#to vent my feelings about them that is all

[lulujeno]

crush culture — lee jeno ᡣ𐭩

summary : liking jeno was a mistake. kissing him didn't make it any better.

warnings : mentions of alcohol/drinking, kissing, cusswords, angst!! (this does not portray how the idols are irl, all the things here are written to match the song crush culture by conan gray!!)

wc : 6.3k

a/n : reader uses she/her pronouns !! jerk!jeno and bestfriend!mark :D thank u for 100+ followers ~~ cant believe i managed to pull out more than 5k words out of my ass >< my finals are currently happening so that's why i've been ia for soooo long :( i promise when i'm done i'll be clearing out both my drafts and requests ^^

Seeing your best friend, Belle, flirt with Jeno on your couch hit harder than you ever expected. The way they leaned into each other, laughter spilling from their lips like a sweet melody, made your stomach churn in a way that felt foreign and unwelcome. You had no right to feel this way, not when you knew about her crush on him. You had even agreed to be her wingman tonight, setting up this moment so she could finally have her chance. But somehow, along the way, you fell for him too, your heart weaving itself into a tapestry of unspoken feelings and bitter regret.

You should feel happy for her, after all her efforts to catch his attention, but the tight knot in your chest made it impossible to be anything but miserable. “It’s fine. Be happy. It’s your birthday, after all,” you whispered under your breath, trying to convince yourself. The words felt heavy, lacking the enthusiasm they were meant to carry. You exhaled a shaky breath before heading to the kitchen, desperate to escape the sight of them together.

The kitchen was warm, filled with the faint scent of alcohol and fruity punch hanging in the air like an unwelcoming fog. Mark stood by the counter, effortlessly mixing drinks with an ease that told you he’d done this a hundred times before. He glanced up as you entered, and a flicker of concern passed over his face when he caught sight of your downcast expression. He flicked his eyes toward the living room, and you knew he had noticed. Most of your friends knew about your crush on Jeno. It wasn’t something you talked about much, but the way your eyes lingered on him said enough.

“You okay?” Mark asked, his voice low, but the concern was clear, filling the space between you like a fragile glass.

You could only shrug, unsure of how to explain the whirlpool of emotions churning within your chest. It felt too complicated to articulate.

Without a word, he whipped up a drink, something colourful and sweet, and handed it to you. The condensation from the glass cooled your palm, but it did little to soothe the fire raging inside. The drink looked vibrant, but you could already tell it was just a disguise for the hollowness you felt.

“She’s kind of a bitch for doing that in front of you,” Mark muttered, glancing back at the couch, his fingers absentmindedly wiping down the counter. His words hung in the air like a lifebuoy tossed your way, and for a moment, it felt like they were offering you a chance to vent, to express all the things you were holding back. But you shook your head, pushing the thoughts down.

“Not really,” you sighed, taking a sip of the drink. The sweetness coated your tongue, but it tasted like nothing, a mere distraction. “I’m the bitch here. Liking the same guy as my best friend, after she tells me she likes him, that kind of thing breaks girl code.”

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, his confusion evident. “Girl code? Really?” He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “Come on, Belle falls for every guy who looks her way. Everyone knows that. Besides, you actually have a better shot, Jeno knows you, trusts you. You should go for it.”

You nearly choked on your drink, laughter bubbling up despite your mood. “Yeah, and get a reputation for stealing my friends’ crushes? No thanks, Mark. I’ll pass.” You handed him the empty glass, watching as he refilled it, his movements swift and practiced. The glint of the alcohol under the dim kitchen lights reflected how your emotions felt; messy and swirling, a whirlpool threatening to pull you under.

Mark sighed, exasperated. “It’s your party. Don’t let them get in your head. Go have some fun.” He handed you the new drink with a smile, but before you could take another sip, he added, “And don’t drink too much. You can’t handle it, and we both know it.”

But after two glasses, fun was the last thing you felt. The sight of Jeno and Belle still played in your mind, a vivid loop that made the alcohol churn uncomfortably in your stomach. You tried to find Belle in the crowded room, but she was nowhere to be seen. After asking around and realising Jeno wasn’t there either, the pit in your stomach grew deeper. You knew what that probably meant.

You found yourself wandering back to the kitchen, your mind foggy but determined to drown out the ache with another drink. Mark raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to see you again. When you asked for yet another glass, he sighed deeply, a mixture of concern and frustration in his expression.

“This is your last one,” he warned, handing you the drink reluctantly. “You can’t handle much. I don’t want to have to carry you out of your own party.”

But Mark’s warning felt like a distant echo in your ears. By the time you were begging for a fourth drink, all caution had slipped away, and you couldn’t care less about the consequences. The music in the living room was thumping, laughter echoing like a cruel reminder of your current situation, and all you could feel was the weight of everything you couldn’t have — Jeno, your peace, the ability to not care.

“I already told you, no more drinks. You’re cut off,” Mark said, frustration clear in his voice. “I’ll get you some water instead.”

As he turned to open the fridge, you took your chance. The cold metal of a beer can brushed against your fingertips as you snatched it from the counter. You were so focused on your mission to drown out the pain that you didn’t notice Mark turning back toward you.

“y/n,” he snapped, his tone stern, “let go of the can. You’re going to regret this.”

You raised the can to your lips, but Mark was quicker. His hand reached out to grab it from you, and in the struggle, the can slipped from your grasp. The beer splashed everywhere — over your shirt, dripping down your arms, and pooling on the floor. The cold liquid seeped through your clothes, clinging to your skin, making you gasp at the sudden chill. Mark groaned, grabbing a napkin from the counter as you stood there, drenched, with a look of defiance still written across your face.

Undeterred, you tried to tilt the can toward your mouth, desperate to drink whatever was left inside, despite the mess. “Come on, y/n, you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Mark sighed, exasperation laced in his tone as he managed to pry the can away for good this time.

The alcohol-soaked shirt clung to your body, the sticky sensation uncomfortable, but you were too far gone to care. The frustration bubbling inside wasn’t going to be soothed by just a drink anymore. You were angry, angry at Belle, at Jeno, at the fact that you had let yourself feel anything at all.

Before you could make another move, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, prying you away from the counter. You froze, looking up into the familiar dark eyes you’d been avoiding all night — Jeno.

The world felt like it stopped as Jeno glanced from you to Mark, his brows furrowed in mild concern. “Help me out here, Jen. She’s had too much already, and she won’t listen to me,” Mark said, his voice weary but relieved that someone else could take over.

Jeno’s gaze softened as he looked down at your soaked shirt, a mixture of amusement and concern crossing his face. He let out a small sigh, his grip gentle but firm as he took the can from your hand and replaced it with a bottle of water. “You’re done with the drinks for tonight, okay?” he said softly, his voice holding the same care you’d heard earlier.

Before you could protest, Jeno wrapped his arm around you, guiding you out of the kitchen, away from the noise and the eyes of your curious friends. The walk to your room was a blur, but the warmth of his hand on your waist kept you grounded, even as the alcohol swirled in your system.

The sight of Belle sobbing into someone’s shoulder as you passed through the hallway barely registered in your hazy mind. You were too focused on the warmth of Jeno’s presence beside you, the way his touch lingered longer than necessary, as if he was anchoring you.

Once in your room, Jeno gently guided you to sit on the edge of your bed, his touch careful as if he was afraid you might fall over. His eyes roamed over your beer-soaked clothes, a soft chuckle escaping him. “You’re a mess,” he teased, though his voice held no judgment. If anything, it was laced with concern, the kind of worry that felt warm and comforting instead of scolding.

You glanced down at yourself, wincing as you finally took in the state of your shirt. The beer stains were obvious now, dark patches clinging to the fabric and sticking to your skin in an uncomfortable way. You grimaced, the sticky sensation making you feel even more self-conscious. The alcohol had dulled the sharpness of your embarrassment, but not entirely. A faint blush crept up your cheeks as you mumbled, “I should change…”

You attempted to push yourself off the bed, but your limbs were heavy, sluggish from the alcohol coursing through your system. Your balance wavered, and you nearly stumbled forward before Jeno’s hand gently pressed on your shoulder, keeping you steady.

Without saying a word, he crossed the room to your closet, rummaging through the clothes until he found one of your oversized t-shirts. He walked back to you with that same quiet focus, kneeling down to your level, holding the clean shirt in his hands. His gaze met yours for a moment, and something in his expression made your heart skip a beat.

“Here,” Jeno said softly, his voice just above a whisper. “Let me help.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers reached for the hem of your beer-stained shirt. He moved slowly, giving you plenty of time to object, to stop him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The closeness of him, the way his eyes held nothing but tenderness. It was like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving just the two of you in this charged, intimate bubble.

Jeno’s hands were careful as he lifted the fabric, peeling it away from your sticky skin with a precision that made your pulse quicken. The cool air hit you, contrasting the warmth of his touch. Every time his fingers brushed your arms, it sent shivers through you. It wasn’t overtly intimate, but the care he took in making sure you were comfortable made the moment feel far more meaningful than it should have.

Once your shirt was off, he handed you the fresh one, his eyes deliberately focused anywhere but your body, giving you the privacy to finish. You quickly pulled the oversized shirt over your head, feeling the soft cotton fabric glide down. Your cheeks burned, not from the alcohol, but from the way Jeno’s thoughtfulness had disarmed you, leaving your heart racing in its wake.

When you were finally settled in your clean shirt, Jeno took a step back, his hands awkwardly fumbling at his sides, unsure of what to do next. “Better?” he asked, his voice quiet but sincere.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The warmth pooling in your chest wasn’t just from the remnants of alcohol, but from the way Jeno had cared for you, so gentle and attentive. The kindness in his actions made your emotions swirl even more intensely.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you heavy with something unspoken. The room felt smaller with Jeno in it, the atmosphere charged with a new kind of tension. It wasn’t uncomfortable though. If anything, it felt safe. Like he was there to make sure you were okay, to take care of you, in a way that made your heart feel lighter despite the whirlwind of the night.

Jeno’s eyes flicked from the bed to you, a soft concern still lacing his gaze. “You should get some rest. It’s been a long night.”

You climbed under the covers, feeling the exhaustion settling into your bones now that the noise of the party was long behind you. As you laid down, Jeno lingered by your side for a moment, his hand briefly brushing your shoulder before he moved to sit at your desk. His presence filled the room, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Jeno?” your voice came out as a soft murmur, barely loud enough to reach him, but he turned to you right away.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Thanks… for everything.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips, the soft light in your room making his features look even kinder than usual. “Get some sleep, y/n. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

You closed your eyes for a brief second, trying to process what was happening. Jeno was in your room. The Jeno. The one who was always surrounded by friends, admired by so many. The same Jeno your best friend had been talking about for months, and the one you, slowly but surely, had found yourself falling for.

The alcohol still buzzed in your veins, loosening your inhibitions just enough to make you bolder than usual. This was your chance, maybe Mark had been right all along. Jeno was here, with you, taking care of you in ways that felt like more than just friendly concern. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t imagining the way he stayed close tonight, the way his eyes lingered a little longer.

It was now or never.

The air in the room felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and lingering tension. Jeno sat at your desk, his steady gaze unreadable as you shifted under the covers, a mix of nervousness and warmth blooming in your chest. The alcohol had numbed your inhibitions, but the electricity between you both was impossible to ignore.

You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to ground yourself in the fabric, though it did little to help. “It’s cold,” you mumbled, barely audible, your voice betraying the hint of vulnerability you didn’t want to show. In truth, the room was a bit chilly, but more than anything, you longed for his presence next to you. The space between you felt far too wide, like an unspoken barrier you didn’t know how to cross without risking everything.

Jeno’s eyes flickered toward you, his hesitation lingering in the silence that stretched between you. After a beat, he stood up from the desk, his movements slow and deliberate, as if carefully weighing each step. Your breath hitched as he approached, and your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation curling in your stomach.

Wordlessly, Jeno slid under the covers beside you, his warmth instantly chasing away the cold. His scent, a comforting mix of cologne and something undeniably him, wrapped around you, making your head spin. Instinctively, you leaned into him, your head finding its place against his chest. His arm moved naturally around you, pulling you closer, and you melted into the embrace, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek.

With Jeno’s warmth cocooning you, the outside world felt like a distant dream. The party’s once-loud music had faded into a faint murmur, barely audible over the sound of his steady breathing. Every now and then, his breath grazed your hair, sending tiny shivers down your spine. You stayed perfectly still, afraid that even the slightest movement would break this fragile moment, this perfect stillness.

“Is it still cold?” Jeno’s voice was low, a gentle murmur that seemed to sink into your very bones.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you pressed yourself closer to him, allowing the exhaustion of the night to wash over you. “Not anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. His arm tightened around you in response, as if silently saying that he wasn’t going anywhere. That, even just for tonight, you had him.

The soft light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room, its dim shadows creating a cozy, intimate space that felt removed from reality. The world beyond your bedroom door seemed to slow, leaving only the two of you in this quiet bubble, suspended in time. You found yourself wishing that you could capture this feeling forever, keep this warmth and peace bottled up in your heart.

Jeno’s hand rested on your waist, his fingers moving in slow, absentminded circles over the fabric of your shirt. His touch was so gentle, so careful, that it sent little sparks dancing across your skin. It wasn’t just the alcohol making you dizzy; it was the tenderness in every brush of his fingers, the way he held you like you were something delicate.

“You’re always running around, taking care of everyone,” he murmured softly, his words carrying a weight that tugged at your heart. “Who takes care of you, y/n?”

His question hung in the air, the raw sincerity in his voice cutting through you. A lump formed in your throat, and you blinked rapidly to keep the sudden tears at bay. You hadn’t expected him to say something like that. Who did take care of you? For as long as you could remember, you were the one who held everything together, the one who put everyone else’s needs before your own. But in this moment, with Jeno’s arms wrapped around you, it felt like someone was finally seeing past all of that—seeing you.

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you admitted the truth aloud. “I guess I’m just used to it.”

Jeno shifted beside you, his body pressing closer, his breath now warm against your ear. “You deserve more than that,” he said softly, his voice low and earnest, each word landing like a promise. “You deserve someone who’ll take care of you, too.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you swallowed hard, trying to hold back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. His words felt too good, too perfect, and a part of you was afraid to believe them. Afraid to believe that someone like Jeno could really see you like that, could want to take care of you.

Still, in this moment, wrapped in his warmth, you allowed yourself to pretend — to imagine, if only for tonight, that this could be your reality. That Jeno could be yours.

His thumb traced another slow circle on your side, his touch so gentle it was almost hypnotic. “I don’t want you to forget tonight,” he whispered, his voice even quieter now, like he was sharing a secret meant just for you.

You turned in his arms, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes locked with his. There was something in his gaze, something soft and unspoken, that made your heart race. His face was inches from yours, his breath warm on your skin, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stop altogether.

You swallowed, the words escaping you before you could think twice. “What if I do?”

For a moment, Jeno’s expression darkened, his gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. Then, in a movement so gentle it felt like a dream, he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The contact sent a shiver through you, your whole body reacting to the warmth of his touch.

“Then I’ll remind you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

The night blurred into a series of quiet moments. Soft touches, shared whispers, and a closeness that felt too tender, too fragile to belong to the real world. You could have stayed in that moment forever, tangled in Jeno’s warmth, pretending that the world outside didn’t exist.

But, as always, reality had a way of creeping back in.

Jeno’s phone buzzed on the desk beside him, the soft vibrations shattering the stillness. He sighed, his arm loosening from around you as he reached for the phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his face. You watched as his brows furrowed, his expression tense as he scrolled through the dozens of missed calls and messages.

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up, his warmth slipping away from you entirely.

The cold rushed in immediately, filling the space where Jeno had been, and your heart sank. You knew what was coming next.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, already knowing the answer but dreading hearing it aloud.

Jeno ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. “The guys… They’ve been calling me nonstop. I told them I’d leave with them, they’re my only ride home.” His voice was tinged with regret, but beneath it, you could sense the guilt.

You forced a smile, trying to mask the disappointment that was tightening in your chest. “It’s fine,” you lied, propping yourself up on your elbow. “You should go.”

Jeno glanced down at his phone again, then back at you, his jaw tightening as he hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you alone,” he said quietly, his voice thick with the conflict swirling inside him.

You shook your head, the ache in your chest growing. “I’ll be okay,” you whispered, your words feeling hollow. “Really. Go.”

For a fleeting moment, you held onto the hope that Jeno might stay. The way he looked at you, his eyes searching your face with an intensity that made your heart race, felt like a promise unspoken. But then the phone buzzed again, shattering the delicate moment. You watched as his resolve shifted, the warmth in his gaze giving way to a distant sadness.

With a heavy sigh, he rose from the bed, the fabric of the moment tearing slightly as he slipped his phone into his pocket. The air around you felt colder, thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions, as if the very room held its breath. Just before he reached the door, he hesitated, turning back to you one last time. His eyes softened as they met yours, and he stepped back toward the bed, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. It was soft and lingering, yet it carried the weight of finality.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” he whispered, his breath brushing against your skin, leaving a warmth that contrasted the chill that enveloped you after he left.

And then, he was gone.

The weekend stretched endlessly, an expanse of silence that felt like an aching void where his presence had been. No calls. No texts. Just the stark absence of his warmth and the echo of the night you had shared. With each passing hour, the memory of Jeno’s embrace faded, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts and an unsettling sense of regret.

You spent the next two days trapped in a loop of memories, replaying every moment over and over. The way he looked at you with such intensity, the way he held you close, the sincerity in his voice when he told you that you deserved better. You ached to reach out to him, to check if he still remembered the fleeting magic of that night. But every time you reached for your phone, a wave of fear stopped you cold. The thought of his response, what he might say or, worse, what he might not say, paralyzed you.

By the time Monday rolled around, you had convinced yourself that maybe it was better this way. Pretending nothing had happened would be the safest path. After all, he would slip back into his life with friends, back to the way things were before, and you would have to bear the weight of your choices alone.

As you stepped through the school doors, you immediately felt the weight of stares bearing down on you. Whispers trailed you down the hall like a shadow, and you quickly pieced together the rumors that had spread like wildfire. Word had gotten out about you and Jeno, and Belle had undoubtedly heard every detail.

It wasn’t long before she found you. Standing by your locker, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, her glare twisted your stomach into knots.

“I can’t believe you, Y/N,” Belle hissed, her voice sharp and full of venom. “You promised me you’d be there for me. You said you’d help me with Jeno, and instead, you—” She cut herself off, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.

You swallowed hard, guilt and shame coiling tightly in your chest. “Belle, I—”

“No,” she interrupted, her eyes flashing with hurt. “Don’t. Don’t act like you didn’t know. Everyone’s talking about how you left the party together. You think I didn’t see the way he looks at you?”

Your heart plummeted, a heavy weight in your stomach. You longed to explain, to articulate that it hadn’t been what it looked like, that you hadn’t intended for any of it to happen. But deep down, you knew the truth: you had crossed a line, and no amount of explanation would erase the breach of trust.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

“It’s not fair. I was so close to having him, Y/N. I was right there, and then you had to ruin it for me.” Belle’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her expression hardened like ice. “You’re a liar. You promised to help,” she spat coldly, turning away from you. “You’re no better than the rest of them. Maybe you should’ve tried harder not to ruin everything.”

And just like that, she walked away, leaving you with the sharp sting of her betrayal echoing in the silence behind her.

You stood there, frozen, as the world around you faded into a blurry haze of whispers and judgmental stares. The hallway stretched out longer than usual, each step feeling like an uphill battle against the suffocating air thick with unspoken words. You could almost see the rumours swirling like storm clouds, brewing around you as classmates shot knowing glances. Some gleeful, others disdainful, while they whispered behind your back, oblivious to the truth.

You made it through the day by shrinking into yourself, avoiding everyone as if they were fragments of glass waiting to cut you. Each laugh from a group nearby felt like a mockery, reminding you of how the moments you shared with Jeno now felt like scattered shards, impossible to clean up without inflicting wounds on your heart. Every time you caught a glimpse of him in the halls, your chest tightened as his eyes flicked toward you for just a fleeting second before looking away, as if that one shared night had evaporated into thin air. Maybe it had for him.

The days following that night passed under a strange, silent agreement between you and Jeno. Neither of you acknowledged what had happened. No messages. No lingering glances. No awkward conversations. It was as if you had both silently decided that pretending it hadn’t meant anything was the easiest way to cope. But you couldn't shake the feeling that, to him, it truly hadn’t.

At school, Jeno slipped seamlessly back into the rhythm of his life, surrounded by his friends, laughter pouring from their mouths as if nothing had changed. He blended effortlessly into the crowd of popular kids, exuding an air of confidence that was painfully absent in you. Later, you overheard snippets of their conversations, casual, dismissive remarks. “She’s not worth it, man. You could do way better,” Haechan chuckled, as if your very existence was a punchline. Jeno merely shrugged, his indifference cutting deeper than any blade. “It was nothing.”

The words pierced through your carefully constructed defences, more painful than you could have anticipated. They shouldn’t have stung; after all, you had spent the entire weekend convincing yourself that you didn’t care, that it was just a fleeting moment. But those three words echoed in your mind, a relentless mantra: It was nothing.

Still, you played your part. Whenever you passed him in the halls or found yourself near his group during lunch, you donned a mask of indifference so convincingly that you almost started to believe it yourself. You laughed with your other friends, pretended to focus in class, and convinced yourself that forgetting was the best option. You were adept at pretending, had to be, but that night continued to linger, haunting you like a bittersweet melody you couldn't silence.

The only person who seemed to peel back your façade was Mark. You never spoke about that night directly, but he could read between the lines. He noticed the way your gaze avoided Jeno, how your laughter felt forced, and how your smile no longer reached your eyes.

One afternoon, when the weight of everything felt too heavy to bear, you found yourself gravitating toward Mark. He sat on the grass at the edge of the soccer field, scribbling furiously in his notebook. You dropped down beside him, the warmth of the sun contrasting with the cold ache in your chest. He looked up, brow raised, but he didn’t say anything right away, giving you space to breathe.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” you finally admitted, staring into the distance as the horizon blurred with your emotions.

Mark closed his notebook, shifting his full attention to you. “Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling inside you. “Not really. Just… everything’s a mess.”

He didn’t press you, but his unwavering gaze bore into you, his concern palpable. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I can tell you’re not okay.”

The tightness in your chest intensified at his words, and you forced a laugh that felt hollow. “It’s not a big deal. I barely even remember that night, anyway.”

Mark didn’t buy it. He never did. “You don’t have to lie to me. But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay too.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with all the unsaid things that hung heavy in the air. You stared at the ground, fighting the emotions that threatened to spill over.

“Jeno didn’t say anything, did he?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could hold it back.

Mark sighed, leaning back on his hands. “He’s pretending it never happened, too. His friends… Well, they’re being assholes, like always. Told him he could do better. You know how they are.”

You nodded, the weight of disappointment sinking deeper into your bones. Of course they would say that. Of course Jeno would follow their lead. It was easier to dismiss the connection you had shared, to act like you hadn’t been wrapped up in each other, sharing warmth and vulnerability in a way that felt almost sacred.

Sensing your shift in mood, Mark nudged your shoulder lightly, offering a small smile. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend to understand what’s going on in Jeno’s head. But you deserve better than this, better than being some secret he feels like he has to hide.”

His words wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, yet they only amplified the ache in your heart. You wished it didn’t hurt so much, wished you could just move on like Jeno seemed to. But the truth was, that night had meant something to you. Even if you shouldn’t have felt that way, even if you tried to convince yourself otherwise, it did.

It wasn’t just the gossip or the whispers that hurt; it was the entire situation. The reality that you had gotten swept up in something so fleeting, yet so consuming. You felt like you were living on a stage, where every move was scrutinised, turned into something larger than life. Belle, Jeno, his friends; they were all part of that act, and now, so were you. You thought back to the party, to the fragile intimacy you had shared with Jeno, the way you had intertwined your lives for a moment. But the harsh reality was that it hadn’t been real. Not for him.

When you got home, you collapsed onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling, its familiar texture suddenly feeling foreign and oppressive. The quiet of your room suffocated you, amplifying the echoes of whispers and judgment that had followed you all day. It should have been a relief to escape the chaos, but instead, it was a stark reminder of how alone you felt. Gone were the masks and the laughter; all that remained was the haunting silence, thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

Your phone buzzed, and for a fleeting moment, hope flickered inside you. Maybe it was Jeno, maybe he finally had something to say, something that could bridge the chasm that had formed between you two. But as you glanced down, the screen illuminated a message from Mark instead.

Mark: How you holding up?

You stared at the words, the glow of the screen casting a pale light over your uncertainty. Mark had always been the one to see beyond your carefully constructed façade, the only person who didn’t press for answers you weren’t ready to give. His concern was palpable even through the digital barrier, but the weight of your own feelings made it hard to respond.

You: I don’t know.

The reply felt painfully inadequate, a thin veil over the storm churning inside you. You tossed your phone aside, pulling your knees up to your chest, as if trying to protect your heart from the world outside. What did you even want at this point? Jeno wasn’t coming back to fix things, and Belle was probably rehearsing her next round of accusations. You felt caught in a strange, uncomfortable limbo, yearning to forget while being unable to erase the vivid memories of that night.

In the days that followed, you had tried to convince yourself the night with Jeno was nothing more than a fleeting mistake, a moment spurred by alcohol and the warmth of the moment. But now, as the realization washed over you, it became painfully clear: you had wanted it to mean something more. You craved the way he looked at you that night—not with the haze of drunken affection, but with something deeper, something that could fill the void you felt inside.

But he didn’t. He never would.

You remained motionless on your bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, feeling the silence stretch around you like a shroud. Your phone buzzed again, probably Mark checking in, but you couldn’t muster the energy to respond. The weight of your decisions pressed heavily on your chest, reminding you of the loss that had settled in your heart.

You had lost your best friend, sacrificed your bond with Belle for something ephemeral, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone. And maybe that was what hurt the most. The realization that in the end, none of it had felt real. Not the intimate moments shared with Jeno, not the friendship you had thought you could count on with Belle. Everything felt built on a shaky foundation, fragile and destined to crumble.

As you lay there, you reached for your phone, hoping to drown out the noise in your head with music. You scrolled through your playlist, searching for anything that could take you away from this moment. And then it started, the familiar notes of Crush Culture by Conan Gray filled the room, wrapping around you like a bittersweet embrace.

With each lyric, you felt a rush of recognition that hit you like a truck. Crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out. The words resonated deeply, echoing the tumult of emotions swirling inside you. It was as if Conan had taken the scattered pieces of your heart and crafted them into a song, pulling at the very strings of your soul.

The lines about fleeting moments, unreciprocated feelings, and the pain of wanting something that was never truly yours surged through you. You closed your eyes, allowing the music to wash over you, each note igniting memories of that night with Jeno. The way he held you, the laughter you shared, the promises whispered in the dark. But with each line, the weight of reality crashed down harder, reminding you of the distance that had grown between you since then.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, the catharsis almost overwhelming as the song played on. You could feel every word burrowing into your heart, every melody capturing the longing you tried to hide. This wasn’t just about Jeno; it was about everything you had lost, everything you had poured into moments that turned out to be nothing but illusions.

And in that moment, you felt a fragile clarity. You might be lost now, but you wouldn’t stay that way forever. The lyrics continued to echo around you, each syllable a promise that you would find a way through the pain, that you could reclaim your voice, your heart, and maybe, just maybe, discover what it meant to feel whole again.

As the song faded into silence, you lay back against your pillows, allowing the tears to flow freely. It was time to face the truth, to embrace the chaos of your emotions, and to start piecing together a new beginning. And with that thought, you closed your eyes, a flicker of hope igniting within you. A hope that lingered long after the last notes faded away.

[itsasilentreader]

ᯓ★ 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 ― 𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: idol!Hyunjin x fem!reader

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 3,2k (got a little carried away lol) — 𝟮𝟮 𝙢𝙞𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: angst, fluff

𝙏𝙒/𝘾𝙒: hurt/comfort, reader's insecure and hyunjin is being oblivious most of the time

𝘼/𝙉: This is also a request. I normally don't really like reading angst but writing it is so much fun lol. Hope you'll enjoy this one!

⤷ 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘺.

⋮ 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

You were heading to the studio with lunch for Hyunjin and the others. He didn’t reply to your texts all morning so you thought you’d surprise him and the others with lunch. You know how they can be when they are busy, so they probably appreciate it if you bring them something to eat.

You entered the building and down the hall to the studio they’d probably be at. Stopping in front of the door, you see it was not fully closed. Raising your hand to knock before entering, your hand comes to a halt when you hear your boyfriend’s voice. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really. It was just that his voice was a little louder than usual, and you happened to stop by at the wrong time.

“Man, it’s so annoying. My phone keeps blowing up and she won’t leave me alone,” you could hear him let out a frustrating groan. “Sometimes she’s just… too clingy, you know? As if she can’t do anything by herself. ‘S driving me crazy.”

Murmurs followed your boyfriend's confession, but your heart was pounding so loud to hear their responses. Hyunjin said it so casually, but his words hit you like a punch to the gut.

Clingy? He thought you were being too clingy?

You thought you were just showing how much you cared for him — it hadn’t felt like too much. But now it felt like you overstayed your welcome like everything you did and every touch had been one too many.

Fighting back the sudden tightness in your chest, you swallowed hard. You stood by the door for a minute gathering your thoughts, before silently turning around to walk away. Your heart now aching with a newfound distance you weren’t sure how to close.

Apparently, your lingering by the door hadn’t gone unnoticed by one of the members. Felix saw something from the corner of his eye and before he could say something, he saw you turn around and walk away from the studio. He frowned at the words of his friend and the thought of you possibly overhearing him. “She just cares about you,” Felix spoke up before getting out his phone to text you. He didn’t get a response from the older boy, at least not a verbal one.

You arrived back home when you heard your phone going off. Could it be Hyunjin? Did he text you a lie about how he was just busy and didn’t see your texts coming through? You hated this. You hated this feeling of being lied to. If he thought it was too much, he should have just said so instead of going to his members behind your back.

Sure, he can vent to his friends. It’s not like you don’t do this with your girlfriends. But complaining about your partner and being actually hurtful? You wouldn’t do that.

You set down the bags that contained the lunch boxes before getting your phone out of your purse. It was Felix, asking if you just stopped by. He had seen you turn around and walk away instead of coming in. You quickly typed a reply, saying you did want to stop by but forgot something at home. It wasn’t really a lie that he would believe, but at this point, you didn’t want to talk about it.

Your heart felt heavy and when you finally sat down on your couch, you felt the pressure behind your eyes building up. Maybe you were overreacting? No, this was a valid reaction to something that felt so hurtful. This started a spiral of overthinking.

Were you really that clingy? And was it so bad that he might consider breaking up with you? He knew your last boyfriend said one of the reasons he broke up with you was because you were so overbearing towards him. But it was just because you love to show people you care about them.

In the beginning, Hyunjin assured you multiple times that you weren’t overbearing. He said he loved it when all your attention was on him and that you made him feel so loved and special with every little thing you did for him. So what has changed?

You had hoped your afternoon would be filled with spending some time with your boyfriend, his friends and good food. Instead, it was filled with overthinking and tears.

In the days that followed you tried to act as if nothing was wrong. You tried to continue on, but his words echoed in your head and it made it impossible for you to be as relaxed as before. Hyunjin could feel you were pulling back slowly, creating distance between the two of you.

The thing that stood out the most was how your frequent texting went from constant texting him things to a few texts a day to almost radio silence during the day.

Normally, you’d always ask him how his day was going, if he needed something to eat, if you could stop by to see what they were working on and even random things you’ve seen during the day that reminded you of him. Now it felt like you only texted him out of necessity and not because you wanted to talk to your boyfriend.

The week continued, and it seems like the rift between you and Hyunjin has grown even wider. The tension kept knotting in your stomach and your hands kept fidgeting when you were alone together. You were asleep, or pretended to be, when Hyunjin left for work and the dinners you had together were being eaten in an uncomfortable silence.

You cancelled a date night with the excuse of not feeling great and went straight to the bedroom. You didn’t come out for the rest of the night, leaving Hyunjin alone with his thoughts. He felt like you were on edge, but he couldn’t figure out why or what had happened for you to be acting this way towards him. The sudden coldness and distance.

He had to admit, he missed your blabbing during dinner, or when you’re watching a movie and you tell him random fun facts about it. He just could not dwell long on your behaviour, because work still demanded a lot of his time and energy.

This resulted in the members deciding to go out to dinner together when they finished the last remaining details for the comeback. Felix suggested asking you along too; he got the feeling from his friend that something was going on between you.

Hyunjin hasn't talked much about you and what you guys have been up to lately, but he hasn't seen you in the studio during lunch lately either. You would normally come to surprise your boyfriend and the members while they were working hard on their comeback. This also raised suspicions that you might have overheard Hyunjin's harsh words.

That brings you to here right now, at a table in a fancy restaurant, sitting next to Felix and Hyunjin. Your hands started fidgeting again, a habit you picked up the past few days. Hyunjin sitting next to you, oblivious to your fidgeting, laughing and chatting with his friends - like hadn’t shattered your confidence with one careless comment.

“Hey, are you alright?” Felix’s voice was soft as he leaned closer, his concern clear. You gave him a small, forced smile.

“Yeah, just tired,” you mumbled. The lie felt heavy, but the ache in your chest felt even heavier.

Hyunjin’s laughter pulled your attention back to him. He looked so carefree and completely unaware of the hurt he’d caused. That’s what stung the most—how easy it was for him to say something that lingered with you, while he didn’t seem bothered at all. Did he really not notice? Or does he not care enough to do something about it. Then again, you didn’t know if you should bring it up to him.

Felix spoke up again, “I haven’t seen you at our studio during lunchtime lately. What’s up with that?”

His attention was fully on you, trying to figure out what was going on in that head of yours. The question seems to caught you off guard. He observed you telling a forced lie to him about your absence. Suspicion confirmed.

Your eyes strayed quickly to Hyunjin but it seemed you didn't want to focus your attention on your boyfriend. His attention went to your hands, which were still fidgeting. He knew now that you indeed heard your boyfriend tell his members that he thought you were clingy and it was eating away at you.

This needs to be resolved quickly, he thought, but he didn’t want to intervene right now. It seems like you need a friend in this moment and he wanted to help you not have the troubling thoughts in your head for a moment. He switched up the conversation with a different question to ease your mind, and you seemed to be eager to change the topic.

And this did work for a while, you were having good food and good conversations with the rest of the group. Except for Hyunijn, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him.

After the dinner ended, and everyone went their separate ways home, you fell back into an uncomfortable silence again. The car ride home seemed to last hours when it was in fact only a 20-minute drive. Hyunjin tried to place his hand on your leg, but you just slightly turned your body the other way and faced the window the entire ride home.

When you stepped foot into your apartment, you immediately headed to your bedroom to change into your pyjamas. Hyunjin still was a little confused and watched you disappear into the bedroom. Deciding to confront you about the distance he felt, he went after you. You were already in the bathroom, removing your make-up.

“Hey,” Hyunjin’s voice was cautious, a little hesitant. “Is something wrong?”

You didn’t answer him straight away. Your eyes found his and you looked at him through the mirror, before settling back to your own reflection to continue removing your make-up. Should you admit that you’d heard everything? The hurt twisted inside you, mingling with the fear of pushing him away even more.

Finally, you turned to face him, your voice barely audible. “Do you really think I’m clingy?”

The question clearly caught him off guard, he just stood there and blinked at you. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t leave his lips. The silence followed by your question was suffocating and it made you second — no, triple—guess all the thoughts and emotions you’ve felt for the past days. The reaction he gave you made your mind wonder if you might be overreacting to five simple words. ‘Sometimes she’s just too clingy’.

You felt so vulnerable, but you couldn’t hide your unspoken thoughts anymore. Your eyes stayed focused on Hyunjin. He swallowed thickly before parting his lips to speak. “You’ve heard?”

He had no idea you were at the studio, or near the studio when he was venting to his members.

A sad and tired sigh left your lips and you turned your attention back to your reflection, continuing your skincare. It felt weird, acting as if it was just a normal question, meanwhile the words chipped away at your confidence.

“It’s just... sometimes...” His voice finally broke the tension, but it didn’t sound as sure as you’d hoped. Running a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his features. You could see him trying to find the right words, but every second he hesitated only making your chest tighten more.

“What? Sometimes what?” you pressed on. “I’m sometimes too much? Am I too close all the time? Overbearing? I can’t do anything by myself?” Though your voice was quieter now, he could hear the hurt and uncertainty bleeding through.

He winced slightly at your words and pressed his lips together. He let out another sigh, “No, it’s not like that. I- I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words.

You didn’t respond to his words, just waiting for an explanation as to why he said you were ‘too clingy’ and ‘couldn’t do anything by yourself’. But the explanation never seemed to come, the words stuck in his throat.

Though, you weren’t sure what you wanted to hear. His silence felt louder than any explanation he could have given.

“I was venting, and I just… I didn’t know you heard that... I’m sorry.” Frustration was seeping into his features. “It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you or- or what you do!” His voice softened and his eyes searched yours.

He didn’t know whether to take a step towards you and reach out or keep his distance, though the latter option is something you already succeeded in the past few days.

It didn’t feel good enough for you. The words fell flat between you, without meaning. You felt your chest tighten again and the suffocating feeling in your throat came back. The burning sensation of fresh tears behind your eyes was building up, ready to be released down your cheeks.

Turning away from him and nodded, “I get it, Hyunjin.” The man winced at the sound of your voice and hearing his name coming from your lips. “It’s fine. My ex said the same things, I’m used to it by now.”

It wasn’t fine. You weren’t used to it, not by a long shot. But you didn’t know if you could handle hearing more, or even if you wanted to.

Pushing past him, you went back into your bedroom. Turning on the lamp on your bedside table, you pulled back the covers and got into bed. Hyunjin lingered in the bathroom, trying to gather his thoughts on how he could explain to you he didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t mean to hurt you, it was just in the heat of the moment and being stressed out because of work didn’t help either. Not that it should be an excuse.

You reminded him of the words your ex had said to you tugging at his heartstrings. That hurt. He knew it was a bad and rough break-up for you. Even though it was so significantly small for him, something said in passing when he was stressed, holds an entirely different meaning and feeling for you.

You lay in bed staring at the window, silently letting the salty tears run down your face, and onto your pillowcase. From your position in bed, you reached out to turn off your light. The darkness engulfed you.

Hyunjin came into the bedroom after a minute. You felt the bed dip behind you, and he softly reached out to you. He rested his hand on your shoulder, trying to be comforting to you. He could hear your breathing, uneven and heavy. Without seeing your face, he knew tears were rolling down.

The moonlight is peeking through the see-through curtains in front of the window., and it lit up your face. Right now, that was the only light in the room. You stayed quiet, not trusting your voice to say anything to your boyfriend.

“It’s not fine,” he murmured, almost like he was talking more to himself than to you. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” When he didn’t hear anything from you, he continued.

“I just…” He exhaled slowly, clearly struggling. “I didn’t know how to explain it. Sometimes, when I’m stressed or overwhelmed, I don’t know how to handle things. But it’s not about you. It’s never about you.”

His words hovered between you. The sting of what you’d overheard lingered, reminding you of how easy it was for him to call you clingy in front of the others. You wondered if he even realized how much that had hurt, or if he was just trying to smooth things over now that he knew you’d overheard.

“Then why say it at all?” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. “If it wasn’t about me, why say it like that? Why make me feel like… like I’m too much?”

Hyunjin looked pained, his eyes flickering with regret as he gently pulled you to him in the dark. “You’re not too much. You never are.” At his words, you turned to face him.

Carefully he reaches for your hair to brush the loose strands from your face. “I know it's not an excuse to say I was stressed, but I really didn't mean it. The past few days I felt the distance between us and it ate away at me. I didn't know what was going on and what I had done to make you distance yourself from me.”

Your silence urges him to continue, “I didn't know how to bring this up, but I understand why you've been so distant these past few days. I was just venting to my friends without realizing this could hurt you. Especially after your break-up with your ex, I'm so sorry...”

His fingertips traced the side of your face before wiping away the tears that ran free. You swallowed hard, you wanted to believe him. You really did, because it is normal for people to vent about their feelings, good and bad. But another part, the part that heard him so casually say you were clingy, kept you guarded.

Your hand reached out for his that was still lightly tracing your face, “I don’t want to feel like I’m smothering you, Hyunjin. I just… I don’t know what to do now.”

“You know, I missed your random texts. The one you always send if you see something that reminds you of me. And when you ask me how my day is going. The boys also have been asking about you, y’know.”

The sincerity in his voice made you look up at him. “They miss you at lunch too, just like I do.” For the first time since this conversation started, you saw the cracks in his usual confidence.

“It really hurt, the way you said it so casually too. And it felt like a punch in the gut after you know what my ex said to me. But it is my insecurity, not yours. I just need to figure out how to deal with it.”

He gently shook his head. “If you feel hurt about what I said, that is completely valid. I know it is an insecurity of yours, and I shouldn’t have been so casual about it.”

You let out a sigh and initiated intertwining your fingers with his. The small act brought a soft smile to his face. Watching your features, being lit up by the moonlight, he felt his racing heartbeat calm down.

“We’ll figure it out together baby. If I feel like I don’t need a distraction during work, I’ll put on my do-not-disturb mode on my phone, okay?” His words made you nod in agreement. “And I will try to communicate my feelings more, especially when it comes to something like this. I realize now that I just have to talk about this when it bothers me.”

In response to your words, he nodded. “I love you, baby, so much.” Before you could respond he drew you closer, his lips brushing yours in a lingering kiss. “I love you too Jinnie.” You tugged him closer, kissing him with tender, quiet softness. You finally felt the tightness in your chest melt away.

He wanted to do better for you. His hand in yours felt like a promise—one he wasn’t going to let slip away.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

Ⓒ︎ 𝗶𝘁𝘀𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝗗𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵.

[innerfare]

Sabo’s Type 

Summary: A collection of random headcanons describing Sabo's type

Genre: Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

Sabo is such a show off, it’s no joke. It’s for this reason he has such a thing for a damsel in distress. He really enjoys the opportunity to flex his powers. (Flashback to Dressrosa arc and him swooping in to rescue Rebecca but leaving poor Bartolomeo lmao.) But he likes it even more if showing off doesn’t work, since it works on basically everyone else. 

Someone who is unimpressed, or at least initially hides it from him. Sabo lives for a challenge. While he loves it when people fawn over him, he’ll become a little obsessed with someone who shrugs at his dragon claw and fire fruit ability, who brushes off his pretty face and muscular body, who doesn’t care that he’s the second in command of the Revolutionary Army and is going to tell him exactly what they think of him.  

Someone with a voice like honey that makes him want to kick his habit of hanging up the transponder snail in the middle of the call and instead stay on the other line for hours listening to them talk about nothing. 

Someone powerful. Someone who can not only hold their own in battle so he doesn’t have to constantly worry about them but also someone who can spar with him. Someone who has undergone rigorous martial arts training and insists their style is more powerful than his dragon claw. Someone who triggers his competitive side. 

Someone who will make fun of him, even going so far as to poke fun of his heritage (without going too far). The odd joke about Sabo being a pampered aristocrat will get his blood boiling. He’s the type to ignore all the people fawning over him and go straight for the person who seems uninterested (side note: Sabo does not respect the ring; if you’re married and he wants you, he’s going for you). 

Someone with as much a reason to hate the World Government as he does, perhaps even more of a reason. Someone who wants to see the world burn. But also someone who starts out as his enemy, so maybe a marine or member of Cipher Pol with a traumatic backstory working as a double agent for the Revolutionary Army. 

Someone who likes his scars. He’s come to view them as a symbol of his failure to escape Goa on his own, and even as a symbol of the reason he couldn’t be there for his found family, so he doesn’t feel proud of them the way a warrior should. But if you’re proud of them, if you run your fingers over them, he’ll grin like a fool. 

Someone who is well read and a good enough writer to read his manuscript and offer feedback, someone who can edit some of the pages and offer him some direction when he’s not sure which direction to go in. Someone who agrees with his point of view on the subject matter (typically the corruption of the World Government) and can aid him in getting that across. 

Someone who makes him feel safe enough to ask for affection. Sabo isn’t really used to positive reinforcement. Though he received some once he joined the Army, a rough childhood without a drop of real softness has left him a little thirsty for someone to run their fingers through his hair while he vents about everything wrong in the world. 

Low-key has mommy issues, craves a woman who will make him food, take a bath with him, and tuck him into bed. Refuses to admit it, though. This folds into him craving a more feminine partner because he's been surrounded by so much roughness. One of his guilty pleasures is definitely crushing on the young noble women he's supposed to be usurping.

Someone who doesn’t hesitate to make his family their own, who falls right into the ranks of the Revolutionary Army and makes themselves at home with the Straw Hats (I think it goes without saying Sabo's SO has to have Luffy's stamp of approval). 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: New at This

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Lloyd tugs in his ear lobe as you get up to take your empty bowl to the counter. The lone cashier smiles and gives a nervous look past you to the corner. You return to the table and wonder if he has a reputation here. You wouldn't be surprised with his behaviour. 

"Is your ear alright?" You ask as you take the cup of iced tea. 

"Huh?" He turns to you and drops his hand. "Yeah, hearing's f-- off. Just got back from a job and... the machinery was loud." 

"Hm, it could be a busted ear drum. I know someone who had that. He never could hear me but that coulda been the TV too," you shrug. 

"It's fine," he taps his fingers on the table as you stay standing. "So, you headed out?" 

"Yeah, I guess I should. Getting dark." 

"Right," he nods. "Well," he stands and tugs at the bottom of his shirt, shaking off the crumbs. "You need a ride?" 

He zips up his jacket, the collar ending just below his chin. You button up your blue houndstooth coat. "No, I can make it." 

"Wait, you're not walking are you?" He asks as he gathers up the wrapper and napkins. 

"Not too far if I cut behind the barbershop--" 

"Cut behind-- are you serious? You can't be walking down alleys in the dark. Trust me." 

"Oh?" You give him a curious look, "you hang out in dark alleyways a lot?" 

His brow tweaks and his lips twitch, "is that a joke?" 

"Not a very good one," you smile. "I always make it." 

"And this might be the time you don't. Least I can do. You bought me dinner, I feel like I owe you a ride." 

"You don't owe me anything," you assure him. 

"Huh, you're too nice, you know that? You could give a guy the wrong idea." l

"No, I don't think so," you sigh. "Being nice isn't anything but. I hope your enjoyed your dinner." 

"You know what? The chipotle wasn't bad," he says. "So now that's two things. I owe you for paying and for the good advice. What's that you said about paying it forward?" 

Checkmate. Using your own words against you. As it is, you're starting to feel rude for saying no so many times. It would be nice not to have to walk home with your phone light on. 

"Is taking a ride from a strange man better than walking home alone?" You ask, "since you're the expert?" 

"Wow, you can be mean," he snorts. "Reading me like a book." 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m kidding.” 

“I know, tootsie roll,” he says, “sweet like candy, aren’t ya?” 

You smile again, “well, you can be too. I’ll take the ride. Thank you.” 

He dumps the garbage in the bin and heads for the door. He lets you out ahead of him. It’s colder than when you got there. 

“It’s cold as... hell out here,” he says follows you out. He points you ahead, “the white one.” 

He blows into his hands and rubs them together. You’re no fan of the cold either but you can see his nose already turning red. You approach the white car; it’s sleek and shiny. You’re not sure what make it is but it must be expensive. 

The doors click loudly, “should be unlocked.” 

You nod and open the passenger door. You sit daintily, wary of the luxury interior. You shut the door just as carefully as he gets in the other side. He grumbles as he starts the engine and flicks switches. 

“Get those seat warmers on,” he says. “Ah, better.” He puts his palms to the blast of warmth from the vent before he grips the wheel. “Help me out, tootsie roll, where am I going?” 

“Right down to Harbour. East.” 

“Harbour East... you kidding me? You were really going to walk there alone?” He scoffs. 

“It’s not so bad once you get to know the area,” you say.  

“How’d you end up there?” He pulls into a three point turn as he reroutes. 

“I guess it’s just where I am right now. Thing’s changed fast and I had to make it work,” you lean into the seat. You’ve never been in a car with seat warmers. 

“Huh, that’s too bad,” he clucks. “You still looking for a place? I know a guy, owns a few properties...” 

“Oh no, it’s okay,” you hum lightly. “Really. It’s nice. I got my own space, I got food, I’m happy as can be.” 

“Simple things, so I’ve heard,” he mutters. 

You let a lull wash over you. Judging by his car, simple isn’t exactly to his taste. 

“So...” you brush your fingertips over your palm, “what do you do for work? You travel? When you mentioned your ear...” 

“Ah, yeah, er,” he squeezes the wheel tighter and coughs, “you know, I’m on the road when I need to be. Work can be sporadic but pays well enough. Specialty type of work.” 

“With loud machinery...” 

“Military engineer. You know, artillery, tanks... whatever,” he peeks over at you as blows through a four-way. 

“Hey, you missed the stop sign,” you crane to see behind you. 

“It’s fine, no one was crossing,” he says. 

“Yeah but... it’s not safe.” You turn forward again and frown. 

He’s quiet again. He sucks his teeth, “fine, you’re right. Not fair of me to offer you a ride then drive like a maniac. I’ll do better.” 

You let out a breath and subtly grab onto the door. Despite his promises, he doesn’t let off the gas. With how quiet the car is, it must be easy to go over the limit.  

He pulls onto Harbour and finally slows, “so, uh, why don’t you give me a call next time you head down to the shop? We could do it again. I’ll be nice this time.” 

“I don’t go too often but sure, I could use a friend,” you perk up and direct him to your building. 

“You telling me you don’t got friends, tootsie roll?” He stops in front of your apartment. 

“I... did. They’re gone now,” you look away. You try not to get to wistful about it. “Anyway, thanks--” 

“Holy f—moley,” he corrects himself as he leans forward to see around you, “this place can’t be up to code--” 

“Lloyd,” you blurt out. “I’m fine. Really. Home safe. Thanks to you.” 

“Mhm, well, friends are supposed to worry about each other, right?” 

“And as your friend, I’m telling you not to worry,” you smile and pull the handle, “have a good night.” 

He huffs as you undo your seat belt, “yeah, good night.” 

[ciderjacks]

therapy

[animasolaoriginal]

A B A N D O N E D 🥀 1/3

A new-in-town urban explorer stumbles upon a (not so) well hidden secret in an abandoned building, turning his life upside down when he takes more than pictures and leaves more than footprints.

Normal dude meets broken girl turned sex toy

WARNINGS: Urban exploration. Implied past rape. Implied past caning. Wounds and injuries. Objectification. Submissive character. Strangers to lovers. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Fluff. Eventual smut*. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 7.6k

A/N: This is a spin-off to my original story INFATUATED, set in the same universe. There's no need to have read INFATUATED, just know that there's a man we refer to as Sir who took in (kidnapped) a girl we refer to as Darling to make her his personal little plaything (but then proceeds to develop “feelings” for her), and this is the story of one of the unfortunate girls before her. A "study" on what a normal dude may think about an abandoned sub. Remember: this is fiction! A product of my own sick little mind, a fantasy. Our guy here may have some opinions later that may or may not stem from my own view on things (just some rants about certain kinks, and if those insult you, please forgive me, I don't mean any kink shaming. Everyone is valid around here – except Sir who might not get the best reviews in this story). By the way, the protagonist may have a name here, but it's only mentioned a few times, so you can still imagine any character here if you want to!

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Glass crunches beneath his boots as he makes his way through the abandoned building. It's eerily quiet, just the wind howling through the broken windows and holes in the walls. The occasional rustle when debris or dry leaves move under the breeze. Nature's completely reclaimed this old house that used to be an apartment building with a bunch of tiny shops on the ground floor. Too off the beaten path, the shops became obsolete when a large mall opened only a few blocks away.

He's also in a very bad neighborhood, and nobody seemed to care about this particular building for a long time. Overgrown and broken, glass panes a good target practice for your usual teenage delinquent or bored child, doors ripped off their hinges by age and decay and maybe some random angry dude who needed a place to vent. Furniture long gone, either taken along or stolen later, things that couldn't be moved too easily (like sinks or toilet bowls) smashed into tiny pieces.

Normally he prefers places stuck in time, where tragedy struck and nobody's been back in decades, with faded photos on the walls or on dusty shelves, the smell of slowly rotting armchairs and a hint of mold in the air. Those make the best pictures. Little time capsules, evidence of older times, in the midst of a blooming bustling city. This building, however, looked more promising from the outside.

He raises his camera and takes a shot of a broken window where thick vines of ivy crawl around the frame and up the wall, the light of the setting sun giving the scene a soft glow. He changes the angle a few times, then moves on, up the stairs, looks through open doors into old apartments, mostly empty, walls vandalized with crude, unreadable graffiti, carpets full of dirt and a (not so) healthy layer of mold.

What strikes him as a little unusual is that the hallways look as if used fairly often, leaves and dust bunnies line the sides, but there's a path between the debris, leading further up the building. Not too unusual, these kinds of buildings usually attract a lot of shady people or bored teenagers, some to meet for illegal business deals, other to party hard in a place Mom and Dad cannot find them.

Maybe it's used for all kinds of things as he notices a growing abundance of empty soda cans, broken alcohol bottles and other garbage lying around (the most striking sight was a trail of discarded condoms and empty lube bottles). His destination is the roof, maybe he can at least snap some pictures of the sunset and the city around him from this place, for all he got now are shots of broken windows, nature reclaiming the urban space and your typical down-the-hallway shot. He even found the one-single-chair-in-the-middle-of-an-empty-room motif.

Of course he's not the first urbexer to walk through here, it's been abandoned for a long time, probably old news for the locals, but this is his first time here, in the city too, and he wanted to see as many abandoned things as possible. He heard from others that this house had good bones, meaning stable stairs and floors, no risk of breaking through and landing in the moldy basement with a pipe through your torso. He is looking for adventure, the thrill of being alone in a lost place, inhaling the intoxicating scent of debris and decay, he is not looking to pay a horrendous hospital bill because he's been too careless.

He takes the last section of the winding staircase, stepping onto the upper most floor, the roof access visible at the end of the corridor. There he hesitates. Unlike the floors below him, there's something different here. It's not as dirty, and the most prominent thing: all the doors are intact and closed. It almost looks like an actual floor of a still lived-in apartment building where you would find the same amount of dust and grime on the floors and walls.

Raising his camera, he takes a few shots, cursing when he realizes it's too dark to get it lined up best. The only light source is a badly boarded-up window at the end of the hallway, a tiny skylight above him and the glow creeping up over the staircase from the lower levels. Why is this window boarded up? What's happening up here that nobody wants to have witnesses for? There are other buildings around this one, still functional, mostly, probably for seedy reasons as well, but there's still the chance of people noticing what's going on here.

The closed doors irritate him. Everything else about this building was ripped out and broken and vandalized, nothing left in its former state. He came in through a bent-out-of-shape shutter gate, most of the former shops have so many holes it's fairly easy to get access to the rest of the house. And nobody seems to care about people walking about. There's an old No Trespassing sign near the boarded-up front door, but that's about it.

Though it doesn't surprise him in this kind of neighborhood. He might be new in this city, but he knows a crime haven when he sees one. Everything looks old and run down, shops are only fronts for other businesses, grim looking people stand around, gangs linger in groups in neglected parks or on the curb corners. He also saw some prostitutes walking the streets, looking as worn and shabby as the clothes they were wearing. Most normal people would avoid going deeper into the belly of the beast, but he likes the more dangerous places, and frankly, he fits right in.

Tall and bulky, he could pass as one of those bouncers standing in front of shady clubs, but he looks also young enough to be confused with a fresh gang member or mafia initiate or whatever. At least he thinks so because he's gotten no curious stares as he entered the neighborhood. Though he was glad nobody talked to him, his accent would have given him away for sure.

He feels his heart beating faster when he approaches one of the closed doors, the hairs on his arms rising in anticipation. It's a thrill to find something unusual in a place you've already pushed aside and declared boring. His hand grabs the door handle, twists it... and nothing happens. Locked. A locked door in an abandoned building. How curious. He tries the other ones, the same thing occurs. When he reaches the last door, he almost jumps back when the knob turns and the door opens with a click and then a creepy squeak.

One open room on a floor full of locked doors. His breath quickens, but he forces himself to remain calm. He doesn't even know what he's expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The room is almost bare (but not as empty as the rooms he's seen before), aged wallpaper peels from the walls, the windows are covered by thick curtains, old and rugged looking, there's a couch in one corner, covered in blankets that have seen better days too. But the most unnerving sight is the bed in the middle of the room.

It's literally in the middle of the room, a sturdy looking metal frame he could walk around if he wanted to. But for now he only stares. There are handcuffs chained to the headboard, ropes tied to the low bed posts. And then there are the stains on the old mattress, lighter and darker ones, some are definitely blood. Old and dried, though one looks a little fresher, on the lower part of the bed. He's mesmerized, disgusted but mesmerized, almost forgets the weight around his neck before a shiver crashes through him.

It's an automated gesture to raise his camera and take pictures of what he sees. Pics or it didn't happen. It's a strange sight, but he isn't sure he wants to share this scene on his official page. He's known for showing off decaying architecture and nature reclaiming its place in the world full of stone and people. To share a potential sex dungeon might not be the way to go. But he still has his side blog. He has to share this, work through the experience, hoping somebody knows something about this.

Though he hasn't even seen everything. Slowly he takes a step into the room. There's a table behind the door, a longer one, fit for a person to lie on, and the leather belts attached to it suggest the same. Fuck. Is this really one of those freaky sex rooms?

He doesn't want to imagine what goes on in here, but he can't completely ignore that he has seen similar settings in various porn clips. Echoes of crying girls crash through his mind, creepily leering men in ski masks standing around the bed, the table, the couch, cocks in hand, others holding paddles, canes, vibrators, ready to torment whoever is unfortunate enough to be strapped to the structures.

He wants to believe there's consent involved, a scene being played out, discussed beforehand, those girls willingly trapped with a bunch of horny men, but sometimes it's hard to imagine that anyone would want to go through that on their own free will. He swallows, only now noticing the stench of the room. Sweat and sex, various bodily fluids all around, with a metallic undertone. Blood.

Shivering he can't help himself, he takes more pictures, walks around the room as if treading on thin ice, careful not to disturb the scene. He's also hyper aware of the noises around him now, the low buzz of the city beyond, voices passing by the building, birds landing on the roof above him, pigeons cooing, crows cawing, seagulls screaming. He tells himself he'd hear if somebody came back to clean up the scene he's witnessing right now. He could flee to the roof, hide it out, maybe find a way down from there.

Goosebumps attack his bare forearms when he rounds the bed and notices a pile of blankets on the floor. But it's the hair poking out of it that makes his heart stop. No. He freezes on the spot, staring down, camera heavy in his hand. He's heard stories of other urban explorers encountering unsettling things, the more harmless one coming into contact with a squatter, either awake or passed out in some corner, and the most disturbing one... stepping onto a crime scene, finding blood, bones... or dead bodies.

Yet instead of panicking, with the urge to run as quickly as he can, he finds himself staring with an obscene fascination. His eyes trail the blanket, noticing how it's wrapped around whatever is curled up inside it, and he bends down a little, crouching beside it, the smell overwhelmingly strong down here. His stomach protests, but his curiosity is too obnoxious to ignore. Shifting his camera into his other hand, he reaches out, carefully, knowing he should probably wear gloves, but he also doesn't care. He has to know.

His fingers grip the edge of the blanket, and he pulls, gently, his eyes widening as the scene unfolds in front of him – together with the body of a girl unfurling from its curled-up position. He will never share his first impression with anyone, because it's primal, an instinct, the thought of a man whose cock has a mind of its own: she's pretty.

Also naked, covered in grime and other substances, pale skin adorned with angry red welts and purple bruises, something pink caked between her thighs. She's on her side, legs scissored open, arms bound behind her back. Her thick dark hair is braided into two pigtails, and one of them seems to be cut off as the hair frays out and lies around her head like a dark halo. Tears and sweat allowed a thick layer of dust and dirt to cake to her face. Eyes closed, long dark lashes clumped, full lips swollen and raw looking, slightly parted.

Before he continues taking in every detail of her, he has the urge to bring his finger to her nose, and the relief when he feels the slightest bit of air movement against his skin lets him exhale loudly as well. She is not dead. And there's the problem. She looks like she should be, like it would be the better fate. The sight scares him as much as it fuels his morbid fascination, which may explain why he's still frozen on the spot, staring at her instead of calling the police or an ambulance or doing anything to help her. He can't take his eyes off her.

Her slender neck is covered in dark bruises as if someone has tried to strangle her, probably thought they succeeded too. Why else would she lie on the floor here? Left behind after whoever assaulted her was done? And assaulted she was. Sexually, physically. The welts on her body look horrible, thin red lines all over her small breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, on her ass as well from what he can tell. She was caned, the poor thing. He hates watching those kinds of porn videos. He can see the appeal of spanking, the hand on ass contact, but hitting someone with a rigid cane doesn't seem very pleasurable, it's only about inflicting pain and having evidence of it days later.

A sadistic move, and sadists were definitely at work here. There are more bruises on her thighs, probably from strong hands holding her down and open while various cocks forced themselves into her holes. He feels his cheeks warming up when he takes a closer look at her pussy. Apart from layers upon layers of what he assumes to be cum and other fluids, there are welts and bruises on there too, on the soft skin of her inner thighs, on her puffy outer lips (that look stretched as if held back and open by clamps or whatever these bastards used), but most are on the strangely swollen clit. Ugh. Genital torture, a genre he really hates. Spanking a woman's clit is just downright sick and barbaric.

The more he looks at her, the worse he feels. Not just for what she had to go through, but knowing he can't really help her. How should he? Call the police and wait for other horny men to find her? He never trusted the cops, and in a neighborhood like this he is certain there won't be a good guy among them. Calling an ambulance may be an option, if he does it anonymously and flees the scene quickly, but that leaves him wondering if anyone ever found her. And again, in an area like this, the people who did this may still be around watching the place, stopping help before it can get anywhere, maybe even finishing the job, killing her.

And if he stays and wait, he will be in danger of those people seeing him, and as he now knows too much, even took pictures of the evidence, what's stopping them from killing him too? And even if they don't find him, he fears the damn hospital bill might be his end. Yes, strange priorities, but his brain is buzzing and he feels sick and nauseous the longer he stays in this horrible room, staring down at the poor girl.

She looks younger than him, maybe a few years, maybe a lot, the pigtails give the illusion she might still be a teenager, but her body looks too developed for that. A thin face with high cheekbones, no baby fat, soft albeit small breasts, a narrow waist, plump hips, thighs just rounded enough to create that amazing thigh gap he likes so much. The initial thought is still there, and his cock agrees, she is beautiful, despite the state she is in.

And maybe that's why he forms an idea in his head: why not take her with him? Away from this place, into safety, then assess what help he can get her. She can't stay here, that's for sure. A better man would face the danger of being discovered by her abusers, to make sure she'll get the care she needs, no matter how expensive and uncomfortable it may get. A better man wouldn't crouch beside her limp body and stare and drool.

But he's not. He's a runaway, dropped out of college to party, then got too old and paranoid to return. Too distracted by the world around him. Traveling on a budget, with just enough money to feed himself once a day, couch surfing, loitering, pissing his life away one day at a time. It's only been during the last years that he's gotten a bit more stable, making a name for himself as a photographer, selling prints and doing commissions, and by coming into this city he's hoped to make it even bigger.

Renting an old loft he hopes to transform into a photo studio one day, he's trying to settle down. He still has barely any money, lives off those stupid strangers willing to pay for his pictures even though they're not even that special. He always hopes for the occasional exceptional find, something he could sell to newspapers, but even those prefer to steal their pictures off other people's Instagram instead of paying for a more professional shot. Tough times.

As he crouches next to the unconscious girl, the hand holding his camera twitches. It's an instinct to raise it, bring it in front of his eyes, look through the finder and press his thumb down to take a picture of her. He feels sick for it, but also... not. She's part of this little sex dungeon, the main attraction, actually, and it's an inborn need to burn her image into a bunch of pixels. Pics or it didn't happen. He considers sharing her story with whatever newspaper may want it, but then his name would be attached to the evidence, he could be linked to this scene, and what's stopping any corrupt cop to call him guilty for this? Or the bad guys to come and erase any kind of evidence? Him and her included?

She can't stay here. He can't keep staring at her. Something has to happen.

Before he puts his camera into his backpack, he can't help but take a few more pictures of her, of her wounds and injuries, of the evidence caked to her skin, the blood trailing down her inner thigh. Maybe justice will come one day, but he'll need pictures of the crime scene to make it happen. He also snaps a few shots of her face, peaceful in slumber, of her soft curves, those tiny feet with the ankles covered in rope burn. Those he does in several angles, maybe he has a future in selling feet pics. And it's not his fault the market exists.

The world is a sick place, and he's just trudging along.

Eventually he stores his camera in his backpack, then moves the blanket back around the girl. His hand finds her cheek, and it's warm to the touch, she's certainly still alive, and probably in pain, so he doesn't want to disturb the few quiet moments this cruel world has given her. He wraps her up and scoops her into his arms, a barely there weight, poor thing looks and feels malnourished on top of being treated so horribly.

Lifting her up, he realizes the light has turned from the soft sunset glow into the harsher, darker tones of the street lamps coming to life. Time to go. Maybe her abusers will return soon. He carries her out of the room, she's warm and soft in his arms, head resting against his shoulder, hair and one half of her face peeking out of the blanket cocoon. She's tiny, in comparison and in general, and knowing her fate he feels even worse for her.

His heart clenches by the time he's descended all those stairs, and when he reaches his point of entry, he hesitates. It's one thing to slip into a building during the day, nobody cares about a man with a camera creeping around old houses much, at least not in this kind of area, but knowing this place is frequently used for terrible little sex adventures, he feels uneasy now. The night is fast approaching, and he knows these kinds of things probably happen when the shadows fall.

Looking around, he decides to find another exit, preferably one leading around the back, and luck is on his side when he finds a broken window looking into a backyard filled with black trash bags. With the girl still in his arms, he climbs through, but slips on something at the last second. Curling his back, trying not to harm her further, he feels his backpack scraping over the rough wall, hoping it didn't damage his camera. It's one of his few prized possessions, but thinking about it, maybe he should reconsider his priorities.

He's carrying a life in his arms, a life he intends to save, so a broken camera, a replaceable thing, really isn't that big of a deal. He can always salvage the SD card inside anyway. No harm done. Rolling his shoulders, he shifts her against his chest, then continues through the dark alley. He's parked the hunk of metal he calls his car a few blocks away, at the edge of the neighborhood, hoping he'll still have all tires when he returns.

And indeed they are all there, as full and dirty as he's left them. The old truck was the last thing he could afford after renting out the loft, so even if he's bound to this city, relying on random strangers to finance his life, he has a means to get away if he has to. For now, he's pulling the passenger door open and carefully puts down the bundle of limbs and hair and blankets, and when he does, she suddenly stirs.

He freezes, staring at her as her eyelids flutter open. A soft groan escapes her, but when her wide eyes, beautiful dark irises, glazed and a little dull, but beautiful nonetheless, meet his, she stiffens too, lips parted, and he expects a scream, a distress call, anything, but she doesn't issue a single peep, just looks at him, almost calm, probably just glad she's still alive or thinking she died and woke up in a weird realm between the worlds where it's normal to wake up in unfamiliar places, facing unfamiliar people.

He still feels the need to calm her. “Hey, it's alright. No need to be afraid, I'm not here to harm you. I want to help you, okay? Do you understand?”

She blinks, her lips trembling, but then she utters a barely audible “Yes, sir”, and he feels his heart jumping a little. To his own shame, his cock does the same. He clears his throat, nods to her, then closes the door with a thud and rounds the car, putting his backpack into the covered truck bed. Her eyes are following him when he slips behind the wheel, despite her slouched position on the seat. She's eerily quiet, not at all concerned about a strange man packing her into his car.

He watches her as he pulls the seat belt over her small frame, then buckles himself in. “You'll be alright,” he says softly, giving her the hint of a smile, and she continues staring at him. She must be in shock, no other way to explain this behavior, probably fighting the pain coursing through her, the soreness and burning, the stickiness between her thighs, the memory of the whole ordeal. He can't blame her. It must have been absolute hell.

He starts the car, glad it does so on the first try, and maneuvers it back into the nightly city traffic until they reach the old warehouse at the edge of it. It's the cheapest he could find, between two concerning neighborhoods, but those are still better than the one he found her in. At least he has running water and electricity, and a bed. Hmm. One bed. He'll give it to her for now, trying to squeeze his big body onto the small couch. It'll work.

She's still only staring at him when he unbuckles her and picks her up, though her breaths are a bit more labored. Maybe the shock is fading, letting through the pain more and more. He hums soothingly to her, tells her it'll be alright, knowing the more he'll repeat that, the more she'll believe it. It's his life motto too, fake it till you make it. She's that pliant body in his arms as he carries her to the old elevator, hoping it'll last another day.

When he reaches his apartment door, he shifts her in his hold, and she winces, a horribly pathetic little sound he hopes never to hear again. “Sorry,” he mutters as he fumbles for his key and unlocks the door. “You'll feel better soon, I promise.”

Her warm breath hits his neck as she presses her face closer against him, a strangely submissive gesture, a naive hope to trust a stranger. He takes her straight to the bathroom, where he sets her on the closed toilet lid and slowly unravels the blanket from around her. She's sitting perfectly still, the only movement coming from her almost curious eyes as she watches his every move. She winces when he brushes against the welts on her skin, chest rising and falling a little faster, but that's about all the motion he gets from her.

When the blanket falls away, she's that naked thing covered in sweat and cum and blood, and it occurs to him what a strange situation this is. For him to just take her away, without informing anyone, authority or not, and for her to just accept it like this. She's awake, maybe a little dazed, but conscious enough that a normal girl would stir more, talk more, fuss and strain against his touches, maybe even try to flee or do anything to ensure her own safety.

But she is just sitting there, arms folded behind her back, watching him. She doesn't seem real. Like a robot. A brainless toy... And it occurs to him, that might just be what she is, what she has been. A body to use, handed around between vulgar men, an object to utilize in their sick fantasies turned reality. Of course he's no stranger to the news, especially the darker ones, those about trafficking and forced sex work, even if those stories barely make it past the usual political drama. It's another one of those morbid fascinations he can't seem to break.

He might just be as sick as those actually partaking in these illegal little sex gatherings, he's watched those videos, even though he's handled them like any other porn he's come across. As fake, a scene played out, a fantasy made as real as movie magic can make it, but to find this girl in this room, discarded and abandoned like a broken doll, left behind after everyone else was done and satisfied in their twisted, primal needs, shows him that those were not scenes, not fake, but brutal reality. It makes him angry.

“Can you stand?” he asks her quietly, tilting his head as he towers over her, and she nods, looking up at him, before straining her bruised body when she tries to move. His hands find her elbows, and she flinches, but lets him pull her onto her feet. “Oh fuck, your arms, I forgot,” he presses out, and quickly leans back to grab a pair of scissors off the counter behind him, then carefully moves around her to cut through the ropes holding her wrists and forearms together. When he's done, he lets her go, and she sways, arms flailing a little, her hands twitching as if she wants to hold onto him. He guides her into the shower, then steps back. She turns around immediately, eyes wide. “Do you need help?”

She bites her swollen lip. “Please,” she croaks, and the hoarse sound of her voice breaks his heart (but also thickens his cock). He nods, swallows hard, trying to fight the strange warmth pooling in his stomach, before he toes off his boots, strips off his hoodie and jeans, then steps behind her in just his boxers. He wants to show her he's not a predator, but he also doesn't want to get his only good pair of jeans wet and dirty. One day he'll be able to afford another one.

He grabs the shower head and turns the knobs on the wall, waiting for the water to heat up. She's shivering, her frail little body so tiny in front of him, one hand rubbing up and down the other arm, a mindless gesture, trying to ease her nerves probably. Her eyes, however, stay on him and his every move, very attentive, almost eager. It should feel a little bit more bizarre to share a shower with a girl he's just met (or rather found), but it's as if he's running on instincts, feeling the need to help her, make her feel better, ease her pain.

The steam fills his nostrils, and when he puts the water jet to her shoulder, she winces, flinches away, lets out a little whine, but ultimately returns under the spray and lets him clean the grime and sweat and other substances off her skin. He's careful not to put too much pressure on her bruises and the welts, and is glad they didn't break her skin, even though they look horrible, shining in a bright red as if the blood is pulsing just beneath her pale skin.

When he lowers the shower head to point it between her thighs, he hesitates, looks at her, but all she does is take a little side step and spreads her legs a bit more to allow him to do so. So fucking obedient, it's almost scary. The grime on her inner thighs is so persistent that he has to move his hand over her skin before he realizes he should probably use a wash cloth. Stepping back, he leans around the open door and grabs a small towel, wets it and then proceeds to rub the dirt (and cum and other things he doesn't want to think more about) off her thighs. She whines quietly when he moves the soft cloth over her folds, and he holds his breath, trying to be as gentle as he can be.

When he touches her clit though, she shudders and gasps, legs trembling, and her hand is on his arm then, holding on tightly, with a strength he wouldn't have expected from her. He watches how her eyes roll back, how her lips part and a little moan escapes her, and he just freezes, wash cloth pressed to her sensitive nub, unintentionally drawing a strange little orgasm out of her. Was she trained to be this sensitive, so responsive? To come on touch alone? He didn't even rub that hard.

He takes the cloth away slowly, and she calms down a little, breathing just a bit harder, but when her eyes meet his, she furrows her brows, bites her lip, mumbles a croaked “Sorry” as she lowers her head. He frowns at that, tilting his head.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says quietly. “I... uh, didn't mean to do that either...”

Is she one of those poor girls who was bound to their master's (or whatever the man called himself who had her) will, to only do as he told her, to come on command, and to feel bad if she does so without permission? What a horrible fate... He would never ask her to hold her orgasm, he would want to see that reaction over and over again, allowing her all the pleasure she can get. Not that he'll ever want to do anything to her, but... in theory, of course.

He keeps cleaning her then, lets the warm water soak her bruised skin, and she just stands there, chin tilted up, eyes closed, wet hair cascading down her back, hanging over her shoulders, one side shorter than the other (how cruel to take away something from her, even as benign as part of her braid, but it's definitely crueler to treat her like a soulless body, and he's glad she's not missing any fingers or limbs instead).

Considering, her state could be worse. She's standing on her own, breathing just fine, she's probably very sore and aching, but the pain will fade and she could have a normal life after this, more or less, not counting the psychological trauma that seems to still hold her hostage. Well, it's not ideal, and maybe death would have been a relief after the torment, but she's young, she can work through this, it's possible. And maybe he can help her cope...

Looking at her petite frame, he feels his stomach tensing. It's wrong to feel like this, he knows it, he shouldn't even allow the smallest little thought into that direction, but he is just a man after all, standing with a naked young woman in his shower, and it's blatantly obvious what his cock thinks about this whole situation. He hopes she doesn't notice the tent in his boxers.

But he shouldn't worry, she doesn't seem to notice much, standing still under the spray of the water, and when he turns it off eventually, deeming her clean enough, she inhales deeply and opens her eyes, blinking away stray water drops. She remains immobile, and while he turns to grab a towel, she doesn't move an inch. When he starts drying her off, rougher than he intends, but his hands feel like they are shaking from the tension growing inside him, she winces a couple of times, but then presses her lips together and endures.

He's watching her like a hawk, apologizes for accidentally hurting her, tries to be as gentle as possible, and her eyes are glued to his face, not completely focused yet, still glazed and hazy, pupils blown for some reason, her gaze almost curious. What a strange little creature. He'd expected a victim of whatever type of rape she's experienced to be more... hysterical?

When he finally wraps the towel around her small body and another one around her damp hair, she seems to relax even more. Then she opens her mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispers, looking up at him before bowing her head.

He stares at her, blinking in confusion. “Uh, you're welcome,” he says. “But, uh, you can call me Sam, okay? I'm Sam. No need for... honorifics or whatever, you know?”

There's a frown on her face when she looks back up, her lips moving as if she's repeating his name in her mind.

“What's your name?” he then asks, leaning against the sink as he watches her.

The frown deepens, her eyes moving away from him, flickering here and there as if she tries to find the answer somewhere in his bathroom. “I...” she starts, eyebrows furrowed before she exhales deeply, her shoulders sagging. “It doesn't matter,” she then replies.

“Huh?” he makes, staring at her. “What do you mean it doesn't matter? I'm sure you have a name. Did you forget?” He kicks himself mentally for assuming as much and for his harsh tone, but it's ridiculous.

She shakes her head, not to say no, but to clear her mind maybe? It's a frantic gesture. “It doesn't matter. I don't matter. I am... I am yours to... to use,” she mutters under her breath, hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“What now?” He gapes at her.

And then she is suddenly on her knees in front of him, the towel falling away, her small body folded with her hands lying neatly on her lap, her chin tilted up, looking at him with big eyes. “Please use me,” she says quietly.

He takes a step back, bumping into the cupboard next to the sink, staring down at the girl. Is she serious? He shakes his head, then walks back and grabs her elbows. “Come on, get up, no need to kneel before me, okay? Get up!”

His harsher, also slightly agitated tone makes her wince, but she's on her feet immediately, letting him pull her up, then stands stock-still before him, head lowered, a soft little whine escaping her. “I'm sorry...”

“Stop apologizing!” He lets go of her and runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “I mean, ugh, wow. I'm sorry, too. You must be... well, you've been through so much, I don't mean to scare you or anything, I just...”

“Please,” she mumbles, breathing a little harder. She's shivering without the towel, the one on her head coming undone as well the more she shimmies on the spot. He stares at her, she has her hands clasped in front of her sex and squeezes her thighs together, small breasts squished, nipples erect, a deep blush almost hiding the red welts on her skin. “Please use me,” she then says again.

“No!” he blurts out, and she flinches, another sob escaping her. He groans. “I mean, come on! I will not just use you, I just met you, I found you! In that freaky sex room after you've been...” He stops when he suddenly meets her gaze. Her pupils are fully dilated, her already dark eyes shining entirely black. “You're in no condition to do anything but relax now, okay? Take it easy. Come on, I'll show you the bed.”

He's about to grab her hand when she turns her shoulder, avoiding his touch. He freezes, frowns. “In... no condition? Am I... not good... anymore?” Her voice is that feeble little hum, a desperate song sending shivers down his spine.

“What? No! You are good, you are perfect, you are so beautiful!” he croaks out, unable to stop the words. She tilts her head, blinking. “I mean, yeah, uh, you are, but that's not what I mean. You are... Look, whoever treated you like this, whoever hurt you, just left you there. And I couldn't not take you, you know? I want to help you, do you understand that? I want you to feel good again after –”

“Then use me,” she whispers, breathing harder, hands falling away from the obedient pose as she rubs them up and down her thighs, still squirming on the spot. “Please, it hurts...”

“Of course it hurts, they hit you with a fucking cane! They raped you!” he shouts, a little too loud, his emotions getting the better of him.

She flinches back, gasping with her lips parting, her eyes wide. “No... no, they were... they had to punish me because I... I was bad... I deserved it... and they... they used me like they should use me...”

Her words are mumbled, but he can still hear them, even though he wishes he couldn't. What a sick way of seeing things. What a fucked-up world where a pretty girl like her has these thoughts planted into her head.

Anger makes him clench his hands into fists. “They shouldn't have done that. You are a human being, a young woman, a beautiful girl, not a doll to play with, not a toy to use!”

She stares at him, eyelids fluttering, chest rising and falling faster, small breasts bouncing. Really not the time to notice that, mate!

“But,” she whispers, wincing slightly as she starts chewing on her lips. “But that... that's my purpose... I am... I am yours to use,” she repeats these last five words like something she had to learn without knowing the meaning behind it.

He approaches her slowly, carefully, his big hands find her small shoulders, and the touch makes her look up at him. “You are your own person. You have a name, even if you can't remember it right now, you had a mother and a father, maybe even siblings. You went to school, you had a job, maybe. You had dreams, everyone has dreams, for the future, things you wanted to have, places you wanted to see. You are not just a body for strange men to use. Not like that. Not without consent! You were not made to be punished, to be hurt because some random sicko gets off on it. Your body is so much more than just... holes to fill... and a canvas to soil with bruises and welts and... cum...”

His voice has become calmer, like a mantra, new thoughts to plant into her muddled brain, so he hopes, and she listens with her lips parted, eyes directly looking at him. Sometimes she frowns, sometimes she blinks, and when he finishes she licks her lips.

“But I want this,” she says quietly. “I want to be used...”

He sighs deeply and lowers his head, then shakes it in frustration. “No, somebody told you you should think like that! Nobody in their right mind wants to be raped and mutilated like that!”

A single sob makes him look up, and he lets go of her, straightening up. Her lips are trembling and her eyes watering before tears stream down her face. He lets out a groan.

“I'm sorry,” he grunts. “I didn't mean it like that! You are valid, whatever you want, of course, but... but you gotta agree it's a little strange?” She only cries harder, her small frame shaking. “Okay, look, no kink shaming or whatever, I just... I assumed, the way you were lying in that room, the state you were in, I thought you needed help! You looked horrible! I was about to call the police!”

She freezes at that, staring up at him. “No,” she gasps. “Don't do that! Please! I... I don't want any trouble... I... I'll do anything, but... please... not the police!”

He raises an eyebrow at that. This reaction surprises him. “Why not?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She averts her eyes, breathing harder. He isn't very fond of them either, but why wouldn't she? Why would she prefer being gang raped and beaten and strangled over calling for help?

She presses her lips together, doesn't say a thing. For a moment they are both silent, standing in the bathroom, the naked girl and the guy with his tented boxers. Even now his cock doesn't agree with him. But he doesn't care about it anymore. This is a mystery he wants to unravel.

“Tell me,” he says, tone harsher, pointedly. She seems to reply better to commands.

And it seems to work. “He said he'd kill me if I talked to them,” comes her quiet answer, spoken to the tiled floor.

“He? He who?” he asks, his arms falling to his sides.

“Sir,” she replies, her shoulders shaking.

“Sir? Who calls himself Sir? Who is that? The man who did this to you?”

She shakes her head. “No. He... he found me, he took me in, and then... he... he sent me away because I was... a bad girl and he... he... they...” A series of sobs escapes her before her hands fly up to cover her face. Her cries pierce his heart. “Why did he send me away? What did I do?” she wails softly, muffled from behind her hands. “I was a good girl... always a good girl... did everything he said...”

He can't watch it anymore. While his rage for this unknown man grips his insides, he steps forward and pulls her against him, arms wrapped around her shuddering form, but she keeps crying, lets it all out, desperate and heartbreaking. He scoops her up and carries her to the bedroom, her tears hot on his skin, her whines loud in his ears.

Putting her down carefully, he pulls the blanket over her naked body and tucks her in, gently rubbing her side as she curls in on herself, continuing to cry miserably.

“Please stop crying,” he whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed, hand still on her hip. “I'm sorry he treated you like that. But he let you go, you said so, so why don't you use that as a chance to move on, look ahead, find a new Sir? Or live your life without any man for a while? I'm sure that's nice too...”

She stares at him from under her clumped lashes, momentarily paused in her sobbing, only to cry out again when he suggests moving on. He sighs, letting her wail and whine until hiccups shake her form. She's not calming down, but she gets quieter, and he stands up then, walking down the stairs into the kitchen to get some water and a snack. When he returns, she's lying on her side, staring blankly ahead, eyes reddened, face flushed and wet, but she's stopped crying for the moment.

He sits back down on the edge and holds the water glass to her face. “Come on, drink something. Please.” She doesn't even look at him. He exhales loudly and puts the glass on the bedside table. “Fine. Well, it's there if you want it. I also brought some crackers, maybe you're hungry. I can get more later. Or just sleep, you definitely need that. Rest, get better, and tomorrow we'll figure something out, okay?”

She doesn't give a reply, and he shakes his head and leaves again, settling on the lumpy couch under the stairs, his eyes drifting back up to the loft area every now and then. He falls asleep thinking it was probably a bad idea taking this girl with him. For his sake. What if she is so sick in the head she'll stand over him with a knife in the middle of the night? Great thought to slumber over, really.

1 🟢 2 🟢 3

End notes: *And this was the plot part of our story, stay tuned for the sex frenzy to begin in the next chapter!

There will be three chapters in total, I'll upload every Wednesday.

Thank you for joining me on another little original story I needed to get out of my system.

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[stench-core]

so now i've made a couple of posts with a handful of notes i wanted to make yet another to say:

if you are intersex and want to add onto my posts about transandrophobia i actively encourage you to do so

i'm seeing more people be outright verbally hostile to intersex people and a lot of posts (including my own!) are very focused on perhaps perisex experience which is why i want to actually say this is fine to do on my posts if you feel it relevant/insightful/just want to vent or whatever, really

meanwhile if an intersex person comments on my posts with their own experience and you get mad at them, i'll throttle you with my bare fucking hands. that's all x

[arcadekitten]

Sorry if this question is personal but I don't want to accidentally make you upset!

Since "Once Clover Died" is a vent game should the characters in the game be treated with more caution?

Are there any extra boundaries to keep in mind when making fan art/headcanons for them?

Can we make up theories about the character in the game?

Can we make speculations or theories about the game?

(SIDE NOTE: I hope you get better Ak! I understand how it feels to struggle with mental health but remember your never alone, you can get through this!)

-Lots of loves from anon! ❤

No worries!! I'll go like this:

1, I'd be slightly more cautious. The characters here are more heavily based on myself and a friend so I think treading with extra caution will be good! That leads into,

2, Extra boundaries to keep in mind! On top of my existing boundaries I would also ask that the only thing people ship (if they ship anything at all) would be Obseen x Comphurt. Any other romantic relationship would just be weird. I'm personally okay with people kinning the characters if they wish, but I would still keep in mind what they're based on when kinning them.

3 & 4, I think speculation and theories are totally cool! Just keep in mind this game isn't going to be getting a sequel or anything like that--at least not any time soon.

(Also thanks so much! It means a lot to me to hear ♡)

[peachyfnaf]

I'm sorry but "MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS WITH A DISORDER<3" really made my day and I needed you to know

🤣🤣🤣

I can't believe Nexus is bullying peepaw war criminal.

Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?

(Please talk about baby cringe Lord Nexus, I want to hear about your blorbo 🙏)

That's because Nexus IS my beautiful princess with a disorder, I'll have you know <3 they're diseased but it's okay I can give them their tetanus and flu shots and it'll all be better I GOT THIS

But. ahem, okay, blorbo yapping time. I'm not even gonna say "I'll try to keep this short" because I know it wont end up that way HAHAHAHAHA

"Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?"

I... have absolutely no idea!!!1! (and also it took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize peepaw war criminal was Ruin KJDFHSDF)

The most frustrating thing about canon Nexus is how his morals, motivations, and goals seem to see-saw back and forth all the time. at first, he became how he is now due to Solar's death. he spiraled in his grief, identity-issues, and abandonment. but... now his motivation is to become an all powerful god??? while it's most likely that NSP is at play and affecting his thought process, it's... well, it's really hard to take him seriously as a villain because of it, lol. for an audience to enjoy, and even sympathize in some cases, with a villain, their goals and motivations have to be concrete. they have to be relatable, or at least understandable, but Nexus' whole thing is... not, Imho. and I know I'm not the only person who feels this way!!!

I see a lot of people calling Nexus "cringe", and the thing is, when it comes to canon Nexus, they're not really... wrong??? The worst thing Nexus has done so far is make Old Moon see his past victims, which is fucked up of him to do, but.. so far, that's kind of it??? other than that, his "villainy" consists of saying empty threats and cheesy evil one-liners. hell, he was supposed to kidnap Sun yesterday but instead spent the whole episode yapping and venting to him, chasing Sun around in the worlds darkest game of tag before getting some lead right in the face dkfjhsdfsd

Also, notice how he's only targeted Old Moon when it comes to actual physical violence? not Lunar, Earth, Solar, or Sun, but Old Moon? yeah, I did too. we already know that Nexus does everything because he's lashing out, but as of rn the only target he's gotten his hands on physically being O.M...? well. I think it says a lot. cause' yeah, he sure as shit scared the life out of the other Celestials, but he's never put his hands on them!! the only other one of them he harmed physically was Earth- and not only was he not aiming for her, she was just in the way- he felt immediate regret for his actions once in space, and has yet to even see Earth ever since that day.

So, I really have no idea if he's going to be "redeemed" or not. one second he's showing signs he might be, and the next he's falling further down the "pretty badly written villain" rabbit-hole. if he does get something akin to a redemption arc, he'll prolly mostly be accepted in the eyes of the viewers, considering a lot of peeps sympathize or at least understand where he's coming from, but I seriously doubt the other Celestials would take him back. the only one's who might see him as family/a close friend again are Sun and Solar, but even then, nothing would ever be the same.

I hope he gets redeemed, or at least freed from the hold Dark Sun has on him and he's able to live his own life, I really do. at his core, Nexus is a good person. a good person who was crushed under the weight of the shadow of the man he was born under. and we know this because he used to be New Moon. sweet, dorky New Moon.

New Moon, who made inventions like sentient knives and whoopee cushions. New Moon, who had matching My Little Pony stickers with his best friend. New Moon, who bought a whole ass island-luxury-house for Sun because he wanted to make him feel better and give him the proper space to heal. and New Moon- the poor freshly-baked A.I who gave his all to make sure he could do everything that Old Moon could, but it just wasn't enough. he tried and tried and tried, but it wasn't enough.

So yeah, idk if he's getting one in canon, but to me, he more than deserves a good ending, for the life he was given. let him be at peace.

[zoropookie]

Hello zoro,

my reading comphrension is really ass and i'm soo confused as to why kuni is so hateful towards y/n, i reread like all the chapters and i'm just so confused 😭😭

Was it because Y/n gave up being a vet or something like that? But i don't think that warrants such hate 😭

i'm soo sorry for asking this but i've been too lost for too long 😭

there are many reasons that i can discuss now

1. y/n is very two-faced, they are pretending to be very sweet and polite, to the point where they are considered a pushover because of their loss. this started when kazuha went missing, and this has been happening for years

2. they claimed that they would stay out of his life, and then proceeded to write letters for mona on behalf of her. this is a seedy method of getting his attention, especially since kuni is aware of how their handwriting looks. they have gotten letters from them of this exact structure when they were dating. it’s very difficult to believe they’re not doing this to spite him

3. y/n would, on multiple occasions, tell their relationship business to ei, even after they would talk to each other and clear up misunderstandings. ei is known to constantly be on his ass, and will continue. y/n knows this, as they’ve been told through his vents, but they continued to tell her everything that he says (even when it isn’t particularly that bad)

4. allowed their ambitions to fail as soon as their brother went missing, watching them spiral after they broke up was painful to watch, especially since they still were constantly at his home still at this period of time. he feels irritated that y/n couldn’t even find a epiphany to their life, and never ended up doing what they really wanted to do because they succumbed to their own thoughts. this isn’t really an issue, more so a disappointment to him. he did really care about them

[skele-bunny]

I write desperately requesting some Dewdrop/Sodo/Mountain stubborn hurt/comfort of any kind. Just a crumb is required for sustaining my existence.

I appreciate you fully,

Jude 🦇🩷✨

OIGHGIII...... I got a few for you, my friend........ Plus just some general ones!!

When Mountain was first summoned, he came out kicking and PISSED. Ready to maul just about anyone and everything that came into his sight. Back then, the assigned ghoul was the one to calm the newly, and that happened to be Dewdrop. Mountain just slowly calmed down at this tiny water ghoul, letting him reach up and pet over his jaw and ease him down. Earth ghouls are STUPID about water ghouls they look ridiculous sometimes. Mountain was like the giant pup who still thinks he's a lap dog, constantly following or laying on/against Dewy. There was ONE time Mountain hurt Dew and it was by giving him a rose with thorns still in. Dew cut his finger, and even to the current day, Mountain will dethorn roses before giving them to Dewdrop.

Now, when Dew had his transition, he was so deep in a depression he didn't really... Function. That time is when Mountain and him fought a lot. "You cared for me, so now let me care for you!" / "I just want you to leave me ALONE." When it wasn't Aether, it was Mountain who changed his bandages. Whispering to Dew that he's almost done as he gently rubs ointment into scars and open wounds, feeling terrible as his rosemary sobs uncontrollably from the pain and guilt of what's been done to him. There's been times Dew will try doing it himself and being a dick to Mountain about it, but always ends up with Mounty doing it, being so careful and letting Dew lay on him afterwards.

Dewdrop also had a lot of concerning behaviors after, always ashamed but one night just being too much as he cried silently against some run down gas station after sneaking out of the hotel. Pressed down immediately on Mountain's phone "Can you please come get me?" When Mountain finally came in view, Dew just ran straight to him and sobbed on his shoulder. Led to another argument as Mountain staged a small intervention but Dew is thankful about it in more recent times.

One of Mountain's bad traits is he doesn't know when to stop pushing himself and to put his own needs/health first. Hunched over his desk working on something one of the others or Copia asked him to, or helping the others with their mental health and venting needs while he's just quiet and won't speak about his own. Too many nights Dew has leaned against his doorway, a certain look on his face before pulling Mountain away and to bed. "I have too much to do—" / "Shut it. How long has it been since you slept? You look like actual shit." / "How kind of you." Dewdrop using his warm hands to ease his physical pains as much as possible, massaging him into a calm state before falling asleep. Dew won't leave his side and even sometimes sleeps with him.

Mountain, when he gets overstimulated, reacts in anger as he doesn't know what else to do. Flapping his hands and baring his fangs, and with each passing moment he's showing more and more warning signs that he's about to lose himself. If Dew's around, he just grabs Mountain's face and brings him down to his chest. It irritates him more at first before his other ear is cupped to help silence, Mountain able to focus purely on Dewdrop's heartbeat and letting himself ease down. It helps when Dew rubs his jaw, just like he did all those years ago...

[thetopichot]

•°☆ Comfort Prompts VIII ☆°•

Some more my boyfriend inspired prompts!

"Hey, just don't beat yourself up about it. You know how I hate seeing you this way."

"Hey, it's fine. You're not alone."

"They 'oughta start treating you better if that's the case. If they don't then, I'll come over there."

"Take it easy, I'm sure it's gonna get better."

"It's gonna be stressful, but something good will come out of it someday. I'm sure."

Putting your head into their lap & they just start messaging your head.

Kissing your hands to make you feel better.

Setting up fresh new clothes for you after you come back from hard, rainy day.

Grabbing some tissues for you.

Making little cards for you so whenever you're sad, you can read them anytime.

☆ミAuthor's Notes Underneath 👇☆ミ

cw: vent

🩷 - I haven't really been posting lately because it's just been really hard for me lately. I'm currently struggling with ideas to write since I haven't really given myself the time to write things that I want to write because of work & just trying to survive becoming a adult. Out of the years of being the most stressful, I would say this year has been the most stressful because of what I want to pursue in life alongside balancing social life to the point I have forgotten to post things.

I have writing projects that I said that I would get done but I haven't because there is so much other things to do. All I can do it just hope that it's over. So I feel like this prompt is kinda just mostly for me because thinking about my boyfriend makes me feel better.

[wish-i-were-heather]

This is a long post but not a vent its the opposite of a vent ykwim like a long happy rant

I love you all so much.

Maybe I’m just all dramatic and emotional because I’m on my period, maybe because I’m writing this late at night and I’m gonna think it’s really cringe in the morning, but I love you guys so much. Tumblr has brought me so much joy. I’ve been here for maybe three or four months now? And I can’t really think of a time in my life where I was happier. 

I first made an account after scrolling aimlessly. I would go onto the tumblr website and it would let me search a bit until it was like “you need to make an account to keep going!!” And then I’d just close it and move on. But then one day I decided  hey what the heck just do it. So I made an account, and I didn’t really know what I was doing. I came up with this username because I liked conan gray, I gave myself  a daphne blake profile picture because she has red hair, and just kinda explored. 

I looked through tags of fandoms I love like the inheritance games and pjo and shatter me and even scythe (which was when i was then brought to the realization that the aoas fandom really is dead everywhere even here😔). But I just kinda explored.

Then I found all you guys, the cute aesthetic tumblrinas! And omg I thought everyone was so cool. Pretty much everyone I’m mutuals with now is someone who i found their blog and was like OMG I WANNA BE ONE OF THEM!! I loved the friendships and the connection and just seeing everyone interact made me so happy. I think one of the first people to follow me back was Belle and I remember I legit freaked out because omg!! Shes so cool!! 

Now that I’m telling the story it’s a little embarrassing, but it’s fine. I just know I was slowly growing my blog and meeting new people but I still didn’t feel like I had real friends, it hadn’t been that long. But I think it all kinda happened after I accidentally deleted my account, and I sent panic asks to everyone. And you guys were so nice and so sweet and for a lot of people it was some of the first interactions we had. 

I have the world’s worst memory, but it just kinda took off from there. 

And now I am friends with all you guys!! I’m so incredibly glad I decided to make this blog that day because omg. I’d seen people talk about online friends but I’d never had any. But now?? OMGG I UNDERSTAND!!! I finally have people who are just as obsessed with the books/tv/movies/music/everything that I am!! 

My friends IRL are nice, they’ve read the books I read, but I cant talk to them the way I do you guys, yknow? Tumblr is literally just such a safe space for me. I have a bad day, come online, and my mood is lifted. It makes me so happy and it also makes me feel so validated for whatever weird interests or feelings I have! I have a weird thought? Post it to tumblr! It’s just so amazing, how there’s people all over the world who care about me even a little, even just enough to like my shitposts. 

I’ve even infiltrated both the shatter me and tig roleplays, and I’ve really just done everything I could’ve hoped for when I joined tumblr. I used to be the one watching everyone interact, and now I am the one interacting! I don't think you guys understand how much you all mean to me. Especially as someone with bad social anxiety, who struggles with making friends irl. I also don’t believe in popularity in schools, thats stupid, but technically i’m not a “popular kid.” So I have friends, but not a billion. But here? Everyone is friends on tumblr!! It’s so amazing. I love you all so much. 

That’s long and honestly pretty sappy, also yall probably don't care about my whole tumblr history and how i got here (plus no one asked), but I felt like i wanted to share. There’s so much more I wanna say, but surprisingly enough as a writer, I’m not always the best at expressing my feelings over writing. My love language is physical touch, not words of affirmation. Which suckss cause i cant give you guys that. But this is as good as i can get. 

So thank you to everyone, my mutuals and followers and whatever. Thank you for being so loving. Thank you for being stupid with me. Thank you for listening to me rant about nonsense. Thank you for liking my posts. thank you for being here. Thank you for making me feel safe.

Cause every time I get a notification, I smile. It’s hard not to, when I know everyone is so amazing. I hope you think of me when you listen to heather, because I always think of you when i listen to online love. Anyway, I love you all. I hope we meet one day. Actually, scratch that. We will  meet one day. That is a threat :)

LOVE YOU ALL MUAH MUAH MUAH IM BREAKING INTO YOUR HOUSE RIGHT NOW BTW WERE GONNA WATCH HALLOWEEN MOVIES AND HAVE HOT CHOCOLATE AND GO TO THE PUMPKIN PATCH AND DO A BIG GROUP COSTUME AND GO TRICK OR TREATING TOGETHER GET READY 😋😋

[satohqbanana]

This post is not going where you think it is. I won't tag this as a vent post, as I want to use this opportunity to ask for some help and advice, since I am emotionally overwhelmed.

First off, I want to acknowledge Naveena's @thecomfywriter message. Thank you if you think of me that way. I just want to be helpful to the writers who I have added to my list of friends mentally, and whose works I support. I want to help them know if something works or appeals to me, and help them understand better about their works. I'm glad that my presence is appreciated.

But full disclosure: This message has jumpstarted a lot of negative feelings in me.

Like @wyked-ao3 mentioned, not all days are good days. On the good days, I find joy in other's works. I strive to see the positives of every post I am tagged in or am interested in; I strive to understand a lot of these works as best as I could, to what extent of time and effort I can spare. Sometimes, these works even push me out of my no-talk like-only phase because they're just so enjoyable for me.

But on the bad days, I just really see more negative things than good. I try to resist what could be nitpicking, and the things that turn me away from a piece.

Certain pieces have been lovingly shared with me. This as a privilege and I acknowledge it as such. Your works are your babies. You look forward to my feedback and/or our interaction. You have chosen me to personally look at your work and enjoy it with you.

But like I said before, the way that society evolved, there's simply no room for a lot of negatives, for a lot of "I don't like this" or "I'm not sure about this" without it being associated with "I hate this", "I hate you", or the worst of them, "DON'T you EVER write/draw/create EVER again!" I fully understand that our emotions can be out of control - we can't help but feel what we feel.

And sometimes I can't help but feel not good or not satisfied towards someone's work. And it's worst when it's been presented to me in a golden platter with an earnest heart and eyes filled with glee. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to be true to myself and honest with the other person, without hurting them? Is it possible for me to do this in a way that doesn't hurt them?

You might suggest, "Why don't you just like the post? How about reblogging it without commenting to increase engagement?" I'm worried that the person who I will treat that way will see my hype and comments on other people's post. I'm worried that the person whose work I didn't really enjoy will get envious of these other people and feel contempt towards me. And I just simply skip over their post, can you imagine how bad it must feel to be ignored while seemingly everyone else is being celebrated? True, in other platforms like AO3, we can't actively see this sort of interaction, but on Tumblr where a lot of people are common mutuals, this can spell social disaster.

Psychology says we evolved to display emotions in certain ways for better communication. In that case, what do you suggest we can do to healthily and successfully communicate "I don't like this" and similar sentiments?

(Before that, let's celebrate me getting to the end of this post without crying. YAY! Baby steps to healthy communication BABY!)

[cynthiav06]

Do you think there are insanely few couples with Percy in this fandom? Characters that are well thought out and have a backstory. For example, Rachel and Percy are an interesting dynamic and a repetition of the Theseus myth with a different end to the story. Or Percy and Michael Yu (Apollo's son who fell off the bridge) It would be interesting if he survived: Percy feeling guilty for the fall, and Michael comforting him. Or Will and Percy, where both feel the guilt of the survivor (Will is the doctor, and Percy is the commander and leader), or the same Percy and Nico with their story and attempts to talk. Percy and Ethan would be a real pain in the ass with a story and explanations. But they don't nominate them as a couple? Like Pernico, they can be found, but everything else? Will's only fanfiction/The Percy I found was the one where he cheated on Apollo with Will, and Will cheated on Nico with Percy. And I really can't stand cheating.

It's a general problem in the fandom, especially prominent in Percy ships, which is that there are very few of them, and it is made to seem that liking any Percy ship other than Percabeth is taboo. It's only recently that there's an influx in other ships, and even that is miniscule in comparison to the excessive Percabeth fic pool . I know how bloody frustrating that is. For a good amount of time, I have vented over that.

Another problem along the same lines is fanart. There's extremely little fanart on any other Percy ships barring Percabeth. This has created a very toxic sort of environment in the fandom for alternative shippings. It also discourages people from making other fanarts and fanfics due to certain toxic Percabeth fans. ( I am not saying all just most of them). Hence why you won't see much material on most of the ships you have mentioned.

I think the fandom has forgotten that people can ship whoever they want, canon or otherwise, and that's the point of a fandom. We are allowed to disagree with the canon and dislike cause in the end books are subjective and we can choose to like and prefer whatever interests us as a reader and there is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT! Especially to Percabeth stans and recently Solangelo stans, you have your ship, no need to force it on everyone else, sure you can make points about why it's good or why people should like it but that doesn't mean have to or should.

You can dislike a ship and even express why you dislike it, but you can't tell people what they can and can't like. Just give your opinion, try not to be negative or offensive , just stick to the facts and objective reasons why you dislike it or just say it's a personal preference .

I personally generally either favor Perachel or Percy with no romantic partner. But I have read and seen some other Percy ship fanfics.

Perpollo and Pernico are kind of popular and I have read some fanfics of that category though Pernico's popularity suffered greatly due to Solangelo stans as such and some other opinions. (I have covered my thoughts on both Solangelo and Pernico in an old post of mine so check that out if you want).

Other alternative Percy ships I have seen mostly are Percy/Jason or Jercy. I kind of like where thea are going with it cause I really liked Percy and Jason's this odd but very unique dynamic they have and I really wanted it explored more but after the events in HoO and TOA and what happened to Jason( I refuse to accept it still due to no actually compelling and necessary reason behind it plot wise or character development wise), I kind of gave up on it. I really thought Rick Riordan would flesh their dynamic out more thoroughly other than whatever misguided rivalry he was trying to stoke between them. (Let's just agree that despite minor envy they might harbor for each other, they have much higher respect and admiration between them).

There's I think a few who consistently ship Percy and Artemis I think? Which I really thought was very contradictory and just simply not viable in canon or by fanfic cause Artemis is a maiden goddess.

There's Perclarisee which I mean I am neutral on it. I can see what it's based on but I actually liked Clarisse with Chris and I kind of thought of them better of as good friends who bicker a lot( I have a post on Perclarisse as well).

I once made the mistake of searching all Percy ships on ao3. It's safe to say I will never be doing that again ever. The absurd and deranged pairings I saw. Not even bleach will get that out of my eyes or mind.

As for Michael Yew, I am not sure about a romantic pairing of him and Percy, but in an au, it can kind of work, I guess, but I just don't see the appeal. I mean one moment of trauma bonding can't be the basis for a whole relationship.

As for Will and Percy, I see the parallel you are trying to make, but Percy can heal himself, so he's not really in need of a healer most of the time. Cause his power and ambrosia fix most of his injuries. Overall, I just don't think they are very compatible, but I will try and find fics about them for you.

Ethan and Percy? Where the hell did you find that? I don't think anyone ships that. Percy should have killed Ethan the first chance he got. That bastard really really had it coming. Even after Percy spared him so many times, he had the audacity to try and kill Percy. Absolutely not a pairing.

This is like the people who ship Percy and Luke. There are some, and I have never understood it. Luke tried to kill Percy multiple times and showed no remorse for it, and Ethan is the same. They are enemies, not a pairing. Not everything has to be enemies to lovers. But I suppose to each their own, everybody has their own preferences.

As for cheating , to whoever wrote that fic, stay the hell away from pjo respectfully cause neither Percy nor Will would ever do that to anyone. This literally goes against their very nature itself. To people who write cheating Percy fics, his fatal flaw is literally LOYALTY, what the hell is wrong with you?

Anyway, I am very sorry for this devolved into a rant. If I find any Percy and Will fics, I will reblog this post with recommendations.

[sonnet77]

Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides, Anne Carson / S6E3: After Life (x) / Persona, Ingmar Bergman / Rbhvleo (x) / S5E14: Crush (x) / Ojibwa (x) / Come the Slumberless To the Land of Nod, Traci Brimhall (x) / S5E7: Fool for Love / Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run via Doublydaring (x) / “Mon Semblable”, Between Angels, Stephen Dunn / S7E22: Chosen (x)