#boys surviving the soup

[sigmadolos]

angry sigma starter call - @ofpowr​​​ 

   Water droplets dripped from Sigma’s hair as he sat against the wall for a moment, heart still pounding in his chest. They needed to move, Dazai had a timer after all given that poison. But his head fell forwards, resting against his knees as his fingers curled into the wet fabric of his clothes. He was a fool. He was the same fool he’d always been.

   Tears burned his eyes and he could hear Dazai moving as he slowly lifted his head. Each tear burned as it rolled down his cheek, even as he forced a too cheery smile for their situation while his eyes closed. God, they both were fake, weren’t they? Dazai and him. What a pair.  He swallows the lump that felt like it was suffocating him.  “  It hurts so much.  “  It comes out as a whispered croak, far louder than he would have wished. Even the hellish torture of the Furies in Tartaros might have been less painful than this. Of seeing people burn each other and turn to tear each other limb from limb. Of being thrown aside or reduced to just his ability again. Again. After everything he’d been through, it always came back to his damn ability. Like he was just a tool to be used and thrown aside time and time again. He’d thought this was different. He’d cared for them, he’d treasured those bonds. It had seemed like it was different for so long - but Fyodor had just been so willing to drown him or burn him alive alongside Dazai, and Nikolai just wanted his ability now. It felt like this pain was a knife twisting deep in his chest. His head HURT, burning with sorrow and something darker. 

   “  ....I’m angry. That’s new.  “  Sigma’s smile lingered for a moment before it faded and his eyes slowly opened. What was ordinarily an inviting and warm silver gaze had turned as hard as bullets, even with the tears that still slowly fell.  “  I’m...really, really angry.  “  He’d had people treat him worse, but THIS is what made him angry, this was what it made feel like something ugly was being formed in his chest. Even when he’d killed, it’d never been maliciously intended, only necessity.  He had nothing left to lose. His gaze flicked up to look at Dazai probably now, grey unyielding in the angel’s new found anger.  “  We’re bringing them both down.  “  Somehow. Even he wasn’t sure to what he might do or what extent his wrath burned. He only knew that if he was falling from the Heavens, he’d drag them down to crash into the mud with him.

[the-rat-wins]

all the kids at school about Yu Xi Gu: His sickly constitution and the dark circles under his eyes have captivated me

[slayersins]

who gives a shit that bakugo is dead (he is not (😡)) when will we see dabi again how is he

[kideternity]

My not really being a visual novel guy versus my desire to play through digimon survive at least twice so that I can become mega ultra besties with Ryo

[ezbakedchaos]

working overnights is weird... but apparently this is better for me??

[luveline]

we know that the criminal minds writers looooved hurting spencer but i would love to see bau!reader (bombshell!reader if you think it would fit) hurt and spencer losing his mind a little (ofc everything would end up being okay because we love fluff in this house 💗)! thank youuu <333

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1k

“Spencer, are you coming in?” 

The boy in question winces, the cellophane wrapped stems in his hand strangled by an anxious grip. Your voice is hoarse, quieter than usual, though that could be attributed to the thick wooden door between you both. He takes the door handle in his hand, readjusts his fingers, can't quite get himself to go in. 

“Spence,” you say, missing your usual cheer. “Please come in.” 

He opens the door slowly. It weighs a hundred pounds, each inch heavier than the last. 

You're propped up on the movable bed with a dinner table over your legs. Someone's brought you contraband, it seems, expensive soup from the fancy restaurant you like just outside of work. Next to it lies your phone, your chapstick, and a prescription bottle. The orange of it is too glaring to look at for long. 

“Nice to see you finally, heart-throb,” you say, sitting back, rolling your shoulders as you smile. “Where've you been?” 

Sapped by terror in the waiting room, mostly. “Sorry,” he says, offering no explanation. You deserve one, but he can't get the words out. “How are you feeling?” 

“Shot at.” 

“Is it bad?” 

Your eyes soften. “No. Wanna see it?” 

He does in an awful way. To alleviate his panic, sure, but to know what it did. To see what his stupidity resulted in. The unforgivable in stark scarring. 

You lift your shirt and shift your soft bralette up a touch to show him the wound and all its grim stitches. “It almost missed me. Guess I'm not as lucky as I think.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Not right now. They told me not to wear wire bras for a while, so you win some, you lose some.” You let your shirt fall back into place. He can see the indecision in your eyes. Not one for hiding like he wants to, you address the elephant in the room. “Now you've seen it's not so bad, can you look at me again?” 

“I'm looking at you.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

The thing is, Spencer doesn't, not really. Half the time you act like you're sharing a secret with him but he doesn't have a clue what you're talking about, and the intimacy is lost, and it's his fault. He's never been good or smooth or charismatic, he's never deserved your attention, and it's his fault you're here, hurting, his fault you'd been prone on the ground, his fault Morgan had to hold your side closed, his fault you almost died. 

“Spencer,” you murmur, “you know I don't blame you.” 

Of course he knows that. 

“You should,” he says tightly. He doesn't mean to get angry. 

“Well, I don't. So give me my flowers and sit down.” 

He bites the inside of his cheek. He's mad, but he gives you the flowers without any roughness, and you take them with a similarly thin thank you. 

Your reunion isn't going how either of you wants it to, it seems. 

Spencer sits in the chair next to your bed as you pick between the petals, admiring their colours, their softness. For a moment you're peaceful, but you close your eyes and press your nose gently to a small bud, and you ask, “Why are you acting like this?” Heartbroken. 

He could explain it in halves. You passed out in the back of the ambulance. Your surgery had unexpected complications. Hotch was so angry, and he still wasn't as mad at Spencer as Spencer was at himself. 

Seeing you hurt because of his mistake isn't a feeling he thinks he'll survive a second time.

“I don't get why you like me,” Spencer admits. “Not before, and especially not now. You should be pissed. This,” —he gestures to you quickly— “is my fault.” 

“It's not your fault, Spence.” 

“What would you call it?” 

You put your flowers down and stare at your lap. He's pushed you too far. Nice, he thinks to himself scathingly, to upset you in your sick bed, that's exactly what he should be doing to make it up to. Great going, Spencer. 

“Will you hold my hand?” you ask quietly. 

He hesitates, his heart skipping a beat like a missed step down the stairs. 

“Please? I just… this has been a lot. I'm not telling you to make you feel guilty, I swear, but it's been a lot. And so many times I wished someone was here. I wished you were here.” You turn your head away from him. “I thought you were mad at me. I'm still worried.” 

Spencer stands up. He feels every stretch of muscle as he does it. You raise your eyes to his, holding out your hands; you know him better than anyone else, he thinks. He overcompensates every time. 

“I'm sorry,” he says, crossing his arms behind your shoulders carefully. 

“I told you it's not your fault.” 

“For not being here to hold your hand.” 

Your hand curls in the front of his shirt. 

“M'not mad. Not even slightly. I mean, not at you…” He rubs your back with his thumb. “Why would I be mad at you?” 

“What was I supposed to think?” 

He presses his nose to your temple, eyes squeezed close in regret. “...You're right.” 

This is what he should've done the moment you woke up. Instead, he let his mind focus on detail, what flowers demarcates remorse, or if cellophane wrapping would be an imposition. Anything to forget how your hands shook as the adrenaline wore off. 

They're steady now as they wrap around his sides to rest at the small of his back. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, lips touching to your skin with each syllable, like fractions of kisses. 

“I missed you, handsome. Please– don't do that again.” 

He rubs your back. “I won't,” he promises. “I'll be here as long as you want me to be.” 

“Forever, then.” 

For once, your flirting doesn't make him blush. 

[strangersmunsons]

Eddie, My Love! eddie munson x reader // valentine's day special series Day 2 Prompt: Chocolates 🍫 ~ 2,000 words Eddie's grumpy until he sees a familiar face in the candy aisle.

“This is a fake holiday,” mumbles Eddie as he pushes the cart past the pink and red aisle of Bradley’s Big Buy. 

His uncle chuckles. “When you have someone to spend it with, you’ll feel differently.”

“Wayne,” Eddie deadpans, “this is just some bullshit that Hallmark made up so they could take more of our money.”

“I’m not sayin’ you need to go all commercial,” Wayne clarifies. “I just mean that when there’s someone special in your life, boy, you might be in a better mood during this month.”

Eddie’s mouth sets bitterly. He’d rather not get the ‘you’ll find someone someday’ talk right now — the last thing he needs is another reminder of how lonely he is.

Wayne senses his nephew’s reluctance to discuss the matter, and so bites his tongue. Instead, he points at a row of cans on the shelf beside them. “Do you need more tomato soup, or are you set for a while?”

~

Back at home, Eddie lays on the floor of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Yeah, okay, maybe Wayne had a point. Maybe he’d hate all this stupid cutesy shit less if he didn’t have to watch everyone around him enjoy it while he spent yet another Valentine’s Day alone in his uncle’s trailer, with no one to keep him company, save for a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

The worst part of it is — and Eddie would rather die than admit this — that deep down, he thinks he really could be…romantic. 

Sure, he’s rough around the edges. He tends to be prickly, wary of others’ intentions, but it’s necessary in order for him to survive in Hawkins. The Munson name was already notorious, and his reputation preceded him; the incident with poor Chrissy Cunningham three years prior, despite his innocence, had sealed his fate as the town pariah.

But if someone could just give him a chance, a real chance, he thinks that he could make that person really happy.

He’d help around the house. Cleaning, laundry, anything you — whoever you are — needed a hand with. He’d learn to cook better so he could keep you eatin’ good. He’d plan fun dates. He’d play your favorite songs on guitar, maybe write you new ones, if he was feeling inspired…anytime you needed him, he’d be there. He’d be the most reliable, affectionate, loving — 

“Ed?” There’s a light knock on his door. 

“Come in,” he calls back.

Wayne pokes his head into the room. “I’ve got to head to the plant in a few,” he says. “While I’m gone, can you do me a favor?”

Eddie sits halfway up, propped on his elbows. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wayne fidgets, looking apologetic. “I know we were just there, but d’you mind going back to the Big Buy to pick up some candy? It’s Mrs. Johnson’s first Valentine’s Day since her husband passed, and I meant to get her something sweet, but I forgot.”

Eddie hauls himself up off the floor. “No problem. Want anything specific?”

Wayne shakes his head. “Don’t need nothin’ fancy, just get whatever’s cheapest that still looks nice.”

“That’s the Munson way,” Eddie muses, smiling in spite of himself. 

~

Eddie reluctantly makes a turn down the seasonal aisle he had so pointedly avoided earlier, feeling depressed. Cherubs and teddy bears seem to mock him from where they sit, and he heaves a dramatic sigh. 

His eyes roam the line of cards, plush toys, endless boxes of chocolates and candies, when they finally land on you, also perusing the rows of heart-shaped packages.

Recognition flickers instantly. Eddie suddenly finds that his heart is beating very quickly in his chest.

You.

You had still been a year behind him when he finally graduated, and though he didn’t really know you-know you, he was friends with people who did. You weren’t bullied like he and the guys were, but you weren’t exactly popular, either — and so more often than not, you ran in similar circles. Gareth and Harry used to swear up and down that you were the nicest girl in Hawkins.

Because of them, he had spent brief moments with you from time to time. He thought you had been very pretty, in your own unique way, but you were also rather shy. Your exchanges were always polite and charming, even if they never broke deeper than surface-level; overall, he’d found you incredibly endearing.

He never kept in touch, but as the years went by, he had often wondered about you.

Back then, it was hard to see past his own preoccupations: he was so focused on not failing his classes, Corroded Coffin, Hellfire, his dealing gig with Rick. But in retrospect, it always seemed to him like he had missed out on something special in not taking the time to properly befriend you.

Now, against all odds, you’re right here in front of him. And he had found you attractive back then, but now? Holy shit. You’re striking to look at.

As he studies your side profile, he thinks, it’s not that your appearance has really changed much, but rather the way you seem to be holding yourself.

You used to walk quickly through the hallways with your shoulders hunched and your head down, like you were trying to make yourself as small as possible. But now your posture is relaxed, your stance casual; your head is held high and a slight smile turns up the corners of your lips. And your clothes seem different too, like maybe you’d finally found your personal style, and were dressing in the way that you truly liked.

Is this what they call kismet? Fate, destiny, whatever, maybe Eddie’s fantasy-oriented brain was jumping to conclusions, but he thinks of the floor-misery he’d been wallowing in not even an hour ago — had his internal bitching been an unintentional prayer, which was now being answered?

He takes a few cautious steps forward, trying to act natural.

You glance at him when he comes nearer and offer him a quick smile before turning back to the sweet assortment before you. 

Eddie stands next to you awkwardly, pretending to browse, hoping to see you make some gesture of familiarity, any confirmation that you might remember him as well as he remembers you. 

But nothing. The seconds tick by.

You reach for a box of chocolates and Eddie’s overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom. He starts sweating. Any second now, you would pluck a shiny, ribbon-adorned package and twirl away from him, vanishing into thin air, and the moment would be gone. His opportunity would be over, and he’d never, ever see you again.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out. His face turns crimson, but he blunders on anyway. “I don’t wanna bother you, but did you graduate from Hawkins High in ‘87?”

You turn to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, one arm still outstretched. A breathy laugh escapes you. “Yeah, I did.” You give him the tiniest wave. “Hi, Eddie.”

He could almost cry in relief. You do remember him.

“Hi.” He returns your wave, dopey grin unfurling on his face. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you just now. I didn’t think you would remember me,” you explain apologetically.

Forget you? Absurd. “Of course I remember you. How’ve you been?”

Your voice is bright, cheerful. “I’ve been good! Busy with school.”

College, of course. You had definitely been an honor roll kid. “If you’re in school, then you don’t still live in town, do you?”

“Nah, my university’s too far. I got a place near campus, but I come home every now and then.” You smile, and motion towards yourself. “Obviously.”

“Oh. Nice.” Eddie twiddles his thumbs nervously. “Are your classes going good?”

“For the most part. They’re stressful sometimes, but that’s to be expected, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you’re super smart. I’m sure you’re killin’ it up there.”

“I’m trying my best,” you reply with a modest shrug. “What about you? What have you been up to lately?” You look at him with genuine interest, like you’re truly eager to hear about how he’s doing.

Oh, what to say. He opts for simplicity. “Bartending. At the moment I’m between The Hideout and The Attic. Although, I’m thinkin’ about trying to get a job at the garage instead.”

“You should!” Your voice is sincere, full of warmth. “I bet you’d be great there — I know you did a lot of work on your van.”

A bolt of pleasure runs through him. You didn’t just remember his name and face, but you recalled some minor details about him as well. He stands a little taller. “Thank you. We’ll see if it works out, I suppose.”

There’s a brief pause. Eddie moistens his chapped lips with his tongue. “Listen…”

Do it, you coward. If she says no, she says no, and you’ll get over it. Eventually.

“Um, if you’re ever home for the weekend, would you maybe wanna hang out? Grab a coffee or something?”

You look taken aback, but not displeased. Eddie counts that as a win. 

“Sure. That would be really fun.”

He flashes you a grin. “Sick.” Then it occurs to him: you came home for Valentine’s Day weekend. Surely you’re in Hawkins because you have a date lined up with some former classmate who swooped in and asked you out after he had gone, and that’s who you were buying candy for and —

“I’m assuming you’re busy this weekend, though?” You point at the treats in front of you. “‘Cause I see you’re here to pick up the goods,” you tease him cheerfully.

“Oh, n-not really,” he stammers. “Wayne asked me to pick up something for our neighbor. I’m just an errand boy.” He swallows. “Do you have any big plans?”

“Nope,” you reply casually, lips popping the p-sound. You pull the candy you’d be aiming for before he interrupted, a pack of Hershey’s cream-filled chocolate hearts. You nod at him sagely. “I am my own Valentine this year.”

You don’t need to be. I’ll volunteer. 

Eddie musters up all his courage, rocking slightly on his feet. “Actually, if you don’t have plans…like, if you’re not seeing anybody…would you wanna go out on a date with me tomorrow?” Nerves get the better of him and he starts pouring out word-vomit, totally oblivious to the way your expression is getting softer and softer the longer he rambles. “I get that it’s Valentine’s Day, I don’t know if you think that’s really…weird for a first date, or…if you even wanna go on a date with me at all, which if you don’t, that’s totally fine and I understand —”

“I don’t think that would be weird at all,” you cut in, giving him a smile that could melt an iceberg. “Eddie, I would love to go on a date with you.”

He feels like he’s having a fever dream. This can’t be real. Is this what manifesting is? 

From now on, when he wants something, he’s gonna go cry on his bedroom floor about it. 

Painfully aware of how clumsy his proposition came out, Eddie tries to put at least one suave move on you. “Well, if we really have a date tomorrow,” he says, swiping the Hershey’s from you, “then there’s no reason for you to be buyin’ your own chocolates. Allow me.”

Ten minutes later, both of you armed with candies and a phone number apiece, Eddie escorts you across the icy parking lot to your car. You grip his arm tightly crossing over a slippery patch of asphalt, and his stomach flutters in a way it hasn’t in years.

Okay, okay. 

Maybe there is something to be said for this stupid, fake holiday.

thank you for reading!! xoxo Valentine's Day Special Masterlist

[twdbegins]

Floral Sheets

⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡

Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader Tags: Fluff. Word Count: 2.1k "Not ready for tomorrow yet."

⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆

The sun had set over Alexandria long ago.

The hues of orange and purple had faded with the falling sun and transformed the sky into a canvas of inky black, speckled with twinkling stars -- a perfect end to an otherwise arduous day.

Alexandria was thriving, and everyone in it was better than they had been in years...possibly since the apocalypse had begun.

Once a quiet suburban neighborhood, it had become a safe haven for Rick and his fellow survivors in a world full of the living dead. Alexandria was more than another camp...it was a symbol of human resilience and a testament to their will to survive.

There was a consistent supply of food, shelter, water, and (most importantly) safety. It was the safest and the healthiest that Rick and his group had been in a long time.

Alexandria had blossomed into a perfect sanctuary, and everyone was grateful for it. But such a thriving community required intense and constant work to keep it to that standard. Keeping track of weapons, supplies, and all the basic resources was vitally important. When certain supplies were to the point of restocking, Daryl was almost always the errand boy.

He could handle himself better than anyone in Alexandria. He worked well alone, and he could get himself out of a dangerous situation if he found himself in a pinch.

Daryl knew that he had a long day ahead of him from the moment his feet hit the floor early that morning. He had several stops to make on his journey outside of the walls of Alexandria, and a few of those stops were quite out of the way.

Not to mention, the blazing heat of summer was nearly blistering during the day, and even during the night hours, it wasn't much cooler. It was so humid that sometimes it made the air so thick that it felt like breathing soup.

Daryl was used to the heat, and while it didn't bother him all that much -- it still made a long, tiring day even longer and more exhausting.

And the moment that he stepped through the door late that night, he felt a sense of relief crash over him. It was significantly cooler inside your house, and he was so glad to be out of the heat and at home.

He had three things on his mind when he entered your home: food, a shower, and you.

If he could have it his way, he would've liked those things in reverse order -- but he couldn't bring himself to wake you just for a shower you didn't need, and he doubted you wanted to be disturbed just to sit with him while he horked down whatever he could scrounge up for dinner. And he knew you definitely wouldn't want him crawling into bed without eating or showering.

His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor, his steps heavy and not as quiet as he wanted them to be. He knew that you would be long asleep by now, and he wanted to do his best to keep you sleeping peacefully.

He made a beeline for the kitchen, his stomach grumbling and growling with the simple request to be fed. He smacked himself for not snatching a can of something for himself when he was unloading the goodies he had picked up that day, but when he opened the refrigerator -- he realized that he didn't need it.

Right there, sitting perfectly wrapped on the center of the top shelf, was a plate of that night's leftovers that he knew you had saved just for him.

He didn't even need to see what the leftovers were to know that he was about to scarf down every last morsel on that plate. He didn't even bother heating it up because eating it cold didn't make a difference to him in the slightest.

He rinsed his plate (a habit that he only came to have after living with you full time) and left it in the sink to be washed in the morning before moving on to his next step.

He opted to use the shower on the opposite side of the house, knowing that using the one connected to the bedroom would surely end up with you waking up to the sound of him clambering around.

He was caked in dirt, sweat, and who knows what else. He felt five pounds heavier just with whatever was sitting on his skin and clothes. Daryl didn't mind getting dirty and staying dirty, but tonight it was actually bothering him a bit.

Needless to say, a shower was needed.

It was well appreciated nonetheless, and the stream of water felt incredible on his tired muscles that were in need of rest. He took his time though, maneuvering around the tiny guest bathroom shower and scrubbing his body until his natural skin tone wasn't obstructed by muck and grime.

He lathered soap on his face, ears, and neck thoroughly, watching the evidence of the long day wash along the shower floor and down the drain to never be seen again. He rubbed his eyes, feeling his eyelids grow heavier by the minute.

The fatigue was setting in fast. Between his fed belly and the relaxation of home, several hours of sleep were calling his name...and no matter what anybody said, Daryl had made the decision to sleep in the next morning.

After all, he knew you were awaiting him just across the small house, and he would never pass up an opportunity to wake up with you.

Once he felt fresh and clean, he turned off the water and stepped out. He dried himself, wrapping the towel around his waist to make the short journey to the bedroom. He gathered his dirty (an understatement) clothes so they could be washed later, knowing to toss them in the hamper (also a habit he developed post-living with you) by the closet.

His feet made it to the closed bedroom door, and he was slow to open it. As he knew you would be, you were curled up in bed and sleeping soundly.

He stopped in the doorway for just a moment to observe you. Your eyes closed softly and your breathing steady brought a flutter to his heart. It let him know you were comfortable and safe...you felt safe.

You were the balm to his weary soul, your presence a comfort he had come to rely on. He didn't watch you for long, knowing that he would much rather be with you up close than from afar.

He approached his side of the bed, carefully adjusting his pillow and peeling back the covers...to reveal quite the surprise.

Ordinarily, Daryl wasn't sure if he would've even noticed. However, this was such a difference that he wasn't sure if he couldn't have not noticed.

New sheets. He thought to himself, the corners of his lips turning up slightly.

In terms of quality, this bedding was a major upgrade. Your last set of sheets were very plain and, despite the fact that they kept you warm, were just plain overused.

But in terms of looks? Daryl wasn't so sure that this new bedding was an improvement.

You had mentioned to him a time or two that you wanted to change up your bedroom. Alexandria was proving to be your permanent home for the foreseeable future, so making your house the way you wanted seemed logical. Over time, Daryl had managed to find random furniture pieces out in the world outside the walls. Lamps, chairs, and whatnot.

Sheets, on the other hand, were much harder to come across. Frankly, Daryl hadn't ever found a set of sheets that were suitable for sleeping on...no matter how many times you washed them.

Daryl studied the sheets. They were light pink, decorated with a simple printed pattern of roses. It wasn't the tacky grandma type of floral/rose design -- this pattern was much more simplistic...dainty even.

Daryl didn't exactly love the sheets. But a bed was a bed, and as long as you were in it, he didn't rightly care.

Least the comforter is the same. He thought to himself.

He climbed into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He tried to keep his movements slow and gentle, but Daryl wasn't exactly known for being graceful.

He winced when you began to stir with a whimper, a brief look of panic in your eyes when they opened.

“Hey, hey…” He rested his hands on your shoulders. “It’s just me.”

You stared at him through squinted eyes for only a moment before sighing out a breath of relief and falling back into your pillow. You wasted no time moving closer to him, snuggling up to him with a content, soft smile.

"Hi." You whispered.

"Hey, pretty girl. Sorry I'm so late gettin' in."

You shook your head, not even giving it a second thought.

"It's okay. How was today?" You asked groggily.

He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead. He felt the stress and pressure of the day melt away in the feeling of you.

"Can't complain. Got what we needed," He said. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"It's okay," You shrugged. "I'm happy you're here."

Your face was nuzzled into his neck, the smell of bar soap from his recent shower filling your senses. Daryl danced his fingertips along your back, noting that you were much warmer than he was from being in the bed for longer.

Speaking of, he knew it wouldn't be long before you wanted to discuss your new addition to the room.

“I got new sheets.” You mumbled, but even in your state of half sleep, he could tell you were excited about it.

“Mmhm.” He hummed. "I noticed."

The sound of his indifference caused you to pull your head back to look at him.

“You don’t like them?” You asked.

“A bit girly for me. Glad you like ‘em though,” He said. "Where'd you get 'em?"

"Michonne actually. She and Rick were out today and found a place stocked with that sort of stuff," You explained. "It must've been a Bed Bath and Beyond or something."

"A what?" He snorted.

"Bed Bath and Beyond. It was a furniture/home decor retail store back in the day," You explained. "That was a joke, but it had to have been some kind of home decor store. I don't know how else they could've found bedding this nice and new."

Daryl gave a small chuckle, amused by your high enthusiasm for just a set of new sheets. But he understood that they were much more than just sheets to you. They comforted you, and they gave you something to be excited about.

"What do you have to do tomorrow?" You asked, and Daryl couldn't help but groan.

He didn't want to think about tomorrow yet. He had literally just finished today. He knew that, even with a late start, he would have a day just like today: busy, hot, and exhausting.

For now, he wanted to enjoy the end of today...or what was left of it at least. He wanted to hold you close, get some sleep, and be thankful for another day survived.

And hope for many more to come.

"Same ol' things," He sighed. "Not ready for tomorrow yet."

You understood what he meant and ditched the topic. He smirked when you kissed him, which was your way of changing the subject and when you had run out of things to say.

Not that Daryl minded.

He held your face in his hand, keeping you close and preventing you from straying far from him. He felt himself melt into you, the best feeling in the world after a day like this. He wished he could have this every night.

His kisses were lazy and slow, which was a bit out of the norm for him. You could tell he was fighting sleep, and you didn't blame him in the slightest for being tired.

"How about we get some sleep? I know you're exhausted." You brushed a strand of hair from his eyes, noting how heavy they looked.

Normally, he would've fought for a few more minutes...but tonight, sleep sounded all too good.

"Yeah." He agreed.

"Talk more in the morning?" You asked, and he gave a grin.

"'Course, baby." He pressed his lips to the crown of your head.

Daryl shifted further under the covers, making sure that you were snuggled in and warm. Daryl kept you close for the rest of the night, sharing kisses when he could and keeping you in his dreams.

All wrapped up in those pink, floral sheets.

[profoundmakerdreamerss-blog]

Tomarry AU where Harry knows everything but it's not because he is a time traveller, neither because he is a seer —

Pages and words have always been Harry's best friend. Living inside a cupboard did not help with his obsession. Rather, it was due to those pages that he survived. (He was 14 when he got his room instead of a bloody cupboard to sleep in.). The library was the only place Harry was able to hide from Dudley before they were sent to different schools.

When he was fourteen, and hiding from Dudley in the public library (he was mad that his gaming room was given to him.) he ends up reading a book he came to like very much.

It was a book about an orphan boy (like him.) who ends up going to this magic world (oh, how Harry wished) but sadly Tom ended up being hated there as well. Harry was awed by Tom's strength, but also angry (at the world how they let Tom down.) and angry at Tom for destroying himself to destroy what hurt him (or maybe he was angry at himself for not being able to do the same, maybe he was angry that he couldn't save Tom —) Harry was fourteen and it would seem he was angry at a lot of things.

(—that day Harry punched Dudley back after Dudley hit him. He didn't get to eat for a week straight.)

Jealousy is something he never let himself feel, because it wasn't a privilege he was given — not really. But one thing he was jealous of was the fact that Tom got to fly. (Harry wondered some nights — hungry and unable to sleep — what would he do if he got a magic letter? Would he have friends? How nice it would be to get to eat 3 times a day — how nice it would be to just fly away.).

Harry Potter loved Tom Riddle. Harry Potter also loved Lord Voldemort. The boy who died to be born as a monster. The boy who swallowed all the hatred so that he could hate the world in return (oh, how Harry wish he could burn down the world too sometimes — how he wish he could just hate hate hate and not care care care; maybe then he would finally stop trying look for approval in his aunt's eyes). Harry knew when started reading the book Tom was as cruel as he was strong. And he knew as he read the text, there would come a day Tom would burn the world like he was also burned. Even though he didn't agree with Tom's decisions most of the time he knew Tom. So yes, Harry Potter might not agree with Voldemort but he still loved him. And he wished that he could tell him that. Wished he could tell the man who was still a boy that wanted a family so bad that he stayed up for hours at night searching, hungry to find any living family there was, hungry for a belonging that he wasn't even deigned in the magic world. He wished he could tell Voldemort that no matter what he became, Harry would love him.

So imagine his surprise when he wakes up in a moving train — right after going to bed (instead of a cake he got a can of soup) the night he turned sixteen. Imagine how surprised as he sat there, in robes that he doesn't remember he ever owned. Imagine him freaking out that he got kidnapped as the door of his train compartment opened, and in came Tom Riddle.

[astrxq]

a new morning routine

ethan landry x fem!reader

words: 4.6k

notes: this took me sooo long to write and i don't even know if i like it, but finally an ethan fic!! who cheered? :)

Ethan knew that Chad jogged every morning when the sun was barely out. Chad was a very loud roommate, and Ethan had become all too familiar with his daily routine. It began with the blaring of Chad's alarm at the crack of dawn, a noise that could wake the dead.

Ethan would groan and bury his head under the pillow, futilely attempting to block out the sound. But it didn't stop there. As if the alarm wasn’t enough, Chad would often sing softly to himself as he tied his running shoes and stretched on the porch, a tune that Ethan couldn't help but find annoying at such an ungodly hour. The creaking of the front door followed as Chad made his way out, trying not to wake Ethan and failing miserably.

Ethan grew curious to know who Chad ran with. He knew he didn't go by himself; he'd heard Chad talk to someone before closing the door and going on with his routine many times.

One morning, Ethan was awoken by Chad's coughing fit rather than his annoyingly loud alarm. Chad's raspy coughs echoed through the apartment, and Ethan sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes and listening intently as he tiredly made his way to the small living room, where he saw Chad sitting on the couch, clutching a tissue in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

"Are you okay?"

Chad looked up, his face pale and sweaty. "Yeah, just a little under the weather," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I think I caught a cold.” Ethan fetched a blanket from the closet and draped it over Chad's shoulders as he plopped down on the couch. "You really shouldn't be going for a run like this,"

Ethan would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous of Chad, the boy who had been near death twice and survived. Chad refused to move from his bed weeks after being healed from the stab wounds, thinking he would not be able to return to his older, much less butchered, body. He’d watched Chad get carried away by an ambulance, breaths away from death, just a few months before.

During one of their many one-nighters together, Chad confessed that he envied Ethan’s body, with no scars and a much more healthy disposition. And Ethan secretly shared the thought, Chad's resilience and determination to continue jogging even after everything he'd been through.

And still, looking at Chad's frail and sickly state now, Ethan couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. Chad had faced death head-on, and now, he was battling a simple cold, but it was clear that he was still pushing himself too hard. 

“Want some soup?” he asked, and Chad gave him a small smile and a soft nod, eyes grateful. 

Ethan wasn’t a very good cook, so when he saw that they’d run out of canned soup, he saw no other option than going to buy some more, hoping that some store was open so early. He checked on his friend again, seeing that he was fast asleep on the couch, cuddled up to the blanket. The sound of the blaring alarm hit Ethan's ears and he rushed into Chad's room to turn it off before it woke him up. Ethan quickly silenced it before changing into one of his hoodies and moving to head out.

When he opened the door, though, he locked eyes with you. Ethan froze in the doorway, surprised to find you standing there, he knew you were a neighbor, one that he’d been crushing on for a while.  In the dim light of the hallway, you looked equally startled.

Your presence was unexpected, but it also presented a chance for Ethan to make a good impression. He cleared his throat and managed a friendly smile. 

"Hey," you said, breaking the silence. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I usually come over to meet Chad for our morning run." Ethan nodded, still a bit taken aback. 

"I'm Ethan, Chad's roommate." he admitted, his voice tinged with curiosity. 

You extended a hand, and he shook it awkwardly, not really knowing how to speak to you yet. "Nice to finally meet you, Ethan. I'm Y/N."

Ethan noticed that you were dressed in running gear and holding a water bottle. It was clear you had come prepared for your morning jog with Chad. “Uh… Chad’s sick.”

Your concern was evident as you furrowed your brow. "Sick? That's not like him. Is it serious?" Ethan shrugged, still not entirely sure of the extent of Chad's illness. "I'm not sure, but he's got a pretty bad cough. I convinced him to stay in today."

You nodded understandingly. "Well, I hope he gets better soon. Tell him I stopped by and that I hope to see him back on his feet soon." 

"I will," You gave him a warm smile, making Ethan's heart skip a beat. "No problem, Ethan. If you ever want to join us for a run, feel free to tag along. We usually meet here in the mornings." Ethan felt a surge of excitement at the invitation, but he tried to play it cool. 

"I might take you up on that sometime." 

You gave him a nod, and he mirrored your silence as both of you thought of how to continue the conversation. Ethan couldn't help but feel a rush of nervousness wash through him. Here was the neighbor he had been secretly admiring for a while, standing right in front of him, offering an invitation to join her and Chad for a morning run. He had seen you from a distance many times but never had a chance to strike up a conversation.

As you both stood there, trying to find something to say, Ethan's mind raced with questions and topics to discuss. He finally broke the silence, realizing that this was his opportunity to get to know you better. "I was gonna… go get some soup for him, so…" he pulled at his ear lobe.

“Right, I won’t hold you up then.” you grinned, giving him a small wave before beginning to walk away, hands undoing your tangled earbuds. He watched you walk away, and waited a few seconds to put himself together. Quickly, he locked the door behind him and rushed to the nearest store to buy some soup for Chad.

When he returned to the apartment, Chad was still asleep on the couch, the blanket had moved off of him. Ethan quietly set the bag of soup on the kitchen counter and tiptoed over to Chad. He gently covered him with the blanket. Chad stirred in his sleep but didn't wake up. 

The next day, Ethan was woken up by that horrifying alarm once again, and he heard Chad’s singing again. He quickly stumbled off of his bed, walking through the dark, and when he reached Chad, he said “Hey man, can I join you today?”

His request caught Chad by surprise as he laced up his running shoes. He knew Ethan wasn’t a runner. He turned to face Ethan with a grin, his earlier sickness seemingly forgotten. "Sure, but are you sure you can keep up with me?"

Ethan chuckled nervously, “I’ll try.”

He followed Chad to the door, and there you were. You were leaning against the wall, water bottle in hand once again. “Oh, Ethan!” you exclaimed when you saw his distinct curls. "Joining us?"

Ethan felt a mix of excitement and nerves as he stood there, realizing he was about to go on a morning jog with both you and Chad. "Yeah, I thought I'd give it a shot," he replied, trying to sound way more confident than he felt.

You smiled warmly at him, and Chad chimed in with a smirk, "Great! The more, the merrier, right?"

Ethan was a few steps behind you and Chad, trying so hard to focus on keeping up with you two. He could feel his ears get cold because of the breeze, and he could hear you and Chad talking. You glanced back a few times, checking on Ethan, and he kept grinning and giving you a thumbs up, pretending not to be running out of breath. 

He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when he heard you laugh, you threw your head back in a giggle and Chad joined you. Ethan had to slow down his pace, and he wondered if it was possible for you to like Chad.

Ethan couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he listened to your laughter. He came to a full stop, needing to catch his breath before trying to keep up with you and Chad. Just a few feet ahead, you turned to check on the curly haired boy once again, seeing that he had stopped, you did too. 

“You okay, Ethan?”

“Huh?” he looked up, hands on his knees as he panted, “Yeah, yeah. Just out of practice.” he chuckled.

Ethan's chest heaved as he regained his breath, feeling slightly embarrassed about his sudden stop. You moved a couple steps towards him, handing him your water bottle with a smile “Do you wanna stop for a bit?”

He nodded and as he took a sip, he couldn't help but feel grateful for your consideration. Chad, standing nearby, gave Ethan an encouraging pat on the back.

"You're doing great, man," Chad said as he shot him a supportive smile. Ethan forced himself to regain his composure, determined not to let his jealousy get the best of him. He took a deep breath and handed the water bottle back to you with a grateful nod.

"Thanks, Y/N. I just needed a moment," he replied, wiping sweat from his forehead. The few curls that stuck on his forehead now slightly pushed back. “Let’s just keep going.” he insisted.

You hesitated, seeing that Ethan’s face was flushed red, and that his chest was still heaving from breathing so hard. Chad got ahead, and once you caught up to him, he slowed to meet Ethan’s pace, “You’re so red, dude.”

“What?”

“Your face, are you sure you wanna keep going?”

Ethan reached to touch his cheek, feeling it cold under his touch, “Oh, I’m fine.” Chad smirked and looked at you as you changed the song playing in your ears, “You sure it’s not because of her?”

His cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, this time because of embarrassement, and he stammered, "N-no, it's not because of her. I just need to catch my breath, that's all." Chad chuckled knowingly, and patted his friend’s back.

You glanced back at Ethan with concern in your eyes but decided not to press the issue either. Instead, you offered a smile. He was grateful he had Chad next to him to follow his pace, because if he had been on his own, he was sure he’d fainted because of you.

Once back at the apartment, you bid your goodbyes from the boys, and the second the door was closed, Chad jumped to make fun of Ethan. “You looked like you were going to explode! Don’t even try to convince me it was because of the running.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Ethan plopped down on the couch, face covered by his hands as Chad laughed. “Come on! I’m not stupid, you were practically blushing the entire time." he teased, nudging him playfully. 

Ethan peeked through his fingers, his cheeks still rosy. "Okay, maybe," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "But can you blame me?"

Chad's laughter subsided, and he nodded in agreement and leaned back on the couch, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know," he began, "I've been friends with Y/N for a while now. We've been jogging together for months, and we've become pretty close. I think you two would get along really well."

Ethan's curiosity piqued. "Really? You think so?"

Chad grinned, his eyes glinting mischievously. "Oh, absolutely.”

The teasing didn't stop, of course. Whenever you would come over for a morning run or to check on Chad, he would nudge Ethan and raise an eyebrow, prompting a fresh wave of embarrassment for his friend.

He would sometimes pretend to be tying his shoes, or needing a water break, and urged the two of you to keep going without him. Ethan made sure to always shoot him a glare while you weren’t looking, getting a toothy grin in response.

You noticed that Ethan didn’t really talk. He would glance at you, trying to think of what to say, and then crumbled back into his little shy boy bubble. He silently cursed at himself every time he saw you look up at him, almost as if you were waiting for him to talk. It took Chad three times leaving you two alone before you broke the silence, 

“Chad talks a lot about you,” 

“He does?” Ethan seemed surprised, keeping in mind to thank his roommate once they were alone for kind of pushing his ‘matchmaking’ agenda. “Oh, yeah. All the time.”

“Good things, I hope?” he pulled at his ear lobe like he did when he was nervous, you chuckled, finding Ethan's nervousness endearing. 

"Oh, absolutely. He thinks the world of you." You slowed your pace a bit so you could walk alongside him, and Ethan's heart did a little somersault in his chest.

"That's nice to hear," he replied, a small smile playing on his lips. You hummed, looking back to see Chad smirking at you, winking before fixing the headphones that covered his ears. 

“Uhm,” you started, “To be honest, I thought you’d be more like Chad?” 

Ethan raised his brows in confusion. How on earth could he be intimidating? You stopped running, moving to sit on a nearby bench to fix your shoelaces, and he joined you. “What do you mean?”

Chad caught up to you guys before you could answer, his panting joining yours. You exchanged a quick glance with Chad, and he grinned knowingly, clearly enjoying leaving you two on your own.

You and Ethan exchanged a slightly awkward yet amused look, and then you turned back to Chad, smirking. "Well, Chad, you didn't mention how different you two are. I was expecting another chatty, outgoing roommate." you joked.

Chad laughed heartily. "Yeah, Ethan's the quiet one, but he's got his own charm. Trust me."

Ethan blushed at the compliment and tried to hide his smile behind his hand. You chuckled, a soft and melodic sound that made Ethan's heart flutter in his chest. 

Eventually, it became a routine for Ethan to join you and Chad in the mornings. Ethan found himself growing more comfortable with each passing day, thanks in part to Chad's relentless teasing and encouragement. As the days turned into weeks, he found himself looking forward to those early morning jogs, not just for the exercise but for the chance to spend time with you.

One day, as you all returned to the apartment after a particularly invigorating run, Ethan couldn't help but muster the courage to ask you a question that had been on his mind for a while. 

"I've been meaning to ask you something." he began, trying to keep his voice steady. You slowed your pace and looked at him with a friendly smile as Chad walked ahead, getting his keys out. 

"Well," he started, feeling a bit nervous, "I was wondering if you'd like to grab coffee or breakfast with me."

You cracked a smile, and Ethan felt a surge of hope. The fact that you were sweaty and panting suddenly dawned on you, and you felt a wave of embarrassement go through you as Ethan stared at you, waiting for a response.

You chuckled softly at the unexpected request, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you considered his proposition. "I'd love to," you replied with a warm smile. "But maybe we should both clean up first before we grab breakfast. Running gear and coffee shops don't really mix."

Ethan felt a mix of relief and excitement wash over him. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea," he agreed, feeling a bit self-conscious about his own disheveled appearance. "How about I come by later, and we can figure out a time?"

"Sounds perfect," you said as you reached the front door. Chad had already disappeared into their apartment, leaving the two of you alone to give you some privacy. As he watched you head into your own apartment, Ethan couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. 

He had finally mustered the courage to ask you out, and you had said yes.

The second he stepped into his own apartment, he was met with a smirky Chad. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, a knowing grin on his face as he watched Ethan’s cheeks grow a pink-ish tint.

"Well, well, well, look who's finally making a move," he teased.

Ethan couldn't help but roll his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he replied, his embarrassment turning into a playful smile. "You can say you played matchmaker successfully." Chad chuckled, walking over to give Ethan a friendly pat on the back.

"I knew you had it in you, buddy," Chad said with a wink, “But you took so long, this month has been so painful to me as your official wing-man.” 

Ethan couldn't help but laugh at Chad's dramatics. “Whatever.” He rushed back to his room, getting freshly showered and dressed.

He kept touching up his curls, ignoring the fact that Chad was staring at him from the couch, trying to hold in his laugh. 

"What's so funny?" Ethan groaned.

Chad finally burst into laughter. "You, man. You're acting like it's your first date ever. Relax, it's just breakfast." 

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Charismatic. Some of us need a bit more prep."

Before Chad could tease him some more, a quiet knock on the door made both of their heads turn. “She’s picking you up?”

Ethan rolled his eyes and hurriedly checked himself in the mirror one last time, making sure his hair was in place before heading to the door. Chad simply grinned and gave him a thumbs-up as he answered the door.

There you stood, looking refreshed and ready, no trace of the earlier sweat and fatigue. Your hair was down, and Ethan couldn't help but stare. 

He greeted you with a warm smile, feeling a surge of excitement mixed with a hint of nervousness.

"Hey," you said, "Ready for breakfast?"

You returned his smile with one of your own, and Ethan felt a sense of ease wash over him. "Absolutely," he replied. "Lead the way."

Reaching for his wrist, you gently pulled him closer to you, and Ethan could feel his breath get caught up in this throat. You gave Chad a smile and pulled at Ethan again, making him stumble a little as you lead the way. 

The two of you entered a cozy little cafe, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeting you as you stepped inside. You chose a corner table by the window, and as you settled into your seats, Ethan couldn’t help but smile. 

“This place is nice," Ethan commented, taking in the warm ambiance of the café. He couldn't help but feel grateful for Chad's persistence in pushing him to ask you out.

You nodded, looking around the café. "It's one of my favorites," you replied. "Their pastries are amazing."

As you began to recommend some of your favorite items on the menu, Ethan found himself hanging on to your every word, captivated not just by the food suggestions, but by you. A hair strand fell onto your face as you spoke excitedly, and Ethan stared at it as he thought of what you would do if he tucked it behind your ear, held your face and kissed you like he’s been wishing to do for the past month.

“I think I’ll get the apple turnover…” you said, eyeing the small menu paper in your hands. Ethan hummed, still staring at you. “What about you?”

He cleared his throat, “Uhm… me too, yeah. That sounds nice.” 

The second the pastries got to your table, Ethan couldn't help but notice the twinkle in your eyes as you took that first bite of your apple turnover. "You have to try it." you held the pastry towards him. He stared at your hand for a second and reached to gently grab your wrist to hold it still while he bit down on the treat. The taste was even better than he had expected, and he couldn't help but let out a satisfied "Mmm"

You giggled at his reaction, and it was like music to Ethan's ears. "I told you," you said with a playful grin. "Their pastries are amazing."

He nodded and he looked down at his plate, feeling giddy by the small interaction you’d just had. You smiled at him, “So, what took you so long to ask me out?" you asked, resting your head on your hand and looking at him with a closed-mouth smile.

Ethan felt his cheeks flush slightly at the question, "Well," he began, “Uhm…”

“Hmm?” “I just wasn’t sure if you’d want to come.”

You chuckled softly, your eyes locking onto his as you leaned in a bit closer. "Ethan," you said in a gentle tone, "I've been hoping you'd ask me out for a while now."

"Really?" Ethan replied, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Your smile widened. "Yes, really." 

Reaching across the table you placed your hand on top of his, sending a warm and reassuring squeeze. He leaned in a little closer to you, his voice filled with a newfound confidence.

"I've been wanting to get to know you better for a long time." he admitted, his eyes locked onto yours.

Your cheeks took on a faint rosy hue, and you didn't break eye contact. "Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" you replied softly. "And I'm looking forward to getting to know you too, Ethan."

Ethan gulped, fixing his hair with his free hand as he tried not to focus on the fact that you hadn’t moved your hand yet. “Chad’s always talking non-stop about you,” you said.

Ethan couldn't help but chuckle. "He’s been trying to get me to ask you out for so long."

"He kept telling me how great you are, and I can definitely see why."

Ethan's heart swelled with happiness, making a mental note to thank Chad the second he got home. "I'm glad he didn't scare you away with the constant praise," he said, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

"Not at all. In fact, he made me even more curious to meet you," Ethan’s lips ticked up slightly, trying to hide the fact that he was close to grinning like a middle-schooler. “He insisted that you weren’t a runner, I was surprised when you agreed to join us.”

He cleared his throat and let out a short laugh, “I’m not. I hate it.”

You gave him a look, furrowing your brows in confusion. “I… I kinda joined because you asked.”

Ethan's confession made your heart skip a beat. "You joined just for me?" you asked, a warm smile spreading across your face. The fact that he had pushed himself out of his comfort zone for you was both surprising and endearing to you.

Ethan nodded, his cheeks slightly pink. "I wanted to spend more time with you." he let go of your hand to brush it over his cheeks, trying to calm himself down by his sudden forwardness.

Your smile grew even brighter, and he reached across the table to hold your hand again shyly. "I'm really glad you did," you said sincerely. You moved your hand to the tips of his fingers and Ethan made a move to hold it again, but you ran your nails over his skin slightly. 

Ethan shivered at the sensation, a pleasant tingling running down his spine. "I am too," he admitted softly, "And I hope we can spend more time together."

You leaned in a little closer, eyes never leaving his. "I'd like that," you replied, your voice low and filled with warmth. "A lot."

Ethan couldn't help but feel a shiver of excitement at your touch. Your fingers entwined with his, and he realized just how much he had been craving this connection with you. 

Time seemed to fly by, and before he knew it, the two of you had spent hours together, lost in conversation and laughter. It felt like no time had passed at all when you finally glanced at your watch and realized how late it had gotten.

"Oh wow, I didn't realize it was so late," you said with a hint of regret in your voice.

Ethan nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of disappointment that your time together was coming to an end. "Yeah, time really flew by."

You reached for your wallet, ready to pay the bill, but Ethan gently stopped you. "Let me take care of it," he insisted.

He gave you a smile as he grabbed his wallet, a small Grogu sticker on its corner. You bit down on your bottom lip, holding back a smile as Ethan paid for both of you. He blushed when you called him adorable.

You and Ethan strolled down the sidewalk, hands linked together and a comfortable silence between the two of you. Ethan couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. He had finally taken the leap and asked you out, and it had turned into a wonderful morning. 

Reluctantly, you walked Ethan back to his apartment building. You stood at the entrance, facing each other. Ethan finally broke the silence, his voice soft but sincere. "I'm so glad I finally asked you out."

“Yeah, me too.” you grinned, “I never thought you’d get past staring at me when I was getting my mail.” you teased him. Ethan choked up, "I, uh, guess I was pretty obvious, huh?"

You chuckled, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from his forehead. "It's cute, Ethan." You leaned in, your lips brushing against his cheek in a soft, sweet kiss. Not knowing where to put his hands, he moved them to your waist, pulling at the hem of your shirt to get you closer to him. You pulled away, and you gave him a smile that made his heart race.  

Your fingers rested against his cheek. "I had a really great time today, Ethan," you said softly, your eyes locked onto his. He nodded, feeling a sense of warmth wash over him. 

"Me too," he replied, his voice filled with genuine affection. "I can't wait to do it again."

"I'll hold you to that."

Ethan squeezed your waist before letting go, giving you a smile. He reached for your hand, and mimicked the gesture you had done to him hours before, playing with the tips of your fingers before bringing them up to his lips and kissing them gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow? We could do this again after the run?”

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with happiness. "Definitely."Ethan leaned down, pressing his lips against your forehead once, before pulling back with a grin. You let go of his hands, shying away as he reached for his keys, mentally preparing himself for a whole bunch of ‘matchmaker Chad’ jokes.

[deceitfuldevout]

Savior (Part 1)

Dark!Emmett x Reader

Word count: +2,394

Warning(s) in chapter: +18, Non con, Breeding, Forced Breeding, Minor character deaths, Kidnapping, Mentions of past character death, Murder.

Author's Note(s): I'm still riding the Cillian high.

It was summertime in Akron, NY. Life was simple, peaceful, was. You were excited to be starting as an elementary school teacher. Until they arrived, death Angels, they were called. Slaughtering anyone and anything in sight that made sound. There was only one thing you could do, and that was to survive.

It's been 474 days since the apocalypses began. Winter was approaching, so you and your group decided to venture out. You were careful with each step. Who knows when or where a creature would be lurking. They're quick and stealthy. Almost silent. A mistake your teammate makes resulted in your entire team's demise.

A sudden trip on a hidden string causes a wind chime to clatter down, purposely alerting the creatures. Before your team has a chance to escape, they were quickly dragged off by the creatures. One by one their screams were heard. You ran, as fast as you could. Until your legs almost gave out. You couldn't believe it. Everyone, everyone was gone. You were all alone, dealing with the aftermath of yet another loss.

The adrenaline still pumping though your veins as you took each step. You hadn't even realized the hidden beartrap until it was too late. It takes every ounce of your energy not to scream in pain. You force yourself to swallow it down, muffling a cry. Fat tears role down your cheeks. It takes you a while to compose yourself. After that the realization hits. You were trapped in the middle of nowhere. With only a backpack filled with medical supplies.

This was it, this time, you would surely die. A deep feeling of dread consumes all your senses as you wobble to a sitting position, the pain becoming excruciating. You really did try your best to stay alive. But when your vision begins to blur, you embrace the darkness, letting it consume you.

When you had woken up your body felt heavy. A throbbing pain pulses though your head. It was hard even trying to lift yourself from the bed. Wait, what? You swiftly lift yourself up, looking around to find out just where the hell you were. How the hell did you end up here?!

"You were out for a while," a voice calls. You turn around to find a man seated at a desk, just now finishing up his meal. He's dressed from head to toe. His outgrown beard covers most of his features. A trucker's hat covering the top of his head. It was hard to tell what he looked like in the dark, "Here," he hands you a bowl, it's canned soup. You hesitantly take it from him, "Thank you..." eating it with careful bites.

You notice him still staring but choose to ignore it. He was kind enough to save you back there. Surely he wasn't so bad. Emmett recognizes you the moment he found you lying unconscious at the front of his hideout. For a moment, he thought you were surely gone. Until he hears a faint whine escapes your lips. He doesn't know why he decided to drag you inside. Maybe he just needed a sign.

"Your friends they uh, they didn't make it," feeling sorry for what he'd just said. Your heart broke for them. One small mistake costed them their lives. A part of you carried survivor's guilt with you. Thankfully you weren't alone. He was at the right time and place. When you try kicking your legs out of bed a sharp pain hits one of them. A painful grunt escapes your lips.

You with certain now, your foot was broken, small jagged cuts decorate the heel and ankle. It seems as though he tried to help, "I did my best to stop the bleeding but...'m not a miracle worker," his voice is deep, raspy with age and time. It sounded too familiar. That's when it hits you, "Emmett?" There was no doubt, you were sure it was your old neighbor. Hell, you used to babysit his boys. Your brows furrow, now worried, "What happened to...?"

"Gone, I lost the boys to those things, and Nora, she couldn't take it..." his eyes start to glisten. His once lively spirit now the shell of a man he used to be. He's taken aback when you start to cry, "I'm so sorry Emmett..." you cried, "I loved them so much..." mourning the loss of his family. He knows very well, his boys were fond of you. Even asking if you could be their teacher for the next school year. You even applied to an open position for the upcoming fall. After all this time fate still had a way with bringing people together.

Emmett lets you rest up for a few days while out on a supply run. He even left a few supplies and food by your bedside. You wanted to know where you were, but with your leg being in the condition that it was, it was impossible. For now, it was best to rest while it heals. You didn't want to weigh him down.

In the meantime, you try different ways to stay busy. Each day completing at least two to three tasks around the room. Whether it was stretching, exercising, or attempting to walk again. Soon enough you were able to limp for a certain amount of time. Emmett was sweet enough to get you a crutch.

As time passed, you began to make yourself comfortable. Its been a while since you’ve arrived. To the point where the two of you had a daily routine. Emmett would be out, either hunting or gathering food and supplies. While you stayed to look over the compound. When Emmett would arrive after a long day of work, he'd come home find a homecooked meal waiting. It's been a while since he’s had a proper meal.

Emmett halts at the door, watching as you hum a tune while finishing up dinner. You sat on a wheeled office chair while getting the plates ready. He approaches you from behind, "Here, let me," carrying dinner to the table. The both of you ate in silence. But it wasn't awkward, you both enjoyed each other's company. You're the first one to speak up, "Hey so..." starting the conversation, "As soon as my leg heals, would it be alright if I come help?"

Emmett couldn't hide the look of disapproval on his face. He doesn't think you're ready, or even fit to go out there, "No,"

"No? Why? I can walk now and--" "No, final answer,"

"Are you serious?"

"As serious as I can be,"

"But it was only one time! They didn't get me--"

"It's not just the monsters you should be worried about..." he pauses, "...the people, they're not the same," as if it were coming from experience, "Look at your leg, you think a monster did that?" he scoffs. You were the last thing that reminding him of how kind life was before. He can't risk losing the little beacon of light left. Not again.

Emmett won't admit it, but it was lonely during the past few months. You made it all the more bearable. Something stirred inside of him. Just the thought of a pretty little thing waiting for him at home. He felt guilty. As if he didn't deserve a second chance. So, what does he do when confronted with a problem? He avoids it altogether. Emmett would spend hours going on raids just to avoid being in the house. Being alone with a pretty little thing like you would only lead to trouble.

It's been a while since he'd been with someone. During a supply run he'd found a few magazines to help, but it hadn't done the job. They weren't the same. Not even close. He can't even remember the last time he's emptied himself deep inside a pussy. His breathing becomes shallow from the thought of it.

"Emmett?" you tilt your head. Shit, what did you say? "I asked if you wanted more," scooting the bowl of stew towards him. He's flustered, "Sure thing," when he reaches for it his calloused hand brushes against yours. He's in awe by how soft it is. You were this ethereal being, who just so happened to stumble upon his hideout. He quickly retrieves his hand. Not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But did he really want that?

It was just the two of you all alone down here. He's much stronger than you. If he wanted, he could just take you, right here right now. And there would be no one to stop him. He imagines you on your knees, looking up at him with that innocent look. Shit...he has it, bad.

He can't decide if it was pure desire, or simply part of his nature to breed. You were already a natural playing the role of a homemaker. It's not like there was anything else to worry about. He would take care of you. He'll provide you with anything you need. All you had to do was give him a little something in return. Just once wouldn't hurt. As you ready yourself for bed, you notice Emmett still standing there. You turn towards him, curious of what he was doing. He pulls out a thin metal chain. What was that for?

"Please, don't fight it..." he nears. At that moment your heart sunk. Emmett held the metal in his hands, "You already know I'm stronger, so don't try to stop me," nearing the edge of the bed. You look at him with a look of dread, "Emmett?" eyeing the chain cautiously, "W-what are you doing?"

"Sh... just let it happen..." he nears, "I promise you I'll take good care of you, you'll never want anything else,"

"Emmett? No..." tears began to form. You couldn't run away from him, not with a limp. All you could do was scurry to the corner of the bed. Emmett links the chain to bottom of the metal bedframe. He held your good ankle in hand before linking it to the cuff. You're well aware he's much stronger, he even carried you all the way down here. He straddles your waist, and you scream profanities, lashing out at the man you once called a friend.

Emmett tries pleading with you to hear him out, he tries to muffle your screams with his hand. But instead, you retaliate by biting it. He grunts in pain, now retrieving it. He's not amused at all by your little rebellious stunt. This wasn't you. He doesn't have time for any temper tantrums. He's not angry, only determined, "Fine, have it your way," he's done having to fight for what's rightfully his.

He could've let you die out there, just like your teammates. It was your fault for trespassing, you were the ones who triggered his trap. Instead, he'd given you a new purpose in life. You'll never be exposed to the dangers of the outside world again. He'll make sure of it.

During the past few months, Emmett went absolutely feral. He couldn't keep his hands off you. Just this morning, you'd woken up to him buried deep inside you pussy, grunting like some sort of animal in a rut as he pounded that tight little cunt of yours. Still half asleep, you tried your best to ignore him. But when he raises your leg over his shoulder to deepen the thrusts, you couldn't hold it in. Small grunts escape your lips as you turn your head to the side, avoiding his gaze.

He leans in, "Hey...hey pretty girl, don't hide from me..." a hand cups the side of your cheek, turning you to face him. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his hips still jutting in and out your channel. You were just starting to get used to his pace when suddenly he starts picking up speed. Your hands reach out to halt his movements, but he wrenches them off. Now pinning them to your sides as he chases his climax.

You feel the familiar sensation of his spunk now filling your womb. It's hot and sticky, some of it drips down and staining the sheets, "Fuck..." Emmett knew he should've laid out a towel. By now there was a small puddle of your juices mixed together. He would have to see if there were any blankets during his next run.

"Sh... just go back to sleep," he whispers. He couldn't help himself. He was tired and sore after spending most of the day scavenging for supplies. But as soon as he saw you sleeping soundly, in that sexy slip-on he’d gifted a while back, well, he just couldn't help himself. Is it not in his nature? There was no way you didn't know the power you had on him. He sighs, admiring your bow tuckered form.

It was a smart idea chaining you to the bed post. That reminds him, the purpose of today's trip. Emmett retrieves a salve from his bag. He starts rubbing it into the raw skin of your ankle before covering it with a gauze, "I'm sorry..."

"No, you're not…" you whisper to him. You're right, he's not. He kept both of your hands wrapped up in fabric bindings, so that you wouldn't hurt him or yourself. At first, he didn't mind the scratches, but when you almost claw his eyes out, that's when the idea had struck.

Emmett had warned you that the people weren't the same since then, including himself. He won't admit it, but as soon as he laid eyes on your unconscious form, the only thing he could think of was planting his seed deep inside you. He knew it was a good idea to save you, or was it you who saved him?

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

Donner Party! Ghoap AU Part 2: It’s Cannibalism Time, Boo

A/N: Please please please mind the content warnings!

CW: cannibalism || violence || cannibalism play (but only allusions to smut) || toxic behaviour || catholicism (references to reader wearing a cross) || brief reference to the reader being sick (not graphic) || 18+ only MDNI

Part 1

You go hungry for weeks, before you consider it.

You watch in quiet desperation as the camp's resources dwindle and are then exhausted - all the horses and cattle sacrificed for food, their bones used for soup, the oxhide soles of your shoes chewed down, the oxhide in the roof of your tent boiled and reboiled and reboiled again and again and again to make a shallow semblance of broth. You watch as Simon and Johnny barter and beg and borrow and steal food. Food that they ensure feeds you first, always, without exception.

So when you hear them discuss tentative plans to find alternative means, you convince yourself that the circumstances drive them to it, and you most decidedly don't think of the repercussions of your actions. And even if you wanted to, it's not like your boys would let you dwell on it.

The blood is on their hands, they assure you. It's nothing to do with you. You're just eating the food that they bring you, just as you've done for months now. Nothing has to change.

It's for your survival, pet. You'll die if you don't eat, and we'll die if you do. You won't have that, will you? When Simon says it, it all seems logical. You will die if you don't eat. You're seeing what's happening around the camp, already. You're seeing what the hunger's doing to the people.

You clutch at the cross around your neck, sometimes, in moments of lucidity, when the cold and the hunger are temporarily abated by the insignificant blades of grass or couple of acorns they find for you. If heaven has a keeper who won't let you in for this, Johnny whispers to you in the night, hand clutching yours over your cross, then I'll kill him and take his place instead. You believe him. How could you not?

In moments of clarity, you ponder on what you are to them. A worshipped hostage. A goddess caged. You push the thought away with unease.

It begins when you hear deranged ravings from the other campers, children howling from hunger. Overhear rumours of the cold driving the men insane, of women hardly noticing their toes charring away in the fires in their tents, so frostbitten were they.

It's at that point that Simon and Johnny take you away from the camp. There is nowhere to go, not really. There is only snow, brutal and beautiful and stark and blinding, as far as the eye can see. They can hardly take you away, the way they'd really prefer to. That will come later.

And they don't take you against your will. It all makes perfect sense to you when they explain how the three of you will move away from the desperation that reeks from the rest of the camp. They speak of the camp's plight, the hunger as though they know it intimately. As though they understand it. And if they understand it, surely, they can defeat it.

You're far enough away from the camp that you don't hear the others anymore, but close enough that you still see traces of their presence. It comforts you. It's not that you feel unsafe with the boys, not at all. It's not that. You've never been safer, you know that. But...when you'd first agreed to go with them? It was...but no. No, you're sure that you'd only imagined the unholy, almost wicked gleam in their eyes, twisting their faces beyond recognition. No, it couldn't be right.

Your hunger makes you hallucinate often, after all.

***

When It happens, you're not prepared.

Months of having survived on essentially nothing but grass and frozen seeds and animal bones that had been cooked so many times they'd turned to mush had made the idea of a real, substantial meal...not appealing (all things considered), but you were amenable to it, much more now than you were before.

They've taken care to clean themselves up thoroughly, somehow, and they hadn't given you any details. They'd honoured your two requests. You didn't want anything to do with any of it, but if you had to, then you didn't want to be privy to the sordid details.

They're laughing at an inside joke, as they walk in to the tent that evening. Johnny shoves at Simon's chest slightly, and in response, Simon kisses his knuckles. It's all so...normal. They've lost some muscle mass over the months, their cheeks look sunken and the hollows under their eyes darken every day, but their eyes?

Their eyes shine when they look at each other and when they look at you.

But, no. You're nowhere close to prepared for what you're about to do. You gag when you see the small streak of blood on Johnny's coat, knowing exactly where it'd come from, but thankful not the whom.

He takes it off immediately, apologetic and chagrined, while Simon's arms come around you in silent support, tight, so tight, that they threaten to cut off the blood flow in your chest. It makes the turmoil inside you quieten when he holds you like this.

This is Simon and Johnny. They've looked after you for months. They've promised they'll never stop. They're okay. They'll make everything okay. It'll all be okay.

***

There is something in their eyes as they kiss you that evening.

Sex has been...challenging, but it keeps your mind off things, sometimes. They make you come, over and over and over, and it feels like they light a fire inside you, they swear you glow.

You kiss Johnny for what feels like hours and hours, slow and languid, just about the only activity you've got the strength for, and when he rearranges you so your back is to Simon's chest, you go along with it.

Simon murmurs low in your ear. You need to eat, little love.

You tense, and it makes Johnny pause from where he was kissing his way down your body. You whine at the loss, eager for his touch even in your state, and it makes Simon chuckle. Eat for me, little love, and he'll kiss every inch of you. He won't stop.

You stare at Johnny, and see colour in his cheeks.

There hasn't been colour in his cheeks for months.

You nod tersely, and Simon produces bits of dried meat from somewhere behind him. Keep eating and I won't stop, comes Johnny's reminder.

You keep eating. He doesn't stop.

When you sleep that night, hunger abated, temporarily satisfied, blissfully free of consequences in your relaxed state, you think you hear their whispers.

You hear the butcher's son's name.

You sink deeper into the furs.

***

You can't stop throwing up.

It's been days. You sleep, because what else is there to do, but when you wake up you cry. And it distresses them when you cry, you know that. But you can't help it.

You feel betrayed. There's no other way to put it. You body had betrayed you by accepting nourishment from the most taboo of sources, your boys had betrayed you by convincing you to partake in something you'd rather have died than partaken in, and your god had abandoned you.

You heave and heave, but your stomach's empty and there's nothing for your body to expel. You gag and dry heave, and all they can do is watch you from the corner of the tent that you'd banished them to with dark eyes. You can't bear them touching you. You can barely tolerate their eyes on you.

Sometimes, Johnny watches you with unblinking, sad eyes, and your pity overwhelms you and you allow him to hold your hand. You dry heave again, and you sob when your ribs hurt from it. It makes Johnny cry too.

Simon's eyes only turn darker.

[lady-ashfade]

What about Yan!Rhaenrya with her only female daughter and she gets sick? Maybe she just sits and takes care of her. Just love her as a ✨mother✨

Bedridden

Yan!Mom!Rhaenrya Targaryen x Fem!Reader

This one isn’t as bad but there are themes and stuff. She’s just very protective and I love her as well🥺

This is short!

Warnings: Yandere tendencies, obsessive, protective, overbearing, very short.

It’s been days since you had be able to leave your room, the guards at the ready outside the door or the crushing pain in your head made it hard to leave. Your bed had been your place since you had come down with a sickness, mostly a flew said the maesters. Of course, you knew you would survive but that didn’t stop you from feeling like the gods have been punishing you in some way.

But your mother was somethings you had yet to go without seeing for even a hour at best, she was always by your side no matter what. You told yourself it was what a mother does, be at their child’s side when ill and weak but this ran farther down. She hadn’t slept well from fear you would draw your last breath, or maybe that you would need help up.

Rhaenrya sat in a comfortable chair beside your bed and waited it out with you. She would be sewing something for you, or getting what you had needed to pass the time. The maesters had tried to advise her to leave the room because she could catch it as well but after a few death stares they had stopped.

“Drink up, my dear girl.” Her sweet smile and voice was just a trick. You had no choice but to take your medicine and that means even if she had to hold you down and make you drink it. But thankfully it never came to that. When you slept she would brush your hair back and hum tones that her mother once sang her. Rhaenrya even would lay next to you and try to get some sleep no matter your age.

A cold or hot rag was in her hands and pressed against your forehead. The pillows were fluffed or flattened however you wanted. Always your favorite foods or healthy soups to get you better. She is very sweet and caring for all her children but you were different, her only girl.

Rhaenrya at this time was something to be afraid of for everyone. The slightest mistake regarding your health could be considered treason and punished by death. The food could be slightly off, or something the maester said was wrong, even the wrong look from the servants could set her off. The only ones allowed in are her, the boys and daemon. The servants or maesters are just temporary aloud.

She would still be looking at you like the stars in the shy. Her hand placed on your cheek and rubbing softly against the skin, “My beautiful girl.” Her hushed tone made you feel so safe. “You shall get better soon, mother is here to help.” She leaned forward and her lips pressed themselves against your forehead.

[sandumilfshou]

i have the burning need to write one of those "came back wrong" fics for wwx when they find him again after the first three months in the burial mounds during the sunshot campaign but like. i need to make it REALLY bad

his body shattered when he hit the ground, and resentful energy is the only thing keeping him together. it's so agonising he's learned a way to deaden himself to the chronic pain, to the point that he can get sliced by a sword and literally not feel it, even when he's being patched up again afterwards.

he can barely eat. everything tastes like ash. the smell of meat reminds him of the carrion he was forced to consume to survive. jiang yanli starts preparing vegetarian soups for him filled with even more spice just so he can taste something.

he can't put weight on, but also isn't losing any, and he's pale with sunken cheeks and when he changes to clean himself every single joint seems like its one wrong twist away from bursting through his paper-thin skin.

wwx took in nearly all of the resentful energy in the burial mounds to keep himself alive, to hold him together. there are a thousand ghosts living under his skin, constantly screaming and chattering and whispering, not a single second of true silence. when they're packed in so close to his soul sometimes he forgets that he isn't a we, speaks in plurals and has memories and knowledge that the teenage head disciple of the yunmeng jiang should never have acquired.

that amount of resentful energy would be enough to poison anyone's mind, but only wen qing has read the studies conducted on the effects of consuming human flesh on the living. wei wuxian's brain is slowly deforming, proteins folding all wrong as the prions wrack the entire organ. he has seizures, hallucinates, unpredictable mood swings.

it's clear to literally everyone that wei wuxian is a literal dead man walking. even after the sunshot campaign is finished and he goes home to yunmeng, there is no chance of him getting better, even if they purged all the resentment from him and let his skeleton break apart again. he rescues the wen remnants and brings them back to lotus pier, but wen qing can't fix this. all his siblings and friends can do is watch as each day the wwx they know and love continues to disappear, until all thats left is a skeletal figure unable to move, periodically laughing and mumbling to himself, trapped entirely in delusion as his brain continues to destroy itself.

wwx still dies horribly. but this time he dies surrounded by his loved ones, all tied together by their love for wwx, forming strong and unbreakable bonds.

and eventually, when a young depressed boy still gives his life for revenge, wwx is given a second chance in a body that is whole and unbroken with a brain that works properly, and his siblings and lan zhan and wen qing and all the others welcome him home.

[anonymous-dentist]

War is hell, so Bad feels right at home every time he steps onto the battlefield and pulls out his sword and watches the humans run for their tiny little insignificant lives. He isn’t a monster, so he only kills them when he needs to. (Who is he, Foolish?)

Some of the humans have started teaming up. The strong with the strong, the weak huddling with the weak. It’s pointless when they die, because everyone is alone in the End, but it’s the thought that counts.

Bad himself played solo for a long time, but now he’s managed to get himself a human teammate of his own. A… weird little ragamuffin of a teammate.

“Hey, Bad!”

Bad looks up from his soup to see Candy waving some guy’s arm around like it’s his own, a big toothy grin on his muddy little face.

Bad waves back. “C’mere, dinner’s ready!”

Candy grimaces, but he brings himself and his arm over to the fire, and he picks up the bowl of mushroom soup, and he digs in.

Candy is a strange child.

He’s a cannibal, for one, which is apparently rare among humans; when Bad picked him up, Candy had been blacklisted from most of the other teams because he kept eating his teammates. (Which is crazy, because a growing boy needs to eat!) Sometimes Bad will wake up in the middle of the night to someone gnawing on his arm, but that’s fine, whatever flesh he may lose will just grow back. As long as Candy isn’t starving, he’s useful.

And then there’s the whole amnesiac thing. Because, apparently, Candy was dropped into the war from a literal helicopter, and he doesn’t even know his own name, let alone the guys that deposited him. He knows how to kill, though, so he isn’t all that useless.

He’s called Candy because Bad calls him that. He says he doesn’t have a name, but he’s fine with having a nickname for Bad to call out in the heat of battle. He’s named Candy because, well, he likes candy. It’s the one thing he likes to eat besides human flesh, and Bad can’t exactly call a human child “Flesh”. That would be weird.

Candy shivers in the night wind and pulls his flimsy little coat tighter around his shoulders.

With a sigh, Bad pulls his cloak off and drops it on top of Candy’s head; Candy shouts, but he wiggles the cloak down around his shoulders, practically swimming in it.

(Candy is so small, it’s hard to believe he’s fifteen. Between the supposed white helicopter that brought him to war and the amnesia and the burn scars on his temples, Bad has an idea as to what happened, but, honestly, he doesn’t care. Really. Because Candy is going to die any day now, and he’ll be much happier in the afterlife.)

“I’ve been thinking,” says Candy.

Bad gasps dramatically. “Really?”

Candy ignores him: “When I get out of here, I wanna be a detective.”

And isn’t that a thought, escaping the war? Of course, Bad can leave at any time. But the humans like Candy are trapped.

(Occasionally, Bad has thought about leaving and bringing Candy with him to start training as his replacement, but the kid isn’t quite Grim Reaper material beyond being astonishingly good at killing people.)

“What, so you can find your family?” Bad asks.

Candy shakes his head. “I want to find the helicopter. I want to kill them.”

“Oooh, good idea! When you do, send me pictures!”

“Duh,” Candy scoffs. He points his spoon at Bad with a roll of the eyes all the attitude of a human teenager. “But you’re actually coming with me, sooooo….”

Bad raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Candy nods. “Yeah! We’re teammates! You have to be there!”

With that fire in his eyes and the blood still crusting his lips and fingers, it’s easy to see why this kid is one of the most feared soldiers out there. It’s why Bad has kept him so long. (He definitely isn’t attached, shhh!)

So Bad nods, playing along. “Sure, sure.”

Because, really, Candy is going to be dead soon. Call it a gut feeling. Nobody Bad has ever gotten along with has survived this long, so the poor kid is going to die in a few days. The war is going to take him like it’s taken so many others, and there’s nothing Bad can do about it.

And, four days later when they get separated in a battle, Bad doesn’t bother looking for him when the bodies are all on the floor. Candy isn’t among them, but he’s probably off dying in a ditch somewhere else.

Bad flicks the blood off his sword and stalks into the night in search of his next victory, not noticing two tear-filled, terrified blue eyes following him until he’s out of sight.

(And eleven years later when Bad sees Cellbit in the ruins of a crashed cargo ship, and when Cellbit notices him and immediately bursts into a huge grin, Bad almost wonders if he’s managed to break the curse after all.)

[akiranzee]

❤️ • ° ` — “HATE TO LOVE YOU”

-> PAIRINGS: Sanemi Shinazugawa x f!Hashira!Y/n -> SUMMARY: You like him, but he hates you. Or so you think. -> WORD COUNT: 2.0k+ -> CONTAINS: fluff, a little cursing, a little suggestive (it’s js 1 paragraph lol), sanemi is 21 & reader is 19. -> A/N: this was sitting in my drafts for quite a while LMAO. anw, i’m gonna change some things here; genya got killed by his mother, so meaning only sanemi survived.

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------------Complete!------------

It was that time of season, which you hated most, feeling all cold and shivering.

“Y/n-san!” Someone called out to you, only to reveal the kind boy you have met back at the Hashira meeting.

“Oh, Tanjiro-kun!” You yelled back, waving at him all smiley.

“What are you doing here, Y/n-san?” And you just then realized you are right in front of the wind hashira’s estate.

You didn’t know what you even came here for, perhaps you forgot, or perhaps you just... felt like it.

You asked Tanjiro the same question, his answer somewhere being ‘Shinobu-san asked me to bring Shinazugawa-san his medicines’.

Well, good luck Tanjiro.

Oh, now you remember.

Now you remember what you were doing in front of the wind hashira’s estate.

You wanted to give him some ohagis you made, which by the way, you’re holding right now.

I mean, he got injured in his last mission, so of course you have to pay him a visit. Especially when you like him, after all.

But instead of handing him the ohagis, you decided to pussy out and go back to your own estate.

Reaching your estate, you place the ohagis on the table and ate it in his stead.

You had dreams of one day, in this table, the both of you would eat, and he would sit right in front of you, talking about sweet nothings.

Also, desires of where he’ll sleep beside you in the bed, naked and covered in sweat, making love like there’s no tomorrow.

Those were the dreams and desires you wished to achieve. But you know damn well, that they will only be your dreams and desires, and will be nothing more than that.

It’s a painful thought, of course. But you can’t help but think he hates you.

And he’s shown countless signs of it.

When one time, you did hand him some ohagis you made, but he just told you to scram off. So in the end, you just decided to go back later when he’s inside his estate, and leave it outside.

Second time was when Oyakata-sama assigned you both for a mission. It was an easy mission, the demon wasn’t even an uppermoon or a lowermoon. It was just a normal one. But even so, Sanemi spat out his usual words to say to you, ‘weak’, ‘fragile’, ‘useless’, and ‘pitiful’.

Third time was when he also got very injured and you can’t help but get worried of course. So you and your dumbass decided to volunteer to bring Sanemi’s soup and medicine, only to be thrown straight to your face.

You’re lucky the soup was just mild hot, or else your face would’ve been burned.

And well, those were the times you clearly remember as they were the most hurtful times with him by far.

But even so, you still like him. Whatever can this feeling called ‘love’ ever do to a person? It’s crazy and it’s scaring you.

It’s scary how every single time he keeps pushing you away, you fall for him more and more instead.

It’s scary how every single time he curses at you, you even talk to him more and more.

It’s scary how every single time he rolls his eyes and avoids you, you follow him more and more.

It’s scary how ‘love’ can turn you into this kind of person.

And you don’t even hate it. Not even a single bit.

Even your friends, or your fellow hashiras ask you why, why did you fall in love with this scary scarred maniac.

And you don’t even know why. It must have been just... fate.

~~~~~

2 weeks later, Oyakata-sama called you for a mission.

It was to assassinate the lowermoon 2, somewhere deep in the forest.

You’ve been running around the dark forest for which you’ve estimated to be 3 hours atleast.

It was tiring, sure, but you’ve trained for more than a year to reach where you are now.

And you can’t let this lowermoon stop you.

It was a dumb act, that you’ve only realized the purpose of this demon once you were tired enough.

It was to tire you while running around the whole forest looking for him, when the forest itself is the demon’s blood demon art.

And once you’ve reached your limit, the demon camouflaged you at the right time, injuring your stomach and right leg.

You were obviously at a disadvantage, and your injuries hurted like hell, especially when it’s winter, and the cold is slowing you down.

But those didn’t stop you. Instead, you took your katana that fell out of your grip the moment the demon injured you, and tried your best to execute your fighting stance.

It was hard to breathe, your vision was slowly getting blurry, and your chest was feeling heavy.

It was as if you were almost gonna pass out, considering that you’ve went past your limits already.

The demon was about to attack you, and you were about to defend, but then suddenly, not even in a blink, the demon’s head fell off.

You didn’t know why or how, but your confusion was quickly solved when you saw a certain white haired man strolling right up to you.

“S-Shinazugawa-san!” You called out, causing your knees to give in, and causing Sanemi to sprint towards you.

If he hadn’t caught both your arms by now, you would’ve fallen head first to the ground.

“W-What are you doing here?” You managed to stutter out, blood dripping out of your mouth.

“Let’s get you to the butterfly estate first.” Sanemi said gruffly, swiftly carrying you in his arms bridal-style like you weigh just as a feather, and off he ran.

It was short, simple, and brash. But you swore you saw something wet in his eyes.

But you must’ve been just imagining it. Why would he, Sanemi Shinazugawa, the cold hearted wind pillar, cry for someone like you?

Your vision is blurry, that must be it.

Then, darkness completely takes over your sight, and falling asleep into his arms.

~~~~~

It’s comfy, warm, and soft. You tried to open your eyes and adjust to the lighting, only to hear a shriek coming from Aoi,

“HYA! L/N-SAN IS AWAKE!!” Aoi called out, sprinting out of the room and repeated the sentence thrice.

Your eyes were hurting by how the light hit your eyes, but even so, you still saw the one and only, Sanemi Shinazugawa.

“Let me have a minute with her.” Sanemi breathed out, and that was all it took for the both of you to be left alone.

“Sanemi-san... How are you?” You asked, smiling oh so gently at him without even noticing you called him by his first name.

“...You ask me that? Why don’t you look at your fucking self!? You look more pathetic and weak than me, hell, do you even care about yourself at this point!?” Sanemi snapped, and you were shocked.

Shocked because he never or you never saw him acting this way towards others. Even with Rengoku’s death, he didn’t cry, he didn’t get angry when they’ve known each other far more longer than the both of you know each other.

So why? Why does Sanemi Shinazugawa care for you? When after all, all he’s ever done was to push you away, curse at you, and roll his eyes at you.

So what does this sudden change mean?

“Damn it... Why can’t you just atleast stay...” Sanemi whispered under his breath, but you swore it was loud enough for the whole room to hear it.

“What do you mean?” Sending him a questioning and confused gaze, only to realize you weren’t supposed to hear that.

“Stop. Just stop. I don’t want to do anything with you anymore. Why do you keep making me feel like this? I hate this. I don’t like you. I despise you. I shouldn’t have saved you. I hate you.” He sprouted words again, but this time, you were far from believing them.

You saw the look on his eyes while saying those things, as if they were the complete opposite to what he just said.

He was on the verge of tears.

~~~~~

Sanemi Shinazugawa. 21 years old. Cold, arrogant, aggressive, and scary. Name him any heartless names you have, and it will easily define him.

Sanemi Shinazugawa. 13 years old. Kind, friendly, and bright. Name him any kind names you have, and it will easily define him.

Whatever does this two have a difference? It’s of the same man, but with different personalities.

Ah, that’s right. It was when Sanemi Shinazugawa still had everything, and when he had lost everything.

He was just a child, who’s childhood has been robbed away from him.

He was just a person, who tried to protect his family.

He was just a human, who make mistakes.

But why? Why can he never keep anything or anyone for himself?

His mother, his siblings, Masachika, Genya, all the people important and close to him. He could never keep them.

They’d always die when they’re near him. They’d always end up in a pool of blood, with tons of injuries.

Sanemi can never keep anything and nothing can ever belong to him. He always lose everything. He can never call something or someone his.

~~~~~

“W-What do you mean, Shinazugawa-san?” You reached out to his face, trying to wipe the tears away, but he obviously just slaps it away.

“Don’t touch me dammit.” He looks at you with anger, and maybe hatred. But his voice cracks, as if he didn’t want to say that.

“Sanemi-san, why do you keep pushing me away? I've always tried to be your friend, but why? Why do you hate me so much?” You questioned, feeling your heart break and tears threatening to spill out.

“I can never keep anyone.” He started, slowly calming down.

“Everyone who I’ve called friend, family, and brother. I’ve lost all of them. They all end up dying. I don’t want to get close to you, or else you might just become one of them. Be a bloody body laying on a pool of blood, all lifeless right in front of me. I don’t want to get attached to you, but you just keep going near me and it’s annoying.” He slowly looked at you, and you could see his eyes filled with sadness.

Ah, so that’s why. That’s why he’s always pushing you away, always rejecting you, always avoiding you. He just tried to protect you.

“The day you tried to give me ohagi, I had to build up much courage to push you away, but I found and ate it outside my estate either way. The day that Oyakata-sama also assigned us both on a mission, I told you those things to make you feel worthless and helpless. I didn’t want you fighting that demon, because who knows, you might just die in front of me. Also when you brought me that soup, I didn’t mean to throw it straight at your face. I aimed at the door, but my hand didn’t function correctly if I may say. On that last winter too, you gifted me 2 kimonos but I didn’t have any gift for you. And this winter too, you were about to give me ohagi, weren’t you?” He continued, looking away from your eyes.

It’s great that he looked away from you, or else he could’ve seen the ugly look on your face while crying.

You were crying because you weren’t sad. Instead because you were happy. Happy that you now knew your crush doesn't hate you.

And because he was rude to you not because he hates you, but because he wanted you to live.

You find yourself sitting up, reaching for his neck, and pulling him in for a hug.

That was his breaking point.

Tears started to flow down his cheeks, burying his face in your chest, and this time, he hugged back, not pushing you away anymore.

“Maybe. Just maybe, I could keep you. You could be mine.” Sanemi thought, slowly tightening his hug on you.

Sanemi Shinazugawa didn’t love to hate you. He hated to love you.