#i dont know their ship name and it is too late to ask
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the-epic-hiram-lows · 1 year ago
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which blossom twin initiated their fucking
Cheryl. Jason was hesitant to take her virginity, but she insisted.
If you're asking who initiated their affair, I think it was a mutual decision. They both knew how the other felt after a long period of meaningful, lingering stares. They both knew what they were doing when they entered whichever private room saw their first passionate kiss, which both of them dove into at the same exact moment. They are twins, after all.
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avocadorablepirate · 1 month ago
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hiii!!! i was wondering if you can make a fic with the one piece males dating a short reader with a massive scythe and is actually super skilled with it (bonus points if you add law) you dont have to ofcourse!! i love your work!!
Hello, hello! Of course I can do this and of course I will add Law (wouldn’t dream of leaving him out)! Thank you for requesting and I’m so happy to hear that you like my work :) 💕 I hope you like this as well. I also hope you don’t mind, but I’ve written it as headcanons with a short one shot for each of them.
××××
Tiny But Lethal
Pairing: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Sabo, and Ace x fem!reader
Summary: Exploring what some One Piece men would be like with a short S/O whose weapon of choice is a scythe.
Word Count: 4.2K
Warnings: reader is kinda made fun of for being short, some light swearing, mentions of injuries, nicknames, Luffy’s is pretty platonic, Zoro’s implies that they’re attracted to each other but not dating (nothing else that I can think of, but let me know if you find anything)
Super excited to write this cause this is my first time writing something for anyone besides Law. I’ve stuck to Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Sabo, and Ace cause well, they’re some of my favourite OP men. Since this is my first time writing for most of them, I’m not really sure how well I’ve captured their personalities, and some of the headcanons/fics are pretty short, so feedback would be great. But anyway, I hope you guys like it!
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Luffy
Outright calls you short as heck when he first meets you. “Damn, you’re tiny!”
Immediately asks you whether you can use your scythe to catch him some fish. He has no clue what it actually does.
Number one hype man. Constantly yelling your name from the sidelines like a proud cheerleader. But also never misses a chance to poke fun at your height.
Zero self awareness, or any awareness for that matter. So if he yeets you across a battlefield, he fully expects you to stick the landing.
Don’t even bother trying to act all dark and threatening when he’s around, man does not care and will not get the memo. “Is my tiny slicer going to pull some moves?”
He doesn’t fear you at all - but every time someone else does? He’s wheezing. “You’re scared of her?? But she’s tiny!”
xxxx
The Sunny rocked gently in the calm sea, the afternoon sun casting a warm golden glow over the deck. Laughter from the crew filtered across the ship, a peaceful lull slowly setting in. You sat leaned back against the railing, eyes closed as you drifted in and out of sleep.
“Oii Y/N~” came the singsong voice of your captain, followed by bouncy footsteps. “I’m hungry, could you catch some fish for me?”
You cracked one eye open to see Luffy looming over you, arms crossed and that stupid grin plastered on his face. He then pointed towards your scythe like it was a kitchen utensil.
“Luffy,” you deadpanned, “This is a deadly weapon, not some glorified fishing rod.”
“But it’s so big and sharp! You could easily slice a tuna or something.”
You stood up with a sigh and a roll of your eyes. “I’m not using my scythe-”
Before you could even protest, snap. Luffy’s rubber arm shot forward, coiling around your waist.
“Luffy, don’t you-!”
Too late. He launched you like a cannonball, laughing like a madman as he watched you soar across the sea.
You screamed as the wind roared in your ears, the ocean rushing up to meet you. With a quick flip midair, you angled your scythe just right, and dived into the water, blade first.
A massive splash rocked the Sunny - and the crew stood frozen as they watched in anticipation. A rush of bubbles followed, and two seconds later a giant fish, impaled right through the middle, burst from the water. You surfaced behind it - soaking wet and scowling.
Luffy cupped his hands around his mouth, then grinned from ear to ear. “You did it! Coolest fishing spear ever!”
You swam back to the ship, Sanji and Usopp hauling you and your kill up with a rope. From somewhere on the deck Zoro muttered, “Idiot.”
Luffy ran over to meet you, hands on his hips as he looked at you with absolute pride. “Let’s do that again!” he beamed.
You wrung the jacket you had been wearing, glaring at him before you jabbed a finger into his chest. “Do that again, and I’ll use you as fish bait next time.”
Luffy laughed once more, not taking your threat seriously. He never did.
Still…as you watched him fawn over your catch and ramble excitedly about how cool you looked, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.
Monkey D. Luffy was an absolute menace to society. But somehow - he was your menace.
Zoro
Kinda underestimated you the first time you met. Huge mistake. You called him out on it, and ended up goading him into a duel. Needless to say, the Sunny was nearly cut in half by the end of it.
Now he smirks every time someone doubts your abilities and just takes a step back and watches as all hell breaks loose.
Thinks your scythe style mirrors his own swordsmanship. Loves sparring with you.
There’s something about the way your small frame handles such a massive, deadly weapon that he finds…intensely attractive.
Lowkey think that the dynamic between the two of you would be similar to how things are between him and Tashigi: rivalry, respect and just a hint more of exasperated fondness.
Tries to play it cool, but actually finds it endearing when you’re trying to be ominous. It’s only a problem if you’re threatening him. Then it’s just annoying. And hot.
You once yelled at him for carrying you over his shoulder, he yelled back. “I’m trying to save your life!” The building was about to explode. You had no idea. He had no time to explain because, well, the building was about to explode. You’re still miffed about it though. Ah romance…
xxxx
Some say the only direction Zoro knows how to follow is the one that leads to you.
To those people, Zoro says he’ll fight them if they ever say it where you can hear.
But deep down, he’d agree. Even in the midst of chaos he always finds you. And in this moment with Marines closing in from all sides and the Sunny beginning to pull away from the island’s shore, that unspoken truth was obvious.
Zoro blocked another strike aimed for his side, knocking his opponent’s weapon out of their hands in one clean move. But his attention wasn’t on the fight anymore.
It was on the ship.
Luffy was on the deck.
Zoro’s brows furrowed. He knew that look - that stupid grin. His idiot captain was about to use his rubber powers to grab the both of you and haul you onto the deck without a second thought.
Something both you and Zoro hated.
He turned, scanning the battlefield. And then he saw you.
You were sauntering towards a Marine Captain like they had a death wish, scythe balanced lazily over your shoulder, and the arrogance of someone who knew they could rain chaos down on anyone stupid enough to challenge them.
“Damn it Y/N,” Zoro muttered under his breath, knowing you were not going to like what he was about to do. Still, he couldn’t deny - you were kinda hot.
Zoro didn’t have the time to call out to you. He just moved as fast as he could.
You didn’t see him coming. One second you were closing the distance between you and your target. The next, you were in the air, strong arms casually tossing you over their shoulder. Your anger boiled over when you saw who it was.
“Zoro!? What the hell!?” You yelled, desperately trying to get out of his grip so that you could go take care of that asshole of a Marine Captain who had decided to underestimate you.
“Will you stop wiggling! I’m trying to save your ass!” he growled, dodging the following onslaught that came from the Marines as they noticed the two of you retreating.
“You could’ve given me a warning! Now put me down!” You continued to squirm violently, tempted to use your scythe to make him listen.
“You’re light,” he snapped, glancing back at you. “Now shut up. We don’t have time for arguments. There’s no way I’m getting slingshotted-”
“Zoro~!”
Ah shit.
Luffy’s rubber arm rocketed out, crossing the distance and wrapping around the both of you. Zoro cursed. Your expression turned murderous.
“Luffy I swear to-!” You tried yelling just before Zoro was yanked off his feet and both of you were flying through the air - a blur of limbs, weapons and swear words.
You crashed onto the deck of the Sunny - Zoro landing first with a grunt, instinctively shielding you from the impact. For a second you were cradled in his arms, breath knocked out of you, face way too close to his.
“You good?” he asked, voice low, breath warm against your cheek.
You were blushing before you could stop yourself.
Luffy’s loud laughter then snapped you out of your trance, pulling your attention away from Zoro. You scrambled to your feet, aiming your scythe at the rubber man. “I will end you, you stretchy idiot.”
Zoro stood beside you, cracking his neck and matching your glare. “Not if I end him first.”
“Sorry Zoro, sorry Y/N!” Luffy said with zero remorse, skipping off toward the galley.
You and Zoro exchanged a look - exasperated, exhausted, but also not at all surprised by your captain’s nonchalance. You then sighed, dragging a hand over your face. “Remind me again why I joined this crew?”
“Definitely not because it came with free air travel.”
You snorted despite yourself, rolling your shoulders to ease the ache of the landing.
“You sure you’re okay?” Zoro glanced at you from the corner of his eye as he brushed off the dust on his sleeve. You looked at him, catching the way his eyes now scanned you like he wasn’t entirely convinced you were alright.
“I’m fine, Zoro,” you said, softer than before. “Thanks to you.”
He grunted, looking away quickly, “Tch. Don’t get used it.”
You watched the way he lingered by your side a moment longer before heading below deck, and couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Because even if Zoro couldn’t follow directions to save his life, he always found a way to you.
Sanji
Instantly smitten the minute he saw you. You were probably holding your scythe like a warning sign. Didn’t work, he’s just fallen harder.
You would expect someone of your height to struggle with wielding a scythe, but you don’t - and in his eyes, the battlefield becomes your stage, where you move with the grace of a dancer.
Cue nosebleed every time you make a clean, graceful strike.
*Hearts in his eyes* “My angel of death!”
Beats up Luffy and Usopp if they make short jokes about you. Only thing worse than imitating Sanji, is imitating you.
Will lug that weapon around for you even if you don’t ask him to. “It’s a gentleman’s duty. I shall hold the murder stick, my love.”
Tries to sneak nutrients into your meals. “There’s still time for you to grow…” You glare. He melts.
xxxx
Nami had made it clear - no run-ins with the Marines. Stay low, get the supplies, and get out.
Simple. Something you had done a hundred times before.
But all that went to hell when you passed a group of Marines loitering near a wall plastered with wanted posters. One of those wanted posters being yours.
“That’s Y/N L/N bounty? Must be a mistake.”
“She’s so short, can she even lift that thing?”
“I bet I could take her. Knock her out while that scythe weighs her down.”
A chorus of laughter followed.
Sanji stiffened beside you, immediately noticing you had stopped in your tracks to listen. He reached out to hold you back, but you were faster.
You spun with the grace of a dancer - one smooth arc, metal gleaming, and then a splash of red. The Marine was on the ground, your scythe pressed just against his ear where the blade had nicked him.
“Still think you can take me?” you murmured, voice cold and steady.
He whimpered under your blade. The remaining Marines were quick to react, drawing out their weapons. You were still focused on the first when one lunged from the side, blade catching your cheek.
Sanji reacted before things could get worse. He grabbed your arm, landed a square kick to the Marine’s chest, and then pulled you into a sprint. Both of you ran back to the Sunny - and from there it was a quick escape accompanied by Nami’s furious yelling.
Later, tucked away in the medbay, Sanji knelt before you, gently brushing your hair back to dab at the small cut on your cheek with some antiseptic. You winced at the sting of the alcohol pressed against your open wound, and Sanji’s brows furrowed.
“You should have let me handle that guy,” he muttered, lower lip jutting out in a pout, irritation edged with concern.
“They needed to see what I can do with a scythe,” you replied casually, watching him as he continued to clean your wound. “Besides, I’m fine.”
“I know you are,” he said, pausing to meet your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I like seeing you get hurt.”
You tilted your head, a small smile forming. These were the moments that made you realise just how much he cared.
“It’s just a cut.”
He huffed, clearly very annoyed. “Still. If anyone hurts my beautiful lady like that again, I’ll crush their faces into the pavement myself.”
You chuckled. “Protective huh?”
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “When it comes to you? Always.”
Law
Not one to quickly judge, but the sight of you with a scythe caught him off guard. Didn’t except you to wield a weapon that’s almost twice your size. Nevertheless, he is impressed.
Your sparring practice = Law’s secret favourite pastime. He’s standing in the corner, arms crossed, lips twitching.
He knows you’re strong, knows you can handle yourself - but he still worries. If he can’t see you on the battlefield, he’s looking for your scythe. And if that’s nowhere in sight? Then it’s full-on rampage mode. You were actually just behind him. But on the bright side, ten enemies were KO’d in an instant.
Makes you sit in his lap under the pretext of you being “too short” for the table (that’s a lie, the table is the perfect height). But everyone’s too scared to comment on the image of Trafalgar Law and the tiny scythe-wielding menace.
The height difference lowkey kills him. Cause how is someone who’s so short and carries a weapon that’s definitely too big for them, just as intimidating as him??
Internally combusting every time you wield your scythe. But no one can know, cause he’s the Surgeon of Death. A tiny Grim Reaper cannot be having this effect on him.
xxxx
You stormed into Law’s quarters, boots thudding heavily against the floor with purpose. The door slammed shut behind you, hard enough to rattle a nearby stack of books. But Law didn’t flinch. He barely looked up from where he sat scanning some maps he found at the Marine base you had just raided.
“You almost got us both killed!” you snapped, voice low but furious.
Without lifting his eyes, he replied flatly, “We’re not dead though.”
You scowled, tossing your scythe against the wall with a loud clatter. The dried blood on its blade was a reminder of just how close things had gotten. Marching forward, you slammed your fists against his desk, demanding his attention. “That’s not the damn point.”
This time, Law looked up - gaze sharp but unreadable as always. “I’m the captain. I made the final call.”
“Disrupting my fight was your ‘final call’!?” you shot back. “If I hadn’t noticed you in time, that scythe would have had your blood instead!”
He stood slowly, pushing the maps aside, then stepping towards you calmly. He was always composed. Even when you were cracking. “I make better decisions when I can see you.”
You crossed your arms, “Some would argue the opposite.”
He stood in front of you now, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of something. One hand rose, his thumb brushing under your eye.
You flinched.
“How did this happen?”
You blinked. You hadn’t even felt it. Hadn’t even known that it was there. But Law had seen it. Even amidst all the chaos of a battle - he had.
Without another word, he guided you to sit on the bed behind him. You didn’t resist, the fire in you having dissipated, replaced by something quieter. Law crouched in front of you, grabbing the first aid kit from his bedside.
He didn’t speak while he cleaned the wound, careful and methodical as always - dabbing antiseptic, then gently placing a small bandage under your eye. You’d torn through a squad of Marines today, and yet he touched you like you were something that might break.
When he was done, he didn’t step away. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a featherlight kiss to the spot just beneath the fresh bandage. He lingered there - silent and unmoving. Not asking for forgiveness, just holding you for a long quiet moment.
You closed your eyes, breathing out a sigh as you let your chin rest on the top of his head. “I’m not mad, that you made a call,” you whispered. “It just…sometimes it feels like you don’t think I’m capable enough.”
He pulled back slightly, gaze locking with yours. “I know you’re capable,” he said. “You’re precise, lethal, and brilliant. Everyone out there fears you.” A beat. “But that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”
You studied him for a moment, then allowed a tired smile to form. “You overthink too much.”
He smirked. “And you don’t think enough.”
The maps lay forgotten now. He nudged you back gently onto the bed, then lay beside you - finally calm. Peace, for Law, was simply being next to you.
Sabo
Pats you on the head after you do something. Doesn’t matter whether you like it or not - it’s happening.
He’s always complimenting you on your scythe technique. Just genuine admiration for you.
Thinks you look adorable when you’re sharpening your scythe in a corner. Everyone else is terrified - as they should be.
You try being all tough even around him, but he sees right through it. You’re his “tiny terror”.
Busting out a laugh every time you’re threatening someone - which totally ruins your vibe. You’re threatening him next. He’s still laughing.
Would also be one to worry if he loses sight of you during a fight. Nobody wants to get in his way then.
xxxx
The sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, casting light over the Revolutionary Army’s camp. A few new recruits were scattered around the area - some fumbling through basic drills, others lounging about. You sat calmly on a tree stump, your scythe resting in your lap as you sharpened its blade. You could feel the stares - half curious, half fear - but your face gave nothing away.
“That’s the one they call the Grim Reaper, right?”
“Her? That thing’s taller than she is!”
You paused mid-stroke.
Your eyes flicked up, locking onto the group of wide-eyed recruits. They froze the moment your gaze landed on them.
“Wanna see what I can do with this thing that’s taller than me?” you asked, voice cold and clipped, driving the scythe’s blade into the ground.
Silence.
Then - laughter.
Your eyes narrowed in the direction of the sound, death glare sharpening as it found its mark.
Leant casually against a nearby tree, was Sabo, clearly entertained. When his eyes met yours he offered a lazy, amused smile - equal parts teasing and utterly enamoured.
He pushed off the trunk and sauntered over to you.
“Trying to scare the recruits again, my tiny terror?”
You rolled your eyes, refusing to look up as you continued sharpening your weapon. “What do you want, Sabo?”
He grinned. “Just dropped by to say - you look adorable right now.”
You froze, and slowly turned to stare at him, disbelief clearly written on your face. “Adorable? I’m sharpening a deadly scythe! I should be terrifying!” You gave an annoyed huff and went back to your task.
He crouched down beside you, an almost fond smile on his face before it turned into a cheeky grin. His tone then shifted to one of exaggerated affection.
“You’re so terrifying~” Sabo cooed, ruffling your hair. You shot him a glare, somewhere between exasperated and flustered. He then leaned in, grin widening when he caught a hint of colour creep up your cheeks. “But also, really, really cute.”
You scowled and swatted the top of his head with the base of your scythe, earning a dramatic “ow!” from him even though you barely tapped him.
“Did she just whack the Chief of Staff over the head!?” One of the recruits yelped in horror.
Sabo rubbed the back of his head like it actually hurt, still grinning like a fool. “Think they find you scary now?”
“Keep teasing me and I won’t use the blunt end next time.”
He leaned in even closer, lips almost brushing yours. Sabo stared at you for a while, a soft smile on his face, and you couldn’t help but blush again. “Would be totally worth it.”
You shoved him lightly, and he laughed as he stood and offered you a hand. “Come on, tiny terror. I made lunch. You’re going to need all the energy you can get if you’re going to keep terrifying the newbies.”
You muttered something under your breath but took his hand anyway. And as he led you off - still chuckling at your annoyed grumbling - the recruits watched in stunned silence.
Ace
“Hot damn.” That was his first reaction after you casually decapitated someone trying to sneak up on him. He’s now down bad.
You’re his “travel size Grim Reaper.” Short, lethal, and just for him. You hate it. He says it more.
“You’re dangerous.” he says eyeing your weapon and then you. “You like that, don’t you?” You say with a grin. “I’m crazy about it.”
Came up with a combo move where he coats your scythe with his flames. Insists on calling it the “Fire Reaper Flash”.
Comes to your defence when you’re in an argument with someone, but it doesn’t really do much, you’re far more intimidating than him.
Gets this mischievous glint in his eyes when someone underestimates you, “Want to see something cool?” Cue destruction. Uses the Fire Reaper Flash for extra effect.
xxxx
The battle field was chaos - flames, smoke, pirates shouting and scrambling for their lives. And in the middle of it all, there was you. Short, scythe-wielding and completely unbothered, as you moved through the ruckus as if you were taking a stroll through the park.
Through the smoke, Ace emerged, after knocking out an enemy with a flaming punch to the gut. He spotted you and grinned wide.
“Damn,” he muttered to himself, watching with a smirk as you swiftly dealt with a pirate that got in your way. “That’s my travel size Grim Reaper.”
You stopped in front of him, rolling your eyes. “I told you not to call me that in front of people.”
He chuckled, scanning the area around him. “They’re all unconscious, sweetheart.”
“Not that guy.” You pointed your scythe at one final pirate who was left standing - bloodied, furious, and charging at you with all the power he could muster. Someone was clearly mad about losing.
Ace spared him a glance, then looked back at you, completely unphased. He wiped the soot off your cheek, then tilted your chin up like he had all the time in the world.
“Ready for our ultimate couple move?” Ace cackled, eyes sparkling as if he had been waiting all day for this exact moment. Maybe that was why he ‘accidentally’ got caught while trying to raid a rival pirate crew’s base.
You groaned. “Do we have to?”
But he was already charging up, the heat around his body intensifying. Flames curled around his arm, and with a grin full of mischief and pride, he shot it towards your scythe, close enough to singe you, but obviously not.
You watched as his flames wrapped around the curved blade - beautiful but dangerous. It hummed in your hands like it was alive, the metal glowing a brilliant orange. But it didn’t burn you, Ace made sure of that.
The pirate was now fast approaching, shouting all sorts of profanities and how “tiny creatures” didn’t scare him. You didn’t even flinch.
Then you moved. One quick dash, your flaming scythe cutting through the smoke. The moment the blade made contact with its target, fire exploded, the force sending the pirate crashing into the dirt, flames licking at his coat before fizzling out.
Ace let out a low whistle, watching as the fire died down. “See!? I told you Fire Reaper Flash was a sick move!”
“You nearly set me on fire,” you muttered, flicking ashes off your sleeves and scythe.
He strolled over with a grin, clearly proud of himself. “You would’ve been hot - both figuratively and literally then.”
“Shut up.” You tried to scowl, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a smile.
Ace laughed, slipping his arms around your waist in one smooth motion. His hands were warm against your back as he pulled you close, forehead bumping gently against yours for just a second before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek - warm, soft, and just a spark of heat.
“We should come up with another move,” he murmured. “Something that screams us…Hot and Deadly, how does that sound?”
You groaned again. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Only for you,” he said with a wink, fingers intertwining with yours.
Then still laughing, he tugged you along and headed back to the Moby Dick - leaving behind fire, chaos, and one very unlucky pirate crew.
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Kinda have a thing for Ace now, I mean who wouldn’t?? 👀
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lynbels · 3 months ago
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ONLY WHEN HE WANTS ME ୨ৎ 이희승
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pairing 이희승 x reader
୨ৎ synopsis: you navigate the emotional wreckage of a toxic relationship, where fleeting tenderness masks control, and survival means staying quiet. ✉️ 7265 - tw. manipulate, toxic, abusive relationship, reader is stubborn, unprotected sex, hair pulling, praising, dirty talk, kissing, skin-ship, abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, violence, body image / weight related comments, self-worth issues, physical intimidation, implied sexual coercion, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional abuse, burnout/emotional exhaust, verbal abuse
📝 is this supposed to be a Drabble account? Yes. Did I just write a whole ass story? Yes. ‼️ i do NOT think of heeseung like this at all. I’m just really angry today and wrote this.
Dont like it? Dont read it. mdni
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The apartment was supposed to be a fresh start.
You’d been together for a year — long enough to know his rhythms, to crave his presence, to think moving in was the natural next step. When Heeseung had smiled at you over takeout containers and said, “Let’s get a place together,” it felt like everything you’d wanted was finally aligning.
You didn’t expect it to fall apart so fast.
It started with the little things. The way he’d stop answering your texts when he was out. The way his tone would shift when you asked simple questions, like you were interrogating him. He used to call you babe every time he walked through the door — now you’d be lucky if he looked up from his phone.
The boxes were barely unpacked before the silences started stretching longer. His moods changed like weather — some mornings, he’d kiss your shoulder and whisper how lucky he was; other nights, he’d barely speak to you at all. But when he touched you, it was like he flipped a switch. He knew exactly how to make your body react — and maybe that’s why you let him.
Because when you questioned him — even gently — it never went well.
“You’re overthinking,” he said once, brushing you off with a hand on your thigh and a smirk that made your chest tighten instead of flutter. “You know I’m busy. Don’t be clingy.”
You hated that word. Clingy.
But you started believing it. Heeseung had a way of making everything feel like your fault. If he was distant, it was because you were too much. If he pulled away, it was because you were “suffocating him.” And when you tried to talk about how you felt, he’d laugh and say, “Don’t ruin what we have with your insecurities.”
Some nights, he didn’t come home. Said he fell asleep at a friend’s, or stayed late at the studio — even though there were no messages, no missed calls, no proof. And when you asked why he didn’t tell you, he shrugged like it didn’t matter.
“Why are you so obsessed with keeping tabs on me?”
“I live here too, you know. This isn’t your place to control.”
“Are you seriously crying right now?”
You started sleeping on the far edge of the bed.
You stopped bringing up how cold he’d gotten, how he only seemed to show affection when he wanted something — when he wanted you. You didn’t know how to explain the feeling in your gut, the sick twist that came every time he touched you with lips that felt too familiar, too practiced.
Because the truth was sinking in slowly, like water through cracks in the floor.
You were in love with someone who only loved you when it was convenient.
Heeseung never touched you the way he used to—not in the soft, reverent way that made you feel adored. Not anymore.
Now, it was late at night when he suddenly needed you. When he’d come home hours after midnight, smelling faintly of liquor and something else you didn’t want to name, and find you lying in bed, half-asleep, still waiting. Always waiting.
His voice would be low, rough. “Take this off,” he’d mutter, tugging at your shirt like it offended him just by existing.
And you’d let him.
Because it was the only time he really looked at you. The only time he saw you—eyes heavy, hands urgent, whispering things against your skin that made you feel wanted, even if just for a moment. Even if it wasn’t real.
When he was inside you, his hands gripping your waist like you were something he owned, it was the closest thing to love he ever gave you anymore.
He’d say your name like a curse, like a prayer, like he needed you to breathe.
And you’d believe him, just for a second.
Because in that moment—underneath him, beneath the weight of his body and his lies—you could almost pretend you meant something to him.
His hands are on you before you can speak, tugging your shorts down roughly, not caring where they land. He kisses you like he’s punishing you for something, all teeth and desperation, his fingers digging into your skin as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
You arch into him automatically, your body trained to respond to his touch no matter how hollow it feels now. His palm slides between your legs, and you’re already wet—because this is the only version of him that feels like he wants you. The only time he pulls you close instead of pushing you away.
“Fuck,” he mutters against your neck, his voice low and wrecked. “Always so ready for me.”
You don’t answer. You just spread your legs wider when he pushes two fingers inside you, curling them in that way he knows drives you insane. Your hips move without thinking, chasing friction, chasing anything.
He watches you with a smug glint in his eyes, but there’s hunger underneath it—something darker, something hollow.
“Is this what you want?” he breathes, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with the thick press of his cock. “This is all you ever want from me, right?”
You bite your lip as he thrusts into you in one hard stroke, making the mattress creak beneath you. You want to tell him no, that it’s not all you want. But your body betrays you, moaning before your mouth can form words.
He fucks you hard, fast, like he’s trying to erase every fight, every silence, every cold shoulder. His grip bruises, his pace relentless, and when you come around him, shaking and breathless, he groans like you’re his salvation.
But when it’s over, he rolls off without a word.
And just like that—you’re back to feeling like nothing.
The next morning, it was like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t let him use your body as a way to feel needed. Like you hadn’t clung to his touch just to feel something real for once.
He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t say good morning. He just rolled out of bed, scratching the back of his neck, yawning as if your body wasn’t still sore from the night before. He didn’t even glance at you as he pulled a hoodie over his head.
“You gonna make coffee or what?” he mumbled, already halfway out the room.
You pushed yourself up slowly, skin still warm from where he’d held you, still aching in the places he’d gripped too tight. You didn’t say anything. You never really did. Just pulled on a shirt and padded into the kitchen, filling the kettle, grinding the beans. Hoping that maybe, maybe, today would be different.
But when you handed him his mug, he barely looked at you before taking a sip and grimacing.
“Did you forget how to make coffee?” he scoffed, setting it down hard on the table. “Tastes like shit.”
You swallowed hard, staring at the steam curling off the surface. “Sorry. I’ll make another—”
“Forget it,” he cut in, already unlocking his phone, thumbs scrolling. “You’re not even good at simple shit.”
It was always like that. A good night followed by a cruel morning.
He’d leave his laundry in a pile by the door and when you didn’t wash it fast enough, he’d say, “What do you even do all day?”
He’d ask you to grab his charger, his keys, his jacket, and then scoff if you didn’t move fast enough—“Useless,” under his breath like it was your name.
He’d call you clingy when you asked for his attention and cold when you didn’t. No answer was ever right. No version of you ever enough.
Some days, he’d come home and act like nothing was wrong, ruffle your hair, tell you to sit on his lap like things were normal. He’d bury his face in your neck, call you his girl, tell you he missed you. You’d want so badly to believe it—but the next day, you’d be back to chasing after his warmth like it was something you had to earn.
Like the love he gave you came with terms and conditions.
“Hey, clean up your mess before you leave,” he’d call when you were already late, pointing at the dishes he left on the table. “And don’t forget to call my dry cleaner. You said you’d do that yesterday, but like always…”
He didn’t even finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Because by now, the silence said everything.
Because by now, you already believed it.
It started small.
A shove when you stood in front of the door during an argument. Not hard—just enough to move you, to make you stumble back a little. He didn’t apologize. Just glared at you like you had pushed him, like your presence alone was an offense.
You told yourself it was the heat of the moment. That he didn’t mean it. That it wasn’t that bad.
But it didn’t stop there.
The second time, it was your wrist. You’d touched his arm when he tried to walk away mid-fight, desperate to make him stay, to make him hear you. He turned so fast you barely saw it coming—his fingers wrapped tight around your wrist, squeezing hard enough to make you cry out.
“Don’t touch me when I’m fucking pissed,” he spat, shoving your arm away like it disgusted him.
You cradled your wrist for hours afterward, hiding the red marks from yourself. From him. From the mirror.
And the next morning, he acted like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t left bruises on your skin. Like your silence wasn’t screaming.
Eventually, it became routine.
A slap to your thigh when you said something he didn’t like. A harsh grip on your chin when you looked away during another lecture about how “you don’t listen.” Sometimes he’d grab your arms too tightly, slam a door too close to your face, throw your phone across the room so hard it cracked the screen. You flinched so often it became muscle memory.
But he never hit you in the face.
He knew better.
After every time, he’d either pretend it hadn’t happened, or twist it in his favor.
“You made me do that.”
“Why do you push me like this?”
“You know how I get when you don’t shut up.”
And sometimes—sometimes—he’d hold you after, breathing hard like he was the one who had been hurt. Like you had made him fall apart.
“I don’t wanna be like this,” he’d whisper into your hair. “But you make me crazy, baby. You make it so fucking hard to be good.”
And you’d cry quietly in his arms, because for a moment, it felt like he cared.
Even if he only held you after he broke you.
Sometimes, when you were standing at the stove—barefoot, hair tied up, mind somewhere between recipes and the silence he left in his wake—he’d come up behind you without a sound.
His hands would slide around your waist, chest pressed to your back like he belonged there, like he hadn’t just ignored you all morning.
You’d barely have time to react before one of his hands slipped under your shirt, fingers cold and greedy as they cupped your breast.
“Missed these,” he’d murmur against your neck, voice low and lazy, like he was complimenting something he owned.
You’d stiffen for a second, spatula still in your hand, heat rising from the pan in front of you—but then his thumb would brush over your nipple, slow and deliberate, and your body would betray you all over again.
He’d groan when you arched into him, one hand squeezing possessively as his other dragged your shirt up just enough to expose your skin.
“You’re always so warm,” he’d whisper, mouth trailing over your shoulder, voice coated in that honeyed filth that made your knees weak. “Can’t even let you cook in peace, huh?”
You never said anything. You didn’t trust your voice. Not when part of you ached for it—ached to be touched, to be wanted, even if only for a few seconds.
Even if he’d walk away a minute later, without tasting a bite of what you’d made. Even if he’d leave you flustered and alone in the kitchen again—like he only ever came close to remind you he could.
You barely had time to flip the stove off before he turned you around, lips crashing onto yours with a hunger that felt more like control than affection. He kissed you like he was starving, like claiming your mouth would make up for all the ways he ignored you, belittled you, pushed you away.
Then he spun you again, pressing you forward until your hips met the cool edge of the kitchen counter. His hands were already tugging your shorts down, rough and impatient, knuckles brushing against your thighs as he exposed you piece by piece.
“You knew what you were doing,” he muttered, yanking your shirt up and bunching it at your waist. “Walking around like this, teasing me.”
You opened your mouth to protest—to remind him that you hadn’t done anything—but then he was pressing against you, hard and ready, lining himself up behind you with a low groan.
His hand slid around to your chest again, squeezing your breast harshly, fingers pinching your nipple as he thrust into you in one deep, brutal stroke.
The counter dug into your stomach, but you barely felt it over the stretch of him inside you, the obscene sound of skin on skin echoing in the quiet kitchen.
“This is what you’re good for,” he grunted, thrusts sharp and punishing. “Bending over like this—letting me take you however I want.”
You whimpered, fists clenched on the cold counter as he fucked you harder, faster, one hand gripping your waist while the other stayed under your shirt, still groping your chest like he owned every inch of you.
And maybe he did.
Because no matter how cold he was, how cruel his words felt—your body still responded. Still melted under his touch. Still craved this. Craved him.
Even when you hated yourself for it.
Even when the only time he held you like you mattered… was when he was breaking you in half.
You flinched when he reached for the remote. When he stood up too fast from the couch. When he walked into the room and his footsteps were just a little too heavy.
It wasn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it was barely noticeable—a twitch of your shoulders, a quick breath caught in your throat, a subtle step back like you needed space even when he wasn’t touching you. But your body reacted before your mind could reason with it. Like it was protecting you before you had the chance to lie to yourself again.
He noticed.
“You always act like I’m gonna hit you,” he said one night, annoyed, tossing his phone on the bed like you were the one ruining the mood. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”
But he didn’t say it like he cared. He said it like it was inconvenient for him. Like your fear was an insult.
And maybe it was—to the version of himself he pretended to be. The sweet-talking boyfriend who made people laugh in public. The one who said “I love you” with the same mouth that spit venom in private. The one who told you to stop crying because it made him feel guilty—not because it hurt him to see you in pain, but because he didn’t want to feel like the bad guy.
You started moving differently around him. Quieter. Smaller. You’d stay in the kitchen a little longer so you wouldn’t have to pass by him in the hallway. You folded laundry in the bathroom with the door locked, even when he wasn’t home.
Sometimes, when he walked behind you, your body would tense without you meaning to. And when his hand brushed your arm or your lower back, you’d suck in a breath before you could stop it.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he’d snap. “You’re acting like I’m a monster.”
But the worst part wasn’t what he said.
The worst part was that you started to believe maybe it really was you. Maybe you were overreacting. Too sensitive. Too much. Maybe you were the problem after all.
So you said nothing.
And your silence became just another thing he used against you.
When he wanted something, he’d change—like flipping a switch.
His voice would soften, just a little. He’d smile at you like he used to, the curve of his lips so familiar it made your chest ache. He’d touch you gently, like he hadn’t been cold for days, like he hadn’t made you flinch just yesterday.
“Babe,” he’d say, dragging out the word like a melody, like it still meant something. “You’re so good to me, you know that?”
Sometimes he’d kiss your cheek, fingers brushing your waist as he leaned in. Ask you to cook something he liked. Grab him something from the store. Pick up his clothes. Cover for him when someone called. Always followed by a “thank you, baby” that sounded sweet enough to make you forget.
And for a moment, you’d feel warm. Needed. Like maybe things were getting better. Like maybe he was trying.
So you’d do what he asked. Even if it hurt. Even if you knew better.
But as soon as it was done—food on the table, his plans covered, favor finished—he’d pull away again. No more soft voice. No more hands on your waist. No more babe.
Just silence. Or worse, indifference.
He’d barely look up from his phone when you spoke. Would answer you in clipped, flat words. You could ask him something and wait two minutes for a response, only for him to say, “What? I wasn’t listening.”
And it would hit you again—hard, cold, cruel.
The warmth had only been a tactic. A tool. A way to get what he wanted.
Because Heeseung only ever touched you, smiled at you, softened for you… when he needed something. And the rest of the time, you were just there. Convenient. Quiet. Useful.
Until you weren’t.
You were exhausted—mentally, emotionally, physically. The kind of tired that clung to your bones and made your limbs feel too heavy to move. You hadn’t slept properly in days, hadn’t had a full meal that wasn’t made for someone else, hadn’t taken a breath that didn’t feel like it belonged to him.
The apartment was quiet. Heavy. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, mind blank, heart numb. You didn’t even hear him come in until the mattress dipped beside you.
His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you toward him, and you froze.
“Don’t,” you said quietly, voice thin and cracked. “Not right now.”
But he didn’t let go.
He leaned in, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. “You’re always tired lately,” he murmured, like it was a joke. Like he hadn’t made you this way.
“I said stop,” you whispered, a little firmer this time, your hand coming up to push at his chest—but his mouth was already on yours, kissing you like he needed something, like he was desperate to feel in control again.
You pulled away, shaking your head. “Heeseung, I’m serious. I can’t. I’m tired.”
But he kissed you again.
And again.
Soft at first. Then deeper. More insistent. Like if he kissed you hard enough, you’d forget how empty you felt. How hollowed out you were. How much you wanted to scream.
You kept saying no, kept pushing at his chest, but his hands were on your thighs now, slipping beneath your clothes like your exhaustion didn’t matter. Like your boundaries were just noise.
“Baby,” he breathed against your skin. “I need you. Just let me, okay? Just… let me feel you.”
And you hated it—hated how your body still reacted, how your breath still hitched, how even now, a part of you wanted to be wanted. Even like this. Even when it hurt.
But you were tired. So, so tired.
And when his mouth trailed lower and his hands gripped tighter, all you could do was close your eyes and disappear.
It was supposed to be a calm afternoon. You had cleaned the apartment twice over, made tea, even laid out the snacks Heeseung liked—trying, always trying, to make everything perfect when his parents came by.
His mom was sweet, warm, always polite. His dad quieter, reserved but kind enough. They sat on the couch, talking casually about nothing, the kind of conversation you didn’t need to force. And for a moment, things felt almost normal.
Until Heeseung couldn’t find his watch.
He walked into the living room, jaw already clenched, tone sharp like glass. “Where the fuck did you put it?”
You blinked, confused. “I—I didn’t touch it. I think you left it in the bathroom last night.”
“No,” he snapped, cutting you off before you could finish. “You always move my shit and never put it back. Is it that hard to just leave things alone?”
Your heart dropped. Heat rushed to your face—his parents were right there. Watching. His mom’s smile faltered instantly, her brow furrowing, her eyes darting between the two of you.
“Heeseung,” she said quietly, firmly, “don’t talk to her like that.”
He paused, lips parted, clearly not expecting to be corrected—especially not by his mother.
“She didn’t do anything wrong,” she continued, voice gentle but edged with something protective. “I’m sure the watch will turn up. But don’t raise your voice like that, not in front of us—and not to her.”
Heeseung didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked away, jaw flexing like he wanted to argue but knew better. He muttered something under his breath and walked off, footsteps heavy down the hall.
You stood there, frozen. Embarrassed. Small.
His mom turned to you, her expression softening as she reached for your hand.
“I don’t know what’s going on between you two,” she said quietly, “but you don’t deserve that, sweetheart. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you do.”
And you smiled back, weakly.
Because what were you supposed to say?
She didn’t know this was just a glimpse. That what she saw today was nothing compared to what happened when no one else was watching.
You were in the kitchen, hands submerged in warm, soapy water, rinsing off plates from the visit—silent, focused, trying to steady your breathing. The sound of the faucet running helped drown out the quiet tension still hanging in the air from earlier. You scrubbed a plate harder than necessary, the ceramic squeaking under your grip.
Behind you, out in the hallway, you heard footsteps. Soft. Measured.
It was Heeseung’s dad.
He approached his son cautiously, hands in his pockets, glancing over his shoulder toward you, his voice low so you wouldn’t hear. But the apartment was small. And everything felt loud when the rest of your world was quiet.
“Is she okay?” he asked gently.
Heeseung didn’t answer right away.
“I mean it, son. She looks… thin. Too thin. She’s lost weight, hasn’t she?”
You froze for just a second, the dish slipping slightly in your grip. But you kept your eyes down, kept scrubbing. You didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to feel it. Not when your ribs had started to show in the mirror. Not when your favorite jeans hung off your hips now. Not when you only ate when you remembered, which wasn’t often.
Heeseung just sighed. “She’s fine. She’s just been tired. Busy or whatever.”
“Busy with what?” his dad asked, voice more serious now. “She barely talks. She doesn’t look like she’s sleeping. You snap at her like she’s not even—”
“She’s sensitive,” Heeseung cut in, brushing it off. “She takes everything personally. I can’t say anything without her acting like I hate her.”
Your chest tightened. You blinked back the sting in your eyes and scrubbed harder.
Because it was easier to blame yourself than to admit the truth. That maybe you were too sensitive. That maybe if you just smiled more, talked less, didn’t overthink things, he wouldn’t get so angry. Wouldn’t lose his patience. Wouldn’t look at you like you were a burden instead of a person.
You rinsed the plate off, stacked it carefully with the others, and started on the next.
You told yourself it was your fault.
Because if it wasn’t, then what was left?
Just the ugly truth you weren’t ready to face.
As soon as the door closed behind his parents, the apartment fell into silence again. That heavy, thick kind that made it hard to breathe. You were still in the kitchen, wiping down the counter for the third time, just to have something to do with your hands. Something to make you feel useful.
Heeseung walked in slowly, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes dragging over you in that way that always made your stomach turn.
“You made it weird,” he said flatly. “You couldn’t just act normal for a few hours?”
You swallowed hard. “I didn’t do anything…”
He scoffed. “Yeah? Then why did my dad pull me aside asking if you were okay? Saying you looked sick? That you’ve lost too much weight?”
You didn’t answer.
He stepped closer. “Are you trying to make me look bad? Is that it?”
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“Look at you,” he sneered, eyes scanning you like you were something broken. “You’re barely eating anymore. Your face is sunken in. You think that’s attractive? You think people don’t notice?”
You shrank back instinctively, pressing your back to the counter, but he was already moving toward the fridge.
“Sit,” he ordered, yanking it open and grabbing whatever he could reach—leftovers, a carton of juice, snacks you’d forgotten were even in there. “Sit down and eat something. Right now.”
You hesitated.
He dropped the food on the table with a loud clatter. “I said sit.”
So you did.
And he sat across from you, arms folded, eyes locked on your every move like you were some kind of test he was determined to pass. Or punish.
You took a bite. Then another. Chewed slowly. Swallowed. You weren’t even hungry—but he didn’t care. He just kept watching, tapping his fingers against the table, jaw clenched.
“Keep going,” he said coldly. “All of it.”
By the time you were done, your stomach was cramping. You felt sick, too full, like your body was rejecting every bite. But you didn’t complain. You couldn’t.
Because deep down, you knew it wasn’t about food. It was never about food.
It was about control. About proving that he still had it. That you were still his to shape, to break, to rebuild however he pleased.
It was almost midnight when you heard the front door slam.
You froze on the couch, phone still in your hand, heart already picking up speed. You knew that sound—the stagger in his steps, the keys dropping to the floor, the heavy exhale as he stumbled into the apartment reeking of alcohol and bad decisions.
Heeseung was drunk. Again.
You stood up slowly, cautiously, peeking down the hallway just as he turned the corner, bottle still in his hand, eyes hazy but sharp. Mean.
“There you are,” he slurred, a twisted smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sitting around like some bored little housewife. You waiting up for me or just keeping the couch warm?”
“I was just watching something,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re late.”
He scoffed. “Oh, so now you care where I go?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but you meant it,” he snapped, taking a few stumbling steps forward. “You always mean something with your quiet little attitude. Always so fucking passive. So fake.”
Your mouth opened to defend yourself, but he didn’t give you the chance.
In one sudden motion, he hurled the half-empty bottle across the room.
It hit the wall two inches beside your head—shattering, spraying glass and cheap liquor across the floor. You jumped back with a scream, hands flying up to cover your face, body instinctively curling in on itself.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Heeseung just stood there, breathing hard, staring at the wall like it was your fault it didn’t hit you.
You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.
Your hands were shaking, your chest tight with fear that you were trying so hard to hide. You looked at the broken glass, then at him.
He didn’t apologize.
Didn’t move toward you.
Didn’t even look sorry.
He just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, muttered something you couldn’t catch, and walked past you like nothing had happened.
Like nearly hurting you was a passing inconvenience.
Like you were a ghost in your own home.
You stood frozen for a moment, the sound of the bottle shattering still ringing in your ears. It wasn’t until you shifted your weight—just slightly—that you felt it. A sharp sting, sudden and deep, biting into your calf like fire.
You gasped, instinctively lifting your leg, only to see a thin sliver of red trailing down your skin, glinting glass buried in the cut. Tiny shards were scattered across the floor, catching the light in jagged reflections. One of them had found its way to you.
You reached down with trembling hands, trying to brush the smaller pieces away, but the pain pulsed harder with every touch. Blood smeared under your fingers as you hissed through your teeth, blinking fast to keep from crying.
Heeseung didn’t turn around.
Didn’t look back.
You could hear him in the bathroom, the sink running, cabinet doors slamming. Like it hadn’t happened. Like he didn’t care. Like the sight of you bleeding was beneath his attention.
You limped toward the hallway, teeth clenched, heart hammering. The cut wasn’t deep, but it hurt. And worse—it reminded you of how close it had been. Of how easily it could’ve hit your face, your head. Of how this wasn’t the first time something had been thrown at you… just the first time it actually landed.
And still, you said nothing.
Because somehow, it always turned into your fault. Somehow, you always ended up cleaning the mess—both the blood on your skin and the damage he left behind.
Alone.
The next morning, sunlight crept through the thin curtains, soft and quiet—too gentle for a space that had been filled with so much violence just hours before.
You were still curled on the edge of the bed, facing the wall, your leg wrapped in gauze from the sparse first-aid kit in the bathroom. Sleep had come in waves—light, broken, haunted by the sound of glass shattering and the sharp pain that came with it.
Heeseung stirred beside you.
You felt it before you heard anything—his weight shifting on the mattress, the faint rustle of sheets. Then a long exhale. Then stillness.
A moment passed before his hand reached for your shoulder.
“Hey,” he said softly, voice hoarse from the night before. “…You awake?”
You didn’t answer.
He moved closer, his arm brushing yours, his touch hesitant—careful, like he knew he’d gone too far.
“About last night,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was drunk. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You stared at the wall.
“I—I didn’t know the bottle was gonna…” He trailed off, jaw tight. “I didn’t mean to throw it at you.”
You finally turned your head, slowly, meeting his eyes for the first time since it happened.
“There’s glass in my leg,” you said flatly.
His face crumpled, like guilt only just started to reach him. “Fuck,” he breathed, reaching for your hand, but you pulled away.
“I cleaned it myself,” you added.
“I know,” he whispered. “I saw. I was—I was going to help, I just—” He cut himself off again, frustration flashing briefly in his eyes before guilt took its place.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, softer now. “I was drunk, but that’s not an excuse. I know that.”
You didn’t respond. Because you’d heard this version of him before—the remorseful morning-after version. The soft voice, the reaching hands, the guilt that never lasted longer than it took for you to forgive him.
He leaned in closer. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll take care of you today, yeah? You don’t have to do anything. Just rest.”
You turned back toward the wall, slowly.
And said nothing.
He stayed quiet for a while after that, like he was waiting—for you to nod, to speak, to accept the apology and let him slip back into the rhythm he always did. Sweet words, gentle hands, just enough softness to make you question everything that had happened before.
But you didn’t give him that this time.
You lay there, unmoving, eyes fixed on a crack in the wall you hadn’t noticed until now. Small. Thin. But deep.
Eventually, he got up, shuffling out of the room. You heard the sound of cabinets opening in the kitchen. The soft clink of a glass, the fridge door. The hum of the kettle heating up water.
He was trying.
Or pretending.
You finally pulled yourself out of bed an hour later, body stiff and sore. The gauze on your leg was already stained a dull pink. You winced as you moved, but you didn’t say a word when you found him in the kitchen, setting out a mug of tea and a plate of toast like he could erase what happened with breakfast.
He glanced up at you, eyes searching your face. “I made your favorite.”
You nodded once, mechanically. “Thanks.”
You sat. Ate a bite out of obligation, not hunger.
Heeseung watched you the whole time, barely touching his own food.
“I’m gonna fix this,” he said suddenly, like he meant it. “I don’t want to be that guy. I just—things get too much sometimes, and I don’t know how to deal with it. But I’m gonna change. I swear.”
You nodded again. Just a little.
Because you wanted to believe him.
But deep down, something in you had already gone quiet. Detached.
Like that crack in the wall.
Small, at first.
But deep That night, the apartment was dim and still
That night, he left the bedroom door open.
That alone felt like something. After a week of making you sleep on the couch—no matter how cold it got, no matter how much your leg ached, no matter how small your voice had gotten when you asked if you could come back in—he finally said, “You can sleep here tonight.”
Not I want you to.
Not I miss you.
Just you can.
You stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, unsure. You could still hear the echo of his voice from nights before—Go. Sleep on the couch. I don’t wanna see your face. The way he’d slammed the door in your face, the way he didn’t even flinch when he heard you crying through the walls.
But your body was tired. And your leg still throbbed.
So you climbed in slowly, careful not to take up too much space, careful not to brush against him. You lay on your side, back to him, the sheets feeling unfamiliar even though this had once been your place, too.
After a few minutes, the bed shifted. You felt his arm slide across your waist, tentative, like he was checking how far you’d let him go.
“You’re warm,” he mumbled against your neck. Like it was a compliment. Like it meant something.
You didn’t answer. Just closed your eyes and tried not to tense up under his touch.
He pulled you closer.
And for a second, it felt like you were his again.
But not because he loved you.
Because he let you.
You woke up before him.
The room was dim, soft grey light filtering through the curtains. His arm was still draped over your waist, heavy, like a reminder. Your body ached—not just from the weight of him beside you, but from everything you’d been carrying alone.
You lay still, afraid to move. Not because he was asleep, but because you didn’t know which version of him you’d wake.
The one who whispered apologies and kissed your shoulder like he couldn’t bear to lose you?
Or the one who threw bottles and made you clean up your own blood?
You shifted gently, trying to slide out from under his arm. But the moment you moved, he stirred.
“Where you going?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
“I was just gonna go wash up,” you whispered.
He tightened his grip for a second, pulling you back in without opening his eyes. “Stay.”
You hesitated. “I’ll come back.”
He sighed, lips brushing your neck. “You always say that.”
And then he let go.
In the bathroom, you looked at yourself in the mirror. There was a faint bruise on your collarbone—fingers, probably. Your leg was stiff, the cut angry and red, the gauze already needing to be changed. You looked pale. Smaller. Like someone you barely recognized.
But you cleaned yourself up anyway.
Made breakfast.
Waited.
Heeseung came out an hour later, yawning, shirtless, acting like everything was fine. Like last night hadn’t happened. Like the week on the couch didn’t matter.
He kissed your temple.
“You sleep okay?”
You nodded.
Because it was easier.
Because fighting never fixed anything.
Because even when he hurt you, you still wanted to be something he didn’t throw away.
That day passed slowly, thick with silence that neither of you tried to fill.
Heeseung left for a few hours—said he was meeting a friend, but didn’t say who, and you didn’t ask. You just nodded, gave a faint smile, and watched the door close behind him. The apartment felt heavier once he was gone, like his absence still left pressure in the air.
You wandered from room to room. Picked things up just to put them back down. Cleaned the same spot on the counter twice. Folded clothes you’d already folded.
When he finally came home, it was almost dark.
He didn’t say much—just tossed his jacket on the couch and walked past you, muttering a low “hey” that didn’t land like a greeting. You stayed in the kitchen, pretending to scroll through your phone.
Later, when the lights were off and the sheets pulled up, he reached for you again. Just like the night before.
Familiar hands on your hips, pulling you close. His breath warm against your neck.
“Missed this,” he murmured, voice low, like it meant something. Like it erased the couch. The glass. The blood.
You didn’t say anything.
Because saying no never worked.
Because saying yes didn’t feel right either.
So you just stayed still and let him take what he needed, waiting for it to be over. Waiting for morning. Waiting for a version of him that might not come back.
And afterward, when he fell asleep with his arm around your waist like nothing was broken, you stared at the ceiling.
Eyes wide open.
Still waiting.
Heeseung came home later than usual.
The door clicked open with that familiar rattle of his keys, and you glanced up from where you were sitting on the couch, legs pulled to your chest. You didn’t say anything—just watched him toe off his shoes, shrug off his jacket, and drop his bag on the floor like always.
He looked tired. Or maybe just bored.
“Hey,” he said, not really looking at you. “You eat?”
You shook your head. “Not yet.”
He walked past you, heading straight to the kitchen. You heard the fridge open, then close. A few seconds passed before his voice floated back toward you.
“There’s nothing made?”
You hesitated. “I was waiting for you.”
He sighed loud enough for you to hear it. “You were home all day and couldn’t throw something together?”
Your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. “I wasn’t feeling great.”
He walked back in, his expression unreadable. Not angry. Just blank.
“You’re always tired lately,” he said. “Always saying you don’t feel good, but you still expect me to come home and cook for both of us?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He raised a brow. “Well, you sure didn’t offer.”
You pushed the blanket aside and stood, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ll make something now.”
He didn’t say thank you. Just dropped onto the couch where you’d been sitting and turned on the TV, like that was the end of it.
In the kitchen, you moved on autopilot—pulling out rice, eggs, vegetables. Something fast. Something he liked. The ache in your leg from the healing cut flared up every time you shifted your weight, but you didn’t let it slow you down.
Not tonight.
You stirred quietly, keeping an ear on the volume of the TV, on the way he shifted behind you. Part of you still flinched at loud sounds. At movement. But tonight was calm. Tense, but calm.
And that was good enough.
Because sometimes, good enough meant surviving.
The sound of the pan sizzling filled the small kitchen, and you focused on it—on the rhythm of chopping, the smell of garlic in the air, the steady motion of stirring. It was something to do. Something simple. Something safe.
Heeseung didn’t say much from the living room. Occasionally he’d laugh at something on the TV or scroll through his phone, but otherwise, it was quiet. You weren’t sure if that was better or worse.
By the time you plated the food, your hands were a little shaky, not from effort, but from the weight of everything else—his mood, the tension, the lingering bruise just below your collarbone that you’d had to cover up earlier.
You set the plate in front of him on the coffee table. He didn’t look up.
“Thanks,” he muttered, already reaching for a fork.
You made your own plate and sat at the far end of the couch, knees drawn up, eyes flicking between the food and the screen. You weren’t hungry. Not really. But eating made it feel more normal.
Halfway through, he looked over at you.
“Why’d you put so much salt in this?” he asked.
Your stomach dropped a little. “I didn’t mean to. Sorry.”
He took another bite, chewing slowly, and shrugged. “Whatever. It’s fine.”
You nodded, forcing yourself to eat more.
A few minutes passed in silence before he spoke again.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Maybe we should get out of the apartment this weekend. Do something.”
You blinked. That was… unexpected.
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Just go somewhere. You’ve been off lately. Kinda checked out.”
Your mouth felt dry. “I’ve just been tired.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe you need to shake it off. You don’t talk to me anymore, you barely look at me unless I touch you—” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not… mad at me or something, are you?”
You looked down at your plate. “No.”
“Good,” he said, nodding like that settled it. “’Cause I hate when you do that silent treatment shit. It’s manipulative.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded again.
You wanted to say I’m not trying to be silent. I’m just scared to say the wrong thing.
But instead, you just finished eating. Quietly.
Because the last thing you wanted was to give him a reason to be anything but calm tonight.
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want longer fanfics like these? Check out @shy9-29
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theworldsgreatestgambler · 3 months ago
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READ BEFORE ASK/RP!
Heya! This blog is based on the Roblox game Forsaken, specifically the character Chance.
OPEN YOUR EYES 🪽 EVENT GUIDE
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WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW
This blog is run by a minor, no NSFW.
i also run @v01dst4rs & @fortunesofthedamned
This is a roleplay-type blog. Story driven. The AU im currently roleplaying is very centered on Chance specifically
I may respond in drawn pictures, it depends how im feeling!
I am not affiliated with the Forsaken team!!
If you ever want to chat my DMS are open! Im always happy to talk! I have a disc as well!
Q: Will there be more characters? A: maybe! In the far future perhaps....
Q: Can we use our own characters/ocs to ask? A: Absolutely!! Anyone can send an ask.
Q: Where can we get caught up with the story? A: I'll keep all the important events under the cut!
Q: can we rp characters from different media? A: yup! Any media relating to roblox!
WHAT YOU CAN & CAN'T DO
Absolutely NO NSFW // I dont do ships, sorry!!
Asking anonymously, in character, in rp, just a regular ask is all a-ok!! // feel free to suggest your headcannons or rp characters from other media as long as its roblox based!
Roleplaying lore // ABSOLUTELY GO FOR IT ask blog lore rps are the best
About Chance, my AU, lore, and tags under cut
ABOUT CHANCE
Pronouns : he/they
Personality: confident, positive, a bit cocky at times
Extra : he has a bunny named Spade!
Actions will look like this - [*He lifts his head, taken off guard by the sudden entry*]
Speech will look like this - "Well, hello! How can I help ya? That's quite the entrance."
ABOUT MY AU
This AU is centered on specifically Chance, he doesn't want to believe the reality of things, and often tends to try to hide from it in his imagination.
They pretend. Thats how they're so good at keeping a poker face.
The Spectre despises his ability to keep calm, and wants to break him down slowly.
Whats happening now? : #Hey! Hey Chance! / #act 1 / #the pawn
PERSONAL HEADCANNONS
Chance's glasses move with his emotions, I cant explain why I just feel like that gives him a more cartoony feel
Dyed hair tips, just feels like him.
Piercings!
Chance would rather die than let someone else get hurt in his place.
His luck has very comedic timing.
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WHAT WE'VE DONE
ONGOING: EVENT ACT 1, #the pawn / #hey! hey chance! / #act 1
After Chance woke up, the spectre began to speak to him.. Ettore -> @/m4fios0 stopped by to check on him, and they informed him about the nagging voice as it only grew louder. . .
Ettore turned to leave, but before he did he heard it too. The two camped out in Chance's cabin. but by then... It was too late. Stalemate
It called to them, Chance followed its voice, entranced. It lead him into the woods and took him as its prey. What happened to you Chance?
INT TAGS
#Chance and John Doe / luckycode - The king of corruption interacts?? Wow im honored
#pokerpizza - Elliot interacts! His best friend :)
#playtime with sarah - his daughter interacts!
#fleshcoin - fleshcousin interacts!
#pokerdebt - Mafioso interacts!
OTHER
#Pokerface - ooc
#Lucky7 - in character
#Fullhouse - lore
#Badbeat - noncannon/ignore this (doesn't apply to actual lore)
#Jackpot - cannon (applies to actual lore)
chances opinions!
John Doe: He desperately wants to learn more about him.
Builderman: Cautious, but looks up to him
Elliot : His best friend, he gets very defensive about him.
Apollo : his child
Mafioso : His closest friend.
Ty for the dividers - ♠,♦
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cedric-k-rossignol · 4 months ago
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Hi! I'm glad to see someone who is obsessed with claudia × ut too because not many people are fond of this ship, its really difficult to ship this two tho cause the only thing we have of claudia is a picture of her back lol and I doubt that we will get any info on her any soon) but yeah I reallyyyy enjoy your theories and how detailed they are. I don't even care if they turn out to be canon or not , they are always enjoyable to read and think about❣️if u dont mind can I ask you to tell me some of your favourite headcanons for undy and claudia? ( spicy ones specially 🥴)
Hi! You're so sweet anon, you made my day when you sent this ask... Like a month ago 💀
I'm so glad you're enjoying my theories even if they don't turn out to be true! I really enjoy researching and writing them and I'm so happy that other people are interested in them. The only one I will truly mind being debunked is the Rossignol name theory...I really hard-committed on that one and if it turns out not to be true my blog will be a big ol' perpetual walk of shame.
Some headcanons about Claudia and Undertaker and Claudiataker;
Undertaker makes and gives her the Phantomhive family ring sometime after she gives birth to Vincent.
Undertaker advises her, but he never tries to tell her what to do. He's her biggest supporter - as long as she lets him tag along to protect her, he'll go along with pretty much anything. Claudia was initially pretty defensive about her decisions, but once she realized he was not interested in controlling her, she became much more receptive to his advice.
Claudia coaxes him into bathing when he's going through a depressive episode, and brushes out his hair afterwards.
Claudia has a borzoi she named Ophelia. The dog is unnerved by Undertaker at first, but they eventually become friends (which is more than can be said for Undertaker and Tanaka)
Cloudia, the fearsome watchdog, lover to death himself, is a tiny bit afraid of the dark. She always sleeps with a candle lit on her beside table and never quite admits as to why. Undertaker finds this hopelessly charming and never teases her for it.
I didn't really know how to write out my 🌶️ headcanons without coming off completely and totally unhinged (or is it too late for that?) so instead have a little post-spicy slice of some of my claudiataker writing;
They are both panting when he sits back on his knees, a stunned look of amazement on her face. Of bliss, and the knowledge that he could give her that fills him not with pride, but with peace. 
"God," she mutters, and he cannot help but grin. That she is not self-conscious in the aftermath, not trying to cover herself or even close her legs... It is more than he hoped for. He should have learned to paint, so that he might look upon her forever. "Is that- is that what it's like for men, when they...?" 
"More or less." 
"...No wonder they seem to enjoy it so." 
The comment, said so matter-of-factly, makes him laugh. And then they're both laughing, Cloudia's giggling joining his own as he lays down beside her, pulling her into his embrace. They lay there, one fit of laughter triggering another. The wonder and joy of having made love, of knowing that earthly pleasure, of being alive. 
The joy of life. That is what he has found in her; that is what Cloudia has given him, what she has pressed into his hands and into his being without a word of warning or an ounce of regret. How deliciously cruel for her to come to him with such a gift now, centuries after he might have been able to accept it with the graciousness she deserves. 
"It's not exactly proper, is it?" She says, resting her head on his chest, still giggling. Not sounding in the least bit abashed.  "Putting your mouth there." 
He tucks her hair out of her face, smoothing the blue where it spills out onto his shirt. "Humankind has been doing it for as long as they've walked the earth." He grins into the crown of her head, scratching his fingers along her neck. "There's no harm in it, My Lady." 
"Quite the opposite, I should say." 
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fairykazu · 1 year ago
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my doors always open ft. dan heng⋆˚☆˖° cw: pinning, best friends
masterlist
although it is late at night, dan heng is aware of your antics of accidentally scaring yourself at night, scrolling through your apps at night, and then crawling into someone else’s room out of shame.
usually that someone is him.
it’s around the time you scrolled on tiktok for way too long, you knocked on his door like a stray cat begging for food, “dan heng?”
dan heng was already up, waiting for you, or studying the archives and updating the contents. “come in, name. you know that my door is always open for you.”
the door slid open as you trudged in with your blankets dragging on the floor. he adjusted his glasses as he asked, “what kind of video were you watching this time?”
flopping onto his bed, dragging your blankets with you. “some guy owning haunted dolls and he was speaking to them.” you said with a shiver. dan heng hid a laugh,
“fun?” he noticed from the corner of his eye, your face changed before replying,
“terrifying! i dont understand how stelle was able to handle them.”
dan heng rolled his eyes, rolling back his chair towards the bed, “im pretty sure they’re different creatures. one being a mythical being and the other possibly faked.”
you rolled yourself into a ball, “still scary either way!”
“okay, sure.” dan heng rolled back to his desk, placing his red glasses down. “show me the video. now i want to see how scary this being is.”
“but i dont wanna see it again!” despite your words, you opened the app again, favorited in the collection called “show dan heng.” though he wouldnt able ever see the name of the collection, he does feel special that you exclusively show him.
he walked to his bed, tucking you in with your and his own blankets just before sitting on the edge. the video was someone adopting a shipped order of dolls from one of his fans, saying that the fan didnt want the dolls anymore.
“the dolls seem not haunted but spirits are tethered to the doll.”
“so?”
“it was not their choice staying there. does that make you feel better?”
“not really, now i feel bad for them. also a little still scared of the dolls they live in.”
“that’s fair. now do you want to watch your favorite sitcom to get over it or sleep right now?”
“…hmmm.” you hummed, deciding a choice even though the both of you went through this routine before. “i choose-”
“let’s sleep. we can watch your favorite show tomorrow.”
“promise? you said that yesterday and we didnt get to watch it today.”
“yes, i promise.” dan heng said with a quiet snort. you nodded just before you drifted off to sleep.
bonus:
dan heng sneaked onto your phone just to watch the videos himself, laughing a little out of giddiness from seeing that he had a collection just for him.
clicking through the videos, he watched about ten of them, mumbling and taking notes.
“huh, seems kind of scary. i need someone to make a debunking channel.”
in the morning, dan heng kept his promise to watch the show with you as long you see this new and viral account on tiktok, it being a debunking story for videos you just saw.
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aviator-at-heart · 1 month ago
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London w/ the daggers, day 1
so you might know that I love the daggers and their ✨chaotic shenanigans ✨
heres a fic idea! though im not sure if it qualifies as a fic or a bunch of headcanons or a fic idea
~
so the daggers are on leave (yet again) because the navy cant deal with their shit, also since Maverick kept pissing off admirals he somehow (thanks to his husband Tom) became an admiral himself
-DAGGER GROUP CHAT-
Hangman: hi guys
Coyote: hey
Phoenix: im so bored
Bob: same
Hangman: we need to do something on this leave, ideas?????
Iceman: anyone up for a trip?
Everyone: yes
Bob: to where
Maverick: yesterday me and ice got drunk and we bought 14 plane tickets to London
Iceman: yea what Mav said
Rooster: this isnt gonna go well
Iceman: everyone be at the airport tomorrow at 9 pm ok
Everyone: ok
so they go to London!
everyone preps for the trip while on a facetime call (everyone keeps asking Bob, the only one thats been to London, what to bring)
also everyone asked Hangman to pick them up and bring them to the airport so he reluctantly did (bad idea because everyone was piled up inside his jeep)
he has a membership to a place where you can leave a car when you travel (The Parking Spot ig) and they all unload their baggage from Hangman's car
then they get into one of those shuttle buses and gossip mindlessly
when they get inside the airport Ice and Mav are waiting there (the daggers are 30 minutes late)
Iceman: good thing I told you guys to come an hour early
they check bags in and go through security
Iceman was stopped in security because he had "something mysterious" in his bag
all the daggers side-eye the workers who stopped him and Mav keeps trying to throw hands
Mav: stop patting him down hes mine *they go into his bags* NO THAT STUFF IS HIS-
Rooster: mav stop everyones staring at you and youll be stopped too
*they search through a compartment in Ice's bag that has photos of memories*
Rooster: HEY HE HAS NOTHING TO HIDE STOP LOOKING THERE
Hangman: both of you guys, chill *he grabs both their shoulders*
Iceman was obviously chill as ice (pun intended) during this
Iceman: *sighs and takes out his COMPACFLT navy badge* may I go now
TSA worker: sorry sir, not yet
the daggers side eye more intensely
another TSA worker: sorry sir, you may go. *gesturing to the TSA worker who told Ice he couldn't leave* he's just new
Iceman: its okay *grabs stuff and goes to the daggers who are cheering and chanting "CONNOR" <- the name of the worker who told Ice he could go *
thing is, protocol wouldnt have let Ice go but "CONNOR" wanted to make a good impression
they go and wait for the plane, all the daggers play a game of uno on the floor, Bob wins, Fanboy's the one with the entire deck as his cards, Hangman was second but everyone kept fighting with him because he made up a rule
they board the plane, everyone was fighting over what seat to be in (only three window seats, five middle, and six aisle seats, two seats are in the exit row)
 ↑ I made an entire diagram for this
anyways, Hangman and Rooster were obviously put to sit together by everyone else (sereshaw ship club iykyk)
the daggers were loud af during the flight
but then it started turning dark, the daggers started to be more quiet
Rooster was quietly chatting with someone when he felt something fall on his shoulder (thanks to me its Hangman) Roosters heart flutters, he lets Hangman sleep on him, totally forgets that his entire squadron is with him and if anyone sees them hes cooked
Bob gets up to go to the restroom and sees Jake and Bradley (Bradley fell asleep too)
↓ they fell asleep like this, Jake being marinette and Bradley being adrien (I used to watch this ok)
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Bob snaps a photo to send to the sereshaw ship club (again, iykyk)
Bradley wakes up first and quickly gets out of the position he was in with Jake (he still thinks no one knows)
when they land everyone gets handed an airtag by Iceman
Hangman, when he gets the airtag: you dont trust us?
rest of the daggers:...
Rooster: no shit he doesnt trust us, Jake. We're on a trip somewhere we've never been before
Bob, being the only one who didnt get an airtag: ive been here!
Rooster: shut up you arent helping me win my argument
Iceman: *ahem* DO NOT TAKE THESE OFF OKAY?
everyone says yes
they go on another shuttle to a hotel
Maverick, as they were checking in: okay guys, we only got seven rooms
*everyone groans*
Maverick: what did you guys expect?? we were drunk
*all the people in the sereshaw group chat started whispering with each other (you know what theyre planning)*
so everyone starts rapidly picking people they wanna share rooms with - Phoenix and Bob, Payback and Fanboy, Harvard and Yale, Fritz and Halo, Iceman and Maverick, Omaha and Coyote (they dont really know each other but theyre doing it for sereshaw)
then Hangman and Rooster have to share a room
they all go up to their rooms and chill before they go out for nightly sightseeing (i cant do timelines ok)
its freezing outside
after they eat they go to shopping places
Iceman goes to buy Maverick a watch secretly
Maverick goes to buy Iceman a watch secretly
Hangman gets cold, Rooster gives him his jacket (more pictures are taken for the sereshaw gc)
Phoenix goes to a jellycat shop with Bob
idk where else everyone goes but they meet each other again
~
day two will come soon
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revalinkweek · 4 months ago
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RevaLink Week FAQ
WHEN DOES IT START?
1st of May is the official beginning of the Revalink Week.
REVALINK?
Revali and Link.
It's not necessarily needed as ship. But I'd really love that^^!
You can, of course, participate without shipping them! Always love to see different dynamics.
WHAT ARTFORMS ARE ALLOWED?
Everything creative! Fanart, Comics, Fanfics, Songs, Crafts, and so on! If you can make it, do it.
(Please do not use AI it's about the process)
WHY ARE THERE SO MANY PROMPTS?
You can choose || between || the prompts. And should you feel overpowered, combine them!
Sometimes, I don't know how to draw the only promt that is given. So I give you the opportunity to pick your favourite.
DO I NEED TO PARTICIPATE EVERY DAY?
No. Of course, it would be cool to have you with us for this whole week, but you are free to do as much as you like and can manage!
DOES IT NEED TO BE LOVEY DOVEY?
No. Every genre is welcome!
WHEN SHOULD I POST MY WORK?
Every prompt has its day! (List)
You are not bound to these days to make your artwork.
But I would like you to post it on their specific day. (Of course I will reblog all the submissions, even when they come a year too late^^)
DOES IT NEED TO BE FINISHED?
Absolutely not!
You don't need a finished masterpiece. Rough ideas are also great. There is nothing to win here, don't be afraid!
We all just want a good and creative time!
CAN I DRAW OTHER CHARACTERS?
You can draw as many characters as you want. As long as you don't forget our name-givers.
ANY DONTS?
I wish I could say everything is allowed.... but
No explicite gore or pornography.
In case for younger audience, let's keep it as "harmless" as possible XD
I leave the interpretation up to you.
HOW TO TAG MY WORK?
Please tag your pieces with at least one version of:
# revalink week 2025/
# revalinkweek2025
And
# revalink week /
# revalinkweek
So I can find them. Thank you!
Any questions unanswered? Just ask me, and I'll update the FAQ.
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indiaalphawhiskey · 3 months ago
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Hey India. Avid larrie and avid overthinker here, so forgive me if this question seems silly. do you think we (larries) are part of the reason for all of the stunts throughout the years? I'm not saying that stunts wouldn't happen if not for us, but I can't shake the feeling that us being overly-involved (timelines, sightings, "the patterns are patterning," not to mention the aggressive larries on twitter) is also a factor. I dont know. It's just got me feeling some kinda way lately.
Hey there. Apparently you’ve caught me on the first day in three years I can’t seem to ignore my inbox, so I hope you enjoy. 😅
For Larry, particularly, stunting has always served a dual purpose: 1) for PR, and 2) to closet them.
While I do think, in the heyday of Larry, the primary reason for stunting was to closet them (and therefore, you could argue, throw off larries), I want to remind you of fandom history: Louis and Harry actively encouraged larries to participate in fandom through the bears, tweets, thinly veiled interview responses, coded clothing, etc etc. In fact, most of the veteran larries came into the fandom largely (if not entirely, actually) to support two closeted boys who were, very clearly, asking to be fought for. Never forget that Larry/larries were a two-way street and that’s actually what I credit for this fandom lasting so long: we had a bigger purpose than just ‘shipping’. We were fighting.
In recent years though, I think that symbiotic relationship has shifted, due to Harry and Louis’ decision to protect their personal lives in service to their longevity, both as a couple and as artists, and with that, I think there was a shift in the primary purpose of stunting into PR.
I know it’s often hard to see this if you’re not entrenched in any fandom aside from ours, but all celebrities stunt (dare anyone forget the daily pap walks between Ana De Armas and Ben Affleck during COVID). It’s the easiest way to keep up intrigue in Hollywood, it gives the tabloids something to write about, it keeps celebrities’ names top of mind whilst they work on projects they can’t announce or whilst they work on landing/developing other projects.
For Harry, specifically, his romantic life has always been his biggest selling point (I’ve spoken about why that is more extensively here). And, as much as his real fans hate that, it’s part of the reality I’ve come to accept.
So, the long and the short of it is: no, I don’t think it’s down to larries, especially not presently. I think they would have stunted over the years regardless, because first of all, the closet was glass for many years, with or without larries, and second, it’s a tried-and-true marketing tool in Hollywood. (Perrie and Zayn, for example. And for a brief while in the beginning, Gigi and Zayn, too, and neither of those were for closeting reasons.)
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azaleath3cursewhisperer · 5 months ago
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Intro and rules or smth
Its been forever since ive had an rp related anything so im a lil rusty, pls be nice and gimme some grace abt it 😔 i gotta relearn.
I, the creator of this blog, am 20.
I created this blog bc i got bored and wanted to engage in the arcane rp community cuz it looks like fun 🤩 and everyones interactions seem nice too.
Since i dont really think i could get the personality of any arcane character right (the closest i might get right is Jinx), i will be interacting as a random oc i have (hope thats okay).
In character i will try to make it a point to highlight everything in purple (even when interacting with others anonymously) just like this. When not anonymous i will be sure to sign off with the oc's name
Out of character i will leave things blank and normal perhaps even do ()s just to be sure cuz i might forget the colour when in character.
Update abt pfp: I did create it using Custom Cast. I didnt feel like putting my glasses on and didnt feel like deeling with another AI art pfp bc of my irrisponsible habits.
My main blog is @thesecretestofsimps so you might have had an ask from me there 😅 i have a tendency to forget to put on anonymous bc my brain defaults anonymous on for some reason. Im sorry if thats the case. If you ever get an ask from me there or have had an ask from me there just know i forgot to switch back here probably (or it was before this blog was created)
About the OC
His name is Azalea (after the azalea flowers his mother loved before she died to illness).
Hes 19 (i can and will rp him at different ages but baseline age hes 19)
He is an orphaned Zaunite
His mother died to illness when he was 7 while his father comitted suicide about a years later due to losing his wife. Azalea's father blamed him for his mothers death, calling him a malison (synonymous with execrate) due to Azalea pointing out his mother's unlikeliness of surpassing her illness and living. His father saw that as Azalea cursing or execrating his own mother, and couldnt handle the fact it was an innocent observation from Azalea. That wasnt the only time Azalea has witnessed a situation in which his words have so called "directly impacted" an outcome, leading him to believe he is a malison like his father told him before his death. He uses Malison like a nickname now, as a twisted way of honouring his late father and apologizing to his late mother for what he believes to be his fault in her untimely death.
Azalea is a tad chaotic, pretty mischievous, loves to "mess around" (if you can count trying to make people go insane whether literally or figuratively "messing around"), likes to be annoying if it gains attention on him (good or bad is irrelevant.), prefers helping behind the scenes rather than directly helping even if directly involving himself would benefit everyone, he DOES age regress to younger ages in his teen years and to age 7 (due to that being the year he lost his mother)
Dont interacts
Homophobes/transphobes/Bigots in general. I dont tolerate that shit.
Pedos we dont do that pedo bullshit here.
If you ship JinxVi or whatever Vi and Jinx's ship name is or SilJinx or whatevrr Silco and Jinx's ship name is. Leave we dont tolerate that here. Thats fucking gross.
People who have a problem with MelVik or MelJayVik or JayVik. Please. See your whiney selves out. Nobody has energy for your bullshit other than you.
People who sexualize age regressers or the dd/lg or whatever it is community. You are not welcome here, please see yourselves out. This is a safe space for SFW age regressers, your community makes it an unsafe space.
Minors you tread a VERY thin line. Watch yourself carefully please. If you are a minor you know how to behave.
Im probably forgetting alot and theres prolly alotta mistakes but im not wearing my glasses and my eyes are sore. ill just fix this later.
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at1ias · 4 months ago
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hi moot. you are an epic the musical fan. I would like to learn more about epic. as i am late to the fandom, may I humbly request an infodump /nf. thank you and goodnight.
(ps if you do post the infodump it will likely be read tomorrow as I am going to sleep soon. apologies and thank you.)
-@revolvinghell
uhm. oh. oh wow. why are you. asking me this. lmao. I AM NEW HERE. So like uh so like recap thats extremely oc bc im tired and unstable and I could prob do better when im not this bad rn so ahahahaha take my ramblings ill add more later
Odysseus. That guy. He's a funky dude /silly Ohyeah warning im extremely tired and unstable rn so like uh yeahhhh so so yeah funky dude it's the trojan war ! hells yeah ! >_< so like funky dude misses his family {based, me every day w/ my online fam} and so once hors thing is done and he has to throw a baby off a thing a thing a thing cause zeus said so oh yeah they go on ship now
do you guys like boat
boat boat
but yeah the boat so they like sail and then then oh uh uh what his name again oh yeah uhm uh eurylochus that guy yeah he's like hey captain we dont have food and funky dudes like oh shoot huh and funky pancake version {polites} is like oh wowzers island we should like go there and stuffs and odys like okay sure so they go and pancake dudes like we should be polite{s} and have open arms and stuffs and funky dudes like okay sure I guess and uhm uhm what's his name I need a nickname for him uhuhuh uh uhhhhhhhhhhh im dubbing him mootiny :p but yeah mootiny {eurylochus} is like uh r we sure thats smart and funky guy is like oh yeah sure and if we die send the crew to avenge us and then pancake and funky leave onto do island pancake slaps funky on the back and is like relax mate and funkys like. oh ok. and so uh uh they meet da lotus eaters they eat the lotus which is basically drugs so im calling this drug no. 1 okay now pancakes like. ...so. do you have anything we can eat besides the weed? and weed addicts go o yeah there's a cave have fun and pancake go :) and then Athena appears slaps him around a bit and does flashback so funky and pancake go 2 da cave and shep sheep shep yeye so they murder shep and then then uh uh uh uhmmmm oh yeah then cyclops get mad and then funky gives him wine and calls himself nobody and then cyclops smashes pancake no no not in that way stfu voice in my head no. 1 with a bat stars above ok so uh yeah and then the cyclops gets high they blind him funky is sad because pancake got pancaked and Is no longer :) and now x_x also Athena goes ok yeah no longer helping you funky ur too soft now and funkys like >:| okay thats the troy and cyclops sagas done ocean saga I dont remember this one much all I remember is bad weather than they go to Aeolus who funky misgenders lol and uh uh uh they get wind bag they r not to open and then funky gets sleep deprived keeping it closed he passes out and uh mootiny opens it and storm and stuff then posiedons aka water cheese is now there and he's like mate you blinded my son {cyclops} that aint chill does a musical number then funky uses the rest of da wind to blow away and thats that circe saga my beloved so like funky washes up on Circes island and mootiny s like hey captain gotta tell ya something and funkys like not now im monologuing o like. scout. or whatever. and he's like ok and takes the crew. so he comes back and he's like holy shit captain we have a problem and funks like what and he's like so you know how we've dealt with gods and monsters and shit and funkys like yeah why and he's like new enemy encountered: woman. and funkys like what and then mootiny , he's like there's this woman and she gave the crew drugs that turned em into pigs cause they thought she was hot :( and funkys like. huh. and then mootinys like we should go and funkys like fuck no im saving them and goes off and then funky the great great great or whatever appears {Hermes} and gives funky drugs {Holy Moly} and Oda gets high for the first time and then goes off to fight Circe who ends up trying to fuck him and funkys like hell no I have a wig and Circes like oh ok you wanna go see a prophet? and funkys like uh ok sure why not and she's like ok cool the prophets dead and funky goes oh and then they go to the underworld oh. btw while they're finding the tire prophet {Tiresias} they find uh funkys mom and pancake guy and then funkys like all I hear are fucking screams and then they find the tire man who's super duper cool but I dont have time to explainnn so he then spoils the entirety of the musical and gives funky anixiety and then just shoes him off funky proceeds to have a monologue again and stuff CHECK REBLOGS 4 THE REST !!!
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crguang · 2 months ago
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KAFKAAA. omg kafka content in year of our lord 2025 irhgslse i miss her...i'm never telling her cause she's been gone forever and has the audacity to ask that 😭 her letter too 😭 she's trying so hard to seem cool but she literally opens the letter w "heyyy two years ago today i abandoned you right?" i hate her "i've always been watching" well stop, get ur ass in the main story. "a name you surely remember" she's so smug i hate her. speaking of smug she looks so smug in the animation like?? (where kaf is playing chess) shes so hot i need her. ughh her collar is loose?? the way she's standing? the way she's holding her cup? ik she won that game idcc. also like 90% we've seen her in the past year she's been drinking 😭 the honkai collab, firefly animated short, and both times in this animation. also the first time she's been gloveless? her fingers...im not saying it but...anyway...im really giddy for no reason lmao. kinda wish kaf had interactions w blade sw and firefly fir the rollarcoaster, like they're family? not even blade, just himeko and tb.
the chess frame could be interesting, like a metaphor abt the astral express and the SH idk, idr like any kaf ships except me x kafka bc im lowk a hater, but i do want so see more interactions between them bc hime clearly doesn't like kaf and is pretty nice to firefly despite her being a SH 😭
anw kafka needs an intervention girl has probably been drinking since we saw her last. and i need her back. 😭
and hii how r u doing? hope u r well!
<3
-🌠
YESS YESBYES U NOTICED AS WELL— THE GLOVES!!! i was so taken aback because thats really the only time we’ve ever seen her without gloves omg her violinist fingers….😵‍💫😵‍💫 and yes lol i always say she needs to put the alcohol down because shes always drinking 😭 we need to stage an intervention but she’ll just go back to cigarettes </4
i wish she’d gotten more interactions with the actual SH and it’s something ive complained about elsewhere but it makes no sense for her to be talking to himeko out of everyone like yes she cares about the tb and yes she trusts himeko to take care of them but she already had a line for the tb so would it have been crazy to make her talk to blade or something?… i hate how lately they’ve been making her character revolve only around the tb as if she doesnt have relationships of her own its so annoying.
to me the chess frame was to highlight how the SH and the AE’s destinies are intertwined through the tb who was right in the middle, and that the SH are steps ahead (cue kaf’s smug ass face). i really didnt see this as a kafhime moment but thats all people saw 😵 i dont like kafhime anymore or any other kafka ships so i get you so bad. ive seen her reduced to a love interest too many times so i cant stand those ships now and also shes mine so! well im willing to share lets say shes ours hehe
i think hime’s behavior towards FF stems from FF not being a smug bitch like kafka, she doesnt play mind games and genuinely put herself forward to help save penacony and protect the tb. i see hime as someone who’s very diplomatic and knows how to be polite so to me she was really just polite 😭 but kafka’s personality definitely plays a role in himeko’s dislike of her. she gets what she wants through manipulation and hime really hates that
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lily-alphonse · 1 year ago
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Rarepair Sam/Shane joja dorks
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I love Sam and Shane. If they dont have a ship name Im calling them Sunnyside (for nonenglish speakers, “sunnyside up” is a way to cook eggs without flipping, so its both a reference to eggs and the sun)
Toxic or nontoxic, I love it. Give me the daddy issues angst. Give me the power imbalance. But also could be sweet! Shane learns to love life again by seeing it through Sam’s eyes. If I was actually going to write it I think I might lean more toxic, I love leaning into Shane’s worst traits (wonder why there are no Shane fics on my main account hmm?)
BUT with these asks Ive been making them all sweet and shit so let me try to think of something for that. I’ll make the age gap like 7 years (23/30 maybe?).
(Future Lily here: I got carried away with this one, it's now an official ficlet that I'll be posting to AO3 too lol)
They’ve been friendly enough as coworkers for a while. Sometimes Shane will even humor him by engaging him in conversation at work. He actually doesn’t seem like a bad guy. Funny even, if you like a deadpan sort of humor. But he’s closed off anywhere else. On Friday nights Sam watches over the pool table as Shane gets so drunk he stumbles home.
He worries about him. Despite Shane’s reputation around town as someone to steer clear of, Sam cares about everyone. And he knows he’s one of the few people Shane will talk to at all.
Things seem to get worse with his drinking. He’s calling out at work more. Coming in late.
Sam starts to come out at night to watch and make sure he gets home okay. He’s usually up when the saloon closes anyway. On nights where Shane’s stumbling badly, Sam goes out into the cold and follows him just in case. You never know with alcohol poisoning. He’s seen it at a party once and never wants to see it again.
But he will if he has to.
One bad winter night he’s following Shane as he does, when they round the corner and he just disappears on the other side. Sam looks around, it’s exceptionally dark on this path into the forest. He’s considering turning the flashlight app on on his phone when he suddenly gets pinned against the nearest barren tree.
“Why the fuck are you following me?” Shane hisses, the alcohol thick on his breath.
“Shane what the fuck!” His heart is racing. Has Shane ever been this close to him before?
“No, you what the fuck! Answer me!”
“I’m just worried!”
Shane groans angrily and lets him go. “Perfect! Of course you’re fucking worried. Let me just add you to the Yoba-damned list of people to disappoint then. No- just don’t okay? Do me a favor and don’t.”
Sam doesn’t know what to say. Despite being a big guy, he doesn’t like confrontation. Never has. He just wants people to be happy.
But Shane seems to want an answer. He’s still standing there, huffing cloudy breaths into the night and staring.
So Sam meekly says what he is thinking. “I just want everyone to be happy.”
An explosive sound comes out of Shane that has Sam flinching, certainly the beginning of a rant, but then he stops as suddenly as he started. He deflates. When his voice comes out next it is weak and broken.
“Of course you do, Sam.” He sighs, and it sounds so sad Sam almost wishes he was angry again. “But maybe some people aren’t built to be happy.”
Sam steps closer to him, just wanting to see into his eyes again in the near darkness. “I don’t believe that,” Sam whispers, Shane looking up to meet his eyes again. “I don’t think you really believe that either.”
“No, you’re right… I think I was happy once. But that might be even worse. If I had never been happy this might hurt less.”
Shane’s eyes are glassy. He’s close enough to hug and Sam is tempted to, but resists. “What happened, Shane?”
“So much. Too much,” he gives a sharp, sort of rueful chuckle as he looks away. But his body stays close. Maybe its the cold that keeps him close, but his cheeks are flushed with heat. "You know I'm turning thirty soon?"
Sam bites his lip, tempted to make a joke. When Shane meets his eyes again though, he can't help it. "Actin' real sixteen to be thirty," he mumbles with a smirk.
Shane elbows him but laughs. "Shut the fuck up. Idiot."
"I'm right though."
"So am I."
"Yeah, I can be an idiot and also right."
Shane laughs again and shakes his head. "Yeah."
"So that's what's got you like this then? That you're turning thirty?"
Shane bites at the inside of his cheek. "Just puts things into perspective, I guess."
Sam nods, though he doesn't really understand. He looks up into the night sky as the silence stretches, eyes hopping from star to star. "D'you think I'll get like that when I'm thirty?"
Shane scoffs, so Sam looks down at him again. "Hard to imagine you ever being anything but nauseatingly positive."
Sam's smile widens. "I'll try and take that as a compliment."
"Course you would," he grumbles. After a moment of silence he speaks again. "Sam?"
"Hm."
"I don't actually want you to stop, by the way."
"I know." Sam leans forward and opens his arms, half-expecting to be pushed away. But Shane hugs him. He leans his head on Shane's and murmurs, "I won't."
Send me any Stardew Valley rarepair and I will tell you how I would make them work! (Even non-marriage npcs) If youre lucky you may get a mini fic out of it. Check the list below to see if Ive already answered yours
Rarepair Masterlist
@doggobrie you weren't alone on this one!
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bardan-jusik · 9 months ago
Text
BIO POST
verp | 26 | they/he
my ao3: verpineshatterrifle
repcomm art blog: @verpine-art
mercs/cosplay blog: @trashcanmando
my accounts on other sites just in case
pfp credit
this is a general star wars blog, but Republic Commando (novels)/legends mandos are my primary interest and what basically all my own content is about
ABOUT ME
i go by verp or verpine, my blog name was previously trashcanmando
i don't interact with cloneshipping although i don't mind if other people do, i'm just not going to follow you if there's a lot of it on your blog. nothing personal
not pro-ship and not anti-ship, but a secret third thing: a person with nuanced opinions who can mind their own business
i will not reblog a post i disagree with unless the op is clearly inviting that sort of discussion. i will vagueblog though
FANDOM OPINIONS
top 5 characters: kal skirata, bardan jusik, ordo skirata, mereel skirata, fenn shysa
top ships: ordo/besany, atin/laseema, and manda help me, din/mayfeld and kal/mij
my costuming club modern au
i don't like the writing of bad batch or 2008 clone wars very much sorry, also mando season 3 makes me sad
i'm picky about my fanon, but i don't just hate all fanon. i just prefer it generally consistent with canon
my facecast for kal is daniel craig, and i have an agenda about it
i am an aroace bardan jusik and mereel skirata (hear me out) truther
in general i choose to ignore the ending of order 66 and 501st is a whump fanfic with interesting character and lore information in it but it isnt real xoxo #etainlives
kal skirata is my favorite star wars character and i will block on sight if you try and convince me he's homophobic/misogynistic/emotionally abusive/a fascist. if he's just not your cup of tea that's totally fine, but i'm gonna need you to display some reading comprehension
i like all of the characters, i genuinely like karen traviss' writing, (i also like kilo-5!) i strongly prefer legends over canon in any instance where the two conflict
TAG DIRECTORY
#verp talks : my own chatty posts
#verp chats : reblog chains of me having conversations with people, for easy blocking so you dont see the same thing a dozen times
#verp answers : my ask tag
#verp hc : my personal headcanons
#verp art : reblogs from my art blog
#costuming au : the repcomm characters are in the mercs/501st/rebel legion. my favorite modern au
#mindor liveblog : i read shadows of mindor and talk about it. any other liveblogging of other stuff i do will be tagged in a similar format
#fanon hate, #negative, #vagueblogging, #tcw critical, #tcw hate, #tbb critical, #tbb hate : i don't want to be a downer or ruin anyones fun but sometimes i just have to complain. block these tags if you don't wanna see me gripe. or search them if you wanna be salty with me
#mandalorian culture, and #jedi culture : this encompasses canon, fanon i like and think seems consistent with canon, and some joke posts
#beskargam : any time i think a post is notable for its mandalorian armor design or talking about the armor
#repcomm : the books
#republic commando : the game
#fanart : i dont tag all of it but i try
character tags: i try to use an intuitive version of their name, but some people are tagged with their ranks (#commander cody) some with their full name (#bardan jusik) and some with just their name (#sev). for hyphenated named i just do a space (#obi wan kenobi) yes i know i could just do the hyphen but its too late to change the system now ok?
i don't tag absolutely every post but i try to tag most things
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frostyclove · 4 months ago
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S3 Ep 7 all my notes from / live reaction to the whole episode <3
episode 7. Should be my favorite 
What the fuck ???
OH
Oh my gawd FOLEY 
FOLEY ART I SEE FOLEY (and its literally meta foley too because its used as the sound but its also diegetic sound like. layers to the sound design here and not just in the files. )
Please tell me the episode isnt entirely them
We cannot afford a filler episode with only 10
Where do I know this guy from ?
Oh I feel like im playing a video game I love the directing so much
THE PARALLELS 
The who does what now and why is he named Peter ?????
Lol
Oh this feels like jurassic park. This is so nice. How can directing be nostalgic I love it
I spy a Gwen Cooper type ~~~ I know one when I see one!
Oh the parallels to supernatural (show) keep growing too thats so fun 
PHONES THAT SHOULDNT BE WORKING WORKING THATS ANOTHER ONE
Shauna be like lol
Im enjoying them I just really still dont want this episode to be all themmm
] think we found Javis friend
This does just feel SO video game-y I am obsessed 
Bbq?????? The girls/?????
OOHHHH it IS the girls ISNT IT 
IT IS!!!! AND not a full episode of them!!!! Yayyyyy
Awwwww van 
Lol misty
Lottie girl
Ew
OH MY GOD
Poor mari
Lottie wtf babe
Love that Nats basically in charge again but WTF
Hi Shauna that was a lot how are you doing 
Oh shes not doing well I dont think
Awww Callie honey im sorry your mom sucks and is probably going to murder you
Oh this was a preview 
Poor little nat 
Ohhh directing flowers 
THE HAIR 
Lol video game ass hiding spot 
….. do we know baby ?????
Other tai I love you 
Van I love your reactions
WAIT I DONT EVEN KNOW THE DAUGHTER BUT I SO SHIP HER WITH CALLIE 
Wait if it is not Mellissa shes almost certainly dying and mari with her :((
Not the va mention lol
ROAD TRIP
Shauna you sleuth look at you go
Lol that answers that 
So I at the current do not at all like this all being hinged on people we have never met. HOWEVER; that is also the exact circumstance that all my favorite supernatural characters got introduced. Namely Crowley and rowena and chuck and Gabriel like. So I must let it play out before stressing
I do miss Nat though her part of the dynamic is missed
Lol other tai you sleaze 
She did not promise 
Ohhh intense again 
Tai …
Van adea frienddd
Oh my poor tai and van that … 
Thank god for young tai getting plot love that so love that 
Oh van honey you know its too late for that
Oh the duo ship of this show coming in full force
Awww and misty lost her duo 
Lol
All the fire going out seems symbolic of something but idk yet
And the playable character has made her way through her first boss fight!
She didn’t tell nat
And she stole the hair
Girly why are you becoming a body thief
Oh 
She has not yet passed the first boss
See thats literally all the pushback I need when it comes to Shauna. Im not asking for her to be perfect just with a hold on button 
WHAT 
He better be lying
Lol
WAIT A FUCKING SECOND DID CALLIE KILL LOTTIE I THINK CALLIE KILLED LOTTIE I DONT THINK SHUANA DID IT BUT HTEY WOULS HWVE MWTCHIG DNA
VAN NO BE OKAY
Iuheffbg wilderness again
NOOO MISTY GLASSES
Oh my hello more video game vibes but now literally just until dawn
Travis 
No shes not tai
Awww misty Shauna bonding
Misty confrontation might not be the right choice at this exact moment 
Girl 
Omg did Shauna do it
Oh no
Oh no
Oh this is horrible but this is cool as hell 
What did I tell yall about van and fire
Van knows now idk what that will mean
Charlotte what are you doing 
LEAVE IT IN OMG 
THE PARALLELS TO MY FAVORITE SHOW LIKE THIS ONE CONTINUE OMG KNOWCK OFF WILL I SEE YOU I CANT STAND EITHER OF YOU BUT I KNOW WHATS COMING AND ITLL BE ICONIC
Hi Hannah 
Stress hives lol
Omg Callie I love you
He does nt have all the journals 
Oh shit he does hes just actually chill like that
He doesnt?? I cant tell he either doesnt know or is pretending he doesnt but idk if hes that smarty pants
Shes leaving her knife?
No she bought a new one like her old one
NOOOO the episode is over oh well that was phenomenal fav of the season makes me want to watch my secret show again 9.7/10 <3333
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isuckatwritingsobenice · 6 months ago
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This is me…. Crawling back like the simp I am. 😭.
btw not sure if I said this yet but I of course loved the other toralei fic you wrote. IFBEUFJD I kept getting so annoyed cause you would cut to lyrics at like the most crucial parts of the fic. But I get you wanted to shorten it probably. But god it was soosksksosos good. I love how you write stuff. And it’s so crazy cause you literally said you haven’t written many smut fics or something. Like you write it amazingly you hit their relationship just how I wanted you too.
So here I am feebly asking for her another Toradeen part.
Basically Clawdeen and toralei are dating in this. And they’ve been invited out with friends. Buuuut they’ve made a private kinky bet. Toralei has a lil remote control vibrator inside. And Clawdeens bet is that if she manages to make it through dinner without cumming. She’ll do oral for her (which she loves) and if she doesn’t. Clawdeen gets to fuck her in the restaurant bathroom stall. (With of course the strap on she happens to bring)
So dinner goes on. And of course Toralei can’t manage to get through without cumming. (Clawdeen is nice tho. And distracts the friends when toralei actually reaches her climax. Cause she isn’t about to out her that blatantly. Consent and all. Ya know?)
She excuses them tk the bathroom and BOOM instant sexy times. Degradation! Praise! For the love of god Toraleis secret mommy kink she absolutely refuses to admit she has but definitely has. Clawdeen fucks her in the stall (like. Technically in ‘public’ but covered. Again. Not gonna out her and all) DEFINITELY overstimulation. Toralei always things she can’t go any further but Clawdeen over pushes her past whag she thinks she can handle (it’s consensual tho. Just gotta be clear with that.)
lol bonus if someone actually comes in the bathroom while their in the middle of it and Clawdeen has put her hand over Toraleis mouth so her whimpers are heard. All of course being such a tease and whispering mega dirty things in her ear. Toraleis clit also is hypersensitive too.
AND PLEASE NO SONG FIC! Actually wait. I don’t care if you do that. But please don’t cut off at the best parts 😭. Fisbfjsnidnsif I just like your writing in detail so much.
and thank you again. You seriously are the best smut writer I’ve found on tumblr
A/N: i added the song in the last one cause i love this ship with that song, i’ll probably go back and make a separate post going into more detail, but only if i have the time. but anywho, I LOVE RESTAURANT SETTINGS UGHHH IM HAVING A FIELD DAY ?!?!?! I had this written but I’ve been avoiding my drafts like the plague, but im bored and i have motivation at the moment so here i am finally posting this!! I hope im not too late omg, im so so so sorry this took so long but thank you so much for your request!! I promise to be more attentive to my drafts / asks for the future but enjoy!!!
also thank you sm for the compliment im always so nervous writing smut especially between characters, it’s the only reason i avoid it sometimes 😪🫶
Warnings: Smut under the cut! girl x girl! Characters are aged up 21+, mature smut, consensual, semi-public, use of toys, mentions of a mommy kink, dom-sub roles, toralie is a brat but when is that ever new, clawdeen is nice for a bit, power play? a bunch of kinks that i dont care to look the proper names for, someone walks in, mentions of drinking / alcohol, fingering, p-play, LMK IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!
Songs you can listen too while reading: Strangers by Halsey. I kissed a girl by Katy Perry. Fill the void by the weekend & Lily Rose depp. Coming Down by the weekend.
Navigation!!
Moonlight
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Dinner was supposed to be tame, and anyone sitting across from Toralei and Clawdeen would think that it’d be going well, great even. But of course, nothing was ever really tame with these two. Toralei had been begging Clawdeen to help her build her stamina.
“Please, you know I had that I get so tired so easily. Help me out here.” Toralei begged, to Clawdeen as the two got ready for Frankie birthday dinner. It was at a lunge nearby, one Cleo was quick to get them into. She never struggled with that, and so the girls all knew they’d have a fun night out. It would just be all girls thankfully, so they had nothing to worry about. Well, Clawdeen had nothing to worry about. Toralei… not so much.
“Fine. We can work on it.” Clawdeen said, strapping her heel in place before looking at Toralei, who was currently sliding her dress up her legs. It was short, around mid-thigh length, and was a nice deep red that Clawdeen would definitely enjoy taking off of her later. But that was for later. For now, she’d have her fun. “What panties are you wearing?” Clawdeen asked as Toralei slid the straps of the dress over her shoulders. Clawdeen walked to stand behind her, looking at her through the mirror they both stood in front of.
“The black ones, with the little lacy bows.” Toralei said with a wink. Clawdeen just grinned and shook her head, slowly zipping her dress up. “Dirty girl.” Clawdeen said, kissing the back of Toralei’s neck.
“I have an idea, if you really want to build stamina.” Clawdeen said, before leaning over Toralei’s shoulder to whisper in her ear. “But you have to control yourself. I think you’d be good though. Right?” Clawdeen asked, playfully nipping her ear. Toralei’s cheeks flushed, before she turned around, her arms wrapping around Clawdeen waist.
“What are you thinking about?” She asked, her pupils blown wide with lust. Clawdeen just smiled, her arms resting on Toralei’s shoulders.
“I, use this.” Clawdeen said, before going to the pocket of her skirt, it was short and black with glitter. Clawdeen had gotten it specifically for the pockets. It was the only skirt she owned with them. In her hand was a small, pocket sized vibrator. Toralei gasped quietly as Clawdeen grinned. “You don’t have too if you dont-“
“No I do.” Toralei said, almost eagerly. “When did you get this?” She asked, before Clawdeen just smirked, tapping the tip of Toralei’s nose with her pinky, before letting her hand travel down her side, before stopping at the hem of Toralei’s dress, fingers just barely grazing her thigh underneath.
“That’s not for you to worry about.” Clawdeen said, her lips crashing into Toralei’s as her hands pushed the hem of her dress up quickly, fingers working to put the lacy fabric aside. Thankfully, Toralei was more than ready to take her fingers. Clawdeen had been nice enough to shut her up while she slid two fingers in, thumb lightly circling her clit.
Toralei had almost stepped back into the mirror, had she not gripped onto Clawdeen’s shoulders as if they were her lifeline. It only took a few good pumps of Clawdeens fingers before she was knees weak and a walking mess. “Careful now,” Clawdeen said, pulling away from Toralei, who had clearly been missing her just as much since the moment Clawdeen pulled away, Toralei immediately began to kiss her neck. “Keep this on all night,” Clawdeen said, fingers working quickly to keep Toralei on edge.
Just because she had offered this idea didn’t mean she was going to be kind about it. “Without cumming,” She said, clicking the small vibrator on and putting it on her clit quickly. Toralei gasped at the new feeling, fingers clenching at Clawdeens jacket.
“All n-night?” Toralei asked, pulling back to look up at Clawdeen through teary eyes.
“All night.” Clawdeen reaffirmed, slowly pulling her fingers out, and fixing her panties back into place. Toralei whined at the loss of contact, now having a heated mess between her legs. “If you behave, I’ll have you for dinner instead.” Clawdeen said, lips finding Toralei’s again. She moaned into the kiss, and didn’t have it in her to stop Toralei from pushing her legs together in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure down there.
The restaurant was bustling, the air thick with the scent of garlic and laughter. Frankie, ever the bubbly one, was already regaling the group with a story about her latest science experiment gone slightly awry. Cleo was perched regally, sipping a mocktail and occasionally interjecting with witty commentary. Draculaura giggled at everything, clearly just happy to be surrounded by her friends. Toralei, usually the center of attention, was strangely quiet, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. Clawdeen, sitting beside her, was an expert actress. She laughed at Frankie's tales, made eye contact with Cleo, nodded encouragingly to Draculaura, and generally acted like everything was just fine.
But under the table, things were far from fine. The small vibrator nestled against Toralei’s clit hummed rhythmically, a constant reminder of the silent, kinky game they were playing. Toralei’s leg was pressed tightly against Clawdeen’s, a subtle squeeze every few minutes betraying the turmoil she was experiencing. The vibrations were making her clit throb, every nerve ending seemingly alight. She was trying desperately to focus on Frankie’s story, but the insistent buzz between her legs made her breath hitch. Her eyes kept darting to Clawdeen, searching for some sort of reprieve, some sign that this delicious torture would end soon. But Clawdeen’s face was an innocent mask, a picture of perfect sociability.
"So, then the goo just went plooooop all over the ceiling!" Frankie exclaimed, waving her hands dramatically. The girls erupted in laughter and Toralei managed a small, breathless chuckle, which sounded more like a whimper. She clutched her water glass, the cool glass a small comfort against the heat that was spreading through her body. Clawdeen’s thigh brushed against hers again, a teasing caress that made Toralei’s breath catch. She knows, Toralei thought, her heart pounding against her ribs. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
The waitress arrived with their appetizers, a large platter of fried goodies. Toralei reached for a mozzarella stick, her fingers trembling slightly. Each movement, each shift of her body, increased the pressure on the vibrator. A low moan escaped her lips, quickly masked by a loud bout of laughter from Cleo. Clawdeen’s hand slipped under the table, resting on Toralei’s thigh. Another squeeze, a gentle warning.
“You okay, Toralei?” Draculaura asked, her eyes wide with concern. “You seem a bit… flushed.”
Toralei swallowed hard, her cheeks burning. “I’m fine, just a little warm. Must be the… uh… spicy food.”
Clawdeen’s lips twitched, trying to suppress a smile. She was loving this. The power, the control, the knowledge that Toralei was on the verge of breaking. It was intoxicating. She knew Toralei’s limits, knew exactly how to push her to the edge without ever going too far. This wasn't just about winning a bet; it was about the raw, visceral connection they shared.
"Well, that sounds bad," Frankie said, her wide eyes full of concern. "Want some water?"
Toralei nodded gratefully and reached for her glass, knocking it slightly against the table.
Toralei was losing it. The vibrations were now constant and intense, each pulse sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. She could feel herself getting closer, her body thrumming with anticipation. She clenched her fist under the table, her nails digging into her palm. She had to hold on. She had to…
But her will was faltering. She could feel her muscles tensing, her body preparing for release. A small whimper escaped her lips, this time not masked by laughter. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying to regain control, but it was no use. The orgasm was coming, a tidal wave about to crash down upon her.
Clawdeen noticed the slight shift in Toralei’s breath, the way her body tensed even more. She leaned over, her hand shooting under the table again, placing her fingers right at the edge of Toralei’s dress, her finger just barely tracing the hem.
“Excuse me,” Clawdeen said, her voice smooth. She pushed back her chair. “I think we might have eaten something funky, or my stomach is just mad.” She didn’t flinch as she spoke, not even when she pulled Toralei’s arm so she was standing with her. She even went as far as to make eye contact with the girls, her face all innocent smiles. “Be right back.”
Toralei could barely manage a nod, her body trembling. Clawdeen, her arm around Toralei’s waist, guided her towards the restrooms with swift precision. Each step was torture.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Clawdeen pinned Toralei against the cool tiles of the bathroom door, her lips capturing Toralei’s in a hungry, possessive kiss. She nipped at Toralei’s bottom lip, teeth grazing her skin. Clawdeen's fingers moved quickly, working the dress up and tugging at the lacy edge of her panties. Toralei was whimpering into the kiss, hands gripping her jacket as if it were a lifeline.
“You’re so wet for me, kitten,” Clawdeen whispered against her lips, her voice low and husky. She could feel the wetness seeping through the fabric, a testament to Toralei’s arousal.
Toralei’s head fell back against the door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I-I couldn’t… I couldn’t hold on…,” she moaned, her voice thick with desire.
Clawdeen chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “I know you couldn’t,” she said, her fingers tracing the seam of Toralei’s panties. “And now you get your reward.”
Clawdeen pulled away and retrieved her small satchel from behind her, the one she had strategically placed with a special pocket. She pulled out the strap-on, the sleek black silicone glinting under the dim bathroom lights. Toralei’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She loved this. This dominant, possessive side of Clawdeen turned her into a mess.
"Ready to get punished, kitten?" Clawdeen purred, holding the strap-on up, teasingly.
"Y-yes" Toralei was a mess, her voice a weak whimper. Clawdeen knew what she was doing, and Toralei was helpless to fight against it.
She quickly strapped the harness on securely, Toralei watching her with wide, needy eyes. Clawdeen took her time, dragging the silicone against Toralei’s clit, each moment a tease. Toralei was biting her lip hard, and Clawdeen’s smirk became a full blown grin.
“You’re going to be a good girl for me tonight, aren’t you?” Clawdeen asked, her voice dangerously soft.
“Yes, Mommy,” Toralei whispered, the word a raw, vulnerable admission she tried so hard to suppress.
Clawdeen’s eyes darkened. That word always did something to her. “That’s right, kitten. You’re going to be so good for me. I’m going to make you a mess, aren’t I?” She asked, pushing the blunt tip of the strap on against Toralei’s already hypersensitive clit, Toralei gasped, pushing her hips into it.
Toralei let out a whimpering moan, her hands clutching at Clawdeen’s shoulders. “Please…” she begged.
Clawdeen pushed forward, slowly, stretching her open. Toralei cried out, her body convulsing at the first press of the head. Clawdeen leaned in, whispering in her ear, “You like that, don't you? You like it when Mommy fucks you?” Clawdeen pushed in further, watching with a predatory gleam as Toralei’s face contorted in a mixture of pain and pleasure.
Clawdeen continued, her hips moving in a slow and deliberate rhythm. She watched as Toralei’s face turned a vibrant shade of red, her body trembling as she got closer and closer to the edge. "That's right, kitten, you give me all your pleasure, yeah?" Clawdeen said, her words dripping with dominance.
"Mmhmm, yes," Toralei breathed, her eyes glazing over with want. “More, Mommy, please, more…”
Clawdeen pushed harder, her hand reaching up to cover Toralei’s mouth, just as a shaky, high pitched whimper escaped her. Toralei's eyes widened in panic, her body trembling.
“Shhh, don’t worry, kitten. We don’t want anyone to hear, do we?” Clawdeen whispered, her voice seductive and cruel, her fingers pressing against Toralei's lips. She ground her hips against her, pushing as far as she could go, making Toralei gasp under her hand.
Clawdeen quickened the pace, driving into Toralei with a newfound intensity. Toralei was completely lost, her body moving with Clawdeen’s, her whimpers muffled by her hand. The bathroom was filled with the sounds of their ragged breathing and the soft thuds of their bodies colliding.
Suddenly, the sound of a door opening made them both freeze. Toralei's eyes were wide with panic, her body trembling under Clawdeen. Clawdeen pushed her closer to the wall, ensuring their bodies were touching. She kept her hand firmly over Toralei's mouth. A girl giggled as she entered, giving a quick glance into the mirror before going into one of the stalls. Clawdeen lowered herself slightly so she couldn't see them.
Clawdeen smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. She moved her hand from Toralei's mouth, only lowering it to her chin to hold her in place now. "Don't move, kitten," she whispered, before kissing her hard. Toralei barely had a chance to gasp before Clawdeen's mouth was on hers. Toralei could feel Clawdeen inside her, and the feeling made her head spin.
Clawdeen thrust deeper, pushing Toralei towards the edge again. Toralei was a mess, her body weak and shaking. Clawdeen licked down her jaw, before going to her ear. “Don’t you dare come yet, kitten,” she purred, before taking a few more thrusts that made Toralei pant. She pulled back, giving her the slightest bit of space. "Not until Mommy says so." she kissed her ear again, before pushing back into her, hard.
Toralei's body spasmed, her orgasm slamming through her. She whimpered, her legs buckling. Clawdeen caught her, holding her tight, her own breath coming in ragged gasps. She continued moving, just a little, pushing against her until the last shudders of pleasure passed through Toralei’s body. Toralei's eyes were half-closed and her lips were parted. She was truly a mess.
Clawdeen pulled back slightly, breathing heavily, and looked down at Toralei, her eyes were wide with want.
“Good girl,” Clawdeen said, before kissing her softly on the forehead. “You were so good for Mommy.” She pulled the strap on out and set it on the small sink next to them. She then moved to pull Toralei’s dress back down, the fabric soft and comforting against the still sensitive skin. Toralei was still dazed, her body still trembling.
Clawdeen gathered the damp mess around them carefully, before starting to fix her jacket. She paused for a moment, her fingers lightly brushing against Toralei’s clit. “I think we better get back to the table, hm?,” Clawdeen said, her voice back to normal. "The girls could be starting to get worried."
Toralei looked up at her with wide, dazed eyes. "Okay," she whispered softly, unable to resist the way her voice trembled.
Clawdeen smiled, a genuine smile, not the teasing one she had been giving earlier. She took Toralei’s hand in hers and they walked out of the bathroom. When they got back to the tables, the girls seemed none the wiser.
"Everything ok?" Frankie asked.
Clawdeen nodded, winking at them. "Everything is fine, just a bit of food poisoning. We're both good to go now."
Toralei nodded, doing her best to play along. Even amongst all her friends, there was nowhere else she would rather be.
As the rest of the evening went on, Toralei was still a mess, her mind unable to escape the events that had just occurred in the bathroom. She kept looking at Clawdeen out of the corner of her eye, her cheeks getting a faint red with each glance. She couldn't wait to find somewhere else for her and Clawdeen to get lost in. She knew that, after all of this, she would have to do a lot to pay Clawdeen back. And she couldn't wait.
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