#thread: space station

[constable]

[[ semi-plotted starter for @admiralchristopherpike

Despite his extensive worries and his initial determination to only allow one Star Fleet representative aboard his station, Odo had, eventually, relented and allowed a small delegation. That had been several weeks ago, and he'd been surprised to find that the members of the delegation had no idea who he was. They also seemed to lack any knowledge of or ingrained negative reaction to the Dominion, though several had been able to pull up information when they looked and had seemed concerned by what they found. Several more had reacted negatively to their first glimpse of natural shapeshifting. Those individuals had been swiftly uninvited, but others had come, and though this didn’t surprise him, very few of them kept their opinions to themselves. Which was how Odo had ended up speaking to Captain Pike.

"In the last four days, Captain, my people have been forced to arrest eight of your crew members. In the previous four years, only nine visitors have ended up in a similar position. I was very clear, when you first contacted us, that interference in our laws or customs would not be permitted. Many of my family would now like to revoke what few privileges I have granted. What would you have me tell them?"

[hxneylavendxr]

wow that's an interesting take, anonymous m-robot

[nettlestingsoup]

hiii morgan! hope you're having a lovely day! 2, 6, 10, 16, 17 and 20 for the asks? <3

hi honey! it's hectic! as the run-up to christmas always is! but it's good!

2: the light from uncommon stars by ryka aoki! it's wlw sci-fi with curses, violin prodigies, and donuts? it sounds wild, i'm excited to read it!

6: i'm currently reading the grandmaster of demonic cultivation series (the novels that were adapted into the c-drama the untamed) and honestly they're hilarious? the protagonist can be so dramatic and he's kind of an idiot despite being very smart.

10: oh that's hard. probably enemies to friends to lovers. i just love the rivalry turned to sweetness.

16: highest word count... let me check. yup, as i expected, it's the orchid! the fic i intended to be short... it's a sci-fi adventure romance between chan, who works on cargo freighters flying in and out of the Rinan Cluster (a vast, century-old collection of ships and shuttles linked together by walkways and corridors and airlocks) and hyunjin, who's worked in a high-class pleasure house within the Cluster known as The Flower Boat since he was in his late teens. it's about their lack of freedom and the way everything in their lives is stagnating and repeating, and their hope for something better, and about them eventually chasing it together! i'm editing it at the moment.

17: i've had a vague chansung idea for a while in which chan and jisung have recently broken up; but chan is a wizard (because i struggle to not write fantasy) and after months of not being able to get over jisung and stop regretting things, he attempts a spell to erase his own memories. this is interrupted by jisung, showing up at his door to drop off the last of his things, and both of them get pulled into a mini-universe of the shared memories of their relationship, allowing them to see key moments from one another's perspective. they begin to understand where things went wrong between them, and maybe how they could have fixed it; or how they'd do things differently if they tried again. it just has the vibe of like... maybe we could do better, and maybe we still love each other enough to try.

20: i don't know if inkin_brushes has a tumblr (i should check; if they do i can follow them and then stare wistfully at them and their incredible writing in the hopes they notice me) but i recently (today) found out they write for stray kids now and i am WILDLY excited! so yeah! inkin_brushes on ao3!

thank you for these! they were fun! i'm sorry i didn't ask you any back at the time, is it too late now? <3

[nyt1ba]

Hive Mind   &.  Connection to Naytibas.

PERSONALS DON'T REBLOG !

      The outcomes of the Naytiba experiments were always random and unexpected,   but one thing remained a constant was their possession of something similar to a Hive Mind,   an aspect of evolution the scientists of the Liberation Front intended,   made possible through bioelectricity,   using electrical currents to maximise the cells potential to fuse the subjects into a collective state of consciousness.  It was another step towards increasing humanity's defences,   being unable to use any means of communication during the war with Mother Sphere's ability in mind,   she would most likely be able to hack into comm links to track   &.   listen in to the Liberation's conversations.   It served as an organic way to communicate without the need to rely on further technology that would be used against them,   it also serves as a way to coordinate their forces on the battlefield.   It isn't a direct thought for thought communicate however,   the hive mind characteristics are similar to that of bees and other animals that posses this trait,   in which the entire group behaves as if they are controlled by a single mind and work collectively towards achieving a goal.   And just like the hive needs to have someone in charge to direct and guide towards their common goal,   it was Adam himself that was appointed that role,   given he was already considered as leader to the Liberation with his role as an administrator,   as well as the stability of his mutation at the time.   Indeed,   he was capable of ushering humans into a path of near victory until it would all fall apart.

   Due to desperation and lack of options,   the subjects released from their quarantine caused a massive outbreak,   made worse by the current instability of the latest experiment that created the Naytiba known as Malestorm.   It would soon spread to effect all humans                   Adam included when he was subjected to it in the capsules of the Abyss,   the heart of contamination.   The rapid evolution   &.   growing hostility that came as a result of the outbreak had somewhat damaged Adam's ability to order Naytibas,   for even when he became the elder,   his ability to retain his consciousness as it is put him on a different mind frame than the rest that is void of the same rage they had towards the Andro-Eidos,   he could try but it would be without effect.   Still,   It would seem he was able to have some level of control during the final war considering their organized attack to the orbit elevator and colony.   It was perhaps due to his own instability at the time when he first woke in the Abyss,   he possessed that same aggression,   made worse by the desire to avenge his fallen comrades.   He would no longer have that control after the war.

   Despite that apparent damage in connection with the Elder,   Naytibas still seem to have kept that hive mind way of thinking within their own territories as they are able to lure intruders and trap them through clever planning.   As for Adam,   he's still connected   &.   well in tune with the Naytibas.   Though he may no longer be able to order or influence them as before,   he can summon them in battle,   and recognizing that they are with a Naytiba they would fight alongside him.   Being connected to a collective consciousness,   he can sense their anger,   their suffering,   something he can feel distinctly when close to either of the leviours with all they had and still have to endure in the depths.   It's overwhelming,   unbearable on some days.   However,   that managed to help him gain sympathy towards the Andro-Eidos.   With some Naytibas evolving into what can be called as parasites,   they can fuse their bodies with machines and androids to control them according to their own will,   in that way tapping into the consciousness and becoming one with it.   The best examples of that are the Andro-Eidos that were abandoned by Mother Sphere in her escape from contamination to the colony.   They would eventually be attacked by the parasitic type Naytibas and fuse with them to become one entities.   They display similar feelings of hatred for being left behind,  made more destructive by Naytibas nature,   Adam can sense their despair,   anger,   he would grow compassionate to their suffering with time,   abandoning his own reservations towards the survivors after the war and seek to relieve them of their agony as well.

[luveline]

bombshell finds tickets to a russian movie thing sitting in spencer’s desk at work and they’re about to like run out (?) so she presents them to spencer and asks him on a date and pretends that she didn’t just pull them out of spencers desk in that bombshell way

You’re looking for gum. If Spencer were at his desk, you’d politely beg for a stick and he’d give it to you, but he’s not here, so you must search. 

You sit in his seat, slinking down as he does with poor posture, your kitten heels hitting the spine of a book kept under the desk. Your dress’ skirt rises up your thighs, the fabric at your neck pulls, but you have bigger problems. You’re feeling the weird franticness of unspent energy and only a stick of gum is gonna fix you. 

He has a drawer full of things, neatness traded for space. Blue and pink paper clips in an arrowhead shaped box. Push pins of all colours, their box more ordinary. He has a travel book on indigenous North American birds with stamps held between the pages, a plastic bottle cap, train stubs from Quantico to the station outside of his apartment and a bottle of ibuprofen missing half of its contents. 

Your fingers dig around for the familiar shape of a packet of gum, hesitating thoughtfully against the thread of a thicker cardstock. 

You pull a cream envelope from the desk and, perhaps wrongfully, unveil the contents: two tickets to see any Russian flick at the foreign language theatre free of charge (if you buy a large drink). They expire tonight. 

You press them to your chest and spin in Spencer’s chair without any regard for whoever might see you slouching. Across the office with his hair out of his face and a smile bordering lackadaisical stands your favourite. He even has a pencil in hand. He likes to underline things in the books he reads for your benefit. It’s the pencil that decides your next move. 

You stand up, brushing down your nice dress that he seems to like, a black cotton with thin pinstripes settling nicely just above your knees. You check your lipstick in the black reflection of his sleeping monitor, buzzing. 

He’s watching you when you turn back. You hide the tickets behind your hip and begin a light walk to his side, the chug of the printer a constant hum you can feel in your shoes. 

“What’s up?” he asks. 

You tilt your head toward your shoulder ever so slightly. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” He squints. “You’re acting strange.” 

“Suspicious,” you correct. 

“That, too.” 

“How come you let me hold your hand?” 

Spencer doesn’t hide his surprise at your question very well. His eyes turn deer in the headlights, then down to the printer. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

“When we first met, you wouldn’t shake my hand. And that’s okay,” —your smile is loving in the hope that he finds your question as the curiosity it is and not an interrogation— “I’m just wondering what changed.” 

“I was distracted.” He’s talking about the first time you took his hand, the two of you on the way to the office. “You stopped me from being late.” 

“Right, but I should’ve asked and I didn’t. And now we hold hands all the time.” You take a half step back. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, I’m just wondering.”

“Nobody’s held my hand in a really long time. And you’re mostly clean.” 

“Mostly!” you laugh, giving him a guilty smile. “I’m super clean, I just forget how gross door handles are sometimes.”

You have embarrassed him, in a way. It’s really not what you meant to do, not when you’re about to ask him on a date. 

Ever since you started your official position at the BAU, you and Spencer have grown closer, but there’s a difference between flirting because he’s lovely and flirting because you want him to be your boyfriend. (Not that he knows what you want.) You shouldn’t have started with the hand holding thing. 

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you go on a date with me?” You present him with the movie tickets. “Got these, they expire tonight…”

“Are those from my desk?” he asks, taking the tickets from you to look over closely. 

“I’d love to go with you, unless you’re gonna take someone else, which is fine.” You embarrass yourself a little, even though you’re not, hoping it makes up for the hand-holding investigation. “Yeah, they’re from your desk. Sorry. I really wanted a stick of gum, my– my nervous energy is through the roof today.” 

Spencer frowns at you again. “How come?” he asks softly. 

“I don’t know. It just happens sometimes.” 

And that’s nothing you’ve ever admitted to him. Your perfect mask is broken, and Spencer doesn’t look at you any differently. “Do you actually wanna go to the movies?” he asks. 

“Only if I’m not stealing you away from somebody else.” 

“There’s no one else.”

Spencer abruptly turns his attention to the printer, where he collects his copies and shuffles them into a straight, neat pile. 

You recover quickly, though inside your heart is a stuttering mess. “I should hope not,” you say. “Okay. Awesome. I’ll bring hand sanitiser and you can hold my hand through the previews.” 

[nouearth]

let me in.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter struggles to balance between life and work, and it's ruining his relationship with you.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: andrew!peter, college au, established relationship, brief fighting, brief injury and blood mention (nosebleed), misunderstandings, peter reveals his identity, dry-humping, over the pants (or suit) handjob, body worshipping, lots of sweat, fingering, frotting, riding, spandex fetish, reader has a thing for peter in his spider-man suit!

You were starting to feel antsy. You could feel it—the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation—a suspension of doubt—made your hands clammy at first, but it was the time that made your hands clutch nothing but air. You rubbed the sweat off your hands onto your pants, your knees not so comforting with their pointedness.

Acceptance—when it was evident that Peter was late, again.

Birthdays have never been a big deal in your family. Sure, it was great that you had the privilege to live another year. To witness yourself grow older, to stand a few inches taller, to live a little more knowledgeable than yesterday. But growing up with parents who had to constantly work, well-late into the depths of night, it had never been more than a birthday wish that had greeted you in the mornings, and bid you slumber in the evenings. Since then, you knew not to expect anything.

If only Peter hadn’t made such a big deal out of it this year.

“Excuse me?” The familiar timbre of a voice speared your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you were transfixed on the glasses of water before you. Yours had been refilled, though a little sparse compared to Peter’s full cup.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, a small smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance from the waiter—because you expected what he was about to follow up with.

“Hey… uh,” he shifted on his feet awkwardly, eye bags weighing heavier than the last time he had checked up on you. You looked around, surprised by the amount of patrons who had filled the space around you while you were daydreaming. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room. The dim lights were practically stationed in the restaurant for decoration, and seemingly to spotlight your ‘dinner for one’ status. “I’m sorry, but… we have no more tables to fill, and if you aren’t ordering soon, then we’ll have to give your table up for the next party...”

It was obvious that you weren’t, you hadn’t even torn into the buttery bread rolls that were piping hot forty-five minutes ago. Now, the fat had solidified into spotty, yellow clumps, though you doubt that would’ve been enough to detract from the quality of the rolls.

“Oh, I—“ You pulled out your phone to check your messages again. Nothing. Swiped down to refresh your conversation with Peter. The loading icon felt like it took forever, you half-expected that your phone was updating the thread with Peter’s messages that somehow got lost in the void of the restaurant’s spotty signal. 

And nothing.

“I—yeah… uh. I-I’ll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given you a sympathetic smile, you hated knowing that you wasted his time. You hated that you selfishly occupied a seat when someone else would’ve been done with dinner by the time you exited. 

“Thanks—” 

You hated that you had your hopes up for things to be different.

Again.

The night was dreary. Not even the wind had greeted you like the others when you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but scolding enough to make you put your coat back on. Luckily, your apartment wasn’t too far from the restaurant, a fifteen minute walk at most if you speed-walked. Shoving your hands in your coat pockets, you then ambled along the sidewalks, wallowing in your feelings with a playlist that belted in your ears once you plugged your earbuds in. 

You didn’t have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you crossed the last intersection, you felt a little bit more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment complex at the end of the block picked your pace up a step more. You paused your music once you neared the entrance, just a turn away before you could finally bury yourself in your bed. 

You reached into your pocket to grab your wallet. The weight in your palms instantly reminding you to deposit the cash tips sometime soon before the stretch of the leather had become unbearable to fit in your pocket. 

Your walk slowed as your attention was fixated on your wallet, fumbling it open clumsily to retrieve your keycard. In midst, you caught a glimpse of a photo print of you and Peter, standing shoulder to shoulder with the biggest grins as Peter had a peace sign above your head, doubling as bunny ears. Honeymoon phase, they’d call it. Where you were beginning to discover more about Peter, and Peter was beginning to discover more about you. Likes. Dislikes. Hobbies. Memories. It felt like yesterday when you two were spending every second of your day with each other. 

Now, it would be a miracle if Peter returned a call.

With the keycard in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the smiles from the photo print reflecting onto yours as you could vividly hear Peter’s pleas to retake them again. The flash of the cameras always made him blink.

If only you had been focusing on where you were going instead of the still image of the first memory between you and Peter, maybe you could have avoided the collision altogether when you approached the door. You suddenly found yourself on your back, facing the night sky as clusters of stars twinkled in laughter. There was a slight throbbing to your forehead, a mark you’d reckon would appear as purple within the next 12 hours despite the painless… pain.

“Oh god— I’m so, so, so, sorry! Let me—“ If the beating your face took to the door hadn’t snapped you back to reality already, the familiar face before you certainly pulled you out of your thoughts like whiplash once he helped you back onto your feet. Your vision instantly cleared of haze, as if his simple presence was your remedy.

“(M/N)?” Peter interrupted himself, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning in his head when the dim light spotlighted your features: eyes, nose, lips; flesh and bone that he was well-acquainted with.

“Peter—“ You took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he had been late. His fringe; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and water, the latter being a last resort to clean himself up. His knuckles; bruised and torn with minuscule cuts barely able to conceal the truth behind his scars. His necktie; clumsily done with the knots coming loose. Though, whether the silk unfurled by Peter’s own sloppiness, or by the increasing frailty of his fingers that had become susceptible by even the most delicate material of neckties; it was futile to mention it to him. You knew he’d shut you down with another excuse.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? I-I’m so sorry—I was on my way to you and—Oh god, you’re bleeding!“ Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late. 

But because of adrenaline. You could see it in his eyes. The alertness. The high.

“What—“ You wiped your nose with the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted across your skin. “Shit.” 

Another thick drop splattered in greeting.

“Peter, it’s a nosebleed. You’re acting like I had my arm chopped off or something.” You’ve been applying pressure to your nasal bridge, pinching it tightly to barricade the stream of blood. All while you had your head tilted over Peter’s sink, in case of the blood leaking past your hold. “And how long does it take to find a cotton ball?”

“I’m trying—“ His one-sided game of hide and seek with the bag of cotton balls was leaning in favor of the latter. Medicine cabinet: empty. Bedside drawer: foreign coins and bills. You were watching him from the corner of your eye, a small limp to his step when the lightbulb seemingly lit up overhead and had him dashing towards the kitchen. 

“Found it!”

Peter’s touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on taking care of you, even if frankly—you would’ve done it much faster had it been a solo endeavor. Cotton balls were plugged up into your nose, and a warm face towel was laid across your forehead. If an intruder had the audacity to rob Peter’s apartment, you’d imagine you would find yourself lucking out. Peter joked that you looked like patient zero.

“All done. See? Nothing to cry about.” He was joking again, the smug smile across his face a clear indication of it—and the laugh that he couldn’t help but contain.

“Ha. Ha. Thanks, Dr. Parker. Now, how much do I owe you? I’m paying outta pocket.” For a brief moment, you forgot that you were upset earlier. All because of how nice it was to actually see him again. He pressed a kiss to your lips, a comforting gesture if his constant apologies weren’t enough. Stay focus. 

“So, about dinner…”

“Oh,” Disappointment softened Peter’s smile. You could see it tightening, even as he was organizing his room. Though, it was really a matter of tossing his clothes on the floor back into the laundry basket. “Listen, my… bike got stolen and—“

“Peter…” You sighed, pinching your nose bridge because you feared another avalanche of a nosebleed incoming. That, and because it helped you maintained your composure. “You said that the last time. Three times, actually.”

“Third time’s… the charm?” He was joking. Again. But even he wasn’t laughing at it because he’d been cornered. Called out. Embarrassed that he thought that would even work on you. Embarrassed that he thought he could get away with it. 

Again.

“Peter.” You called out, straightening your posture against the headboard of the bed when he sat at the end of the mattress. Shit, it’s happening.

“I… I don’t know how to…” The veins in his hands, they lined perfectly to the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now that he wasn’t hidden under a dim light. “I just…”

He had his hands around his face, rubbing his temples, his cheeks, his nose, anything that could alleviate the accelerating drill of his heartbeat. 

You were hopeful to get an answer out of him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing that in a few seconds—what he would tell you would only confirm your yearning suspicions of his strange behavior.

He doesn’t love you anymore. He’s cheating. You’ve become a nuisance, an absolute bore in his life. Actually, you’re a bad influence on him. You’re holding him back. He needs to let go of you to accomplish better things. He never loved you.

It’s happening. It’s fucking happening. All he has to do is say those words. The dreaded five words you’ve heard once from him in a nightmare.

I want to break up.

“If you want to break up, just say it.” 

It sounded softer in your head, but the tears that had welled in your eyes finally bursted into droplets. They ran down your cheeks, and your voice broke during its pursuit. 

Something commanded you to let those words slip out. 

Maybe it was the ghost that you and him had been theorizing about since the night you’ve helped him move into the apartment floor above you. Carrie; you nicknamed her, and Peter would scold you for doing so because he had the suspicions that giving her a backstory would ultimately reassess his home as a possessing ground. To this day, he swore he saw a shadow looming in the corner of his room on a perfectly stormy night.

Or maybe it was the months of frustration that you had accumulated, snowballed because of your own selfish reasons to continue being with Peter for as long as you could, even if you saw the signs, because you couldn’t bear to see yourself without him. Live, when you two had promised so many futures together.

“What? No, (M/N), that’s not—“ He jolted up at the mere mention of separating from you. There was a chill. The room suddenly felt colder, and then warmer—scorching hot, when the glossiness of your gaze reflected into his. He began joining you by your side. “Hey, hey, I would never—“

He broke into a cold sweat. He’d never seen you like this. And to think that he was the root of this—of your pain—it was all overwhelming.

“Peter, there’s always something going on with you. Y-you don’t text me for days. You ignore my calls. You disappear without telling me. You’re always late. And… you’re always hurt? And you think that I’m dumb enough to not notice that you aren’t? How you’re limping? How you’re always bruised and—For god’s sake, Peter, I’m just as smart as you, we have the same GPA and—“ You took a breather, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from your sudden outburst and from embarrassment, because the latter half of your rant immediately negated the idea of some kind of affair.

“Okay, maybe you aren’t cheating, but—“ You felt him tug you into his arms, but you wouldn’t budge. Instead, you pushed away, edging to the other side of the bed to face him.

“I would never.” He sighed, his arms dropping as soon as you removed yourself from his embrace. 

“Then what is it? You’re leaving me in the dark here. I barely see you anymore, you know that?”

“I know.” He was biting his lips. Chewing, as if he was internally debating something. A decision that could either ruin you, ruin him, or both.

“Then?”

You waited. Watched his fingers fiddle with one another as he continued turning the screws in his head. Your heart would jump whenever he would open his mouth, anticipating whatever had caused so much turmoil in his life, but there was a last minute decision that kept him silent.

Crickets.

Nothing.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re doing. But you’re getting hurt and I’m just… worried.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Pale, veiny, and full of life yet they’ve looked like they’ve been worn out. Torn. “At least tell me it’s not gambling.”

“Well—in a way with my life, it kind of is like gambling—“ He thinly smiled, hoping it would at least make you crack a smile.

“Peter!” You scoffed, nudged his side with your elbow out of frustration, then surrendered when you brought your knees up to your chest, and buried your head in between your knees. “Not funny.”

“Okay, okay, just… you can’t tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“We all know that between you and I, you’re the one with the running mouth.” Your voice muffled in the space between your legs, hands tucked around your nape.

“I’m serious, (M/N)” Pleading now, he held your hand in hopes to get ahold of your attention again, squeezing so you’d look at him. You do.

“I won’t tell.” It was a promise. Peter didn’t need you to clarify because he could see it in your eyes, honest and sincere. Determined, as if you were willing to protect him.

“Okay… and also, don’t… freak out.” Peter was off the bed now, wandering in the middle of his room as he rolled his shoulders back, relaxing the muscles in his back like a wrestler preparing for his next fight. He gestured for you to follow him out to the stairway, out into the cold. 

“Why would I freak—“ There was something around his wrist. No, wrists. You thought they were watches, but there were two devices around him. They were strapped with a similar black leather to your wallet, to Peter’s, and a red button protruded in the middle of it. “Peter, what are you—“

You stopped a few feet before Peter, watching him closely, yet afar. Afraid, yet intrigued. Concerned, because he was on the ledge of the staircase now, perched like an animal. Yet there was a grin on his face. Not crazed like a madman considering he was acting like one, but foolish. Goofy, giddy like the times he’d hide stuff from you, and wait until you’d notice it was gone.

“Like I said, don’t freak out.” 

“Peter, what are you even—“

With that, he opened his arms like wings that spanned across his back and flipped into the air as if the wind would carry him across city to city. As if he was recruited as a sponsor to the heavenly gods with the incredible height he’d taken off in, pursuing the clouds, the wind, the stars, and the night simultaneously all in multiple slings.

Into. The. Air.

Into the fucking air.

You raced forward with a yelp, as if you would’ve made it in time to catch him. To catch his hand before he fell. To hold him one last time before he’d land on the ground and shatter every bone in his body.

If he had landed. 

No, you blinked once—twice—no, at least in the double digits because this was all a dream. It was all a dream, right? That you caught a glimpse of Peter somehow slingshotting himself from window to window, from rooftop to satellite, like it was a mundane day job one had to endure to put food on the table, to pay the bills.

Right?

You paced around the stairs, raced towards one floor to another, bending over the railings because—Peter disappeared. He was gone. If he had smashed into something, you would’ve heard him. You would’ve heard him in yelp in pain. You would’ve heard the metal railings shake. You would’ve heard him cry for help. 

Instead, you heard the sound of wind. Whistling as it sailed leaves to the west of you. 

As if it carried a hint along the way.

“Peter?! Peter—Fuck, fuck!” You followed the sound of the whistle. The source of the pitchy sound. Fluttering when your head spun closer to the note, wavering when you were getting colder, then peaking when your gaze lifted, higher, and higher, until it landed on him.

Peter.

Peter, perched over the rooftop of the apartment complex like a bug. The moonlight framed his silhouette, emphasized the texture of his suit; protruding grids that encased him like a nest; and you’ve never been more intimidated. 

Red and blue spandex tightly-fitted over the muscles and body of the man you have been more than well-acquainted with. You’ve seen it before. It was familiar. On the news, on the papers, on the internet.

“You’re freaking out!” He yelled out, clearly amused in your frozen state of shock.

He peered over at you with a smug grin, aimed directly at your bafflement before pulling a mask over his head. It was the icing on top in rendering you utterly incapable of stringing up any words. The lens of his mask reflected off of you, mirrored your astonishment in clear display, and you sensed that would be a memory Peter would be carrying to his death bed.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“Okay, so, just to clarify,” You were winded, still recovering from the heart attack Peter had nearly given you after he took you on for a stroll in the night. Into the sky.

Luckily his bed was right beside you. As soon as your legs gave out, you fell back into his mattress, and stared into the ceiling, speechless. Peter joined you after, bringing you into his arms. He’d always been aware that touching you in any way or form brought you back to reality. “You are… not a cosplayer?”

“Honestly? That would make me way more money than what I’m making right now.” You couldn’t keep your hands or eyes off of him. Peter was still in his suit, and that gave you the perfect opportunity to run your hands over the webbed texture of the spandex.

“Just a few more months until my lease is up. I can move in, and that’ll help with the rent. For both of us.” It felt like silicone, or rubber. Whatever it was, it was durable considering how thin it felt in your fingers when you rubbed it in between them.

“Just like that? You’re not mad?” Your hands came to a halt when Peter suddenly took them, and rested your palm on his cheek, coincidentally on the cut that you’ve never noticed. 

“Why would I be mad?” Quieter. Your voice mellowed into a whisper as you catalogued the amount of beatings his skin had taken. Caressed the marks you were too selfish to notice. Exhaustion wore on his face, and yet he never looked so peaceful as he gazed into your eyes. 

Pretty eyes, Peter thought. Ones that could motivate him to get back up after falling. That feels nice, when you pressed a kiss to his damaged skin. A touch that made him believe there was a reason to suffer, to be great, to be all of this.

“Well, for starters, it’s your birthday and… I completely blew it.” Peter closed his eyes when you began brushing his hair back, knotted in cold sweats, but you fanned your fingers out to undo them until they felt somewhat tidy in your strokes. Smooth and soft. He sighed, “Again.”

“Can’t entirely blame you. How would I look if I were to complain about missing you, when you’re out there risking your life for everyone?” It wasn’t a question, but you wanted him to look at you. To respond. And he does, when you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and he returned it with a silken one, a following grin. “All I wish for was that you told me sooner, I guess.”

“Yeah,” He figured he’d save the details of the ‘friends’ he had made along the way some other time. For now, it was all about you. “Wow, you’re not even going to wish for me to be safe?”

“Hey, you know what I mean! That’s a given.” You rubbed at his chest, finding yourself quickly accustomed to the scales of his costume. The red was striking against your palms, comforting almost. 

“Still. I want to hear you say it.” Peter rolled onto his side and slipped an arm under your back, scooting closer to you. His signature goofy grin never failed to knock a similar one out of you. And unwillingly drawn out, when he began pinching at your sides in quick snips.

“Stop—“ You laughed, your hands occupying themselves to defend your body from his quick attacks. But Peter was fast, avoiding your arms and hands to find another opening that you’d abandon. “Stop, stop! Stay safe! Happy?!”

Closer and closer, you found yourself beneath him, framed by his body as he took your arms above your head and pinned them secured with his tight grasps.“Incredibly.”

Your legs spread open to make room for his body, only for Peter to wrap them around his waist, to press his body into you, kissing you like he was driven to steal your breath.

“This your way of making it up to me?” You broke apart from the kiss, only briefly, before the taste of Peter, the softness of his lips reeled you back in for another kiss. Languidly paced until one’s accelerating lust for one another had taken ahold of the wheel and shifted gears, into a weightiness that kept your mouth parted open while Peter’s impulse to explore you had become evidently clear.

“Problem with that?” He’d been driving his hips into you, grinding his front with your own. Both clothed, infuriatingly covered, but the pressure in between your bulge and Peter’s was too pleasing to ignore. Too satisfying to make him stop. “I should take this off—“

“No, wait—“ You grabbed his forearm when he reached back to unzip his suit. To be honest, you never thought about how he even got in or out of the suit in the first place, but that was beside the point. Something about this suit, this costume, whatever you wanted to call it; it was a turn-on. 

The way it fit snug against Peter’s body; how every fiber of muscle was stretching the material to its limit. Maybe you were just turned on because you associated it with him being a hero. For god’s sake, that was as much of an aphrodisiac one could be if you happened to be saved from a falling tower. 

Or maybe, it was simply how Peter looked in it. Unabashedly handsome, yet himself, seemingly courting you further into his webs, as if he hadn’t already from day one.

“Keep it on. I like it.” You muttered, fiddling with the collar of his suit. It was snapped on tight, but you managed to slip a finger or two past, to pull at it with a stretch.

“Then how are we going to…” He abandoned the few inches he had unzipped, providing a small relief to the squeeze around his body while his broad back was bare and tense towards the ceiling. 

“Then, you’ll take it off. But for now, I just want to…” One hand was on his nape, pulling him down for another heated kiss, while the other traveled south between your body and his. Further, lower, until you cupped him at his crotch. Rubbing, squeezing, and palming at the thick, growing center. “Want to try something…”

You could feel him smiling, a crooked one flattened against your own grin when he whispered, “I should’ve told you sooner, shouldn’t I.”

“You think?”

You were getting harder, your pants beginning to tighten around the center as you palmed him. It was a heavy handful in the beginning, but Peter’s bulge began to unfurl. It didn’t take long, didn’t take much of a stroke for him to unravel from his tuck and thicken into a full-blown erection towards the left side of his thigh. It pointed downwards, the plump head evident through his suit, and you were beginning to drool in Peter’s mouth at the haziest image of it.

“Come on, I need to get out of this… It’s killing me.” It wasn’t like Peter to beg. It was charming, cute, sexy, all the synonyms that could describe how you felt all day and every day about him, and you squeezed, because he wasn’t being patient with you.

“Birthday boy gets what he wants, don’t you think?” He winched into your mouth, and you swallowed him. Swallowed every ounce of breath, and breathed it back out with a kiss. Sloppy, heavy, your tongue weighing on his because you wanted to keep his lips apart, mouth open to hear his moans.

Peter grunted again once you began stroking his cock, touching him like it was a delicate plate of chin. Fingertips only, dusting him off with little pressure so he wouldn’t shatter.

“What are you going to do about it, hm?” You continued your short, limp strokes. “Just going to take it? Hm?” Your wrist was weak, lazy as it became limp to tease him even more. Peter sucked in a breath, doing his best to maintain his composure, but it was all futile, all those attempts of sucking in his lip to chew, to hold back his moans, because you’d slap his clothed cock, grasp it tight in your hand, and massage as much as you could gather.

“Fuck, baby—“ You had him under your control. Even if his hands were free, you knew he wouldn’t lay a finger on you. He knew that if he did, you’d stop touching him, stop stimulating the blood running down every vein of his cock, fueling his erection. His desires. 

He couldn’t let that happen. Not after the day, the week, the months that he’d been having. 

You and Peter eventually switched places: Peter resting on his back while you sat in between his legs, marveling at the stretch of his suit. Somehow, his cock looked bigger than you’d remember. Squished and pressed flush against his thigh like this. The suit was like a magnet, inviting your hand back to his cock and refusing to let you go.

“Just relax.” You commanded him. He was watching you slouched up against the headboard, gravity weighing his eyelids lower. With his legs spread apart, he provided you excess space as you began massaging his right thigh with your free hand. “Is this okay?”

“Mm-hm...” He knew you were talking about the pressure on his thigh, but the strokes over his cock remained supreme in his mind. Championed through as you pressed harder into the shaft, massaging tenderly from vein to vein. The protruding webbed texture of his suit pressed into him, rolled against cock like the inside of a fleshlight, ultimately adding onto the already gratifying pleasure. 

It was glorious.

“More…” Peter gritted through his teeth, a selfish need for more escaping from his lips in huffs. Grunts, when you’d fulfill his wish with two hands now, kneading his cock like dough. 

Thick, stiff, throbbing dough.

Before the complaints could come pouring in, you shimmied your pants off in a hurry, tossing it in the corner before greedily climbing onto Peter’s lap. It was like he read your mind, perhaps another secret that he’d been hiding, because he immediately took you into his arms. An embrace, a tight one that grounded you against his bulge, pressing your body weight until it restricted the blood flowing into his erection, as well as preventing an escape.

“You’re so hard…” You marveled at how rigid he’d gotten under you, grinding your ass against the large mass, beating and throbbing with every rut.

“I’m so hard.” He confirmed, complained, and bragged all in one smile. He then took you by the nape to kiss you again. Hard on the mouth, slow with his tongue to taste you and your desires, his desires. His other hand rested on the small of your back, guiding your grinds at first before his fingers looped into your waistband, tugging once before stuffing the strap under your ass cheeks. Your hard-on was the only thing keeping the cotton material from slipping off while you continued grating your hips. “Just like that…”

To make it easier for you, Peter repositioned his erection so it was facing north, towards his navel, in its sublime mass. Your briefs had been tossed to the side now, completely bare bottomed against him while you mounted over him, and rode in needy strides. It was a sight to behold, something that Peter reckoned he should savor. He folded his arms behind his head, providing a self-made cushion for the weight of it, and watched you. It was entrancing, like a dance. You swiveled your hips to a ghosting rhythm, one that could only be heard between two hearts, two parties, between the two of you, man to man.

“Like this…?” Breathless, you unbuttoned your shirt open, but left it present on your body. Sweat formed over your neck, dribbled down to your bare and exposed chest;  it was practically an open-invitation for Peter to ravish you. And so he did, with a haunting groan as he held you, contained you in the warmth of his arms as he simultaneously pulled you forward, and pushed himself off the headboard to meet you in the middle.

He kissed you on the neck, achingly hard when he sucked, and then enthralling, sweat-inducing when he bit into your skin. He couldn’t contain himself. You tasted too good, and it’d been too long since he had you just like this. “Just like that. Your cock against my cock, fuck. I love it so fucking much.” He muttered hot against your neck, panting because he was sweating too. The spandex felt tighter on his skin, constricting against him with every drop of sweat.

“Oh, fuck…” His lips had latched onto your nipples now. Peter’s tongue worked magic on your two nubs, flicking and swirling over their perkiness until you felt swollen. Raw, when he bit, pulled, bit, and bit again. You buried your face into his hair, rocking yourself back and forth with your arms holding him close to your chest, gliding your cock against his print as if a gun was pointed to your head, like your life depended on making Peter come.

You were delirious, humping Peter without a single thought other than to get him off, and you’d reckon that was the goal lingering in Peter’s head as he began rocking back into you. It took a while for him to find your rhythm, chasing after it in slower, sluggish beats, but eventually he caught up to you, snapping his hips against your own, grinding his cock against yours like two crescent moons caressing the other’s curvature.

“Close…” He muttered into your shoulder. Your shirt was hanging off, exposing more of your skin, but Peter made sure you didn’t feel a single chill with the marks he had followed up with soon after. It was like he had done it on purpose. Made you feel safe in his arms, comfortable in the warmth of his body, worshiped with the amount of care he had given your body. Frozen, when you felt something prod at your pucker. Then enraptured, when Peter pushed a wet finger inside of you. 

Tremors, chilling tremors ran down your spine as you took the single digit Inside of you with one determined push. “Fuck—“ Your back arched, chest pushed forward towards him, and your hips jolted forward in one strong, and delicious swipe against Peter’s cock. “Peter…”

It was a mouthwatering display of food before him. The perky nubs on your chest, the veins in your neck, the mole on your body, the strain of your thighs on overdrive, the swollen head of your cock; Peter didn’t know what to lay his finger on first, what to mouth on, what to kiss, and suck, and latch onto until you’d scream. Whichever it was, he knew you were desperate for him. Begging, sweating, whimpering, for Peter to lay a finger on you. Another finger inside of you now, and you rolled your eyes at the stretch he was providing you with, a fulfilling wish that startled your hips once more.

“You’re so good, so good for me…” Peter was staring up at you, marveling at the layer of sweat on your body. It glistened with every movement, dripped heavily with every thrust of Peter’s fingers, and tasted just like how he remembered. Salty when he licked up your neck, up your chest, against your nipples, and repeated. Your body was his, and Peter was determined to let the world know. Determined to remind you in case that you’d forgotten.

Your hands were wandering. Grabbing and touching at anything and everything that could linger in between your fingers. Peter’s hair, his head, shoulders, chest, your cock and his, his back. Everything. You couldn’t keep your hands off of him. Even if he was covered from head to toe, you were touching him. Because he was yours.

“Gonna come—“ You cupped Peter’s jaw to straighten his posture, to kiss him sloppily on the mouth, and he pulled his fingers out of you, resting them on either side of your hips as he joined you once again in grinding hips. The pleasure was overbearing, drilling into each individual brain until the smallest movement would render you both speechless. Panting in slurred moans of each other’s names, of profanities that you two had rarely used in your lifetime on earth.

“Me too…” Peter pushed himself on top of you now. Your arms were tied around his neck, tighter than the necktie he had on prior, and your legs; they wrapped around his waist equally secured, if not even tighter, as he thrusted against you. 

You were too distracted, unable to respond to Peter’s constant licks in your mouth. He was desperate for you, suckling on your tongue and chasing after it once it slipped out because of your moans. They were rattling, each breath immediately vaulted in the back of Peter’s throat because he couldn’t part from you. Couldn’t imagine a life where he would. And if he had to, at least he’d have a part of you inside of him. Even if it was a whisper. 

He thrusted harder, panting into your mouth, his nose practically smushed flat against yours. He wondered if you could imagine that life, a life without him.

“P-Pete—Shit, I’m—“ Your fingers dug into his nape, grounding him impossibly closer to you when that feeling had suddenly come to stun you in place. 

It simmered hard in your stomach, then to a rolling boil as it traveled lower to your pelvis. You squeezed your stomach, clenched your toes, and your eyes widened when Peter’s hips showed no signs of faltering. Your cock swelled and your balls jolted, tightened, until you finally saw stars bursting into flames and let gravity have it come crashing down on you. Shivers had you enclose your arms around Peter, holding onto him tight as you felt yourself crumble and spill all over your chest and his suit. You came with a gritted grunt of his name, sinking your nails into his nape because you had nowhere else to channel your spasms as Peter kept rocking against you, drunkenly astonished by how you came for him. By how much you needed him.

It didn’t take long before Peter came right after. He buried his head into your neck, stifling moans into the heat of your neck, clammy with sweat, yet comforting as he filled the inside of his suit with thick, large loads. You felt his cock throb against you when you reached down to help, to ride out his orgasm to the fullest. His cock pulsed as you’d imagine several thick pumps of his load would gush out and uncomfortably layer his navel. If only his suit hadn’t been waterproof, because there was no doubt that he would’ve been leaking out of it by now.

You’ve never been so jealous of spandex.

He was hot in your ear, panting, breathing you in, then breathing you out as you slowed the strokes on his softening cock. Then a sudden inhale, a jolt of his body, when you squeezed hard, to seal the deal in covering the entirety of his cock in his own cum. It was filthy. It was shameless. It was Peter.

“Driving me crazy here…” Peter sluggishly lifted himself off of you to face you, a sleepy smile plastered across his face as you kept kneading at his cock, increasingly sensitive with every second.

“Not enough to drive you away, right?” You smiled, drowsy yourself as you quickly found your high coming to a crash. Though, you mustered enough strength to hold Peter’s cheek in your palm, tenderly caressing, to which he immediately kissed as soon as it reintroduced itself. 

Peter sighed, holding your gaze for what felt like minutes, and yet you wished it could be for longer. 

It was different this time, the way he looked at you. The same amount of love and warmth, yes. But they no longer wavered, no longer tried to find something else to look at in case you were prying about. 

“Never.” 

Instead, they stilled, relaxed the longer you stared into him, into those brown eyes of his, because you were in now. 

You were finally in his life.

How much you needed him?  His question had been answered.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Leave

Synopsis: As Aemond grew conscious of the court noticing you and his closeness, he makes drastic measures to cease their wagging tongues, even if it meant that things would return to how they first were. Warnings: None (yet), Slight Angst, Cold and Silent Aemond, Infatuation, Jealousy PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: I'm sorry, don't be mad at me-- i fear this was needed.

“They are quite close, are they not?” Aemond heard the hushed whisper of a court member as he had his arm linked with yours as you picked flowers in the garden. Your knight is holding a basket that houses your kitten, who slept through the afternoon, and the flowers you picked. Aemond had felt the eyes of the court focused on the two of you as of late. He swallowed thickly as you stepped closer to him, placing a flower in the niche of his armor, smiling up fondly upon your knight, which caused the whispers of the observers to grow louder, but it would seem you were oblivious to it. 

“Too close, if you ask me… it does make one wonder,” He heard a lord’s snide comment, making Aemond tense. He looked around and caught the eyes of a group of lords looking upon him quizically as he was arm-in-arm with the princess of the realm. It was not as if he was the one to link your arms; you had done it of your own volition, and who was he to remove his arm around yours? “What’s your favorite flower, Ser Aemond?” You asked, voice dreamy and distant as you were too distracted by the freshly bloomed flowers that came in time just before the end of the summer. “I do not have one, princess.” He replied, trying to ignore the curious gazes of the court. 

“That’s not right! Everyone must have their favorite! Here, smell this,” You say and stand on the tip of your toes as you practically shove a flower upon your sworn protector’s face. Aemond’s eye went to the spectators once more, whispering in each other’s ears and scandal heavy in their eyes. “I…I do not care for it, princess,” He gritted, not actually able to breathe as their gazes were piercing through him. You frowned and removed the flower away from your knight. Your frown furthered as he removed your linked arms and took a step away from you. You bit the insides of your cheeks, fearing you had offended your knight, but you kept silent and let him keep his distance. 

Throughout the afternoon, you noticed Ser Aemond had made additional space between you two— space that had dissolved during the moons of being in your station but had immediately returned in just one afternoon. You tried not to fret about the distance, however unaccustomed and odd it felt. When night came, Ser Aemond walked behind you as you threaded the halls to the dining room. “You should have supper as well, Ser Aemond.” You say before entering the doors. You turned to your knight, expecting to lock eyes with his unique lilac gaze that was lustrous when in the light of the moon, but Ser Aemond could not even look you in the eye. You hid your confusion and disappeared behind the door, silently hoping Ser Aemond would take your advice and actually eat.

“I cannot believe summer is already at an end,” You tried to make conversation as you and Ser Aemond walked to your chambers. You passed a few court members passing you two by as they walked their way back to their own chambers. You smiled and bid them ‘good evening,’ waiting for your knight to reply to your statement, but he stayed silent. “Good night, Ser Aemond,” you smiled sweetly as you reached your door; you had hoped he would at least return that one simple greeting, but all he did was nod and move to stand on his post, still not meeting your eye. When you retired for the night, you could not help but overthink your knight’s aloof action, and you could only hope that all would return to the way it was the following day. It did not. 

“Good morning, Ser Aemond,” You chirped, trying to display a cheery disposition despite your confusion towards your knight’s stoic behavior that you thought you had broken through. He only nodded, and you did not want to acknowledge the pit in your stomach. Had you made a transgression upon him that you were unaware of? Have you offended him? Your mind ran with thoughts and questions that could only answered by your knight, who seemed to ignore you once more.

As Aemond stood behind you as you ate your first meal of the day, he observed the small pout on your lips and the light furrow in your brows. He trailed his gaze around the gardens, observing other highborn ladies with their sworn protectors—a respectable distance between them. The noblewomen never seem to acknowledge the presence of their knights. Speaking to them as if they were mere servants and not even human. Never acknowledging nor thanking them for their service, however meager or great they were—a complete contrast to how you treat him. He then recalled the talk he would engage with his fellow knights, them telling him horrid stories about the ladies they guard— telling Aemond how lucky he was and how jealous they were to be stationed to you. Despite your tendencies to run off, they would prefer to be your guard rather than be stuck with the other snobbish ladies of the court. 

As the day went on, Aemond placed great restraint on himself to keep his distance from you. No matter how second nature it had become for him to walk beside you, he walked a few steps behind. As you walked the empty halls, the silence got the better of you, making you halt in your steps and turn to your knight. “Had I done something wrong?” You asked with a tilt of your head, unable to bear the eerie quiet between you and your knight. Aemond cautiously looked around the halls as you stepped closer to him and him trying his best to slyly back away. “No.” He responded curtly. You frowned, “Then… You usually walk by my side; why are you back there? And—and you had not spoken to me since yesterday. Are you mad at me?” You asked, fearing for his reply. “I am not, princess.” He said, but he could still not even meet your gaze. “You are! You could not even look me in the eye! What have I done?” You countered. Aemond grew conscious as you uncharacteristically raised your voice, possibly catching the attention of any passersby. 

Aemond bit his tongue and took hold of your arm to pull you to the niche of an alcove and away from curious eyes and prying ears. “You had not done anything,” he whispered. “Then why are you acting so distant? If I had done nothing wrong, then why are you ignoring me?” You asked. Aemond breathed in deeply, not knowing how to word out his thoughts. “The court is…” He trailed, and you waited for him to finish his thought, but Aemond second-guessed and held back his tongue. “The court is what?” You urged.

Aemond sighed. “The court is growing curious about our proximity,” He explained, but that only seemed to confuse you further. “Our proximity? But you need to be by my side.” You said you were unable to grasp what Ser Aemond meant. “Not our physical proximity— well, perhaps that too— but what I mean is, they are curious to are… familiarity.” He said, unable to clearly articulate what he meant. Your lips parted in further confusion, “Well, yes, because you are my friend. Is there something the matter with that?” Aemond blinked at your words. “I am your knight.” He clarified. “You are. You are my sworn protector as well as my friend.” You explained further. Aemond breathed in disbelief, “I am not your friend, princess.” He gritted, and you felt a twitch in your chest.  “I am simply your knight. Who is by your side because my duty.” He added. His eye grew colder the moment he uttered the words. You lowered your gaze, feeling embarrassed that you had considered Ser Aemond a friend when he only viewed you as his task. “And it would be best if we keep a sense of professionalism and boundaries, princess. I still have a post to fulfill.” 

You nodded, biting harshly on your tongue as you felt a burning in your nose. Tears started forming in your eyes, but you refused to let them be seen by Ser Aemond. “Very well then, if that is what you wish.” You said, trying not to let your voice waver and forcing it to have the same pitch as when you usually spoke, even forcing a small pleasing smile on your lips to try and convince your knight and even yourself that his words did not struck something in you. You could not believe how quickly things changed. Just as you and your knight began to grow comfortable and accustomed to each other— dare you say, even close, all things returned to the first days of him being in his station. Ser Aemond returned to his armored demeanor of being stoic, silent, and distant. A coldness you did not think you would feel again as you foolishly believed that the warmness built and tended to in your knight would go forevermore. 

When the following day came, you awoke with a few tears sliding from the side of your eyes; unable to account the reason for your crying, you convinced yourself it was because of a dream that came in the dead of night that you could not recall. You lay on your featherbed and heard the silent chatter of two voices; one was from your knight, and the other was from your chambermaid. The two conversing on the other side of your door. You lay still and eavesdropped on their conversation, surprised as you heard a smile on your knight’s voice and a quiet laugh escaping the lips of your chambermaid. 

You took in deep, calming breaths as you felt a burning in your chest. When you hear your door open, you close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, waiting for your chambermaid to open the drapes and wake you. When light flooded your room, you pretended to wake, feigning drowsiness and yawning fictiously. “Good morning, princess,” Celia smiled widely, seemingly elated with her conversation with Ser Aemond. You could only give her a slight smile, the painful throb in your chest hindering you from speaking and making you forget about the manners instilled greatly in your mind. 

As the day went on, you would often catch a glimpse of your chambermaid, Celia, along the halls and the gardens where you frequented. Her usual duties were not anywhere near where you would frequent, yet you would often catch her walking the same halls as where you and Ser Aemond went. A coy smile was on her lips each time she passed you and your knight, and a blush came to her cheeks as Ser Aemond met her gaze. You could not explain why, but you felt ill— as if you would wish to heave each time you caught their small interactions. You felt queasy the entire day, and you even brought yourself to the Maester’s tower to have yourself checked as you tried to convince yourself that the uneasiness you felt was brought forth because of an identified illness and not because of envy. Envy because your knight had rejected your friendship and began to ignore you once more but was effortlessly cordial with others who were not you.

“There is nothing wrong, princess— you are the picture of health.” The Maester smiled as he finished assessing you, your knight standing by the door, trying his best not to let his concern be seen. It was odd of you to willingly come to the Maester to have yourself checked, even when you were taken by a fever a few moons before; you hid your ailment from everyone, and your sickness was only discovered when Aemond accidentally brushed his hand with your forehead and felt the grave fever that you had hidden from them. 

“Are you certain? I feel squeamish and… and as if bile is rising to my throat,” You said, and the Maester hummed as he pondered over your words. “Perhaps it is all of those sweets you have in the afternoon,” He said, and you paled, already feeling regret about bringing yourself to the Maester’s tower to identify a sickness that was not real but rather brought forth by denial. “Best to lay off them for now, princess. Just for a few days, and once you feel better, you could have your favorite custard tarts once more.” The Maester reassured as he saw the devastation on your face. “I can tell the cook that you no longer require your afternoon treats for the next few days; I am on my to the kitchens anyway.” You dejectedly nodded and walked out of the room with your head hung low as you did not think of the consequences of your feigned ailment. 

Ser Aemond watched as you were sullen the entire day, unable to conclude if your somberness was because of his words the day before or because your favorite sweets were kept from you. Either way, he felt guilt consuming his insides, unable to bear to watch the once lively princess be consumed by melancholia.

A few days passed with you and Ser Aemond keeping your distance from one another, and as much as you tried to appear to be unbothered by the sudden change in your demeanors and routine, a constant and pestering feeling still overcame you. Gnawing at you throughout the night and even more so in the morning as Ser Aemond was in your presence. 

“You’re not eating,” Your brother observed, surprised to see your plate barely touched. He was concerned as he recalled that you only had a few spoonfuls during supper the other night. “I’m not particularly hungry,” You smiled and sipped your tea, feeling the fleeting gaze of your knight at the back of your head before quickly turning away. “Are you well? Do you feel ill?” Your brother questioned, finding your behavior odd. “Of course I am, do not fret, brother.” You forced your smile to be bigger, trying to convince your sibling. He gave an unconvinced nod and stayed silent but still eyed you in concern. 

When supper came, you could no longer bear to be in the silent and detached attitude of your knight, especially after you had broken through his armor. You pursed your lips as you were deep in thought as to how to proceed, simply playing with the tepid food on your plate. “Father?” You called, interrupting his and your brother’s conversation, the eyes of your family turning to you. “Could I make a request?” You asked, already widening your eyes and playing with your father’s sympathy. “You could, but my granting it would depend on what it is,” He hummed. “Well, seeing that we are only here for another week, I was thinking if you could remove my gua—“ 

“No.” He and your brother said in unison, and your mother breathed out a silent laugh. “I was not done explaining!” You said, and your brother rolled his eyes, “It is out of the question.” You shook your head and continued on anyway. “It is only for a week— and I swear, I shall only stay in the castle grounds; I will not even venture onto the shore!” Your father shook his head, taking a big bite of his meal. “You have a guard for a reason,” Your brother spoke once more. 

“I know that! And a guard is placed in case of danger— but what danger shall come to this castle? It is impregnable! Not only are guards patrolling each gate and hall, but we also have the navy! Even you yourself had said that the summer palace has a better defense than the one in the capitol!” You and your brother began to argue, your voices growing louder and both of you not caring that the other spoke. “Enough!” Your father suddenly roared, banging his fist upon the wooden table to cease your and your brother’s bickering. 

“You are aware of my tendency to escape,” You say, taking the opportunity of momentary silence. Your brother snorted, “We are,” Your father sighed. “But you do not know the reason for it.” You say, and they were rendered silent, except for your mother. “You do it for attention— you find it amusing when guards are beside themselves searching for you— you are not satisfied until you put your family through panic.” You frowned at your mother’s words, a different pang in your heart as you heard how she truly viewed you. Your brother was quick to notice your deflated shoulders and the urge in you to tear up. “Why?” He asked. 

You licked your lips, “I just wish for a resemblance of independence— where a guard does not trail and follow each movement I make— I am comparable to a prisoner!” You say, and your mother snorts at your words, and you try your best to ignore her. “It’s just that this is the perfect opportunity for me to even have a resemblance of the freedom I crave— and if you grant me this, it will sedate my desire to escape and find independence myself.” You finished explaining, hoping your father would consider your request, for they had kept you caged your entire life. 

You were only curious to know what it was like to be unencumbered by the constant presence of a guard who did nothing but oversee each action you took, ready to report any transgression you make and will make to your father and brother. And in truth, you could not stomach being in the presence of Ser Aemond at the moment because even though he was in your near proximity, his silence and indifference made you feel furthermore lonely than you felt when you were alone. 

There was a palpable silence that enveloped the table for a moment, you looking upon your father and imploring him to bend to your will. He took in a deep breath and a large gulp of his wine. “Very well then, you shall be without a guard— but only for this week.” He said, bringing a true smile to your lips as you were overjoyed that you could not even pay mind to your mother, who rolled her eyes as you were granted what you wanted, as always. “Thank you, Father! And I swear I shall only be by the east wing and gardens!” You reassured, and your brother shook his head in disbelief. “You better be,” Your father sighed, but a small smile twitched on his lips as he saw the joy on your face. 

“Tell your sister’s guard that he is dismissed for the week,” Your father ordered your brother as he stood; your brother sat in disbelief at your father’s decision. “You heard father, go!” You smiled triumphantly as your parents retired for the night, leaving you and your brother seated by the table, facing one another. Your brother grumbled and stood, stomping outside to speak with your knight.

“You are dismissed, Ser Aemond.” Your brother sighed as he spoke with your knight, who waited for you on the other side of the door. A frown quickly overcame Aemond’s face. “What do you mean, my prince? Have I not fulfilled my station?” He questioned, trying not to show the rage that was simmering in him. “What I mean is, you are dismissed for the week— you shall retrun to your station when we are to retrun to the capitol.” Your brother explained further, but that did not aid Aemond's confusion. 

“My sister has requested our father for independence— insisted that she is not in need of a knight for the time being and father had granted her request. You are dismissed for the week. Take it as a rest— I know how demanding it must be to look upon my sister.” Aemond bit his tongue, turning to the ajar door of the dining room, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, who had asked your father to dismiss him. He did not. 

“I still do not understand, my prince,” Ser Aemond repeated, and your brother breathed out a laugh. “Nor do I.” He muttered. “But you are free for the week. You may leave the castle and find other lodging if you please or not; it is up to you. Either way, you are unburdened by duties for the remainder of our stay here, so I advise you to rest and make the most out of your leave.” Your brother added, giving a nod as an indication for Ser Aemond to walk away. Aemond gritted his jaw, turning to the ajar door once more, and only saw a glimpse of your sullen face as you waited for your brother’s return. He nodded at the prince and took his leave, just as you wanted. 

Taglist: @anukulee @ladyriverasafespace @rebeccawinters @gayfiretruck @bellarkeselection @thhriller @bittersweetmargarita @jellybeanstacey0519 @ewanmitchellfanatic

[mikichko]

pairing: tf141 x reader cw: mentions of past trauma, mentions of body image issues a/n: no clue what this is. i just suddenly remembered that I can't fall asleep in open spaces, especially with other people around and this spawned. as always a massive thank you to xavi, @buttdumplin , for his wonderful encouragement. 💕

you'd forgotten what a safe cozy home felt like. it'd been stripped from you long ago.

had lost sense of how pliant a body without tension could become, how slowly a heart could beat. or how the edges of a home were meant to be warm, not cold and constrictive. you'd even had the sense of comfort stripped from clothing you loved so much, outfits stuck on a looping cycle so that you could walk past mirrors without cringing. even in an empty house, you'd been unable to sleep with your door open. always fighting an impending sense of doom until you firmly closed it shut. it'd been your reality for so long that you'd resigned yourself from the idea that it could ever change.

and yet, here you are, eyes fighting to stay open as your head rests in kyle's lap. his fingers trace patterns absentmindedly on the exposed skin of your hip, your oversized sleep pants sagging just enough for his fingers to gain access. in the background, a soft melody flows out of the kitchen, intermixed with john and johnny's ongoing dinner discussion as they prep together. it blends nicely with the soft noise of the tv and the sound of thread being pulled through fabric as simon works diligently on his stitches. kyle murmurs softly to simon, who hums back a response too low for your fuzzy brain to make out.

you don't remember ever feeling like this before. sleepiness overtaking your body the same way your body soaks the heat up in the room, at a slow and gradual pace. the quiet conversation right above your head, the white noise of the tv, the clinking of plates, and occasional deep laughter that floats from the kitchen lulls you into a state of tranquility that your body's unfamiliar with. it's like your body becomes aware in that moment that there's no need to hold the tension any longer, there's nothing to be guarding against. at least not when you have four guards of your own surrounding you. so the tension leaks out of you, anxiety going with it, as your body becomes warmer and your body sinks into both kyle and the couch just a little more.

it's not long before the noise muffles and you're washed away into a dreamless sleep.

who knows how long you float in that state of warm blissful rest. at times you feel slight brushes against your skin, nothing alarming enough for your body to jolt awake but the whisper of something. maybe you dream it. soft, loving fingers on your skin to comfort you into a deeper state of relaxation. real or not, it helps as your body becomes soft and pliant against kyle.

sometime later, you'll wake up with your legs on john's lap, his warm hand wrapped around your ankle and rubbing the skin there in slow circles. kyle hand's is still on your hip, resting there as his fingers make small indents into the soft skin there while his thumb strokes your skin soothingly. simon continues to stitch, the sound of his pulls much shorter now as his thread has changed not just in color but length as well. johnny sits on the floor in front of the couch, legs outstretched under the coffee table murmuring softly at the tv as the truth seekers find alfie's soul trapped in the number station.

you're still fuzzy around the edges and can't help the laugh that escapes you at alfie's reaction to the creation of prawn cocktail crisps. you watch johnny's head turn to you as kyle huffs out a laugh above you, john squeezes your ankle, and simon looks up from his work to smile softly at you.

"have a good nap love?" johnny's cheek smushes into the cushion as he grins at you. he looks so soft you can't help but reach a hand out to confirm he's as soft as he looks. his grin widens, nuzzling into your hand and you hum back in approval.

john chuckles, fingers work their way up your leg rubbing at the muscle there, "plate in the kitchen for you sprout. ready whenever you want it."

simon doesn't let you answer. he's already traced the lines of your body, inspected the way you blink slowly as you fight to stay in this small moment of consciousness. "still needs more lie-down cap. barely keeping those eyes open."

john and johnny chuckle at your valiant attempt to look more awake but it only accentuates the sleepiness in your blinks. you feel kyle's hand lift off your hip, whining at its absence and turning your face into his thigh seeking more warmth.

his hand finds your cheek, fingers stroking the skin softly as he murmurs down to you, "go on sweetheart, we got you."

you turn your cheek towards his touch, humming happily as your eyes flutter shut. the soft sounds of truth seekers lull you back into your sleepy state, your breath evening out once again. the last thing you feel before slipping back into a blissful state of rest is the press of soft lips and a scratchy beard against your forehead.

[reallyromealone]

Rome you know I'm gonna need a part 2 to that zoro x reader x sanji right cause I can't let that slide😊

Title: goodbye love

Fandom: one piece

Characters: Zoro, Sanji

Fic type: angst

Pairings: Zoro x sanji

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, angst, aggressive conversation, sad reader

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

(name) hummed as he stocked bread in a small bakery, it had been five months since he left and he felt lighter and happier since the breakup. He was far from the island they docked from, getting a job easily at a bakery in a small coastal town.

Occasionally he wondered how his now ex boyfriends were, how they reacted to the letter... Were they sad? Angry? Did they even care? (Name) Didn't know and slowly stopped caring. He was starting fresh, leaving the pirate life to have something more domestic and stable though getting used to land was a bit tough.

"(Name), you work too much, go home early" the elderly bakery owner said softly, her cane tapping against the old wood with each step "are you sure? I don't mind being here" (name) asked her, (bakery owner) chuckled as she led him out "the rush is over, not many people will come today"

"Alright, but just get one of the kids to get me if it gets busy"

"Yes yes, now go!"

(Name) Chuckled as he was kicked out of the store, she was old but strong.

'with this extra time, might as well grab some stuff from the market' he thought as he went back to his place to grab some bags and coin, the walk calm and the gulls squawked as they flew overhead, the town was on the side of a huge hill, winding and full of turns, small but popular. It was perfect.

His apartment was small, he was surprised to have a one bedroom, a fireplace for cooking and even a bit of space for seating. His bed was the most expensive thing he owned, he saw it at the market and immediately got it. It was a futon, comfiest thing he ever slept on and he even got pillows. It was pricy but thankfully he had a fair amount of coin from his previous employment.

He only slept on wood or a hammock.

It was a nice adjustment.

The market was the biggest thing beside the town square, many vendors and travellers in and out selling everything and anything one could need.

(Name) Loved getting fruits from other places, one a trip as a treat for himself, today he got something called an apple, typically he's used to mango and jackfruit on this island so it was a nice change.

(Name) Made a few purchases, important house things and a few little trinkets for himself.

A book from a far away land.

An apple.

Some sewing needles and thread as he wished to learn to sew better.

And finally, a little music box.

It was nothing fancy but the sound it played reminded him of childhood, his mother would hum a tune quite similar to it.

What he didn't expect to see was a familiar boat.

"Shit" (name) immediately rushed home, he wasn't ready to face anything at the moment and definitely not with how he left.

(Name) Was shaking as he got inside, glancing out the window of his apartment to see if they are close to his home, irrational be knew but he had to check. Thankfully the street just had a few passersby and no strawhats. He would have to avoid anywhere that sold alcohol for a while, most restaurants and thankfully he was off for the next few days so he didn't have to go to the bakery. (Name) Looked at his collection of books and the sewing supplies and sighed happily.

Guess he has to stay inside and do the things he enjoy.

What a shame.

(Name) Spent the day doing his hobbies as a tiny radio played music in the corner, thankfully this small town had a radio station so he could enjoy some sound.

Knock knock knock.

(Name) Was engrossed in his quilt as he looked up curiously, setting his project down to go down to answer the door, a staircase down to the front door "hello (name), I thought you would enjoy some bread" his boss said kindly and handed him a basket of breads and a few muffins "ah thanks boss, that's real kind of you" the two made small talk casually, the elderly woman happy he's starting a new project "I have some sewing supplies at my home, I'm to old to use them but you can have them" the woman ushered him to follow and (name) realized he would have to leave his house.

Shit.

Silently begrudgingly he followed her, the woman excited to have someone take the supplies.

Then he smelt it half way to the bakery, cigarettes and fresh made food.

"(Name)?" He didn't turn around as his boss looked back curious, Sanji staring at his ex in awe.

(Name) Looked different.

Glowing, lighter and most of all; happier.

(Name) Turned to see his ex and sighed "hello Sanji" this is why he didn't want to go outside, his ex boyfriend looking hurt at the lack of sweet names for him, stopping closer he saw the uncomfortable expression wash over him "Luffy is gone to go get some food, have you.... (Name)" Zoro halted, staring at (name) like salvation.

(Name) Was startled at how awful the two looked, like they barely slept and sanji looked almost dead inside "can we talk?" His voice gravelly with exhaustion and (name) looked to his boss who smiled "we can talk later, you do what you need to do"

And that's how (name) ended up with the two in his apartment "So what do you guys want" (name) said less of a question and more of a demand, clearly uncomfortable "seems you settled down nice" Zoro commented as he looked at the homey space "I have" (name) stared at them unimpressed "why did you leave?" Sanji finally spoke up and the room grew more tense.

"I couldn't stay any longer, not with you two"

"Why?!" Zoro snapped and (name) had enough "because you two didn't care!" (Name) Fired back angrily "you two acted like I didn't exist! Flirting with women and ignoring me to do anything else! Who in their right mind WOULD WANT THAT! DID YOU EVEN LOVE ME?!"

It was silent as (name) heaved out a dog "I gave you two everything! And I get cheating and neglect!"

The two pirates barely had time to react as (name) lost his shit on them "why didn't you love me?" (Name) Finally asked, shaking and angry "why was it never me? You two showed more love to women and fucking swords than me!"

"I-im sorry..." Sanji whispered and (name) looked him in the eye "then why did you look at Nami in a way that you could never look at me?"

Zoro fidgeted, knowing he was next and in a rare moment... He was nervous.

"And why was I not worth spending time with?" There it was "you come here demanding to speak with me yet the time we dated you couldn't even be bothered to do the most basic of things with me"

"(Name)--"" I think you two should leave" (name) finally said "I have no interest in this conversation anymore... Goodbye "

"(Name) Come on-"" leave now, I'm begging you"

The two sorrowfully walk down the stairs, unable to get a word in as the door slammed behind them.

And at that moment they truly realized.

They lost (name).

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter three

Summary: Not your average day out, well, maybe for The Avengers it is.

Warning: Minimum Violence. John Walker.

Word Count: 1374

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A/N: JACKET. Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree

The aroma of coffee filled the small space of your kitchen, and the events at the restaurant and the fallout weighed heavily on your mind. As you stood by the counter, lost in thought, you heard a soft knock at your door. 

Opening it, you found Bucky standing there, looking slightly disheveled. “Hey,” he greeted, his voice gentle. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay after last night.”

You stepped aside, letting him enter. With a grateful smile, you nodded. “I just made some coffee, would you like some?” 

His eyes scanned the room as if he was ensuring everything was in place as he walked in. “I’d love some, please, Sweetheart,” he smiled, turning back at you. Dark shadows clung beneath his eyes, the whites of them were threaded with red veins as his lids struggled to stay open. “I didn’t get much sleep.” 

You poured two mugs, handing one to Bucky. “I know you told him about John,” you said softly, leading him to the couch. 

“I’m not sorry about that,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Steve should have done more damage,” he mumbled under his breath.

You sighed, sitting next to him and bringing your knees up to your chest. “I just wish it hadn’t come to that. Steve shouldn’t be in fights because of me,”

Bucky turned his gaze to you, softening at the thought of your worry. “That wasn’t your fault, Steve did what any brother would, and John… well, he’s not worth your time or concern.”

His presence helped steady your emotions, comforting you. He had a way of keeping you grounded, making you feel safe. “Thank you, Bucky,” you said, meeting his gaze. “For everything.”

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Always.” 

As you found a comfortable silence lacing itself between you, the familiar massage tone of both phones pinged together. Reaching for them in sync, you read the message. ‘They’ve taken Steve in, again.’ Your heart sank.

“Walker,” Bucky mumbled as he stared at his phone, sighing. You closed your eyes, a wave of guilt washing over you. “It’s not your fault,” Bucky reassured you, cupping your face, the cold metal soothing your flushed skin. “Let’s go get him.” 

Nodding in agreement, you raised from your seat and settled your mug down on the coffee table. Grabbing your keys, you began to race toward the door. Bucky cleared his throat moments before you reached for the handle, grabbing your attention.

He held out his jacket toward you, gesturing toward your attire. The adrenaline coursing through you caused you to forget you had yet to change out of your nightwear. Mumbling a thank you toward him, you slipped into his jacket, letting the leather material surround your body.

~

The ride to the police station was a blur, your mind replayed the events of the previous night. Every what-if raced through your thoughts. 

When you entered the police station, Sam, Natasha, and Wanda were already waiting inside for Steve. “Have you seen him yet?” you asked, as Bucky went over to the front desk. 

Sam shook his head, concern shown on his face. “Not yet. They’re questioning him now. They haven’t given us anything, yet.” 

Natasha rose from her seat in the waiting area, her expression a mix of frustration and determination. “He’ll be okay, we’ve been here before.” 

Bucky returned from the front desk, his face masking a barely restrained anger. “Walker’s really pushing himself this time.” 

A confused look washed over your features, “This time?” you asked, gazing up at Bucky, searching for answers in his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘this time’?” 

Wanda put a reassuring hand on your back, “Walker wants what Steve has,” she spoke, and a heavy tension began to weigh in the air. “You know, the authority, the bar’s respect…” she continued as she gestured around the station.

“He’s just trying to provoke us,” Sam suspected, as his gaze met yours, you felt smaller than usual around your friends as you realized your part in this. “He knew getting to you would do that.” 

Your gaze tried to avoid all of theirs, feeling humiliated. Wrapping Bucky’s jacket tighter around your body, you found an empty seat and sank into it.

The minutes felt like hours as you waited. Suddenly, the door to one of the interview rooms opened, and it wasn’t who you were hoping for. John emerged, looking smug and satisfied. His gaze met yours for a brief moment, a smirk across his face. 

Before you could react, Bucky was across the room. He grabbed John by the collar and slammed him against the wall with force, the entire station went silent. “Is there a problem, guard dog?” John spat as he tried to maintain his composure.

Bucky’s grip tightened, his voice a growl. “Listen, Walker. If you ever,” another slam, “go near her again, you’ll have more than just Steve to worry about.” 

“Barnes!” Officer Fury, who dealt with your group on numerous occasions, called out as he approached. “Not here,” the man tried to squeeze himself between the two men. 

Reluctantly, Bucky let go and took a step back. Fury placed a firm hand on John’s shoulder, guiding him out of the station. “Don’t make things worse for yourself.” 

Straightening his collar, he shot one last venomous look at you before turning and walking out of the station. 

Fury sighed as he turned to Bucky, shaking his head. “Keep it together, Barnes. You know the drill, don’t let him get the best of you.” Bucky nodded as he looked over at you.

Within seconds, another interview room door opened, this time, Steve walked out. You immediately rose from your seat and rushed over to him. He pulled you into a tight hug. “You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle with a lace of tiredness. 

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “Forget me, what about you?” 

Pulling back slightly, Steve looked at you with a soft smile. “I’m good. Fury’s got our backs, letting me off with a warning.”

You glanced over at Fury, sending him a grateful smile as he gave you a reassuring nod. “Just keep it in the bar,” he advised. 

“Speaking of,” Sam smirked as he gestured toward the station door. “Shall we?” 

A sense of relief washed over you and your friends. Following their lead out of the station, you suddenly remember you were still in your nightwear. The warmth from Bucky’s jacket caused you to feel fully dressed and covered the entire time.

Bucky walked beside you, sensing your sudden discomfort he placed a hand on the small of your back. “I’ll take you home first,” he gave you a small smile as you glanced up at him. 

~

As you reached your apartment, Bucky followed you up the stairs, his hand never left the small of your back as he rested gently against it. The familiar scent of your home instantly put you at ease as you stepped inside. 

“I’ll be quick!” you promised, as you turned to glance at him. He closed the door behind you and leaned against it as he watched you make your way to your bedroom. 

“Take your time, Sweetheart,” he said, a playful tone laced his voice as he smiled back at you. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Disappearing into your bedroom, the adrenaline that had carried you through the events at the police station began to wear off. You quickly change out of your nightwear and into one of your dresses, and check your appearance. The comforting weight of Bucky’s jacket still lingered on your shoulders as you replaced it with one of your cardigans. 

Bucky had moved into your living room by the time you emerged from your bedroom, his expression softening when he saw you. “Gorgeous,” he said, a rush of heat spread across your cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, as you avoided his gaze, and caught the sight of his jacket draped over your arm. “Oh, and thank you!” You gestured toward the jacket as you handed it back to him. 

Bucky’s face fell slightly as he took the jacket, disappointment crossed his features. “It looked good on you,” he said as he reluctantly slipped it on.

---

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[thatonebirdwrites]

What are some of ur favorite supergirl fic recs(other than ur own which are great)?

Hi! Gosh, that's super kind to call my fics great. :) I appreciate it! Honestly, I have so many fics that I loved reading. I'm not sure which of these will fit your preferences, but here are some of my favorites (I list the following because they hit me hard in one way or another). These range from 1k to 300k.

Don't go slow cause you're gonna be someone by robie (Supercorp)

All of pcrtifacts fics, especially make this place your home

one single thread of gold by scrappylittlegleek and Fresh Pair of Eyes (Supercorp)

Darkness In All Things by fazedlight (Supercorp) (I honestly love all fazedlight's fics)

Privileges by rustingcat (I also go back to rustingcat's Of Science and Love) (Supercorp)

Lena's Space Log by mycatismyeditor (Supercorp)

sam's supercorptober 2023 by sssammich (Supercorp)

Hell was the journey (but it brought me heaven) by luthordamnvers (Supercorp)

You're in my blood, like holy wine by jazzfordshire and i want something just like this (Supercorp)

Captain Underpants by asamiontop (Supercorp)

Of Kisses and Kara by TheUnforgivingMinute (Supercorp)

The Shape of Soup by ekingston (Supercorp)

Permanence by itllsetyoufree (Supercorp)

let me be easy to love series by coffeeshib or lay with me (like a renaissance painting) (Supercorp)

See All the Marks of My Wounded Past by luthordamnvers and snowydragonscave (Supercorp)

Bury the Dead by thornedrose44 (Supercorp)

ties that bind by sten06 (Rojarias)

love actually by sten06 (Rojarias)

Inhabit by Laetare (Supercorp)

The Magic of Constellations series by snowydragonscave (Supercorp)

Attachments by texadian (Supercorp)

Archive of Her Own by spicycheese

and if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones by AssumingMinds19 (past Reigncorp, Supercorp)

Meet the Superfriends by FondWeirdIntrovert (Supercorp, Brainia, Dansen)

The Arctic Station by Forage (Supercorp)

Trøllabundin by BigMammaLlama5 (Kara/Lena)

An Ocean of Fire by IcarusAndHerSun (Kara/Lena, Sam/Alex)

when dinosaurs ruled the earth by drsattlers (Kara/Lena)

come feel this magic i've been feeling since i met you by homosectional (Supercorp)

let all your damage damage me by searidings (Supercorp)

take my mask, i'm home now by Melui (Supercorp)

you’re my remedy by amnesiayourself (Kara/Lena)

Anyway, that's the tip of the iceberg. I struggle with choosing favorites, there's so many I loved reading. Honestly, the talent of supergirl fic writers is quite breathtaking.

But hopefully you'll enjoy a few of those!

Thanks for asking! :D

[stormsthatrage]

Tsuna is kind. Tsuna is compassionate. Tsuna, unlike many bosses, does not see himself as more than simply because of his station.

The only people who are capable of bringing out the entitled, spoiled, possessive Mafia Prince - the tiny piece of Tsuna's heart that is a stereotypically behaved Vongolian Sky - are his closest family. And even then, they can only manage it in very specific circumstances.

Allow me to clarify:

Imagine Tsuna, in a café filled with rubble and smoke, looking down at Hayato's fallen form. He stares at the blood seeping out from Hayato's chest - the chest that was torn open when Hayato jumped in front of a bullet meant for Tsuna.

(The assassin's corpse is cooling on the other side of the room, dead too late at the edge of Takeshi's blade.)

Tsuna keeps his eyes locked on Hayato. Hayato, who lies limp and motionless, no matter how much sun flame Ryouhei pumps in to him.

It feels like a dream. It feels fake. He feels detached from it all, like he's watching the world from far above and emotions can only reach him after traveling through a mile of cotton.

"Move," he tells his sun, his dying will flaring in the midst of his strange numbness.

His sun yanks his hands back, as instantaneously as if he were following a reflex instead of words.

Tsuna surveys the scene for another second, still through that mile of cotton, and then decides, "No. No, I refuse."

And, after all, does he not have a right to? He, the holder of the Vongola Sky Ring, the Guard of the Vertical Axis, the Sky of Skies. Is it not his birthright to seize hold of, to command, the threads of time?

He reaches out, burning, and undoes it.

An orange glow erupts around the two of them - his Hayato, and the assassin.

And then there is the assassin, alive again, aiming at a spot Tsuna is no longer at.

And there is Hayato, alive again, throwing himself to protect where Tsuna once stood.

Tsuna already has an arm raised, and sends a blast of power at the assassin. The assassin crumples. And then Tsuna is turning around, spinning towards Hayato, and he feels, within him, a hot, violent rage swell up. How dare he. How dare he.

He stalks over to his Right Hand, hands shaking with anger, and he spits, "You."

His Right Hand looks at him, all wide-eyed and taken off guard. As if he's not a fucking thief.

Tsuna snarls up at him, right up in his space, "Sit."

His Right Hand's knees fold. He just barely manages to catch himself against the table directly behind him, and it's not so much sitting as propping himself up, but Tsuna doesn't fucking care.

Tsuna's fists clench, and he stares directly into those green, green eyes. "You," he seethes, "took an oath, Gokudera Hayato." He feels himself burning, dying will an inferno on his skin. "You swore yourself to me, yes? Your life is mine. You do not have the right to take it from me."

His Right Hand, his storm, his Hayato, says nothing, eyes wide and face pale and lips parted ever so slightly in shock.

Tsuna feels incandescent with rage. "You dare-"

And then he finds himself losing the words, swaying in place as exhaustion slams down across him.

The last thing he feels is Hayato's arms coming up around him, warm and alive and oh so gentle, and the last thing he hears is Takeshi, saying - absolutely delighted, Tsuna knows that tone - "Oh, he is going to be so embarrassed when he wakes up."

And then darkness.

[buddierecs]

sharing clothes buddie fics

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

and i just want to wrap you up, want to kiss your lips by: bucksbuddies "five times buck steals eddie’s clothes and one time eddie gives them to him." word count: 9.8k important tags: 5+1 things, soft!buddie, getting together, sharing a bed, hurt/comfort in the arms of the ocean by: allyasavedtheday "after the tsunami, eddie takes buck home." word count: 6.8k important tags: hurt/comfort, sharing a bed, love confessions, cuddling the definition of love and all things ineffable by: elvensorceress "in which buck processes his breakup, learns his place in his family, has a huge crisis of sexuality, and finds the truth about love beating in his own heart." word count: 29k important tags: friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, sexuality crisis, love confessions, family feels firefighter diaz by: sourwolfseblaine "5 times buck wears something with 'DIAZ', making eddie go absolutely crazy." word count: 3.3k important tags: married!buddie, soft!buddie, possessive!eddie diaz, domestic fluff put my heart inside your palms by: markofalover "how an accidental pet name, a thoughtful dinner, and a shared shirt makes them get their shit together." word count: 3k important tags: mutual pining, idiots in love, pet names, love confessions, getting together the love within these threads by: warpedpuppeteer "the case of the missing hoodie and the subsequent capture of the hoodie thief eddie diaz." word count: 2.7k important tags: family feels, established relationship, fluff god only knows where this could go by: sam_writes_fics "buddie + clothes sharing" word count: 7k important tags: fluff, idiots in love, mutual pining, possessive behaviour you can feel it on the way home (you are in love) by: made_ofmemories "buck's apartment is destroyed when an earthquake shakes LA, luckily there's always a space for him in the diaz household." word count: 23k important tags: roommates, getting together, sharing a bed, fluff, moving in together, didn't know they were dating i built a home (for you, for me) by: made_ofmemories "eddie shows up to work wearing one of buck's shirts. assumptions are made and revelations are had." word count: 6.1k important tags: getting together, didn't know they were dating, idiots in love, fluff e. diaz: hoodie thief by: spaceflower eddie diaz is a hoodie thief and he has no shame about it. word count: 3.5k important tags: getting together, fluff, team as family, soft!buddie, first kiss clothes thief eddie my beloved (series) by: renecdote "the one where eddie is a clothes thief and buck kind of loves that about him." word count: 16k important tags: stealing clothes is a love language, clothes as comfort items, fluff a discovery of boxer briefs by: princessfbi "he had to be dreaming, right? or maybe just in heaven and painfully aware of the warm fluttery feelings in his chest that were making him dizzy. because there, in eddie’s kitchen, was buck in a pair of socks with one pooling down his ankle like the elastic had been overstretched, an oversized hoodie, and a pair of grey briefs and it shouldn’t be the thing that made eddie’s head spin but it was." word count: 3.6k important tags: fluff, lazy mornings, morning cuddles, 6x10 speculation fic, hurt/comfort stay (always) by: galaxyninjer "buck takes the morning off to attend a doctor's appointment with maddie. when he gets back to station earlier than scheduled, he learns that eddie had a rough call that morning and goes to comfort him" word count: 1.7k important tags: pre-relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, sharing a bed, cuddling, fluff, pet names, team as family and it smells like me; you can't get rid of it by: browney3dgirl6 "five times buck leaves his clothes at eddie's, and the one time they're right where they belong" word count: 6.4k important tags: 5+1 things, werewolves, scenting, getting together, idiots in love, soft!buddie

[callmehopeless]

A Recounting Of Moments

Ominis Gaunt x Reader

AO3 LINK | OR BELOW THE CUT

Plot: Ominis Gaunt gives MC cunnilingus. No other plot. It's just horny, man. (Below the cut because 18+)

Word Count: 1,500

He's loved her since those very first days.

Since the threads of him first tangled with the threads of her - tentative. A curious meeting outside of the Undercroft; he was angry, then, at the intrusion of the thing. It felt like the twisting knife that curled in his heart, and he was blinded (if you'll forgive him that one) by a rage too thick to see through.

It's always been the three of them, you see.

Sebastian, and Anne, and Ominis. A triad of troublemakers; or friends, at the least of it. Three people who have trusted eachother, beyond all recognition. Beyond sense, or sanity, or any which ways you turn the dial.

But then there was her.

Oh, Merlin--he never expected this.

It's the way she kisses him. The way her lips press to his that makes him drunk on it; on the madness that can barely be contained in him. Ominis Gaunt has grown around the madness: a pox of his family, and he's the pox on that, too. Stains upon stains, until you become lost in the fabric of an addled tapestry that doesn't make you a Gaunt. Doesn't make you anything else, either - but he's not sure where he fits, anymore.

Between her lips, though: he fits there just fine.

He thinks he'd like to stay there forever. Build a home in the space between those places; write poetic lines right into the cords of her throat. Tell her she's magical; tell her she's shaking the very fabric of him into misery and madness, just by the way her back arches against this window.

He shouldn't be fucking her here.

But he's fucking her all the same.

Not yet: not quite. But his lips drag up her ankle: her back pressed against the window of the Common Room like it's solid enough to support the way their souls vibrate. He can feel the way she's trembling against it; how the water pushes and pulls against the glass as she hitches her skirt, and Ominis Gaunt is lost in kissing upward. Upward, inch by inch: as slowly as one can kiss, when all is said and done.

"You don't know, do you?" he asks her, between smattered promises on her skin, "don't know what I've held back from doing to you all day?"

Of course she doesn't.

If she did - she'd hardly be threading her fingers through his hair and dragging her nails over his scalp like this. She'd be shredding her voice on his name; aching, wild: she'd be tearing the tapestries from the walls with screams of his name. There's a strength to the thoughts he's brimming with: too deep and dark to explain to her, in the heat of this moment.

"Tell me," she begs him, and it drips like honey. Right down his spine; right over the fabric of his clothes. Drenches him.

He kisses up towards her knee, now. Sucks a kiss on the inside of her right one, pulling it just up over his shoulder. His hands thread higher to the curves of her; he can see her in perfect detail like this. The way she'd fill a uniform to perfection. Fill a skirt to absolution.

Fit around him like she was made to.

Perhaps that's too crass of him. Filth and dirt: not befitting a man of his station.

Ominis cares little for it.

He cares for the way gooseflesh pricks under his fingers, though. And that's far more real than any suppositions might be.

"First," he tells her, his voice husky in his throat, "I thought of you at breakfast. Sitting in my lap. The way you like to put those delicate lips to my neck."

He tells her it without any need to compose himself: he's already lost in her. His trousers are too tight, when he kisses upward. Bites, a little bit, at her left leg first. He moves to the right to give it equal attention, and his nails dig crescents ever so gently against the outside of her thigh. She intakes sharply; a lungful of air that feels almost reverent.

"Go on," she implores, and he feels rather lost in it all.

"Then; Charms."

Ominis lets his breath flutter on her as he moves upward; it's warmer, here. Softer. The skin is tender and untouched by anyone but him - he's maddened by the salty taste of the sweat against his lips.

"You held that wand deftly," he feels almost wild, now. His cock throbs in his trousers; spitting. Spilling. "Agony. All agony. You're a vision; and I wish your hands had been on me in much the same way."

He can feel her heartbeat in her thigh, and it's enough to bring him further into a deep, agonising place.

Merlin; but this worship is better than what his body craves.

To show her what this is is bliss in of itself. The denial is half of the prize: a man earns his keep, after all.

"I wish I had, now." Her voice cracks on the last word; his nails drag on the inside of her thighs, and there is no fabric to bar him at all.

"At dinner," he swallows, desperate for air, "I craved only this."

I craved only you.

He thinks he says it in English, at first. But there's a brilliant tremble to her body as he breathes it, so close to the wet heat of her - and it's not English at all. It's a hiss, and a flick of the tongue; the language of snakes, and a blessed relief to finally let free from himself. Like a breath he's been holding for far too long; he feels the tip of his tongue ache with the sound of it.

Or, perhaps, the desire to taste her.

She's trembling beneath his touch, and Ominis can barely contain it, as he kneels in blissful reverence before her. He's never been one for sermons, but it feels like something of a pledge; a promise, and a hymnal, and a tempestuous force from his lungs that wants to swallow him whole.

She whimpers at the touch, and he nibbles just so.

"Ominis," she begs, her pulse fluttering, "please. Please."

Ominis Gaunt is many things.

But no - he will never deny her this.

So his mouth creeps upward; lips parted, teeth nibbling. Gentle and slow, as he feels the fabric of her skirt against the nape of his neck. He breathes in the scent of her, and it makes him just about mad with the promise of the whole bloody thing.

"Oh; you have no idea how delicious you are, do you?"

She can't ever know.

There are no words for it. None he knows; none that matter. None that would make sense  - not to him, not to her, nor to anyone. But his nails grab at the curve of her: higher, feeling the flesh ooze around his fingernails, and he's no longer a devout follower.

He's a reverent, repentant sinner.

His tongue comes first - stretches out. The tip of it is ever so gentle: he wants and wants, begging for a taste of her as though it'll cure every ill in his body. Maps her with his hands; but his tongue is the true vision of the peace. When he finds her; she trembles with a whine, and Ominis wishes he were a stronger man.

He isn't. No man is this strong.

He buries his face into her cunt: presses his lips to it in absolute, agonizing want. The feeling is ecstasy; the taste is madness. Keening, pure absolution - incomprehensible, in all that it is.

His groan is loud enough to wake half the Common Room; but that's half of the daring of it.

The other half is deep within her; and he'll gladly lick it out. Spread the flat of his tongue clean against her, until she's writhing and wild against his face; fisting his hair and begging with his name upon her lips.

He's loved her all along, after all.

[wingzie]

The Definition of Jikook: Through Others Eyes

“Becca, how would you define Jikook?” In the last few months I have been asked this several times. And not by Jikookers. Since my bad experiences with offline events, I decided (in typical “me” fashion) to just throw myself out there and keep moving forward. This included joining more Twitter GC’s or Discord Servers and going to more offline events. In one of the most recent events, I lived locally and wanted to help. Therefore, I offered to escort some anxious Army from the train station to the venue.

Anyway, I was still cautious about going and, though there were a few odd moments, the event went really well overall. Something else kindled during this event that I did not expect: The desire to talk more about jikook. Before, even mentioning Jikook as a unit and not as Jimin and Jungkook was almost seen as a taboo. Especially compared to the other units that we are familiar with. Due to me no longer giving a damn and using my main twitter account, people relating to the event knew who I was and they had questions. Very interesting questions. About Jikook. About their enlistment. About the travel show. This was a pleasant surprise and it shocked me that some of these people already knew quite a lot without me telling them anything. Including some information that I thought was only in the Jikook circles. I asked one person why they didn’t talk about Jikook as much on Twitter and they said because they were scared with all the shipper fights. Which is quite valid really. If all you see whenever Jikook is mentioned is constant fighting, then you would distance yourself. It made me realise something though: 

Even if someone isn’t talking about Jikook. They are still watching and are very much aware of what is going on.

Sometimes we amplify the wrong things and we give the loudest voices to the negative comments. When I do the Live Reactions series, I will sometimes have hundreds of positive screenshots to go through and then(somehow) pick twenty-five of them for the thread. It was really interesting to see so many people talking about Jungkook going Live whenever Jimin went overseas or about the travel show. It also reminded some of moments that were sadly forgotten about.

This touches on something else too. Our traditions as a fandom have somewhat changed. With the removal of the social media awards, we no longer boost BTS’ history like we used to. Elon has also changed how we find content, with the removal of “moments” and advanced searching now being really difficult to find things. There is still hope though. With Jin’s return, it was lovely to see so many asking about Jin as a person or how Festa would work. Sharing old memories and watching Bang Bang Con together added so much value to our experiences together as a fandom.It’s something we should treasure. 

BTS have shared so much with us and it’s why I’ll forever be thankful for archive accounts. With every post or comment shared with others, we encourage them to learn more about the members or to watch content they may not have seen before. I experienced this myself when I mentioned Bon Voyage to someone who didn’t know what it was. They had only watched “In the Soop” and were excited by the concept of the members going abroad together. I hope they enjoy it!

Going back to Jikook, I have seen an increase of positive engagement surrounding them. This includes in both online and offline spaces. It makes me excited for when the travel show comes out and the conversations it will create, with so many already floating around. When I am asked how I define them myself, I try to turn it around. It doesn’t matter what I think about Jikook or how I define them. That should be obvious by my account. What matters is how others do and the respect that it holds.