❝「 宮崎 」❞

- gojo satoru x reader

you were his last remainder of the happiest blue spring in his life, until your untimely demise. and on the death's door, he finally found you again.

genre/warnings: angsty wangsty, consolation towards the end

notes: i said i can't create gojo fics without feeling depressed, so here i present to you, angst. it's inspired from a thread in twitter i read about how gojo was given everything but he couldn't do anything and my heart just incredibly hurts and―this happened. it's unedited because the idea popped into my mind at 1 in the morning

i wrote this while listening to this wonderful song. consider it the theme song for this piece. i highly recommend you to read this and listen to it!

[update] sequel -> found you

general masterlist

You were so pretty. So really pretty, in fact. And he likes pretty things. Perhaps that was what spurred him to spontaneously ask you out.

You declined him at first―after all, he was a special grade weirdo. And you half-expected him to give up soon enough, only that he didn't. He persisted like a cockroach, smothering you with his very being. Then like a sweet romance novel, you too finally fell for him, melting at his clumsy attempts to woo you.

And by God, you were happy together. To Satoru, it was the brightest, most vibrant page in his life. And with his very being, he would do everything he could to protect you. After all, he was blessed with the best, he had all means to protect you.

He should've known better.

Theodore Nott x Reader

Warnings: 18+ content (sex), swearing

Description: The reader is embarrassed by the hickies Theo left on her, but she's not one to speak.

Merlin, you were pissed. Or, maybe — maybe you were embarrassed. Afterall, there were purple and yellow bruises all over your breasts and along your collarbone and up the sides and back of your neck. Despite your best efforts, your makeup hadn’t covered them all, and the collar of your blouse kept smearing the foundation and exposing more of them to the entire student body. A student body who couldn’t stop talking about you.

“Trip down the stairs did you, Y/n?” Pansy teased.

“Our very own Slytherin slut,” Daphne laughed fondly.

“By the name of Salazar,” Blaise breathed heavily at the sight of them.

You could only sigh in frustration, your head in your palms, “Guys, stop, please. Everyone and their mothers are giving me shit about it, you don’t need to join in.”

You weren’t lying. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Snape had practically burnt a hole through your neck, and then, in Transfiguration, McGonagall had quietly asked if you needed to step out to touch up your makeup. The worst, however, was Potions with Slughorn. His opinion of you since the beginning of the year had been purely positive since your family were fairly wealthy and you achieved some of the highest grades in his class. When he saw the hickeys all over you, though, his bulbous nose had turned up in disgust and he made a most unpleasant grunt of disproval. You were sure you had made his blacklist.

“This warrants murder,” said Pansy.

“It does, doesn’t it?” You asked, “I am so fucking mad at him for this.”

Oh, but you could hardly speak.

You and Theo (your boyfriend and hickey-giver) both received invitations to a party that was held the night before, and despite knowing you had school the next day, you went. Once you were about ten drinks in, you were completed sloshed, and when you were completely sloshed, you got horny.

Though the crowd of party-goers stood between yourself and Theo, you could still see every part of him. He was just standing there, chatting with Blaise and Draco, a can of cheap beer held lazily in his right hand while his left was barely touching his hip. He was so, so hot. You bit your lip sexily then made your way over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, kissing the back of his white shirt, and leaving stains of red lipstick all over it.

“Hey, Y/n, baby,” he hummed, happy from all the drinks he’d downed in the three hours prior, “What’s up?”

“Teddyyy,” you mused and stared up at him as he looked over his shoulder at you, “I want sex.”

Blaise and Draco snickered and Theo shot them a glare. After that, you can imagine what happened. Lots of moaning, groaning, grunting, panting. Enough snogging to last you both a lifetime, but not really because there was no such thing as “enough snogging,” and love making that lasted well past the rise of the sun that peeked through the window to Theo’s dorm room and illuminated every gorgeous curve of your body.

While Theo was the kind of sexual partner to want to leave marks all over you — not because he was the jealous type, just the prideful type, he liked everyone to see that he’d won you — you were the kind of sexual partner who liked it rough. You liked to feel his dick more or less pounding against your womb, so close that it almost warranted a trip to Madame Pomfrey. You liked when he thrusted into you fast, but not sloppy, always obeying your comments of ‘faster, Theo’ and ‘honey, please, I need it faster.’ But he couldn’t obey too much, you were very particular about that. He had to make you feel good, but he still had to be in control. It was always best if he gave in to every third or fourth demand, so that you had to beg for it. But the best part about rough sex with Theo? Well, it was what made you such a hypocrite.

“Mate,” Draco gaped at Theo’s back in the locker rooms before quidditch practice, “Did you get into a fight with a werewolf or something?”

Theo frowned in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

Draco motioned for Theo to move into view of the mirror and when he got a good look at his reflection he joined in the gaping. Long, red lines ran down his back like the British army at the Battle of Balaclava. He had become a canvas and you had painted him with your claws. He ought to have them clipped, Merlin’s beard.

The scratches were mostly up and down (go figure), but there were are couple that ran horizontally which Theo couldn’t place the origin of. You had torn him apart, you freak.

And that’s when you stormed into the locker room. Pucey had squealed, that was the first sign that you had entered. The second was the smart-ass warning that escaped Draco’s mouth ( “Look what the cat dragged in… or maybe she herself is the cat,” he said.

“She is the cat’s mother,” you responded, annoyed, and kicked him in the shin.

“My point still stands,” he laughed painfully).

Your hands were covering your eyes so as to not expose yourself to the privates of the entire Slytherin Quidditch team, and Theo thought you looked like a total dork in the cutest way. A pout had settled on your lips to make up for the fact that your frown was also hidden behind your hands.

“Theodore Nott!” You huffed and the locker room broke out into a chorus of ‘ooh’s, “Shut up, all of you — Theodore, look at what you’ve done to my neck.”

“I can’t really see behind your hands, lovey,” said Theo and you swore you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Use your imagination then, I’m sure you remember what you did to me last night — Oh, aren’t you all so mature,” you hissed as the boys erupted into laughter like little children.

You felt Theo’s hands settle on your hipbones as if they were arm rests. He pulled you in until your nose hit his chest and removed your hands from your face. So safe you were in his presence that you couldn’t see any of the other boys around you. With his big eyes that were more ocean-coloured than sky, he stared down at you, and flashed his brilliantly white grin.

“You aren’t much better, you know?” He said with a tone of question in his voice and continued to talk when he realised you didn’t know what he was talking about, “My back?”

He turned for you and upon seeing the mess you had evidently made on his back, you shut your mouth.

“Even?” Asked Theo.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

summary: in which theodore nott will do anything to get you to go out with him, but you’re just as stubborn rejecting him

warnings: swearing, kissing, dangerous stunts and theo being stupid (ryan gosling in the notebook style), unedited since i wrote this in the middle of the night on no sleep again lol. enemies to lovers if you squint a bit

author’s note: since everyone loves theo i’ll pretend this isn’t just for my own selfish needs <3 (especially the notebook reference) also surprise surprise mc is a gryffindor as always, you’d never know i was a slytherin my bad guys… as always let me know what u think! enjoy, angels 💌

The first time Theodore Nott asks you out, you spill a pot of ink directly into his lap.

It’s not like you meant to do it. But when there’s a Transfiguration worksheet to be getting on with, the Slytherin boy seated next to you by Professor McGonagall asking you out would surely take anyone by surprise.

The second you twist in your seat to look at him in shock, your arm slides the pot right off the desk and directly onto his grey trousers, instantly staining them with the black liquid before you have a chance to speak.

Your hands fly to your mouth to stifle your gasp and you look up at him, anticipating an angry glare in return. Instead, he looks mildly surprised at the ever-growing stain on his crotch, but mostly… amused?

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed, darling,” he says, raising an eyebrow and suppressing a smile.

tldr: all the ways jeonghan uses your nickname a/n: but mom, i love him. (there is a makeout scene in this...)

pesters: but only in good fun

“lovie,” he coos at you, encouraged by the blush on your cheeks. he could tell by the look in your eyes, you were embarrassed but not upset. you hadn’t thought anything of it when he suggested you wear the green hoodie in your closet to visit him and the members in the practice room. 

“need to let everyone know we’re together?” he couldn’t help but poke fun at you as you walked into the room wearing a matching hoodie to his. you had no knowledge he had even worn the offending garment today. if you had, you wouldn’t be in yours, especially not in front of his members and their staff.  

“i’m pretty sure everyone already knows.” his teasing didn’t let up, even as he wrapped his arms around you, pleased to see you had fallen right into his trap. you faintly heard joshua scoff somewhere behind you, too focused on the man in front of you to really give him any attention, “you guys are gross.” 

─ PINK RIBBONS

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, domesticity, you being jeonghan's whole world (mention of the military) 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!jeonghan x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 792

natalia's note: idc if this is too dramatic, i don't want jeonghan to go

⦗💌 ⦘your favourite past time? playing with your boyfriend's hair, duh. sadly, it's the last time you get to do it for the next two years.

“here,” jeonghan drops a bunch of… somethings in your lap and sits down on the fluffy rug you bought last month, his back facing you. 

your boyfriend’s randomness is nothing new; even before you began dating, you quickly found out that yoon jeonghan was an unpredictable man. but no matter how much time has passed since you agreed to be his girlfriend, you are still taken aback each and every time he decides to do something out of the blue in his jeonghan fashion. 

i. to be in love is to fall in reverie, to drown deeply in it, and to feel it bloom in your heart with each and every beat. to be in love is to ride the waves– to feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins and to feel the slow, comfortable sway of the water.

it is everything he does not imagine it to be. to feel loved is entirely too strange to him– frightening, but reassuring.

he loves it. he loves you, even if he hardly speaks the words. he is not one for dramatic declarations of affection; instead, he finds expression through the little things, whether it is the warmth of his hand when you walk side by side during strolls in the garden or the gentle kisses against your temple when you wake together in the mornings.

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

prompt: her death leaves behind a void in draco’s chest nothing can ever fill.

t/w: death and mentions of anxiety

requests are open. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

Five months.

He’s gone five months without her. And he’s determined to keep going—he has to. He has to. 

But goddamn does it bloody well hurt.

—

In the middle of a quiet cemetery stands a boy in a black suit and a cluster of white roses clasped in his hands, eyes staring but unseeing as he stands over one of the countless tombstones with his heart in his throat and what feels like a gaping hole inside his chest.

“I miss you.”

Snow falls from the sky. Bits of it sink deep into the fabric of his suit, fall into his hair, some onto his face. But Draco doesn’t feel it, the bite of the cold. His knuckles may have turned a pinkish red from the frost and his blond hair may have turned stiff from the flakes of snow stuck in it, but he doesn’t feel cold.

He’s been cold for five months now. He can’t feel it anymore.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

It has, says the voice inside his head that keeps him company when he feels the loneliest—when the pain becomes too much to bear—the voice that he knows isn’t real and hates that it isn’t. The one that sounds painfully like her.

“Yeah,” Draco continues, bottom lip trembling, and it’s not because of the snow. “I’m doing okay.” He lies. Keeps lying. “I think I’m getting better.”

He’s not. He can’t get better, not when he sees traces of her everywhere, even when she isn’t really there.

He sees a wooden desk and remembers her with her head bowed over a sheet of parchment, tongue poking out of her lips in concentration as she chides him—"Not now, Draco, I’m studying“—he pulls out an old chessboard from the crevices of his closet and remembers her grinning in triumph over winning a particularly intense chess game even though he lost on purpose—he walks past a park and remembers lying on the grass in the Hogwarts courtyard with his head in her lap and her fingers raking through his hair as she told him Muggle stories of love and tears and laughter and everything in between. Stories with happy endings; so unlike Draco’s and hers.

He squeezes his eyes shut; tears fall and trickle down his cheek onto the ground, joining the bundle of snow at his feet. 

"Life hasn’t really been the same since—”

A sob tears its way up his throat and out of his lips before he can even think about suppressing it. 

“—since you left.”

With his other hand—the hand that’s not grasping onto the bouquet of roses like it’s a lifeline—he wipes his tears away aggressively, almost angrily.

“I’ve started talking to myself a lot lately even though I know you’re not going to respond because I’ve been so used to you being here to listen and now you’re not.”

Another sob. Pathetic, says a voice inside Draco’s head. Not her voice. Never hers. She would never make him feel bad for feeling things—no, she’d crouch down next to him on the floor, wrap her arms around him and say “Everything’s going to be okay, love. I’m right here with you. Right here” and he’d look up at her and start crying even harder, because in a world where his parents expected too much from him and he was never good enough, he had her.

Or, well. He used to.

Draco clenches his fists, nails digging crescents into his skin as his breathing gets uneven and the air suddenly feels too tight. He tries to ground himself by inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth and repeating the process—

“That’s it, love. Keep breathing. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere." 

Draco took another shaky breath, trying to focus on her face even though her features were blurred and he didn’t quite know where to look through the tears obscuring his vision.

Panic attacks. He hated them. Hated the hand that felt like it had reached straight into his chest and started squeezing. Hated the tears that slipped out of his eyes almost automatically.

"It’s okay, Draco. Breathe with me.”

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, shoulders trembling from the effort. “You’re doing such a good job, Draco,” she said gently. Draco let out a long, shuddering breath. “You’re doing so well. Now breathe. Breathe with me. In through the nose, out through the mouth—that’s it, love, keep going. In through the—the—” her voice broke. Draco couldn’t see it—and maybe it was better that way—but she’d started crying at some point.

“In through the nose,” she continued, swallowing back a sob. “Out through the mouth. I love you, Draco. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I know you’d probably get mad at me for this if you were here, but sometimes.. well.. sometimes I find myself wishing I was dead.”

And even though there’s no one around that’s listening and Draco is the only living, breathing soul among the countless graves, he feels exposed. Bare. Like he’s laid his biggest vulnerability out for the rest of the world to see. 

“I wake up everyday,” he says slowly, a crease in between his brows, "I stare up at the ceiling for a little bit. And then I get up, eat, sleep. Get up, eat, sleep. Over and over and over again.“

A pause. "It all just seems so.. pointless,” he bows his head, staring at his shoes as though he's ashamed. And he is. He’s ashamed that he’s like this—because he knows that if she were here (which she isn’t, says that annoying little voice at the back of his head) she’d smack him upside the head and say

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco,” she rolled her eyes, glancing up for a brief moment before transferring her gaze back to the textbook in her hands. 

Draco fell quiet again, staring into the embers of the fireplace. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to ask her to drop everything and run away with him on a whim.

A few seconds passed in silence. She looked up at him again out of concern to find that he hadn’t moved at all. A twinge of sadness plucked at her chest and she sighed, closing the book with a soft snap as she set it down on the floor. 

Draco lost himself in his thoughts sometimes. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but she'd seen it enough times to know how bad it could get inside his head. It was a side of himself that he only felt comfortable enough showing to her and her only—a side that he'd kept well hidden under the facade of arrogance he always had put up.

It was when he would start thinking about—well—everything. How he never seemed to match up to his parent’s expectations no matter how hard he tried. He'd think about his obligations as the heir of one of the oldest pureblooded wizarding families. He’d think about his future and wonder if he deserved one with her with that dirty mark on his wrist.

Usually it would take quite a while to snap him out of his reverie, but tonight Draco seemed more lost in his thoughts than ever before. When she got up from the carpet to sit down next to him on the couch, his eyes were still hazy and unfocused. “Draco,” she murmured, sitting with her feet tucked underneath her as she turned to face him. “Draco?”

Her hands reached out for Draco’s, fingers slipping into the spaces between his own of their own accord. At this, he blinked, his gaze clearing, and looked at her. 

“Love,” he breathed quietly.

She pursed her lips in a small smile, squeezing his hand in hers. “I’m here,” she told him, basking in the silence of the Slytherin common room, only interrupted by the sound of her and Draco’s breathing and the crackling sounds from the fireplace. She shifted on the couch to make herself more comfortable, leaning the side of her head on Draco’s shoulder and ignoring the ache of sadness in her chest that would always come when Draco felt down.

“Galleon for your thoughts?” she whispered.

Draco unlaced her hand from his to slowly trace the lines on her palm with his index finger. “It’d take much more than a galleon, love,” he whispered back, and there was a ghost of a small smile on his lips, but it was blanketed by the worry etched deep into his face. 

The corners of her mouth tugged up into a sad smile. There was nothing in the world that she wanted more than to rid Draco of all the worries plaguing his head. He’d grown up surrounded by so much despair and for years he had no one but himself to carry his burden with, but now here she was. And even though she’d already done everything she could to help him—and she continued to do so every single day—it never felt like it was enough. 

“You know you can always tell me everything, yeah?” she said quietly, looking up at him from the corner of her eyes. 

Draco, with his gaze fixed on their hands, nodded. "Yeah.“

"I mean it. Always.”

He smiled, and it was a real one this time. “I know.”

The snow has stopped falling. Draco tastes tears, hot and salty, on his tongue. 

“I’m going to keep going, though,” he tells her. Hangs onto the tiny sliver of hope he has that she is out there somewhere, listening. “I’m going to.. I’m going to keep getting up and eating and sleeping until it doesn’t feel so tiring anymore. Okay?”

Silence. “Does that sound good, love?”

Like shouting into a canyon and waiting for an echo that would never come. 

“I know that’s what you’d want,” he says quietly, gritting his teeth. “For me to keep living. Not to give up. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Don’t give up.”

Draco snorted out a laugh. “Shouldn’t you be telling yourself that?”

He was sitting with her at their usual table in the library; the one right by the window near the restricted section. She had a Potions quiz tomorrow—Draco being the “smartass” he was (or so she called him), didn’t need to study, but she did. Him being her boyfriend, he'd offered to tutor her, unaware that it was easier said than done. She just couldn’t, for the life of her, get the terms right. 

She scoffed. “I don't need to tell myself that. I won’t give up no matter what—you, on the other hand..”

Draco scrunched his nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying you have a tendency to stop trying and call it a day.”

“That is a lie.”

“Is not.”

“Well, I suppose it depends on the task—if it’s tutoring you, then anyone’s bound to give up..”

“Hey!” she reached over the table to smack him on the shoulder. He swiftly dodged, laughing. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile on her face as she sat back down. “Maybe I should be getting a different tutor.”

“Or maybe you should just be studying harder.”

“Or maybe you should actually be trying to teach me—”

“I am!”

“—without giving up halfway!" 

Draco huffed. "Okay. Fine. Let’s try this again. What’s another word for wolfsbane?”

“Um,” a pause. “No idea. Okay. I’m sorry." 

He let out an overly dramatic sound of complaint. 

"Don’t give up, Draco,” she reminded him, fighting back a laugh. “Don’t give up.”

Draco crouches down next to the grey tombstone already decorated with all sorts of flowers from friends and family and places his own set of white roses right next to her name. With hands that won’t stop trembling, he pulls out a tiny box from his pocket.

“I was supposed to give this to you after the war,” he says quietly, presses his palm to the snow under which he knows she’s resting, looking as breathtaking as she always has with her eyes closed.

“I wish I could’ve given it to you when I had the chance, but..”

“Don’t do this to me, love.”

Draco couldn’t think straight. He gathered her into his arms and cradled her the way he had done countless times before, except this time she wasn’t smiling up at him with a familiar sparkle in her warm eyes—no, she was limp and cold and her eyes were open but unseeing. 

“No no you can't—you can’t do this to me—” Draco was gasping for breath that wasn’t there. Choking on his tears, he shook his head repeatedly, rocking back and forth on the ground, "Look at me, love, you promised you wouldn’t leave—"

In the middle of a destroyed hallway, with the battle of Hogwarts in full fledge all around him, a boy in bloodied robes and an entire ocean caught between his lashes knelt on the ground, cradling the only person who had ever mattered to him in his arms as she did exactly what he was begging her not to do—

“You can’t leave me like this, love. Don’t leave me like this, please please—”

—and died.

Left him. Just like that.

In the middle of the empty cemetery, a boy in a black suit kneels next to a tombstone, hands shaking as they gingerly set down a small, golden ring on the grave marker. Pulling out his wand, he whispers a spell and enchants the beautiful golden band to stay there for as long as the world exists.

Draco closes his eyes, inhales through his nose, exhales through his mouth.

And then he leaves. 

Summary: Newt’s day has come, and Tina’s the only one present to say goodbye. Inspired by “Dying to See Her” by Brad Paisley.

Word Count: 1,560

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Tag List: @dont-give-a-bother @ly–canthrope @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @red-roses-and-stories @caseoffics @benniesgalaxy @thosefantasticbeast2 @studyforthreehands @whatinbenaddiction

WARNING: Death Mention

He hadn’t been the same for a long time. The Newt they knew, he was gone long ago, and now Tina paces here at the side of his bed, the poisonous bite already seeping through his bloodstream and killing him slowly. St. Mungo’s had already said they could do nothing for him, that it was too far gone to be stopped now.

“Newt, I love you, you know that.”

He smiles, though it’s more of a grimace at this point. “I know.”

“And I don’t—I don’t see why they won’t do anything. There must be something they can do, something they can use, right? Some potion or spell or… or something?”

Newt shakes his head once, a slow movement that only furthers to drain the color from his face. “There’s nothing.”

“But you had a whole notebook. Something must be in it.”

Newt’s eyes shut. “There’s nothing, Tina. I was foolish. This is what I get.”

Her lower lip wobbles, just the slightest. She doesn’t, after all, have time to cry yet, not while he’s still alive in this hospital room for a few more seconds. “The war may have taken her, but you survived it, Newt. You don’t have to let yourself die.”

“It’s my time.”

“Newt,” she mumbles, grabbing his hand, “please don’t do this. She’d want you to live.”

Newt’s hand is cold and heavy in hers.

“Is it so bad if I join her again?”

She squeezes his fingers, nodding. “Yes. Yes, it’s very bad if you do. We need you here, Newt. Queenie and I need you. Jacob needs you. Pickett needs you.”

A shaky breath passes between Newt’s lips. “Tina, the guilt game won’t stop the creature’s poison.”

Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words, but is it worth the memories? 

A short free write that was inspired because Spotify kept playing my sad songs.

Word Count: 880

The room’s dark, cool, untouched save for this moment as Newt gently sets aside two old Dickens books and a couple of folders of notes scrawled in a familiar handwriting. They’re to be shipped out in a few days, sent back to a shell of a house, and they mean little to him now. He has plenty of musty books, and that handwriting fills the margins of his journals; he doesn’t need to hang onto any more.

No, what he wants is under both, and he grunts as he removes it, brushing the dust from the top of it.

The heavy, white book is clumsy, a hassle to hold and fold under his arm, so he simply falls back and sets it on his lap.

The ticking of his watch fills the quiet room, its only accompaniment the noise of a beast outside roaring. Were anyone else in the room, they would question him, the way he stares at the book, one finger tracing its edges, eyes frozen on the blank cent, but Newt is alone as he always is now, so he fields no questions, just sits with his thoughts and that numbing ice building in his gut. He knows he should crush it, but is it really worth crushing the one thing keeping him from falling apart simply to say he’s moved on?

Hours or seconds may have passed—Newt isn’t sure, he hardly bothers to keep track anymore—before he slides a finger under the thick cover. He pauses for just a moment before he slowly pushes the cover up, letting it land with a soft thump against his thigh.

The sight freezes his breath in the middle of his throat, that ice scaling from his gut to the very core of his being, filling him out, stopping everything but the panicked beat of his heart.

You’re there, cheek on his shoulder, pointing to a paragraph in the book he’s holding, the top of your head pressed against his cheek, knees curled up against your chest, your free hand slid into his own, fingers intertwined. Then, just before the picture ends, you look up and grin, raising a hand to wave.

Oh Merlin, he can’t breathe.

You wave over and over and over, smiling up at him and Newt’s not sure how to do anything but watch. He should look away, should shut the book and hide it in the crate of letters and lost notes being shipped away, but this… this is all he has left that means anything.

So he just stares at the first photo in the album, letting his heart pound so loud he can no longer hear his own breath.

He stares, and he remembers.

He remembers.

He remembers and soon there are tears on his cheeks, spilling down without his notice.

He remembers and soon that ice in his gut is cracking and fracturing and splitting away.

He remembers and soon he can almost believe that you’re gone, that you’re lost to him and that he’ll never hold you in his arms again or let you run a hand through his hair or kiss you when you’re half asleep and earn a sleepy smile that he loves – no, loved.

Newt shuts his eyes, blocking out the picture.

Remembering – that’s the hardest part, isn’t it?

With a steady breath but eyes swimming with tears, he shuts the cover. One picture, that’s enough for today. One picture will get him through the week. It’s improvement from staring at the cover for hours, failing to work up the nerve to see you whole again.

The book thuds against the other files in the trunk, but Newt doesn’t worry for them, he just sets it where it belongs, runs a finger down the side a final time, and shuts the trunk’s lid.

He knows tomorrow night he’ll be back in here, staring at the cover again, that ice crawling into his throat and threatening to suffocate him, but he still locks the door as he steps out of the hut. The case’s creatures all roar and squeak and cluck around him, but he simply drags his feet to the bed, his hand falling into his pocket, wrapping around the watch, the last thing you gave him before he left for Africa.

He falls, fully clothed, onto the wrinkled sheet, staring at the ceiling, once painted with stars until Newt rushed back and painted over them, unable to spend another sleepless night staring at what you once adored.

Time, they all say, will help, but time did nothing but draw the two of you apart until it was too late.

Newt’s eyes flutter shut for the night, the thoughts venturing into territories too painful to consider, and he falls into a restless sleep filled with nightmares of monsters and enemies and his own slow train. On the nearby desk, Pickett stirs, back against a bundle of dried flowers, a bit of dirt still stuck to their stems.

Pairing : Akutagawa x Reader

A/N : Akutagawa’s sadness is saved for last. We all love a sad emo boy. Don’t we. Don’t we? This is all from Akutagawa’s point of view by the way. I hope you enjoy. I’m so sorry this took so long! There’s been a lot going on but it’s out now! Finally finished Angstember!

T/W : Suicide ; Depression ; Mental Illness ; Anguish ; Desperation ; Angst ; Self Harm

Angstember Day 12

Time’s had been tough, time’s were always tough. Thinking that someone like him would be able to help you was probably stupid, but you fell for him, and by some miracle he had fallen for you as well. He was never warm, never cuddly, he never showed his love all that well, but he was there. For a time, that seemed like enough, just to have someone there with you, but then the darkness became overbearing. There was nothing more you could do, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Life was already hell, so who cares if you ended up there for what you were about to do… right?

The moon was rising, the bright silvery white orb lit up the clouds in the sky that moved in front. It was almost as bright as the sun tonight, he was sure that you were out on the balcony watching it the same way he was. You loved to watch the sunset and the moon rise, you had always taken it as a sign that he would be home soon. He never let you know, but he would count down the hours to sunset, knowing that soon he would be home with you.

Tonight, that wasn’t the case. He had to work over, and he thought of shooting you a message to let you know, but he didn’t want to bother you. He allowed you to have your personal time, something that he assumed you enjoyed since you never texted him when he was at work. He never knew that you didn’t message him because you felt like a bother, that you never called him because you felt annoying, like a pain in the ass. If he knew that, he would have told you that it’s okay, that he wanted to talk to you, that he wanted to know that you’re okay.

Akutagawa wasn’t one to share his feelings, especially not with you. It made him feel weak, it made him feel soft. He wouldn’t get Dazai’s acceptance if he was weak, if he expressed how he felt to you. Maybe he shouldn’t have put Dazai ahead of you, maybe he should have told you how much he loved you, how much he loved to hear your voice, how he’d smile whenever you, on a rare occasion, would send him a text.

Maybe it’s the fact that he wasn’t brave enough, the fact that he had been rejected, thrown away, and unloved his entire life that kept him from opening up to you. The one person in his life that he truly loved, other than his sister, the one person in his life who seemed to actually want him around, who appreciates his existence, who cared. He should have told you that he loved having you around, that your existence in itself was the greatest gift, the most wonderful miracle, and it was truly a mystery to him why someone like you would and could ever love him the way that he loved you.

You hadn’t talked much all day… now that he thinks about it, you hadn’t talked at all. The hours at work seemed to drag, and although he knew he shouldn’t be worried, he couldn’t help the feeling of dread that seemed to be forming a pit in his stomach. He tried to put it off, that he was just over reacting, he wasn’t used to staying over for work, he just wanted to be home with you already. He fought the urge to call you, knowing that you’d either be sleeping already, or in the middle of watching a movie or reading. He hated bothering you, at least that’s what he felt like he was doing whenever he messaged you randomly. So he pushed the feeling far back in his mind. He would feel better once he was with you.

“Alright Akutagawa, you can head home now.” Mori stood in the doorway, watching as he filed away papers into the folders. He nodded to his boss, pushing away from the desk, handing the folders to Mori as he walked past him. As he walked down the long hallway leading to the elevator he pulled out his phone. Still no texts or calls from you, it felt weird. He was used to not having much contact with you while he was working, but something about the lack of notifications tonight made him nervous.

He made up his mind. He would call you, just to hear your voice. Just to make sure that you were okay. His fingers were steady as he dialed your number, but his heart was erratic as the ringing filled his ears. He stood in the elevator, his back against the wall as he waited for you to answer the phone, but you never did. “Dammit, Y/N…” he muttered, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

The walk home felt eerie, something that put his off. The dreadful feeling in his stomach was building, bubbling over, as if something had been left on the stove to boil. He was used to you not answering your phone, used to you not texting him, used to you being distant, so why did this bother him now?

Moonlight guided his path home, but even with the silvery light of the moon, it felt too dark. It was ominous, and the brisk autumn chill that seemed to move through his skin sent shivers through his entire body. Everything about tonight just seemed off, like something was telling him that there was something wrong. He had felt it in the office, he had felt it in the elevator, he feels it now, he just couldn’t quite place just what could be wrong.

As he made his way up the pathway to the shared home he and you had, he noticed that only the bathroom light was on. It was strange, you never kept the lights on when you went to bed, you would keep the nightlight on if you needed it, but never the actual light of a room. He tried to put it off that maybe you had just forgotten to turn it off before you laid down, maybe you were just exhausted and passed out before you realized that the light was still on.

He shook his head as he walked into the house. The door was unlocked already. That alone had his heart racing again. “Y/N?!” He called out your name, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he made his way through the home. You never left the door unlocked, you knew he had a key, you knew to have it locked the entire time you were there alone. He had told you it was to protect secret Port Mafia information, but in actuality, he just wanted to make sure you were safe. If anyone did try to break in, the locked door would have given you time to hide somewhere and call him. So, why had the door been unlocked?

“Y/N!?” He called out your name again as he pushed open doors in the hallway. He got to the bedroom and noticed that the bed was still neatly made, the light shining in from the bathroom illuminated the empty room. Did you leave? His stomach felt like it was rising in his chest as he thought of you actually leaving. His mind full of questions as he stood in the middle of the room, looking around to see if anything of yours was missing.

Your clothes were still draped over the end of the bed, his eyes finally focused in on the fabric. It was the way you placed your clothes when you were about to get out of the shower. His eyes moved to the bathroom door, still cracked open. He saw the silhouette of your body laying in the bathtub, still, almost as if you were sleeping.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling quietly to himself as he made his way into the bathroom. “It’s dangerous to fall asleep in the bath, darling.” He murmured as he walked closer to the tub. That’s when he really saw it. The water dyed red, your body pale, but your eyes were closed as if you were in the deepest, most peaceful slumber. His stomach that had once felt like it was rising in his chest had now dropped, it dropped with such force that it brought him to his knees.

“No. Darling, please. Wake up.” He pulled your hands out from under the crimson blood water mix, revealing the multitudes of cuts lining your wrists, all the way up to your forearm. “Why? What did I do? What didn’t I do?”

He couldn’t understand why. He had wanted to end it all, to leave this world many times, but he never did anything, he never acted on those feelings. He had fought to get where he is right now, he had fought for everything, even you. So why didn’t you fight? Was he not good enough to fight for, to stay alive for?

“Why would you leave me?” He shimmied out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor as he stuck both his arms into the water, trying to get a grip on you so he could pull you out of the tub. He pulled you up, holding you against his chest as he fell back on the floor, leaning against the wall.

You were wearing one of his shirts, it was soaked and clinging against your lifeless body. “Is it a sign… that it’s my fault? Was I not here enough? Why didn’t you talk to me?” He couldn’t wrap his mind around why you would have done it. He was doing his best to show you that he loved you, that he cared about you, was it not enough for you?

He knew that he was cold, he knew that he seemed emotionless, and he knew that he needed to work on that. Just because he didn’t say it or show it doesn’t mean that he loved you any less though. He loved you so much, he just didn’t know how to show it, he was scared to show it. He didn’t want to seem weak, and now he lost the one person who gave him strength, the one person who made him feel like he was worth something.

Your body was cold, his shirt was soaked from holding you against him. He shivered as a breeze moved through the room, pushing a piece of paper off the counter, a sheet that he hadn’t noticed when he walked in. It was a note… your note. “Was that you? I’m sorry… I couldn’t save you, I couldn’t make you better. I…. love you….” he felt like he was choking. He couldn’t cry, it would be weak to cry. Did it matter anymore whether Dazai thought he was weak or not? It didn’t seem like it, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not when you were dead in his arms, the only person he’d ever allowed himself to love, and you had left him.

He carried you into the bedroom, carefully laying you on your side of the bed. It would be the last time you laid there, the last time that side of the bed would be filled. He would never find anyone else like you, no one would ever take your place, in the bed, in his mind, or in his heart. He stood next to the bed, looking down at you, the note paper felt like a red hot iron in his hand. He was scared to read it. He was scared to face the blame that he believed would be put on him, written in your hand between the lines.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he finally began unfolding the paper slowly. His breath was shaky, his nose sniffling as the tears began to stream down his cheeks. Swallowing felt almost impossible as the lump lodged in his throat. Your handwriting which was usually neat and beautiful seemed shaky, smudged, like you had been crying when you wrote it, and now he was crying while reading it.

Pairing : Akutagawa x Reader

A/N : Akutagawa’s sadness is saved for last. We all love a sad emo boy. Don’t we. Don’t we? This is all from Akutagawa’s point of view by the way. I hope you enjoy. I’m so sorry this took so long! There’s been a lot going on but it’s out now! Finally finished Angstember!

T/W : Suicide ; Depression ; Mental Illness ; Anguish ; Desperation ; Angst ; Self Harm

Angstember Day 12

Time’s had been tough, time’s were always tough. Thinking that someone like him would be able to help you was probably stupid, but you fell for him, and by some miracle he had fallen for you as well. He was never warm, never cuddly, he never showed his love all that well, but he was there. For a time, that seemed like enough, just to have someone there with you, but then the darkness became overbearing. There was nothing more you could do, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Life was already hell, so who cares if you ended up there for what you were about to do… right?

The moon was rising, the bright silvery white orb lit up the clouds in the sky that moved in front. It was almost as bright as the sun tonight, he was sure that you were out on the balcony watching it the same way he was. You loved to watch the sunset and the moon rise, you had always taken it as a sign that he would be home soon. He never let you know, but he would count down the hours to sunset, knowing that soon he would be home with you.

Tonight, that wasn’t the case. He had to work over, and he thought of shooting you a message to let you know, but he didn’t want to bother you. He allowed you to have your personal time, something that he assumed you enjoyed since you never texted him when he was at work. He never knew that you didn’t message him because you felt like a bother, that you never called him because you felt annoying, like a pain in the ass. If he knew that, he would have told you that it’s okay, that he wanted to talk to you, that he wanted to know that you’re okay.

Akutagawa wasn’t one to share his feelings, especially not with you. It made him feel weak, it made him feel soft. He wouldn’t get Dazai’s acceptance if he was weak, if he expressed how he felt to you. Maybe he shouldn’t have put Dazai ahead of you, maybe he should have told you how much he loved you, how much he loved to hear your voice, how he’d smile whenever you, on a rare occasion, would send him a text.

Maybe it’s the fact that he wasn’t brave enough, the fact that he had been rejected, thrown away, and unloved his entire life that kept him from opening up to you. The one person in his life that he truly loved, other than his sister, the one person in his life who seemed to actually want him around, who appreciates his existence, who cared. He should have told you that he loved having you around, that your existence in itself was the greatest gift, the most wonderful miracle, and it was truly a mystery to him why someone like you would and could ever love him the way that he loved you.

You hadn’t talked much all day… now that he thinks about it, you hadn’t talked at all. The hours at work seemed to drag, and although he knew he shouldn’t be worried, he couldn’t help the feeling of dread that seemed to be forming a pit in his stomach. He tried to put it off, that he was just over reacting, he wasn’t used to staying over for work, he just wanted to be home with you already. He fought the urge to call you, knowing that you’d either be sleeping already, or in the middle of watching a movie or reading. He hated bothering you, at least that’s what he felt like he was doing whenever he messaged you randomly. So he pushed the feeling far back in his mind. He would feel better once he was with you.

“Alright Akutagawa, you can head home now.” Mori stood in the doorway, watching as he filed away papers into the folders. He nodded to his boss, pushing away from the desk, handing the folders to Mori as he walked past him. As he walked down the long hallway leading to the elevator he pulled out his phone. Still no texts or calls from you, it felt weird. He was used to not having much contact with you while he was working, but something about the lack of notifications tonight made him nervous.

He made up his mind. He would call you, just to hear your voice. Just to make sure that you were okay. His fingers were steady as he dialed your number, but his heart was erratic as the ringing filled his ears. He stood in the elevator, his back against the wall as he waited for you to answer the phone, but you never did. “Dammit, Y/N…” he muttered, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

The walk home felt eerie, something that put his off. The dreadful feeling in his stomach was building, bubbling over, as if something had been left on the stove to boil. He was used to you not answering your phone, used to you not texting him, used to you being distant, so why did this bother him now?

Moonlight guided his path home, but even with the silvery light of the moon, it felt too dark. It was ominous, and the brisk autumn chill that seemed to move through his skin sent shivers through his entire body. Everything about tonight just seemed off, like something was telling him that there was something wrong. He had felt it in the office, he had felt it in the elevator, he feels it now, he just couldn’t quite place just what could be wrong.

As he made his way up the pathway to the shared home he and you had, he noticed that only the bathroom light was on. It was strange, you never kept the lights on when you went to bed, you would keep the nightlight on if you needed it, but never the actual light of a room. He tried to put it off that maybe you had just forgotten to turn it off before you laid down, maybe you were just exhausted and passed out before you realized that the light was still on.

He shook his head as he walked into the house. The door was unlocked already. That alone had his heart racing again. “Y/N?!” He called out your name, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he made his way through the home. You never left the door unlocked, you knew he had a key, you knew to have it locked the entire time you were there alone. He had told you it was to protect secret Port Mafia information, but in actuality, he just wanted to make sure you were safe. If anyone did try to break in, the locked door would have given you time to hide somewhere and call him. So, why had the door been unlocked?

“Y/N!?” He called out your name again as he pushed open doors in the hallway. He got to the bedroom and noticed that the bed was still neatly made, the light shining in from the bathroom illuminated the empty room. Did you leave? His stomach felt like it was rising in his chest as he thought of you actually leaving. His mind full of questions as he stood in the middle of the room, looking around to see if anything of yours was missing.

Your clothes were still draped over the end of the bed, his eyes finally focused in on the fabric. It was the way you placed your clothes when you were about to get out of the shower. His eyes moved to the bathroom door, still cracked open. He saw the silhouette of your body laying in the bathtub, still, almost as if you were sleeping.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling quietly to himself as he made his way into the bathroom. “It’s dangerous to fall asleep in the bath, darling.” He murmured as he walked closer to the tub. That’s when he really saw it. The water dyed red, your body pale, but your eyes were closed as if you were in the deepest, most peaceful slumber. His stomach that had once felt like it was rising in his chest had now dropped, it dropped with such force that it brought him to his knees.

“No. Darling, please. Wake up.” He pulled your hands out from under the crimson blood water mix, revealing the multitudes of cuts lining your wrists, all the way up to your forearm. “Why? What did I do? What didn’t I do?”

He couldn’t understand why. He had wanted to end it all, to leave this world many times, but he never did anything, he never acted on those feelings. He had fought to get where he is right now, he had fought for everything, even you. So why didn’t you fight? Was he not good enough to fight for, to stay alive for?

“Why would you leave me?” He shimmied out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor as he stuck both his arms into the water, trying to get a grip on you so he could pull you out of the tub. He pulled you up, holding you against his chest as he fell back on the floor, leaning against the wall.

You were wearing one of his shirts, it was soaked and clinging against your lifeless body. “Is it a sign… that it’s my fault? Was I not here enough? Why didn’t you talk to me?” He couldn’t wrap his mind around why you would have done it. He was doing his best to show you that he loved you, that he cared about you, was it not enough for you?

He knew that he was cold, he knew that he seemed emotionless, and he knew that he needed to work on that. Just because he didn’t say it or show it doesn’t mean that he loved you any less though. He loved you so much, he just didn’t know how to show it, he was scared to show it. He didn’t want to seem weak, and now he lost the one person who gave him strength, the one person who made him feel like he was worth something.

Your body was cold, his shirt was soaked from holding you against him. He shivered as a breeze moved through the room, pushing a piece of paper off the counter, a sheet that he hadn’t noticed when he walked in. It was a note… your note. “Was that you? I’m sorry… I couldn’t save you, I couldn’t make you better. I…. love you….” he felt like he was choking. He couldn’t cry, it would be weak to cry. Did it matter anymore whether Dazai thought he was weak or not? It didn’t seem like it, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not when you were dead in his arms, the only person he’d ever allowed himself to love, and you had left him.

He carried you into the bedroom, carefully laying you on your side of the bed. It would be the last time you laid there, the last time that side of the bed would be filled. He would never find anyone else like you, no one would ever take your place, in the bed, in his mind, or in his heart. He stood next to the bed, looking down at you, the note paper felt like a red hot iron in his hand. He was scared to read it. He was scared to face the blame that he believed would be put on him, written in your hand between the lines.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he finally began unfolding the paper slowly. His breath was shaky, his nose sniffling as the tears began to stream down his cheeks. Swallowing felt almost impossible as the lump lodged in his throat. Your handwriting which was usually neat and beautiful seemed shaky, smudged, like you had been crying when you wrote it, and now he was crying while reading it.

i. to be in love is to fall in reverie, to drown deeply in it, and to feel it bloom in your heart with each and every beat. to be in love is to ride the waves– to feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins and to feel the slow, comfortable sway of the water.

it is everything he does not imagine it to be. to feel loved is entirely too strange to him– frightening, but reassuring.

he loves it. he loves you, even if he hardly speaks the words. he is not one for dramatic declarations of affection; instead, he finds expression through the little things, whether it is the warmth of his hand when you walk side by side during strolls in the garden or the gentle kisses against your temple when you wake together in the mornings.