#can I at least have a nightmare where I get torn apart or something like thats pretty easy to parse as a dream

[good-wine-and-cheese]

I had I think a grand total of 6 dreams all of which were vaguely plausible and I still haven't completely figured out what was just dream shit yet

[hiro--aoki]

could you plz do 3- “why are you awake right now?” rosita x fem reader when they first get to alexandria

Always

Rosita X fem!reader angst prompt: “Why are you awake right now?”

A/N: I don’t know Spanish, I had to use google translate T-T. This is honestly probably out of character. I didn’t really focus on her when I watched the series the first two time but now I wanna rewatch it just for her. Ya’ll are converting me from Carl to Rosita. Please stop T-T. Also, this kinds turned into a fluff/comfort idk. I hope I pleased :3 <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Long restless nights. That’s all you’ve been having since you and the rest of your group’s arrival at Alexandria. Waking up, sweating, panting, and feeling like you’d fall into a deep pit at any moment. It was only the second night here when it started. It was only the second night here that made you realise how much you’ve had to suffer just to face the same dangers every day and not a guarantee that you’ll even make it another minute. And not only you but everyone else in your makeshift family.

As you dragged yourself out of bed, your body heavy, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You skin was shiny from the sweat and your hair was sticking to your face like glue. You trudged out of your room, and to the kitchen. Maybe some water would help. It won’t. You’ve been doing this exact routine for the past week. It never works, nothing does. It never stops and frankly, it’s taking its toll on you.

One person to notice this is Rosita. She’s noticed the way the usual sparkle in your eye has faded, how your laughter becomes more forced and how the bags under your eyes never fade. She notices every detail about you. It’s always been like that. If you ate a little less than usual to ration food, she’s offering hers to you. If you shiver the slightest while on a supply run, she’s offering you her jacket (if she even wore one, if not she’s got you in her arms). She always knows.

As you lean against the island in the kitchen, with your head in your hands, you hear her footsteps come down the stairs.

“Babe?” She asks, halfway down the stairs.

Your head jolts up and your tired eyes meet hers.

“Rosi, did I wake you?”

“No, but why are you awake right now?” She tilts her head slightly as she makes her way to where you are.

“Just…needed a drink.” You try to make an excuse that won’t worry her.

“Don’t lie to me.” She says sternly with softness hidden behind it.

She’s concerned, she always is. When it comes to you, she hates to see even the slightest inconvenience happen.

“It’s nothing, Rosi, I promise,” you assure her.

“It’s never nothing, y/n.”

Shit. She got you there. There’s always something. Whether it be good or bad, there’s always something. You don’t think you’ve had a mundane day in…years. You drop your head back down into your hands. She wraps her arms around you from behind.

“You can talk to me about anything y’know,’ She whispers.

“I know,” you whisper back meekly.

“Then talk to me about it.”

You fall silent, avoiding talking about how little sleep you’re getting, about how much you wish the old world. At least you have Rosita. She’ll never leave you, even if her life depended on it. Her soft hands gently grab your chin and turn you to her. She moves both her hands to your cheeks, and she presses her forehead against yours.

“Mi dulce chica, please tell me.”

She knows you love it when she calls you pet names in Spanish.

“I… I just keep having nightmares, it’s nothing important,” you say quietly, fighting the lump forming in your throat.

“Well, I’m here for you. Always. If you wanna talk about it…”

You shake your head softly. You aren’t ready to talk about it. It’s still all too fresh. The sight of your parents getting torn apart by those dead bastards, being on the brink of death so often. It’s not normal. You just wanted to feel safe. Rosita would be the one to bring you that secure feeling. She always is.

“Okay.” She thinks for a moment. “You wanna sleep in my bed tonight? Would that make you feel better?”

You nod as you move your head to the crook of her neck. She smiles softly at you as she starts to walk you both back up the stairs and to her room. She pushes open the door to her fairly boring room but that makes it easier to focus on her. Her soft caring eyes that only are seen by few people. Her soft touches, hidden by her tough demeanor. Her caring and comforting words that sound like a lullaby. She brings you to her bed which is surprisingly soft. You both lay down and she pulls you close to her. Your lack of sleep leaves you falling asleep almost as soon as she starts stroking your soft hair and whispering sweet things in your ear.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Could you possibly write about slenderman's ghost s/o trying to make the mansion festive for Halloween bc they're really excited for the holiday and never experienced it before? They have a list and everything as soon as they learn about the custom-

For instance, every room is decked out in decor totally not stolen, they make loads of themed treats, and try to engage the him and the proxies into doing multiple festive activities as well?

-slender anon <3 (sorry if this is too much exposition, tysm for all the cool writing)

Celebrating Halloween w/ Slenderman!

so so sorry for taking a a bit to get to this !! I meant to get this out tomorrow but I got distracted </3 still torn on if i want the mansion to exist in my au but for all intents and purposes we'll say it does for this >:) i might make the mansion like, some abandoned creepy haunted house in universe, like the house from IT or Nightmare on Elm Street (i actually... dont remember if it gets abandoned or not in the later movies, its been a while since i watched the series..) or something something yeah i think ill go with that for the mansion anyways enough rambling

Cue curious head tilts and questions from slenderman, he knows OF Halloween but he doesnt know all the ins and outs and intricacies when it comes to how its celebrated; best he knows is costumes and candy

initially watches you try to hang up all the decorations by yourself but eventually steps in to give you a hand

probably consults in you what basic Halloween traditions are, and probably also tries to ask the proxies if they know anything about it

i think outside of toby, the proxies don't really. remember much of their lives before becoming proxies, but that's because I'm basing my take on them off of the original MH where like, there's brain fog and the proxy/person are internally separate, but that's where inspiration from the original stuff ends; merging two fandoms together is. hard when the canon and fanon are so different

anyways

but also i never really like the creepypasta interpretation of masky and hoodie, at least from when i was in the fandom years back where they were shy and soft, but thats likely changed now- admittedly i dont interact with the fandom outside of creating

im rambling again, but i think masky and hoodie would also be a little lost but ready to do whatever they're told to do in regards to helping deck out the mansion

good news is that the mansion already looks like a spooky haunted house! especially on the outside since it's not as well kept as the inside

the inside is like what comes to mind when someone says old ass house; creaky wooden floors, shitty heating system, crawl spaces and compartments, that sort of thing. old enough that it would definitely have mold and rot, and be falling apart, if slenderman didnt come and keep it in tact

again, it already looks spooky enough as is, but decorations can really tie in the look

fake cobwebs, skeletons, spiders

oh those are real spiders

the mansion probably has spiders, slenderman cant do anything about the spiders sorry

okay anyways

treats! totally not stolen from some store by a teleporting entity that naturally distorts electronics! definitely not

he would make them with you, i think

i sometimes think about how slenderman would probably like calm and quiet activities, domestic ones included, so i think this is something he would actually end up loving especially with you around

learns he hates working with melted marshmallow, that shit is not banned from the mansion as well as marshmallow creme

he even gets those cute little halloween themed goodie bags so you can give them out

unfortunately he's going to have to pass, on account that he can't really eat any non-human meat food, but rest assured if he could safely eat your treats he would

Toby would be fucking that shit up, especially if you make those popcorn ball things. i feel like toby would love those. masky to me seems like a butterscotch haystack enjoyer to me (based), while hoodie fucks up those chocolate dipped pretzels, you know the ones that get decorated to look like mummies? those. he demolishes those (also based)

i kinda miss the popcorn balls tbh i havent had those in years but they were good from what i remember- i think i might make some this evening

moving on once more

if there's any extras slenderman may offer to take you around to give them to others

im still deciding character dynamics and relationships and who knows who in this funky au, but i feel like slenderman knows at least a handful of the other character. at least on a first name basis

so thats fun! you also get to share the joy with characters such as splendor and trender, and perhaps even jeff. i hc that eyeless jack and slender are both in the same forest but not like. buddy buddy. but he can get goodies too. ignore the fact jack is in the same boat as slender in terms of what he can and cant eat- he appreciates the gesture

now activities! i gotta admit i never really did halloween stuff outside of trick or treating; so im a little stumped on ideas

theres the obvious, pumpkin carving (the pumpkin insides get used to make more treats!), apple bobbing, and a few others

while not really a halloween game, you guys probably play a few games in the woods

thats

wait no thats terrifying, do not play hide and seek/tag with them in the woods regardless of if its night time and regardless of if youre a ghost, that shit actually sounds terrifying esp since i think slenderman and hoodie would get WAY TOO competitive

oh scary stories

definately

you insist on summoning ghosts and demons to fit the vibe

" but Dear, you're a gho-" "hush"

you guys accidentally summon one of the ghost creepypastas or something/j

you guys accidentally summon zalgo and halloween gets cancelled'j

idk if this is just a me thing but whenever me and my friends sit down to read creepypasta stories we get derailed and somehow end up reading fanfics and acting them out but i can see this happening as well; though this one also isnt a halloween exclusive activity

overall its a learning experience for most of you guys, and slenderman is totally up to humoring you again next year!

oh oh oh halloween costumes, how could i forget?

good luck trying to find something for slenderman, even if he could fit in anything he probably wouldnt dress up no matter how you try to word it

actually now that i think of it, do you think his suit is just part of his body? like ive seen loads of interpretations where it is; the shitty slenderman movie included. like is it a removeable suit? is it something that looks like a suit but its part of him? is it like a scp 049 situation where it is a suit but its attached to him?

im not getting into that today

masky and toby both dress up as classic slasher icons

hoodie probably would too but i got flashed with a vision of him dressed as pumpkin so im rolling with it

i think thats about everything! i hope you like this! this ended up way longer than i thought it would be but i fully blame that on me still being in my ramble mindset </3 ive been cooking up some major hcs for my au/interpretation as well as smaller stuff so my brain just wants to dump it TToTT

anyways

runs off to go draw spooky stuff (cough cough creepypastas dressed up in costumes)

[pink-strawberry-kissess]

HCs for Aeon's first time together? Like when & where did it happen? What did Leon/Ada discover about each other intimately...

i think canonically it's off screen during re5 during that night

but for headcanons (this is not fleshed out at all, and i'm just thinking)

i like the idea of another interaction during some sort of mission

maybe Leon needing to save someone else but is surprised when ada is there again, he's expecting her to grab something from him but since she's still guilty about re4 she refrains from doing so in front of him.

ada saves him (of course) from something, and gives him some sort of information that he needed to get the mission over it

"that greeting you would've wanted" would be mentioned here again

leon needs to be somewhat dying and ada saves him, and he's still unsure and afraid. but is placed in another position where he has to trust her (which he does ofc)

because ada did what she needed to do behind closed doors, he's also placed in a position to speculate about what she did

she doesn't tell him, they leave on somewhat okay terms

at this point they have their contacts (somehow)

and since they "continue living with their lives off screen during re5"

i can imagine one or the other stumbling into each other, off mission and one thing leading to another

they would have their romantic dinner, night at a hotel

leon would expect her to stay, and is heartbroken + but angry when she leaves without a word

they've explored each other intimately but only in a physical way

this would lead to damnation and how they're characterized there

between damnation - re6, something would've switched and more feelings were explored

leon wanting more, ada being afraid

leon wanting to give more, and ada not wanting to receive it

she would actively try to push him away but wouldn't be able to stop herself from pursuing him physically.

this could follow the route to re6

they're in some sort of mutual trust, but their jobs keep them apart

UMMGHHHHHHHHHHHH okay

in terms of"What did Leon/Ada discover about each other intimately..."

i think leon has nightmares, ada feels bad and doesn't like seeing how empathic that he can be. that he still suffers so much

this would be something ada would learn after falling asleep with him, and finding him tossing and turning in the night

that being said, she doesn't want to fix him, but she wants him to to want to fix himself

ada is very controlling of her own emotions, and therefore the sex would feel very emotionless in a sense, that she refuses to be vulnerable with him for large moments of time.

he would see glimpses of her, the real her, and he keeps chasing this from her

honestly i kinda think that whenever they [redacted] there's moments of clarity where they're completely free and vulnerable with each other. like SO MANY KISSES. and SO GRABBY. just eating each other up and wanting that moment to continue on for as long as possible

they take their time mapping out their each other's bodies, remembering everything they like

leon's scars, what he likes, that he's extremely touch starved and melts at ada's touch

that ada is extremely afraid of physical affection and i also kinda headcanon that she was maybe abused as a child (not sexually though) and is sometimes skittish or at least very aware of what's going on

i think leon picks up on it and is VERY gentle with her for a while, especially once they explore each other more sexually and have expressed their boundaries.

(headcanon) ada picks up on the fact that leon becomes hard of hearing on his right ear, and she always tries to stay near that side so that she can watch out for him but also so that he can hear her better.

i like to think that ada surprises leon with matching sets of lingerie (which always get torn off at some point, but he's very careful not to rip anything lol, except for like post damnation where they have rougher sex)

i forgot to mention but they also both suffer from insomnia. leon much more as ada has trained herself to at least get some hours of sleep- but also that leads stop my other headcanon that ada instead of suffering from nightmares, that her stresses resort to night terrors instead, which are MUCH WORSE.

there's a night where she's suffering from one and leon's never seen it before and just does not know what to do. he wants to comfort her immediately but is pushed away from her when she wakes. (if you don't know the differences between a nightmare and night terrors just look it up)

she also wants to run away as they don't happen that often and can be triggered by stress or a change of lifestyle or location, so she's also thrown off by it and doesn't want to impose her problems onto leon

he wants her to stay so badly and has to gently coax her back into the bedroom and back into bed.

okay back to sexy stuff

i think that ada's a bit ticklish, and leon tries to engage with that during sex sometimes, he just likes hearing her laugh. and that slight bit of embarrassment she has when she's switching between laughing and moaning because he's railing her

again i don't like talking about birth control methods in fics (they feel like they halt the story) use it irl

but i like the idea of them maaaaaaybe using condoms in the beginning but then i also headcanon that leon maybe had a reversible vasectomy at some point after re4 (coincidentally after seeing ada was alive lol sdkfjbsjfks)

but i love the idea of them together when they [redacted] and leon knowing that he [redacted] inside of her, especially since that's the most intimate thing she's doing with anyone.

this leads into the whole like "love me like that night," "make love to me like i'm your wife" "want me to make you into a real daddy?" AHSAJGHGHJAJJJGHGHHHHHHHH

leon blows his load way too fast these nights but he can go a second time

ada's more into the messy sex, especially later on, and loves being on top so she can watch him watching her. his hand grabbing onto her so she can fall onto his cock faster

help

(this will be updated occasionally)

[your-phantomfield]

CARL = CLOVER

i .. ii .. iii circa 2198 for @tokufan400

An older-sibling-esque relationship...

I.

What Carl Clover has had to live through would change anyone. The things he’s seen are the kinds of things one usually can’t find outside of a war zone. In many ways, his experiences have made it impossible for him to relate to others his age.

And considering who was behind the horrors he’s faced, it’s even worse with those older than him.

He knows adults are smarter than him. They know things he doesn’t, they’re able to hide things and lie to your face in ways he never would have imagined two years ago. They can hurt you in ways he couldn’t have made up in his worst nightmares.

So Carl doesn’t take any risks with those older than him. He can’t afford to. Not now- not with Ada depending on him.

II.

Because of this, it isn't easy to get through to Carl. His trust is hard to earn. The walls he puts up get higher in proportion to the age difference between you, and the power difference that creates.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone looking out for him. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be able to trust again. But to build that relationship with him, you have to be patient.

He keeps his distance by presenting as unfalteringly polite. This chilling formality is how he’s learned to protect himself, how he keeps himself from being tricked or used- so don’t try to push past it. Let him set the pace if you want to get close to him.

Try to treat him like an equal early on. That kind of respect will do more to prove your good intent than anything else could.

III.

He’s had plenty of people start off expressing concern for him, only to turn around and treat Ada like a monster. You have to avoid that if you want to be in his life. Try to be compassionate toward Ada. She may not look it, anymore, but she’s just as much of a traumatized child as he is. She’s worse off, in his opinion- at least he still has his body.

Be honest with him, of course. You’re not going to be able to understand her. Don’t try to pretend to be able to- you’ll do just as much damage by ignoring her ‘condition’ as you would by ignoring her humanity. But do respect what she was, at least, and what she still is to him.

He says she speaks to him. So trust him on that. Ask him to translate for her so that she isn’t left entirely out of conversations, just like you would for a ‘normal’ child with a disabled or speech-impaired sibling.

IV.

Meet him on his own interests. Even before his life was torn apart, Carl was always a little different. Sheltered, shy, oddly mature- being born into aristocracy made him a little… stuffy.

If you want to foster a surrogate sibling relationship with him, keep that in mind. Even in a good mood with his walls down, he might not look like a stereotypical fourteen year old boy. He’s not up to date with memes and doesn’t ‘get’ a lot of them. There may be some video games he’s open to trying, but he is prone to regurgitating that “I was told they rot your mind, we should play a more stimulating game instead” rhetoric. He thinks music with cuss words is pedestrian. (Yeah, this is the kind of kid that calls things “pedestrian.”)

V.

He loves chess, and he’s had no one to play with for a long time. He used to play with Ada, but she’s lost the dexterity to move the pieces; when they’ve tried to play, she ends up knocking the chess board over on accident, drawing attention to just how much they’ve both lost and unfortunately ruining the mood. So play with him. Even if you don’t know how or aren’t very good at it, he likes to teach, and it’s nice to see him have a chance to be all smug about his win streak- a chance to be a normal, bratty kid about something inconsequential.

If you humor him enough, he might be willing to try out some of your ‘more simple’ interests. He’s no good at sports, but as long as you encourage him, he can have fun with things like basketball or volleyball, where movement speed and quick thinking is more important than brute strength.

As for games those ‘brain rotting’ video games, he might never really ‘get’ first person shooters, but story driven games might be up his alley. Get him hooked on some good visual novels or JRPGs, he’ll like them more than he expects to.

VI.

There are actually a lot of hobbies he used to have that he was forced to abandoned after what happened to Ada. He and his sister both played violin, once upon a time. The incident stopped them, each for their own reasons- Ada can’t hold an instrument properly anymore, and Carl doesn’t have the space to be carrying around anything superfluous while living on the road. He used to read a lot, too, but his books had to be abandoned for the same reason as his music; he can’t be carting around a library from city to city.

It would be great if you could help get him back into the things he used to love. Buy or rent a violin for him; he can play it all he wants while he’s in town, and leave it at your place while he’s gone. Keep some books for him, and on occasion, offer to read to him. His sister used to read to him all the time, and he loved it. It’s one of the million things he misses about his old life.

VII.

On that note, invite him into your home, if you can. Whether you’re able to offer him a whole room or only a couch, that stability represents the end of his loneliness. Give him a place to keep his things, a place to return to when he’s about to fall apart, a place where he knows someone is waiting for him.

He’ll never be able to stay; his work is not yet done. So don’t insist. Don’t try to be his parent, don’t try to set curfews or bed times- just be there for him. He’ll come and go as at his as he needs to, but as long as he can trust you to see him off with a smile, he’ll keep coming back.

Whether he’s staying for days and waking up to share breakfast, or showing up at your door unannounced in the middle of a rainy night; give him a place where he’s welcome.

A ‘home base,’ at least, if he’s not yet ready for to accept a ‘home.’

VIII.

Speaking of breakfast. Could you cook for him? Even early in your friendship, before he’s willing to trust you, he’s always open to food. No matter how much he insists on his independence he still needs to eat.

He’s a horrible cook himself, so he hasn’t done the best job keeping himself fed while on the road. When he has money, he can buy himself a meal, but there aren’t a lot of restaurants that will allow him to go in with Ada without making a scene. He’s gone hungry often, and he knows it’s a problem; it weakens him and slows him down as a vigilante, and it worries his sister.

A home-cooked will melt his heart. He’s missed his sister’s cooking so much- this may not be able to make up for that, but it still means the world to him.

[jemichi90]

Timeline shenanigans

I’ve seen people point out how the memory seen in the new animation doesn’t match the scene seen in the Praecantator puzzle, and I’m fairly confident that it’s no mistake (Klei is very intentional with such details).

Of course there is the fact that said “memory” seems to consist of fragments from various memories. Some, but not necessarily all, Maxwell’s own private memories, many from moments when Charlie wasn’t even present. But some are likely Charlie’s memories (remember that these were shown within a dream influenced by Charlie), and those often flash by quickly.

But even if it was a single memory from Maxwell’s apartment, it is clearly from a different time than the puzzle images. Now you see Maxwell struggling to keep the shadows under control in his secret compartment. In the puzzle images he was in the portrait on the wall. And not only that, the room seems to be completely messed up, with the wallpaper and posters torn and the furniture scattered around in disarray.

My initial thought, seeing how Maxwell was struggling with the shadows trying to break loose from his head, was that he’d already lost control before and turned into a monster in that room and wrecked it himself. But, that room actually does look like something seen in the puzzle images...

This memory - including Charlie as seen here - is clearly from AFTER the earthquake. The memory where she enters the secret compartment doesn’t have the apartment messed up, so that was from the moment we know from the puzzle images, but there is this one mixed in where she enters it again, another time, after the disaster.

But how can that be? These two were literally pulled into the Constant when the earthquake happened!

I can’t tell you that, but it’s clear that a lot happened in between then and “now” that we still don’t know about.

Apparently these two managed to escape the Constant at least once, returning to the ruined San Francisco, even if only briefly. But they couldn’t escape Them with Maxwell having the shadows inside him now. And there is a brief flash of Charlie turning into her shadow version in that moment as well, so I guess it wasn’t any better for her (if it’s from the same memory).

Now, it would be an easy guess to make that after this “escape”, Maxwell got locked up on the Nightmare Throne to keep him from running away again - until Wilson finally released him. But They want him back under Their control, and then we get Charlie giving him the rose (I do think Maxwell is quite aware it’s a trap, but that’s an entirely different topic).

Clearly it’s possible to leave the Constant. We’ve seen Wagstaff bring stuff out from there as well. But leaving is pointless as long as They are in control. And They are always watching.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Can I request a scenario where Dio kills your fiancé in a duel for your hand and wins?

Hi sorry for how long this took, I was writing for this ages ago but tumblr updated automatically and I lost all my progress. To make up for that you have a full one-shot lol.

The Devil

(Yandere Dio Brando X Gender neutral Reader)

Warning: gorey descriptions.

That night had been the stuff of nightmares. It happened so fast; an eruption of screams flooded the small town you called home. You all scrambled through the streets, desperately trying to escape the monsters who had invaded the town.

You panted, desperately trying to breathe as you ran. Your legs felt like jelly. You tried to go faster but only slowed down as a result of your exhaustion.

A hand pulled you into the swarm of monsters, and you let out a horrified scream. Then, more and more hands grabbed you, pulling you in further. You thought they would have torn you apart and feasted on you as they had with others, but they didn't.

You and several women had been captured by the monsters and brought to a castle where their leader waited. You were all forced to kneel in front of a throne where what you had assumed was a human man with messy blonde hair, and amber eyes sat before he approached one of the women and drove his hand into her shoulder. She screamed as she desperately tried to push away. Her skin paled as he drained the life out of her.

He, no, it was indeed a monster. "Is this all you could bring me?" It hissed at the monsters. They quivered in response.

"Well, I'm sure that at least one of these will keep me entertained for now" It chuckled as its eyes wandered over each of you. The women feigned attraction to it in an attempt to spare themselves from a painful death like the woman before them.

Its eyes landed on you, your hands in front of you supporting your weight, and a disgusted scowl on your face reminded it of an event from years ago. Its interest was now on you.

"And what might your name be?" The monster asked.

"I refuse to give you my name, demon!" You hissed as you averted your eyes from him. Causing him to chuckle again. He kneeled down to you and lifted your chin with his finger.

"Shame. I'd love to know what name belonged to such a pretty face like yours," it spoke with a fake frown on its face. You felt sick to your stomach, knowing that this creature was flirting with you. You thought about your fiance; they had left for a few days for a business trip. You hated to imagine their reaction to the news of what happened. Unfortunately, you were so caught up in your thoughts that you did not notice your surroundings.

"I can already tell that I'll enjoy your company," the monster said, catching your attention before pointing to the other women.

"I've made up my mind. Dispose of the others," It ordered its henchmen, that spent no time tearing them limb from limb, all trying to get a piece like starved dogs.

You screamed as you watched. Then, finally, you stood and tried to flee, but it caught you.

🌹🌹🌹

From then on, you were locked in a room and the monster that called himself Dio would visit each night, offering you food, wine, and various gifts. In addition, it'd ask you a variety of questions. Some about your life that you would cautiously answer, while others were favours he'd ask of you, all of which you refused.

One time it'd asked you if you weren't afraid to die; after all, it could make you suffer the same fate the other women had for refusing its requests. You responded simply that you'd rather die with your dignity than bow to a monster such as itself, which it was amused by.

You refused its offers even with such devilish temptations of immortality and eternal youth.

Like every other night, it returned once more, but something was wrong; you knew as soon as you saw the sinister look on its face.

You sat still on the bed, staring at it like a deer staring at the barrel of a gun with nowhere to run. Extremely cautious as to what he could possibly do.

It flashed you its signature sinister smile, and your heart nearly gave out. Your whole body screamed to run, but you knew it would be a hopeless attempt.

"You have a visitor… said they were your fiance," it told you in a strangely casual way. Part of you wanted to think this was a sick joke, that it was lying to get a reaction from you. But, on the other hand, you had never brought up your partner in any conversation. Moreover, you had taken your engagement ring off before you bathed shortly before the attack, so it would have had no clue about your engagement, giving its words credibility.

"No… it can't be", you muttered.

"You don't believe me? Come and see for yourself" Dio laughed at your response.

"Do be quick, though. It's only a matter of time before they bleed out, " it continued as it grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you off the bed. You stumbled as you struggled to get your footing and fell to your knees on the cold, rough stone floor in front of it. Blood slowly forms from the scrapes on your knees.

The monster dragged you through the castle. Your pleading to let go echoed through the castle, but it refused. Your worst fears were confirmed when you saw your lover in the throneroom clinging to life. Deep gashes covered their skin with blood pooling from them, and both arms were gone; the only remaining parts were a dark shade of purple, almost as if they had been frozen off.

"(Y/n)", their strained voice called to you as they saw you.

"Darling" you screamed as you escaped the monster's grip and ran to them quickly to hold them in your arms.

"You shouldn't have come here", you sobbed.

"But I couldn't… I had to find you," they replied.

Your heart broke at that moment, your fiance had risked their life to find you for all this time, and now they were going to die. All the strength you had was gone.

"Dio, I'll do whatever you want. Please just let them live", you cried out in desperation. It walked towards you and put a hand on your shoulder.

"Hmmm… that's a pretty good offer," Dio said with a smile before jamming his other hand into your lover's shoulder, causing a hoarse scream to escape their mouth.

"But knowing that you still love another leaves such a bitter taste in my mouth. For that reason, I won't," it continued, followed by a maniacal laugh. You tried to remove its hand, but you didn't have the strength to do so. Soon you felt a strange sensation that forced you to let go. It was hard to explain, but it was horrible, becoming fully aware of every blood vessel in your body in the worst way imaginable for even a second.

The monster removed his hand from your lover's shoulder. You could only look up at it in horror as your body trembled. You couldn't even utter a single word as your lover laid dead in your arms.

It felt like forever that you just stared until you felt your lover move.

"Darling?!" You exclaimed as you looked down, but as soon as you did, they lunged forward, their head hitting yours, causing you to fall back. You looked at them before as they shuffled atop you. Then, you screamed as you struggled to push them back by their shoulders as you realised they had become the same as those creatures who served Dio.

You struggled against the reanimated corpse of your lover to Dio's amusement before it finally intervened. Grabbing your lover by the neck before throwing them to the furthest wall. You closed your eyes and covered them before hearing a horrible collection of sounds simultaneously. A loud thud and cracking noises were followed by another softer thud and an awful splat. You didn't want to look, but you did anyway. Through your fingers, you saw the wall. The bloody print left by the impact, some small parts of them still clinging to the wall.

Then Dio walked before you, obscuring the view with its body. You looked up at him. You still could not speak.

He wasn't some creature, monster or demon you had initially labelled him. Instead, he was the devil himself.

[dondon-patapon]

Observation Log 4: 1/14, 9:52 PM

Temp: 25 deg.

Weather: Overcast, heavy wind

Obs: More debris than normal blowing ashore, staying inside.

The cold is seeping into my bones. While the weather on this small corner of the universe has cleared up somewhat, the ripping winds defeating any and all attempts I made at bundling up. My bones stiffen; fingers gone numb in the span of crossing the small gap between my cabin and the lighthouse. Inside it wasn’t much warmer - stone walls offered little for insulation. Did little to restore my sore bones. And again, my numbing hands struggled to get the lamp lit. This has been a miserable week in that regard. The fineries of the equipment up here are still in clean working order, after all - it’s me who continues to rust and corrode.

As I warm my hands by the fire of the lit lamp, I’m left listening to the voices in the air outside, rushing by. Whistling of the wind as it buffets the lighthouse, rushing around and off into the distance. Echoing into the night. Have you ever been in a large crowd of people moving quickly? So many individual voices having their own separate, personal discussions, yet at a certain point of perception it just sort of… dulls. Fades into an indistinct mass of noise. 

I honestly kind of enjoy nights like these. It’s a nightmare to be out in, but from inside the energy gets the blood pumping. Keeps me alert, on my toes. You’re not getting any sleep with a parade outside your window, and you’re not nodding off with this wind out there. 

Where are they going, all those indistinct little fae? Rushing through this space, so far outside the bounds of normal universal traffic. Are they in danger, perhaps? Just migrating? Going to war, perhaps. Perhaps I’m overthinking this. The wind whistled shrilly, followed by a faint thud, seeming to agree with me.

A rattling from down below jolted me out of my imagination, soon followed by the faint squeaking of metal on wood. Hmm. What could be going on down there? Grabbing my toolbox, I made my way back down to the bottom of the lighthouse, the rattling getting louder all the way.

Yes, the tuft of cold air that greeted me got me up to speed real quick. This wind was putting the lighthouse door through its paces, rattling it relentlessly. The old hinges on this wooden relic were starting to come loose, I see. Fair enough. With a sigh, I set my sore bones to work.

I was never great with my hands, so to speak. Clumsy, blunt, and forward - I think I’ve mentioned this before. My strength was always with people. I just wanted to look after the kids I grew up with. Keep them close, make them smile, and all that. Offer them an ear when they needed it. Offer to punch out the source of their problems, when there was one. Tsuki always said I was obsessed with fixing people’s problems. I remember I pouted. She might’ve been right, but why’d she have to put it that way, huh?

I remember she giggled, and kissed me on the cheek. She told me she never said it was a bad thing.

Goddamnit, I miss her.

We were going to travel the world together. Now look at me, letting these days roll on by on the off chance our paths cross again out here, at the edge of the universe.

We had plans for our future, you know? Before everything fell apart. Before I left on this fruitless quest, if I can even call it that. I can’t bring myself to consider what could’ve been anymore. It’s just a dull ache that will never fade, one among many.

At least I could put those skills to use here, keeping this place functional enough for all the other lost souls unfortunate enough to be out this far.

I managed to liberate a bunch of torn-up books and letters, among other documents earlier. It’s a whole mishmash of the new mess of junk that’s washed up the past day or two, but it’s something. But for now, I should return to my post. Even with the hinges secure, it’s still uncomfortably cold down here.

Tsuki always said I was so comfortably warm. I wish that was still true.

[sansxfuckyou]

Ooze

Summary: Lives are like pictures, each stroke is important.

Warnings: Corruption, starvation, trauma, check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: Turns out Undertale still has me in a chokehold, people who left notes on my every ship challenge fics, don't worry, I'll still work on those, once again, I take reblogs as a form of currency over likes.

Eons.

He's been trapped in this form for eons.

Unable to return cause nothing is left behind.

But at the same time able to keep pushing without anything holding you back.

He thrives where others suffer, he suffers where others thrive.

He's been flipped, once a guardian now a destroyer.

It's lonely.

So, so lonely.

But he has friends.

Teammates, they aren't his friends.

They're more like his children.

Broken and torn apart at the seam in the universe that treated them so fucking wrong. Maybe he only takes them in because he sees himself in their hollow eyes and blood stained outfits. Maybe he only treats them right because he wants to create something instead of destroy deep down.

When he found Error, Error found him, and at that, Error wasn't broken, didn't feel broken. But he was broken, broken beyond reason, he could barely speak decipherably when they was first met. The first week it was just the two of them, Error destroyed universes even when Nightmare said not to, it was reflex. They worked on that reflex day in and day out, trying to push past the trauma, trying to see that some things can stick around through destruction.

When he found Dust, Dust was wandering, walking so lightly the snow didn't crunch beneath his feet, and he was broken, somewhere underneath that cool guy facade was a crying past self. The following month it was three, Error still had a hard time speaking, but he was getting better, and Dust liked to talk to himself. They talked about that, Nightmare learning why and letting it happen, but still trying to unearth what could've caused it in his universe.

When he found Horror, Horror was starving, gnawing on something hopefully edible, he was skittish and broken. He lashed out and attacked whenever anyone got close to touching his skull, trauma point for sure. Eventually Nightmare had to confront him about it, but Horror rarely sat still without food promised, otherwise he was always afraid. They talked about it, the hole in his skull, the constant hunger, the fear, everything, they worked on it.

When he found Killer, Killer was sobbing, he wasn't though, a very similar ooze still escaped his eyes. He was hunched over a hotdog stand, completely still and when Nightmare got to close, a pounce. It took no less than a second for Killer to get thrown off, he ran, he couldn't escape though, tangled in tentacles. Words were squeezed from his lungs to explain and that he did while begging to be released from his grip.

It took Killer a week to realize he wouldn't be snuffed from existence under Nightmares gaze given the initial meeting. He still had to have that explained to him by Error, who could now be understood when he spoke, and Dust, who started to create a garden. And even after that he still was skittish around Nightmare up until they had a solo mission to reap more negativity.

At that moment Killer finally understood he was safe now, able to exist without a constant threat looming over him.

The four spent a year at least in that small group, their quadrant.

It was nice.

Error can control his destructive tendencies, Dust has a complete garden room, Horror can stop himself from fleeing and Killers just doing better in general.

And now, Nightmare has family again.

Something to live for, something to keep the balance for, even if it means tilting said balance in his favor. His original brother, not anymore though, has created his own team, his trio of defenders to fight against.

Defender of positivity, protecter of AUs and some weird third guy.

It doesn't matter though, Nightmares team always wins.

When Nightmare met Cross, Cross was distraught and alone in the void, Error was questioned later on why the AU was missing. Cross was broken, and he stayed broken for months, he still did his missions dutifully. He talked, he laughed, he even smiled occasionally, but their was still something underneath. Him and Nightmare talked, but it was a useless chat.

It took months of extreme, violent tension. Months of underlying hatred between the recruits. Months of having each others backs even though they didn't want to until they started to care about each other.

Cross and Killer started to spend nights drawing together. Killer and Error started to hang out together. Error started to teach Dust the simple intricacies of sewing. Dust started to help Horror out tending to his own garden and Horror started to cook with Cross for the rest of the team.

A broken family.

But a family that sticks together.

[abnerkrill]

for the emotional anguish meme: abner krill and simon monroe!! <3

thanks emyr!! please imagine me rubbing my hands together with evil glee. ***trigger warning for suicidal ideation, death, and trauma, and spoilers for the suicide squad (2021) and in the flesh.

top 5 ways to wrest anguish from abner krill:

one of those "villain mind powers puts heroes in their worst nightmare scenarios" except the worst nightmare scenario is literally just his childhood in the lab with his mom. grown-up abner screams, cries, curls up into the fetal position to try to block out the noises of his siblings screaming.

on that note, shapeshifting antagonist transforms into abner's mom OR makes his teammates look like his mom and he goes ballistic and just starts melting the people he loves <3 he's so op none of them have a defense against him. max angst!!!

put him back in a lab as an adult. maybe waller or the US government is experimenting on him to recreate the polka-dot disorder or enter the polka-dot dimension. that man is a lab rat, put him back in a cage <3

i saw something like this in a fic once i think ?? but i only read the description so idk what the specifics were. concept: an AU where abner actually teams up with starro in the suicide squad. maybe there's a psychic link there where they can communicate, maybe he's just disposed to be sympathetic towards this other being imprisoned in a cage and experimented on. he participates in the mass murder of corto maltese and also kills his former teammates. this is more about MY emotional anguish, but then also consider: at some point after it's all over, abner gets the chance to look into an alternate world where he didn't go down this path, and sees how he could've found a family with those people he so callously disintegrated. anguish and despair!

a slightly quieter one, but honestly you could have the entire TSS just slightly to the left and end up with a horrible end for abner in any other way: he chooses to run and gets his head blown off by waller, or he stays but is too cowardly to actually fight starro--thus missing out on being a hero. give him an ignoble end, no emotional catharsis, and he abandoned his team when they needed him most.

so to sum up really you can squeeze a lot of angst out of his relationship with his mom and his team because at the center of abner krill is a vast consuming hole of loneliness and self-loathing. yay!

okay, now for simon:

he actually goes through with killing kieren honestly would be number one! he's so torn between loving kieren and needing to hold true to his conviction that the second rising is necessary and good. in the show obviously he chooses kieren because... that's the kind of show it is... but if a few things had happened differently (kieren rejected him, for instance?) things could've been very different.

a riff on the above: he attempts to kill kieren and kieren is able to fight and stop him, but forever after that rejects him. simon's right back where he started, a radical who wants to change the world through fire and brimstone, in the throes of utter loneliness and lacking all sense of self apart from his mission.

look, we all know he murdered his mom while as a zombie, which is angsty enough to begin with. what if he gets force-fed blue oblivion (or better yet, has to take it as a show of loyalty to the prophet?) and goes on another spree and hurts or kills his dad too? lol.

a riff on the above: same scenario with the drug but he ends up hurting/killing someone close to kieren, like his parents. idk i just think the tension between simon's loyalty to the prophet and simon's love for kieren is so delicious.

imho the way the show uses blue oblivion didn't reach its full potential, as it seemed to crop up as something the PSD sufferers don't really want to do unless they already have a desire to hurt humans (or at least no qualms about it); i would've liked to see a new version of blue oblivion released that is actually so addictive to them that simon starts using as in small doses a coping mechanism, but he always locks himself up so he doesn't harm people. of course this goes sideways and he ends up harming people and blaming himself.

........so to sum up really you can squeeze a lot of angst out of his relationship with his parents and loyalty to the prophet and/or kieren because at the center of simon monroe is also a vast consuming hole of loneliness and self-loathing. yay?

[maroonghoul]

Cozy Horror?

I've been hearing this above term recently plus some of the blowback against it. I'm one of those who doesn't care for it, but it doesn't make me angry like how I am with "Elevated Horror". I'm more confused. It's like every term I hear to define it, I think they're already terms for.

"it has low stakes and is not all that bloody." Oh you mean like gateway Horror or a kid's horror movie?

"It has the aesthetics of a horror movie but is not all that intense" so it's spoopy?

"it reminds me of all the nice things of fall" because it's a horror movie set at fall?

The term itself again feels redundant. As for the attitude of those who championed the term and get angrily defensive? I kind of get it, but I think they're looking at it the wrong way.

I get not finding the more intense or hardcore horror films fun to watch or easy to rewatch. It's typical. But the edgelord a-holes who would apparantly shame someone for not liking harder horror films don't speak for the general horror community. They are just another loud minority. A lot of female fans like horror media that don't invoke coziness at all, and plenty of male fans like the cozier horror films just as much as the non-cozy variety, whatever that is.

People who talk about it see it as a binary. But for me, I see all of Horror as an abyss or cave. That sounds negative, but hear me out. What would be called "Cozy Horror" would be around the edge if not a little bit in. All the other varieties are further in, with something like the French New Extremity as the bottom. (If I'm wrong, I'm not ready to guess what is.).

All of us, casual and superfans alike, are climbing into it all the time. A few just pear over the edge from time to time. The reason I picked an abyss instead of a mountain for this is that with a mountain, there's more of an assumption of either competition or "you're less of a man" if you don't try it. Instead, it's with something a bit more spooky, (heh), and more understandable about not wanting to go down there, if you're afraid of the dark or tight spaces. But because of that, most of us are understanding if others don't want to go far in, even if some of us have been doing it long enough to only feel satisfied going a bit deeper. It's all actually a matter of personal comfort.

If your favorite subgenre of horror is one that gives more deliberate cozy vibes or that's the only one you can stand, that's okay. That's fine. The least I can ask for is similar understanding that what gives me the same comfort is, for example, a bleak future where people who are still underpaid or overworked are force to make first contact with a brutal alien species that uses them more for breeding than food just because their employer only sees dollar signs. Or a bunch of naive college students trip out to the woods ends with their bodies eviscerated and their souls literally torn apart by demons beyond human comprehension who did it just to amuse themselves. Or a selfish abusive family man drags his family to a remote sketchy place in the middle of nowhere only to go crazy because of his lack of foresight and his inability to accept any real responsibility and grow up cause him to be susceptible to a horrible plan involving said family. Or a last of it's kind dinosaur is painfully irradiated to the point it lashes out on any nearby life, regardless if they're victims of the same disaster, only to die in one of the worst possible ways at the hands of a man who destroyed himself as well because he couldn't forget the full horrible implications of all that he found. Or, in the most isolated and inhospitable place on the planet, people deadened to any sort of attachment to each other, are invaded by an organism so alien to them, not can it look like something out of their nightmares, but it can also imitate them to such a degree so as to not only tear their bonds to each other asunder, if any, but can also make one realized how limited the human perception of the natural world, each other, and themselves really is.

I don't know why these make me feel cozy, but they do. Are they cozy to you? They might not be now. But they could be later. Along with much worse.

If the time comes you're ready, I'll wait for you deeper in the cave. We can share a blanket.

[nonhumen]

@chaosbled : The luxury car pulled to a stop outside of their shared apartment building, & he tipped their driver & hopped out, offering his hand to help the brunet. “I mean, at least no one got hurt, doesn’t that count for something?” Chuuya winced as he realized he’d asked Dazai a question, giving him an apologetic look. He’d known something was wrong as the ADA apprehended the woman & she’d made direct eye contact with Dazai & breathed out a single word. Vertias. An eerie green glow had enveloped Dazai & knocked him to the ground. He immediately understood thanks to those endless foreign language classes Ane-san had forced on him. It was Latin for ‘truth’.

He remembered the farm boy asking Dazai if he was okay, & when the detective answered bluntly that he felt like shit, everyone had turned to stare at him in surprise. Even Dazai had seemed shocked by his own reply; had tried to reassure him again that he was okay & again, but only the truth would come out. As they soon learned, the spell made him physically incapable of lying. Not only that, he couldn’t choose to stay silent either, covering his mouth & trying to hold it back delayed the response but eventually his mouth forced him to answer. Someone taking back the question didn’t work either, once it was out there, Dazai had to answer.

The look of horror on his partner’s face when he’d realized this was unmistakable.

“This is why I fuckin’ hate witches, they can’t just punch you, it’s always gotta be some twisted psychological shit; & you can’t do anything to nullify it because ‘magic’ is different than Abilities. I’m going to call Kisara in the morning, she might be a doctor but she’s also studied just about every form of spell casting & ritual healing out there, I’m sure she’ll have some kind of potion she can brew to fix your brain so you can shut up again.”

He couldn’t imagine having to spill the 100% honest, unfiltered truth to every question someone asked, he’d probably just open up the ground & let it swallow him. For someone as deeply private as Dazai was, he could see what a nightmare this situation was. Hence why he’d immediately offered to get him out of there before his coworkers could torment him too much with this newfound vulnerability. The Mafia Boss unlocked the door once they reached their floor & stepped inside as it locked itself behind them again.

At least here, Dazai didn’t have to worry about saying anything that could potentially torpedo the new life he was trying to build for himself. He took off his shoes, jacket, gloves & scarf before heading to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of rich, aged whiskey off of the rack & poured two generous glasses, hesitated, then also brought the bottle over, handing one of the glasses to Dazai as he took a seat beside him. He looked like he needed it. “Are you going to be okay? Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked his lover, more out of instinct then anything. Then immediately brought a hand up to his mouth when he realized his mistake. “Sorry.”

no longer human is meant to be his shield. it protects him from harm, from the pain of knowing others. he relies on it heavily. in this world of gifted, dazai is the immovable shield. so of the few instances where something happens to not be an ability, dazai is always the first to get hurt. this time is no different. he feels something shift in his very core when that single word is spoken right through him. what happens next is the worst possible outcome.

truth. it spills from dazai's lips over and over again. his ribcage has been violently torn open to expose his insides for all to see. nothing stops it, not covering his mouth or holding his breath. they do simple tests -- basic questions to see the extent of this power over their most secretive detective. he cannot tell a lie. once a question is asked of him he must respond. no one can take back their questions. he must answer loud enough for the asker to hear.

dazai feels sick. he wants to die. he wants to sew his mouth shut. he wants to cut his vocal chords and never speak again. and that is when chuuya stepped in to take him home. dazai knows his fellow detectives wouldn't exploit this curse, but the fear of something slipping is enough to make him look ill. he stares out the window for the entire ride home, shoulders tense and half his body turned away from chuuya. anything to tell the boss not to speak to him.

but getting chuuya to shut up is like waiting for the sun to rise in the west. he flinches at the lilt in his voice that poses a question. " no, no one was physically hurt, and i guess that does count for something. " it's sharp like spitfire as the truth unhappily continues to fall from his mouth. " in the morning... " great, that's at least twelve hours stuck like this unless this spell happened to just run out on its own. maybe he will just tape his mouth shut.

when they finally arrive, dazai has practically stepped out of the car before it completely stops. he had hoped that finally getting inside their apartment would give him an ounce of safety, but he only feels the same unease growing in the pit of his stomach. it's been a lot time since he's felt like this, felt this vulnerable.

dazai drinks merely for pleasure instead of to forget or dull the pain like chuuya does, but the idea of alcohol seems very appealing right now. he takes the glass, already in the process of pressing it to his lips when chuuya asks him another question. " i don't know. " eyes narrow when his voice betrays him once again. he looks away. " you can leave me alone. it's obvious you can't shut up to save your life. or mine. " dazai downs the liquid all at once.

there was a time when he would have said such scalding things to chuuya without a second thought, would even take pleasure in it. now, it just seems wrong, especially with how chuuya pulls him close and holds him so dearly. dazai sighs heavily, moving to fall onto the couch in defeat. " this is the worst. "

[dreamingofaizawa]

Rainbows After Rain

Cheating! Bakugo // Kirishima x Fem! Reader

There aren't any gendered terms used for the reader, but it becomes glaringly obvious reader at least has female anatomy.

Warnings: Angst. Lots and lots of angst. Mentions of depression. And then comfort, cause I'm weak.

Word Count: 1.7k

Author's Note: Okay, so this didn't go in the direction I had intended. But I like it anyway. I did end up making the reader female for...eventually obvious reasons. Which you will find out once you read :P. I'm going to actually not write the second ending I had in mind, since they ended up kind of blending together here.

This is a part 2 to this. You should probably read it, but context clues from this one should be enough for you to figure out the general plotline if you're too lazy.

Anywho, enjoy~

*

*

*

Your body feels heavy. So so heavy. How long have you been walking? Where are you right now?

"Hey! Y/n!" Huh? Who's calling you?

"Y/n? Hello?" A large, scarred hand waves in front of your face. It takes you a moment, some blinking back to reality, before you recognize the burly redhead in front of you. Turns out you took a lot longer to snap back to reality than you thought.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" His rough hands cup your face, turning your head to inspect you. When was the last time you were held this tenderly? Tears make their way down your face again and you nuzzle into his palms, bringing your own hands up to keep him there.

"What's wrong? I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"He cheated on me." Kiri freezes, blinks down at you completely dumbfounded.

"He...wait. What?" Your chest tightens again, the heart-wrenching sobs bubbling up your throat.

"He's been cheating on me." Your whole body shakes as you say it out loud, the hurt settling in for the nth time tonight. Kirishima still seems to be in shock, mind reeling at the fact that Katsuki fucking Bakugo of all people was disloyal. He only snaps out of it when a heavy sob falls from your lips.

"Let's... let's get you inside." That's all he says before bending down and scooping you up in a princess carry. You don't have the strength to protest, or do anything other than sob into his chest, clinging to his shirt.

He's holding you so close, so tight. You miss being held like this. You miss being cradled in strong arms, miss resting your head against a broad, sturdy chest. You miss feeling loved.

You allow yourself to go limp, burrow into him and make a home in his arms, seek all the comfort he offers because you need it right now. You need anything and everything he can give you. You shut your eyes, cry, and pray this is all a nightmare.

____

Kiri gently lays you down on his bed, carefully placing your head in the fluffy pillows. When he tries to pull away, your hands cling to him. You wine, cry for him, mumble something that sounds like 'don't go'.

You look sickly.

Your skin is almost gray, no warmth, any healthy color gone. Dark half moons have settled beneath your eyes. They look like they've been there a long time.

He crawls into bed beside you, and you curl into his chest. Just like you would with Bakugo, he imagines. With the way you latch onto him, he wonders how long the blonde has been neglecting you. How long has it been, since he started leaving one side of your bed cold?

Gently, he tugs you over him so your head is on his chest and your arm is hooked around his waist. He should feel guilty, being so close to his best friend's girl. But he can't find it in himself.

He's loved you for as long as he can remember you. He can recall being heartbroken, torn apart, when Bakugo got to you first. He remembers the regret he felt for not confessing sooner, maybe then you'd be laying in his bed every night.

But you're here now, and he should hate the circumstances. He does, in a way. He despises Bakugo for putting you through this, wants to rip the man to shreds to make him feel even an ounce of what it looks like he'd done to you. He hates that you've been reduced to shambles, hates that he'd found you in a depressive daze so far from where you should be.

He can't help but feel some guilty happiness, feeling you breathing next to him. But for now, he'll comfort you like you need him to.

____

Your pounding headache is what wakes you up. That, and the matching pounding of a fist on a door. And a loud ringtone. And sunlight. You groan, go to cover your ears and bury into your comforter.

Except you're not in your bed.

When you finally pry your heavy, swollen eyelids open it's not an empty bed you're greeted with, but a slowly awakening Eijiro Kirishima. When his eyes open, they're as beautiful as Katsuki's, but they hold a warmth the blonde never possessed. His smile is like the sunshine that filters in through the window, but it suddenly fades when he registers all the commotion.

"I'll be back." You miss his warmth, once he's gone. You can hear the door opening, hear muffled voices. You can hear Katsuki, he's looking for you. It wasn't a nightmare. It's very much real.

You shuffle out of bed, out to the door where Kirishima nearly fills the whole frame. He's blocking Katsuki out, a hand on either side of the door.

"Please! I need to see them! I need to know they're okay!"

"What you need to do is leave."

"Eijiro, move, or I'll blast through you myself."

"We both know you can't do that, Katsuki." The blonde's responding growl is intense, angry. You shuffle up behind the redhead, place a hand on his back. He looks at you over his shoulder, and you nod over to Katsuki. With a sigh, he moves aside for you.

The blonde's eyes lock onto you, relief washing over him. You can see it, see the tension drop out of his shoulders, see his face relax. When he reaches for you, you step back, and he lets his arms fall uselessly to his sides.

"You didn't come back last night. I was worried."

"Well now you know what it's like, not knowing if your parter is coming home to you." Your response surprised the both of you. You hadn't meant for it to be so venomous.

"I... I'm sorry..."

"That doesn't fix it, Katsuki."

"I know. But-"

"No buts. You can't just expect me to be okay, expect me to come running back to you." He stays silent, head dropping in shame.

"I trusted you, Katsuki. Even after I found out all those months ago, after waiting up for you every night, hoping, praying you'll come back to me and love me like you used to, I trusted you." The tears are falling freely now, and you don't bother to wipe them away.

"I- baby I still love you."

"No, Katsuki, you don't. You stopped loving me the first night you slept in someone else's bed. I'm tired of lying to myself. I can't keep waiting for you to come back anymore. Don't you get it? It's over, Katsuki." His head snaps up, those red eyes brimming with tears. Somewhere in your sad, angry, rattled mind you realize this is the first time you've seen him cry.

"Please...Please I can make it better, I can make it right."

"Nothing can fix this, Katsuki. You can't just fix it and make everything go back to the way it was. You can't change what you've done. You did this, Katsuki. You. You're the one that ripped us apart."

For the first time, you watch the man before you shed tears. You let the silence stretch on, let your words sink into his chest and stick. You want him to realize what he's done wrong, recognize the consequence to his infidelity. He only cries, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I'll come pack my stuff later today." With a solemn nod, he walks away. You go back inside with Kirishima, watch the blonde through the window until he's out of sight.

Your heart lurches in your chest. It feels like someone just reached in and squeezed, crushed it to dust. Kirishima catches you when your legs give out beneath you, holds you to his chest and lets you sob and thrash and pound your fists against his chest. He lets you scream and cry, wail because you still love him.

He holds you until you pass out from exhaustion.

*

***Five years later***

*

You wake up to warm ruby eyes and a smile like sunshine. Nothing beats mornings like these, waking up next to Eijiro and feeling nothing but pure joy. He's propped up on his side, head in his hand as he gazes down at you like you're the only other person on earth. His other hand is rubbing your slightly swollen belly, as he always does in the mornings now, paying special attention to the product of your love.

"Good morning, my loves." You smile back at him, at his words. Ever since you started showing, he's referred to you as two. You, and your baby, his two loves.

If someone had told you five years ago that you'd be pregnant with Eijiro Kirishima's baby, you'd never believe them. You were too stuck in your depression, too heartbroken to even eat. You had no motivation for anything anymore, doubted everything you said to Bakugo, doubted your own resolve, doubted your self-worth.

If he cheated, there had to be a reason...right? Bakugo doesn't half-ass anything, everything he does has a purpose, a reason. So why? What's the reason for this?

The only answers you could come up with involved your own self-worth plummeting to bedrock. Everything that happened was because of you, somehow.

Eijiro took care of you back then. He let you stay with him, held you when you couldn't hold yourself, fed you when you didn't have the strength to eat. After going far too long without bathing, he caved and bathed you himself. It became normal, to have him wash you because you lacked the will to take care of yourself. You lost the willpower to survive.

You lost your will to live.

But he picked you up from your worst point, built you back up after you'd fallen apart. His sunshine gave you a rainbow after the storm you'd wallowed in.

And now, you're here, starting a family with him.

He leans down, presses his lips onto yours. It's sweet, soft, full of love and adoration. With Eijiro, you always feel loved. Always feel like the universe revolves around you. You swear the sun only shines when he smiles. He pulls away, still smiling that bright, sharp-toothed smile of his.

"I'm going to make breakfast, okay? I'll bring it to you when it's done." You shake your head.

"I wanna get up today. Don't feel like staying in bed."

"Alright. I'll come get you when it's done, then?" You hum, nod, and he leaves with a peck on your forehead. You lift your left hand, gaze lovingly at the pretty little diamond on your finger. You're happy, with him.

Everything is going to be okay.

********************

Tags:

@jazzylove

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[angry-geese]

Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: sfw. pregnancy mention, death mention, minor injury mention. mild angst. jjk manga spoilers/shibuya arc spoilers

Summary: some pregnancy fluff with nanami

Word Count: 2.2k

jjk masterlist

Greys dot at his temples, and the sides of his beard. There's a permanent line between his eyebrows from scowling. Nanami always kept his face shaved in the past. Nowadays he hardly bothers shaving. You like it when he has a little bit of scruff, and he's often too tired to shave. His cheeks are far more gaunt. He lost a considerable amount of weight he never really gained back. You’ve been trying to get him to eat more. And it's working, but recovery isn't a short process. It was a long road that sometimes it feels like you take one step forward, only to take ten back.

He finds himself questioning if he'd rather wear a glass eye, or an eyepatch.

Nanami hardly sees the point in either. So the answer is neither. He rarely leaves his house, save for the rare times you drag him along to the grocery store, or down the street to the bakery. Even then, he wears his hat low on his head, keeping his eyes on the ground in a feeble attempt to make himself as small as possible.

Shibuya left scars on everyone who had the misfortune of being there, ones that never quite healed right. You were the same person; torn apart and put back together wrong. Age has not been kind to you, your wounds taking longer to heal, an ever-present ache in your bones. Past injuries have never quite healed, only laying dormant, waiting for the weather to sour so they can ache. He guesses he can consider himself lucky. He's alive. That's more than a lot of people can say.

But sometimes he thinks the real lucky ones were those who didn't survive.

Sometimes he thinks he's dead. In the twilight between sleep and his waking moments, he wonders if he actually made it. He wonders if he really survived, or if this is just some last ditch attempt by his brain to make sense of things.

He doesn't understand why you stay. He finds himself wondering why he bothers. Most days he doesn't see a point in continuing. But he doesn't want to leave you alone, reaching out to the empty space where he used to be.

For a long time he struggled to find purpose to all this. He wanted a reason, or at the very least answers. But he never would get them. It's unfair to say there’s an order to the universe. There's no reason why things happen the way they happen, they just do.

In the end he came to terms with it.

He remembers the glint in your eyes. A mischievous look- you were always trying to cause trouble. It's never really left. You were younger than him. Not by much. Two years. You were adamant he recommended you to become a grade one sorcerer. For months you pestered him, hounding him for that recommendation. As a Jujutsu High first-year, you looked up to him. When you got into trouble, you found yourself asking 'what would Nanami do?' And as time went on, you still did.

After months of pestering he eventually caved. You're nothing if not persistent. It was a little alarming at the time, and equally as irritating. But when you were finally a grade one sorcerer, he was there alongside you to celebrate.

At first glance, you two were far from compatible. The two of you couldn't be any more different. He was stoic and stern, and you were a known troublemaker. Your cursed technique worked well with his, and as a result, you went on many jobs together. As time went on you grew close.

And after years of working together, he finally realized he wanted more.

To everyone around you, your feelings were obvious. The two of you were hopeless. Between your stubbornness, and Nanami’s refusal to believe Gojo, neither of you wanted to be the first to confess. It was up to Gojo to help. Neither of you asked for his help, he took it upon himself. Little did he know, Nanami had a confession planned.

Nanami never got to have a proper confession. Gojo would spoil the surprise. Nanami was pissed, but your reaction was worth it. He doesn't think he’s ever seen you that happy.

Slowly things got better. Your more visible wounds healed and scarred. You went back to work. Nanami settled into domestic life better than he thought he would.

The transition wasn't the easiest. Settling down was far from an instantaneous change. He took on work around the house. For a short time you kept a ‘normal’ job. Even when you were younger, such work never suited you. Between the money you had saved up from your years as a sorcerer, and the money you got from odd jobs, you had enough to live comfortably. There was no need to work.

Slowly he started to look forward to getting up in the morning. Having a routine helped. It gave him a sense of normalcy.

He often finds himself unable to sleep. Nanami falls asleep late in the afternoon, and sleeps until either his phone, or a nightmare rouses him.

Today it's neither. He was a light sleeper before. Now even more-so. When he’s next to you, sleep comes to him easier. His arms find the swell of your belly, wrapping around it protectively. Your presence is a reminder that you’re still around, that you're not going anywhere. His shoulder aches. He finds sleep impossible. He’s too sore to move, but too sore to sleep. Even before everything, he found it easy to sleep on his couch, and hard to sleep in bed. You’d constantly pester him that sleeping on the couch wasn't good for his back. But that wouldn't stop you from staying there until you both inevitably fell asleep, and he carried you to bed.

It took you years to convince him to have one. He wanted to settle down and have children, but he couldn't be both a sorcerer and a parent. And neither could you. Shibuya only set things back. The world had to heal first. Things had to get better. The two of you had to heal before others could rely on you.

You weren't actively trying, but if it happened, it happened.

You've long since fallen asleep in the crook of his neck. He hardly left bed all day. Things were getting bad again. Sometimes months would go by where it seemed things were improving, only for them to take a nosedive. He’s still getting better, but recovery isn't a linear process. You didn't have anywhere to go that day, so you stayed right by his side. You took it upon yourself to make him feel better. Or at least bother him until he got out of bed. Much of your morning was spent watching movies on your phone, and stealing blankets from each other.

Retirement was nice. Granted, you retired rather young, but if the rest of your life was spent with him, you’d be content. He’s still the same man you fell in love with all those years ago. Aside from the occasional, safe-ish odd job, you were done with sorcery. Those days were past you.

He’s grown tired of staying still. Sometimes moving helps the aches. He never was the earliest riser before, but now he can hardly stay in bed past seven. Everything hurts. No matter when he goes to sleep, he’s usually up by 7:30, and you can count on him making coffee in the kitchen.

It's hardly past nine. The sun has completely set over the horizon. Stiffness has set into his limbs. He takes great care to not disturb your sleeping form, tucking the blankets back around you.

You nuzzle into the warm spot where he once was, a frown burned into your face. You never liked sleeping without him. Nightmares struck you frequently. Often you'd wake up from a dead sleep in a panic, calling out for him, convinced that this was some sick dream and he died years ago. He’d often wake up to you clinging to his arm, face buried in his shirt.

But he was always there.

You find it easier to fall asleep when it's light out. You don't like falling asleep in the dark. He makes sure to keep a light on in the hall. The power bill you could care less about. Nightmares came to you in the dark. Your logic is that, if there's no dark, you won't have them. To some extent it works.

It's a bit late for dinner, but he finds himself in the kitchen anyway. He wants udon, but the shop you normally go to would be closed at this hour. Their mushroom udon is the best. He’ll try to recreate it.

He sets some water on to boil, along with some frozen gyoza to thaw that you always insist on going to this one specific market in Tokyo for. Chicken and leek, with lots of ginger. Your favorite. You go through so much of the stuff that you have to get it in bulk, and freeze the extras. He thinks you’ll want tea too, so he sets the kettle on to boil.

He doesn't hear you walk in. Between the clanking of pots, and the whistling of the kettle, your soft footsteps go unheard. Nanami’s hearing was never quite the same. But he senses eyes on his back, and turns.

“I didn't mean to wake you, love.” He says.

“You didn't. I was having a hard time staying asleep anyway,” you say, “what’re you making?”

“Mushroom udon and gyoza,” he says, “it’s gonna be kind of a late dinner, but I thought it sounded good.”

“Smells good,” you say.

One of his hands finds your much smaller ones. Your fingers lace with his. His hands are warm, and calloused from years of using his weapon.

“Remind me to get more tea when I head into town tomorrow,” you say, “oh- and rice too. We were getting low the last time I checked. Do you want to go too?”

He nods. He makes a silent note to add those, along with laundry soap to the shopping list.

Before, he hated going into town. Strangers poked and prodded, and asked about his scars. It's gotten better as time goes on. If cravings struck you in the middle of the night, he would be up and ready to bring you something. Craving the mochi only sold by a specific shop in Tokyo? It doesn't matter if he had to take the train all the way to the city, he’d do it. Your arms wrap around his waist from behind. He’s a bit too tall for you to rest your head on his shoulder from behind. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He smells faintly of laundry soap, and shampoo. His stubble brushes against your lips. You always liked when he grew it out.

He pulls you so you stand in front of him, your back against his chest. His hands find the swell of your belly, wrapping around you protectively. Nanami plants a kiss on the top of your head. It's one of the few moments you feel truly normal. You’re no longer sorcerers, but a couple sharing a romantic moment, one building a life together.

He’s hardly allowed any distance between you two. Nanami acts like you’re made out of glass. He’s almost afraid to touch you. God forbid you try to lift something too heavy, or help out with the housework. He’s on you in an instant, trying to get you to rest. He’s a bit overbearing when it comes to things that aren't good for the baby. No alcohol, no caffeine, no overexerting yourself. You didn't miss alcohol all that much, but you really miss coffee. At times his presence can be suffocating. He means well, even if it gets on your nerves.

When the noodles are done, he gathers two bowls- part of a set given to you as a wedding gift. You only brought them out to use when your parents would visit. Much of the time they spent gathering dust. You always talked about using them more, but never got the opportunity to. He figures now is as good a time as ever. You set the table, setting out a few candles. He’d break out a bottle of sake if you could drink, but you just settle for tea.

"Retirement looks good on you," you say.

“It looks good on you too,” he says.

Conversation carries on while you eat. The topic falls onto mundane things that make his heart flutter only when you talk about them. You make plans to go shopping in the morning. You need groceries, and there’s a new shop opening up in town that you want to check out. When you’re done eating, you help him clean up. You clear the table while he gets the dishes.

He’s finally found his place. Not in jujutsu or human society. Not among sorcerers or regular people. His place is beside you.

And each day, he finds himself falling more hopelessly in love.

[seijorhi]

Final Girl

Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou & Akaashi Keiji x Female Reader

And please check out the incredible fanart @lausterdomyamong created for this fic here 💕💕💕

TW blood, gore, violence, minor character death, implied non-con, pregnancy mentions, nsfw

Your lungs are burning. 

You haven’t run like this in years, your thighs are screaming at you for a reprieve. With every step it feels like the soles of your bare feet are splitting open but you can’t stop, not for a single second.

You can’t stop. You can’t stop. 

Keep running.

It’s dark, and you can barely see.

Stumbling like newborn foal through the thick undergrowth, tripping over the roots that catch at your feet. Your legs are scratched and bleeding, and there’s a nasty scrape along your arm from where you’d fallen and tried to cushion the blow, but you shove it all down and you keep running.

You can’t hear much over the sounds of your laboured breaths and your own heartbeat hammering away inside of your ears, but you know you must be making a racket. Branches breaking, leaves crunching underfoot as you clumsily dash through the woods - keep running, keep going.

Being quiet won’t save you if they catch up.

The loud whoops and the hyena like laughter that echo out through the trees behind you spur you onwards. Faster, you have to run faster.

This is nothing but a game to them. 

“Wait- wait, just stop for a sec… do you hear that?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as you scoot closer to his bedroll, “Really, babe? The campfire stories weren’t enough for you? Do you not want me to sleep at all on this trip?”

There’s a teasing little grin on your face, not that your boyfriend can see it in the darkness of your tent. You expect him to laugh, grab you by the waist and pull you under him - make some quip about his wicked intentions of not letting you sleep a wink, but he doesn’t.

He stiffens, pushing himself back upright onto his palms, head cocked to the side like a dog listening for the faintest hint whisper of a sound.

“Babe-”

“Shh!” he hisses, and it’s more shock than anything else that has your mouth falling shut. His hand reaches across to grab yours in the darkness and he squeezes it just once. An apology maybe, or a reassurance that you’re still there with him. “Can you hear that? I think… I think there’s someone out there.”

You swallow uneasily, goosebumps prickling at your skin. If this is part of some stupid joke, you’re gonna kick him out of this tent and make him bunk with his friends for the rest of the trip. He’s never been one for mean spirited pranks, but this is freaking you out.

“It’s probably just one of the guys-” or an animal, or the wind, or his own overactive imagination. You guys are out in the middle of the woods after all. 

“I’m gonna go out and check,” he whispers, pulling his hand from yours and pressing a quick kiss against your cheek. “Stay here.”

There’s a road, a long stretch of winding highway that you’d driven along for what felt like hours when you’d first arrived with your friends. There’s no possible way for you to know if you’re going in the right direction, but if you can just make it there, then-

The thick scent of smoke invades your nose and for you falter - just for a split second - searching for the source. There, maybe two hundred yards away to your left, you spot the orange glow flickering between the trees and your stomach lurches.

Dark figures flit through the clearing, maybe a dozen of them, half illuminated by the bonfire. You can hear their laughter, the shouts and drunken revelry as they party the night away. They don’t have a care in the world, and why should they? Real monsters belong in horror movies and scary stories, not lurking in the shadows of the woods. 

Leave them.

The vicious thought takes you by surprise, but for one awful moment, you consider it. The promise of fresh new toys to rip apart and break, drunk and blissfully unaware, surely that would be enough to tempt them away. You’re just one girl… 

(The truth, the one that sits heavy in your stomach, whispers that you know better than to believe they’ll ever let you get away.)

Your heart pounds against your ribs, your legs unwittingly slowing down. You don’t have time for indecision; it’s them or you.

If leaving them to the wolves meant that you walked away from this, if you could make it back home-

There’s a shout, a scream that rips through the crisp autumn night before it cuts off with an abrupt gurgle. A loud thud followed by a laugh you don’t recognise - one that sends a chill running down your spine. More voices, more screams. Footsteps and a splatter of something dark and viscous against the side of your tent.

There’s a hoot and a chuckle, closer this time, and you hear a sob that’s all too familiar. Pleading. 

Your friend begging for her life.

“Shh, shh, shhh. Aw c’mon sweetheart, don’t be like that.”

Another hiccuping sob. “Please… p-please I don’t wanna die…”

“Kuroo-”

There’s a petulant huff, a loud voice interjecting, “s’no fun when they’re just sitting there.”

Kneeling frozen in your tent with one hand clamped tightly over your mouth to stifle your own terrified cries, you squeeze your eyes shut, not daring to draw breath. 

Somebody sighs - the first one, you think. “Y’know, I think Bokuto has a point… Do you like games, sweetheart?”

There’s no response - at least not one that you can hear - but she must have nodded, because the voice continues, “Glad to hear it! Tell you what, we’re gonna play a little game, and if you win, we’ll let you go! Sounds fair, right?”

“We’ll even give you a headstart, just cause we’re nice guys! Whad'ya reckon ‘Kaashi? A minute? Two?”

There’s a short silence, filled only by the sounds of her ragged whimpering. “Two,” the second one - ‘Kaashi - decides. His voice is deadpan, smooth, cold and blunt, but there’s an underlying current of something excitable - the barest hint that he’s not quite as disinterested as he sounds. “She won’t get away.”

No.

You veer, sprinting towards the camp. 

The others died while you hid like a fucking coward, too scared to do anything to help them (it wouldn’t have made a difference, but you should have tried) you can’t do this again. 

You can only imagine how you must look, a strange woman sprinting out of the woods, barefoot, your nightgown torn and filthy, blood streaking your skin. You can pinpoint the moment that they catch sight of you, one of the guys doing a double take and jerking so badly he almost falls off the log he’s perched on. “What the fuck?!”

Another turns, eyes wide and gaping, “Dude, she’s fucking pre-”

“RUN!” you bellow, just in time to see an axe arc through the air beside you and embed itself smack bang in the centre of his skull with a sickening thud.

“Now that’s a bullseye!” Bokuto hollers, maybe thirty feet behind you and gaining quickly. “Didja see that, Akaashi?”

Screams erupt from the other campers, scrambling frantically to their feet as their friend collapses lifelessly to the ground, blood still spurting gruesomely from his wound. 

“Don’t go gettin’ cocky now, the night’s still young,” Kuroo drawls, swinging his baseball bat - the dark wood flecked with dried blood, rusted nails crudely hammered through the barrel - experimentally through the air a few times. “And last I counted, I was still two up on you.”

There’s no time to humour the fear that rips through you like wildfire. You grab the nearest camper - a girl not much older than yourself, staring wide eyed and trembling at the body in front of her - and yank her forward with you. “Run,” you hiss again.

The others scatter, drunk and clumsy - a split second too slow. 

A boot lands on the fallen tree stump, its owner springing gracefully over it. Akaashi’s machete gleams in the moonlight, sweeping gracefully like an extension of his arm as he slices downwards. Blood sprays, drenching his front, and another body falls to the ground - this one missing half a face. 

It’s brutal. Chaotic. 

Ruthless. 

You can’t look back, you can’t help them. The girl is screaming at you, yelling words you can’t hear, trying fruitlessly to tug her wrist out of your grip, but you don’t relent. You don’t slow down, not even as dread fills your stomach and tears burn unshed in your eyes. You can’t help the others - not as Kuroo’s bat comes swinging out of the darkness, tearing flesh and muscle from bone, not when Bo yanks his axe from his victim’s head with a foot planted on his chest, immediately giving chase to another with a wild grin, not when Akaashi’s machete, slick with blood, cuts through her friends like butter - but you can save her.

Just one person- 

“Kitten, come back and play!” Kuroo shouts after you with a sickeningly fond chuckle.

- so long as you don’t stop running.

The camp is eerily quiet, even the crickets have stopped. You have no idea how long ago they left to hunt down your friend, how long you’ve sat, sobbing in silence, too scared to breathe, waiting to see if they’d come back. 

Your friends are dead. Your boyfriend is dead. 

You don’t realise how badly you’re shaking until you try and move - almost falling flat on your face when your arms give out. They’re gone, but every noise, no matter how muted, feels deafening and you try not to flinch as you drag yourself towards the mouth of the tent. You don’t have time to prepare yourself for the carnage waiting for you across the camp ground, you can’t think about the fact that people you love have been torn apart and murdered while you cowered away frozen in fear.

The grip you have on your emotions, your sanity, is fragile, but in your terrified hysteria, you understand one very important thing - they could come back at any moment, and you cannot be here when that happens. 

You cannot stop and cry for your friends, you cannot afford to break down when you see their bodies hacked up and scattered around you - you won’t even look - you just have to take the car keys fisted in your right hand, get to your boyfriend’s truck and get the fuck away from this nightmare as quickly as those wheels can take you. 

Crawling on your hands and knees you slowly pry open the tent flap, biting your lip and wincing at the quiet hiss of the zipper. 

The cold night air hits you like a slap in the face, but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming coppery tang of blood that settles on the tip of your tongue as you breathe it in. You bite down on your whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing your leaden limbs to move - you can’t afford to stop now, you have to get away.

You won’t look, you won’t look, you won’t-

“I was wondering when you’d finally show yourself.”

Ice douses your system, your heart lurching. Your eyes shoot open, darting towards the source of the voice - there, leaning calmly against the thick trunk of a tree only a few feet away from you is a man. Tall and slender, with dark hair and delicate features, you’d probably go so far as to call him pretty if it wasn’t for the blood splattered garishly across his pale skin and the teasing grin tugging at his lips. 

Absolute terror renders you helpless as he pushes away from the tree and takes a single, calculated step towards you. “Kuroo and Bokuto won’t be long, they’re just finishing up with your friend.” His pretty smirk widens as your eyes well up with tears and a gasping sob finally rips its way free from your chest, “but I don’t think they’ll mind if we get started without them.”

You’re following the well trodden path, praying to god that it’ll lead you back to the road, to any kind of safety. The shouts and screams behind you died out a few minutes ago, but you can’t let yourself think about what that means - it’ll only slow you down and you’re so close.

“Wait, wait, stop! We ha-have to go back!” the girl cries, trying once again to pull you to a stop. “My friends-”

“I’m sorry,” you pant, glancing across at her - and you are. Her eyes are wide and terrified, swimming in a pain you know all too well. It’s selfish and cruel, and it’ll tear her apart just like it has you, but if you let her go now… “It’s too late for them, we need to keep-”

“Baby, you know you can’t hide from us!”

Bokuto. Your heart seizes just as the girl shrieks, and you risk a glance over your shoulder, slowing just a faction. 

They’re closing in, all three of them, less than twenty yards away.

Panic and desperation bite at your nerves - you can’t let them catch you, not now, not when you’re almost free. But your body is aching, your muscles on fire and your stamina is shot to pieces. You’re on your last legs and they know it. They don’t even have to run anymore, they’ve worn you down completely - it’s a miracle you’re still standing.

And it’s childish and petulant, but you just want to scream and cry and yell and beat your fists against the ground because it’s not fucking fair!

You were so close.

Your grip around her wrist slackens just a touch, and the girl takes the opportunity to rip her hand free from yours. You expect her to run, to flee like a bat out of hell and leave you crumpled in the dust, but instead she turns to you with a withering glare, “This is all your fault. You brought them here. You did this.”

The accusation hits you like a slap, but before you can even open your mouth to protest (she’s not wrong, you know she’s not wrong) she grabs you by the shoulders and with all the strength she has left, shoves you back in the path of your pursuers. You stumble from the force of the blow, not expecting it, and for a moment you feel yourself start to fall, instinctively curling in on yourself to protect your belly-

Strong arms catch you before you can hit the ground, pulling you against a warm, muscular chest. “Gotcha,” Kuroo breathes, his tongue darting out to lick at the blood splattered across your cheek.

Vaguely, you register Bokuto’s low, furious growl as he launches forward, his axe raised high. The sharp, piercing screams are cut off quickly - violently - as he buries it in her neck with a snarl. He swings again and her head tumbles clean off to bounce across the forest floor, but he keeps going, swinging again and again and again until her body is nothing but a bloody, mangled mess for the animals to scavenge. 

Your vision blurs, and it takes you a moment to realise that it’s tears welling up in your eyes as Kuroo’s hands run up and down your sides, drifting protectively across the gentle swell of your stomach. “You did good, kitten,” he coos, Akaashi and Bokuto coming up either side of you. “But it’s time to come home now, don’tcha think?”

A hand cups your cheek, drawing you to meet Akaashi’s twisted, lovesick expression, “Gotta reward our pretty little girl for playing her role so well,” he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the delicate skin. 

“Maybe we can fuck another kid into her,” Bokuto adds with a grin, his previous rage all but forgotten, sated along with his bloodlust thanks to the butchered corpse lying a few yard away. His golden eyes, half lidded and burning with lust, flicker across your face for just a moment, drinking in every last drop of crushing defeat and despair before his lips crash down on yours in a savage, bloody kiss.

This was nothing but a game to them - one you never had a chance in hell of winning.