)

But I digress.

The one tweet thing is a very toxic pattern. If TOG fandom is doing that, guys, please try to be more conscious of holding the actors of color to a higher standard (or the women or whomever). I know this often comes from a place of paying more attention to our own and wanting to set a good standard, but the effect is that minorities can't fuck up ever while white dudes get infinite passes.

Okay, on to the fic thing... Gotta say, my instant reaction to that description is "Ooh!"--as it would be for the same scenario with the characters reversed. (Ships who start out trying to kill each other are my favorite! x1000 if they're resurrecting style immortals and they literally do.) I can see how it would feel like slamming into a brick wall if you aren't kinky in just the right way and you didn't know it was coming though.

Part of why I react so strongly to a lot of discourse that runs along these lines is that I am a naturally extremely kinky person. It's not so much about what I do (which as a deeply lazy person in a long distance relationship is essentially nothing), but it's absolutely how I'm wired.

And I can tell you that my quotidian experience in fandom is sharing something I don't even realize is a big deal only to have someone I like, respect, and trust react in horror and tell me that it's triggering and awful and should not be allowed in fandom spaces because it makes "people" unsafe. It's such an instant, kneejerk reaction they don't even realize I was sharing it because it spoke to the very core of me. Lesson learned, friend. Lesson learned.

That sounds a bit off topic, I know, but bear with me: The point of that anecdote is that it's pretty common for me to get people trying to raise my awareness of things I have already thought deeply about while denying my essential humanity and not even realizing. As a kinky person who likes to make my fave the top (and generally a conflicted sadist), this constant request to explain and justify is exhausting.

I doubt most of the top!Joe fans have this precise problem simply because people who make their fave the top are much less common in fandom than people who make their fave the bottom, but I see a similar pattern with fans who are just fundamentally wired for rape fantasies (one of the most common fantasies that exists) vs. fans who just don't get rape fantasies at all. Or substitute your BDSM/kinky/messed up fantasy trope of choice. Covertly radical feminist attitudes towards kink and power are on the rise in fandom, and as a naturally kinky person, boy do I notice it!

I know that it feels like crucial activism to share these insights about why the ratio of top!Joe is hurtful, and the pain you feel is real. But it's also the case that it's a big ask to want people to listen. (Not me. Obviously, I routinely choose to engage with discourse. I mean overall.) The reason for that is that you're only seeing a fraction of what they do or who they are, and you don't know how many previous people they've listened to how many previous times. It's a very different situation from someone whose job is making some major TV series or movie or something. That person does, in my opinion, owe you some amount of listening.

Now, I'm not saying no top Joe fan was ever a jerk. I'll bet they were. There's a tendency to be rude and to publicly air your schadenfreude when you feel like everyone has been yelling at you. What I am saying is that a lot of the problem here boils down to conflicting needs, and that means there isn't a good solution. It's a situation where people are genuinely hurt, but I don't necessarily agree that other people have harmed them.

I like that you did an actual count of the explicit fics, btw. It's good to look at the real numbers. I see too little of that in these situations. My off the cuff reaction is that 2/3 to 1/3 is not a bad ratio at all compared to many fandoms, but yeah, it definitely shows a strong trend, and that can be painful. (I have a fandom where I think there's maybe like 1 bottom so-and-so fic in the entire zine era fandom. One. It's pretty extreme.)

I guess my thinking here overall is: What is the practical solution? What are we hoping to gain? What is reasonable to ask of people?

And it can't be "Well, if they would just listen..." That's just a sneaky way of saying "If you haven't done it my way, it's because you haven't listened to me yet."

So the question I would ask of people is this:

What does a non-racist fic where Joe tops look like?

What does a non-racist sex pollen, dubcon, or even noncon fic where Joe tops look like?

And if you say the latter is impossible... well... sadists exist everywhere in the world. So do doms. So do people who prefer to top in a purely physical sense. People with rape fantasies where they're the rapist exist (people who are not actually rapists, I mean). None of this is restricted to any one group. We can't categorically say fic like that about Joe is coming from a place of racism without denying the fundamental humanity of kinky MENA people who'd want to make Joe like themselves or like their ideal partner. (Yes, I agree this won't be the majority of fic writers writing top!Joe, but this is a place to start for figuring out what the better version would look like.)

IDK, maybe you're that kinkster yourself, but your asks gave me the vibe that you don't really get the drive towards those darker kinds of fics and what might be motivating it besides stereotypes and shittiness.

If we can answer these kinds of questions, we can better critique the way people write what they write without telling them all of their taste is bad and they should just stop writing. Even if we think the latter is true, it isn't going to get us anywhere. Figuring out how to make Joe more multidimensional in the fic they already want to write or finding very specific wording that should be avoided might actually work.

Beyond that, the actions I think are productive would be running prompt fests, exchanges, or other events for bottom!Joe or for top!Joe where he's the main character and the fics are required to be from his POV. Themed collections and recs lists are great. (I've seen a bit of this going around in TOG fandom in the past, and that's an excellent approach! Keep it up!) Positive actions tend to work better here. Make more of what you want. Promote what you want to see.

I don't mean this in some fluffy magical thinking way: you aren't going to change that ratio radically just by the power of positivity. But I've seen this kind of thing play out in many, many fandoms, and going after the people who write what you don't like, even in a well-intentioned effort to educate and even in a polite, kind way doesn't do much. A few people feel guilty. A few feel defensive. A lot ignore you. The overall fic doesn't change. It's not a good use of your limited time and energy.

I'm off to look up that fic to see what I think of it in practice, but I'm going to post this before tumblr manages to eat it.

[coexiising]

angel of small death & the codeine scene - anakin skywalker

SUMMARY ◆ anakin is just so fucking enamored by you that he can’t take it holding back from professing it anymore. porn with a plot lol. 

WARNING(S) ◆ smut, lowkey public sex but not rly, y’all just fuck in his ship in the hangar, dirty talk, unedited

WORDS ◆ 2.5k

NOTE ◆ this is based off of the song ‘angel of small death & the codeine scene’ by hozier so yeah listen to that if you desire but i can’t stop you if u don’t. this is really short lol im just indulging

»»————-　✼　————-««

“YOU SAID THAT YOU WERE HAVING TROUBLE WITH YOUR SHIP?” YOU ASKED THE GENERAL, WALKING UP THE RAMP. it was later in the day, and just as you were going to call it a day and settle down for the night, you got a call on your comms asking for you to come down to the hangar. that was where the commander told you that they were experiencing some problems with general skywalker’s ship and sent you to do your job. 

you hadn’t been working in tech for super long, still young enough to make a real job out of it. but you joined the side of the republic in the war because you didn’t want to see democracy die, and if you could play a small part in that, that was good enough for you. 

there was a clank of something mechanical from the main control center and no response to your question, prompting you to walk towards the noise to find out if the general was making the problem worse. the second you came within a few feet of him, he jumped and turned around to face you, wrench in his hand. “maker, you scared me,” he stated. 

a small grin made it’s way onto your face. “aren’t you supposed to be able to sense things coming up behind you?” 

generally, you wouldn’t be talking that way to a general of the republic. but anakin was different, more close to your age and really didn’t care all that much for titles or respective ranks. you could see it with the way he treated the soldiers with as much respect he would give to someone like general kenobi or general windu. 

anakin laughed, stepping out of the way to let you see what he was attempting to do. you saw all these wires popping out of place, and one of the pipes completely busted out of its socket. how the hell had he managed to do this? you turned back to face him and cocked your head to the side, motioning at the carnage and saying, “how did this even happen?” 

you allowed your eyes to only look into his blue ones, because you knew the second you let them do what they wanted, you would look over him like he was a meal. and to your defense, anakin was incredibly hot. there was no denying it. but he was a jedi, and a general, and to the most of your knowledge nothing was ever going to happen. 

he cleared his throat. “just a . . . just a mishap that’s all, look, can you fix it or not?” 

“yeah, it shouldn’t take too long,” you replied, setting down your bag filled with tools and beginning to work. and then hopefully you would finally be done for the day and could get some much needed rest. 

“alright, i’ll be back in just a moment,” anakin told you, his hand coming to your waist for just a moment to push past you. you knew that it was just something that he did absentmindedly, but it sent a shock through your body, making your brain hotwire for just a moment. but as soon as it was there, it was gone and you were alone in his ship. 

anakin knew that he was a reckless person. it was evident to anyone that most of the time he did what he wanted, not taking into account any of the possible consequences afterwards. you would think that being a jedi wouldn’t keep that much room for error, since sometimes the weight of the galaxy sat on his shoulders, but there were times where he felt himself breaking away from the jedi code. and that happened the second he saw you. 

he knew that it was wrong to lust over some mechanic that he only saw from afar most days, but you were just so goddamn beautiful he couldn’t help himself. anakin admired the way that you carried yourself, confidently in anything that you did, the way that your hair framed your face every day, and the face you made when you were concentrating. 

at first it just started off as a passing thought, just a brief ‘oh, she’s hot’ instinct that everyone had once in a while, but now he knew that he wanted you. and anakin was planning on just letting the feeling run its course until it was sucessfully gone, but the second you walked into his ship, he could feel the want practically jumping off of you. 

he had to have you, especially now since he knew the feeling was mutual. there was just the tricky task of initiating something.  

you puffed out a small breath, biting the inside of your cheek as your fingers carefully patched wires together. it was getting later and still no sign of anakin again. weird, you thought to yourself, but not so unlikely. it’s not like you needed him to complete your job anyways. you went back to work, wondering what could have possibly happened to general skywalker. 

it seems that devising a plan to get your attention was harder than the man wanted to admit, because he had been standing next to the ramp for almost ten minutes now since he had left for a quick daily briefing. he was probably looking like an idiot just standing there. to hell with it. he would just improvise. like he did most things. 

“you finished yet?” you heard anakin ask from behind you. you shook your head in response, taking a moment to look at him. 

“your power converters are basically fried,” you told anakin, your cheeks flaring up at the way he was looking down at you. sure, there had always been a slight height difference between the two of you, but you were crouching down right level with his hips. you bit your lip and immediately got back to work, pretending like you weren’t just thinking about giving him a blowjob right then and there. 

the problem was that anakin knew exactly what you were thinking and that smirk came onto his face, leaning against the wall closest to you and watching you work. your face flared up, feeling his eyes trail on you. “do you have to watch me while i’m working?” you asked him in a hushed tone, as if you weren’t trying to ask him that indirectly. 

“am i making you nervous?” 

your stomach dropped, you were so flustered by him that the cable almost slipped out of your hands onto the floor. luckily you were quick to conceal it and you hoped that anakin didn’t notice. but he did, he was watching your every move, seeing how long it took before you broke. “no, general skywalker, you are not making me nervous, just tired that’s all,” you said, not daring to look at him. 

though, the next thing anakin asked caught you off guard. 

“when are you just going to admit you want me?” 

you would be lying if you said your knees didn’t feel like giving out right then and there. anakin said it in a deep voice, like he was teasing you for your attraction towards him. your mouth felt dry, like someone was stuffing cotton balls right down your throat. there wasn’t anything you thought you could say to try and defend yourself. 

instead you stood up and crossed your arms, looking into those eyes to decifer what he was thinking. anakin was looking right back at you with those magnificent eyes of yours, yet there was a hint of something else there. he was being mischevious and you knew it, toying around with you all because he could feel the feelings you were giving off. “fine, general, i do feel something towards you, but what does that have to do with anything?” you said, deciding to take the high ground. 

it was like a lightbulb went off in his head, and before you knew it he was walking up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer. woah. this was not the reaction that you thought you were going to get. honestly, you thought that he would kick you out and order for someone else to come fix his ship. this was definitely not that. 

“I asked you,” he started, one of his hands coming up along your back to your neck. you shivered and leaned into his touch. “because i want you too.” both of you were staring into each other’s eyes, almost daring each other to make the first move. 

and that’s all it took before you were leaning in, hesitating for just one second more as your nose brushed against his own. there was still time for you to compose yourself and walk away, leave your desires there and forget this ever happened. 

to hell with it. you wanted him and he was looking at you like you put stars in the sky. the stupid jedi code would just have to be pushed aside for the moment, because you were closing the gap between both of you and kissing him, body intermingling with his own. 

it was a mesh of your gasps from his roaming hands and his groans from your own hands tangling and tugging on those curls of his that were just begging to be ran through. you could’ve sworn anakin tasted like berries and he kissed with so much want and need that it was almost hard to keep up with him. but you did nonetheless, wanting as much as he was willing to give you. these types of things only happened in your wildest dreams. 

your back was soon pressed against the wall that he was once leaning on, one hand on your waist and the other sitting comfortably on your neck to keep you close to him. the air was hot and heavy surrounding both of you and you pressed your body against him, signaling that you needed him right now. 

anakin pulled away, cheeks red from lack of air. “the guards come to check the hangar every 2200 hours,” he told you, forehead pressing against your own. you looked at the clock behind him and saw that it was almost that time, and that you had at least fifteen minutes maybe less if the guards decided to come a few minutes early. 

you were quick to think, your eyes landing on the chair near the controls. he seemed to hear your thoughts, pressing a kiss against your lips before bringing you over there by your hands. you pushed him down onto his seat, pulling down your pants just enough and watching as he pulled himself out of his pants. 

of course anakin skywalker was packing.

you swore that if you could take your time with him, you would already be on your knees for him. oh well, there would just have to be a next time. 

“hurry,” anakin said to you, helping you up onto him so you were straddling him, your knees on either side of his sitting body on the chair. you put your hands against his shoulders for support and once you were ready, you sunk down onto him and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. he filled you up just right and it was better than you could ever imagine. anakin panted below you, head bowing down to nip at the exposed parts of your neck. 

the second the pain began to subside, you experimentally moved your hips forward, feeling a wave of pleasure course through your entire body. it almost stopped you from moving, which was not good for the time constraint. just as you were about to begin again, anakin grabbed your hips forcefully and lifted you up slightly, biceps flexing as his hips raised to meet your own. 

you couldn’t stop yourself from making noise while he continued with this fast pace in the same way, mouth wide open and hands shaking as they tried to keep their hold on him. you were hot all over, every time he pushed into you it felt like he was splitting you open so deliciously. the noise being made by both of you incredibly lewd, though it was on neither of your minds. 

you always thought that anakin looked so good after battle, when there was still sweat on his brow and his hair was all messy. he looked like that now, except you were the person messing up his hair and making him sweat, and that made your heart swoon. you wanted to kiss him and now there was nothing stopping you. your lips attached to his in a hungry kiss, tongue slipping right into his mouth and prodding against his own. everything was hot, sloppy, and messy and you didn’t care. 

“you look so hot like this,” anakin told you against your lips, pulling back and watching your face as he pounded into you. and he wasn’t lying, it was one of the best things he’s ever seen in his life. he made sure that he would remember this moment so he could replay it in his mind over and over again. “if i would’ve known you’d take me this good i would’ve done something sooner.” 

you couldn’t respond to him with words, only moans that came from deep in your throat. you weren’t going to last much longer, not when every time his hips hit your own it rubbed against your clit for just a short moment. you tried to help him with the movement, circling your hips and feeling the release creep up on you before you could compose yourself. 

“anakin,” you moaned out as you hit that much needed orgasm, looking right into his eyes as you fell apart. you were so sensitive that you whined against his neck where your head now laid, making use of your lips by kissing along his tanned neck. 

a few more thrusts and he was there, cumming right inside of you and making you hum in contentment. the two of you caught your breath against one another, his hand coming to rub against your back in a way that was surprisingly really loving. you moved your head so you were facing him and he leaned in to give you one last kiss, pushing away the hair that had fallen into your eyes. 

a new voice in the hangar made you jump, realizing that the cloned guards were here. both of you scrambled to get up, helping each other dress and look at least a little presentable. your legs were shaking with every step and you heard anakin laugh a little from behind you, making you hit his shoulder jokingly. the footsteps came closer and soon enough one of the commanders was looking at the two of you. for good measure, you picked up your bag of supplies. 

“general skywalker, you’re out here late,” the guard said, giving a look at you. “is everything alright?” 

“yes,” anakin responded. “the mechanic here was just finishing up work on my ship.” 

as soon as the guards stepped away, you gave him a look. “you know i didn’t even finish repairments, right?” 

anakin shrugged, a grin on his face. “i guess you’ll just have to come back tomorrow then, same time?” 

“sure thing, general.”

[nim-lock]

Art Career Tips, 2021 Edition

Here’s an edited version of my 2019 answered ask, because... this feels relevant. 

It is a problem of capitalism that folks equate their income as a judgement of their value as people; and let me preface. You are worth so much. You have inherent value in this world. Your income is not a judgement on who you are (plenty of billionaires are actively making the world worse). LARPing self-confidence will go a long way to helping you get paid more for your work, because clients will believe that you know what you are doing, and are a professional. 

& real quick—my own background is that I’ve been living off my art since 2018. I went to art school (Pratt Institute). I work in a publishing/educational materials sphere, and a quarter of my income is my shop. Not all of this information may apply to you, so it is up to you to look through everything with a critical eye, and spot pick what is relevant. 

So there are multiple ways of getting income as an artist; 

Working freelance or full-time on projects

Selling your stuff on a shop

Licensing (charging other companies to use your designs)

This post primarily covers the freelance part; if you’re interested in the other bits there is absolutely info out there on the internet. 

IF you are just starting (skip to next section if not applicable) dream big, draw often (practice helps you get better/more efficient), do your best to take "a bad piece” lightly. You’re gonna RNG this shit. At some point your rate of “good” works will get higher. Watch tutorial videos & read books. A base understanding of “the rules”; anatomy, perspective, composition, color helps you know what the rules are to break them. This adds sophistication to your work. One way you can learn this stuff is by doing “studies”—you’re picking apart things from life, or things other people have done, to see what works, and how it works. 

Trying to turn your interests into a viable career means that you are now a SMALL BUSINESS; it really helps to learn some basic marketing, graphic design, figure out how to write polite customer service emails; etc. You can learn some of this by looking it up, or taking skillshare (not sponsored) classes by qualified folks. Eventually some people may get agents to take care of this for them—however, I do recommend y’all get a basic understanding of what it takes to do it on your own, just so you can know if your agent is doing a good job. 

Making sure your portfolio fits the work you want to get

Here is a beginner portfolio post. 

Research the field you’d like to get into. The amount people work, the time commitment, the process of making the thing, the companies & people who work for them. 

Create work that could fit in to the industry you’re breaking into. For example, if you want to do book cover illustration, you draw a bunch of mockup book covers, that can either be stuff you make up, or redesigns of existing books. If you’re not 100% sure what sort of work is needed for the industry, loop back into the portfolios of artists in a similar line of work as whatever you’re interested in, and analyze the things they have in common. If something looks to be a common project (like a sequence of action images for storyboard artists), then it’s probably something useful for the job. 

CLIENTS HIRE BASED ON HOW WELL THEY THINK YOUR WORK FITS WHAT THEY WANT. If they’re hiring for picture books, they’re gonna want to see picture book art in your portfolio, otherwise they may not want to risk hiring you. Doesn’t have to be 100% the project, but stuff similar enough. If you aren’t hired, it doesn’t mean your work is bad, it just wasn’t the right fit for that specific client. 

If you have many interests, make a different section of your portfolio for each!

Making sure you’re relevant 

Have a social media that’s a little more public-facing, and follow people in the career field you’re interested in. Fellow artists, art directors, editors, social media managers; whoever. Post on your own schedule. 

Interact with their posts every so often, in a non-creepy way. 

If you’ve made any contacts, great! Email these artists, art directors, editors, former professors, etc occasional updates on your work to stay in touch AND make sure that they think about you every so often.

Show up to general art events every once in a while! If you keep showing up to ones in your area (when... not dying from a sneeze is a thing), folks will eventually start to remember you. 

Industry events & conferences can be pricey, so attend/save up for what makes sense for you. Industry meetups are important for networking in person! In addition to meeting people with hiring power, you also connect with your peers in the community. Always bring a portfolio & hand out business cards like candy. 

Active job hunting

Apply to job postings online.

If interested in working with specific people at specific companies, you could send an email “I’d love to work with you, here’s my portfolio/relevant experience”, even if they aren’t actively looking for new hires. Be concise, and include a link to your work AND attached images so the person reading the email can get a quick preview before clicking for more. 

Twitter job postings can be pretty underpaid! Get a copy of the Graphic Artists’ Guild Handbook Pricing & Ethical Guidelines to know your rate. I once had a twitter post job listing email me back saying that other illustrators were charging less, and I quote, “primarily because they’re less experienced and looking for their first commission”. This was not okay! For reference, this was a 64-illustration book. The industry rate of a children’s book (~36 pages) is $10k+, and this company’s budget was apparently $1k. For all of it. 

Congrats you got a job! Now what?

Ask for like, 10% more than they initially offer and see if they say yes. If they do, great! If not, and the price is still OK, great! Often company budgets are slightly higher than they first tell you, and if you get this extra secret money, all the better for you. 

Make sure you sign a contract and the terms aren’t terrible (re: GO GET THE  Graphic Artists’ Guild Handbook Pricing & Ethical Guidelines) 

Be pleasant and easy to work with (Think ‘do no harm but take no shit’)

Communicate with them as much as needed! If something’s going to be late, tell them as soon as you know so they aren’t left wondering or worse, reaching out to ask what’s up. 

And if all goes well, they’ll contact you about more jobs down the line, or refer you to other folks who may need an artist, etc. 

Quick note about online shops/licensing and why they’re so good

It’s work that you do once, that you continuously make money off of. Different products do well in different situations (conventions vs. online, and then further, based on how you market/the specific groups you are marketing to), so products that may not do well initially may get a surge later on. 

Start with things that have low minimum order quantity and are relatively cheap to produce, like prints and stickers. 

If you are not breaking even, go back to some of the earlier portions of this and think about how you could tweak things as a small business. Ease of access is also very important with this; for example, if you only take orders through direct messages, that immediately shuts off all customers who don’t like talking to strangers. 

Quick resource that you could look through; it’s the spreadsheet of project organizing that I made a while back 

Licensing is when people pay you for the right to use your work on stuff they need to make, like textbooks or greeting cards. This is generally work you’ve already made that they are paying the right to use for a specified time or limited run of products. This is great because you’ve already done the work. I am not the expert on this. Go find someone else’s info.

“I am not physically capable of working much”/ “I need to pay the bills”

Guess who got a hand injury Sept 2020 that messed me up that entire month! I had a couple jobs going at the time that I was terrified of losing, but they were quite understanding when I told them I needed to heal. So:  Express your needs as early as you know you need them. Also do lots of stretches and rest your hands whenever you feel anything off; this will save your health later. Like, the potential of a couple months of no income was preferable over losing use of my hands for the rest of my life.

This continues to apply if you have any other life situation. Ask for extra time. Ask for clarification. If you tell people ahead of time, folks are often quite understanding. Know how much you are capable of working and do your best not to overdo it. (I am.. bad at this)

Do what MAKES SENSE for your situation. If doing art currently earns you less money than organizing spreadsheets, then do that for now, and whenever you have the energy, break down some of the tips above into actionable tiny chunks, and slowly work at em. 

The original ask I got in 2019 mentioned ‘knowing you’re not good enough yet’. Most artists experience imposter syndrome & self-doubt—the important thing is to do your best, and if anything, attempt to channel the confidence of a mediocre white man. If he can apply to this job/charge hella money for Not Much, then so can you! 

Check out this Art Director tumblr for more advice!

Danichuatico’s Literary Agent guide

Kikidoodle’s Shop Shipping Tutorial

Best of luck!

–

Once again disclaimer this post is just the ramblings of a man procrastinating on other things that need to be done. I’ve Long Posted my own post so that it turns into mush in my brain if I try to read it, but I wrote this so I should know this content. If you got down here, congrats. Here’s a shrimp drawing.

Yee Ha. 

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