23 // Requests are open — writing reader inserts, headcanons, and ships for anyone in the Star Wars universe :) Please note this is my side blog- I follow from my main!
rating and warnings: rated t for injuries/burns, poe is worried that you're going to get yourself killed but this is otherwise tame and mild
summary: “one of these days, i’m not going to be fast enough. i’m not going to make it to you in time.”
notes: @poetic-solo wouldn't let me post this until she read it i'm a prisoner in my own home-
get notified when i post a new fic here *:･ﾟ✧:*
There’s a dull ache on your right side that starts to pull you from your sleep. You instantly know that you’re in your bed—you can hear the soft hum of the fan you insist on keeping in the bedroom. But it’s otherwise silent throughout your quarters, save for the rhythmic sounds of your own breathing.
You can’t open your eyes yet to confirm if you’re alone. You try, but they’re just so heavy and honestly, with the pain growing stronger, you want nothing more than to fall back asleep. The medicine running through your veins is wearing off, you’re sure.
This isn’t the first time you’ve woken up. You know enough to know that you’re hurt, and you also know that you won’t have to suffer through the pain long. Poe will be around shortly with another round of meds and bacta from the infirmary.
But you can’t remember what landed you in this position, not exactly at least. You’d been flying low on a planet in the outer rim when a swarm of pirates surrounded the squadron, and you’d been grossly outnumbered. The dogfight that ensued was mostly blurry at this point. You only know that you’ve been confined to your own bed and reliant on drugs to ease your pain for…you’re not even sure how long, really.
More time passes as you try and try to pull anything from your memories, any little crumb that might be tucked away.
The pain is getting worse, turning from a dull ache to a raging fire. It distracts you, keeps you from reaching those locked away thoughts. A cry catches in the back of your throat and you can finally open your eyes.
Poe is sitting at the very end of the bed with a syringe in hand, ready to push it through your IV like the medic taught him. But he doesn’t move. He’s just watching you, a deep frown etched into his handsome features. You’re sure you are wearing one to match.
You’re both quiet—it’s obvious that there’s something on his mind, something he needs to say, and you’re not sure if you want to hear it. He’s never looked so upset with you, borderline heartbroken. Suddenly any pain you were in didn’t come close to what was moving through his big brown eyes. It couldn’t even compare.
He breaks the silence first.
“One of these days,” he starts, his voice cracking, shattering you further. “I’m not going to be fast enough. I’m not going to make it to you in time.”
The pain is tearing through your side now, but that’s not what brings tears to your eyes. “Poe-”
“I thought you were dead. You were on fire when I pulled you-”
It’s slowly starting to come back to you. Five ships, all larger than your X-Wings, all locked on Poe. Jumping in front of him, putting yourself between him and the danger and taking them out one by one. The two fighters that had been tracking you that you never saw shoot. Crashing to the ground, everything erupting around you.
You remember the heat. You remember feeling it creep closer and closer as you dangled in your seat, hanging upside down by your seatbelt. You remember when the flames first licked at your skin. The way that you screamed.
And then you were flat on your back, and the fire had stopped spreading but Maker did it still burn where it had already charred your skin. You remember Poe’s voice, frantic and full of panic, even louder than it is now.
“-and you’re not even listening to me!”
Poe never raises his voice at you, never at you. It catches you off guard. You want that medicine more than ever. The way he’s looking at you makes you want to melt into the sheets.
“I was just trying to keep you safe,” you whisper quietly, sounding almost broken. Your bottom lip trembles and you can see Poe’s shoulders sag as some of the fight leaves his body—he’s not mad at you, not really. He’s just scared, and he’s not used to feeling this way.
“You cannot risk yourself like that for me.” His voice is low, still dripping with a bit of anger that you’re trying not to let sting. “Not again. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought I’d have to carry your body home.”
He’s right. It wasn’t the first time. But-
“You can’t expect me to sit there and watch you get taken out when I can do something about it.”
“I can’t watch you die-”
“Tell me you wouldn’t do the same for me and I’ll stop. Tell me that you don’t.”
Poe goes silent. He knows he can’t tell you that truthfully. You know it too, and you dare him to lie to you.
But he never says anything, and you’re too heated to let the moment fade.
“Do you really think I haven’t noticed how you’ve assigned me the perfect spot in formation for you to always cut in front of me when we’re under attack?”
“You’re my second, of course that’s where I’m going to put-”
“No, don’t blame it on ranks. You know that’s not what it is, you know that if Jess or Snap or-”
“I’m your Commander,” he finally snaps, effectively cutting you off and holding your gaze steady, begging you to fold first. “It’s my job to make sure you make it home.”
“I don’t give a damn if you’re the General, you’re my husband first,” you counter immediately, refusing to be the one to back down. “We made a commitment to each other.”
Poe sighs, exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. But you’re not done.
“And if you do want to put it all on rankings, yeah, you are my Commander. And it’s my job to keep your six so you don’t end up dead. Or worse.”
Poe doesn’t ask what you mean, he already knows. You’re the only person besides Leia he’s confided in about his time on the Finalizer, the torture he’d endured under Kylo’s hand. You are the only person who has heard him scream in the middle of the night, the only one he lets hold him when he falls into a panic attack and cries. The only one who is able to remind him he’s safe and not having his mind torn apart, because his fucking panic attacks feel like Kylo’s digging through his brain.
You’re not sure there’s middle ground for you here. You tell him as much.
“I can’t do what you’re asking me to do, baby,” you mumble. “I can’t sit back and watch you get killed.”
He’s still quiet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He knows he’s being a hypocrite. He knows he would face a firing squad for you any day of the week.
But he still fucking hates it, so he hangs his head and sighs to let you know as much. But he doesn’t push, for once he doesn’t become insufferable until he gets what he wants.
The pain in your side flares, and another whimper tries to escape you at the random surge that shoots through you. Your discomfort seems to kick Poe into action.
“Here baby, I’ll make it go away,” he whispers gently, pushing himself up from his seat. He pulls the cap off the syringe as he walks to you, tapping out the air bubbles like he’d seen the medic do. He pushes the medicine through your IV port slowly, knowing he doesn’t have long before you’re pulled back into unconsciousness. He sets the syringe back down once it’s empty and pushes his fingers through your hair.
“Will you stay?” you mumble, reaching for his free hand, wanting nothing more than to intertwine your fingers with his.
He nods, locking your hands together, eight fingers crossed. “Baby, I haven’t left.”
You’re under again within a minute or two, pulled back into the darkness where nothing hurts and you can rest. Poe waits until you’re unconscious to apply the bacta to your side, his fingers gentle against your melted skin that’s looking better and better by the day.
warnings: porn with really no plot, alcohol consumption (and poe's kind of pushing it without really pushing it), rough sex, idk nothing special it's just drunk sex with your boyfriend after you leave a shitty bar for the night, i use “fuck” a lot because “kriff” just wasn’t hitting the way i needed it to
notes: happy may the fourth babies<3 i haven't written for my man in years but here he is
It’s rare that you find yourself able to step away from the fast paced, chaotic world this never ending war has brought upon the galaxy. You hardly have a moment to breathe before jumping from one mission onto the next.
Not that you mind, of course you don’t mind. You knew what you were signing up for when you joined the Resistance.
So of course you look a little out of place when you wind up with a night off after another successful mission and end up at a questionable bar with your comrades. The music is loud but so different from rapid gunfire, and it’s dark but not like the endless galaxy outside of your X-Wing. The stimuli are so completely unfamiliar while harboring traits you should be accustomed to.
One thing that you think will always be familiar, however, is Poe.
He looks relaxed. Sure of himself. Confident. You know better than to believe that the man never feels nervous or out of place like you’re feeling now, though he could’ve fooled you—he always seems so stoic, so sure, even when he has to fake it.
But you know that he’s not faking it now. He really is just relaxed, taking the full opportunity of a night away from the Resistance and the Order to let himself be. The crowd doesn’t bother him, the burn of alcohol sliding down his throat isn’t as foreign to him. He looks as comfortable here as he does when he’s flying.
And it’s hot. You have to fucking admit, you find it so hot.
Maybe it’s the shot (two?) that he’s ordered for you, maybe it’s leftover adrenaline, you’re not sure. You think it could be because he’s just…hot. You’re allowed to objectify your boyfriend, right? It feels like you’re objectifying him. Oh Maker are you-
“How many shots is it going to take to loosen you up, baby?”
His voice shocks you out of your thoughts. Your eyes flash towards him and fuck, the way he’s looking at you-
“Are you trying to get me drunk, General?”
“Maybe.” He says it so nonchalantly, like he’s not doing something kind of questionable, something that should’ve been a red flag for you.
But it’s Poe. You trust Poe.
He clears his throat when you don’t answer and your attention is brought back to his infuriatingly handsome face. He’s always handsome, Gods he is so so good looking but the alcohol has you wanting to crawl into his lap and wrap your legs around his middle while he tangles a hand into the back of your hair and you wonder if you’d be able to taste traces of booze-
You had to have made a face. Had to have. Poe looks amused and he’s chuckling, watching you with that certain fondness in his stupid brown eyes that he only has for you.
“Can we get a third?” Poe asks the bartender (so it was two) as they make their round.
You laugh quietly under your breath, cheeks warming just a bit. “So you are trying to get me drunk.”
“No baby,” he hums, easily slipping his arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his side. His body feels like it's on fire, he’s always so warm and inviting and sturdy. You’re able to release some of the tension that seems ever present in your body when he’s holding you. “I’m just tryin’ to get you to relax is all.”
“That so?” you hum, allowing your hand to inch its way under his shirt so you can gently touch the small of his back, craving skin to skin. He shivers.
Poe only hums, his smile turning into more of a smirk as two shots are placed down in front of him. He slides yours across the bar towards you, raising the small glass to his lips just as you did, timing his shot so you take them together. You’re getting used to the burn, but it still causes you to pull a face. Poe however, looks completely unphased by the scorching liquid sliding down his throat.
And he missed a drop. It’s rolling down his neck, mingling with leftover sweat and oh no, oh no. You want to catch it for him before it dries and turns his skin sticky. You want to lean forward and lick the column of his throat and relish in that sweet and salty taste on your tongue that could only belong to him, you want-
You let your thoughts run wild for a moment, and again you would probably feel bad about some of the things you’re thinking but he’s your boyfriend, it has to be okay.
When that shot hits your bloodstream and that drop is still near his collarbone, you indulge in those not so innocent thoughts.
You lean forward and grip the edge of his shirt gently, tugging it to the side, just enough to expose more of his collarbone to you. Poe watches with curious eyes and a tilt of his head, lips pursed, and he’s about to ask what you’re doing when your tongue hits his warm skin and his words dissolve into the quietest of moans. You gently lap at the spot, only soaking his skin further and when you finally give him a little bite, let your teeth graze against his skin, he loses it.
He’s the first to pull away, keeping his hands on your waist, eyes dark and locked on yours. You glance at him, looking him up and down once, twice, and you don’t remember his pants being so tight when you’d walked into the bar.
“What are you trying to do baby?” he husks, voice strangled, trying to control his desire and failing miserably.
You shrug, trying to keep it innocent. “I was just trying to clean you up.”
His mouth falls slack, just a little, and his pupils are completely blown. He licks his lips and what should’ve been such a simple action isn’t. His wet tongue peeking out of his mouth, running along his bottom lip…you’re struggling to keep your composure, just like him. You still don’t have the upper hand.
And Poe notices. Oh, of course he notices.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about honey.”
He perches his elbow on the bar, tilting his head to the side as he regards you carefully, intent to hang onto your every word.
But your words escape you. Completely escape you. He’s winning this game of cat and mouse and he knows it.
He’s sure another round will get you talking, so he orders you each your fourth. You reach for the glass to throw it back but Poe stops you, easily plucking it from your fingers.
“C’mere,” he purrs, leaving his own glass on the counter as he grabs your chin and forces your head back. You open your mouth without him needing to ask, without needing to even think about it really.
It’s so interesting, how you obey him even when there’s no verbal command given.
Poe brings the glass to your lips and slowly starts to tip it back, letting the stinging liquid flow down your throat slowly this time, prolonging the burn. Once you’ve finished the shot, Poe moves his grip from your jaw to the hair at the back of your neck and he pulls, bringing your lips crashing onto his. He smirks into it when your hands meet the tops of his thighs, and he thinks he’s finally going to get you into his lap so he can discreetly grind against your ass while you makeout at the bar.
But you dig your nails into his skin instead, pausing again, holding still.
He groans quietly in the back of his throat and pulls away, just enough for him to look into your eyes, the furrow between his brows prominent.
You’re smiling, just a little bit, cheeks flushed and eyes a little wild. You lick your lips before you speak. “If we start this here I don’t think I’d be able to stop you from bending me over the counter in front of everyone.”
Poe tilts his head, as if he’s considering how right you actually are when the reality is, yeah, he knows he would. If he could get away with it, if he was on a planet where nobody knew his name, he would.
“So?” he asks, unable to keep the amusement off his face and the little bit of humor out of his tone. “You’re saying you don’t want everyone to watch you get split open on my cock?”
You hit his chest, attempting to chastise him for his vulgar words but he’s said worse, and you don’t actually hate it. Poe just laughs because he knows as much.
“Fine, fine,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he runs his hands up your thighs, fingers grabbing onto your hips. “Then why don’t we get out of here before that happens, hm?”
You don’t need him to ask twice. You’re just as eager to get him somewhere quiet and alone.
Poe throws a handful of credits, enough to pay for your drinks and probably more, down on the counter before standing with you. He reaches for his last shot, still untouched on the counter in front of him, and throws it back. He doesn’t even flinch, again, and his hand immediately falls to your lower back as he starts to guide you through the busy bar. Nobody looks your way, nobody pays attention because this isn’t anything new. Poe’s only been going home with you for a long time now.
You’d already reserved quarters for the evening, knowing you wouldn’t want to fly back to base after getting hammered. The room isn’t anything fancy, but it’s clean and the bed is softer than anything you’ve laid on in years. Poe doesn’t even worry about taking off your clothes before he’s pushing you down onto it.
He kisses you and somehow his lips are even more frantic than they had been at the bar only ten minutes before. He moans as he licks into your mouth, familiar and warm, bringing one hand up to cup your jaw and keep you still for him. You’re completely pliant underneath him while he kisses your breath away, letting him take the lead.
His lips break away from yours though, sooner than you’d like, and you whine but it’s quickly replaced by a sharp gasp when he nips your collarbone. He closes his lips around your skin, sucking gently at first but then you can feel his teeth start to sink in. When he pulls back, he traces the small, red bruise with the tip of his finger.
“That’s for not letting everyone watch,” he teases gently, his smirk playful. “I thought it would be a good reminder, but this will have to do.”
“Mm, I don’t think anyone really needs a reminder,” you chuckle. You can’t help but dissolve into a quiet laugh, but the sound is cut short when Poe kisses you again.
This time, he doesn’t pull away. Not until you’re panting and writhing underneath him, lips glossy and swollen, eyes glazed. His cock is so hard in his pants, it’s a surprise the zipper didn’t bust. You rub your thighs together, trying to clench just right so you find some sort of relief. You’re both more than ready, just from a little kissing and what you’d call foreplay at the bar.
You’re pretty sure Poe Dameron could look at you a certain way and you’d be ready, though. The thought makes you laugh again as he grabs your hips and easily flips you onto your stomach, dragging your hips up and back until your ass meets his clothed dick. He doesn’t ask you why you’re laughing, too preoccupied with tugging your pants down from your waist to your thighs, and just like before the sound is cut short again, replaced with a sharp gasp and a moan as his hand falls to your ass in a stinging slap.
He smacks your ass a second time before you hear the soft clanking of metal, and you know he’s undoing his belt. You bite your lip in anticipation as you feel him notch the tip of his cock at your entrance, but he doesn’t push into you any further than that, not yet. He wants to hear you whine for it.
And you do. You whine and you moan quietly and try to push yourself back onto him, but he doesn’t let you. Poe sighs, feigning disappointment, and not a second later you feel his hand wrap around your neck and he’s pulling, pulling you up until your back meets his chest and his lips land at the shell of your ear, his breath hot and heavy.
“So kriffing needy,” he hums as he finally slips all of the way inside of your tight body. “So warm, and so kriffing, kriff-”
“I think you might be the needy one,” you whimper, turning your face to glance at him over your shoulder, except he never lets you, his fingers around your neck holding you effectively in place.
Poe huffs, drawing his hips back before snapping them forward again, just once. Just to give you a taste. “I think you might want to hold onto something before I blow your back out.”
Except he never lets you do that either, not before he’s started a relentless pace against you, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust and you wonder briefly if he actually could blow your back out like this. You wouldn’t be surprised. He’s almost brutal, the way he fucks you but it’s exactly how you want it. Rough, fast, heated. You want to be completely surrounded by him.
“That’s it baby, just take it. Just take it.”
He has one arm wrapped tightly around your middle to keep you upright and close while his hand that had previously been around your neck drifts down to the hem of your shirt. He tugs the fabric over your head with as little difficulty as he can manage, bra coming with it, pace never changing. He watches your tits bounce over your shoulder as he fucks into you from behind, fingers slipping down to play with your clit.
Your eyes roll back as he plucks pleasure from your body with each little stroke of his fingers and the delicious drag of his cock inside of you. His moans in your ear shoot straight to your pussy each and every time, and you feel like you can’t breathe. He’s fucking you so thoroughly, so deeply you feel like you can feel him in your throat.
It’s quick, and it’s exactly how you need it. It’s not a night full of pleasure and cumming your brains out until you’re so cock drunk you can’t remember your own name, although you can’t seem to think of anything other than his. Or say anything for that matter.
He rubs your clit faster, applying just a little more pressure as he angles his hips up, bullying that spot inside of you over and over again.
“Kriff, baby, come on,” he moans, tongue swiping out to lick along your ear. “I’m gonna cum, I need you to cum too.”
You’re so close. Right on the edge of falling into oblivion but you just can’t quite get there. A little cry escapes your throat, one that makes a growl tear from Poe’s.
He collapses forward suddenly, caging you in under his body as he continues to rut himself into, chasing both his and your release like it’s the most important mission he’s ever completed. It’s then, once you are actually completely surrounded by him that you let go.
You’re not sure if the sounds leaving your body are moans or screams or some combination of both. Your hearing fades and your vision turns stark white behind your eyelids. You’re not sure how long you stay there, suspended in absolute bliss before he lets you come down, slowly slowly slowly, fingers still playing with your clit as he finally stills inside of you. You can feel Poe’s warm cum leaking out around him and dripping down onto the mattress below.
His lips are still at your ear, and you let yourself focus on the sound of his breathing as you try to remember how to do so properly. You’re covered in sweat, but so is he, and your limbs feel like they weigh twice as much as usual. It’s so hard to move, and you don’t want to. You want to stay in this little bubble, trapped underneath him where all you have to do is lay there and take it like he tells you.
You let yourself live in that little daydream as Poe settles on top of you, too tired himself to even pull out or roll over but you don’t mind. Not at all.
Taylor wrote an album about navigating the pressures of being a career woman in a society that says it’s over telling women that their place is to be a wife and a mother but still do it anyway just not as blatantly
marc spector x reader, mentions of steven grant x reader and jake lockley x reader
word count: 2.8k
warnings: smut smut smut, p in v sex, dirty talk, light choking, light degradation, light exhibitionism.
You’ll be the first to admit it — Christmas Eve in New York really does hold a special kind of magic. It’s cliche, it’s something that the protagonist in every Hallmark Christmas movie to ever exist has to say at least once but it’s true. The city in December makes you feel like a kid again in the middle of bustling concrete and 9 to 5 routines.
The frigid air, the twinkling lights hanging from every building and the festive decorations lining the sidewalk in front of your favorite shops and cafes. The music, the smell of fresh baked cookies or cinnamon rolls or hot cocoa at midnight because you have to have something sweet before bed.
jake lockley x reader (mentions of marc x reader and steven x reader)
word count: 2.7k+
excerpt: “he knows what’s next, he’s watched you on your knees for marc and steven both, committing your face to memory so he can recall it when he’s by himself with his hand wrapped around-”
warnings: smut smut smut, jake losing his virginity. oral, male receiving. p in v sex. reader calls him papi once.
Jake’s kissing you. His lips are chapped and somehow, he tastes different from Marc or Steven. He tastes like cinnamon, like spice and something else you can’t quite place but it’s just so Jake. So entirely Jake.
His hands are on your hips, fingers tight, nails leaving little crescent shaped indents like the ones Marc wears on his chest. You know you’ll have bruises in their place when you wake in the morning and examine yourself in the bathroom mirror, you know that Steven will fret and Marc will take Jake’s marks as a challenge.
He’s so sure in the way that he kisses, so confident in the way that he lets his hands slide up your body until he has your waist trapped between his hands. His grip isn’t any tighter, not really, but you feel more secure this way and Jake has more control over the way you move against him. He lays down, his back flush against the mattress and lips never leaving yours as you settle against his chest and become even more lost in him.
Jake leaving notes about fucking you for the other two to find before they know about him…
oh my fucking god oh my fucking god??? this is gonna get a little dark so tw dubious consent but like
he doesn’t leave notes the first several times, doesn’t want to give himself away too quickly and you honestly think it’s marc. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t really even moan and you think he’s just had a really bad day and just wants to fuck you into the mattress to forget about his problems and you love him so of course, you let him. this goes on for months and honestly you don’t think much of it because it’s just sex with your boyfriend. you might mention it one time, like maybe you ask him why he doesn’t always moan because he’s always been vocal in bed, and when it really is marc he’s still that way so he’s totally confused by your question but he doesn’t show it. he just shrugs and mumbles something you don’t really understand and stores it away in his brain for steven after his nap, but ultimately he forgets to ask
i think steven actually finds the first note. he doesn’t recognize the handwriting and it makes him panic immediately. marc read it at the same time and his panic is just as strong but it leaves him frozen because he suddenly remembers what you’d asked him. he can’t bring himself to say a damn thing as steven tries to talk to him, as steven tries to figure out what the fuck is going on. marc is just silent. and steven anxiously waits for you to get home so he can ask you a million questions all at once, he doesn’t show you the note but he has to because he knows his words aren’t making sense. after you read it you’re of course freaked out but you’re trying to rationalize it. you’re like “baby no one else has been in the apartment” and he’s like “are you sure?” and you just try your best to keep him calm, to console him because honestly he’s more shaken up than you are. and marc is still just silent. he can’t bring himself to say anything, can’t bring himself to front for a long time because honestly? he’s figured out there’s another alter and he’s blaming himself for everything.
so you don’t see marc for a while. and when jake’s fucking you in the bed you share with the other two boys, you still think it’s marc but now you’re hurt because you’re left wondering why you only get him in these fleeting moments. why he can’t even be bothered to say your name during sex anymore.
and then jake leaves a second note. you’re the one to find it and this is the one that makes it click for you, that makes you realize that you’re definitely not fucking marc like you’ve thought all these months. of course you show it to steven and he figures out there’s another alter as quickly as you did after reading it, and you both beg to talk to marc but marc still can’t face either of you. it’s to the point where some days, steven’s worried that marc’s disappeared and honestly, you fear the same.
the next time jake fronts, you confront him. and oh god i feel like i need to actually fucking write this holy fucking shit
an au in which poe is a creative writing professor who doesn’t think love exists outside of words on a page *:･ﾟ✧:*
word count: 3k
warnings: Mentions of sex but no smut in this one/: Next one tho I swear
[ s e r i e s m a s t e r l i s t ]
Class starts at two Monday afternoon and you only arrive on time after sprinting across campus. You make it with just a few minutes to spare and of course he’s there when you walk into the crowded lecture hall with roused hair and flushed cheeks, but his nose is buried into his laptop and he doesn’t look your way as you steal an empty seat in the middle of the room.
But his lack of attention isn’t something you’re going to dwell on by any means. Not at all. You’re hoping you can get away with being just another name on his roster, just another face in the crowd as cliche as it sounds.
It’s a large class, you’re sure if you just keep your head down he won’t even notice you’re there. You’ve had more than one professor who never bothered with names, who never facilitated class discussions and simply stuck to powerpoint slides and lengthy handouts instead — hopefully you’ll be able to add him to that list of teachers no matter how subpar they really are.
April Fool’s Day is in a few days, and I just wanted to make this clear. This blog is safe, and I can promise you no screamers, nothing emotionally abusive, no fake posts, and nothing to intentionally trigger dissociation. You are safe here.
Hi everyone! My name is Caitlin and you are being invited to participate in a research study about socialization and video game habits that is being conducted at Boston University College of Communication. This study has been approved by the Boston University IRB.
Participation is completely voluntary and your information will remain confidential. In order to participate, you will answer a questionnaire that asks you to reflect on your video game play habits, media consumption habits, and emotional state since the beginning of the COVID19 pandemic during the past year. Participation will take approximately 20 minutes. Please note that sensitive topics that may be triggering for some regarding mental health will be discussed.
Participants will be eligible to enter a raffle for a $25 Amazon gift card. If you would like to participate, please see the link to the questionnaire here https://bostonu.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_3KIlaxKySUsShWS.
Thank you for your time. If you have any questions or concerns please feel free to contact me by email at [email protected] or Kelsey Prena at [email protected]. Thank you!
Warnings: Santi gets spaaaaanked, that’s really it
Santi’s cheeks are bright red. He’s standing at the edge of the bed, twisting his fingers together nervously as he stares down at the duvet with complete focus just to give himself something to stare at. His stomach is flipping, over and over again and he can’t understand why he’s so goddamn anxious.
He’s been wanting to try this for so long, always so hesitant to bring it up but when you’d jokingly mentioned it last week, Santi hadn’t been able to stop himself from blushing. You’d asked him if it was something he’d be interested in doing, and the near maroon shade that covered his cheeks had been answer enough.
So for years black girls have had to read fanfics where y/n was automatically described as being paled skinned with long flowing hair and blue eyes. We couldn’t relate to it exactly, it excluded us, it ignored us. But we read it cause it was all that was out there. Now when we start writing fanfics for other black girls to feel included and represented, now you all are saying that you ‘‘can’t relate to it” therefore don’t support black writers when we were supporting your work all those years even though you were acting like we don’t exist within these fandoms.
It’s incredibly frustrating because I’ll be reading about the characters turning shades of pink and I’m like. I don’t turn pink. Black people don’t blush. If this is suppose to be reader insert why the hell is it saying that? I don’t have blue eyes or flowing hair? The actual heck.
Bruh don’t get me started, we’ve come a long way but why are ppl complaining when we got something to ourselves? Jeez. You have trillions of stuff, let us have our own.
warnings: rough sex, choking/breath play, blood kink, other mentions of blood, age gap, p in v sex, uhhhh i probably said a bad word somewhere idk
a/n: another series??? sure but also i couldn’t look at this anymore so pls accept my sincerest apologies (and typos) i’ll edit later i just want it oUT
[ s e r i e s m a s t e r l i s t ]
It’s not the kind of meeting you’re going to tell your kids about. No, not at all.
It’s a quick glance across a crowded bar, eyes immediately locking with the other’s but it’s not love at first sight either. It’s quick, it’s dirty, and it’s dark — he has the kind of eyes you could imagine yourself getting lost in as you stare at them on top of you, with his hips moving against yours and his tongue licking sweat from your collarbone.
A distraction. Meeting him seems like an open invitation for distraction and you’d be lying to yourself if you said it wasn’t one that you needed.
And apparently he’s welcoming a distraction as well, because it doesn’t take him very long at all to wag his finger at you, beckoning you closer. You know he’s looking at you, asking for you but you still tilt your head, anxiety rooting you to the spot as you question him — you just need to be sure. Absolutely, completely one hundred percent sure.
