#it seems like an endless loop

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

Signal of me with a sappy post after being gone for a long while, don't read it if you don't want to feel depressed

It's been a while since I've written something here honestly. I've been thinking more and more about Atsushi lately. The more time passes, the harder it is to accept that he has passed.

I've been wishing for him to come back. Anywhere I go, whatever I see, it reminds me of him. I know he spoke so much about mortality, despite him being afraid of death, he made sure we wouldn't be so scared.

I know he is Immortal, he is never truly gone. But I want to see him more. I want to see the world being kinder to him. He has suffered so much, I wish he could have had the rest he needed before his final sleep.

I can't stop crying. Ever since march hit I can not stop crying every single day. It's got to a point when I cry during work, in school, from seemingly out of nowhere. I tried not listening to BT to not trigger these emotions, but I feel even worse. Acchan's voice makes me so so so sad, but so so so comfortable. I cannot stop listening to BT because their music is the only reason I'm still here. No matter how much it hurts, I can't stop. But the more time passes, the more it hurts.

Reminding myself of seeing Hizumi more, his grey hairs, his smile, wrinkles. Seeing more of his beautiful lyrics, his charming voice, shy demeanor. The more I think about it, the more I despise how cruel this world is. But I know it's also so so beautiful.

I would not trade a single second of my life since the time I've found their music. It has been the fucking happiest I've ever felt, and I would never, ever, ever, ever wish for anything more. I keep thinking I wish I'd found them sooner. It's so so selfish of me, but I know, had I found them sooner, I wouldn't have suffered so much. I could have made more happy memories with the band, and maybe they could've been more overpowering than the immense feelings of grief I feel with every passing day.

I just don't want to accept this reality. And I have no idea what to do with it. This feeling, has absolutely no place to go. I try to express it in art, in my words, but it does not ease.

I've never met a person in my life I've admired so much. And not just for his physical appearance, or talent. But for the fact that he was so ridiculously human yet alien at the same time, no matter what happened to him. He was so vulnerable yet so otherworldy still. He made me see what humanity really is.

The ridiculous amount of love his spirit possessed and delivered to us through his music, his stories, characters, made me appreciate that I was alive.

Instead of hiding his humanity, including the dirty, nasty, vulnerable parts of it, he exposed it to the whole world to see, to feel seen.

It's as if for us, the regular people, to understand life more clearly, he sacrificed himself over and over on that stage. He lived a thousand lives at once. And by that, he helped thousands to live just one.

What I really want to say with this, I don't know. I just hate this world without you. You are probably able to rest now, but I wish it wouldn't have been so soon. I don't think I'll ever find anyone in my life half as beautiful as you.

I wish the whole world to see your beauty. But I want to see it too. It's just hard. I wish you'd still be here dear. I cried at least 4 times today. The flowers, that I included as the first picture, represent you and the way you shone light to many people's dark world.

By seeing you bloom, the small, insignificant, nameless flowers around you are beginning to slowly find their footing as well.

I just so, so wish we wouldn't have to do that without you. It feels like losing a parent, coming from someone who has lost a parent. How does one guide through life without the help of a guardian?

Of course, his guidance is still present. I know. But I can't help it. I feel like the hole in my soul grows deeper and darker. I don't want to ever forget you. I wish sometimes life would've taken me instead.

I love you dear Acchan. Lately, I feel incapable of promising you to continue living.

I just really, really don't know how to fill in this space you left here. The world is as dark and cruel as it ever was. Maybe you are lucky you don't have to witness all of this. But still...

I miss you so so so so much. I don't want to live my life without you. I wish I could've found you sooner. I'm repeating myself. But our time together was far too short. I don't feel unlucky, because I still got to meet you.

I just did not want to let you go. Buck-Tick as a whole finally felt like something I can hold onto. Something I can call "mine". I'll do that as long as I can. But your absence is felt really strongly. I wish you'd come back.

Love you

[snuffdog]

its so easy for people to fall out of love with me itd be funny if it wasn't pathetic

[arolesbianism]

Working more on the local group of Synchronized Light and hoo boy. There's smth wrong with these guys.

[wanderingmausoleum]

experienced a very strange but helpful glitch in elden ring last night, where after a while of letting myself be summoned by people to help with bosses and such, i checked my map and noticed the site of grace for placidusax’s boss arena was there, despite me never having fought him and not even knowing how to get there yet—so i teleported to that site of grace and was immediately thrown into battle against a still-very-alive placidusax, died after a few minutes because i didn’t know his fighting patterns yet, and then resurrected still in his arena where the battle immediately started again. this happened a few times before i managed to beat him, the site of grace appeared for real, and everything was magically back to normal

[broodsys]

i feel like i should want to play bg3 but i have 0 interest in it

however, that does make for the pleasant reality of carefree watching my friends go apeshit abt these ppl w/o worrying abt spoilers

[cringelordofchaos]

I don't even know who I am anymore

[dmitriene]

being simon's riley young girlfriend, sweet and pliable, you're everything he could dream of, to put his hands on, occupy his waking thoughts, not only by a sense of duty and endless missions and work, but with your presence, something that makes him burn and itch from the inside out at the mere thought of you.

all his comrades have long found their love, and they are all the same age as their beloved, handsome women who know what they need, you fade in your own eyes against their background, consider yourself nothing more than a lost child who is always hysterical and asks for more, more love, and it seems to you that simon does not needs such a woman.

but he is not ashamed, to love you, and in the time of your naivety you do not know that you have cursed yourself by accepting his love, which entangles greedily, viscous, that you need to be afraid of the depths of the passion that simon has for you, the imprints of his thick, rough fingers on your fragile neck, when in gusts of passion he growls in raspy tones that you are his treasure, his sweetest girl.

when biting and licking your smooth skin, whispering into your ear through the teasing of your lobe with small nibbles about how much he loves you, to your breathy giggles that turn into moans and keening cries as he hammers into you over and over again, pressing your knees to your chest, looking in fascination at the trembles wracking through your whole body, groaning low like a beast through rumbling throat as your pussy pulls and gushes around his meaty cock.

simon cherishes and molds you as he sees fit, until all your doubts are shattered into fine dust, because if he decided that your place is on his beefy lap and with your hands gently looped around his neck, then so be it, with your meaningless conversations distracting him from the weight of burdening thoughts, feathery kisses pressed against his rugged face with imprints of your gloss, tying him to yourself without even knowing.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ playing dangerous ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ player 177. your assigned number. the three digits stitched in stark white thread on the coarse forest-green tracksuit now clinging to your body. you didn’t remember putting it on. you didn’t remember anything between falling asleep in your cramped apartment and waking up in this sterile, alabaster void. the tracksuit was loose in some places, tight in others, the fabric rough against your skin, a similar sensation for the discomfort that had settled deep into your bones.

˚ ༘♡ the air here was heavy, oppressive. tension hung over the room like a storm cloud, pressing down on everyone in its path. you sat on the thin mattress of your cot, the iron bars of the bedframe biting into your back as you leaned against them. your throat was dry, your lips chapped, and a faint crust of dried blood clung to the edge of your mouth, an unpleasant reminder of the chaos you’d barely survived. in your lap rested a cold metal bento box, unopened. the thought of eating its contents of rubbery eggs and starchy rice, made your stomach churn. it wasn’t hunger gnawing at you but dread. eating felt like acknowledging the possibility of another day here, in this place where death lingered so close you could almost taste it.

˚ ༘♡ death. it wasn’t something you’d ever had to think about seriously before. you were young, healthy enough, aside from the occasional winter flu. life’s struggles had been mundane, bills, work, nothing quite noteworthy. you’d thought financial trouble was the worst of your problems. how naive that seemed now. the sharp crack of gunfire still rang in your ears, and the memory of bodies crumpling mid-run played in an endless loop in your mind. every scream, every desperate gasp for air as life left someone’s body, was etched into your mind.

˚ ༘♡ this wasn’t life. it was survival, twisted into something grotesque. children’s games weaponized against desperate people for the amusement of others, with the promise of money as bait. one hundred million won for every life taken. your own life, reduced to a figure on a balance sheet. you’d survived the first game, the horrifying version of red light, green light, but at what cost? surely, after witnessing such carnage, the others would have voted to leave. you’d been certain of it. but the desperation was stronger. greed was stronger. most players had chosen to stay, ignoring the horrors of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ “the next game,” player 456 had said, “will be cutting shapes out of dalgona candy. pick the triangle. it’s the easiest.” his voice had carried a strange conviction, and he claimed to know these games intimately, even to have won before. but how could you trust him? maybe he was lying, or maybe it didn’t matter. maybe none of you were meant to leave this place alive.

˚ ༘♡ “hey, 177!” the crude voice shattered your thoughts, dragging you back to the present.

˚ ༘♡ you glanced up to see player 230, “thanos,” as he called himself, sauntering toward you. his garish purple hair stood out like a bruise against the sterile backdrop, and his brightly colored nails flashed as he gestured. he’d painted them to match the infinity stones, leaning fully into the nickname he’d given himself. behind him, player 124 followed, all sharp angles and slicked-back hair, his grin as eager and sly as ever.

˚ ༘♡ “why didn’t you vote for one more game, huh?” thanos sneered, his voice laced with mockery. “you had no problem playing foul last round.”

˚ ༘♡ you frowned, rising slowly to your feet. “you and i both know it was an accident,” you replied steadily. “everyone was running for their lives. i didn’t block your way on purpose. we both finished in time, didn’t we? no harm done.”

˚ ༘♡ he rolled his eyes, his expression exaggerated and spontaneous. “yeah, sure, whatever. typical cold-hearted bitch behavior.”

˚ ༘♡ player 124 cackled at the insult, his laughter harsh and grating. “that’s right. cold, stuck-up bitch,” he echoed, his voice dripping with scorn.

˚ ༘♡ their taunts were designed to provoke you, but you refused to give them the satisfaction. your hands curled into fists, but you forced yourself to relax them, forced yourself to breathe. these two thrived on conflict, and the best thing you could do was walk away. you turned on your heel, ignoring their shouts, and started to move toward the far corner of the room.

˚ ༘♡ “hey! i’m talking to you!” thanos barked, stumbling after you with heavy, uncoordinated steps. he didn’t get far. player 001 stepped into his path, his expression stoic and unyielding.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t you boys have any respect?” player 001 asked, his voice quiet but firm. there was something about him, an emanation of authority that made everyone within earshot pause.

˚ ༘♡ thanos bristled, his arrogance faltering for just a moment. “mind your own damn business, old man,” he snapped, jerking forward.

˚ ༘♡ player 001 didn’t flinch. when thanos lunged at him, the older man moved with startling precision, sidestepping the punch with ease. he grabbed thanos by the wrist mid-swing and twisted sharply, forcing a guttural yelp from the younger man as his knees buckled. with a swift motion, player 001 yanked him forward and drove an elbow into his chest, the dull, cracking impact echoing in the room. thanos collapsed onto the floor, clutching his ribs and coughing violently.

˚ ༘♡ player 124 scrambled forward, his face twisted in fury. “bastard!” he yelled, charging with reckless abandon. player 001 turned just in time, catching the younger man by the collar and using his momentum against him. a sharp twist and a well-placed shove sent player 124 sprawling into the edge of a nearby cot, the metal frame rattling as he hit it with a thud.

˚ ༘♡ the fight wasn’t over. thanos struggled to his feet, his face contorted in pain and rage. “you’re gonna regret that, old man,” he spat, lunging again. this time, player 001’s response was more deliberate. he ducked under thanos’s wild swing, stepped inside his reach, and delivered a devastating blow to his lower torso. the younger man doubled over, gasping, before player 001 swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor once more.

˚ ༘♡ not finished, player 124 staggered up again, charging at player 001 with fists raised. the older man sidestepped and grabbed player 124 by the arm, wrenching it behind his back and forcing him to the ground with a hoarse cry of pain. he planted a knee firmly against player 124’s spine, holding him there as the younger man squirmed and cursed.

˚ ༘♡ thanos, blood now trickling from his nose, crawled toward his friend, wheezing apologies and swearing obscenities all at once. player 001 released player 124 with a shove, stepping back as the two younger men lay crumpled together on the floor.

˚ ༘♡ the room was silent, every player watching in stunned awe. then, slowly, the silence broke into cheers and clapping. player 001 straightened his posture, his expression as calm and inscrutable as ever. without a word, he turned and walked back to where player 456 and a few others were gathered, leaving the two troublemakers to nurse their wounds.

˚ ༘♡ you hesitated, then followed him. when you reached his side, you spoke softly. “i wanted to thank you, sir. if you hadn’t stepped in, they wouldn’t have stopped harassing me and disturbing the peace. you’ve done us all a favor.”

˚ ༘♡ player 001 turned to look at you, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly before he nodded. he said nothing, his expression unreadable. there was something deeply weary about him, a weight that seemed to press down on his shoulders. his posture was rigid, his face lined with exhaustion, and though he was relatively handsome, it was the kind of masculine appeal eroded by time and hardship.

˚ ༘♡ you wondered what had brought him here, what had led him to the point where he’d chosen, or been pushed into, to enter this place. you didn’t ask. prying into his past would be an impolite gesture and an indignity for what he had done for you.

a/n: my first squid game fanfiction! i definitely want to write more for hwang in-ho in the future so let me know if you have any requests! 🤍

[akalyndraw]

❛𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆❜

╰──➢The prefect's heart was still racing, the memories replaying in her mind like an endless loop. The dream of her beloved turned into a nightmare, she still felt her hands shaking. She wasnt a weak-minded girl but when it came to that brazen lion, her heart couldn't hold out. Why he has to suffer so much, she wished someone would understand. Even if her confused feelings could be mixed with fear she stood her ground. The sand mingled with the raindrops, I was a little cold but I could see Leona's silhouette in the distance.

The prefect's steps slow, she wanted to make sure he was going to allow her to approach. Her weakness disguised as caution only crumbled at the sight of the prince's face.

From a distance no one could make out his expression... but she could. A frown holding back tears.

Lovers can't fool each other once their eyes meet. There wasn't a second to lose, she runs to him and embraces him. With a tired sigh, his strong arms wrap around her and cling to her clothes, as if looking for somewhere to rest. He was fed up but somehow, he was now determined to choose where to go.

At last the lion was home, in the arms of what seemed like a fragile girl, but is a woman who can become a fierce one for love. To be able to cry in the arms of another person is a more intimate act than untying her clothes. They undress their souls and the sand takes with it the prince's deepest fears.

[outeremissary]

Discovering that my YouTube app of "don't worry about it" provenance is very capable of looping the last song loaded indefinitely when I lose signal, and I am beginning to fear I may be listening to nothing but Two Breaths Walking this whole train ride

[cocastyle]

I See You

Pairing — Bob Reynolds x reader

Word Count — 4k

Warning — SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE I REPEAT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE!!

A/N — breaking my two years of not posting in honor of this amazing movie and character. the Thunderbolts* has reawakened my fire to write and I couldn’t ignore it. so here you go! this will be a bit of a short series. i kind of envision around three parts or so? anyways, i really hope you enjoy this and know this is your last warning before you continue on!! so if you haven’t seen the Thunderbolts* please save this for later <3

also, did you all notice the easter eggs i included ?? 👀

Part One Part Two Part Three

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Bob Reynolds wasn't quite sure how any of this had happened. One minute he was pretty sure he had been dying and the next he was trapped in a series of never ending nightmares. Except it wasn't just his nightmares, there were other people's too.

He knew he had been having these moments where he didn't remember things, knew that there was something going on at a deeper level than he wanted to admit. He thought with Valentina explaining this power he had been given that it would explain everything he had been feeling, that the darkness wasn't truly his but something brought on by this experiment.

But he knew the truth and walking through these endless nightmares only proved that. The darkness was his. It was a culmination of everything he was feeling, everything that had been consuming him, and it had only taken more of a physical form thanks to the Sentry project.

Bob had no way of fighting this thing, no way of taking back control of his body. And at this point he wasn't even sure if he wanted control. After all, he was just Bob. He was useless. He was nothing. Everyone would be better off without him.

So now he was trapped with no where else to go but to walk through the thousands of rooms of everyone's deepest regrets and shames.

It had been an accident at first, but sometime after his own meth chicken nightmare was when he first started stumbling into the other rooms. He saw so many things, felt the guilt and weight that everyone else felt. One in particular had stuck with him when he had ended up watching the loop of a blind lawyer watching his friend die over and over. Bob couldn't watch that for very long before he was hurriedly trying to get to any other room but that one, the blind man's cries still rattling his bones.

Bob didn't know how long he walked for or how many rooms he went through until he got to one that made him pause as he came face to face with Tony Stark. It had been a while since the hero's death, but still seeing the face of the man that had helped bring everyone back from the Blip made Bob falter slightly.

Someone's biggest trauma was Tony Stark?

Bob took a couple steps back, his eyes scanning over the room as he tried to ground himself in what was going on. He seemed to be in someone's apartment. The place would've been nice if it weren't for the fact that whoever was living here clearly hadn't been picking up after themselves in quite some time. And by the look Tony Stark was making as he glanced at the dirty dishes in the sink, it seemed he was thinking the same.

Bob knew the signs before he even saw her. It wasn't just the state of the apartment, but it was the feeling in the air. That feeling of despair, sadness, and nothingness. That feeling of knowing you were alone and there was nothing you could do about it. It clung to everything in the apartment and Bob's heart ached slightly at the sight. After all, he knew what this was like. He knew it too well.

"I can feel you judging me," a voice said, instantly pulling Bob's attention to the couch where a girl was sitting with a blanket wrapped around her and a bottle of vodka in hand. She wouldn't meet Tony Stark's eyes as she stared at the bottle, her fingers numbly fiddling with the label. "I didn't ask for you to come over and judge how I'm living. Hell, I didn't even ask you to come over, so you might as well go."

Tony let out a soft sigh, "Kid, you were ignoring my calls. Of course I was going to come check on you."

"Ever think I ignored them for a reason?"

Tony huffed and grabbed a chair from the kitchen table before dragging it over in front of the couch. He sat down in front of the girl, tilting his head slightly as he watched her before saying, "You can't keep living like this."

"You think I don't know that?" she asked, her voice bitter. “Why are you here, Tony?”

Tony just watched her in silence before saying, "Listen, Steve and Natasha came to see me yesterday and—"

The girl slammed the bottle down on the table so hard Bob thought it would break. Her eyes were red rimmed as she glared at the man and muttered, "No. We're not doing this. You're not going to sit there and try to rope me into some crazy plot to try and bring everyone back. It's been five years and I'm done, okay? I have nothing left in me anymore and I don't give a shit, so just leave."

"Kid—"

"I said leave!" she exclaimed, her eyes beginning to glow white with a power that Bob could almost feel beneath his own skin. "I'm not some sob story for you to try to fix, okay? I messed up and didn't kill Thanos in time and half of the universe had to pay for it. I'm done trying to help. All I ever do is hurt people."

She looked away, her voice rough when she whispered, "You're all better off without me anyways."

Bob sucked in a breath at that, understanding washing over him as he watched the broken girl do everything she could not to cry.

"Y/N," Tony began but the girl simply shook her head.

"No, Tony. I'm done. Just leave and go ahead and do yourself a favor and never come back. It's not worth your time or energy and I sure as hell don't want you here," she said, her head still turned.

Tony stilled slightly at her words. "You don't mean that," he told her, but before he could even blink, Y/N had used her telekinesis to pick up the bottle of vodka and send it hurtling in his direction. The man barely had time to duck out of the way before it flew right past where his head had been and shattered against the wall. Tony turned to her in surprise but the girl was already getting up and walking to the door of what had to be her bedroom.

"I miss him too you know," Tony called after her causing the girl to still.

"Stop," Y/N warned him, but Tony ignored her and instead stood up, his eyes not leaving her as he clearly made no move to leave.

"Y/N, he wouldn't want this for you. That kid loved you so much. He would be devastated by—"

"I said stop!" Y/N yelled and before anyone knew what was happening, a force was suddenly throwing Tony across the room. The man thought fast and his nano suit had wrapped around him before he could even hit the wall and Bob watched as the color drained from Y/N's face at what she had done.

She was shaking as she stared at Tony, but by the time he was looking back up at her, the Iron Man mask sliding away from his face, she was cold once again. "Get the hell out of my apartment," was all she said before turning and walking into her room, slamming the door behind her. Bob watched her go, frowning slightly as the scene began to play again.

"That was before they won against Thanos," a voice said causing Bob to flinch in surprise. He quickly turned around to find Y/N a little ways behind him, sitting down at a chair in the corner of the room. Her eyes continued to watch the scene playing out in front of her and Bob was almost beginning to question if she had spoke in the first place when she muttered, "That was the last time I saw him before he died."

Her eyes met his then and Bob stilled under her gaze. She was a couple of years older than the version of her from the memory, a little more put together but in the kind of way that screamed help more than her younger self's look had. She had learned to mask it more, that much was clear. Or maybe it was just that Bob knew where to look, that he saw himself when he looked at her and knew in more ways than one just how tired she was.

"Who was he talking about?" Bob asked, silently cursing himself for that being the first thing he said but knowing he now had to just go with it. "The guy?"

Y/N hesitated, her eyes glazing over as she got lost in thought. There was a tiny moment of utter sadness that flashed across her face but it was gone so quickly as she muttered, "I don't know." She let out a sad laugh. "Isn't that sad? It's like there's blanks in my memory. All I know is that there is this immense feeling of loss not just once, but twice. Every time I try to think of him it's like the image of him only gets fuzzier."

Bob was silent for a moment. "I have trouble remembering things too," he admitted. "There are these moments where it's like I'll wake up from a dream I don't remember having and that time is just gone."

Y/N's eyes flickered his way, her gaze shifting over him in a way that made him stand up a little straighter. "I walked through a lot of rooms before ending up here," she told him, her eyes still studying him as though she were trying to piece him together. "This was the only one I couldn't leave."

"Why?" Bob questioned.

"Why did you stop in this one?" she retorted and Bob blinked in surprise. Her head tilted slightly as she stared blankly at the boy. It was a moment before she looked away and back at Tony who was watching her past self slam the door shut behind her as the memory started back up again. "I just wanted to see him again, I guess," she whispered. "I always hated this moment, hated that I pushed him away like that and left him to fight Thanos without me. Sometimes I wonder..."

She trailed off before shrugging slightly and looking back at Bob. "Guess I was as shocked by seeing Tony's face as you were when you walked in," Y/N said. Bob barely even thought his question before she placed a finger against her temple and let out a small sigh of exhaustion. "Telekinesis," she stated. "Just a fraction of the power I was born with, but it comes in handy from time to time. I knew who you were the second you walked into this memory. Your mind is very loud, but not in the way you'd expect it to be."

Bob wanted to ask her more, but it was clear she didn't want to expand on that comment. Instead she merely tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair she sat in and said, "So you're the one doing this."

It wasn't a question. She said it as though it were fact. Not that she was wrong, but something about the way she said it still made Bob's throat constrict.

"It's not. . .it's not me. It's—" Bob broke off and he could see the way she stared at him, knew that she was reading his mind. She blinked and quickly looked away. "Sorry," she whispered. "I can't help it sometimes. You lock yourself away long enough and you'll find it harder to control what once was so easy. But I get a sense that you know that."

Bob let out a small sigh, his eyes flickering over the past Y/N who sat on the couch with a haunted look in her eyes and a tight grip on the bottle in her hand.

"We've all done some bad things," Y/N told him, answering the questions flying through his mind. "I had the unfortunate experience of being the reason half the universe died. I was there that day that Thanos went to Wakanda to take the Mind Stone from Vision. I was the last one there before he snapped. I could've stopped it, but I let his words get to me and . . . well, you know the rest."

“The Blip,” Bob muttered and Y/N nodded solemnly. He could see her trying to keep it all together, but the tension was practically radiating off of her as she avoided his gaze.

“Go ahead and say it,” Y/N told him, her gaze locked on her past self who was busy hurling the bottle at Tony’s head. “You probably lost someone in the Blip, right? Had to suffer five years without them? Who was it? Family? Friends?”

Y/N didn’t even give him time to respond as she let out a sigh as if everything were pointless, “It doesn’t matter. Everyone still thinks the same thing, but I don’t blame them.”

“It’s my fault,” she admitted. “I caused everyone so much pain and suffering and then, when I had the chance to make things right, I pushed everyone away and locked myself in my room. Then Natasha died. Then Tony. And eventually Steve followed. And where was I? Drowning my sorrows in a bottle like the asshole that I am.” Y/N scoffed slightly at herself, the fury in her eyes something most people would probably flinch at but all Bob could do was soften at the sight. “So go ahead and say what you want. Call me names. Shout at me. Tell me how much of a monster I am. I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

Bob didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he could say. Not because it was all too much to process, but because he understood it. He understood what she was feeling. The pain and the anger. The guilt and regret. The shame. He understood it in ways he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But the silence was loud and Y/N wouldn’t meet his eyes. She just stared at the scene in front of her as her past self’s voice filled the silence between them, her voice rough as she whispered, "You're all better off without me anyways."

Y/N flinched at those words, her face crumbling slightly as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Bob felt his heart ache at the sight and for a moment, he saw himself sitting there in that chair. But more importantly, he saw her. He saw Y/N for who she truly was. He didn’t know what to say to her to make her better, so instead he just thought it.

I see you.

Y/N's eyes snapped up to him and Bob knew he hadn't had to say that out loud. She had heard him loud and clear.

She stood without another word, her eyes never leaving his as she walked towards him. She was quiet as she stopped in front of him, her gaze turning questioning as she studied him.

You do see me, don't you?

Bob let out a small gasp as her voice echoed in his head. He stared at her with wide eyes, but didn't flinch away not even when she took a step closer so that they were only a breath apart.

I can feel it, you know? That darkness. It calls to me.

"You know where he is?" Bob asked and Y/N quickly shook her head.

"I'm not talking about the Void," she whispered. She gently lifted her hand and placed it on his chest, right above his heart. "Here."

Bob's breath stuttered and he tried to keep his heart from racing as he whispered, "W-what does it say?"

"That it understands," Y/N replied. "That it sees what’s inside my own heart.” She hesitated before giving him a sad smile. “Like calls to like after all."

Bob stared at her, his eyes flickering over her face. He had thought she was pretty before, but up close she was even more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Her eyebrow quirked slightly as if she had heard that thought and maybe she had, but Y/N was already moving on which he was silently thankful about.

“You feel it too,” she said and Bob didn’t need to say it out loud to confirm her thoughts. After all, he knew what she was talking about and she was right. Ever since he had emerged into this room, he had felt a sort of tug. It was the reason he had stayed. He thought it was because of seeing Tony Stark, but it was because he had felt her from the moment he had stepped foot into that room.

It was because he had seen her before ever laying eyes on her and it seemed she had done the same.

“I don’t know what to do,” Bob admitted, his words strained. “Every time I think I’m getting better, that I’ve finally pulled myself out of that darkness, I just. . .”

“Get pulled back under again?”

Bob was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor as that same feeling of shame that always crept up when he thought about his problems beginning to rise in the form of a blush on his neck, “Yeah.”

There was a gentle touch against his chin before Y/N lifted his head so that his gaze met hers once more. Her touched lingered for just a moment, but then her hand was dropping back down to her side. Not once did she move the one that was still resting on his chest and above his heart, the only source of comfort either of them seemed to need.

She gave him a sad smile, her eyes getting a sort of far off look as she whispered, “Sometimes the hardest battle you’ll ever face is with yourself.”

Bob felt tears prick his eyes at those words and for a moment, he even felt a sense of comfort. Someone knew what he was going through. Someone understood.

He had never had that before.

“How do we beat it?” Bob’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Y/N seemed to come back to herself at those words, her eyes locking with his once more and her hand tightened on his shirt. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’d like to figure that out. Together.”

Bob swore he stopped breathing at those words.

“Together,” he repeated, tears filling his eyes slightly out of disbelief.

Y/N merely nodded and she gently reached up, her thumb quickly swiping under his eye to brush away a stray tear that had fallen. Her own eyes were lined with tears as she whispered through a soft laugh, “Yeah, together. As long as you’re okay with being friends with the girl who does nothing but screw everything up.”

Bob couldn’t stop the small grin that began to peak out, the corners of his lips twitching up slightly as he opened his mouth to respond.

It was then that the doors to the room flew open, darkness flooding in and covering the walls and floors with black tendrils as it raced towards the two. The two stumbled back and away from each other as they tried to avoid the darkness creeping in and Y/N let out a small shout when her past self and Tony dissolved into nothing but shadows.

“Bob,” Y/N called out, but the boy was already reaching for her. He had ahold of her arm within a second and he pulled her to the one corner of the room not covered in darkness just yet.

His eyes were wide as he scanned what was left of the room, his grip tightening on Y/N’s arm in slight panic and confusion as he tried to process what was happening.

The darkness had never come after Bob before.

Not like this.

Something had signaled the Void. Something had scared him.

Bob’s eyes flickered to Y/N who was leaning into his touch, the tips of her fingers already beginning to glow white as she clearly analyzed the situation. His fingers felt warm against her forearm and for a moment he let himself remember the feel of her hand on his chest, the way her breath had fanned his face, and the way her words had wrapped around his heart like a hug he hadn't know he had needed.

And he knew.

The Void fed off of his sadness and loneliness and whatever Y/N had been making him feel was the opposite. The Void would do whatever he needed to crush this feeling, to stay in control. Even if it meant there were casualties along the way.

Bob’s heart ached at that thought and he quickly turned to Y/N who was backing closer to him as they were pushed further into the corner of the room and her memory. She moved her arm out of his grasp in order to hold her hands up, a white light emitting out against the darkness as she tried to hold it at bay.

"Bob, what's going on?" she asked. "What do we do?"

"I—" Bob was panicking now, the thought of Y/N getting hurt making him feel so many emotions that he hadn't felt in a long time. It scared him how much he felt towards the girl within just one conversation. He already knew he would do whatever needed to be done to save her and that thought alone scared him in more ways than one. Even more than the plan that was beginning to develop in his head, the plan that would save Y/N but would mean leaving her at the same time.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Y/N's head whipped in his direction. "Bob, no. You can't run. You have to fight this thing. If you don't, the darkness will only continue to consume you," she said.

"Cause you know what that's like?" Bob retorted, his panic and fear making him sound bitter. "We just watched the same memory over and over of you letting the darkness take over. If you can't fight it, what makes you think I can?"

Y/N's eyes softened slightly. "Bob," she started, but the darkness pushed closer towards them and she let out a strangled sound as she strained to keep her powers in check.

Bob watched her for a second, his eyes flickering over her one last time before he leaned forward. His lips brushed gently against her ear and he felt her shiver slightly under his touch. His breath came out shaky as he whispered, "I would've liked to be your friend."

Then, before she could do or say anything else, Bob had pulled back and thrown himself against the wall of the memory. His body broke through the barrier and into the next room, the darkness leaving Y/N behind in favor of chasing the boy.

"Bob!" Y/N cried out as she attempted to lunge after him, but the darkness threw her back and by the time she was up on her feet again, the memory had sealed itself around her, forcing her to relive the same moment with Tony while Bob got away.

- - -

Bob didn’t know how long he ran for. All he knew was that it took forever for him to get back to his own rooms. He almost cried when the meth chicken scene appeared before him, but he didn’t stop there. He continued his trek even after the darkness eventually faded away, now satisfied that Bob was back where he belonged.

Everything was just too loud, the memories too much for Bob to withstand while that feeling of utter loneliness crept up on him once more. It was foolish of him to think he could ever have someone understand him, that he could ever have someone in his life without hurting them in the end. He had done this to himself.

He deserved to be alone.

At some point Bob eventually managed to find the attic of one of his memories, the only quiet place in this miserable void, and he was quick to tuck himself away in there, away from all the noise and the darkness that he could feel feeding off of everyone's chaos.

It was only then that he sat down and curled in on himself, his breathing shaky as he tried to push every last thought of Y/N out of his head.

"She's better off without me," Bob whispered to himself like a mantra, his head tucked close to his knees as he let the stillness envelope him in a hug much different than the one Y/N’s words had given him. “She’s better off without me.”

“Everyone is.”

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere Slasher x Reader

Staring down at the icy water below, you sobbed. How could you have known? How could you have possibly known that your life would unravel in a single, dazzling instant? Life was strange that way, you supposed—one moment, you were laughing with your friends, paddling down the river, and the next, their bodies were staining the current red.

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, the stickiness of sweat clinging to your fingers. Carefully, you stepped over a corpse, its glassy, unblinking eyes staring up at nothing. Your stomach twisted, bile clawing up your throat, but you swallowed it down.

The wind howled through the trees, a bitter, keening sound, and crows cawed mournfully from their shadowed nests. A shudder wracked your body, and you swallowed your anxiety with a gulping, desperate whimper.

That man—that awful, blood-slicked masked man—was still out there. Lurking. Waiting. Watching.

Hours dragged by, and he hadn’t found you.

You were shivering in a tree’s gnarled embrace, the rough bark biting into your arms and legs, when you heard it—the slow, crunching of heavy boots against dead leaves. You froze, breath caught in your chest, fingers digging into the mossy branch beneath you. Your heart hammered, each beat a desperate, panicked drum. Maybe he wouldn’t look up. Maybe he’d think you’d run further. Maybe—

A creak. The tree shuddered. You bit your tongue, stifling a gasp, but your terror gave you away. The masked man’s head tilted up, the crude, dirt-streaked mask covering his face. His clothes hung in filthy tatters, stained dark with mud and crimson blood.

You didn’t even have time to scream. A massive, calloused hand shot up, fingers closing around your ankle like a steel trap. With one brutal yank, you were wrenched from your perch, the world spinning in a blur of twisting branches and sky. You hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Pain blossomed in your side, but before you could even curl in on yourself, that iron grip seized your arm.

He dragged you, half-limp and stumbling, through the forest. The world around you blurred—tangled underbrush, clawing vines, the endless, shadowed trees whispering in the wind. You tried to fight, digging your heels into the dirt, clawing at his hand, but it was like trying to pull against a mountain.

The cabin appeared out of the mist, an ancient, sagging thing with rotting timbers and a door that hung crooked on its hinges. The windows were black, smeared with filth. Your heart sank.

Inside, the air was thick and stale, the darkness pressing close. The man shoved you forward, and you stumbled, hitting the warped, splintered floor. Rusted chains hung from the wall, and without a word, he looped one around your ankle, snapping the iron cuff shut with a brutal finality.

You scrambled back, pressing yourself against the wall, breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. He loomed over you, his breath a slow, rasping growl behind the mask. For a moment, he just stared—those wild, animal eyes boring into you. Then, without a sound, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

The hours stretched into a sick eternity. The darkness seemed to pulse, shadows crawling at the edges of the room. Panic gnawed at you, your fingers scrabbling at the iron cuff, but it was hopeless. The metal was old, but solid.

Then, the door groaned open. The masked man entered, a dripping, bloodied slab of raw meat in his grasp. He approached, crouching in front of you. Slowly, he held it out—pushing it toward your face.

Your stomach twisted with a sick, frantic revulsion. The smell was sharp, metallic.

“I-I can’t…” Your voice was a broken whisper, shaking so violently it was barely audible. “Please. I… I can’t eat raw food.”

His head tilted, the mask’s rough edges catching the dim light. He didn’t speak, just stared at you for a long, unbearable moment. Then, slowly, he stood. The raw meat dropped from his hand, smacking wetly against the floor. He turned and stepped out, the door creaking shut behind him.

Silence. Time crawled by, thick and choking. Then, the door opened again. The man entered, now carrying something that was charred black, still sizzling. He crouched before you, holding it out again. The meat was overcooked—burned in places, tough-looking. But it was no longer raw.

He waited, head cocked, those wild eyes watching you with a strange, expectant intensity.

Your shaking hand reached out, and you tore a piece off. It was like chewing ash, but you forced it down, wincing at every bite. His gaze never left you. He didn’t move. Not even a twitch. His unblinking eyes bore into you, tracking every slow, hesitant bite you took. The charred meat was bitter, crumbling between your teeth, each swallow scraping down your dry throat. But you ate. You forced yourself to, your gaze never daring to rise fully to his.

And he never looked away.

When you finally finished, your stomach twisted, but you fought against the urge to throw up. He leaned closer, and for one dizzying moment, you thought he might reach out and touch you. But he didn’t. He only stared. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he stood and walked out, the door creaking shut behind him.

Darkness swallowed the room. Silence wrapped around you. You tried to fight the exhaustion gnawing at your bones, fear pricking at every nerve. But eventually, sleep dragged you under, your body crumpling against the cold, splintered wall.

You dreamed of blood.

Red, staining the water—your friends’ laughter twisting into screams. Their bodies drifting beneath the surface, limbs tangled like twisted reeds, faces pale and empty. The man’s hulking shadow loomed behind them, the crude, grinning mask dripping dark, sticky trails. He moved through the river like a monster, slow and unstoppable. And then he saw you. He lunged—

You woke with a choking gasp, the dream’s claws still raking at your chest. Panic crushed you, your breathing coming in frantic, ragged bursts. Your vision swam, the darkness of the cabin feeling thick, pressing close—

A weight settled on your forehead. A massive, calloused hand, rough and filthy, pressed against your skin.

You froze, your breath caught, your heart a pounding thunder. The masked man was crouched in front of you, his dark eyes fixed on your face. His hand was hot against your sweat-slicked brow, the pressure firm but not painful. He leaned closer, head tilting slightly, as if studying you.

Your breath trembled, but your body was locked in place, paralyzed by fear. He didn’t speak—he never spoke—but something in his gaze seemed to shift.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he pulled his hand back. He stood, the old wood creaking beneath his weight, and walked away. The door groaned as it opened, then thudded shut again, leaving you shivering, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin. You stayed awake after that, too shaken to sleep again. The darkness felt alive, pressing against you from every corner of the decaying cabin. Your breaths were shallow, your pulse a frantic rhythm in your ears. You rubbed at your forehead, trying to scrub away the sensation of his touch.

Hours must have passed. Time twisted strangely in the darkness. Your throat was dry, your muscles stiff and aching. Hunger gnawed at you, but the thought of that charred meat turned your stomach.

The door creaked open again.

Your body tensed instinctively, your hands gripping the cold chain around your ankle. The masked man stepped in, his hulking frame filling the doorway, blotting out the thin slivers of pale light behind him. His mask seemed even dirtier now, streaked with dried mud, one edge cracked, exposing a bit of dark, matted hair. His wild eyes found you immediately.

He carried something in his filthy hands—an old, metal cup, its edges dented and rusted. Water sloshed inside, some of it spilling to the rotting floor as he crossed the room. He knelt in front of you again, and without a word, thrust the cup forward.

You stared at it, then at him. Your mouth felt like sandpaper, your tongue sticking to the roof. But you hesitated. Was it clean? Did it matter?

His head tilted slightly. When you didn’t take it, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist. He guided your hand to the cup. You flinched but didn’t fight. Slowly, you raised it to your lips, tipping it cautiously.

The water was stale and metallic, but you drank it greedily, too desperate to care. Some of it dribbled down your chin.

When the cup was empty, he didn’t pull away immediately. His hand still gripped your wrist, a faint, pulsing pressure against your racing pulse. Then, his thumb brushed against your skin.

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

He released you, rising in a slow, heavy motion. The cup clattered to the floor, rolling a little before settling. Without a word, he turned and walked out, the door groaning and slamming shut behind him.

Your heart thundered in the silence. You stared at the rusted cup, your wrist still tingling where he’d touched you.

Was he trying to take care of you? Or was this something else—something darker, something worse? Your mind raced with possibilities, each one more desperate than the last. You were his prisoner. His toy. His… his what?

You couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t live in this darkness, in his strange, silent shadow. Your eyes fell to the chain at your ankle, thick and rusted but solid. Your fingers probed the iron cuff—cold, heavy. No matter how you twisted, it wouldn’t slide off.

But there had to be a way. Some weakness. Some escape. Even if you had to…

The door crashed open.

You flinched, a startled gasp escaping you. The man stormed in, faster than before, and your heart lurched. His breathing was louder, harsher, almost a growl beneath the mask. His shoulders heaved, and something dark and wet dripped from his hands—water? Blood? You couldn’t tell in the murky light.

He moved directly to you, and before you could even think to shrink away, his massive hand closed around your jaw. The pressure was firm—not enough to hurt, but enough to lock you in place. His eyes blazed down at you, and his head tilted, that animal curiosity returning.

You whimpered, a tiny, broken sound muffled by his grip.

Then, slowly, his other hand rose, his thick, filthy fingers brushing against your cheek. A dark smear trailed across your skin. His thumb pressed gently, almost as though he were wiping something away. It was water. His hands were dripping with water. But the water on his hands was murky, tainted with dark streaks of grime. His attempt to clean you only smeared the filth across your cheek, leaving a sticky, mud-streaked cheeks. Panic clawed at you, your skin crawling beneath his touch, but your body remained rigid, locked in place by his iron grip on your jaw.

You tried to turn away, but his fingers tightened slightly, forcing your gaze back to him. His eyes searched your face, the erratic flicker within them giving no hint of reason, no trace of humanity. His breathing grew slower, his chest rising and falling like the tide.

“P-Please,” you whispered, barely daring to speak. “Please, let me go.”

His thumb brushed over your lips, smearing another streak of muck across them. He seemed almost… fascinated, watching the way your skin yielded beneath his touch, the tremble of your mouth against his rough, filthy thumb.

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears burning behind your lids.

“Please…”

For one dreadful, endless moment, you were sure he wouldn’t stop—sure that he would press harder, force you to endure the filthy, clumsy attempt at… what? Comfort? Control? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to know.

But then, abruptly, he pulled away. His hand fell to his side, leaving your skin streaked with dirt and cold with lingering dampness. He stood there for a moment, staring down at you. Staring.

Masterlist

[sourle]

Oneshot n Headcanons

WARNINGS: There might be smelling mistakes/mispronouns/ooc. I apologize in advance for those.

Enjoy the show.

You wish you weren't brought into this hell, Looping for eternity for the joy of torturing. Was this really the karma for the things you did in your past?

Was this all just a sick joke as a payback from them?

You don't know.

You wish you could take it back and wouldn't end up here. Being chased around like some kind of toy all for entertainment for the.. killers. You're luckily not alone.. but… they're not all better.

After they know what you did, they turn their back on you. More often than not, they never help you whenever you're in a struggle.

Ignoring you completely.

You hate it, you don't like it. It's what makes the loop hell WORSE.

The way the other survivors treat you. Elliot never bothered to offer you a pizza. Shedletsky would just watch you getting chased alongside Guest. HECK, even 007n7 ignored you COMPLETELY.

It was exhausting, especially when all you wanted was a new beginning. Without the constant nagging of what you did.

You approached Taph, tapping him on his shoulder. “Hey— May I ask you something?—”

“🧍‍♂️🤷‍♂️👉👷‍♂️❓” (I don't know as well, maybe you should ask Builderman) You nod at his answer, giving him a thumbs up and left. Glancing back to see he gave you a thumbs up as well.

You next walked up to Noob, “Sorry to bother you… but do we have a plan for the next match?—”

Upon hearing your voice they flinched, they didn't seem to hear you but he just nodded quickly. “Y-you should ask Builderman about it, I'm s-sure he has m-more.. information.”

You watch as they speed walk away, slipping a bit.

You brushed his silly actions and went to find Builderman. He is outside the cabin with Shedletsky, seemingly in a conversation as Builderman checks over his new invention.

You approach the two and once you get closer, they turn their attention to the footsteps coming closer.

Shedletsky looks.. rather wary, whilst Builderman has that unreadable expression. You hope that's not hatred.

“Uhm— Hey, Builderman.. Can I ask about the next upcoming match’s plan?”

He didn't answer you outrightly other than letting out a sigh. A small silence overtook before Shedletsky finally spoke up, “We're still trying to figure out who's going to be picked next. Though I believe you won't be picked. Luckily.”

That smidge of disappointment in the last word already says you're not welcome in their presence. You hum with a nod, bidding farewell they didn't respond to and left.

You sat in the living room of the cabin, staring into the fireplace, waiting for the match to start to explore more of the camp, place, whatever people call the area around the cabin.

You don't know what else to do to spend the time, you've got no one to talk to as of now. You've already asked if there's a plan— like every other time before a match. And you can't think of doing anything else.

You might try and find Dusekkar for a small chat, but even so he will, like others, find an excuse to get away from you.

What are you, some kind of plague infected robloxian?

No matter, you'll just wait for the match whilst watching the endless fireplace.

Headcanons

Survivors

Noob

They don't hate you. More so terrified of your capabilities, judging from your past.

Would avoid you every chance they can.

They did try to push away their fear go try and bond with you, maybe. But Guest held him back for 'caution'

Elliot

He hates you. Deeply.

He's frustrated towards what you did to his workplace. Outright unforgivable.

Does not trust you one bit.

REFUSE to heal you even as you're low.

Shedletsky

He's wary. Does not trust you.

Would often watch you from afar though never try and make a conversation with you.

He does not hate you.. maybe a little bit.

Only helps you when it's only you two left alive.

Builderman

Hatred.

He's seething whenever he sees you.

Never tells you where the sentry or dispenser is at. Leaving you wounded most times.

Definitely is the one who told Dusekkar to never help you when you're chased.

Dussekkar

He doesn't hate you. Just a smidge of dislike. Though he does love to talk to you. Once in a while.

Is curious how you are able to do what you've done in the past

The closest to neutral.

Doesn't mind you, though he can't say anything for the others. Especially Builderman.

Chance (pink day Chance yass)

THE MOST NEUTRAL

Like Dusekkar, he doesn't hate you or dislike you.

The closest you think as a friend in the hell.

They do enjoy talking with you!

Though he can't ignore what you've done in the past.

They does help you, Often!

Maybe the only one who helps. Or is he? (Vsauce music started playing)

Two time

Thinks you're a demon coming for them.

Will watch you like a hawk.

They tried to sacrifice you once. Though Taph stops him by knocking him out.

Also tried to give you to the killer aka Jason. Jason ended up targeting Two time.

Guest 1337

He's neutral. Just distrustful of you in every aspect.

He has respect for your.. powerful doing in the past. Though he can't say he's not wary of your capabilities.

The second most to help you. Even though most of it is just him watching you getting chase.

Taph

He actually likes you.

You both would talk often and he loves teaching you sign language!

You both have the closest bond, aka best friend!

He does not care about your past, it's the past after all.

007n7

No emotions.

He sees himself in you.

He understands what you're going through.

Thought.

He respects you for your determination.

Often leaves medkit or bloxy cola near your spawn place.

He does give it to you directly. Once. Elliot glaring at him, whispering he needed it more than you as he can't heal himself.

Chance shut Elliot down by mentioning how he doesn't heal you at all.

Killers

1x1x1x1

She's intrigued by your past.

Though he doesn't care and would kill you whenever.

They would often leave you as the last man standing. Though you don't understand why.

John doe

Absolutely doesn't care.

L + Ratio. Die.

c00lkid

Thinks what you did was cool!

He's impressed how you have done it.

Would often target you first to see if you're as powerful as the story his father told you about.

Fond of you. Somehow.

Jason

He pity you. He does.

He knows how it feels to be an outcast.

Would leave you as last man standing everytime. Though sometimes he lets you win.

Hey at least another killer friend other than a child.

Masioso

He has heard stories of what you did.

Intrigued and impressed.

Though he doesn't understand how you ended up in the hit list. He doesn't remember you doing anything about debt. Meh, you're name in the list anyway.

Azure

He doesn't understand why almost all the survivors hate you.

Even as he feels sorry, he's still going to kill you.

Noli

Thinks what you did in the past are bullshit.

He does not care what so ever.

Though he did tease you about your past, despite not believing it happened, before chasing you.

Guest 666

He doesn't really care.

He tried to feel sorry for you from seeing how the survivors avoided you. But he's careless.

He's a monster. Not a villain.

Note: woah, What's this? I finally uploaded something other than reblogs? Mwehehhe

Anyway if you guys want more, please send it a request of what I should do next.. like a scenario for this Oneshot hcs story.. like maybe Reader trying to bond, how they react to this, that, etc.

Bye now ty for reading!

[luna-azzurra]

Dialogue Prompts for Self-Doubt

"I don’t know why I even bother. I try so hard, and it’s still not good enough."

"What if I’m just not meant to do this? Like… maybe I’m not the right person for it."

"I keep letting people down, and I’m starting to think that’s all I’m good at."

"You ever feel like no matter what you do, it’s never enough? Like you’re stuck in this endless loop of failing?"

"I’m so scared of messing up again. I can’t handle another failure."

"I feel like a total imposter, like any second, people are going to realize I don’t belong here."

"Why would anyone choose me? I mean, there are so many better people out there."

"No matter how hard I try, I never seem to get it right. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong."

"Sometimes I wonder if I’m even worth all the effort. Like, what if I’m not?"

"I don’t think I can keep going. This is too much, and I’m not strong enough for it anymore."

[jjuniko]

turn it down | ponytail 예쁘지만 흩트리면 난 더 좋아

PAIRING : academic rival!sunghoon x male!reader

SUMMARY : mid-terms are coming up and of course you're caught up cramming the last bit of information that your brain can hold. the only thing is the loud ass music coming from the room next door, park sunghoon's room, causing your mind to reel. a simple confrontation should do the trick. right?

CONTAINS : top sunghoon, bot reader, hate sex, reader is lwk a brat, (light) degradation, rough handling / manhanding (hair pulling), dacryphilia, lots of banter, kinda dubcon?

WORD COUNT : 3.4k

tuesday, november 9th. 3:12 a.m.

your desk looks like a war crime. highlighters everywhere, loose-leaf paper threatening to slide off the edge, half of an energy drink you forgot to finish. your eyes sting every time you blink, and your brain’s working at maybe twenty percent, if you’re being generous.

and then it starts again. that low, rock shit that vibrates through the wall like it owns the place. not even loud, just annoyingly persistent. subtle enough that you can’t exactly justify banging on his door, but annoying enough to ruin your concentration completely.

you sit there for maybe a minute. two. waiting to see if it stops. it doesn’t. you know it won’t.

because sunghoon’s a habitual asshole. you’ve known that since orientation week, when he made some smug comment about your test scores like it was a joke. ever since then it’s been non-stop competing GPAs, half-smiles across classrooms, TA praise you’re both too proud to share.

you’re not friends. you’re not even enemies. you’re just locked in, semester after semester, orbiting each other with a kind of mutual contempt that no one else seems to notice.

he plays this loud ass bullshit every time there’s a deadline coming up. maybe it helps him study. maybe he just likes fucking with you.

either way, you’ve had enough. you shove your chair back hard and head into the hall barefoot, too tired to pretend to be polite.

your knuckles hit his door. once. twice. harder than necessary.

there’s a shuffle. then the door cracks open like it’s been weighted shut.

sunghoon blinks at you.

he’s doesn't appear tired at first. not even disheveled in the way you’d expect from him. just... rumpled. and after just a second you notice his hoodie pulled over his head, sleeves pushed to his elbows, collar a little skewed. his hair looks like he’s been clawing through it all night. eye bags for days. skin a little pale under the dorm lights.

he’s clearly not slept either, but he still manages to look irritatingly composed. like even his collapse is well-curated. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t even bother with a fake smile.

“turn it down,” you say, arms crossed, voice deadpan.

he drags a hand over his face, slow and lazy. doesn’t look surprised. just exhausted.

“it’s not even that loud.”

there’s a long silence after that. the kind where the air goes still and your jaw tenses involuntarily. you hate how good he is at this, at being unbothered. like you’re the one making things difficult, even though he’s the one fucking around at 3 a.m. like he doesn’t have the same exam you do in eight hours.

you could push it. argue. threaten to call the resident assistant. but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

he shifts a little, gaze skimming over you once. then he steps aside.

“if it’s that distracting,” he mutters, tone unreadable, “come figure it out yourself.”

you hesitate. just for a second.

it’s not an invitation. it’s not even a dare. it’s... something else. a weird, tired challenge. like he doesn’t actually care whether you do or don’t.

you step in.

his room is a mess in the specific way only a midterm collapse can cause. open textbooks on the bed, extra hoodie draped over his desk chair, two half-empty coffee cups on the windowsill. the music’s coming from his laptop. some endless loop that sounds like it’s trying to mimic a guitar on steroids.

he closes the door behind you with a soft click. the sound feels louder than it should. you don’t sit. he doesn’t offer. he sinks back into his chair like he’s too tired to hold himself upright.

“you always this inconsiderate?” you ask, arms still folded.

he shrugs, not looking at you. “you always this dramatic?”

you roll your eyes. this is what it’s always like. dry comments, eye contact held a second too long, something mean simmering just under the surface. and yet you never stop. neither of you ever stops.

he reaches over and finally closes the music tab. silence drops over the room like a blanket, too heavy for comfort.

you hate this. being here. standing in his room like you’re in some kind of mutual standoff. like something’s about to happen but neither of you wants to be the one to start it.

he rubs his temple, exhales through his nose.

“you done?” he asks, not quite irritated, just bored. resigned.

“you don’t sleep either, huh.”

he snorts softly. “not since midterms started.”

you glance at the open book beside him. finance. same class you’ve got the exam for in the morning. of course he’s studying late. of course he’s doing exactly what you are, just louder, messier, and with worse time management.

you look at him again. his hood’s fallen back, hair semi-sticking out in wild directions. his sleeves are bunched at the elbows. he looks like the personification of burnout.

and still, still, he’s got that same flat expression. like even now, even like this, he’s unbeatable.

you swallow the comment that rises in your throat. something petty. something about how maybe if he spent less time pretending to be cool and more time working like a real person, he wouldn’t need caffeine and rock music to survive midterms.

but you don’t say it. not yet. you just lean against the edge of his desk and stare at him.

“you look like shit,” you say, finally.

he huffs a laugh. doesn’t look at you. “you always say the nicest things.”

and then there’s silence again, not awkward, not charged, just... thick. heavy with everything you’re not saying.

you should leave. but you don’t. not yet. you definitely didn’t plan to stay.

but you do. because you hate how he gets under your skin and makes it look easy. because he barely even asked you to come in, just stepped aside like he knew you would.

and maybe you hate that he was right.

now you’re standing in the middle of his room while he sits back down like nothing happened. like you didn’t just march over here two seconds from combusting.

he’s not pretending to be calm. he is calm. scrolling on his laptop, half-slouched in his chair, music still playing at that irritatingly low volume. like he’s immune to you.

you say nothing. neither does he.

you sit on the edge of his bed eventually, more out of annoyance than comfort. the frame creaks and he doesn’t look.

“your notes are a mess,” he says, not looking up.

you blink. “what?”

“your handwriting’s dogshit. i saw it in a lecture.”

you scoff. “maybe if you paid more attention to the lecture, you wouldn’t have to read mine.”

he hums, not denying it. “figured you’d take notes and be desperate to prove you’re better than me. two birds.”

you shoot him a glare he doesn’t see. you wish he would. it’d be nice to have him flinch for once.

“you’re such an asshole.”

“and you’re such a try-hard. works out.”

you stare at him. the bitterness in your throat is dry, sharp, familiar.

“you think you’re clever.”

“no,” he says, finally glancing at you. “i think you’re predictable.”

there it is. that look. the one he saves just for you, half bored, half challenging, like he wants you to crack.

and maybe you’re close to cracking.

you breathe through your nose and look away. you’re not going to play his game.

but then—

“you’re shaking.”

you glance down. your knee’s bouncing, unthinking. you stop it.

“midterms. caffeine.”

“sure.”

he spins a little in his chair, back to scrolling, like the conversation’s already over.

it should be. you should go. you don’t.

“what happened to your face?” you mutter.

“what.”

“you look like shit.”

he snorts. “you said that already." he glances at you, now facing you. "no sleep. not that it’s your business.”

you shrug. “was just wondering how you’re somehow uglier when you’re human.”

“funny,” he says. “from someone who only looks tolerable under library lighting.”

your jaw tenses. you meet his eyes.

“fuck you.”

“you wish.”

that stings more than it should. maybe because it hits too close to something you haven’t admitted even to yourself.

you glance around the room again. papers everywhere, water bottle on the floor, a faint smell of citrus and sweat and whatever expensive crap he uses on his skin.

you hate how easily he can exist in chaos. you hate that he’s still better than you in half your classes. and you hate that even now, sitting in his room, watching him blink slow and lean back like he owns the night, you can’t stop looking at him.

your skin feels too tight.

“you gonna stare all night?” he says without glancing up.

“just trying to understand how someone so average is so arrogant.”

he finally turns to you again, lazy but direct. the corner of his mouth lifts, barely.

“maybe because i keep winning.”

you laugh. sharp, mean. “you haven’t ‘won’ anything. you just skate by with minimal effort and let everyone assume you’re too cool to care.”

“and you care so hard it’s embarrassing.”

“you think it’s embarrassing to give a shit?”

“no. i think you are.”

there’s a pause. neither of you blinks.

and that’s when it hits, the understanding. quiet and mutual and completely unspoken.

you both know too much. too much about each other. too much about what words to use when you want them to cut. too much to pretend this is just a rivalry anymore.

he stands up. just one slow step forward. enough to close the distance.

you don’t move back. you don’t break eye contact.

the tension doesn’t spike, it thickens, draws tighter between you like a pulled wire. not sudden. not dramatic. just inevitable.

he stands in front of you now. close enough to smell his shampoo, his skin, the faint edge of cheap cafeteria coffee on his breath.

you could push him. you could leave. but you don’t.

“you’re exhausting,” you say quietly.

“you said that so many times.”

“doesn’t make it less true.”

his hand doesn’t touch you, not yet. but he’s there, standing like he might. like he’s waiting for a sign.

you don’t give him one. you just tilt your chin up and say,

“well? got something to say or just gonna hover like a freak?”

that’s what breaks it.not romance. not longing. not want.

irritation.

his hand comes to the side of your face, not soft. not rough. just firm, and his mouth meets yours in a kiss that’s not born of affection but frustration.

it’s not sudden. it’s slow. intentional.

he kisses you like he wants to shut you up again. like this is the only language he knows how to argue in now. you don’t kiss him back at first. then you do.

not because you like him. you don’t. you just want to win.

and this? this is winnable.

his tongue drags across your lip, your teeth scrape his. he groans low in his throat, more breath than sound, and you yank him down by the strings of his hoodie like he’s yours to drag around.

he stumbles forward and pushes you back into the bed. you don’t resist.

the kiss breaks, but the tension doesn’t. you breathe in sharp and fast, meeting his eyes.

there’s no going back from this. you’re not sure you want to.

his mouth is still on yours, rough and steady like he’s trying to end an argument with tongue and teeth.

you tug his hoodie off. he shrugs it away like it was pissing him off to begin with. his chest appearing more sculpted than you would like to admit. there’s tension in his muscles, irritation in the way he holds his arms like he doesn’t even want you seeing him. and yeah. he looks good. unfairly good.

“quit staring,” he mutters, breath against your cheek.

“get over yourself,” you shoot back. “you’re not that hot.”

he smirks, but it’s bitter. “says the one drooling on my bed.”

“in your dreams.”

“nah,” he breathes, close to your mouth again. “not even in those. too annoying.”

he kisses you before you can respond. just to shut you up again. it works. only for a second.

the kiss breaks when he pushes you back, hands at your shoulders, shoving you flat against the mattress.

“gonna keep talking shit?” he says, voice low.

“probably,” you say. “unless you finally manage to make me shut up.”

that gets a twitch from his lips, halfway between a scoff and something darker.

he climbs over you, knees on either side of your thighs. not with care. with intention. you feel the press of him even through his sweats, and you try not to squirm. fail, maybe. he tugs your shirt off, barely looking as he does.

“no wonder you’ve been a bitch all semester,” he mutters, eyes raking down your chest. “been dying to get fucked.”

“please,” you sneer. “if i wanted to get railed by a know-it-all with a superiority complex, i’d just jack off thinking about your presentation in econ.”

“yeah?” he says, leaning closer. “bet you did.”

his mouth drags down your neck, no softness, just the press of lips and teeth grazing enough to make you twitch. and then his fingers tangle in your hair. yank. hard.

not playful. not cute.

“try shutting up now,” he mutters, breath hot against your jaw.

“fuck you,” you snap, eyes watering from the pull. “you think this proves anything?”

he jerks your head back another inch, eyes on yours now, sharp and mean and way too calm.

“yeah,” he breathes. “proves you’ll take whatever i give you.”

you hate how your whole body reacts to that. his hips grind down against yours once and you can’t help the breath that escapes. it’s humiliating.

“god,” you mutter. “you’re so full of yourself.”

“and you’re so easy when you’re pissed.”

“you haven’t done anything yet.”

“don’t worry,” he growls. “you’ll be crying about it in five minutes.”

he moves down. you don’t expect him to go down on you with lips and all. but he does. and it’s not sweet, or sensual, it’s calculated. tongue curling just right, lips sucking where they should, but without the heat of affection. it’s good. annoyingly good. and that only makes it worse.

you fist the sheets. bite your lip. don’t give him the satisfaction.

a “fuck—” slips out of you anyway, and he pulls off with a smug flick of his mouth.

“thought so,” he says. “mouthy, but easy.”

“suck a dick.”

“just did,” he says. “you’re welcome.”

he stands just long enough to shove his sweats down, he grabs the lube from the drawer and tosses it to you. and just like that, you start work yourself open quick, sharp fingers, no eye contact.

he watches like it bothers him. like he hates how much you know what you’re doing.

“you always this desperate?” he says.

“only when i’ve got something to prove,” you shoot back.

“prove what?”

“that you’re not the only one who can take control.”

he blinks, dark eyes narrowing.

“you won’t last five minutes.”

“then shut up and fuck me.”

and he does.

pushes in slow, even though his jaw’s tight and his hands are trembling from holding back. you’re tight, slick, burning around him, and the way he groans, low and caught in his throat, makes something in your chest twist.

“already whining,” you say, gritting through the stretch. “fuck, and i thought you had stamina.”

“god, you never shut up,” he growls, and thrusts hard, dragging a gasp out of you.

“make me,” you manage.

his hand goes right back to your hair. this time rougher. he fists it and pulls your head back against the bed, forcing you to look at him while he fucks into you.

“look at you,” he hisses. “you talk like you’re better than everyone. but you’re just a brat who needs to get ruined.”

“still better than you,” you gasp, lips curled, even as your whole body jerks from the next thrust.

he changes the angle. your mouth falls open. no sound.

“say that again,” he says.

“fuck you—”

his grip on your hair tightens. your neck arches. he doesn’t let go.

“you are,” he mutters. “right now.”

he ruts into you harder now. controlled. fast, but not sloppy. every thrust makes the bed creak, every sound too loud, too close. your nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses like it stings. but he doesn’t pull back. if anything, he chases it. chases the pain. the fight.

“moan for me,” he mutters. “go on.”

“not giving you that.”

“oh, fuck off. you’re shaking.”

you are. and when he leans down, grabs your jaw with his free hand and forces your mouth open, not to kiss, but just to see, you almost do.

“you’re so fucking desperate,” he says, panting. “pretending you hate this.”

“i do hate it.”

“but you’re loving it.”

you don’t answer. you can’t.

his rhythm’s faltering now. he’s close. and you’re not far either.

“don’t stop,” you whisper, finally, barely audible. “fuck—just like that.”

he groans, loud this time, and leans over you, hips stuttering once, twice, and then he pulls out fast, finishing hot across your stomach.

you finish right after, jerking yourself with a sharp gasp, biting your lip hard enough to sting.

your hair’s a mess. jaw aching. neck stretched. whole body trembling. he watches you for a beat, chest heaving. says nothing. cleans up without fanfare. tosses you your shirt like it’s routine. like it’s nothing.

“you kiss all your enemies?” you say eventually, voice rough.

“only the ones who beg for it with their eyes.”

you scoff, yanking your clothes on. don’t look at him.

“this never happened.”

“sure,” he says, pulling his hoodie back over his head. “never.”

you leave without looking back. but the sting in your scalp and the bruises on your hips?

you’ll feel those for days.

and for some reason, you don’t mind.

days pass. nothing really changes. not in a way you can name. you’re still in the same classes. still pass each other in the halls like you’re both too busy to care. still roll your eyes when the other one talks in discussion.

except... some things are different.

he doesn’t snap at you anymore. not right away. your comments still come sharp, passive, cut with dry humor, but he stops biting back. just raises an eyebrow. or looks at you too long. like he’s hearing something under what you said.

and you notice things now. stuff you shouldn’t care about. the way he fidgets with his pen when he’s thinking. how he mouths parts of the lecture to himself when he’s focused. the way his hoodie sits too neatly across his chest. not oversized. just fitted. unfair.

you catch him looking at you once. when you're mid-sentence. talking to the TA, barely paying attention to him and his eyes are fixed on your mouth. it lasts all of three seconds before he looks away like it didn’t happen.

you don’t mention it. but you don’t stop thinking about it either. it’s not like either of you brought that night up. it happened. full stop. you left. door shut. silence since.

but it’s there. in the way his gaze lingers a fraction too long when you sit near him. in the fact that he hasn’t told a single person. you know, because your mutuals would be assholes about it if they knew.

he doesn’t flirt. not even subtly. doesn’t wink or tease or make innuendos like some post-hookup cliché. if anything, he’s colder. calmer.

you kind of prefer it that way.

when he sees you coming out of the library late, you’re both too exhausted to play whatever game this is.

“still alive?” he says, voice low, hands in his pockets.

“barely.”

“your notes still better than mine?”

“obviously.”

he doesn’t fight it. just smirks, short and dry. you walk in the same direction without commenting on it.

“you owe me,” he says suddenly.

“for what?”

“distracting me before econ. ruined my quiz grade.”

“you were already failing.”

he scoffs.

“you’re insufferable,” he mutters.

“you’re still walking with me.”

“unfortunately.”

but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t speed up. doesn’t cut across campus like he’s trying to get away from you.

you don’t say goodbye when you split paths. just glance. nod. some vague, unspoken truce hanging in the air.

it’s nothing and it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

probably.

jae's note ! sorry i'm so ia. might get into writing more soon :))

[lazilybeinglassie]

Silly Little Dummy (Shadow Milk x Reader)

CW: Hypnosis, possessiveness, bad ending

You get what you read and you read what you get, this is your only warning!

The halls were endless. Stairs with no beginning or end. You had no way of navigating the chaos. You were so certain you found a way out, only to be tricked by those minions of Shadow Milk.

Of course you had to screw up and find your way trapped in this hell hole. Why couldn't you have left with the others.

After a couple of turns however, you found yourself at a dead end. Frustrated, you hoped to turn around and try again. Only for a familiar face to appear in front of you.

"My my, what do we have here~?"

Reflexively, you stumble back, hitting the wall behind you. Fear crawling through your skin as you stare wide eyed at the beast. His expression delightful as though he were playing an innocent game.

"Another one of Silly Vanilly's buddies? Lost and alone? Strayed from the path?" Shadow Milk snickered darkly. "I will admit, amongst those on the list, I didn't expect you to show up. Ah well! That's what improve is for!"

Looking around for a way to slip away, you don't even notice the vines on the stone wall crawling out. In an instant they snag your limbs and hold you still as you struggle. You're growls of protest are not lost to the villain as he hovers closer.

"There's no need to fret. I'll give you such simple stage directions. All you need to do is listen and watch me."

His hand grabs your chin as he turns your face to look at him. Eyes making contact, you glare in defiance. As you watch him, you notice his bright eyes and how they seemed to be glowing. An intense, radiating glow that wasn't blinding, but it was distracting.

The pupils seemed to dilate a little, looking a little fuller than usual. Then they started to pulse. Rings of blue, white and black growing like ripples in water. At a steady beat, it continues on and on in a mesmerizing pattern. Ring after ring, you couldn't do anything aside from watching it continue.

Your heart beat slows, and your panic seems to diminish. What for? Aren't you in trouble? What was it that was calming you down?

Another pulse. You breathe calmly.

Shadow Milk hums. "There we are. No need for all that fuss. All that running just seemed to have worn you out, hasn't it?"

You stammered as you blinked. "Wh-No! I-"

He uses his other hand to shush you. "Shhhhhh. No more talking. Just listen and watch."

Another pulse. Your attention is drawn back to his eyes. The aura appearing bright and soft. You don't know why, but it's all so captivating in the moment. Blue, black and white, looping over and over and over.

Your body tenses when it feels something brush your cheek. "Listen closely. Listen to every word I say now. Focus on my voice and do not stray. Feel yourself drawn to my enchanting voice."

Another pulse. Your body relaxes. Shadow Milk's tone was gentle and sweet. Caressing your eardrums as you continue to stare. There was hardly anything else you felt like doing. Just staring into those eyes. Those captivating eyes.

Blue, black and white.

A small part of you tried to speak up. Not much came out. Stutters and noises. But hardly any words. "I- . . . uh, I . . . "

"Awwww, look at yourself. Trying to tell me something?"

"I . . . um . . . "

"Do you feel tired, perhaps? You've been running for a while now. So much running, so much worry. Doesn't it feel exhausting?"

The feeling of something holding your chin disappears. You don't look away from his entrancing stare. The beast's head nods, you mimic the movement. He giggles at that.

As that happens, the vines start to coil you more and more. Pulling you away from the wall as your wrapped in a cocoon of plants. Leaves start to fall off of them and scales start to grow. Changing into serpents that wrap around you from your shoulders to your feet.

Another pulse. You sigh as your body sinks into the cocoon.

"Just too many thoughts in that little head of yours. Crowding all that space up there." Shadow Milk places a hand on the top of your head. Then slowly strokes down the back soothingly. Once he pulls his hand away, he puts it back on top and repeats the motion. "Let them go for now. Little by little, piece by piece. Empty your mind for me."

Each stroke, you feel yourself settle and sigh. Your clouded mind, so fuzzy and blurry, starts to clear bits at a time. Parts where you were worried and scared start to fade away. Parts where you thought of escaping dim to nothing. Pure Vanilla. Gingerbrave. Strawberry. Wizard. White Lily. Those names slip from your consciousness one by one.

Shadow Milk grins as he tilts your face up. Looking deeper into his eyes, you feel as though the light had enveloped your vision. Endless ripples, colors bleeding into every direction. What once there were two pupils, now merged into one as they continue to captivate your mind.

Breaking eye contact, Shadow Milk floats genlty to your side. You remain focused in one direction as though he never left. But the beast leans close to your ear as he whispers to you softly.

"Nothing left in there now, huh?" You don't respond. "Why don't I take things from here? Does that sound nice?"

Absent mindedly, you whimper as though you want to say something. Whether it was a yes or a no, you couldn't tell.

"Oh I bet it sounds wonderful. You love hearing my voice, don't you?"

Another noise comes from your throat. "mmmmmhmmmmmm . . . "

"You don't mind my touch either. It makes you feel happy, right?"

Stroking your cheek, he looks to you for a reaction. You exhale and smile contently.

"There is nothing more you want to do that hear my voice and let me hold you close. Your mind is always open to me, and you always will obey my will. Because it's everything you could ever want."

Another pulse. Your will shatters.

It doesn't take long before your own eyes start to glow blue with their own ripples dancing inside. Looking dazed and empty, you stare at nothing as the colors claim what is left of you.

Shadow Milk grins in victory. "Much better, my dear."

The serpents slowly release you, placing your body standing up. You lean forward, slouching a bit, only to feel threads straighten you up.

"Now then, I believe we have an audience to appeal! You know your place, right?"

He strokes your chin. Leaning into the touch, you blush and melt. "Uh-huh."

Shadow Milk's grin widens. "Wonderful~!"