Bipstargirl - 𓏲࣪ ཐིཋྀ۪ ⋆ [ennik] Ꮺ 〞

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

solidão

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

“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.

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.

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

— G.K. Nielson

❝ 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 -

Favourite horror movie girls

helloo, can you do one where Amber is like a really toxic girlfriend "oh if you like _ so much then go be w her" that kind of shit and then reader snaps at amber and leaves

Thank you so much for requesting, sweetheart! I hope you enjoy it, even though it's a little different from the original order ^^

❝ Young and Beautiful ❞

feel free to request any headcanon here 🠒 headcanons list

Your relationship with Amber was perfect, beautiful, and youthful. So perfect that it seemed destined for eternity, something like "Dear Lord, when I get to Heaven, please let me bring my woman." Love flowed as smoothly as a calm river when it came to the two of you, but of course, it is more dangerous to swim in a river than in the sea. You can't predict when a current will suddenly drag you into the depths; there's no way to foresee it. Just like you couldn't predict that your relationship with Amber would become what it is, that over time, cracks would appear and the promises made would be slowly corroded by bitter reality. Your relationship was far from perfect, very far.

"Why do you always have to spend time with your friends? I'm the only person who matters!"

"You can't just talk to other people without betraying me? Do you only think of yourself?"

"If you truly loved me, you would spend all your time with me, not with your nonsense"

She was possessive and jealous. It was incredible how someone so beautiful and charming like her could be so cruel, after all, "the more beautiful something is, the greater the chances of danger."

She would get angry and accuse you of betraying her if you talked to someone else;

She would often interrogate you about where you were and who you were with;

And if you didn't give her the answers she wanted, she would get furious and start an argument.

"If you're not going to tell me everything, then we don't have a real relationship!"

"I'm so insecure because you don't give me reasons to trust you."

"You always disappoint me. I can never trust your words."

"You don't have a life beyond me. I don't understand why you need other people."

Exhausting. It was exhausting to constantly walk on eggshells around her, simply avoiding poking the bear and respecting the tide so as not to be dragged deeper, deeper where the golden light of the sun can no longer reach. But of course, everyone who is drowning tries to fight their way back to the surface. It's basic instinct, even knowing that it's too deep, they still try to survive and resist exhaustion. You did the same, even knowing that you couldn't save something in ruins, you still tried. You loved her and believed you could make the mistake work.

"I just want to protect you. I don't understand why you resent that."

"I miss the person you were when we met. Now you've changed so much."

"You don't understand me. No one else will understand you like I do."

Although she loved you, or that was the lie she told a million times, being treated as inferior by someone who should love you as the moon loves the sun was draining. Having your interests and hobbies constantly criticized was tiring. She would beg you to stop your activities and spend all your time, free or not, with her, as if she didn't want you to live a life beyond the relationship, and that was suffocating.

Why do you always have to spend time with your friends? It seems like you prioritize them over me Amber, it's important for me to have a social life and maintain contact with my friends. It doesn't mean I don't care about your feelings But I should be your priority. I need you to be there for me all the time. It's like you don't care about my feelings I do care about your feelings, but I also need some personal space and time for myself. It's not healthy to be so dependent on each other Personal space? Time for yourself? It seems like you're trying to distance yourself from me. Are you hiding something? No, I'm not hiding anything. It's important for individuals in a relationship to have their own lives and interests outside of it. It doesn't mean I love you any less I don't believe you. You're always hiding things from me. I can't trust you anymore Amber, trust is a two-way street. If you constantly doubt and accuse me without reason, it creates a toxic environment. We need to work together to build trust I have my reasons. You've given me plenty of doubts with your behavior. Maybe I should start doubting everything about us Doubting everything will only push us further apart. Instead, we should communicate openly and address any concerns or insecurities we have. We can't let doubt consume our relationship Communication? We've talked about these things before, but nothing changes. It feels like I'm talking to a wall I understand that you're frustrated, but we both need to take responsibility for our actions and work on improving ourselves. We can't expect instant changes, but with patience and effort, we can make progress I'm tired of waiting for change. I want someone who prioritizes me and makes me feel secure It's not fair to put all the responsibility on me. A healthy relationship requires effort from both sides. I don't know if I can continue like this. Maybe we shouldn't be together

And finally, the breaking point. It's obvious that a poorly constructed building will collapse. It's logical, tragic, devastating. It's like a storm on a hot summer day, everything is fine one minute, and the next, the wind sweeps everything away, the sea becomes rough, and the storms become louder…

"I can't believe you're leaving me. You're abandoning everything we had!"

"You're making a big mistake. No one will ever love you like I do."

"I'll make sure you regret leaving me."

"You'll never find someone who understands you like I do. You'll be lost without me."

"I hope you enjoy being alone for the rest of your life. No one else will put up with you."

"You'll come crawling back to me. You'll see how much you need me."

"You think you can find someone better? Good luck with that."

"Without me, you're nothing. You'll never find someone who will take care of you like I did."

"You'll regret leaving me when you realize how much I did for you."

"You're just like everyone else. No one stays when things get tough."

"I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me? You're heartless."

"You'll never find someone who will fight for you like I did. You're throwing away true love."

"I hope you always regret leaving me. You'll realize the mistake you made."

"You'll never find someone who will tolerate your flaws like I did. You'll be alone forever."

"No one will ever understand you like I do. You're making a big mistake by leaving."

"I hope you find someone who hurts you just like you hurt me. You deserve to suffer."

Sometimes our own demons don't go away. Time heals all wounds is a lie. For some of us, time is torture, a nagging reminder that tomorrow brings another day and with it the same pains and anxieties, inequations. After all, the world continues to be the world, and it doesn't care if you don't fit in or can't handle the consequences of your own actions.

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.

Hi babe what would Sam carpenters love language be?

Thank you for requesting sweet! I hope you enjoy it ^^

❝Sam’s love language❞

feel free to request any headcanon here 🠒 headcanons list

★ tender hand-holding: holding hands is a natural gesture of affection for Sam and you. Whether you're walking side by side or sitting together, intertwining your fingers is an instinctive way to connect and show your love;

★ loving back hugs: Sam often surprises you with loving back hugs, wrapping their arms around you from behind. It's a heartwarming gesture that symbolizes protection and support, making you feel safe in their embrace;

★ affectionate touches: throughout your day, Sam and you exchange affectionate touches, whether it's a gentle caress on the cheek or a playful tap on the shoulder. These little gestures of physical affection reinforce your bond;

★ kisses that speak volumes: Sam and you use kisses to communicate your emotions when words fall short. From soft and tender kisses to passionate ones, each kiss is a language of love that you both understand;

★ sweet compliments: Sam constantly showers you with sweet compliments, making you feel special and appreciated. Their kind words uplift your spirits and boost your confidence in every aspect of life;

★ encouraging support: both Sam and you provide unwavering encouragement to each other's dreams and goals. You motivate each other with words of support, celebrating successes and offering comfort during challenges;

★ "I Love You": the phrase "I love you" is a daily mantra between Sam and you. Saying these three powerful words is a genuine affirmation of your deep affection and commitment to one another;

★ heartfelt text messages: Sam and you send heartfelt text messages to each other throughout the day, expressing your love and longing for one another. These messages serve as little love notes that brighten your day;

★ teamwork and support: in times of need, Sam and you work together as a team. You support each other's endeavors and are always willing to lend a helping hand, creating a strong foundation of mutual assistance;

★ meeting each other's needs: Sam and you pay attention to each other's needs and try to fulfill them without hesitation. Whether it's a comforting meal after a tough day or a surprise massage, you show your love through actions;

★ acts of care: simple acts like making their favorite dessert or preparing a warm bath after a tiring day show how much you care for each other's well-being. These thoughtful acts create a nurturing and loving environment in your relationship.