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unholyhelbig · 1 month

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fuck yes wandanat!!!

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 1/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 3977

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Being buried alive, claustrophobia, guns, general violence, cold leftovers and horrible grammar.

[a/n: Let me know if anyone wants to join the taglist! I should be able to post every week to bi-weekly depending on some travel! This is setting some things up, but I promise it gets better.]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The weight of dirt was beginning to make the lid of the state provided casket buckle. It wasn’t very sturdy despite its drastic price that the government contemplated paying. It would have been easier to cremate, send you into the afterlife with the kiss of fire white-hot enough to melt bone. But your will had been specific, not necessarily written by you, but detailing that you must be buried, nonetheless.

No state representative wanted to have the ghost of a twenty-something paralegal on their hands. Though most were Roman Catholic and believed whole-heartedly that once a candle was lit in recognition a spirit couldn’t possibly seek vengeance. Still, they respected your wishes.

No, not your wishes. You were too young to even think of a will, or any specifications that would result in your burial. You still swallowed two cans of candle-flavored alcoholic seltzer with your sad dinner of microwaveable lasagna. You hadn’t made a habit of signing legal documents between sloppy bites and buzzed naps in the sun.

Which begged the question of why you were in a casket in the first place, and why dirt was starting to sprinkle down from the creaking wood above. Doctors made mistakes, but burying you alive? Well- shit, that was less of a mistake and more of a deliberate ignorance.

Your body was stiff, cold and unwelcoming to the life that suddenly thrummed through you. Maybe you had been dead. Nothing two full bottles of Advil couldn’t ebb out of you. Your fingertips pushed against the fabric lining, testing the validity of the box you were in.

This was all somehow extremely familiar; the darkness that swam around you, the putrid scent of your own breath after being beneath the earth for God knows how long. You could taste the film on your teeth and almost craved a toothbrush more than you did freedom. Almost.

Despite the pain in your calves, you situated yourself to where your feet pressed against the lid. With just a little leverage maybe you could push hard enough to free yourself. There was a rhythmic shoveling above; so you weren’t completely packed in yet.

Suddenly, very thankful for the yoga classes Jennifer was making you take, you maneuvered until you got enough strength to push. For a few agonizing moments, nothing budged except your spine. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A few more breaths and a harder push and the latches on the outside of the casket seemed to give way to the pressure with a small pop. You could taste dirt, feel it in your eyes.

Another brisk shove and the lid flung off it’s hinges, crashing loudly against the meticulously carved grave. You winced at the cold soil that suddenly surrounded you. Worms squirmed against your skin and that was enough for you to sit up with gusto, holding back a stomach full of vomit. Formaldehyde? It tasted terrible, either way.

You shivered and dusted yourself off. It was either early morning or just before dusk. You couldn’t tell but the electric blue sky had just started to fade to orange. You wouldn’t have been able to handle the sun being in full force, barely blinking away the color of the world, much brighter than the dark box you’d dismantled.

And boy, did you dismantle it. You’d only intended to push it up, free yourself, but the cheap wood had splintered and crumbled under just a little force. You stood in the wreckage and peered up at the company you had obtained.

“What the fuck?!”

It was a man who looked younger than you in his fear. He held a shovel in his hands, hugging it close to his chest. His mouth was slightly opened and his deep brown eyes were widened in fear and shock. The knees of his dark blue jumpsuit were stained with dirt and water.

“Can you give me a boost?” You croaked.

“A boost… I, fuck, I shouldn’t’ have taken this job.”

“You can quit after you help me out of this hole.” You shivered, looking down at the dirt below your feet. You swore you saw it pulse like a heartbeat. Too many worms, maybe even a few spiders. You’d never been too fond of bugs. You reached your caked hand up. “Please.”

He made a small noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t want to be patient zero.”

“Do I look like a zombie to you?”

“A little,”

“Now I’m offended and freezing my ass off.”

He regarded you, probably checking for a nasty festering bite, yellowing skin and any general signs of reanimation. When he didn’t find any, he reached a shaking hand down to you. Both of you struggled and strained until you found the perfect hold on the side of the grave. God- you were never so happy to touch grass.

You panted and stared up at the sky, stars were starting to pockmark the navy blue. It was, in fact, night. The metal tip of a shovel was pointed towards your neck. “Aw, come on, I thought we bonded there.”

“I’m talking to a corpse, we are not bonding.”

“Where are we?” You ignored his pointed stare and tilted yourself up on your elbows. A cemetery was the easy answer. But you wanted to know which one. There were at least 1,700 in the state of New York alone, and they all looked deceivingly the same. “Do I have to take a cab to Manhattan?”

“Uh, you’re in White Plains. Mount Calvary cemetery. I’m- I’m sorry, is this not freaking you out at all?”

You frowned, patting the pockets of a pair of jeans (why the hell would they bury you in jeans, they were the worst). In a long exhale you said. “Shit. I think worms ate my cash.”

It was a longshot to even think that your phone would be in your pocket. It wasn’t. But that left you stranded almost an hour, by car, outside of the city. It would be morning by the time you made it back and that was if no-one pulled up to the side of the road and tried their luck.

You did the only thing you can think of and peered up at this stranger with watery, wide eyes. It wasn’t a move you pulled often, meaning it still worked on Jennifer, on your mother and your father. This was a last resort and you were certainly willing to use it to your advantage.

“What? No.” He shook his head “No! No! Absolutely not. You just dug yourself out of a grave I fucking refuse-“

His name was Austin and he drove a 2002 Ford that needed to warm up for a few minutes before he even considered pulling out of the gravel drive. He was pressed as far as possible away from you and that didn’t exactly boost your confidence, but honestly, truthfully, you would take what you could get at this point.

Austin asked if you were freaking out, and you were. Everything was patchy and black in some places. You couldn’t remember how you’d ended up in a casket. It was clearly a situation that irked you for more than one reason. The forefront of which; no one had attended your funeral.

You weren’t even from White Plains. You’d known from your day job that this place had more than one government funded cemetery. So, most likely, you were given a half-rate priest with liquor on his breath and a funeral director that may have taken the twenty from your pocket, not the worms.

Your stomach clenched as Austin began to drive. He was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel nervously, and could you blame him? A corpse was in his passenger seat. Though, you felt alive enough.

“What’s your name?” He eventually asked, flicking on his high beams. You were on a long and deserted road flanked by oak trees. The occasional field passed by, the reflective quarter-sized eyes of cows blinking at the truck. “Frankenstein?”

You snorted, “Ha-ha. Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster, you know? And I don’t remember my pitiful grave being struck by lightning.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Perhaps.”

“Pitiful? Really? I work hard to maintain those graves.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely.” There was a rolling beat of silence. He glanced at you twice before shrugging his shoulders and leaning his chest closer to the wheel to see better. “It’s y/n. Wasn’t it written on the stone?”

Austin shook his head softly, “No, they don’t put the stone in until later. I’m supposed to spray paint a neon ‘x’ on the packed dirt, so they know what to make.”

How humiliating. You’d supposedly died, no one came to your funeral, and you were reduced to less than a quarter of spray paint. There was a system to everything, but this one made your self-importance fizzle out like a covered candle. There one moment and gone the next.

“Do you have a plan?” Austin changed the subject.

“A plan?”

“Yeah, like, are you just going to show up and say surprise, I’m alive? I’ve seen a lot of horror movies and that never goes well.”

Well, that was your plan. It was a damned good one too. There was nowhere else for you to go. While this near stranger was nice enough, you couldn’t impose on him for more than a single ride. His kind chocolate stare was telling enough. He would let you stay with him as long as it took to figure all of… this, out.

“Yeah,” You sighed out, leaning your head against the cool glass “That’s all I’ve got.”

Jennifer’s apartment building had a small box that required a code for entry. You knew the right numbers to press in the right order, they had faded away from regular use, but the door was always propped open by a cinderblock to let in the cool summer air.

If it rained hard enough, New Yorkers would take partial shelter under the awnings, and sometimes going as far as to loiter in the front lobby by the large set of mailboxes. They were the oldest and most fascinating part of the building, large and wrought iron. Allegedly, they’d survived three building fires.

Thankfully, no one but you stood in the lobby as you watched Austin’s taillights flicker out of existence. You’d have to thank him later- of course, you hadn’t gotten his number, but you knew where her work. At least where he worked up until now.

Escorting someone who had kicked their way out of their own grave back into the city was grounds for quitting, in your book.

The elevator was the second oldest thing in the building, but you somehow felt a wave of relief wash over you when the familiar warmth pressed against your skin. The mechanics jolted and hummed like an old lawn mower. All of these were comfortable.

Hunger tinged at your stomach in one fail swoop of feeling. You steadied yourself against the reflective interior of the elevator as it rose to the highest floor. Each number was signified in a loud and crude beep. You were tempted to hit the emergency stop; gaging the feeling in your abdomen.

Brains?

Yeah, the thought of them was absolutely unappetizing. Austin had gotten into your head. There was no innate need to dig your teeth into flesh and devour. In fact, you became more nauseous at the idea than before it popped into your head.

Zombies were chained to shitty horror movies you and Jennifer curled up to watch every Friday night, making fun of the gelatin that was used for wiggly guts and the cooked rice substituted for maggots. You could go for rice right now.

Knowing your best friend, she would have some sort of left-over cuisine in her fridge and you didn’t hesitate to run your fingers over the top of the doorframe to procure her hidden key, taped with a single strip of adhesive to the surrounding paneling.

Her apartment was dark save for the small tank with a one-finned goldfish named Gus. He barely regarded you, the dull buzz of his home and the pale blue light gave you all the vision you needed. Again, the familiarity of Jennifer’s apartment warmed you, comforted you. If you stopped for too long, you’d think about it all too much.

Waking up in a grave, not remember how you got there in the first place. When was the last time you’d had a meal? You’d purposefully avoided the side mirrors in Austin’s car, even the rearview was gently nudged by your dirt-caked hand. One thing at a time.

The fridge swung open with a satisfying pop and you were never more thankful for the red and white takeout containers that rested on the top shelf next to a box of wine. Neither of you ever claimed to be fancy.

You knew Jennifer’s order like the back of your hand. Sweet and sour chicken with a side of fried rice and no matter what, you would eat it cold. When the scent hit you, you even considered going forkless. If not for the slick dirt under your nails, you would have.

There was instant satisfaction in shoveling a mouthful of rice into your mouth, you barely chewed before swallowing. The neon light from the open fridge illuminated your shame and you swore that Gus, the one-finned fish, was judging you. He ate flakes for fucks sake, watching you spoon cold leftovers was the least of his worries.

You’d moved on from the rice and to the chicken before you noticed that you had company. It was a shift in the air, the feeling of being watched. But there was something more too, something like an itch on the back of your neck.

In a split second you turned from your cold meal and lifted your hand up with enough time to grip a wedge golf club that Jennifer had gotten from her father for her twenty-first birthday. They collected dust next to her coatrack, and right now, the metal edge was less than an inch away from slamming into the side of your temple.

You’d never been necessarily graceful, nor good at picking up on your surroundings. You never had to be, not with your work as a paralegal. The worst thing you had to look out for was a bad reaction to burnt office coffee.

Jenn was in an oversized Pink Floyd t-shirt and a pair of boxers, her eyes were wild, hair even wilder. A bloom of fondness wash over you despite her attempt at assault. You couldn’t blame her either, your mind so one-track on getting a meal that you hadn’t warned your best friend, not in the slightest.

“Fuck! What the fuck!” she wrenched the club away from you and moved to swing again, holding it behind her head like a baseball bat.

“Jesus Christ! Oh my God, put the wedge down!”

“You’re not-“She gulped in a cold breath of air “you died!”

“Don’t hit me with that thing and kill me again!”

Her chest was heaving up and down, fingers tightening against the rubber grip handle. Her eyes were frantic. “Did you eat my leftovers?”

You blinked at her, not sure what to say. She didn’t give you a chance to answer either, instead she sprung forward and wrapped you in a bone-crushing hug. You breathed her in, her scent of summer rain and freshly cleaned laundry. Her hair tickled your nose but you held her back, held her as if it were the last time you ever would.

Something softly broke within you, and you felt tears well up in your eyes. They slid silently down your cheeks. The fridge closed with a padded thump and plunged you both into the neon blue glow. Eventually, the club fell to the floor with a clank and her fingers fisted your shirt. You were thankful that she didn’t use her full strength.

“How is this happening?”

“I don’t know,” You rasped.

And you didn’t. Everything was so fuzzy and each time you attempted to press the subject in your mind, you felt the start of a headache at the base of your skull. For now, you were perfectly content holding your friend flush against you.

“You smell so bad,” She sobbed.

“Yeah, well, I was dead.”

Jenn pulled back and squeezed both of your shoulders, studying you longer than you had studied yourself, her breath shuddered “Maybe this is one of those Halloween things, like… like you have one night back on earth.”

You gave her a weak smile “It’s June, Jenn.”

She frowned at you, fingers pressing against your goosebump covered skin. “Sweetie, it’s October. You’ve been… gone, four months.”

But you hadn’t been buried since June. You were barely buried this evening. Your body ached from how stiff the casket had been, fingers numbed from the cold. You figured you were jarred, not in a different season altogether.

“I don’t… I don’t remember anything.”

She swallowed hard, linking her hands behind your, they rested at the base of your spine. You could tell that she was afraid to release her hold on you. Her breath was warm against your collarbone.

“You were hit by a car that blew through a redlight.”

Okay- anticlimactic. You worked alongside Jennifer at Goodman, Lieber, Kurzberg and Holliway on cases that were focused on Inhumans, superheroes and supernatural beings that had gotten themselves into legal trouble. Being taken out by a car accident wasn’t on your top-five ways to go.

“It was all very… weird. They wouldn’t’ let me see you, and at first, I thought it was because we’re not family, but they didn’t let them in either. I even pulled the attorney card, which I’m not proud of, but they refused to let us even identify you.”

She withdrew her touch and started to pace around the kitchen. It was her way of thinking, and now that she was sure that you were a solid being, she was free to move around. “Even when I got six feet tall, mean and green, they wouldn’t let me in. I was two seconds from calling Bruce.”

Jenn stopped and lifted both eyebrows at you “You look remarkable for someone who has been under the earth for months.”

“I was being buried today in White Plains. I’m assuming there was no funeral, then?”

“No… no. They had said that private arrangements had been made and it’s my guess that those were keeping you on ice until now.”

You winced at the phrasing. You were never too fond of hospitals and the blocks in your memory scared you more than anything. If what Jennifer was saying was right, then, you may not have died in that intersection. You may have been through something much, much worse.

“Sorry,” She sighed out, desensitized just as you were. “Y/n, you can’t remember anything?”

“No,” The word came out as a broken whisper.

The two of you stood in a quiet moment. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and you held onto that feeling. It was there, you were there, pockmarked memory and all. You felt the urge to reach out and hold Jennifer again, suddenly so exhausted you didn’t’ imagine your legs holding you up much longer.

Her eyes flickered down to the center of your chest and then back up to your stare with an immeasurable amount of fear. When you gazed down at the dirt-stained shirt, you saw a red dot, quivering as if a hand was behind it’s direction. Your shoulders slumped.

“aw, fuck.”

Jennifer let out a scream as her front door was splintered open and flung with great force across the room. The two windows that overlooked the view of the city shattered as heels broke against the panes. The one singular dot had changed to seven, long-range rifles aimed at you, and you were suddenly very sad that your last meal would be cold leftover rice.

Even in the dark, you knew that they had knocked over the fishtank holding Gus, multicolored rocks and glass slid across the wooden floor. There were light gray circles against the breasts of these intruders, a bird with outstretched wings in it’s center.

Your hands went up reflexively, both you ducked behind the breakfast nook, you were close to plugging your ears, the red dots trained on the fridge now, “Oh my god, did you call SHIELD?”

“No! No, I didn’t even know you were alive three minutes ago, I was going to hit you with a golf club and call the cops, not SHIELD.”

They were assholes and tight-lipped about everything, always. It was hard to get a phone call back from them divulging information about ongoing lawsuits, but now they were in front of you, guns raised and depriving Jennifer’s fish of life.

“Gus is going to drown,” You whispered harshly back.

“He’s a fish, he can’t drown.”

“In air.”

There was obvious shifting of firearms. The Agents were all calculated and still with their movements, there wasn’t subtle noise without intent. A gruff, raspy female voice called out to you. “Come out with your hands up, y/n.”

You peaked over the breakfast bar and squinted into the darkness. Your body was not equipped for this. It was already protesting from kicking open the casket with a bought of strength. It certainly wasn’t prepared for this.

Most of the agents were in swat gear, bullet-proof vests and helmets, their faces were covered with balaclava’s, leaving only small strips of exposed skin and eyes trained on you. You hadn’t had this much attention directed at you since your fifth-grade talent show, and you figured the last time would be your funeral, but that hadn’t gone exactly to plan.

The woman who was speaking was in a tactical suit. She didn’t’ bother to cover her identity, she didn’t have to. This was the Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff. Jennifer had gotten drunk one night after a losing case and told you about her cousin having a bit of a fling with her. You’d met Bruce, and that was… unbelievable in the nicest way possible.

Her emerald eyes were trained on you, serious and hard. A tingle ripped up your spine and your stomach squirmed at her scrutiny. Maybe it was the rice and the chicken, but you felt the urge to vomit. You wanted her to say your name again, despite not understanding why she knew it in the first place.

Jennifer gripped your ankle, shaking her head ‘no’ vigorously. Really, you should trust your lawyer friend.

The Black widow let out a sigh, the tip of her handgun pointed to the ground. “You can either come out, or I’ll blow a hole through your chest. Your choice.”

Your gaze flashed down to Jenn and she seemed to have changed her mind within a second, nodding with caution. “Okay, okay.”

Once you were at full height, the room bustled in movement. Your eyes remained on the Black Widow, and hers on yours. Your mouth felt dry, the tip of her gun pushing against your ribs before she flipped you and bent you over the granite counter. Jennifer was using her heels to scoot back to the fridge, trying to avoid the agents swarming around.

Metal cuffs were slapped against your wrists. The Black Widow was pressed flush against you, her warmth dominating. She grasped the back of your shirt and pulled you up. You were, for a fleeting moment, at her mercy. Her fingers searched your pockets, padded down your sides. Once she figured you clean, she holstered her weapon. “Y/n Y/l/n,” she husked in your ear. You suppressed a shiver, knowing she’d feel any move you made right now. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Taglist: No one yet :(

#natasha romanov #Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov x reader #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Wanda Maximoff #Wanda Maximoff x reader #Black widow #Black widow x reader #Scarlet witch #Scarlet witch x reader #Wandanat #Wandanat x reader #Marvel #Jennifer walters #She-hulk

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hihimissamericanbi · 3 months

Text

FAVE HP SMUT CREATORS

Ever since I got that lovely anon asking for the best smut I've ever read, it got me thinking about some of my favorite smut creators in general.

So here is a very non-exhaustive list of fan-fucking-tastic smut writers and artists I've come across in the HP fandom that weren't mentioned (shamefully) in my last batch. Feel free to add to the list! We must keep the people fed.

xoxo go take a sip of cold water girl

WRITERS

@spookymoonie

Lord Espooky came into this fandom guns a-blazing with their kink headcanon a day for Wolfstar and it has spiraled from there. They GET IT. He has a super well-organized masterlist pinned to his tumblr ft tons of different kinks, fic lengths, scenes, etc. Go. Now.

@fiveht

The definition of IYKYK. Daddy kink isn't super my thing, but Five makes me enjoy it. If you vibe with age gap daddy Remus and pretty boy Sirius, their Adore series is a must-read. They also have a stellar A/B/O Wolfstar fic plus podfic and write some Marvel too!

@greenvlvetcouch

An absolute legend in this fandom. Wolfstar, Jeggy, Rosekiller. Gritty, chewy, embodied sex.

@emeryhall

Emery writes sex the way some people breathe. Like it's just part of the narrative. It's SO punchy. And also she is the queen of Crack Smut.

@kaaaaaaarf

Patron saint of Wolfstar hatefucks. mic drop.

@cancerravenclaw

We snagged MK over to Wolfstar from the clutches of Dramione. Her series "mk's kink exposé" could also be called "celine's kink exposé." I'll just leave that there.

@wolfpants

Everything they create is magic, but they are especially known for rare pairs and Dronarry.

WRITERS AND ARTISTS

@aspiring-artist-em

The queen of Lesbian Wolfstar. Both art and fic. Also queen of humiliation and pain kink and Walburga psychological trauma. ye be warned.

@upthehillnsfw / @upthehillart

I am afraid no one is ready for this art. Truly. Tons of different ships, positions, acts. I gasp every time. And their Pansmione fic is epic (which I have talked about before).

ARTISTS

@industrations

I highly recommend getting on Indi's Patreon so you can enjoy their NSFW drawings, mostly Wolfstar and Jegulus, occasional Rosekiller. Too many iconic moments to count.

@waxingrunes

The officially-sponsored artist of Five's Adore series. Look, their work is nothing short of indulgent. Shhhh don't worry about the physics just let it happen. And by It I mean Remus' big dick hands.

@basiatlu

By beloved. The one. The only. Bosh's drawings are so ALIVE. They leap off the screen. Her Drarry is nothing less than iconic. She also dabbles in other characters/ships like Wolfstar and Blackcest. Siriusly, you can't go wrong.

DRARRY SMUT

OKAY, Drarry people. There are so so many excellent Drarry smut writers it is impossible to name them all. Here are but a tiny handful I have pulled from my bookmarks. I'm happy to rec specific fics if asked :)

@cavendishbutterfly, @bixgirl1, @l0vegl0wsinthedark, @shiftylinguini, @kbrick, @fluxweeed, @academicdisasterfic

I'm tagging those other creators from older asks because I can't put this list out there without them on it <3

@crushofdoves @we-are-swearwolves @tenthousandyearsx @theresthesnitch @lqtraintracks Quietlemonhush @cuddlebugsirius

#celine spills #celine's library #smut recs #hp smut #wolfstar smut #drarry smut #jegulus smut #HI FRIENDS i love you all #celine's flirting again #fic recs #hp fic recs #fan art #hp fanart #wolfstar art #drarry art #jegulus art

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poweringthroughthis · 1 month

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birthday cake | lee sangyeon

nsfw, mature content, minors DNI!

ship: lee sangyeon x male reader

desc: (name) isn't a big fan of his birthdays, so his friends decide to cheer him up with a particularly handsome gift this year.

Birthdays are no easy feat for (name). Between corporate slavery, a horrendous economy and a dead love life, there really isn't much to celebrate. Well, maybe except for his friends. With New constantly reprimanding him for his bad decisions, Changmin being the sweetest guy ever, Juyeon raising his standards in men and Kevin teaching him all the naughty things of the world, (name) appreciated those little troublemakers deeply.

So, despite not being the biggest self-lover on birthdays, the male did expect his friends would, at the very least, come over to his place, watch horror movies and build pillow forts as they bitch about anyone and everyone. Being far away from family made (name) cherish the boys' efforts all the more.

However, with no one even replying to his texts, let alone showing up at his apartment, he was more than a bit confused. The male was just about to call New and demand the reason behind their sudden silence when the doorbell rang.

(name) was more than relieved to hear the chime and was quick to open the door, not wanting the person to ring it again. The man's mouth opened, a bright smile already on his lips but before any words could leave him, a cake was shoved into his face and his vision was obstructed by the sugary mess.

The male was still blinking in surprise when the candles were blown off and someone clapped happily, a voice exclaiming, "Happy birthday!"

(name) finally managed to pry the cake away from his eyes, looking at the group of four that stood before him. They were all holding gifts and smiling widely at him.

"You're here," he mumbled, not even bothering to hide the happiness in his voice.

"Of course," Kevin exclaimed, stepping inside the house and taking off his shoes. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I'm surprised you guys are here, to be honest," the birthday boy mumbled, still wiping the icing from his eyes and nose.

"And why is that?" Changmin asked.

"You weren't answering your phones."

"Oh, those..." Juyeon mumbled, looking at the other three for a brief second before continuing. "We left them in the car. You know how the signal sucks here."

(name) nodded. He didn't believe a word of it. "And who brought the cake?"

"Me," the black-haired male replied. "You said you loved that cheesecake so I decided to surprise you."

"Thank you, Chanhee." (name) smiled.

"No problem, dude. Now let's go and open your gifts!"

"Yes, please. I have a present too and I've been dying to give it to you!" Juyeon added excitedly, pushing past his friends and into the house.

The others followed him, leaving their shoes at the door.

(name) was feeling like the happiest person alive. His friends came to visit, brought him gifts and baked a cake for him. They didn't have to, but they did it anyway.

Chanhee noticed (name) and gave him a small smile. "It was a pretty last minute decision. Sorry, we couldn't do better."

"I think this is already amazing," the male replied, mirroring the other's smile.

"Hey! Stop flirting and get your asses in here," Juyeon called out.

Chanhee rolled his eyes. "We should go and stop him before he does something stupid."

The younger one nodded, following his friend into the living room.

They did all that (name) had envisioned. Watching horror movies(The Amityville franchise this year), eating the cake Chanhee baked and talking smack. Like clockwork. The smile didn't leave (name)'s face the entire night. A few drinks in and the guys were still sober, but way more relaxed.

"Guys, I have to say something." (name) began, the boys turning around to look at him with fond smiles on their faces.

"Thank you. Thank you for doing this every year. And on days when it's not even my birthday. Life is a lot less shittier because I have you all."

Perhaps it was the soju talking, but (name) felt like he needed to make it known how grateful he was for his boys.

"Aww you cutie, c'mere.." Kevin cooed at the male, making kissy faces as he tackled him into a hug, the birthday boy yelling for him to get away.

"Ewww cringe!" Chanhee fake-gagged as he made a disgusted expression.

"Shut up, Chanhee. We know you're the biggest crybaby deep down" Changmin shushed him.

"I think it's time to give you your gift," Juyeon whispered into (name)'s ear, his hot breath sending shivers down (name)'s spine.

"O-okay."

Juyeon smiled, standing up and walking towards the door, leaving (name) confused. Why didn't Juyeon bring the gift inside with him initially? He glanced over at the others who were looking into space, avoiding his gaze. Alert number 1.

"I swear to god y'all if this is something stupid like last ti-"

"Hello."

(name) stopped dead in his tracks as a deep, matured voice interrupted him. He turned around to see: Lee Sangyeon. His very attractive, very charming and very well-spoken neighbor, though (name) had barely exchanged anything past normal greetings with the man.

"So, remember how we were late? We were hastily searching for a good gift shop as the old one recently closed, and ran into this guy who was kind enough to help us navigate to a new one. Guess who it was?" Juyeon explained the last bit in a sing-song voice. "Exactly! Sangyeon hyung."

"And when we left for the same way, we talked a little more and realized he's your neighbor! What a small world." Changmin added.

Hyung? Damn Juyeon and his extroverted nature. And yes, Changmin, (name) is well aware of his hot neighbor. Thank yew. He's been purposely treading carefully around him in order to NOT make a fool of himself, which you've kinda defeated the whole point of?!

"Happy birthday! I hope you don't mind me. I was free and your friends insisted I join." Sangyeon offered a charming grin.

"Thank you. And ,N-no, no, not at all! I don't mind. Please, feel free to join anytime you'd like. I mean-" (name) rambled.

"Oh boy. I knew he was gonna shit himself" New sighed.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing. It's kinda cute. YOU'RE kinda cute." Sangyeon chuckled, and if the sound of it didn't send an electric jolt down (name)'s spine.

"So are we done yet or..?" Kevin yawned, leaning onto the couch. Everyone scurried off back to their places in the living room, continuing the movie they'd paused to drink. For a while, the boys made small talk with Sangyeon, (name) getting to know the man better. As time passed, they all became increasingly sleepy, but (name) and Sangyeon hardly ceased talking to each other, now cuddled up with each other. They clicked rather well.

"So, I think there's one last gift left. For both of you." Chanhee smirked.

"I agree," Sangyeon whispered.

Before (name) could blink, he was pulled into a warm embrace and his lips met Sangyeon's. It was gentle, yet firm, and (name) felt like he could die and be satisfied. The latter tasted of sweet wine, and the older's scent filled his senses as he pulled him closer, a soft sigh escaping him. Sangyeon's lips were soft and warm, and his tongue moved confidently against his own, making (name)'s toes curl.

As Sangyeon pulled back, a smile appeared on his face. (name) had been crushing over him for 2 weeks now. So is it safe to assume his feelings are somewhat reciprocated?

"How was that?" Sangyeon asked, his fingers stroking (name)'s hair.

"Amazing.." the latter breathed.

"I'm glad." The elder smiled, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Well, I hope you had a good birthday."

"Yes, and I have you to thank for it."

"Then perhaps we should do this again?"

"Definitely."

And (name) was sure his heart was about to burst with joy.

"Ahem."

New's voice caught their attention.

"Sorry for the interruption but it's getting late and we should leave," he announced, gesturing at the other 3 who were already gathering their belongings.

"Alright. You guys have fun and behave yourselves." Kevin grinned, bidding them a goodbye.

(name)'s eyes widened. "Yeah, bye Kevin!" he offered a tight-lipped smile, mouthing "I.will.Kill.You", knowing fully well it must have been the Canadian's idea to pull this stunt. "You needed this babe" Kevin whispered in the other's ear. "Thank me later", he left after blowing (name) a kiss, Chanhee and Changmin dragging him.

"Sangyeon, we hope we can see you around soon." Juyeon said.

"Definitely."

The birthday boy's eyes met with Sangyeon's, and (name) didn't miss the way the man's pupils dilated. He wasn't alone in his feelings.

"Happy birthday, again." The eldest of the 4 leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on (name)'s cheek, the gesture sending warmth throughout his body.

The moment the 4 left, (name) plopped onto the couch, still dazed from what had transpired.

"They really thought of everything."

"It seems so."

"Are you happy?"

"Yes, very."

"Good, that's what matters."

"Can I...can I kiss you again?"

"Of course."

Sangyeon cupped his cheeks, bringing their lips together. It was gentle and slow, yet there was a hint of hunger behind it.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time," Sangyeon admitted, his thumb brushing over (name)'s bottom lip.

"So have I."

"That's good to know."

The eldest captured (name)'s lips again, this time with more urgency. He sucked on his bottom lip, drawing a low moan from him. The sound spurred Sangyeon on, and his tongue slipped into the younger's mouth, eliciting another moan.

"I'm not quite finished yet. There are many other things I'd like to do to you."

"Such as?"

"You'll just have to wait and see."

The next thing (name) knew, he was being lifted up, the male's legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Sangyeon carried him to his room, and the two fell onto the bed in a heap of tangled limbs. Their lips met again, the kiss becoming more passionate and urgent.

"Do you want me to keep going?" Sangyeon whispered against his lips, his fingers brushing the younger's cheek.

"Yes, please," (name) whined.

The older one wasted no time and started undressing the male beneath him. After he had stripped him down, the two kissed some more, their hands roaming each other's bodies.

"I'm going to make you feel good," Sangyeon breathed against his ear, his fingers trailing down his abdomen, causing him to shiver.

(name)'s eyes widened as the elder stood up and stripped down his lower half, his thick member on full display. The birthday boy swallowed nervously, his cock throbbing at the sight.

"You're already so hard." (name) breathed.

The latter was about to apologize, but his words were caught in his throat when he felt a wet heat envelope his length. He couldn't hold back a moan as he threw his head back.

(name) continued to suck on his length, eliciting a chorus of moans from the elder.

After a few minutes, Sangyeon hurriedly pulled (name)'s mouth away, biting his lips to stop himself from cumming.

"Mmh, I think you're ready," Sangyeon mumbled, and (name) let go of his member, wiping his mouth with his hand.

He reached the hem of the birthday boy's underwear, tugging it down. The cool air of the room caused the latter's member to twitch, and Sangyeon smiled. He laid (name) down face first on the bed, spread out. Kneeling between the younger's legs, he leaned down and spread his ass cheeks apart using his hands, licking his lips at the sight of the male's pink, puckered hole.

(name) gasped as he felt the wet heat of the elder's tongue circling his entrance. He gripped the sheets tightly as he felt the sensation of being stretched.

The younger male could only moan in response, the feeling of being penetrated by the elder's tongue was intoxicating. He could feel his orgasm approaching, and he arched his back, pressing his hips against Sangyeon's face.

"It's your birthday, but i'm the one eating the cake," the elder chuckled, and (name) whimpered, feeling the latter's tongue slide in deeper.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Sangyeon continued to fuck (name) with his tongue, and the younger male couldn't help but cry out in pleasure.

"I-I'm gonna cum," (name) whined.

"Go ahead, baby," the elder encouraged, and the younger male could only gasp and shudder as his orgasm ripped through him.

Sangyeon sat up and grabbed the bottle of lube on the bedside table. He squirted a generous amount onto his palm and spread it over his length.

"Ready, baby?"

"Yes, please," (name) nodded, spreading his legs wider.

Sangyeon lined himself up with the younger's entrance and pushed inside, eliciting a loud moan from the younger.

"F-fuck, you're so tight," the elder moaned, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Feels so good," (name) panted.

The elder started to thrust in and out of the younger male, and the latter could only moan in response.

"You feel so good around me," Sangyeon moaned, and (name) could only whine in response, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

The older one leaned over, capturing his lips in a heated kiss.

The elder started thrusting faster, the sound of their skin slapping filling the room.

"Fuck, I'm close," the elder moaned, his eyes screwed shut.

"M-me too," (name) gasped.

Sangyeon gripped the younger's hips tighter and increased his pace, causing the latter to moan loudly.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," the elder growled, and he spilled inside the birthday boy.

"Holy shit," (name) breathed, his orgasm rippling through him.

The elder pulled out, the latter's cum coating the tip of his cock.

"Happy birthday to you," Sangyeon breathed, leaning down to kiss the birthday boy.

(name) sighed contently. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Making my birthday special."

"I'll make every birthday special, if you'll let me," the elder smiled, and the two kissed once more.

When the 4 were far away, New's voice broke the silence.

"Hey Juyeon.."

"Yes?"

"Do you think he'll actually thank us for setting him up with his crush?"

"Probably not.." Juyeon answered.

"Should we start running?"

"Yup."

"We're doomed."

"Well, it was worth it."

"Definitely."

"Happy Birthday, (name)." Kevin yelled into the night, wishing nothing but happiness for their friend, as the 4 walked home.

#kpop male idol #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #male idol x male reader #tbz x male reader #the boyz x male reader #the boyz x male reader smut #tbz x male reader smut #sangyeon x male reader #sangyeon x male reader smut #male reader insert #x male reader

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alpaca-clouds · 9 months

Text

The Punk-Factor of Punkpunk Genre

So, when I posted my history of Solarpunk, someone (probably not in good faith) asked: “So, what about the punk in all the other punk genres?!” towards my request to put the punk back into Solarpunk. And given that my autistic brain obviously cannot just let that stand… You know what? Let me talk about the other punk genre and in how far they are “punk”. I tried to be as exhaustive as possible, though there is a good chance, that I might have missed some of the punkpunk genre. So feel free to add.

Trying to judge the punkiness I do not assume punk as simple counter culture, but a specific ideology. Quote from Wikipedia:

[Punk ideology] is primarily concerned with concepts such as mutual aid, against selling out, hierarchy, white supremacy, authoritarianism, anti-consumerism, anti-corporatism, anti-war, imperialism, conservatism, anti-globalization, gentrification, anti-racism, anti-sexism, class and classism, gender equality, racial equality, eugenics, animal rights, free-thought and non-conformity

Most of the artwork here has been taken from concept art of either of the examples listed.

Sorted from most futuristic to pre(historic). Yes, the list is long.

Cyberpunk

We start with the OG punk genre, the one after which all other punk genre were named. Yes, you could argue that in fact the two genre following are more futuristic – but Cyberpunk kinda just had to start the list.

As a genre: Given that Cyberpunk had its start completely in literature it is the best defined in this regard. Taking place in a late stage capitalist dystopian world in which most is owned by megacorps who don’t follow anyone’s laws but their own, the protagonists usually are social outcasts fighting against their own oppression, trying to keep themselves alive in a world hostile to them. With cybernetics always being a core of the genre, it also tends to deal with the question of humanity in a “ship of Theseus” sort of way. How much can the human body be altered, before the human vanishes?

As an aesthetic: Cyberpunk is the most punk in terms of aesthetics, really. There is a lot of punk and grunge going on in terms of character design. Neon hair colors, fishnets and thorn up jeans jackets can be found here. As well as of course cybernetics on the characters. The world usually is a megacity with a stark divide between rich and poor, tons of neon signs, a slight Japanese influence, flying cars and somehow a constant downpour of rain.

Punk-Factor: Cyberpunk is the one punk genre, where the “punk” was chosen very knowingly as a name. Usually the protagonists are “punks” fighting for their place in the world against a suppressive capitalist system. (Also, they usually fit the punk aesthetic, if they don’t wear leather dusters.) It should be noted however, that especially in newer western Cyberpunk often the punkiness vanishes more and more – for the same reason we have so little Solarpunk: media that outright confronts the problems of capitalism is just less supported.

Examples: Neuromancer (1984), Mirrorshades: The Cyberpunk Anthology (1986), Snow Crash (1992), The Matrix (1999), Dredd (2012)

Biopunk

As a genre: As a genre biopunk is still fairly ill defined, as it mostly shows up as a subsection of Cyberpunk. Rather than the characters having cybernetic implants (or additionally to it) they are augmented on a genetic level. This can be all sorts of augmentations, changing anything from appearance to giving characters higher strength and agility, giving them claws or night vision, or in some cases even “magic” powers. Usually the genre tends to be set in worlds similar to Cyberpunk. In fact it might well be set in a cyberpunk world, only that characters with bioaugmentations exist parallel to those with cybernetics. Additionally, though, there is a subsection of this genre, that concerns reproductive rights.

As an aesthetic: Ironically biopunk is even less defined as an aesthetic. There is not a lot of biopunk art out there and most that exists can go in different directions. As such it often mixes elements from other punk aesthetics – like Cyberpunk, Steampunk or Dieselpunk – with an assortment of bodyhorror elements.

Punk-Factor: It is hard to define the “punkiness” of a genre, that barely exists for the most part. Usually, when it is set against a Cyberpunk backdrop, it might be very punky, but in other settings those punk elements vanish.

Examples: Ribofunk (1995), Altered Carbon (2002), Bioshock (2007), The Windup Girl (2009)

Nanopunk

As a genre: Like Biopunk Nanopunk mostly exists as a subsubgenre to Cyberpunk, often being set in a mostly Cyberpunk world, only that instead of or additionally to Cybernetics, the technology used to alter the human body is nanites. These serve the same function as the genetic manipulation in Biopunk, giving the human in question more strength and agility and at times more or less magical abilities. There is one common plot that comes up again and again, with an AI or megacorp turning the nanites against the people they inhabit or trying to control them.

As an aesthetic: Aesthetically Nanopunk does not have much in terms of its own identity. Most artworks relating to Nanopunk feature a similar aesthetic to Cyberpunk, with megacities and lots of neon.

Punk-Factor: This genre is so small, that it is kinda hard to judge the exact punkiness.

Examples: The Diamond Age (1995), Prey (2002)

Solarpunk

As a genre: Being another genre, that started as such, Solarpunk is a bit better defined. Solarpunk usually takes place in a world post-strive. It is post-capitalist and decolonial in its settings, usually featuring a world that has either formed against the backdrop of preventing climate collapse or in the aftermath of it. A lot of it features people rebuilding – or alternatively building communities. It always features elements about living in harmony with nature or trying to do so. So far, the genre is mostly defined by short stories, partly because there is still disagreements within the movement, how far a conflict can be taken to still qualify as Solarpunk.

As an aesthetic: Solarpunk has a very strong aesthetic definition, mostly featuring all sorts of cities and urban areas, that incorporate natural elements into the urbanity, with greenery growing on roofs and concrete car-centric streets being replaced with more natural, walkable areas. The character design aesthetic is not quite as clearly defined, but usually features natural materials and patterns usually seen within indigenous art.

Punk-Factor: Contrary to what many say, Solarpunk is fairly punk, as it very much embraces the entire anti-hierarchical, anti-capitalist mentality. With the big difference, that the punk mentality is no longer counter culture, but the mainstream culture.

Examples: The Dispossessed (1974), Nausicaä (1984), Laputa – Castle in the Sky (1986), Princess Mononoke (1997), The Summer Prince (2013)

Lunarpunk

As a genre: Lunarpunk is pretty much a subsubgenre of Solarpunk, just as Nanopunk and Biopunk are sprung off from Cyberpunk. It is so far ill-defined as a genre, but the general consensus is, that it is set in solarpunk-esque worlds, but with a heavier focus on mysticism or spiritualism, at times outright including magic. It also tends to feature a lot darker places, being set in underwater or underground settings – or alternatively at night.

As an aesthetic: Lunarpunk is far more of an aesthetic than a genre so far. It features dark places, often with bioluminescent elements in it. Often featuring a mixture of black and dark blue with lighter blue, violet or light green elements shining in the middle of it. Mushrooms – especially glowing mushrooms – feature repeatedly in artwork.

Punk-Factor: Given that Lunarpunk is barely defined as a genre it is hard to estimate the punkiness in it. If it gets more stories, will those still feature the anti-capitalist and anti-hierarchical messaging we see in Solarpunk? This should be the defining factor. Some of the artworks use little aesthetics from the punk scene, but nothing much more.

Examples: Bioluminescent: A Lunarpunk Anthology (2023)

Hopepunk

Honestly, I had no idea where to put this one, given that it might technically be set at any time and place.

As a genre: Hopepunk is very much a genre, not an aesthetic. It has been defined as the opposite of grimdark by its “inventor/name-giver” Alexandra Rowland. The basic idea is to create fiction that instead of taking a dystopian, defeatist and violent approach, takes one defined by hope and to some degree pacifism. As such the genre can be set in any setting, real or fantastic. It mostly is defined by the protagonists taking opposition to cruelty and violence, fighting for a better world and, crucially, also partly archiving it. Other than in usual Cyberpunk, where the best possible ending, tends to be, that the protagonists get to live a somewhat better life themselves, Hopepunk aims to better the life at least for groups of people.

As an aesthetic: Being fully a genre, Hopepunk has no aesthetic associated with it.

Punk-Factor: Hopepunk is punk less in the sense of the protagonists or things happening within the story, which might or might not be punk, but was named such rather because it is considered counter cultural towards the gross of media at the moment, that often strives for a “realistic, gritty, grimdark” outlook on the world. Basically it is saying: “Hope is punk.” I will not make any judgement on whether or not this is true.

Examples: The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet (2014), Mad Max: Fury Road (2015), The Good Place (2016)

Mythpunk

As a genre: Another one, that does not really fit into a temporal sorting system, because once again it can be set anywhere between the stone age and the far future. The basic idea is, that the story interweaves postmodern storytelling with elements from mythology or folklore. This can mean mythological, genre-traversing retellings, but it can also mean, that mythology seeps into any given story bit by bit. As such the genre with probably the most media in the subgenre is Urban Fantasy, which often borrows from mythology and incorporates these elements.

As an aesthetic: Mythpunk as an aesthetic is a bit strange. There is definitely a mythpunk aesthetic that exists, often mixing familiar elements with elements from mythology and folklore (at times also including quasi-folkloric works of literature, such as Alice in Wonderland and the Wizard of Oz). Often just a bit dark and twisted.

Punk-Factor: To be perfectly frank, for the most part, there is not a lot of punk to be found in this genre. While there have been definitely punky stories told within the genre, this is more a story decision than something inherent to the genre.

Examples: Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), Over the Garden Wall (2014), Inscryption (2016)

Dustpunk / Rustpunk / Desertpunk

As a genre: Kinda grouping those above all together, because people argue about what they might entail and in some interpretations they kinda are similar: Post-apocalyptic stories set in a world of sand and rust. Often featuring a loner character, having to go up against everyone to ensure his own survival – and at times being forced to learn, that the lonerness might not win him (and most often it is a him) anything.

As an aesthetic: Aesthetically this tends to be very much post-apocalyptic, maybe in some cases with some more classical punk elements added to characters and surroundings.

Punk-Factor: Given that there is neither a system to rage against – nor a new, less hierarchical system – usually there is not that much punk outside of some aesthetic choices. Neither tend those stories go into constructing worlds of mutual aid or working against oppression.

Examples: Anything Mad Max should count for this.

Atompunk

As a genre: Atompunk usually deals with themes connected to the cold war – in some cases directly, in some indirectly. Often it overplays the American ideals that were pushed for during the cold war era and portrays scenarios in which American Exceptionalism slowly reveals itself as the dystopia most punks already know it to be. Outside of this vague idea for the setting, the genre is less described, as there is less of a clear script an Atompunk story might follow. So, little description of who might be the protagonist and what their role is.

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Atompunk borrows heavily from the Raygun Gothic aesthetic. So, futurism, as it was imagined in the 1950s and 1960s, with heavy influences from late pulp age science fiction art.

Punk-Factor: The aesthetic in this is definitely not punk. The stories often have some vague punk ideas of recognizing how fucked up the world has become, but given the genre is fairly wide in terms of stories, it is hard to give a definite answer to how “punk” it is. One can definitely tell punk stories within this genre, though.

Examples: Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy (1978), Fallout (1997), Futurama (1999)

Dieselpunk

As a genre: Dieselpunk is once again an example of “strong aesthetic, but no clear genre identity”. Generally, Dieselpunk is concerned with the interwar period, but might cover either of the world wars. In some cases the genre features alternate timelines, in which one war happened and not the other, or in which another faction won, with the technological development being influenced by this as well. But as a genre it is not much defined. A lot of stories building on Lovecraft’s legacy feature Dieselpunk in some regards. And there is definitely a subsection of Dieselpunk stories centered around “what if Nazis won” or “what if Nazis somehow went underground and did their own technological development after the war”. Also, there are a lot of stories about pilots of war planes in this genre.

As an aesthetic: As an aesthetic Dieselpunk is more clearly defined. A lot of bare metal and the sorts of technology you would expect from this era, often with retro-futurist and art noveau elements in between. A lot of the fashion within the genre is defined by pilot and military clothing of the times, but at times also dipping into “roaring 20s” fashion styles.

Punk-Factor: In this genre I would generally say: “If the story involves punching Nazis, you might get a couple punk points – but otherwise this is not really punk.”

Examples: The Iron Dream (1972), Brazil (1985), Dark City (1998), Iron Sky (2012), Bitter Seeds (2010)

Teslapunk

As a genre: Yet another one of these, that exists mostly as a vague idea, with no clear definition. The basic idea is a world, that works on Tesla’s inventions. And as those of you, who watched Doctor Who, might know, Tesla sorta, kinda already invented the internet or had an idea of what it could be and how it could work. So a Teslapunk world is based in an alternate timeline, but might in fact go into light futurism. There is not much in this genre though with a unique thematic identity, as stories that use Teslapunk as a backdrop rarely have coherent themes.

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Teslapunk is basically “Steampunk, but with Tesla-coils and electricity”. Which is not a big surprise given that Tesla came from the same era that would also be the inspiration for Steampunk. So, we have a lot of Victorian fashion, maybe some light augmentation, airships, and – again – all the tesla coils you can muster.

Punk-Factor: As, again, I think punk is more about themes than aesthetic, this is once more not really possible to judge, because there do not seem coherent themes within the genre so far.

Examples: The Prestige (2006), Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2011), Bioshock Infinite (2013)

Arcanepunk

Another one of those that do not neatly fit into the timeline…

As a genre: Arcanepunk takes place in a world, where both magic and technology have developed. In some cases both developed side by side, in others, we might have a technological world, that suddenly discovers magic by some happenstance. The fact is, though, that both exist parallel to each other or might at times be intertwined, with technology being powered by magic. This can exist at different technological stages, usually featuring settings inspired by the late 19th or early 20th century. But usually futuristic stuff that includes magic might be considered Arcanepunk, just as might stories that mix 18th century technology with magic. While also a vague genre, there is a repeating theme of magic being hoarded by those in powers and the poor and downtrodden finding ways to still use it in their own advantage.

As an aesthetic: Given that Arcanepunk’s setting is defined by the co-existence of magic and technology, rather than a specific technology, Arcanepunk has less of a defined aesthetic. Never the less, we have a part of punk aesthetics that often come up, as a surprising amount of Arcanepunk features characters with neon colored hair.

Punk-Factor: Another genre that is rather thin, yet, there is a surprising amount of stories featuring some punk ideas of fighting against an oppressive system and being counter culture to a main culture build around suppression.

Examples: Too Many Magicians (1966), Shadowrun (1989), Bartimaeus (2003), Arcane (2021) duh

Steampunk

Steampunk was the second genre to pick up the “punk” suffix and hence is as much responsible for the punk-punk as Cyberpunk as the originator.

As a genre: Being named as early as it has been, Steampunk kinda suffers the same issue as Cyberpunk itself. There is a lot of ideas there, but some are only vaguely defined. In general, though Steampunk always takes place in a world where the steam engine became the defining technology and was never replaced with the combustion engine. As such cultural aspects from the steam era, especially Victorian England and the Belle Epoche, still carry over for longer, than they did. So often we will see noble households based around similar values as the puritan Victorian English families, while the very poor are made to work in workhouses. At times we might also see themes of colonialism here. In some cases magic might exist in these worlds, as might electricity for some aspects. There is often a heavy inspiration from Jules Verne and H.G. Wells. Though it is still hard to define the “stereotypical steampunk story”, given that Steampunk offers a wide variety of stories, from adventure stories and romances, over to stories where people rise up against the Victorian-esque society.

As an aesthetic: Steampunk as an aesthetic is very much influenced by Victorian aesthetics and the time period of the late 19th century, mostly in the USA, Great Britain and France. But as all other punk genres it knows very well: “If it is worth doing, it is worth overdoing,” so steam-related elements are added to everything. Could

Punk-Factor: In the original idea for Steampunk was a lot of punk. “What if we took Cyberpunks ‘rage against the unjust system’ and made it 19th century” they asked. But given that the genre branched out so much, it is not necessarily there in all the stories. There is a ton of stories where people rage against that steam powered Victorian machine – but also a ton in which the Victorian world gets idealized and romanticized.

Examples: Thief (1998), The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (1999), Wild Wild West (1999), Clockwork Century (2008) – also half of all Sherlock Holmes adaption made after 2000 in any medium usually use Steampunk elements

Silkpunk

As a genre: Silkpunk is hard to define, despite there being a clear definition. The reason for this is, that the person who coined the term – Ken Liu – had a very specific idea in mind. He explains that the idea is of a world that has technology as language. In which form is as important as function, is made to speak a language all of its own. Inspired by ideas from W. Brian Arthur and Chinese philosophy. However, what the wider Science Fiction and Fantasy community made from it was “Steampunk but East Asian!” But given he coined the term (and also the alternative feels vaguely racist) I am going to go with Ken Liu for this. While Silkpunk will usually be set in an East Asian inspired world, the central idea is about the duality of technology, which will also be addressed within the stories.

As an aesthetic: As said above, the idea Liu had for it was a world that features some technology, but technology that is as much about form and communication through it, as it is about function. So the technology here has strong visual ideas. At least that was, how Liu intended it. Once again, the wider community made “Steampunk, but East Asian” out of it.

Punk-Factor: There is not a lot of stuff in this genre for now – however so far I do not manage to see a lot of punk ideas in it, even though some of Liu’s stories definitely feature the concept of challenging a higher power.

Examples: Dandelion Dynasty (2015), The Black Tides of Heaven (2018), The Tea Master and the Detective (2019)

Clockpunk

As a genre: Once again storytelling in this genre is not really defined, but the worlds diverge a bit before the wide adaption of steam, instead featuring mechanical devices powered by coils and springs and somehow kept alive, often at least implied through some form of arcane magic that gives “live” to these mechanical inventions. Most examples of Clockpunk, however, tend to show up as settings for parts of fantasy stories. Any fantasy world might have this “Clockpunk” area, where protagonists might travel. Especially games tend to feature this. While there is definitely a trope of the “mad inventor” often going along with this, few other tropes stand out.

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Clockpunk tends to take some inspiration from the early 19th century, but tends to add a lot of gears to everything, with even city wide gear constructions keeping things working. We often will find mechatronic characters, such as wind up soldiers or wind up dancers.

Punk-Factor: Once more, there are so few stories told, that it is kinda hard to speak about how punk this is. Most stories told so far, however, do not feature punk elements.

Examples: The Great Mouse Detective (1986), Hugo (2011), Clockwork Planet (2017)

Whalepunk

Please note: This is one of those genre, I would love to see more in, though so far it is barely explored.

As a genre: And you might ask: “Why do you even name those genre, that exist mostly in theory?”, to which I might answer: “Because I am a nerd.” As all these retrofuturists genre, Whalepunk imagines mostly an alternate historical timeline, where the technology that became defining was based around whale oil. This means that in Whalepunk often whalers or harbors play a big role, though as the genre is again very thinly spread, it is hard to say what “THE whalepunk” formular is. It seems there is a tendency, to mix some mysticism or magic into the genre, though, as the idea of hunting sea monsters often plays into it as well. Good chance that it could at some point merge with Cthulupunk (which I did not name separately, because most of it is either covered in Whalepunk or Dieselpunk).

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Whalepunk is basically “Steampunk, but with more sailors, ships and sea monsters”. There is definitely a bit of Oceanpunk mixed into it as well, with some aesthetics being somewhere between Steampunk and Dieselpunk. (Which is kinda ironic, because whale oil was mostly used in the early 19th century.)

Punk-Factor: And again. There so far is not a lot of connective thematic tissue within that genre, so exploring themes is kinda hard.

Examples: Dishonored (2012), Dredge (2023)

Oceanpunk / Piratepunk

As a genre: It really is hard to divide the Piratepunk out of the Oceanpunk, though some might call it different. The idea here is that this genre features stories mostly set on the ocean and often more heavily leaning into fantasy, than science fiction. While the worlds might feature technological elements, they will almost certainly feature magical elements of some sort. The characters will usually be seafaring one way or another and stories might involve any sort of adventure. There might be a storyline, though, about one company or nation trying to control the seas – often times through magical means – with the characters often unwillingly being made to oppose them. This genre might also take place in a post-apocalyptic setting with a flooded planet.

As an aesthetic: While the aesthetic is not clearly defined, there is a good chance that it borrows heavily from the late 17th and early 18th century and the golden age of piracy, when it comes to both ships and fashion sensibilities.

Punk-Factor: Pirates, at least as far as modern media imagines them, tend to be very punk, as they tend to inherently oppose any sort of government and what not. While the punk is not there in all of the stories, a lot of the most popular stories from the genre will feature at least lightly punky elements.

Examples: One Piece (1997), Pirates of the Caribbean (2003), Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag (2013)

Dungeonpunk

As a genre: So, the idea of the genre is basically “What if Cyberpunk, but Dungeons & Dragons?” Usually set in a vaguely medieval world, this world still shows the same corporate corruption as your usual Cyberpunk world. Adventurers are just another resource to be exploited by the system, their day job involving going on yet another dungeon crawl. For this there might be some technology entirely powered by magic, with those magic items taking over the same functions technology might have in a Cyberpunk world. And yes, indeed some brave dwarf, elf or halfling might rise up and challenge the corporate dungeon syndicate. (As you might sense: Yes, this genre tends to be at least partly a bit of a parody of the punkpunk idea. Though it also can be played straight as “Cyberpunk conflicts, just that all technology is somehow magic.”)

As an aesthetic: This is once again one of the examples, where there is a clear idea behind it – but absolutely no clear aesthetic, as this genre might cover anything from medieval settings to a lot more modern stuff.

Punk-Factor: The base idea, being heavily inspired by the base idea of Cyberpunk, just from a very different perspective. But too many people read the genre as “Magic Technology, yay”, in which case, no, it is not punk.

Examples: Dungeons & Dragons can be played this way, also Final Fantasy VI – XIII definitely counts.

Sandalpunk

As a genre: I mostly include this for the sake of it, because this genre tends to boil down to “fantasy set in ancient Greece or Rome, but with vaguely anachronistic elements”. It might also include alternate history stories (even going so far as Science Fiction) based on the idea “What if Ancient Rome/Ancient Greece never fell?” There is no real overarching themes, even though I could imagine some interesting way one could build those up. So far, though, it is mostly a vague gesture towards: “SciFi Fantasy, but with more ancient civilizations.”

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic is usually just Ancient Rome or Ancient Greece, but with more magic or anachronistic elements.

Punk-Factor: Given the super vague nature of the genre and the fact that it seems more like a genre of hindsight (with most media being declared this having been released even before 2000)… Nobody wrote those stories to be punk. The one punk thing I can see about several of these stories is people challenging Gods, but… That’s about it.Examples: Hercules: Legendary Journeys (1995), Xena: Warrior Princess (1995), God of War (2005)

Stonepunk

As a genre: The basic idea of Stonepunk is, that it is set in a stone age world, but with the technology being pressed towards a very anachronistic end, which is often played for laughs. Basically it gives stone age people a modern seeming world, though not really. Often enough this is used to make a point about the modern world and parody it in some regard. An argument can be made for stories, that feature stone age technology people being somehow subjected to modern technology (for example through time travel or space travel) also possibly falling into this genre.

As an aesthetic: Usually the aesthetic of Stonepunk is one of an overplayed stone age setting. The clothing characters might wear are not what we know is historically more accurate but really just “everyone wears a pelt around their shoulders”. Meanwhile stone age tools get spun to be used as all sorts of modern technologies.

Punk-Factor: The genre does usually not feature punk themes. However, the nature of parodying and challenging the modern world tends to be punk in its own merit, I assume?

Examples: The Flintstones (1960), The Croods (2013), Horizon: Zero Dawn (2017)

That's it. That's the list.

Feel free to add to it.

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crystalskiesandcherrywine · 1 month

Text

The sound of the waves collide // Part Four

So it is time for the last part.... I still cannot believe that I managed to write something and look forward to post more

This chapter is very explicit - for my taste at least.

Song for the chapter - Alkaline by Sleeptoken

English is not my first language

_____________

Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

shameless smut

FxM

All feedback is welcome <3

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

1.695 words

____________

The encounter with Feyd leaves you so shaken that, come morning, you avoid seeing anyone. It feels childish and less dignified, your mind circling around the memories of the evening like vultures. It's as if he doesn't even need to touch you to make you forget years of training and let your emotions get the best of you. And he visibly enjoys it, your pain and humiliation making it even more luxurious for him. Frustrated and unable to concentrate, you put Irulan's gift away and lie down in a lounge chair on the balcony overlooking the small garden. The sun's rays are softened by the huge trees and reflected in the pond below. Its crystal clear waters appear like a mirror - calm and serene, a painful contrast to your mental state. You close your eyes and try to ground yourself in the moment, repeating the mantra „I am alive in stillness“, but to no avail. The fever that has been ignited within you consumes your mind and body. Your hands seem to develop a life of their own and, as if guided by a puppet master, they find their way to the small band of your tunic. The warm air touches your skin and you close your eyes, letting your fingers slide over your breasts, caressing the nipples that instantly stiffen under your touch. Your hand continues to slide down as your eyes flutter shut. It is almost as if you are picking up where he left off. The heat concentrates under your fingers, and letting your intuition guide you, you move your fingers in circles, dipping in and out of your cunt. The orgasm is so intense that for a second you forget where you are. You can't stop yourself from moaning his name and you feel like coming up for air.

Two days later it is time to say goodbye. Your father kisses you on the forehead and your mother seems to think the same as you - "I will not fear". Letting go of Paul's embrace seems almost impossible, but when all is said and done, you make your way to the Baron's ship. His gigantic form floats in front of you, while your betrothed follows at the same level as you.

Even if he doesn't look at you, you can't help but feel his presence. Each step seems to be part of a well-orchestrated choreography and reminds you of a wild animal, ready to reveal its murderous nature at any moment. At the last glance, you turn your head to see your mothers signing "Good luck" to you with a small flick of her wrist. The connection to what was familiar is tethered and you are not sure of the tumultuous feeling your gut that the now empty space in your soul is son tobe filled with a new home. The change is almost tangible, as if when you pay close enough attention, it glow like a dark halo around you.

Once on the ship, you are left to your own devices. You can call upon servants at any time, but they seem to anticipate your wishes before you know them. Food and drink are brought to you, as well as an army of new clothes. Your favourite is the black dress with heavy beading around the bodice, covering your torso like a shield. Paired with a translucent black veil and a small gold chain around your neck, connected to your torso, it feels appropriate to take your first steps on the planet you will call home.

Your unease is heightened when, upon your arrival, neither Feyd nor the Baron are to be seen. A tall, slender man who introduces himself as Piter de Vries escorts you to the Feeds chambers. You immediately recognise the characteristic traces of spice in his eyes, the only thing that seems to have any colour in this world. Shielded from the harsh black sun, you reach Na Baron's quarters, only to find an army of monochrome grey, white and black surroundings. The palace seems to be the essence of the Harkonnens, with hard, clear lines, yet graceful and spacious.

"If you need anything, there are always two servants at the door," says Piter. The servants resemble guards, but you decide not to share this observation. Piter's eyes linger on the glass box with the fir tree. "Do you want to have a closer look?" You ask. "Only if you don't mind. I have never seen anything like it". "It was a parting gift from my father. On Caladan, fir trees grow as tall as these walls, more of them than you can count. You may take it with you if you promise to return it in one piece tomorrow." Pieter seems to understand your bid for connection and bows his head „I am indebted to you, Na Baroness“ Its the first time some one dresses you with your new title and you barely suppress a shiver. And as if the title was a spell, Feyd Rautha appears in the doorway. Piter bows and leaves at once, holding the precious piece of your home in his hands. He moves so siletly, that you begin to wonder if the planet is not only devoid of color but also of sound. Blood seems to rush to your cheeks as you meet Feyd's gaze. "Is everything to your satisfaction?" His voice echoes. "Yes, thank you, Baron." His arms are behind his back and before you realise why, you see droplets of thick, almost black liquid collecting on the floor behind him. Slowly he unclasps his hands, drops to one knee and holds out a slim silver knife to you, covered in more of the same substance. "Is… is it blood?" You don't know why you question it. "Yes, it is. Please accept this as a token of my devotion to you. It is…" his blue eyes find yours, "the proof that my body will be yours alone. No other being shall touch it."

"Your pets…" you feel almost dizzy as the understanding dawns on you.

"No more pets," he says, still on his knee.

You slowly take the knife and place it on the white table beside you. Some of the blood gets on your wrist. He grabs it and licks it off. While a part of your brain screams that you should be afraid, your body seems to find the spark he struck on Kaitain again. His tongue flicks across the sensitive skin as he rises and begins to undo the buttons on your shoulders, the need to touch him overwhelming you and you reach out with your palm to his cheek. He leans into your touch with more tenderness than you ever expected. But as soon as your dress falls to the floor, pure hunger returns to his eyes. He presses into you and you feel as if your insides have melted on the spot. You try to feel his length through the fabric of his tunic. „So needy, Na Baroness?“ He purrs, enjoying the dominance he has over you. With a swimming motion, he pushes you onto the bed, holding your arms above your head. His tongue descends to your collarbone, moving deeper as he takes one breast in his mouth, sucking the tender flesh. You moan under him, already feeling washed away from any security of a shore into a whirl of need. His tongue continues to drive you mad as he bites you, the pain searing and glorious at the same time. Your hand reaches for him again, but he holds your wrists down as his tongue continues to run between your legs. He looks up at you, and it is the last thing to break the tiny shreds of your resolve. But he doesn't let you go, his tongue still swirling between your folds, drinking in your sweetness. Suddenly your hands are connected and a split second later you realise why: he uses his left hand, with slender, graceful fingers, to push your thighs further apart. You feel wanton and still needy, and as one of his finders curls inside you, you moan his name. "Feyd, Feyd, Feyd." Your own voice seems alien to you, high-pitched and desperate.

"My Na Baroness seems to want more," he smiles devilishly and inserts two more fingers at once. You whimper and throw your head back into the pillows. It feels like the stars are exploding behind you and feel the second orgasm coming as he stops and pulls away from you. You can barely hold back a frustrated squeal. Your body feels hot, the only antidote to this madness his skin on yours. You try to concentrate on his form, seeing him remove his tonic first, then his trousers, leaving nothing to the imagination. His body is pure perfection, not a mark on his porcelain skin, he kneels on the bed again and moves towards you. The tip of his shaft is already pink and covered with pearls of pre-cum. It touches your clit lightly as it settles between your legs. "You'll have to learn to control yourself. So responsive to my touch, so desperate…" he hisses as the black of his pupils replaces the blue, making them almost invisible. His tip touches your entrance and then disappears completely inside you. You feel torn apart and put together at the same time, pain and pleasure mixed into something new, a delicious cocktail of discovery that leaves you drunk and breathless. You want to close your eyes, but he says "Look at me" you hear him murmur and you are lost again. With every movement of his hips, your whole being seems to refragment and reassemble like a kaleidoscope. Your walls convulse around him, his name like a sacred chant. Your nails dig into his back and he lets himself fall, speeding up and thrusting into you with even more abandon. You feel his use of you, your name on his lips. For a few seconds you are speechless, your shallow breaths filling the room. He holds your hips as he lies down behind you, still inside you to the hilt. „Welcome to being my wife, dear Na Baroness“

#dune part ii #feyd rautha #feyd rautha imagine #feyd smut #feyd x reader #feyd x you #dune movie #paul atreides #dune part two #harkonnen #austin butler #cannon divergence #arranged marriage #shameless smut #smut

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oh-katsuki · 3 months

Text

a little zombie apocalypse katsuki!au drabble. my twd rewatch is giving me many thoughts...

cw: apocalypse au, reader is alone, mentions of death, implications of child death, grief mentions, reader is described as a "little thing" but that's more just the way katsuki talks, katsuki is a little gruff but he means well, guns, weapons, general apocalypse thoughts, mentions of zombies but we follow the "never call them a zombie" rule, katsuki and reader meeting for the first time, etc

the light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. you've got a metal spatula in your hand. you're not sure why you grabbed it when things went to shit, but panic does weird things to the mind. this, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost.

the night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire.

your head is on a swivel. it has been for months. ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. a paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. you swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters.

a branch cracks just behind you. a swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. you stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a a figure a few feet away from you. they move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. their eyes, most importantly. you can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes. in this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell.

you make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a gun directly between your eyes. the living. this person is alive. you're not sure at this point if encountering one of the dead would have been worse.

"drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. it's aggressive and threatening. it comes from deep in his chest.

you raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut as if looking in theirs would be a cause for attack.

"i-it's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "it's- it's a sp-spatula. it's a spatula."

the words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. the firelight glints off of it and you can make out the person behind the barrel's features. he's big, blonde under the grime, you think. a man. not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these.

you see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. you drop it quickly.

"do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent.

you shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair. there's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. you're a poor shot and you'd run out of ammo the previous week. he glances to it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab them. when he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon. you start to lower your trembling hands.

then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"the fuck are you doing lighting a fire?" he says angrily. "those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. that's a good way to get yourself killed."

he stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs.

"i- i didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him.

"and that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. you wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you.

"what do you want?" you snap, "my food? weapons? life? what is it?"

the man scoffs, "jesus, none of that."

you narrow your eyes and take a step back.

"not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "but i sure as shit didn't expect to find some little thing like you alone lighting a damn fire. stupid."

"there were more," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "force of habit, i guess."

the man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. it's a relatable feeling. everyone has lost someone now. you just happened to lose everyone.

"got a name?" he asks.

you hesitate in giving it to him before deciding what it could hurt. the man nods as if he likes the sound of it.

"i'm katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "you're alone?"

you nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat.

"wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. now i am."

he nods his understanding.

"come with me."

"where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. katsuki looks at you like your stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. probably both.

"where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "we've got a camp a little ways from here. i saw your fire from one of the watch posts we have stationed around the place."

you look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you there.

he scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "look, we've got men and women," then he pauses, "used to have children. we're not gonna hurt you. world's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?"

he's probably right. you've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of community is far too tempting. you nod and glance back to your camp. a measly collection of supplies.

"we'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "i don't know about you, but i'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than i have to."

"okay," you say. the presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the fatigue even more. a gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? you must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "do you take in a lot of strays?"

katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase.

"if that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. "me less than the rest." then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "i'm sure the others won't mind one more."

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mha x reader #tw: guns #tw: weapons #tw: death #tw: child death #i like this a LOT #i wanna talk abt it more #pls come talk to me about it if you'd like i have so many thoughts that i wanna share #mha zombie!au #<- that's my tag for this i think

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swampgallows · 7 months

Note

do you have advice on how to find a mask for someone who legit, for real has difficulty breathing through one? i get badly congested because of the build up of humidity/moisture (plus a deviated septum), so then i have to remove the mask to blow my nose every 10 seconds which obvi defeats the purpose. i've tried to do research but i'm having trouble finding answers to this specific query. since you seem knowledgeable i would really appreciate any pointers if you have them. thank you.

hi! first of all thank you so much for wanting to mask despite the difficulties. second, i want to mention that im not a science or medical-type person of any kind, just a high-risk civilian trying to stay alive through the ongoing pandemic.

with the widespread non-industrial use of respirators in dealing with covid, there are manufacturers that have been looking for more comfortable, casual options while still offering adequate filtration. however many of these kinds of masks are either quite expensive, perpetually hard to acquire/sold out, or aren't fully NIOSH-approved (or equivalent standard). so my recommendations will be for only NIOSH-approved headstrap N95s.

since you have a structural condition (deviated septum), finding a breathable mask that fits your face without agitating your sinuses is essential. you'll want to be sure it's large enough that it's not pinching or putting too much pressure on your nose bridge. some users in the Masks4All subreddit have said saline rinses and BreatheRight strips can alleviate congestion issues, along with the right kind of mask. exploring a variety of mask shapes may help you!

finding a well-fitting respirator is difficult because there is no "one size fits all", but the 3M Aura 9205+ comes close! it's available in many areas and fits a wide range of faces. this is the mask i use. the "tri-fold" shape allows me to talk or laugh without compromising the seal or brushing against my face, compared to a typical "cup" shape N95. they also come individually wrapped, so it's easy to keep one in your car or bag, or distribute to others.

according to many who are "still coviding", the most breathable masks are the "duckbill" shape like the Gerson 3230+. I personally haven't tried them myself as I'm put off by the shape, but many duckbill wearers say that they easily overcome this "flinch" once they feel how comfortable it is, and that it's their go-to mask for extended wear or strenuous activities like the gym.

a more standard shape said to be close to the comfort of the duckbill is the 3M 9105 VFlex. It still has a larger silhouette than the Aura, but the duckbill look is less pronounced. "bi-fold" mask shapes like the BNX N95 can also put less pressure on your nose and allow more breathing room while keeping a slimmer profile.

you can also try something like the Readimask, a strapless mask that adheres to your face with medical adhesive (think like a band-aid). these can be a little more expensive, but you can order a free sample pack for sizing purposes (free plus shipping, mine was only $5 in the US) and see if it works for you.

if you feel that the humidity/moisture is more of an issue than your septum, you may also want to look into valved masks, but be warned: masks with an exhaust valve only protect the wearer, and not the people around you. reserve these only for situations where you will be one-way masking. particles cannot enter through the valve, but particles you exhale exit into the ambient air. however, if you are in a situation where you find you are the only person masking and everyone else is breathing unfiltered air anyway, a mask with an exhaust valve is fine. reusable elastomeric respirators often have exhaust valves, but there are disposable versions too, like the 3M Aura 9211+ above.

"mask nerd" Aaron Collins has a full demonstration and overview of many of these masks in his most recent video. He also discusses earloop masks if you prefer those:

youtube

you can also view AccuMed's Mask Testing Data and sort by lowest to highest breathability (lower numbers indicate the pressure drop = better breathing). This doesn't have every mask on the market (for instance, it's missing the VFlex), but it does have many common brands/models. Aaron Collins also made his own spreadsheet of over 200 masks he fit-tested himself.

i hope this gives you a launchpad to find something that works for you!

#masking #still coviding #covid #covid is airborne #covid is not over #anon #ask #long post

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writingoddess1125 · 6 months

Note

Since you wrote dee and Bee as adults drabble will you be doing the same for shank’s daughter

I gotcha! Had this brewing for a bit but hope you like it!

Vivian As A Adult

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Check out Old Man Series! <-

• Vivian set off on her own, wanting to be like her Idol Monkey D. Luffy- The Pirate King.

• Being trained by The world's current best Gunman and a Yonko had some extreme benefits. She was training to be the Best Gunner in the world. However no one really paid much attention to that- It was more that she was a pretty girl who looked fairly similar to a famous Emperor of the sea.

• She set out on her own at 17, wanting to get a head start on her pirate career... which had started out as sort of a flop-

• No one wanted her on their crew, both out of fear of what it could lead to from her father and doubts about her abilities. Assuming she must be a spoiled brat with her ego inflated-

• And truth be told- Vivian was terrible with money... horrible infact- She went broke in less then a month and with bleeding pockets didn't know where to turn-

• Till she stumbled on a old acquaintance- non other then her former childhood crush Dracule Alucare- He had recognized her immediately and bought her a meal. The two talking and agreeing to temporarily join together- Especially since

• Both their navigation skills were lacking however and it didn't take long to find trouble again- This time by Alucares old 'Ex' who thoroughly beat his ass {Literally} and took the ship captive.

• Knowing if both of them were captured it would lead to trouble, so Vi being small enough to take cover on the ship and watched Alucare get taken. Knowing he wouldn't be killed off that quickly especially since Lyra seemed to have a vendetta against him and wanted to prolong it.

• So once sure the coast was clear she set off to rescue Alucare and make sure they didn't get killed.

• Weeding through the security to make sure it was light for the escape. She met up with Alucare and a grew of blue haired twins- Later learning they were The Buggy Twins.. Which sounded familiar but she didn't want to think too much on it.

• The teenagers managing a narrow escape from the Marines and setting off to the sea- truthfully without a true plan and only wanting to save their own asses-

• "Where is my Bounty?!" She said screamed looking over the stack of new wanted posters that had been delivered- it had been a week since the Marine Ship incident and Vivian didnt see a wanted poster for herself anywere! Groaning into the table as she felt the papers being yanked from her hands.

Alucare looking over the posters and snorting a laugh. She glared at her peer as he stared at her..

• Despite all of this, Vivian is probably the best marksman of this era- A true devil in her craft as she can hit any target bullseye. The Marines hadn't forgotten her nor her abilties on the navel ship being forgotten... as it seemed the reason the ship seemed to quiet was that the Marines later found 63 men with perfect bullet holes in their forehead well stashed away on the ship.

"Maybe you have too low of a Bounty?-" Alucare teased, earning a harsher glare from the red head who smacked him in the head with a spoon which he got pelted with perfectly on thw forehead-.

Clearly wanting to mess with her as he reached into his shirt picket and slammed down his own, Vi snatching it quickly and damn near hissed as she read the paper-

'GOLD GAZE' ALUCARE

Updated Bounty: Formally 50,000,000 Berry

Wanted Dead or Alive

Current Bounty: 85,000,000

'Gold Gaze' Seriously?" Vivian sighed at the choice of Nickname. Alucare shrugging as well-

"Well I didn't pick it.." He defended, the twins now coming up to see what the commotion was all about. Alucare sharing his wanted poster with them-

"Not Bad!" Bee said and him and Alucare shared a high five- Weirdly the two seemingly growing close in a chaotic lawful and chaotic evil sort of way..

"Your guys bounty is higher" Alucare pointed out which Dee shrugged at.

"Yeah but you got a better Nickname then us-" Dee said- As the three repeated 'Gold Gaze' in a series of different voices. Vivian staring at them all like she was in a sick form of hell...

"I hate you guys..."

• Shanks of course keeps track of Vivian, even if she's out on his own he had eyes and ears everywhere.

• It seemed the marksman of the Pirates had made sure security was light-

He smiles brightly and starts to laugh hysterically- He didn't know if this was some sick form of Karma or the universe repeating itself-

However that morning it seemed to be the newspaper that informed him- Opening up he went to see what new thing was happening his eyes widening at what he saw.

New Pirates on the Scene!

🌅 The Sunset Pirates! 🌅

Marines say they disapeared and appeared with the rise and fall of the sun-

Including In the Crew-

- Dee Dee The Jester - 150,000,000 Berry

- Bee Bee The Joker - 150,000,000 Berry

- 'Gold Gaze' Alucare - 85,000,000 Berry

And New Pirate {Unknown Name- nicknamed}

'Crimson Shot' - 85,000,000 Berry

- Wanted Dead or Alive -

Shanks shook his head, recognizing his daughter's skills immediately and the rough sketch of her as well- He knew her identity would be revealed soon enough. However that didn't matter, if anything it would boost her credibility.

"Good Job Vi- You did it.."

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #one piece shanks #shanks one piece #dad shanks #red haired shanks #shanks #dracule alucare #buggy twins #Vivian one piece

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clockwayswrites · 11 months

Text

A Broken Sort of Normal (Start)

WC: 588 CW: (updating as the fic continues), Gen but ships may be added Danny Fenton/Wally West pre-relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Major Injury, Minor Character Death

They were going to lose.

It's a simple, unavoidable fact and it hits Danny like one of Superman’s punches. He fumbles in his attempt to triage Barry’s leg before the limb was lost.

The man standing in the middle of the ruins of Metropolis would win. He and his army of hive mind clones would sweep across the rest of the planet. Humanity would fall.

They were going to lose.

He finishes tying off the field tourniquet, not sure how he manages, not with his hand slick with Barry’s blood. Something of his thoughts must be showing on his face because Barry reaches out and grips a weak hand around Danny’s wrist.

“Kid?”

It was still a stupid nickname. Danny hadn’t been a kid since before joined up with the Justice League as a field medic four years ago. But Danny was the same age as Wally and many of the other Teen Titans— all long grown out of that name— and so he got lumped in as ‘kid’ to the more senior heroes.

And now all these wonderful, heroic, brave people that Danny had come to be friends with were going to die. The monologue happening in the middle of the street made that much clear. No hero would be left alive; any chance of a future uprising would be snuffed out this very day.

Because they were going to lose.

Danny smiles softly at Barry and pries his hand away.

“Kid, whatever you’re thinking—” Barry could have no idea what Danny was thinking. No one could.

No one could, because no one knew what Danny could do.

Danny had played to the curse perfectly for seven years. A curse set on him in a stupid moment of one last teenage angst fueled vent. He had just wanted to be normal.

Sam and Tucker were going off to college. Danny wasn’t, not with his grades. Jazz was practically waiting for her girlfriend to propose. Danny couldn’t imagine even dating with his secrets. Jack and Maddie had a new contract with the GIW. Danny had stopped trying to reason with them.

Everyone else was moving on with their lives while Danny was stuck half dead. A freak of nature. A man out of life yet still living. A walking corpse.

He just wished he was normal.

He’d forgotten that he shouldn’t wish.

A wish is only a curse waiting to happen.

Well, he got it— his wish that was a curse. As long as Danny never used his powers in any noticeable way he would just be seen as a regular kid to the rest of the world— just plain, normal Danny Fenton. If he got caught using them even once— if he got caught being not normal, his powers would be gone, taken by the curse. Without his powers keeping his core humming happily along and sustaining his half dead body, Danny would be gone.

Danny had forgotten he shouldn’t wish.

But he did.

And suddenly, just like that, to everyone else, Danny was normal— no ghost attacks to fight, no GIW hunting him, no Team Phantom.

Sam and Tucker drifted quickly away without the team to bond them. Jazz checked in less and less— no need to worry about her little brother being shot. Jack and Maddie… well, they stopped having a reason to talk with him too. They had to prove the existence of ghosts! There was no time for… well, someone as normal as Danny.

Normal turned out not to be so great.

-----

AN: I got sent the the field medic prompt going around, for some reason? (there was no comment sent with it). It's a cute idea with some fun responses, but not really my jam to write. I'm not much into exploring ageless immortal, dimension hopping Danny in my own work. I have more of a weakness for exploring what makes Danny still human. And, as @mokulule pointed out: "I see you mentioning no angst XD".

(Have you all caught on yet that I like my angst?)

So of course I had to ask if I were to write field medic Danny, how would I get him there? And how would I hurt him once he was there? So I threw out all of the prompt and I bounced it around with Moku, her prodding me along with great questions and thoughts, and now here we are.

Because apparently my brain didn't want to warm up on one of my current ideas. This will be a one shot so help me-

(BTW: While in the very vaguest sense this started with a prompt, the above writing is not a prompt. This will be finished, it's 99% planned out already, just needs the writing.)

#dp x dc #abson #Danny Fenton/Wally West #quick death

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months

Note

This request is actually inspired by my fic I'm writing and I wanted to see your interpretation of the scene.

Tav is the daughter of a well known pirate, basically the black beard of Baldur's Gate, but after an attack that lead to her father and alot of the crews death she roamed Baldur's Gate until the mindflayer thing happened.

Currently, she and everyone are at a tavern, celebrating another successful quest and honestly still being alive when she hears a familiar song and she sees four old crew members (family) she thought was gone. What is your interpretation of the scene, how would Astarion would react to the news, and seeing her reuinte with her family?

I did not expect this to turn out as long as it did lmao

Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader (can be read as gn)

Warnings: fear of abandonment, alcohol/drinking, swearing

Word Count: 2,123

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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The tavern was lively and bustling on the evening you and your companions squeezed in, the sun beginning to paint the sky in dramatic colors as it sets. Almost instantly, your party's spirits are lifted - yours included.

Finding a table for 7 people is no easy feat, but you manage to snag one in the corner. Drinks were served around, jokes about the battle you’d just endured and old stories of lives before the Illithid threat fill the air with an easy camaraderie. It reminds you of your father's ship, of the crew that raised you. Thinking about them again left a bitter taste in your mouth. Astarion must have noticed the distant look in your eye. He reached under the table for your hand, interlacing your fingers easily, and trying to catch your eye.

You smile at him, but your eyes are still glazed over. “I’m just thinking about my family, is all,” you tell him, as though it’s as mundane as thinking of what one needs to get from the market to make dinner. You’d told him of your father, his crew, the ship - and what happened to it. It’s been months, but it’s still too fresh. You still wake up in the dead of night from visions of colossal waves that pull your head under, and screams cut short with the slice of a cutlass. “This… reminds me of them.”

He offers a concerned smile, though it comes out as more of a grimace. “I’m flattered we remind you of drunken sailors,” he drawled sarcastically. It worked to get a laugh out of you, if nothing else.

“Drunken pirates,” you correct. He watches the smile slip, your eyes become distant once more, water pricking at the corners.

Astarion had a… complicated relationship with family. He couldn’t remember his parents, and the “family” Cazador provided were less-than-welcoming at best. As such, he never really knew how to comfort you in times like these. Not that he knew how to comfort anyone, really, but he wanted to try, at least.

“Gods,” you sigh, choked with emotion, “I miss those daft fools.” You lean your head against his shoulder. He maneuvers to wrap his arm around your middle, holding you close, and takes your hand again. “We used to celebrate like this,” you mumbled. His elven ears picked it up easily. “We’d drown the night in ale and groan about it in the morning. Played knife-throwing games as our visions start to spin and double. Sing songs at the top of our lungs, like screaming it would scare away any monster at sea.”

You sigh again. Though he can’t see your face, he can see when you use your free hand to wipe your eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with this.”

“Darling,” he hums, squeezing your hand, “we are technically in this together. Your burdens are mine and all that. In any case, you’ve carried all of our burdens, even when you didn’t have to. I’m only returning the favor.”

“Thank you.” You lift your head from his shoulder to kiss his cheek. He grins, all too pleased with the simple affection you lavish on him. “Now, enough wallowing.” You clear your throat and grab your tankard. “This is a celebration. And I intend to be too drunk to walk before the night is out.”

He sighed dramatically, lifting his goblet of wine. “And I suppose I’ll be the one to carry you back to camp?”

You smirk up at him, a glint in your eye. Like this, he can imagine you as the pirate you are. Swashbuckling and taking down other ships, climbing up ropes to the top of the sails, peering out from the crow’s nest for any sign of adventure. Dry land did not suit you, he thought.

But then came the thoughts that always followed. If you did return to the sea, to your old life with a new crew, after these tadpoles are removed, he couldn’t follow. The only reason he’s safe from the sun and the burn of running water was because of the damned, wriggly things. He couldn’t follow you onto a ship to be locked away in confined cabins until night, or help if the waters chose to fold over the deck in great big waves, threatening to take down the vessel. He couldn’t have that life. Not with you.

Your head was thrown back, neck bobbing with each gulp of shitty ale. You did not see the pain on his features those thoughts brought him. He tossed back the last of his wine.

You stand and gather the empty mugs of your companions, bright-eyed and ready for round after round (Karlach only encourages this.), when something sounds across the tavern. It’s a rather large establishment, and the bustle of other patrons covers up everything. But it’s there. Loud and boisterous and-

You rush to step over the bench and find the source of the noise. Astarion frowns and chases after. He’s right on your tail as you push through drunkards with half-formed “Excuse me”s and “Coming through”s. As you get closer and closer, the sound becomes clearer. It’s not just noise - it’s singing. A cacophony of voices all singing together.

You squeeze past a barmaid, nearly knocking the drinks from her hands, but the apology is lost when you see a table full of drunken pirates. One starts to take a swig mid-song, when his eyes land on you. He’s on his feet - Is that a peg leg? - in an instant, dropping the tankard carelessly to the table.

“Tav?” he gasps. The rest fall silent, turning around to see what the man was gawking at. They thought he was imagining it, as he’d done time and again since the attack. They all leapt up and rushed forward when you were more than a figment of their alcohol-addled minds.

Astarion was pushed aside as a horde of pirates surrounded you, hugging you and ruffling your hair and all speaking hurriedly with worry and joy. He can’t ignore the pain in his chest, as though someone had driven a stake through his heart. You hugged each one, misty eyed. Questions fell ceaselessly from your lips as you asked how they survived, what happened, what they’d been doing all this time. And he knew. He knew without a shadow of a doubt. He could not hope to be more important than your family. He couldn’t be the one you chose - not when you’d recounted your friends with tales of the open ocean and your father’s crew for hours.

He quietly backed away. The others ask why you rushed off and what was happening when he returned to grab the bottle of wine. He wasn’t too sure what he said. He’d like to think it was some sort of “They found their family” said with a charming grin, and a simple, but believable, excuse to go back to camp not like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, but like a vampire with things that need doing back at camp. Alone. With a bottle of wine.

Your eyes are red and your smile is about to burst off your face when you drag your pirate family over to meet your companions. You’re bouncing on your feet with energy, introducing everyone and nearly crying again when the pirates embrace everyone like family. Your heart is soaring when you look around for Astarion, searching around the table, the bar, the crowd. And it starts falling when you don’t see him anywhere.

“Hey, have any of you seen Astarion?”

Gale groaned as he was released from a bone-crushing hug. He winced as he held his shoulder. “He said he was heading back to camp.”

Your heart crashed firmly against hard cement, leaving cracks in the foundation. “Back to- Why? Did he say why?”

“No,” Shadowheart answered this time, trying not to get caught admiring the intricate braid of another crewmate. “He just took the wine and ran.”

The warm environment suddenly felt cold and unwelcoming. Was he uncomfortable with your family? They were known to be rather callous and loud - maybe they’d scared him off? Was the idea of confronting their family just too stressful for him? Did it bring up unwanted memories? Why… Why did he run off?

You touch an older pirate’s arm, letting them know you’ll be right back. They smile and nod and pull you in for one last hug. It feels bittersweet. You dash off from the tavern back to camp.

When you arrive, he’s uncorking a second bottle of stolen alcohol, frowning and grumbling and pacing. He’s so deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice you’re there until you say his name. He frowns deeply at you. “Shouldn’t you be catching up with your family?” he asks, but it’s bitter and cold.

You frown. “I wanted you to meet them. Why’d you leave?”

He looks away, focusing instead on taking a long drink from the bottle. It’s had no time to air out; he almost grimaces at the flavor. He pretends to read the label. “It was getting a little crowded in there,” he dismisses.

“So you leave without saying anything?”

“Well,” he begins, drawn-out and sarcastic, creating a barrier between you and his emotions, “you were busy. I’d hate to get in the way.”

You huff. “Astarion, please, just tell me what’s wrong!”

“Nothing.” He scowls. He begins pacing again. “Nothing’s wrong! You’ve found your family again! I’m so happy for you.” He spits the word like it burns him to say it.

“Is that what this is about? My family?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” you plead. “What’s wrong?”

“YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE!” He sighs at his outburst, glaring at the ground. His feet are locked to ground, refusing to move closer or further away - because he can’t decide which would be better. “Once this is over, once we figure out how to remove these tadpoles, you’re going to run back to the sea. To a ship, with your family. And I can’t follow.” He scowls at himself. He hates laying out his thoughts, his feelings. It feels too vulnerable. He feels exposed. “You won’t stay on land.”

You won’t stay with me.

A silent war wages on in your head and in your heart. You’re torn in two directions - forced to choose between the people who raised you, the last fragments of your father and his ship, or Astarion, your vampiric lover. It’s painful.

You step forward slowly, like he’s going to startle and run away like a frightened rabbit. He doesn’t move. And he doesn’t look at you. The bottle in his hand feels too heavy.

“I love my family,” you start. You can see in an instant as his walls come back up. His face, still upset and angry, becomes stoic and defensive. “And I love the sea.” You stop in front of him. “And I love you.”

He closes his eyes, prepared for the rejection.

“I… I had a whole life on the ocean.” Your fingers brush his hand. It twitches involuntarily, wishing to hold you, for just one last moment. When he doesn’t pull away, you tangle your fingers with his. “I want to see what a future on land would be like.”

He swallows. He opens his eyes, but he can’t look at you. He looks instead at your hand in his. “And when you decide a life on a ship is better than hiding in the shadows with me?”

You pull his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles. He watches longingly.

“If I decide to sail again,” you accentuate your words with a kiss to the meat of his thumb, “I’ll come back. Over and over again. I’ll sail for a week and stay with you for a month. I’ll sail a month and stay with you a year. I love you, Astarion. And I will always choose you. And when we find a cure for vampirism, you can come with me.”

He huffs a laugh. “I’d be a poor excuse for a pirate.”

“You can scrub the deck.”

He finally meets your eyes with a playful scowl. It softens into something quiet and sad. “I don’t want to tear you from your family.”

You shake your head, stepping even closer. “You’re not, I promise. Now that I know they’re alive, I’ll be damned if I don’t keep in touch. But all they know is the sea. They have no reason to stay ashore - they’re heading out with a new captain next week.” You cup his cheek with your free hand. He sighs and leans into the touch. “I want to stay on land for a while longer.”

---

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marc-spectorr · 2 years

Text

hate to love you

ˣ pairing: poe dameron x f!reader

ˣ summary: being stranded on a planet? not a problem, at least rescue’s coming. the real issue is that it means for twelve hours, you’re stuck with poe dameron.

ˣ warnings: 7.7k wc. explicit smut (oral/vaginal) and language. enemies-ish to lovers & forced proximity trope. mentions of blood & injuries. kinda soft!

ˣ a/n: “it’s been 84 years…” seriously tho i apologize for the big delay in posting ;_; but yay here’s my first official poe fic! i didn’t intend for this to be quite long, still i hope you enjoy 🤍

You’re seething with anger.

A red, hot, and blinding rage.

One more word out of your Commander, and you swear you’d make him regret having survived that crash landing.

You couldn’t care any less for his half-assed excuses. The weak explanations and baseless assumptions that only boil your blood. Even the sound of his mere voice has you so irritated that you wish the explosion had blown out your ear drums.

If only he had listened to you, then the two of you wouldn’t be in this mess— you wouldn’t be stranded on some unknown, barren planet deep in the outer rim.

Quick to point a finger, this was entirely Poe Dameron’s doing.

This was all his fucking fault.

“Relax, darling,” Poe assures nonchalantly. You roll your eyes at his endearment, darling. Bastard. Smiles cockily like one too. “Nearest Resistance outpost received our distress signal along with coordinates ’fore we got shot down. At this rate, rescue should be coming in by the next morning.”

You bite your tongue hard, maintaining a steely, scathing gaze at the flickering embers before you. That’s at least twelve hours. Twelve miserable hours with Poe, the very last man you’d want to be stuck with.

Maker, what did you do in your past life to deserve this punishment?

“I’m sure you’ll be perfectly fine sleeping here in the meantime. Think of this as a vacation of sorts. An overnight camping trip. You always did mention wanting to get out of D’Qar for a tiny bit.”

By here, Poe meant the rocky cavern serving as your shelter for the night. Thankfully, he managed to do something correctly, and that was igniting a fire. The sun was dipping behind the horizon at a quickened pace; you could already feel the sharp nip of the wind swirling in the air.

Great. Earlier, you had narrowly avoided dying in a ball of fire. Now, you’re faced with the threat of hypothermia.

Two extremes. Funny how the universe works at times.

“So, are you just gonna give me the silent treatment or what?”

Never mind that. Freezing to death sounded much more appealing than having Poe talk your ear off.

It pisses you off how he’s seemingly amused by the situation. Acting as if he didn’t get your ship shot down, almost killing you in an attempt to prove a point. The only thing Poe confirmed at that moment was how incredibly reckless and arrogant he could be. That, plus you realized how little he cares about your well-being, seeing he was ready to risk your life along with his.

“C’mon, lighten up, Black Two,” Poe spurs as he sits cross-legged on the coarse ground beside you. “At least we made it out alive.”

You recoil at Poe’s sudden nearness, tugging the emergency blanket draped over your body closer. Lucky for you both, you escaped the fiery wreckage with a couple of minor injuries. Some scrapes and bruises. He’s got a busted lip, small cuts along his cheek, and the bridge of his nose.

On the other hand, you were nursing a swollen ankle that was probably more of a sprain than not. Add to that a nasty gash on your forehead and a deep cut to the side. But hey, things could have been much worse.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay. There, there’s your apology,” he offers tartly. “And you can stop with the poutiness now. It doesn’t suit your face, darling.”

Turning to meet Poe’s gaze, you scoff at him. “Seriously? You honestly think saying “I’m sorry” after the shit you pulled up there will magically fix things?”

“Well, it’s a start. No need to get all snippy at me. Case you haven’t noticed, I’m stuck on this lame fucking planet too.”

“Imagine how I feel being stuck with you, jack-ass,” you snark with all the bitterness in your tone.

Poe pauses, then narrows his eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m sick and tired of you, Dameron. Always so damn egotistic and condescending. It’s astounding how you made it this far into the war still in one piece.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault those tie-fighters ambushed us out of nowhere, alright? I had it all under control and could have really used your help. But no— instead, you wouldn’t stop bitching about high-tailing outta there. We only had enough fuel for one more jump!”

“And? Being stranded in space and waiting for help makes a shit ton of sense versus going against ten fucking tie-fighters shooting at us all at once.”

Poe huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “If we would have gone with your plan, it would mean aborting the mission and coming back to base empty-handed.”

“I fail to see where you find fault in that, considering what we were up against. But whatever— thanks for nearly getting me killed, by the way. I have nothing else to say to you.”

A pained hiss passes from your clenched teeth as you push yourself back up to your feet. You stagger several yards towards the entrance of the cave, furthering yourself from the warmth of the fire. Cold be damned, you need to get far and away from him. Fast. It’s as if Poe’s very existence repels you. Drives you into a spiraling madness, and it’s no wonder that you hate his guts.

You hate Poe Dameron.

Loathe, despised, detest, and abhor.

Call it whatever the fuck you want, but no word would be enough to describe the amount of resentment you had for him.

This isn’t the first time Poe has gotten under your skin, and it certainly won’t be the last.

Too bad he’s the Resistance’s Golden Boy. Untouchable and could never do wrong. His actions today would be seen as heroic. A brave, brazen move. And if that isn’t the case, then the least Leia would do is give him a mere slap on the wrist and ground him for a day or two.

No harsh punishment for the fleet’s best fighter pilot. Not for Poe. Never for him.

The fate of the galaxy relies on people like him.

What a shame.

What a damn, fucking shame.

“Two.”

Your thoughts are derailed when Poe intones your callsign, cutting through the vast silence with what could be mistaken as sincerity. The urge to snap at him for disturbing your respite is there, but the energy to actually do it has all been depleted.

You’re tired. Exhausted— so fucking exhausted of him that you wanted nothing more than to be left alone in the peace. Why couldn’t he allow you that?

“Come back inside. It’s getting cold out here,” Poe coaxes softly.

You dismiss him with a wave of your hand. Even without checking, you’re well aware that he’s standing there behind you, waiting.

“Kriff, can you stop being stubborn and talk to me for just five seconds?”

Poe doesn’t relent. He never does. He always has to have the last word, the last laugh, everything.

And he’s only this way when he’s with you, for reasons perhaps you may never know.

A heavy sigh fills the empty pause. You barely register the blanket settling across your shoulders until Poe softly calls out your name. Not your callsign like he normally does. But your name. And it flees from his lips in a low whisper, void of any spite or sourness. You’re not used to it— the softness in his voice, the quiet calmness that soon follows.

For a moment, you think there is sincerity this time.

Poe appears in your field of vision, and you swallow thickly. Hate him all you want, but you can never deny how handsome he is. Even you have shamefully indulged a glance at him here and there around the base.

There’s a reason why everyone, at some point or another, has fancied Poe. Bronzed skin, dark café eyes, a smile that’s brighter than the Tatooine suns. If looks could bring the First Order down alone, Commander Dameron would have already forced them to their knees.

“You’re bleeding,” he observes, thick brows knitting in worry. Your gaze shifts from the golden cast on Poe’s face to the laceration on your hip that you’d crudely bandaged up earlier. Blood soaks through your tee, trickling down and staining the earth below. He had previously offered to help you, although you were too angry to allow him. Even if it hurts like a bitch. “I promise to shut up for the rest of the night if you let me patch that up correctly.”

You chuckle mirthfully. “For the rest of the night? Hmm, I don’t know. That seems quite a far-fetched feat for you, Dameron.”

“Try me,” Poe adds with a small smile, and there’s something in the way he looks at you. Something so gentle, sweet. Your eyes flicker back to his, and fuck— Poe is beautiful in this gleaming light.

You mentally shove that final thought into the farthest depths of your head.

“Fine,” you agree slowly. “But if I hear a single peep out of you, I’m tossing you into the fire.”

Poe smirks, nodding. “Copy that.”

You almost tossed him into the fire.

Almost.

Impressively, Poe did keep his mouth close for the first ten minutes or so. He had you lying on your back, cushioned by his jacket spread on the harsh floor. You stared at the stony overhead above as he changed the wrappings on your side with fresh bacta pads from the emergency kit he recovered at the crash site.

Everything was going pretty well. That is until he cleared his throat.

“Please don’t react when I ask you this, but— can you take off your shirt for me?”

Your fist tightens into a ball for a few seconds until you force yourself to relax.

“Why? You can reach the wound fine like this. There’s no need for it to be off.”

Poe exhales a long, weary breath. “Your shirt is getting in the way, Two. I can’t clean this thoroughly with it on; if I don’t, the bacta won’t be enough to stop an infection. Trust me, it’s not going to be pleasant if that happens.”

Your face heats up, and it’s not because of the makeshift fire nearby. The last thing you expected today is Poe seeing you in such an undressed state. Maker, this mission only keeps getting worse and worse, isn’t it?

“Don’t look anywhere you’re not supposed to, got it?” you warn him with a spitfire tone. “If I catch even the slightest glimpse, I will—”

“Yeah, yeah— you’ll toss me into the fire,” Poe finishes your threat as he untwists the bottle cap of the antiseptic solution. “Shirt off, I’ll be quick. Don’t have to worry about me sneaking a peek, darling.”

You strip off your tee with a grunt, Poe coming to assist when he notices you struggling to get it over your head. The airy chill bites at your bare skin instantly. Clad in only a bra, you begin to shiver slightly, arms coming up to shield the upper half of your body from both the stiff breeze and Poe’s view.

Strangely, you aren’t apprehensive about him going against his word. Poe could be an asshole, sure. But he’s not the type to disrespect in that regard. The most you can expect from him is the incessant teasing and flirting— all lighthearted, harmless, and fun (for him, at least).

You haven’t been on the receiving end of it. Not for a while now, no. You remember the time Poe wasn’t a difficult man to deal with. It had been so long ago that you’d forgotten what that was like. Having him around and not wanting to immediately leave his presence. It’s quite hard to believe that such a time had ever existed.

You don’t know what went wrong, why things are the way they are now.

You wonder if it’s too late to fix this. If there’s anything left to salvage when you’re grasping onto a fraying thread. You want things to change, desperately so. But it’s all up to him. It’s all up to Poe.

Poe. His hands are on your body, warm and soft. Gentle in the way he moves them as he mends your injury.

He touches you carefully like you’re made out of glass— fragile and delicate— and you try disregarding the tingling buzz in your veins. How he bites the corner of his bottom lip in concentration, his stray dark locks sweeping against his forehead as he leans in closer. Close enough that his hot breath fans over your skin, and it’s electrifying.

There’s a fleeting moment of you wanting to seek out more. Chasing something that you would not dare to ask. Something that you’re certain would never happen.

Not with Poe.

No— Not here. Not now. Not ever.

“Sorry, again,” you hear Poe say softly as deft fingers secure the new wrapping over your wound. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt you back there. It was fucking stupid of me to even try, and look what happened. I should have listened to you and—”

He stops for a beat and quietly hands you your t-shirt to put back on. There’s a shift in Poe’s demeanor. Gone was his haughty, overly narcissistic self, that unbearable side of him that you’ve known for so long.

This Poe, however— this is all new. Caring, compassionate. Soft and gentle. It’s all new to you. Different and unrecognizable. As unfamiliar as this planet is to you.

Where has this version of Poe been hiding? Because for once, he’s not insufferable.

“I know you don’t like me. I know that once we’re back on D’Qar, you’re going to chew me out in front of the General, and I deserve it,” he continues, guiding you to sit up. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. But what I’m hoping for right now is for you to understand how sorry I am for taking things too far. It wasn’t my intention to put you in harm’s way. It never is.”

A light crackling noise pierces the stillness of the air. The ember glow from the flickering flames dances over Poe’s remorseful features. He regards you with a tender expression, those doe-brown irises of his make your heart thump quicker in your chest.

Surprisingly, you don’t fend off the smile slowly creeping its way across your face. “Now what? Are we calling a truce?”

“I’ll give you a trail mix bar if we do,” Poe beams, pulling out the snack from his jacket pocket and handing it to you. “A peace offering.”

With a half-serious glare, you snatch the trail mix away from him, grumbling, “Were you going to hide this from me the whole time?”

“No, of course not. I was planning on sharing one with you.”

Your brow furrows. “One?”

“Yeah, one,” Poe confirms, taking out a second bar and waving it in the air. “I brought along two just in case.”

“In case we get stranded on a deserted wasteland?”

Laughter bubbles out of him. “In case you and I get hungry during the flight.”

“Well, uh— thanks,” you reply briskly as you tear open the wrapper with Poe mirroring your action.

“See, I’m not all that bad,” he grins broadly, and there’s more truth to the statement than you care to admit.

God, you’re unsure whether you have a concussion or you’re losing your mind. Because one moment, you’re tearing Poe a new one, and the next, he’s sending a flurry of butterflies to the pit of your stomach. You’re confused as hell, nerves a jumbled mess, and you still can’t shake off the feeling of his hands on you— touching you.

Perhaps, it’s neither. Maybe it’s merely you beginning to hate him less.

Impossible, you briefly muse. But what if it isn’t?

“So… truce?” Poe asks whilst chewing, holding out his free hand to you. “Let’s turn a new leaf starting tonight. Look, I like you, Two. I really like you. I guess that’s also why I’ve been tough on you lately.”

Poe mumbles that last bit quickly, and you nearly choke on the bite you’ve taken. Even he’s caught by surprise with his own admission, his eyes widening in disbelief. But before you could question him on that further, he skips around the topic and continues.

“I swear, all the petty arguments end today. I don’t wanna butt heads with you anymore. So, what do you say? Truce?”

You let out a drawn-out sigh, your gaze locking on the hopeful gleam in those big brown eyes of his. He’s like a puppy. Say no, and it’s almost as bad as accidentally kicking it in the face. It wouldn’t hurt to give Poe another chance, right? It shouldn’t. And you pray to whatever higher power there is (or isn’t) that doing this wouldn’t turn out to be a big mistake.

“Okay,” you accept and shake Poe’s hand, not missing the growing curve on his lips. “Truce. No more bullshit, Dameron, or that’s it. I’m out.”

“No more bullshit, scout’s honor,” he upholds. “Now that’s out of the way…”

Oh hell. What now?

“Remember, we declared a truce. No backsies.”

You cross your arms against your chest. “Dameron, what are you talking about—”

“This planet’s atmosphere is shit, okay? Even with the fire here, it’s cold, and we only have one blanket.”

“Are you proposing that we—”

“Sleep together,” Poe declares rather enthusiastically. “Not in that way, obviously. I mean, sleep next to each other. Y’know, to conserve body heat? Keep ourselves as warm and cozy as possible.”

An exasperated groan escapes you. With the way you were rolling your eyes hard, it’s a good thing that it didn’t trigger an aneurysm. “Fucking— fine. You can sleep next to me. But hog the blanket from me, and I will—”

“Don’t have to remind me. Into the fire pit I shall go,” Poe smirks when you nod. “Consider yourself lucky, sweetheart. You’re guaranteed a restful slumber tonight despite the circumstances.”

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“Simple,” he answers, almost braggingly. “I don’t snore.”

You couldn’t come up with a snarky response to that. In fact, you couldn’t come up with any type of response. You’re too absorbed by the thought of Poe snuggling against you, something that would have really peeved you if it had been brought up an hour ago.

And Poe picks up on it, your speechlessness. Your glassy eyes, how your jaw slightly drops as if you had just heard the most absurd joke out of him. But you don’t flat-out deny his suggestion. You don’t have it in you to tell him to fuck off. Nor that the fire is more than enough to keep warm.

Embarrassingly, you wanted it. To feel Poe’s body beside you, surrounded by his radiating warmth. It’s been far too long since you’ve shared a bed with another man. Although this is technically not the same thing, you’re so goddamn touch-starved that sleeping next to Poe isn’t the most awful idea in the world.

Instead, it’s all you could think of— it’s all you need right now.

Fuck, you’re losing your sanity. That’s what it is. You’ve gone crazy after realizing that in less than a day, you’ve gone from hating Poe with every fiber of your being to craving… Well, him.

And you don’t know how to make of it. Whether or not you’ll make it.

Rescue would be coming soon. After dawn, if Poe’s estimations are correct. You could only hope that you’re able to survive through the night to be saved.

Hours have passed, and from what you can see, it’s still dark outside.

You lie restlessly on the rugged terrain in silence. The frigid air sweeping into the cavern leaves you shuddering, and you pull the blanket high under your chin. It’s silent for two or three beats, save for the snap and crackle of the blaze.

Then there’s rustling at your side. Glancing over, you find Poe on his back, one hand behind his head as he lets out a yawn.

“Can’t sleep?” You manage, copying his position so that you’re both staring aimlessly into nothing. “Or are you afraid I might catch you lying about not being a snorer?”

A chuckle rumbles out of Poe. “Hey, I truly don’t snore. If you want, I can provide a list of people that can attest to this.”

“Oh, no, thank you,” you rebuff. “I would assume that list is long, and frankly, I don’t have the patience to go through each name there.”

“Eh, between you and me, it’s really not that long. To be honest, my dick is probably longer—”

“Okaaay, that is TMI, Dameron. Watch it.” You playfully swat at his chest, choking back an incredulous chortle. “But your list being short is kinda hard to believe when there’s all that gossip about you being quite the fuckboy.”

Poe shifts to lie on his side, now facing you. “And you believe them? Those gossips about me?”

Shrugging, you do the same, and you’re suddenly made aware of how close he is to you. “Why? Are they not true?”

“I may flirt like there’s no tomorrow, but the truth is— I haven’t had sex in… months?”

You raise a brow, stunned. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he affirms flatly. “I don’t get a lot of free time, you know? Leia’s been assigning me on missions one after the other. Then there’s those briefings upon my return plus strategy meetings, practice drills, blah blah blah... And when I’m finally done for the day, I barely have the energy to drag myself to the ‘fresher for a shower, let alone fuck someone’s brains out.”

“Huh, guess I was wrong about you,” you admit ruefully. “Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Poe smiles. He’s quiet as you observe him for a moment, averting his gaze before speaking again. “Not to mention, there’s this girl…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, we haven’t been on the best of terms. She uh— actually despises me, I’m pretty sure.”

Could he be…? No. He couldn’t. It couldn’t be.

“She despises you?” You gasp in feign astonishment. “I mean, what’s there not to like?”

Poe cracks a breathy laugh at your sarcasm. “Exactly. But really, though— I was a total ass to her. Always picked fights with her over the stupidest shit, and I did it to push her away. Took a while to realize it, but I was falling for her. I still am, and I can’t have that. Not with what’s going on right now.”

“And did it work? Did it stop you from falling any further?”

He shakes his head, his voice a whisper now. “No. It didn’t. It didn’t do a damn thing. Every argument made me want her even more. Mostly because I find it hot and sexy when she gets super mad at me.”

“Gross.” You gently shove Poe’s shoulder, and he catches your hand as you begin to pull away. He holds it loosely at first, allowing you to freely slip out of his grasp should you choose to do so.

You don’t.

You remain still. Unmoving. It’s only Poe who moves after a passing breath, fingers slowly entwining with yours, and you let him. You let him, despite how intimate the gesture is. You aren’t his lover. Hell, you’re barely even friends. The term “enemies” no longer fits for some reason. You couldn’t call yourselves that. Not anymore. Not after his vague confession to you earlier.

“Before, when you said you really liked me, what did you mean by that?”

Your inquiry is met with a faint hum in response. A squeeze to your hand, then Poe releases it. He props himself on an elbow, his eyes melting into yours, and you lose yourself in those dark, endless pools. “You know what it means.”

“Poe—”

“— Can I kiss you?”

The world around you comes to an abrupt standstill. Your lips part to say the first thing your mind could think of, yet there is none.

Poe senses your hesitation. But when he starts to retreat, pretending he never said anything, you say his name in such a tenderness you’ve never done before.

“Yes,” was your answer. A small and straightforward yes— a word that has been teetering on the edge of your tongue as soon as Poe had asked.

Unknowingly, he’d spark a smoldering fire from deep within. The longer he lingers around you, the more it swells into an inferno, its hotness spreading like wildfire throughout your body.

Poe captures your lips in what was initially a chaste kiss, his hand tilting your chin upwards as your eyelids flutter shut. He moves slowly, slower than you anticipated, but it was sweet nonetheless. He kisses you as if time is endless, only stopping when you grab a fistful of his tee and swiftly tug him to settle between your legs.

“Eager, are we?” Poe simpers, watching as you caress the pads of your fingertips along his stubbled cheek.

“I can ask you the same thing,” you cheekily quip when you feel the bulge of his pants on your thigh. “Doesn’t take that much to get you hard, huh?”

“Only ’cause I’m with you, baby.” He shoots you an enticing wink, and heat rushes up to your face and down your core.

You’ve never seen Poe up close like this. Never have you noticed the kind warmth of his eyes. The way they glimmer in the low light reminds you of stars, all dazzling and bright, so full of life even in the midst of a war.

You don’t say it out loud; you’re too proud to admit it. But you could easily get lost while gazing into those eyes.

“A-Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Poe rasps, brows drawing together. “We don’t have to, and I don’t wanna fuck this up right after agreeing to start over and make it all weird—”

You cut Poe’s rambling short by crashing your lips against his, tangling your fingers in the mess of curls on his head. He responds with equal fervor. A fiery passion seeps into the kiss. Evident by the way his tongue slips past your lips, teasing and tasting until he takes the air out of your lungs.

A soft moan breaks free when Poe presses hot, open-mouth kisses down your throat, the sounds of your ragged breaths beating against your ears. “Off,” he directs impatiently, his hands already lifting the hem of your tee.

You’re quick to shed it off for him, snaking a hand to your back to unclasp your bra immediately after. Goosebumps engulf your entire body but no longer is it from the cold. Rather, it’s from the way Poe’s blackened eyes rake over your bareness, setting every inch of you alight in a blistering blaze.

“Like what you see, Dameron?”

Poe doesn’t reply right away. You follow his tipping gaze downwards to your bandaged wound. The curl of his lips falters ever so slightly— weighted guilt is now written all over his face, the sight of it heavy on your heart.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Doesn’t hurt that much anymore,” you soothe, brushing your fingers along the nape of his neck. “Just… be gentle for now, I guess. We can do the rough stuff some other time.”

A charming grin slowly splits Poe’s face, and the flurry in your stomach intensifies. “You’re hoping for a next time, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes but find yourself unable to retract the statement. Yes, it had been a slip of the tongue, yet it isn’t the furthest thing from the truth.

“I’m hoping for a next time if this goes well,” you clarify as Poe kneels back on his haunches.

The blanket you were tucked underneath slides off his back, exposing you both to the chill of the night. Neither of you make an attempt to pull it up over your bodies. The proximity warded the coldness away.

“Oh, well, in that case, I gotta make sure this will be more than just “well” for you.”

Snorting, you gesture up and down at him. “Getting rid of your clothes would be a great start, don’t ya think?”

“You want me to strip for you, darling? All you had to do was ask nicely.”

Just as you were about to let out a scoff, a breath hitches in your throat. Poe peels away his shirt in one fluid movement, revealing his toned chest, sharp collarbones, and firm abs. You stare without blinking, unabashed. Your mouth goes dry as you graze over the soft and hard planes of his olive skin and muscles.

“Like what you see, Two?” Poe echoes your earlier words with a coy smile.

Your attention drifts down to the trail of hair disappearing into the waistband of his tented trousers. Dizzy and dazed, you wet your lips, and Poe fortunately takes the hint, his eyes never leaving yours as he proceeds to unfasten his pants. Tight black boxers hug his ample hips, the thick outline of his cock straining against the thin fabric of it.

Stars. You really do like what you see.

“I need you, Poe,” you croon, squirming when Poe bends down and cages you in his strong arms. “I need to feel you.”

“Need me, yeah?” Don’t worry, I got you, baby. I got you.”

You arch your back up to him, seeking relief by grinding into his throbbing erection. Doing so elicits a low groan from Poe, whose lips began to light a trail of fire along the valley of your breasts.

Needy moans fill his ears as Poe nips, sucks, and bites at one tender mound while a hand squeezes and kneads the other. He rolls a nipple between his thumb and index finger, sending a fresh wave of arousal coasting through you.

“Prettiest pair of tits I’ve ever seen.” Poe husks, his voice rich, smokey, and smooth. His mouth then descends to your stomach, planting hot kisses all the way down to your bottoms. “Can’t wait to see the rest of you.”

“Hmm… Only see?” You tease with a small quirk on your lips.

He cocks a brow at you, his deft fingers unbuttoning your pants before sliding them down your legs. “Why? You want me to touch you, baby? Want me to taste what’s down here?”

Poe traces your slit through your soaked underwear, purposefully adding only the slightest bit of pressure when he reaches your clit. A moan ripples through the air as he circles it lazily, tantalizingly.

“Look at you, already so wet for me. You want me so badly, huh?”

Keening and mewling at his graveled taunt, the desperation practically drips from you. You’re bucking your lower half towards him without restraint, and he’s flashing you the most shit-eating grin imaginable.

“Fuck. Poe, please… I need—” Your voice catches in your throat. You suck in a gasping breath, completely overwhelmed by the rough scratching of Poe’s five o’clock shadow on your inner thigh.

A sole press of his lips to your clothed pussy, he effortlessly rids your panties, tossing them somewhere behind him. He then dives right back into your sex, spreading your legs wide, and for a split second, he glances up with this look akin to a parched man who finds an oasis in you.

And you’d never forget it. Even if you wanted to— even if you decide that this would just be a one-time thing, you could never forget this entangled moment with him— with Poe.

Poe, whose dilated pupils brimming with lust you couldn’t— wouldn’t— forget. Nor his shallow, shaky exhale as he draws nearer, his steady grip on your hips tightening, digging.

He drags you closer to his mouth and whispers a low, sultry remark. Something along the lines of your pussy smelling so sweet, though you’re not entirely sure of it. You couldn’t be, not when your heartbeat is pounding furiously in your ears. You couldn’t focus on anything other than his nose nudging against your clit, his tongue delving its way inside you, and it has you seeing quite literal stars—

— then, less than a beat later, a whole fucking supernova.

Two fingers much thicker than your own slowly stretch you open. Poe’s name comes out of you as a trembling plea, and the cocky bastard finds amusement in your reaction. He peers at you through thick lashes, his knuckle-deep, beckoning digits working your cunt, tongue flicking and swirling around your swollen clit.

Tugging at his hair harshly, you writhe under Poe’s ministrations, and it forces him to adjust his hold on you. He has your hips roughly pinned down, eating you out vigorously until your toes curl and your legs shake in pure ecstasy.

Poe brings you to climax faster than anyone has ever had. Including yourself. It has your body quivering beneath him uncontrollably, firing up white jolts of pleasure into every nerve ending within you. Your vision is hazy and unfocused, muscles weak and feeble. The only movement you have enough strength to do is reach down to meekly tap on Poe’s arm as he laps at your dripping pussy.

“You enjoy yourself, sweetheart?” he says, voice an octave lower yet full of smugness. “Seems like you did.”

You hum softly, taking in how Poe looks kneeling between your thighs. Desire pools in your belly again as your heavy-lidded eyes rake over his face appreciatively. His chin glistens with your juices. He darts his tongue out to lick his reddened lips, and you have to swallow a moan as he lifts his fingers— the very same fingers that fucked you to the point where you swear you’d pass out— up to his mouth and sucks them clean. Poe makes a show of it, too, closing his eyes in delight and groaning at the taste.

And you wonder what he exactly thinks of it— how divine you taste. Does he think you’re sweet on your tongue? Tangy? You don’t need to ask if he liked it, of course. The cock twitching in his garments tells you all that you need to know. And fuck, if Poe is that good with merely his hands and his mouth, you could only imagine how mind-blowing it might be once he’s inside of you.

Pushing yourself to sit up, you ignore the spark of pain shooting up your side. Poe quickly notices your discomfort and gently urges you to lay back down, looming over you. “But I wanna—”

He silences you with a searing kiss, tasting your own essence lingering on his tongue as it glides against yours. You palm Poe through his boxers and revel at how stiff and big he is. You wish that he would let you take care of him the way he took care of you.

“Shhh, don’t worry about it. It’s okay,” Poe mumbles breathlessly as your fingers dip under the edge of the final article of clothing separating the two of you. “Next time, baby. I promise. I’ll let you suck on my dick once we’re back home. Until then, I’m gonna make sure that you stay warm all night long…”

Poe hungrily devours your mouth once more, helping you pull his underwear the rest of the way off. You tear yourself away from the kiss and drag your eager gaze down to the rigid length poking at your hip. You had no doubt that his cock would be as gorgeous as the rest of him, but it was much, much more than what you pictured in your mind.

Thick, long, with a delicious slight curve to it. Your mouth instinctively waters at the sight. You know it would be reaching places deep in you that haven’t been touched in so long. It’ll leave you a soreness lasting for one or two days, maybe even more if he really does fuck like a god, or so the gossips would have it. You don’t doubt that either— you wholeheartedly believe in it already.

A gasp erupts from Poe’s throat when you seize his erection, your fingers barely closing around the girthiness of him. He’s hot and heavy in your palm, and you stroke him nice and slow, smearing the slick precum leaking from the tip all over his veiny shaft.

Nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, you bask in the pretty noises Poe makes right under your ear. You jerk him faster now. Your fist constricts around him as he pants heavily into your skin, reducing the always-headstrong and mouthy Poe Dameron into a mess of grunts and moans.

And you like it. You like seeing him this way— absolutely wrecked by the touch of your hand.

“S-Stop, stop,” he chokes out, covering your hand with his own and abruptly stilling your actions. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep it up. Gotta feel that pretty pussy of yours before that happens. Fuckin’ need to be inside you first, baby.”

Poe sucks at your pulse point, and you wordlessly nod through the haze of euphoria. The rise and fall of your chest hasten as you watch him grip his member and glide it along your drenched folds, coating himself with your shining wetness. You roughly claw your fingernails on his back and roll your hips. The blunt head of his cock slips upwards, crashing into your clit, and you have to forcefully bite down on your lip to stifle a scream.

“Don’t hold back those sounds, beautiful. You don’t have to worry about being heard. It’s only me here. It’s only us.”

“No more teasing. Please, Poe. Please…” you beg and beg, glossy eyes connecting with his hooded ones. Though the remnants of your high have ebbed away, you’re still tense— wound up like a tight little spring. The knot in your stomach waits to be uncoiled. An unraveling not possible without the feeling of him moving in and out of you. “Just fuck me, baby. Get in me now and fuck me, Poe. Make me feel good.”

There’s a flicker of something carnal crossing Poe’s face, and you catch it for a flitting second until you follow his lust-clouded gaze as it falls to the hand wrapped around the base of his cock. He’s leaned in close to you, his warm breath tickling your heated skin as he lines himself up with your entrance. Your pulse beats in your temples; beads of sweat pebble your forehead, and the blood in your veins simmer hot at him finally pushing in, leaving you gasping for air.

“S-shit…” Poe growls, slowly sinking into your cunt. It’s a burning stretch as he enters, the tight wet heat of your walls fluttering to accommodate the thickness of him. You hike your leg around his waist, shifting the angle, and he plunges in even deeper, fully bottoming out. “Fuck— baby, you’re squeezing me so hard. God, your pussy feels fucking amazing around my dick. G-gimme a sec, sweetheart. I-I need a sec— just… hang on…”

Breathing harshly through his nose, Poe strains to maintain some semblance of control, jaw setting taut and eyes screwing shut as he holds you still. His calloused fingers are digging into the flesh of your hips, marking you with bruises purple and blue.

You clench around him even though you’re trying your damndest best not to. You want to last—want him to last, but you couldn’t help it. Never have you had a cock like his buried in you. It’s almost laughable how cockdrunk you are even when he hasn’t done much except touch the deepest depths of your pussy.

“You alright, darling?” Poe checks, running his thumb gently across your cheek. His voice is much softer, much more intimate. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No. Quite the opposite, actually,” you purr as you crane your neck to kiss him languidly, feeling his smile.

Soon, you’re rocking your pelvis shallowly into Poe, encouraging him to move. He lets out a broken moan at the sensation. He hooks his arm under your leg to grant himself better leverage, dropping his head to your shoulder, and begins thrusting in and out, then in and out.

Before requesting him to be gentle, you’d expect Poe— and yes, you’ve thought about what he was like in the sack, mainly because everyone did— to be frantic, brutal, and punishing. Mercilessly fuck you to a reckless oblivion. The bunk-breaking type of romp that would have immensely pissed off those living in proximity to your quarters.

This isn’t that. This isn’t what you had imagined, not for the very first time, at least. Poe’s pounding into you at a steady and smooth pace. It’s tender and gentle and slow, hitting all the right spots and a part of you believes that this is more than just a simple fuck for him. This is him showing that he does care about you. That he’s sorry for the constant fights and regrets being an asshole to you, for hurting you.

This is genuine— meant to be something much more profound. To convince you that you’re worth more to him than he had led you to think.

Once again, your assumptions about him have been proven wrong. Poe truly isn’t the man you thought you had all figured out.

And you start believing in it. You accept it from the way Poe holds you close, his chest flushed against yours as he whispers sweet praises into the shell of your ear. He’s gazing down at you with this dreamy, yearning look on his face, the kind that makes your heart swell and your cunt grips him like a vice. His soft groans blend harmoniously with your pitchy moans, and they meld with the wet sounds of skin on skin, echoing all throughout.

It’s beautiful. It’s obscene. Sensual, steamy, and provocative. You wanted more, needed more direly. You’re so close, dangerously teetering on the brink of another shattering orgasm. Poe is determined to push you over the edge a second time, staving off his own release until you reach yours.

Your hands rove down Poe’s perspiring back, fingers lightly dancing along his spine before cupping the generous curves of his ass. A smirk tugs at Poe’s at the corner of his lips when you knead the fleshy cheeks into your palms possessively. You don’t have to tell him how much you love his derriere. You make no effort to hide your appreciation as you grope and massage him, catching his mouth in a feverish kiss that has your senses reeling.

“F-Fuck, Poe—I’m co- I’m coming…”

The heels of your feet replace your wandering hands, digging into Poe’s ass and urging him to fuck you faster, harder, deeper. And he complies so easily, hips snapping at a more frenzied pace as he brings his fingers down to rub at your clit. You toss your head back, quickly losing yourself to the overwhelming friction dragging against your slick walls, the ache in your core growing and spreading and burning. A fire scorching hot on the verge of being extinguished.

And when it does— when you fall apart at last— you dissolve into an all-consuming crescendo of pleasure. The pressure that has been building and building and building with each heavy slam of his cock suddenly snaps, triggering shockwaves to burst outwards.

At that moment, Poe is all that exists in the world. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but his touch, his scent, his voice. You barely realize how he’s riding out your climax for as long as he could, suppressing his desire to let go just to take in the way you crumble underneath him. For him.

You grow limp, boneless, and sate as the blissful quakes start to subside, your velvet walls pulsing and clamping down on Poe, whose control has now wholly slipped away.

“Where…shit— W-Where do you want it?” Poe sputters out, balls smacking against your pussy as his rhythm becomes messy, sloppy, and erratic. “W-Where?”

“Inside,” you croak before a strangled whimper tears from your throat at his fervent thrusts. “Come in me, Poe. It’s okay, do it, baby. I want you to come inside me—”

With one final piercing shove, Poe’s body goes rigid, spilling thick hot ropes of his cum deep inside you. You feel the warmth of it gushing into your spasming sex as you milk him dry and he’s stuttering forward, slowly pushing his seed as far as he can. His face contorts, eyes squeezing tightly shut and mouth slacking open to set free a wanton moan in the shape of your name.

The two of you are breathless. Spent, sticky, and sweaty as you regain steady heart rates and the oxygen in your lungs. Poe eventually pulls out his softening member and slumps to the side, careful not to crush you below. You whine at the loss of him— at the loss of his fullness that leaves you hollow and raw.

A warm mixture of his release and your juices dribbles out of you, cooling on your inner thighs. You don’t have it in you to wipe yourself up, and when Poe tries to after a minute, you wrap your arms around his neck and lock him in an embrace.

“Don’t,” you quietly plead with a soft kiss on his lips. “S’alright, just… stay.”

And stay, Poe does. He spoons you from behind, an arm draped over your waist while his legs tangled with yours. Poe nestles his face into your damp hair, his breath tickling the back of your neck as you hold his hand and twine your fingers together.

“Didn’t peg you as a cuddler, Two,” he murmurs dozily. “I like it.”

“Gotta preserve the heat, right?” You return cheekily, snuggling deeper into him as his warmth envelopes you.

This is nice, you muse. This feels nice.

You suppose that you like it, too.

Exhaustion washes over you. The stillness of the cavern, the crackling of the flames, and the calming sound of Poe’s exhales all lull you to sleep. You don’t know how long you’ll have until the sun rises and it’s daylight outside. Nor do you have any clue on what awaits you and him other than your rescue.

You’re overthinking everything again.

As if he could hear it happening, Poe tightens his arm around you, his nose grazing along the back of your shoulder before pecking a light kiss there.

“Sleep, sweetheart. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

This time, you listen.

And despite the lack of a comfy bed, you drift into the most peaceful sleep you’ve had in a while with Poe by your side.

—

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#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader

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