#I would cry so hard as a kid when they would have to leave after visiting that I wouldn't be able to say bye

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Two: Convergence

Chapter WC: 10,048

Chapter Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, aftermath of war, blood and medical stuff, child injury, i am not an expert in the Force or in medicine, there are good things in this chapter i promise, very good things some would say

A/N: i have the unfortunate habit of making everything a three-part ordeal. what was originally just this chapter has ballooned into three, last week's chapter and then next week's. thanks for being patient with me, we'll get our man back soon enough. though this chapter isn't without a little bit of Rex 👀

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Nadiem, 20 BBY

A hand shoots up from the rubble, clawing at the air and reaching desperately for the sky.

“Over here!” you shout, and two of your men rush forward and dive into the mess, their hands working furiously to clear the rocks and debris. A cry of pain comes from somewhere within, and the clones move faster, their hands digging and pulling, tossing the rocks aside.

The air burns your throat as you lift your arms and call on the Force to aid their efforts, using it to clear a path. The rubble shifts and moves, and soon, a gap appears. Screwball dives forward and pulls a body free, dragging them out into the open.

“We've got a live civilian, sir," he yells. "It's the kid."

You release a breath, your knees going weak.

The battle was over, and you had just begun the process of evacuating the civilians, the area cleared and the wounded accounted for, or so you'd thought. A nagging feeling had settled in your chest, and it was only after the first transport was off the ground that the source of the disturbance became apparent.

It had been a little boy. Just a boy, buried beneath the ruins. You hadn't sensed him until it was almost too late.

You watch as the men lift the small body and begin carrying them towards the aid station where Wise is waiting. Screwball lingers, his gaze locked on the ruins.

"Are there others?" you ask.

Screwball shakes his head. His helmet is smeared with dust and grime, nearly obscuring the twin flames painted across the sides, and you frown when you notice a gash along the edge of the helmet's visor. You reach up and brush a finger along the split metal, a shiver running down your spine.

"I'm fine, sir," Screwball assures you, his voice low. He glances at the aid station and takes a deep breath. "We've got more important things to worry about."

You can't argue with that. There's a flurry of activity in the distance, and the distant shouts of medics and wounded carry through the air.

You let your hand drop and nod. "Take Dash and do another check. Then report to Wise so he can patch you up."

Screwball doesn't hesitate. He's off, calling for Dash, and you watch as the two clones make their way through the ruins, checking every corner and every shadow. A few others join in the search, and it's not long before the entire company is involved, digging through the wreckage.

Once they're a safe distance away, you allow yourself to collapse, your legs giving out and your body hitting the ground hard. You close your eyes and take a moment to steady yourself. The pain is excruciating, a constant ache radiating throughout your entire body. Your head feels like it's going to explode, and every breath burns. You're exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you can't stop shaking.

This is the worst you've felt in a long time.

It's the aftermath of the battle. The adrenaline is gone, the battle rage spent. It leaves you weak, your limbs heavy, and your mind foggy. The weight of what happened is pressing down on you, the enormity of the destruction bearing down on your soul. You can't shake the feeling of wrongness, the sense that something is missing.

You know it's the darkness. You can feel its absence, its loss. You don't know how, or why, but you know that this is the price you've paid for holding back the tide of the dark side.

But that's nothing new.

You've had that feeling for weeks.

The vision flickers through your mind, the images sharp and vivid. The screams echo in your ears, the smell of burning flesh filling your nostrils, and the taste of blood coats your tongue. You can't shake the image of Rex holding a blaster to your chest.

For a moment during the battle, you'd thought that would be the end of it. That the vision was about to come true. That this was the beginning of the end.

But no. It's still a long way off. You still have time.

Maybe it’ll never come.

A hand on your shoulder brings you back to the present, and you suck in a sharp breath. Your eyes open, your hand falling to the hilts of your lightsabers, but the sight of a familiar gold-and-white helmet eases the panic.

"It's okay," Snap murmurs. "They're safe."

You sigh and let your shoulders slump, the exhaustion washing over you. You wipe your eyes and take a deep breath.

"Thank the Force," you whisper as you turn  and find him kneeling beside you. You're not sure how long he's been there, but worry is emanating from him. You touch his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. "I'm alright."

"Sure you are," he says, his tone flat. "Come on, let's get you up."

He lets out a breath, his gaze shifting to the battlefield, and his grip on your shoulder tightens. Snap pulls you to your feet, and the two of you stand, surveying the carnage. The fighting has stopped, the smoke has cleared, and the wounded are being treated. But the damage remains.

"We'll need to send a team down here," you say, more to yourself than to him. "Clear out the rubble and get the rest of the supplies unloaded. Make sure the survivors have food and water."

"Booker's taking care of it," he assures you. He lets his hand fall from your shoulder and looks back at the battlefield. "Once the wounded have been cleared, we can start the repairs."

"Good," you murmur as you sigh and run a hand over your face. Your skin is slick with sweat, and the dirt and ash cling to your fingers. You grimace and wipe your hand on your robe. "C'mon."

The two of you step back into the street and join the rest of the attack battalion. The fighting is over, but the work is far from done. Nadiem is a mess. Buildings have collapsed, the roads are filled with debris, and the streets are littered with the bodies of droids and clones alike. The dead will need to be collected, their armor removed and their bodies given a proper burial.

It was a victory, but it didn’t feel much like one. Nadiem is a remote world, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. The only reason the Separatists were here at all was because the Republic had chosen to defend it. Now, it was nothing more than a scar. A reminder of a war that had gone on too long.

Master Unduli, Barriss, and their men had come and gone, leaving you behind to handle cleanup, and in some ways you're glad for it. Being left to do what is necessary has always suited you, and with Luminara gone, there was no longer any need to maintain the facade. No more pretending that everything was fine. No more pretending that you could ever be the kind of Jedi Master she is.

You and the troopers have a routine now. Every time a battle is over, you go through the same process. Check for survivors. Treat the wounded. Collect the dead. Dispose of the fallen droids. And, finally, begin the rebuilding. You've done this a dozen times in the past few months, and the process has become rote.

The only difference now is the size of the battle. It's bigger. Worse. And the carnage is even more gruesome.

Still, the men don't complain. The full brigade is spread out around the city and the countryside, and Booker and Wise have been working tirelessly to get the injured into transports and the supplies delivered. You've made it a point to thank them both, and each of the men under your command, but you know the words are never going to be adequate.

These men have risked their lives for you, over and over. They've fought by your side, protected you, and supported you. You're grateful for them, and you're determined to repay their loyalty in whatever ways you can.

For now, the best you can do is keep the fighting going. To protect them, and to ensure that they are ready, no matter what comes. No matter how dark things become.

Your feet stop, your gaze lifting to scan the ruins. The buildings are a mixture of stone and metal, the facades crumbling and the windows blown out. There's no power. No lights. Just a thick darkness and an eerie quiet that's only broken by the sounds of your men trudging through the streets.

“What a mess," you murmur. You take a deep breath, your hand coming to rest on your chest. It hurts to breathe, a sharp stabbing pain in your ribs. "This is going to take days to clean up."

Snap nods, his helmet tilting toward the horizon. The sky is streaked with orange and red, the clouds heavy and dark. Night is coming. The air is still, and the faint smell of smoke lingers. There's no wind, no breeze, no sign of life. The city feels like a tomb.

”Yeah," he agrees, his voice quiet. 

He reaches up and removes his helmet, tucking it under his arm. His free hand runs over his face and his buzzed head, his fingers lingering on the tattoo at the back of his neck. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I hate this," Snap mutters, and you study him, his words making your chest ache. He gives a slight shake of his head, his hand tightening around his helmet. "I hate it so much."

"I know," you murmur.

You look away, trying not to let the emotion show.

In the early days of the war, the clones had been enthusiastic and eager to fight. They had a purpose. Something to believe in. And their dedication and passion was infectious.

Now, after so many months, that passion has shifted into a grim determination. One borne of necessity and the need to survive. To protect their brothers. It's still there, and it's still strong, but there's an exhaustion and a resignation. An acceptance.

It's a reality you don't like to think about.

The truth is, this is all just a stepping stone. It's a path you know you have to walk, but a path you hope will eventually lead to a place where your men no longer have to fight. No longer have to sacrifice their lives. No longer have to die for a cause they didn't choose.

It's a goal, a distant hope. But it's a hope that you'll do anything to see realized.

You glance over at Snap and see him watching you, and there's something in his gaze that you can't quite place.

"Is everything alright?" you ask. "You seem...off."

He sighs and drops his gaze, his hand tightening around his helmet.

"No," he says, and his shoulders slump. "But I think it will be. Eventually."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, and he blinks. Snap's hand tightens on the back of his neck as he looks away, his gaze returning to the crumbling streets, and you can see his expression softening.

"There's a group of kids playing a game a little ways down the street," he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the chaos. "I…I'm afraid they'll get lost, or hurt."

You smile and rest a hand on his upper back, giving him a gentle pat. "Go. Keep them safe. We can handle the rest."

His gaze lingers on yours, and he smiles, his eyes lighting up.

"Thank you," Snap murmurs.

"You don't have to thank me," you reply. You return the smile and push him lightly toward the group of children, who are gathered around a small crater. "Just get out of here before I change my mind, Captain.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. He's off, jogging down the street, his armor flashing in the dim light. You watch him go, your smile fading with every step he takes until he's nothing more than a blur of white.

Then you close your eyes and let out a slow breath, your shoulders sagging. Your hand reaches into the folds of your robes and grabs hold of the smooth stone hidden there. It's warm to the touch, and a familiar peace settles over you, faint, but enough to aid you in pushing the fear and grief away.

Ever since your vision, you've found yourself reaching for Yaddle's necklace more often. Holding it in your hand. Clutching it tight. Trying to find the same calm, the same peace that she seemed to exude. The same certainty.

But it's difficult. So difficult. And you've begun to wonder if there will ever be an end to this war. If you'll ever have the chance to make things right and give the clones the lives they deserve. To find peace, and justice.

The thought is troubling, and you shake it away, focusing on the here and now. You take another deep breath and exhale slowly, letting the darkness settle back into the corners of your mind, and the necklace falls back into your tunic. You turn and continue on your way, heading for the center of the city.

Your footsteps echo off the buildings, the silence broken by the occasional shouts and whistles from the troops. You can hear the rumble of speeders in the distance, and the distant cries of the wounded. The air is thick, heavy with dust and ash, and you find yourself coughing, your eyes burning.

"General!"

You look up and see Booker approaching. He's carrying a crate full of ration packs, and he looks exhausted, his hair disheveled and his mustache unkempt. But there's a hint of satisfaction on his face, and he's moving with an ease and grace that's been absent in recent months.

"You look like shit," you quip, and he snorts.

"Speak for yourself," he retorts. He comes to a halt and sets the crate down, wiping the sweat from his brow. "The medics have got everything under control, and I think the last transport should be leaving soon."

"Any issues?"

"None worth mentioning," he replies. He glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he scans the surrounding area. "Dash has already started working on the comm tower. The rest of the supplies should be here soon. Hopefully, we can get the power running and the civilians can start settling back in."

"And the wounded?"

"We're bringing the ones who can make the trek to the aid station in the next town over," he says. His eyes return to you, and there's a flicker of concern. "Are you sure you don't want to join them? You look like you could use a breather."

You shake your head.

"I'm fine," you assure him.

His lips thin, and he doesn't look convinced. He glances at the crate and picks it back up, balancing it on his hip.

"Well, if you won't rest, at least take a ration pack," he says as he throws one of the packs at you. "You've barely eaten anything since we landed."

You catch the pack and turn it over, the plastic crinkling. Your stomach rumbles, and the realization that you've gone most of the day without eating suddenly hits. You hadn't noticed.

Booker chuckles and shakes his head, giving you a small salute.

"I'm gonna make another round, check in with the guys," he says. "Let me know if you need anything."

He's off, disappearing around the corner, and you watch him go, the ration pack still in your hand. You look down at it, the hunger pangs intensifying, and you sigh. You’ve all been eating nothing but ration packs and instant caf for weeks now, interspersed with the mess hall meals served on your ships. The Oracle, Utterance, and Pathfinder are all more than adequate, and the crews have done their best to make sure you have food that's edible, but it's not the same. Nothing tastes right. And as the days go on, you find yourself looking forward to that dinner with Rex more and more.

The thought sends a wave of warmth through you, and you smile, tearing open the pack and taking a bite.

You'll need to talk to him soon, you know. Tell him the truth. About the vision, about the darkness, about the fact that you love him. But as always, the timing is off.

You haven’t seen Rex in person since you were on Coruscant, and the only communications have been brief exchanges via holo. It's not a conversation you want to have through a screen, and the distance has been a blessing. It's made it easier to hide the truth, and you're grateful for the opportunity to have time to think, and plan, and prepare.

Rex has his own struggles, and the stress of the war is wearing on him. His missions have become more dangerous, and his responsibilities have increased. It's no longer uncommon for him to disappear for days with no communication. None of those stints were as long as the two months you’d spend in the jungle on Drongar, comm silent and cut off from the galaxy, but it had still felt like an eternity.

But, he'd come back. Every time, he'd come back.

The last message you received from Rex was encouraging, promising a dinner and a drink and a hug the next time you were both on Coruscant, and despite everything, the thought had put a smile on your face.

The fact that he's still interested, that he still wants to be with you, means more than you can say. And even if he can't admit his feelings, or doesn't want to, you're grateful for the chance to be close to him, and the fact that he's willing to try.

You take another bite and let your gaze wander. The street is mostly empty, and you can see the beginnings of repairs beginning to take shape. Apparently, Screwball is capable of more than blowing things up. His expertise with demolitions and architecture has proved useful, and he's already barking out directions to a group of clones and civilians as they work to repair the damaged facade of a nearby building.

It’s a relief to see something be created instead of destroyed for the first time in days, and you find yourself breathing a sigh. You tuck the wrapper into the folds of your robe and turn on your heel, heading towards the aid station. The sun is setting, and you want to check in with Wise and make sure everything is going well before the darkness settles.

You speak into your comm as you walk, fielding reports from the other battalions about their progress and their efforts. It's been a long day, but things are starting to come together. It won't be long before the civilians can start returning home, and you'll be able to return to the ships, and maybe even return to Coruscant, if you’re lucky.

The door to the makeshift aid station creaks slightly as you shoulder it open, and the smell of blood and bacta washes over you.

What used to be a small schoolhouse is now a large triage unit, with rows of cots filled with injured civilians and clones. Medics are scurrying around, attending to the wounded, though there isn’t a droid in sight, as per Wise’s instructions. He claims it’s easier on the wounded civilians, but you both know it has more to do with his personal distaste for droids.

It seems the worst of the injuries have been treated, and the remaining patients are being tended to. You make your way around the room, taking deep, steady breaths and trying to spread a sense of calm, the way Master Yaddle taught you. You stop to offer a reassuring word or two, but most of the injured seem content to just sit quietly, the exhaustion and the pain apparent on their faces.

"Sir."

A voice calls to you from across the room, and you turn to see Wise approaching, wiping his hands on a towel. He looks haggard, his shoulders slumped and his eyes dull, and he stops a safe distance away. The usual grumpy scowl has been replaced with an expression of weariness and worry, and your chest tightens.

"What's the status?" you ask, and his eyes dart over your shoulder, toward the far wall. 

You follow his gaze, and your stomach clenches at the sight of a boy asleep on the cot. His head is wrapped in bandages, his arm is in a sling, and there are several bruises and cuts on his exposed skin. You recognize him as the boy Screwball and his men had pulled out of the rubble. You can't help but wonder if he has any family left, and your throat constricts.

"He's stable," Wise mutters. He rubs his neck, his expression grim. "We lost a few more on the transports, but I've got the worst of them under control."

Your eyes snap back to him, alarmed by his tone. His words are flat, his voice monotone, and his usual sarcasm is absent. You've seen this before. Many times. It's a look of resignation, of acceptance, and it never means anything good.

"How many?"

"Six," he replies. He sighs and rubs his forehead, his hand trembling slightly. "And that was just today. It's only a matter of time before the number rises."

You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He's staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused, and his fingers drum nervously on his leg.

"I'm sorry," you tell him. His eyes dart to yours, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.

"It's not your fault," Wise mutters, but the words are hollow. "It's not anyone's fault. It's just the way it is."

"I know," you answer quietly. "But, still...I'm sorry. You're doing all you can, and—"

"Hey," he interrupts, his tone softening. "It's not your fault, either."

You don't reply. You know he's right. You can't blame yourself for every tragedy that happens. But it's difficult, especially in the wake of the vision. Especially after days like this.

"It's fine. Really,” Wise continues. He takes a deep breath and takes your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it drop to your side. “It's just part of the job. You know that."

"Yeah," you murmur, and a heavy silence stretches between the two of you. Wise shifts awkwardly, his gaze returning to the boy on the cot, and you know the conversation is over. There's nothing left to say. No more platitudes or reassurances. Just the grim reality of the situation.

You watch him, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the exhaustion in his gaze, and after a while, you let out a heavy sigh and straighten.

"You should rest," you tell him. "The others, too."

"Yeah," he agrees, running a hand over his face. "I think we could all use a few hours."

"Get some sleep," you order, and he nods and turns, making his way through the rows of beds. He murmurs something to the other medics, and they nod, moving away from the cots and heading for the door. 

Wise lingers behind, and your eyes follow him as he goes around the room, checking the IVs and adjusting the blankets, a tenderness and care in his movements. He stops by the boy's bed and places a hand on the child's forehead, his thumb brushing a strand of hair away. His shoulders slump as he pulls away, pinching the bridge of his nose, and a wave of sadness washes over you.

Wise is the last of his batch, and he's seen more death and destruction than most. He's spent most of his life in Kamino’s sterile medical facility, watching his brothers die from defects that never should have existed and training regimens that were meant to break them. The sight of a child, so young and so full of promise, is no doubt bringing back a host of painful memories, and it's all you can do to hold yourself together.

“Wise," you call, and he starts, his head whipping towards you. He blinks rapidly and straightens, his expression hardening.

"Sir."

"I'm serious," you say. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah," he says, his voice low. He gives a slight shake of his head, his eyes flitting back to the bed. "Right."

“You should go now while you can. I'll watch him,” you offer.

"No," Wise protests, his eyes moving back to yours. His jaw tightens, and a spark of defiance appears in his eyes. "Sir, you need sleep, too. You can't—"

"I'm fine," you assure him, holding a hand up. "Besides, I can't sleep right now. My mind is...well, it's not quiet."

“And you think mine is?”

The sharpness of his tone catches you off-guard, and your mouth snaps shut. Wise pauses, a flash of regret crossing his face, and he clears his throat and gives a slight shake of his head.

"Just...just let me stay. Please. I...I don't want him to be alone."

"Wise—"

"Please," he says, his voice cracking. His eyes are wide, pleading, and you know there's no point in arguing. Not now.

"Fine," you relent. He lets out a breath, and his shoulders relax. “I guess we’re both staying, then.”

Wise doesn’t argue. Instead, he just nods and moves around the bed, pulling up a chair and sitting beside the sleeping boy. He settles into the seat, his hands reaching out and gripping the sides, and you make your way across the room, settling down in the chair opposite him.

The boy doesn’t stir, and the silence is deafening. You lean forward and rest your elbows on your knees, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Your head drops, your eyes closing, and for a few minutes, you sit like that, listening to the steady beeping of the monitors and the faint rumble of the engines and voices outside.

It's peaceful, in a strange sort of way, and you can feel yourself drifting off, the exhaustion and the adrenaline crash finally taking their toll. It's tempting, the thought of giving in, but you fight it, knowing that the nightmares are waiting just below the surface. Ready to swallow you whole.

The darkness has been a constant companion, a weight hanging over your shoulders and a threat always lurking just out of reach. Ever since the vision, the fear has been almost overwhelming, and it's all you can do to keep the paranoia and the anxiety at bay.

The only time the darkness abates is when you’re around your men, and you’ve spent more time than you probably should surrounded by them. Playing Sabacc. Training. Talking. Doing anything, really, that would take your mind off the darkness and the visions and the ever-present threat.

The truth is, they have become your lifeline. Your source of light and hope and strength. Their presence is a reminder of the goodness and the beauty of the galaxy. Of the things worth fighting for. Of the reasons to continue, even in the face of the darkness.

There's a reason you were given this brigade, and not another. It's not a coincidence, not a fluke. You know that. The Force has led you here, to these men. And for whatever reason, they need you, too. They have a purpose, and so do you.

You're not sure how long it is before Wise breaks the silence, his voice low and rough.

"I couldn't save them," he mutters, and you open your eyes, glancing over at him. His face is drawn, his gaze fixed on the child, and his shoulders sag, his eyes moving to the floor. "I...there were so many. And, I just..."

His words trail off, and he takes a shuddering breath, his head dropping into his hands. They slide up, his fingers digging into his scalp, and he exhales a ragged gasp. 

"It's not your fault," you murmur, and his fingers tighten, his head shaking. You reach out and rest a hand on his arm, your thumb finding the spot between the plates at his elbow, and you can feel him tense.

"I could have done more," he mumbles. "I should have done more."

"You did all you could," you assure him, and he shakes his head again. "Wise, there was nothing you could have done. You can't save everyone. And that's not your responsibility. That's not on you. You have to understand that."

"I should have done more," he insists. He pulls back and meets your eyes, his own red and watery. "They deserved more. Better. I..."

He sighs, his hands rubbing his face, and you lean forward, your grip on his arm tightening. You're not sure what to say. There's nothing you can say. Nothing you can do. So instead, you reach out with the Force and wrap it around him, hoping that your presence, your support, will be of some comfort.

"The men...they don’t understand,” he mutters, his hands falling into his lap. "They're different. They didn't...they never saw the others. The ones that didn't make it."

His voice is barely above a whisper, and his gaze falls to the floor. You can see the tears glistening in his eyes, the emotions threatening to burst free. But he doesn’t cry. Instead, his hands ball into fists, and he looks back at the boy, a grim determination crossing his face.

"I'll save this kid," he mutters. "I have to."

"I know," you say quietly, and his eyes flick to yours, the pain and the anguish reflected in their depths. "And you will."

"He didn't ask for any of this," Wise murmurs. He shakes his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. "He's just a kid. Just a fucking kid, and now, he's..."

His voice cracks, and he lets out a choked noise, his eyes closing as he struggles to breathe.

Your hand tightens on his arm, and you pull him towards you, wrapping him in a hug. He stiffens, his breath catching, and for a moment, neither of you move. Then, slowly, his arms lifts, his hands coming up and gripping the fabric of your robe. His face presses into your shoulder, and his shoulders shake, the tears soaking through the thin fabric.

You close your eyes, wrapping him in the warmth and the safety of the Force, and hold him, your hand moving up and cradling the back of his head. You can feel the weight of his grief, the pain and the loss, and it's almost too much. But somehow, you manage to stay strong. To hold it back. To stay in control.

It’s easier, you think, to help someone else deal with their pain. There’s something in it that calms the darkness, something that pushes it aside, and you find yourself breathing a sigh of relief. You may be haunted, you may be a wreck, but this...this you can handle. This is something you can do.

After a while, his silent sobs subside, and his breathing slows, his body relaxing in your embrace. You keep him close, holding him tight, and it's not until his grip loosens and his head shifts that you finally release him. Your hands come up to cup his face, wiping away the tears, and you give him a small smile. Wise isn't the only brother who has ever cried in your arms, and you know better than to think this is the last time.

You reach into your robes and retrieve a cloth, handing it to him, and he accepts it with a quiet thanks, his voice hoarse.

"Sorry," he whispers.

"Don't be," you reply easily. You lean back and fold your hands, resting them in your lap. "We all need a good cry now and again. Nothing to be ashamed of."

Wise huffs a laugh, wiping his face and blowing his nose.

"It's been a while," he admits, his cheeks flushed, and you hum in response.

"Guess you were due."

"Guess so," he grunts. He takes a deep breath, the air rattling in his lungs, and he lets out a heavy sigh. "Thanks."

"You don’t have to thank me. I'm just glad you trust me," you say, and his head jerks up. He opens his mouth, a protest forming on his lips, but you hold up a hand, silencing him. "No, it's true. I am. And I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about. But I want you to know that I'm here. I may be your general, but I’m also your friend. Whether you want me to be or not."

Wise scoffs and rolls his eyes, though the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smile.

"I don’t think that’s how friendship works, sir," he points out, his eyes returning to the boy. His brow furrows, and he reaches out, brushing the hair away from the child's forehead. "Not that I'd know."

“Yeah, it’s…a pretty new concept for me, too," you admit. "But I think I'm getting the hang of it. You should give it a try."

He laughs. It's a short, harsh bark, and his hand falls away. His gaze turns inward, his expression pensive. After a while, he lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his forehead.

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

He huffs a breath, shaking his head.

"I guess you're not the worst," he concedes. "For a Jedi."

"Wow, thanks," you reply dryly.

"I mean, at least you're not Skywalker," he continues. Wise lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. "That guy is a fucking mess."

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sudden laughter, and his mouth curves into a grin, the first genuine smile you've seen in days. You’re a little delirious, maybe, but you can't help the laughter that spills from your lips.

You haven't seen much of Anakin lately, or any of the other Jedi for that matter, but you've heard plenty of rumors. You have no doubt that Rex has seen more than his fair share of reckless behavior and dramatic stunts recently. It's no secret that Anakin and Ahsoka have gotten themselves into more trouble than most, and the image of Wise being assigned to the 501st instead of the 419th has you struggling to breathe. 

“You should’ve seen him when he was a Padawan," you say after your laughter subsides. "He made me look sane and rational."

"You're shitting me," he deadpans.

"Not in the slightest," you reply. "Trust me, it's better that you ended up with us. He'd probably drive you insane within a week."

Wise snorts, the grin fading.

"I didn't ‘end up’ anywhere," he says quietly as he reaches out, fixing the corner of the child's blanket. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye before his gaze darts away. "I chose to serve with you. It wasn't an assignment."

"I...well, that's..." you stammer, his words catching you off guard. He clears his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck, and you blink a couple of times. "Oh."

You had assumed he was assigned, the same way Booker was. And the rest of the men, for that matter. That the Republic had decided to pluck him from the clutches of the Kaminoans, and the recommendation from Booker and Rex had only helped seal the deal. You had never considered that he had actually chosen to be here, and the realization is almost more than you can take.

"I wanted a change," he mumbles, and his fingers drum nervously on the side of the cot. "Booker and I talked about it, and...I knew it was a risk, but, well, we're clones. Risks are part of the job. And you're the best we've got."

"Oh."

You don't know what else to say. The words are stuck in your throat, and it's all you can do not to start crying, too. He chose this. He chose you. He came to the 419th because he thought you were the best, and he was willing to risk his life and his future to fight alongside you. Not because he had to, not because someone ordered him to, but because he wanted to.

And, if that isn't the biggest sign of respect you could ever receive, you don't know what is.

You take a deep breath, swallowing hard, and Wise shifts, his gaze fixed on the blanket.

"Don't let it go to your head," he adds, his voice gruff.

"I'll try not to," you murmur, and his gaze flicks to yours, the corners of his mouth curving upward. He looks tired. Exhausted, really. And a little sad. But there's a hint of fondness, too. A sense of affection.

You smile back at him, a warmth spreading through your chest, and the two of you settle back in your seats. Neither of you speaks, and the silence stretches on. It's not long before a yawn escapes your lips as the exhaustion finally catches up with you, the weariness settling into your bones. Your eyes are starting to droop, and you lean your head back, resting it against the wall. 

You can feel Wise watching you, and after a while, his chair creaks, and you hear his footsteps receding. You don't open your eyes. You're too tired. Too comfortable.

It feels like no time passes before you're suddenly being jolted awake by a noise, a soft whimper. You start, your eyes snapping open, and for a moment, you're not sure where you are. There's a blanket draped over you, and the room is dark, the only light coming from the monitors above the bed. You blink a couple of times, taking in your surroundings, and your gaze lands on Wise, slumped over a nearby desk, his face pressed against his folded arms.

The boy is still asleep, but his forehead is creased, his eyes moving behind his lids. There's a sheen of sweat on his brow, his breathing rapid and uneven. The monitor above his head beeps in warning, and a low groan escapes his lips as his hands scrabble at the sheets, his legs kicking.

You leap from the chair and cross the space between the beds in a flash, your hand reaching out and grabbing his wrist. You can feel his pulse racing, and the bandages are wet with sweat. The beeping intensifies, and the boy starts thrashing, his head shaking from side to side, and his eyes snap open, his gaze unfocused.

"Kid?" you whisper, your fingers brushing the damp hair off his forehead. He whimpers again, his body going limp, and his eyes close, his head lolling to the side. "Shit. Wise!"

Wise jerks awake and straightens, his chair falling over as he leaps to his feet. His eyes land on the boy, and he crosses the distance between the beds, his hands reaching for the bandages around the child's head.

"It's okay, kiddo. It's gonna be okay," he murmurs, his eyes darting to the monitors. "Help me sit him up. I'm going to have to change the bandages and check the wound."

You nod, reaching for the kid's shoulder, and the two of you carefully roll him onto his side. Wise reaches for the bandage on the back of his head and gingerly peels it away, exposing a nasty gash, the edges blackened and bloody.

Wise sucks in a breath, his eyes widening, and his hand moves, gently parting the hair and touching the area. He pulls a medscanner out of his belt and runs it over the wound, his brow furrowed in concentration. He mutters under his breath, his fingers prodding the area, and a curse escapes his lips.

"What? What is it?" you hiss, and his gaze snaps to yours. He holds the scanner out, and the display blinks rapidly, a long list of words flashing across the screen. You squint at the numbers, trying to make sense of the information, but the medical terminology is unfamiliar.

“Subdermal hematoma,” he mutters. His hand moves away, and his eyes dart to the child's arm, his lip curling. "And an infection. He's going to need a bacta tank and a brain surgeon. A real medical facility. Now."

You hesitate, knowing that it's impossible. There are no facilities nearby, and the only ships are transport vessels. They have no medical capabilities, and the journey would be too risky for a child this young. Even the Venators' medical bays are no substitute for a proper infirmary, one capable of performing a procedure this complex. 

"There has to be something," you insist, your hands moving to the boy's shoulders. He's still, his breathing shallow, and you can feel the panic rising. "Something we can do."

"There's not," he replies, and his voice is flat. "It's not like the Republic is going to send in a team of neurosurgeons to save a kid from a planet that they've abandoned."

"Wise..." you begin, but the words die in your throat. 

You know he's right, and it hurts, a dull ache spreading through your chest. This child, this innocent kid, will die because the Republic has forsaken him, and there's nothing you can do about it. 

You look down at the boy, at the blood and the bruises, and the anger wells up inside you. It's not fair. None of this is. He doesn't deserve this.

"We can't," Wise mutters. He leans over the child, his hand moving to the IV port in his arm, and he begins to remove it. "It's too risky."

"No," you gasp, and your hands shoot out, wrapping around his wrists and pulling him away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"It's over," he says simply. "He's not going to make it, and you know it. It's better if we just—"

"Stop it," you snap, and the words echo in the room, reverberating off the walls. Wise stares at you, his eyes wide, and you tighten your grip. "Stop it. Now."

He doesn't answer, and you can feel him trembling beneath your hands. Your grip tightens as your mind races, trying to come up with an answer, a solution, a way out. But the truth is, there isn't. Not for this. Not without a miracle.

The realization hits you like a blaster bolt, and you glance at the child, your chest tightening.

There's only one option, and it's not a pleasant thought. You know the risks, the consequences. But if there's a chance, even a small chance, that you can save this child, you have to take it. You owe him that much.

You take a deep breath and let go of Wise's wrists, your hands falling to your sides.

"I can heal him," you murmur.

"What?" Wise hisses, his eyes narrowing. He leans back, his gaze searching yours. "You can't be serious."

"I can heal him," you repeat. "I've done it before."

"General, no. I—"

"It's fine," you insist. Your hand moves to the folds of your robe, reaching for the necklace hidden there. "I can do it. Just trust me."

He stares at you, his eyes flitting between the wound and your face, and you can see the conflict on his features. He's torn, his medical training and experience telling him that it's not a viable option, that it's not a risk worth taking. But there's something else there, too. A glimmer of hope, a spark of desperation, and after a moment, he nods, his eyes hardening.

"Will it hurt him?"

"No," you assure him, and his shoulders slump. "Not if I do it right."

"Okay," he says. He reaches into his belt and pulls out a pair of gloves, tugging them on and moving around the bed. "Let's do this."

"Lay him down," you instruct, and Wise gently lowers the child onto his back. You kneel beside the bed and take a deep breath. Your eyes close, and you reach out, feeling for the child's pain. His agony is palpable, the wound a source of searing heat, and you can't help but wince.

“Just so you’re prepared,” you murmur, your hands hovering over the child's head. "I might pass out. If I do, just make sure I'm not bleeding anywhere."

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me," you mumble, and you place your hands on the boy's head. The Force flows through you, a wave of warmth and light washing over the room, and the child gasps, his eyes opening wide. His body tenses, his hands clenching the sheets, and a soft groan escapes his lips. "Just keep an eye on me, and if I start bleeding from the ears or nose, try not to panic."

"Oh, that's comforting," he mutters, his voice tight.

"I'm serious," you say, and his fingers flex.

"So am I."

You shake your head and ignore him, turning your focus inward. Your breathing slows, and the world around you fades with each breath.

The sounds of the room disappear, replaced by the steady musical hum of the Force, a chorus of voices and energy, and you let the music wash over you. It's beautiful, intoxicating, and you lose yourself in the song, letting it guide you.

Your hands begin to move, finding the places where the wound connects to the child's mind, and you reach out, sending tendrils of your fading energy into the damaged area.

As soon as you make contact, you’re pulled under. 

It feels like drowning, a current pulling you down, and it's all you can do to keep from being swept away. You fight against it, struggling to stay afloat, disoriented and terrified. Pain lances through your skull, and the world seems to shift and spin, the colors and the shapes morphing into a kaleidoscope of light and shadow.

There's a ringing in your ears, a high-pitched whine that grows louder and louder, and the pain intensifies. It's a blinding agony, and you cry out, your mind trying desperately to process the flood of information, to fight against the torrent and take control.

It's a losing battle. You're no match for the power of the Force, the connection between the child's mind and yours. The strength of it is overwhelming, and it's all you can do to hang on, your thoughts and memories becoming muddled and distorted. Flashes of your vision, your childhood, the Temple, the men, the darkness, Rex. They mix and meld, twisting together, and you let out a strangled scream.

You’re grasping at the threads, chasing, trying to hold onto them, but they slip through your fingers, dissolving into smoke. It's impossible. There's too much, and you can't find the answers, can't make sense of it all.

And then it hits you.

The memory of Yaddle, her calming voice as she instructs you to be the current, to give yourself over and allow the Force to flow through you. To be the leaf, to let go of your expectations and allow yourself to be carried along, to trust that the Force will show you the way.

You take a deep breath, focusing on the song of the universe. The rhythm and the melody, the steady beat, and the hum of the energy surrounding you.

And you surrender.

The darkness rushes in, and for a moment, you’re consumed. The world disappears, and you find yourself adrift, alone and afraid. But the fear is fleeting. You're not scared anymore. You know what to do.

You can feel the Force now, the song and the current, and you let yourself drift. There's no resistance. No fighting. No struggle.

The child's presence is a bright light, a beacon in the void, and you focus on it, letting it pull you closer. As the distance between the two of you lessens, the world around you starts to materialize, the images and the feelings solidifying. You can see a golden field, a meadow filled with strange plants and flowers, and the sun is shining, the air warm and fragrant. There's a distant sound of children playing and laughing, and a gentle breeze blows, rustling the leaves of the trees.

It's peaceful, and you can't help but smile, the sight of the meadow a welcome respite.

For a moment, you simply stand, taking it all in. It's not the first time you've seen this place, but the past glimpses of the vision have always felt like just that—glimpses. Fleeting and brief, the memories coming in flashes, hazy fragments of a larger picture. 

But this time, it's different. This time, it feels real, the details sharp and the colors vivid. And perhaps more importantly, there is no sense of urgency, no need to flee, no fear.

This is a place of safety. A sanctuary.

You take a deep breath, the smells of the meadow filling your lungs, and the warmth of the sun settles over you, easing the aches and the pains that had plagued you since the battle. You let your eyes close, a soft sigh escaping your lips, and a wave of contentment washes over you. You can't help but marvel at the simplicity of it all. The calmness.

The feeling is so familiar, and yet, so foreign.

It's been a long time since you've experienced such peace. So long, in fact, that you almost forgot how wonderful it is. How amazing it is, to not be afraid, to not have the weight of the galaxy resting on your shoulders. To simply be.

A soft voice calls your name as a hand settles on your shoulder, and your breath hitches. The last time you had this vision, you turned too quickly and saw nothing. But now, there's no fear, no panic, no anxiety. Only calm and acceptance.

And finally, there is no surprise.

You already know who’s standing behind you.

"Rex," you breathe, and he gives your shoulder a squeeze. 

You open your eyes, and he's there, the sunlight bathing his features, his skin glowing and his eyes filled with warmth. He looks so real, so tangible, and the urge to reach out and touch him is almost irresistible.

Rex smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he gives a soft chuckle.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks. His tone is gentle, but there's a hint of teasing, a spark of mischief, and your mouth curves into a grin.

"I don't know," you admit. "What are you doing out here?"

"Trying to find you," he replies. His brow furrows, and the sparkle fades from his eyes. "I was worried about you."

"You don't have to worry about me," you assure him, and he snorts, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“I know.”

He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't have to. You’ve had this conversation many times, and you’re certain you’ll have it many more. Round and round in circles, the two of you going back and forth, neither able to let the other go.

"I'm glad you found me," you whisper, and his fingers dig into your shoulder, his hand moving down your arm and his fingers entwining with yours. He steps closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I'm always going to find you," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand. "No matter what."

The words hit home, and you can't help but smile. It's a sweet, gentle reassurance, and it's exactly what you need. What you've always needed. The simple reminder that someone cares, that someone loves you, even if the rest of the galaxy seems against you.

And it's not just anyone. It's him. Rex. The man who's been by your side since the beginning, the man who's been fighting alongside you, the man who's loved and cared for you despite all the obstacles and challenges. Despite all the risks and the dangers. The man who's always had your back, no matter what.

Your gaze flickers to the field, the sun and the grass, and the thought hits you. This isn't just a dream or some hallucination. This is the reality you've been craving. The peace and the serenity. The freedom. The quiet, simple life you've been longing for.

You want this. You need this.

And if the Force is showing it to you, maybe...maybe there's a chance.

Your gaze flicks back to his face, and the hope blossoms in your chest, the possibilities unfolding before you.

You could have this.

It could be possible.

But before the idea has time to take root, a voice calls your name, the faint echo shattering the moment. Rex's brow furrows, his fingers tightening around yours.

"That's not good," he mutters, and you frown, his words snapping you back to the present. The memory of the child, the injury, and the wound flash through your mind, and a shiver runs down your spine.

"I have to go," you murmur, and he nods. "I don't want to, but..."

His hand comes up, cupping your face, and his thumb rubs your cheek.

"I know," he murmurs. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, a warmth blooming beneath his lips. "Just be careful."

"Always," you whisper, and he chuckles. He leans back, his gaze meeting yours, and his eyes sparkle with affection and pride.

You smile, the warmth spreading through your chest. There's a lightness to him, a calmness and a happiness that you haven't seen in a long time, and it's almost too much. There’s still a tiredness in the way he holds himself, a heaviness to his shoulders, but there's no darkness. No pain or sorrow or fear. Just him.

And it's beautiful.

A small, contented sigh escapes your lips, and he grins, the dimples appearing.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises, his words filled with the conviction that only a true believer could muster. You nod, knowing that he will, and you give his hand a final squeeze before stepping away. His hand slips from yours, his fingers trailing across your palm, and when you turn, he's gone.

There's a gentle tugging at your hand, and you look down, surprised to see the child next to you, his eyes wide and his face flushed. The rest of the vision falls away around you, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, surrounded by a swirling, hazy mist.

He's so young, and the realization sends a pang through your heart. He looks up at you, his lips turning down, and he wraps his arms around your leg, pressing his face into the fabric. He's trembling, and you place a hand on his head, your fingers gently brushing his hair.

"It's okay," you murmur. "You're safe."

His eyes dart to yours, a question in their depths, and you nod, offering a small smile. His shoulders relax, and he releases his hold, looking up at you expectantly.

"Are you ready?" you ask, and he nods. You smile again, reaching down and taking his hand, and the two of you walk into the fog.

There's a light shining ahead, a small pinprick, and the boy moves a little faster, his steps sure and determined. You reach out with the Force, parting the mist, and together, the two of you step through.

The world rushes in, a sharp intake of breath filling your lungs, and your eyes fly open. 

There's a pair of hands on your shoulders, and they're shaking you, the grip almost painfully tight. You blink, the bright lights and the noise of the schoolhouse coming into focus, and you find yourself staring up at Wise. His eyes are wide, his face pale, and he's saying something, his words garbled and indistinct.

You try to reply, but your tongue is heavy, the words stuck in your throat, and you settle for a simple shake of the head. It's all you can manage, and it's clearly not the response Wise was hoping for.

"Shit," you hear him mutter. "Shit."

He releases you, and your head lolls to the side, the motion sending a wave of nausea through you. You gag, bile rising in your throat, and Wise curses again, moving to grab a wastebasket and thrusting it in front of your face. You retch into it, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief as the contents of your stomach are expelled. The taste is disgusting, and the smell is awful, but the nausea and the dizziness begin to abate.

You cough and sputter, and Wise takes the basket, placing it aside.

"Wise," you mumble, blinking a few times and trying to clear your vision. "Did it work?"

He looks back at the boy, his expression grim. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes meeting yours, and the ghost of a smile crosses his lips.

"It did."

The relief that fills you is overwhelming, and you can't help but laugh, a giddy, slightly hysterical giggle escaping your lips. You reach up and wipe your mouth, wincing as the pain in your head spikes, and you slump, closing your eyes and trying to catch your breath.

"You're bleeding," he grumbles as he kneels next to you.

"It's okay," you tell him.

"Like hell it is," he snaps. His thumb swipes under your nose, and the familiar copper tang fills your mouth. He presses a handkerchief to your face, holding it against the stream of blood, and you reach up, covering his hand with yours. "You could have killed yourself."

"Worth it, though," you manage, and his eyes narrow.

"You fucking—dikut’la, dini’la jetii," he curses, his free hand gesturing wildly. He lets out a string of profanities and insults, the words mixing together until you can't even distinguish individual phrases, but you’re too busy laughing to care, the joy and the relief overpowering any concerns.

You've never done that before, not like this. Your attempts at healing had always felt forced, like you were trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands. But this time was different. 

This time, you had given yourself over, and the results had been incredible. Not just the success of the procedure, but the feeling, the way the Force had flowed through you, filling you with peace and light. It had been...indescribable. Wonderful. A feeling you hadn’t felt in so long.

But the moment is short-lived, the euphoria giving way to the pain, and you groan, your head throbbing. Wise is still ranting, his voice rising in volume and intensity, and you can't help but wince.

"Okay, okay, I get it," you mutter. You push his hand away, the cloth soaked with blood, and lean back, propping yourself against the wall. "I'm sorry."

He snorts, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

"No, you're not," he grumbles. "You're never sorry. You just...you..."

His words trail off, and his gaze drops to the cloth. Wise shakes his head, his eyes returning to yours, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"You scare the shit out of me, you know that?"

You offer him a weak, bloody smile.

"Aw, we are friends, aren't we?" you tease, and he huffs a laugh, his eyes rolling.

"If anyone asks, I'll deny it."

Wise clears his throat and hooks his hands underneath your arms, lifting you up and depositing you in a nearby empty cot. You wince, the sudden change in position causing a fresh wave of pain, and Wise frowns and reaches for a cloth and a bowl of water.

"You should get some rest," he tells you, wringing the cloth and dabbing at your nose. The water is cool, and you let out a sigh of relief. "I'll watch him."

"Mmhmm," you murmur, your eyes already drooping. You lean back, the pillow supporting your head, and your eyelids slide shut. "Wake me if anything changes."

"Sir, yes sir," he mumbles, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You're about to reply, but the darkness is already pulling you under, the exhaustion taking hold, and before long, the world fades away.

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[salty-autistic-writer]

Written for @bucktommyangstweek, Day 6: Bedside Vigils (Spoilers for season 8 episode 11)

“Hey, Tommy. Sorry, I'm late today. I was a bit busy.

I tried something new. My therapist suggested that. Said an activity that includes taking care of something might help me with, with the restlessness and the overthinking. 

So I started to build a little garden. It’s not much. Yet. Just a beet for vegetables, berries, and a few pots for flowers. But it’s fun. I’m getting excited about seeing everything grow. I mean, hopefully, it grows. If I don’t mess it up.

I’m most excited for the strawberries. Going to bake a cake for you when they’re ripe. You have to be awake to eat it though.

I know you ... you needed a lot of rest. So that your body can heal. But you can wake up anytime now, okay?

Please. 

Tommy. Please wake up.”

* They crash through the door, unable to keep their hands or mouths off each other.

Buck feels delirious. His heart is racing, his thoughts are in shambles. Is this a bad idea? If it is, it doesn’t feel like one. He doesn’t want to stop. His world consists of Tommy’s familiar smell and warmth, Tommy’s big hands, Tommy’s lips mouthing at his neck, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.

Buck doesn’t want to stop.

So he doesn’t.

And when Tommy leaves in the morning after his face shows a tiny fracture of pain before he closes it off again, his walls up, Buck can still hear the echo of a moan reverberating in his head.

“Evan …” *

“Hey, Tommy. 

Today was Jee’s birthday party. It’s amazing how fast kids grow. I baked her a cake. Also brought a piece for you. I know, you can’t eat it. So … I’m going to eat it. It’s chocolate. I think you would have liked it.

She asked about you, you know? Asked about Uncle Tommy. She also did that after we broke up. When we were baking cookies together at the loft, Jee said she wanted to bake one for you too. With extra chocolate she said.

She was here with Maddie and Chimney yesterday. So if you wake up and see the card with the drawing of the helicopter, that’s from Jee. Please. Wake up, Tommy. Wake up, so that you can eat your cake and tell Jee how much you love her drawing.

I do have strawberries in my garden now, by the way. A lot of them. I would love to share them with you.

God. Now I'm crying again.

I can't believe how many tears the human body can produce. Please. Tommy.  You are missed. You ... You have so many things waiting for you here. Please. Come back."

* “Hey, thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Buck says and it’s a deja vu.

“Of course,” Tommy says quietly, sitting opposite him. He takes a sip of his coffee and smiles. “You got it right this time.”

“Yeah.” Buck clears his throat. “So … I, uh, I wanted to apologize. I wasn’t fair to you. Not only was that comment I made about not having feelings for everyone I have sex with … really bad timing. I also realized that … I was lonely. That house. It didn’t feel like home at all. And then you … I saw you. And I wanted things to get back to how they used to. So I pulled you back with me. I tried to, at least. I guess I was using the sex with you to distract myself from the fact, that I was unable to deal with all the changes that have happened in my life lately. In a very short time. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He stops, feeling a bit breathless.

Tommy looks at him for a moment, his expression hard to read. Finally, he nods and says, “I get it.” “You do?” Buck asks, relieved.

“I was lonely too,” Tommy says. “So, I guess we kind of used each other that night. It’s okay. We don’t have to … overcomplicate things. It was sex.”

“Amazing sex,” Buck blurts.

“It was,” Tommy agrees, glancing at Buck while taking a sip of his coffee.

Silence falls as they look into each other’s eyes. The sun is falling on Tommy’s, making them sparkle like the ocean on a clear summer day. Fuck. Buck grips his own knee tight. He wants him. He wants him so bad it hurts. It's probably not a good idea again ... But, Tommy is not angry. And it’s just sex, right? Amazing sex. Tommy said so himself.

“Hey. Do you, uh, want to see my new bed?” Buck asks as casually as possible.

Tommy puts the mug down with a swallow, shifting his weight like he’s already about to get up. “Hell yeah.”

* "Hey, Tommy.

I, uh, had a talk with your cousin today. Please don’t be angry. I … I had to know some things. 

I’m so sorry you had to go through all that … With your Dad. My parents aren’t great either, well, you know that. But at least they didn’t get drunk and … and I didn’t have to hide in my closet. Your cousin told me about your Mum too. I’m sorry she died so soon. Too soon. You probably missed her a lot.

I can understand you went to join the army as soon as possible, to get away. From things. 

Your cousin told me you always were obsessed with flying. Planes. Helicopters. I, uh, I bought a book. I’m sure you know all these things already. But I don’t. I thought I was going to read it to you. So I can learn. And you can … maybe you can listen and wake up and tell me what’s your favorite type of helicopter. I really wish you would talk to me.

I miss you.

Please. Wake up soon, Tommy. Wake up.”

* “You’re already leaving?” Buck asks, disappointed. 

He shouldn’t be. After all, this is … something they do now. They have amazing sex. Fun times. And most times, if they have the time, they’re eating breakfast together, just talking about what is happening in their life right now. 

Well. It’s usually Buck who does the talking. Tommy is mostly listening and reacting. Buck tries to think about something he learned about Tommy this week. His throat tightens.

“Yeah, I have to be at the station a little earlier today,” Tommy says easily, putting on his shoes. “I promised to show the new probie around.”

“Okay,” Buck says. He should just let Tommy go. It’s not like they are … in a relationship. But still. Something about this hurts.

He stays in bed a little, thinking. Thinking back to when Tommy broke up with him. Tommy said he knew Buck would end up breaking his heart. He said he couldn’t be Buck’s first and his last. Tommy thought Eddie might be competition. Tommy was hurt when Buck said he doesn’t need to have feelings for everyone he has sex with, but instead of addressing it, he quickly decided to not try again and left. He left. Again.

Buck slowly puts the pieces together. They show him a painful image. Is Tommy scared of committing to a relationship because he did that in the past and got hurt? So hurt that now he’s guarding his heart? Does he agree to the sex because he does want to be with Buck but is too scared to take the next steps in a relationship?

Fuck.

Buck swallows and reaches for his phone, opening his chat with Tommy.

Hey. Can we talk later? Just talk. He types.

* “Hey, Tommy.

I did some digging again. Please don’t be mad. And don’t be mad at Lucy either. We … we are trying to cope, you know? And I’m trying to understand some things. Before ... Nevermind. We have to keep the hope up, right? Yeah. That's what we do.

Anyway, Lucy told me that you had a boyfriend. And … and that he left you because of someone else. Right when you were ready to propose. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I can imagine how painful that must have been. You didn’t deserve that.

You deserve someone who stays. You deserve to be loved, Tommy. I know you probably don’t believe that, but you’re such an amazing, caring, loving, interesting, funny, handsome person. You really are. You took such good care of me. And every time I see you, I feel a little shy suddenly, haha. I really do. Shy and awkward. Like a duck.

Tommy. I … I still want to try again. I really do.

So, please. Wake up. Come back to me. Come back home.”

* “Buck.”

“Hey, Bobby, I was just about to clean -”

“Buck, I need you to come to my office with me.”

Buck’s smile drops.

Bobby looks at him seriously. Too serious.

Buck looks around the firehouse. The others are glancing at them, surprise and worry in their eyes. 

“You can say it,” Buck tells Bobby. “It’s okay if they hear it. Who … who got hurt?”

“I got the call a few minutes ago. Tommy’s helicopter crashed.”

Buck forgets to breathe. The world blurs. “No …”

“He’s in critical condition. And not conscious. You’re still his emergency contact. And they want to talk to you, since … Since Tommy also put you as his proxy and they believe you might have to make a few decisions.” Bobby puts a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Buck. I know things have been difficult between you two. But this … You’re excused, of course.”

Buck doesn’t know what to say. His blood is rushing in his ears. “I … I wanted to talk to him today,” he breathes.

“Buck,” Chimney says, placing a hand on his back. “Hey, I will drive you to the hospital, okay? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I wanted to talk to him,” Buck repeats numbly.

~ “You can talk to him,” the doctor tells him. “We do believe that coma patients recognize voices.”

Buck nods, unable to tear his gaze away from Tommy.

He looks so small. He’s never small. 

“Hey, Tommy,” Buck says hoarsely. “I wanted to talk to you today. So … That’s what I’m going to do.”

* “Hey, Tommy.

Tommy?

Tommy! Oh my God, Tommy!

Hey, look at me! You will be okay. Everything will be okay. Just … Just keep looking at me.

I’m here. I love you, you hear me? I love you, Tommy.

I’m here.”

(AO3 Link)

[aestatismors]

.

[urprettylildoe]

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Popular boy yandere who is just so calm and collected that it makes everyone intrigued. There's this charm about him that pulls people in, like a magnet. People would die to talk to him.

Then you come along.

You're friendly and bubbly, just so full of life, so eager to get to know everyone since you're new. And you share a couple of classes, even sitting with him in one.

He clenches his jaw as you babble on and on about something he doesn't care about. And yet, he entertains you, because it makes him feel good about himself. Come on, people would chew up and spit out a lost little puppy like you.

You follow him around, all wide-eyed and cute. As you should, he thinks, be grateful that you get to be in his shadow, a spot everyone wishes to be in.

Until a switch flips.

Suddenly, you avoid and ignore him. You found new friends. Are you crazy? What are you doing? Are you too good for him now?

Telling himself it's fine, he tries to distract himself with meaningless flings. But no one's you.

When you left him alone, he looked back at all the things he didn't appreciate. The way you would giggle at his jokes, smile so hard your eyss would crinkle, check up on him. You were someone genuine.

Not like those shallow people all his life or his parents who would fail to give him the attention he didn't think he craved. Now that you did, it was a drug, one he was addicted to.

"Oh my- how many times do I have to tell you this?! Leave me alone," you snap in a tone you've never used with him before, lips pulled into a scowl and eyes narrowed at him. He had tried to talk to you, to get you to understand. "I don't want to be friends with someone like you."

It was the equivalent of stabbing him in the chest and twisting the knife so painfully, if not it hurt even more.

"N-no, I told you i'm sorry—" he sputters. His hair was disheveled and his hands trembled, a far cry from the picture perfect popular kid.

You sigh, feeling a bit guilty but pushing it down. You somewhat liked him, until you had caught him laughing at you behind your back, then the spark in your heart diminished.

If only you knew that it was not to convince his friends, but himself. What a fool.

"Just leave me alone." You spin on your heel, ready to walk away after successfully putting him in his place.

Frantically, desperately, he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around your legs. Tears fell down his cheeks as he bawled,

"don't- hic leave me, please. M'sorry!"

Was this the same arrogant dude from earlier? You didn't even know anymore. "Get off me." You grumble.

"No, no, no." He wails, snot and tears dripping down into the bowl of his cupid's bow. "I'll never do it again, Y/N. I'll do anything, just stay!

I love you!"

Your hands hovered above his form awkwardly, unsure of what to do before you finally lowered a gentle one to his hair. And he practically purred, sniffling and clinging tighter to your leg.

...oh what did you get yourself into, Y/N?!

[ttsukiimi]

〃★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ the jjk men n how they treat you after s⍣x. - submitted by anon.

〃★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ nanami x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, gojo x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader, aftercare, brief mentions of smut (mdni), unprotected s⍣x, creamp⍣es, fluff, established relationship, rough s⍣x, reader referred to as (baby, doll, sweetheart.)

────〃ଘ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 - second thoughts…

Nanami is always considerate of you. And he’s considerate of your preferences—preferably the things you enjoy most in bed. So, when you tell him you want it rough, albeit a little hesitant, he’s right on it. And he gives it to you good. Plowing you so hard, fucking you so good the bed starts to rock back and forth with the weight of his thrusts. The headboard bangs against the wall in tandem with your wanton screams and moans of more, the same sounds that keep him rooted deep inside you.

Nanami gives it to you almost too good—to the point that, by the time he’s done with you, leaving your cunt a creampied-mess, you’re shaking and your chest’s heaving for the breath he’s so greedily robbed you of.

With a fondness in his eyes, Nanami wipes your tear-stained cheek with his thumb. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, attempting to ease the trembling of your lips—to no avail, considering every part of your body is quivering at this point. Your head turns and you look away in embarrassment—you can’t possibly be the one in such a state after asking him to be rough with you.

Nanami smiles at this and places his pointer under your chin, turning your head back in his direction with his finger. “Tell me you’re fine.”

You nod again, finding yourself unable to talk. “With words, my love. I need words.”

“I-i’m fine, Ken. Promise.”

“You’re still shaking,” his voice’s a whisper now, breath fanning past your neck from his proximity. “Tell me I wasn’t too rough, please.”

“Kento—it’s fine. You were perfect.” you reassure, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him down, planting a quick yet searing kiss to his lips. “I just feel a little gross that’s all.”

After those words Nanami, being the perfect husband that he is, hurries over to fix you a nice, warm bath. And, per your request, he steps in too, and you both end the night basking in each other’s warmth in soft light and vanilla scented bubbles.

────〃ଘ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 - I’m doin my best!

Satoru’s always up for a rough session with you. The way you sound, the way you feel, the way you try and fail to escape from his thrusts—he loves it all. Especially when you’re crying and telling him how good he’s making you feel in both broken sentences and inhales for breath, scratching your manicured nails down his back in a pleasurable burn while doing so. The sight of your fucked-out face alone is enough to have him ready to make you bear his child, and your pussy—oh, don’t even get him started.

Satoru would go to hell and back for a mere second inside your warm, tight cunt.

And, saying that, he might’ve just went a bit too far—too rough this time. Because, as he finishes up inside you, spurting his hot seed deep into your womb—he wasn’t kidding about making you have his child—you’re shaking more than usual.

His brows furrow in slight concern, and his big hands caress all over your body as if asking if you’re okay.

“Baby?”

“H-hm?”

His lips slide against the skin of your shoulders. “You good?”

You open your eyes and give him a look—closing them again because doing anything makes your body feel even more sore. “Yeah, i’m fine. Just shaking because you went too soft.”

Satoru, on the other hand, doesn’t catch your sarcasm, and he’s about ready to get hard again when you flash him another look and slap his hand away.

“Satoru.” you heave, now trying to pull him closer. “I can’t even move. Do something.”

At that, he’s hurrying over to the bathroom and getting a washcloth, dampening it and scurrying back to you. Satoru’s surprisingly intent on cleaning you, more focused on tidying you up than your pussy which is just a mere inch away from his face—surprisingly not him at all.

Afterwards he’s tending to your every need, assuring you that there’s no need to feel ‘gross’ every time you say so.

Satoru Gojo really tries his best with aftercare.

────〃ଘ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 - ‘Kay, on it!

Well, Toji is nearly almost always rough with you in bed. There’s just something about it that he can’t get out of his system. And he even feels like sometimes his body’s really doing it out of habit—maybe even instinctively.

But, perhaps it may not have been that same instinct that drove him this particular time—and with the way you’re quivering more than usual, Toji thinks so too.

Then again, he just can’t stop himself from being too rough on you when you look so helplessly up at him when he’s plowing your lil’ pussy, and especially not when your moans fuel him on so much to the point where he has to hold you down so you don’t try and squirm away from his ruthless thrusts.

Wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, you hiccup. Toji raises an eyebrow as he gazes down at you, wondering what he should do—you’ve never shook this much.

And he would be concerned but, there’s a sadistic part of him that’s secretly enjoying the sight knowing he’s the one to have you like this.

“T-toji.”

“Hm? Yeah, doll?”

“Can you get me some water, please?”

Before you can even blink he’s back with a refrigerated bottle of water, cold just to your liking. You smile, thanking him and gulping down the liquid, placing a kiss of gratitude to his lips afterwards.

“Toji..”

“Yes?”

“Can you, uhm, clean me..?”

A smile finds it way to his lips. Toji finds it cute how you’re hesitant to ask him such a question.

After some minutes he’s back with a damp cloth to wipe you with, though that’s not all. He’s carrying you bridal style to a warm bath waiting just for you, placing you in carefully as if you’re made of porcelain.

You kiss him again, stroking his forearm lovingly.

“Can you order us some takeout too?”

“On it.”

────〃ଘ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 - uh, where do i start?

Initially, Choso’s very nervous about going rough with you. His palms are sweaty, his eyebrows are furrowed together in a tight knit and he’s asking if you really want him to. He simply wants to make sure that you’re not acting on impulse—because, as soft as he may seem, he can really give it to you.

And he does—hard. Albeit, maybe too hard. He’s never gone so rough to the point where you shook after sex, and that was Choso’s first worry.

He expected you to at least calm down after a bit of time but your body kept continuously quivering.

That’s when Choso begins to scold himself. Maybe if he wasn’t so addicted to your body, your pussy, the noises he discovers you make when he’s harsh with you, then maybe you’d be alright.

But there was no denying that he was hooked on everything about you.

“Cho..think i need a massage.” you groan, falling back onto the bed after a failed attempt at getting up. “my back’s so sore.”

“I-i’m sorry, baby, I—“

You cut him off with a kiss; one that diminishes his every worry and gives him reassurance. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

Nodding, you turn around onto your stomach, hissing at the pain in your limbs—he had really stretched you to your limit tonight. “Yeah, just, massage please.”

With a hum of acknowledgment, Choso begins to rub your back, his big hands working at the knots in your shoulders, and he smiles with every sigh of relief that leaves your lips.

By the time he’s done, you’re just about ready to have him fuck you again with the way that he’s touching you so sensually—but the gross, sticky feeling between your legs cancels out that thought.

But a pleased sigh leaves your lips—you have the perfect boyfriend and idea to get rid of that.

“Cho, baby, let’s shower.”

[gyaruhana]

after seeing those hcs for thanos pls write him with a breeding kink and praise kink omgomg

Thanos/Choi Su-bong - Smut Headcannons

Synopsis: Thanos and breeding..

A/N: I love my king so much thank you for this request..

Warnings: Smutty content, Breeding, overstimulation,

➠ Breeding kink thanos Breeding kink thanos Breeding kink thanos 

➠ He’s rough so fucking rough 

➠ He’s absolutely on a mission to breed you the moment the idea popped into his head

➠ Keeps going for ages because he’s convinced he needs to cum in you at least twenty times to breed you

➠ He knows that he’s rough and that you’re so overstimulated that you’re crying but he doesn’t stop.

➠ The tears honestly make him more hard

➠ He just says words of praise calling you his baby and his princess because you will undeniably be all his when he finally gives you his kids

➠ Hand around your throat and he doesn’t hesitate to squeeze it slightly just so he can feel you clench around his cock 

➠ He’s already loud but he’s somehow more loud when he knows he’s going to fill you up with cum

➠ Leaves so many marks all over your neck because he really needs to leave his claim on you

➠ It’s like he’s marking his territory..

➠ So much talk about how you’re so sexy when you’re all fucked out like this

➠ Also talks about how your future kids will be so fucking amazing right before he cums inside you

➠ The kissing is rough too actually. 

➠ He’s just so intoxicated by you and how you’ll look when you have his kids

➠ If he thinks too much about it again after he just released his load inside you then he’ll probably starting thrusting again

➠ Probably much slower because both of you are over-stimulated now but he’s still thrusting

➠ Overall, really loves breeding you on his cock for hours

"Fuck, you can take it- Can't you, baby?" He says as he thrust his cock deep inside of you again. God knows how he was still so hard. You would think by now he'd be finished but he just didn't stop. He kept his hand around your throat, squeezing gently as he fucked you silly on his cock. His free hand went to your stomach as he let out a guttural groan. "Can you feel my cum? Can you feel it inside of you? Fuck- you're gonna be such a sexy mother. And a sexy wife too,"

[pathologicalreid]

losing you | s.r.

in which you being in danger in the field elicits a response from Spencer that you're not used to - anger

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: general cm violence, jareau!reader, fear of abandonment, fighting word count: 1.67k a/n: i really didn't like this one at first but turns out now i really enjoy it lol. it's hard for me to dislike anything jareau!reader. anyways, setting this up to post while i chemically straighten my hair, i hope you enjoy!

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest and casually leaning against the doorframe. A bored expression planted on his face as he watched you dump your dirty laundry out of your go-bag and begin to shove clean clothes inside.

You huffed, slamming a dresser drawer shut as you shoved socks into your otherwise empty duffle, “I’m going to stay with JJ tonight.” Avoiding his gaze, you proceeded to pack away your underwear—four pairs for an overnight trip.

Slowly, he meandered over to the bed, sitting on the ledge and watching you, “I think we should talk about this.” He told you, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“I agree,” you responded, checking your toiletry kit to ensure you had everything you needed to get through the next twenty-four hours—or more if the team got called off on a new case while you were with your sister.

Spencer frowned at your response, “You agree, but you’re still packing to leave.” He turned his head to follow you as you floated around the room, tossing miscellaneous clothes in your bag.

Nodding, you zipped your go-bag shut, buttoning an additional closure before turning back to face Spencer. “You’re angry with me, and I think we could have a more productive conversation with each other tomorrow after you sleep on it.”

“And I think we need to get our thoughts out now before it turns into a bigger issue. Internalizing emotions like you’re suggesting isn’t healthy,” Spencer challenged, following you as you walked to the front door, setting your bag on the console before searching around for the right pair of shoes. “And now you’re just walking out,” he griped, gesturing over to the shoe rack.

Your head snapped up at that remark, “Hey, I am not just ‘walking out.’” Your gaze narrowed at him as you nearly stumbled over your own feet.

The knot between his brows loosened at your expression, and for a moment, you weren’t in the midst of a disagreement. For a moment, the two of you were two kids who had been walked out on. “No,” Spencer said, his voice softer than it had just been, “You’re right. That was a poor choice of words and I’m sorry.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you paused your efforts to leave the apartment and took a deep breath. “I made a split-second decision, and it ended up saving a little girl’s life. I don’t regret it, but I do regret the way it scared you.”

Spencer kept a firm distance from you, even if you reached out an arm, you wouldn’t be able to touch him. “You should have listened to Hotch; there’s no reason that you should’ve done… that.”

“You weren’t there, Spencer! If you had seen the way he was holding that gun to her temple… if you had heard the way she was crying out for her mom, then maybe you’d understand why I took her place,” you told him, shifting uncomfortably on your feet.

Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “There had to have been another option, Y/N.”

Maybe there was, but part of your FBI training had been on making snap decisions, and this was just another example. “So, you think I should’ve let him keep that gun to the little girl’s head?”

“No,” Spencer answered, dragging out his vowel. “I just would have rather not seen a gun to my girlfriend’s head instead.”

You halted, eyes widening in alarm as you shifted to a newfound frustration, “Right,” you sniped, “That’s rich, coming from you.”

His eyes flashed with recognition, and you knew that he was well aware of what you were referring to. Last month when he had his face off with Cat Adams, leading to her pointing a gun at his head while he proceeded to egg her on. You’d given him a mouthful the next day, and you weren’t afraid to do it again, “That was a completely different set of circumstances.”

Cocking your head to the side, your nostrils flared, “Was it?” You ask sardonically, “A serial killer pointing a loaded gun to your head sounds pretty fucking similar to me!”

“At least I stayed to talk to you about it instead of running away,” he snapped, both of you escalating in the ways you knew how. You raised your voice while he resorted to the cutting edge in his voice.

You held your hands out to your sides helplessly, “Do I need to put in for a transfer or something? Is this that big of an issue to you?” You could barely stomach the idea of leaving the BAU, but at this point, losing Spencer would be worse than joining a new department.

“No,” he answered instantly, “The problem here is that you don’t think before you act.”

You held up your hand, “I think before everything I do, and I’m sorry that my synapses don’t fire a million times a minute, and I can’t calculate the probability of every outcome beforehand, but I did the best I fucking could with the time I was given.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows curiously, “The best you could? A Glock to your temple was the best you could do?”

“Fuck you! Why don’t you have any trust in my abilities in the field? Why do you all of a sudden do you think I can’t do my job?” You demanded, chest rising and falling with anger as you glared across the room at him.

Spencer flinched at the accusation, the idea that he was just as bad as all of the people who assumed you only got your job because of your sister—the kind of people Spencer used to defend you from. “I didn’t… you’re perfectly capable—”

“But not good enough for the BAU? Not good enough to be a profiler, surely,” You interrupted him. “You know what I think, Spencer? I think you’re scared. I think seeing a gun to my head frightened you, and you’re taking it out on me because I’m the only vessel that you can snipe at and know they won’t leave you entirely.”

His posture changed then, leaning against the back of the couch as he absorbed your words, “You’re an incredible profiler, honey. The team is lucky to have you, you know that.”

Your shoulders slumped forward in response, “Then why the hostility? Why did you snap at me in front of everyone as soon as you found out the gun wasn’t loaded?” You took your bottom lip between your teeth as you studied his facial expressions for an answer. When you offered to take the little girl’s place, you were under the impression that the gun was loaded, and when the rest of the team caught up with you, they were under the same guise.

It wasn’t revealed that the chamber was empty until JJ made the shot that took out the UnSub, and Spencer had been all over you with worry one moment and wanted nothing to do with you the next.

“Did you feel like your worry wasn’t warranted?” You asked when he remained silent, “Like it was a waste of emotion when I wasn’t in any real danger?”

Spencer shook his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest self-consciously as you forced him to look at his behavior objectively, “You were always in danger, Y/N. The way he was watching you, the grip that he had on you…”

The UnSub gripped your hip so fiercely that he had almost taken you down with him when he was shot, and you wouldn’t be surprised to find bruises marring your skin when you changed out of your work clothes. “I saved that little girl, Spence. That’s the deal, right? ‘I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter.’” You quoted your oath to him, the same one he had taken, “At that moment, it was my duty to save that little girl. She went home to her parents today because of me.”

“You’re right,” he said, any evidence of malice washed from his tone. “You were incredible. You were fearless, and it scared the shit out of me,” he told you. “I—” he faltered, “I’m sorry,” he said, approaching you the way you would a wounded animal.

You shook your head when he held out his hands for you, leaving your arms stiffly at your sides and shaking your head, “No, Spence.”

Despite your protests, he pulled you into an embrace anyway; your body was resistant to him, the way his warm arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush against his body. “Please don’t go,” he whispered. “Be mad at me, make me sleep on the couch, but please don’t leave,” he murmured.

Your cheek was pressed against his chest, the wool lapel of his suit jacket scratching against your skin as tears flooded your field of vision. As much as you wanted to resist, this was Spencer. Instinctively, you nuzzled your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking a shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to lose you,” he told you.

Fear of loss. Spencer had been terrified to see a gun to your head, but the thought of having to watch you leave the apartment you shared in order to get away from him was petrifying. “I have to call my sister,” you told him, your voice muffled by his jacket.

One hand was on your waist, the other on the back of your head, fingers threaded into your hair, “Why?”

“To let her know I’m not coming,” you muttered. “She’ll worry, and it seems I’ve caused enough of that today,” you told him, appreciating the heat that emanated from Spencer as he looped his arms around you, holding you tightly as if that’s all he’d ever needed.

[jeonjunas]

In his mercy | jungkook ff

description: who would have thought that you, the queen bee of the school, would be a crying mess beneath the very boy you bullied?

It’s not your fault he fucks you too good… right?

genre/themes: yandere jk x queen bee y/n, manipulation, blackmailing, big dick jk, dom jk, mean jk, smut cause grahhh, cumming inside

The midday sun beats down relentlessly on the back of the school building, where Jungkook sits on one of the chairs randomly piled in the corner. It’s already lunchtime, and most students are flocking to the cafeteria, making this quiet spot a rare solace for his clouded mind. A few birds chirp in one of the tall trees, and as he looks up, the sunlight grazes his golden-tanned skin.

The scene was beautiful and calming... but that peace was shattered when a group of ‘jerks’ barged in, disrupting his solace.

"Hey! Look who's here... the weird kid from the back of the class. Thought you could escape us today, huh?" Jaehyun, a student from the legal department and one of the so-called "cool" kids, sneered, making his friends burst into laughter.

Honestly, he doesn’t really know why Jaehyun and his minions enjoy picking on him… or maybe he does. He’s pretty sure it’s because Jaehyun couldn’t stand coming second in the student rankings—right after Jungkook, the quiet kid in the back who always looks half-dead in his hoodie. Jaehyun, who thinks so highly of himself, just couldn’t accept that a so-called lowlife nerd had beaten him at something.

Jungkook only sighed, thinking this whole act was pathetic as fuck. He didn’t bother to respond and was just about to leave when Jaehyun suddenly grabbed the collar of his gray hoodie.

“What now, huh? Can’t even respond to me?! Did you study so hard you forgot how to talk?”

"Look, man… I don’t want any trou—" Before he could even finish his sentence, a punch landed on his face. The blow was so sudden that he lost his balance. Jaehyun’s minions wasted no time, rushing in to kick him in the stomach.

He could have fought back, could have turned this into a full-blown fistfight—but he chose not to. Not because he couldn’t, but because his parents had already warned him that this would be the last time they’d put up with his bullshit… especially after what happened at his previous school.

Instead, he only crouched in pain, waiting for them to stop. In his mind, he knew he could have his revenge someday—but for now, he had to play along, had to keep up the act.

After a couple of minutes, Jaehyun’s minions finally stopped kicking him, leaving him lying there. Jungkook thought they were done, that they had left—until he felt something spill on him. A cold liquid seeped into his hoodie, followed by the sound of giggling.

Min Y/N.

The fucking Min Y/N had just dumped a chocolate drink on him while giggling in Jaehyun’s arms.

"That’s what you get for messing with the wrong people," she sneered.

Jungkook hated the bitch so much. She was always clinging to Jaehyun’s arm, giggling like she was innocent—typical spoiled rich brat behavior. A queen bee who thought everything would always go her way.

Too bad… she was literally Jungkook’s type if not for her bitchy attitude.

"Hahaha… let’s get going, babe," Jaehyun said to Y/N, pride evident in his voice over what his girl had just done.

At last, their stupid group was finally gone, leaving Jungkook alone. With a groan, he pushed himself up from the pavement, sighing as he glanced down at his now stained hoodie.

A tsk left his mouth. "That fucking bitch… this is literally Calvin Klein."

───●◎●───

Have you gotten their information?”

"Uhh… Yes, sir. But won’t your parents be mad?" Mr. Lee, the butler of the Jeon estate, asked hesitantly as he handed over the file Jungkook had requested.

"It’s not like they’re gonna find out. Unless… you’re planning to tell them?" Jungkook replied, his voice carrying a subtle threat as his sharp gaze locked onto Mr. Lee.

The poor butler swallowed hard, nerves creeping up his spine. He knew his master wasn’t right in the head—there was definitely something wrong with him. But there was nothing he, nor even Jungkook’s parents, could do. After all, he was the only son and heir of the Jeon family.

"Of course not, master. My loyalty stays with you."

"Maybe a few beatings would do? Or perhaps turning Jaehyun’s face into a bloody mess would be the right move. What do you think, Mr. Lee?" he asked with a bright smile, as if this was nothing more than a casual conversation—like he was simply ordering food online.

As expected, Jaehyun came from a well-off family. His so-called minions? Just commoners desperate to stay in his good graces.

And you?

Heck, you’re even poorer than some of Jaehyun’s minions!

A burst of laughter escaped Jungkook’s lips, uncontrollable and almost manic, as he processed his new discovery. His desire to beat Jaehyun to a pulp was momentarily forgotten—because now, his attention was on you.

The so-called queen bee.

The prettiest yet meanest of them all. Always draped in designer brands, always acting untouchable.

And yet… a complete FRAUD.

"So this is the queen bee, huh”

───●◎●───

A day had passed since Jungkook’s discovery, and from that moment on, he wasted no time crafting the perfect plan. A plan for revenge. A plan to make them pay.

But first… maybe he could use you.

After all, you were his type.

The thought alone sent a thrill through him—your pretty lips wrapped around cock, the same lips that had probably kissed Jaehyun.

His jaw clenched, arousal and satisfaction intertwining at the idea. Not only would he have you, but it would also be the perfect way to get under Jaehyun’s nerve. And It’s much better than just ruining his face.

Like every other day, you walk your usual route home, completely unaware that the devil himself is following your every step. The streets are quiet, the dim glow of the streetlights barely illuminating your path. You arrive at the small, rundown house tucked away across the street, pushing open the rusty gate that screeches louder than you’d like.

It has been a long, exhausting day, and all you want is to go inside and rest.

But then—

"Oh… look who I found here."

A chill runs down your spine at the familiar voice.

You turn, heart pounding, and there he is…

Your lips part, but only a breathy, stunned whisper escapes. "Ju-Jungkook…"

How? Why is he here?

You wanted to ask those questions, yet your body refuses to move, frozen under his unwavering gaze. His smug grin never falters, dark amusement glinting in his eyes.

It’s as if the wolf has finally cornered its prey.

"What are you doing here, Y/N-ah? Is this your house?" Jungkook's voice dripped with fake innocence, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Your breath hitched. "Wha—Of course not!" You forced a smile, hoping to sell the lie. "I’m just… visiting a f-friend."

But the way he looked at you told you everything—you were already caught.

Jungkook let out a mock sigh, shaking his head. "Really? Every day? That’s funny." His smile faded, replaced by something darker. "You know, I hate liars, Y/N-ah. Especially lying bitches."

Before you could react, he reached into his pocket and tossed something at your feet.

Photographs.

Your stomach dropped. Each one captured you, stepping in and out of the very house you just tried to deny.

He knew.

And from the way his smirk widened, he was enjoying every second of your panic.

Before you even realized it, a tear had slipped down your cheek, followed by another… and another. Your knees hit the ground before you could stop yourself.

"Please… please don’t tell anyone!" Your voice trembled, your fingers clutching onto his legs as if he was your last hope. "I swear—I won’t bully you anymore! I’ll even tell Jaehyun to leave you alone. Just… please."

Jungkook crouched down to your level, tilting his head as he cupped your tear-streaked face between his hands. His touch was deceptively gentle, wiping away your tears with his thumb—yet the sinister curve of his lips only made you sob harder.

"Shhh, don’t cry, Y/N-ah," he cooed, his voice laced with amusement. "I’m not as bad as you think I am."

For a second, hope flickered inside you.

Then, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered—

"But you know… everything comes with a price."

You replied hurriedly, the words spilling out before you could even think—too desperate to escape this nightmare.

"What is it?! I promise I’ll do anything! Just please—"

Jungkook’s grin widened. He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something dark and unreadable.

"Really, princess?" he mused, dragging the moment out as he traced his thumb across your trembling lips. "Then… be mine."

───●◎●───

Your thoughts were a tangled mess, looping around the same dilemma over and over again.

Be mine.

Be mine.

Be mine.

The words refused to leave your head, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

Jungkook’s ultimatum haunted you all weekend.

"I know this is hard for your small brain to process… so why don’t you give me your answer on Monday, yeah? If I don’t get an answer from you, then maybe I’ll just release these photos."

And now—it’s Monday.

Your head throbbed from the sleepless nights spent agonizing over what to do. The fear of your secret being exposed gnawed at you, but so did the thought of throwing away everything you had worked for.

"There’s no way I’d become a lowly student. I’ve worked too hard to build this image… this lie."

That alone was reason enough to say yes—to accept whatever Jungkook wanted if it meant keeping your perfect facade intact.

But another part of you resisted.

What does he even mean by "be mine"?

It was so vague, so unclear. Was he playing with you? Did he mean to humiliate you? Ruin you in a different way?

You swallowed hard, gripping the edges of your desk as the lecture droned on.

An hour later, your last subject was finally over. Jungkook had arranged everything for the two of you to meet again at the same spot—right in front of the rusty gate of your house. It was as if he wanted to remind you of who you truly were, and you hated it.

The walk home felt slow and agonizing, every step heavier than the last. You wished, even for a fleeting second, that a bus would just hit you—anything to give you a valid excuse not to face the devil waiting for you.

As you turned onto your street, your eyes immediately landed on him. He was standing there, patiently waiting, his gaze fixed on his sneakers. From a distance, he looked almost harmless—just another boy lost in thought.

But you knew better.

Because behind that unassuming façade was the devil himself.

Your steps felt heavier the closer you got, each one sealing your fate.

He must have heard your footsteps because his head snapped up, and that same smug grin curled on his lips.

"Ah, right on time," he mused, pushing himself off the gate as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, stopping just a few feet away from him.

"...What do you want?" you asked, trying to sound strong despite the way your voice slightly trembled.

Jungkook tilted his head, eyes twinkling in amusement. "I think you already know the answer to that, princess."

Silence stretched between you two.

You clenched your fists, knowing there was no way out of this.

With a shaky breath, you finally muttered the words that sealed your fate.

"...Fine. I’ll be yours."

Jungkook’s smirk deepened.

"Good girl."

───●◎●───

And from that moment, your life became a tangled dance—a twisted tango with him. By day, you maintained your queen bee status, the untouchable girl everyone admired or envied. But the moment the school day ended, you were nothing more than Jungkook’s plaything, bound to his every whim.

It started small—harmless, almost. A lingering touch here and there. Sneaking off during lunch breaks to empty classrooms in the old building, just because he wanted to. From fleeting pecks to deeper kisses, ones you didn’t even know how to respond to, but he taught you how.

You never got the chance to hangout with Jaehyun anymore because Jungkook is always there demanding your presence, so you have made creative excuses to deny Jaehyun, but you know to yourself those excuses won't last long. In one way, or another, he will get suspicious with your sudden avoidance.

"Strip."

"Wha—?" His command startled you.

You were in his house—if you could even call it that, given how massive it was. You never thought things would escalate like this. You assumed it would only be kissing, just like the past few days. But perhaps you should have known better.

"What? Why are you acting like it’s your first time?" Jungkook scoffed, tilting his head. "I know you’re Jaehyun’s bitch, so there’s no way you’ve never warmed his bed before." He leaned in slightly, his voice dripping with mockery. "Come on, show me just how good Jaehyun’s bitc—”

A hard slap landed on Jungkook’s cheek.

Perhaps it was the weight of your emotions—weeks of stress and frustration building up because of him. Your hands trembled, your chest heaving, and before you even realized it, a tear slipped down your cheek.

Yes, he was blackmailing you. But you never expected him to say something so cruel.

He was mean—viciously, unapologetically mean.

No one has ever been this mean to you

And you hated it.

Jungkook's head slightly turned from the impact, his cheek stinging from your slap. Slowly, he looked back at you, his usual smug expression faltering for the first time.

"I'm not—" your voice broke as more tears streamed down your face. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms. "I'm not Jaehyun's bitch, or anyone else's. I’ve never been with him like that… or with anyone!"

Jungkook's eyes flickered with something unreadable, but you didn’t wait to find out what it was. Your vision blurred as you turned on your heel and bolted for the door.

"Y/N," he called after you, but you didn’t stop.

You ran.

Perhaps you were too caught up in the moment, too overwhelmed by emotions, to realize you were barefoot—until you had already dashed out of his house, the rough pavement scraping against your soles, a stark contrast to the cold, polished tiles you had just been standing on.

You stumbled slightly, the sting of the uneven ground jolting through your body. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Tears blurred your vision as you ran, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. As if the night couldn’t get any worse, the sky opened up, and heavy rain began to pour.

"Y/N!" Jungkook's voice cut through the downpour. "Let's talk!"

Your legs ached from all the running, leaving you with no choice but to stand there in the pouring rain, chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath. You were exhausted—physically, emotionally, everything in between.

Jungkook finally caught up to you, an umbrella in his hand, though it barely mattered now. Your clothes were already drenched, clinging to your shivering frame.

“Let’s get you inside, yeah?” he said, his voice softer this time.

You didn’t protest. Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the sheer fatigue weighing you down, but you let him guide you back into his house.

The atmosphere had shifted. The tension from earlier still lingered, but now, it was laced with something else—guilt? Regret? You weren’t sure.

Once inside his bedroom, Jungkook handed you a towel and gently wiped away the rain from your face and arms, his touch surprisingly careful. Without a word, he grabbed one of his hoodies from the closet and held it out to you.

“Here,” he murmured, avoiding your gaze. “You’re gonna get sick.”

You slipped the hoodie over your head, the warmth of the fabric instantly comforting against your chilled skin. It smelled like him—clean, with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. Not that it mattered. It was the best option you had.

Jungkook continued drying you off, his hands moving carefully, almost hesitant. You let him. Not because you forgave him, but because you were too drained to protest.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence between you was thick, heavy with unspoken words. He knew you were upset—he didn’t need to ask. And for once, he didn’t try to justify himself.

And just like that, the day ended.

───●◎●───

The next few days felt normal again. He no longer bothered you, and you were able to hang out with Jaehyun like before.

Yes, he was close to you.

Yes, he called you "babe."

But you had never done anything intimate with him.

You hadn't seen Jungkook at the university either. A slight curiosity lingered in your mind about where he might be—perhaps because, in some twisted way, you had grown accustomed to his presence.

Still, you were thankful he was gone.

Or so you thought…

───●◎●───

I was seething with rage as I watched her smiling and giggling with Jaehyun again—just like the first time.

But this time, the hatred wasn’t for her. It was for him. I know I was wrong for what I said to her that night.

At first, Y/N was just another piece in my game—a means to get my revenge.

But that night… something shifted. I saw her in a different light. She was raw and unmasked—nothing like the persona she wore at school.

I exhaled sharply, trying to push down the anger rising in my throat.

I told myself I’d leave her alone, that After that night I’d back off.

But now, watching her with him, I realized…

I didn’t want to back off.

Because she wasn’t his.

She’s mine all along to claim.

And I’ll make her realize just that.

───●◎●───

I was laughing with Jaehyun when my phone suddenly rang. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

I ignored it at first, assuming it was just a wrong number. But when it kept calling again and again, I finally answered.

"Hello?"

"Meet me at the old building. Same classroom as before. We still have a deal, you know? I hope you haven’t forgotten."

Just when I thought my nightmares were over, I was proven wrong.

I didn’t need to ask who it was. I knew that voice all too well. He sounded serious—angry, even.

The way he spoke, the sharpness in his tone—it wasn’t the same as before. There was no teasing lilt, no smug arrogance. He sounded different. Felt different.

I swallowed hard before forcing out a response.

"O-okay..."

"That’s my girl."

“Everything okay?” Jaehyun’s voice pulled me back to the present, his brows furrowing in concern.

I forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Just some school stuff. I need to go for a bit.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No” I blurted out a bit too fast

“I’ll see you later” is all I said before leaving.

Upon arriving at the empty classroom, I saw Jungkook already there, waiting for me—just like before.

His back was leaned against the teacher’s desk, arms crossed, eyes dark and unreadable as they settled on me.

I hesitated at the door, gripping my phone tightly. “What do you want?” My voice came out smaller than I intended.

Jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk as he pushed off the desk and took slow, deliberate steps toward me. “Missed you,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth.

I frowned, my stomach twisting in unease. “Jungkook—”

Before I could finish, he was already standing in front of me, too close, his fingers brushing against my wrist. “Don’t act like you don’t miss me too,” he whispered, tilting his head as if studying me.

I shook my head, trying to step back, but he caught my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him. “I-I don’t—”

He chuckled, leaning in closer. “Liar.”

My breath hitched when he pressed his lips against mine—slow at first, as if testing the waters. My body tensed, my mind screaming at me to push him away.

But then he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me flush against him. His warmth, his scent—it was all too familiar, too intoxicating.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against my lips. “No matter how much you try to run, you always end up here, don’t you?”

It’s like there’s magic to his words that intoxicates me. His hands were just so skilled that it sent shivers in my skin. Perhaps because I’ve never been touched this way by a man.

The kiss was intense, our tongues intertwined. I was close to being out of breath, but he deepened the kiss before letting go. A string of saliva connected us. I looked dazed, almost drunk, as I gazed at him, and the next thing I knew, I was already lying on the teacher’s desk—skirt rolled up, panties gone, blouse unbuttoned. I tried to cover myself out of shyness, which only made Jungkook chuckle.

“I-I’m…”

“Relax doll… I know you’re a virgin, now let me take care of that, yeah?”

Before I could even know it, one of his fingers started slowly entering me, as he laps his tongue on my clit. The intrusion was a bit painful, yet very pleasurable.

“Shit you taste so amazing doll”

My legs were trembling from the unfamiliar feeling, one finger followed by another, as he scissors my insides. It was so good that I became a moaning mess, as I unconsciously buckled my hip out of desperation.

“Ahhhh… J-jungkook, please!”

Jungkook only smirks at the sight of you, he loves the control he has. He loves the way you begged.

He continues to ram his fingers in you before deciding that you’re already ready to take his cock.

His lips brush against her ear as he whispers:

“I’m going to put it in now”

And just like that, he slides his big cock into your tight hole. It hurts, especially with how thick it is, that you started gripping hard on the collar of his uniform as a means to relieve the pain.

After being fully in, he set a slow pace for a while, before brutally ramming in your core.

“You’re so tight, doll. Only for me. Don’t worry, I’ll shape you so you’d only crave me. I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

You’re already intoxicated with the pleasure you don’t even know how to proper respond

“Fuck… you’re taking me so well, princess. Just like that. I knew you’d be good for me.

Everything he says is just too much for you, it’s so perverted and degrading that you don’t want to meet his eyes, but he forces you anyway, refusing to let you look away, making sure you see everything that he’s doing to you. Making sure that you’d remember how we claims you

“You thought I didn’t see you, huh? Laughing and giggling with that Jaehyun, while I was away. Now Look at you—whimpering, begging, fucking crying on my cock. You’re mine, princess. Say it.”

You couldn’t respond properly fast enough, so Jungkook grips your jaw, making you open your mouth as he forces to hear those words from you.

“Say it”

Y/N gasps out the words. “I’m yours, jungkook! I’m yours.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Jungkook smirks, satisfied, before thrusting even deeper, if possible, before shooting all of his load inside her pussy.

“I’m gonna fill you up, princess. Gonna make you round and full so everyone knows who you belong to.”

Y/N also reached her high together with Jungkook, but he didn't pull out immediately. He waited till his hard length would soften, and by the time he pulled out, he watched as his cum mixed with yours, dripped down your pussy.

The scene was amusing for him.. you being all fucked out and full of his cum. It’s better than any porn he had watched. So of course, it is only rightful for him to save this moment by taking a picture of it.

Jungkook smiles at you, as he proceeds to fix your crumpled clothes, and puts back on your panties, making it immediately drenched with cum as it acts as a barrier to not let his cum flow out of you.

And you’re just there… too tired to move that you just let him do things for you.

“You're coming home with me now, princess. In our house" Jungkook said with a genuine smile plastered on his face, as if he did not just ruin you.

And in that moment, she realizes—she’s lost.

Completely.

Utterly.

In his mercy.

[river-selkie]

I was raised by a bear therian

Well, my dad never said himself that he's a bear therian, but even without the word "therian" being used, his experience as one was undeniable and incredibly clear to me. He spent much of my childhood talking about his dreams of Alaska, how the land there felt like home to him more than anywhere else on Earth. So much so that when the military asked him if he was willing to move North into Alaska, he immediately jumped at the opportunity and spent several years of his life living in Fairbanks back when the weather was still frigid and sometimes volatile. He camped in the wilderness regularly and would tell me stories of caribou surrounding his tent in the mornings, large grizzlies wandering through the rivers, and scraggly wolves with summer pelts trotting across the land. His job handling search and recovery cases at the time encouraged this lifestyle, especially in winter when people would go missing on the roads or crash their bush planes in the woods and he had to find the deceased and bring them back to civilization. Funny enough, he confessed to having a search and recovery team come and look for him at one point after he got carried away and stayed out in the forest for a little too long, deciding to ride the river near him a few miles away just as a "fun idea" and scared my mother into thinking he died out there.

I wasn't alive yet when my dad lived in Alaska though. I had my dad shortly after he had left, and I saw how much he missed it even at a young age. I honestly visited the state so often with him that you'd assume I had family there, but to him, maybe the Northern animals were family. I complained about it back then since I'd be wearing puffy coats and winter accessories in the middle of summer when everyone else was going to Hawaii or Mexico, but I saw how happy he was whenever he'd have a wild caught salmon for dinner or get to walk close to a glacier. When he'd see icebergs in the water from boat tours he'd be sitting entirely outside on the deck during or, most importantly, the day he finally got a chance to visit Admiralty Island (better known as "Fortress of the Bear"). It had always been his dream to go and as he sat there at ease in the tall grass fields watching the giant brown bears graze the fields a mile away. He had a look on his face as if he was meant to be there forever, that he was never supposed to leave. It was hard to not gain a fondness for the place with how much he loved it, and my dad would even tell my sister and I that the remote wilderness of Alaska is where he wants his ashes to one day be placed. Inevitably, I'll be going back again one day to the "final frontier" for him to finally be able to stay there forever like he wanted.

When he wasn't in Alaska, he was at home with me in Colorado taking me on adventures in the Rocky mountains. He was an avid fish lover, always packing salmon, halibut, or a tuna sandwich. I don't think he ate much else when I was a kid, and before my fish allergy developed, that was pretty much my diet too. I think he honestly was disappointed when I wasn't able to eat fish anymore, lamenting on the fact that I never got to have another Alaskan salmon or try a smoked fish. Every time his back would get itchy, he'd scratch it by using the corner between the doorway and the wall, very reminiscent of a bear using a tree to get some unreachable spot which I laughed about to which he'd shrug and say "it's an instinct I guess". Dessert always had to have honey in it, but if honey wasn't available, it had to be something with pumpkin or berries. Pumpkin pie, berry pie, and pumpkin ice cream were his favorites and his birthday dinners usually involved one of the three instead of cake. He often watched bear documentaries with me too, namely one I remember about someone who was the "Grizzly Man" who lived mostly in the wild and met his end to the very bears he spent his life around and I also remember him enjoying Never Cry Wolf, a 1983 film set in Alaska's remote North as well. It inspired him to apply for the ticket lottery every year for over a decade to try and win a trip to Katmai to see the bears during the salmon run, which he inconveniently won when he was literally already in Alaska and about to head back home. Needless to say, his irritated groans and pouts weren't forgotten on the plane back to Colorado.

My mom was mostly absent from my life in the sense that she played no healthy or genuine part in raising me despite being under the same roof due to her relentless addictions, so I do feel as if my childhood was mostly defined by being my dad's "bear cub". He loved animals and taught me to respect them and nature tremendously, and his "abnormal" behaviors became something I now recognize as something I resonate with as a grown otter therian. I sometimes wonder if he raised me into otterhood and if I would still be a therian without his influence, or if my otterhood is something of a "family trait" given that my older sister strikes me as a bird therian in many ways too, but I find it amusing to consider that there are so many animalistic individuals in my family who could fall under the alterhuman umbrella, and yet have never uttered the word "therian" in their lives. I'm curious how many other people in the world are just like me and simply never wanted to label it or explore it deeper, or worse, how many people have had it shunned into the depths of themselves to be forgotten about? I for one am grateful that I can call myself nonhuman and live a life understanding why I am the way that I am, even if I'm unsure of the source.

[madamechrissy]

Fratboy Gojo

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

More headcanons from Took you Like a Shot - these are extra scenes set after chapter 2, but can be read alone- MDNI- explicit - whipped, longing Gojo- phone sexm, masturbation (Satoru and reader) dirty talk, fluffy ass cuteness, Satoru whimpers, lots of feelings -other headcanons here

Fratboy Gojo should be enjoying his trip with his best friends, but it's getting depressing, even on the cruise to the fucking Bahamas, shouldn't he be having the time of his life? His eyes don't even give anyone attention, how could he when he knows you're back home, pregnant- fuck have you changed in the past couple weeks?

Fratboy Gojo decides not to go out with his friends that night and stay in their suite himself, staring at the phone and contemplating for just a moment before he gives in, calling you. 'Hey Gojo' you say softly, sleep in your voice, making him ache. 'Hey sweetheart, were you asleep?' he hears your yawn, smiling like a lovesick idiot. He guesses that's what he is. 'No, just reading' 'ya reading that smut?' you giggle now 'mmhmm'

Fratboy Gojo hears your little sigh, driving him insane with need, just hearing it makes him hard, throbbing under his boxers while he lays sprawled in the giant, fancy suite that feels empty without you. 'Ya miss me brat?' you scoff now. 'no, never - why do you miss me?' Satoru scoffs now 'no, never, so peaceful without you' you glare at the phone, and he can damn near feel it 'I'm kidding' you bite your lip now, shifting in your bed, hearing his husky voice rushing through you. 'I was kidding too, I kind of miss you, just a little' he smirks, a hand leading down his flat abs, slowly, picturing your pretty body in his mind. 'you just miss cumming, hmm?'

Fratboy Gojo glares when you retort - 'think I don't make myself cum?' 'you're a slutty girl, aren't you?' you feel it, the heat clenching in your tummy. 'I'm mad at you, Satoru - leaving me in this state right after you did that... thing with your mouth' he chuckles, thumb brushing over the trail of silvery hair under his belly button, as you slip up your shorts just a bit, brushing yourself over them, whining before you can stop it. 'You liked me drinking that pussy up, hmm?' you're throbbing around nothing, dammit. 'shouldn't you be partying, dancing or whatever? smoking?' 'maybe I just wanna talk to you, maybe I wanna... be back between your thighs, fuck you'd like that, wouldn't you?'

Fratboy Gojo grins when you huff so clearly over the phone. 'Can I get a picture you think?' you hesitate a bit. 'picture of what?' 'titties' You roll your eyes, but he gets an image- moaning when he sees them 'fuck they're so sexy, wanna suck on those nipples - touch them, would you?' you do as he asks, thumbs running over your nipples in circles. 'they hurt' you pout as your back arches, your nipples pressed against the thin top you're wearing, pussy soaking your shorts even worse while Satoru frees his cock, which is already leaking precum against his lower belly button. 'imagine how they'll be dripping milk, hmm? I'm gonna suck it all up' 'Satoru!' he's chuckling just a bit, but it's too late, you're both too far gone

Fratboy Gojo eases his boxers down fully, thick cock so hard it hurts, imagining just that, milk dripping from your puffy nipples. 'what, you wouldn't like it?' you feel yourself heating up then - 'perv' - he laughs softly, but it turns to a whine when his thumb presses his tip. 'are you stroking yourself, Satoru? thinking of me?' he curses internally, when that bratty little voice is crying out. 'you're touching your pussy, wanting my mouth, aren't you?' you nod, knowing he can't see, as the two of you play with yourselves, his eyes close, hearing you then. 'I can hear how wet you are, fuck' 'mnh!'

Fratboy Gojo can't take it, the longing, he can't hold back like he has been, not on the phone, drunk off your voice, the memories. 'I wanna lick it all up, so wet, isn't she?' you're gasping out, while you pump two little fingers in your soppy little hole. 'y-yes, do you want that, me pouring all over your face?' 'god you're a freaky brat, gonna dirty talk better than me!?' you're both whining, him stroking, you pumping. 'I r-read a lot of smut' he's breathless, listening to your moans grow louder and louder, while his cock twitches, he leans down to spit on it, while you drool down your own fingers. 'that journalism degree- ah f-fuck- it's j-just for you to write... smut... fuck!' you can't glare, you're too wet, pulsing around your fingers, whining 'm'close, Satoru, p-please...'

Fratboy Gojo moans as your words wash through him. 'I wish I was there right now, fuck... want my fingers instead, don't you? yours can't hit that spot?' you whine in frustration. 'y-you little... conceited- shouldn't have g-gone...' he exhales, head leaning back on the soft pillows as yours do 'I know, fuck I know... work your clit, it's easier baby, okay?' you do as he suggests, running in circles, engorged clit twitching under your touch. 'm-mad at you...' he gulps now, cock so close to busting. 'm-mad at myself, please just... will you cum for me baby?' Baby, he's calling you baby, and you're close, hearing his breaths, hearing his wet strokes. 'picture me right there' you do then, shattering, cumming so much you soak your hands, while Satoru chases his release from hearing you.

Fratboy Gojo loses it when you whisper 'you cum for me, now, hmm Satoru? be good' 'fuck you for that, mnh! close, close' you're sucking yourself off your fingers. 'I taste yummy' oh god, he's done, busting so much all over his hand now, white ropes endlessly pouring sticky across his hand, as just hearing him makes your cunt pulse in response. 'want a picture, for fap material?' you roll your eyes, shaking your head. 'you're so annoying...' you pause then. 'yeah.'

Fratboy Gojo uses his clean hand, sending it so quickly, and it makes your pussy clench again, pretty cock coated with cum - with some dumb little cat sticker with it's tongue out - 'fuck... your cock is pretty' 'is that a compliment!?' 'psh... no. a fact. jerk' Satoru cleans up, pressing you on speaker then, as you clean up as well, laying back down, putting him on speaker too. 'I'm upset you left, but I don't blame you for having a life... I guess, I'm just... lonely' Satoru pauses now, emotions in his throat after having that release. 'I wish you told me not to go... I could leave early?' you shake your head. 'no, it's okay, I told you, you're sacrificing enough, this wasn't your choice'

Fratboy Gojo feels something just gnawing at him now, what was he doing here? trying to cling to some bachelor life while you're changing everything about yourself for this. 'I should let you get some sleep' you murmur then, and Satoru shuts his blue eyes, snowy lashes fluttering, when he pulls a pillow close. 'wanna fall asleep on the phone?' you pause, tugging your pillow against yourself. 'yeah we can... Satoru why aren't you out?' because all he can think about is you, that's why. 'I didn't feel like it, get some sleep brat, aren't you growing my baby inside you?' His baby. His. The thought makes him crave you so badly it's difficult to stand it. 'your parasyte you said, remember?' he snorts in laughter. 'it still technically is, you're just emotioal about it'

Fratboy Gojo doesn't know when he fell asleep, but he wakes up and you're still on the phone, lightly snoring... and he knows then, he made the wrong fucking decision. When his friends stumble in and bring girls back, heading to their rooms, Satoru shuts his door, so he can listen to you breathe instead, the only good sleep he's gotten since he's been here.

I'll be doing these between chapters as this story will have some time skips- I hope you enjoyyyy <3

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[writingouthere]

neighbor!Sukuna x single mom!reader; your ceiling is leaking at 3 in the morning and you don't know what to do so you go ask for help from the man across the hallway(inspired by real life events that were not nearly so charming).

no need to have read the others in the series but can be read as a week or two after the aquarium date.

cw: Sukuna being a menace

Sukuna had always been a light sleeper so when there were knocks on his door at 3am, he was up instantly. The knocks weren't even loud but he found himself annoyed enough to stomp to the door. If he wasn't sleeping, the people below him didn't need to be either.

He yanked his door open, prepared to make whoever it was regret every moment of their existence but it was you, holding your daughter and clearly on the verge of tears.

You seemed contrite when you saw his expression but before you could even start to apologize, he was slipping on his boots and grabbing his key.

"What's wrong," he asked.

"It-it's the ceiling, I woke up and it was leaking water. It's getting everywhere and I don't know what to do and the landlord isn't picking up."

Sukuna rubbed your arm, trying to give you some comfort and you relaxed a little.

"Okay, let me come take a look. I can call the super, he's probably more likely to answer than the landlord." You nodded and he followed you back to your place. Holding his hand out to stop you at the door as he made to go in first.

Sukuna heard the water pouring in before he saw it. He had never been in your apartment before. It was clear that a woman there. There was color everywhere, more blankets than made sense for two people and the walls were covered in photos and artwork. It felt soft, it reminded him of you. And now, it was being ruined by water raining down from the ceiling.

"Why don't you wait in my apartment. You both look like you could use some rest. I'll sort this out," he said, handing over his key. You looked ready to protest but then your daughter started crying.

"Go, I got it."

You looked so relieved and he wiped away a few tears from your daughter's face and pressed a kiss to her forehead which helped bring the tears down to a more tolerable snuffling.

"Thank you so much, I don't even-"

"Don't worry about it. You two just go settle in the guest room and I'll wake you up when it's settled."

You smiled at him and you seemed to hesitate before you went up on your toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Sukuna couldn't stop himself from grinning as you took your daughter out the door and towards his apartment. He turned around to look at the mess that was your apartment. It looked like a pipe must have burst in the apartment above yours. Annoying, but a quick fix when caught this early. He grabbed his phone, opening it to call the super before a thought came to him that just wouldn't leave.

It would be a shame if you had to terminate your lease because of unsafe conditions, after all you must still have a good six months left on it. He knew you didn't have any family in the area and it would be a lot for a working mom with a kid as young as yours to go apartment hunting all the sudden.

Of course, he did have that guest room. Plenty of space for the three of you and it wouldn't be hard to bring over the stuff you needed while you looked. His apartment was bigger than yours, even though it was just him.

Even if it was a tight fit, his lease was up at the end of the year anyway. You could always get a bigger space, one for your soon to be growing family.

Sukuna pocketed his phone and took a seat at your dining table, away from the water. He figured it would only take another hour before the damage passed the point of no return.

He hoped you and your daughter were resting well in your new home.

[amandabbbbb]

summary: after the scene where ward drops rafe at barry’s and tells him to not come home but barry’s sister pogue!reader tries to comfort him even though rafe is soo mean to her like woah but it’s a happy ending

tw: mention of drugs, idk rafe cries a lot, parental issues, rafe calls reader kid and bitch once

word count: 762

“don’t come home, son,” ward says, his voice cold and final, as he walks away from his only son.

“where do you want me to go?”

“dad! dad!” rafe’s desperate calls echo into the night, but ward doesn’t look back, leaving rafe alone in the darkness in front of barry’s and your house.

“hey, barry, open the fuckin door! i know you got the coke, dude, come on. please just open up!” he’s begging on the verge of tears. “barry, if you don’t open this god damn door, i’ll fucking smash it down myself. i need coke, man!”

you slowly open the door, and before he even sees you, rafe shoves his way inside, causing you to stumble back slightly. he collapses onto the couch, his movements frantic and erratic. “barry, what took you so long? christ, give me your best coke. i need that shit now, dude” he demands, his voice thick with barely-contained emotion. when he finally looks up and sees you instead of barry, he quickly swipes at the tears streaming down his face, trying to hide his vulnerability.

“oh, hi, rafe! sorry, i had my headphones on. wanna listen? oh my god, are you crying?” you ask, your voice laced with genuine concern.

“no, jesus fuck, y/n, where’s your brother?”

“oh, um, i think he’s down by the shipyards doing a deal. sorry, rafey,” you say, offering a gentle smile.

rafe pulls himself up quickly, furiously searching for the drugs he so desperately craves. “where’s his coke? i know you know where he keeps it. go find it. don’t just stand there helplessly. you’re so goddamn stupid! fuck!”

“why are you being mean to me? you’re never mean to me… i don’t know where barry keeps the coke, rafe.”

he yells at the top of his lungs, “it’s like you have no fuckin brain. you’re just a useless dumb blonde.” (sorry i’m blonde)

the harsh words cut through you, and you can’t bear his anger. you turn and flee to your room, tears pricking your waterline, blurring your vision as you go.

your whole teenage years, you knew rafe as your older brother’s richest client, who he secretly would rip off. but as the years went by, he started buying barry’s more hardcore drugs, not just weed. you got to know rafe more as barry’s regular client. he would constantly stick around, always flirting with you and bringing you gifts when barry wasn’t looking.

“y/n, don’t shut me out. don’t be a bitch, come on, open the door. i need the coke. you don’t understand, help me here, okay,” he pleads.

you’re scared. you’ve never seen him like this; he’s always treated you like a princess. you yell as he bangs at your thin bedroom door, pushing the wood so hard it starts to crack. “go home, rafe!” your voice shaky and filled with fear.

the banging stops suddenly, your words echoing in the sudden silence. the quiet stretches on, each second feeling like an eternity. cautiously, you peek out of your bedroom door thinking maybe he finally listened to your advice. “rafe, you there?” you call out.

he’s sitting on your couch, tears running down his face, hyperventilating. “i can’t go home. i’m a liar, an addict, a thief, and i can’t be trusted, so my dad said he can’t have me in his house. i have nowhere to go.”

you slowly approach the couch where rafe sits, his face hidden in his hands. his body is shaking, and the room is filled with the sound of his ragged breaths. “rafe…” you say softly, your voice trembling as you try to offer some comfort. “you, um, can stay here tonight.”

he looks up at you, his eyes red and desperate, filled with a depth of pain you’ve never seen in him before. “i don’t deserve you, kid. fuck, i’m so sorry. i never wanted you to see me like this. i thought i had everything under control, but now you probably hate me or some shit…”

you sit beside him, offering a soft, reassuring smile. you put your hand in his. “it’s okay rafey. i could never hate you. we all have moments when shit falls apart. it doesn’t change how i see you. you’re tired. i’ll set up the couch for you.”

rafe’s eyes search yours, a flicker of regret softening his expression. “i didn’t mean to take it out on you,” he says, his voice low and raw. “i just… i don’t want to be alone. y’know, on the couch. not tonight.” the words hang in the air, heavy with his unspoken need to hold you tonight.

[luvyeni]

YOU CATCHING THE BOUQUET 𖹭 스트레이키즈 ( reaction ) !

genre fluff 𖹭 warning nothing pairing — OT8 x fem reader | back to library .

— stray kids reaction to when you catch the bouquet at a wedding ...

request. skz! Reaction when ur at a wedding and u catch the bouquet? saw someone do it with enhypen and I was immediately intrigued.

𐙚 : BANGCHAN ֶָ֢ !

He watched you catch it, the bride telling you to get ready for your wedding; his entire neck up to his ears turning red, smiling down at the ground shyly ( I love his shy smile ). the entire night he's thinking about it, how his married life would be with you, and it all seemed perfect in his head. he probably will bring it up a few days later casually, both of you just sitting on the couch when he turns to you. "what do you think about getting married?"

𐙚 : LEE KNOW ֶָ֢ !

smirking ; he just wants to tease you. "you practically threw that girl to the ground to get them." he tapped your pouty lips. "hey." you tried to defend yourself. "you tryna tell me something?" he knows that getting married is not on your list for right now , but you do want to get married. "you finally ready?" he said dancing with you. " maybe in a few more years , not now." he nodded , he's ready whenever you are.

𐙚 : CHANGBIN ֶָ֢ !

oh so you want to get married? cause he's sure the man who officiated the current bride and grooms wedding was still around; if he paid good money he'd do it, changbin just needs your word and he'll leave this wedding right now and go get a ring, that's how serious he is about this shit, you have to take his hands into yours to calm him down. "so when are we doing this, just give me the word?" he's already calculating the prices in his head for your honeymoon. "definitely not today so calm down baby."

𐙚 : HYUNJIN ֶָ֢ !

all our lover boy hears is wedding bells the moment the flowers touch your hands , he can picture the wedding. you don't even notice it , someone points it out. "you might want to go tell lover boy over there he's in public and everyone can see him sketching out your wedding plans on that name card." you turn to find your man in his own world writing down something , you smile, walking over to him. "what you writing?" "our future vows." you furrowed your eye brows. "hyune." you slapped his shoulders. "do you really want to get married?" you asked. "of course." he said. "even if it's in 5 years , it's you I want to marry."

𐙚 : HAN JISUNG ֶָ֢ !

he didn't know what happened; until people started coming to him saying "get ready" or "good luck" — poor jisung was so confused; until he saw you holding the bouquet of flowers in your hand while you talked to friends. every single question went through his head. 'does she want to get married?' 'is this a sign' he didn't even know if he should bring it up; you saw him standing there in his head , and you went up to him, kissing his lips. "don't think too hard into it love , we're not getting married anytime soon."

𐙚 : FELIX ֶָ֢ !

whether you agree with it or not; felix reminds me of the type to propose at someone else's wedding— but this isn't about that. seeing you excitedly catch the flowers, looking at him with a smile, he took that as 'yup she wants to get married' so when he gets you alone , he pops the question; yes the question. "marry me." he said. "Huh?" You asked. "Not now of course, but soon; marry me." you didn't want to cry to take away attention from the bride. "o-okay." You kissed him. "let's get married." i said he was the type to ask at a wedding, not that he'd take away attention from the bride and groom, you'd announce it weeks after the wedding.

𐙚 : SEUNGMIN ֶָ֢ !

you've ever seen a video of him just freezing up all confused mouth hung open, that's it; for the first time in his life he was shocked. "aren't we supposed to get married now?" You teased him, handing him the bouquet. "where's my ring pup?" he quickly snapped back into reality, his friends slapping his shoulders teasingly. "please , I'm not that stupid, she doesn't want to get married yet." he's still gonna ask you about it, he doesn't want you to think he's over looking it. "when are you gonna force me to marry you?" he says trying to be cool. "who says i want to marry you." you teased back, both of you ending up just smiling at each other. "who else would I marry?" "your right who else would you marry?" you know it won't be anytime soon , but you know you won't be marrying anyone else.

𐙚 : JEONGIN ֶָ֢ !

another confused one; like you were eager as hell to catch those damn flowers , were you ready to get married? you both were so young and he loved you and with time he wouldn't mind talking about it with you, but right now he wasn't ready. he genuinely wanted to ask you, so he waited until you got home , subtly bringing up the topic. "you don't want to get married yet?" he would ask. "what?" "married , earlier you were so happy about catching the flowers." you smirked. "Do you not want to marry me?" he began to trip over his words, making you laugh. "innie please." You calmed him down. "of course I want to get married , but not now , we're so young." he sighed. "You were so happy." "because the girl in front of me kept pushing me out the way, I was happy i got it, the look on her face still makes me smile."

©️LUVYENI

[angelbby555]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ Our get along T-shirt

Summary: Two teens forced in a large white T-shirt. Years later both of you are engaged and rediscover the shirt.

Word count: 1k

⋆. ୨୧˚⋆

When you were younger Bradley and you could never get along. You didn’t have a specific hatred for him but as kids you remember he was the most annoying boy to ever walk the earth.

To Bradley you were just some girl with cooties. Who was uptight about everything; You hated getting messy, you didn't like to play tag, and every time Bradley tried to talk to you, you’d silence him with: “Bradley just shut up, I don’t even care.” You were such a princess on your high horse, Bradley couldn't fight the urge to annoy you with intention instead of just existing. 

Bradley would pull on your cheeks knowing you hated when Carole did that to you. He flicked your forehead watching you scrunch up your face in annoyance. He'd shove you because he was a boy and he could.

One day you went to the mall with your mom, Carole and cone head Bradley. Carole had been craving Cinnabon and shopping all day. It was supposed to be a fun girls hang out but Bradley just had to come and ruin it. 

You were holding your shopping bag, walking next to Bradley and he kept shoving you with his shoulder. He did this every time. When you were walking down the halls at school together, on the sidewalk, by the door frame, for fun. It's like he couldn’t walk properly if he wasn’t pushing you. 

Bradley aggressively rammed his shoulder into yours again, making you stumble. That’s when you had enough. Before you could even think rationally, you bent down and gave a harsh tug to Bradley’s dark blue jeans causing them to pool at his ankles leaving him in his plaid blue boxers. 

“What the hell?!” Bradley’s face turned crimson, pulling his pants up after being pantsed. Your mom and Carole turned to both of you in a disapproving manner. But you didn’t care because you won this round with stupid good for nothing Bradley.

For your constant bickering you both had to face the consequences when you got home for being immature. Bradley was standing in a large white shirt with only one of his arms through the sleeve. Goose forced your head and arm into the big white T-shirt with Bradley. Both of you share a neck and sleeves. The shirt read 'Our get along T-shirt.'

“Ugh! Get me away from this disease.” You shrieked and Bradley rolled his eyes. 

You started pulling your arm out of the shirt but Carole chimed in. “Get out of the shirt young lady and kiss your going out privileges goodBYE.” You huffed at her in frustration shoving your arm back into the stiff cotton shirt. The pair of you craning your necks to the side to get as much distance as possible. 

It didn’t help the situation that Nick filmed the whole thing with his black camcorder. Together neither of you could look at the camera, both too embarrassed to be in shirt made for children when you guys were old enough to know better. For crying out loud you were 15 and still physically abused each other. 

“Look at how cute these two are.” Goose was looking through the viewfinder on the camera while laughing his ass off having the time of his life. 

This would have never happened if Bradley didn’t knock into you. Discreetly you gazed at Bradley with utter disgust, and he was already looking at you. “Stop looking at me.” You grumbled. You were already planning your revenge, perhaps shaving his ugly shaggy hair when he was asleep. 

“You stop looking at me.” Bradley feuded back, pinching your arm, his finger nails sinking into your skin. “Watch your back, phlemwad. Start wearing a belt because you're not safe.” He muttered just so you could hear, pinching you a little harder. 

“Ow!” You yelped. In self defence, with your other hand that was in the T-shirt, You slapped Bradley’s stomach. 

“Mom she just hit me!” Bradley was a tattle tale since day one. Always quick to run to mommy when he was the problem starter. You didn't care though as you delivered a hard kick to his shins where everybody can clearly see your assault. “Fuck you!” Bradley yelled out, bending forward in pain. Since you were trapped in a shirt together you fumbled forward too. 

Carole, who hated Bradley cursing, scolded him. “Watch your mouth Bradley!” Despite being forced into a shirt to get along and being videotaped, the two of you still fought. To get back at you Bradley shoved you with his shoulder making you stumble, which wasn’t a smart idea since you took him tripped down with him.

You could tell by the way your mom watched she wanted to laugh. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” 

“This clearly isn’t working” Carole rubbed her forehead stressed out by the teens that could not work their differences aside. 

“No but, it's funny as hell though.” Goose smiled. When your mom had you, and Carole had Bradley they presumed their kids would be best friends and maybe even date each other at some point. Clearly that wasn’t happening any time soon. 

“We have to put an end to this.” Carole looked at him. Nick’s eyes brightened, having another phenomenal idea.

“Bradley, if you give the sweet girl here a little kissy, you guys are free to go.” Nick's grin grew wider. This was punishment for you guys but for Nick it meant his favorite show was on. 

Bradley scrunched up his face at the thought. “I. Would. Rather. Die.” He emphasized every word.

“Good because if you kissed me I would probably get warts.” You fought back, the parents were now fully entertained and didn't want to deal with the pair any longer.

“Come on Brad, just a little kiss on the cheek and you both are free to go,” Nick reasoned with his son but Bradley didn’t think that was fair.

“Why do I have to kiss her? Can’t she kiss me?” 

“No, because she's a girl, and you don’t wanna be a wuss Brad.” Nick got an elbow to his side from Carole but it only made him smile, while he kept filming. Bradley furrowed his brows weighing out his options. As he was about to quickly peck you on the check you turned your head to look at him, and his lips were on yours for half a second. Bradley looked at you, horrified while he heard his father teasingly say: “Wow there Brad, don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

Bradley quickly got out of the shirt as you stood there blushing. “Ewwww!” All 3 parents were laughing their heads off. Technically Bradley just stole your first kiss. 

⊹☆~⟡⋆

Now both of you are older and engaged. You two were going through Carole and Nick’s attic, sorting through boxes they no longer wanted or needed. In one of the boxes Bradley found the symbolic t-shirt of your past. Bradley showed you the white ‘our get along shirt.’ making you both burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Try it on!” You eagerly demanded, taking a seat on the dusty floor. Bradley began to unbutton Hawaiian shirt, showing off his body that was a work of art. You couldn’t resist looking at him fondly because before he used to be much skinner and pale, and now he was jacked and tan. Bradley pulled the shirt on and by himself he was big enough to fill out the stiff cotton shirt. Together you were laughing so hard, like Goose and Carole so many years before when both of you were forced in the shirt. 

Bradley let out a sigh after laughing. “Wow fits me pretty well now huh?” He stared at the words written in sharpie in amusement.

“Yeah can't fit another person in there anymore,” You stared at your fiancé in pure astonishment, that after all the fighting and bickering both of you were starting a future together.  

“Uh yes it can, this shirt was made for two.” Bradley walked towards you, getting on his knees and stretching the tight shirt over your head, your nose brushed against his chest before your head fit through the neck whole. All grown up, your heads were closer together than last time. Besides the tight squeeze the only difference was that you both wanted to get into the shirt together instead of being forced in it. 

“Aw come on, just a little kissy Bradley.” You playfully quoted the iconic video.

“I’ll give you more than a little kissy.” Bradley growled before crashing his lips on yours.

After that I think Bradley would unironically wear the shirt under his Hawaiian shirt lol and would be very upset if anything happened to it

[soleilapproves]

Can I make a request for a pregnant y/n? Like jjk men and y/n get to the hospital when she goes into labor and they’re only expecting one baby but she ends up having twins? I’d love to know their reactions 😭🩷

Girl, realistically, I don’t think that’s possible with ultrasounds and stuff.

BUT, for the sake of the fic, let’s just say that you’re in a time period where ultrasounds don’t exist and physicians rely on taking your pulse or something to see if you’re pregnant or not.

cw: pregnancy, small descriptions of birth

Nanami is always a level headed and cool man. So when you popped out two kids instead of one, he had the most calm expression ever, only stroking your cheek and cooing in your ears about how well you did. Unbeknownst to you, he’s trying his best not to rip his own hair out. The house was only ready for one baby—one nursery, one nanny, one chest of clothes. Now he was going to have work just as hard to set up the same for another baby in a very short time. You don’t notice his hand trembling when the midwife tells him that there’s another kid in the equation, his main focus would probably be on making sure you’re feeling better considering that you’re in the most overwhelming phase of being a new mom. All in all, I think he’d be very scared, but he’d face this change head on and would try his best to be a good dad to both his kids (all while freaking out on the inside.)

Gojo would be elated! Double the trouble. While you’re in pain, moaning and crying while pushing out the afterbirth, Gojo is already giggling over his new children, both annoyingly being the spitting images of their father. The nurse would probably yell at him to settle down because he’s being a nuisance and send him out for being annoying, not gonna lie. But who can blame him? He’s just so excited to take both his babies home and shower them with all the love and attention in the world. There’s no doubt that you’re nervous and scared after birthing twins, you aren’t even sure how you’ll nurse them or give them attention at the same time, and seeing this, Gojo vows to make your life easier with the babies. The nannies would often complain that Gojo leaves them no work because he’s always enthusiastic to look after his little ones.

Out of all the JJK men, I think Toji would have the worst reaction. He would be freaking the fuck out and would not be shy about it. He’d be clutching on to your hand to prevent himself from fainting after the midwife yells that there’s another one coming. It’s not that he exhibits weaponized incompetency, he’s just genuinely scared of messing up twice the amount now. He’d definitely be insecure throughout the first month though, wondering if he’s even blessed enough to deserve two little angels and a lovely wife. But that doesn’t stop him from trying his best. He makes a LOT of mistakes, but he’s always ready to learn, albeit, he’s a sloppy student, but he tries and that’s what matters. The kids also say dad first so he feels like he did something right after all.

Geto is a certified twin dad. It was on his resume when he started dating you. He is not scared, and is in dad mode the second you both find that you’re carrying. So imagine his delight when there’s two babies instead of one in the cradle, both looking like they’re the most precious things on Earth. Very overprotective, especially two times as much since his babies are so beautiful, he would not let anyone in a three feet radius of his children during the first month and it took a lot of convincing to let him loose and decrease the requirement to two feet. They’re the apples of his eye and so are you. He’s surprisingly good at dividing his attention well so nobody feels excluded. He made you feel safe and secure since the beginning, constantly reassuring you that raising twins is light work. You wouldn’t know if you’d still have your sanity if he was not the father of your children.

Sukuna makes you want to smack his face while giving birth. While you’re there, having the most uncomfortable and painful time, Sukuna is laughing to himself while holding both his babies to his chest, all four arms supporting them. He begins to yell about how he has two heirs now and the midwife smacks the back of his head so he’ll quiet down. Too bad he can’t kill her because she helped deliver his tiny demons. He had already started imagining what he’d teach the kid when he found out that you were pregnant, but now that there’s two kids there’s going to be twice the fun. He imagines teaching both his kiddos how to fight, maybe if they have too much energy and are annoying him then he’ll make them spar with each other. He laughs to himself menacingly and you try not to worry about what the man is planning. He also does not clean dirty diapers and does not make you do any of that either. Will probably force you away from the kids if he has to because the poor servants can handle it. He just wants to you to remember the fun parts of parenthood.

[takes1]

Heyy can you pls write an Ushijima smut?? Plsss, also I love all your works🫶🏼🫶🏼

ushijima x reader escalated cockwarming

thanks pookie!! sorry this took a while, i wrote half of something else for him but that idea died so i had to start all the way over. also wanted to do a normal banner for him but i'm liking my new multi-panel banners a lot more. might do a full switch🤔

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / cold start / ushijima likes old movies / sweaty ushijima / dom!ushijima / calling you babygirl / doggy / lap sitting / use of vibrator / gentleman ushijima / reader making ushijima want a kid / breeding kink / 1.2k words

links. masterlist. more haikyuu here. my ao3. my imagines

"Shh," He smushes his lips against your ear, stealing a tingly kiss or two while he's there, "Can't hear the movie..."

It was loud and overwhelming, leaving you to squirm away at the sensation. But his giant arm kept you crushed back against his chest.

It's a Wonderful Life played on an intentionally low volume on the living room TV. Your His vibrator, torturing your sensitive little clit, was louder than the dull drone of their transatlantic voices.

You took a sharp breath in to let out a cry, but his palm intercepted the attempt.

Watching favorite movie, engaged in his favorite pastime, inside of his favorite girl- he gave an approving hum into a harsh nick to your shoulder and rolled his hips.

His cock stirred again and bulged against your g-spot. He was prepared this time for the flinch. He kept you still with laughable ease.

It wasn't so much about strict punishment or absolute reward when he had such a natural, domineering presence in the bedroom. It was trust that kept you from begging him to just fuck you. There was an understanding that he would take care of you, no matter what you level of play you engaged in, for however long.

You did what he told you with a smile, enjoying how he took all your worries away, how he could bear the weight of the world off of your shoulders with his touch, his attention.

The warmth of his arms around you, his hand covering your loud mouth, kept you docile for a time.

He always smelled so good after he came home. Tasted salty, like hard work, with a stimulating, natural musk to his skin that you couldn't get enough of.

"Whadd'yawant, babygirl?" He flexed inside you again, taking his palm to your throat, instead- a heavy sigh the only indication that it effected him, "Tell me."

Your thighs flexed on top of his larger, powerful ones- "Ahh-! To- watch the- movie?"

His chuckle, rare and genuine, made you smile.

Hell, you had been sitting on top of him for so long that the film was almost over. Your response, an unsure question at best, was silly.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and moved his hips real, real slow, "You sure?"

Another gasp. This time curling your weight forward, for him to resist against. He felt so good, if he could just keep this mellow movement for two minutes, you might cum-- you couldn't lie again.

"N-o."

He bottomed out, leaving you twitchy, a shudder on your uptake, "Please, Toshi, just fuck me-,"

You whimpered at his strengthening grip, his stalled breath at his own name, "I don't care how- I just- mmh- I want you."

Usually, he didn't tease you like that because he already knew what you wanted. Usually, he didn't come home so burnt out and touchy, placing you in his lap, pushing your panties to the side.

Usually, he wouldn't be so inspired as to get you on the cold, hardwood floor, to take you like you asked.

He let you have one hand for your vibrator, but made sure to keep your free wrist still, next to the side of your head.

"Such a good girl--," Was a strangled groan.

The lewd sound of him finally pounding you mixed with your overstimulated, grateful cries.

Sure, he had been purposefully edging you for the better half of a Christmas classic, but he wasn't exempt either. Staying mostly hard inside of you was difficult when he needed to take you all day- made more critical of a task as soon as he was home, melting at your scent, your touch.

"Mmh-ha-Ah-! Tosh-i-, I'm--," You sniffled, eyes burning.

He came to the sound of you screaming his name and clenching around his sore cock.

He didn't slow or soften. He kept your hips upright when your strength failed you, always your big, sweet gentleman.

Grumbly, and quiet, and uneven, was his voice as he finally stuttered to a stop, deep inside of you.

Wakatoshi wasn't very vocal, but his habits spoke for what he liked.

You were panting, still smushed against the floor, in the lesser waves of your orgasm, as he looked down and stared hard at all the cum he crammed inside of you. His brow twitched, but you couldn't see.

Your pussy was already letting some of it drip down your thighs, so despite the how sore he was, he stuffed himself balls deep with an overstimulated groan. The desire to do it was more of a biological trance.

"M-mmnh-!" Your body braced against the feeling.

He shushed you and weighed you down into a lazier prone-bone position. The floor was so cold you couldn't help but press back into him as much as you could.

It hurt him to move, but he didn't want to soften, didn't want to waste time not filling you up again.

"Augh-h, fu-ck," His pained vocalizations were hot and tingly across your shoulder, "So- so good, baby. F-uck..."

Knowing, more specifically hearing how good you felt was a big reason why you gave a spontaneous round two the chance it deserved.

His exhaustion from the day was seeping into everything.

The huffing, the groans, vibrated against your ear as he dropped like a box of concrete to his forearms, adding to a mixture of pain and pleasure he had slowly succumbed to.

"Ah-h, fu-c'-- your pussy feels so'good, h-mnn,"

"You- ahh- want more? Huh?"

Your face warmed at his sinful confessions. His sloppy thrusts, paired with his drunken, blunt stammer fucked you into a pleasant buzz all over again.

You were so full, but, yeah, you did want more.

His forearms hugged around your front, his chest pushed down onto you, and his hand cupped your throat again.

"Mmh--!" You went to say something, but his other hand was over your mouth- so all you could do was whine, maybe drool, against his palm.

He was breathy at how fast you could get him to the edge of his orgasm again, just by taking his cock like his perfect, pretty girl.

Why hadn't he bought you a ring yet?

"Oh-h, fuck--," He got rougher, faster, at the thought of you as his little housewife, a brief flash of your future together enough to clip him over.

Another groan, this time a little whinier, into your scalp as he fucked another load into your poor, throbbing cunt.

His breath had gotten so shaky, uneven, and he grew heavier on top of you.

You were completely gone, trembling and weak, hips sinking further from him.

Warm, gentle kisses and a softer, attentive touch flooded your senses, something to focus on, as you slowly came out of it.

That was one of the many things you loved about him. He took care of you quite well, especially after being so rough.

"You okay, babygirl?"

The first thing he made sure to do was pick up you off of the floor. He utilized a cute little bridal-style carry into the bathroom so that you could shower together.

"Mmmhm," Dreamy and soft, was all you could give him.

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