#here there and everywhere-verse

[recitedemise]

@rvolving asked: ❝ not everything needs an explanation. i care about you. i don’t have to sit here and figure out why. i just do. so maybe you should try just accepting it too. ❞ from q xxx / EMOTIONALLY CHARGED SENTENCE STARTERS: still accepting.

Gale sits there gob smacked. From meeting over paintings to exchanging gentle words? A heat death, Armageddon, should have long came before this.

But here: he's a darling academic, a lover of the cosmic and an adamant purveyor of blessings in the stars. It's foolish then — remarkable — to have fumbled like some novice in forseeing this warmth. Truly, this man is too clever, too tender in those matters that would count to Gale the most. About them, the café sing-songs, its peculating coffee the hum of Monday noon. Gosh. He stirs at his ristretto flecked carefully with creamer. There's no reason to explain it... I care about you.

Spoon coming to a stop, Gale peers right back.

I— "I suppose you're right," he scrounges, "but I've the knowledge of a saying that would concern old habits. It's a wonderful thought, however, and one I'm sure to think on for a thousand more moons." To say he cares for him when few would dare to... Why? "You understand. One can hardly scold a scientist for his quest for answers."

[distopea]

starter for @nezumivc103221

If he ever had a bad opinion regarding gypsies and circus folks - mostly due to his lack of knowledge regarding their mores - Mads had been quick to notice that they were more hard working than any man of his village. Leaving Mika’s trailer in the early morning had become a routine, quite easy to follow, and somewhat reassuring. It was simple to have a sort of schedule; to push aside human emotions, only to focus on hard work. Mads was devoted and silent. He had never been talented at expressing his feelings, most of the words coming from his soul as broken as he was inside. 

Working, at least, was an easy way out. He would push aside his guilt, his secrets, and the burden of having a sick brother when they should have been on the road by themselves. He wouldn’t need to think about how to repay his debts with those strange and colorful people, him, who was nothing but a large shadow with no talent whatsoever. Carrying wood, chopping it, lifting boxes, adjusting the scene for the next shows, giving food to the horses, eating by the firecamp at night… All of his muscles were solicited, and in the end, Mads was slowly becoming a pale version of himself, a ghost in the middle of everyone, but free from his own demons and thoughts. 

What a coping mechanism for an ex-soldier who couldn’t voice his own hell. There were already too many songs within his head after all.

As he was splashing rain water over his face, cleaning the remains of dust, soot and mud over his features, Mads noticed Nezumi from afar. He had watched him perform at night, more than once, secretly admiring his capacity to shift into a different skin and pretend to be someone else. Sometimes he wished he had the capacity to do the same, but alas, he was endlessly walking in his own skin, cursed to the bones by his own misery. Nezumi was a burning light and he was barely just a trail of smoke in the atmosphere.

The camp was truly busy this afternoon, Mads feeling the change in the air like an animal relying on his instincts. Something was different, but he couldn’t grasp the reason. 

“Nezumi,” he called, while he rolled up his sleeves and whipped his face with his palm, walking to meet the performer. His voice sounded raspy; he hadn’t talked to anyone since he had left Mika in the morning. Once he faced him, he remained silent for a while, as he wondered what a man smelling like horse shit could say to someone ethereal like him.

Each time he was eyeing Nezumi he had the sensation they were coming from different worlds, and not only because of the circus or their radically different habits.

“What’s the matter with everyone today?” He eventually asked, and made sure to pick what seemed to be an empty bucket on the ground, ready to get some fresh water from the wheel. “Everyone seems so… unusually busy.”

[un-pearable]

oh yeah saw blue beetle last night and one million thumbs up. going into having heard it’s very tokusatsu and comic booky made it one million times better. goofy and stupid in fun ways. i’m so glad we’ve looped back around to comic book movies being like comic books: confusing chronologically and catered to fans willing to put up with wildly specific nonsense. also heck of a great job making a movie about gentrification and colonization out of the chaos of blue beetle lore and corporate blandification i genuinely had fun

[beardedhandstoadshark]

Are Linked Universe fans aware the word they’re searching for is probably Linkverse (or Link's Meet AU)

(genuine question)

[yanlei-a]

pspspsps mains pspspsps

[reveriecorridor]

refulgence

[manneatcrarc]

.

[jeoseungsaja]

Patrick Myungdae Grace. ( @clemencetaught )

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR FERRE ❤️!!!

[fruitmouse]

she calls me back -> come over on the tracklist is so funny to me. mid to peak in seconds

[stillresolved]

"It's just a little something," Sarang's smile has a tightness around the edges that doesn't suit Jing at all. It makes her look hesitant, doubtful. Too old. Older than what Jing's mental age is supposed to be perceived as. The way she stands, too. Sarang is feminine, but her feminity isn't Jing's. Jing's isn't hers, either.

She gestures, vaguely points at the small gift bag she'd left on the table, moments before standing and declaring her departure. There, next to her empty cup, and Nell's hands, where Sarang had spent the better part of their afternoon softening into barely verbal answers, and long stares.

"It's not meant to insinuate anything," Sarang explains, with the calm of a being centuries' old, almost too warm for a deadly weapon. "I just thought you might enjoy wearing it."

A small expensive perfume bottle. A little something, because Sarang doesn't know how to make gifts she means. "Let me know if you don't like it, hm? I wouldn't want you walking around with a scent you don't enjoy, love." She smiles a little wider. "Don't ever disrespect yourself like that." ((>:3333333333333333333333333333))

@ptternminds / unprompted.

HER MOTHER WORKED THREE JOBS TO KEEP THEM AFLOAT. And when Nell was young, Daisy Jones took her daughter to all three of them. Babysitters were expensive and even more so, children shouldn't be trusted alone in a house. Nell used to be able to remember what day of the week it was based on her mother's work schedule: Mondays and Wednesdays were at the restaurant and Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays at the bar.

Saturdays and Sundays were her favorite though- her mother worked at a cosmetics store on the weekends. When Nell wasn't doing her homework, she was perusing the long aisles of beauty products that her mother advertised even if she couldn't afford them herself. Nell has always wondered what it was like, wearing such items. To consider such a necessity rather than a luxury.

Perfume is no exception.

Does Jing see perfume as the former or the latter? Nell can't say for sure- for a woman who is always impeccably dressed, a woman who displays flippancy more like a fan than an arm, Jing is...there's always an edge to her. Something not as light, not as pliant- sturdier, sharper. She's not like Myungdae, who keeps people at an arm's length. No, Jing keeps a much wider space, even when she strikes.

Perhaps an arrow?

"What does it smell like?" Nell blurts out, (the use of love made her brain short circuit for a moment there- just another question to ask: did Jing ever study in the UK?) even though she can clearly read the label- Coriander Sandalwood. Or at least that's what she thinks the label says; her Korean isn't quite a 1-to-1 with her English. Yet, or at least according to Alfred. "Sorry stupid question- I've used coriander before, not quite sure what it's supposed to do when I add it, but the recipes make it sound like my dishes will taste bland without it and I've been in enough temples to know what sandalwood smells like. Not terrible, but also it kinda reminds me of funerals- oh god, I'm making it sound like I've not happy you got me this, aren't I?"

A deep breath. Jing is still watching her, just as she always does. It's odd, isn't it? Nell babbles and even if she still can't gauge Jing's tolerance for such completely, she can't say it's all panic that spurs her on. "Thank you- I, uh, I've actually never worn perfume before? My mom did, but it was just for work- she wouldn't let me touch them. Probably wanted to make sure I didn't break anything."

She opens the perfume- she's seen lots of women put perfume on before right? "It's on the wrist, right?" One sprit for each wrist. She takes a whiff- it smells like the woods.

In other words, the exact opposite place someone like Nell thrives in. Somewhere someone like Jing would choose to be instead. Nell closes the bottle and tucks it away.

"Want coffee?" she says finally. If not still flustered. "And a croissant- I'll uh, it's on the house."

[ohsunshine]

i didn't know people like you existed. [ louis @ roman. probably around the san fran era tbh. ] / ( @halfapocalyptic )

"People like - people like me?" Roman asks, cocking his head to the side as if that might help him discern the hidden meaning in Louis' words.

Truth be told, he hates this: coming in to gently but firmly insist that those casettes - which, yes, they know about - never see the light of day. It's for the best, or it's just kinder for everyone, or some other company line bullshit that he doesn't really believe in or care about.

But Dad told him to come, so here he is, and his neck feels horribly bare and exposed. It always does when he has to deal with these fucking freaks. He should get a scarf; it won't do anything, but it'll make him feel better.

Roman makes an immediately-forgotten mental note to ask his PA to remind him to buy a scarf.

Back to the business at hand.

"We don't. Not, like, legally or officially speaking. But as far as you're concerned, yeah, we do. And we can be a real pain in your ass when we feel like it." When Dad feels like it. "So just - do yourself a favour and burn those tapes. Me? I don't give a flying fuck what you do. You could unwind the spools and fashion them into a freaky little cock cage for all I care, although the -" He makes a face and waves a hand, thinking about the thin, tacky plastic tape inside the casettes, and how it'd stick to clammy skin. "Nevermind. I don't need to know what you fanged freaks get up to in your spare time. Just deal with the tapes and you'll never have to see me again. Great, right? So you'll do it?"

[sunshinesfreckless]

His Spoiled Diamond

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Idol!Seungmin x fem!reader

Summary: He loves spoiling the girl he's always had a weak spot for.

Warnings: GETTING RAILED AT CHAUMET.

A/N: Again, I hope the Seungmin stans are happy with me.

୨ৎ Felix ୨ৎ Hyunjin ୨ৎ Bangchan ୨ৎ Jeongin ୨ৎ Han ୨ৎ Leeknow ୨ৎ Changbin

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Before the ring, before the coat,

there were a thousand little things.

Limited edition sneakers that vanished from shelves in seconds — but somehow landed at her door, no receipt, no note, only the faintest scent of his cologne lingering on the box.

A first edition poetry book she’d once brushed her fingers over in a dusty Paris stall — slipped onto her desk like a secret, bound in velvet, her name handwritten inside the cover.

Fresh flowers every Friday — never the forced perfection of roses, but wild, tangled stems like the ones she always lingered over at the street markets, chaotic and soft and alive.

A signed vinyl from her favorite band — though she’d never mentioned it aloud, only ever hummed a few verses under her breath while working.

Tiny velvet boxes tucked into the lining of her suitcase when she traveled — each cradling delicate jewelry that whispered against her skin like a private kiss.

Cashmere sweaters in muted colors, the kind that seemed to melt against her body, always fitting her too perfectly to be coincidence.

Matching mugs after a single offhand comment — because “coffee tastes better when we drink from the same cup.”

And the notes.

The notes tucked everywhere.

In her sketchbook.

In the pages of her planner.

In the back pocket of her jeans.

Eat well. Rest. You are loved.

He never asked for thanks.

Never expected anything back.

He just gave.

And gave.

And gave.

Until loving her was no longer something Seungmin did, it was something he was.

───── ୨ৎ ─────

The ring came first.

A delicate band of white gold, cold and precise, sliding onto her finger with the effortless certainty of something that had always belonged there.

No grand confession.

No speeches.

No fireworks.

Just Seungmin, sprawled lazily on the sofa in a worn gray hoodie, tapping idly at his phone, voice low and distracted:

“Come here.”

She did — barefoot, sleep-heavy, the hem of his old T-shirt brushing her thighs.

He caught her wrist, pulled her closer, thumbed the ring onto her finger with a slow, almost absent-minded care.

“Needed everyone to know you’re mine,” he murmured, not even looking up.

She stared at the band — thin, heavy with diamonds, an unmistakable signature of wealth and intimacy — and something in her chest cracked open.

She hadn’t asked.

Hadn’t needed to.

He simply knew.

“Thank you, Minnie,” she whispered, dazed.

He smiled — lazy, dangerous — and tugged her down onto his lap like it was nothing.

“Good girl.”

───── ୨ৎ ─────

The Burberry came next.

Not just any trench coat.

Custom-tailored in London.

Soft tan suede that caught the light like honey, stitched inside with a muted plaid, a luxury secret meant for no one else to see but him.

It arrived at her studio sealed in a heavy garment bag, a handwritten note folded into the pocket:

“Don’t forget to take care of yourself too, my pretty artist. Love, your biggest fan.”

She wore it for him — and only the coat.

Bare beneath the suede, skin kissed pink by the evening light filtering through the windows.

When Seungmin walked in, he didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Just set the coffee he brought onto the table with mechanical precision and stalked toward her.

His fingers — deceptively gentle — found the belt first.

Loosened it with one slow pull.

Pushed the fabric open, revealing her inch by inch, like he was unwrapping something breakable.

His voice came low, nearly unrecognizable.

“You’re not allowed to tease if you can’t handle the consequences, princess.”

She tried to answer.

Tried to be coy.

But he had her caged against the table before a word left her mouth, the coat puddling around her hips, his hand sliding under to cup the soft heat of her, bare and wet and already trembling.

“Messy little thing,” he muttered against the delicate shell of her ear, fingers slipping between her folds, cruelly light.

“All worked up just from wearing what I bought you?”

She whimpered — helpless, desperate.

Seungmin only smiled, slow and sharp and certain.

───── ୨ৎ ─────

The salon was a dream in gold and velvet.

Quiet, cloistered, hidden high above the noise of Paris.

A room only a handful of names would ever see.

Bathed in the soft shimmer of chandelier light, surrounded by display cases that held entire kingdoms in a single velvet box.

She stood in her new Heels on the thick carpet, wearing in the Burberry dress she got a few days ago, Seungmin’s jacket — oversized, drowning her, his scent clinging to every thread.

And behind her, Seungmin.

Solid. Warm.

His hands already roaming under the fabric, tracing the bare curve of her waist.

“You deserve all of it,” he murmured against her ear, voice a low, reverent rasp.

“Pick anything, baby. Everything.”

She opened her mouth to protest — to say it was too much, too outrageous —

But he was bunching up her dress, already sliding inside her with a slow, claiming thrust, stealing the breath from her lungs.

“Point,” he said, voice rough with control.

She whimpered, balancing herself against the cool glass of the nearest case, knees shaking.

The stretch of him was almost too much, slow and deliberate, designed to make her mind unravel.

“I c-can’t,” she gasped.

Another roll of his hips — patient, devastating.

“You can,” Seungmin growled, nipping at the shell of her ear.

“You will. That’s an order.”

Trembling, she lifted a hand — barely able to focus through the haze of him — and pointed to a delicate tiara nestled in silk.

Diamonds like crushed stars, curling into the shape of laurel leaves.

Seungmin hummed approvingly, hips grinding deep into hers.

“Good girl.”

He signaled with a glance — no words needed — and somewhere behind them, the silent, discreet attendant slipped away to prepare the piece.

The rhythm of his thrusts was mercilessly slow — dragging every heartbeat out into an eternity —

but he never stopped.

Never let her escape the feeling of being filled, owned, adored.

“More,” he whispered.

She shuddered, gasping as he thrust deeper.

“More, baby. I want you spoiled until you forget how to say no.”

Her hand shook as she pointed again —

A necklace of pink sapphires, delicate as a vine.

A ring with a solitary emerald the color of spring rain.

A pair of earrings so intricate they looked spun by spiders from silver moonlight.

Each time, a reward — a deeper push, a ragged praise against her skin.

“That’s it,” Seungmin breathed, voice cracked open with emotion.

“That’s my girl. My spoiled, perfect thing.”

Her moans tangled with the hush of the salon, the shimmering quiet of obscene wealth around them.

She could barely stay upright, slick and trembling against the glass, but he held her there — one hand splayed over her stomach, the other sliding between her thighs, coaxing her higher.

“You deserve it,” he whispered, almost desperate now.

“Deserve everything in this room. Deserve the fucking world.”

When she finally broke — gasping his name, stars bursting behind her eyelids — Seungmin caught her in his arms, steady and unshakable.

He stayed buried deep inside her, rocking her through every aftershock, pressing kisses into her hair.

Only when she could breathe again did he lift her chin with a gentle finger, forcing her dazed eyes to meet his.

“You get everything you pointed at,” he said simply.

“And next time —”

He kissed her, slow and devastating.

“— you’ll ask for more.”

And she knew, with a dizzy, aching certainty —

It had never been about the jewelry.

Never about the price tags or the diamonds.

It was about him.

The way he worshiped her with his hands, his body, his soul.

The way he made her believe she was worth all the treasures of the earth.

The way, in a gilded room full of untouchable riches,

she would always be the most priceless thing in his world.

───── ୨ৎ ─────

Studio nights became different after that.

She’d curl up in the corner, sketching, pretending not to watch him —

but always, always feeling the weight of his gaze settle over her, heavy and possessive.

Later, he would press her into the couch, mouth hot and unhurried against her skin, stripping her down to nothing but gasps and trembling hands.

He never rushed.

Seungmin never rushed.

He licked into her slowly, like he had all the time in the world, teasing the sensitive places with maddening flicks of his tongue, dragging sweet, broken sounds from her lips.

“You taste even sweeter when you’re spoiled rotten,” he breathed against her, lapping at her until her thighs shook around his shoulders.

“Bet you don’t even realize how wet you get when you know you’re mine.”

She sobbed, writhing helplessly, and he only chuckled low in his throat — wicked, adoring — before pushing her over the edge with a single rough swipe of his tongue.

───── ୨ৎ ─────

Later still, when she tried to ride him — all messy kisses and trembling thighs — Seungmin caught her hips with brutal tenderness.

“Slow,” he ordered against her mouth, dragging her down on him inch by devastating inch.

“You’re gonna feel every second of it, princess.”

Tears blurred her vision, overwhelmed —

and Seungmin just smiled, soft and cruel, brushing them away with the pad of his thumb.

“That’s it.

Let me ruin you properly.”

When she broke apart, clutching at him, he held her right there, buried deep inside, cradling her through every aftershock, whispering against her hair:

“My pretty little artist.

Made just for me to love.”

───── ୨ৎ ─────

And when she fell asleep on his chest —

her fingers tangled in the Burberry coat thrown over them like a second skin —

Seungmin only kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes.

Because she gave him what no money could buy.

No brand could match.

No amount of luxury could counterfeit.

She gave him loyalty.

She gave him tenderness.

She gave him a home.

And that?

That was enough.

More than enough.

It was why he spoiled her.

Why he would keep spoiling her.

Why he would tear down the whole world if it ever dared to touch her.

Because she was his girl.

Because she was his peace.

Because in a life full of noise and endless want

she was the only thing he ever truly needed.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

[fireflowerpom]

Of course, Sera ALSO got herself a Genshin Impact verse! A snow leopard hailing from Snezhnaya, she's fled from her birthplace and gotten tangled up in the life of Zack, a Fatuus who later breaks away and runs with her to settle in Mondstadt. Not much changes about Sera between her usual info and GI aside from the fact she's a snow leopard here, and just in a whole new setting, with her ice magic now in the form of a cryo vision <3

Her network of contacts is greatly expanded here, and she's got a hand in more than even she's aware of at any given point in time. Inazuma, Snezhnaya, Fontaine, Liyue, Sumeru... She's made friends and even gained found family in each of the nations, and in Inazuma specifically, discovered her eldest brother, Thoma, is alive and well (and is her brother, not her cousin - A discovery of a 'gift' given to her and Thoma by Childe at her wedding ceremony). The harbinger that had been sent to hunt her down has even turned on his eployer for the job and sided with her, and Sera's not sure how she's gotten herself in the middle of this awkward little found family, but hey - She's not complaining! <3

Weapon: Bow

Vision: Cryo

Constellation: Pardus Caeli (Sky Leopard)

[not-actually-human]

waughhhh i forgot how like. unsafe i feel in my grandpa and stepgrandmas house. AND my cousin is leaving soon so i shall be all alone in my queerness until saturday when we leave

[casssmalefantasy]

ONLY ONE ME FOR YOU

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER!

| synopsis: all you wanted was to vibe with your girl at a sza concert. instead, you got fans, a pretty girl getting too close to your drunk girlfriend, and a whole lot of feelings.

| warnings: language, alcohol consumption, jealousy, emotional tension, heated makeout, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, implied sexual content

| word count: 5.7k

“okay, i’m not even joking, if one more person uses my mascara—”

“—kk it’s literally waterproof, what do you expect?”

“and y’all said i’m the dramatic one—”

you’re in paige’s room, music blasting from someone’s speaker in the living room, hair tools overheating on the bathroom counter, makeup palettes open across the desk. it’s chaos, loud and familiar, azzi yelling for her lip liner, aubrey facetiming jana so they match outfits, ice and yana filming a tiktok in the hallway.

you adjust the black pants sitting perfectly on your hips and lace up your jordans, glancing at your reflection. the vintage sza jersey you thrifted hangs loose in all the right ways. it’s casual, but still screams effortlessly hot. you’re fixing the hem when the door creaks open and a voice whistles low.

“damn.”

you look up to find paige leaning in the doorway, already dressed in baggy jeans and a cropped white tank. her hair more straightened, gold hoops shining, and the look she’s giving you—yeah, you’re in trouble.

“you tryin’ to kill me before we even get to the concert?”

you raise an eyebrow. “it’s just a jersey.”

she walks over, crowding you against the dresser with that smug grin. “not just a jersey. it’s your jersey. on you. with those pants? and those shoes? baby…”

her voice dips lower and you feel her hands slip around your waist.

“…you tryna get jumped at this concert? ‘cause i will fight someone.”

you laugh, cheeks warm, trying to play it cool even as her lips brush your neck. “you’re so dramatic.”

“i’m deadass.” she kisses you again, lower this time, dragging it out just enough to make your knees a little weak. “you look so fuckin’ good right now.”

before you can answer, the door swings open again.

“ewww.” ice groans, standing in the doorway with a hand over her eyes. “i knew y’all were being weird in here. i could feel it.”

“hi, ice,” you mumble, trying to untangle from paige’s arms.

“y’all are disgusting. i’m gagging. i need holy water.”

paige just smirks. “close the door on your way out.”

ice doesn’t. and now you’re blushing, shoving paige’s shoulder and muttering, “you’re literally shameless.”

“you’re the one kicking me out my own room,” she teases.

“go wait in the living room, horndog.”

—

“shots!” paige yells ten minutes later, holding up a little pink bottle. “pregame, let’s fucking go!”

not everyone drinks—aubrey is driving half the crew, azzi wants to save her buzz for later, but you paige, and kk pass the bottle between each other with wild cheers. you’re all packed into the living room now, makeup done, fits on point, energy electric.

aubrey snaps a mirror selfie with all of you in the background. “look how hot we are.”

“sza better be scared,” kk grins.

“alright let’s go!” paige says excitedly.

you, paige, azzi, kk, and yana pile into paige’s car. azzi driving you guys. aubrey drives the rest in her car, sarah riding shotgun and ice in the backseat yelling at jana for picking the wrong playlist.

your group is bumping sza already, the windows down and the wind blowing. “love language” starts playing and paige immediately gasps.

“turn it up!”

her hand finds your thigh as she sings along, loud and dramatic and so off-key it’s actually adorable. she turns to you mid-verse, eyes shining, voice softening.

“in your love language…”

you smile, leaning into her touch. “you are so annoying.”

“and what about it.” she winks.

—

the venue is packed. vip wristbands flashing, people everywhere, phones out. your group snakes through the crowd, finally landing in the roped-off section near the front.

paige turns to you. “you want a drink?”

“something light,” you say. “not too strong.”

she kisses your cheek. “say less. be right back.”

you watch her go, blonde hair moving quickly, azzi already trying to take selfies with everyone. a couple fans nearby whisper and gesture toward the team. it starts with one photo, then two, then a whole group realizing who’s here.

when paige returns with your drink—a pineapple vodka soda, you barely get a sip before three more people ask for photos.

“sorry,” she mouths to you, then smiles at the fans, never saying no.

you don’t blame her. it’s part of being paige, but the longer it drags out, the more you’re just… waiting. and watching.

and then you notice her.

the girl standing too close to paige. curly hair. tattoos. flirty eyes. and the way she touches paige’s arm when she laughs? it sets something deep and sharp off inside you.

“uhh…” azzi leans over. “is that girl flirting with paige?”

“i don’t know,” you mutter.

“you should go get her.”

“i don’t wanna make a scene.”

“you’re literally her girlfriend.”

you clench your jaw, but then the girl touches paige again. and that’s it.

you weave through the crowd and slide a hand around paige’s waist, letting her know you’re there. she stiffens, then relaxes when she sees it’s you.

“hey, babe,” she smiles, tipsy and glowing.

“you should come back,” you say quietly.

the girl doesn’t move. doesn’t even look at you until she does and then she dares to say..

“can you give paige a second?”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“i was just—” you start to say.

“it’s fine,” paige cuts in quickly, turning to you. “just gimme a sec, i’ll be right back, i swear.”

you stare at her. she’s smiling like nothing’s wrong. like she doesn’t see how mad you are.

you walk away without saying anything.

—

“sooo…” ice starts in aubrey’s car. “what happened?”

you sigh, slumping into the back seat. “some girl was being all over paige. like, touching her. and paige stayed even after i told her to come back.”

aubrey frowns. “seriously?”

“she said she’d be back in a sec. and then the girl tried to get her snapchat.”

jana whistles low.

“but you know paige,” ice says. “she’s literally obsessed with you. she wouldn’t disrespect you like that.”

“i know,” you say. “i just… hated how it felt.”

—

back at the apartment, the silence is loud.

you’re sitting on the bed, taking off your jewelry. paige is leaning against the dresser, watching you like she wants to say something, but doesn’t know how.

“you mad at me?”

you don’t answer.

“baby.”

you sigh. “i’m just tired.”

“no, you’re not.” she walks over, soft but firm. “you’re pissed. and i wanna talk about it.”

you pause. then finally look at her. “she was all over you.”

paige blinks. “i didn’t even notice.”

“she touched you. she was rude to me. and you still stayed.”

paige shakes her head. “i didn’t stay because of her. i stayed because—fuck, i don’t even know. i was tipsy. i didn’t wanna be rude.”

“she gave you her phone, paige.”

“i didn’t put anything in it. i told her i didn’t have snap. i lied. and when she asked for my number, i told her i had a girlfriend. you. and then i walked away.”

you stare at her. “really?”

she nods, eyes soft. “i would never disrespect you. ever. i’m sorry i made you feel like i did.”

you breathe out. the tension in your chest finally loosens.

“you could’ve just said that earlier.”

“i know.” she takes your hands. “i got caught up. but there’s only one me for you. and only one you for me.”

you smile, barely. “that was kinda cheesy.”

“you’re cheesy.” she leans in, kisses your cheek. “but seriously… i’m yours.”

you wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her close.

“you’re mine.”

“and no random girl with tattoos is gonna change that,” she grins.

you laugh into her neck, finally feeling like you can breathe again.

[h1nanii]

i’m like 1000% going through an ace drought cause i’ve read everything everywhere so literally i’ll take scraps or whatever you can come up with anything freaky with ace i’d get on my knees and praise you like the goddess you are

sincerely, kiwi 🥝

I read Ace & freaky—immediately got to work.

Here’s :

BURNING SECRETS

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Fem!Reader

[Genre: NSFW 18+ Romance, canon-verse context, humiliation, Friends to situationship/Lovers. Perv!Ace, Jealousy, Drama]

[Warnings: Explicit language, NSFW scenes , Masturbation, oral sex (f! Receiving), penetrative sex, underwear kink, light dom/sub, mutual obsession, dirty talk]

A simple dream, just like every other night—until you appeared right there, in between his legs sucking him off with that pretty smile of yours, looking up at him through your lashes with your eyes half dazed made the tent in his pants stand straighter—poking through the thick sheets of his bed. But it was just a dream, yeah you were his best friend but why did a few seconds unconscious turn his mind over entirely?

MINORS DNI

You’d been crewmates for nearly 3 years now, and friends for most of it. Ace was… Ace. Loyal, reckless, kind. You knew he treated you a little differently—shielding you in fights when he didn’t need to, looking just a little too long when you were sunbathing on the deck—but neither of you ever said anything. It was easier to pretend.

At least it had been.

Lately, he’d been weird. He avoided you during meals, flinched when you touched his arm, and worst of all—he blushed. Ace, the shameless flirt, the devil-may-care fire-fist—blushed whenever you leaned too close.

You cornered Marco about it once. “Is Ace okay?”

Marco raised a brow at you and smirked knowingly. “He’s fine. Just sorting out some… dreams.”

That stuck with you longer than you wanted.

Ace wasn’t proud of it.

He woke up three nights ago, drenched in sweat, your name slipping from his lips, hips grinding into a sticky mess of sheets. He’d dreamt of your fingers tangled in his hair, your mouth on his neck, soft gasps against his skin.

And ever since then, he couldn’t look you in the eye.

The dreams didn’t stop. If anything, they got worse—more vivid. When you wore that loose tank top displaying your cleavage, he had to excuse himself. When you teased him about stealing his dessert, he nearly combusted—literally. He almost scorched the deck.

And then… there were the panties.

He swore he wasn’t trying to be a pervert. But one night, walking past the laundry room, he saw them—lace-trimmed, unmistakably yours. Something stupid and impulsive clicked in him, and before he knew it, they were in his pocket. He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t want to. It was shameful and raw and so not like him. But he didn’t stop. One turned into two. Then three.

You didn’t say anything, and that just made it worse.

You stood in your shared cabin with a slight frown. “Weird,” you murmured, rummaging through your drawer. A few pairs were missing. You were sure you didn’t lose them during battle or leave them in the wash.

At first, you chalked it up to laundry mix-ups or the ocean winds claiming a few unlucky pieces left on the line. But three pairs in a week? That was suspicious. You considered asking Marco if there was some prank going around. But then you noticed Ace acting… off.

He’d been your closest friend aboard the Moby Dick—wild, warm, full of laughter and fire. And ever since the last island stop, he’d barely been able to hold your gaze. His usual touches—careless hand on your thigh during dinner, brushing your hair from your face when the wind blew—had stopped. He seemed jumpy when you got too close.

You thought about confronting him, but what would you even say?

“Hey Ace, have you seen my underwear and also why do you get flustered when I sit on your lap now?”

Yeah. No.

That morning, the sun had barely crested the horizon when you padded down the hallway toward the shared showers. Your towel was slung over your shoulder, still yawning as you turned the corner—only to freeze just outside the cracked-open bathroom door.

You heard a moan.

Low. Male. Familiar.

You knew you should’ve left. Turned around, acted like you heard nothing. But then—

“Aah… fuck…[Name]…”

Your entire body froze. You stepped closer without thinking, breath catching as your fingers gently pushed the door open just a sliver more.

Steam billowed through the room, hot and thick. But it didn’t hide him.

Ace was in the corner, back arched slightly as he leaned against the tiled wall, one hand gripping the sink—the other wrapped around his dick.

And wrapped tightly around his fist was a scrap of black lace.

Your panties.

Your throat went dry.

Then your eyes took in the situation, the exposure, how his ego matched up to his size. Then the realization hit and you immediately left flustered, did that really just happen?

You turned and left, heart racing, panties soaked.

—

—

You didn’t say anything for the rest of the day. Neither did he.

But that night, when you passed by his bunk and saw him fidgeting with the blanket pulled suspiciously high, you stopped.

“Need help getting off, fire-fist?” you asked coolly.

He froze. “W-What?”

You leaned in, fingers brushing his sheets, voice low.

“I know what you did in the bathroom this morning,” you purred. “I saw everything.”

The color drained from his face, then surged back in a blazing blush.

“You—fuck—I didn’t mean for you to—” he stammered, panic lacing his voice.

You silenced him with a finger to his lips, sliding into his bunk beside him. “You could’ve just asked, Ace,” you whispered, lips brushing his jaw. “I would’ve given you more than my underwear.”

His cock twitched against his thigh under the blanket.

Ace’s pupils were blown wide, chest heaving as he stared at you like you were some fever dream come to life. The blanket was still half-tented over his lap, hiding nothing. You’d slid under it with him, pressed skin-to-skin in the dark of the bunk, your thigh brushing his.

“I didn’t want you to find out like that,” he breathed.

“But you still stole them,” you teased, fingers drifting to his chest. “You wanted me, didn’t you?”

He swallowed hard. “You have no idea.”

You leaned in, lips grazing his ear. “Then show me.”

That was all it took.

Ace growled—actually growled—and grabbed your hips, dragging you onto his lap like you weighed nothing. His mouth crashed into yours, all heat and desperation, and his hands were already under your shirt, pushing it up, palms rough and hot as they skimmed your waist.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he whispered, biting your bottom lip. “I’ve thought about this every night. Every time I saw you in those little shorts—those panties—I’d get so fucking hard it hurt.”

You rolled your hips, grinding down on the thick, straining bulge under you. “Why didn’t you just take me?”

He snarled softly, voice breaking. “Didn’t think you wanted me. Thought you’d laugh. That you’d think I was a pervert.”

You laced your fingers in his hair and yanked his head back just enough to meet his eyes. “I moaned your name after I saw you this morning, Ace. Fingers in my pussy, soaking wet, thinking about your dick. You think I didn’t want you?”

The look on his face nearly made you come undone right then.

Ace flipped you, pressing you into the mattress, his mouth trailing fire down your body. Shirt gone. Panties peeled off slowly—reverently. He held them up for a second, smirking.

“These are the ones I came in two days ago.”

“You’re disgusting,” you laughed breathlessly.

“I’ll wear the title proudly,” he murmured, then kissed your inner thigh, dragging his tongue slowly up to your dripping slit.

You gasped when he licked you—once, teasing and slow, then again with more hunger, more intent. He groaned like he’d just tasted the sea after a month in the desert.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he muttered, tongue circling your clit. “So much better than my imagination.”

He devoured you, messy and passionate, alternating between slow sucks and fast flicks of his tongue, fingers digging into your thighs to hold you still. You were already trembling, hands tangled in his hair, grinding your hips up to meet every stroke.

“Shit, Ace—gonna cum—” you gasped, voice breaking.

“Do it,” he growled. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.”

You shattered, clamping around nothing, thighs trembling, moaning his name like it was the only word you knew. Ace didn’t stop until you were twitching from overstimulation.

He kissed up your body, lips shiny and smug.

“I need to fuck you now,” he whispered, grinding his cock against your folds. “Can I?”

You reached between you, wrapped your hand around him—hot, thick, leaking.

“God yes.”

He pushed in slowly, filling you inch by inch, and you both moaned at the stretch. He buried himself to the hilt, head dropping to your shoulder.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered hoarsely. “Fuck—you’re perfect.”

He started moving—deep, slow thrusts that made your toes curl. He held your wrists above your head, bodies pressed close, his lips brushing yours every time he bottomed out.

The rhythm built—faster, harder, his hips slapping against yours, your moans echoing in the cramped bunk. Your second orgasm hit fast, full-body, walls clenching around him as you cried out.

Ace followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck as he groaned through his release, cock twitching deep inside you, flooding you with warmth.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your heavy breathing and the creak of the ship.

Then he nuzzled into your neck.

“I’m keeping the panties,” he murmured, spent but smug.

You laughed, smacked his chest, and pulled him in for another kiss.

“Next time,” you whispered, “you ask first.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

—

You and Ace never talked about what you were after that night.

No labels. No morning-after confessions. No “what are we?” talk.

But your body still ached in the best way. Your lips still tingled from his kisses. And your thighs still bore faint bruises from where his fingers had gripped you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You didn’t bring it up. Neither did he.

But something had changed.

He was everywhere. Hovering. Watching. Brushing his hand over your lower back when others got too close. His laughs were still loud, his smirk still cocky—but his eyes never left you.

And when Thatch leaned too close over the map table, teasing you about your “distracted little face”, you barely had time to laugh before a familiar heat flared behind you.

Ace.

He slid in between you and Thatch, all easy grin and not-so-easy arm around your waist. “Funny, Thatch. Didn’t know we were handing out shitty pick-up lines today.”

Thatch blinked. “Whoa, relax, firestarter. Just making conversation.”

Ace didn’t answer. Just smiled with too many teeth and pulled you closer. His fingers curled around your hip like a silent dare.

Later that night, you confronted him in the dark corner of the upper deck.

“What the hell was that?”

He leaned against the wall, jaw tight. “Didn’t like him touching you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “We’re not together, Ace.”

His expression twisted. “Don’t care.”

You stepped in, standing between his legs. “So you want me, but you don’t want to say it?”

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist, pulling you down into his lap. “I said I didn’t like it.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you whispered.

His lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was rough this time—none of the slow teasing from before. He bit your bottom lip hard enough to sting, then dragged his mouth down to your neck.

“I’m gonna remind you who fucked you so good you couldn’t walk straight the next day,” he growled.

You gasped as he lifted your leg over his thigh, hand sliding between them to cup your heat through your shorts.

“Still wet for me?” he whispered, hot against your ear. “Even after flirting with someone else?”

You rocked your hips into his hand. “Wasn’t flirting.”

“Don’t care.” His voice darkened. “You’re mine. Whether we say it or not.”

He shoved your shorts to the side and slid two fingers in with zero warning, groaning when he felt how ready you were. “This pussy knows who it belongs to.”

You bit down on his shoulder to muffle your cry, legs trembling already.

He fucked you with his fingers, deep and possessive, other hand on your throat—not tight, just there, grounding you in his presence.

Then he pulled out.

You whimpered.

He flipped you, bending you over the wooden railing with your shorts down to your knees, his cock already rock-hard, leaking against your ass.

“You want Thatch to see who this pussy really belongs to?” he growled, lining himself up.

“No,” you panted, arching back into him. “Just you.”

“Damn right.”

He slammed into you in one smooth thrust, deep and unforgiving.

You nearly screamed.

He set a brutal pace, hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up to tangle in your hair, tugging your head back so he could whisper filth against your neck.

“Gonna fill you up,” he hissed. “Make sure you’re leaking me for hours. Maybe then they’ll back the fuck off.”

You clenched hard around him.

He felt it. Smirked against your skin.

“You like that, don’t you? Me claiming you.”

You whimpered, “Yes, fuck—Ace—”

He reached down and rubbed your clit in fast, tight circles, hips stuttering as your walls tightened again.

You came hard, legs shaking, voice hoarse.

Ace followed with a loud, guttural groan, burying himself deep, cock twitching as he filled you to the brim.

You both sagged against the railing, panting, sweaty.

Then, gently, he leaned in and bit your neck—just hard enough to leave a mark.

When he pulled back, his eyes met yours. Still wild. But something softer, too.

“You’re not mine, huh?” he said, voice low.

You stared at him. Heart racing.

Then: “I never said I didn’t want to be.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time.

“Then say it.”

Ace’s voice was rough. Still breathless from how hard he just fucked you against the railing, still trembling slightly from the strength of his own release. His eyes searched yours, shadowed with doubt despite the cocky tilt of his smirk. Like part of him didn’t believe he deserved to hear what you’d say next.

You didn’t hesitate.

“I want to be yours.”

His breath caught.

You cupped his face, thumb brushing the sweat-slick edge of his cheekbone. “I’ve wanted to be. Since before you started stealing my underwear, you idiot.”

That drew a crooked, boyish grin from him, but his eyes shimmered. Soft. Real.

“I didn’t know if you felt the same,” he murmured, voice dipping into something raw and almost shy. “You’re everything I wanted, but I didn’t wanna lose you if I pushed too far.”

You laughed gently and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You fisted yourself with my panties. I think ‘too far’ left the harbor a long time ago, fire-fist.”

He groaned, letting his forehead fall to your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “You’ll never let that go, will you?”

“Never,” you whispered against his hair, then softened. “But I loved it. Loved knowing you wanted me that badly.”

His grip on your hips tightened slightly. “Still do.”

You felt him harden slightly again, still inside you, your slick heat cradling him perfectly.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Can I stay in you a little longer?”

You nodded, lips brushing his ear. “Don’t pull out. I want it to stay in me. Want to feel full… yours.”

That broke something in him.

He shifted, just slightly, pulling you both down to the floor of the deck behind a stack of crates where no one could see. He slid your shorts off completely this time, pressing you into his chest as he kissed your temple, your cheeks, your lips—everywhere.

“I’m gonna take care of you now,” he whispered. “Not just like this. I mean all of it. No more games. You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine,” you said, nuzzling against him. “Say it.”

He met your eyes. “I’m yours.”

He rocked into you slowly now. No more frantic thrusts. Just a deep, slow glide that had you gasping all over again.

This time, it wasn’t about claiming.

It was about belonging.

And when you came again—soft, aching, clinging to his shoulders like you’d never let go—he kissed your neck and whispered, “Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you moaned.

He followed with a low groan, filling you again, staying buried inside you as your bodies molded together like they’d always fit this way.

When you both finally settled, skin sticky with sweat and sea breeze in your hair, you let the silence hold the truth neither of you could ignore anymore.

Whatever you were before—friends, crewmates, a little more—you weren’t just that anymore.

You were his.

And he was very much yours.