#any type of blurb

[toxicanonymity]

what if everyone simply wrote blurbs for their favorite manspreading gifs and pics and tagged them #manspreading olympics?

[therealslimshakespeare]

I saw your answer about being burned out on Gigi but still being open to discussing the topic -

are there any little fun tidbits or ideas you had planned that you could drop in the answer box as a little treat?

Was there an eventual endgame for her?

Anything quirky or outrageous set to take place with her in her story?

Would Gigi ever change her ways and act grown up?

XOXOX you are my favorite writer on this whole entire app you must know

My darling, yes, yes, yes I am happy to talk of it! And I’m so happy you popped in. I cannot believe I’m your favorite, that’s just stunning to me, I’m really touched. 🫶🏼💋🫵🏻

Now into Gigi!

Shortly before the August tour she and Lisa Marie meet and as Lisa is in many ways more mature 🤣 they actually end up bonding very well, I imagined a case of Linda and Lisa with someone who’s even more playful -Gigi- and who genuinely would spend five hours playing Barbie’s because she wants to and has no fear on the golf carts.

On the August tour she’s a lifesaver for Elvis in so many ways, but things are also hard and she’s clingy and he’s on the pills to hell him keep going and it’s a side she hasn’t fully seen from him and rightfully considers to now be “the real him”

So she sticks it out but he also lashes out at he rom e about how clingy she is and it’s devastating to her. Positively devastating…all he really said was that she should be able to go to sleep on her own if he needed/wanted to keep socializing with the boys or whatever

When he goes to join her in the room that night he finds are shaking and crying and cold and practically going through a sub drop of sorts

Which gets cured with insistent assurance he’s a selfish old man who doesn’t even appreciate the miracle right under his nose and massive amounts of love and cuddles and him laying on top of her like a weighted blanket.

Swearing she’s always gonna be His Baby Girl

There’s no going back after that

Not that either Elvis or Gigi would want to

Something wonderful does happen on this tour and in many ways it’s due to Gigi yet again, Colonel Parker hasn’t being so well himself and now having to endure Elvis calling out his newest PR nightmare from the stage each night as his little Angel when she’s sitting there beaming, nineteen and big titted, is a worsening strain.

Sometime in later September the strain gets to be too much, apparently, when Colonel Parker is trying to enjoy the hotel’s amenities and soak in the hot tub with his cigar and a starry night sky but instead of being able to enjoy these he is assaulted with the caterwauling sounds of Gigi getting pleasurably railed on the balcony, one too many references to how big Elvis is and how much she loved how big he is and how big he is and…on and on and on

The Colonel was found at dawn bobbing up and down in the little bubbling caldron -a heart attack apparently

Big Sad

Such a big sad they have to cancel the rest of the tour and fly out to Hawaii to mourn and lift Elvis’ spirits

There Gigi feeds him pineapples and papaya juice and frolics in the surf in every smaller bikinis that are more calculated than Elvis assumes because her chief goal is actually to get him shirtless and frolic with her and he won’t unless it’s such a dire paparazzi emergency he must offer his own shirt to cover her bouncing assets

They make a baby on a plane ride, he just goes in during the turbulence and she’s so vigorous and delighted no pulling out occurs

So he marries her *duh*

Lisa is delighted by this and Lovey is born -cue, lots of Gigi never updating her wardrobe so everything is just flowy and unbuttoned and lots of nursing with a tit out much to the Memphis Mafia’s consternation about where to look without Elvis biting their heads off

Gigi loves engaging in a past time of seeing how far she can shoot her milk, it’s her favorite thing about motherhood, the little clothes are next and somwhere down the line is the actual baby

Don’t fret -Lovey has more than enough parental love coming from Elvis

With Parker gone and out of the way, wishes and whims honestly get to be met a lot easier and Gigi considers one of the most tragic things her Bug Daddy went though is the closing of Circle G ranch so you best believe she wheedles and begs for another and it’s a complete zoo by the end, not a ranche

They have another kid, soonish —a son named Baron. He’s the only one to inherit brain cells and will go on to be as devastatingly handsome and charming as his father and yet a full on Bayou living recluse when he’s not taking care of Graceland and his mother and kindly informing Miss Bealieu that if she wanted to use the name Presley, maybe she shoulda not divorced the original Presley she was related to?!👇🏼

but all that is after Elvis dies.

Because he does and yeah it’s genuinely sad and it happens sometime in the early 2000’s and his last words are to Baron and to “take care of my Gigi”

Gigi then proceeds to live and a very Yellow Wallpaper version of reality, never one for facing realities but gifted with a massive amount of emotional intelligence, she’s quite certain every breeze through the curtain and creak in the old house and song order on the radio is a message from Elvis to her. Yeah it’s a bit morbid but it’s also oddly convincing, “Daddy” doesn’t lose any presence just because he’s zipped out to the gas station longer than usual.

She’s preserved everything and that’s her chief hobby along with the zoo, even when Lovey is situated and taking over the magazines Elvis bought and produced. Gigi takes an interest for sure ->hell, she used to be their centerfold time and again so the least touch of her manicured hand on an editorial is still gold, no matter how time passes<- but first and foremost she’s still insistent she’s gotta be at Graceland, can’t leave Daddy alone there for long.

Which is a CRAZY and weird ass world for a certain Austin Butler to step into for research.

It’s impeccably preserved to the point of being past creepy, like it’s not creepy instead it’s just fully convincing, which probably should’ve been his first clue to run for his sanity sake, but when you love a thing you’ll quickly embrace a comforting illusion over a hurtful reality

And Austin loves Elvis, almost as much as Gigi does

Which becomes their joint reality

She’s eager to help him with the research, pours out the most insightful and tender perceptions of her Daddy, shows Austin his guitars and his books, his notes and his bibles, hours of hole footage -some of which Austin initially did not see the research value in due to their scandalous content but Gigi was insistent it was crucial material to get to know Elvis as his most unassuming, which she insisted was in bed

Probably shoulda been predictable -except for their age gap but life does imitate art- bonding over one all consuming love in their lives and watching X rated home movies and breathing life into each other’s lonely delusions really binds people together

Baron Presley is initially totally incensed and suspect this little twink Butler but eventually he softens, gets won over

Austin’s a good and kind influence on Gigi and between him and Baz they get her out more, Lisa’s good word regarding both helps this, too

Gigi gets convinced to go to Cannes with them all and Baron actually surfaces from his redneck palace in the bayous to confirm he’s not in fact dead for the first time in ten years,

He Takes Care of Business one last time at Cannes like his daddy would like, see Austin would dearly like to be Gigi’s and Gigi would like to be Austin’s -hell they already are- so Baron does them a little favor and draws out the little Nepo Arm Candy that Austin’s been toting about the these events and charms her real well and let’s just say, when Priscilla Bealieu saw Baron Presley come out of the coed bathroom in swaggering dishevelment with a little bowlegged twig behind him -she got some severe ptsd flashbacks to his father

After this it’s all happily ever after and Gigi is still showing up to Austin’s premiers and she’s proud as anything of him and he of her and together they’ve found whatever it is that binds souls together

Life imitates art

•also, for those who ask, if Gigi ever gets a lurid and beautiful biopic herself, looks like Emerald Fennel is the one for the job, uhem

Tagging my Gigi taglist as this is a headcanon list of sorts and y’all may enjoy seeing it 💋

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@helen06dreamer

@returntopresley

@gonnagoandfangirl

@kelssssxd

@octobers-snow

@velvetelvis

@blursedblegh

@azzypog

[djevelbl]

I'll never forget the day my mum asked me "hey so uh. why do you use he/him on your whatsapp channel??" and I had to elaborate beyond "I think it's fun"

[faiszt]

Hi I was wondering if we could get another Bob Reynolds headcanon x reader thing maybe like a size kink cuz the actor is 6'0 and muscular. Please and thank you 🙏🏼

SIZE KINK ╱ with BOB ⠀◟ ୨ minors do not interact !♥︎ blurb & smut content⠀⠀⠀⠀────⠀⠀⠀⠀headcanon based

꒰ tw:⠀contains some characteristics of bodies that may be specific, which may not fit the description of all body types. if you’re sensitive to this, please, do not read! thank u. !♡ ꒱

he licked his lips silently as you compared your hand to his, laughing and chattering about how big his hand was compared to yours—which, honestly, was quite little—and how cute it looked when bob was such a big man. “your hand must be the size of my head!” you said, still laughing as you held his hand between your two smaller ones.

some time ago, this wouldn’t have affected him, but now, at this moment, it was completely different. bob had been paying a certain amount of attention to your size, to how small you were compared to him, not just your hands, but your whole self. especially when he cuddled with you and you almost disappeared in his arms, that was... something he had never paid attention to, but it was getting to him.

“i’m way too big for you, aren’t i, little thing?” he grumbled hoarsely, his eyes darting from the way your hands played with his to your face lying on his chest. lying on top of him, you still looked smaller and by god’s sake, it wasn’t healthy what this was doing to his mind.

little thing. he gave you that nickname and used it constantly, even around the others, which always got a few laughs and made him tease you a little more. “i should start calling you big boy.” the new nickname made him let out a low groan, making you laugh when you realized that you had found a way to tease him the same way he did to you.

“don’t give me that big boy thing...” he almost pouted for a moment before tossing you a little to the side and making you lie on your back on the mattress, climbing over you. “you’re the little thing here and only you.” bob couldn’t help but notice the way he could keep you immobile beneath him so easily, just one hand of his would be enough to hold both your wrists and you wouldn’t even complain about it.

“well, do you intend to do anything about it or...?”

damn teasing. you should’ve known better than to say that to him—not when he hadn’t touched anyone like he really wanted to in so long. touch-starved, you could tell by the way he was forcing himself inside you. there you are, legs wrapped around his hips and nails scratching the skin in his back beneath the hoodie, the worst part was that you were enjoying this more than you thought you really would.

bob couldn’t control himself, he needed this. the way you said he wouldn’t fit and he still forced himself inside your sweet pussy, so tight around his cock to the point where he was whimpering as much as you were. “qui-quiet...” he nibbled on your shoulder between thrusts, one hand snaking over your mouth just to make sure you wouldn’t moan too loudly at any moment.

but, he could still hear your mumbling against his palm and it only caused to make him harder, burying his face in the crook of your neck, sucking on your skin as he tried to keep himself quiet. the marks you would have in your neck tomorrow weren’t a concern now, but rather getting every inch of him inside you.

maybe, you were right in calling him a big boy. he might be big, but he was still a boy, acting all dominant, but losing it the second his cock felt too big for your little pussy. you were squeezing him so tightly that he could barely form a coherent sentence, just moaning and panting against your skin, licking and sucking it in his failed attempts to not be loud.

“f-fuck, you feel so... so... good,” he whispered, drawn out and muffled, against your ear, taking his hand away from your mouth, still thrusting into you hard. “i wanna come for you... inside you... please...” bob was just a completely mess, like you. the hand that was previously on your mouth moving down to find the hem of his hoodie, which he held up a little higher.

his intention was to feel you and also make you feel every single inch of him in those last moments, he wanted to sink into you every day, every hour, but he could settle for just a few days a week. he was making it worth it, stretching you open around his huge cock, making you delirious with it and making himself delirious with the sensation.

your orgasm came seconds before his and he caught a glimpse of the satisfaction on your face, it was enough to intensify his pleasure, leaving him limp above you as his thick jets filled you and left him in a limbo of momentary drowsiness. he knew he shouldn’t have gone so deep with it and he felt a little bad, he was afraid of hurting you.

“i’m sorry, little thing, did i hurt you?” he whispered softly like a lullaby, looking a little worried that he had done more than he should’ve. bob pulled out of you slowly, stroking your thigh, his eyes fixed on yours for any signs. “are you okay? did i do too much?”

you were a little tired and out of breath, still dealing with the aftermath of what had just happened, but you noticed the clear concern on his face and the gentle touch on your thigh, as if he was still trying to apologize for something he didn’t even need to. “it’s okay... i liked it, no need to apologize,” your words made him let out a relieved sigh before pressing a peck against your lips, keeping his face close to yours. “did you like it?”

“yeah.” he didn’t even think before answering, he just smirked silly, his hand on your thigh squeezing some of the skin. “i wanna do it again... and again...” then, he pressed another peck against your lips. “actually, can we do it again? like... now.”

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you’ll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don’t use my work without my consent.

[stellardeer]

I'll be honest, I HATE when media is spoiled for me. Like any amount at all. Idc if it's just like "This person has a sibling" I DON'T WANT TO KNOW, LET ME FIND OUT.

and the WORST is when people are like 'it's okay this isn't really a spoiler' and then explain half the plot to me like?!?!??

I'll see spoiler warnings for media I've never even HEARD OF and still skip the post just in case XD

[fics-lovebot]

jujutsu kaisen fic recs pt. 3

main masterlist - jjk fic recs pt. 1 - jjk fic recs pt. 2

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

these are my personal favs, so pls reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

yuji finds out gojo has a family - ( @kingkonoha ) fluff, lowkey angst, hubby!gojo, dad!gojo, so,,, this made me cry, i love yuji sm he deserves the world :( this is part two and it also made me crY MY MF EYES OUT :))))))))

can´t stop drinking - ( @kingkonoha ) ANGST, death, blood, dad!gojo, husband!gojo, mentions of wanting to die, a curse kills you and your son allegedly but in reality the elders had lied to him all these years, part 2 made me fucking crying

lambent - ( @xo2dee ) kinda fluffy, true form!sukuna, pregnant!reader, heian era customs, hubby!sukuna, a lil cannibalism, THIS NEEDs A KDRAMA

paparazzi´s pov - ( @rayveneyed ) fluff, award winning actor!sukuna, singer!oc, he likes messing around with supermodels but then the both of them meet at a fashion show, next thing you know oc got an anklet with his initials in garnet AÑDLJSÑFDLJ i really like this, would love to see a longer version

mangoes - ( @sttoru ) fluff, pregnant!reader, hubby!sukuna, tru form!sukuna, SOOO CUTEE, this acc had me giggling and kicking my feet

nanami drabbles - ( @sugurizz ) pwp, pls yall readdd part 2 and part 3, its crazyy

fifteen minutes - ( @roseglazedlens ) nanami smut. “Say that again. Louder. Can’t hear shit with the sound of my dick slapping into your cunt.” that´s all I have to say, your honor

protective - (@kingkonoha ) headcanon, hubby!kento, my man my man my man my man i love thissss

the horniest - ( @arminsumi ) gojo smut, ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD, he´s horny af, pussy drunk, obsessed, borderline crazy for that wap

phone calls - ( @kingkonoha ) slice of life, hubby!gojo, dilf!gojo, his wife and his daughter are his only priority, this is so sdkfjskdjfh :´( i love it

jock bf!yuuji - ( @tteokdoroki ) smut, fluff, all-star jock!yuuji, weird gf!reader, college au. one thing about me, i LOVE jock!yuuji. READ THIS AS WELL PLEASSEE

In denial - ( @rosesaints ) smut, sub!yuuta, "he doesn’t believe that it’s real until you’re actually sinking down onto his cock" period.

protective hubby - ( @slttygeto ) teacher!suguru, pregnant wife oc, it´s cutee

focus - ( @arminsumi ) suggestive, flirty!geto, tutor!geto, “you’re doing so good for me… keep going.” I HATE ITTTTT, i would fold like a mf lawn chair bitch OOF

wap - ( @tonycries ) smut, going in raw for the first time. i caNNOT EVEN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE HOW GOOD THIS IS JUST PLEASEEE GO READ IT

warm heart pastry - ( @cckaisen ) text, fluff, crack, first of all,,, i love yuji, second of all satoru REALLY needs help, and third of all WHY IS INUMAKI ALWAYS ON SOME SHIT??? lmaooooo

love struck - ( @xxsabitoxx ) fluffy, ex-fuckboy!satoru, he´s experiencing love for the first time :((((( IT´S SO CUTEEEEEEEEEE

love dumb - ( @arminsumi ) gojo fluff, blurb, you make him lose his composure, can´t even focus bc you´re over there existing, someone should make a longer version of this! so good

will always be yours - ( @nezuscribe ) smut, fluff, so basically toji only does rough sex, doggy style being his fav, but when it comes to you he prefers the loving-face to face-intense eye contanct type of sex (more like love making) bc being with you makes him feel ten different emotions at once :) DÑFLJSLDFJ

ridin dirty?! - ( @screampied ) smut, mechanic!toji, the beggining had me giggling and blushing sdlfhlsjh, he´s too fucking cocky lmao, writing his number on her asscheeks and stuff

losing his mind - ( @daisynik7 ) smut, dom!reader, hubby!kento, sub!kento, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, WHEEEEEEEEW, 10000/10, now this is new

his protégé - ( @augustinewrites ) fluff, slice of life, fiancé!kento, dinner time with yuuji, it´s so wholesome :´)

insecure bully!gojo - ( @saetoru ) angst, lil fluff, he´s a bully and he´s in love, but its not enough. part 2

best of the best - ( @saetoru ) smut, fwb! satoru, big sHIT talker omg, he lit asks you to be his gf wHILE he´s making you cum,,,,,best bf ever tho

[tiramissyoucake]

hi, I have a viltrumite mark request! do the gifts that he gives reader vary or to him they’re all the same? like if he’s really trying to impress her and get her on board with producing heirs, is he trying to get her the most valuable gifts he could salvage after his conquest or would he not know the value of the things he’d taken? idk if this makes sense but i love your writings about him :)

Tysm!! And IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE. He regrets destroying earth too thoroughly, there's nothing to salvage to give to you, even if there was there's a chance you'd just become more upset at the memory of what once was.

A shiny gem or two from a desecrated eco-system, pretty robes that survived fires that swallowed whole towns, anything he deemed too beautiful to be destroyed would be taken back, just like how he did with you when he saved you from the sinking ship that was earth

Though this gives me a blurb idea for a Stockholm syndrome type thing *rubbing hands together mischievously*

.

The doors to the bedrooms creaked open, your hands pausing from toying with a gem he brought back from a planet. (One that reflects everything it shows, you saw a glimpse of his smile as he picked it up, a fire, bloodshed, beautiful but daunting.)

"I'm home, love." He announced immediately upon seeing you, setting aside some sort of satchel and walking to you, throwing away the extravagant cape and cupping your cheek to give you a brief kiss, a happy noise vibrating from his lips briefly before he parted. "I have something for you."

'Oh, joy.' You mentally rolled your eyes, glancing up from where you were sitting. "Don't you think I have enough...?" You gestured to a full closet, a vanity littered with jewels you didn't even know existed.

"No, you'll want this, trust me." He took the satchel from where it was tossed, kneeling infront of you and opening it up. "I returned to whatever remained from Earth, and... you'll be happy to know that I missed a few spots."

Mark smiled as he brought out a few rectangular shapes; the familiar scent of paper albeit yellowed, the appearance of worn edges and cracked spines. Books. Actual books. By human authors.

Your expression lit up with.. something, he couldn't discern it as he put the books down in your hands as you shuffled through them, blinking rapidly as if this was a dream.

Familiar titles you've seen in bookshops returned to you, 3 parts from 'Before the Coffee Gets Cold', 'Pride & Prejudice', 'Dracula', collections of short stories, compendiums, you saw more small books between thicker ones.

You thought you'd be angry, yet you felt strangely happy to finally feel something you were familiar with.

"Do you like it?" His smile was so big it almost hurt his cheeks, your expression gave him hope. "Alien books aren't in a scripture you can read, a-and I know there isn't much to do around here when I'm gone..."

"It's perfect." It was so small, it was almost miniscule, you're supposed to be crying, angry to be reminded of your destroyed home. "I.. I'm really happy about this, this may be the best gift you've ever given me."

This was the most Mark has ever gotten from you, the most gratitude that felt genuine. "Books, hah..! Okay! Books, I'll get you more books! Earth books! I'll scour the entire galaxy for any remains of Earthen artifacts!" He monologued excitedly, his heart soaring as you set the books down and looked up at him.

"You look beautiful when overjoyed, I should've done this– mmf!" For once, you initiated contact yourself. Lips pressing against his, Mark melted into a moan as his arms looped around you, leaning up to take more from you.

"Thank you— I don't know how to explain but... thank you—" He shushed you, kissing the corner of your lips, your cheek, your forehead.

"I understand, there's nothing like... home." He begrudgingly called that failing planet your home, as opposed to Viltrum's accommodations. "You know... maybe you could read some of these to our children, in the future."

Your vulnerability was what he was waiting for, a chance to strike to bring up the conversation again. "You're kidding, I don't know if kids can read these..." You were too caught up in the worn cut-up corners of the book to use your usual mind-games, sighing. "... Mark, thank you."

You didn't notice the suspicious smile, the lidded dark gaze that appeared on his face as he stood up while you decided on which book to read. "You're welcome. You're always welcome, love."

[zyafics]

GIRL WITHOUT A TAIL | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing – Rafe x Mermaid!Female Reader

Summary — Rafe seeks Sarah's help about what to do with you.

Word Count — 1.7K

Content — fluff, protective!Rafe, Sarah acting like a bitch, and you acting clueless and afraid of everything except your mate, also suggestive ending. A continuum of this piece!

Dedication — to @nemesyaaa my own little mermaid, and @promiscuousg1rl for reading it first <3.

“She’s a mermaid?”

Rafe’s telling Sarah about his encounter with you. After taking you back to Tannyhill, you confide in the stranger—your mate—that you’re a mermaid. It’s your first time on land, with legs, and why you wobble with each step. But Rafe didn’t believe you.

However, the conviction in your voice had him second-guessing. The way you peer up at him with such innocent, enchanting eyes that blink with such naivety, he wanted to protect you with all the fibers of his being. He felt like he was being sucked into a trance, not thinking straight, that he sought out a secondary opinion.

Well, more like that she forced him to tell her.

Because Sarah didn’t see a helpless woman who needed Rafe’s help. She saw a stranger, walking around the estate, barely wearing any clothes, except for a half-assed outfit strung together from her brother’s closet.

“Have you gone insane?” Sarah snaps at Rafe, her tone dripping with disbelief. “A mermaid? The fairytales Dad used to tell us about when we were kids?”

Rafe feels insane for believing it.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” Rafe declares, “But that’s what she told me.”

Sarah blows out a stream of air, shaking her head. “Seriously, Rafe. What type of women are you sleeping with?”

“I’m not sleeping with her,”

“Yeah, because being naked is a default setting,”

“I found her like that,” Rafe hisses at his sister. “She was at the beach, naked, with these fuckin’ seashells as a bra. What else do I suspect?”

“Not a mermaid,” Sarah insists, as if it was the most normal response. She glances towards Rafe’s bedroom, where you stay, and sighs. “Have you asked her where she’s from?”

“The ocean,”

Sarah glares. “Not funny.”

“That’s what she told me,” Rafe declares.

Sarah shakes her head again as if she can’t believe her brother would believe in such nonsense. “Alright, I’ll do it. I guess men can’t do shit,” Sarah announces, grabbing Rafe’s arm and hauling him back to his bedroom.

You stand near the corner of his desk, going through everything of his. All family portraits hung behind glass, all his trinkets he found from scouting the beaches, all the golden rings he wears, and the expensive colognes he sets to the side. Your fingers trace each and every curve, feeling the magnitude of each touch, without the presence of water, in a way that allows you to feel each edge. You don’t even notice Sarah and Rafe’s return until someone clears their throat.

Turning around, you spot your mate beside another woman, her hand wrapped around his wrist. Your brows furrow together, full, pouty lips pull to a subtle frown, unsure of what to make of it. Back in Atlantis, no partners would be so shameless to be seen with another mermaid. For Rafe to do so, strikes your chest.

Rafe must’ve picked it up. Somehow, he understood the look behind your eyes, the way you scrutinize his sister’s touch. “This is Sarah, my sister.”

All concern drops, and you grin. “Hi, Sarah!”

“Hi,” She drawls sardonically. “My gullible brother is telling me you’re a mermaid,"

Rafe wants to nudge Sarah in the ribcage. But, you didn’t seem to acknowledge the insult, nodding your head diligently, as if you were answering an average question. “Yes.”

Sarah squints her eyes at you. “A mermaid with no tail,” she boasts suspiciously, but you don’t see it as that.

“Yes,” you answer again, your tone indicating causality as if this concept isn’t hard to grasp.

“So a human,” Sarah concludes, drawing back to the board, just as Rafe done before.

“No,” you make a sound of frustration; you went through a similar conversation with Rafe before, and you feel something tense bubbling in your throat. You attempt to walk towards them, to explain further, but you lost your footing. However, Rafe easily appears by your side and catches you.

“Alright, Bambi, slow down,” he murmurs into your freshly-dried hair; soft, voluminous, laced with the sweet smell of the sea. You peer up at him, doe-shaped eyes with complete and total vulnerability, as if you trust him.

“She certainly got the walk down,” Sarah comments and Rafe lifts his gaze to glare at his sister. You shiver under his embrace, and for some reason, Rafe recognizes it’s because of Sarah.

She’s making you uncomfortable and targeted like you can’t seem to grasp that. Rafe can’t explain how he knows this—how he feels it—but he does. You’re frustrated, and a little hurt, and it’s vibrating off of your body like a shaken leaf.

“Stop interrogating her,” Rafe snaps, defensive of you.

“You asked for my opinion,”

“An opinion, not to be a bitch,” he declares, his other arm wraps protectively over your waist, drawing you closer to him. You revel in the feeling of his warmth, nuzzling against his chest to find comfort.

Sarah rolls her eyes; somehow, she recognizes that you got her brother under a spell. “So what happens now?”

Rafe doesn’t know. He’s trying to figure out the pieces and combine mythology with reality, but nothing makes sense. If he takes your words at face value, that means there’s a reason for your presence, rather than a simple encounter. He plans to take a trip to Ward’s office, to look through his treasured collection of sailor’s stories, and figure out a solution from there.

But there’s also another problem: you.

You and your nakedness.

“Can you do me a favor and take her shopping?” Rafe asks.

“Shopping?” Sarah repeats. “For clothes?”

“No, for a ring,” Rafe replies sardonically. “Yes, for fuckin’ clothes. She didn’t have anything, she barely fits into me, and I doubt you’re the type to share.”

Sarah hums, confirming the last comment.

When Rafe turns back to you, in his arms, his expression softens, his voice layered with a sweetness no one ever had the privilege of hearing before. “We’re going to get you some clothes.”

“Clothes?” You repeat, brows wrinkling together at the foreign concept. “Human clothes?” You pick at Rafe’s shirt, running your fingers across the soft fabric.

He nods. “Clothes.”

You beam at this new exploration; this new human concept that you’ve never had before. You try to stand on your own feet, nearly falling, before finding ground. Sarah approaches you and gently grabs your hand, pulling you towards the door—slowly, cautiously to not lose your footing—but, a few steps in, you resist.

Rafe isn’t following you. He’s abandoning you to a strange woman, a strange companion you don’t completely trust in.

You turn back to Rafe, expression full of panic.

“You’re not coming?” You ask, your voice sultry and soft, as if you can’t seem to distinguish between captivation and causality.

Rafe shakes his head, but his heart aches at the look on your face. “I have work to do.”

You frown. You don’t know if you want to go now either, especially without your mate. But his sister tugs on your arm, and despite her tight grip, you resist.

“Sarah’s my sister,” Rafe explains again, hoping to calm the fear in your eyes. “She’ll keep you safe.”

You hesitate, turning back to Sarah, expecting to find the sardonic, humorless look on her face. But all hostility originally boasted has depleted, and she glosses over with a tender look, almost keeping to the promise of what her brother preaches.

Reluctantly, you nod, and follow Sarah out of Rafe’s bedroom, out of the sanction, and away into the open world.

A few hours later, Rafe’s at the kitchen island, going through old scripts. He’s searching through old maps, and old journal entries, to find any clues about your sudden presence at Kildare. His focus tunes everything out—until the noise of you tripping upon return causes him to lift his gaze.

What he sees takes his breath away.

You’re in the most gorgeous, detailed dress; layered with this blue iridescent color that makes you look like a fantasy. It accentuates every curve on your body, strategically revealing tantalizing skin, and boosts this wave of etherealness.

Rafe can’t seem to look away.

Sarah falls in line beside the counter, her arms leaning against the island, noticing the way you caught her brother in a trance.

“Your little mermaid eats fish,” Sarah declares, causing him to snap out of his state.

He turns to her. “What?”

“I mean, for a mermaid, she can eat fish; for some reason, I assumed they only ate kelp,” she chuckles to herself. Rafe realizes that Sarah took you out to lunch, at some restaurant downtown. “If it helps, she’s also very knowledgeable about the sea. Kept going on tangents about different species, how they interact in the ocean, and even challenged a couple of jewelry stores about their pearls. I was almost convinced she’s a real mermaid.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything, his sister’s voice slowly slipping into the background when his gaze returns back to you.

You’re twirling in your dress, catching your footing, and losing it in the same breath, while laughing at the way the fabric spins around you. A melodic, siren-song laugh that sounds enchanting.

“What?” Sarah asks, noting his brother’s lack of response. She follows his line of vision. “You don’t like the dress?”

Rafe swallows, feeling something thick in his throat, before rubbing his jaw. He forces himself to snap out of it—again—before turning back to his sister. The lure to return back to you is hard to resist. “You couldn’t have found something less… form-fitting?”

Sarah scoffs. She can’t believe Rafe’s complaining. “You should be glad I got her into something at all,” she declares. “For a mermaid who’s so fascinated with human customs, she truly does not respect any of it.”

“What do you mean?”

Rafe returns back to you, and the way you find your space in his living room, while Sarah lowers herself to her brother’s level, meeting the shell of his ear, as if she’s trading a secret.

“She’s not wearing any panties.”

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR MERMAID!READER: @fullofsunshineandloneliness / @erwinsvow / @perfectprettypisces / @immalosersblog / @carolinevoight

[urcoolgf]

HAIR OBSESSED¡RAFE BLURB

¡ sexual content !

was listening to ‘my hair’ by ariana grande, and just thought of rafe being obsessed with his girl’s curls (much love to my fellow curly haired girls)

✭ he loved the smell of it—like a mixture of fresh flowers, and some type of vanilla. he couldn’t explain it, but it was your scent, and it made his head spin.

he loved watching you do your whole curly hair routine from the bathroom doorway right after your shower (hopefully he’d get lucky, and you’d do it naked).

✭ he’d always want you to lay your head in his lap so he could play with your curls, running his fingers through your scalp and twisting the curls around his fingers.

he loved pulling on it during sex. grabbing it—forcing you to look into his eyes while the soft strands fell over his hand. and when he tossed you on the bed, the way your curls splayed out behind you drove him crazy.

✭ when you gave him head, he wasn’t even rough with it, he’d just run his fingers through it—getting off on more than just the sensation from his dick.

when you first met rafe you wore your hair up a lot—you thought your hair looked messy, and life was easier with it out of your face—but rafe begged you to wear it down more. eventually, it was down basically every day—even when it was way too hot, but you didn’t mind.

✭ he’d never want you to cut it. no matter how much you said you needed the trim. the length running down your bare back made you look like a goddess (that he, of course, wanted to worship 24/7)

as much as he loved your curls, he also just loved playing with your hair. you taught him how to braid, and do other simple hairstyles. whenever you were watching tv—if you weren’t already laying in his lap—he’d ask you to sit on the floor in front of him so he could practice.

✭ he would willingly buy you any products you needed. whether you had run out of your favorite curl cream, or just wanted to try a new brush or diffuser. he was pulling out his wallet, handing you his credit card with a smile on his face.

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© URCOOLGF. est. 2025

[kyluff]

— ↺ ‘When He Eat The Cookie He Got Good Form’

✎ luffy + zoro + sanji x reader !

✦ summary ➠ one piece men eating you out blurbs

✦ warnings ➠ nsfw, cunnilingus, swearing, almost getting caught

✦ note ➠ 3000+ LIKES ON MY CLINGY GOJO POST?!? thats actually insane, I’m so happy thank you for all the support 😨🫶

✪ Monkey D. Luffy

— You felt shaking, hands were on you and vigorously pushing and pulling you. Your eyes weren’t open yet, they couldn’t, you were just sleeping a few seconds ago and now you were being rudely awaken. Keeping your eyes closed, you called out for your boyfriend.

“What, what is it Luffy?” You sighed, shoving your face further in the blanket, trying to go back to the time when you were still sound asleep. “It’s still nighttime, go back to bed.”

He whined out, nuzzling his face in your neck. “But I’m hungry.”

Of course he is, you shook your head in annoyance. “That’s what you woke me up for? Wait and eat in the morning like the rest of us.”

Luffy licked your cheek, leaving heavy and warm breaths on it. He always was so impatient when he wanted something, especially when hunger was what he wanted. “But I cant.”

You were shocked, you really shouldn’t be though, he was obsessed with food to point where it was slightly unhealthy. You forcefully shoved his face away from you, making him fall on his side of the bed. “Well too bad, now go to sleep.”

“I can’t, not when I’m so hungry.” He huffed out, sounding defeated by his own words, at least it seemed like he was done with this stunt. But you felt bad a little bit, if he was so hungry that he couldn’t even sleep, then that’s an issue.

“If you’re really that hungry go to the kitchen.” That was the final thing you were going to say, now you were for real going to sleep.

You felt him shuffling beside you and the bed swaying from his movement. It melt like he was moving down the bed, making it to the foot of it. You ignored him, just wanting this to be over.

He disappeared under to covers for a minute, lifting your leg and placing himself between them. “Why would I go to the kitchen? My foods already right here.”

For the first time that night your eyes fluttered open, taking a moment to adjust to the environment. You reached in the dark for the light, turning it on and removing the cloth that separated the two of you, bLuffy was there, resting his cheek on your thigh. He had a lazy and goofy smile on his face like he always did, but his eyes were different. His eyes stared into your soul, hunger definitely evident in his gaze.

“Oh,” That’s all you could say, you had just been waken and had to face this. “You’re that type of hungry.”

The man between your limbs nodded eagerly, relieved that you had finally understood him. He had awoken in the middle of the night and the feeling washed over him, he couldn’t sleep after that, he needed you.

“Well, eat then.” That’s all it took for him rip off your shorts and underwear, revealing you to him. You could never deny your boyfriend, even if it was so late, not when he looked so longingly up at you.

He delve in instantly, not being able to wait any longer. His mouth was wide open against your folds, sucking and nudging them how ever he wished. Luffy didn’t focus on anywhere in particular when he ate you out, he liked to pay attention to every part of you down there, making it a messy operation, your juices spread across his face and everywhere on your thighs.

“Oh-h, so good.” This session Luffy seemed to really want it, he was licking so aggressively and tugged harshly at your lips. You weren’t complaining, the pleasure was almost unbearable.

It wasn’t till he placed a bite on your clit that you felt the beginnings of your end. He’s never done this before, but the new found trick brought you dangerously close to your climax.

“Do it again!” You pleaded, wanting to feel that same sensation from before. And he listened, using his canine to squish your bud, he lapped at the same spot to soothe it. You came undone, Luffy crawled up your body and dropped onto your chest, you noticed he had a soft grin on his face.

“You really were hungry, huh?” Your fingers started playing and twirling mindlessly with his hair.

“Mhm.” He hummed, closing his eyes from the comfort he received at the mercy of your hands. You too shut your eyes, being able to sleep again.

✪ Roronoa Zoro

— If there was one thing you knew about your boyfriend, it was how much he liked eating pussy. He’d eat it from the back, he’d eat it in sixty nine, he’d eat in the shower. He would literally do it anywhere at anytime. A position he hadn’t tried though was you sitting on his face.

So right now, he decided that you were going to sit on his face, but you were having some difficulty with that. You hovered over his awaiting mouth, using the headboard of the bed to hold yourself up.

“Sit on my face already.” He wrapped his buff arms around your thighs, attempting to pull you down on his face.

“Z-Zoro, don’t you think I’ll be to heavy?” You quivered, not letting him win the tug of war you were having.

“Don’t care,” The greened haired man loosened his grip, letting you raise slightly. “Just want to taste you.”

You bit your lip, thinking about how desperate his expression looked, you could tell he really wanted this and who were you to deny? You reluctantly lowered yourself closer to his face, making sure not to have your whole weight on him.

His lips chased yours, coming up to meet your dripping core where it was above him. He slowly made out with it, messily sucking and slurping. He quickly shook his face in your heat, spreading the juices he has created.

“Fucking come here.” His words were muffled against your skin as he forced you to fully sit down on his face. Your cheeked flushed in embarrassment, worrying if you were to much for your boyfriend to bare. You tried to get off, but the strong arms on your legs kept you in place.

“Zoro!” You whimpered, grasp tightening on the wooden frame.

He only carried on, now comfortable with the position you were in, nice and snug to his face. His tongue worked quick and tight circles on your bud, not stopping until he heard a moan rip from your vocal cords.

You glanced down on him through your droopy eyes, he was also looking up at you. His eyes always stood out to you, they were always stern and fierce, staring right through you.

He kept eye contact with you as he face moved deeper into you, his nose becoming smaller in size. Your stomach did flips in response, contracting as you felt tingling down there.

He smiled into you, he could see how much you liked sitting on his face, and to think on how you were so against it before.

His grin became bigger as he noticed how close you were, this might be the quickest he’s ever made you come.

Picking up his pace, he pushed you over the edge until you came undone onto his smushed face. “How do you like the new position now?”

✪ Vinsmoke Sanji

— You were becoming very annoyed at your boyfriends current antics, he’s been at it for what it felt like hours now. You sat on a chair in the kitchen, attempting to enjoy the beautiful meal that Sanji had prepared for you. That task was almost impossible though, due to the man that was positioned at your feet in front your chair.

“For the tenth time, Sanji, the answer is no.” You huffed out, stabbing another piece of food with your fork.

“Please, Y/n! Just one taste!” He begged, smushing his blushing face against your exposed knee. You had decided to wear a skirt today as it was very warm outside, it seemed to have an affect on the blonde man.

“I’m trying to eat, can’t you wait until I’m at least finished?” You wiggled your leg, trying to shake the man attached to your knee off of you.

His grasp became harder, slowing your movements until they stopped totally. His face moved closer, it reached the hem of your skirt where he brought his fingers to fidget with it softly. “I can’t wait, need it right now.”

Normally you wouldn’t put up such a fuss, but you were in the kitchen, anyone could walk in whenever they wanted. “Sanji, what if someone came in? Like if Luffy got hungry and ran in, what then?”

“I’ll be quick, promise.” He started laying quick kisses on your thighs, his eyes still looked at you from below waiting for your response.

You thought about it for a moment, sighing in defeat. “You promise?” He nodded eagerly, eyes filled with lust as he glanced up at you. You nodded your head in agreement, once you gave him the go ahead he immediately flipped your skirt and dived straight in, head disappearing under the flowy material.

At first he kissed you through the cloth that separated him from your bare pussy, his breath was warm when it fanned onto you. He pulled your underwear off, revealing everything to him.

For some reason unknown to you as you couldn’t see Sanji because of your bottoms he paused in his tracks, not going further.

“You said you’d be fast, get on with it and eat me out already.” You gave him time to resume his prior actions but when he refused and stayed in his place, you threw the skirt up off his head. “What are yo-”

“Just admiring my pretty girl.” Anyone would assume that he was referring to you, but you knew what he was talking about and it wasn’t your face. It was your cunt.

“Shut up.” You forced his face into your core, you couldn’t look at him any longer, just thinking about his words made a wave of heat form in your lower stomach.

Your boyfriend didn’t protest, starting to lick long strips up your slit, sucking on your bud when he reached it at the end. He repeatedly did this until he felt your juices slipping everywhere, now your hole was ready for his tongue. He slipped it inside, letting it slowly slide in to its full length.

You whimpered in response, hands flying to his yellow hair. “Keep going.”

He listened to your pleads, swirling his muscle around in circles before pulling out and searching upwards for your buzzing clit. You felt his lips wrap around it, applying suction on it, during all of this the tip of his tongue poked through his lips and flicked at your bud.

“So close, Sanji!” Your legs enclosed on his torso, trapping him. His actions became faster, suction harder and flicking harsher. It was all too much for your aching cunt, your climax was nearing.

Just as you were about to let go, you heard a voice coming from outside the door. “Sanji! I’m hungry when it food going to be ready!?”

“Have some patience Luffy, you pig!” He pulled away to yell at the pirate captain, stuffing his face back in like nothing had happened.

“Sanj-ji he’s going to walk in here!” You felt tears sting your eyes at the stressful situation that had a chance to occur, but the tears were also present in your eyes due to the fact that the feeling from before was back again.

The cook didn’t respond, eating you out the same as before the interruption. You panted, pawing at his locks as you came on Sanjis mouth.

He quickly licked it all up, placing your panties back on and flattened out your skirt to normal just in time before the energetic black haired boy came barreling through the kitchen doors.

[honestsycrets]

mío | baby-fever!miguel o'hara x wifey!reader

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x wifey!reader, starved prequel

❛ type | oneshot, explicit

❛ summary | after watching mayday, miguel develops a bad case of baby fever, longing for a family of his own.

❛ tags | explicit, miguel has baby fever, babysitting, talk of family planning and contraception, f!reader, breeding, pregnancy kink, much fluff, some angst, starved!reader, miguel being frustrated and cute, clean that kitchen, one stereotype of latina women, Spanish is not translated, best friend!peter, self edited.

❛ request fulfilled | could you possibly write an imagine in which Miguel and his wife take care of mayday? + multiple requests for more starved reader/miguel.

❛ sy's notes | written to fulfill some requests. i do have another daddy miguel blurb to fulfill, but my future works should be nice and angsty.

Peter has it out for him.

It’s the only logical reason why he’d do this shit to him.

Miguel stood in his dark room in a pair of scratchy jeans, dragging a belt loop to loop when he heard the door to his room draw open. A resonant schwap, schwap, schwap.

“Mi reina?” Miguel cocked his eyebrow up, extending his claws.

“¿Sí?” you called back from the bathroom, the distant scent of his favorite perfume wafting into the air. Miguel threw a look to the bathroom, reaching for the bedroom door. It burst open before he could open it. 

“Hi, Miguel! Where’s your wife?”

Peter dragged his feet into the room, whirling around with a sloppily put-together backpack that leaked diapers onto the floor. An exasperated breath left his lips, dripping in the way he looked at Peter.

Unfortunately, his little wife liked Peter a bit too much for his taste.

“I should have known.” Miguel ran his hand through his hair, strands of mocha brown flyaways wisping along his tawny forehead. “Why are you here?”

His normally disheveled appearance was a little more disheveled. It wasn’t his appearance that bothered him but how it reached his eyes. Shocked, confused, tired. Peter pat his deltoid, awkward laughter choking in his throat. It bubbled on the edge of an overwhelmed sob.

“Well, you see, your wife said she’d watch Mayday because I have a date, and I haven’t had a date in a really, really long time. Like, a really long time—”

“Is Peter here?”

His head snapped to your bathroom where you came out, threading a golden hoop earring. You probably already knew the fight that was heading your way-- but for your part, you couldn’t be bothered to care any less.

“Got it, you need this date.” Miguel cut Peter off, standing behind you with his massive arms crossed. “¿Por qué no me dijiste?”

“¡Mi nena! Muévete Miguel,” you giggled, shoving your way past Miguel to Peter’s child carrier, sneaking your hands underneath her little armpits and whirling her around. She cackled, a glittering warmth to her mischievous eyes. You came to a stop, settling Mayday against your chest, nuzzling your foreheads together in some secret pact that the two of you shared.

Oh no, no, no, no. Not this. It hits him at once.

The sight of his wife— beautiful and cuddly with a very young baby in her arms. The only sight more beautiful was at the altar on his wedding day, your shy smile behind a sheer veil. It had been a long time, too long, since he had someone to call him father. He can still picture her glimmering eyes, the way she looked at him in nothing short of admiration, looking past the things that he’d done to see him and only him. Glimpsing at Mayday, remembering Gabriella’s soft, small face, it took him a moment to snap free. 

He's so fucked.

“You would have said no, amado mío.” 

You’re a natural at this, scooting by both men to set Mayday on the bed. Your tiny fingers spiraled out from her belly to change her diaper. Peter jittered uncomfortably, looking as though he wanted to jump in himself. You cleaned her, replacing the dirty diaper with a clean one. “We’re going to a market with Tío Miguel--” 

“Don’t bring me into this.”

“Are you sure it's okay? I’ll be back at five, it's just a few hours, really--” 

“¡Vete! A ratty house robe and a dirty spider suit aren’t sexy. Look at mi Miggy,” now you’re just buttering him up. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, inspecting the ground. “Wear something nice.” 

They’re sexy to her, he might have murmured. Not on a date, you bopped him. Mayday’s bright eyes tracked the space between you and Peter before you broke away to wash your hands. Peter’s clammy hands cupped Mayday’s sweet face, littering at least a dozen sickly daddy kisses over her tiny face. But Miguel what if--

“Adiós, Peter!” You returned to force Peter out of your room. Miguel peered at Mayday whose head snapped to the side, cheek against her fiery hair as the door clicked shut. He braced himself for the shrill that would inevitably come with her realization that her daddy was gone. She whined, grabbing her toes and tipping nearly off the side of the bed. Miguel begrudgingly hovered at her feet, blocking her from rolling off the bed. He could do this, he told himself, he could resist those giant baby eyes staring up at him.

He didn't need a baby, he didn't.

He blames Peter for having such a good baby.

She doesn’t ask for much other than requiring chest-to-chest contact with Miguel. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hold her, he finds himself aggravated by how much he likes to be around her. In a market full of things to look at food trinkets such as necklaces, body scrubs, and empanadas, it’s all her. Miguel props her up with an arm just under her bum, her tiny finger peeking curiously into his fangs. He snapped his teeth playfully at her, a nip, nip, nip, missing playfully every time. It rips ping a toothy grin across her face. 

“No biting Miguelito,” you called out, sliding your fingers in a teasing ring around his muscled back to chest. You leaned up on your tippy toes, placing a small little kiss on his lips. You ran off to go get her a pineapple whip after her tiny fist yanked your hair over and over again. You relented, staring at what she was cooing at. Sweets-- obviously, sweets. All the little ones loved sweets. 

“She likes it.” 

“Ya sé,” you said, “But we don’t need anyone noticing you’ve grown fangs.” 

“Tch,” he clicks his teeth in protest. She does too, throwing you a mean look for interrupting her fun. You plucked up a bit of the whip on your spoon, cutting through her displeasure through the power of sugar. 

"There's a lot of people here, Miggy, let's go to the park." You point toward the park, pointing away from the mounds of fresh produce and locally sourced goods toward a healthy patch of green grass. Miguel is glad-- he’s sick of being stared at for his huge frame. Despite the ring on his finger, people still seem to try their luck. He couldn't be more disinterested.

You lay a picnic blanket as Miguel holds Mayday's treat. Mayday sprawls across his chest, trying to take just one more bite-- then another-- Miguel looks down, chin level, eyebrow raised. She offers a bit on her tiny index finger to Miguel. A peace offering. “She’s not going to wait.” 

“Give her to me.” You kicked off your sandals on the edge of the blanket, dropping your things on another corner. You pluck Mayday from Miguel’s arms and set her down on the blanket in a way that is too easy. As though you wouldn’t have much of a learning curve in becoming a mother. No, no— you never mentioned anything about kids. Did you even want kids? He couldn't bring his heart to ask, to hope again.

“I didn’t know you were so experienced with kids.” 

“Mami had six,” you noted, plopping down with the whip by Mayday’s side. She sat with a small slant, reaching out toward the sweet treat again with those chunky, adorable hands. You brought her into your lap, at last relenting. “When you’re the oldest, you have to learn a little something to help out. Can you imagine-- being pregnant six times? Ay no.”

“How many times do you want to be pregnant?” he blurts out. Usually timed and precise, the question causes him to pinch his brow as he sits beside you. “Si quieres,” 

Your other hand comes on top of his and shifts it away from his face. 

“As many as will make you happy.” 

Shock. He chews on that response, his eyes glued to Mayday lapping at the last spoon of sweets you are willing to give her. She falls into a fit of complaints, a conniving look at the sweets, just as you lift her onto your shoulder.

"I never thought about it."

"No more, your papa won't forgive me if I bring you home all sugared up," you tsked your tongue at her. You patted along her back in small, tight circles until her angry huffs faded away. He reaches for the baby bag, slipping free a soft yellow blanket with white spiders strewn across the front. Miguel slides the blanket on top of Mayday’s small body, her groggy eyes sliding closed.

The more he watches you with Mayday, holding her so close, swaying as you held her, the deeper this ache burrowed in his chest. You would look beautiful all swollen with his child. Never mind Mayday or Peter, he can nearly see it, feel it under his fingers, the feeling of your taut belly under his skin, or the kick of tiny feet against his palm.

“We’ll see, Miggy.” 

We’ll see-- the answer seems too noncommittal, too distant to be a satisfactory answer. With Mayday sound asleep, you settle her between your plush thighs. She expelled bursts of energy that milked her energy dry.

A little old woman passed by, her cane pierced soft grass as she moved closer with a bag of tomatoes and green beans. Her face, aged by time, pulls into a wide smile. He doesn't like her smile.

“You two are doing a great job. How old is she?” 

You blink, looking up into the woman’s cool blue eyes, her dark hair peppered with thick grey and white strands. You tuck Mayday in her soft blanket, sparing the woman a kind smile that Miguel doesn’t quite have the patience for. 

“Oh, oh. Thank you-- um, a couple of months,” you recount, perhaps thinking of Peter’s anxious pacing or his delighted shouts about becoming a father. 

“Adopting is a great option. Back in the day, my husband was a bodybuilder too. Had a low sperm count don’t you know. Steroids shrink things. Oh, but these days you can do all sorts of things like IV--”

A what-- Miguel’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the suggestion. Was this old bitch’s suggestion that he couldn’t do it-- couldn’t get you pregnant? He could easily do that. If he wanted you pregnant, you would be shocking pregnant. He’d be damned if some old woman put it in your mind that he couldn’t.

“We’re babysitting for a friend,” he blurts out. “I have--” had, “a daughter.” 

“Oh, do you? I’m sorry. I thought-- well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, have a good day."  

She’s saying that, but it comes out slanted. You don’t bother correcting Miguel, not on this. Rather, your hand inched toward his, picking up on the energy that was pluming from his body in waves. Irritation-- annoyance-- the little old lady hobbles off. You’re in your mind well enough to bid her goodbye. But you know better than to say anything more, slumping your cheek on Miguel’s firm chest. It makes the ache of Gabriella's memory a little more bearable. 

 Low sperm count his ass. 

It bothers him long after Mayday is gone. Peter, for his part, looks refreshed. He supposes that’s what happens with a full day of opportunity to empty your balls after weeks of no relief. It bothers him long after you come back from the kitchen, his favorite dark red slip plastered to your perfect body. It would look beautiful, full of his children— he just knows it. 

“I may have hijacked the kitchen a little bit,” you teased, the waft of warm chicken and brewed spices filled his nose. He had no appetite. “But I made you some pollo guisado.” 

“Hm,” he grunts into a pillow. “Later.”

Beside the bed, he has a bowl of brightly colored condoms. With your sensitivity to birth control, it is the best option available. It wasn’t, however, something he was ever happy about. He should be able to feel your body. Not once had he felt your body pure and unadulterated, warm and perfect for him. He was your husband. He wanted that moment— to fill you up just once, watch his cum dribble out of your cunt. It would be perfect. You set the food away, bowl and spoon clinking together.

“Miguel.” 

Forget your warm body. This room is too quiet. It is almost stifling in its silence. Mayday’s sweet huffs, the memory of Gabriella’s laughter. A proper home full of a child's giggles. He’s going crazy-- he has to be-- this isn’t normal. This isn’t Miguel. 

“Mi vida, don’t pout,” you reach out, rolling your fingers through his long brown hair. Your fingers tease along his scalp, turning around his ear. Your fingers tickle his lobe, your voice cemented in a concern that he wanted nothing more but to fix if it were anything other than this. “Miggy. Miggy, what is wrong? You look sad.”

“I’m not sad,” he says with a whine on his pillow. How silly he must look with his broad arms wound around the body pillow, squeezing its fluff for life. If he said the words well enough, you might believe them. 

“I know you are,” you nudge the pillow loose. He takes you instead, the air thickening with the closeness. You fed off the tension, sliding your leg over the sheet that covers his naked hip. “Tell me why.” 

He turns his hands over your thighs, traveling past your hips to ghost along your belly. 

“Sí, Miggy?” 

“I need…” he trailed off, finding the words nearly impossible to admit. They grow into a ball and cement in his throat, present but stubborn. Rather than break the words free, he swallows a bolus of desire and frustration. “It’s nothing. Let it go.”

The issue was— you loved him enough to let it do so. 

Miguel doesn’t want to press the issue. He knows you. All you want is Miguel’s happiness. Sometimes, he worries it is at the price of your own. The distance he places between you and him is intolerable. It bothers him every time he finds you babysitting Mayday.

Today, while Peter goes on a small date, you and Mayday make his favorite empanadas. She’s covered in a dusting of flour from head to toe. Peter would have fun with that. 

“Miggy you’re back?” you called as Mayday’s chubby hands shot out, nearly plopping off the counter if not for Miguel’s quick reflexes, setting her back in place. 

“Empanadas?” he settles the words in a small kiss to your lips. You glance at him over your shoulder. 

“It's... it's Gabi's birthday, isn't it?"

You’re too good for him. Despite the day coming and going, no one else notices his grief today. Not even Peter who came in alongside him, reading the room, and snatching up Mayday off the countertop. He’s babbling something, a thank you, see you later— you kiss Mayday with only the sweetness a mother could know.  

“Peter! Mayday made these for you,” you reach out to a box of uncooked empanadas. “Take them home!”

Her first empanadas— the delight is palpable. Peter may have snapped a photo, or ten, of his little flour girl on the way out, empanadas in hand. Then there’s silence. Miguel returns the nearly forgotten bundle of empanada dough and filling to the fridge in the space of unspoken tension. Miguel dips down to your neck, caramelized perfume warm on your neck. His lips trace the warm pulse of your neck. 

“Mami,” his voice mesmeric, warm like the filling you used to make him happy when no one else could. Your doting attention, even in the face of real issues like work and babies, was always on him.

"Sí, mi vida?"

His hands coast around your waist, using his strength to gently turn you around. It isn’t important right now. What is important is how he lifts you up onto the floury surface, purring his need into your slight ear. “I want a baby.”

“¿Qué?”

“Una niña,” Miguel leans his fingers along your collarbone. 

“Oh, Miggy.” You puff the words. They come out almost wounded. You know him so well, the vulnerability of the words causing him to look down. Your warm palms cradle his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. “You miss being a father, don't you?”

You’re not stupid. Neither is he. He thought he could wait— watch Mayday grow up and not feel this sundering longing. As though he could stomach never feeling a child in his arms again. The ghosts of the past that came with Mayday’s longing haunt him day by day. 

You devour his insecurity, winding your legs around his waist and forcing him forward. He stumbles into your embrace, as though he were not a man who could decimate villains and spiders alike. When he was here, in your arms, he barely felt like the weapon of a man that he is. 

“Miguel. Speak to me.”

“You’re right,” he can’t lie— can’t hide the longing that comes with the thought of his own child on his chest. Not Mayday, no matter how many times she cuddled up to his chest. At the end of the day, she would never be his. You drew your lip into your mouth, nipping it fat and red, a bob in your head. His heart beats faster, strumming as though it would break free from his chest. Whatever it is you’re thinking he’s not sure. Only that it’s been so long.

“I just want to make you happy, will this make you happy?” you nearly whisper, knowing that there’s no one but him to hear the words. It’s what he wants for you, too. As he stands there, coursing his fingers along your thighs and hiking your dress up your hips, he can’t help but feel the foggy discomfort of forcing you into parenthood before you were ready. 

“It will.”

As well as it could. It would never erase Gabriella-- and, in the vulnerability of begging his wife for another child, came the guilt. Not only the guilt of failing to be a proper father or to protect her but moving on without her in his life to a beautiful family she would have loved. The feelings surge in his chest, a well of uncomfortable emotions in his eyes, threatening to fall. 

“Miguel,” you’re whispering, your fingers cutting across his sharp cheekbones. You cup his face, drawing your lips together in a commanding kiss. You never liked being ignored or forgotten. He’s not sure how he could now, with your tongue flicking between his lips, begging him to come back with a sugary sweet whine. “Stay with me, Miguel.” 

“I am,” he says, gripping either side of the counter by your hips. He feels your eyes on him, soft and careful, pressuring him to meet your gaze. He searches for an inkling of an answer in your gaze. "¿Qué piensas?"

“We can try,” you bite your lip, sliding it free between your teeth. “If you don’t have a low sperm count,” you tease. “Maybe it’ll take.” 

“¡Por dios!” He throws a curse to the side as if he believed in such a being, throwing a look back at you. “You don’t actually believe that vieja.” 

“Ay Miggy, of course not.” His lips work into a budding smile. You leaned up against his stubbly jaw, setting soft kisses there. Your lipstick stains his neck, dragging down to his prominent adam’s apple. He looks down at you with heady eyes, tracing the way you suckled a mark on his throat. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like them a little more when others noticed them, little marks of possession. Miguel’s fingers come up to the straps of your dress, easing them over and down your slight shoulders. You pull back, words forming puff against his neck. 

“Not right here,” you inhale a soft breath. “Someone could come in.” 

Miguel eases his finger over the small bud of your breast, rolling his thumb along the silken skin, His hand comes up, encompassing your neck and shoving you back into the cabinets. It isn’t comfortable, not by far. He works the nub to its peak before turning his attention to the other. His mouth covers your breast, fangs grazing your nub as he suckled and tugged gently. Miggy, you pull him back up, stripped of your touch. Your hand slide across Miguel’s chest, tracing the taut muscles of his chest. 

“Who would come in?” 

“Peter,” you answer. 

It’s always Peter. He supposes that you wouldn’t want your friend to see you here, cunt stuffed with Miguel on the very same counter you earlier made him empanadas on. Miguel snatched the dress that fell along your hips laxly, utilizing it to yank you off the counter. You fell forward into Miguel, a heavy wall of muscle, your lips failing to form anything of use. You looked at him, cheeks flush and eyes doting, he’s the only one you see. 

“The balcony, then.” 

“Dianche, Miguel! Do you want all of Nueva York to see me?” 

“Maybe.” 

No, but see Miguel breeding you? Undoubtedly yes.

He couldn’t simply choose the bed, that would be too easy. Miguel set a kiss on your forehead, soft and scratchy with his stubble. You return it by dragging him down for another kiss, a wave of warmth coming over him as you force your hips back onto him, rolling your hips against his, teasing him. Miguel doesn’t appreciate the tease and gently pushes on your hips, motioning you to face the counter. 

“Bend over.” 

"Can't we go to my room?" you complain but comply all the same. Miguel’s palm ghosts your spine, dragging his fingers smoothly over the middle of your back and past the dress that gathered around your hips, He strips you of the little cover the dress gave, eager to have you bare and rid of the thin clothing that served as a veil from prying eyes. Miguel can cover you from the prying eyes of others if necessary. Not that he cared if others saw him fucking-- he’s all the more eager to have you all to himself, here and now. 

“No panties,” he notes, his warm hands on your inner thighs. “It’s almost like you knew.” 

“I might have,” you return, spreading your legs obediently for him. He palms your vulva, your hips shifting down over his hand. Sticky and wet, he wonders if his need to breed you has rubbed off on you too. His fingers shift, sliding over your soft hole. “Apúrate Miguel, you’re so slow.”  

“Can’t you be be good for once.”

You were always bossy. He likes it, most the time, being led around by what his pretty little wife wants. Today he wants to take his time, curving his broad fingers into your glistening cunt. Your wetness drips over his knuckles, fingers teasing the velvety soft walls he has never felt without a condom. A pleasured cry wracks in your chest, turning your head over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s fingers stretching you out. No matter how much your walls gave under his fingers, you would still ache when he penetrated you. It was the favourite part, the rich pull of his dick into your hole, bottoming out as best he could in your stomach. He soothes your complaints by grazing his other hand against your perky clitoral hood, finding the soft nub there for relief. You settle your arms on the floured surface.

“I never-- ah-- am,” you threw back.

Miguel slipped his fingers free, cupping your cunt with his palm for a teasing slap. You want to be good-- it’s just so hard, your cunt pulsing in the abswnce of his touch. He drags his sodden fingers to your lips, glazing them in taste of your lubricant. You suckle your tongue around his thick digits, savoring your own taste, his soft grunt of approval spurring you on. You feel like such a good girl with his fingers crooked in your mouth. 

“Are you ready?” Miguel stands fully upright, dragging your hips to his. He’s hard as the counter you were pathetically clinging onto. His hipbones ground into your plush ass, dick pulsing in his immediate ache to feel your cunt. He backs up, fiddling with something at the waist. You don’t need to ask to know that it was his big cock grinding between your cheeks, smearing fluid over your slit.

“No condom?” 

“No condom,” he affirms. You bow your head, nodding gently over the countertop. The head of his cock drove into your wetness, pushing past bundles of nerves. It’s impossibly different without the bag over his dick. It’s been so long. His world blinks out, savoring the feeling like he was an inexperienced teenager again. 

“Carajo, you’re so good,” he finds himself cursing, leaning over your back. 

“Now he says I’m good."

“Shh,” Miguel clips with a mean nip at your nape, lining it with soft kisses, encouraging you on to take him. Warm and wet, Miguel can only describe the slide into your cunt as untethered delight. Released from the bondage of his usual condom, he’s a mess against your soaked cunt, gripping you for a semblance of stability. 

I just want to make you happy. For all your needy complaints and little quips, he knows you do. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here, with your hands cupped on top of his, squeezing for more closeness. Miguel laces your fingers together in a needy weave, drawing back to stroke his cock right back into your wet body. You lead one of his hands between your legs, urging him on to stroke your clit. Your walls clamp down on him, teasing out bursts of pleasure with how deeply he was buried. Miguel’s lips part into a whine of his name, skin slapping against skin. He sets a kiss in the crook of your neck, breath nearly unbearable. 

“Mami,” he gasps, the word coming out between his unstable thrusts. Your eyes shut hard, sparks of pleasure winding and building in your core. “Give me a baby.”

“Sí papi,” you heave, “I”m trying to.”

Miguel knows what you like-- and you like him desperate. His voice so low and rich that you gush around his swollen length, falling apart below him. He catches your body from dropping in an instant, his thighs shaking as he works you through the fibers of gentle pleasure. Hot pressure builds low in his stomach. 

“Qué bella eres. I’m going to finish, fill you and knock you up,” he whispers, drawing himself free and admiring the hazy space of pleasure and reality. Miguel turns you back to face him. You think you may complain-- you didn’t cum, or something of the sort. He shifts you to sit on the counter, spreading your vulva for inspection. Miguel spat on your cunt, rolling his fingers over the swollen folds to spread you apart. He slipped into the space between your shaking legs. You felt him thrust into your body hard and sharp. Your hands reached out, dragging Miguel’s shoulders forward, clinging onto his body. 

It comes all at once, Miguel’s stuttering thrust forward, a deep groan filling the kitchen, his hand clasped onto your thigh so hard you know he’ll bruise it. You catch his moan in a kiss he doesn’t reciprocate, buried so deep in your body that all he can think to do is to force you to take all of it. He shakes himself free of the web of pleasure that he’s enveloped in, looking at you past the thin rivulets of sweat you wiped away with your loving thumbs. 

“I think there are better positions for baby making,” you lean in, kissing him gently. He returns the kiss this time, eyes light of the strain and stress of the last few days.  “Like… not this.” 

Miguel pulls back, his soft cock slipping free from your warm entrance. Miguel watches as his seed dribbles from your hole, grunting in acknowledgement. He swipes your mixed fluids and rolls it between his fingers. 

“I’m open to suggestions.” 

He loves his wife. More than anything. What he doesn’t love is how Peter seems to know that you’re trying for a baby.

The thing about having a woman from his same cultura was this: you loved to talk with your best friend. Who, just so happened to be Peter. He doesn’t even have to say anything, just staring at him with a quirk on his lip and a terrible glitter in his eye after he’s resolved another meeting.

“Hey, Miguel.” 

“Don’t start.” 

He’s crowded with work at his desk-- he has no time for Mayday’s curious little eyes to glitter at him, Peter to be doing that shit he did when he wanted to be helpful. He offered his hands up, shrugging. 

“I’m just saying! I’m a man, you’re a man,” he mumbles, inching a little closer and closer. “If you want a baby--” 

“Let me guess. She told you.” 

“Mayday could use a spider buddy,” he held Mayday up, out of her carrier. Miguel glanced down at her wild hair, exhaling air out of his nose with a little huff. “Sooner than later?” 

“I’ve done it before,” Miguel throws back. “I know how to knock up my own wife, Peter. I don’t need help.”  

Peter is offering help as if Miguel hadn’t tasted the changes in your body when he ate you out. Never mind that he saw you nauseated this morning, too sick to handle a call that Miguel promptly answered. He knew his seed had stuck-- you wouldn’t feel so miserable otherwise. It doesn’t matter, he’d answer them all if it meant another little one in his arms at the end of it all. Just so long as you and the baby were safe. 

“Are you sure? I know--” 

“I’m damn sure.” Miguel turned around, his head in his hand. “I’ve had enough of you. Why don’t you do something useful? Bring her something for her morning sickness.” 

“Oh,” realization fell over Peter like a hammer, looking down to Mayday who looked right back up to her father. For all that Peter knew about his love life, he was shocked that you hadn’t told him how awful the smell of breakfast meat made you feel. His hand fell away, a film of pride slipping from his practiced features when Peter spoke. “But... She’s already pregnant?” 

He leers. Peter scuttles away. 

Privacy is important to Miguel. You knew the damn rule. No telling Peter about the inner workings of your bedroom. For that, you were going to fucking get it. You likely knew you were going to get it-- even if you were likely already pregnant.

He can’t wait.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPOST TOUR NAP * CHRIS STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　Where Y/N and Chris finally have their first afternoon-post lunch nap after a whole month of Surprise Party Tour.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: Had my first afternoon nap today after years without one and had this idea 🤭.

It was somewhere around 3:07 p.m., maybe 3:11 if you counted how long it took for the dishwasher to hum to life in the kitchen.

It was dark - even though the sun still shined high up outside, paired with the soft whirring of the AC above their heads.

Y/N had gotten there first, obviously. She’d brushed her teeth right after she finished her plate, slipping into her - Chris's - favorite oversized pajama shirt. Now she was all cocooned up on the left side of the bed, curled inward with the blanket pulled over her head.

Her phone was somewhere on the floor, forgotten, her face still faintly warm from the leftover sunburn from their constant walks from one gas station to another when the boys' bus tour made its road pauses.

Chris finally padded in.

Barefoot, teeth freshly brushed, hair slightly messy. His shorts sat low on his hips, and he stretched his arms up with a deep, lazy sigh before walking over to the bed and lifting the blanket.

"Food was s'good, babe." He mumbled as he climbed in, voice gravelly and thick, words coming out like they were too heavy to carry, letting them roll out slow and warm.

Y/N, already half-asleep, turned her head just a little, barely cracking an eye open to find him through the golden light.

"Yeah?" She whispered, a small smile playing on her lips, her voice light and smushed into the pillow.

Chris let out a small hum, the sound vibrating in his chest before slipping out, all content and sleepy.

"Mmhmm. Missed your food s'fucking much this past month."

She chuckled softly, but didn’t answer, because Chris was already tugging her closer.

His big, warm hands found her under the blanket like it was second nature, sliding beneath her shirt with zero resistance, just to feel her skin.

Cold fingers, warm belly.

She twitched at the contrast and let out a little breathy laugh, which made Chris grin lazily.

"Sorry, sorry. Hands are cold." He said, even though he didn’t move them away. He just pressed them flatter, warmer now, against her waist, then her hips, then settled at her lower back. "Need to be close."

Y/N melted, humming lowly.

He tugged gently, so naturally, pulling her entire body toward his like he was some sleepy human magnet. Legs tangled without even thinking, one of his knees slipped between her thighs, the other looping behind her leg and keeping her still.

He was warm. Not hot. Warm. Like a heated blanket but with a heartbeat and muscles.

She snuggled in, arms folding up between them, tucked right against his chest. That spot between his ribs and exactly where their bodies almost smushed too close to breathe, but neither of them cared.

Her nose bumped his. His lips ghosted her forehead.

Chris let out another one of those soft groans, the type that wasn’t really a groan, more like a sleep-noise. Low and scratchy.

He shifted just a bit, getting even comfier - if that was possible - and then exhaled. His puff of breath hit her skin, hot and sweet-smelling, like leftover toothpaste and warm seasoning from earlier.

"This is heaven." He murmured.

She nodded into his chest, her arms pressing him tighter, nose brushing the curve of his jaw now, smiling faintly with the small hairs finally starting to grow freely after a whole month of constantly shaving.

"Missed this."

"Yeah." He agreed, sleepily. "Couldn't take another day of sleepin' like a fucking crushed jelly."

Y/N giggled, barely a sound, all muffled and soft, because how the hell did he thought of that?, and he smiled without opening his eyes.

He moved his head a little, awkwardly searching for her mouth, his chin bumping against hers too many times before finally meeting her soft lips, mouth barely moving but still pressed to hers.

Then he moved again.

One right on her cheek. Another on her nose. One more by the corner of her mouth that lingered longer than the rest. His lips were plush and slow, not rushed, just affectionate. Like he wanted to memorize her without actually waking them up.

She shifted her head again until their faces were ridiculously close, noticing how she was now laying on his pillow with him. Their noses brushed, again and again, in tiny, sweet nudges like they were dancing. And Chris, eyes still closed, leaned in and kissed her fully this time.

A lazy, slow-sinking kind of kiss, if this can even be called a kiss. All lips and sleepy love.

"Love you." He whispered, right into her mouth, like it was a secret.

"Love you more." She replied, and he smiled again, because that always made him wince a little - he never won that one, and she knew it.

They stayed like that. Breathing each other in. Her fingers curled into his shirt, just gently fisting it like she never wanted him to move.

Eventually, they didn’t moved anymore. The nap rolled in like a wave, the type of nap where you don’t even notice you’ve fallen asleep until you’re waking up hours later and the blanket’s slipped halfway off the bed and one of you’s drooled a little, but you still don’t wanna get up.

Because, finally, there was nothing else in their heads at that moment.

Just Chris to her.

Just her to Chris.

© vanteguccir

[felassan]

During the period the other day when the official Dragon Age YouTube account was dropping snippets of info in the live chat, among other cool bits of info such as 'Inky is returning', there were also these lil blurbs about the 7 companion characters. ◕‿◕ some of them have some different info to what was shared here on the official DA website and here in the EA press release. Twitter user elisa (doggiesnores) managed to grab these and kindly shared them on Twitter via the graphic above. [credit and source link: Twitter user elisa] tysm to doggiesnores for sharing these.

Text reads:

Harding: "She's a ball of positivity, and doesn't have a bad bone in her body (she doesn't even swear)" Emmrich: "Emmrich is friendly, scholarly, and sincerely proud of his companion, Manfred - a walking skeleton" Lucanis: "Lucanis… The guy treats his assassin gig like a 9-5 job. And like any office worker, he loves his coffee." Taash: "You'd expect a dragon hunter like Taash to be a jock. But she's also well-connected, and "knows a guy" for everything." Davrin: "He's one of those guys that knows he's charming, but at least he doesn't take himself too seriously. His pet Griffin is named Assan 🥺" Neve: "A cynic with a heart of gold, Neve is a private detective who works to make Minrathous a better place" Bellara: "Bellara tows the line between Type A and scatterbrain. You can always count on her to come up with a creative solution to your problem."

[source]

[grimmsbride]

feel it …. ! ₊ཾִ ᖫྀ ⁣⁣.

headcap!mark, viltrumite!mark, lenseless!mark, & shiesty!mark & chubby/curvy!reader╲ they’re superheros, do you really think a little (or even a lot) of chub bothers them??

𖥔 ࣪˖ tags⠀⎯ reader is depicted as having a chubby / curvy body type. if that is an issue please don’t read. i also intended to write this in a non “chubby chaser” way however if you catch those vibes i personally apologize as that isn’t my intention. | separate hcs & blurbs | pet names | ooc characters (??) | spreading the mark loves chubby woman agenda | face sitting | rough sex | breath play | foul mouthed shiesty mark | being held up while being fucked | etc..

𖥔 ࣪˖ author’s notes⠀⎯ mark loves woman of all sizes like it’s the truth, and i’m plenty sure his variants feel the same or at least a little similar (and if they don’t?? who cares! 😚) as always please excuse any typos and grammar mistakes

HEADCAP!MARK.

( you can’t run. )

headcap! mark doesn’t go easy on anyone, not a little purple kid and especially not you. he enjoys pushing limits in your relationship, especially in the bedroom.

each thrust is rough, each rut is deep; stirring you up and leaving you to do nothing but take every single strike. and the man’s behavior is only exemplified the moment he realizes you simply can not escape him. granted, if you were any smaller you wouldn’t be able to either, but; with how tightly headcap!mark is gripping you, you can’t run.

and that fact will always rile him up.

the man hadn’t even fully slipped out of his suit before pursuing you; previously carelessly tearing at his pants and tossing them to the side. hands were all over your body, securing around your hips, waist, thighs, everywhere he could reach as his hips rutted against you.

your body shook with each powerful thrust, pleasure thundering through your body as he fucked you with no mercy. you couldn’t get accustomed to anything, it was far too much, tears streaming down your face as you rocked against your mattress. your fingers clawed against the plush blankets, sweet muffled moans escaping into the damp fabric.

headcap!mark was so deep, deeper then you sure was humanly possible; pressing up against your cervix, rubbing against that little spot that had you throbbing. and when you felt his hand switch around your body to spread your folds just a bit more— easily finding that little bud nestled between them, you couldn’t help but whine, pitching into a little shriek when he rubbed fierce circles upon the bud.

desperately you tried to crawl away, surely scratching up your blanket from how tightly you were holding. you got an inch, only an inch before headcap!mark’s free arm was slithering around your waist, pulling your ass flush against him.

“ah, ah..” the man tutted, lips curled into the shittiest little grin as he stared down at your withering body. “keep trying to run and you might hurt yourself..” the words meaning only seemed to amplify the moment his hand rose, quickly taking both of your wrists and pressing them right against the bed— all while leaning over to lay over you completely, trapping you.

you weeped softly, feeling your combined juices trickle down your thighs as pathetic little begs escaped your bruised lips. with the closeness you could hear the way he chuckled so deeply, feel his chest fall and rise with each release.

“m—mark.. fuck, please, please—!”

“shh.. let me show you how much i missed you.”

VILTRUMITE!MARK.

( you don’t trust how strong he is? how rude, he’ll just have to show you. )

it’s common knowledge strength is the most important value to the viltrum empire. every moment of their life is a battle, and if you fail to come out on top it’s death. plain and simple.

only this wasn’t a fight viltrumite! mark was used to. falling for you, learning how little you valued your body. he didn’t care to understand it really, but it did tick him off when you were always so.. scared.

the restraint in your body; getting tense when getting undressed, resisting being picked up, the whole nine yards. it’s to the point the man is genuinely offended.

half-viltrumite or not he was strong, strong enough to lead and defend his empire. you were nothing compared to half the things he’s fought.

and he has no problem showing you.

you couldn’t help but whine feeling his fingers dig into your skin as he lifted you. how odd was it that you could practically feel the power coursing through the digits, rising you without a single sweat. your legs wrapped around the man’s waist, his hips never stopping despite the new angle.

“baby, pl..please— have to put me down!” your body betrayed your words, entire being rocking and throbbing as viltrumite!mark fucked up into you. his tip nudged against that spongy spot, stretching you so perfectly without a single care. your arms wrapped around his neck, nails dragging across his skin to steady you.

“mm… too heavy!”

viltrumite!mark sucks his teeth at your declaration immediately, a tight glare in place of his usual neutral expression. that glare did wonders, your pussy throbbing around his length, devouring the expression with a blurred gaze.

“i’m sick of you going on about that.” the man practically spat, tone low and expressing his frustration with each pointed thrust. a groan thrummed from his throat, enjoying the way your gummy walls clamped around him far too much. “do you truly think i’m incapable of holding you however i want? does it look like i’m struggling?”

you whimpered at his words, shaking your head rapidly, keening the moment you felt a hand shift between the two of you; pinching your little bud. you caught on quickly, a swift— “no!” escaping in a jumbled speech.

satisfied with your answer viltrumite!mark tugged you even closer, hands sliding to your ass, kneading the flesh as blunt nails dug in.

“good. and i’ll continue to drill that fact into your head— no matter how many times it takes.”

LENSELESS!MARK.

( come on, too much? all he sees is more to love! )

lenseless!mark, the sadistic little freak who could only grin while fighting immortal. who thrives and lives off receiving and dealing out pain. affection nor love wasn’t a primary objective of his, but he didn’t mind finding you— perfect little you.

your size wasn’t much of a concern, sure he noticed it but he truly didn’t care…

until he realizes something.

you didn’t expect to end your afternoon like this, seated upon your lover’s face while he devoured on you like some full course meal. his arms, strong and large were wrapped tightly around your legs; refusing to let you move, keeping you secured against him with no escape. your hands clenched the headboard, forehead resting against the cool wood as sweet sobs escaped. lenseless!mark has been toying with you for what it seemed like hours, sucking your folds and little bud raw.

see, lenseless!mark realized something about himself rather quickly. he enjoyed tipping the line during sex, especially when it came to air. he couldn’t count on a single hand how many times he’s had you wrap your pretty little hands around his throat to squeeze. so when the man actually used his head for once, realizing how thrilling it would be having you sit right on his face— he was practically begging for it.

and oh, did he love every single second of it. the weight of you, the sweet taste; each breath came out as some weak little shudder, your thighs pressing against his ears to the point he could only hear his own swift heartbeat. lenseless!mark wondered if he could pass out like this, maybe even drown right in your juices.

fortunately he didn’t care, not one bit. there was nothing like sucking your little clit just to feel you wither, clench, and trickle more juices.

this was heaven on earth.. or more specifically, heaven on his face.

SHIESTY!MARK

( give him a second, his favorite show is on starring you; and the ripples of your body. )

we’ve gotten to the point it’s clear no mark in any universe gives a damn about his lover’s size. and even if there was one, it certainly wasn’t shiesty!mark. foul-mouthed and all, do you truly think he would love you any different any other size? really, it’s like you don’t know him at all.

granted, it is pretty obvious how much he loves your body. the stretch marks etched into your skin, the way a shirt cupped those pretty tits— shiesty!mark especially loved the way your body jiggled. rippled, shook— whatever word; he loved it. far too much..

there was just something so hypnotizing about how your body moved whenever he drilled into you.

“fuck, baby..” the words are whispered in a low drawl, pure amazement tugging every single letter. like some leering pervert shiesty!mark’s gaze was settled onto your body, struggling to pick between your back and ass to watch. every inch was simply amazing, adding to the absolutely wonderful feeling of your walls sucking him in greedily.

soft plaps echo throughout the room as his hips slammed against you, the perfect pitch to the melodic moans that escaped your wet lips. you hadn’t a clue what had gotten into him. one moment you’re jumping into some jeans the next they’re on the floor— forgotten completely.

your cheek pressed against the blankets, turning and glancing at the man with blurred vision. you couldn’t place it, but he seemed to be in a trance— under some type of spell only you could muster. shiesty!mark’s lips were parted, quick breaths and even quicker swears escaping as he thrusted into you.

“look at that..” he’s muttering to himself again, a hand sliding from your waist to grab an ass cheek. the flesh fills his palm easily, spreading you to watch his cock disappear within you before coming out even slicker then before. “shit, so fucking good. shaking like a damn leaf.” the moment shiesty!mark notices your eyes on him he’s grinning, gripping your flesh as his thrusts become just a little more pointed.

pretty moans fall off your tongue, eyes pinching close as your entire body shook with the movement. his name emitted from you in broken sobs, legs shaking as you could do nothing but take each thrust.

all while shiesty!mark smiles, throughly enjoying it all.

“maybe i should record next time.. then you’ll be able to see how good you look like this for yourself.”

[inseobts]

hiiii!! i LOVE ur fics so mucchh and lowkey felt shy to dump my very vivid and detailed request lmao 🤣 i just thought of a random blurb bc i’m in my feels from reading angst and hurt/comfort, but can you do a fic of angst (ending happy/fluff) with ace x y/n? y/n and him are together on whitebeard’s crew and they got into an argument and stuff when they landed on an island to get supplies and chaos erupts when the marines arrive. their argument hasn’t been resolved but everyone is obviously occupied in getting back to the ship and fighting to escape. ANYWAYS y/n was actually their target and captured her bc she is actually a powerful fighter with a fruit that could be useful to them (idk u pick lol something that’s important as robin-level where it’s vital they retrieve her like idk her fruit can read any script i.e. poneglyphs yadda yadda). and then when the crew depart and do a headcount they realize one member is missing (womp womp) and ace gonna go FERAL to get her back and digging that knife of regret of saying hurtful things during their unresolved argument and cutscene to y/n getting beat tf up like how robin was beat up in water 7 from that mf spandam when imprisoned. OUHHH AND IMAGINE ACE’S REACTION WHEN HE SEES THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE ALMOST DEAD TO A PULP AND COMMITS ARSON and ends happily with y/n back and recovering and them finally resolving their arguement (cue: fluff). tl:dr basically an ace x y/n centered fic in a water 7-type scenario. IM A VERY ACTIVE MALADAPTIVE DAYDREAMER AND I NEED TO BE FED (tysm if u take on this request lmao ik it’s so detailed i hope it’s not too much i’m just itching for more one piece fics and i love ur work) 😭🫶🏼

Embers of Regret

portgas d. ace x reader

a/n: the more detailed a request is, the easier it is to write the fanfic, so don't worry—I actually appreciate it a lot! \^o^/

words count: 4.7k

tags: violence, romance, angst to fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You never think, Ace!”

“And you never let things go!”

The argument has been boiling for days, maybe even weeks, but now it’s all spilling over in the middle of the town square, where the crew is supposed to be stocking up on supplies. The streets are noisy with merchants and villagers, but to you and Ace, it may as well be just the two of you standing here, tearing each other apart.

“You act like nothing matters!” you snap, glaring at him.

Ace crosses his arms, irritation flashing in his dark eyes “And you act like everything does!”

“Because it does!” You throw your hands up “This crew, the people we care about, you—none of it is guaranteed, Ace! But you just charge ahead without thinking, like you’re invincible, like nothing can touch you!”

“I can handle myself” he says, jaw tightening.

You shake your head, frustration clawing at your throat “That’s the problem! You think it’s just about you, but it’s not! We... I care about what happens to you!”

Ace scoffs “Right. Because you love worrying so damn much. Maybe you should focus on your own fights instead of wasting time on mine.”

The words cut deep as your breath catches.

You shake your head, frustration boiling over “You act like nothing can touch you... but newsflash, Ace, you’re not invincible! One day, you’re gonna get yourself killed, and—”

He scoffs, cutting you off “And what? You’ll cry about it?”

You freeze.

The air shifts.

Ace seems to realize what he just said, but his pride keeps him from taking it back. The damage is done.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to push down the sting “Got it,” you say flatly “You don’t need me watching your back or even care about your damn life. Noted.”

Before he can respond, you turn and walk away.

Ace watches you go, his fists clenched. He should call after you. Should apologize. But he doesn’t.

Then the Marines come fast and hard, hitting the town before anyone even realizes what’s happening.

Civilians scatter as armed soldiers flood the streets, and the Whitebeard Pirates instantly snap into battle mode. Marco takes to the skies, Thatch barks orders, and Ace ignites.

He fights like he always does, fast and reckless, flames cutting through the chaos. But his mind keeps drifting, eyes flicking toward the battlefield, searching for you.

He sees you in the distance, fighting off a wave of Marines. You’re holding your own. Of course you are.

And then someone shouts “Retreat to the ship!”

The command echoes through the town, and the crew begins pulling back toward the harbor. Ace doesn’t see you right away, but he assumes you’re moving with the others. You’re strong. You can handle yourself.

He fights. He runs. He gets to the ship.

And he doesn’t notice. Not yet.

The Moby Dick sails away from the island, the battle fading into the distance. Everyone is breathing hard, wounded but alive. The crew takes a moment to regroup, catching their breath, tending to injuries.

Then Marco speaks.

“Alright,” he says, rolling his shoulders “Let’s do a count.”

Ace leans against the railing, arms crossed. His chest is still tight with lingering anger, but he tells himself he’ll talk to you once you’ve both cooled off.

“One, two, three… is anyone missing?” Marco is counting the division commanders first, then working his way through the rest.

The atmosphere is still tense, but there’s relief too. They made it out. Everyone’s here.

Until Marco stops and looks at Ace with a frown.

Ace barely registers it at first, lost in his own thoughts.

Then Marco lifts his head “Where’s Y/N?”

Silence.

The world seems to stop.

Ace’s heart slams against his ribs. His stomach drops.

“I don't know... We had a fight, she's probably just avoiding me?” he says, too sharply.

Marco scans the deck again, his expression darkening “So... she’s not here.”

Ace laughs shortly, disbelieving “What are you talking about? She was fighting, I saw her—”

“And did you see her get on the ship?” Marco’s voice is serious now.

Ace opens his mouth, then stops.

A cold, terrible realization creeps up his spine.

No.

No, he didn’t see you board.

He assumed. He thought you were strong enough to make it back. That once you were safe on the ship you were just avoiding him. That you needed space.

But now...

His hands start shaking.

“Turn the ship around” Ace demands, voice low, dangerous.

Marco’s expression is grim “Ace...”

“TURN THE SHIP AROUND!”

Flames burst from his body, flickering wildly with his panic, his fury at the Marines, at himself.

He left you behind.

He left you.

And if the Marines wanted you enough to set a trap for the whole crew... Ace’s breath catches. His vision blurs with pure, unfiltered rage.

He doesn’t care if he has to burn the entire damn ocean.

He’s getting you back.

Pain.

That’s the first thing you register when you regain consciousness. A deep, searing pain spreading through your body, sharp and unrelenting.

You try to move, but your wrists are bound, shackled in heavy seastone cuffs that sap your strength. Every inch of you aches, bruises blooming across your skin, blood drying where fists and rifle butts had struck you.

The Marines didn’t go easy on you.

“You’re awake.”

A voice.

You lift your head, forcing your swollen eyes open. A high-ranking Marine stands in front of you, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You’re quite the prize,” he muses “A rare Devil Fruit ability, strong enough to stand alongside Whitebeard’s division commanders… No wonder they keep you so close.”

You glare, lips cracked, but you manage to spit out, “Go to hell.”

The Marine smirks “I think you misunderstand your situation.” He steps closer, his shadow stretching over you “The World Government has big plans for you, Y/N. You have two choices: cooperate… or break.”

You bare your teeth, eyes burning with defiance “Screw your choices.”

The Marine sighs like he expected that answer. Then his fist collides with your ribs, hard enough to make you choke on the pain.

You don’t scream. You won’t give them the satisfaction. But deep down, there’s a gnawing fear.

Where is Ace?

Does he even know you’re gone?

Or did he leave you behind without a second thought?

Aboard the Moby Dick, Ace has never felt this kind of terror before. Not when he faced death, not when he fought impossible odds.

But now that he knows you are out there, captured, hurt, alone… It’s unbearable.

The moment Marco looks everywhere on the ship and then confirms you’re missing, Ace doesn’t hesitate. His flames surge, wild and desperate, as he grips the ship’s railing “We turn back now.”

“Ace!”

“NOW!” His voice cracks, his body trembling.

Marco exhales, sharp and frustrated “You think we don’t want to?! The Marines planned this... if we storm in recklessly, we could lose more than just Y/N.”

Ace knows that. He knows.

But all he can think about is the last thing he said to you. The way your face had twisted in pain before you walked away.

The regret is suffocating.

“Then tell me where they took her,” he growls “I’ll go alone if I have to.”

A heavy pause.

Then a voice cuts through the tension “We’re not leaving her.”

Ace turns. Whitebeard stands at the helm, his expression unreadable “She’s family,” he says simply “And we don’t abandon family.”

Ace’s breath shudders.

They’re going back.

He’s getting you back and nothing in the world will stop him.

Your head throbs. Your body is battered. The seastone cuffs burn against your skin, draining your strength, making every breath feel heavier.

Time is a blur, hours, maybe days, lost between moments of pain and exhaustion. But you refuse to break. Even when they strike you. Even when they try to force your cooperation. Because if there’s one thing they’ll never take from you it’s your will.

Footsteps echo down the corridor. A different Marine this time, younger, hesitant. He kneels in front of you, his voice low “I don’t know if you can still hear me,” he mutters “But Portgas D. Ace?”

Your heart stops.

He leans in, glancing around as if afraid of being overheard “He’s coming for you.”

A weak, broken breath escapes you.

Ace.

The Marine shifts uncomfortably and mutters “Looks like he's ready to burn the world down.”

You close your eyes.

And for the first time since you were captured, hope flickers in your chest.

Ace is coming, and he’s bringing hell with him.

Later on the Marine base is eerily quiet, the dim torchlight casting long shadows against the damp stone walls. Somewhere outside, the sound of crashing waves echoes, but inside your cell, there is only the distant clatter of boots and the dull throbbing of your wounds.

You’re too exhausted to keep your head up, but you force yourself to stay conscious. Every second you stay awake is a second they don’t win.

Then the door creaks open again.

“Still alive?”

You barely react, but the voice isn’t one you recognize.

Another Marine, older this time. Not the usual guards. His uniform is crisp, and his presence carries an air of authority. He steps closer, hands behind his back, looking down at you like you’re some rare specimen.

“You’re lucky, you know,” he says casually “Most pirates we capture don’t get this much attention.”

You don’t answer. You don’t have the strength to waste on his games.

“You’re valuable,” he continues “And I’m not just talking about your affiliation with Whitebeard.” His sharp eyes scan your injuries, as if calculating how much more you can endure “Your Devil Fruit, that’s what the higher-ups are interested in.”

You don’t flinch, but inside, your stomach knots.

Of course. Your ability to manipulate minds with a single command. A fruit so rare, so dangerous, that in the wrong hands, it could change the tides of war. Or worse.

“Imagine what we could do,” the Marine muses “With just one word, you could make entire enemy fleets surrender. You could make criminals confess. You could turn Yonko commanders against their own crews.” He kneels in front of you, voice dropping lower “Or you could make Whitebeard himself bow.”

Your jaw tightens.

They don’t just want to use you.

They want to turn you into a weapon.

For a moment, you don’t say anything. Then, through cracked lips, you force out a bitter laugh.

“You think I’d help you?”

The Marine tilts his head “You will. Eventually.”

Your glare is unwavering “Never.”

“You’ll come around.” he smiles “Or I could just kill you and find the Devil Fruit later on so that I can eat it myself. One way or another. The question is how much pain you’ll endure before you give up or die. Either way we win.”

Then he turns to leave.

“Get some rest,” he says “Tomorrow, we start breaking you properly.”

The door slams shut.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the fear creeping in your chest.

They won’t break you. They can’t.

Because Ace is coming, and when he does, this whole damn place is going to burn.

Aboard the Moby Dick, Ace is losing his patience.

It’s been a day since they turned the ship around. A day too long.

He paces the deck like a caged animal, flames flickering around his fingers, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. The crew keeps a careful distance, no one is dumb enough to try and calm him down.

No one can.

He keeps replaying it in his head. The argument. The way you walked away. How he let you.

And now you’re gone.

“Oi, Ace.”

Marco’s voice cuts through his storming thoughts.

Ace turns, his glare sharp, but Marco doesn’t flinch.

“We found the base.”

Everything inside Ace goes still.

“Where?”

Marco tosses him a map, already marked “Marine stronghold, isolated island. Not heavily fortified, but enough of a problem if we’re reckless.” He gives Ace a pointed look “We need to be smart about this.”

Ace grips the map so tightly it crumples “They have her.”

“I know,” Marco says evenly “And we will get her back. But you losing your head won’t help.”

Ace’s fists tremble. He knows Marco’s right, but all he can think about is you, locked in some cell, hurt, alone, and how he left you.

“How soon can we be there?” he demands.

“By sunrise,” Marco says “We’ve got a plan. But Ace...”

Ace looks up, and Marco’s expression is grim.

“You better be ready for what we might find.”

Ace doesn’t hesitate “I don’t care if she’s at death’s door. I’ll bring her home.”

His flames surge brighter, hotter.

He will get you back, and if the Marines think they can keep you than they’ve never seen what happens when fire goes unchecked.

The moment the Moby Dick reaches the Marine base, chaos erupts. The crew descends like a storm. Thatch, Marco, and the others carving a path through the soldiers, clearing the way for Ace.

But Ace barely registers any of it. All he knows is that you’re in there, and he needs to find you.

“Ace!” Marco calls, dodging a Marine’s sword “Stick to the plan!”

But Ace is already breaking away.

He storms through the base, his fists burning, taking out anyone who gets in his way. The halls are a maze, twisting corridors that all look the same, and with every empty cell he passes, his panic tightens like a noose.

Where are you?

His breathing is ragged, flames licking at his skin as his frustration builds. She should be here. You should be here.

He shoves a Marine against the wall, his grip searing into the man’s uniform “Where is she?” Ace growls, his voice sharp with fury.

The soldier screams, thrashing “I—I don’t know!”

Ace snarls and knocks him out cold.

Then he runs.

And runs.

And runs.

But every hallway looks the same. Every door leads to nothing. He’s not finding you.

A new kind of fear claws into his chest, but he knows he can’t think like that. He won’t.

“Ace!”

Marco’s voice.

Then hands gripping his shoulder, yanking him back.

Ace whirls around, flames flaring “What?!”

Marco doesn’t let go. His expression is firm, unwavering “You’re wasting time.”

Ace shoves his arm away “I’m finding her!”

“No, you’re panicking!”

Ace’s breath is uneven, his vision blurred with frustration “She’s not here, Marco!” His voice cracks, desperation leaking through “I don’t—I don’t know where she is!”

Marco’s gaze softens just slightly “Then we regroup.”

Ace shakes his head violently “No.” Every second he isn’t moving is a second you’re suffering, a second too long “You don’t get it—”

Marco grips his collar, dragging him close “I do get it” he says, low and fierce “But if you let yourself fall apart now, we lose her for real.”

Ace stops breathing for a second.

Lose you.

The thought is unbearable.

Marco keeps his hold steady “We will find her. But not like this.”

Ace swallows hard. His body is still shaking, fire curling around his fists but he forces himself to listen. To stop running in circles. To think.

He exhales sharply “Then tell me what to do.”

Marco nods “We need intel. And I know where to get it.”

Pain is a familiar companion now.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Hours? Days?

It doesn’t matter. You’re still here. Still breathing.

Your body is too weak to fight. Your mind too drained to resist. But you keep holding on because you know he’s coming.

Even when the Marines laugh about how the Whitebeard Pirates will never breach the base. Even when they say you’ll be locked away forever.

You know better.

Then a distant explosion. Shouting. Gunfire. And fire.

Your heart lurches.

He’s here, but the door doesn’t open, and the sounds of battle grow further away.

Your stomach twists.

Did something happen?

No. No, you won’t think like that.

You force yourself to move, just slightly, leaning against the cold stone wall. You don’t have much left in you. But if there’s even a small chance, you have to believe Ace will find you. He has to. Because you don’t know how much longer you can last.

“Alright, talk.”

Ace slams the Marine officer against the table, his fire dangerously close to igniting the man’s uniform. Marco stands behind him, arms crossed, while the rest of the Whitebeard Pirates keep the room secure.

The officer trembles, sweat dripping down his forehead “I—I don’t—”

Ace tightens his grip “Wrong answer.”

The flames grow hotter. The Marine yelps, eyes wide with terror “Okay! Okay!”

“Where is she?” Marco demands.

The officer swallows hard “She—she’s in the lower dungeons. Isolated. Special containment.”

Ace’s flames flare. Of course... Seastone.

That’s why he couldn’t find you. Why his Haki wasn’t sensing you.

Ace lets go, and the officer slumps against the chair, gasping for breath.

Then Ace turns and runs.

Your vision is swimming now.

You don’t know how much longer you can hold on.

Then an explosion. Not distant, but actually really close.

And then your cell door is ripped open.

A burst of fire floods the room, bright and blinding. And through the smoke you finally see Ace.

You think you might be dreaming.

Because his face, his expression... he looks destroyed. Like something in him has been broken ever since you disappeared.

Then he’s kneeling in front of you, hands hovering over your battered body like he doesn’t know where to start.

“Y/N.” His voice is raw, barely more than a whisper.

You try to smile “Took you long enough.”

Ace lets out a shaky breath, a laugh, but not really. More like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“Shut up,” he mutters “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

But he doesn’t sound convinced.

His fingers tremble as he undoes the seastone cuffs, his flames immediately warming your ice-cold skin. His touch is so careful, so gentle, like he’s afraid you’ll break apart in his hands.

You lean into him, too weak to do anything else.

His arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you close.

You feel him shaking.

“I thought I lost you” he chokes out.

You close your eyes.

“I knew you’d come.”

Ace swallows hard, burying his face in your hair.

Then, quietly “I’m so sorry.”

But there’s no time to say more, because the base is still burning and the fight isn’t over yet.

Ace holds you tighter, his fingers pressing against your bruised skin like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his grasp again. But you barely register it.

The exhaustion, the pain, the relief, it’s all too much.

The world tilts and then everything goes dark.

When you wake, everything seems slow and heavy, like surfacing from the depths of the ocean, your body weighed down by the bruises, the fatigue, the lingering ache of the seastone cuffs.

You shift slightly, wincing at the pain, and that’s when you realize there’s warmth. Ace.

He’s slumped over at your bedside, arms folded against the mattress, his head resting there like he’d been watching you and passed out. His face is hidden by his wild mess of black hair, but his breathing is deep and steady.

He looks exhausted.

You blink slowly, taking in the dim light of the infirmary, the distant sound of the waves outside. It’s quiet. Safe.

You made it back, and Ace never left your side.

You manage to lift a hand, your fingers brushing against his hair.

He tenses as his eyes snap open, unfocused for a second before locking onto you.

“Y/N.”

Your throat is dry, your voice barely a whisper “Hey.”

For a second, he just stares, like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

Then his jaw clenches, and he sits up, running a hand down his face. “Shit.” His voice is raw, hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken in hours “You—you scared the hell out of me.”

You offer a weak smile “Pretty sure you did more damage than I did.”

Ace exhales sharply, his fingers twitching against the sheets “Don’t joke about that.”

His voice is too tight. Too strained.

And when you really look at him he looks like hell.

There are dark circles under his eyes, his skin paler than usual. His hair is messier than normal, his hat discarded on the floor. His usual reckless energy is gone, replaced by something quieter.

Something heavy.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” you murmur.

Ace scoffs, but it’s humorless “How was I supposed to sleep?” His hands curl into fists “They had you. They hurt you. And I…”

He cuts himself off, looking away, jaw clenched so tight it might shatter.

Guilt.

That’s what it is.

The weight of everything he said before. The things he didn’t say.

You swallow, shifting slightly, ignoring the way your ribs protest “Ace.”

He doesn’t look at you.

You push yourself up on weak arms, reaching for him “Ace.”

His gaze flickers to you.

“I should’ve been there.” His voice cracks “I should’ve gone after you the second you walked away. I should’ve—” He shakes his head violently “I let you go. And because of that, they took you.”

You take a slow breath “Ace...”

“You could’ve died, Y/N” His hands tremble where they grip the sheets “Because of me.”

You watch him carefully.

This isn’t just guilt.

It’s fear.

You reach for him again, your fingers curling around his wrist “But I didn’t.”

His eyes snap to yours.

“And you found me.”

Ace swallows hard “Barely.”

“But you did.” You squeeze his wrist, grounding him “Ace, I knew you’d come for me. No matter what.”

His breath is uneven, his entire body tense “What if I had been too late?”

“You weren’t.”

He shakes his head, but this time, his shoulders tremble “I can’t—” His voice lowers, raw and broken “I can’t lose you.”

Suddenly, all the anger, all the bitterness from your fight before, it feels so small. Because none of that matters now. Not when you almost lost each other.

You tug gently at his wrist, and after a second, he moves. Slowly, hesitantly, he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

His skin is warm. His breathing is shaky.

But he’s here and so are you.

Your fingers lift, brushing against his cheek “You won’t lose me.”

Ace lets out a shuddering breath, his hand coming up to cover yours, pressing your palm against his face like he never wants to let go.

You stay like that for a long moment, the storm inside him settling just slightly.

Then he whispers “I’m sorry... For everything.”

You smile softly, thumb brushing over his cheekbone “I know.”

He exhales, pressing his face further into your touch “I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart clenches.

Because despite everything, despite the pain, the fear, the regret, you never once doubted that.

You smile, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I love you too, hothead.”

Ace lets out a breathless laugh, wet and shaky, but real.

And when he finally kisses you it tastes like fire, and ash, and home.

He holds onto you like you’ll disappear if he lets go. His forehead is still pressed against yours, his breath uneven. You can feel the heat of his skin, the way his fingers tremble slightly against yours.

Everything feels so fragile. Like the moment could slip away if either of you move too fast. But you don’t want to move. Not yet.

Not when you can feel the way his heartbeat stutters under your touch.

Not when he’s finally here, safe, with you.

And then, quietly “You really scared me, y’know.”

You let out a breath “You scared me,” you murmur “Burning down a whole Marine base like a lunatic.”

Ace scoffs, but his grip on you tightens “Would’ve burned the whole damn world if I had to.”

You believe him. You always believed in him. Even when you were angry. Even when you walked away.

That fight. The reason you stormed off in the first place. It feels so distant now. But still, it lingers.

You take a slow breath “Ace…”

He pulls back slightly, eyes searching yours “Yeah?”

You hesitate “Before all this… before we landed on that island…”

Ace tenses. He knows what you’re talking about.

Your fight.

The argument that hadn’t been resolved before everything spiraled into chaos.

Ace shifts, running a hand through his messy hair “You were mad at me.”

You raise an eyebrow “Oh, you think?”

Ace sighs “I know.”

You look away, your fingers gripping the blanket draped over you. The memory of the fight comes rushing back. You had been reckless during a raid. You thought you had it handled. But Ace had jumped in, flames blazing, telling you to stop being so damn stubborn and let someone help you for once.

And you had snapped because it wasn’t just about the raid. It was about everything.

The way Ace always threw himself in danger, like he had to do it alone. The way he always acted like his life didn’t matter as much as everyone else’s.

And when you told him that, when you yelled at him for it, he threw it back in your face.

And now, after almost dying, after being taken, after him almost losing you, the weight of it crashes down on both of you.

Ace lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Guess I really was an idiot, huh?”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow “Oh? Now you realize?”

Ace groans, dragging his hand down his face “You’re really gonna rub it in while you’re still half-dead?”

You smirk “Absolutely.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, but then his expression softens. His golden eyes flicker with something raw, something real.

“You were right” he says quietly.

That makes you pause.

Ace doesn’t say things like that often.

“You were right,” he repeats, voice hoarse “I do act like that sometimes. Like it doesn’t matter what happens to me. Like…” He swallows hard, gaze dropping “Like I don’t deserve to be saved.”

Your chest tightens.

“But then you got taken,” he continues, voice barely above a whisper “And I—” He clenches his fists “I would’ve burned the whole world down to get you back. No hesitation. No second thoughts.”

He looks up at you then, something pleading in his expression.

“And that’s how you felt, isn’t it?”

You don’t answer right away, because you don’t need to. Ace already knows.

You sigh, leaning back against the pillows “You do deserve to be saved, Ace.”

Ace exhales, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah, well. Guess I finally get it now.”

You shake your head with a small smile “Took you long enough, hothead.”

He lets out a weak laugh, then leans forward again, pressing his forehead against yours.

It’s warm. Comforting. Safe.

You close your eyes, exhaling softly “Next time we fight, can we just skip to this part?”

Ace huffs out a laugh “What, the part where I almost lose my mind looking for you?”

You nudge him weakly “No. The part where you admit I was right.”

Ace groans dramatically “Ugh, never mind. You’re insufferable.”

You smile, your fingers brushing against his. But then you feel something wet against your skin.

You pull back slightly, confused “Ace…”

He blinks, startled “What?”

You reach up, brushing a thumb under his eye.

“You’re crying.”

Ace freezes. For a second, he looks caught off guard, like he hadn’t even noticed.

Then, before you can say anything else, he lets out a choked laugh, rubbing his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

He sniffles slightly, then smirks at you through his tears.

“Look who’s the one crying at the end.”

You stare at him. Then you laugh with him. A real, genuine laugh.

Ace grins, his hand finding yours again, fingers lacing together. His grip is warm, steady, alive.

And when he squeezes your hand gently, you know neither of you will ever walk away again.

[zyafics]

blurb request!

childhood best friend rafe x reader

perhaps a flashback type thing where rafe sees a guy flirting with reader at a party and doesn’t understand why he’s so angry about it

he runs in all “knight in shining armor” (in his mind) and tells the guy to leave reader alone and reader is pissed because it’s (one of) the first time a guy has shown interest in her

and rafe doesn’t even know how to explain why he was upset or the strange feeling he got when the guy backed off because he “didn’t realize she was his girlfriend” (even though she’s not)

in my head they’re in their mid teens but you could totally change that depending on what you feel most comfortable writing

hopefully this was the write amount of detail, can’t wait to see what you come up with <3

thank u for joining my little blurb exercise!

BLURBFEST I | RC

join my blurbfest <3 | WORD COUNT: 0.9k

If Rafe can have one wish right now, he’d wish to have not brought you to this party.

It’s the beginning of the year. Classes begin soon, and Kooks like to celebrate their accomplishments by hosting a big extravaganza. Normally, you aren’t one for attendance, but this year is “different,” in your own words. This year, you wanted to branch out.

Rafe wants to put you back in.

Let’s be clear: he loves that you’re growing more confident. Truth be told, you have suffered through extreme cycles of low self-esteem and high expectations. But now, you’re finally flourishing. Finally finding your seat at the table. He should be proud—he is proud.

He just doesn’t like it when there are new people in the room.

Because all eyes are on you. Guys who would’ve normally never spared two glances in your direction are suddenly trying to steal your attention, complimenting you, spewing some sleazy pickup line that has Rafe rolling his eyes. But it works for you. Because it’s your first time.

Rafe crushes the red solo cup in his hand as you chat with a random stranger from across the room. For the past five minutes. He’s been counting down the seconds for you to bid your awkward goodbye, crawl back into his arms, and ask to leave—but you don’t.

In fact, you’re smiling.

Rafe’s seething.

He doesn’t understand the burning hole in his chest as he punishes himself and continues to watch. Many girls in the room are trying to grab Rafe’s attention, but none seem to get it. Only you—his childhood best friend, the one he swore to protect.

You’re smiling, but Rafe is almost certain it’s fake. An awkward antic of yours where you try to be as polite as possible, while counting down the seconds for him to swoop in and save you. The only reason Rafe hasn’t is because you haven’t given him the signal.

Until you glance.

In his direction.

Having had enough, Rafe tosses the cup to the side and approaches you, slinging a comfortable arm around your shoulders. Stiffening, you hadn’t expected his arrival, nor did Adam—the stranger you were talking to—as his voice fades away from the conversation you were delightfully having.

“I think that’s enough, don’t you think?” Rafe declares, but it isn’t a question. It’s a declaration. His tone darkens with a threatening edge—an edge you only catch very few glimpses of growing up.

“Rafe,” you hiss, but he ignores it.

“We were just talking,” Adam stammers, glancing between you and Rafe. You attempt to offer him an apologetic smile, but he doesn’t seem to take it.

“And now you’re leaving,” Rafe declares, using his other hand to gesture a dismissive wave. Your throat tightens with something akin to fury—how dare he?

“I don’t want any trouble,” Adam says with both hands up, in surrender, and that infuriates you further. What happened to asking the girl in the equation? “I didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

“I’m not—“

“Better hurry or I’ll change my mind,” Rafe glares, and without another word, Adam scurries away without so much as a farewell.

Satisfaction rumbles in Rafe’s chest—being your knight-in-shining-armor after all—but when he turns to face you, there’s anything but gratitude. In fact, if he reads you as well as he believes he can, there may be even resentment.

You shove him off. His arm slings back to his side. “What are you doing?”

He feels dumbstruck. “I’m saving you,”

“Saving me?” You huff with disbelief, “From what?”

“That… guy.” He feels like he stepped into a parallel universe. “You gave me a look.”

“I just looked at you.”

“Which is the look!”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumble under your breath, crossing your arms. “I was talking to him. We were chatting. I was having fun.”

Something burns in Rafe’s throat, something he isn’t familiar with. While it’s true that you don’t have many interactions with guys, he never realizes how much he enjoyed your sole undivided attention. Now, giving off to strangers like Adam who don’t deserve a lick of it stirs something ugly within.

Rafe is almost certain it’s more than friendly.

You’re looking away, elsewhere, with your arms crossed in that menacing manner that always has Rafe folding to your every whim. You may be small, shorter than him—truly, everyone is—but something about that position is terrifying. He’ll do anything to rectify it.

“I’ll get him back,” Rafe concedes, but the words feel cheap on his tongue. Disgusting, almost. “If that’s what you want.”

“I don’t,” you say, remaining faraway, “Not when any guy I talk to ends up being afraid of my best friend.”

“It’s good insurance.”

“It’s pathetic,”

Rafe has nothing to say, but you don’t look to be in the mood to add to it. Finally, turning back, like a dog rejoiced at receiving any bit of attention, you say with a calm sigh. “Can you just take me home? I’m not feeling this party anymore.”

“Yes,” Rafe says swiftly, gladly taking that offer. He doesn’t want to be in a room with guys who see you as their next treat, either. “My house? We can throw some popcorn in the microwave and turn on that movie you like?”

Smiling, reserved just for him, you nod. “I’ll like that.”

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