#grieving!reader

[nonasbirthday]

Tbh? I don't like Paul. I don't want Paul. I understand that Paul serves an important narrative function and that Paul is the best possible ending for Camilla and Palamedes given their situation, personalities, and relationship. However what I really want is for Camilla and Palamedes to attend the ATN wedding as two individual humans and for Pal to be a lightweight who loses his tie in the garden fountain after three drinks and for Camilla to do exactly one shot with the group, keep Gideon from ripping the sleeves off her dress shirt, and absolutely kill it at lawn games during cocktail hour. Since this scenario is a wild tonal mismatch for the series and also Palamedes was already dead, this was unlikely to ever happen. However Paul is the final nail in the coffin for the theoretical existence of this scene and I can't help but resent them for that

[nayrring]

Kagaya said if i'm going down, i will be going down looking cunty as shit

[rambunctioustoons]

hold 🌙 ✨

[dateko]

LAST DAY ON EARTH | GOJO SATORU

a/n: not quite sure what just happened here other than the fact that i am in fragments thinking about a certain gojo...

“Hey, Toru… If tomorrow was your last day on Earth, what would you do?”

Your boyfriend throws you a quizzical brow. “What?”

“Come on,” You prod at his stomach with your foot, “Answer the question.

Sitting on the couch with your legs thrown on his lap, Satoru gives you his signature boyish laugh. You watch as he thinks for a moment, following how his slender fingers dance and glide across your skin. He lingers at certain areas, almost as if he were trying to memorize every line and dot on your body. 

“Mmm, I would probably start and end my day in bed with you, just like any other day. Except we’d spend the entire day making endless amounts of passionate lo-”

“Ugh, be serious!” You scoff, throwing a pillow at his face.

To no one's surprise, the poor pillow never reaches the man and plops back onto your lap with a sad thump. You roll your eyes.

“Hey! I am serious! I’ve never been more serious about something in my life.” He tilts his head towards you with a smile as you continue to stare at him in disbelief. 

“Well… Would you have any regrets?” 

He shakes his head almost immediately. “Why would I? I’ve got everything I need right here. Although, there’d probably be some things I wish I did.” 

Satoru's hands make their way back to play with you, twiddling with the strings of your lounge shorts until he finally decides to pull you by the hips and set you on his lap with a winning smirk.

Straddling the strongest, you cup his porcelain face in your delicate hands, admiring how his crystalline eyes shimmer with the sight of you imbued in them. Your finger traces the line of his nose, the fine lines beside his strong eyes, the shape of the lips you can’t seem to get enough of. “Care to tell me what things you would do?” You pinch his cheek for good measure.

“If you must know…” He starts, taking your hand and interlocking his fingers with yours. Satoru holds up your laced hands with a softhearted expression.  “I’d do something about this pitiful ring finger of yours.”

Your face heats up in an instant. You have never had this conversation before. Marriage wasn't something you thought about, given the nature of both of your professions. The fact that Satoru felt this way caused your heart to soar. “...You’d want to marry me?” 

“How could I not? You’re it for me, sweetheart.”

"Satoru..."

“And don’t think I haven’t put much thought into this. Assuming you would say yes, I’d propose to you, then we’d get married and honeymoon in Kuantan, Malaysia. Send Megumi off to college, probably have a few ki-”

You press a finger to his speedy lips. “Wait, Slow down. Why Kuantan?”

“No reason,” He looks away before smiling, “Just wanted to beat Nanami to it.”

Gojo Satoru was impossible, but he was yours. You shake your head with a giggle, crossing your arms around his neck, and he leans up to press a few soft kisses to your jaw. 

“Even if it were my last day on Earth tomorrow, I’d still be content knowing I found you in my life. And you know what? I’d find you in the next one and the next and the next.”

“Okay, I’ll be waiting then.”

“I’m yours forever. I promise you that, Princess.” 

[messrmoonyy]

Arthur photo dump cause he’s pretty. Round 2

[nsharks]

sharky im a mess. my dog died….it’s been very difficult…i just cremated him

could you give me some kind words? or a small comforting drabble?

😔he was 10 years and 7 months old…recently we found out he has a heart disease but it was too late…

you’re not much older than me but i kinda see you as a experienced person 🥺

i would really appreciate it!

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

simon comforts you in his own way

The bulk of his body presses against your back; hot skin, a degree or two hotter than the silent tears that stain your cheeks. He's been talking quietly in your ear about a team member of his, a sleepy low grumble, but it's been difficult to catch what he is saying as your mind strays to lingering grief. Front teeth dig into your bottom lip to silence the evidence. It's been weeks. You shouldn't be crying about it still.

Finally, he notices— he always does.

Rough-tipped fingers halt against your arm. "Love?"

A sharp inhale. "Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

His breath caresses your neck. His fingers work their way up to your cheek, which he can't see, but you know that—with a swipe of his thumb— he can most definitely feel the treks of salt. "You're crying."

A choke bubbles at your lips. You try to scoot away from him but a cage of strong arms prohibits even an inch between your bodies.

"What is it?" he presses. He moves on top, knees pinned around yours, and his dark eyes narrowing in concern as you continue crying. There is no hiding it, not from him.

"Nothing, Simon. Please— just keep telling me your story and we can just—"

"Forget the story. Tell me what's got you like this." Large hands stroke the hair out of your face, but sticky tears keep hold of a few strands. Then, his eyes soften— knowing. "It's about him, innit? Shoeshine?"

The mention makes your face find purchase in the crook of his neck and you sob harder. "I know you think it's silly. He was... just a rabbit and he's been gone for over a month, but I— fuck, I don't know why I'm crying all of a sudden. I'm sorry."

"Stop that," he chastises lowly. "Don't apologize."

"You must think it's stupid." Your cheeks flare. All of the death he has seen— all of the times he should have cried, but never did.

There's a pause as he collects the right words, but his touch continues to comfort you.

"No," is all he comes up with— but a kiss to your hairline says more.

Then, it's your turn to speak. He lays back down behind you, holding you closer so that his heartbeat lulls yours back into a gentle rhythm. You find yourself telling him about that silly rabbit that you loved for years; how he would follow you to the bathroom, how he chewed on your brand new leather flats right before a job interview.

Simon listens. He hums and kisses the dip of your neck. He doesn't offer many words; you don't need him to. He lets you cry until you've fallen asleep.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Older

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader Warnings: Angst, old grief, mild swearing Word Count: 564 Tag List: @loves0phelia , @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland Author's Notes: I have no idea where this came from. The Muse just went into angst mode for a little bit. Daredevil Masterlist General Masterlist

Older

Now, it wasn’t entirely unusual for you to turn on the lights and find Matt already home. He never used them when it was just him. Sometimes he flicked them on when he heard you coming up but other times he didn’t. You think he enjoyed making you jump with a startled ‘Matthew!’ when you hit the switch and found him standing right you.

Not tonight. Tonight, you found him sitting on the couch with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. In one hand, he was holding a bottle of whiskey. He didn’t seem to have noticed your arrival, something that only increased your concern.

“Matty?” you asked. You had spoken softly but he still flinched like you had shouted. He lifted his head and you felt your concern turn to worry. His eyes were red, his cheeks stained with salt. He had been crying. “Matty, what’s wrong?”

He flinched again.

“D-don’t –,” he started, his voice thick with pain. “N-not that name. Please.”

“Okay,” you said, keeping your voice low. Sometimes when he was stressed, Matt experienced sensory spikes. Not always but that flinch implied this might be one of those times. Regardless, you tended to err on the side of caution. You came closer, torn between your desire to hug him and the knowledge that touch might be painful . . .

Qualms that Matt apparently didn’t share. He scooted over to the edge of the couch, dropping the whiskey bottle to the floor. Thankfully, it didn’t break. Just hit the wooden floor with a dull thud. Must have been the fancy one that Frank gave them as wedding present. This particular bottle had proven surprisingly resilient. But the bottle was put out of your mind in favor of the man wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face against your chest.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against you more firmly. Then you slide one hand up to run your fingers through his hair. Matt usually found that soothing. Today was no exception. You felt some of the tension start to drain out of his muscles in his shoulders and back.

“Matt,” you said, lowering your voice even further. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“I doubt that,” you said, massaging his scalp with your fingertips. “I doubt that very much. Anything that upset you this much isn’t stupid. Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that.”

A deep shuddering breath. “Today was my father’s birthday.”

You remembered. Matt had been a little melancholy this morning but he always was when Jack’s absence was especially painful. Like his or Matt’s birthday. The day Jack was killed. Holidays. The day of your wedding. You made a soft, encouraging sound.

“He should have been turning fifty-four this year. But he’s not. And I just . . . I just realized that I’m older than my father. I got to see thirty-three and he never did. Risk my neck almost every damn night and I’m alive. But he’s not. And it hurts.”

His voice broke on that last word and fresh tears begin to soak your shirt. You tightened your arms around him, wishing there was something you could say that could ease this pain. Anything that would make it all better. But there wasn’t. All you could do was hold him while he grieved.

[lizardboiii]

At The Tone ┃ DCU

Barry Allen x Spider-Woman!Reader

┃ Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people - and that’s where the Justice League comes in. Too bad you weren’t interested.

“Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be" Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

│cw: SFW, alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, hurt/comfort, violent themes

│wc: 3.9k

│chapters: One shot

│notes: This fic has been sitting unfinished (with 2k words!!) in my drafts for a WHILE. randomly decided it needed to see the light of day ig. was gonna make it nsfw but i low key hate it and just wanted too move on oops. enjoy <3

・❥・

│One Shot: At The Tone

You have five new messages.

“Good afternoon, Spider-Woman this is Cla-”

You heard a throat clear.

“It’s Superman. I see you still aren’t picking up any of the team’s calls,” He swallowed thickly, “I understand your recent loss was… hard. Something none of us would have wished for anybody.”

You could feel the tension in his voice.

“Please take all the time you need. The league is more than capable of taking care of New York in your absence for the time being.”

The sound of a pen clicking disrupted the message every so often, “But at least give us some indication you're alive…and well. The team cares about you,” He chuckled warmly, “Even “Mr. I Work Alone” Batman himself.”

His laugh dropped abruptly with a soft sigh, “Call me back when you can.”

Beep

You crawled out of bed slowly, dragging your duvet behind you like a cloak. The plush cotton laid heavy on your shoulders. You wondered if this was how Big Blue felt every morning - the weight of knowing everything depending on him once he bore his iconic red cape. 

You knew what that weight felt like, and you knew what it felt like to have it all come crashing down.

You have four new messages 

“How’s it hanging, Spidy? Haha, you get it?” A dramatic sigh escaped the machine, “Sorry, poor timing.”

He took a moment to regroup, “It's Green Lantern, just calling to check in. Headquarters has been depressing without you. I mean even Martian Manhunter is down in the dumps. It's a total bummer.”

Another sigh, “Listen you don't have to call me back if you don’t want to, but at least let Flash know you're still alive. He needs you more than he lets on.”

Beep

You groaned at the shrill ring of the answering machine. The outdated tech was too cherished to be discarded but the pulsing headaches you received from it almost outweighed the fond memories of Aunt May.

Thoroughly woken up, you entered your kitchenette. Your eyes shifted between the week old coffee pot on your stove to the half empty Hennessy bottle next to it. 

Maybe this time you would make the right choice. A sober evening is a good evening. However, the battle was always rigged to begin with and the winner already predetermined.

The Hennessy felt burdensome in your hand as you took a long swig. It burned violently down your throat, eating at your skin, before finally settling warmly in your stomach. Though you hated to admit it, it satisfied you more than any pot of coffee could.

Staggering to your couch, courtesy of one of New York’s finest sidewalks, you flopped down. The cushions were well used and musty. But who were you to pass up a free couch?

You have three new messages

“Spider-Woman.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Your recent inactivity has caused some concerns regarding your whereabouts. The league seems to be having a hard time focusing on missions with your absence.”

Bats’ uncertainty leaked through the phone as he thought of his next sentence, “You have my condolences, Webs. However, the league cannot continue to work with this distraction. Please report to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

He hesitated, “We are worried.”

Beep

An involuntary snort escaped you. Bats’ attempt at comfort was interesting to say the least. He was surprisingly awkward for a leader of the Justice League. Though you supposed dark and brooding was his brand.

You have two new message

“Greetings, Spider-Woman, Wonder Woman speaking.”

You could hear muffled arguing in the background.

“Batman may have been a bit…straightforward in that last voicemail,” She attempted a fake laugh, “Please do not mind his bluntness, he is merely just as concerned as the rest of us. In his own way at least.”

A loud slam made her curse under her breath.

“I apologize I must go, the “children” are fighting again. Don’t hesitate to call back. See you soon, Webs.”

Beep

Lifting the liquor to your lips, your brows creased when only a drop hit your tongue. Out already?

You let out an exaggerated sigh before placing the empty bottle on your coffee table. A quick glance at your barren pantry told you everything you needed to know. You’d have to go out and get some more. You felt your face scrunch. That means you have to go out in public.

You weighed your options. 

You could stay inside and continue to peacefully hide from the world, but you're guaranteed to sober up eventually.

Or you could make a quick trip to the convenience store down the road and pray the minimum wage employee can’t smell the alcohol on you from a mile away. 

You hummed thoughtfully. Though, now that you think about it, there’s a off chance you might run into the supe that’s covering your city for the time being. Then again, there’s a very high chance it’s not someone from the Justice League, a member from The Team at best. 

Massaging your forehead, you tried to remember the last time a Justice League member took a leave of absence. A blonde goatee flashed in your mind.

That’s right. Green Arrow was out for a while when he got busted up pretty bad. His protégé, Speedy, ended up babysitting Star City in his absence. You bit your lip. 

But you didn’t have one of those anymore.

You have one new message

“Hey Webs! Sent me to voicemail again, huh?”

An awkward laugh made the machine crackle.

“Just calling to check up on you. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Just say the word and I can grab you anything from anywhere. I mean literally anywhere. They don’t call me the fastest man alive for nothing!”

You could practically hear the large smile embedded on his face.

A large sigh passed through the speaker, “It’s been a month now. The team misses you…I miss you. A lot actually.”

He paused.

“Just call me back alright? I need to know if you're okay.”

Beep

Your hand paused over your front door handle. Flash’s deep voice was like a siren's call, beckoning you in. 

What you’d give to turn around. What you'd do to call him back. It took everything in you to force yourself away from his voice.

Your best friend. 

Your confidant. 

Your everything. 

You have zero new messages

・❥・

You weaved through the bustling sidewalk with a slight wobble, managing to dodge a third of the people you almost crashed into. Night was quickly approaching. That meant the streets were only going to get busier. 

More people = More crime = More superheroes.

Fumbling into a dimly lit alley, you avoided Main Street completely. It was too risky. Even in your civilian disguise there was no guarantee your voice wouldn’t be recognized - mainly by your teammates but especially by… Flash.

You recalled how often you sought each other out in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was meddling in the business of others, or simply enjoying the company of one another.

His hand always seemed to find its way to the small of your back. Gently resting. While his thumb delicately circled the thin fabric of your suit. 

He leaned in closer than he should. The dull smell of his cologne inevitably picked up by your heightened senses. 

It wasn't how friends should behave - but that's all you ever were. Friends.

Thwack!

You slammed yourself against one of the side walls in surprise, extinguishing your mind of complex thoughts. Creeping closer, you cursed in your head when harsh thumps and muffled grunting filled the air. 

“Where’s my money, Huey?”

Crack!

“I-I don’t know! Please!”

Whack!

You recognized the tell-tale sound of blood splattering against the ground, akin to paint splashing. The sound made you nauseous. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought of your next move. 

Now, on any normal occasion you’d swing in all heroic and save the day. But today was different. You were different. 

Excuses flooded your brain as you tried to explain to yourself why you felt little desire to help the abused man. 

Your suit was at home crammed somewhere in between an ugly Christmas sweater and a latex bodysuit you practically begged Cat Woman not to give you. 

Even if you had the energy, you were still considered MIA to the league. You’d basically be spoon feeding them your location. 

Your internal dilemma didn’t last long as the pummeling swiftly came to an end. Peaking around the corner, you watched the assistants retreat into an adjacent alley. They moved lazily. Clearly they didn’t expect to be caught.

You could still catch them.

You found yourself making an internal description. Two Caucasian males both wearing black beanies and disgustingly outdated puffer jackets. The taller one sported purple and green. While the shorter preferred yellow. 

Your foot shifted before you felt yourself hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t. They’d probably be caught soon enough anyways. 

If anything, the supe covering your city would swoop in and haul their asses to the local jail. Especially when you called an ambulance for the man who was passed out on the ground. It would put this area on tonight's map. You sighed and finally allowed yourself to relax. 

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Shifting your eyes to the ground, you located the poor soul who suffered the attack. His breathing was ragged and wet. You were quick to put two fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. A wave of relief crashed through you when you felt a steady beating.

Pulling out your phone, you immediately dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, anonymously of course. You stayed with the man until you could hear loud sirens growing closer. Your sign to leave. 

Exiting the alleyway, you reached the small convenience store in record time. The adrenaline in your system was starting to make quick work of the alcohol in your bloodstream. 

You could feel your senses beginning to come back. Eyes clearer. Ears sharper. You could practically hear the heartbeats of everyone in the store. 

Groaning at your misfortune, you beelined for the alcohol section in the back. My god was it beautiful. Itching to return home, you grabbed a random bottle that had the highest percentage. Taste didn’t matter. Only the effect.

Glancing at your selection you choked on your own spit. 30 dollars?? The glass bottle was swiftly put back as you grabbed the cheapest one you could find. Tucking the Shitty K under your arm, you turned to walk to the register.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP, OLD MAN.”

You froze. Extending your neck out, you caught a glimpse of the register. 

Purple, green, and yellow.

You had to be fucking kidding.

You watched as the two assailants from the alley held the elderly cashier at gunpoint. His form shook like a leaf. 

“Please! Just take the money and leave!”

You caught his eyes as he begged for his life. Tear filled and shaking. You could have prevented this. If you would have just stopped them when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

You could have saved the man in the alley. Saved the poor cashier.

You could have saved Uncle Ben too. 

Your eyes watered. Fucking pathetic mistake. What the hell were you doing? You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were a grown adult who should have learned from your mistakes by now.

Shifting your eyes from the vodka to him, you pressed your lips in a thin line. You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were repeating past mistakes or the fact that you wanted to take the more expensive alcohol and leave unnoticed.

When did you become this? 

No wonder you let Spider-Girl die.

You needed a drink. Desperately.

Abruptly, a whiplash of red and yellow snatched you from your daydream. The streaking shape blew over the newspaper stand before spinning around the starstruck perpetrators. You knew those McDonald's colors from anywhere. 

Kid Flash.

Like any speedster, he removed the gun in milliseconds before tying up the confused robbers. They stood no chance against the meta-human.

Dusting off his hands, Kid Flash smiled smugly at the dumbfounded duo, “Guns aren’t currency, you know?”

The man in yellow thrashed violently, “What the hell-Kid Flash!? Why are you in New York? Spidey taking a break or something?”

You cringed.

Kid Flash’s boyish voice laughed awkwardly, “Something like that.”

You need to get out of here. Now.

Slowly backing into the aisle, you clenched your teeth when your elbow hit the shelf. The bottles tinked in a symphony, altering everyone in the store of your presence. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Instantly, you snatched your coat hood and covered your face and hair. Staring into the grime covered tiles, you prayed Kid Flash wouldn’t think too much of it.

“Hello?”

Of course. The one time he’s actually thorough.

“Are you alright?”

Bright yellow boots came into your vision as you tried to conceal yourself further. You hunched into yourself with clenched fists. Mistaking your actions for something else, Kid Flash placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to be sacred!”

You bite into your lip eager to escape the conversation, “I’m not. Please let go.”

Kid Flash laughed, sounding a little too similar to Flash in your opinion. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he stood next to you with his hands on his hips. 

“Then why are you hiding?” A red glove entered your vision. It was headed straight for your hood.

You slapped his hand away, “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers.”

He shrugged, “That rule doesn’t really apply to superheroes.”

You couldn’t contain the breathy laugh that left your throat. You hate to admit it but you actually really missed the kid. 

However, you failed to realize your mistake. If anyone knew your laugh it was Kid Flash. You spent way too much time around him and Flash for him not too.

There was a long pause. 

“…Webs?”

You flinched hard, “Wrong person.” You internally cursed at yourself for the obvious slur in your voice.

“Are you drunk?”

“…No.”

His hand grabbed your upper arm tightly, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

You gently pulled against his hold, attempting to break free without force, “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t,” Kid Flash raised his hand to his ear piece, “Just let me notify Flash-”

“NO!”

Your arm flew up to the communicator without thought. Taking advantage of his surprise, you were able to snatch the high tech earpiece from his loosen grip.

“Hey!” 

Kid Flash grabbed at you. His lanky limbs attempting to reclaim his lost device, “Let go!”

“You let go!” You shoved his face away with the palm of your hand. 

Kid Flash merely continued to grab at the air around you, “Never!”

If this was any other situation you would have laughed. The pair of you looked like children fighting over the last dessert.  

However, this wasn't just any situation. This situation involved Flash. 

“Listen to your elders you brat!” Finally, after a well fought struggle, you managed to hold the device out of arm's reach. A much needed success after the month you've had- 

“Webs?”

You halted in your tracks.

The small communicator in your hand blinked on and off, identifying an unstable signal. 

“Webs is that you?” Flash was urgent, “Wait there! I'm coming-”

You crushed the device in your hand. Terrified.

Small fragments engraved themselves into your skin, dotting your hand red. What have you done? 

“Batman’s gonna kill you for that, you know?” Kid Flash laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

You frowned, uninterested in entertaining him. Kid Flash merely smiled awkwardly. It was evident the boy was taken aback by your unusually serious demeanor. 

The thought didn't take up much space in your mind. You could only think of one thing. When would Flash decide to appear out of thin air?

As if conjuring the hero, a red bolt flew through the mostly empty convenience store. The glass doors shook from the force. While newspapers scattered through the air, Vogue landed atop the cashier's head. 

Though he moved faster than the speed of light, he stood before you still. Unmoving. It was as if you might fade away if he got too close. 

“Webs,” His voice was laced with reverence. 

Your mouth went dry, “Flash.”

The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating you. Maybe this was how Flash planned to get back at you for ignoring him. Slowly killing you with hypoxia. A metaphorical death pertaining to how he felt during your absence. 

“Woah, this just got really awkward.” 

Kid Flash’s voice suddenly reminded you of his presence. He swayed uncomfortably. Trapped between you and Flash.

The younger male pointed his thumbs at the door, “Should I leave…or?”

“Yes.” 

Startled at your synchronous voices, Kid Flash quickly shuffled toward the door, “Alright. See you later?”

Flash nodded his head in response, ushering his protégé away. Kid Flash couldn't leave fast enough. Magazines, once again disturbed, twirled around the ground from where he left.

You stared at the loose paper. Preferring the sight of perfume ads then whatever expression Flash held. From the corner of your eye you should see him shift. He moved with unease. Your mouth curled slightly. He never was able to stop moving for long. 

“Webs, I-”

You cut him off, “I’m sorry.”

Flash furrowed his brows in confusion, “You don’t need to apologize. It's not your fault.”

“But it is,” You clenched your teeth in frustration, “It's always been my fault.”

The taller male crossed the space between you hesitantly. You flinched when he placed his large hands on your shoulders, completely engulfing them. 

“It wasn't your fault, Webs. Nobody could have known.”

“I could have saved her,” you finally met his gaze, “I was right there.”

You saw his eyes widen slightly, clearly used to your masked form more than your real face. 

Your name spilled from his lips. 

Not just Webs - your name.

You took a shaky breath, “Barry.”

The name was foreign on your tongue. You had tried to keep your personal life separate from hero work. Though that only lasted a year. Barry managed to weasel his way into your home life before you knew it.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Barry’s hands slid from your shoulders down to your hands, caressing them softly. “Believe me when I say this,” He took a deep breath, “I’ve been in your position before. We all have.”

Breaking eye contact, your stare bore into the wall of cheap booze, “I know.”

“And I know,” He cupped your cheek, “That drinking away your problems won’t help. It only makes it worse.”

You bit your lip, “I just want to forget.”

“I know. God, I know. I want to go back and change that day every time I open my eyes,” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, “But I've been down that road before. And it's not sustainable.”

Your eyes felt hot, your throat dry, “I don’t know what to do.”

Barry pulled your smaller frame into his arms, “No one does.”

You sunk into his embrace, inhaling his scent.

“Let me take you home, Webs.”

“Okay.”

・❥・

You held tightly onto Barry, arms circling his neck, as he brought you home. You had barely enough time to blink before you were standing in front of your apartment’s door.

Barry hesitantly let you down from his hold. Though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist for support. You gave him a gentle smile as a thank you. 

Unlocking your door, you were immediately reminded of the state of your apartment. Dirty laundry and loose items scattered the floor. 

Shame crept up your neck. The uncaring attitude towards your humble abode seemingly disappeared.

Barry entered slowly, taking in the messy state. His eyes were quickly drawn to the empty bottles strewn about your floor. Unsurprisingly, he began to pick one up. Then another. And another. You snapped when he started to replace your trash bag.

“Barry.”

His head whipped toward you, only focusing on you.

“That's enough,” You tried grabbing the bag from him, “You don’t need to.”

Barry held onto the plastic tightly, “I want to.”

You shook your head, “It's my mess. Leave it.”

“No.”

You jolted in surprise at his commanding tone, “Why?”

He tossed the bag to the side, “Why?” 

Laughing dryly, he shook his head, “Why not? Why wouldn't I take care of you?”

You averted your gaze, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But you do,” his voice was imbued with desperation, “If you didn’t, I wouldn't have spent a month doing everything in my power to find you!”

Your face felt hot, “I didn't ask you too!”

Barry closed in the space between you, “You didn't have too!”

You weren't sure when the tears began to pour down your cheeks, “I never wanted you too! I just want to be alone! Why can’t you let me be?”

“Because I can't let you be!” Barry’s hand slammed down on your tiny island counter, “You're all I think about! From the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep, all I know is you. I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life just to see you for a moment than ever ignore you.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, “What?”

“That day when Spider-Girl died,” He gripped the counter, slightly cracking it under the force, “I felt like I lost a piece of you too. And I could bear it.”

You felt like you lost your breath when Barry met your gaze again. His eyes were laced with anguish. Bloodshot rims already forming.

“I know you're hurting. I know what I am experiencing is nothing compared to what you are going through,” He searched your eyes, “But I'm in love with you! And I have been for as long as I can remember.” 

The start of a cry made his voice waver, “And this is definitely poor timing for a confession, but I can’t lose you-”

You weren't exactly sure which one of your muscles was still intact enough for you to move. However, the feeling of plush lips against your own thwarted any other thought.

Barry stood rigid for a moment. Hands clenched at his sides. Then, he dominated the kiss like his life depended on it. His hands held onto your waist tightly, before slowly making their way to your face. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this happy.

Pulling away, you took shallow breaths, “I love you.”

Barry smiled and swiped a loose teardrop from your cheek, “I love you too.”

The warm moment didn't last long. Your mind was quick to remind you that there was a reason Barry had to confess in a messy studio apartment rather than someplace special. That reason was because you were broken.

You pressed you mouth into a thin line, “Do you still want me even if-”

“I want you no matter what,” Barry didn’t allow you to get another word in, “We can go through this together.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “You're not alone, Webs. You never were.”

You swallowed hard, “Together?”

"Together."

・❥・

[sugarcoated-lame]

this new wave of joel miller brainrot may have just given me a new fic idea 🤭

so it’s joel x pregnant widow!reader in jackson 👀

some ramblings about it below the cut 🤍

reader’s husband dies on patrol, and she finds out a few weeks later that she’s pregnant

joel and ellie move into jackson when reader is 3-4 months pregnant, no one in town really knows about her pregnancy except for tommy and maria, and the town doctor — she wants to keep it to herself for as long as she can

i’m thinking reader is going to be like the town seamstress?? and joel goes to her to patch up his jacket after he rips it one day out on patrol

joel’s seen her around town in the few weeks he’s been in jackson — always looking sad, and always alone.

he’s immediately drawn to her — her kind voice and demeanor that’s oh so sweet on the surface, but he can see the way her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, the sadness in them.

•

idk where I’m going with this or when I’m actually gonna write it, but aaaah i just had to scream about it !!!

[softlymaximoff]

bc I’m an angsty bitch…

Wanda grieving the loss of reader? 🖤

Sometimes the timeline is irreversible, no matter the magic or rules

Tags: @wandamaximoffbae @aggieslittlebunny @wandasdove @huggingkoalas (I forgot who else wanted to be tagged, just lmk again if you wanna be tagged 😭)

[its-the-pilot]

Dancing With Your Ghost | One-Shot

I'm not sure why I felt like writing something sad, but here it is! Working on the next chapter of Waves as well, just needed to get this out of my system first 😭

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin made a promise and he's determined to keep it.

Warnings: major character death, grief, funeral, sad stuff

Length: 2.5k words

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Female Reader, Jake Seresin x Female Reader (friendship)

| Masterlist | Rooster One-Shots Masterlist |

Dancing With Your Ghost

Jake Seresin stood in the doorway to your bedroom, a dark frown on his face as he studied the subject of his thoughts carefully. You were sitting on the bed, your knees drawn up to your chest as you stared out the window, silent tears slipping down your cheeks. He didn’t want to be there, especially not on today of all days, but he had made a promise.

He said your name quietly, not intending to startle you, but when you visibly stiffened, he realized he had. He didn’t move from his place in the doorway as you swiped at the wet trails on your cheeks with the pads of your fingers, waiting until you turned your head to acknowledge him.

“Hey.”

Cautiously, he started moving toward you, noticing as he got closer that your hair was still damp from your shower. “It’s almost time,” he managed, hoping that the reminder would pull you out of your dark thoughts. 

You returned your gaze to the window as you nodded, a vacant look in your eyes. The skies were heavy with gray clouds and it had started raining, a light spring shower, but nonetheless a rare event in San Diego. ‘Fitting,’ he thought to himself, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to you. “C’mon… want me to send Nat in to help you get ready?”

“‘M not going,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. 

Sighing, Jake moved closer and sat beside you on the edge of the bed. “You really think that’s what he’d want?” he asked, looking down at your profile as your chin rested on your knees, making you look much younger than you were. “He’d want you to have closure, darlin’.”

“I can’t,” you croaked out, sniffling. “I can’t go and see him like that. I don’t want that to be my last memory of him.”

The past week had been hard on everyone, but understandably, as his wife you had the hardest time coping. He watched as you twisted the set of rings on your finger, the sight making his chest clench uncomfortably, a reminder of what you had lost.

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

“We’re here.”

The words sent a chill down Hangman’s spine as he looked up from where his cover rested on his lap to the front door of your house. Stepping out of the car, he walked beside the CACO officer and the chaplain wearing his service dress blues, stopping when they climbed the steps to your porch. 

Moving to the front of the group, he reached up and knocked on the door firmly, clasping his hands in front of him as he waited for you to answer. 

Inside, you were planning to tell Bradley that you were pregnant when he got home in a few hours. There was a cake in the oven and a white onesie with “Daddy” painted on it drying on the counter when you opened the door, your smile fading as soon as you saw the set of solemn faces before you.

You locked eyes with your husband’s wingman and instantly knew why they were there, not needing to be told about the malfunction Bradley had experienced with his jet earlier that day. Your knees gave out as the realization hit and Jake caught you in his arms, slowly lowering you both to sit on your porch as you sobbed into his uniform coat, looking up to his companions helplessly.

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

Releasing another heavy sigh, Hangman shook the memory from his mind and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, hating the way you tensed under his touch. Everyone -- himself included -- had been hesitant to approach you, not knowing what the right words were. There wasn’t exactly a right way to go about comforting someone who just lost their husband and the father of their unborn child.

After a moment Jake felt you lean into him, the tension in your body relaxing some, and it made him smile a little. He squeezed you gently, silently letting you know that he wasn’t going anywhere and that if you wanted to talk, you could.

“Why did he leave me? He promised he wouldn’t.” Your voice was so quiet that he almost let himself believe you hadn’t spoken at all, simply because he wasn’t sure how to answer the question. 

“It was an accident, darlin’,” he explained, his thumb rubbing circles against your shoulder. “You know he loved you more than anything, and he would have been so happy about the baby.”

You simply nodded and wrapped your arms around your slight bump protectively. When you finally pulled away from Jake he noticed that you were wearing the NAVY t-shirt Rooster used for workouts, his scent still embedded in the fabric.

“I don’t think I can do it,” you managed, pushing yourself to your feet shakily and heading to the window. 

Jake leaned forward, his eyes never leaving you as he rested his elbows on his knees. “You can do anything you put your mind to. You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever known.”

You didn’t bother to look back at him, instead focusing your gaze on the street outside, following a car as it passed. The tension in the room was palpable, and Jake could make out the knots in your shoulders under the t-shirt you wore. 

He struggled to hold back a quiet sigh as he said your name again. When you didn’t reply, he stood and moved toward you, dropping another kiss to your cheek before squeezing your shoulder gently. “I’m gonna go downstairs, alright? We’re leaving for the service in ten minutes.”

A single nod was the only recognition you gave him before he turned to leave the room, closing the door almost silently behind him. Once he was at the bottom of the stairs, he allowed himself a moment of grief, releasing the shaky sigh he had held back moments before. Internally, he cursed himself, hating that he wasn’t strong enough to show you that you weren’t the only one in pain. 

“Did you get her to talk?”

Hangman turned at the sound of Phoenix’s voice as she stood in the kitchen behind him, a frown on his lips. “I tried. Don’t know how much good it did.”

She nodded, smoothing the front of her uniform to give her hands something to do. “This was his biggest fear, leaving her alone with a baby that would never know him,” she explained, a sadness to her voice that neither of them were ready to acknowledge.

“Yeah,” he replied, leaning against the counter heavily. “It’s not fair how history repeats itself.” 

Natasha moved to stand beside him, her heels making her slightly taller than his shoulder. When he glanced over to her, he couldn’t help but notice the way her neatly manicured nails were digging into her palms, leaving little crescent-shaped marks in their wake. 

The two pilots stood in silence, unsure of what to say to each other. It had been a week since the accident, and the Daggers had been spending time at your house in shifts so that you weren’t alone, giving them something to focus on besides their own emotions surrounding the death of their teammate.

It was Bradley Bradshaw’s only final request -- that his squad look out for you. He had pulled Hangman and Phoenix aside only days after proposing and made them promise that if anything happened to him, you would be taken care of. They had agreed, of course. You had become a part of their Dagger family as soon as Rooster introduced you to them years earlier, knowing from the start that you were The One.

The sound of your bedroom door opening pulled both Jake and Natasha from their silent thoughts, simultaneously pushing away from the counter as you came down the stairs and stopped in front of them. Your hair was pulled into a simple ponytail and your makeup was natural looking, something Bradley liked. You wore a knee-length black lace dress that wasn’t too tight around the middle, one that Nat had laid out for you that morning before you woke up. You were still early in your pregnancy but there was a slight bump that you didn’t want everyone to see yet -- only the Daggers knew about the baby.

“I think I’m ready,” you stated quietly, briefly looking each of them in the eye before stepping past them.

Moving with you toward the door, Jake lifted your coat off of the hook and helped you into it before leading you out to his truck with a gentle hand at the small of your back, Phoenix following close behind. The drive to the cemetery was silent as you stared out the window, your fingers playing with your rings again as your hands rested in your lap.

When you arrived, Jake rounded the front of the truck and opened your door, offering a hand to help you out. “Ready?”

Accepting his help out of the tall truck, you leaned up and kissed his cheek softly before turning and giving Nat a hug when she climbed out of the truck behind you. “Thanks, both of you,” you whispered, offering a sad smile before moving toward the group of uniforms near the gravesite. 

Jake closed his eyes as she walked away, taking a deep breath to center himself as Nat stood beside him. “She’ll be okay,” she assured him. “Hopefully she’ll get some closure.”

He nodded, looking over to his fellow pilot. “Yeah… I hope so.”

The funeral was standard for a Naval Officer as you stood at the gravesite, Bradley’s surrogate father Pete Mitchell on one side and Jake on the other, the rest of the Daggers nearby for any additional support you would need. You did your best to hold back tears as a folded flag was placed into your hands by Admiral Simpson, though you lost the battle when you watched Bradley’s squadron approach his coffin one at a time and pound their wings into the smooth wood. 

Finally, cradling the folded flag to your chest, you stepped forward, hesitantly brushing your fingers over the coffin that encased your husband. You closed your eyes and recited a quiet prayer, tears sliding down your cheek and landing on the casket.

After a moment the crowd began to disperse and Maverick came to stand beside you, his hand moving to rest on your back gently. You didn’t protest, leaning into him for support, having grown close to the older man over the past few years since Bradley reconnected with him. 

“I thought we would be together forever,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears as you finally pulled your hand away from the casket. “Silly, huh?”

Maverick shook his head, taking your hand when you dropped it to your side, squeezing it gently. “That’s what he wanted. He never loved anyone the way he loved you.”

Looking over to him, you offered a grateful nod, tears shining in your eyes. “Thank you,” you replied quietly, biting your lip. “It meant a lot to him to have you back in his life these last few years.”

“It meant a lot to me too,” he affirmed. “Just trust that his mom and dad are taking care of him now, and know that he wishes more than anything he could be here with you.”

A fresh set of tears began sliding down your cheeks as he spoke, clutching the flag tighter to your chest. Releasing Maverick’s hand, you swiped at the tears just as Hangman approached, offering the older man a salute. The same was returned, followed by a handshake between them. 

“I’ll let Jake get you home,” Maverick said simply, leaning in to kiss your cheek gently. “Are you gonna be okay tonight?”

You nodded, looking down at your feet to prevent your eyes from sliding back to the coffin. “I’ll be okay. I have to get used to it sometime.”

“I’ll be there,” Jake assured him, prepared to stay as long as you needed him to, taking his promise to Rooster seriously. “If you want me to, of course.”

Maverick watched as you shrugged half-heartedly, wishing that he could take your pain away. “Okay,” he nodded, giving you another kiss on the cheek before clapping Hangman on the shoulder. “Take care of her,” he whispered, his voice laced with concern for you.

“You know I will, Sir,” he replied, waiting until the older man departed before turning to fully face you. “Ready to go?”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from moving back to the casket at the question, wanting to stay there forever if you were being honest. Clutching the flag tighter, you forced yourself to look up at Jake and nod your head. His large hand found the small of your back once again as he led you back to his truck. 

“Where’s Nat?” you asked, allowing the blonde aviator to open the passenger door for you.

“She got a ride with Coyote,” Jake explained, watching you climb inside before rounding the truck and sliding behind the wheel. “I can call her when we get back to your place, if you want?”

“No,” you insisted, shaking your head. “You don’t have to stay with me either. I”ll be fine on my own.”

Jake started the truck and frowned at her reply. “‘Okay’... ‘fine’... you’re starting to sound like him,” he pointed out, beginning the drive back to your house. 

You didn’t say anything in response as you rested your head against the window of the truck while he drove, never once letting go of the folded flag in your arms, holding it as though it was a lifeline. When he finally pulled into the driveway and parked the truck, Jake moved to your side again to open the door, tapping on the window and waiting until you reluctantly lifted your head from the glass so as to not hurt you. 

“He’s not coming home,” you declared, your voice eerily calm despite the tears that stained your cheeks. “I’m never gonna feel him hold me again.” Your eyes were fixed on the house in front of you, and Jake’s heart broke as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. 

His hand ran up and down your back, feeling the moment when your resolve finally broke, your body shaking as you sobbed into the lapel of his uniform coat just as you had on the day it happened. “Everything will get easier, darlin’,” he tried, unsure if he was trying harder to convince you or himself. “And over time… it’ll hurt less.”

“I don’t want it to hurt less, I want him to come back,” you mumbled, your voice cracking as you continued to cry. “I just want my Bradley back.”

Jake’s eyes fell shut at the sound of his wingman’s name coming from your lips, the first time he had heard you use it since he died. He knew that you understood what you were asking for was impossible, but in that moment as he held you trembling in his arms, he would have done anything to take Rooster’s place. 

If only to see you smile one more time.

[nayrring]

Jjk fans crying over chapter 236 when it's literally just gojo sleeping

[oceansssblue]

i saw your echo work with his fallen Jedi coming to him as a force ghost and oH MY. it was so amazing!!!!! your writing never disappoints! made me FEEL HAPPY FEELINGS

now I am wondering how it would go down with tech, especially if they were in an established relationship that maybe only the batch knew about because she knows they won't snitch to the council?

sorry if you don't want to write the same thing again, please feel very free to ignore

Hi sweetheart! I was initially going to decline your request, cause I don't wanna cry anymoree and I felt it would be writing the same thing, but then my mind shot some ideas back at me and you were so sweet and kind with your comments I decided to go with it. It's a bit short but hope u like it!

Xx,

Sky.

"HOW TO GRIEVE"

TECH/F READER 📩💔(💖)

WARNINGS: Death of f reader, female reader appearing as a Force ghost, sad grieving feels explicit descriptions, almost pannick/anxiety attack, comforting conversations and cuddle piles, rest of the batch comforting too. Tried to end it in a soft positive note. Strap in!

Tech had been taught many –many– things in his life time. How to memorise scaring amounts of information, how to hack into security systems, how to fix, how to pilot... No one had ever taught him how to grieve, though; and with the Batch not being very close to any of the regs, as Crosshair insisted on calling them, your death had completely pulled him off his feet. To such lost came the added effect of not losing "just" a friend; but a partner as well. He would no longer be able to close his eyes and press your foreheads together in an attempt to center himself when everything around him became too much. He would not be able to kiss you or hold you in his arms anymore; feel that wonderful conection when the two of you made love, eyes sparkling and focused in each other with quiet reverent whispers breaking the silence of the room while your souls almost seem to talk too. He would never... He would never, ever, ever, see you again. And that...

Tech's resolve finally broke and he crashed down into the floor in a loud, heartbreaking sob. He squeezed his eyes shut. Both of his hands flew up; one to press against his heart and the other one to unconsciously scratch at his throat, almost as if he were trying to pull the knot that had quickly taken residence there out and off. He couldn't cope with it. His breaths turned into crying gasps and trembling pants. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't...

"Tech" a harsh tone quickly snapped him out of his loop of hurt and wallowing desperation, and he quickly glanced upwards, eyes begging for help, only to find...

You. Your...

"F-force ghost?" He quickly guessed out loud, his voice a shattered breath forcebly expulsed from his aching lungs.

You nodded gently. You kneeled beside him; slowly, as if he were a frightened creature that could turn to hide himself further if you spooked him suddenly.

You place your hand in his back, even if you know he wouldn't be able to feel it.

"H-how?" He gasps, eyes still teary, hands finding purchase against the floor now.

You smile in silence. Always so curious, your Tech.

"I can't answer that. I don't even know how to explain this transition. It's..." your brow furrows. "A mix between real and not, consciensce and not, I was seeing things and nothing at the same time, feelings were..."

You shake yourself with a tiny guilty smile, and Tech nods. Maybe human mind's are just incapable of reproducing and completely understanding the mistery that is the Force; they only get tiny snips of it. He feels his heart slowly returning to it's usual rythim. He moves and flops to sit on the floor, knees crossed.

He takes a deep breath. No one had taught him to grieve; but he had read about it, saved the information like every other thing he learnt by himself in case it came up being useful. A part of him always knew he would be forced to experience this at some point or another; he just wished it hadn't had to be you.

"You should'nt have tried to save me. Should have let me die" he says, voice almost a whisper, but a surprisingly firm whisper at that. "There's millions of me. Kaminoans would have no trouble creating a perfect replica. You... You're just one".

Your eyes turned sad, your almost invisible hand trying to caress his arms. He tracked the movement with an involuntary pout on his plump lips; lips you'd never be able to kiss again. Oh, how you desperately wished...

"Don't say that" you replied, voice soft and gentle. "You know I never liked hearing you say that. You're so special, Tech, such a beautiful person. I didn't fall in love with any of your brothers, any other clones. I fell in love with you, just you, because you're your own wonderful person. I love you so much, Tech. Like i never thought i would love someone else".

Your words causes Tech's emotions to pull into two different directions, making his mind feel like a mess. For one part, it hurts him so much to hear that, knowing he won't be able to continue sharing that love with you anymore; but it also soothes his pain, like a soft blanket of warmth and comfort made of your pure, selfless love for him is being gently placed upon his shoulders.

Tech gives you a sad, trembling smile and carefully extends his hands towards you. It hovers between your body shapes before he lets it fall down dejectedly, thumping strengthless against the floor.

"How am I supposed to carry on without you?" he asks, in a whisper, an almost innocent look on his face and eyes.

Tech has no answer for this, no matter all that he's learnt and investigated. He's utterly, completely lost in this.

You smile at him, softness conveined in your expression even in this ghost state.

"You have your brothers to help you. To take care of you" you tell him, gentle, patiently, almost like a mother would comfort a child. "It'll take time, but you will carry on. At one point the pain will turn more nostalgic than raw, and you'll..."

You hesitate, your own feelings not completely real in this Force ghost state –more soothed, dampened, taken care of– but still there; you take a breath –well, you make the gesture to do so– and continue.

"You won't forget me, us... But I promiss, you'll be okay."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Half an hour later finds you both laying down on Tech's bunk on the Batch's barraks. You've been whispering to each other almost nonstop for the first twenty minutes or so –remembering and laughing about happy or silly times together, confessing things you always wanted to say to the other but never felt brave enough–. The last ten have been spent on silence, though; your faces close to each other as if you could both feel each other's warmth; memorising every inch of the other's face. You're glad your Force ghost looks like a peacefull version of yourself, not the last one tainted by blood and the grieves of years of war.

The door opens and different set of steps freeze on their way to their own bunks. It's obvious; everyone's shocked.

"Hey, guys" you chuckle, pulling yourself up from your place in Tech's cot. "Yeah, I'm a Force ghost now".

No one laughs or chuckles at your obvious dead-pan. Wrecker's eyes fiñl with tears inmediately, while Echo gulps down his sorrow and Crosshair glances to the side guiltily. Hunter's eyes flicker between Tech and your bluish figure and clenches his jaw before looking down.

"It's none of your fault" you quickly correct their thoughts. Such selfless, honorable men, this ones. "Please don't ever think that. Now... i can't be here for long. I don't really know how this works, but I can feel the Force trying to pull me elsewhere. I don't know when or if I will be able to come back. Tech..." you glance at him, his expresion closed of and quiet, tears dried on his cheeks, now. Almost looking composed. "Needs your help. He's not okay, though I am perfectly aware he'll try to cover that" you smile at him, softly. "I think it would be a good idea to get him into one of your cuddle piles".

Everyone nods firmly, and almost as if you've given them an order yourself, they sprint in action, quickly throwing down all the cots on the free space on the floor and pushing them together into one big bed enough to house them all. Tech doesn't have strength to move, to react much; he's not ready to talk about this with his family, yet, but it doesn't matter. Wrecker carries him carefully and places him in the middle of the cots; the rest of them quickly taking their spot on his sides. Hunter presses closer to him while –surprisingly– Crosshair lays on Tech's other side; Echo taking his spot besides Hunter and Wrecker on the oposite side. He's oficially squished between his four brothers, his family; and Tech didn't even realized how much he needed their comfort and warmth until now.

He feels his eyelids dropping, exhaustion creeping in. He has enough strength to tilt his head up and look at your shape.

"Please, don't go" he softly asks. "At least... At least until I'm asleep".

You nod with a loving small smile.

"Of course. I'll always come and stay with you however I can, cyare".

Tech shows a tiny fond smile, moved by the affectionate use of Mando'a –he taught you himself– and nuzzles his nose closer to Hunter's neck with a hum. The sergeant hums back at him and instinctively presses closer, arms wrapping around his younger brother. Crosshair silently imitates him on Tech's other side. To be honest, he hates hugs; but he'll be damned if he didn't try his best at comforting one of the most important persons in his life. He never says so, but he loves every single one of his brothers; a special little soft spot in his heart belonging particularly to Tech.

You know all this, and you can't help but whisper a general "I love you, boys" as well. You'll miss them, too. They were great friends.

You receive a tired wave of choruses back.

"Love you, Tech" you whisper to him, you can't help it yourself. You needed him to hear you say it one more time.

Tech hums almost sleeping, now.

"Love you, ner karta (my heart)" he mumbles, muffled against Hunter's neck.

The man caresses Tech's hair gently until he falls asleep; then, Hunter carefully pulls his goggles off and leaves them in a safe spot on the floor besides them.

Hunter waits until all of his brothers are well asleep; ever the leader, ever the big brother. The protector. He'd do anything for them. Then, he stares at you with an understanding soft expresion on his face; and you shoot him back one of your own, while the bluish light of your shape extinguishes from the barraks in a quiet goodbye. Hunter sighs quietly and nuzzles back into Tech's form, relishing in his and Echo's warmth at his back.

You comfort yourself thinking they will all take care of each other; and you might be able to find them in this afterlife someday. For now, Tech will still live; and he'll be safe with his family, his aliit.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Omgggg you guysss MY FEELINGSSS FJDBFBDJXBSB! This made me get that knot in my throat, my poor baby tech, why u request me this sad stuff ahhhhhh.

Nah, im glad u did though, it was intense to write this piece but i think it came out beautifully if i may say so myself. I hope u liked it!

Okay, we have two Hunter fanfics coming up next!! We will have a little action/teasing one and another more on the fluffy first kiss romantic side. They're both pretty original request ideas so I think you'll like them.

Stay tunned (and remember i'm always up for a chat dm)!

Xx,

Sky.

Back to masterlist here:

[handercover]

Y/N : *crying with an angry and shocked expression*

Y/N : WHY DID YOU KILL MY FUCKING JELLYFISH

Tom : *literally just woke up*

Tom : You don't even have a jellyfish!

[gardenofnoah]

love is not what Katsuki thought it would be.

he’d put it off for so long, afraid of the overexertion—the bending himself into halves and then into fourths, over and over until he’d no discernible edge or shape. elaborate, public displays of affection and sickly sweet words, seemingly only impactful when heard by ears they weren’t privy to. a checkpoint to reach, a prize to be won.

he’d never considered that he could be loved quietly. he’d never dreamed that he could give love the same.

there are days when he thinks the arms that loop around his middle in the morning hold him together. you say nothing—the press of your forehead between his shoulder blades is words enough to him. he finds it’s over too quickly—you’re there and then you’re gone, and you leave a phantom ache against his spine that is only dulled when he follows you to the couch and pulls your feet into his lap. he feels rooted then—tethered by you.

he’s never been one for words but finds himself bursting with three of them when the weight of your head presses into his lap and the slip of your hair sweeps across his fingertips. when he can’t bear to look down at the soft, upward curve of your mouth anymore—when some part of you burrows deep in his chest and smothers him from the inside at the crinkle of the corners of your eyes—he leans down to whisper the words against the curve of your temple, knowing that the sleepy, sighed response you’ll give might really stop his heart one day.

Katsuki feels out of his mind with it—when you loop an arm through his during the wee hours of the morning market, he wonders if you know that it’s only you holding him upright. he leans into you and you into him and there’s a strange and sudden feeling of equilibrium that throws his own off kilter. you walk with such assuredness that he forgets the shakiness of his own gait—weak under the weight of this.

he’s reduced to something animal and simple in your arms—he lets you fuss over him with little words and only feeling, nudged on by something neither of you can see. you wrap around him, limbs weaving through the spaces that have been carved into him for you, and he lets his body tell him what to do. neither one of you particularly compelled to dispute the things that only feel natural—preening, protecting, divine in the blood of a bonded mammal. there’s a part of him that mourns a little on the nights he comes home without even a tiny scrape and without a reason for you to touch him tenderly—but you don’t need a reason. you never do.

he expected to feel something akin to fear but he finds that the truth of love is that it’s hard to be afraid when he’s this warm. he finds himself at peace with things that once felt monumental—you will stay, or you won’t. he will be enough, or he won’t. this love will smolder inside of him all of this life. there is no alternative to that one.

it’s a risk to take, and it’s an obvious one—when you reach for him, blind and fumbling in the dark of your bedroom—only to reassure yourself that he’s there next to you, he understands how you feel. Katsuki weaves his fingers through your own and doesn’t have to hope the sentiment is received. he knows that your love is just like that.

[strayrockette]

Echos of What Could Have Been

Masterleist

Summary: Benny buries his grief under his anger

Warnings: Angst, grief, loss, angry and sad Benny

A/N: it’s an Angst type of night 😭😭😭 I’m sorry

The room felt suffocating, as though the walls were closing in, squeezing the life out of every breath he took. Benny sat slumped in his chair, the one she used to insist he sit in while she fussed around the kitchen, making dinner. A cigarette dangled loosely from his fingers, barely lit, smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. He stared at the empty space where she used to stand, her movements frantic but graceful, rushing to put together the last bits of dinner. He could almost hear her muttering under her breath, trying to make everything perfect, even when he didn’t care if it was.

“Don’t rush over me, doll. I can wait,” he’d tell her, leaning back with a smirk, watching her flutter around like a bird with nowhere to land. Her laugh would fill the room, light and warm, echoing in his ears now like a ghost. He clenched his jaw, squeezing the cigarette until it nearly bent in half, the ember threatening to go out. The house was quiet now, too damn quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of the fridge and the ticking clock that mocked him, each second stretching out into eternity.

Benny’s heart twisted in his chest, a knot of pain buried under layers of anger and regret. He thought back to the day she surprised him with the news of her pregnancy, her face glowing with a joy he hadn’t seen in years. She’d been nervous, but he could see the excitement shimmering in her eyes, and for a moment, he’d felt it too. An anxious hope, the idea of something new, something good. His head had been spinning with fears—money, safety, the kind of dad he’d be—but none of it mattered when she smiled at him like that, like they were invincible. He’d promised himself he’d spoil that kid rotten, be the dad he never had. But now…

He snapped back to the present, his heart racing as he stared at the cold, empty kitchen. The cigarette fell from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft hiss before he grabbed it again, his anger sparking hotter. It wasn’t enough. None of this was enough. He hurled the cigarette across the room, watching as it bounced off the wall and disappeared beneath the table, lost in the mess of broken plates and shattered memories.

“Benny, I’m home!” Her voice echoed in his mind, light and cheerful, the way she used to greet him after work. It was as if she were right there, standing in the doorway with that soft smile that always made him feel like everything would be okay.

Benny’s rage bubbled over, hot and blinding. It wasn’t the first time he’d lost it—hell, it wasn’t even the first time this week. But the anger, the frustration, the crushing weight of what he’d lost… it was always there, lurking beneath the surface. His fist slammed down on the countertop, sending a half-empty bottle of whiskey clattering to the floor. The crash of glass shattering echoed in the empty space, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

“Don’t forget to lock the doors, love,” her voice whispered, soft but firm, like she was reminding him to keep them safe. The words felt like knives now, digging deeper with each clatter and crash.

He grabbed the dishes she’d so carefully set, the ones meant for a dinner that would never be served, and flung them against the wall. They exploded in a shower of ceramic shards, pieces skittering across the floor like scattered fragments of his own broken heart.

“You’re gonna be the best dad, you know that?” her voice chimed, full of hope and promise. He could almost feel her hand on his, squeezing reassurance into his bones. But the sound only fueled his fury, the unbearable reality that he’d never get to be that dad.

He ripped the tablecloth off, knocking over the neatly arranged silverware, the untouched food—everything went flying. It was a tornado of grief, of fury, of a pain too deep to name.

“Slow down, Benny. You’re doing great,” she used to say when he got overwhelmed, her voice always a calm anchor. Now, those words rang hollow, mocking him in the shattered silence.

Benny stood there, chest heaving, the kitchen wrecked around him, as if tearing it apart might somehow put him back together. But the silence returned, thicker than before, pressing in on him, suffocating. He sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. He could still see her, could still see the life they were supposed to have, the family they were supposed to build. He’d never get to meet his kid, never get to hold them, never get to be the dad he’d sworn he’d be. And that was the cruelest cut of all.

The ache in his chest throbbed, but he pushed it down, burying it beneath layers of anger and guilt. He didn’t want to feel this, didn’t want to acknowledge the emptiness that stretched out before him. But no matter how much he raged, no matter how much he destroyed, the reality remained: his baby doll wasn’t coming back. His child would never know him, and he would never know them.

Benny sat there amid the wreckage, the house silent once more, holding the echoes of a life that had been torn away too soon. He clenched his fists, swallowing the grief that clawed at his throat, and let the quiet fill the spaces where love used to be.

And then, just as he thought he couldn't bear the silence anymore, her voice came to him one last time, soft and heart-wrenching, like a whisper carried on the wind:

“Benny, we’re gonna be so happy…”

The words hung in the air, fragile and haunting, a promise that would never be fulfilled. The finality of it hit him like a punch to the gut, tearing open wounds he’d tried so hard to bury. His heart ached with the weight of everything they’d lost—the future that would never be, the family that would never grow. He was left with nothing but the ghost of her voice and the unbearable truth that happiness had slipped through his fingers, leaving him alone in the ruins of what could have been.

Taglist: @storiesfromafan