#but just having that constant even if it hurts and you hate it and everything it stands for when you've had nothing that understands you

[kngrose]

sevika general headcanons 𝜗𝜚

WARNINGS: 18+, sexual content, mommy kink, biting, squirting, slapping, spit play, degradation, dacryphilia, ignoring safe words, implied age gap, sevika is mean

AN: i got carried away… ;] not proof read!

SFW

Initially, she wanted nothing to do with you.

Like at all.

Once she realized that her feelings for you were anything more than platonic, she wanted to throw you off the piltover bridge.

She was so incredibly frustrated with herself because, how did she let this happen?!

You’ll definitely notice she starts smoking a hell of lot more frequently and spends most—if not all—of her free time in the brothel— anywhere you’re not around.

But of course, she can only run from her feelings for so long, and she eventually caves; letting you in.

Because of her upbringing, she has quite a hard time adjusting to having a girlfriend.

If its not anger, she has a hard time expressing herself. And if she’s not angry and it’s something trivial? More often than not she’ll end up accidentally hurting your feelings with her harsh tone.

One time, when the two of you had started dating, she’d asked you, "Have you ever done this before?” and it shocked you because you didn’t know if she was implying something or—

When you’d sputtered back a flushed, “Done, what?” she rolled her eyes and retorted, "Had a girlfriend, dumbass." Her tone stern but not necessarily angry. Later, she would have to console you after you admitted she’d hurt your feelings.

She swears she doesn’t mean to— that’s just how she talks!

Not to mention her heavy handedness??? Like omg.

She’s so heavy handed.

You’ll end up with tiny bruises scattered everywhere because of how hard she’ll grab your hand or your arm.

When she places a hand on your lower back to guide you it’ll feel more like a shove.

She has this cute little habit of kicking your legs under the table—for fun or to get your attention— and she swears it’s a soft little nudge.

But when you show her the red and purple blotches afterwards, she’ll relent.

It’ll take her a while, but she learns.

She learns to be more gentle and handle you with care.

She’ll also learns how to recieve love and affection!

It was quite foreign for her, like it would be for most people in the undercity. At first it made her uncomfortable— the constant little touches, the chaste kisses to the cheek, the hugs.

You’ll notice that she’s super standoffish when you do these things. Just staring at you with this unreadable expression.

It’s not that she didn’t like it, she just wasn’t used to it, and she didn’t quite know how to feel about it.

Don’t be misconstrued though, because once she solidifies the idea that this is normal behavior, she’ll be all over you.

I headcannon that her biggest display of affection is physical touch. She just loves to touch you in any way possible.

If you’re sitting on a couch or a bench, personal space is not an option. She’s presses herself right up against you, thighs touching and all.

If you’re going for a walk, she’s holding your hand or your wrist. Sometimes she’ll even wrap her hand around the back of your neck.

If you’re sitting at a table she’s got a hand on your thigh, or wrapped around your ankle when you cross your legs.

Loves to just play with your fingers or lay her head in your lap. Please play with her hair!! She’ll grab your hands and place them on her head if you don’t, grumbling at you for not already doing your “job”.

I also think she would just love quality time, because she’s clingy! The two of you don’t even have to talk, as long as you’re there she’ll be content with just sitting in silence and enjoying your company. And if she’s not busy, you always have hers.

She wants to do everything with you, laundry, shopping, studying, napping— all of it. She would sit in the bathroom while you poop, if you’d let her.

She hates leaving you alone, and despises when you leave her side. “It’s too dangerous out here, Darlin’…” is what she says everytime, “Who’s gonna protect you?”

She’s got a long list of petnames for you. More often than not you’ll hear:

“Darlin’..” “Baby..” “Pretty girl…”

Flying from her mouth with whatever little things she says. Sometimes when she’s feeling playful, she’ll name you after whatever you have on at the moment.

For instance if you’re wearing glasses, she’ll call you glasses. If you’ve got on a button up, she’ll call you button.

She won’t ever admit it but she’ll appreciate it greatly if you have your own pet names for her aswell. They’ll make her look away in the efforts that you don’t see the giddy smirk that she swallows.

She can’t have you knowing you make her all soft.

Speaking of which.

She’s the definition of “grumpy”. Like everything she does, she has to grumble about it. Want her to grab the remote? Fine, she’ll do it, but she’s going to grumble the whole time. Grab your jacket? Ok, cool, but you’re gonna hear this grumbling monologue, something about how you, “Couldve grabbed it yourself..”

She’s definitely the type to say “No.” when you ask her to do something, and then do it anyway.

She loves to pretend that she’s stone cold but she’s actually a huge softie when it comes to her little gf! (wife)

She loves to just look at you. Would definitely make others say, “Wow, look how she’s looks at her—”

Multiple times day you’ll catch her just idly staring at you, and it makes you self conscious— starting to touch at your hair and clothes. When you question her about it she’ll just say, “What? I can’t look at my pretty girl?” and kiss the corner of your lips.

She listens to you so intently, like she’s hanging onto every word, and blinks slowly at you like a cat. If you’re venting and just want her to listen? You got it. Come take a seat on her lap and she’ll hear everything you have to say; rubbing circles on your back with one hand, and holding yours with the other, just looking up at you with the occasional, “Mhm..”

And if you wanna talk about something silly? Go right ahead! She’ll listen all the same, offering her two cents every now and then or a soft chuckle. She’ll never turn down an opportunity to hear your voice.

She loves when you ask to arm wrestle

Likes to watch you try to pull her arm down with two of yours, smiling softly at your efforts before kissing your forehead and saying, “Better luck next time, princess.”

Don’t even try with an actual wrestling match— she tosses you around so easily, it makes you embarrassed. It slips your mind sometimes, her brute strength, because you’ve gotten so used to her being soft with and around you.

But when she pounces, pinning you in all of five second— without an ounce of a struggle— let’s just say it’s always a humbling experience. “My baby’s gotta get stronger,” She’ll always say, beforing tossing you over her shoulder with a chuckle.

She loves to give you random little kisses. Some on your cheeks, a few where your neck meets your shoulder. Behind your ears, on the palm of your hands. Every last one of your knuckles. Of course your precious lips.

She loves your lips. Loves when you get all done up and pretty so she can watch you put lip gloss on; before she messes it up by kissing you so she can watch you do it again. “Oh, don’t fuss at me,” She’ll smirk from behind you, watching you redo your lipstick in the mirror. “Just wanna kiss my pretty girl…” She’s kisses your cheek. You’re better off doing your makeup when she’s not around… if she’s ever not around.

And when you tell her you love her for the first time, she smiles softly, "I love you too." Sevika says gently, "I just don't quite understand what you see in me." The crimeboss chuckles, "A big, rough, hardened criminal.. doesn't exactly seem like a popular relationship choice, darlin'." She teases, looking down at you with a crooked grin.

Her grin softens into a look of admiration as you explain that the love you have for her is beyond those things, because you knows she’s more than that. "You see into me like no one else." She admits quietly, "You see past the walls, and the mask, and even the facade." She continues, "You see all the pieces I work so hard to keep covered up." Sevika adds on, chuckling softly as she looks down at you. "You're the only one who does that, y'know?" She admits, "You're the only one I allow to see me for who I really am."

NSFW

Come, come. Let’s discuss.

There’s so many things that really get Sevika going, and with you as her pretty little girlfriend, it doesn’t take much. She won’t admit it, but in those moments where she’s just staring at you, she picturing the most ungodly scenes. It gets worse once you realize how often it is you catch her staring.

She can’t help it. She’s always riddled with flash backs of you getting slutted out. While she’s working at the brothel, playing poker, having meetings with Silco— it doesn’t matter. It’ll just randomly cross her mind and she’ll realize: she can’t wait to come home.

Sevika loves it when you call her Mommy. It makes her feel powerful. It strokes her ego. It gives her a warm fluttering feeling in her chest everytime you let it slip from your lips. Often times, she’ll like to make you repeat yourself, just so she can hear you say it over and over and over again.

She loves to bite and she loves to be bitten. It’s something so primal about it that warms up her core and makes her soak. She’ll let out deep rumbles when you bite into her arm or shoulder, never applying too much pressure. She’s told you before that you don’t have to hold back, but you always do. She doesn’t.

You see, Sevika likes to fluctuate. Not between top and bottom, but hard and soft.

Sometimes she wants to be so gentle with you. Kissing you passionately, hugging you tight, caressing you all over, giving you slow deep thrusts so she can show you how much she really loves you.

Other times she wants to be rough. She wants to toss you around, and pull your hair. Leave marks and choke you until you can’t breathe. Impose on you with her harrowing size and strength.

It’s even better when she finds the middle ground.

She’ll always ease you into everything, just to make sure you’re on the same page.

When she’s feeling particularly soft, she’s loves to service you. She’ll lay you on your back and kiss you everywhere, she likes to see how worked up it’s gets you. Pressing soft wet kisses down your neck and chest, undressing you as she does so.

And she’ll smirk as you’re left in your underwear, leaning down to press a soft kisses against your stomach. She’ll move lower, kissing your hips and your thighs before kissing your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties. "I'm gonna take these off, that okay, Baby?" She’ll ask, already knowing your answer, her fingers toying with the waistband.

And she will laugh, seeing how you eagerly nod your head, a breathless, “Yes, Mommy.” falling from your pretty lips. She’ll hum to herself lowly. God, She loves it when you call her that. And she’ll free you of your panties because, how could she resist such a sweet plea?

And once she sees how wet your pussy is, she’ll whistle, “Phew, what’s got my baby so worked up?” And run her fingers over your slit, gathering up the mess on her fingers to taste. Sevika will eat your pussy for hours. And please don’t test this theory— because you’ll regret it.

It doesn’t matter if you buck your hips away, she’ll just wrap her arms around your hips effectively locking them down, and continue to have her way. “Let Mommy eat, pretty..” She’ll chastise, and you’ll have no choice but to oblige.

And when she’s done eating your pussy, she’ll position you to sit in front of her and lean on her bare chest so she can fuck you with her fingers until you squirt all over them. She loves the access she has here. She gets to kiss all over your neck and shoulders and rub at your nipples, all the while pressing her palm against your clit while her fingers press against that spongey spot inside you.

And don’t even think about telling her you can’t take anymore, because it’ll fall on deaf ears. She’ll swallow up your pleas in a sweet kiss, telling you, “Nonsense, Baby. Mommy knows you can handle s’more..” Trust me, when she’s feeling soft, she’ll never take you beyond your means. She knows her princess.

She’ll kiss you so passionately you both never want to stop, rutting her pussy against yours precisely. You just know she’s had some practice. She likes to look deep into your eyes, holding you there by your cheeks the whole time. Pressing her forehead against yours while she whispers to you.

“My pretty baby… you feel s’good..” She’ll murmur against yours while she lips, before sucking on them sweetly. She’s so sweet when she’s soft.

But when she’s hard: She’s nasty.

Filthy and vulgar, and driven by nothing but the urge to ruin. In these times, it’s hard to get through to her. Nothing you say will get through her head unless it’s, “Yes, Mommy” or a direct response to what she’s just ordered you to do.

Keyword ordered.

She’ll have you stripped in record timing, gripping both of your wrists harshly, pinning them above your head, “These stay here, Understand?” She’ll say, her tone authoritive with no room for argument. And you’ll nod your head like a good girl for her.

When she spreads your legs, that’s where they better stay, otherwise she’ll slap your pussy, hard, and that’ll just be your first warning. She’ll grill you down with a hard stare, and you’ll know not to make that mistake again.

She’ll bring two fingers to your lips, and tap against them. "Open up for Mommy, baby." She’ll order, tone stern. And when you do, she’ll fuck your throat with those fingers, feeling you gag and watching the spit slide down your throat. And she’ll lick it all up just to spit it back in your mouth. “Good girl…” She’ll purr.

When she’s like this, she has a dark look in her eyes. It’s a primal look, and if you glance away too quickly you’ll miss it. She’s likes to fuck you hard during these times, hardly any qualms for your limits.

She’ll always have her handy strap prepared and waiting. Thick and long and heavy. She likes it that way. She likes to feel like the man.

She’ll grin, somewhat cruelly, and her eyes will meet yours in a flirtatious wink. "You like the view, pretty girl?" Sevika asks softly, her hand gently stroking the toy in her hand, like it’s a real dick, getting it all wet with lube. And how could you not? Her cut physic on full display, muscled and scared… so manly.

Sevika will take you through so many positions, you won’t have the energy to roll over in your sleep at night. She’ll take you in missionary first, “Mommy’s gonna break you in now, Baby.” She’ll growl, and she’ll keep her promise, bottoming out in one single thrust. Hard. She loves that look of pain that washes over you. She’ll wrap a hand around your throat and squeeze as she ruts into you.

She’ll fuck you like she hates you, but you know it’s all love when she’s slapping your face, and filling your mouth with her fingers.

And when she thinks that’s not enough? She’ll grip the back of your legs and push them up to your chest, effectively folding you up before drilling into you. She’s got you in a mating press.

And she’ll chuckle away at the tears that form in your eyes, your moans flying out in a mantra. She’ll grin down at you, her lips pulling back into a cocky smirk. "Yeah, good girl.." There’s a lewd slapping that fills the room. "How does that feel, sweet girl?" She’ll ask, sticking her fingers down your throat again, "Is Mommy hitting all the right spots, baby?"

And this’ll go on until she’s made you cum a few times. She likes to watch the expression on your face when you come undone, tears falling from your eyes.

But don’t think your done, no, she’s just getting started.

She’ll pull out and physically toss you over, shoving your head down with brute force and pulling your ass up. She’ll push her dick back in, slowly so you feel it. “S’good right?” She’ll ask, “Mommy filling you up?” and she’s back to drilling you like she never stopped.

She’ll lean over you, wrapping a muscular arm around your throat and putting you in a headlock. She’ll snicker evily in your ear as you cry out at the new angle, “Ohhh, Mommy’s fucking you good, huh? Right there?” She’ll tease, beating that spot in relentlessly.

If you get too loud she’ll have no choice but to squeeze that arm around your throat, snickering at the way you tap at her arm, “So pretty…” She’ll say in your ear, driving her hips into yours, “Tell Mommy how much you love her..”she’ll say, knowing you can’t respond. The drool will run down your chin and she’ll just lick it up, muttering, “Such a messy girl, huh?”

When shes feels her primal needs are satisfied, she’ll return back to that soft, loving “Sevi” that you know. Cleaning you up and giving you kissies. Rubbing all of your sore spots and telling you how much of a good girl you were.

And as you both cuddle in your shared bed, she’ll watch as you fall asleep on her chest, a small smile forming on her lips as she lets herself doze off as well. <3

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[dissapointu]

“Tired of Watching You Hurt”

The tension in the air is thick, the silence hanging heavy between you and Vi. You stand in the middle of the small room, your chest rising and falling with frustration, while she’s leaning against the wall, her arms crossed defensively. The fight has been brewing for days, and now it’s finally spilled over.

You can’t hold back anymore.

“Vi, seriously!” you snap, your voice louder than you intended, but you can’t stop it. “Why do you always do this to yourself? Why do you keep throwing yourself into danger like this? You’re always getting hurt! It’s like you don’t even care about your own safety!”

She flinches slightly at your words, but only for a moment, before her gaze hardens, her jaw clenching. “I do care about my safety. I don’t need you telling me how to handle myself.” Her tone is sharp, defensive, but there’s an edge to it—a crack in her armor that shows she’s more affected by your words than she’s letting on.

“You don’t act like it!” you shout, taking a step closer to her, your frustration boiling over. “Every time we’re together, it’s the same thing. You get yourself hurt, and I have to pick up the pieces. I hate seeing you like this, Vi. I’m not doing this anymore! I can’t keep watching you throw yourself into danger like it’s nothing.”

Her eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, you wonder if she’s about to explode. But instead, she sighs, the hardness in her expression softening just slightly.

“You think I want to get hurt?” Vi mutters, pushing herself off the wall. Her voice is quieter now, almost tired. “You think I like it? You think I don’t know how dangerous it is out there? I do it because I have to. Because it’s the only thing that makes sense in this fucked-up world.”

You want to argue, but something about the way she says it catches you off guard. You can see the exhaustion in her eyes now, the way her shoulders slump under the weight of it all. It’s not just the physical pain from the constant bruises and cuts—it’s the mental toll, the emotional exhaustion that comes with living a life like hers.

“I know it’s hard, Vi,” you say, your voice softer now. “But I don’t want to lose you. You’re always so damn reckless, and it’s driving me crazy. I can’t keep watching you get hurt and pretend like it’s okay.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s going to say something to push you away. But instead, she takes a slow step toward you. Her eyes are softer now, the walls she’s built around herself faltering for a second.

“I know you care,” she says quietly, her voice rough. “But I can’t stop. I can’t just sit around and do nothing while everything around me falls apart. I can’t be weak, not when there’s so much at stake.” Her gaze flickers to the floor for a moment, almost ashamed. “I guess I don’t know any other way.”

You feel your frustration start to dissipate, replaced by something more tender—concern, worry, love. Vi has always been the tough one, the fighter, the one who could take on the world and come out the other side covered in blood but standing tall. But underneath all of that, there’s a person who’s terrified of what might happen if she stops fighting.

You step closer to her, gently cupping her face in your hands, lifting her gaze back to meet yours. “You don’t have to fight alone, Vi. You don’t have to put yourself through this. I’m here. You don’t have to keep pushing yourself this hard.”

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, just staring at you as if trying to process your words. Then, with a deep breath, she lets out a shaky sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I don’t know how to stop, though,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what it means to stop fighting.”

You pull her into your arms, wrapping your arms around her tightly, wanting to offer her the comfort she desperately needs but doesn’t know how to ask for. “You don’t have to fight all the time. Let me be your safe place, Vi. Let me help you.”

Vi goes still for a moment, but then, slowly, she melts into your embrace, her face pressing against your chest. You feel the weight of her body as she lets go of the tension, her hands gripping your shirt tightly as if holding onto you is the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, her voice muffled by your chest. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“I just want you to be okay,” you whisper, running a hand through her hair, your thumb brushing across her temple. “I don’t want to lose you, Vi. Not like this.”

She stays silent for a moment, just breathing in the quiet comfort you’re offering. Finally, she pulls away slightly, her eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability you don’t often see.

“I’m trying,” she says quietly, her hand finding yours and squeezing it. “I’ll try to be more careful… for you.”

You nod, your heart swelling with affection for her. You know she’s a fighter, and that’s not going to change overnight. But you also know she’s willing to let you in, willing to listen to your worries, and that means more than anything.

“I just want you to be safe,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “That’s all that matters to me.”

Vi doesn’t say anything more, but the way she looks at you, the way her hand lingers in yours, tells you everything you need to know. It’s a rare moment of softness between the two of you, a small crack in the tough exterior she wears so often.

And for tonight, that’s enough.

[beloveds-embrace]

OKAYY IMA TRY MY BEST HERE TO EXPLAIN, so like reader and ghost were married but got divorced because of how toxic ghost was being but they never can really stay away from each other because they are both still in love with each other and ghost keeps coming to her house and they always argue and then fuck after, and like the argue part is really just the reader yelling at him and telling him how much she hates him and how much she wants him to get out , AND SOTHING I REALLY LIKE IS WHEN THE READERIS PUSHING HIM AND PUNCHING BUT HE NOT MOVING AT ALL, and after she is panting out of breath and then they fuckkk, I KNOW ITS KINDA CHOPPY AND NOT IN GREAT DETAIL BUT WOULD LOVE TO SEE IT <33333

Hmdjsjs i’m so sorry anon i love this, i really do, but I don’t write full smut 😔 here’s a lil drabble for the rest of it though that i hope will be good enough !

The pounding at your door came again, sharp and deliberate, echoing in the silence of your house. You didn’t need to look through the peephole to know who it was. You’d been expecting him, even though you’d hoped- prayed- that this time he wouldn’t show up. That this time, you’d be free from this constant, horrible cycle.

With a resigned sigh, you yanked the door open; he’d just use the spare he keeps on him and refuses to let go of even now to enter your home. And there he was, Simon Riley. Ghost. Your ex-husband. Standing there like he owned the damn place, his mask half-pulled up so you could see his mouth, that damn infuriating faint smirk tugging at the corners.

“What the hell do you want, Simon?” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to cut glass.

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his massive frame brushing against you as he crossed the threshold. It hurt your heart, seeing him look so perfectly fitting within your home. The one you used to share with him before the divorce. “Nice t’ see you too, love,” he muttered, shutting the door behind him.

“Don’t call me that,” you hissed, shoving at his chest with both hands. A familiar dance. “I told you to stop coming here!”

He didn’t budge. Of course he didn’t. He just stood there, towering over you, calm and unshaken as you pushed and slapped at him, an unshaked pillar. It only made your anger boil hotter, your annoyance burning brighter.

“I hate you!” you spat, hitting him again, your fists pounding against the solid wall of his chest. Damn him, damn his face, and damn his hardened body. “I hate how you just show up like this! Like you have any right to be here! I hate-”

“Get it out, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice maddeningly soft, his hands resting loosely at his sides. “Go on.” Completely at ease, not at all afraid. You hate him so much, and you hate how desperately you miss that level of stability only he’d ever seemed to have even despite all your fights.

That only made you hit harder, your breaths coming in short, furious bursts as you yelled everything you’d been holding in. Every frustration, every bit of heartbreak and resentment that had festered since the divorce. Every drop of fury that rekindles with each visit he does, unable to stay away from you.

But then your blows slowed, your strength faltering as exhaustion crept in. You stood there panting, chest heaving as you glared up at him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Feel better?” he asked, his voice low, infuriating bastard.

“Get out,” you whispered, though it lacked the venom you wanted it to have. Your shoulders slumped, and you just stared at him in defeat.

But he didn’t move. He just reached up, his hand cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

“Can’t stay away,” he said simply, rough but achingly sincere. “You know that.”

And damn it, he was right. As much as you wanted to hate him, as much as you wanted him gone, you couldn’t deny the way your body reacted when he was this close.

His lips crashed into yours, fierce and demanding, and before you knew it, you were clawing at him, your anger transforming into something just as fiery but far more primal- led by the wet, dripping ache between your legs.

It was always like this with him. A storm of emotions that left you both battered but somehow unwilling to let go. Toxic, yes. Unhealthy, definitely. But no matter how much you told yourself it had to stop, you both knew it never really would. He would never stay away, and you would never push him away.

“Mine,” he mumbles, pulling away just so. A string of spit connected your lips, and you panted for breath in his arms. “Fuckin’ mine, you’ll always be.”

And the worst part? You just wanted more, more, more.

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [i]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Y/N struggles with unspoken feelings for Tara and is shut out when trying to help her after discovering possible abuse from her girlfriend.

word count: 1522

warnings: mentions of abuse, bruises, angst

a/n: hellooo, this is my first time writing in these type of situations (about abuse) so I apologize for any inaccuracy. I'm just kind of experimenting with this fic plus I'm not sure how many parts will it take to complete it. As always, any feedback is appreciated <3

“Let’s go! One more lap!” Coach Melissa’s voice cut through the air, sharp and firm. The team pushed forward, legs aching with every step. Your legs felt like they were made of jelly. With each stride growing heavier than the last, you fought to keep them moving. The fatigue was relentless, creeping up like a shadow, threatening to overtake you. Your muscles screamed in protest, and the rhythmic pounding of your feet on the track seemed to get slower and slower.

The pressure was heavy on you. Being the captain of the Blackmore High soccer team means handling the heavy amount of responsibilities and standards to upkeep. You would be up for the state tournament for the finals in a week, and you were afraid that you were going to disappoint your team and coach, eager to win and experience the triumph of being the champions. It won’t be easy, especially when you’re up against your rival team, Woodsboro High. You have to—no, need to—win against them since it’s your last year in high school, especially when you harbor a deep loathing for their captain, Amber Freeman. Her name wasn’t new to you; she has been dating your friend, Tara.

Tara has been your friend since middle school. You guys were inseparable back then, sharing everything from food to secrets and dreams about the future. Even through all the awkward stages of adolescence, Tara was always by your side, offering a comforting presence when things felt uncertain. You’ll have to admit, you started having feelings for Tara a year ago, noticing her in a way you hadn’t before, captivated by her doe eyes and her personality. The more time you spent together, the harder it became to deny what was growing inside you. You imagined all sorts of scenarios in your head, rehearsing the words over and over, hoping one day you would find the courage to tell her.

But the day never came; your plans to confess your undying love to her were halted and shoved down the dumpster when you found out she started dating Amber six months ago. The universe must’ve hated you; finding out your best friend was in love with someone else the same day you wanted to confess felt like a punch in the gut, a cruel reminder that you had waited too long, that you had kept your feelings hidden for so long that someone else had stepped in.

You ignored and neglected your feelings, pushing them into the corner of your mind, hoping they’d disappear. You couldn't risk ruining your friendship with Tara, especially now. It hurt too much to see her with Amber, but the last thing you wanted was to make things awkward or lose her entirely. Recently, you’ve been noticing her pulling herself away from you. She wouldn’t answer your texts or calls or act like she didn’t see you in the hallways. But you would see her post on her social media, always being with Amber.

It hurt—a deep, sharp ache that seemed to pierce straight through your chest, leaving you breathless. It wasn’t just a passing pang; it was a constant, gnawing pain that lingered, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. Every time you saw Tara with Amber, laughing, holding hands, something inside you twisted painfully, as though a part of you was being slowly ripped away. It felt like your heart was caught in a vice, tightening with every smile Tara gave to Amber, every word she spoke about her. It was the kind of hurt that made it hard to breathe, hard to think, like you were suffocating under the weight of all the words you could never say. You’ve decided to shove your feelings down the drain and focus on getting your grades up before graduating and leading your team for your final year at Blackmore High.

You were walking with your friend Chad, who was also on the soccer team, as the two of you made your way to class. The crisp morning air after the exhilarating and tiring practice made the walk a bit more refreshing, but the weight of everything going on in your mind made it hard to truly enjoy. Chad, as always, was complaining about the harsh punishments he had to do by Coach Melissa, gaining a deep sense of hatred for your coach.

“She’s nuts, man!” Chad ranted, venting his feelings about her absurd method of training. You smiled and nodded along, trying to keep your focus on his words, but your mind kept drifting back to Tara.

Chad glanced over at you, noticing your silence. “Hey, what’s up? You’ve been kinda quiet today. Something on your mind?” He nudged you lightly with his elbow, clearly oblivious to the storm swirling inside you.

“Nothing, man. It’s just... Have you been noticing Tara has been acting distant lately? She hasn’t been to school regularly. Has she been talking to you or Mindy?”

“Oh! That’s what I wanted to ask you about. Mindy found her in the bathroom a few days ago. She said Tara had some bruises around her arms. Tara was trying to cover it up and just shrugged it off, saying she fell down the stairs or something..”

The world seemed to tilt for a moment, and you could feel your breath catch in your throat. Bruises? Tara? No. It couldn’t be. Tara was always so careful, so strong. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. Or would she? You could feel a knot tighten in your stomach, and your mind began racing, replaying every interaction you’d had with her recently, trying to make sense of it.

“Tara would never...,” you muttered, almost to yourself, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered. "Are you sure? Maybe she just bumped into something." Chad’s face was serious now, his usual easygoing expression gone. "I don’t know, man. Mindy said it didn’t look like something she could’ve just gotten from falling. And Tara’s been acting a little off lately, like, way more distant than usual."

Your stomach twisted further. Tara had been distant—now that you thought about it, she'd been a little quieter, more closed off, not the same carefree friend you’d known for so long. But bruises? It didn’t add up. “Maybe we should talk to her,” you suggested, your voice betraying the concern building inside. “I mean, if something’s going on... we need to be there for her.”

Chad nodded slowly, looking just as worried. "Yeah. But if Tara's covering it up, you know she’s not gonna want to talk about it. She’s always been like that, right? Stubborn." The silence between you both grew thick, a heavy feeling settling in your chest. You both knew that if something was truly wrong, Tara wouldn’t come forward easily. It was hard to imagine her going through something like that alone, but it seemed like she was. And you, you didn’t know what to do.

One afternoon, you finally made up your mind and talked to her. You couldn’t just sit by and watch anymore. You found her standing by her locker, her head down as she fiddled with her phone, looking like she was on the verge of crying. You almost hesitated, but you knew you had to speak up. “Tara,” you said, your voice tentative as you approached.

She stiffened at the sound of your voice, quickly wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater before glancing up at you with a guarded expression, her posture immediately closing off. “What is it, Y/N?” Her tone was cool, but there was an edge to it, as if she was preparing for a confrontation.

You swallowed, trying to find the right words. “Tara, are you—” you hesitated, unsure what to say. “The bruises... Are you okay?” Tara's face hardened almost instantly. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if trying to protect herself from more than just the physical cold. “I’m fine, okay?” she snapped, her voice sharp. “It’s nothing. Just..personal stuff.”

You took a careful step forward, trying to keep your tone gentle. “Tara, I— Is it Amber?”

“I said I’m fine!” She cut you off, her eyes flashing with frustration. “Why does it matter to you anyway?” Her defensive walls were up, and the more she spoke, the more distant she seemed. You froze, feeling the sting of her words. It wasn’t like Tara to shut people out like this. Your Tara.

“It matters because I care about you. I don’t care if we don’t talk anymore. I’m worried, Tara.” You said, your voice shaking. Tara’s eyes flashed. She didn’t want to hear it. 

“I don’t need anyone’s help; I’m fine.” Without another word, she turned and walked away. You stood there, watching her go, feeling the weight of her defensiveness hanging in the air. The look in her eyes said it all—she wasn’t ready to talk, and she wasn’t about to let anyone in. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just lost your chance to help her, and a part of you wondered if she’d ever let anyone close enough to see the truth.

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a/n: I hope this is up to standard lol, I won't be promising a next part. I'm not experienced enough to write these type of sensitive topics or just writing in general lol. i know the pacing is a little messed up hehe maybe I should disappear and never write again and delete this account idk

[livelaughloveluffy]

Hi! I really enjoy your works!

Is there any way I could request a modern Ace x platonic younger sister? I guess modern or not doesn't matter too much. But basically his usually sweet, anxious younger sister hasn't been doing great with depression/anxiety, and he's noticed a little bit, silently keeping an eye on it, but doesn't think it's TOO too serious. But he's wrong because late one night he finds her hitting rock bottom. What that looks like is up to you. He gets scared, but wordlessly just kind of hugs her, holds her tight, she automatically clings to him and apolologizes, and he lets her know how much he and Sabo and Luffy and Dadan love her.

Self projecting the need for a comforting older brother figure like Ace.

Please don't write this one if you don't feel comfortable or don't want to! Have a good day 🩷

we need you here - portgas d. ace

a/n: i'm so glad you enjoy my writing!! thank you so much for your request!! i absolutely adore ace as a big brother, hopefully this is sort of what you had in mind!!

a/n: i was listening to my yearning playlist to write this and literally a more perfect song to go with this fic started playing and now i have to share it with you guys too because it works way too well. here's the song

tw - depression/mentions of self-harm

there's some hurt and some comfort here...

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some days we're better than others.. but most of the time you could barely keep your head above water. the constant onslaught battle of depression is pretty crippling, and it takes everything in you to just get through the day. not that most would be able to notice.

it's not like you were born depressed, how you long for the days were the world felt lighter, when the breeze blowing through the leaves of a tree was a wonder to revel in, rather than being so caught up in your own head, you can barely hold a conversation. while this change had come to your realization like a freight train, your brothers hadn't really picked up on it.

it's not because they didn't love you, you know they did, it's just that they were busy training to leave goa kingdom and conquer the sea. so to them, over the years you had just gotten more reserved. sure you didn't smile as much as you used to, or the way you used to, but it was hard for them to tell considering that they weren't even home for dinner half the time anyways.

•♡•

ace hadn't really noticed how bad it was until dadan had approached him one day before he, sabo, and luffy were going to their hideout, resting her hand on his shoulder, leaning down to softly whisper in his ear "can you ask your sister if she wants to join you guys? i'm a bit worried about her.. she hasn't come out of her room for a couple of days... she could use some sunlight.."

the freckled boy turned to dadan with his typical wide smile "yeah! i'll go ask her!"

•♡•

the voices were getting bad again. they were so loud, constantly taunting and jeering, laughing at your existence, reminding you of all you failures, faults, ugly personality traits, everything you hate about your body. it was suffocating. tears began to well up in your eyes. your skin started to itch for pain.

then a quite knock sounds against your door, then you hear ace's voice, warm and gently asking "we're going to head to our hideout, wanna going us angel?"

you muster all your strength to reply above a whisper "maybe another day, ace. i'm pretty tired."

and with that, you can barely hear the sound of his footsteps retreating before the voices are back, stronger than before.

•♡•

you had no idea how long you had been crying now. your eyes were swollen and sore from all your tears, fingernails bloody from constantly digging and itching at your skin, scratching it raw in various spots on your arms.

the voices in your head felt as if they were never-ending. the brief flashes of pain eased them... for minutes maybe, but they would still come back. they always came back.

•♡•

ace had just walked into the front door to dadan's eyes on him. "where is she?"

it took him a minute to realize that dadan was asking about you, "oh, she said she was tired and she didn't want to go today." and as he watched dadan's face sink, instantly filled with dread and worry, he knew he had to do something to ease her worries. "did she come out for dinner yet?" dadan lowered her head, softly shaking it side to side. "i'll go eat dinner with her in her room, okay?"

dadan could only muster a soft sigh before slowly nodding. ace had a way of making everything better somehow, she just had to trust that he would know what to do.

•♡•

you couldn't stop the tears from flowing in the same way that you couldn't stop the voices you heard. and the utter frustration at your own helplessness just made you even more upset, driving you to sob even more. breathing was now a struggle, as the tears also took all the air from your lungs with them. your hands were buried into your hair, gripping it tightly, as if ripping it out would give you some sort of silence.

you didn't hear ace's knock this time. didn't hear his soft voice call your nickname "angel? can i come in?". didn't hear his footsteps as he crossed the space of your room at record speed. you didn't even notice his presence until his arms were wrapped tightly around your body. dinner plates for the two of you, forgotten on the floor in front of your opened door. you didn't even hear them shatter.

even with his strong warm arms around your body, you couldn't will yourself to stop crying. in fact, it almost made the sobs worse. your face was sticky with sweat, snot, and tears. hair sticking to your face. ace didn't seem to mind though. he pulled your face close into his bare chest, it is only then that you hear his voice whispering in your ear "i'm so sorry. i'm sorry i didn't notice. i'm sorry i haven't been home. i'm here now, angel. i'm not going anywhere without you. we need you here, angel."

the desperation in his voice finally allowed you to move your body, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. the tears still flowed, but they had slowed just a little, enough for you to choke out "ace.. i don't... i don't know what's wrong with me.. i don't want to be like this.. i hate this.."

his soft voice and the sound of his heartbeat filled your ears "i'm here for you, always. i'm not going anywhere. i love you no matter what, and we'll get through this together. i love you so much."

your eyes were heavy now that the crying had finally stopped, and you no longer had the energy to keep them open. the only thing you could hear as the sleep finally came to claim you was ace's voice in your ear, a constant stream of whispers of "i love you, i love you, i love you so much." on repeat.

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tags ♡: @3v37773 @irethepotato @dreamcastgirl99; want to join the taglist? click here!!

a/n: i lowkey had to hold back some tears writing this one 😭😭😭

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[scrollonso]

Ghost — Strollonso (ft. Nikola)

@boxboxluckybird saw it first + an add-on to First Kiss

The night was quiet, except for the soft hum of the wind brushing against the windows. Fernando sat at the kitchen table, staring at a half-empty glass of whiskey he wasn’t sure he wanted to finish. The divorce had left his house emptier than it had ever been, the silence suffocating, a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong. Fourteen years Fernando had spent married to Lance. Seventeen years they'd had a son together. All for nothing.

The sound of footsteps broke the stillness, tentative at first, then more deliberate. Fernando looked up to see Nikola standing in the doorway, his face pale, his eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears. Fernando’s heart clenched. He knew that look. It was the same one Lance had whenever the world felt like it was crumbling around him — whenever the world was crumbling around him.

“Nik?” Fernando’s voice was softer than he expected, his usual sharpness dulled by concern. “What’s wrong, mijo?”

Nikola didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped into the room, his arms wrapped tightly around himself like he was trying to hold himself together — trying to hold the closest thing he had to Lance. His lower lip trembled, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw and cracked.

“Do I look like him?”

Fernando blinked, startled by the question. “What?”

“Do I look like him?” Nikola repeated, his voice breaking. He stepped closer, his movements shaky, like he was being pulled forward by some invisible force. “Is that why you… why you treat me like this? Why you barely look at me? Because I remind you of him?”

“Nikola, mi amor, that’s not—” Fernando started, but Nikola cut him off with a sudden, anguished outburst.

“¡Ya basta! Don’t lie to me, Papa!” Nikola’s voice rose, thick with emotion. “You can’t stand to look at me, can you? Because I look like the one person in the world who loved you unconditionally, and you bailed on him. You left him because you were fucking scared!”

Fernando’s breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Scared of this,” Nikola continued, tears streaming down his cheeks as he motioned towards himself, convinced he was the one that drove his fathers apart. “Of having a family. Of having me. Having me with a man. You were so scared that you ran away from the best thing that ever happened to you, and now… now I’m here, and you can’t even look at me without seeing him, without remembering what you lost.”

“Nikola Díaz. Stop—” Fernando tried again, but Nikola wouldn’t let him.

“Are you ashamed of me?” Nikola asked, his voice trembling, every word cutting deeper than the last. “Is that it? Am I the reminder of everything you couldn’t handle? Everything you didn’t want? Do you hate me because of him? Because I'm a Stroll?”

Fernando stood abruptly, the metal of the chair beneath him scraping harshly against the floor. “Nikola, stop it!” he snapped, his voice cracking under the weight of his own guilt.

But Nikola didn’t flinch. He just stood there, shaking, his eyes locked on his father’s, pleading for an answer. “Do you love me? Did you love him?” he whispered. “Because it doesn’t feel like it, Papa."

Fernando felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. He took a step toward his son, then hesitated, his hands trembling at his sides. How could he explain the storm of emotions that had consumed him since the divorce? The shame, the regret, the unbearable weight of knowing he’d failed the two people he’d loved most in the world?

“You look like him,” Fernando finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Nikola flinched as though struck, but Fernando kept going, his words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to bridge the growing chasm between them. “You look like him, and it kills me every single day because I can’t look at you without thinking about how much I screwed up. How much I hurt him. How much I hurt you.”

Nikola’s breath hitched, but he didn’t say anything, his eyes wide and shining with fresh tears.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Fernando continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I could never be ashamed of you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Nikola. But every time I see you, I see him. I see the man I loved more than anything, the man I let down because I was too scared to face what we had, what we could’ve been.”

Tears spilled down Fernando’s cheeks now, his composure cracking under the weight of his confession. “I was scared, yes. Scared of being a father. Scared of being with a man. Scared of failing you both. And in the end, that fear made me do exactly what I was afraid of. I failed. I failed him, and I failed you.”

Nikola’s lips quivered, and for a moment, he just stood there, staring at his father. Then, with a sob, he rushed forward, throwing his arms around Fernando and burying his face in his chest. Fernando froze for half a second before wrapping his arms tightly around his son, holding him like he was afraid to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Fernando choked out, his voice muffled against Nikola’s hair. “I’m so sorry, hijo. For everything. For hurting you. For not being there. For making you feel like you weren’t enough. You are enough. You’ve always been enough.”

Nikola clung to him, his sobs wracking his small frame, and for the first time in years, Fernando let himself cry too. They stood there in the kitchen, father and son, broken but holding onto each other, trying to piece together the fragments of what had been shattered.

They stayed locked in the embrace, their shared grief filling the space that silence had once suffocated. Fernando’s grip on Nikola tightened, as if by holding on to his son, he could make up for all the lost time, all the mistakes that had created this chasm between them. The warmth of Nikola’s trembling body in his arms was a reminder that despite everything, he was still here, still his son, and still someone Fernando had a chance to fight for.

After a long moment, Nikola’s sobs began to subside, his breathing slowing into uneven hiccups. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at his father with tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes. “Do you think he hates you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Fernando’s heart twisted painfully. The question hit him harder than any of Nikola’s earlier accusations because it was the one he had been asking himself for years. He sighed, brushing a hand over Nikola’s hair, smoothing down the wild curls that reminded him so much of Lance.

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, his voice heavy with regret. “I hope not. I hope… I hope he knows how much I loved him — how much I love him — even if I didn’t show it the way I should have. Even if I messed everything up.”

Nikola searched his father’s face, his expression a mixture of sorrow and something Fernando couldn’t quite place. “I don’t think he hates you,” Nikola said after a moment, his voice fragile but sincere. “He never talked badly about you. Even when things were bad, even after the divorce, he always said you loved me. That you loved us.”

Fernando swallowed hard, his throat tightening. “He said that?”

Nikola nodded. “He never wanted me to think you didn’t care. Even when I was mad at you, he… he always defended you.”

Fernando closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of Nikola’s words. Lance’s forgiveness, his enduring belief in Fernando’s love, was more than he felt he deserved. And yet, it was the lifeline he didn’t know he’d been waiting for.

“I wish I could fix it,” Fernando whispered, his voice breaking again. “I wish I could take it all back and do it right. For him. For you.”

Nikola’s lip trembled, but he reached out, placing his hand over Fernando’s. “Maybe you can’t fix the past,” he said softly, “but you can still fix us.”

Fernando looked at his son, his chest aching with a mixture of pain and hope. He saw Lance in Nikola’s eyes, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like a curse. It felt like a second chance. A chance to love his son the way Lance would have wanted. The way they both deserved.

“I’ll try,” Fernando promised, his voice steady despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. “I’ll do everything I can to make it better, Nik. I swear to you, mijo.”

Nikola nodded, his fingers tightening around his father’s hand. “That’s all I wanted, Papa. For you to try.”

They stood in the kitchen for what felt like an eternity, the hum of the wind outside now a soft lullaby to their shared pain and tentative healing. When Nikola finally let go, his movements hesitant but lighter, he wiped at his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he asked quietly, his voice small, like he was afraid Fernando might say no.

Fernando’s heart broke all over again at the thought of Nikola feeling like he had to ask. “Of course,” he said firmly. “This is your home, Nik. It always will be.”

Nikola gave him a weak smile, the first hint of light Fernando had seen in his son’s eyes all night. Without another word, he turned and headed toward the living room, curling up on the couch the way he used to when he was little and afraid of the dark.

Fernando watched him go, his heart heavy but filled with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years. He grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet and draped it over Nikola, pressing a kiss to his son’s temple as he whispered, “Te amo, mijo. Always.”

Nikola murmured something in return, his voice slurred with exhaustion, and Fernando smiled faintly as he returned to the kitchen. The whiskey sat untouched on the table, but this time, Fernando didn’t pick it up. Instead, he poured it down the sink and stood there for a moment, staring out into the night.

The wind brushed against the windows again, but this time it didn’t feel so suffocating. It felt like a reminder that life was still moving, still offering chances to make things right. And for the first time in a long time, Fernando felt like he was ready to take it.