Summary: Steven provides you solace in a world full of chaos.
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: Angst again, don’t be fooled by the first half of this piece, it’s ANGST.
A/N: Okay so I have some knowledge on DID because I’ve been reading up about it for years now and have been closely following a youtuber diagnosed with it. But I did read more about it while writing this but am still not so sure on the accuracy so if by any chance you have DID or know someone who has, please let me know if this is, in any way, offensive or just plain wrong and I’ll take this down. Would appreciate some feedback too!!!
Peace and quiet rarely came after having been beside Marc for a long time. It wasn’t easy being on the run for years— in search of another relic cursed by another Egyptian deity or running after deranged men obsessed with world domination, fighting for your life and Marc’s altogether or protecting Steven.
You were so used to the chaos that a little rest felt so foreign. Ironically, it was the peace that kept you awake on a beautiful night in Cairo.
Hopping out of the bed, you grabbed your jacket and headed to the rooftop of the apartment building you were staying at. It was off limits for safety reasons, given that the building was quite old. But it also had the best view of the city.
Word Count / Rating: 3.7k / T or M (call it PG14?)
Warnings: Alcohol, language, mentions of canon-typical violence, Adrian is bad at expressing emotions (but he gets there).very unbeta’d
Summary:You’re trying to drown out a bad week at the bar. The last person you expect to see finds you there.
A/N:So I binged Peacemaker and now I’m in love with Adrian. Don’t be surprised if I write more for him lol
It’s been a long week. You’re exhausted and while nothing sounds better than curling up in bed and sleeping forever,your mind won’t quiet long enough to let that happen. So instead you’re here, at the bar, trying to drink your thoughts into silence. It’s not going well. If anything the alcohol is only making them louder. Another might do the trick though.
You flag down the bartender for another drink. Logically you know you should stop, but if this guy isn’t going to cut you off, who are you to say no to another long island? Tomorrow is a mission-free day anyway.
Warnings: !!spoilers!!, some fluff!!, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, oral (m&f receiving), cum eating, vaginal fingering, face sitting, slight praise kink, mentions of violence/death, (lmk if I missed anything please!!)
a/n: not too proud abt this one but oh well hope you enjoy!!! thank you for your patience!
The funeral is drab, and the weather even worse. The crowd is a swath of black—solemn faces of the mayor’s colleagues and bitter contempt of the public who emerged to pay homage, or to spit on the mayor’s casket. You can’t blame them for that. You’d rather mingle with the crowd than be standing on the smooth steps of the town hall—scrutinized for whatever the public assumes you’ve done wrong.
Your mother is a tipping point—you love her, you really do, but Christshe’soverwhelming. Swarmed by cameras, gaudy public statements and hounded by media is not your cup of tea. Senator Nahdi thrives in it. It’s a good thing your parents all but scrubbed away your existence—different last name, no sight of you on campaigns or honorable mentions—a ghost. If anything, you’re mistaken as her assistant and not as her daughter.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Blood, Violence, Guddling, unprotected Piv, Cigarette smoking, a Scottish Jake Lockley, an American writing Britishisms, Titanic references, and a pervy douche named Royce.
Summary: Jake Lockley is your driver, escorting you safely in your nighttime travels. There’s something about him. Tonight, you’re going to find out what that something is.
Word Count: 7.5K
A/N:If I tagged you in this, it’s no pressure, feel free to ignore. Love you.
Shoutout to @laters-gators for proofreading and idea bouncing and to @samsspade for so many many Jake HCs and for this lovely moodboard:
You hate the nights he doesn’t show up. The strange cabs the service sends don’t smell as good as his and his absence always leaves you wondering where the hell he could be so late at night. What other waitresses or late night women is he playing guardian angel to?
You can’t figure him out. When he does decide to pick you up, he always arrives a few minutes before you clock out for the night. The fare he charges is obscenely low. You can see on his dash that the ticker always says at least twice what he tells you. He’s quiet, stoic, and polite- if not a tad gruff. Something glimmers under the surface of him and the first time you got in his cab you had the SOS button of your phone locked and loaded. But now… now he’s just “Jake”. Your driver.
He’s been outside for over 5 cigs, leaning against his car, leather jacket lapels pulled up around his neck, lighting the next one with the butt of the last. His black cab is bathed in the yellow slufuric street lamp, puffs of smoke rise out of him, mingling with the London fog.
You’re usually off by now, and you would be if you weren’t training the new hire, Royce. The till is off, but that’s more Annie’s problem than it is yours and you sneak peeks to check if Jake is still waiting for you. He’s framed by the white fairy lights that line the front window of the restaurant. Cig 6 has made an appearance. He doesn’t seem agitated, and in a way, bathed in the light he looks like that golden statue bloke from Trafalgar square. You roll up another bale of silverware and he catches your eye and salutes you with his cig hand. You give him a little wave and spread your hand wide and mouth “5 minutes”. He gives one short nod and looks ahead again.
Warnings: *looks you dead in the eyes* Bitch if you only knew how long this has been in my drafts. Nearly two thousand words of cunnilingus, piv, one tickle fight, alien alcohol consumption, mixed metaphors, and the projection of sexual/emotional desires onto the best pilot in the resistance 18+ ONLY.
Summary: Idiots in love. You’re the idiot, mainly. You happen to hear something quite salacious about your bestie. And oooh boy, are you awful at keeping your shit together.
Word Count: 15.7K
There are some things you can’t unhear. Tidbits of information that just fuck your whole day up with the implications. Specific ideas or mental images, solicited or not, that take form in your brain and proceed to run through your mind like a fathier on a racetrack. Oh Maker, you wish you could unhear this conversation. Because you know, you knowafter hearing all that… you’ll never be able to look at Poe Dameron the same way again. At least not for a long, longtime.
You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You really didn’t. You were in the stall peeing, minding your own business for Maker’s sake and they just happened to come in and have this conversation. This was on them, not on you. What were you supposed to do? Cover your ears and hum to yourself? Bolt out of the toilet without washing your hands?
You were just having a normal, routine, piss in the cantina bathroom- spotchka going right through you, as per usual… and that’s when you heard them. Maker, you wish you’d never heard them.
Pairing: General Poe Dameron x Female reader Rating:Mature Word count: 8k Warnings: mutual pining, yearning, mentions of death, mentions of past relationships, mentions of sex, language, clowns trying not to be in love with each other. A/N:The reader in this fic has the nickname ‘Stitch’ which was given to her to Poe. The name will make so much more sense when the backstory arrives… And it has no connection to that Disney character. This is a repost of the original chapter because Tumblr decided to refuse to put it in the tags. Apologies for the amount of times you’ve seen this on your dash today!
Your boots pound over the uneven terrain of Ajan Kloss as you trudge your way towards one of the newly built rooms on the base. You’re heading in the opposite direction of the ship that you are supposed to be leaving on, and with each step you take, your teeth press tighter together: the expression on your face matches the thunderous stomps of your feet. You’re already suited and booted for take-off, and you know what this is about—you know exactly what’s coming, and you carry the tension heavily in your jaw. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and you know for a fact that it isn’t going to be the last. By now, you should expect it. Yet, somehow, it still enrages you as you turn the next corner.
The walk is supposed to calm you down, but it doesn’t. Your fingers clench themselves into fists at your sides the more you think about it, and when you finally reach the door, you pause, taking a few slow breaths of the humid, jungle air.
How dare he? How fucking dare he?
Because he’s the General. That’s how. And even when you don’t agree with his decisions, you have no choice but to respect them.
Leia would never have done this without good reason.
You know that it’s unfair to compare them, as many others do, but it comes so naturally in moments like this. The familiar ache hangs in your chest, a lingering reminder of someone that could never be replaced. Leia Organa had led with such strength and compassion: she always seemed to know what to do and carried all of her decisions with an air of grace that made leading look so easy. But she had also led with fairness and, despite everything that came out of Poe Dameron’s mouth to make it sound as though he was trying to follow in her footsteps, his actions sometimes said otherwise.
Drawing in your final, calming breath, you let it out slowly and unclench your hands so that you can key in the code for the door and listen to it hiss open.
