bipstargirl

Latest Posts by bipstargirl

“Successful people are not gifted. They just work hard, then succeed on purpose.”

— G.K. Nielson

When your Character...

Gets into: A Fight ⚜ ...Another Fight ⚜ ...Yet Another Fight

Hates Someone ⚜ Kisses Someone ⚜ Falls in Love

Calls Someone they Love ⚜ Dies / Cheats Death ⚜ Drowns

is...

A Ballerina ⚜ A Child ⚜ Interacting with a Child ⚜ A Cheerleader

A Cowboy ⚜ A Genius ⚜ A Lawyer ⚜ A Pirate ⚜ A Spy

A Wheelchair User ⚜ A Zombie ⚜ Beautiful ⚜ Dangerous ⚜ Drunk

Funny ⚜ In a Coma ⚜ In a Secret Society ⚜ Injured ⚜ Shy

needs...

A Magical Item ⚜ An Aphrodisiac ⚜ A Fictional Poison

A Coping Strategy ⚜ A Drink ⚜ A Medicinal Herb ⚜ A Mentor

Money ⚜ A Persuasion Tactic ⚜ A Quirk ⚜ To be Killed Off

To Become Likable ⚜ To Clean a Wound ⚜ To Self-Reflect

To Find the Right Word, but Can't ⚜ To Say No ⚜ To Swear

loves...

Astronomy ⚜ Baking ⚜ Cooking ⚜ Cocktails ⚜ Food ⚜ Oils

Dancing ⚜ Fashion ⚜ Gems ⚜ Herbal Remedies ⚜ Honey

Mushrooms ⚜ Mythology ⚜ Numbers ⚜ Perfumes

Roses ⚜ Sweets ⚜ To Argue ⚜ To Insult ⚜ To Kiss

To Make False Claims ⚜ Wine ⚜ Wine-Tasting ⚜ Yoga

has/experiences...

Allergies ⚜ Amnesia ⚜ Bereavement ⚜ Bites & Stings

Bruises ⚜ Caffeine ⚜ CO Poisoning ⚜ Color Blindness

Facial Hair ⚜ Fainting ⚜ Fevers ⚜ Food Allergies

Food Poisoning ⚜ Fractures ⚜ Frostbite ⚜ Hypothermia

Injuries ⚜ Jet Lag ⚜ Kidnapping ⚜ Manipulation ⚜ Mutism

Pain ⚜ Paranoia ⚜ Poisoning ⚜ More Pain & Violence

Scars ⚜ Trauma ⚜ Viruses ⚜ Wounds

[these are just quick references. more research may be needed to write your story...]

Writing Resources PDFs

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ。

ﾟ。　 march prompts

 　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

¹⁾ a two-person tent

²⁾ a pearl brooch

³⁾ hands stained with blackberries

⁴⁾ peach soju 

⁵⁾ an ex boyfriend 

⁶⁾ northeast 

⁷⁾ green eyeliner 

⁸⁾ power lines 

⁹⁾ a fire exit 

¹⁰⁾ jazz at midnight 

¹¹⁾ three broken fingers 

¹²⁾ little dipper 

¹³⁾ bottom lip 

¹⁴⁾ freshly turned earth 

¹⁵⁾ a blue leather sofa 

¹⁶⁾ salty tears

¹⁷⁾ wishbone 

¹⁸⁾ a wild daisy in a buttonhole 

¹⁹⁾ crystalised honey 

²⁰⁾ a two-way mirror

²¹⁾ a faded library card 

²²⁾ animal tracks 

²³⁾ the sting of antiseptic 

²⁴⁾ a biker’s leather kutte 

²⁵⁾ old romance novels

²⁶⁾ smeared lipgloss 

²⁷⁾ father’s day

²⁸⁾ gravel stuck to skin

²⁹⁾ vivid oil paints 

³⁰⁾ motel vending machines 

³¹⁾ wingmen

sobre o doer e o doar

minha entrega não é parcial. é importante que se saiba disso antes de andar por estes caminhos. ainda que seja comum dizer-se desmedido, sem limites, me disponho a informar que sobram espaços vazios e preenchimentos intermitentes. meus gritos inaudíveis ressoam em frequências específicas e chegam aos ouvidos dos que sabem ouvir. doando energia ao universo que se expande, me consolido enquanto potência de vida que tem algo a falar - e eu tenho. ainda que doam os ossos e, nos dias mais frios, a alma, pago o preço de viver genuinamente as conexões invisíveis que constroem a rede de afetos que me tornei. dói existir com verdade. é custoso esticar-se sem limites, mas o faço antes que perceba a branquidão nos nós dos dedos e a fala oscilante. ser é crescer, construir, significar. não tolero mais ser apenas mais uma caixa de canto de cômodo, sem nada a oferecer exceto em momentos específicos. quero doar ao futuro aquilo que me move em direção às incertezas e as perguntas jamais investigadas - algumas jamais feitas. faço perguntas que cansaram de latejar sob minha pele, que me são latentes na existência, em busca de respostas a serem produzidas (ou não). é que dói se doar ao movimento de existir amplamente, entretanto, dói mais ainda me negar a ser potência que se alastra por todo canto em direção a todo lugar e lugar nenhum. entre doer e doar escolho ressoar para mais do que as palavras significam. existir dói, por vezes, mas inexistir dói bem mais.

Ha Sang Min fic whereee?¿🫥🫥

I searched on every surface of the internet and I can't find one, I wish I was good at writing so I could just do it myself but I really suck. pls guys I promise I will eat it up🙌🙌

DARK PARADISE

tags — fem!reader・ s2 spoilers ・angst/comfort・english is not my first language・not proofread

a/n — hope this isn’t too ooc

THE DORMITORY IS UNNATURALLY QUIET, the silence thick like smog. you duck under the lowest bunk, into the wide crawl space pressed against the wall. the metal frames above loom like a cage, thin black lines slicing the dim light into fragments.

that’s where you find him.

nam-gyu is slouched against the wall, knees bent and head tilted forward just enough to hide most of his face. in his trembling hand is that ridiculous oversized cross pendant-slash-pill box thanos always wore. crimson streaks his face, flaking and dark. it’s not his blood.

his eyes are somewhere else, glazed, empty, distant. not like he’s deep in thought but rather like there’s nothing at all. it’s unnerving. you’ve never liked him much—the two of you clash like oil and water—he needles, you snap, and it’s been that way from the start but seeing him like this sends a small twist of discomfort in your gut. you tell yourself it’s just the circumstances.

you lower yourself to the floor beside him, back against the wall, knees hugged to your chest. it reminds you of being a kid again. hiding under a play structure during hide-and-seek, knees scraped from climbing the wrong way up the slide. but instead of the buzz of laughter and muffled counting in the distance, there’s just silence here.

you tell yourself you’ll leave soon.

you don’t even know why you’re here.

your hand hovers over his knee before you place it there lightly, like an afterthought. just to… do something. you don’t even know why you’re bothering—comfort isn’t exactly something nam-gyu would ever offer you, and he’s the last person you’d expect to need it.

his gaze flickers down to your hand for a brief second, the first sign of life you’ve seen from him since you found him. but then, just as quickly, it’s gone, his eyes falling back to the ground.

neither of you say anything. you tilt your head back, staring at the the metal beams above. the black frames crisscrossing like a cage.

this was a mistake, you think.

you’re half-expecting him to lash out—to shove your hand away, call you a fucking bitch, like he’s done a dozen times before.

you don’t even like him. so why are you here?

his hand moves, and you brace yourself, ready for the blow. but it doesn’t come.

his hand grabs yours instead. it’s sudden, his fingers locking around yours with startling force. desperate. unrelenting. the same way he’s gripping that cross in his other hand.

you glance at nam-gyu’s face. it doesn’t change. still blank and bloodied, still staring at the ground like he’s trying to burn a hole through it. it unnerves you, the unfamiliarity. it’s like he’s been gutted.

he sighs. a shallow, shaky sound that barely escapes his lips. he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against his drawn knees, hiding himself away.

you don’t pull your hand back. instead, you squeeze it, just enough to let him know you’re still there.

“Carrion” - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

Warnings: This fic contains themes of drug abuse, toxic relationships, emotional and physical abuse, violence, NON CON sexual content, trauma, and self-destruction. It’s a dark, heavy read with little to no comfort. Please proceed with caution.

Summary: “My feel for you, boy, is decaying in front of me Like the carrion of a murdered prey” You thought you could save him. But Su-bong was never looking to be saved — he was always chasing something…darker. based on Carrion-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: so I spent all night writing this and let me just say this is a wild ride. I don’t know what came over me lol but grab your tissue and a snack and lmk if y’all fw it. Also this is set before the games.

…..

You thought you could handle it.

That’s what you told yourself in the beginning.

When you met Su-bong, he was magnetic. The kind of person who could walk into a room and command everyone’s attention without even trying. He was funny, reckless, charming in that careless way that makes people think he doesn’t care what anyone thinks — but secretly, you know he cares more than anyone.

You met him through Ji-hye, a mutual friend. You two were out drinking at a shitty bar in Itaewon, the kind with sticky floors and flickering neon signs, when she waved him over to your table.

“Su-bong! Over here!”

He turned, cigarette dangling from his lips, and when his eyes landed on you, you swore you stopped breathing.

He made you feel special.

That was the thing about him. From the moment he sat down, all his attention was on you.

You didn’t even notice the red flags at first — the way his hands shook slightly when he lit another cigarette, the faint twitch in his jaw when he reached for his drink. You were too busy drowning in his attention, his laughter, the way he leaned in close when he talked, like he couldn’t bear to be too far away from you.

He made you feel seen.

Later that night, when Ji-hye pulled you aside and whispered, “He’s trouble, you know,” you just laughed it off.

“I can handle trouble,” you said.

And at the time, you believed it.

The first few weeks were a whirlwind.

Late-night phone calls, long walks through the city, kisses stolen under flickering streetlights. He was softer back then. He’d show up at your door with a crooked smile and a bottle of soju, leaning against the doorframe like he belonged there.

He told you stories about his childhood, about how he hated his hometown, how he moved to Seoul to start over.

“I want more than that small-town life,” he’d say. “I want everything.”

You loved that about him.

His ambition. His hunger.

It wasn’t until later that you realized he wasn’t just hungry for success.

You thought he only did it on weekends.

That’s what you told yourself at first. It’s just recreational. Everyone does it once in a while, right? It’s not a big deal.

But when you took a closer look, you started noticing things.

The way he always had an excuse to disappear.

The way his hands shook in the mornings.

The way his pupils stayed blown wide, even in the middle of the day.

It wasn’t just weekends.

It wasn’t just recreational.

The first time you confronted him about it, he laughed.

“What? This?” he said, pulling out a small bag of powder from his jacket pocket. “It’s nothing.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, unsure whether you were angry or scared or both. “You said you were going to stop.”

He shrugged, already pulling out a cigarette. “I will. It’s just… it helps me focus.”

You hated how calm he sounded. How casual.

But you let it go.

Because you wanted to believe him.

Because you loved him.

That’s how it started.

With small compromises.

You told yourself it wasn’t that bad.

You told yourself you could manage it.

You told yourself he would change.

But he didn’t.

The cracks started to show slowly, like hairline fractures in glass. You didn’t notice them right away. Or maybe you did, but you ignored them. You told yourself it was fine, because you wanted it to be fine.

You wanted him to be the man he was when you first met.

The man who made you laugh until your ribs ached.

The man who kissed you like he couldn’t get enough.

The man who whispered, “You’re the only one who really understands me.”

You didn’t want to see the other side of him.

The side that disappeared for days at a time.

The side that came back high, twitchy, eyes glassy and distant.

The side that couldn’t stop.

You loved him.

But it wasn’t enough.

The first time he really scared you was on a rainy night in November.

He showed up at your apartment soaked to the bone, trembling, eyes wild.

“Let me in,” he said, voice low and frantic. “Please.”

You didn’t hesitate. You unlocked the door, pulling him inside, wrapping a towel around his shoulders as he slumped onto your couch. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

You knelt in front of him, brushing his wet hair out of his face. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer.

He just reached for you, pulling you into his lap, burying his face in your neck.

“I just need you,” he whispered. “I just need this.”

And you let him.

Because you loved him.

Because you thought you could save him.

But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door slams open at 2:48 AM.

You know the time because you’ve been staring at the clock for the past four hours, watching the minutes crawl by, waiting for him to come home.

The waiting is always the worst part. The silence. The dread. The way your stomach twists tighter with each passing hour, until it feels like you’re going to snap in half from the tension.

He’s late.

Later than usual.

And when the door finally swings open, you know something’s wrong.

He stumbles inside, slamming the door shut behind him with more force than necessary. His hand lingers on the handle for a moment, like he needs the support to stay upright.

He doesn’t look at you right away.

His head is down, his shoulders tense. His breathing is ragged, too loud in the quiet apartment.

You stay where you are, curled up on the couch, watching him with a knot of unease tightening in your chest. You’re already bracing yourself.

This isn’t Su-bong coming home drunk from a night out.

This is worse.

He takes a few unsteady steps forward, his movements jerky and disjointed, before slumping against the wall. His head tilts back, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

You can see the tremor in his hands.

The sweat clinging to his neck.

The way his pupils are blown wide.

“Su-bong?”

Your voice is soft, careful. Testing the waters.

He doesn’t answer.

He just tilts his head to the side, blinking slowly, like he’s trying to focus on you but can’t quite manage it. His lips twitch into a lazy, lopsided grin.

“Hey, baby.”

And that’s when you know for sure.

He’s high.

Not just drunk.

High as hell on something stronger.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The question comes out sharper than you intended. You hate the way your voice shakes, the way your hands clench into fists at your sides.

He doesn’t answer.

He just pushes off the wall, staggering toward you with that same careless grin.

“Miss me?”

You want to slap him.

You want to scream.

Instead, you cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep yourself together.

“What the fuck are you on?”

He laughs.

Soft. Slurred. Distant.

“What’s it matter?”

“It matters.” Your voice is rising now, cracking under the weight of your frustration. “Look at yourself. You can barely stand.”

He shrugs, grabbing the back of the couch for support. His fingers twitch against the fabric.

“I’m fine. We’re fine…”

“You’re not fine.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with tension. He just stares at you, that stupid grin still plastered on his face.

And then, slowly, he starts to sway.

His knees buckle.

“Su-bong—”

Before you can reach him, he collapses onto the floor.

For a long moment, you just stand there, staring down at him.

He’s out cold. His head is tilted to the side, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His hair falls into his eyes, damp with sweat.

You should help him.

You should shake him awake, drag him to bed, clean him up.

But you don’t move.

Because you’re tired.

So fucking tired.

Instead, you start searching.

You move on instinct, heading straight for his jacket. Your hands are shaking, your chest tight, but you can’t stop.

You dig through the pockets, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, a lighter, loose change. And then —

A bag of powder.

Fuck.

Your stomach twists, but you keep going. You can’t stop now.

You move to his bag next, unzipping it with trembling fingers. More powder. Pills, tucked into a side pocket. A tiny syringe, wrapped in tissue.

It’s worse than you thought.

So much worse.

You finally check the place you know he most definitely has drugs. That damn cross necklace. He wears it everywhere, everyday, all the time. Even when he’s sleeping. Even when your fucking.

The only exception being when he showers.

Your heart began to beat out of your chest as if you had just completely a six mile run. Staring at his passed out form on the cheap carpet of your shared apartment.

What if he woke up and caught you.

You tip toed up to him, the floors betraying you as it creaked with every step.

You took a deep breath unintentionally holding your breath as your shaky hands toyed with his chunky necklace struggling to open it.

He didn’t move though.

In fact the only thing moving on him was his chest falling up and down as he fell deeper into sleep.

But you continue to toy with the necklace until it eventually popped open unevenly, causing colorful pills to fly every which way, and click across the floor.

Fuck.

Why does everything have to be so loud right now?!

You got on your hands a knees scooping up the candy colored pills and probably some dirt with them. Before quickly dropping them into your pocket as Su-Bong lied still on the floor.

Your chest heaves as you gather everything up, cradling it in your hands like you’re carrying a corpse.

You don’t think.

You just move.

The bathroom light flickers on.

The toilet lid creaks as you lift it.

And one by one, you throw everything in.

The powder.

The pills.

The syringe.

Every. fucking. thing.

The water ripples, murky and disgusting, but you don’t hesitate. You flush it all away.

Like it never existed.

When it’s done, you stand there for a long time, staring down at the empty toilet bowl.

Your reflection stares back at you from the water.

Red-rimmed eyes.

Trembling hands.

A stranger.

You press your palms to the sink, breathing hard. Your chest feels tight, your throat raw.

What are you even doing?

But you know the answer.

You’re trying to save him.

Even though he doesn’t want to be saved.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You hear him before you see him.

The sharp bang of a drawer slamming shut.

Then another.

And another.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The noise is jarring — too loud in the early morning quiet, rattling through the apartment like gunshots.

For a moment, you just lie there in bed, heart pounding, staring up at the ceiling. The air feels too thick. Your throat is tight. You already know what he’s doing.

He’s looking for them.

Fuck.

You sit up slowly, moving on instinct. Your bare feet hit the floor, and the cold bites at your skin. You don’t bother with a sweater. You barely notice the chill.

All you can hear is the sound of drawers being ripped open, items clattering to the floor, Su-bong’s frustrated muttering.

You step into the hallway, moving toward the living room like you’re walking into a minefield. Every step feels heavier than the last, each breath dragging in your lungs.

The apartment is a fucking mess. Drawers pulled out their hinges. Glass shattered on the floor. your shared belongings scattered across the floor such as, mail, silver wear, books, wires and more. He even emptied his fucking ashtray on the carpet staining it with dark powdery ashes creating a fucking smudge. Who the fuck hides drugs in an ashtray?!

When you see him, your stomach drops.

He’s on his knees in front of the dresser, tearing through the drawers like a man possessed. His hair is sticking up in every direction, sweat clinging to his neck and temples. His shoulders are tense, his hands trembling as he yanks out clothes, papers, random shit — anything that might be hiding what he’s looking for.

You watch in silence for a long moment, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

This is worse than you expected.

He’s worse than you expected.

“Su-bong?”

Your voice comes out softer than you intended — a whisper, almost cautious.

He doesn’t look up.

He doesn’t stop.

He just slams another drawer shut, cursing under his breath.

“Where the fuck are they?” he mutters. His voice is low, rough — shaking with barely-contained rage. “Where the fuck are they?”

Your stomach twists.

You take a shaky breath.

“What are you looking for?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

This time, he freezes.

Just for a second.

Then, slowly, he turns to look at you.

His eyes are dark, bloodshot. His pupils are blown wide, so black they almost swallow the brown. His lips are cracked, the corners pulled down in a sneer.

And in that moment, you feel it —

The fear.

The dread.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

“You know what,” he says, voice low and venomous. “Where the fuck are they?”

Your mind races.

Your palms start to sweat.

Think. Think. Think.

You can feel the anger radiating off of him — simmering just under the surface, threatening to boil over. And you know what happens when he reaches his limit.

You’ve seen it before.

The broken bottles.

The slammed doors.

The bruises on his knuckles after a night out, when he came back bloodied and laughing, saying, ‘You should see the other guy.’

You swallow hard. Your throat feels raw.

“I don’t know,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “Maybe you left it at the club. Or with Ji-hye. You’ve been out all night—”

“Bullshit.”

He stands up slowly, wiping his hands on his jeans as he takes a step toward you.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Your back hits the wall.

Fuck.

“I’m not lying.” Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it. “I don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

He doesn’t believe you.

You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, itching to grab something — to throw something.

You think about the last time you saw him like this.

The broken lamp. The smashed picture frame. The bruise on your wrist that took a week to fade.

“I’m serious, Su-bong.” Your voice is shaky now, pleading. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tears through the dresser again, frantic.

Each drawer pulled out with a sharp crack, each item tossed aside without care.

Your heart pounds.

Your breath comes faster.

And then, the drawer slams shut.

He turns to you again, and you can see it — the realization sinking in.

You.

It had to be you.

It was the only logical answer. Though he was thinking far from logically right now.

“You fucking took them.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a statement.

A terrifying sentence.

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

But the way you flinch — the way your body stiffens, your lips press together — it’s enough.

He explodes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He grabs the nearest object — a book, heavy and solid — and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall with a loud thud, just inches from your head.

You gasp, pressing yourself tighter against the wall.

“You hid them?” His voice is rising now, loud and furious, filling the apartment, making the walls shake. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You need help!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them. “You’re killing yourself, Su-bong! I’m trying to help you!”

He laughs.

A sharp, bitter sound.

“Help me? You think this is helping me?”

“Yes! Because I love you, and I can’t fucking watch you do this to yourself anymore!”

“Where are they?” He spits out through his teeth anger radiating off of him as he stared at you through narrowed fiery eyes. His hand slightly raised. Almost like threat. “Where the fuck are they?!”

That was all he had to say? Really?

You’re crying now — sobbing, desperate, the words tumbling out like a flood. “I threw it all out. I flushed everything. I couldn’t—”

He grabs another object — a picture frame — and throws it, shattering it against the floor.

You cover your face with your hands, trying to hold yourself together, but the tears won’t stop.

“I’m trying to save you,” you whisper through sobs. “Why won’t you let me save you?”

He doesn’t answer.

Because you both know the truth.

You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

~~~~~

The apartment is dead silent.

It’s been like that all day.

You’ve been cleaning for hours, but the mess never seems to get any smaller. There’s glass on the floor, torn-up drawers, clothes and papers scattered everywhere. His cigarette ashes that stained the carpet, a dark smudge you can’t scrub out no matter how hard you try.

And Su-bong hasn’t said a word.

He’s been on the couch since morning.

Since you screamed at him. Since he threw things at you.

He hasn’t moved.

He hasn’t looked at you.

The sunlight has shifted across the room, cutting through the blinds in harsh slants. Afternoon light. Late afternoon. Time has passed in that slow, suffocating way it does after a fight — heavy, dragging, relentless.

And all you can feel is the weight of his silence.

You sweep broken glass into the dustpan, your hands shaking, your breath shallow.

You can feel the tension hanging in the air — sharp, brittle, ready to shatter.

Your stomach twists painfully.

You want him to say something.

But at the same time, you’re terrified he will.

Because when Su-bong speaks, it’s never gentle anymore.

You dump the dustpan into the trash, brushing your hands on your jeans. Your palms are sweaty. Your chest feels tight.

He’s still sitting there, legs spread wide, one arm draped over the backrest, his cigarette burning down to ash.

He hasn’t moved.

Hasn’t looked at you once.

Fuck.

You glance toward the shattered picture frame on the floor.

He threw that at you this morning.

You think about the sound of it hitting the wall, the way it shattered into pieces. The way he looked at you — cold, furious, distant.

Your throat tightens.

Your hands start to tremble again.

Why are you still here?

You pick up the broom again, brushing up some paper that was planted on the floor.

Your mind is racing, filled with what-ifs and regrets.

What if he explodes again?

What if you say the wrong thing?

What if this is the time he doesn’t stop?

You swallow hard, trying to push the thoughts away.

But they stay.

Lurking. Whispering.

“I flushed everything.”

You can still hear yourself saying it — the way your voice cracked, the way his face twisted with rage.

He hasn’t forgiven you for that.

You don’t think he ever will.

You set the broom aside, pressing your palms to your thighs to steady your shaking hands.

You have to say something.

The silence is suffocating.

And you can’t take it anymore.

But your chest aches with dread. Your stomach is in knots. You feel like you’re walking into a trap.

You wipe your hands on your jeans again, more out of habit than anything. Your fingers are clammy, trembling.

Finally, you take a shaky breath and step toward the couch.

“Su-bong?”

Your voice comes out softer than you intended.

Tentative.

Small.

He doesn’t respond.

He just takes a slow drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling into the air between you, twisting and fading before it reaches the ceiling.

Your pulse kicks up, your nerves buzzing like static.

You wipe your hands on your jeans again, fidgeting.

He’s ignoring you.

You take another step closer, your knees unsteady. The sunlight cuts across his face, making the dark circles under his eyes look deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

But you see the way his jaw tightens.

The way his fingers twitch, clenched around the cigarette.

He’s listening.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep going. Your voice shakes.

“I just…” You trail off, unsure what to say.

Unsure if it even matters.

The words feel too heavy, too fragile.

Like they’ll shatter in the air.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

Finally, he moves.

He leans forward slowly, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray with a soft hiss.

And then, he looks up.

His eyes lock on yours.

Dark. Bloodshot.

And completely unreadable.

“You didn’t know what else to do?” he echoes, voice low, rough.

You flinch at the sound of it.

The tone.

The quiet anger simmering underneath.

“You didn’t have to do shit.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Your hands won’t stop trembling.

“I was scared,” you say softly, desperate now. “I was scared for you.”

His lips twitch into something bitter.

“Scared for me?” He laughs, but it’s not a kind sound. It’s sharp. Cold. Empty.

“Mmm.” He nods sarcastic as if you were telling some kind of joke.

You step closer, kneeling beside him now.

Your heart is pounding.

Your head feels light, like you’re on the edge of something dangerous.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Nothing.

“I love you,” you say again, voice cracking.

Because you need him to hear it.

Because you need it to be true.

Finally, he looks at you.

And there’s nothing soft in his gaze.

Just anger. Disgust. Exhaustion.

“Then why the fuck are you still here?”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You feel it — the sting of them, the weight of them, pressing down on your chest.

You want to say something.

You want to scream, to cry, to tell him that you’re here because you love him, because you want to save him, because you can’t imagine your life without him.

But before you can speak, he grabs your wrist.

His grip is too tight. Too rough.

As he’s pulling you into his lap, his hands already moving to your hips, digging in hard enough to bruise.

“You said you love me.”

His voice is low, soft, dangerous.

“Show me.”

His hands don’t feel the way they used to.

There’s no softness in them anymore.

No warmth.

Just frustration. Impatience. Roughness.

You lie there, your body pinned beneath his weight, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling against his shoulders.

You wanted this to be different.

You wanted this to be soft.

Forgiving.

But it’s not.

His lips press against your neck, messy and forceful. His teeth graze your skin, biting down hard enough to sting. You flinch, but he doesn’t stop.

His hands move to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He’s yanking your clothes off, rough and unrelenting.

There’s no tenderness in the way he touches you.

It’s not a kiss.

It’s not love.

It’s control.

You try to touch him.

Your hands tremble as you reach for his face, hoping to ground him — to bring him back.

But he grabs your wrist, pinning it down.

“Don’t.”

His voice is low, rough, filled with something you can’t quite place. Anger. Frustration. Exhaustion.

“Just let me.”

Your chest tightens.

Your stomach twists painfully.

You don’t want this.

Not like this.

“Su-bong—”

He cuts you off with a sharp tug of your jeans, dragging them down your legs, his hands trembling slightly.

He’s impatient. Frustrated.

“I said, don’t.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You close your eyes for a moment, tears burning behind your eyelids.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t what you wanted.

“Wait.”

The word slips out softly, almost a whisper.

Tentative. Hesitant.

He doesn’t stop.

His hands are still moving — grabbing at your thighs, pulling you closer, positioning you the way he wants.

You press your hands against his chest, trying to push him back.

“Wait.”

Still, nothing.

You swallow hard, your voice shaking now.

“Su-bong, stop.”

He freezes.

For a moment, you think he’s going to listen.

You think he’s going to stop.

But when he looks at you, his gaze is dark, bloodshot, distant.

“I need this,” he mutters. “Just… shut up and let me.”

And then he moves again.

You go still beneath him.

Frozen. Paralyzed.

Your heart is pounding, loud and insistent, telling you to get up, to run, to scream.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Because you love him.

Because you keep telling yourself it’s just a moment.

Because you’re still trying to make excuses.

His frustration only grows.

His touch gets rougher, more impatient.

He grabs your thighs, spreading them apart with more force than necessary.

His hands are shaking slightly, but he doesn’t slow down.

He doesn’t stop.

You try to speak again, but he cuts you off with a sharp kiss — more teeth than lips, more bite than kiss.

“Just stop talking,” he says, his voice low and strained. “Please.”

The desperation in his voice makes your chest ache.

But this isn’t desperation for you.

It’s desperation for something else.

Something he could find in a bag or a bottle.

And he’s using you to chase it.

It hurts.

Every touch is too rough.

Every kiss is too hard.

His grip is too tight.

You close your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks.

You tell yourself it’s almost over.

Just a moment.

He’s just angry.

He’s just high.

But deep down, you know that’s not true.

When it’s over, he pulls away without a word.

He doesn’t look at you.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

He just rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, his chest heaving.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling too, your body aching, your skin burning, your heart hollowed out.

And when you finally get up, your legs are shaky, your hands trembling, your mind screaming at you to leave.

But you don’t.

You walk to the bathroom instead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The water is scalding.

It hits your skin like needles, burning, stinging.

But you don’t turn it down.

You want it to hurt.

You stand under the spray, scrubbing your skin until it’s raw, until it stings, until you feel like you’ve peeled away every trace of him.

But you can still feel his hands on you.

You can still feel the bruises forming under your fingertips.

The water doesn’t wash it away.

Nothing does.

You press your hands against the tile, your chest heaving with quiet sobs.

Why are you still here?

The question echoes in your mind, over and over.

But you don’t have an answer.

You tell yourself you love him.

You tell yourself he didn’t mean it.

But deep down, you know the truth.

He won’t stop.

He won’t change.

And still —

You stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you step out of the shower, your skin is red and raw, aching with every step.

You wrap a towel around yourself, but it doesn’t cover the bruises.

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror —

Wide eyes. Red-rimmed. Lips trembling.

A distant stranger.

You take a shaky breath, running your fingers through your damp hair.

And then, you step back into the bedroom.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

When he hears you, his head snaps up.

For a moment, you think you see concern in his eyes.

His gaze flickers to the bruises on your thighs, to the dark mark on your neck where he bit you.

“You’re hurt.”

The words are soft.

Almost tender.

He steps toward you slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll run.

And you flinch.

His hand, halfway to your arm, pauses in midair.

For a moment, neither of you move. The space between you feels too wide, too tense, too fragile — like a thread pulled tight, ready to snap.

“Come here.”

His voice is soft now.

Quiet. Careful.

Like he’s trying to make up for what he did without actually saying the words.

You stay where you are.

You want to run.

You want to scream.

You want to shove him away.

But you don’t.

Because you’re tired.

So fucking tired.

And you just want it to stop.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are soft.

Almost fragile.

He steps closer, and this time, you don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

You’re too tired.

His fingers brush against the bruises on your arm.

Light. Careful.

Like he’s trying to be gentle now.

Like he’s trying to erase the marks he left behind.

But they won’t fade.

And you both know it.

“I just… I need you.”

The words slip out of him quietly, almost a whisper. His lips brush against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses over the bruises he left.

“I need you to stay.”

You close your eyes.

Tears slip down your cheeks.

You crawl into bed with him, your body aching, your mind screaming at you to leave — but your heart refusing to listen.

His arms wrap around you, warm and heavy, pulling you against his chest.

And you cry quietly into his shirt, trying not to let him hear.

But he does.

He always does.

And still —

You stay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It starts small.

It always does.

A comment.

A glance.

A flicker of something in his eyes — that dark, volatile thing lurking just beneath the surface.

You’ve been walking on eggshells for days.

Ever since the fight.

Ever since the picture frame shattered against the wall.

Ever since you flushed his drugs.

Ever since you cried in his arms after he didn’t stop.

Things have been too quiet.

Too tense.

And deep down, you know it’s coming.

He’s been distant.

Quiet, brooding, his mood shifting like storm clouds rolling in.

You should leave.

You know you should.

But instead, you stay.

You cook him dinner.

You clean the apartment.

You try to make things normal.

But there’s nothing normal about this.

It’s late when he comes home.

Way too late.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, your fingers wrapped around a cup of cold tea, staring at the door like it’s about to explode off its hinges.

When you hear the click of the lock turning, your heart jumps into your throat.

The door swings open, and there he is.

Su-bong.

His hair is a mess.

His eyes are bloodshot.

There’s a bruise on his knuckles, dark and fresh.

And when his gaze lands on you, everything inside you tightens.

This is it.

The storm has finally arrived.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, cutting through the silence.

He steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him with more force than necessary.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.

He just stands there, swaying slightly, his hands twitching at his sides.

And then —

He laughs.

Low. Bitter.

The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your grip tightens on the mug, your knuckles turning white.

“You don’t need to explain yourself?”

Your voice shakes.

You hate it.

You hate the way he makes you feel small, like you’re the one who’s wrong.

Like you’re the one who needs to apologize.

“You’ve been gone all day,” you say, standing up slowly, your legs unsteady.

“All day, Su-bong. And now you’re just going to walk in here like nothing happened?”

He shrugs.

Shrugs.

Like he doesn’t care.

Like you don’t matter.

“I made dinner.”

The words sound pathetic as they leave your mouth.

You hate yourself for saying them.

For wanting to fix this.

But he doesn’t even look at you.

He just walks past you, heading toward the bedroom.

“I’m not hungry.”

Something snaps inside you.

The fragile thread holding you together finally breaks.

“No.”

Your voice is sharp.

Louder than it’s been in weeks.

He stops in his tracks.

Slowly, he turns to look at you.

And you can feel it —

The shift.

The crackle of tension in the air.

The storm about to break.

“What did you say?”

His voice is low. Dangerous.

But you’re not backing down. Not this time.

“I said no.”

Your heart is pounding.

You’re scared.

You should be.

But you’ve been scared for so long —

and you’re so fucking tired of it.

“You don’t get to do this anymore.”

The words tumble out, fast and desperate.

“You don’t get to disappear for days and come back like nothing happened. You don’t get to treat me like shit. You don’t get to use me, hurt me, and act like it’s my fault.”

His jaw clenches.

You see the flicker of anger in his eyes.

But you keep going.

“I’ve been here for you through everything. I’ve cleaned up your messes. I’ve lied for you. I’ve loved you, even when you made it impossible.”

Your voice cracks.

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t stop.

“And I can’t do it anymore, Su-bong.”

Silence.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

The air feels too heavy.

The tension is thick, suffocating.

And then —

He laughs.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

The words hit you hard.

He throws them like a punch —

bitter, angry, exhausted.

“You want me to change? You want me to be something I’m not?”

His voice rises.

“You want me to stop? for you? You want me to be better?”

He steps closer, his hands shaking.

“I’m not better.

“I’m not fucking better.”

Your chest tightens.

Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and burning.

“I just want you to try.”

The words come out soft, broken.

“I love you, Su-bong.”

He freezes.

For a split second, something flickers in his eyes —

something raw.

And then —

“That’s your fucking x problem.”

The slap comes out of nowhere.

Hard. Fast.

It knocks you to the floor.

For a moment, you don’t move.

Your cheek stings.

Your ears ring.

Your whole body feels like it’s been shattered.

And when you finally look up, he’s staring down at you.

His chest heaves.

His hands shake.

And for a split second —

He looks scared.

“You’re right.”

His voice cracks.

“I’m not better.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

And this time —

You believe him.

You push yourself up slowly, your whole body trembling.

“I loved you.”

Your voice is soft.

Broken.

“But you killed it.”

He doesn’t stop you as you walk toward the door.

But his voice follows you.

Soft. Bitter. Full of regret.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You pause.

And for a moment —

You almost turn around.

But you don’t.

You keep walking.

And as you step outside, tears streaming down your face, your heart breaking into pieces —

You know you’ll never be free.

Because he’ll always haunt you.

Like carrion.

Rotting.

Decaying.

Parting Gift - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 2 of my mini series love ridden (you don’t have to read part 1 but it helps you get a deeper understanding of their relationship)

Warnings: Toxic relationship,Emotional manipulation and gaslighting, DUBCON/implied sexual misconduct, power imbalances and coercion,mentions of substance abuse,threats of self-harm, mentions of bruising, vomiting, unreliable memory

Summary: “It ended bad, but I love what we started.” A night out, was supposed to be a distraction, a step to moving on. Instead it leaves you questioning everything. Loosely inspired by Parting gift-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: ahhhh here it is! This is very much a wild ride so be prepared and get comfortable lol. Lmk if yall fw. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!!

……………………..

“Two years.”

It echoes in your head as you stare at your phone. The screen blinks, illuminating the dark, quiet apartment, and your reflection stares back at you. Hollow eyes. Lifeless skin.

You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

Two years of late nights.

Two years of broken promises.

Two years of fights that always ended the same way — with you apologizing for things you hadn’t even done.

Two years of Su-bong.

The notifications keep coming.

Messages. Missed calls. Voicemails.

You blocked him a week ago. You had to.

Before that, you let the calls go unanswered. You left his texts on read. But after that voicemail, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It wasn’t just the things he said.

It was the way he sounded.

Drunk. High out of his mind. Slurring his words like he could barely get them out.

You’d heard him like that before, of course. Countless times. But this was different.

The shaking breath at the beginning of the message.

The muffled sound of a bottle cap hitting the floor.

The distinct rattle of a pill bottle.

And then his voice —

Low. Rough. Desperate.

“You know, if you don’t fucking answer me…”

There was a pause. You could hear him breathing.

“Maybe I should just end it all.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The sound of pills being shaken in his hand.

“It’s in your hands now.”

You remember sitting on the floor of your new apartment, the phone clutched in your hands, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

That was the breaking point.

You blocked him.

It was hard. Very hard.

What if he was serious?!

What if he did it and it was your fault?!

But it didn’t stop the nightmares.

It’s been a month since the breakup, and you haven’t left your apartment in days.

The dishes are piled up in the sink. Your laundry is overflowing.

You haven’t brushed your hair in three days.

The weight of it all feels suffocating.

You thought leaving him would make you feel free.

Instead, you feel empty.

When your phone buzzes again, you ignore it.

It’s probably Ji-hye.

She’s been trying to get you to go out for weeks.

“You need to live a little,” she said last time you saw her.

But you don’t feel like living.

Still, when your phone buzzes again, you pick it up.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:17 PM): Come out with us tonight. Please?

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:18 PM): There’s a new club opening in Itaewon. It’ll be fun.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:19 PM): I’m not taking no for an answer.

You stare at the messages for a long time.

The thought of going to a club makes your stomach turn.

You haven’t been out in two years.

You haven’t been you in two years.

But the apartment feels too small.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

Fuck it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shower burns your skin.

You scrub until you feel raw, as if you can wash away the last two years.

But no amount of scrubbing erases the bruises —

The ones he left on your heart.

When you step out, you wipe the fogged mirror and stare at your reflection.

Your hair is a tangled mess.

Your eyes are rimmed with dark circles.

You look like someone who’s been barely holding it together.

This isn’t who I am, you tell yourself.

You plug in your hair straightener. You do your makeup.

By the time you’re done, you almost feel like yourself again.

You rifle through your closet, pulling out a black dress you haven’t worn in years. It still fits — snug and short, hugging your body in a way that feels foreign after months of oversized hoodies and leggings.

When you step into your heels, you wobble for a second.

It’s been so long since you’ve worn anything but sneakers.

But when you look in the mirror again —

You see her.

The girl you used to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ji-hye and her friends are already tipsy when you meet them outside the club.

She squeals when she sees you.

“Look at you! You look amazing!”

You try to smile, but it feels forced.

The club is packed.

Neon lights pulse to the beat of the music.

Bodies move together on the dance floor.

Ji-hye hands you a shot as soon as you walk in.

“Drink up!”

You down it quickly, the burn making you wince.

“Another?”

Why not?

By the time you lose count, you’ve had at least six shots.

Maybe more.

You stopped counting after the first round of tequila.

The room spins slightly, but you feel good.

Better than you’ve felt in weeks.

You laugh with Ji-hye.

You dance with strangers.

For the first time in a long time, you feel free.

And then you see him.

At first, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you.

But when you blink, he’s still there.

Su-bong.

He’s standing near the bar, his eyes locked on you.

His hair is messy, his shirt unbuttoned at the top.

He looks the same as he always does —

Rough around the edges, disheveled in that careless way that made you fall for him in the first place.

But there’s something in his eyes —

Something dark.

Your stomach twists.

The room feels too hot.

You grab Ji-hye’s arm.

“Ji-hye. Is he…?”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh shit.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

She bites her lip, looking guilty.

“I didn’t know. I swear. But he’s friends with Seung-ho.”

She nods toward one of the guys in their group — a guy you don’t know well.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat.

You down another shot, your hands shaking slightly.

Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away.

But he doesn’t.

When you look up again, he’s moving toward you.

You see him before he speaks.

The way he weaves through the crowd, his gaze locked on you like he’s on a mission.

You look away.

You try to pretend you didn’t see him.

But it’s too late.

He’s right there.

“Hey.”

His voice cuts through the noise, low and rough.

You don’t turn around.

You keep your eyes on your drink, your knuckles white as you grip the glass.

“I didn’t know you came here.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

Your whole body goes stiff.

“Fuck off, Su-bong.”

Your voice is steady, but your heart is pounding.

He doesn’t move.

Instead, he slides into the seat next to you.

Like he belongs there.

Like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he says, his tone light, almost teasing. “You’re really not even going to say hi?”

You turn to him, your eyes flashing.

“Why would I?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you missed me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Missed you?”

You set your drink down, leaning closer.

“You left me voicemails threatening to fucking kill yourself. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

His expression doesn’t change.

He doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.

“Did it scare you?”

Your blood runs cold.

“What?”

“Did it scare you?” he repeats, his voice soft.

“Did you think I was going to do it?”

You stare at him, horrified.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His lips twitch into something that might be a smile — but there’s no warmth in it.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, his tone almost casual.

“And you wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you thought threatening to kill yourself was the way to get my attention?”

Your voice is shaking now, anger and fear mixing in your chest.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches for your hand.

And you’re too stunned to pull away.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“I don’t know what to do without you.”

You rip your hand away, standing up so fast your chair scrapes against the floor.

“Don’t fucking do that.”

Your voice is loud now, cutting through the music.

“Don’t pretend you’re some fucking victim.”

His expression hardens.

“I’m not pretending.”

“You are.”

You step closer, your chest heaving.

“You always do this. You always make it about you. Like your fucking pain is the only thing that matters.”

He stands up slowly, towering over you.

“I’m in pain because of you.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

His voice is low now. Dangerous.

“You love me.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

He steps closer.

“I know you do. You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t.”

You hate how he gets in your head.

How he twists your words.

“I don’t love you,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.

He leans in, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Then why haven’t you moved on?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut.

And you don’t have an answer.

“Let’s go outside,” he says.

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“It’s too loud in here.”

You hesitate.

“Please.”

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away.

“Just talk to me.”

Your heart is pounding.

Your mind is spinning.

And against your better judgment —

You follow him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The alleyway outside the club smells like cigarette smoke and spilled beer.

You cross your arms over your chest, shivering slightly. The night air feels too cold against your skin, cutting through the warmth of the alcohol.

Su-bong lights a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly as he brings it to his lips.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then —

“What do you want from me?”

Your voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and strained.

He exhales a cloud of smoke, his gaze steady on you.

“I just want you.”

You laugh, bitter and harsh.

“Do you even hear yourself? You had me, Su-bong. You had me for two fucking years, and you—”

Your voice cracks.

“You fucking broke me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Your chest heaves, your breath fogging in the cold air.

“Over and over again.”

“I know.”

He takes a step closer.

“And I’m sorry.”

It’s the softness in his voice that undoes you.

That fucking softness.

Because for a split second —

You almost believe him.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words hang in the air between you, soft and deliberate, like he’s trying to carve them into your skin. And you hate how much they make your chest ache.

You hate that it’s him standing here, saying these things. Again.

“You say that like it fucking matters.” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Like it changes anything.”

He exhales smoke, eyes never leaving yours. “It does matter.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head, your arms tightening around yourself like it’s the only thing holding you together. “You’ve hurt me too many times for it to matter.”

A pause.

A flicker of something in his eyes.

And then, softly —

“I couldn’t stop.”

The words hit you harder than you want them to.

Your chest tightens, your mind flashing back to the nights he stumbled through the door, high and out of it, mumbling half-assed apologies through the haze.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he continues, his voice quiet. “Not without you.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whisper. “You can’t keep blaming me for your fucking choices.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” You gesture between the two of you, your voice rising. “What do you think you’re doing right now?”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “Fix it? You can’t fix this, Su-bong. You can’t.”

He flinches at the way your voice cracks.

But he doesn’t back down.

“I can try.”

You shake your head, the weight of it all pressing down on you. The months of pain, the sleepless nights, the voicemail that still echoes in your mind.

“You’re fucking selfish.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You don’t love me,” you say, and it feels like you’re ripping your own heart out. “You love what I do for you. You love having someone to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. Someone to save you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your chest heaves. “You only ever show up when you’re desperate. When you need something. And I’m fucking done being that person for you.”

He takes a step closer, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, burning down to the filter.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

You hate the way your heart twists.

“I want you.”

You shake your head again, but it’s weaker this time.

“I love you.”

And there it is.

Those three fucking words.

The words that used to make your heart explode. The words that used to make you believe in him, in a future that never existed.

“I can’t do this without you,” he says, and his voice breaks, just a little. “I’ve tried, Y/N. I’ve tried to be better, but I’m fucking lost without you.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“You’re only lost because you never tried to find yourself,” you whisper. “You’ve always expected me to do it for you.”

His eyes soften, that familiar vulnerability creeping in.

“I’m trying now.”

“No, you’re not.” You take a step back. “You’re trying to pull me back in. That’s all you ever do.”

A beat of silence.

Then —

“I miss you.”

The words cut through the night, soft and raw.

And you feel yourself wavering.

Fuck.

You press your palms to your face, trying to breathe, trying to steady yourself.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper. “You don’t get what you did to me.”

He takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat of his body.

“I never stopped loving you.”

Your chest heaves, your heart pounding.

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“You need to.”

“No, I fucking don’t.” Your voice cracks, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “What I need is to move on.”

His hand reaches out, tentative, trembling.

But when his fingers brush against your arm-

You flinch.

It’s instinctive.

A reaction you couldn’t stop if you tried.

And the look on his face?

It’s devastating.

He pulls his hand back slowly, like he’s been burned.

“I’m not him anymore.”

The words are quiet, almost desperate.

“I’m not the guy who fucked up. I’m not the guy who hurt you.”

“You are.” Your voice is soft, but firm. “You’ll always be that guy, Su-bong.”

His gaze drops to the ground, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give up.

But then he looks up again.

“I just want to talk,” he says. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitate.

The rational part of you — the part that’s spent the last month piecing yourself back together — is screaming at you to walk away.

But your heart?

Your heart is still caught in the web he’s spun around you.

“ we’re already talking…” you slightly slur your words, the alcohol taking full effect.

“Five minutes,” he says again, softer this time. “At my place. Please.”

And against your better judgment —

You nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake to the sensation of weight.

Heavy. Suffocating.

An arm draped over your waist. A body pressed too close, warm breath against the back of your neck.

And for one blissful second, you’re still half asleep. Still caught in that hazy space between dreams and reality, your mind fogged over with sleep, soft and pliant.

But then your eyes open.

And everything sharpens.

The bedroom is dark — curtains drawn, faint slivers of morning light sneaking through the cracks. The air is stale, tinged with cigarette smoke and something faintly metallic. It smells familiar.

And the weight around your waist?

It’s Su-bong.

Your stomach lurches.

No. No, no, no.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your heart pounding in your chest, the dull ache between your temples throbbing harder with each beat. Your mind scrambles to piece together how the fuck you ended up here. The last thing you remember clearly is the club — Ji-hye pulling you onto the dance floor, shots of tequila burning your throat, the neon lights swirling around you.

And then —

His voice.

His hands.

And now you’re here. In his bed.

You hold your breath, every muscle in your body going rigid. His arm is still heavy across your waist, his hand curled loosely against your hip, fingers twitching like he’s dreaming.

Carefully — so carefully — you think maybe you can slip out from under him.

Carefully, you reach for his wrist, your fingers trembling as you try to lift his arm off you. The sheet rustles softly, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence. You freeze, your breath hitching.

He stirs.

A small, unconscious noise slips from his throat, his fingers curling slightly against your hip.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Please don’t wake up.

You stay frozen, your body stiff, your breath shallow. His arm feels impossibly heavy against your waist, like it’s anchoring you to the mattress. Slowly — so slowly — you ease it off you, inch by inch, until it finally falls to the bed.

He murmurs something in his sleep, low and unintelligible.

You freeze again, your pulse roaring in your ears.

He doesn’t wake.

You let out a shaky breath, the sound barely audible, and sit up as quietly as you can. The room tilts slightly as you do, your head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. You press a hand to your temple, blinking against the dizziness.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, the fabric twisted and damp with sweat. You untangle yourself carefully, your fingers trembling, your movements slow and deliberate.

His body shifts slightly behind you, his breathing deepening for a moment before settling back into a steady rhythm.

Move.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cold against your bare feet. The hem of your dress rides up as you stand, the fabric wrinkled and twisted, clinging to your skin.

You glance back at him, your chest tight.

He’s still asleep.

But his face is turned toward you now, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted slightly. He looks softer like this, his usual sharp edges dulled by sleep.

It makes your stomach turn.

Focus.

You force your gaze away, scanning the room for your things.

Your phone.

Your purse.

Where the fuck are they?

The panic sets in slowly, creeping up your spine like cold water, inch by inch. You scan the room, searching for your things, but the room looks almost exactly the same as when you left a month ago.

Cluttered. Messy. The ashtray on the nightstand is overflowing. Empty bottles litter the floor. The same crumpled blankets. The same cigarette burns in the carpet.

Like time stood still.

Like he hasn’t moved on.

Your stomach twists painfully, nausea creeping in at the edges. You stand, your legs unsteady, your head pounding. The ache in your body — between your thighs, in the muscles of your legs — is impossible to ignore.

You take a step toward the bathroom, your hands trembling as you reach for the door handle. You need a moment to breathe. To think.

To figure out what the fuck happened.

The bathroom is as grim as you remember. The light flickers when you turn it on, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The mirror is streaked with water stains, the sink cluttered with half-used toiletries.

You close the door behind you, locking it with a shaky hand.

And then you catch your reflection.

Your lipstick is barely there anymore, smudged at the edges. Your mascara streaked under your eyes. Your hair is a tangled mess, the carefully straightened strands now knotted and frizzy.

But it’s the rest of you that makes your breath catch.

The dress you wore last night is twisted around your waist, the hem wrinkled and pulled too high. Your thighs are bare. You pull at the fabric, tugging it down, but your hands freeze when you see the faint bruises.

Finger-shaped bruises.

They’re light, barely there, but you know what they are.

Your stomach drops.

You lift the hem of your dress higher, revealing more bruises along your inner thighs. Some small, faint smudges of blue and purple. Some darker.

You press your fingers to them, your skin flinching under your own touch.

Did I fall?

Did I—

Your mind races, scrambling for an explanation, for anything that makes sense.

And then your eyes flicker lower.

Your underwear is backward.

You stare for a long moment, your brain struggling to catch up with what you’re seeing. The waistband digs awkwardly into your hips, the tag twisted around to the front.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Your stomach churns violently.

You lift the toilet lid, falling to your knees as you retch. There’s nothing in your stomach but bile, burning its way up your throat.

When you’re done, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The bathroom spins around you, your head pounding, your chest heaving with shallow breaths.

You reach for the sink, pulling yourself up slowly, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes flicker back to your reflection.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache between your legs.

Did we—

No.

No, no, no.

You grip the sink harder, your nails digging into the porcelain.

‘I don’t remember.’

That’s the worst part.

You don’t remember anything.

You remember seeing him at the club. You remember yelling at him, calling him out for the voicemail. You remember him pulling you outside, the alley reeking of cigarette smoke and beer.

And then it’s all a blur.

Flashes of his voice. His hand on your arm. The way he looked at you — dark, desperate.

But nothing else.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You want to leave.

You need to leave.

You unlock the bathroom door with shaking hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you step back into the bedroom.

But when you step inside —

He’s awake.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tangled in his hair. He looks up when he hears you, his gaze locking on yours.

And the first thing you notice?

He’s sober.

There’s no haze in his eyes. No slurred speech. No unsteady hands.

He’s completely sober.

Your stomach twists painfully.

“Morning.”

His voice is soft, tentative.

Like he’s testing the waters.

You don’t say anything.

You take a step toward the nightstand, searching for your phone. Your purse. Anything.

But he stands up slowly, blocking your path.

“Hey.”

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“You don’t have to run.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t remember anything,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I don’t—”

“I know.” His eyes soften, his brows pulling together in that familiar expression of concern. “You were really drunk.”

Your heart sinks.

“What happened?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You saw me at the club. You… you wanted to come back here.”

You shake your head, your stomach churning.

“I don’t remember that.”

You must’ve been really drunk because from what you remember you weren’t exactly happy too see him. How did you go from fighting with him to begging to be back at his apartment?

“You were drunk,” he says again, like it’s the answer to everything. “It’s okay. I took care of you.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache.

“What do you mean, you took care of me?”

His gaze flickers away for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“You wanted to come back,” he says softly. “You told me you missed me. That you wanted to… you know. Talk. Figure things out.”

Your mind spins, scrambling to fill in the blanks.

“I don’t remember,” you whisper again, your voice shaking.

“I know.” He steps closer, his voice low, soothing. “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours.

You flinch.

But he doesn’t pull back.

“I missed you,” he says again, his voice softening. “I love you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. They only hurt so bad because he was saying them now. After everything.

And for a moment —

You don’t know what to believe.

“You were wasted, Y/N.”

His words come soft, careful, like he’s tiptoeing around something fragile. His body language matches it — slouched shoulders, a furrowed brow, the faintest slump in his posture like he’s weighed down by concern.

Your stomach churns.

“I… I wasn’t that drunk.” The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. A lie to yourself, as much as to him. You’d lost count at six shots. At least six. Maybe more.

His lips press into a thin line, a faint shake of his head following. “You could barely stand.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, knuckles trembling.

“I don’t remember…” You force the words out, hating how small they sound, how they let the power tip toward him.

He exhales slowly, running a hand down his face.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You were crying. Saying you missed me. That you needed me.” He pauses, eyes meeting yours, steady and unwavering. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Just leave you there?”

The breath punches out of you. Crying? Saying you missed him? Needed him?

That couldn’t be true. That can’t be true.

But your mind betrays you. A flash of his hands steadying you on the dance floor. His voice coaxing you into the alley. The warmth of his hand brushing yours.

Pieces fall together, but the picture is fractured, missing the crucial moments. And that’s what he’s counting on.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracks, a fresh wave of panic rolling through you. “I wouldn’t—”

“You did,” he says firmly. Not loud, but firm enough that it cuts through your protest. “You were falling apart, Y/N. I couldn’t just—” He stops, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s trying to collect himself. “I had to help you.”

Help you.

The bruises on your thighs burn like a brand.

“By bringing me here?” you snap, your voice rising. “By—by—” You stop yourself before the question comes tumbling out: Did you touch me?

His face hardens just slightly, enough to send a shiver skittering down your spine. “I wasn’t going to let you go home alone. Not like that. You don’t even know what could’ve happened.”

“What do you mean what could’ve happened?” Your voice cracks, pitching higher, panic seeping in. “What did happen?”

He holds your gaze, and for a moment, his expression softens again. “Nothing happened.”

The words should feel like a relief. They don’t.

“Nothing?” Your voice is small, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

“Nothing,” he repeats, stepping closer. Too close. “You needed me, Y/N. And I was there for you. Like I always have been.”

Always.

Your mind spirals, reaching for anything concrete, any moment from last night that you can grab onto. But it’s all a haze, smothered by the tequila and the smoke and him.

“I don’t…” You press a hand to your temple, the ache blooming there sharp and relentless. “I don’t remember asking to come back here.”

His hand reaches out, brushing against your arm, and you flinch without meaning to.

His eyes darken at that. “You’re scared of me now?”

You want to say yes. But the word lodges itself in your throat, too big to swallow, too dangerous to spit out.

“I’m not scared of you,” you lie.

“Then why are you acting like this?” His voice is soft, low, almost tender. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N. I just—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.”

He steps closer. You step back. The space between you feels like it’s shrinking, suffocating.

“Why am I here, Su-bong?” Your voice is stronger now, the edge of panic sharpening it. “Why the fuck was I in your bed?”

He tilts his head slightly, his brows knitting together like you’ve just said something unreasonable. “You wanted to be here.”

“No.” You shake your head, your chest tightening. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—” Your voice cracks, the words tangling in your throat. “I don’t even remember coming back with you.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “You were drunk,” he says simply. “You don’t have to make this a big deal.”

You laugh — bitter, sharp. “Not a big deal?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Not a big fucking deal? I don’t even know what happened, Su-bong. I don’t—” Your breath hitches, your stomach twisting violently. The next words catch in your throat, almost too heavy to force out. “Did we—”

You can’t say it. You can barely think it.

“Did we have sex?”

He doesn’t react right away. Not outwardly. But you catch it — the faint flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his gaze shifts to the side before finding yours again.

“Why would you ask me that?” His voice is steady, but there’s something too measured about it, like he’s rehearsed this answer in his head a thousand times.

“Because I don’t fucking know,” you snap, your hands trembling. They curl into fists at your sides, shaking with every ragged breath. “My underwear’s on backwards, Su-bong. I have bruises. And you’re acting—” You stop yourself, your throat tightening painfully. “You’re acting like you did something.”

His jaw tightens again, and this time his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He exhales slowly, dragging his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he says finally, his tone low but clipped.

It’s not an answer.

It’s not a fucking answer.

“What does that mean?” Your voice rises, panic flaring again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you wanted to come back with me,” he says, sharper now, a flash of frustration cutting through the veneer of calm. “You were all over me at the club, Y/N. I told you we shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off abruptly, his fingers raking through his hair again, the strands spiking in every direction. “But you wouldn’t let it go.”

Your stomach twists painfully, the nausea creeping back in full force.

“I wouldn’t let it go?” Your voice cracks, disbelief bleeding into every syllable. “You’re blaming me? You’re saying I—”

“I’m not blaming you.” He exhales sharply, his voice softening just slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself back in. “I’m saying you wanted this. You made that clear.”

“I don’t even remember!” Your voice breaks now, raw and jagged, splintering through the room. “How can I want something I can’t fucking remember?”

He steps closer, and this time you’re too stunned, too frozen, to move.

“Y/N.” His voice drops lower, almost pleading, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to reach for you. “You were drunk, yeah. But you weren’t—” He hesitates, his gaze flickering over your face. “You weren’t out of it. You knew what you were doing.”

The words settle over you like a lead weight, pressing down on your chest until it feels impossible to breathe. Your mind scrambles to piece together the night before, to fill in the blanks, but it’s all fog. Hazy flashes of neon lights and pounding music and his hand on your arm.

“I don’t—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight in your chest. “I don’t know what to believe.”

His expression softens slightly, his shoulders lowering as he steps closer again, closing the gap between you.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he says, his voice coaxing, soothing. He reaches for your hand, brushing his fingers against yours.

You flinch.

The motion is small, instinctive. But he catches it, his gaze darkening for a fraction of a second before he carefully, deliberately pulls his hand back.

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” he murmurs, his tone taking on a faint edge of frustration again. “I tried to do the right thing, Y/N. I could’ve left you at the club. I could’ve let you go home alone. But I didn’t.”

He looks at you, his eyes steady and unwavering, and you hate how much they make your stomach twist.

“I stayed.” He takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne, mingling with the smoke and stale alcohol lingering in the room. “Because you needed me.”

You press your back against the wall, your hands gripping the hem of your dress so tightly it crumples in your fists.

“I don’t remember needing you,” you say, your voice small but sharp, each word cutting through the thick tension in the room.

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. When he looks up again, there’s something different in his eyes. Something dark.

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why you’re here.”

The question hits like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

And in the silence that follows, he steps back, his expression shifting to something softer, more familiar.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice low, almost tender. “And I know you missed me too.”

“Just… stay.”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Stay.

You want to run. You want to grab your things and get out of this apartment, out of this nightmare, and never look back. But your legs won’t move. Your feet feel glued to the floor, weighed down by doubt and fear and something else—something softer, something that aches when he looks at you like this.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whisper.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. But when he speaks, his voice is soft. Vulnerable.

“I know.” His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, then back to you. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. But I’m not the guy I was before, Y/N. I’m trying. I’m trying to be better.”

You hate how much those words hurt. How much you want to believe them.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” you say, your voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You did,” he says firmly. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you did.”

The words cut through you like a blade, sharp and cold. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him.

But the tequila haze clouds everything, blurring the edges of the truth.

“Just give me a chance,” he says, stepping closer again. “Let me prove it to you. Let me—” He stops himself, his voice catching. “Let me fix this.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper.

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away. His fingers are warm, steady, wrapping around yours like they belong there. Like they always have.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says again. His voice is so soft, so careful. “Just stay. Please.”

Your chest heaves, your breath shallow and uneven.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

The sound cuts through the tension like a knife, sharp and jarring. You jerk your hand away from his, your heart leaping into your throat as you spin toward the nightstand.

Your phone is lying there, screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Ji-hye’s name flashes across the screen.

Your stomach twists violently.

Su-bong doesn’t move. He stands frozen in place, his gaze fixed on you. You don’t look at him. You don’t want to see whatever’s written on his face.

You grab the phone, your fingers trembling as you swipe to open the message.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:04 AM): You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

Your breath catches, your chest tightening painfully.

“Who is it?” Su-bong’s voice cuts through the silence, low and steady, but there’s an edge to it now.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, you take a shaky step back, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s a sharpness beneath it, something dark and unyielding. “Who was it?”

“Ji-hye.” The name barely makes it out of your mouth, your voice cracking on the second syllable.

He hums, low and quiet. “What did she say?”

You glance down at the screen again, the words burning into your retinas. You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

You don’t know what to say.

What can you say?

“Y/N,” he says again, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, quieter, like he’s trying to keep you from bolting. “Talk to me.”

Your chest heaves, your breath coming faster now. “I need to go.”

The words feel weak, hollow, and you hate how they tremble as they leave your lips.

“Go where?” His question is quiet, but there’s a weight to it that makes your stomach turn.

“Away from here.”

The second the words are out, his expression shifts. The softness in his gaze hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“If you walk out that door…” He trails off, his voice cutting off like he’s biting down on the rest of the sentence.

Your heart races, panic rising in your chest. “What?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see me again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs.

There’s a finality to them, an edge that cuts too deep. You don’t know what he means — if he’s talking about leaving your life or leaving altogether — but it doesn’t matter.

It scares you.

And he knows it.

His gaze stays locked on yours, unflinching, unwavering. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:06 AM): If you’re with him, just leave. I’ll come get you.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

Su-bong takes another step closer. “You don’t have to leave.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “We can talk. We can figure this out. But if you walk away now…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. The threat lingers in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, Ji-hye’s message flashing like a lifeline in your palm.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, pleading. “Stay.”

You look up at him, your chest heaving, your mind spinning.

And in that moment, you don’t know what scares you more; the thought of staying, or the thought of leaving.

Better Than Drugs

Pairings: Namgyu x Fem!Reader | Brief!Thanos x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reconnecting with your shitty ex boyfriend in the games.

Warnings: Language, Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Male Manipulation, Coercion, Smut (+18) mdni, High sex, Dub/con, Choking, Exchange of Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Unedited (we die like soldiers)

A/n: literally no one will read this but I need him and I wrote this for me!

Being treated like a lamb being led to the proverbial slaughter in a death game sucked ass but seeing your ex boyfriend there sucked even more, somehow. From your vantage point perched on your bed tucked away from all the central conflict, you notice them talking about you again.

Call it past bully traum but you knew when people were talking about you and although you couldn't make out what they were saying, a part of you just knew...

Another vote had ended and Namgyu was still staring at you, his head bowed, chewing his fingernails. He was watching you, while you were forced to watch as democracy crumbled around you.

Your brain made you think Namgyu was perhaps berating you in front of his new friend. Bad-mouthing you to absolutely no end, perhaps saying what a lousy, uptight girlfriend you had been in the outside world. How you kept him from his habit. How you tried to force him into rehab countless times.

And so you shrink into yourself, squeezing yourself further into your bed, hugging your knees.

How were you supposed to know the conversation went nothing like how you thought it was going?

"We need to get her on our team," Thanos had said when the voting concluded and they were watching you pick at your roll of tin-foiled kimbap.

"She's already on our team," Namgyu muttered, more quiet than usual as he watched you through the corner of his eye. He didn't feel like eating. He felt like doing drugs. And fucking, maybe, but eating? It never occurred to him.

Without you to remind him to eat, and to actually take care of his bodily health outside of his substance abuse, he really was a mess.

"Oh yeah," Thanos muttered dumbly before turning back to his own food, "Kay, well, I need to sleep with her."

Namgyu didn't even look up from his food, still leaning against the metal beds as he murmured a quiet, "Nope." Popping his lip, extenuating the 'p'

Thanos himself was rallied into silence as Namgyu casually clicked his tongue before adding, "I called dibs on that bro," he steals another glance. You're searching your chest for a piece of cucumber that's fallen out of the kimbap

This unfortunately, zeroes his gaze in on your ample chest, miraculously squeezed into that tracksuit jacket. Now Namgyu was thinking about your tits while Thanos' head whips to the side, his brow lifted.

Namgyu couldn't take his eyes off you since the games began. Watching you during voting time had stirred up all kinds of lost emotions. The easy and almost thoughtless way you had pressed the blue button before tucking your hands in your pockets, never sparing anyone a second glance. He had to adjust the bulge forming in his sweatpant. If it weren't for him you might have continued to go amongst the games as an anonymous spectre, with that cash prize as your only goal.

"I didn't know we were calling dibs!?" Thanos stomped his feet petulantly, "That's not fair, man. Not. Cool."

"That's the point of dibs," Namgyu said, pushing his hair behind his ears as he continued to stare you down. "Who knows how long we'll be here?" As he watched you, he tilted his head downwards, causing a thick shadow to fall over his eyes as he watched you. He leaned against the railings of the metal beds piled up to the ceiling, watching you tuck your hands deeper into the sleeves of your sweater. Really fucking cute.

"B-But Homies don't call dibs on girls!" Thanos whines.

"Yeah," Namgyu nods, "but, I'm gonna need more than magic pills and a homie to get me through the night," He made a ring with his index and thumb finger, pinching his one eye shut as he spied at you through it, "She can help,”

Thanos was quiet, eerily so. Good things never happened when Thanos was quiet,

"Let's go over to her right now then. Since she's stealing my homie-"

That immediately snapped Namgyu out of his lust-filled gaze, promoting his shoulders to straighten as he tried to stop Thanos from taking another step towards you.

"Senorita-" he said in a singsong voice and you rolled your eyes as you saw them approaching. Namgyu walked behind like the shadow he always tried to be, with his hands tucked in his pocket. Your bed is relatively low to the ground and your heart stammered when both their shadows fell over you.

"Don't have any change," your eyes whipped to your ex-boyfriend before narrowing, "Or drugs. Sorry." you mustered a painfully sarcastic smile as you attempted to turn in another direction, hoping they might take the hint.

Thanos' teeth stretched as Namgyu swallowed thickly, watching you in that distinctly predatory way of his as he propped his forearm against the railing of the bed. You hate how both of them make you feel and your eye scans in vain around the premises, hoping someone might save you from the duo.

"Lemme make this quick," Thanos said with his drug addicted hand gestures. "My bro wants you and whatever bro wants-" he taps Namgyu's chest behind you- "Bro gets."

Silence passed with you staring deep into Namgyu's dark, almost sinister black eyes. You admitted that you were still painfully attracted to him. Knowing that he knows your body. He's already seen what hid under your blue tracksuit, it was dizzyingly sobering.

He still seemed so devastatingly sleezy it bordered on attractive, like he didn't care about what anyone really thought of him. It still brought an uncomfortable amount of attraction that you didn't really know what to do with. "No thanks," you said, bending your head to take a bite of the kimbap.

"Cunt." you heard him mumble under his breath. That caused your head whip up to glare at him.

"I'm a cunt because I'd rather not fuck a drug addict?"

"No," Namgyu shrugged, "You're just a cunt."

Your nostrils flared as something diabolical ignited inside you. Up until this point, fear had been the only emotion you allowed yourself to feel. The fear of dying to keep you alive. But right now, you're being plagued with another emotion and it's setting you alight with interest.

Your dating preferences were never orthodox. You knew you could never truly be satisfied with any other timid nice guy, and that's what drew you to him. You hated admitting to it but Namgyu calling you a cunt did more than irritate you, it ignited you.

"I'm not here to make friends,” You marvel now, in the tense darkness, how confident you had been then.

“How about a boyfriend then?” Namgyu asked and Thanos whistled lowly as he mutters a ‘nice bro,’

“How about choking?” You shot back, “I tried the boyfriend thing and he stole all my savings to buy drugs.” Namgyu’s jaw ticked and you can see his fist fold and unfold. Thanos’ commentary continues. ‘Shit boyfriend-’ he says under his breath.

“Don't be a bitch so early in the morning…” Namgyu says finally before turning his head, somewhat distracted, “Or at least I think it's morning. Hyung do you think it's morning-”

Thanos raised his hands, “Morning is what we make it in here, bro.”

“Leave me alone of I'll fucking scream.” you cut through all their useless chatter, letting a tense silence settle between the three of you. Eventually, Thanos reluctantly pulls Namgyu away. Murmuring a quiet ‘just take a hint bro.'

Soon, you were left in your bed but not without one more backwards glance from Namgyu over his shoulder. He wasn't done with you and that thought sat heavily on your shoulders until the robotic voice from unseen speakers made the countdown to lights out.

The very last thing you remembered, before the overhead lights were snuffed out, was his black, almond eyes still watching you from his bed.

The blue 'O' velcroed to your breast burns a hole through your conscience as your eyes flutter open in the middle of the night, really needing to pee. The prize money acts as the only source of gold light illuminating the hall while everyone else remains soundly asleep.

Life in the games was so much more stomachable during the day, but when the lights went out, you were forced to sit with your thoughts. That piggy bank didn't have money inside it, it held bodies, and the ghosts practically filled this room.

Still, you can't help but whisper to yourself, “I really have to pee.” The only thing stopping you from going to the bathroom is the gaze you knew would somehow find you from three beds over. Your ex boyfriend watches you, even when the lights go out.

Paranoia be damned.

Cursing softly, you maneuvered yourself to the ground. Trying to make the least amount of noise possible as you moved through the row of beds.

If you were being followed you'd never know. Everything was too dark but a part of you sighed as you reached the small arched doorway completely unscathed.

Almost unscathed.

Your heart hammers in its cage when you feel his heavy arm settle over your shoulders. Your mouth falls open but Namgyu is already banging on the arched door with a closed fist. You flinch with every loud, metallic hit.

The little window opens to reveal a triangle-masked soldier. He stands there emotionless.

“My girlfriend's on her period- she's bleeding everywhere. We need the bathroom.”

There is silence from the Guard who is clearly unimpressed. Just before the little window is about to slide shut Namgyu kicks at the door, “Hey! I wanna fuck my girl- if you want, we could do it out here?!”

You try to wrench yourself out of his grip, toilet be damned but your heart absolutely sinks to find the pink soldier opening the metal door.

Namgyu only twirls, pumping his fist before pulling you in his arms, biting back a smile.

“Can't believe that worked,” Namgyu says, with a raised eyebrow and a happy little shrug as he drags you across the threshold. The trip to the women's bathroom is relatively short as you writhe and fight in his hands. There's virtually no reason for the pink guard to think any of this was consensual but they kept their stoicism on their face as you reached the girl's bathroom.

“We'll be quick,” Namgyu assures the guard with a tight sort of smile before pushing you into the bathroom, and closing the door after himself.

You trip on your way running into one of the stalls and he watches you, biting his nail.

“This is the girls bathroom, or are you too high to notice?” You hiss absolute venom as he bites his fingernail.

“Nah, I'm sober right now, which means I need something to take the load off.”

“Cool. Use your hand,” you sigh from within the stalls before dropping your pants to pee. It irked you that he was standing there, on the other side… waiting for you.

You make quick work of it all. Wiping, flushing, and making a beeline for the sinks. He lets you wash your hands but before you make it to the door his arms are wrapped around your waist.

“Uh Uh,” he tsks, “No ‘i miss you’ kiss, huh?” He drags you into his arms, kicking and screaming as he swipes your brains from across your panicked face.

“Only competent boyfriends get kisses,” Despite the fuss, the door doesn't open. Those guards have quite literally abandoned you in here to fend for yourself.

“I can make it up to you,” he said, “I miss you really bad, baby,” Namgyu's pushing your back against the sink, stained with that sickening, pastel colour as he lowers his nose into the crook of your neck. You writhe as he breathes you in deeply, before sighing. His erection pressed against your thigh.

“Someone else could walk in here,” you cry, feeling a dampness seep out of you, wetting your underwear. Your body was being traitorous because it was enjoying feeling anything other than fear. It yearned for it.

“Sto-” you attempt to catch your breath as he gropes at your breasts from over your tracksuit. “Stop touching me-” you say despite your legs getting weaker and weaker.

“You don't get to touch me anymore. You lost that privilege when you stopped being my boyfriend.” He was so much taller than you when he stretched his hand across your cheeks, forcing your neck back to make more space for his lips. A moan nearly spills out of you.

His hands are trembling and his tongue swipes out to lick the length of your neck. To your shock and horror, you melt in his grasp.

“You don't mean that-” he whispers against your skin. “No one's gonna fuck you like I do-”

“No one's going to steal my money like you do either-”

His hand flies down to your throat, choking as he says through clenched teeth, “I told you I had a problem-” he squeezes and for the briefest moment, you see stars. “I needed help and you abandoned me, you bitch-”

“I didn't abandon you-” His lips are on yours, silencing you in one messy kiss that him forcing his tongue into your mouth.

“You gonna be good for me, Huh?’ He says, hoarsely, your eyes glare up at him.

“Leave me alone-”

“You know I love it when you try to fight back,” his mouth breathes against your hair, “You trying to get me riled up babe, huh?”

His fingers find the lining of your own sweatpants and your heart stammers as he turns to push your front against the sink. Your hand grips at the cheap plaster and you avoid your own traitorous reflection in the mirror, lest you find not only fear in your eyes, but lust

“You know how bad I've needed this- fuck,” his voice cracks when fumbles his cock out, grinding against your ass with his eyes closed in ecstasy and his mouth hanging open. Your finger curls around the sink as the first moan slips out of you. It had his eyes flying open to look down at you in amusement and awe.

“I knew you weren't a completely stuck-up bitch,” he says, pulling you up by the base of the throat, “I knew you still wanted me.”

“I don't,” you squeak out as he pulls down your pants.

“No- but your body does,” he swipes your underwear to the side.

Your body spasms as he roughly sinks his digits into you once before pulling out.

He continues to swipe your arousal from from your ass to your puffy clit and the need wracks through your entire body, building as you arched your ass backwards against him.

“You miss me real bad,” he brings your fingers up in front of your face and your heart drops to find the arousal webbing his index and middle.

His mouth is by your ear, breathing heavily as he lines his cock up at your entrance, already leaking precum, “I know I gave you hell when we were out there-”

“Hell doesn't begin to cover- FUCK-” he rams his cock into you. Positively brimming with need as his hips stutter against you.

“Y-ou stole my fucking savings for drugs-” you get the sentence out quickly before moaning into the air, as your boyfriend fucks out all the frustration he's been carrying, all the need and the withdrawal.

“And I ate you out as an apology-” He reaches his hand around to clamp down on the base of your throat. Your mouth falls open when he cranes our neck back, his eyes boring into yours. “Don't you miss it baby, don't miss having me inside of you?”

“Y-Your eyes are diluted-” you begin to say, utterly incredulous. “You're high right now!”

His hips thrusts in shallow, quick strokes. “And your pussy's wet, guess we're both fucked.”

“That it…” he whispers, “Don't think I haven't forgotten the way you abandoned me out there… But in here,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, “You dont so much as fucking breathe without my permission.”

Your pussy tightens around him like a long lost friend, it knocks you out how deeply you've craved him. Needing reprieve from all the fear. “You're squeezing around my cock, you fucking slut-” that nearly has you seeing stars. Your body spasms.

Your eyes squeeze shut as his cock hits that particular pillow of nerves inside you, nearly flipping you off the edge.

You do it without thinking about it and his eyes widen as he presses that same hand to your clit.

“Spit on my hand,” he says, an edge to his voice that let you know he was far too close. You forgot how messy things got when you had sex with him. How much of a mess he made of you.

“F-Fuck!” Your eyes are squeezed shut as he reaches around to rub you to your orgasm. His movements only fumble when his hips start stuttering.

“N-Need you to cum for me-” he breathes out. “I’m jittery- baby. I need it- shit-” you slip into your orgasm right in front of him, milking his cock for all its worth. “F-Fuck this is so much better than drugs,” he murmers, eyes rolled back as a drunken smile ghosts over his face. He's in complete and utter euphoria.

Two rough knocks on the door signal the need for your return but Namgyu's cock is still spilling ropes of his cum inside you and you're doing nothing but taking it.

“I hate you,” you breathe out, because it's true. If it weren't for him you wouldn't be here.

His breath is warm against your neck as he says, “I love you too.

Hello? How are the readers on Tumblr? I hope well. I’m here to invite you to check out my work. I’ve recently taken a break (still on it, but will be back soon). I used to write only for the "Scream" franchise, but now I’d like to write for other fandoms such as: Squid Game, Alice in Borderland, All of Us Are Dead, Arcane, Percy Jackson.

I would love to know if you could support my work, please! Thank you, dear ones.

❝ SCREAM MASTERLIST ❞

❝ SIDNEY PRESCOTT ❞

☆ ❝ Sidney Prescott x fem!reader

☆ ❝ Tela de bloqueio Sidney ❞

☆ ❝ Curando Corações ❞

☆ ❝ Literary Constellations ❞

☆ ❝ Refúgio Tropical ❞

❝AMBER FREEMAN ❞

☆ ❝ Amber's love language ❞

☆ ❝ Toxic relationship ❞

☆ ❝ Young and Beautiful ❞

☆ ❝ Argument with Amber ❞

☆ ❝ Echoes, Shadows and Resolutions ❞

❝ SAMANTHA CARPENTER ❞

☆ ❝ Samantha Carpenter x short!reader ❞

☆ ❝ A linguagem do amor de Sam ❞

☆ ❝ Unspoken Comfort ❞

☆ ❝ Tara Cupid ❞

❝ JILL ROBERTS ❞

☆ ❝ Jill's love language ❞

❝ TARA CARPENTER ❞

☆ ❝ Provocação Charmosa ❞

❝ TATUM RILEY ❞

☆ ❝ Refúgio Tropical ❞

❝ BILLY LOOMIS ❞

☆ ❝ Refúgio Tropical ❞

❝ STU MACHER ❞

☆ ❝ Refúgio Tropical ❞

❝ RANDY MEEKS ❞

☆ ❝ Refúgio Tropical ❞

PLEASE WRITE ABOUT HIM, I'M BEGGING YOU!

Guys, I just wonder why no one is writing to Hwang Jun-ho. Wake up, he's a hot cop! Doesn't that appeal to you? Take a good look

I would even write something about him, but I'm dealing with writer's block. :( (I started a creative writing course at college to broaden my creative perception, and I hope to be back soon.)

3.1.24 - writing resources for the new year

isn't lovely to feel like you have the opportunity to start fresh again? here are some fo the resources I'm using going into the new year!

flocus is a pomodoro app with pretty backgrounds, availability to be customized, and it also tracks your productivity streaks, which is definitely a motivational booster

in addition to this, flocus' newsletter, the flow, is a weekly email on how to be more productive! it's one of the things I like to tuck away in my inbox and read.

calmly is a blank page. all you need to do is bring the words.

medium doesn't necessarily focus on creative writing, but it's an interesting place to find similarly interested people and all kinds of articles

characterhub is a website community that promotes interaction among OCs (and is great for artists also!)

poetry foundation has an enormous collection of writing that's great to read for fun, or inspiration, or if you're in a slump

and not necessarily writing related, but here are other things that I've been trying out:

via li's youtube channel. something about it radiates warmth and I listen to her videos like podcasts.

baking! it's so comforting and I love seeing the results. smitten kitchen has the best recipes.

also knitting. not necessarily specific sites, but I have these ideas of all the things I want to make.

and that's all for now. however I did up my wordcount! I hit 15k today, so hopefully by next monday I'll have everything I need done. I'm working on deadlines for the first time for a project, and I can definitely feel the pressure.

tag any other websites below and I'll be sure to reblog them!

k.

mas eu ainda acredito que a parte mais triste foi ter que abrir mão do amor porque não era recíproco.

céu de júpiter em: tudo que eu poderia te dizer, mas você jamais entenderia.

solidão

não é sobre estar sozinho é sobre não pertencer a lugar nenhum (nem a si mesmo). a.

todo mundo vai embora. as vezes é o que eu penso depois que você se foi. e talvez eu não encontre, de imediato, uma resposta. talvez a tentativa seja uma maneira de autoengano. talvez as partidas sejam necessárias para o nosso amadurecimento. mas a verdade é que todo mundo vai embora, não importa se a mesa esta posta ou não. não importa se o abraço aquece ou a presença conforta. todos sempre vão embora. e não importa se a distancia é curta ou longa, ou se os dois ainda sentem o mesmo. não importa se as memorias são boas ou ruins. ou se você prometeu que iria ficar…. todo mundo vai embora, contudo, há quem ainda volte nem que seja para pedir perdão, reestabelecer laços, falar das memórias ou apenas contar histórias, mas também há quem vai embora para sempre. você já foi embora. eles já foram embora. a questão é se o “para sempre” não existe por que insistimos em tentar? céu de júpiter e poetologia em: tudo mundo vai embora

anything with dom!reader & sub!tara pls 🥺🥺 (g!p if it's possible)

❝Ardent❞

TW: porn content, mature, +18 Be part of the tag list and posting schedule - TAG LIST E SCHEDULE ★ This is my first time writing something mature/pornographic, so please, bear with me.

You watched intently as Tara knelt in front of you, her doe-like gaze was defiant and carried the simple promise of resistance. A sinuous smile snaked across her lips, as if it were the secret key to an unfathomable enigma, a hint of knowledge shared only between them. You knew that she, like a butterfly thirsty for nectar, craved a challenge. With a simple gesture of your hand, you made her stand up and move closer, each step more hesitant as she came closer to your control

Sliding his fingers with the delicacy of a feather over Tara's skin, he seemed to conduct a symphony of secret longings. Each caress was a note, a whispered promise of submission that echoed like a forbidden melody in her senses. Tara felt as if she were being guided by a desire as deep as the mysteries of life and death, shuddering under his control, her sharp gaze slowly yielding. Tilting your head with determination, as if you were a conqueror approaching your most desired prize, you captured Tara's lips in an ardent and possessive kiss. Each meeting of your lips was like the fusion of two elements, an incendiary chemistry that enveloped you. Savoring the sensation of power that flowed between them, as if it were the very essence of life, she plunged deeply into the kiss, as if she were unlocking the secrets of the universe with every touch of her tongue and deepening into that abyss of shared passion.

Tara moaned, any remnants of her resistance disappearing completely as you guided her effortlessly, exploring every inch of her body with skillful, precise touches. Each union of your mouths and touches was like the fusion of two souls on fire, an intense dance that consumed them. Savoring the taste of the power that flowed between them, as if it were an elixir from the gods. The atmosphere in the room seemed charged with electricity, as if the invisible threads of desire were stretched to the limit. Reader, with eyes sparkling with determination, was determined to lead them to the point of no return, like a fearless explorer venturing into the unknown. His aim was to explore the limits of Tara's submission, like a curious alchemist mixing forbidden ingredients. It had been a long time since Tara had felt such an intense connection and desire, such a great need to give herself completely, to surrender completely to another person and never again have to worry about someone controlling her. She felt her restraint disappearing, and she knew that no one but Leitor would be able to stop her control from disintegrating when she finally broke free.

Your tongue slid sensuously over Tara's lower lip, coaxing her to open up to you. She moaned softly and opened her mouth wider. This is what you wanted. The moment you were alone, you would take Tara, make love to her, make her yours and show everyone. So you licked her tender lips, taking advantage of the fact that you were apart, nibbling and nibbling on her lips, before pulling away slightly, letting Tara know that you wanted to come into her mouth, that she had to obey you if you wanted this to go any further. And Tara really wanted this to go ahead, desperately wanting to show him that she loved him, that there had never been any doubt about that. Tara's arms encircled her and squeezed her neck as she pressed herself against his body, seeking the intimate contact needed to deepen their connection.

She reached down and groped your ass, her thumb stroking lightly through your pants, as she tugged playfully on your hair, trying desperately to pull you deeper into her mouth. You smiled mischievously at her attempt, knowing full well that it only encouraged her to continue with greater ferocity. You shifted the kiss slightly to one side, sucking on her lower lip until she let out a sigh. You pulled away and looked deep into her dark brown eyes and whispered, "Tell me you belong to me." Tara nodded wordlessly, tears streaming from behind her long, curved lashes.

"Good girl. I want you to know how much your obedience means to me," you purred seductively, using your gift with skill and delicacy, caressing every inch of Tara's skin with a touch that conveyed a desire for obedience. She moaned softly under his control.

Pushing her backwards until her legs hit the bed behind her, his fingers trailed down her thighs, leaving a tingling trail as he slowly opened her jeans. Her panties joined those already discarded somewhere under the bed. No matter. She wouldn't be leaving until the morning anyway. Removing her tight tank top, along with her lacy bra, he pulled out his cell phone and took a quick picture of her exposed bare breasts, then quickly put it away, turning to kiss her belly. A low grunt escaped your throat as you nibbled on her navel and tasted her sweetness and then the sweet juice that coated your fingers when you slipped them inside her pussy. She shuddered at your touch, her muscles tightening. You continued to tease and stroke her slowly until she was panting and begging, needing to break free of her own torment and the pressure that was growing inside her. With his fingers still sliding over her swollen clitoris and sending shocks of sensation to every nerve ending, he stared hungrily at her face as he began to kiss her. He kissed her deeply and passionately as he slipped his fingers inside her, filling her with the first hint of pleasure they had experienced since... well, ever, really. It wasn't long before you were moaning in ecstasy again as Tara rubbed her thumbs over your hardened nipples through your blouse. You moaned loudly, reaching between your bodies and grasping her breasts tightly, your thumbs lightly touching the nipple, you were in control and she needed to know it. She moaned softly again, arching her back against you and moving her hips against the palm of your hand. Your fingers pumped inside her rapidly, driving her wild with desire.

When she climaxed, her teeth clenched and she screamed, her orgasm so strong that Tara clung to her shoulders. Her climax was followed by a wave of euphoria, so strong and intense that it almost knocked her over. You lay on your side, feeling as if you were floating above the earth, as if you were somehow connected to everyone and everything that existed, to everything and anything that might come your way. Reciting words of love and affection, you both fell asleep like puppies in a pile of duvets.

You were woken by the sound of a door closing. You frowned, confused, wondering who it could be. It wasn't that late, the sun was barely on the horizon, and there was no one who should be awake at this hour either. "Shh, don't wake up," said a low voice, "It's still early, let's go to sleep."

Ah, she was, the symphony in the form of a person, and the personification of a Greek goddess, his wife, his soul mate, body and soul.

★ TAG LIST - @emadarkblog

❝ Art, love and sunny days❞

Be part of the tag list and posting schedule - TAG LIST E SCHEDULE based on the idea: (painting/cooking/etc) together.

★ Painting Nights: Tara and you love to spend your Saturday nights painting together. You spread out a large canvas on the living room floor, put paints and brushes around it and start creating works of art. She usually chooses bold, colorful themes, while you prefer soft, relaxing landscapes. Your styles contrast, but that only makes your painting sessions more interesting. Sometimes you compete amicably to see who can create the most amazing painting. In the end, they usually laugh at your attempts, but it's incredible fun.

★ Double Cooking: Tara is an amazing cook, and you are her loyal assistant in the kitchen. Together, you love experimenting with recipes from different parts of the world. One of her favorite dishes to cook is sushi. She prepares the rice perfectly, while you cut the ingredients and help roll the rolls. It's a collaborative process that results in delicious home-cooked dinners. Sometimes they create their own recipes and give them funny names, like "Surprise Noodles" or "Adventure Chicken". They never know how it will turn out, but it's always a fun and tasty experience.

★ Nature walks: when they want some time away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, Tara and you go on nature walks. They love exploring forest trails, riverbanks and beaches. As you walk, you talk about your dreams and plans and observe the natural beauty around you. It's a time for reflection and deep connection. Tara always brings her camera to capture special moments, and you help her choose the best angles and compositions for her photos.

★ Movie Nights at Home: on some lazy evenings, they opt for movie nights at home. You prepare popcorn, set up a comfy blanket on the sofa and watch a movie marathon. You each choose a movie, and alternate between genres, ranging from romantic comedy to action movies and fascinating documentaries. Tara has an incredible taste for classic movies, and you like to introduce her to foreign films she's never seen before. It's a great way to expand your cinematic horizons together.

★ Collaborative art projects: from time to time, you venture into collaborative art projects. It could be a clay sculpture, a whimsical collage or even a mural on your wall. Working together on art projects allows them to combine their creative ideas and unique skills. The end result is always an expression of their friendship and collaboration.

TAG LIST -

Heyyyy

Could you do Billy Loomis being a dad to his and the reader's kids?

I explained that weird but you get it lol

❝Billy Loomis as dad❞

Be part of the tag list and posting schedule - TAG LIST E SCHEDULE

★ Understanding Dangerous Situations: Billy helps his children recognize potentially dangerous situations. He encourages them to trust their instincts. Perhaps learning how to use a knife, gun and even the basics of wrestling will become frequent as they get older;

★ A Protective Father: Billy is an extremely protective father when it comes to his and the reader's children. He may have a dark past, but he will do anything to ensure the safety and happiness of his family;

★ Fun Days: Billy makes a point of spending quality time with his children. They have their own special days, where they go out for bike rides, picnics in the park or family games. He values these moments and tries to make up for any lost time;

★ Serious Conversations: when his children have difficult questions or are facing problems, after all this boy in my perception was depressed, and nothing changes that in my mind, then Billy is always willing to have serious and honest conversations with them. He believes in the importance of open communication and never wants them to feel alienated or afraid to talk to him;

★ Present Father: despite his own traumas, Billy makes a point of being present in his children's lives. He takes part in parents' meetings at school, attends sporting and musical events, and is always there to support them in their passions and interests;

★ Special Father's Day: Father's Day is an important date for Billy. He doesn't expect expensive presents, but appreciates handmade cards and special family moments. He strives to be a positive role model for his children and is determined to do his best for them;

★ Supporting you: Billy is also there for you as a partner and father. He shares parental responsibilities and strives to create a loving and stable environment for his family;

★ Horror movie tradition: Billy shares his passion for horror movies with his children. They have regular movie nights at home, where they watch classics of the genre together. These evenings are an opportunity to teach his children about the world of cinema and also to create special bonds;

★ Halloween decorations: Billy's house is famous in the neighborhood for its incredible Halloween decorations. He takes this festivity seriously and, when October arrives, the whole family gets involved in decorating the house with pumpkins, ghosts and skeletons. Billy turns his garden into a real horror movie set, but in a fun and scary way;

★ Scary Board Game Nights: Billy's family also love horror-themed board game nights. They have a collection of games like "Mansions of Madness" and "Betrayal at Baldur's Gate" that they play together on special nights. These evenings provide fun and laughter, even with the spooky atmosphere.

anything with dom!reader & sub!tara pls 🥺🥺 (g!p if it's possible)

❝Ardent❞

TW: porn content, mature, +18 Be part of the tag list and posting schedule - TAG LIST E SCHEDULE ★ This is my first time writing something mature/pornographic, so please, bear with me.

You watched intently as Tara knelt in front of you, her doe-like gaze was defiant and carried the simple promise of resistance. A sinuous smile snaked across her lips, as if it were the secret key to an unfathomable enigma, a hint of knowledge shared only between them. You knew that she, like a butterfly thirsty for nectar, craved a challenge. With a simple gesture of your hand, you made her stand up and move closer, each step more hesitant as she came closer to your control

Sliding his fingers with the delicacy of a feather over Tara's skin, he seemed to conduct a symphony of secret longings. Each caress was a note, a whispered promise of submission that echoed like a forbidden melody in her senses. Tara felt as if she were being guided by a desire as deep as the mysteries of life and death, shuddering under his control, her sharp gaze slowly yielding. Tilting your head with determination, as if you were a conqueror approaching your most desired prize, you captured Tara's lips in an ardent and possessive kiss. Each meeting of your lips was like the fusion of two elements, an incendiary chemistry that enveloped you. Savoring the sensation of power that flowed between them, as if it were the very essence of life, she plunged deeply into the kiss, as if she were unlocking the secrets of the universe with every touch of her tongue and deepening into that abyss of shared passion.

Tara moaned, any remnants of her resistance disappearing completely as you guided her effortlessly, exploring every inch of her body with skillful, precise touches. Each union of your mouths and touches was like the fusion of two souls on fire, an intense dance that consumed them. Savoring the taste of the power that flowed between them, as if it were an elixir from the gods. The atmosphere in the room seemed charged with electricity, as if the invisible threads of desire were stretched to the limit. Reader, with eyes sparkling with determination, was determined to lead them to the point of no return, like a fearless explorer venturing into the unknown. His aim was to explore the limits of Tara's submission, like a curious alchemist mixing forbidden ingredients. It had been a long time since Tara had felt such an intense connection and desire, such a great need to give herself completely, to surrender completely to another person and never again have to worry about someone controlling her. She felt her restraint disappearing, and she knew that no one but Leitor would be able to stop her control from disintegrating when she finally broke free.

Your tongue slid sensuously over Tara's lower lip, coaxing her to open up to you. She moaned softly and opened her mouth wider. This is what you wanted. The moment you were alone, you would take Tara, make love to her, make her yours and show everyone. So you licked her tender lips, taking advantage of the fact that you were apart, nibbling and nibbling on her lips, before pulling away slightly, letting Tara know that you wanted to come into her mouth, that she had to obey you if you wanted this to go any further. And Tara really wanted this to go ahead, desperately wanting to show him that she loved him, that there had never been any doubt about that. Tara's arms encircled her and squeezed her neck as she pressed herself against his body, seeking the intimate contact needed to deepen their connection.

She reached down and groped your ass, her thumb stroking lightly through your pants, as she tugged playfully on your hair, trying desperately to pull you deeper into her mouth. You smiled mischievously at her attempt, knowing full well that it only encouraged her to continue with greater ferocity. You shifted the kiss slightly to one side, sucking on her lower lip until she let out a sigh. You pulled away and looked deep into her dark brown eyes and whispered, "Tell me you belong to me." Tara nodded wordlessly, tears streaming from behind her long, curved lashes.

"Good girl. I want you to know how much your obedience means to me," you purred seductively, using your gift with skill and delicacy, caressing every inch of Tara's skin with a touch that conveyed a desire for obedience. She moaned softly under his control.

Pushing her backwards until her legs hit the bed behind her, his fingers trailed down her thighs, leaving a tingling trail as he slowly opened her jeans. Her panties joined those already discarded somewhere under the bed. No matter. She wouldn't be leaving until the morning anyway. Removing her tight tank top, along with her lacy bra, he pulled out his cell phone and took a quick picture of her exposed bare breasts, then quickly put it away, turning to kiss her belly. A low grunt escaped your throat as you nibbled on her navel and tasted her sweetness and then the sweet juice that coated your fingers when you slipped them inside her pussy. She shuddered at your touch, her muscles tightening. You continued to tease and stroke her slowly until she was panting and begging, needing to break free of her own torment and the pressure that was growing inside her. With his fingers still sliding over her swollen clitoris and sending shocks of sensation to every nerve ending, he stared hungrily at her face as he began to kiss her. He kissed her deeply and passionately as he slipped his fingers inside her, filling her with the first hint of pleasure they had experienced since... well, ever, really. It wasn't long before you were moaning in ecstasy again as Tara rubbed her thumbs over your hardened nipples through your blouse. You moaned loudly, reaching between your bodies and grasping her breasts tightly, your thumbs lightly touching the nipple, you were in control and she needed to know it. She moaned softly again, arching her back against you and moving her hips against the palm of your hand. Your fingers pumped inside her rapidly, driving her wild with desire.

When she climaxed, her teeth clenched and she screamed, her orgasm so strong that Tara clung to her shoulders. Her climax was followed by a wave of euphoria, so strong and intense that it almost knocked her over. You lay on your side, feeling as if you were floating above the earth, as if you were somehow connected to everyone and everything that existed, to everything and anything that might come your way. Reciting words of love and affection, you both fell asleep like puppies in a pile of duvets.

You were woken by the sound of a door closing. You frowned, confused, wondering who it could be. It wasn't that late, the sun was barely on the horizon, and there was no one who should be awake at this hour either. "Shh, don't wake up," said a low voice, "It's still early, let's go to sleep."

Ah, she was, the symphony in the form of a person, and the personification of a Greek goddess, his wife, his soul mate, body and soul.

★ TAG LIST - @emadarkblog

Hi my loves, I know it's been quite a while since I last posted anything, but I promise that next week I will publish at least one headcanon since I take a long time to write one-shots and fanfics. But I came to announce something else, now I have (I will have) a Tag List and a schedule spreadsheet, yep. To be part of both or just one, just fill out the following questionnaire, I promise it's super safe. Kisses of light.

TAG LIST HERE | SCHEDULE SPREADSHEET

Favourite horror movie girls

❝Echoes, Shadows and Resolutions❞

feel free to request any headcanon here 🠒 headcanons list ★ forgive any mistakes, English is not my native language, and this is so metaphorical, I'm not sure if you'll like or understand the meaning, but still, enjoy, my loves ♡

Amber was bombarding her phone with messages once again, probably for the hundredth time in half an hour. You had ignored her calls and messages all day long; you were hurt and needed some space for yourself. But of course, she didn't like that at all – she never did. You knew you should reply to her, provide explanations, or perhaps thousands of apologies. After all, the blame was all yours, always had been and always would be, or at least that's what she made it seem like. But dealing with her now was tiresome, like wasting words that would fall into the abyss of her mind without even being thought through and rationalized. It was like playing a soft melody in a noisy environment, where the tune gets lost in the chaotic noise – what's the point if, when carried by inertia, it loses its purpose of being appreciated? You immersed yourself in your work, desperately seeking temporary salvation, an escape from the shadows that threatened to engulf you. Each typed key was a blow against your own pain, an attempt to overpower the emotional cacophony surrounding you. Yet, even in the refuge of concentration, her memory lingered, hovering like an invisible ghost, a presence refusing to completely fade away.

The guilt, always finding shelter in the darkest corners of your heart, weighed like an anchor dragging you to the depths of the ocean of sadness. The words you should have said, the actions you should have taken, all turned into ghosts that now danced around you, whispering endless laments and questions. The pain of knowing that the disconnect between you was growing like an irreparable crack in the glass of what once was love had transformed into a silent whisper echoing within the walls of your being.

"To argue; to dispute; to quarrel; to misunderstand" – different words with similar meanings that, in a general context, describe the act of defending an opinion contrary to another, often associated with feelings of revolt. So simple, words that students occasionally encounter in the dictionary, words we frequently use when reading news or when nosy old ladies tell you about a scandal involving your neighbors while you're not at home – such simple words, words that are also actions and attitudes. When our actions are not thought through with humanity, they hurt like a silver dagger to others. Any action can become torturous, even a small one. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that you and Amber argued. Of course not, it was persistent, like removing a sticker from a jar or, more poetically, like the moth that dances around the light – your soul is drawn to it but also burned by the intensities of persistence. But at some point, in a split second between the narrow hands of the clock, you grew weary, how could you not?

Amber was paranoid, suspicious, perhaps confused…

She was also a star, bright and fiery, your star obscured by thick mist, clarity fading into the confusion of suspicion, leaving the mind at the mercy of shadows, but perfect, so perfect. And you were imperfect, not enough, like an unfinished painting where flawed strokes reveal the beauty of imperfection – that's why she constantly accused you of major "mistakes."

And you, being imperfect, in your tormented mind, it was more than logical that you were betraying her, even though she loved you. You didn't deserve her trust, and that's why in the darkness of the night, while tired bodies rested and melancholic minds surrendered to the flow of memories, darkness provided a space for words as sharp as a silver dagger to be thrown at you, freely and harshly piercing the labyrinth of your heart.

"I can't believe this! Do you really think you can fool me? I saw the messages, saw the evidence. You're cheating on me!"

"Amber, stop acting like everything is true. There's no cheating happening here."

"How dare you deny it? I read the words, saw the proof. You're deceiving me behind my back!"

"This is a misunderstanding, Amber. Things aren't what they seem."

"Don't give me your flimsy excuses. I never thought you were capable of this. You're a liar and a traitor."

"I'm not a traitor. I don't know how you came to this conclusion, but you're completely wrong."

"Wrong? There's no mistake here. You're cheating on me, and you thought you could get away with it."

"I'm trying to be honest here, but you're being irrational and don't want to hear the truth."

"The truth? The truth is, you're stabbing me in the back and trying to manipulate me now."

"Manipulate? You're acting impulsively and not willing to consider the possibility that there's more to this."

"I don't want to hear anything else coming from your lying mouth. You've destroyed everything."

"I won't accept this false accusation. I refuse to be vilified for something I didn't do."

"Save me from your theatrics. You're a traitor, and there's nothing you can say or do to change that."

"I won't keep trying to explain to someone who's so closed off in her distorted view. I really need time, and so do you."

"Get out! Get out of my life and never talk to me again. You're not worthy of my time."

You knew when you left for the library, walking hastily and light-footed through the damp streets, surrounded by the scent of freshly ground coffee, that she would still come after you, calling and being like a pebble in your shoe. Even as you tried to ignore and continue walking, at some point, she became painful and distressing, making you stop to remove her. As exhausting as it was, you still cared for her; after all, she was your girlfriend, your love, your golden light at the end of the day. And she loved you; think about all she had done for you. Why leave her alone and even more desperate? Yes, she said terrible things, did terrible things, she was completely unstable. But now, you had restored your peace and tranquility with the completion of your work, at least for now. So why not stop being a selfish, petty person and explain things to her? After all, it was your fault. Why didn't you listen to her? Why didn't you apologize and resolve this? Just wait an hour, wait for the hands of the clock to roll again, for your mind to sort itself out once more.

The clock of circumstances advanced with heavy steps, like a meticulous clockmaker etching marks on the fabric of time. An hour passed like a calm river, its waters carrying away the waves of indecision and doubt that filled the space between you and Amber. The echo of your thoughts resonated within the walls of your mind, like a chorus of restless voices.

Then, like a lone star twinkling in the darkness of the night sky, you felt the urgency to try once more. The phone became a magical artifact, a portal to a realm of possibilities. With trembling fingers, as if tracing a seal that could unlock the doors to the depths of the unknown, you dialed the numbers.

And then, the waiting ended. The sound of the ringing phone echoed like a call through the mists of uncertainty. Each ring was like a drumbeat in time with your anxiety, a prelude to the imminent encounter with destiny. The tension in the air was palpable, like a thread of electricity connecting

you and Amber, each vibration amplifying the anticipation that filled the room.

Finally, her voice emerged from the other end of the line, like an echo from a hidden place deep within the forest. It was a sound that carried with it shared memories, the good and the bad moments that now seemed to teeter on the balance of uncertainty. Her words were a distant echo resonating in the cavern of your emotions, creating a painfully beautiful symphony.

"Amber," you said. "I'm sorry about what happened. I didn't mean to ignore you."

"Yeah, right," she said. "You're just sorry you got caught."

"No, I'm serious," you said. "I just needed some time to think."

"Well, you had your time," she said. "Now come back home."

In the twilight of reconciliation, like two stars emerging from the veil of night, you and Amber finally agreed to return to the abode of tranquility. Home became a symbol of refuge, an oasis where emotional storms could rest and calm down. It was as if you were about to embark on a journey of self-discovery, exploring the hidden caves of the human heart.

The hours slid by like sand flowing through an hourglass, each moment a grain of possibility. The conversation that unfolded was a symphony of words and silences, like an intricate dance of intertwining souls. The unspoken words were like rays of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains, revealing truths that had been hidden in the shadows.

Apologies were like keys that unlocked the doors to your hearts, releasing the guilt and anguish that had accumulated. Each word of remorse was a raindrop falling onto the dry soil of the relationship, nurturing the seed of mutual understanding. You were like lost travelers who had finally found their way back home, guided by the beacon of reconciliation.

The promise to improve communication was like a gentle breeze sweeping through the dry leaves of autumn, carrying away the remnants of the past and preparing the ground for new growth. It was like a sacred vow etched in the stars, to be more truthful with yourselves and each other. You were mapping emotional territories, where vulnerability and authenticity would be the compasses guiding you.

It wasn't an easy journey, but you and Amber navigated the treacherous waters of resolution. The road to reconciliation was strewn with sharp stones and treacherous currents, but you moved forward hand in hand, like fearless adventurers exploring the depths of the human heart. The winds of change whispered promises of renewal, yet also warned of the fragility of the achieved balance.

And yet, even as the anchors of harmony were being secured, there was a shadow, a dark cloud of uncertainty on the horizon. You felt it, like an unwavering clock, reminding you that the path to redemption was paved with unexpected challenges. The past "mistakes" were not isolated incidents; they were question marks lingering above you, waiting for the right moment to trigger a new cycle of turmoil.

Thus, even as the light of reconciliation shone, you couldn't ignore the shadows dancing in the corners of the future. It was as if reconciliation itself were a fragile shell, surrounded by the tumultuous ocean of uncertain destiny. The commitment to be more honest with each other was there, but you knew that the challenge of keeping that promise would be an ongoing battle against the tides of time and circumstances.

Please send me ideas, loves. I'm out of creativity. All remnants of creativity are gone due to the horror trilogy I'm writing for college :( Sending you kisses of light.

❝Tara Cupid❞

based on the idea: "Tara and Mindy had locked them both in the closet simply because they thought the pair looked cute”

★ confusion and laughter: as Sam and you find yourselves locked in the closet, you exchange puzzled glances. At first, there's confusion about how this happened, but soon, laughter fills the confined space as you realize that Tara and Mindy must have done it to play matchmaker;

★ playful teasing: Sam can't resist teasing you about the situation, jokingly asking if you believe this is their way of trying to set you both up. You play along, responding with a sly grin and quips about Tara and Mindy's matchmaking skills;

★ comfort in close quarters: while the closet is a tight space, you both find comfort in each other's presence. The closeness fosters a sense of intimacy, allowing you to share lighthearted banter and even deeper conversations;

★ discovery of shared interests: as you spend time together in the closet, you discover shared interests and passions. Sam may talk about her love for horror movies, and you may open up about your favorite books or hobbies;

★ attempts to escape: you both try to figure out a way to escape the closet, laughing at the failed attempts. However, instead of feeling anxious, you enjoy the time spent together, making the most of an unusual situation;

★ comforting touch: in the close quarters, you find yourselves inadvertently touching each other's hands or shoulders. It's a subtle yet comforting gesture that deepens the connection between you;

★ Tara and Mindy's antics: throughout your time in the closet, you hear muffled laughter and whispers outside. It's evident that Tara and Mindy are enjoying playing matchmaker, but you're not upset about it; instead, you find it endearing;

★ a memorable bond: by the time Tara and Mindy finally release you both from the closet, you realize that the experience has brought you closer. The bond between Sam and you has deepened, and you're grateful for Tara and Mindy's playful interference.