#the grief and guilt. the way he tries to talk himself into it. the way he removes HIS OWN autonomy to do it. pretends theres no other choic

[elfcollector]

I feel ill. All the fools and villains who ever fell for my ploys, they're — they're here!

#gamingnetwork #vgedit #videogameedit #gamingedit #dailygaming #gameplaydaily #bg3edit #bg3 #bgedit #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #:( #i think this scene is so interesting and speaks to why i get so annoyed by the 'any portrayal of astarion #as having an degree of a conscience or goodness in him is stupid and woobifying. hes chaotic evil and thats IT' thing #the grief and guilt. the way he tries to talk himself into it. the way he removes HIS OWN autonomy to do it. pretends theres no other choic #esp in the context of other moments where he preens when hes called good. he LIKES being smth other than what cazador made him #but hes so SCARED. he spends this dialogue talking himself into killing them and he HAS to talk himself into it BECAUSE this kind of evil #isnt easy to him despite it all. theres still scraps of a conscience there yknow? and he hides it from himself by pretending hes less free #astarion is fun BECAUSE hes weird and contradictory and a bad person with the capacity 4 good. BECAUSE he doesnt know what he actually want #also i love the idea of him in this moment rly thinking abt the player....like whether theyre friends or romances #a player whos been really kind and loving to him...kept him safe....trusted him.... #thinking about how they let their guard down for him and how in his old life THIS would have been the life #hed been damning them to....years and centuries in a tiny cage somehow even worse than his

[brucewaynehater101]

Just read a fic about Tim finally getting post patrol ice cream and his own renovated room after admitting to never getting any unlike his siblings and now I'm imagining an AU

Imagine this, Tim is tired, pulling an all nighter, because he did too poor a job at pretending as Robin, and it's too late to do damage control. Not in front of villains or heroes alike

But the people

They've caught onto how the third robin receives less than the first two

Robin acts less like a child, less like a son to Batman, and more like a 'Business Partner's as he said with his own words. Like a handler

Robin who has to put work into keeping Batman from overexerting himself, from cruelly punishing those who fall victim to him

Robin who receives less praise or care from Batman and cares for both himself and his "Boss" as he said with his own words

And it gets worse after the mantle passes down to Stephanie and Damian because the people notices how even as Batman treats them better than the third, now rebranded as Red Robin—

—Red Robin is still as much a Business Partner to batman as he always has been since the Dark Knight's loss of his second bird

And as much as tries to keep things buried, word is spreading that Red Robin is black sheep of the batfamily, and he won't be able to hide it for much longer

Have fun with this idea lol

I know the fic you're talking about! "with the exception of..." by DSS1101. That's a good one!

"Home Decor" by sElkieNight60 is about Duke remodeling his room as part of the new Wayne member tradition. This brings up feelings in Tim cause his bedroom still looks like a barely used guestroom.

The concept you've mentioned gives similar vibes to a hc/au post I read about how JJ (Joker Junior) isn't known by anyone but the goons/Rogues, Barbara, Jim, and Bruce. All the other Bats don't know. In consideration of Tim, electric shock weapons are immediately put away when Red Robin arrives on scene (I love that idea so much).

I think, with the Gothamites around when Bruce was going on his grief spiral almost killing spree, people feel a kinship with Tim. They couldn't have stopped Batman and, with part guilt and part relief, it seems only a child could. They watch this child, who seems to be sacrificing everything for a brutal and cruel man, and how he pulls Batman back into the symbol he's supposed to be. It brings out the protective and parental instinct of a lot of people.

This cues civilians, goons, and rogues alike trying to assist Robin in small ways. Tim as Robin had people offering him food (in sealed containers), giving him compliments, handing him scarves or hats (how could Batman let a child out in this weather without a hat?!?!?), and more. They tried to give him small moments to be the child he was pretending he wasn't. He obviously wasn't getting decent parenting at home if Batman was just his boss and his real folks were letting him out to fight.

There's a kind of guilty gratefulness towards the third Robin and a protectiveness of him. All young Bats are treated with care by civilains and some goons, but Robin three was special. He willingly became the barrier between Batman and Gotham. A lot of folks owe their ability to work (and not have exorbiant medical debt and medical conditions) to Tim. He saved them by damning himself. He needed the support Batman obviously wasn't providing.

Tim, as intelligent as he is, doesn't realize the affect he has on Gotham's older population. The younger ones will react with slightly more respect towards him than the other Bats, but they weren't around to see what Tim's sacrifice did for everyone.

Tim, with his self-doubt and hero-worship of his predecessors, thought his treatment throughout Robin was the work of those who came before him. Of course Gothamites trust and help out Robin when Dick and Jason built that foundation.

He's not exactly wrong, but it isn't to the extent they actually do for Tim.

Unfortunately for Tim, Damian and Jason do know that his Robin was treated with such reverence. They don't know why, but their Robins did/do not get treated that way. They chalk it up to Tim being the "perfect" and "can do no wrong" Robin. It's one point of contention they are unable to clear up due to Tim not knowing about it and the other two not wanting to explain their jealousy.

Steph was not treated as well as Damian and Jason when she was Robin. She, in this AU, was not treated as much of a crutch as Tim is. Despite that, her Spoiler/Batgirl/whatever persona gets some of the protectiveness that Tim's personas do. Bruce was more healed with Steph, but he was still an ass. That was obvious to any Gothamite watching.

Steph, because she was around at the time and talks with Gothamites to know what rumors are floating around, becomes aware after her death of why Tim's Robin is held up with such respect. This allows, unknowingly to Tim, for them to reach more understanding. With her knowledge of Tim's time as Robin, she's able to point out how he was being an ass, what he should've done instead, and that she herself was sorry for some of her actions.

When more and more individuals cue into Tim's black sheep position in the Batfam, this could go two ways.

One, Tim is targeted more due to his lack of support.

Two, Gothamites and Rogues increase their aid to Red Robin and become slightly cold to the Bats for their treatment of him.

#dc comics #dc universe #tim drake #thank you for the ask!!!! #it's my hc that Tim's robin went through hell #part of the reason tim is great at making friends (even with people who have hurt him) is because he's trying to build Bruce's support grou #steph brown #jason todd #damian wayne #bruce wayne

[radiance1]

Vlad has wanted Danny to be his son for a while now, and he did, indeed, get what he wanted.

Not in the way he expected, however.

What was given was attached to the arms of tragedy, that fated day, in which the subject of his love and obsession, the man that was the focused point of his hatred, anger, and jealousy.

Died.

That day, marked in tragedy.

It was a rough time for Daniel as well, his friends, family, and teacher all died, and by his own hand yet not at the same time.

If Vlad wasn't feeling like he did, he would probably think it to be poetic in some way.

Yet, not even a full week later, when he was still processing his grief and whatever other feelings he felt, the boy in his care, who full of bite, snark, and ever increasingly growing hatred and helplessness.

Turned into a child.

This, was a chance.

A chance for him to mold and shape Daniel into his perfect, idealized version of himself.

A perfect boy.

A perfect halfa.

A perfect son.

He knew this, and yet... he couldn't bring himself to do so. He didn't know why, but as he stared at the child, not looking even a day over 8, staring back at him full of curiosity, and an oh so painful lack of recognition, he couldn't go through with it.

It just... didn't feel right.

As wishy washy as that reasoning would be.

So he kept the boy in his care, and left Amity Park behind.

Being a father was... far harder than he expected, if he were to be honest. Yet he couldn't find himself hating it, perhaps it was the guilt, in not being there to prevent the accident, perhaps some kind of feeling to repay a debt to Maddie, or doing what she wanted, or perhaps, even to succeed where Jack Fenton failed.

Maybe even all four.

He tried his best to treat the boy as his own flesh and blood, giving him as much care as he was able to while also balancing work and trying to plan out a solid plan for Danny's education when he's older.

Though, that plan would perhaps be a backup plan, if Danny finds himself liking something... different.

One of these days, Vlad had to leave Daniel behind with a babysitter to attend a Gala held by one Bruice Wayne, and as much as he wanted to show Daniel off to the world he... wasn't ready yet.

He would need at least a few more years before making his official debut.

It was a fine party, in Vlad's opinion, though Brucie Wayne did arrive late to his own event, but he digresses.

It was while talking to said man, that he heard gasps behind him, and he was curious about it, going to turn around until he felt a few tugs at his leg, that he looked down.

Only to see Daniel, hovering off the ground with a leg that shouldn't be bent the way it was, blood leaking from it and onto the floor, with tears streaming down his face.

It was only after grabbing the boy into his chest, making sure he didn't do anything more against the wound, and a butler- Alfred he thinks the name was - appearing at his side and quickly leading him out of the room towards where they kept one of their medical equipment, that he questioned what happened, why was his leg broken, and where was his babysitter?

Distantly, in the back of his mind he went "Oh, his powers came in."

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover

[lumineary-arts]

A lot of people are asking how Cabin Fever would go down, so like for the Promening I wrote down a lil summary. Its basically the same beats, so don't expect huge differences to the original.

Also, I never clarify which camper swaps with who, I'll probably give that some thought sometime later.

Since this is happening after the events of the Promening, N made a plan with Uzi and Thad to investigate the camp in order to find more clues about where his little sister Cyn disappeared off to, as well as what the meaning of the collars were.

And, like in the original, Uzi and Thad become the new camp counsellors! Thad's pretty intimidating, so Uzi's the one who tries to lead the class forward. V and J, beloved and popular among their peers, are the only ones who actually convince the class to trust them. N's... pretty much ignored. He's usually the type to be able to brush off this kinda thing with a nervous laugh, but something about the way they shower Uzi with so much flirty attention makes him feel uneasy...

The knowledge that his classmates and his only friends were having tons of fun because he wasn't there just overwhelms and overheats his senses, causing his solver to break a few windows while he investigates the abandoned cabins and looks for Cyn. It doesn't help that Thad later comes in to rub salt in the wound, hinting that Uzi would ditch him at the drop of a hat if given the chance. This ultimately ends up spiralling into N's solver slowly showing its horrific side when he later comes back to tell Uzi about what he's discovered in the cabins.

And suddenly, Thad isn't laughing anymore. He remembers Doll from the mansion, he knows exactly what that solver is, and he needs N dead as soon as possible. This causes Thad and Uzi to start fighting for the first time, with her defending N's actions to her core, even running off to find him. Poor Thad :(

We all know what happens in this episode. N's always been a sweetheart and the friendliest person imaginable, even in this AU. But from the grief that was losing his little sister, the dejection he felt every day from his own class, and the fear that Uzi would leave him at any point solidified his transformation. What's horrifying about this form is that, while he's not in total control of his actions, it's not like it doesn't stem from his feelings at least a little. He's friendly and forgiving, but he still feels resentment and hurt towards the classmates that constantly belittle and mock him every day. Especially J, who luckily survives just because Thad protects her. And Thad, the one who most mocked N for being scrawny and weak, suddenly can't win in a fight against the little dude, only being saved once Uzi swoops in and throws N up into the sky.

N's naturally a pacifist, but this is his first time actually harming and murdering other people, so he's even more visibly ashamed than Uzi is in the original episode. He struggles to even open up to Uzi while they have their sky therapy talk, instantly feeling the horror and guilt once he snapped out of it. They talk things out, each confessing that they felt scared without each other and that they needed each other to feel safe and complete. While he never ends up forgiving himself completely, Uzi stops him from spiralling at the revelation of his own actions.

Thad, of course, ends up covering for N in the final bus scene, pinning the blame on himself by "bragging" about the drones he killed at camp. In reality though, he's scared for AND of N, but he shows, in a way, that he cares.

#glitch productions #murder drones #uzi doorman #murder drones uzi #serial designation j #serial designation v #murder drones thad #murder drones swap au

[captain-barnes-writes]

Solace

Summary: In which finding comfort in the arms of Bucky Barnes after Steve leaves turns into something more.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, past relationship with Steve Rogers

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: Language, smut smut smut, unprotected sex, --18+

NOT PROOFREAD

Was it wrong to seek comfort in the arms of your ex boyfriend’s bestfriend?

Frankly, she knew it was. How wrong it looked in the eyes of others. She always questioned the choice she’d made all those months ago. The very conscious decision to kiss and find herself on top of Bucky Barnes whenever possible.

They both didn’t mean for it to happen. Y/N had found solace within Bucky after Steve just up and jumped into a time machine to live out his life with a woman he could never forget . Another decision that had been well thought out and conscious of the heartbreak and loss that it would ensue for those closest to him, especially the girl he’d told countless times he loved.

Her.

The person he’d shared more than a year with. It had been her who had been hurt the most, feeling blindsided as though she had meant nothing to him. As though she had not been enough for him to stay.

Now, she couldn’t really fathom to think of Steve Rogers much. Not when Bucky Barnes was on top of her. Not when she felt utterly consumed in his presence. And especially not when his metal arm was wrapped around her throat.

Fucking each other came so easy to them. The attraction had always been there, buried deep beneath the loyalty and respect they both had for Steve. But when the months passed and their paths crossed many times after that loss, it was quite impossible to not give into the longing looks.

God, it had really been impossible for them. Not when all she could focus on was the pink of his lips as he talked, her lashes fluttering as she tried so hard to keep her composure. Meeting his eyes didn’t make anything better because if she wasn’t staring at his lips, it was his eyes that really did it for her. The beautiful blue in them luring her in further into the attraction that once couldn’t be, and yet they both knew there was nothing stopping them any longer.

For Bucky, it was the same. The front of his pants tightened whenever he found himself in her presence. She was beautiful and he would’ve been lying to himself if he said he hadn’t found her attractive ever since the day they met. He’d never been a hopeless romantic nor did he believe in fairytales, but the tingles he felt when he first reached for her hand and she’d instead pulled him in for a friendly warm hug had literally made him shudder. He had laughed it off, still denying the feelings she’d lit inside him.

So when they both found themselves stumbling into her apartment after having met for dinner, it had been no surprise that their kiss sent tingles down each of their spines. It was needy, passionate and in the same way it felt like relief as well. Relief that they could give into something they had both yearned for a while and not feel any guilt as nothing was stopping them.

That had been months ago when they both succumbed to the fiery passion that had only been lit aflame with time. Now with a month of not having seen each other, it felt as though each of them were missing a little part of each other.

For Bucky, it was satisfaction that he felt too. To be able to feel the softness of her skin under his fingers, but most especially of his metal fingers on her bare skin and that she didn’t care, that she welcomed the cold of his prosthetic with breathy moans.

She breathed out, her eyes shadowed with pure admiration for the handsome man laying above her on the couch since they couldn’t even make it to the bedroom. It should’ve felt wrong, but it didn’t. It felt phenomenal to be wanted by someone like him. He was Bucky Barnes, who rarely showed his true emotions but with her and their common grief he’d been nothing but a light at the end of the dark tunnel she thought she’d never come out of.

“I missed you, Bucky.” She dared to say, voice soft yet laced with so much lust. It was simple to admit that she’d missed him. Every part of him. Him, his smile, his crinkly eyes. 

Just him.

Pretty lips so swollen and red, eyes wide and expectant as she looked at the handsome man above her. He couldn’t form a coherent response to her for a minute as he was on top of her, kissing those lips he’d had a craving for for too long.

“I missed you too, baby.”

She was addicting and he still couldn’t believe that he could touch her and she’d allow it, that she would visibly revel in his touch. That she wanted him just as much as he did, it was evident. Evident in the way she always kissed him, scratched at his back and moaned his name loudly into any room they found themselves wrapped up in each other.

His metal arm was cold against her skin, but despite this it didn’t bother her. The rest of his body radiated warmth and was enough to soothe her. His hands moved from being a tangled mess on her hair to her legs where he signaled for her to wrap them around his waist. She did so and felt every ridge of his strong body with her curious hands, from his hard stomach to his growing cock. Her hands swiftly unbuttoned his pants and slid her hands under his boxers. He was already rock hard and her nimble hands wrapped around the warm thick shaft, slightly squeezing him.

Their lips were still meshed together, unable to part from one another. Meanwhile his rough hand had pushed down the thin cotton pants she was wearing, showcasing her lavender panties and soft skin. His fingers pushed the delicate fabric aside and began to rub circles on her lips with his palm, while his fingers had arched down to work on her nub. At this, she pulled away from his lips to let out a breathy moan and her hand, too, had come to a halt in his boxers.  

He continued to rub his hands on her most sensitive area, building up what he could imagine would shatter her in the most beautiful way. His middle finger had slid inside her and his lips had attached to her neck sucking on her sweet skin. She smelled of honey and vanilla and tasted like it too and he’d be lying to himself if that didn’t make him harder. Y/N’s moans were music to his ears and he wanted to hear more of her, his body slowly moved downwards, kissing his traveling down and pushing her shirt up in the process so he could place wet kisses on her breasts and stomach.

Finally, he reached her most sensitive area and without hesitation, attached his lips on her clít. His tongue massaging the smooth area, lapping at her juices. Bucky’s metal arm had placed itself on her breasts, moving slowly against her nipple. The cold metal had made her shiver once but it brought another sense of excitement that she was unable to hold her head to keep watching him expertly lap at her clit. Her body was starting to shake at what Bucky was putting her through, it was a sweet sensation. Her stomach was starting to tighten, preparing her for what she knew would be a shattering orgasm. Feeling the slight shakes and whimpers from her, he quickly halted his movements.

“You’re gonna come when I’m inside you.” He said, voice laced with lust at the sight of her naked body sprawled on the large couch desperate for him to keep touching her. To get her to that finish line that made her mind and body swirl with incomprehensible joy. Her eyes were half closed, still in a high.

Her lips had attached to his, tasting her essence on his lips and tongue. It was exhilarating to her, being able to touch him and feel how warm he was. She broke free from him urging him to take his clothes off. With pure admiration in her face, she watched as he pulled his sweats along with his boxers down his legs. He was handsome and she was really about to fuck him yet again, she felt like the luckiest.

“Fuck me, Bucky. Please.”

He didn’t waste a single second before he was sinking his length inside her. Filling her to the hilt, until her nails met his back. The usual crescents forming on his back as she relished in the feeling of once again having Bucky inside her. Of being able to feel him and kiss him once again after months.

He felt so good fucking her. His hips already creating that same pattern that she’d come to love. Rough violent movements showing her how much he’d missed her. How much he’d missed the sweet taste of her, her juices in his mouth, the feel of her around him squeezing him.

“Baby you take me so fucking well.” He grunted as the girl below him could only moan in response. She felt delirious, entrapped in the feeling of being fucked into the cushion and enjoying every second of it. She loved it like this. So rough and loving all at once, hips slamming her and yet his hands still managed to carry their gentle touch. Running through her hair, caressing any part of her body where he felt she most needed it.

“You feel so good.”

“Yeah?”

With a bite of her lip, she fought against the roughness of his movements pushing her body upwards to meet the pistoning. She was more wet than she had ever been, the liquid a mess on her legs, on his, and on the cushion. She fucked him back knowing how much he loved that.

“I’ll never get tired of this.” Bucky said, voice low as though he didn’t want her to hear. But she did.

Their eyes met and all she could do when words failed her was to push her body up and take his lips between hers. Kissing him so fervently as he continued fucking her. She felt the same, she could never get tired of the man before her. She could never get tired of how their bodies molded so well together, how their lips met and suddenly everything was alright.

He was everything to her now. The past was just that now: the past. She didn’t think of Steve, not when she was with Bucky, not even when she was alone. Not when he appeared in magazines that still talked about captain america, of his trajectory, not when he came up in conversations as she walked by. That’s how she knew that she had truly moved on.

“Fuck Bucky, I’m gonna come.” She squealed as his metal hand began rubbing slight circles on her slick. The coldness of the prosthetic was just enough for the release her body needed. His dick was hitting her most sensitive spot inside her pushing her further and further from herself and within seconds, she was moaning his name into the room loudly.

Just that alone, seeing how he could get her to come so easily with his touch, Bucky began chasing his own release. She was wetter, pussy juices flowing down her legs and the slick noises of their skin slapping against one another.  Her walls spasming around him, constricting him so fervently that his release too followed within seconds of hers. Hips faltering and groans filling the room. In their own world, high off each other.

“I could never get tired of you either, Bucky.” She said against his chest moments later once they’d both came down of their high. Letting him know that she’d heard him and she felt the same. Chests still heaving, still tired and sweaty, but their hearts full yet again.

I’m so rusty lol but hope you guys like it 🫣

#Bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #fanfic rec #bucky barnes smut #Bucky Barnes x female reader #marvel fanficition #sebastian stan #steve rogers #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

[angelshimaa]

━━ 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ;; 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒

⤷ feat. bakugou, kirishima and todoroki <3

✧ cw :: reader is dead ✨, gn!reader, angst :))

✧ a/n :: angst angst angst angst YAY I love writing angst, not sure how to feel about shoto's though :/

katsuki simply disappears. there's not much to stick around for— he can't bear the look of pity his friends cast him when they believe he can't see them. so, he's curt when he talks, and he locks himself within the four corners of his room whenever he can— but the heart-tearing feeling of what he thinks is being weak doesn't drop at his door. he finds weakness in how he tries to envision every word you would say to him, holding onto every single detail of your face, and how you'd cushion your words of comfort. he's ashamed to admit it— as if he's not allowed to grieve— but he sits in the stabbing silence of his room and buries his face into the crook of his bent arm, holding onto how warm it was to be held by you, remembering every note of your laugh and the glint in your eyes when you teased him.

katsuki seems to be dead himself, with how ghostlike he is. he's never felt weaker, and the only person who could arm him with strength from so much as a smile has left him.

eijirou shatters at every little thing that reminds him of you. a mere mention of your name, the smell of you, a voice that happens to remind him of yours: it all has his heart throw itself against his chest— as if it could find a way to run to you— and the way it collides and shatters over and over again never fails to bring him a wave of sickness. seeing your face among his collection of you in his phone has tears pricking at his eyes— eijirou's cried oceans in your name and if it would bring you back, he'd cry a million more.

his deterioration is alarming— dark roots growing in as if his hair mourns you too— and all he has the energy to do is feel time drag on so slowly it aches. he knows you'd hate seeing him like this, placing a hold on his own life to clutch onto the memory of yours, but he can't find the bravery to try and cope with the hollowness he can't harden against.

shoto appears as cool as ever. it's off-putting to see him seem so okay— so unaffected by your absence. but, nobody sees the twisting and tearing of his heart and how deeply it overwhelms him. grief isn't something he knows how to grow accustomed to, and the devastation feels like poison he doesn't know how to let out. shoto can't cry over your absence— he doesn't know how. loving you was a feeling you'd guided him through, holding his hand with steady patience, and he wishes you could've helped him learn how to mourn you properly too.

he finds guilt in it— in the inability to sob over you like your friends and family do, but the dull ache eats him up just the same. he whispers his apologies whenever he's alone, and he hopes you know just how much he loves you— and how nothing can fit within the you-shaped home you've built within him.

✧ — thank you for reading !! rbs and feedback are greatly appreciated <3

taglist (fill in this form to join!!) :: @maeby-cursed @katsukismrs @himikoslove @afairywithacrown

#— signed ⋆·ʚ⁺ #bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #kirishima x reader #shoto x reader #mha x reader #mha angst #bnha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #bakugou angst #shoto todoroki x reader #kirishima x you #bakugou x you #todoroki x you #kirishima angst #todoroki angst

[muchosbesitos]

so real

part three of congratulations series masterlist

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader

contents: more angst 👹👹, depressive thoughts, use of a vape, drug addiction (rapture)

synopsis: miguel’s boss, tyler stone, offers him an.. alternative route to deal with his grief

author’s note: CAN I TALK MY SHIT AGAIN 🗣️‼️ anyways i’m sure you all knew by now but none of this is 100% canon :3

word count: 6.3k

Church bells echoed through his head time and time again, the relentless sound practically playing on cassette in his head. The sound was accompanied by the sounds of Tempest's screaming, screams of anger and fear combined. Screams that would engrave themselves into his very being, reminding him of his failures.  Why didn't you save me? I trusted you!

He patted the spot where you'd laid to him next to him, finding it empty. That was enough to wake him up from his restless slumber. He scrambled up to his feet, his mouth open to call out for you but nothing came out. All that was running through his head was the worst possible outcome, of finding you seriously injured or possibly even unconscious. The only thing he could do was listen as you called out to him: Miguel. Miguel. Miguel.

"Miguel."

"Miguel," his eyes snapped up open, realizing that was just another dream. He looked down to see that you were laying down next to him, your face grimacing as you wiggled. Oh shock. He'd clung on to you too tightly, practically almost squeezing you against his body. His grip immediately loosened, your body immediately relaxing. The loss of contact was evident even if you'd only moved a couple inches away from him.

His very being craved to be next to you, as selfish as it was. Your comfort was the only thing that he needed now, more than the very oxygen he inhaled.

"I'm sorry about that," he muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep and from all the crying he'd done just a couple hours prior. "It's okay, just go to sleep," you mumbled groggily, still half asleep. You rubbed your eyes, looking over your shoulder at him through half lidded eyes. You'd never seen him look so.. miserable. And yet, you had no idea who he couldn't save. You had no idea how to help, all that you could really do in this position was stay where you were and offer him your presence.

Sleep did not come back to him after that, despite how comfortable your body felt next to him. Every time he shut his eyes, the image of Tempest's rotting corpse came to the forefront of his mind. How no matter how hard he'd tried, he had nothing to account for that in the end. All that he had to account for the amount of effort that he'd put in was the amount of guilt within himself, the amount of blame that he placed upon himself for not doing more. Even if the rational part of his brain tried to convince him that he did the most he could.

He looked over at you, entranced by the small fall and rise of your chest as you slept comfortably next to him. The way your mouth slightly parted to let out a couple snores. Silently admiring all the little things he took for granted in the few times that he had you in his bed. Probably would be the last time that he got to see you in such a vulnerable position. "I love you too, chiquita. It's always been you," he whispered, kissing the top of your head before closing his eyes once more.

He was tempted to pull you back into his chest once he saw you stirring awake, a yawn escaping from your lips. "Morning," he spoke up as he saw you get up from the couch, stretching your arms out. You looked restless, probably from the uncomfortable position you'd been forced in. "Morning," you didn't even bother looking back at him, going over to the kitchen to get started on making a fresh pot of coffee.

Miguel leaned against your kitchen counter, his attention solely focused on every single one of your movements. The coffee pod that you'd chosen to put in the machine- a vanilla espresso. The amount of sugars and creamers that you'd set down on the counter. The slight curve of your body as you leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The way that you tried to avoid his not so subtle staring, your eyes flickering to all the small surfaces around.

"Why'd you come to me last night?" you decided to bite the bullet and ask the question that'd been rummaging through your brain all night long. For claiming to have nothing 'serious' with you, he was sure comfortable coming to your apartment at wee hours of the night. Not that you discouraged that activity by any means, though. Maybe you were more responsible than you would've liked to admit.

"Because I needed you."

"You can't do this to me. Treat me as if I'm nothing to you and then seek me out when you're at your lowest."

"I never treated you as if you were nothing to me."

"And yet, we were nothing serious? Or are you going to deny saying that?" You were expecting for him to have some kind of comeback to that, but he stared down at his coffee like it was single-handedly the most interesting thing in the world. The silence almost suffocating, you could almost see the gears turning in that big head of his.

"Look I don't know what happened but serio-"

"Tempest.. passed away last night and I couldn't save her. No matter how much I tried to."

Now that had stunned you into staying quiet, an apology at the tip of your tongue. For what, exactly? For making assumptions or to offer your condolences? Both, most likely. But before you even got the chance to open your mouth, he was already speaking again. "The engagement was a farce. She needed access to insurance and she only managed to get that through being with me."

"And you felt as though you couldn't be honest with me? I know that we've slept together and I don't know about you, but I've spent longer than that loving you," you told him, setting your coffee mug down on the kitchen counter. A stupid mug that he'd gotten for you, World's Best Girlfriend Situationship.

"Look Miguel, I get that you're going through a lot but you can't expect for me to be here only when you want me to be around. I think I deserve more than that by this point."

You were so right. The words were at the tip of his tongue, but how could he say that when he'd treated you just the way you described ever since you came back? Even if he said so, he knew that his words wouldn't be enough to convince you otherwise. He stared at you in silently, his face conveying the pain that he wouldn't dare to voice out loud. Don't fall for it. Don't. As much as you wanted to comfort him, as much as a part of you couldn't bear to see him so upset, you needed to put your own needs above his own for once.

"Finish up your coffee and grab your clothes from the drier. I'll be here when you're ready to treat me like I mean something to you, but up until that point, I don't want to see you."

Miguel tried to prolong the couple sips of coffee he had, taking a few drops every two minutes. Anything that would give him the excuse to be around you longer than he should've. "I'm sorry," he spoke up, watching as you paused in cleaning your mug before resuming. "What's the point of saying sorry if you haven't done anything to change it yet?" your words came out so hushed, his ears practically perking up. If you'd noticed that he wasn't finishing up his coffee, you hadn't bothered to say anything just yet.

Miguel lost track of how many times he'd passed the sponge by the mug, lost in his own thought. How is it possible that he lost two of the people he cared about in less than 24 hours? He could practically see his own reflection in the mug by the time he decided to put the sponge down, rinsing the suds away. He walked over to the laundry room, grabbing his clothes before making his way out of your apartment. "Bye," his words were barely audible, unable to look at you or talk to you after how the last exchange had gone.

This time around, Miguel drove with extreme caution. Almost as a way to overcompensate for his rash behavior last night. He didn't even bother slamming his hand against the wheel when a car merged onto his lane without using their turn signal. At least he didn't have to go into work until Monday, leaving him enough time to seep into his self loathing. And to think about the fact that despite the fact he'd dreamed about the day you'd move back to Nueva York to be with you, it was starting to become more and more unattainable.

He was tempted on calling out on work when Monday rolled around, saying that he needed some time to grieve. But all that he'd been doing at home was look up at the ceiling and think about different alternatives. Alternatives where he wasn't a screw up. Alternatives where his efforts actually counted towards something, where he was actually saving people. A different alternative where you didn't hate him, where he was less of an idiot to prove to you just how much you actually meant to him.

Sleep didn't come to him that easily either. He'd spend hours counting sheep and listening to white noise only to find himself groaning into his pillow. Every position proving to be futile in his restless nights, the image of seeing Tempest in that hospital practically tattooed at the back of his eyelids every time he closed them. His eyes burned from how long he’d kept them open, his head pounding as it urged for him to take at least a nap. Not that he would listen.

Awake or not, his life was starting to become a continuous torment. Every day was the same miserable cycle, though he wasn't making any effort to change it either. Maybe he deserved to feel the way he did right now. It's what he told himself anytime that he was starting to feel the numbness get overwhelming. That he didn't deserve to have some relief from this grief. The days blurred onto one another to the point where he couldn't tell the distinction between them until he looked down at his phone to check the date.

Get up. Drink coffee. Eat two bites of an overpriced sandwich he'd buy at Alchemax. Work. Close eyes. Repeat until exhaustion.

Upon grabbing a fresh lab coat from his closet, he caught a glimpse of the suit he was supposed to wear for the wedding. The wedding ceremony that would've happened tomorrow. Instead, it would now be his funeral suit. He pushed the suit to the back of his closet, pulling his dress shirts over it to conceal the fact. Just looking at it had proved to be an eyesore. He grabbed the first pair of socks that he found, not even bothering to check that they were the same pair before putting his shoes on. Spoiler alert: One was bright red and the other one was a dull purple.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, the action doing completely nothing to aid the bird's nest in his hair. Hairs stuck out from every end and there had even accumulated a gloop of dry hair gel on his scalp. He was a mess in every sense of the word. If that was even a strong enough word to describe his current state. He wasn't even sure when he bothered to take more than a five minute shower, maybe a week ago? Though he told himself that a couple days ago so he wasn't truly sure how much time had really passed.

"Puta madre," he grumbled, a couple of the comb's teeth falling from the sheer force that he'd exuded into just trying to run it through a couple strands. Miguel tugged on the comb with a bit more force, though it wouldn't go through no matter how much he wanted it to. He set down the black comb, rummaging through his cabinets to find a new one. He'd be lying if he said that the sight of seeing Tempest's stuff mixed in with his didn't make a couple tears run down his cheeks. From the halfway finished hair products to the new perfume that she was wanting to try out.

After breaking a couple more brushes, Miguel decided to give up on the effort to fix up his appearance. Not that he even needed to put that much effort, much of the interns didn't even bother to put on deodorant before they showed up. He'd completely forgotten about the work meeting that was set up for today, stepping into the room about ten minutes later. The attention of the room went to him immediately, the loud slam of the door behind him doing nothing to aid the situation. He muttered a half ass sorry before going to sit down.

Gloved fingers snapped in front of him, disrupting whatever little train of thought was coursing through his head. Miguel couldn't even bother to hide the irritation in his face as he turned to look at Aaron, raising his eyebrows as he waited for the shorter man to speak. He was almost tempted to laugh at the way that Aaron had to huff out his chest to put on an intimidating facade. Trying so very hard to present the small bit of authority that Tyler Stone had placed upon him. And failing, truthfully.

"Get your head out your ass and listen closely. Mr. Stone can't handle any mistakes in this project," Aaron's voice seemed so far away, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Nothing that he did mattered, anyways. He couldn't keep the girl. He couldn't save anyone. Aaron's voice faded out into a low hum, a garble of technical nonsense. How the project at hand could put human lives at stake if done incorrectly and of how it could improve lives if it actually worked. Nonsense he's heard time and time again.

He didn't even realize he was dozing off, his body slumped against the rolling chair behind him. "Wake the hell up or you're fired in the next five seconds! Mr. Stone requested to see you in his office," that same damn voice that sounded like nails on a chalkboard broke him out of his slumber, a large palm slamming on the desk in front of him. Miguel grumbled as he rubbed his eyes, willing himself to wake up before getting up from his chair. He ignored the small snickers that followed after he departed the room.

Miguel took the opportunity to step into one of the bathrooms, taking the opportunity to look over himself before he appeared in front of Mr. Stone. He didn't need to receive a lecture on unprofessionalism on top of the lecture he was probably going to receive already. Not that he cared all that much, but he wasn't sure just how much more yelling he could take with the steady pounding in his head. Rumors floated around people getting fired for even looking at Mr. Stone in a way that they shouldn't have, his ruling over the company an iron fist.

He splashed some cold water on his face, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the last remnants of sleep that lingered behind. The water did nothing to aid with the redness in his eyes, the sleep deprivation apparent to anyone who would spare a second glance. Luckily enough for him, Mr. Stone couldn't care less if his mental health was deteriorating. He grabbed a bottle of eye drops from his coat pocket, squirting some of the substance into his eyes before making his way over to Mr. Stone's office.

Miguel brought his hand up to the large wooden door, knocking on it twice. He looked up to see the camera hanging above the door now pointed towards his direction, the stare from it lasting for a couple seconds than what was necessary. A loud buzz came through the large doors before they opened to reveal the space that was Mr. Stone's office. If it could even called that. While interns were forced to work downstairs in cubicles with a half-functioning air conditioner, Mr. Stone had a tiger rug placed in the center of the room.

Miguel almost felt bad for getting the floor dirty, his eyes shifting to what else the office had to offer. Large windows that went from the top of the wall down to the floor, presenting a perfect view of the Nueva York skyline. The sunlight coming through the windows reflected onto the gold podiums that he had set up, the sight almost painful to look at. Mr. Stone turned around in the rolling chair he was on in a villainous fashion. Miguel was almost surprised that he didn't have a white cat on his lap to finish up the touch.

"O'Hara, right?" While Aaron tried so hard to exude power he didn't have, all Mr. Stone had to do was speak. He could almost feel the temperature drop a couple degrees from the sheer coldness of his voice. "That's me, sir. I heard you wanted to see me," Miguel spoke up, clearing his throat. He stood at a distance, not making the slightest attempt to move closer unless Mr. Stone asked for him to do so. Mr. Stone stayed quiet for a couple seconds, analyzing him carefully from head to toe before speaking,

"We're testing out a new drug at the facility. It's completely safe for consumption and I believe it's what you need to get over this grieving period."

"Excuse me?" It was the first time that Miguel had heard of an employer actually promoting the usage of drugs, though it was no secret that a majority of Wall Street in Nueva York was high off cocaine just to get through business meetings. He expected Mr. Stone to tell him that it was a test, to see if he would take the bait but all he got in return was more silence from the man. Suddenly, he stood up and dusted off his suit. A suit that probably cost more than his apartment building if he had to guess. "Please, follow me. I have something to show you."

Tyler unlocked a steel door with his ID badge, the temperature inside the room enough to make Miguel shiver underneath the thin white lab coat he had on. He wanted to turn around, tell Tyler that he wasn't interested in this anymore but a green vial was placed in the palm of his hand. "Look, I'm not telling you that you need to take it but just know that we have the resources here to help you," Tyler really was trying to amp up this caring persona up to the max with his soft way of talking.

"Just think about it, okay? You have full access to this center of the facility from now on in case you do end up taking it," Tyler finished up as the two of them stepped out of the room, leaving Miguel with a decision to make. A decision that had he been in the right state of mind wouldn't even be up for debate at all. And yet, here he was actually considering going through with what Mr. Stone had told him. By the time that Miguel came back to the conference office, he found the room void of anything other than the things he left behind. He stuffed the vial deep into his pocket before going to pick up his things.

Miguel held the vial between his thumb and pointer finger, analyzing what he could about the drug. From what he could discern from the bottle, the drug didn't seem too different from over the counter pain prescriptions. But he's seen things over the months, seen the way that Alchemax deliberately failed to mention certain ingredients just to get FDA approval. The way that they put human safety at the bottom of their priority list, funding for research at the top. Of the experiments locked away in the basement begging for some kind of mercy, for the chemicals to stop making every breath impossible.

And yet, with that doubt in his mind, he injected the drug into the first vein that he could find on his arm. The pounding in his head dissipated to a low hum, the pressure from his body relieved. He felt the best he had in days, the exhaustion from his body was something of the past. He felt like he was on top of the world, like he was able to run a marathon and win first place. Everything seemed much easier now, making him even wonder what he was even depressed about. There was truly nothing else that could replicate the blissful feeling inside of him.

Funny to think about how he'd gotten on his brother for having a vape a few years back. A 'Very Juicy Mango Pod' that was on the market for lasting longer than normal vapes. Half the school had been indulging in those substances just to get through the day, something that he hadn't dabbled in and quite frankly would never dabble in. He hated that feeling, the feeling of having no control over his body. Of only being susceptible to that temporary euphoria. The feeling of only having relief with one hit of those things.

"You know that stuff's gonna fuck up your lungs, right?" His tone was condescending, only because he truly did care about Gabriel. He wafted the thick smoke blown at his face, his eyes narrowing slightly upon seeing the stupid grin on Gabriel's face. "That's just a rumor, hermanito. You can't really say anything until you try it out," Gabriel retorted, dangling the small bar in front of him. Miguel took the vape from his hands after what seemed to the forth dangle, hesitantly bringing it to his lips. He inhaled, the smoke traveling down to his lungs immediately.

He coughed, his body immediately rejecting the substance. How anyone liked that stuff was beyond him. He practically tossed it back to Gabriel, the touch of the bar almost enough to disgust him. "Just.. don't get hooked on that stuff, I care about you too much to lose you," Miguel told Gabriel, sitting down next to him. It was one of the couple times where he expressed love for his brother verbally rather than letting his actions do the talking. "I know and I won't, I promise," Gabriel's voice was full of determination, an arm slung around Miguel's shoulders.

The next morning when he woke up to go to school, he found Gabriel's small stash of pods and bars tossed in the depths of trash can. Some of which he'd barely bought at an outrageously high price from a plug. Though when Miguel had asked him about it, Gabriel simply shrugged it off like it was nothing. "I don't want to give you reasons to worry about me. You do that enough as it is," Gabriel assured him, letting him know that he'd done him a favor. "I know it was hard but thank you," Miguel told him, the two going out for lunch after school that day.

The low hit him harder than he could've expected. It hit him when he was at home, watching the news on TV. The reporter was babbling about some robbery that happened on 54th Avenue, but all he could think about was when he would be able to get his next fix of the damned drug. His mouth practically salivated at the idea of having it in his system once more. Within that need however, there also resided a deep feeling of guilt. A guilt that was clawing him from the inside out, yelling at him to stop what he was doing. That Tempest, his mother, Gabriel, and you would all be disappointed in what he was doing.

"Shut up, shut up!" He yelled at nothing in particular, tossing his remote control at the TV with more force than necessary. The TV changed into an array of colors before shifting into black and white, the remote almost cracking the screen upon further inspection. He paced around his living room floor, the pounding in his heart difficult to ignore. Sweat dripped down from his forehead despite the fact that he turned the AC to the lowest he could without freezing to death, his body begging for just one more hit. Just one.

The urge to have more of that small green vial overwhelmed every sense of his being. Just five minutes without the drug made him feel like he was drowning. He thought he felt pathetic before but this was a new low even for him. Sitting down on his bathroom floor, injecting a fresh vial of Rapture just so he wouldn't feel like he was completely losing his mind. It didn't even feel pleasurable as it did the first time, but it did help with bringing back his body to stable levels. It helped him to forget the small voice in his head that was screaming at him to be rational.

The red beaming light from the camera placed on the steel ceilings of the laboratory seemed to mock him every time that he approached the storage room. Despite how many cameras were placed across the laboratory, he couldn't help but feel that this one was zeroing in on every movement he made. On every new vial that he grabbed. Almost as if Mr. Stone was checking up on him, checking to see if he fell for his carefully woven trap. And he did. His pockets were stuffed full of vials, trying to assure that he wouldn't have to go without them.

He was starting to become a brainless zombie. Coming into work with the illusion that he'd be able sneak in a couple vials of Rapture during his lunch break without capturing anyone's attention. Though, rumors had been starting to circulate. Hushed whispers about how the one with the most promise at Alchemax was now a drug addicted fiend. Not that anyone would ever said that to say his face, the whispers died down every time he was in close proximity.

“Hey, have you talked to Miguel recently? He hasn’t been answering my calls and that’s just not like him, y’know?” Gabriel called to ask you around three in the morning. Clearly the brothers had a taste for waking you up at the ass crack of dawn. “No, I haven’t. I haven’t talked to him in like three weeks, I wanna say. Let me know if you hear from him though,” you responded, rubbing your eyes as you tried to stay awake for Gabriel’s sake. “I will, thank you. And please, don’t give up on him. I know he’s an idiot but his heart’s in the right place.”

You looked down at Miguel’s contact information, wondering if you should call him. You did tell him to leave you alone if he wasn’t willing to prove himself to you. And if he hasn’t answered his own brother’s phone calls, then why should he answer yours? After letting the thought seep in, you decided to dial his number. You were hoping for some kind of miracle, that you’d be the one he would make an exception for. “Please leave your message after the beep. BEEP!” Was the only response you received though.

“Hey, I know I said I wasn’t going to talk to you but please call me or Gabriel. Just let us know you’re alive, please. He’s really worried about you. Okay, well I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Bye.”

Calls from Gabriel went unanswered along with the thousand voice messages that he'd left, asking him how he was and expressing concern for him. "Llámame cabron, que estoy preocupado por ti.” I've asked around and no one's heard from you in a couple days. For your sake, I hope you're not dead in a ditch," was what the last message had transcribed to, Gabriel's voice a pitch higher. Usually, Miguel wouldn't have let his brother worry this much about him but he couldn't feign being sober to save his life.

He couldn't take it anymore. The urge that he had to feel that high, even for a couple seconds only to end up feeling like complete crap after he'd taken it. The lows were what got him to get up and inject that poison into his system, the thoughts in his head too much to bear. If he thought that it was bad before the drugs, it was much more worse now. The images of Tempest were much more vivid now, he could practically feel her cold fingers on his skin as she pleaded him for something. He couldn't make out what that something was, it was just an endless string of 'please.'

He was taking the drug more so out of obligation. His body goes cold after a few minutes of sobriety, trembling as his grip on reality starts to waver. The drug offered him shorter periods of relief with every new vial that he inserted into his body, but it offered him some kind of relief. Even if it was just fifteen minutes of letting him forget about the misery that his life was. It wasn't until he looked at his reflection in the mirror that he realized how truly screwed he was, how much he'd been disregarding his own health.

Miguel could hardly recognize the man staring back at him in the mirror. He let out a small gasp when he stuck his hand out, his reflection meeting him halfway. Was this what he had become? His eyes lacked any signs of energy, dark circles ringing underneath. He wasn't even sure when was the last time he managed to sleep more than twenty minutes at a time. His stubble was in patches, a couple splotches of red skin from the scratching he had been doing. He couldn't take looking at this stranger anymore. He punched the mirror out of fury, the pieces shattering below him.

What haunted him the most about looking down at those pieces is that he still saw the reflection of that stranger looking back at him.

After doing some extensive research on all the chemicals that Rapture contained, he came to a conclusion that he already knew at the back of his head. There was no way to break the addiction, not without death involved at least. The drug was unlike any others that he'd seen, the chemical components much higher than some of the hardcore drugs on the market. It changed his genetic makeup to the point where he needed the drug as much as he needed oxygen to breathe. Even slow withdrawals from the drug was a guaranteed death. Every treatment was futile against said drug.

Miguel didn't even want to think about what Mr. Stone was capable of doing if he caught whiff that he was trying to break loose from the viscous cycle he was in. He seemed so eager to get Miguel to take the drug, surely he must've known what effects the drug would take on his body. All the research that he did was on a private network in the safety of his apartment, where he could keep the information safe. He'd come up with one final conclusion, that he needed to change his genetic component back to what it was before getting hooked on Rapture.

Maybe he shouldn't have been so cocky in his own abilities. He really should've done more research on what the dangers of altering his DNA would be. Though, anything would be a relief from the constant nagging in his head for more. More. More. More. The straps on the side of the capsule he was standing in secured him into place, a low hum from the machine next to him indicating that it was ready to start. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, all while hoping for the best and expecting the worst. Though, anything would be better than what he was going through right now.

Aaron truly didn't expect anyone else to be at the lab at this hour, even the workaholics at the lab had their limits. He was there to pick up a couple files that he needed for one of the reports Mr. Stone had asked for, but how could he possibly miss out on this opportunity that just presented to him so perfectly? Even through the green rays of the machine, he could see Miguel O'Hara standing there in his full glory. Attempting not to grimace from the burning sensation coursing through his very veins. Oh, how'd he dreamed of this moment.

All the times Miguel poked fun at him, the times that he'd belittled his work, and all the times that he'd managed to outshine him were the perfect motivation for Aaron to code spider DNA into the system. See how he likes that. The studies on animal DNA altering humans wasn't promising, a 99.999% mortality rate as of yet. He didn't care. Nobody would find out about what he'd done, he knew Mr. Stone would remove all the security footage if it came to that point. He amped up the machine to the max, staring at the capsule eagerly.

Agonizing screams followed soon after Aaron departed from the scene, a traitorous laugh escaping from his throat upon realizing what he'd done. "AARON!" Miguel's yells echoed into the steel hallways, bouncing off the walls though Aaron was less the wiser. It was truthfully the best melody that Aaron had heard in his life, hearing one of the men he hated the most cry out for help without actually receiving any aid. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Miguel's voice was raw from the screaming he'd been doing. The machine beeped loudly, indicating that the genetic splicing was now finished.

Miguel stepped out of the chamber, wobbling and stumbling through the laboratory floor before touching what he assumed was a table. He gripped the edges of the table, blinking rapidly to ease the blurriness that clouded his vision. Everything felt odd. His body didn't feel like it belonged to him, it felt like it belonged to some monster. Long claws protruded from his fingers, scratching the table the harder he tried to hold onto. He ran his tongue through his teeth, letting out a small groan upon feeling a sharp sensation on the side.

Fangs..? No, he must be daydreaming. Some after effect of long term exposure to Rapture. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to wake up from this torment, he remained still. Footsteps pattered in the hallways, a reminder that someone else had been witness to this situation. Miguel ran faster than he was ever able to, tackling Aaron onto the ground in a matter of mere seconds. Miguel gripped Aaron's arms above his head, paying no attention to the sound of ripping flesh. All that Miguel knew is that he needed answers and he needed them now.

"What the hell did you put in me?!" The accusation didn't come out the way he expected it to, a lisp in his words. Aaron winced in pain from the prickles that Miguel was inducing with his claws, a self satisfied smirk on his face at seeing what he'd managed to reduce the man to nonetheless. "ANSWER ME!" Miguel's voice boomed through the empty hallways, echoing throughout the dead of night. He swore that the vein throbbing in his forehead was about to pop the second that he saw Aaron laughing.

Miguel tossed Aaron to the side without any regard to where he landed, going back to the lab to look for any hints of what Aaron had coded into the system. He went back to the previous code, seeing that some form of spider DNA had been entered into the system. He shouldn't even be alive right now. Not when all the other people who'd gone through this procedure morphed into a version of the creature before ultimately exploding. His head was spinning with the realization, not even bothering to notice the fact that he didn't need the drug anymore.

He looked down at his phone, his finger hovering above your contact name as he debated on whether or not he should call you. Before he got the chance to make a decision though, police sirens blared loudly out of the building. The sound seemed to rattle his head, his ears all too sensitive to the sound. Miguel got down on his knees, pressing his hands to his ears in hopes that it would alleviate with the pain. It did not. All he could do was hope that the sound would soon go away while he curled up into a ball.

"NYPD! Come outside with your hands up!" A man's voice boomed through a loudspeaker. Miguel looked around, trying to find a way out of the facility. He could hear the boot stomps from the first floor, every possible exit blockaded by the police. So he did the most logical thing he could think of. He jumped out of the window and swung? Wait, what? Sure enough, he looked down at his wrists to see a small pocket shooting out white webs. Though, he really should've been paying more attention to the sights in front of him.

THUMP

He crashed face first into a building, a measly web falling from his wrist next to him.

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[thefreakandthehair]

we feel a little warmer now.

rating: teen & up | wc: 1.1k | tags: canon-typical injuries, pre-relationship, getting together, fluff, light hurt/comfort | prompt: love is a fire that never goes out @steddielovemonth & a happy birthday gift for @henderdads! title from the woods, by hollow coves.

February in Indiana is still the dead of winter— cornfields are barren, trees sway in the wind without their leaves, and the sky seems to have a sheer layer of grey even on the cloudless days.

Eddie’s always loved winter. The shorter days followed by longer nights, snowy Sundays, watching the smoke from a joint or cigarette dance in the freezing air, and excuses to do donuts in the local abandoned grocery store parking lot. He’s always loved winter, or at least he did until his world shattered at his feet, leaving him with injuries that take ages to heal and scars that leave him perpetually cold.

It’s been difficult to explain, even to the people who’d lived it with him. He can’t fully enjoy winter anymore because the cold seeps into his bones, maybe through the scars, maybe just because of the nerve damage. He’ll never know for sure because Hawkins General doesn’t exactly have a Demobat Specialist on staff so he just keeps it to himself.

Well, mostly. Steve knows.

Hiding anything from Steve has proven impossible. His constant chill, his frustration with the new but still-improving limp, the grief, the guilt, the confusing simultaneous euphoria of survival. The only secret he’s managed to keep is the big fat crush he’s harbored, probably since Steve helped find him in the woods.

Maybe earlier. Maybe since high school. He tries not to think about it too much.

The point is, Steve knows and even if Eddie hasn’t said that it breaks his heart to lose the quiet winter nights smoking on the porch or the hood of his van, Steve figures that out, too.

He must, because Eddie nearly jumps out of his freezing skin when knuckles rap on the front door of his and Wayne’s new trailer. There’s a system these days: check the peep hole, crack the door with the chain still attached to confirm, and only then does Eddie open the door completely. An unfortunate system, but he’s far from the town hero that Steve’s been hailed as, albeit against his will.

Speaking of, through the peep hole, he sees Steve standing on his porch wrapped in what looks like a thick hoodie and winter coat.

“Who goes there?” Eddie asks, cracking the door and peering out with one eye.

“It’s me, you ass. Let me in, I have a surprise.”

The door chain unhooks with a metallic click and Steve enters the trailer like he belongs there.

Because he does, Eddie thinks.

“A surprise? For me? Oh, do tell.”

Steve stands in the living room, a live wire if Eddie’s ever seen one. His hair is a little messy, as though he’s been raking his fingers through it. His nose is pink, complemented by his frosty cheeks, and his eyes are wide and wild.

“If it’s overstepping or whatever, we can pretend I never mentioned it but I know how much you miss winter nights. And I uh, I built a fire pit at my house?” His voice pitches up, as though it’s a question.

“You built a fire pit? Today?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be honestly, time consuming but, yeah. I built a fire pit. And I was thinking that maybe with the fire and some blankets and a good jacket— a real winter coat, not just your leather jacket— you might be able to get some of that back.”

Eddie tries his best not to think about Steve lugging brick pavers and forcing them into place, thinking about Eddie and his stupid broken internal thermostat. Wanting to give him back something the Upside Down took. Worrying Eddie would somehow see this as overstepping.

It’s a quick Yes and even quicker drive to Loch Nora, a drive that Eddie’s always found hilarious. How can two neighborhoods exist so close together but feel like different worlds?

The whole way there, Eddie keeps Steve talking. If Steve’s talking, there’s less room for Eddie to spill yet another truth inadvertently, the only one left to spill. Instead, he asks questions about work, and Robin, and if he’s heard from his parents.

(“It sucks,” “she’s great,” “nope”. In that order.)

Pulling into the driveway, Eddie hops out of the car as best he can in one of Wayne’s old winter coats and follows Steve to the backyard. His jaw drops when he sees exactly what Steve’s done. More than a simple circle of bricks, there’s a pit made of concrete blocks in the center of a larger circle filled with wood chips and grey pavers marking the perimeter. Wood logs are already split in a pile off to the side next to two lawn chairs and dear God, Eddie really hopes that Steve bought that already split. He’s still not over him swinging on demobats with his bare hands, and the image of him with an axe is enough to put him down for good.

“C’mon, I’ll get it started,” Steve nudges their shoulders together and walks through the pit to the stack of logs.

Steve gets a roaring fire going, the kind that cracks and burns both red and blue, and passes Eddie an extra blanket. Flames dance beneath the clear sky, speckled with stars that do little to distract him from how unbearably warm he is for the first time in months.

People don’t just do things like this for him, not without expectation or out of obligation. So much of Eddie’s life has felt like a spectrum spanning from pity to transactional with very few exceptions in between.

Then again, Steve feels like an exception to a lot of things.

“Why?” Eddie eventually asks, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke like a kid seeing his breath.

Steve shrugs and tosses the butt of his own cigarette into the flames. “You lost enough down there, and I know how that feels. If there’s something easy enough to fix, I want to. You deserve that.”

Eddie turns and sees Steve smiling, just a soft upturn of his lips as he looks up at the sky. His face is flushed and Eddie wants to think it’s not from the flames.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Eddie says, scooting his chair over close enough for the arms of their chairs to nearly touch.

Steve looks back from the sky to Eddie, long lashes and the scar on his neck on full display.

“That a good thing?”

Eddie nods. “Oh yeah, definitely. Maybe the best thing.”

They sit outside for hours, eventually sharing a blanket draped around their shoulders and a first kiss that lights him up from the inside.

Eddie’s warm long after the fire burns out.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steddielovemonth #myblurbs #please consider reblogging if you enjoy <3 #also the song really lends a vibe to this and it's one of my favs so consider this a music rec too lmao

[tsukimefuku]

old regrets and guilt ridden pasts ꕥ higuruma hiromi

this part → part 2 → part 3 (soon) | mdni!

summary: you and hiromi are sent out on a mission to exorcize a strong curse at an abandoned hospital. as hiromi has to use his domain to strip you from your cursed technique, things start to go downhill.

tags: +18!, starts out with an explicit! sex scene, some smut, f!reader, established relationship higuruma x reader, reader is kind of emotionally stunted, mentions of death, grief, yuuji and nanami make an appearance, implied past nanami x reader, overall angst, fluff, hurt + comfort.

wc: 3.9k

notes etc.: heavy spoilers for "sand and snow" readers. written to the sound of nothing in my way (keane). as always, i write flawed characters that can (and will) sometimes be assholes.

ꕥ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

The day had been pleasant. You and Hiromi shared a lazy Sunday with no missions or jujutsu sorcery whatsoever, watched a few movies on TV, talked and spent time together. He tried teaching you principles of criminal law, but you understood virtually nothing.

After a few glasses of wine, though, your hand wound up on his thighs, his lips on your neck, and well, here you were.

You were splayed in front of him, propping up your body with your arms, and his abdomen was pressed sweaty against your back, as he rolled himself into you. Hiromi had one hand on your thigh, and the other supported him over your trembling body.

"Ah, Hiro-" you gasped, in between mewls and moans, turning your chin over your shoulder, just so you could ask him to move, making it easier for you to come undone over him.

He huffed, warm, humid breath pressed against the hair in the back of your neck, as he answered with a husky voice, "yes, my love?"

He had called you that once or twice before, but this time, it swirled and tangled itself around you like divine rope, drowning you in molasses. The request you had lingering went straight to the back of your mind, as you moaned to the sound of his gravely, breathless voice calling you 'my love'.

"Call me that again," you pleaded, whimpering, while you felt him brushing against the deepest parts of you.

"Ah, my love..." Hiromi repeated, an audible smile while he spoke, nuzzling his gorgeous hooked nose behind your neck as he planted wet kisses wherever his lips passed. "My love, my love, my love…" His mouth traveled to the back of your shoulder, and you lifted your head to moan his name, shivers prickling on the roots of every hair in your body.

He kept cooing my love against you until his speech became nothing but incoherent mumbling against your bare, sensitive skin.

Before you noticed, his hand, previously on your thigh, descended to rub you as he approached his own release, and upon the pressure from his digits on you, already sensitive by then, you let out a strained moan of his name. 

Hiromi came with a watery groan, having you tip over the edge some time after, letting out a last cry for him.

As you were navigating your euphoric ecstasy, trying to keep the comedown at bay for a few moments longer, both falling to the side with him pulling your body closer, you felt him whispering against your locks.

Even though you couldn't be sure about it, you thought you heard Hiromi say I love you.

***

"I have to go," he said, playfully trying to untangle your arms from his waist, kissing your cheek with the sultry smell of fresh black coffee breath. You were both in your balcony, the breakfast plates empty over the only chair you had, and you giggled and kissed his jawline insistently.

"Why do you have to go?" You asked, parting slightly to look at Hiromi. As he looked back at you, you formed a pout with your lower lip, and he smiled, planting a quick kiss on your mouth.

"Because I have to water the sunflower you gave me," he replied, lovingly.

"Why don’t you just bring your sunflower here? You basically sleep here the entire week now. You should bring some clothes too, and other things you might need" you replied, liberating his waist from your tight grip on his body, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Then you realized what that sounded like.

He also did.

"Are you... Asking me to move in with you?" He questioned, and you instantly blushed, red wash covering your cheeks.

"I... Just bring the sunflower already. I-" you stuttered, "just don't want you to leave every single morning to take care of it and change into clean clothes."

Hiromi put both of his hands on your shoulders and smiled fondly. "I will, I promise," he answered, as he kissed your forehead with a feathery touch. You smiled at him, and let your arms down, aligning his tie with the tips of your fingers. At that, he sighed contently.

It was then that you remembered what you thought you heard last night.

"Hey, Hiromi..." you began.

"Yes, my love?" He replied, sugary tone as he brought one of his hands up to caress your cheek.

You quivered to the sound of that, just like you did the night before.

"Yesterday, after we..." you cleared your throat, feeling a faint sense of trepidation creeping over you, "did you whisper or say anything? I mean, I thought I heard something."

He widened his eyes a little, and you could swear his face had become a light peachy pink. You kept silent, waiting for an answer, and his mouth opened, without a sound coming from it, as he blinked mindlessly thinking of anything to say.

Words failed him, hard.

Then, your phone rang.

You cursed internally at the interruption, sighing deeply.

Grasping at it with the tips of your fingers, you pulled the thing out of your pocket, seeing Gojo's name lit up on the screen. 

Pressing the green icon, you said, "yes, Satoru? I was kind of in the middle of something."

"Hey!" His whimsical voice echoed through your ear. "So, we have a mission for you and Higuruma, and I'd like to ask for you to take Yuuji along."

"Oh, okay, no problem. What is it?"

"There's apparently a Grade 1 curse in a closed-down hospital, just by the outskirts of Tokyo. You or Higuruma alone would suffice, but I want Yuuji to train coordinating himself with other sorcerers in the field, so the more, the merrier! Also, you are both great at it, so he might actually learn a thing or two." 

You smiled, noticing how this enthusiasm wasn't purely a facade. Gojo had been slowly — but surely — been chipping away at his frivolous-smile persona, and it became evident in how he sounded genuinely thrilled when talking about his students.

"Okay! I'll be delighted to have him tagging along."

"Alright, then!"

You hung up, and darted your eyes to Higuruma, that seemed curious about your call.

"We have a mission together. Just let me get ready" you stated, and he hoped for a second that you had forgotten the question you made moments before the phone rang.

You hadn't.

***

"Nitta, we'll be right back! Please, take care. This area seems kind of shady" you said, as you, Higuruma and Yuuji stepped outside the car. 

The blonde woman turned her head to smile at you, giving you a thumbs up. "No worries. Also, I'm bringing the veil down right after you go inside. Even if we're a little far from the huzz buzz of Tokyo, it's better to be safe than sorry."

You nodded. "Great. Thank you, Nitta."

After closing the doors, the three of you began walking towards the hospital. It was a considerably big structure, and seemed to be closed off for at least a few years, with the unforgiving weather weaving black cracks of mold across the sleeping giant’s facade.

"So, are you excited?" You asked, turning your head to look at Yuuji. He looked back at you, big puppy eyes flickering with anticipation.

"Yes!" He chirped, opening a wide smile. "I really want to see you and Mr. Higuruma fighting together on the field, I heard you two are mad strong working together."

Barely before Hiromi began taking missions on his own, and after working together for some time, you both became something of a legendary duo for having exorcized a particularly strong special grade curse side by side in a sequence of black flashes — you both had dealt three black flashes each.

Hiromi silently smiled, gazing at you, and after noticing it, you couldn't help but blush a little bit. You shook your head softly, and breathed deeply to ease yourself back into professional mode.

"So, Yuuji-kun," you began, enunciating every syllable separately.

"Yes, sensei?" He replied, imitating your cadence.

"Let's have a quick run through on cursed spirits again, shall we?"

"Okay!"

"So, why do you think a strong cursed spirit manifested here, inside a closed off hospital?" You quizzed.

"Because cursed spirits manifest due to negative emotions, and places like hospitals, cemeteries and such pool a lot of those" He answered.

"Good! But this hospital has been closed off for a while, so what do you think could've happened for a cursed spirit to manifest here currently?"

"There are two options. First, it took some time for the negative energy to concentrate enough for it to appear," he began, "and the second is that this spirit had already been exorcized, but after a while, it respawned."

"Yes, yes, good," you answered, nodding, trying to keep a straight face to mask the proud feeling. "But there is a third option!"

"Oh, is there?" He inquired, whipping his head in your direction.

"Yes! If this is an almost special grade curse, like some we all have faced in the past, then it could've spawned elsewhere and come here out of its own volition" you completed, finger extended up beside your face to make your point.

"Oh, true!" He replied.

"So, which one do you both think it is?" Hiromi asked, as he mindlessly swirled his gavel around his fingers, the crunch of leaves and dirt under your feet filling the air.

As the three of you entered what you liked to call the invisible cloud, the point where the energy emanated by the cursed spirit around its area seemed to hit like a whiff of strong air, similar to the forming winds of a tornado, you sighed, putting your hands in your pockets. 

"It's strong, but not that strong. I'd place my bets on the first or second options."

***

"There is no time to argue, Hiromi, I need to go in there with Yuuji and I need you to use your domain on me!"

The curse had its own kind of veil, from what you all could tell, and the only people allowed inside were those who apparently had no innate cursed technique. Yuuji easily peered his hand inside its realm, and so did Nitta, apart from her protests of being used as a lab rat. 

"Judgeman can pick any random crime to judge, I have no say in that" he hesitantly answered. "It can be a serious offense, worthy of the death penalty. I'd just like to avoid that happening" he concluded, voice simmering with hesitancy hitting the back of his throat.

"I'm not a contumacious criminal, and you can go easy on me when it's your time to speak. Come on. We can do this!" You tried reassuring him, one hand planted to each of his shoulders. "I can't let Yuuji go in there alone, I'm responsible for him. He's my student, and a teenager."

"You sound just like Nanamin" Yuuji complained more to himself than anyone else, crossing his arms on his chest, still mumbling. I'm not a kid.

"Hiromi, please."

He sighed deeply before nodding.

"Itadori, I'll need you to step behind."

The boy acquiesced and distanced himself, as the other sorcerer stepped his way into your direction and expanded his domain, drawing you in.

No matter how many times you got pulled into other sorcerer's domains, going in was always a jarring and disorienting experience, overall. 

In a few short moments, you and Hiromi were standing facing each other, and you sighed deeply at the sight of that shikigami, remembering that the last time you saw it, the thing gave you one hell of a headache.

Or better, it and Hiromi did, when he was still a curse user.

"Fine, let's go on with this" you stated, getting ready to hear yet another possible (or not) misdemeanor or unknown crime you might've committed.

But you weren't ready for the words that left the shikigami's mouth.

"February 24th, 2008."

That date.

"Odate City, Akita Prefecture."

Oh, no.

Your eyes widened in panic, and Hiromi saw it.

You could visualize his lips moving, he was talking to you. Perhaps asking if you were alright. 

However, you heard nothing.

"You stand accused of homicide against-"

You didn't need to hear the rest.

"I confess. I killed him."

Whatever Hiromi was speaking suddenly drowned in his chest. You looked at him, and he tried futilely holding your faltering gaze to ask you what the hell was going on, shocked eyes wide open, but you just crawled your way back inside your head, desperately wishing for this fucking day to be immediately over.

"Confiscation! Death penalty!" The creature shouted, before dissipating away.

That little shit.

And then… It all happened in a split second.

Hiromi saw the Executioner's Sword in his hand. Yuuji began asking what the hell is going on under bated, preoccupied and terrified breath. You nearly lost your balance before coming back to your senses.

Hiromi immediately dispelled his technique, feeling equal parts mortified and disgusted to be holding that against you.

"Why did you-" the former lawyer began, extending his hand your way.

You flinched away, eyes glued to the ground.

"Not now. I have to go in with Yuuji and finish exorcizing this curse."

"My lo… Please" Hiromi pleaded, before exhaling slowly. "Be careful."

"I will."

***

Hiromi sat beside you, as Yuuji looked worried from afar, since you were never one to be so unbearably quiet and aloof.

The sorcerer knew you were finding it incredibly hard to speak right now, and when everyone got back to Jujutsu High, all you did was sit at the base of the stairs, not uttering a single sound, and not following them when they began walking upstairs. 

Hiromi stayed quiet, gazing at you, and held your hand to see if you'd react.

You didn't move, frozen in your spot, feelings hurricaning inside you like a blizzard. You feared that, if you moved, even a single inch, you'd come crumbling down.

"My love, please, talk to me."

You couldn't do anything other than shake your head.

You just couldn't.

Hell, breathing was barely manageable under the broken dam of painful memories flooding your mind all at once. 

Hiromi sighed, ever so patient, aware of what he had to do. He didn't particularly appreciate the idea, but it was his only option then.

"Tell me the truth" he began, "is it me that you need by your side right now?" Hiromi asked, earnestly.

Your lips trembled for a moment, your jaw clenched, and you searched for the strength to find your voice again. When you did, you felt horrible for what you knew you were about to say, but you chose to honor your promise to Hiromi — always tell him the truth, even when it hurt.

Truth is, you had never told him about your brother and all that happened at Odate, and right now, you knew you couldn't muster up the strength to explain it all to him. It would be necessary to make Hiromi understand the depths of the emotional struggles that had been at stake ever since his shikigami bestowed upon you the death penalty.

Only one person could talk you through this.

"No, it’s not."

He resigned, feeling the words piercing him like needles. The sorcerer was aware that he had to talk to you about it, but decided to do it at a later time.

At that very moment, he knew what you needed to talk about, and Nanami was the only person you'd speak to.

Hiromi got on his feet and walked towards Yuuji.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" The boy asked, genuinely concerned.

"Itadori, can you please call Nanami? Tell him it's important, that it's about her, and ask him to come" Hiromi stated.

Yuuji nodded and pulled his phone, immediately starting to dial.

After the call, Hiromi asked if you wanted to be alone, to which you nodded. He and Yuuji walked upstairs as you waited — for Nanami or for this feeling to go away, whatever happened first.

Some time passed before a car stopped in front of you. 

As Nanami got out of it, he looked at you, and you had a completely defeated look on your face as you were still sitting on the same spot ever since you got there an hour prior.

He closed the door behind him and made his way towards you, steady stride taking him to meet you at the steps, as he, himself, descended, sitting by your side. He didn't glance at you, choosing to look at the sky after removing his glasses, putting them inside his blazer's pocket, and waited patiently.

Nanami had done this many times before, and knew you usually only needed some peace, quiet and space in order to begin spilling your ruminations and thoughts all over his ears.

With a sigh, you began. 

"I got sentenced to death today for killing my brother. Wonderful day."

Nanami was instantly taken aback, not grasping what you were on about. 

"Could you please clarify?"

You shuffled uncomfortably.

"We were fighting a curse, and long story short, only people without innate cursed techniques could enter its own brand of veil in order to fight it. I asked Hiromi to use his domain on me, so that Itadori wouldn't go in alone, and I was tried for my brother's death."

The sorcerer had some knowledge as to how Higuruma's domain worked, and it still didn't make sense to him. He knew that Higuruma didn't pick the crime to be tried, as it was chosen at random by his shikigami, and also knew there were two possible different penalties, confiscation and death sentence, the second reserved for the most serious of cases, which granted Higuruma the executioner's sword.

He also remembered very distinctly how your brother died, and knew for a fact that you weren't culpable for his death. 

"I apologize, but I still don't understand how that could've happened" he proceeded.

"I..." you stuttered, "I confessed."

Oh.

"Why did you confess?" Nanami asked, voice lowering softly.

You looked at him, and in an instant diverted your gaze back to the ground.

"He died because of me, to save me. He sacrificed himself in a gamble for me to live."

"That doesn't make you culpable" he answered, his voice a mixture of empathetic and objective.

"Why not? He's still dead, and I'm still the reason he died."

You leaned your arms to hug your knees shortly after you said that, physically holding your pieces together.

“You're aware he’d wish you to be happy and at peace after he was gone, right?” Nanami asked.

“And that’s the worst part!” You let out, now finally choked on tears that wouldn't come, allowing your fragments to burst at the seams.

Relief, however, was slow to come, and your chest still was tight around your heavy heart.

Nanami was surprised at your response, and remained silent, so that you had the time you needed to elaborate on your feelings.

"I… I know he’d want me to be happy, so now I don’t just feel sad for his departure, but I feel guilty for not being able to fulfill his wish, to just be happy after his death." 

You sighed tightly, trying to air out that wrenching sensation. It didn't work.

"I feel guilty for not being able to fulfill his dying wish. It's like... I failed him in every single way imaginable."

Nanami gave it a pause before he spoke again.

"I understand."

"You... do? I'm not crazy for feeling like that?" You inquired, looking at him.

Nanami shook his head. "No. Navigating grief is a hard challenge, and it can show itself in many ways, often nonsensical."

"I can't imagine how people deal with grief without undoing themselves every time they have to face it" you blurted out.

Looking at you, his eyes softened, as he said, "sometimes, they end up undoing other people in the process."

That caught your attention, and you looked back at him.

With half a mind to distract yourself from the pain regarding the loss of your twin, you unconsciously decided to poke at another kind of ache, one that you hadn't touched upon ever since you and the sorcerer in front of you had defeated the Lover's Pass curse.

"Kento, why-" you halted for a brief second. "Can I call you Kento?"

He smiled so discreetly you nearly missed it. "Yes."

Acclimating yourself to it, you proceeded.

"Kento, why did you shove me away like that after we spent a night together?" You asked him, unsure if you really wanted to know the answer to that question.

Nanami sighed and looked down for a while before he answered you.

"I was... Frightened."

That definitely took you unexpectedly, and you looked at him puzzled.

"Of what?"

"Dying and leaving you behind."

He sighed before allowing himself to proceed.

"No, that's not all of it."

Nanami took a few seconds to muster up the courage to admit the not-so noble part of his reasoning for doing what he'd done.

"I was afraid of the pain I'd endure if you died, too."

"Afraid of me dying? That was your reason?" You felt genuinely confused. "Why was that even a reason to push me away? This is a risk just as much now. I'm still a jujutsu sorcerer, you know."

"Yu Haibara" was everything he could say, involuntarily pinching the bridge of his nose, impassive face concealing the sting of pain that came from the depths of his past.

"Your friend?"

You remembered when Nanami told you about the mission where his partner died. How they were both chased by the town's people that treated the curse like a deity, how Haibara was fatally wounded, and how Nanami helplessly tried to flee taking Haibara with him, unable to do a single thing to save his best friend's life.

"Yes. At the time, I had only met a few older sorcerers who died in the field, and dying while on a mission myself felt somewhat like a foreign concept to me. I was young and just saw it as an abstract possibility of being a jujutsu sorcerer" Kento said. You waited quietly for him to proceed, collecting his thoughts.

"When he died, I felt his death deeper than any other that had happened up until that point," Nanami began, now turning his eyes to look at you as he said his next words, "and when I failed your mission years ago, it felt quite like the same. That distinct sense of helplessness and failure."

You were both silent for a moment, letting it all hang in the air.

"I thought that if I kept my distance, and something happened to either of us, it wouldn't hurt so profoundly for me or for you" he concluded.

Upon hearing that, you shook your head and looked away, smiling bitterly and incredulous.

"Well, that's just stupid."

He huffed, with a regretful, quitted expression on his face. "Yes, I know that now. But it seemed to make sense then."

After a few moments, gentle and polite, Kento got up and offered you his hand.

You took it and lifted yourself with his help, feeling like his unwavering serenity could somehow be passed over to you from that brief contact alone.

"Thank you" you murmured, nearly whispering.

"Whenever you need my assistance" he answered, fondly.

It felt like the film that had been suffocating you ever since you stepped out of Hiromi's domain was finally removed, and you could breathe in peace again.

-

Tag list (that I keep forgetting, sorry): @yammy-yammy-yama @g-kleran @otomesass @redlikerozez

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x reader smut #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #hiromi higuruma x reader #jujutsu kaisen higuruma #jjk higuruma #higuruma hiromi #higuruma #higuruma x reader #higuruma x y/n #higuruma x you #higuruma hiromi x reader #hiromi x reader #hiromi smut #hiromi x you #hiromi x y/n #higuruma hiromi x you

[seireitonin]

I just saw your fic/hc of if toby had kids, it's so good btw!! :3

I'm in a mischievous mood, how would he react if one of/both of the kids died? Like he took his eyes off them for one second. I feel like because they most likely live in a forest setting, it would be something like going on a lake when it's iced over and then falling through.

This is so sad omg :( but let me try my best (you really want to sob huh?😭)

Toby If His Kids Died

He’d never ever recover

He’d never ever ever EVER forgive himself

He looked away for one second

Just one

But that second is all it took

The ice was thin and his kids not knowing any better, stood on it together, falling in

Toby heard the sound of the ice breaking and the two loud splashes

He turned around as quickly as he could only to see the open hole where they once were

Trapped under the ice as Toby tried to get them out

He was too late

He pulls them out and does everything he could

CPR, shaking them softly, calling out there names

“Please…wake up…please…please…please! Talk to me! Open your eyes! Please….i need you…I love you! Your dad needs you! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

When they don’t respond it destroys him

He hits the ground, screams and sobs

Just truly broken

Out of everything that he’s been through in his life, this was the most painful, unbearable, heart shattering thing he’s ever been through

His world was gone in a second

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry! I love you! I failed you! I’m so sorry”

He sobs out as he hugs them to his chest, wishing they’d hug him back, and tell him they’re okay

Their skin, freezing cold, their clothes, soaking wet

He carries them home, putting them in their beds, trying to warm them up, one last time

How was he going to face his significant other?

He meets them at the front door, falling to his knees and hugging their legs, ear piercing sobs

“They’re gone…they’re gone”

“W-what?!”

“They fell in the lake and got trapped in the ice! I was too late! I-“

He can’t continue, falling victim to his sobs

His significant other, starts to scream and sob along with him, pushing Toby off in anger

“This is your fault! This is your fucking fault!”

They’re just confused and angry and full of grief like he is

“Why weren’t you watching them?! How could you let this happen?!”

“I turned away for one second! It was a second! One second! I promise!”

“Look what it cost us! Look what you did! You destroy everything you fucking touch!”

“Please….im sorry! I’m sorry!”

He couldn’t even say that wasn’t true

Every person he loved, every person who depended on him, he’s let die

Lyra is dead. His mom was probably dead. Now…his children….are gone

He’s a failure. And everyone around him had to pay the price

His significant other, and Toby bury them on a hill, where they all had a picnic once.

They put their favorite toys on the graves, saying goodbye to their bundles of joy

Life is unfair, huh?

Toby and his partner try to stay together

But they could never look at Toby the same way

They wouldn’t look Toby in the eyes or in the face

They could only see their children in Toby’s features

Toby tried to touch them, to hold them, to comfort them

He could hear them, sobbing quietly in the night with their back turned to him

The guilt eats him alive

But they didn’t want Toby’s touch, not ever again

Their meals were silent

They exchanged minimal words

What do you say? What do you do?

They couldn’t take it anymore

They packed all their things and had one final conversation with the man they once had a life with

“Toby…”

“Please…no”

“Toby….i can’t do this anymore…. I can’t”

“Please….stay”

“I love you, Toby. But I can never forgive you.”

“Don’t…”

“Our children’s empty rooms are up there. I can’t….stay. Every where I turn….I see them. It’s like they’re haunting us. I can’t stay here, Tobias. Neither should you.”

“Please! You’re all I have left! I….please! You’re all I have left…”

“You lost me a long time ago. Goodbye. Tobias”

They were gone, just like that

It’s just Toby in this empty home

A home once filled with love and joy was now filled with grief and pain

He started to have a tic attack

And no one was here to help him through it

He sobs out again, the reality hitting him harder and harder with every passing second

With no one around

He starts to have hallucinations again

He sees the ghosts of his children, like he saw the ghost of Lyra

“Why didn’t you save us?”

“I tried! I tried! You know I…I love you!”

“Then why did you let us die?!”

“Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop!”

He started picking and chewing at his fingers, pulling his hair, hitting himself in the head

Old habits from when he was 17

He turns to alcohol

He made a promise to never be like his dad

He’s sticking to it in his own way

He can never abuse his family. He has no family

He’s often drunk most of the time now

Sometimes just so he can sleep

But even when he sleeps all he can hear is the ice breaking, the ice cold water, the last moments of his kids

Masky and Hoodie find him in his home

“Toby. You have to start coming on missions again. We can’t keep covering for you. You know what Slenderman will do to you if you don’t”

“Let him kill me. I don’t care. I died a long time ago”

He takes another swig from his bottle as he talks to them, slurring a bit

“He should’ve…let me die….when I was 25”

“You can’t even stand can you?”

“Fuck you! Fuck you!”

He starts to scream

“My family is gone! I lost my family, TWICE! You think I care about missions anymore?! You think I care about anything anymore?! Huh?! I dont give a fuck about my life!”

Masky lets out a sigh

“You know, you always were emotional. Although, I kinda miss when you were a hyper and upbeat annoying little shit. I wonder if your children were the same?”

Toby immediately pulls his hatchets out and starts swinging, sloppy, but still dangerous

“Don’t you ever fucking talk about them!”

Hoody catches his arms and pushes him back on the couch

“He didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t give a fuck! I’ll kill him!”

“You can’t even stand up straight”

The room was spinning. He wasn’t wrong

“Just…let me die. Let me die…here”

They look at him

He’s malnourished. His skin paler than ever. His self inflicted wounds, just open because no one was there to help patch him up. The dark circles under his eyes, prominent. His eyes themselves, hollow and empty

Masky warms up some instant noodles from the cabinet

“Eat. Now”

“Fuck you”

“Toby. Please” Hoodie says, concerned

He reluctantly takes it and eats slowly unable to finish, putting it on the table in front of him

“See that…toy truck over there?”

He points to a red toy pickup truck, untouched and in the same place his son left it.

“That was my son’s favorite. He told me…he liked it so much….because it looked like….mine.”

He points to a doll with fluffy brown hair

“See that? My daughter….loved it…said it had hair like me”

He can’t take it anymore. He starts to sob. He doesn’t even care about looking tough anymore

“Fuck! They’re gone! They’re gone!”

Toby puts his head in his hands and just sobs

What else could he do?

This was his first time talking about it with someone else

They sit with him, putting their hands on his shoulders, comforting him

They didn’t always get along though out the years

But they could put that aside for something like this

“Brain. You died. Brought back by….Slenderman. How do you feel?”

He already knew what Toby was implying

“Don’t even think about it Toby. I may be alive again. But my body isn’t mine anymore and I’m a slave to Slenderman. You know that. You don’t want that for your children. They’ll belong to him and have a life of suffering. So…let them rest”

It was selfish thinking on Toby’s part. But he’d do anything to have them back

But he knew better. He wouldn’t actually go through with that idea

Toby’s mood swings are worse than ever

Extreme sadness, to extreme numbness to extreme anger

That’s it

He couldn’t feel happiness anymore

It died with his kids

It left with his significant other

Constant panic attacks

Constant nightmares

Constant hallucinations

And besides the occasional visit from Masky and Hoodie

He was alone

And….maybe it’s better this way

The words ring in his head every day

“You destroy everything you fucking touch!”

A shell of a person

Doesn’t leave his house anymore, unless it’s to visit his children’s graves

Hopes he’ll see his ex partner there one day

Wants to ask if they have nightmares too and if they still wake up and think of the life they had together

Wants to end his own life, but was cursed with immortality or at least long lasting life

He wants nothing more than to see his family again

Both of them

Blames himself every day

Will literally never not blame himself

He will never move on or be happy again

So he spends his days in the empty home, looking at once was

“Please….forgive me. I love you.”

He holds a picture of his kids to his chest as he falls asleep into another nightmare

Not that real life was any better

#creepypasta #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta characters #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #crp #ticci toby #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby hc #ticci toby hcs #ticcitoby #tobias erin rogers #seireitonin

[notjoelmiller]

see you on the other side

MDNI

joel miller x reader summary: You're drifting from Joel, but you promise him you won't leave Boston. Even as things get worse. wordcount: 3k warnings: smut (p-in-v, m-receiving oral), angst, death (non-major characters), violence, injury, mention of alcohol and painkiller consumption a/n: no spoilers as long as you've seen ep1. hope you enjoy <3

Joel never liked Boston. He visited as a boy then again with Sarah. Both times he came to the same conclusion: Texas was home.

Now Boston’s home. Not by choice, certainly. Tommy wanted security and community. He had a pipe dream about a sense of normalcy like before and somehow convinced Joel that a quarantine zone would be worth the trouble.

It was, like Joel predicted, not worth it. 

Add on top of it the chilly winters and gray skies, Joel wanted to up and leave.

You moved in a year after them, in the next door unit in the designated “childless” apartment building– more like a barracks. 

Tommy tried flirting with you the moment he laid eyes on you. Joel was there– standing behind him and rolling his eyes so hard that he nearly missed the way your eyes flickered to his figure in curiosity. Dejected by your rejection, Tommy slips into Joel’s place too soon to notice the bashful smiles you two exchange.

Within a month, a picture of you and him sits on Joel’s fridge.

****

Tommy joins the Fireflies a year after you move in with Joel. Joel can’t understand why. He spends the better part of that winter tormented by migraines as he tries to understand where he went wrong. He hasn’t spoken to his brother in the better part of the season.

He worries for Tommy. He convinces himself that his brother has gone off on a suicide mission. He chest tightens with each step into the town square, convinced his brother’s body will be hanging. Dread of the possibility that he’s spoken his last words to Tommy looms over Joel’s head.

You’re less worried than Joel. You actually talk to Tommy, truly listen to his side of the story without letting rage take over. You become Tommy’s advocate. The Miller’s middleman.

He’s not stupid Joel. You know that.

Try sayin’ that when he gets his neck snapped by FEDRA.

Joel handles his anger– his premature grief –better than most people these days. He talks to you when things get bad, vents until he runs out of energy to talk. It’s usually those nights, when he’s loosened by frustration (and some whiskey), that you have your longest, most heartfelt conversations with the man. It’s during those conversations that your relationship progresses the most, albeit baby steps. They include the nights when he asked you to move in, first told you he cares about you, and told you about his daughter.

You distract him. He spends less time draining his decanter in favor of drowning his woes into you. He wakes you up at night, when the thoughts get too much for him, with a hand trailing up your side and his mouth on your neck.

He takes it slow those nights, on your sides and him behind you. He whispers to you, words emphasized by the slow pistoning of his hips. He thanks you, praises you. He begs you not to leave.

Afterwards, with his seed drying on your skin, his arm tossed over your still-clothed chest, you always tell him you love him. He never says it back.

****

The first time you sneak out, you confess immediately afterwards. Tommy needed help with a job, not for the Fireflies, but one he didn’t trust Joel to act hospitable enough for. You leave in the blanket of night and return before curfew ends, unscathed, but with a look of guilt in your eyes.

The next time you sneak out, you spare the details. Tommy had a job, you say. There’s less guilt in your eyes, especially when you tuck a thick pile of ration cards into the stash.

After the third night you sneak out, Joel accepts it as a routine. He knows not to question a good thing. Ration cards are a blessing, and your work with Tommy keeps the food coming in when Joel’s smuggling falls short.

Things turn after that. The Fireflies pull a stunt. They line up half of a dozen off-duty FEDRA workers in the square and beat them to death. Their blood flows down the street the next morning, leading crowds to the scene. Their bodies are marred, sitting in a pile underneath a messy Firefly, painted on an old brick wall.

They post their manifesto all around town, and for the first and only time in a year, the Miller brothers reunite.

You stand between them, staring down at the bodies collecting flies. The scent of cadaver fills the air, the spread of the scent expedited by the summer sun.

Tommy’s shocked.

Joel tells him, “It’s what you signed up for.” They’re his parting words.

FEDRA leaves the bodies on the street for the day, letting the people of the quarantine zone watch wives and children publicly grieve. It was their way of garnering support, of encouraging compliance. Every sob that echoes through the city is a question.

A mother cries for her son. Is this what you want?

A brother falls to his knees. Does freedom require such violence?

A child learns that their father won’t come home. Shouldn’t the Fireflies pay for what they’ve done?

The Fireflies fail, and their manifesto is ignored. FEDRA increases security within the zone. They crack down on illegal activity, not just the Fireflies. Jobs with Tommy become more risky. More hours go into planning, and execution takes twice the time.

Joel’s smuggling ring comes up with a code, something with decades of music. He refuses to share the details with you. He spends hours at a time sitting at the radio, scouring its stations for any sign of whatever. Some days he completely disappears into it, songs you haven't heard in years filling the apartment as incoming and outgoing signals.

Joel worries. You worry. 

There are hangings in the streets almost every day. It used to just be Fireflies. Now it’s everyone: kids sneaking out past curfew, the elderly pocketing extra ration cards, just about anybody they can deal an infraction to.

One night, when it’s too dark for him to read the vulnerability evident on your face, you tell Joel the truth.

“Tommy’s thinking of leaving.”

Joel scoffs. “That’s a stupid thing to do”

“It’s dangerous here.”

“It’s dangerous out there.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re not thinking of leaving.” 

You’re not thinking of leaving. It’s a statement, so presumptuous it makes you dizzy. But it shouldn’t. He’s right. You’re not thinking of leaving. You couldn’t leave Joel. He’s become a part of you. Leaving him would splinter some vital part of your very soul. It would shatter the pipe-dream of love in this world that you’ve somehow made true.

“I wouldn’t leave you, Joel.”

I can’t leave you, Joel. Not now.

****

He’s awake when you shuffle through the door. You don’t turn on the lights, just stumble through the apartment to the bed. You keep your right leg straight as you lower yourself next to him. Your pants are off already, shucked off by the door, he assumes. A bloody bandage wraps around your knee. It seems to stare back at Joel.

It’s blizzarding out. It’s one of the things he hates most about Boston. The bone-chilling storms that never seem to let up. He wonders if that’s why you’re back so late.

“Rough night?” He asks. You don’t answer.

You speak less these days. He doesn’t raise a fuss because when you do speak, you’re arguing. The two of you dance around each other, pretending like there isn’t an invisible wedge driving itself between you. Intimacy evades you, and your features come to harden more and more each time you sneak in past curfew. There are still peeks though, of that woman who smiled so bashfully at him: the way you smile when he greets you with a kiss, laugh at his dry humor, sigh as he sinks himself into you.

“Been two days,” he says. 

You hum in what Joel assumes is your attempt at a response. Your eyes are closed, that he can make out from the moonlight streaming through the window. You’re breathing heavily, either from frustration or pain from your leg. He selfishly hopes it's the latter.

“You should have left a note.”

“If I knew it’d be long, I would have.” Not an apology.

“You didn’t know?”

You sigh, and for a moment Joel thinks you’re going to ignore him, just turn on your side and fall asleep. But you push back, a warning lilt to your voice, “Things went wrong.” He can hear it between your words, I don’t want to do this right now, Joel.

He wants to stop, roll over and pull you into his arms and pretend like your lives aren’t on the line, like everything’s okay. But he’s worried. “Tommy’s gonna get you killed.”

You sit up, so fast Joel thinks you’re going to knock him off of the bed. There’s a sparkle– no, simmering –in your eyes. “Joel–” You stop yourself, a hand coming to pinch the bridge of your nose.

Silence returns to the apartment. You look older in the low lighting, stress pulling unfavorably on your features. 

Joel knows he should apologize for his roughness, but remorse isn’t something he can find within himself. Apologies come hard these days. He lets his anger, fear, and hurt control him, afraid apologizing would let all those feelings melt away, and leave him with an emptiness and need to face his cruel reality.

“Can we not do this?” You whisper, “Not tonight, please.”

Joel purses his lips, pulling you into his side. You let him hold you, feeling the pulsing of his heart beneath his ribcage.

Your hand slips from his shoulder. Lower– to his ribs. Lower– to the softness of his waist. Lower– to the band of the jeans he fell asleep in. He knows what you want. What you need. Most of your arguments end the same way. One of you stops it early, before things get nasty. There’s no resolution, just anger and hate and energy sitting in the air. It needs to be spent somehow.

But he’s tired. You’ve been gone since yesterday morning, longer than you’ve ever been out. And he was awake, waiting for you to walk through the door, weighing when and where he needed to storm off to find you. Adrenaline has come and gone and turned Joel to a husk.

“Tired, baby,” he mutters, placing his hand over yours.

“No, no,” you whisper, though you stall your movements. “Don’t worry about me, baby. Just let me take care of you.” You look at him expectantly, begging silently.

Joel nods and you send him the most honest-to-god beaming smile he’s ever seen as your hands unbutton his jeans. He’s– shamefully –half-hard by the time you work him out of his jeans, and the way you take his tip into his mouth, hands working the rest of his length, has him solid so fast he’s dizzy.

It’s unceremonious and awkward. You lean over your lap to fit him in your mouth. Your bad leg rests on the ground, straight at the knee. He wants to stop you, tell you to move into a more comfortable position, but then his tip hits the back of his throat and all bets are off. His hands knot in your hair as he groans. 

His length pulses in the wet heat of your mouth. He bites back a curse along with the carnal need to take control, hold your head and just thrust. You’d let him, too. That was the worst part of it. You’d let him just take control and abuse your throat. You’d look up at him with wide eyes, tears building up, maybe they’d spill over. 

You’d let all that happen because you were just so fucking good to him. So he stops you, pulling you off of his length with the hand fisted in your hair. You mewl, looking back at him with confused eyes.

The hand in your hair comes to your chin, bringing your face to him. “Lay back down, baby,” he mutters against your lips.

He doesn’t take off your underwear, just pushes it to the side as he presses a finger to your clit in a languid circling. Your hips chase his touch as best you can, mindful of bandages that seem to have just gotten bloodier over time. 

“Careful,” he tuts, though he allows two fingers to slip into your heat. Soaked.

Joel rolls himself on top of you, and your good leg comes to wrap around him, hugging him close. He wastes no time in sinking into you, starting with a brutal pace.

You entangle yourself in him, reaching to get as much of Joel into your arms as you can. You tangle your hands in your hair, trace the line of his jaw, put a hand to his mouth while he plants a kiss on your palm– you’re trying to get close to him, as much as you can without making the pain in your legs scream even more. 

He wants to tell you he missed you, that he’s worried, but then you flex around him, squeezing around his length. He’s reminded of how positively debauched this all is. The morning. He promises himself he’ll tell you in the morning.

His thrusts get sloppier, its staccato less rhythmic as he reaches his peak. You worked wonders on him with your mouth, and it’s biting him in the ass. The lingering of your touch and sensation of being close to you, after so long, has him fighting the urge to let go.

“Where?” He gasps, hips unrelenting in their assault. Your hands fist in his shirt, nails digging to bite at his skin through the fabric.

“Inside,” you rasp, and he almost finishes at the thought of his cum dripping from your cunt. You’d keep it in, 

“So fucking good to me, baby,” he grunts.

He’s close. You’re close. You’ve given up on biting back your moans– your neighbors be damned. You’ve begun murmuring beneath him, words of admiration he can’t hear with his bad ear, yet you mutter them all the same. You take advantage of these moments to share the most intimate parts of yourself without fear of his cold judgment. The same intimacy he’s never reciprocated.

He spits in his hand and slips it back down to your clit. He circles it once, twice, and you melt. The sensations are too much for you, the drag of his cock, the wetness of him swirling at your clit, his choked moans in your ears– they’re all cruel and make your vision go white.

Your orgasm pushes him over the edge. He curses, a rare sound in your ear, but continues his drilling into your cunt.

“So. Damn. Good.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, pushing his spend deeper into you. You clench around him, a vice-grip emphasizing the way he just fills you.

His cock twitches one last time before he draws himself out. A pear of your mixed release slips out with him. You watch his face as his eyes fix on the drip, as he contemplates it before scooping it up and back into your abused cunt.

He lowers himself unceremoniously back down on the bed. Your eyes aren’t on him anymore. They occupy themselves with the ceiling, glazed over with something akin to coldness. You reach for his hand, though, taking it in yours and pulling it to your chest. He leans into you. The arm over your chest pulls you close, while a thick leg traps you beneath him. His head nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your heady scent.

“I need you,” he mummers into your skin.

“I love you,” you say.

He doesn’t say it back.

Drifting to sleep, Joel hears a sniffle, muffled into the fabric covering his chest. It’s just the cold, he tells himself. You’re sniffling because of the cold.

****

He wakes up alone, head pounding with the beginning aches of a migraine. Not now, please. The last of the painkillers were traded to pay for winter heating in the apartment. The chill still finds its way in the crumbling walls of the building, though. Most days it’s bearable, when he can pull your body up against his. But you’re not here.

It’s dark out, still. There’s no way curfew was up. How much sleep did you even get last night? Did you even sleep?

He calls your name. His voice fills the space. When the sound echoes back to him, something in his stomach curls.

Your boots and bag are gone. In fact, your sneakers are missing from the small line of shoes by the door. 

He takes a moment to ground himself, breathing deeply before the pang in his stomach comes to consume him. Emotions aren’t easy to regulate, not when they come to you. Especially not when you’re out in a blizzard. Injured. And tired.

He goes about his day after that, anxious at your absence, but there was business he needed to tend to. It’s not until dinnertime, when the emptiness in his stomach is too much to ignore, that he discovers it.

The photo on the fridge has been his favorite. Tommy took it with an old polaroid. You’re tucked under Joel’s arm, beaming as he plants a kiss on your cheek. When you’re gone, and Joel’s feeling lonely, it keeps him company. It reminds him of an easier time, when FEDRA wasn’t on your tails. When being together was easier.

The picture is gone, and in its place is a note, scribbled on a single, crumpled piece of paper.

He can’t read the letter– refuses to put himself through loss like that again, even at the cost of closure– but his thumb traces the last line of the note. It’s written in bigger, messier text. He still recognizes it as your own. Perhaps it was an afterthought. Perhaps you didn’t want to be presumptuous, just to disappoint.

See you on the other side.

For the first time since you smiled at him in that hallway, Joel Miller feels alone.

#joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller smut

[damianbugs]

i spoke about this briefly before, and i think i have my thoughts more collected now to develop on it; i feel like comics which show bruce comforting his child self in flashbacks of the wayne murder in crime alley understand the purpose of batman a lot more than the ones that have him talking to his parents.

if you've been keeping up with recent batman comics, then you'll notice a theme of bruce getting the chance to talk to his younger self. the important part though, is that it is not because of time travel or some detached third party force — it's the young bruce in batman's head.

it's the him hidden behind the black door in his mind when he's fighting his nightmares —

Batman Knight Terrors #2, 2023. written by Joshua Williamson.

— and it's the him tucked away in corner of his mind after being drugged and tortured with his greatest fears.

Detective Comics #1075, 2023. written by Ram V.

after experiencing something traumatic, the one bruce sees suffering from it isn't himself, but the young bruce wayne in the alley. because at the end of the day, every hurt circles back to that night, to that boy, that he can't save no matter how hard he tries — because that boy never left the pool of blood he was sitting in.

i think people often attribute the existence of batman as something created for his parents. to avenge them, or to be the symbol that could have saved their life had he existed before, to stop anyone else from being killed in the same way. there's some truth to that, however, to me, the answer is a little more selfish.

i think it has always been for himself, but not the him now, but the him that is still stuck in that alleyway, waiting over his parents dead bodies. batman is a symbol of hope and reformation and justice, but at its core, batman is what saved bruce wayne.

as a result, the panels above have a very different feel to say, this moment when bruce sees an illusion of his parents in Superman/Batman #56, 2009. written by Michael Green and Mike Johnson.

it's an emotional moment for sure, but it didn't quite speak to me the same way this absolutely phenomenal moment did in Batman: Blind Justice, 1989. written by Sam Hamm.

of course this moment is a lot more cynical in how bruce uses batman to cope with his guilt, while the other moments focus on batman providing young bruce with the hope to continue that he isn't alone — the sentiment of batman being the one to pick him up from the floor and lead him away from the scene in a shared motif.

it reminds me of that one discussion that batman is a victims power fantasy. his own fantasy! because bruce has — in order to have a semblance of control over himself — separated himself from this event that it is a completely different child at the scene of the crime. it's this fact that let's him reach down, hold the boy's hand and tell him everything will be okay.

this bruce wayne is a child, his child, gotham's child, thomas and martha wayne's child, an orphan to protect.

batman was made for children like bruce wayne, to stop them from becoming like him and for them to hold onto when it does — because batman is still trying to fix a problem that has an endless hole. he can never reconcile this trauma and let the boy in the alley leave, because that's not what batman was made for.

batman was made to protect the little boy, and in order to do that, he must remain in that alley.

there's still a bruce wayne who had to grow up, who learned to fight and love and lose again and again, a bruce wayne who becomes batman. a batman who then, tries effortlessly to fix problems and save people, who goes out everynight because if he doesn't, then that boy in the alley is left there for nothing.

then there comes a moment where he falls through the cracks and he's face to face with the child who can't leave and can't grow up and knows nothing but loneliness and grief — and batman gets to tell this child that life becomes more than just this alley.

the child is happy, if even for a moment, that batman is there. that's what batman is for.

#okay this got away from me at some point #i just. i care about this ridiculous character a lot #i hope this makes sense. i might have lied when i said i had my thoughts in order #please give the comics mentioned a read! #bruce wayne #dc meta #saki comic talks

[mysterycitrus]

Jason is my blorbo, my favorite, wretched, little guy and I love him so much. And I love all your posts about him! SO tired of people watering down his character, especially at the expense of other characters. Namely Dick and Tim. I know you're probably tired of talking about J so no hard feelings if you ignore this but I'd love to hear your thoughts and Dick and Jason's relationship. Past, present and where you'd like to see it go in the future. If anywhere. (Also your art is so, so good!! I especially love how you do faces and your coloring)

i actually really enjoy unpacking their relationship. it makes me think about that quote from diary of a wimpy kid - "you're my brother, but you'll never be my friend." idk how they should be written in the future because i think jason needs to be removed from gotham until he grows his personality back, but here's my thoughts on their brains -

from jason's end, there's so much resentment. a large part of his post-resurrection motivations come from the idea that bruce has dishonoured his memory and failed to grieve him, because bruce won't let him or anyone else kill the joker and therefore bruce doesn't love him. bruce rejects his manifesto for fixing gotham, bruce rejects his violence, bruce rejects his politics. would bruce have rejected dick if dick had done this? in jason's mind - no. dick grayson has shackled himself to bruce and is drowning with him. jason does not see that he has also chained himself to bruce and thrown away the key.

it's also worth mentioning that in outsiders 2003 and batman and robin 2009 (when written by winick), jason still fundamentally respects dick's abilities and experience. he think he's weak because he tries to suppress his anger, but i don't think jason would carry that same heavy, debilitating misery from seeing tim or cass or damian - people he was denied knowing by dying, and thus "replaced" by. jason, in some capacity, values dick as an ally. he trusts that dick, for all his flaws, is not a vengeful person (and i'll get to that).

there's a degree of what if there too - both dick and jason lived through a very specific period of bruce's life, which is the period before jason was killed. no one else (aside from babs and alfred) knows what that was like. no one else understands bruce, in that way. they have seen him before that grief in a way no one else who followed can. they're both poor kids brought into wealth. dick transcended into a legacy, and was then discarded. jason was, unconsciously, a tangible replacement for dick (and for robin), but died before bruce had the chance to leave him behind.

by comparison, we see dick reach out to jason, consistently. i'd say that unlike bruce, dick is a pragmatist. he frequently works with murderers. he ran the outsiders. he has, and will continue to, make calls that will questionably result in someone's death. to be clear, that is not the same thing as being a murderer - i think the guilt of that comes very close to killing him - but while he's an inherently optimistic person, i'd say he has realistic expectations for people's behaviour. it's what makes him so efficient as a tactician.

they're also very similar - they respond differently to anger, but they are both explosive. dick doesn't seek retribution on his own behalf, but he will lose control for the people he loves (which includes jason!). going to bat (haha) for jason, and jason then hurting the people he protects (tim, damian, the titans, etc), that's a line jason's crossed. dick won't ever stop swinging out to grab him, because he'll never let anyone fall, but that does not mean he'll be kind when they reach the ground

#when i finish my jason + dick brothers fic ohohohoho.... then people will see my vision #dick grayson #jason todd #nightwing #red hood #batfam #dc comics #the ask and the answer

[jasmines-library]

hi :) can you write sam x reader where she lives with boys and while dean is in hell she and sam are alone together, and she is like the only person who can calm him down

Just a little complication

Summary: The request pretty much says it all. Hurt/comfort with a fluffy ending!

Warnings: Dean's death in s3, grief, guilt.

Word count: 1.2k

Note: Hey anon! I loved this request, thank you so much for asking for it. I'm so sorry that it took this long for me to get to it, but I hope you enjoy.

⛤ MASTERLIST ⛤

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Dean Winchester was dead. There was no gentle way to say it really, not after you saw the way he was torn to shreds by the Hellhounds. His blank gaze would haunt your mind for a while, burnt permanently into your mind. It was no easy situation to understand, and the suddenness of the situation snatched away so much from you so quickly that it was disorientating. To lose a friend like that was like losing a part of yourself; it left you feeling incomplete. A fragment of who you were before. But it was a different story for Sam. 

Sam was racked with grief. At first, he didn’t leave Bobby’s for days. He just locked himself away in his room, with his curtains drawn in his own artificial night, withdrawn into his own mind. The bags beneath his eyes were heavy and cumbersome and the pile of half-touched plates that had piled up in his room had reached a staggering number. But what was worse was the guilt that gnawed at his stomach. It clawed away at him and no matter how many times you or Bobby tried to reassure him that this wasn’t his fault, he refused to believe it. 

Eventually as time moved and the days began to get longer and the flowers bloomed, Sam seemed to be getting better. He began to talk to you more, and returned slightly towards his old self. He was still struggling though, despite how much he tried to hide it. You could see the pain in his eyes that lacked the usual sparkle they had. He had also developed the habit of picking at his skin, or biting around his nails as he thought anxiously. 

He was chewing at his thumbnail when you noticed something was particularly off. He was restless, constantly shifting his position on the couch or bouncing his leg up and down. Bobby was out of town, following up on a lead with Rufus, leaving you alone with Sam. You had planned to sit beside him and rest your head on his shoulder, but instead you noticed his distress. 

“Sammy”? You furrowed your brow, watching him hesitantly. 

He kept his gaze down, not daring to meet your gaze because he knew that the moment he looked up at your pity-riddled gaze, all those thoughts would come bubbling over and he wouldn’t be able to stop the river of tears that threatened to fall. 

At his lack of response, you sat yourself beside him, moving one of Bobby’s couch pillows out of the way so that you could give him a little bit of space that you sensed he needed. You placed a hand gently on his leg, smoothing the denim of his jeans under your thumb. 

“Sam?” You asked again gently, tilting your head towards him. “Talk to me.”

“I- I’m sorry.” He stuttered, standing up abruptly and beginning to walk off. “I can’t.”

His voice wavered as he turned briskly half walking, half running towards one of Bobby’s many alcoves. You followed closely behind him, not missing the way that his breathing got faster and faster, heaving in rugged and uneven rasps that were sure to hurt his lungs, but he seemingly didn’t care as he made his way through the house, weaving between the empty beer bottles and discarded books that no one had bothered to clean up. The way his hands shook made your heart clench as his body trembled. You called after him, trying to grasp his attention. When they finally broke through his hazy mind, he turned and you saw his tear stained cheeks and they way that the droplets had streamed down his face and beaded at his chin before splattering onto his shirt. 

Your face softened. “Oh Sam…”

“It’s my fault.” He choked out through sobs. “If I- He did it for me. Because I wasn’t strong enough to finish him off. If I had just done it then I wouldn’t have died and then he wouldn’t be-”

“Sam. It’s not your fault. No one can stop Dean.”

Sam took a wavering breath, clenching and unclenching his fists, before turning away and swiping the contents of the desk to the floor, some things bounced and rolled across the floor, others shattered or landed with a heavy thud, but neither of you paid much notice as Sam continued to spiral. 

“This is so stupid!” He said. “So stupid-”

He raised his hands again, but you took his wrists in his and held them still. Almost immediately at your touch he calmed down. His body still trembled as he cried silently. Your hand found itself wiping away the tears from his eyes as you hushed him.

“It’s okay Sammy, you’re okay. Deep breaths.”

You inhaled deeply, pulling the air into your lungs before releasing it again. With his hands in yours, he tried to follow the rhythm of your calmness until eventually it slowed to nearly normal pace. 

“Good.” You smiled at him reassuringly. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

“I’m sorry…” He whispered as you sat him down on the plush chair in Bobby’s office. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I just - I miss him. So much…”

Your heart broke and he pulled you close to him. “I know you do, Sammy. I know. But its gonna be okay. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

He sniffled and nodded soundly. 

The two of you spent the rest of the evening snuggled up on the couch together, with you laid out across his chest. He clung to you desperately as the sun cast a golden hue over the window before dipping below the horizon to be replaced by the moon. The pair of you didn’t move for hours as you scrolled endlessly through TV channels and crappy movies that Sam secretly loved no matter how much he tried to hide the little smile that snuck up on him. It was something that he had needed desperately. Not so much a distraction, but a reminder that you were there for him and that things would be okay, eventually. Even if they took a little bit of working out like things do. 

When Bobby bustled through the door, rifle slung over his shoulder, the house was silent and dark save for the Tv which was flickering with life. As he rounded the corner, he melted at the two of you wrapped up within each other's embrace. He was glad to see the way that Sam relaxed around you. It was then that he saw the mess of his house and after frowning, he just shook his head and laughed soundly with a sigh.

“Idjits.”

#supernatural #spn #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester #spn x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #guilt

[chronicowboy]

Eddie knew this was going to be a trainwreck ever since the moment Buck asked Cap if he could bring Natalia to the Grant-Nash barbecue. Now, of course, he had assumed it'd be mainly an internal trainwreck on his part, aching at the sight of Buck's arm around her waist, gritting his teeth as he smiles at her and attempts to be overtly polite. He just didn't expect the trainwreck to breach containment quite so spectacularly.

Its just...

Natalia says something about Buck's death being awesome and the entire garden falls deathly silent. Bobby's face freezes like he's caught in some terrible memory, whether its smoke or rain he's smelling, Eddie couldn't tell you. Hen steadies herself on Karen's arm, and Eddie is only the slightest bit bitter that the person he'd steady himself on isn't his to be steadied by. Maddie's eyes fill with tears almost instantaneously, and Chimney wraps her up, his own face tight with grief. Athena doesn't react beyond a poorly concealed scowl. Even Christopher has stopped playing with Denny to stare.

Still, its not quite a trainwreck until Christopher meets Eddie's eyes. The devastation on his face is enough to have the words falling off Eddie's tongue before he can bite them back.

"Awesome?" Eddie chokes out, swinging his gaze over to the happy couple. His eyes land on Buck, however, a ghostly pale, tight and drawn Buck. "What about it was awesome exactly?"

"Well, I mean, its pretty spectacular you have to admit," Natalia says, a hint of apprehension lining her words.

"Oh, sure. Spectacular. That's exactly how I'd describe it." Eddie nods, lets a cold, rueful laugh bubble up from inside of him and it feels like its been building ever since he joked about lightning striking twice. "What exactly about it was spectacular? His heartbroken sister sobbing in a hospital hallway, wondering if she'd have to watch another brother die? Oh, or was it his captain praying desperately by his bedside because he couldn't bear the thought of losing another child? Was that spectacular? Or was spectacular his brother-in-law's guilt heavy with grief and anchoring him to the hospital room because he thought he was supposed to be the one on the ladder? No." Eddie shakes his head, eyes darting to Buck's blank shock. "Do you know what was really spectacular? The eleven-year-old boy in the hospital waiting room begging to see his Buck on the brink of death just to ask him to come back. Was that spectacular?"

"N-no, of course not," she stammers out, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just..."

Eddie ignores her, eyes locked onto Buck's faraway stare. He takes a step closer, tries not to preen when Buck's eyes immediately focus on him.

"You think she sees you?" Eddie asks, voice raw and way too honest for an entire family and a stranger to hear. "She can't see past the lightning bolt, Buck. But I've been here the whole time." Its here that his voice breaks, cracking into an ugly, pained whisper. "Seeing you, just waiting for you to see me too." He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head, takes a step back. "Chris, its time to go, come on."

Eddie grabs their jackets from where they're folded over the back of a garden chair and puts a hand on Christopher's back when he's close enough. Eddie doesn't look back as they disappear into the house, but he catches Maddie's mumbled thank you when they pass.

The ride home is silent, Christopher's eyes teary and Eddie's throat still clogged with the words he left unsaid. They'll talk when they get home. Eddie will ask Buck to talk later too, not an apology for the words, but for how they were said.

Its fine, they have time.

But the blare of truck horns feels a lot like a wake up call.

#sami rambles #i can see a car crash cliffhanger i cannot lie. #everything this season feels too ominous for it not to come to fruition in the worst of ways #911 spoilers #911 spec #911 fic #911 fanfic #911 spec fic #911 show #911 fox #buddie #buck x eddie #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #firefam #christopher diaz #btw i know natalia doesn't mean it like this. i just think eddie's emotions would get the better of him in the end

[futurecorps3]

𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬

Masterlist<3

Summary: YEARNING WITH A READER HES ABLE TO TOUCH. Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem!reader Warnings: Mentions of Kaz's touch aversion, death, slight OOC Kaz but I think only if you squint like he's a softie with Y/N and Y/N only. Let me know if I missed any!!! Word Count: 2.3K Requested: I guess? @kaldurahms-lover

A/N: The user tagged posted a general request to us Kaz fic writers. The concept follows the line of how our boy would need TOUCH from an s/o who he has known from before JorDIE died. Bestie I hope you like it and you don't mind I used fem!reader (I can change it if it IS an issue). I haven't started and I'm already excited about this piece being posted!!! Mwah hope I did justice to the concept.

˚ · • . ° .

Kaz didn't really know what it was. Maybe it was the weather, too warm for Ketterdam, or the way he was sweating under his gloves. Maybe it was how loud Nina and Jesper were being, too tipsy to care for the volume of their laughs, or how the last job had gone well even when they didn't follow the plan he traced. Maybe he just missed her.

Who was he kidding? Of course he missed her. Y/N had been gone two weeks on a little trip to Novyi Zem to pick up a shipment and get information from financial records kept in one of the properties belonging to their next target. He really tried getting his seller to deliver directly to Ketterdam, but they said it would be too much trouble. Y/N, kind as always, convinced Kaz offered to do both tasks.

And he missed her. The others could tell. The grumpy mood the bastard carried himself with had been even grumpier in the last couple of days and they all knew well what was going on, but decided against prying because he'd never admit it. They couldn't really blame him. After all, his girl was the only one who seemed to melt that inaccessible boy.

They found each other in akin situations; lost kids in a new city, all on their own and with the foolish dream of making a life with nothing but honest intentions and a kind heart. The boy could still remember those pretty watery eyes looking up at his brother with fear, fear of him being another person ready to hurt her. Instead, he made a silent promise to himself to always protect her, to never let anyone hurt her again.

Little did that boy knew he could not keep that promise, not for her, not for himself. He thought fondly at that memory, though. An image close to his heart that made him wonder that maybe he wasn't such a horrible person. Blame it on the innate capacity of kids to feel empathy towards virtually any living thing.

When Jordie died, Kaz was ruined. He felt like he had lost a part of himself, and he didn't know how to go on without his brother. He was consumed by grief and anger, early in age, and pushed Y/N far away from him. But Y/N didn't give up on him.

She knew how much he was hurting, and she refused to let him suffer alone. She was patient with him, giving him the space he needed to grieve, but also letting him know that she was there for him whenever he was ready to talk.

One day, as they were walking through the streets of Ketterdam, Kaz finally opened up to Y/N. He told her everything he had been feeling since Jordie died, the anger, the guilt, and most importantly, the emptiness. And as he spoke, Y/N listened, never judging him, but always offering a kind word or a gentle touch. A touch that did not bother him in the slightest.

Her hands didn't make him feel sick like the ones from officers in the Stadwatch. He realized that he could bear it, and even better, savor it. As they sat in that alley all those years ago, sharing a piece of bread and a dream of a better life, Kaz knew that he had found something special in Y/N. He had found someone who understood him, who accepted him for who he was, and who believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself.

And he knew that he would never let her go. No matter what challenges they faced in the future, no matter how dark the world around them became, Kaz would always have Y/N by his side, just as she had always had his. Together, they would face anything that came their way, because that was what they had always done. They were lost kids in a new city, but they had found each other, and that was all that mattered.

With time, he saw Y/N under a new light. Kaz admired the girl for her capacity to take the best out of situations while remaining conscious of how awful things could get. Her tenderness and bliss seemed to come from a bottomless pit, while his had run dry a long time ago.

It's okay, she had enough to spare for the both of them. Feelings developed, conflict ensued, and after three years of the perilous path of love, they became official. Kaz wouldn't have it any other way and Saint's know Y/N wouldn't either. They loved each other like only two young kids in love could; raw, endlessly.

And that's why Y/N's letter saying she needed more time to collect information had the barrel's bastard all sulky. He needed her embrace, and he needed it now. The more he thought about it, the less probable it seemed for him to be able to hold on a few more days.

"You okay, boss?"

Now, Jesper knew the answer to his question, and he knew why Brekker wasn't doing okay, but he was no expert on how to handle these types of situations, and it seemed like the right thing to ask. As far as Kaz goes, well, he had no idea when the zemeni boy had left his place next to Nina to walk all the way to him. He was too busy thinking about her, as he had been for the past two weeks.

No response came from him. Then a sigh from Jesper. "She'll be back soon, she's okay, Kaz. Turn that terrifying frown into the normal one, you're scaring the piggeons more than we want to". The frustration he felt seemed almost unreasonable; he gave her the job knowing exactly the implications it entailed, so why was he so needy? There was patience in any action of his, but he couldn't control how much he wanted a kiss from his lover at the moment.

To some, it might be cute. To him, it was thoroughly infuriating. "Get a hold of yourself. She'll be back soon, no need to get all mad about something that only time will fix", he thought to himself over and over again in that hot afternoon as he laid on a white blowy blouse in his room trying to go to sleep so time would somehow be faster since burying himself in paperwork and plotting hadn't worked.

With a deep sigh, Kaz closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. He knew that he had to get a grip on himself and not let his emotions get the best of him. Y/N would be back soon enough, and until then, he would have to be patient and wait for her return. And so, he lay there, trying to calm his racing thoughts and steady his beating heart, until finally, he drifted off to sleep.

˚ · • . ° .

First thing he heard was a soft hum. A too familiar song coming from a sweet voice in the bathroom. Was he so out of control he was now dreaming of Y/N returning? What love does to a man... The sun prickling his skin felt too real, the sweat on his bare hands ran freshly, tickling him ever so slightly.

He sat up quickly, his heart pounding with excitement. Had she returned early from her trip? He got out of bed and walked towards the door carefully, his bare footsteps echoing delicately on the wooden floor. As he opened the door a bit wider, he saw her standing in front of the mirror. Y/N's eyes met his, hers sparkling with a well-known happiness.

"Hi" she dared to say. Saints! She had no idea what an agony it had been without her, right? Kaz felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of her. She looked radiant, with her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed from the heat outside. A long walk from the docks, surely. Had he been awake and aware of her early return, he would've walked her back to the Slat with an umbrella to shield both of them from the suffocating light.

"Hello" he mumbled, still a little dazed from sleep. Y/N smiled and stepped closer to him. "I missed you," she said simply, reaching out to take his hand. Kaz felt a surge of emotion wash over him, and he knew in that moment that she had missed him just as much. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him as he breathed in the scent of her hair. It was the same from before she left, just a little saltier.

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, savoring the feeling of being together once more.

Finally, Y/N pulled back and looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips. "I brought you something," she said, pulling away and shuffling through her bag before humming contently, pulling and holding out a small box.

Kaz took the package and opened it to reveal a delicate silver necklace, with a tiny crow charm dangling from it. He looked up at her, surprised and touched by the gesture. "Y-you don't have to wear it-" "It's beautiful," he said softly, handing it over to her as she carefully placed it around his neck with a content smile.

They both knew it would remain hidden under the various layers of clothing he wore on cooler days (or even the hotter ones such as this), but knowing it was there was enough.

"Looks pretty" Y/N beamed, tracing her fingers down his half-exposed chest and pulling him in for a hug from the waist. "I missed you so much," he confessed, feeling the commotion inside of him finally subside under her touch. "I missed you too much, never let me go away for that long again... no matter how stubborn I get".

Kaz felt his mouth turn up in a grin, almost letting out a giggle. "Never," He looked down at her briefly and found her looking at him already, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "don't think I could bear it".

As the heat of the afternoon persisted, Kaz and Y/N found themselves seeking refuge in the relative coolness of Kaz's bedroom. They lay on the bed together, cuddled up over the white sheets, with Kaz's arm wrapped tightly around Y/N's waist. Despite the warmth of the day, Kaz felt a chill run through him at the touch of Y/N's skin against his.

As they lay there, Kaz felt a sense of peace wash over him. He had spent so much of his life chasing after money and power, but now, in this moment, he realized that his number one priority was something much simpler: the warmth and love of the person he cared about most in the world.

Y/N shifted slightly in his arms, and Kaz tightened his grip on her. He could feel her breathing softly against his chest, and he knew that he would never tire of this feeling.

"I've been more... difficult than usual. Even Matthias got alarmed," he murmured, his voice low and husky laced with amusement. Y/N looked up at him, giggling, her eyes filled with love. "It's okay," she said softly. "I missed you too."

Kaz smiled, feeling a sense of contentment that he had never experienced before. He knew that his life would always be filled with danger and uncertainty, but as long as he had Y/N by his side, he knew that he would be able to face anything. Just like when they were kids.

They lay there for a long time, just holding each other, lost in their own thoughts. And as the afternoon turned to evening, they drifted off to sleep, safe and content in each other's arms.

˚ · • . ° .

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed:)

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO REPOST AS THEIR OWN/TRANSLATE/OR COPY MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM OR SPACE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT CONSENT.

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #six of crows #six of crows x reader #grishaverse x reader #kaz brekker imagine #shadow and bone #grishaverse #crooked kingdom #kaz brekker oneshot #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker fanfic