#these are barely half of em guys…

[pastara-cell]

Me when someone willingly asks me to drop my hyper fixation head-canon list: (im so normal about them i swear 🙏)

Okay so, i’ve found out that despite these being rather new headcanons (made within the last 2 months) they’re rather outdated 😔. I based a lot of them on a story i made for them, which i now see as SUPER ooc, so i’m sharing around 2/3 of my list now, and dropping the other 1/3 when its updated to fit more towards the actual characters, rather than based off my silly little daydreams

—————-

General story headcanons:

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>They started talking to eachother after school, because sean stayed after school to clean the music room, and drew had detention. They both left around the same time, which meant they bumped into eachother. Drew wasnt too outwardly hostile to sean (considering that sean’s older, and the only music club member he doesn’t actively tease), so sean took some time to question him on stuff. long story short, they had a heart to heart, figured out they didnt hate eachother, drew started staying after school to hang out with him, and they got together after a while (I have a whole ass story but this is a summary of it)

>The relationship is kept rather secret from the music club and the dromies. (Music club because they dont necessarily love drew, and the dromies because they’re little shits and would tease Drew endlessly/pos)

>Sean’s helping drew out on his redemption arc. they talk a lot, sean makes sure he isnt overthinking or blowing situations out of proportion. Drew’s extremely grateful for it, and as a result, is a lot less stressed out. (We love communication and healthy relationships 🙏🤍)

>They bonded a lot over shared home-life issues, specifically with parents and no siblings. Drew and sean both shared their experiences with being the authority family-figure in their friend group (sean being the ‘big brother’ of the music club, and drew being the ‘dad’ of the jomies)

>Drew’s love languages are quality time and giving gifts, while sean’s are quality time and doing acts of service. Safe to say they both love spending time together, and do it often

Random ass headcanons that are canon because i said so/silly:

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>They play Nintendo games together, VERY specifically Nintendo games. Sean likes the soundtrack and the controls, and Drew is down to play literally any game ever so long as he’s spending time with him

>Sean stays over at drew’s house a lot when things get rough at home.

>When sean comes over on rough home nights, Drew cooks for him and absolutely pampers the shit out of sean. Heated blanket, meals if needed, snacks, gifts, and lots of cuddles and hugs. Sean enjoys it, but makes sure that drew sits down and just spends time with him without overworking himself

>Neither of them are big on kissing, not that they’re necessarily against it, but they prefer holding hands, cuddling, or handshakes. They have the most epic handshake ever actually, the most ever one to ever exist and its theirs

>They both love toread e-books, so they tried to do it together one time, but sean takes his time and drew is a speedreader. Safe to say that it was a one time thing

>Drew and sean have a joint minecraft server together, they both live in the same house. Drew does all the fighting, and sean does all the building. Neither of them can do redstone

>Sean calls drew “beau” as a petname, drew calls sean “babe”

>They text a lot, but due to their relationship being secret, they have eachother saved as ‘Jimmy’ and ‘scott’/ref and say that they’re just friends in seperate states. (I love you flower husbands…)

>Drew helps sean clean out the music room occasionally after school, but is EXTREMELY wary of his surroundings, just incase anyone would walk in. Sean isn’t as worried

>Sean very often reassures drew that besides school, drew is his top priority, and that he means the world to him. Drew enjoys this greatly, but wont admit it.

>Sean can read drew’s rbf perfectly

>Daisy mayyyy or may not know that they’re together. “Perhaps they’re really good friends?” (That girls got eyes everywhere…/vpos)

>Drew and sean text eachother during passing periods, and during lunch, and occasionally in class

>Seans really good at science, whereas, drew’s a lot better with language arts. They help eachother out on tests, but neither of them are good at math

>adding onto that, Drew’s in an advanced english class (he learns with seniors) so he managed to pull a few strings to get into sean’s class. (They sat next to eachother ‘on accident’)

>sean’s very set on open communication in their relationship, which drew is new to. They’re both going through it together, and guess what, mr plum over here is gonna heal 💪🔥 (slowly, but surely)

>Sean helps drew out with genshin events

>does Sean propose to drew after he gets his dipoma and heads off to college in another state because i said so and these are my headcanons? Yes, yes he does 🔥🔥/silly

>Engagement is kept a secret until Drew graduates as well, he thanks ‘his fiancée’ when receiving his diploma

———

I skipped out on a lot of em, but its taking too long to write all of these out so i’ll put more in the next wave and fill in their story a bit more 👍👍

I love them guys they deserve the world….(angst fic coming soon/j)

( @rosypenguins )

[sheepthatgobaa]

Artblock hit me like a truck and in honor of defeating it here's a shitpost

[ohnoitsz1m]

I really like the hl2ep2 rebels. They have so much personality

Heres some of my favorites

[ariichive]

HOSTAGE──★

when you’re suddenly taken from them, they do everything to take you back to their side.

cw: gen. neutral reader, kidnapping, violence, slight yandere but i’ll tag it anyways, written on my phone, kremnoan and ohkeman beef, PHAINON LEAK/THEORY SPOILERS!!!!!

hi guys i’m back, in honor of mydei’s banner, im on a posting spree rn

mydei

being the newest chrysos heir was already no easy job. but being from the rival kingdom of kastrum kremnos made it even harder.

mydei had been walking a narrow path from the moment he claimed his place—too much loyalty to one side, and the other would brand him a traitor. too little loyalty to either, and he risked being swallowed whole by both.

you, of course, stayed by his side; there ever since the journey to slaughter eurypon—a grim memory neither of you spoke of often. you remembered the blood, the screams, the bodies that littered the path behind you. the way mydei had barely slept those nights, keeping one hand curled in a fist and the other on your arm—like letting go of you would mean death.

when the others had died — one by one, torn apart by the horrors that clung to eurypon’s shadow — you had been the only one who survived with him.

it felt like a thread of fate held you two together.

mydei had grown possessive since then—never far from your side, always finding some reason to justify it. you could see the tension coil in his shoulders whenever you spoke to others. the way his eyes lingered too long when someone stood too close.

so when a lowly gang in okhema seen you as his weakness, he was in shambles.

they didn’t know who they were dealing with—not at the time. they thought they’d found an easy target; new to okhema and gullible. mydei’s trusted companion, the one who’d stayed with him through blood and war. the one who knew too much, saw too much.

and most importantly, the one he couldn’t replace.

the gang moved fast. faster than you expected. one minute you were weaving through the crowded streets of okhema, and the next a rough hand yanked you into a shadowed alley.

you fought—hard—elbow driving into someone’s ribs, a sharp kick catching another in the shin. but there were too many. ropes bit into your wrists, a grimy cloth stuffed into your mouth before you could shout.

“kremnoan’s should never get too comfortable somewhere they don’t belong.”

one of them sneered, dragging you deeper into the slums. “think he’ll hand over half his kingdom just to get ‘em back?”

he. they meant mydei.

you struggled harder. you knew what he was capable of.

you managed to spit out the cloth in your mouth, “let me go! you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!” you tried to plead with them.

this was so frustrating!

being in okhema was supposed to be a fresh start, especially for mydei. the people were nice, and both aglaea and tribbie seemed wonderful.

aglaea even gifted you a new wardrobe with your exact measurements—you weren’t going to question how, but you had your suspicions mydei had something to do with it.

mydei’s rage was a slow burn and once it was ignited, nothing could stop it.

now, mydei was bound to harbor anger in the people of okhema if you didn’t find a way to get out fast enough, before he got here.

you thought back to your old companions, ones who fought so dominantly on the battlefield.

you had to wait for the right moment, for these men to be distracted.

when the chance came, you were quick to rub the rope around your wrists against the hard pavement under you until eventually, it snapped.

wasting no time, you jolted up and ran.

the dim light of the alley barely illuminates your path as you stagger onto the cold cobblestones. every sound is amplified in the silence: your own rapid breathing, the distant hum of the city, and the echo of your footsteps bouncing off crumbling walls.

you can still hear the angry shouts from the gang behind you, their curses fading into the night. but there’s something else. a heavy, anticipatory silence that suggests a reckoning is coming. you know mydei’s fury is inevitable.

your heart pounds in your ears as you press yourself against a rough wall, scanning the darkened corners for an escape route. you realize that you have only minutes—maybe even seconds—to vanish into the maze of alleys, to slip away before his vengeance becomes all too real.

with one last look over your shoulder, you take a deep breath and push forward into the uncertain night, every step a desperate bid to outrun the impending tempest of mydei’s retribution.

with a quick turn around the corner, you were taken off guard by the chest you ran into.

the impact knocks the breath from you. you stumble, barely catching yourself as a pair of intense eyes lock onto yours. mydei stands before you, his presence impossible to ignore—fury and concern mingling in his gaze.

for a moment, the world slows: the pounding of your heart, the ragged rhythm of his breath, and the distant echoes of chaos outside. his hand, strong and sure, grips your shoulder, steadying you. there’s no time for explanations, no room for hesitation.

“i’m here,” he growls, voice low and dangerous, as if every syllable is meant to ward off an unseen threat.

you stood there, struggling to catch your breath and mydei simply observed.

there was no anger; there was just nothing.

which was even worse.

"mydei..!" he continued to just stare at you, looking you over. the only sign of a reaction was the slight twitch of his brow and pointer finger.

he walked away, going towards the way you came.

mydei was going to make sure his position as a chrysos heir was not one to be messed with.

phainon

phainon stared in absolute horror as the flame reaver emerged from the darkness.

he was prepared for another battle with strong being, but he wasn't prepared for it to lunge at you.

it all happened quickly; all it took was one slip-up, one miscalculation, and you were no longer there with him.

when you finally regained consciousness, it felt as if you were floating within time itself; just an endless abyss.

but he was there, you could feel it.

your eyes adjusted to the dark space, the only light coming from what appeared to be stars.

he spoke before you, "i... am not weak this time."

his words carried weight, reverberating through the void like a vow only the cosmos could witness. a hand—his hand—reached toward you, hesitant yet determined.

"every other time, i've failed." you squinted as its hand brought itself up to its masked face, promptly removing the mask.

the familiar blue eyes were staring at you. though, they looked way more clouded and dead. "now, you're here with me, and i don't... i can't let you leave, [name]."

"p-phainon? what..?" you brought your hand up tp your head, feeling nauseous.

he took a step closer, the eerie quiet of the space only broken by the heavy thrum of his breath. "i’ve waited too long, [name]. every failure, every mistake—it’s been for this. i can't lose you again."

his voice was hoarse, raw, like it hadn't been used for years.

your heart raced, and despite the ache in your head, you managed to focus on him, on the way his eyes flickered between desperation and something darker. something desperate.

"you're the flame reaver? i... i don’t understand," you murmured, your voice barely rising above the void's haunting silence.

"you don't have to," phainon whispered, his gaze never leaving yours. "just know, i won’t let you go. not this time."

you could feel his hand trembling slightly as it reached out, brushing the tips of your fingers, as if afraid you might vanish if he held too tightly.

your entire body felt heavy, like something was weighing you down, keeping you trapped in this endless abyss. phainon’s presence was the only solid thing anchoring you, yet even that felt… wrong. his touch was cold, unsteady, as if he wasn’t sure whether to pull you closer or let you slip through his fingers.

"phainon..." your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. "where are we?"

his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. "a place between," he murmured. "a space where time bends, where the past and present blur together." his gaze darkened. "where i lost you before."

his words sent a shiver down your spine. the way he looked at you—it wasn’t just desperation. it was grief, old and worn, like he'd lived through this moment before.

"lost me…?" your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his coat. "but i’m right here."

he let out a quiet, bitter chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "you always say that."

the stars around you pulsed, and for a moment, the darkness shifted. flashes of something flickered in the void—visions of a battle, a figure reaching out, a violent burst of flames. the echoes of distant screams rang in your ears, but they weren’t your own.

they were his.

your breath hitched. "phainon… what did you do?"

his expression twisted, and for the first time since you awoke, you saw it—fear. not of you, but of your reaction. of your realization.

"i tried," he whispered, his voice barely holding together. "again and again, i tried. but no matter what i did, no matter how strong i became—" he clenched his jaw, his fingers trembling as they curled into fists. "you still died."

his words settled deep in your chest, a weight heavier than the abyss itself.

"but this time…" he exhaled sharply, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling. "this time, i brought you here first. before fate could take you away again."

your stomach dropped. "phainon, you—"

"i won’t lose you," he interrupted, shaking his head. "not again. not ever."

the void around you seemed to pulse in response to his words, the stars flickering like they, too, were holding their breath.

and in that moment, you understood.

this wasn’t just a place between time.

this was where phainon had kept every version of you that had ever been lost.

anaxa

irritating. everything about this was extremely irritating.

for that woman to send okhema's soldiers to take you away took a lot of nerve.

anaxa sat in his quarters, fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair, the rhythmic tapping the only sound in the otherwise silent room. his jaw tightened as he recalled the way they had come for you—swift, efficient, as if they had every right to tear you away from him.

as if he would just sit back and allow it.

he let out a slow breath, willing himself to think. acting recklessly would get him nowhere, but the longer he sat here, the worse the irritation festered.

his patience had already worn thin.

he stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed away from it. his coat billowed behind him as he strode toward the door, purpose in every step.

if aglaea thought she could take you from him without consequence, she was about to be sorely mistaken.

the halls of his residence were empty, the air thick with the quiet tension of something about to break. anaxa had no need for guards; no one would dare to step in his way. yet tonight, the silence felt suffocating. suffocating because you weren’t here.

his fingers twitched at his sides. this wasn’t just irritation anymore. this was anger, slow-burning but ready to consume.

he knew where they had taken you.

it wouldn’t be difficult to reach you—not for him. the real question was how much destruction he was willing to cause in the process.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair before letting it drop. what an annoyance. what a hassle.

but it didn’t matter.

they had taken you from him.

he would take you back.

anaxa didn't care if they needed you at okhema, you were his personal assistant. whatever they needed could have been asked through him

(he ignores them, hence why aglaea sought after you).

by the time he stepped into okhema, the air was thick with the scent of the city—metal, incense, and something faintly electric crackling beneath the surface. okhema’s soldiers weren’t subtle; they never were. it wasn’t difficult to track their route, and anaxa wasted no time cutting through the winding paths that led to the hero's bath outer quarters.

then he saw them.

a squad of soldiers, stationed outside a secured chamber, their stance rigid, their hands hovering over their weapons. they were expecting trouble.

good.

anaxa didn’t slow his stride.

"halt," one of them commanded, stepping forward with a hand raised. "by order of the—"

anaxa didn’t let him finish.

with a flick of his wrist, anaxa held his gun pointed to the soldier's head, his other hand materializing his orb.

"move," he said flatly.

one of them made the mistake of reaching for a communication device.

annoying.

with a simple flick of his fingers, a sharp wave of energy lashed out, slicing through the device before the soldier could utter a word. their breath hitched as the realization sank in.

they weren’t winning this fight.

anaxa stepped closer, his patience nonexistent. "last chance."

the soldiers shared a look before making the smartest decision of their lives. they turned and ran.

cowards.

he continued onward, reaching a secluded room in the bathhouse.

he paused for a moment, his hand on the handle, taking a deep breath. he didn’t know what state you’d be in, but that didn’t matter now.

what mattered was that you were still here.

the door swung open with a smooth motion.

“[name],” he spoke your name like a command, his voice low but steady, holding an edge of urgency.

you looked up, eyes wide, disoriented. but when your gaze met his, something clicked. the tension that had been suffocating him finally lifted.

he stepped inside without hesitation, his eyes locked onto yours. “we’re leaving. now.”

[gojosconsort]

need more olderbf toji good lord what u wrote just blessed my eyes and I need more GRAHHHHHH

OLDER BF!TOJI ♡ // HEADCANONS 02

⁀➷ CONTENT. you're toji’s problematic younger girlfriend.

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x older bf!toji

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. oral sex (m and f receiving), age gap, size kink, spanking, degradation, restraint, public/semi-public sex, choking, hair pulling, deepthroating, degradation, possessiveness

♡ NAV. 01 // 02

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s broke as shit but spots a patch of wildflowers by some random roadside—picks a messy handful—dirt, roots, and all—and shoves them at you, “ain’t much, but they’re yours, doll.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s waiting outside your shitty apartment when your ex shows up, banging on the door—toji’s on him in seconds, pinning him to the wall, “she’s done with your sorry ass, punk,” and that fucker never shows his face again.

OLDER BF!TOJI who takes you on a late-night ride in his truck, pulling off to some empty lookout spot next thing you know, you’re straddling him in the driver’s seat, skirt shoved up, bouncing on his fat cock while the windows steam up.

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s half-asleep in bed when you crawl under the sheets, teasing him awake with your mouth. he groans, “fuckin’ brat,” grabs your hair, and rams himself deeper down your throat ‘til you’re choking on it, “can’t even sleep ‘round you.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who catches you shivering on the walk home from some shitty bar, grumbling, “told you to bring a damn jacket.” but shrugs off his worn leather one, draping it over your shoulders and pulling you close to his side, “c’mere, i’ll warm you up.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who crashes on your couch after a job, too tired to drive home—you find him sprawled out in the morning, abs peeking from under his shirt, and he wakes up to you staring, “what, never seen a guy sleep before? make me coffee, lazy ass.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who ties your wrists to the headboard with his belt when you won’t stop mouthing off. then he’s pounding you into the mattress, rough and hard, loving how you squirm under his bulk, “too big? cry about it, doll.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who sees you struggling with a heavy bag of groceries outside your apartment building. he grabs it from your hands without asking, smirking, “you’re too damn small for this,” and carries it up three flights of stairs with you trailing behind.

OLDER BF!TOJI who loves when you ride his face, sprawling back on the bed or couch, pulling you down by the hips ‘til you’re smothering him. “grind on me, doll,” he mumbles into you, licking sloppy and greedy, holding you there ‘til you’re shaking.

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s sloppy with prep but doesn’t need it—his cock’s so big it barely fits anyway. “relax, you’ll take it,” he mutters, sliding in slow, then slamming deep, and he loves when you yelp and scratch the shit outta his back.

OLDER BF!TOJI who shows up at your place unannounced with takeout because “you didn’t eat, did you.” eats half of it himself, sprawled on your couch, then pulls you into his chest, mumbling, “don’t squirm, i’m comfy.”

OLDER BF!TOJI who loves finishing inside you after a rough fuck, pinning you down and pumping you full, “gonna fill you up, doll—fuck, you feel that? make me cum so fuckin’ much,” and he’s loves watching it drip out.

OLDER BF!TOJI who gets off on skirts ‘cause he’s loves fucking you in public—drags you somewhere half-hidden, hikes it up, claps a hand over your mouth, and mutters, “shut it, don’t need ‘em hearing,” while he fucks you fast and dirty and loud like he hopes you get caught.

OLDER BF!TOJI who gets quite jealous when some young guy flirts with you—goes dead quiet, then later he’s got you face-down, ass-up, snarling, “that little shit think he’s got a shot? too old my ass—tell me who’s fuckin’ you.” but don't worry, your screams fix his mood.

OLDER BF!TOJI who’s always working out—push-ups in the living room, dripping sweat, and he’s like, “sit on me, doll, gimme a challenge.” and you perch there, while he grunts, “fuckin’ lightweight,” and powers through.

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

[neeeooon]

I loved the “When your parents walk in on you” mini-fic you wrote!! ( Ty to the anon who requested ) I would love if you could write another part but with different characters?? You can ignore this if you don’t wanna! 🫧

yes ofc!! i had a lot of fun w that one (ty anon 🫶) so TYSM FOR THE REQUEST 🫧🩵

when your parents walk in on you pt 2 ;

bf bllk x gn!reader. 16+ cw: suggestive!! nagi’s and kunigami’s are nsfr, slight nudity in sae’s (nothing graphic)

nagi seishiro

-> sleepovers with nagi were nothing new since both of your parents rarely visited you, but you still preferred them at his place. no one but you and reo ever visited him

-> however, your house was closer, and it was your birthday the next day, so he agreed to live with you for the week to celebrate (aka do nothing but lay in bed/on the couch and watch tv)

-> you were cuddled up the morning of your birthday when his shifting wakes you. half-asleep, you feel him place a few lazy kisses on your cheek and jaw as a sleepy wake-up

-> “happy birthday,” he drawled, his lips lingering on your warm skin as he slowly disappeared beneath the covers. you felt him trail kisses down you neck to your chest, on your stomach. you felt one on your hipbone that made you gasp when—

-> “happy birthday, y/n!!” your bedroom door flew open, and you instinctively grabbed a pillow to hide the nagi-shaped lump on top of you. “mom! dad, hi! um, what are you guys doing here?!” “we wanted to surprise you!! and meet that boyfriend of yours. his shoes are in your doorway, is he here?”

-> your face flamed. “uh, no—“ another kiss to your inner thigh. “nope! he keeps an extra pair here!” you slapped the pillow when his fingers crept across your waistband. “hey, idea!! why don’t you guys get us some breakfast pastries to celebrate?”

-> it takes a little convincing, and you’re practically yelling when nagi’s mouth returns on your skin, but your parents finally get the hint and close the door on their way out

-> once they’re gone, you throw the comforter back to reveal your sleepy boyfriend between your legs. “nagi! my parents just walked in!” “did they? hm.” and he goes back to kissing you

itoshi sae

-> you were in town for the holidays and brought your boyfriend along to meet your parents for the first time

-> they were out shopping for dinner when you arrived from the airport, leaving you and sae to get settled. you decided to use the extra time to show him your childhood home

-> “this is where you kept your posters of me, huh?” he teased as he ran a finger along some torn tape marks on your wall. you flushed, regretting the drunk confession immensely upon seeing his smug expression. “yeah, whatever. shut up.”

-> you tossed your suitcase open and rummaged around for some comfier clothes as sae continued scanning your room. except he the only thing his eyes scanned was your bare back when you pulled your shirt over your head

-> the feel on his hands along your sides made you gasp, but before you had the chance to turn and capture his lips, your door flew open

-> “welcome ho—why are you naked?” your dad asked with a raised brow as you scrambled to pull your shirt to your chest. “dad! get ou—“ “no way. itoshi sae, in the flesh. i’m a huge fan!!” “…”

-> you stand there, shirtless, as your dad rushes over to greet and shake your boyfriend’s hand. “i know my kid said they were in a relationship with a footballer, but part of me though they’d gone crazy!” “i’m lucky to have ‘em, sir.” “you scored a good one, y/n!” “thanks, dad !!” you say, still shirtless in your room as you dad fanboys over your sae

karasu tabito

-> you’d been dating karasu forever (two months) and had yet to introduce him to your parents

-> he was ready to lock you down after the first date, but you’re a bit hesitant about what you’re extremely strict family will think of your chill boyfriend

-> you’re at home when karasu is suddenly at your door with chicken and champagne in his hands. “i got a promotion,” he announced casually, but you can feel the excitement radiating off of him as you jump into his arms. “babe, that’s great!”

-> you’re so excited for your boyfriend, you forget your parents are on their way over for family game night

-> you’re on the counter, legs secure around your boyfriend’s waist, keeping him locked against you when there’s a gentle knock on your door. they don’t wait for an answer before entering, giving you barely enough time to shove karasu from between your legs and hop onto the floor

-> “mom, dad,” you greet as casually as possible, subtly wiping your mouth and panicking when you feel how swollen your lips are. “you guys are early!”

-> your mom hmphs at your slightly disheveled appearance. “you said 6:30. it’s 6:30.” you check the time, and sure enough, it’s now 6:31

-> ignoring you, your mom approaches your boyfriend, who is meticulously hiding the lower half of his body behind the center island. “i’m assuming this fellow you tried to inhale is your boyfriend?”

chigiri hyoma

-> you and chigiri were enjoying the house to yourself, watching a movie in your living room while you parents watched one at the cinema. you planned to finish before they returned so that they could officially meet chigiri at a more respectable time, but that didn’t necessarily go as planned

-> you’re seated in your boyfriend’s lap, his hands rubbing your back from beneath your shirt, kissing him like there’s no tomorrow

-> lust-hazed, your hands slip between your bodies when chigiri catches your wrist. “wait, your parents—“ “we’ve got plenty of time.”

-> famous last words. you’ve just reclaimed your boyfriend’s lips when the front door opens, and all the color drains from your face when you lock eyes with your father

-> “dad!” you scramble off of chigiri. “t’s not what it looks like!” “right!” “we were just studying and—“ “they attacked me!” chigiri blurts, and you gape are him in betrayal. “what?!”

-> your dad continues standing in the doorway. “y/n, did you attack this young man?” “no!!” “i’m not convinced,” he sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “come here, son. i’ll make you some tea.”

-> you watch as your dad gently pulls chigiri into the kitchen, leaving you there with your jaw on the floor and your hands on your hips. “mom!!!”

kunigami rensuke

-> it was a beautiful morning. birds chipping, breeze fluttering through your curtains, kunigami’s bare chest pressed against your back, arms looped around you in sleep. truly beautiful

-> you felt him shuffle as he woke up, removing one of the hands from your waist to rub his face. “mm, morning.” his voice, impossibly deep with sleep, made you feel all sorts of ways as you twisted to face him

-> your expression must have conveyed enough, because kunigami was kissing you before you had the chance to return the greeting

-> you giggled when he nipped your bottom lips, and he followed suit as he pulled the comfort over your heads. truly, truly a beautiful morning

-> and then the cover was pulled back, and your mother screamed as she shielded her eyes kunigami jumped off of you, clutching a pillow to himself as you grabbed the blanket. “mom?! what are you doing here!”

-> “i texted you that i was coming over with breakfast!” she cried, back turned so you and kunigami could get yourselves dressed. “typically when someone doesn’t respond, it means they’re busy!” “i thought you were sleeping! i didn’t know you had… oh wait, is that the boyfriend?!”

-> you drop your head into your hands, and your mother turns around once kunigami’s pajama pants and t-shirt are back on. he bowed to her, completely red-faced. “i’m so sorry we met this way. i promise i love y/n and will answer any questions you have for me.”

-> your mom swatted at the air between them and blushed. “oh, i don’t doubt that, sweetie! it was my fault for barging in here. we can chat over breakfast!”

pt 1

[snickerdoodlebaby]

Thanos/Choi Subong NSFW Headcanons

Warnings: NSFW (18+), smutty, substance use, manipulation (this takes place pre-games btw!)

I imagine you two to have a friends with benefits situation. Subong doesn’t like commitment and the sexual tension between you guys is too intense to ignore.

His motto is “tits or ass? why not both?”

Would love to get you to smoke weed with him, especially the lazy messy makeout sessions that ensue during it

Has tons of experience. Don’t worry, that translates to veryyy good things for you in the bedroom, he’s so goddamn good at eating pussy.

Loves your legs over his shoulders, pressing your legs to your chest, mating press, anything that evolves him feeling up your soft legs/thighs and bending your body in half.

Doesn’t take off his cross while he fucks you. It dangles between you two as he’s above you, resting coldly on your boobs when he leans down to connect your mouths in a sloppy kiss.

Can be mean in the bedroom, but mostly very cocky and just loves to see you embarrassed and flustered. Loves the huge ego boost he gets when you cover your face in embarrassment or you can’t help the cute pathetic noises leaving your lips. You’re so cute! He’s not below making fun of you until you pout with your plump bottom lip out, and he loves to tease.

Loves when you whine his name out, “Subong…” and give him your pleading puppy eyes. He’ll grin widely and pinch your cheek, sometimes giving you what you want. Most of the time makes you beg for it while you try to hide your blushing face.

“Beg Thanos if you want it so bad.”

Will refer to himself in the third person cuz he’s silly and cocky like that

I imagine him living the high life in a mansion before he lost all his money to crypto. It’s big, modern, lots of marble and granite. Throws tons of parties where everyone gets shit-faced. Loves loves loves you being there so he can sling his arm around you the entire party. If you’re a party girl you’ll be living the dream everyday of your life. If not, well, you better get used to it, the drug scene and all.

That being said about his house, his room is a stark contrast to the rest of his place. Dim lights, neon signs along the walls spelling out his name in Korean and english, dark red walls and black accents. Various music equipment lying around, a futon (his favorite place to get blowjobs from you), a few weights, and his king-size black bed which is never made. Smoke almost always clouds the room creating a dream-like atmosphere. It always smells like weed or sweat in there and his floor is covered in clothes (some of them being yours that you forgot about).

LOVES LOVES LOVES IT when you wear one of his shirts and just panties. It’s so oversized on you and hangs off one shoulder. He thinks you look so sexy like that. Your favorite shirt to borrow is his neon green one, it smells so good, so Subong.

Pretty fit but not overly muscular. He’s got great pecs and loves to walk around shirtless ‘cause he knows you’re so weak for it (and just because).

So often you’ll show up at his place and he’ll be lazily walking around without a shirt on and a baggy pair of shorts slung low on his hips, far enough to see the brand of boxers he’s wearing. His cross laying on his bare chest between his pecs. Makes your legs wobbly.

He’s constantly got scratch and claw marks down his back from you. And lovesss to show it off.

Loves to pay for you to get your nails done (so you can scratch him with em), honestly loves to pay for your everything and I can see him using money recklessly to show off. Will never let you buy anything when you’re with him.

Will be trying to get you to use. If you don’t already, he’ll see it as a conquest to corrupt you. He knows it’s bad and doesn’t really care, he’d love to bring you down to his level if it meant you two could feel good together. Will definitely be manipulating you into taking a pill from his cross.

“C’mon baby, it’ll make y’feel so good. Ya trust me right?”

Gives you substances through sexual methods only. Popping a pill in his mouth and kissing you, pushing it through your lips with his tongue. Putting a pill on his tongue and sticking it out for you to lick off. Blowing smoke & vapor into your mouth.

Has a thing for your mouth and lips. The view of your lips stretched around the base of his cock is his favorite thing in the world. When you leave lipstick stains on his pelvis he doesn’t want to wash it off afterwards.

This man has a tattooed and pierced dick — he has no shame and a high pain tolerance. He has a dark solid line running down his shaft (like the one on his neck), a ladder piercing and a stud at the tip (like a Prince Albert piercing). You couldn’t lie, it intimidated you when you first saw it, your eyes going really wide when it sprung out of his boxers. He laughed above you at your reaction, a lopsided smirk forming on his face. How was that gonna feel inside of you…? “M’gonna make you feel so good baby.” Turns out he was right, it felt fucking fantastic.

Nicknames he has for you include baby, babe, senorita, flower, mamacita when he’s feeling playful. In bed it’s my slut, whore, Thanos’s whore, plaything. “My bitch” when he’s drunk or on strong substances.

Wants you to get a tattoo of his name so fucking bad. Has brought up the idea in passing a few times, seeming not super interested. But in reality he’d find it so fucking hot, especially if it was on a hidden part of your body like your ass cheek, the word “Thanos’ bitch” surrounded by a heart inked into your plush flesh.

Would spank the shit out of that tattoo on you.

Loves to spank you in general, needs to see that ass jiggle when it’s bouncing against his bare hips.

100% records you during sex and loves taking photos of you (whether you realize it or not during the moment). Has an entire photo album dedicated to it <3

I need to see more of him before the games, that 2 second clip was not enough smh.

[hhughes]

thinking ab luke choking you with his bicep while he’s fucking u in a bathroom OOPS!!!

OOPS??? — people (me) died when you sent this omggg. you guys know i’m not the best smut writer but I couldn’t resist whipping this up 😫 . . .

nsfw. smut. mdni. manhandling. choking. m ^_^

the bass from the party outside thrums through the bathroom walls, mirroring the rhythm of luke’s hips driving into you.

a low whine escapes when he gives a particularly hard thrust, causing you to bend over the sink even more and you feel the little chuckle against your back as he presses a kiss to your skin.

“that’s it,” he rasps, pressed to your back as his breath echoes hot against your ear. “make those pretty noises for me baby. you know I like ‘em”

a shiver runs down your spine at his words, your fingers scrambling for a place to hold on to. it goes from the sink, the wall, the edge of the counter before luke lets out another amused huff and straightens himself, taking you with him.

he adjusts his hands, putting one across your lower stomach, cupping your hips tight against him and his other arm looping around your throat.

“there, I gave you something to hold onto baby” he says, satisfied when your hands go up to grip the forearm around your throat

“you good pretty girl?” luke asks softly, meeting your half lidded gaze in the mirror as he adjusts his bicep around your head, careful not to go too tight.

the limited room prevents you from nodding your head as you usually would, so all you can manage as a response is a pathetic little whimper that luke grins at, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he chuckles. “yeah? that’s all ya got for me?”

your nails dig into his forearm, unable to give him a response except your grip tightening as he presses a kiss to the side of your neck. “look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “so fucked out for me”

you can barely focus, barely hold yourself up if not for his strong arms keeping you steady. aach thrust has you teetering on the edge, your body tightening around him, desperate for release.

luke groans, his hand trailing lower towards your clit as he feels you clench down on him. “you close, baby?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint.

you manage a small nod — or at least, you think you do. but it doesn’t matter because he can feel it, can tell by the way your body trembles in his hold.

“go on,” he urges, his lips brushing your ear. “let me feel it. wanna see y’fall apart for me”

and when you do, it’s overwhelming — your body tightening, your head lolling back against his shoulder as pleasure crashes over you. luke groans, his own pace stuttering as he follows, holding you tight through every wave of pleasure

for a long moment, the only sounds are your heavy breaths, the faint thrum of music outside the door. then luke presses a lazy, satisfied kiss to your temple, his grip loosening but not letting you go just yet.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now, laced with something almost tender as he brushes strands of hair away from your face

“mhm” you reply, readjusting your clothes as luke disposes of the condom.

he lets out a soft laugh when he turns back to your and sees the frustrated little pout on your lips.

“my hair doesn’t wanna—“ you motion around it, highlighting the way it was frizzy and kinda sticking everywhere.

you looked … freshly fucked, was the only way to put it and luke couldn’t help the furl of satisfaction low in his belly at the sight. a feeling that must’ve shown all over his face if the little glares you were sending him was any indication

“here,” he huffs, wetting his hands and smoothing them over your head, flattening the strands of hair. “perfect” he mumbles, kissing your head and sneakily pulling you out of the bathroom and back towards the party.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ my life with you (that’s way over now)

synopsis. some people get drunk calls from their exes, maybe even flowers with hand written apologies. you get a knock on your front door with two random kids and a murder case

length. 3.0k words (once more it was supposed to be short)

contents. exes to lovers, ex boyfriend! suguru, gn! reader, slightly deviated from canon (he doesn’t kill the entire village + doesn’t defect), slightly a fix-it fic, blood, murder, child abuse + neglect (canon events with suguru and the twins), angst to slight fluff with hopeful ending (pretty much happy tbh), mentions of family + kids, suguru pretty much being a broke and depressed lil guy lollll

notes. idk what this is but it was written for me i just wanted to write it so here. take it and look away

right before you graduate, you and suguru break up. you don’t want to, but he insists it’s only fair—he can hardly be there for you the way you need him to be, he says. something’s changed in him, it has since that day last year. but still—you don’t want to break up.

so you argue, he stays firm, you cry, he doesn’t change his mind, you break up, he leaves, and the world momentarily collapses.

it’s the way things work, you suppose. they don’t quite always go the way you planned. you graduate not long after that, leaving him behind to throw yourself into work while you toe into the baby steps of adulthood. real adulthood—the jujutsu world has a way of thrusting you into that faster than normal, anyway.

by the time it’s late summer, you get your first apartment. it’s a rundown place—the bathroom tiles look dirty no matter how much you scrub, the walls haven’t been repainted in what seems like decades, and the thermostat never works properly to feel like what the temperature indicates.

but it’s yours—you leave jujutsu high fresh into the real world, paying your taxes and buying your groceries all while you exorcise curses for a living. barely an adult, barely getting by, barely alive as you get up each day and live.

and then suguru comes knocking on your door half past midnight.

“hey,” he says nonchalantly, like there’s nothing wrong with standing there—but you know him better than that. you can hear that detachment in his voice as he stares between your eyes, but not quite in them.

“you—” you start, staring at him incredulously before you decide to give up. there are no surprises with suguru, not anymore you suppose. you don’t really know him anymore. “suguru, it’s midnight,” you sigh—and that’s when you see them: two small children that can’t be much older than five.

bruises are clear as day on their arms, even while standing in the darkness outside. there’s also the slight swollen curve of their eyes, and you can’t help but notice how they’re practically skin and bone. children who have probably not yet even lived for five winters, and you almost wonder if they’ve been through more than you have in you’re entire lifetime.

suguru clears his throat before you can stare at them any longer.

“this is nanako,” he gestures at the blonde, “and this is mimiko.” the brunette one seems more shy, curls behind his leg further as her name is uttered.

you don’t know what to say, so you settle for smiling—you’re not sure if it comes out too genuine, but you try. it’s all you can offer, really.

“hello,” you hum for a moment. and then you turn back to suguru, “it’s midnight.”

“i know.”

“you should be at school grounds.”

“i know.”

“suguru,” you sigh, eyeing the blood stained on his cheek. you don’t like where this is heading. there’s a sick feeling twisting in your gut, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

bile. you can taste it. something’s not right.

“where did you find these kids?”

“on a mission,” he says simply, “village heads were keepin’ em locked in a cage like animals. can you believe it?”

again, that casual tone. it almost as easy as humming your favorite tune, as smooth as your skin on freshly washed sheets, as quiet as the first day of snow when the world is still. but something about it is hollow—something’s not right.

“why’d you bring them here? instead of school? shoko should look at them—”

“i told them they’d be safe here.”

they’d be safe anywhere, you think. as long as suguru’s there too. as long they’re under his watchful gaze, nothing could hope to beat down on their youth like it already has their whole lives. but you don’t say that—something tells you he won’t believe you.

maybe not right now.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. something’s not right, but there are children present. so you throw on your best smile and open the door wider, offering them to come in.

your apartment is small, just one bedroom and one bath. there’s hardly enough food for yourself for tonight, you still have to go grocery shopping this week. the missions were lined up back to back to back—but that’s just life as a sorcerer, you suppose. most days you hardly have the energy to eat more than a few apple slices when you return home anyway.

you wave your hand at your place dramatically as you say, “come on in, ladies. your humble abode awaits.”

they giggle slightly at that—it’s the first time suguru hears them laugh. you have that effect, he knew you would. it’s why he brings them here and not there. and…well, there’s a more complicated issue at hand. but that’s for later.

right now…well, for right now, he lets you guide them to the bathroom.

“you have money on you right?” you ask. he blinks, staring at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

“spent the last of it on cigarettes this morning.”

great, you think, before sighing and trudging over to grab your wallet as you press a few crisp bills of cash in his hands.

“here.”

“what’s this for?” he raises a brow.

“go buy them clothes,” you look at him like he’s stupid. he might be, in all honesty. just a little. “i’m not putting them back in…those once they’re all cleaned.”

“wha—i’ve never shopped for children before,” he gapes, “and i don’t know what size they are, or—”

“figure it out, suguru,” you say tiredly. it’s half past midnight—by now, you’d be passed out from your mission. he seems to take the hint. “and bring some snacks too. should be enough.”

“fine,” he grumbles—and then he’s walking out the door.

for a second, it feels familiar watching him leave. but then you decide not to dwell on it—there are much more important matters at hand.

you turn to the two girls before crouching in front of them with a gentle smile, “who’s ready for bubbles?”

——————

nanako and mimiko have never had a bubble bath before. you decide to let them taste the first tendrils of youth by splashing in your tiny bathtub while you find suguru for some much needed answers.

he sits on your couch, shirt wrinkled and hair falling loose and blood still staining his cheek as he hunches over his legs, elbows resting on his thighs as he thinks. and thinks. and thinks and thinks and thinks.

you wonder about what—what could be plaguing his mind? a lot you’re sure, but this isn’t suguru. not the one you know, at least.

the one you knew, the voice in your mind hisses—do you really even know him at all anymore?

“so,” you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, curling your legs under yourself as you eye him from the side, “care to explain?”

“i killed them,” he mutters. you go still. “the village heads. i did it without hesitating. that’s bad, right?”

“well fuck, suguru,” you breathe, restless, “that’s certainly not good.”

“i had a reason,” he argues, “all i needed was one.”

“there’s nothing that excuses murder—”

“oh, but we can excuse locking kids in cages, is that right? why? cause they’re sorcerers? they’re not—they’re children.”

“i didn’t say that,” you rub your forehead. this is all too much. too, too much.

being a sorcerer is too much. being in front of suguru is too much.

you finish your third year with a broken heart and graduate in spring—at one point you’d hoped graduating wouldn’t change anything between you and your friends, between you and the boy you loved. everything would be the same, even if you’d leave the place that held you all together—you’d still find a way back to each other, you liked to think. but then it all changes before you can even comprehend.

haibara is dead. nanami is hardly coping. gojo is everywhere but here. shoko is in high demand. suguru is hardly present even when he’s right in front of you. nothing is the same and you don’t think it ever will be. you lose the one thing you count on being yours forever, and now, he’s right here again. but not really here—not with you so much as near you.

suguru has killed people, sitting on your couch with you while the two children he finds are bathing happily in your bathtub.

there’s some irony in that—maybe in a perfect world, suguru and you would sit on the couch, much happier than right now, though. maybe you’d be tucked under his arm and curled into his side as you both chuckle at the happy squeals in the distance. maybe in a perfect world.

but this world is cruel. too cruel, in fact. it forces children to grow up too fast during some times and lets adults continue to be children during others. it’s sickening and all too much.

but this is the world you live in. there’s not much to change in that—not much you can change. maybe sitting on the couch with suguru is what you should be grateful for, whether it’s in this world or another.

“i came here because it’s safe,” he mumbles, quieter this time, “i don’t…i didn’t trust anywhere else.”

something tells you he’s not talking about the kids. you look at him for the first time that night—really look at him. you take in the lost weight, the sunken cheekbones and the bruised under eyes from the lack of sleep. the cracked lips from being chapped and the dry hair that’s lost its normal shine.

something’s not right—you won’t be able to mend it, but you think you can keep it from getting worse.

“it is safe here,” you murmur, nodding in assurance, “but you can’t…i can’t let you do that. not again.”

“what? kill people?” he snorts in dry amusement. it’s quiet for a bit—you open your mouth a few times like you want to say something, but nothing ever comes. he finally decides to fill the silence. “i don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. people shouldn’t kill. but some people shouldn’t live.”

“i think jujutsu is supposed to save people. not everyone will deserve it, but i suppose we wouldn’t be much better than them if we used it for anything other than that,” you whisper. he looks over at you at that, peers at you deep in thought as he contemplates your words.

“that’s funny,” he chuckles, “i used to think that too.”

“what changed?”

“everything.”

“then change it some more,” you shrug, “until you think it again.” he looks at you incredulously at that, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

“you’re an idiot,” he scoffs.

“says the killer,” you scoff back. you look at him this time, in the eyes and full of conviction, full of promises you couldn’t make before but fully intend to keep now. “don’t kill anyone else and i’ll help you. with those kids, i mean.”

“you want to co parent with me?” he chuckles.

co parent—the word makes your stomach twist. even after all this time, after all the hurt and pain, suguru is easy to imagine that with. he’s easy to imagine anything in the future with, really. he’s always been perfect like that, but you’re starting to realize there’s a lot more imperfections to him than you initially thought.

but it’s okay, you think. if you didn’t stop loving him before, you certainly don’t stop now. blood on his hands or not, he’s yours—even if he doesn’t want to be.

“don’t say it like that,” you murmur softly, hugging your arms around yourself, “please.”

you let yourself be vulnerable for just a moment—not because you want to, but because he needs to know. he needs to know how unfair he’s being and how patient you are with him despite it all. you deserve that much.

“sorry,” he mutters—he has the decency to look away and drop his smile.

“you don’t kill anyone, and i’ll look for a bigger place. deal?”

“for us…all?”

“yes. just until you figure it out, i’ll help you out with them. and then you’ll responsibly use your paycheck as a full time special grade sorcerer and maybe send a few checks my way to say thanks to my good will.”

he chuckles at that, shaking his head. “i’ll repay you,” he hums, tapping his foot. he does that when he’s nervous, you still remember—you could never forget anything about him. “i…i owe you, anyway.”

it’s quiet some more. you don’t know what to say, and quite frankly, you don’t want to say anything at all. but once more, he fills the silence for you after a while.

“what if…” he starts, “what if i want to co parent with you?”

“you dumped me,” you point out, unable to hide the bitterness any longer. it cracks from your tongue through your words like honey that went dry. “remember that? cause i sure remember.”

you’re an adult now, just barely, but an adult all the same. you should handle this the mature way—but you’re still young. still hurt. still blanketed in the fresh wave of nostalgia that leaves you aching with grief.

so you let yourself be bitter. suguru can handle that much after he left you to pick up your shattered pieces.

“i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i never wanted to.”

“but you did.”

“i didn’t…you didn’t deserve to see me unstable.”

“you’re not very stable right now either,” you pinch your nose tiredly, “you killed people, suguru. but somehow you can manage to have two kids now. but not me.”

“they need me,” he defends.

“i needed you too,” your voice cracks.

you did. you needed him—and you like to think he needed you too. maybe it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, especially not when you fight curses and see their ugliness every day. but that’s the best part of having each other—having something pretty amidst the hideousness.

he left you with more ugly than you knew what to do with. it’s unfair, you think for a moment, unfair that two girls who hardly know him at all have more of him than you ever did. he’d never abandon them—that much you know for sure.

you’ve laughed with him, held him and wiped his tears and kissed him under the moon until it became the sun. you’ve seen him with his hair down and his guard lowered. you’ve seen him in every way possible but in the end, he walked away.

they’ve seen him for less than a day and somehow, he’ll be there forever. there’s something unfair about that and you hate that you’re bitter with children but the world in cruel like that.

suguru slowly inches over—it’s cautious at first, and then he fills the gap all at once. you pretend you don’t feel the way your thighs touch.

“i need you too,” he admits, voice small. there’s a small, shaky crack that eats away at your heart, trying to gnaw into the raw part. the easy to reach part. the part you shouldn’t let him see anymore. “i…i always needed you. i’m sorry.”

“we were supposed to need each other,” you sniffle.

“we do,” he slowly slumps his head onto your shoulder. you let him stay there—don’t dare move a muscle in case he pulls away. “you’re the only thing that keeps me stable. i don’t think that’s fair.”

“needing someone isn’t unfair, suguru,” you scoff.

“okay,” he grabs your hand, squeezing. for the first time, he lets it all go. lets tears slowly slip from the corners of his eyes as he slumps into your side. he cries for riko. for kuroi. for satoru and the time he lost him for a moment. for their youth. for haibara. for not being enough even when he shouldn’t have had to be. somewhere amidst all that, your arms wrap around him and he’s pulled into your chest—that familiar feeling of your fingers threading into his hair makes the world start spinning again. “i need you,” he chokes.

“okay,” you say shakily, nodding slowly as you let yourself hope, “as long as you don’t stop this time.”

he buries his face into your chest, and you kiss the crown of his head.

cruelty is an unstoppable force. your love for suguru is an immovable object. neither is going anywhere, but perhaps they can coexist.

“satoru’s gonna have a massive headache when he explains this one to the higher ups,” you snort after a while.

he laughs into your shirt, real for the first time in a long time. “i’ll buy him something sweet. should make up for it,” he hums. and then he looks up, smiles innocently as he asks, “wanna lend me some cash? i’ll pay you back when i’m a responsible handler of money.”

“you’re hopeless,” you chuckle, “but at least you’re here.”

————— BONUS —————

“okay,” satoru starts, holding his hands up in surrender as he stands before the higher ups. damn old geezers, he thinks. “so he did kill a person or two…but—”

“there is no excuse,” a voice hisses.

“he didn’t mean it,” he huffs indignantly, “it was an accident. those can happen sometimes.”

“what—”

“he’s going through a phase, okay? let him work through it, he’ll be fine.”

“that’s not—”

“i’ll let him off the hook this time,” satoru grins, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shrugs, “he’s got a family now, y’know? kids and a spouse, and they’re looking for a home. can’t take that away from them.”

“he’s not even married—”

“it’ll happen eventually,” he insists, “so let’s all just calm down, yeah? great, thanks!”

“gojo—”

“see ya!”

he walks out, flashing an obnoxious peace sign at the higher ups as they hiss at him to return as he’s walking out. that takes care of that, he thinks, as long as suguru doesn’t make his life harder and kill more people, he can handle it—you did promise him kikufuku if he does.

satoru is babygirl defender no. 1 ain’t nobody doing it like my guy 🤞🏽 he would be loyal to you while you were in jail no doubts

[chimielie]

another one of your roommate’s hookups is drinking your oat milk.

he eyes you appreciatively, his eyes tracking your legs, covered only by a low-slung pair of sleep shorts, up to where your tank top bares your shoulders and little clavicle divot. you frown at him and slam the cabinet shut so he jumps a little and sloshes coffee over the rim of his mug.

“hey,” he says, “i’m oliver.” when you don’t say anything, he continues: “i’m a friend of himari.”

you snort. friend. he still has her lipstick print on his neck. he’s still looking at you expectantly with a pair of long-lashed heterochromatic eyes so startling they’re almost beautiful, so you take pity and tell him your name.

“you’re up early. i heard you guys come in pretty late last night.”

“ah, yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish gesture, but he somehow doesn’t look shy at all. maybe because you can tell that he’s flexing as he does it. “sorry about that.”

“eh,” you shrug it off, “i was up anyway. cramming, you know.”

you were reading romance manga, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“oh, so you’re a student! i bet you could teach me some things, then.” you turn your back to sit at the kitchen island and try not to let him see you smiling at his total corniness before you sit facing him. he’s so blatant it flips the corner back to endearing. “i play pro football. i’m used to getting up early for practice.”

and to leave before my hookups wake up, you read between the lines.

“cool.” it is, actually.

you’re leaning across the island with your elbows propping you up, not noticing how focused you are on the bob of his throat as he finishes up his coffee. you flutter your lashes, eyes wide as he crosses his arms and does the same, bent at the waist so you’re almost nose to nose, bridging the countertop.

“right! so i was thinking i could give you—“

“is it supposed to look like that?” you blurt, brain momentarily overwhelmed by the minty smell of his breath and the way you can almost feel his lips against yours. he backs up slightly, more than half an inch between you now.

“what?” he has a bemused half-smile on, like he thinks he should be turned off by your bedhead and bluntness but is too intrigued to care.

“your beard. is it supposed to be shaped like that?”

he blinks.

“what is it shaped like? is it bad?” he scrubs a hand over the facial hair in question, suddenly looking so concerned you almost feel bad. it was a genuine question.

you don’t normally go for guys with beards, but he really is good-looking under all the rakishness.

“it’s not bad,” you shrug. “you look kind of like a dog. scruffy. in a good way.”

“that doesn’t sound like it’s in a good way,” he says, aggrieved. “it’s supposed to be handsome. mature.”

that rips a laugh from you. “it’s definitely not giving that.” he makes a noise that almost sounds like a sob. you wonder if all football players are this dramatic.

your roommate chooses that moment to start making waking-up noises from the room oliver left open, and he glances at you with panicky eyes. they’re almost hypnotic as his gaze darts between you and the door.

“better get going,” you laugh. “see you on the sports channel, maybe.”

he whips around, stuffing a pair of keys in his pocket and heading for the exit. he turns around with his hand on the knob, pointing at you.

“come see a game in person. i’ll tell ‘em to let the prettiest girl in for free.”

[shinig6mis]

stoner bf!touya isn’t the type to yell or shout to make a point. he doesn’t have to. the lazy smirk on his face and the way his half-lidded eyes slide over to you, then to whoever else is dumb enough to try their luck, are enough. everyone knows you’re his, no need to spell it out. and if they forget? well, touya has a way of reminding them.

he loves taking you to his favorite spots, joints that reek of weed and old vinyl records, where the lights are dim, and the air is thick with haze. you're always tucked into his side in your little dress that clings nicely to every curve, the hem barely skimming your thighs, and just enough of your chest on display to make his buddies stare a little too long. touya doesn’t mind, not really. he likes the attention you draw. it makes it all the sweeter when he throws an arm over your shoulders and leans in, murmuring something that makes you flush under his hooded gaze.

“look at you,” he drawls, his lips brushing your ear as he passes you the blunt. “so fuckin’ pretty. go on, baby, take a hit.”

you do, your lips wrapping around the edge as you inhale deeply, only to cough on the exhale. touya chuckles, low and gravelly, his hand rubbing lazy circles on your back as you double over. “easy, doll.” the words are soft enough for just you to hear, but the grin he flashes as you smack his chest is enough to make your heart skip.

and when his hand drifts lower, resting heavy on your bare thigh, squeezing just enough to make you shift closer, his friends exchange knowing looks. they know better than to say anything though. touya doesn’t share.

later, he pulls you into the grungy restroom, locking the door behind him with a flick of his wrist. “can’t wait,” he murmurs, backing you against the graffiti-covered wall. his hands are everywhere—your waist, your thighs, hiking up your dress until it’s bunched around your hips. his lips crash against yours, tasting of smoke and something faintly sweet as he drags his fingers through your slick folds.

“already so wet f'me,” he teases, his voice slurred and lazy, but the hunger in his mismatched eyes is anything but. “you’re perfect, you know that?”

he doesn’t bother to be gentle. his cock stretches you, the first thrust punching a breathless moan out of you that echoes off the tile walls. touya grips your hips, holding you steady as he pounds into you, each snap of his hips rougher than the last. your cries are loud, shameless, and he loves every second of it.

“louder,” he growls, dragging his teeth along your neck. “let ‘em hear how good i fuck you.” and you do, your voice breaking as you sob his name, clawing at his shoulders for balance.

when he finally pulls out, it’s only to watch his cum drip down your trembling thighs, his thumb smearing it into your flushed, sticky skin. “that’s a good look for you,” he mutters, fixing your dress and smoothing your hair with a smug grin that makes your cheeks burn.

and when you walk back out, your legs are shaking as you try desperately to lean heavily against him as he steers you toward the door. you can tell that everyone around you notices your swollen little lips and wobbly thighs. how could they not? touya doesn’t try to hide it either, his hand firmly on your ass as he glances back at the guys.

“gotta take my girl home. she’s had a long night.”

and when he finally gets you back to his shitty apartment, he doesn’t stop. the walls are thin, and he knows his neighbors can hear every slap of skin, every choked cry of his name. but he doesn’t care. you’re his, and tonight, he’ll make sure everyone knows it.

© 2025 shinig6mis | do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my work.

[gravedwe11er]

Mecha AU Deadlock angst? Mecha AU Deadlock angst!

Or, I saw a post mentioning that someone is gonna have to explain human lifespans to the bots, and my brain ran with it. Based on the @keferon mecha AU.

CW: Discussions of death and mortality

Human and cybertronian lifespans are such wildly disparate things. Deadlock struggles with this newfound knowledge.

Forty local stellar cycles. Maybe fifty, if he’s one of the lucky ones.

Now, even before his crash-landing on this planet, Deadlock knew enough about organics to be aware they’re generally not as long-lived as mechanical species. Comes with being so breakable all over, if he had to guess, but-

That’s barely half a fragging vorn.

Even if he gets lucky, even if, for once, Deadlock doesn’t fail at keeping the people he cares about safe, the little organic medic is going to be dead in half a vorn. ‘That’s just how things are, for humans,’ Swerve said. ‘I’m sorry,’ Swerve said.

Slag, and what about Roddy? Deadlock’s pretty sure the pilot is younger than Ratchet, but still- that gives him, how long, a vorn? Less? Even the very thought of it just feels so damn wrong. The little guy’s so bright, how could anyone with an EM field like a fucking Prime have the lifespan of--

Deadlock desperately wants to shoot something.

Instead, he drives towards Ratchet’s workshop, transforming the moment he’s out of sight and heading straight for the doc once he finds him in the garage. It’s yet another testament to the man’s caring nature that he lets himself get picked up with only token grumbling, throwing a concerned look Deadlock’s way but not pushing the matter.

The human medic has always been scarily good at reading him. In moments like these, Deadlock can’t help but be overwhelmingly grateful for it.

Hugging the man to the side of his helm, he soon feels a small, calloused hand running gently down one finial. Deadlock wants to scream. The injustice of it all making his processor spin, his spark thrumming with pain and fear and overwhelming grief. How can he bear to lose all this so soon? He’s only just found him, the first glimpse of something like peace in eons, and he can’t deal with the thought of him gone, he can’t-

Ratchet grunts in his servos, knocking loudly on one of Deadlock’s fingers, and with a jolt he realizes just how tight he’s been holding the man. Immediately, he loosens his grip, gently petting down the doc’s back in silent apology. After a moment, a warm ser- hand pats his cheek.

“Feel like telling me what’s eating you, kid?” Ratchet asks, before lightly pushing against Deadlock’s face.

Responding to the wordless request, Deadlock pulls his cupped hands away from his helm, just enough so he can look into the human medic’s opti- eyes. He scrambles for a way to express his racing thoughts, vocalizer hissing with static, before abruptly spitting out, “Are you dying?”

To his surprise, the man bursts out laughing. “Shit, where’d you get that idea?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Now, as much as I’m sure a bunch of my previous employers would love to dance on my grave, let me assure you that I’m perfectly fi-“

“But you’re not!” Deadlock almost shouts, engine growling. “He said- decay of organic components, and human lifespans are-“ his voice gets stuck in his throat, vocalizer jamming, and he offlines his optics for a moment. Tries to get his slag together, at least a little.

When he turns them on again, all the mirth has left his human’s face. The medic’s eyes are serious, a sad sort of expression on his face, and Deadlock wants to curl himself around the man and never let go.

“Right,” sighs Ratchet, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I was sort of hoping you knew about that already.”

The last flutter of hope he was harboring vanishes. “So he was right? You only live for- eighty, ninety of your years?”

“Afraid so, kid,” says the man, suddenly looking so fragile in Deadlock’s palms. “Look, I know it’s not a lot to your kind, but-“

“And there’s nothing to be done? Can’t you- figure something out?”

He’s reaching and he knows it, but the human looks so- accepting of it. Like it’s a perfectly normal thing, to barely get to live at all before your body breaks down and dies, just like that!

Ratchet shakes his head with a wry smile. “Not how that works. People have been trying, sure, but nobody ever really got anywhere. And even if we did manage to drastically expand our lifespans somehow, the psychological effects it would have… we’re just not made for that, Deadlock,” he says, patting Deadlock on the nearest finger; a ghost of a touch, but still comforting. “I, hah, appreciate your faith in me kid, but not even I can do miracles.”

“I just don’t- how the fuck can you be so alright with that?” Deadlock asks, feeling utterly miserable.

The man snorts. “What else is there to do? It’s not like worrying about it would fix anything, and I’m not going to waste my life thinking about my death.” Then the human’s gaze softens, and he stands up to be more optic-level with Deadlock. “Listen to me. I know this is a hard pill to swallow, but there’s nothing you, or anybody else, can change about it. The only thing you can do,” he says gently, reaching a hand towards Deadlock’s cheek, “is make the most of it.”

Deadlock exvents, suddenly feeling deeply tired. “Right. Right, I guess I just- gotta make it count, then,” he mutters, carefully leaning into the contact and the comfort it brings.

Ratchet smiles at him. “That’s the spirit. Have fun with Roddy- safe fun,” he quickly adds. “Take him on drives, or, hell, feel free to bum around my workshop as usual, if that’s what you want. You know I don’t mind the company, provided you behave yourself,” says the doc, his words punctuated by a mock-threatening look. “Just… try enjoy the time you have with us, okay?”

“Mkay,” he answers, voice still choked with static, before pulling the little medic to his chestplates. This close to his spark, he can read the human’s odd, tiny EM field with perfect clarity – concern, quiet affection and a deep kind of care rolls off of him in waves. Sometimes, Deadlock wishes he could tangle their fields together properly, synchronizing their frequencies in an embrace only possible for his kind, but- this is good too. More than good, really – it’s something unique to the two of them, and that makes it perfect as far as he’s concerned.

“Now, I’d really like to know which tactless bastard just dropped all this on you,” jokes Ratchet, the vibrations of the man’s voice tickling pleasantly against his plating, “so I can go brain them with a wrench for it.”

Despite himself, Deadlock snorts. “I think Swerve might be a little outside your size class, doc.”

“Oh, don’t you underestimate me, kid!” the medic grumbles, but he’s laughing too, and the return to the usual banter eases some of the weight on Deadlock’s spark.

Forty stellar cycles, maybe fifty.

He’ll make those years count.

He’ll make them be enough.

(Maybe, if he repeats it a few hundred times more, he’ll make himself believe it, too.)

[lynbels]

jake eyp for the first time (except it’s both your first times and he doesn’t know), and ends up being really really good at it

https://x.com/kinulta/status/1773321520892293383?s=46 (this is what i’m imagining it as 🫠)

down bad - sjy (m)

pairing sim jake x reader

୨ৎ synopsis: locked in a room with the one guy who swore he’d never eat pussy, you didn’t expect Jake Sim to drop to his knees—and sure as hell didn’t expect him to make you cum harder than anyone ever has. ✉️ 1879wc

tw ‼️ smut, oral sex, public teasing, enemies to lovers, alcohol mention, locked room scenario, dominance, light degradation, Jake being a bratty top, reluctant attraction, dirty talk, teasing, tension-filled buildup

💌: pls like I need him to eat me out like that so bad IM DOWN BAD

Y didn’t even want to be at the party.

Loud music, sticky floors, and drunk people you barely liked didn’t exactly scream good time. But your friends begged, guilt-tripped, and eventually bribed you with promises of free drinks and drama, so here you were—perched on the arm of an old couch in someone’s too-packed living room, sipping something way too sweet out of a red cup.

And of course, he was there.

Jake Sim. Walking contradiction. Annoying, smug, insufferable. He was the guy who rolled his eyes whenever you spoke in class, always had a snarky comeback ready, and acted like the mere sound of your voice gave him a headache. You didn’t know when the rivalry started, but it had built into something solid—something sharp. Something no one dared get in the middle of.

So when someone yelled, “Let’s play Would You Rather!” and your name got paired with his, you should’ve just walked away.

But you didn’t.

Now you were sitting side by side on the carpet, your leg brushing his every so often, and the room was buzzing with laughter and half-drunken dares. Jake’s eyes were already on you—lazy, smug, like he was waiting for you to say something stupid.

“Y/N, ask him something!” someone giggled.

You turned toward him, taking a slow sip from your drink before tilting your head. “Alright. Jake. Would you rather… give head or receive it?”

The room gasped and laughed, voices echoing in a mix of “Oh my god!” and “No way she asked that!” but you just stared at him, expression unreadable.

Jake didn’t even flinch.

He gave a small shrug, lips twitching. “Receive,” he said easily, like he’d already thought about it. “Obviously.”

You raised a brow. “Obviously?”

He smirked, leaning back on his hands. “Yeah. I’m not about to put my mouth on someone. That’s just—” he gave a mock shudder. “Nah. Not for me.”

Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. “You think going down on someone is gross?”

“Didn’t say gross,” he said, glancing around like the conversation was beneath him. “Just not interested. Why would I, when I could sit back and enjoy instead?”

Laughter rippled through the group again, but you didn’t laugh. You just looked at him—really looked at him—and smiled like you knew something he didn’t.

He noticed.

“Truth or dare, Sim?”

Jake didn’t even hesitate. “Dare.”

That smirk of his never changed—always cocky, always sure of himself. You expected something harmless. Maybe a dumb dance or a ridiculous drink combo. But the second the dare was spoken, the room shifted

“I dare you to give Y/N head.”

Everything went still for half a second. Then chaos.

People were yelling, laughing, already moving closer like they expected a show. Your eyes snapped to Jake’s face—his brows lifted in surprise, then furrowed like he misheard.

“What?” he scoffed. “No. Hell no.”

“Aww, come on,” one of the guys cackled. “Didn’t you just say you don’t do that? This is your chance to prove you’re not scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Jake snapped. “I just don’t do that. It’s gross.”

More teasing. More shouting. Someone shouted, “He’s gonna chicken out!” and someone else yelled, “LET’S LOCK ‘EM IN A ROOM!”

Before you could react, Jake was being dragged up by two of the guys. He yelled in protest, swearing under his breath, but they were already laughing, pushing him down the hallway.

“Wait—what the fuck—guys, I’m not—this is stupid—“

“Come on, Sim! Live a little!”

You didn’t even know what was happening until someone grabbed your hand and tugged you along. The next thing you knew, you were shoved into one of the bedrooms—Jake stumbling in right after you, catching himself on the edge of the bed. The door slammed shut behind you.

Click.

Locked.

You blinked. Jake spun around and banged on the door.

“Are you serious right now?!”

“Not getting out ‘til you go down on her!” one of the guys yelled through the door, howling with laughter.

You stood awkwardly by the bed, arms crossed, heart pounding. Jake ran a hand through his hair, pacing in a circle like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

“They’re insane,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “This is fucking stupid.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh even though your chest was tight with nerves. “So… you’re really that grossed out by it?”

He paused. Glanced at you.

“I just don’t see the appeal,” he said stiffly. “Why would I want to…”

His voice trailed off. His eyes dropped to your lips for half a second before darting away.

You tilted your head. “Then why do you look like you’re thinking about it?”

He flinched. “I’m not.”

But the flush creeping up his neck said otherwise.

Jake groaned, flopping down on the edge of the bed like someone had just sentenced him to death. You stayed on the other side, watching him through your lashes, both of you lit in the dim yellow glow from the hallway light that filtered under the door.

“They’re not gonna let us out,” you muttered, folding your arms. “They’re probably outside right now, listening.”

Jake didn’t respond, just stared down at the floor, brows furrowed, mouth tight. His thigh bounced—nervous energy he didn’t know where to put.

You tilted your head. “So… you’ve never gone down on anyone before?”

His head snapped up, offended. “What?”

You smirked. “That wasn’t a no.”

“I just don’t see the point of it,” he said stiffly. “It’s… weird.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Or maybe you’re just scared you wouldn’t be good at it.”

Jake scoffed, rolling his eyes—but his jaw clenched, just a little.

You pressed, voice slow and teasing. “You said you’ve never done it, right? But you still think it’s gross? Maybe you’re just intimidated.”

He glared at you like he wanted to argue, but there was hesitation behind his eyes—hesitation and curiosity. “Girls don’t expect it from me,” he muttered, quieter now. “No one’s ever asked me to.”

You blinked. “That’s… actually kind of depressing, Sim.”

He looked downright offended. “Excuse me?”

“Not even kidding,” you said with a shrug. “It’s kind of hot, you know—someone wantingto make you feel good just because. Like, no strings attached. Not every part of sex is supposed to be about getting off. Sometimes, it’s just about watching someone fall apartbecause of you.”

Your voice softened on that last part, laced with something a little darker, a little heavier—and Jake’s gaze snapped back to yours like it physically grabbed him.

You held his stare. “You’d probably be good at it.”

He scoffed again, but this time, he looked away too fast. “Sure I would.”

“No, really. You’ve got that whole perfectionist, try-hard thing going on. Bet you’d go down on someone for the first time and make them come without even knowing how you did it.”

Jake’s throat bobbed.

You saw it happen—the way his shoulders shifted, tension rising, war playing out in his head. And then, finally, he cursed under his breath and dropped to his knees in front of you.

“This is so stupid,” he muttered, not meeting your gaze. “Only doing this so they’ll open the door.”

“Right,” you said softly, pulse thudding. “Just for the dare.”

His hands hovered at the edge of your thighs before moving up, warm palms dragging along your skin as he pushed your skirt higher, revealing the soaked cotton of your underwear. He hesitated, fingers curling around the waistband, eyes flicking up to yours one last time.

You gave him a nod, breath caught in your throat.

He slid them down slowly, pausing when you shivered, then leaned in with an uncertain breath. His mouth met you gently—awkward at first, a little unsure, but then his tongue licked a slow, hesitant stripe through your folds.

You sucked in a breath.

Jake paused like he was surprised by your reaction—then did it again, firmer this time.

And again.

And again.

Until your head fell back with a whimper and your fingers knotted in his hair, grounding yourself.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—his grip on your thighs tightened, and his mouth moved lower, tongue teasing your entrance, dragging up and circling your clit, flicking slow and then fast, gauging every noise you made. He was focused. He was learning you in real-time.

Your thighs were shaking. Your moans were slipping out between clenched teeth. And Jake?

Jake groaned into you.

The vibration made your back arch, and he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His face was buried in your pussy, tongue working with practiced ease that didn’t make sense for a first time—but the way he kept adjusting, fine-tuning every motion to the way you gasped or moaned or whimpered told you the truth.

He’d never done this before.

He was just that good.

“Fuck, Jake,” you whispered, breathless, thighs tightening around his head. “What the hell…”

He pulled back for a second, lips slick and eyes dazed. “Good?”

You looked down at him, still panting. “So good.”

Something flickered in his expression—pride, maybe. Or something warmer.

Jake didn’t say a word. He dove back in.

Jake drops to his knees like it physically pains him, muttering something under his breath that you don’t quite catch—but the frustration is clear in the way his hands grip your thighs, not gentle, not soft, like he’s punishing you for putting him in this position.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he hisses, fingers sliding up under your skirt, shoving the fabric up to your waist.

You smirk, breath catching. “And yet here you are eating my pussy like a pathetic loser.”

He glares at you one last time, but there’s something unsteady behind it—like he’s already drowning and doesn’t even realize it. His hands tremble slightly as they hook around your panties and tug them down your legs, slow at first, then impatient, frustrated, like he’s angry at how wet you already are.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, eyeing the slick mess between your thighs. “You’re soaked.”

“And you haven’t even touched me properly yet,” you say, tone smug, but it ends in a gasp when he suddenly leans in and drags his tongue up your slit, slow and deliberate.

Your hips jerk. “Oh—fuck—Jake—”

He doesn’t respond. He just groans low into your pussy, and the vibrations shoot straight through you like electricity. His tongue licks another firm stripe up your folds, then circles your clit experimentally. You let out a breathy moan, and that’s all it takes—his hesitation evaporates, replaced by something darker, more determined.

His hands spread your thighs wider as he leans in closer, mouth hot and hungry, licking into you like he’s starved. His tongue dips into your entrance, swirling and fucking you shallowly before gliding back up to suck your clit into his mouth. The wet, obscene sounds echo off the walls, and your fingers tangle in his hair on instinct, anchoring yourself as your hips grind helplessly against his face.

He moans again—fucking moans—like the taste of you is addicting, and he can’t get enough. Spit and slick drip down your thighs as he eats you out like it’s his fucking job, like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else.

You gasp, hand flying to cover your mouth. “Jake—shit—you sure it’s your first time?”

He grunts, pulling back for just a second, lips glistening, chin wet. “Does it feel like it?”

“No,” you breathe, body trembling. “It feels fucking amazing.”

He flashes you a cocky grin, face flushed, eyes heavy with lust. “Then shut up and let me finish.”

And then he’s back on you, rougher now, more confident—his tongue flicking faster, lips wrapped around your clit as he sucks hard enough to make your knees buckle. You cry out, thighs trembling, body burning as the pressure builds and builds and breaks, pleasure crashing over you so violently your vision blurs.

You’re still gasping, legs shaking, when he finally pulls back, lips swollen, breathing hard. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and locked on you.

You’re wrecked. Your panties are on the floor. Your skirt’s bunched around your waist. And Jake?

Jake is staring at you like he just found his new favorite hobby.

The door creaks open and Jake steps out, lips pink and swollen, cheeks flushed, hair a fucking mess—and he walks straight into a crowd of smirking friends, waiting just outside.

“Damn, bro,” Sunghoon whistles, raising a brow. “You look like you just got your soul sucked out.”

“Or like you sucked something,” Jay adds, grinning wide. “Did she make you see God or what?”

Jake stiffens, jaw clenched, ears turning red. “Shut up.”

“Oh, he’s blushing,” Heeseung cackles, pointing at the obvious wet spot on Jake’s shirt where your slick left its mark. “Is that—bro—is that her all over your face?”

Jake wipes his mouth roughly with his sleeve, mortified. “Drop it.”

“Just admit it,” Sunoo chimes in with a dramatic gasp, “You liked it.”

Jake doesn’t say anything—he can’t. His mind’s still replaying how you sounded when you moaned his name, how you trembled under his tongue, how sweet you tasted. He wanted to hate it. He wanted to be grossed out. But now?

Now he’s painfully hard in his jeans, jaw tight, heart racing, and all he can think about is how much he wants to do it again.

He shoots a glare over his shoulder at the closed door, where you’re still inside, breathless and smug and probably laughing to yourself. And despite the teasing, despite the embarrassment, Jake feels it—deep in his gut.

He’s fucked. You’ve got him.

req prompt list here

enjoy my drabbles and wanna read longer fics? check out @shy9-29

[clandestineloki]

firefighter miguel ohara x reader (VERY NSFW)

A/N: ang sabi ko december matatapos hindi ko sinabi anong year 😇

cw: smut, creampie, rough sex, things get 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

when you first moved into your tiny home, you had gotten most of your stuff into the house by yourself

and the last thing you needed to unload from ur dad's car was your night stand so you carried it since it wasnt so heavy

only you accidentally hit the doorknob with your elbow and it flew off 😭

so you're standing there pacing nervously because you just locked yourself out of your own house LMAO DUMBASS

but to your rescue comes none other than miguel

having just returned from a minor save in his whole firefighter getup (somebody's stove caught on fire in an apartment somewhere but nothing fatal thankfully)

miguel looks to the house on his left

and suddenly believes in angels.

aren't you the cutest lil damsel in distress :}

u're pacing back nd forth and he's trying so hard not to stare at your cute lil ass in those pretty peach shorts 😙

you see him and wave, "pls help, sir!! my door- like- uh- i dont know what happened please help me i have to get this inside huhu"

who is he to say no??

he cracks his knuckles and squares up, making you blush as he grunts and flexes his muscles.

BUT YOU DONT EXPECT HIM TO BREAK DOWN UR DOOR

KICKED IT RIGHT OFF THE HINGES

and strategically kicked it too bc both the door and the hinges were intact, the screws just came off

he brushes his hair back and raises an eyebrow at your wide eyes

too shocked to contradict, you take the nightstand into ur new bedroom and come back to ur porch with a glass of lemonade for him

he thanks you, smirking when you blush and look away.

fixes your door that quickly too like wow

a handyman! maybe u can switch that up and manhandl- *GUNSHOTS*

anyways

for the next week and a half you're out on your porch with ur fat little cat mochi, working on a crochet thing, it's a hobby you recently got into since you're waiting for your cable and internet to get hooked up

and the firetruck drives by and the firetruck guys are blasting music, having a laugh

but miguel oh he always makes it a point to subtly wave at you and wink

it always leaves you flustered bc a very attractive man is giving you attention??

but what if he does it to other girls?? but if he does it to other girls why did one of the truckies ruffle miguel's hair when he caught miguel doing that??

but you just leave it at that, maybe he just wants ur attention and when he has it he'll get fed up and find some other pretty girl :((

until mochi gets the genius idea to chase a screeching squirrel up the tree right between your house and miguel's

"OH MY GOD MOCHI!!!!" you yell. "mochi, please dont move!!"

miguel just got back from a boring day at work, wearing half the firefighter getup and a grey shirt.

his definition of fun is getting to show off why his nickname is "the spider". it's because he almost never uses ladders and climbs the houses with just some rope and his bare hands.

and today was just some fire drill at a high school nearby, and he's a little pissed that nobody was listening because the mic had terrible feedback.

"MOCHI BABY OH MY GOD STAY RIGHT THERE!!"

miguel's head perks up from his phone, brows furrowing when he hears you screaming. he rushes to the 3½ ft fence between your house and his to see you running to the large tree in your backyard.

"leave em', peaches," he sighed and leaned against the fence with his arms crossed. "cats naturally land on their feet, he'll come down in a second."

"NO YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!" you turn to him, panic clear in your voice. "HE'S BLIND!!"

"oh SHIT" miguel jumps over the fence and runs over to you. "where's the bastard?!"

you gasp at him. "ONLY I GET TO CALL HIM A BASTARD!" 

"fine, where is... it?"

"up there, MOCHI PLEASE DONT MOVE!! I'LL GET YOU BABY!"

"i wouldn't do that if i w-"

before miguel can stop you, you're already climbing the tree yourself. smirking, he lifts you off the trunk and into his arms, as if you were a cat yourself.

"peaches, you might wanna leave that to me," he chuckles riiiight up against your sensitive ear. "don't want your pretty little body getting all scratched up, mm?"

you whimper.

"miguel," you mumble, "p-put me down."

you squirm against him, but he growls and holds you closer.

"oh? and what if you're just going to do it again, mm? you gonna be a bad girl?" he asks, tracing his tongue over your earlobe, making you shiver and sink into his arms.

"m-miguel, what are you-"

"y'know bebita... you're terrible at pretending you don't look at me like you wanna fuck me..."

"wh-what?!"

the way he's carrying you reminds you an awful lot of this position you saw in porn. the full nelson. the tiny girl, all flushed and pleasure-dizzy, thighs quivering as she's pounded over and over, trapped in the thick veiny arms of her man as he subjects his little fucktoy to the roughest pounding until her brain is just as liquid as the sticky sweet potent cum leaking out of her -

"oh, look," miguel whispers, snapping you out of your dirty thoughts. mochi, despite his lack of eyesight, somehow finds his way down and glares straight through the two of you as if he can actually see the lewd way you're compromised in the arms of your handsome, secretly obsessed with you neighbor.

"there he is, the little furball," he sets you down, his hand lingering on your inner thigh a second too long as he pets the snobby little cat on his head. "your poor mami can't always save ya, y'know. i think she needs me around a lot more, hm?"

he turns to your flustered figure and smirks at your wide-eyed look. "i think you owe me a thank you."

"r-right..." you mumble, scratching the back of your neck nervously, still out of it. "th-thank you..."

to your downright embarrassment, he laughs at your pathetic attempt of speaking, and corners you against the fence.

"i think i need more than just a whisper, peaches," he drawls against your ear, one hand wandering under your shorts as he grins at the way you melt with just a little teasing.

"i'm real thirsty, bebita, so why don't you be a good girl and make me something to drink?"

which leads to right now: you're avoiding eye contact with miguel as he sits on your couch, patting at his forehead with a towel.

you're also avoiding eye contact with the very prominent bulge in his cargo pants.

you hand him a glass of ice, before turning to the fridge and looking through it.

"i-i have some orange juice, water, uh, pepsi if you want-"

"water."

you gulp. "o-okay," you take the pitcher and sit down next to him, and pouring into his glass slowly, staring at his hands because you can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes.

"bebita."

you flinch as you realize you've been pouring too much. the glass is filled to the brim.

[what you don't know is that he wishes you were too]

"s-sorry..." you mumble, scooting away from him slowly. he grabs your wrist and leans into your ear.

"can't we stop dancing around each other like we don't know where this is going?" he growls.

"wait- let me put this down!" you gasp as he pulls you onto his lap roughly, the plastic pitcher in your hands slanting and getting droplets ice-cold water down your chest.

and you have no idea how much it sounds like a dirty little moan when you go, "ngh! miguel!"

before you can even blink, you find yourself pinned down on the couch, the pitcher clattering to the floor. but your heart stops as you come face-to-face with miguel's lustful expression, his dark eyes staring into yours.

"do you have any idea what i want to do to you?"

you whimper shyly, and he curses under his breath, instinctively grinding his hips up into yours, making your breath hitch at the feeling of that right up against your crotch.

"oh you're so fucking cute," he grumbles. "think i'm really gonna break you when i put it in here..."

he torturously drags his palms up and down your legs and grinning like a madman when you whine from the sensations.

"wanted to fuck you since the moment you got here," he whispers darkly, his long fingers hooking under the waistband of your shorts and underwear. "do a little housewarming n' give you a nice, big welcome all over the couch, the bed, the shower..."

his voice trails off into a breathy shit, baby as he sees your wet pussy clenching around nothin. he looks up at your doe-eyed expression and grins.

"you gotta use your voice, pretty," he teases. "as much as i like starin' at you i can't figure out what you want~"

"i want you..." you whisper. "i want you to fuck me, miguel."

and fuck you he does. he presses his lips to yours and pushes you into the meanest mating press. "dreamed about this for so long," he growled into the kiss as he pulled down his pants. "cute little thing like you got a guy like me jerking off every night--" he starts nipping at your jawline  "--ah, like a fuckin' teenager. why am i- fuck, y're so pretty- why am i so in love with you?"

he leans back to adore your flushed, needy state, and finally, finally pulls his dick out. you squeak as he rests over your bare stomach-- thick, veiny, and leaking all over you as if he can't wait a second longer.

when he pushes into you, god, the both of you feel heavenly. it takes all his strength to not plow into you like some ruthless beast. he just bites your neck, and rocks into you slowly as his thumb draws small circles on your clit, hoping to get you to adjust to his size.

it does way more than that, because within a few seconds, you're gasping and seizing under him, twitching helplessly as an orgasm washes over you, making your tight little pussy cream all over him sofucking good.

miguel's patience only lasts a few seconds after you come before his lust overrides him and he pounds you into the couch with every bit of his strength.

"miguel! miguel! oh, fuck- too much-"

you're screaming his name over and over, your walls clenching down on him as he hits the sweetest spots in you with every thrust of his hips. your nails run down his back as he fucks you like his life depends on it, and it hurts so good he can't bring himself to care about anything but you, you, you. cute, shy, innocent, cockdrunk little you.

he's addicted. and he's yours.

miguel feels himself getting close-- and knows you're getting close too, with the way your moans are getting breathier and your eyes are glossing over.

"fuck, i'm gonna fill you up so good, peaches," he groans. "cum with me, princess. make a mess for me~"

he swallows your moans of pleasure with a kiss, and fucks your through your orgasm as his tongue fucks your mouth. you whine and cry, and he spanks the side of your thigh, making you squeak and twitch under him. his thrusts get sloppy until his eyes roll back and he almost groans when he comes, thick, white cum filling you up like you're some kind of creamy pastry.

you shakily push at his chest, but he tsks at you, simply taking your wrists and pinning them to your side as he makes out sloppily, his hips moving slowly as he pushes more of his cum into you.

"take it all, peaches," he whispers hoarsely. "then i'm gonna clean it all out with my tongue~"

"miguel! that's nasty!" you whine, but he's got his mind set on it already, lifting you over his shoulder and heading to your bedroom.

he laughs, then sets you down on the bed, flipping you over with your ass sticking out. you gasp and shiver when you feel two of his thick fingers in your pussy.

"if you think that's nasty you'd faint if i told you what i wanna do with you on your kitchen counter, peaches."

[zepskies]

OVER THE BRIDGE

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Soulmate!Reader 

Summary: Your car is teetering on the edge of a rickety bridge. When Sheriff Beau Arlen arrives at the scene to help you, he realizes that for the first time in his life, he can hear his soulmate’s thoughts.

AN: Happy Beau Wednesday! And here we go—my last bingo square for @jacklesversebingo … Round 1! 😉 That’s right, I’m gearing up for a Round 2 of fun prompts! But I had to do something for Beau before I closed out this masterlist for the first round. I’ve also been wanting to do another soulmate AU, since I haven’t written one since Never Say Goodbye (Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader). I’ve never seen one for Beau Arlen, so I thought, the time is now! Lol

Jacklesverse Bingo Prompt: “I’m gonna take care of this, but until I do, I need to get you somewhere safe.”

Posted on Patreon: 4/09/2025

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags/Warnings: Survival situation, sort of meet cute lol, angst, soulmates, and romantic fluff.

JVB Masterlist || Beau Arlen Masterlist

You picked your head up slowly from the airbag. You could barely feel that side of your face.

Blood began to drip into your eye, but you managed to wipe it away. You glanced down at your hand to watch the tremble in it, curiously.

Your gaze drifted beyond it, beyond your steering wheel. A sea of wheat-like grass and beds of gravel looked ready to meet you through your windshield. The groan of metal accompanied a slight rocking of your little 2009 Toyota Corolla, back and forth. You sucked in a shaky breath and tried to hold in the urge to cough.

Your chest hurt. It was sharp and aching where your seatbelt clung tightly to your ribs.

Then, your heart fell into your stomach as you realized…

Your car was teetering on the edge of the Morelli Bridge. It was one of the few in Helena, Montana that hadn’t yet been replaced for repairs or sold for scrap, but you knew it was old. An old, old timber bridge, built in 1893…which meant you were infinitely screwed.

You braced yourself on the driver’s side door and held your breath, trying to keep the panic from rising up past the tightness in your throat. Your bruised body was otherwise paralyzed; you didn’t know what to do, or even why you were hit. But you could guess.

You glanced out your window through frizzy strands of your hair at the silver SUV that bulldozed into your back tires. The SUV had spiraled away from your car and hit a lamppost. Now the front of it was crunched like an accordion, where it was smoking on fire. Two men broke open the driver and passenger side doors open with their boots. They were dressed like ranchers in their long jackets, jeans, and Stetson hats, but when they hauled out guns along with them, your eyes widened.

What the hell’s going on?!

You heard a horde of police sirens coming closer, until their lights were half-blinding you through the back windows of your car. An unfamiliar thread of feeling laced through you then. You didn’t know exactly what it was, but it cut into your awareness, for a moment right through your fear.

Goosebumps spread across your arms. A tingling warmth enveloped you, comforted you, if just for a few seconds.

A white van striped with red was racing across the bridge along with the squad cars. Between your ringing ears, you almost thought you could hear a man’s chatter, giving orders to cut ‘em off. Form a perimeter. Like some kind of police scanner.

Tears of desperation filled your eyes.

Please. Please help me.

Beau Arlen heard the thought like it was his own, loud and clear as a bell.

His voice cut off mid-sentence as he was speaking to Jenny and into the police radio. She shot him a look—first in confusion, then in concern.

“Beau?” she prompted.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. His mouth opened to continue giving his instructions on how to round up these guys; they had already ducked behind their smoking car and were shooting at the squad cars pulling up to them. They’d been caught on the act of trying to steal a showhorse. Luckily the horse was safe and being taken to the precinct, but these dusty cowboys were on the run.

“You okay?” Jenny said. “It’s not often that you’re at a loss for words.”

Beau shot her a wry look. He opened his mouth to reply, but the voice in his mind grew even stronger. Sharper. Feminine, and desperate.

Hellooo! Can they even see I’m still alive over here? Oh, God. Please. I can’t move…

Beau blinked in confusion, but the sharp tug of fear and dread inside his chest was even harder to ignore than the thoughts in his head—thoughts that were most definitely not his own. It was the strangest sensation, like a vice-grip on his heart.

Christ, it can’t be, he thought. Here? Now? But where—

His eyes widened when he looked over and caught sight of a little blue Toyota Corolla. It was teetering on the edge of the bridge, already tipping toward the side of falling right off.

“Pull over here. Now!” Beau told Jenny.

His voice was serious and sharp enough that she did what he said without questioning. She might enjoy poking at him from time to time, but he was still the Sheriff, and after the summer they’d had solving the case of Buck Barnes and putting his wife behind bars, Jenny respected Beau. More than she ever thought she would.

She pulled her 1996 Ford Bronco over beside the Toyota. Beau had his seatbelt off before she even hit the brakes. She started to put it into Park, but he stopped her.

“You back up the squad. I’ll handle this,” he said. He opened the passenger door and climbed out.

“What?” she said incredulously. “If someone’s in there, you’re gonna need help.”

“That’s what the Fire Squad’s for,” Beau said, tossing a thumb behind him at the firetruck speeding towards the bridge. He threw Jenny’s passenger door shut and banged on it twice with an open hand, asking her without words to do what he said.

Jenny didn’t like it, but she peeled off to help the blockade of policemen trying to corral the men they were after.

Beau didn’t exactly know why his instinct was to go to the tipping car alone, but he understood it the moment he hurried over and found you through the driver’s side window. Tears streaked down your face while you sat there very still, and very terrified. Not only could he see it in your face, but he could feel it behind his ribs. It made his desire to help you even more visceral—like a gut punch that reached all the way up into his throat.

“Hey!” he called to you.

Your head whipped over to meet him, and your eyes widened in abject relief. He could feel that too, and it made him smile, even as his own heart began to trip up faster. He pulled at the car door handle.

“Sheriff Beau Arlen, ma’am. I’m gonna get you out. Don’t you worry,” he assured. “Can you unlock the door? Slowly. Try not to rock the boat, so to speak.”

You gave a jerky, minimal nod, and you reached over to press the “unlock” button. The sensor didn’t respond for the locks or the windows. Beau’s lips pressed together. No matter how he pulled at the door, it wouldn’t budge. All he had on him was his gun, a pocketknife, and a lockpick that wouldn’t do him much good here.

Damn it. Should’ve grabbed a slim jim, he thought.

Beau noticed the way you paused, your head tilting as you stared at him with wider eyes. It made him pause as well.

“Did you…did you say something?” you asked, raising your voice so you could be heard through the closed window.

Beau was about to respond when a firefighter captain approached from his right.

“Sheriff,” he greeted with a nod. The firetruck was parked near the Toyota, and there was an ambulance coming up from behind on the bridge. “Just the driver in the car?”

Beau nodded at him belatedly. “Yeah, just be real careful. It’s teetering on the edge of the bridge.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the captain said. “You might wanna step back, Sheriff.”

Beau looked back over at your tear-streaked terrified face, and he shook his head. He wasn’t about to step out of your line of sight. He wanted you to know that he was here, and he wasn’t leaving you.

“Just get this door open for me first, and we’ll get her out,” he said.

The captain took note of Beau’s firmness, and so he agreed. Two more firefighters came with Halligans and power tools to pry the door open. All the while, Beau was focused on you. He could see your growing panic when the tools whirred loudly and shook the car.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. This thing’s going to tip over and I’m going to be a fucking gravel pancake!

Hearing your thoughts again was like another dousing of cold water to his senses, but he felt compelled to get closer—as close as he could without getting in the firefighters’ way. 

It’s okay, darlin’. You’re not gonna tip over. I’m not gonna let that happen, he thought in reply. It was instinctual, but he knew that you heard him. He saw the way you gasped, even as another tear rolled down your cheek.

He was struck then by the look of you. Despite your frizzy hair and a line of blood drying down the side of your face, you were beautiful; your eyes, the shape of your face and the shade of your hair, and the way you were looking at him now, like you were crying for a whole different reason.

You…you’re…

Beau Arlen, ma’am, he answered, with his best charming smile (albeit a bit nervous). He carded a hand through his hair on reflex.

You managed to smile back, wiping your tears away. Yeah, you said that.

What’s your name then, darlin’?

You hesitated, but when you gave him your name, the roll of the letters and the sound of your voice…it all made a strange, warm tingle run down his spine. It filled him with a sensation of champagne bubbly, stirring low in his belly. His hand pressed harder against the Toyota’s hood without him realizing.

The car groaned and began to tip even more.

Shit! Beau’s eyes widened. You gasped and clung to the car seat by your nails.

“Beau!” you yelled out through the glass.

“Got it,” one of the firemen said, and he wrenched the door open.

Beau stepped in quickly and fished out his pocketknife. Flicking it open, he barely had time to meet your eyes before he tore through your seatbelt. Then he slid an arm around your back and under your knees, gathering you to his chest before he scooped you out of the car.

It was just in time for it to snap against the cables secured around the car. You wouldn’t have gone over the edge, even if Beau hadn’t grabbed you and pulled you out…but neither of you had known that.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your teary face against his chest. You were shaking. Beau nodded at the firemen in thanks and walked a few more feet away from the car. The ambulance was having a hard time getting through on the narrow bridge with all the police cars and the firetruck itself, so Beau saw no other solution but to have you kneel down on the ground with him, using the firetruck as cover.

“You’re all right. I gotcha,” he said gently.

His heart clenched at the way you clung to him, trembling. You nodded shakily, swiping stray tears from your face. When you looked up at him, he was struck silent again.

Just straight up raw beauty. His lips parted, but not a sound came out. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

“Yes, thank you,” you said. The fear faded out of your expression, melting into a smile. “For the save, and for the, um…the compliment.”

Beau blinked in confusion. Complim— Aw, shit.

You’d heard his thoughts just now. Too bad it was entirely the truth. He couldn’t help but smile too, if a bit sheepishly.

The moment shattered when a trill of gunfire sounded. A couple of bullets actually pierced the firetruck, one of them taking out a side mirror. You screamed, but Beau instinctively protected you with his body. He covered you by tucking your head to his chest and wrapping his arm around you.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said.

“But, my car—” you said, with a tremble in your voice. The firemen were still trying to pull it back onto the bridge. Beau nodded.

“I’m gonna take care of this, but until I do, I need to get you somewhere safe,” he said, cupping the back of your head. “Come on.”

He withdrew his gun and helped you to your feet. He hastened you over to the ambulance, covering your head and your body with his broad frame until he could guide you inside the vehicle. The paramedics collected you from there, but you still stopped short and turned to grab his arm.

“Wait! You’re going back there?” you asked, alarm lacing your tone.

Beau felt your worry for him, your instinct to cling to the newfound connection in your soul, the part of you that sensed its equal. It was like a warm thread thrumming strong between you, but also delicate.

Beau gave you a patient, apologetic smile. “Can’t leave my team hangin’. But don’t worry, I’ll come find you when I’m done here. So we can…”

Your eyes stared deeply into his, and somehow, he knew you were holding your breath. Beau grabbed your hand and squeezed with purpose.

“I’ll come find you,” he promised.

You were reluctant, but you eventually nodded. He was the Sheriff, you reminded yourself. Of course he had to go back. You released his hand, letting him slip away from you.

Every step he took back toward the crime scene—every step he took away from the ambulance revving up to drive away was another step that felt wrong, down to his bones. When the vehicle made its way across the bridge and eventually disappeared around the bend, the warm tendril of connection in his chest dissipated.

He didn’t come.

Not when you spent four hours in the hospital’s Emergency Department. Not when you took an Uber home, ordered takeout, and cried through the entire movie of Fools Rush In to try and make yourself feel like you were home, and not a shaken mess.

However, nothing you did made you feel as safe as you did when the Sheriff held your hand.

Beau Arlen, you reminded yourself. The name that felt branded under your skin, on your heart, the moment he locked eyes with you.

You snuggled yourself deeper into your collection of fuzzy blankets in bed. You pictured his bearded face in your mind, and that small smattering of freckles that only showed up when the firetruck’s headlights hit his face.

You remembered his strength, his little show of badassery when he cut you loose from the car. But most of all, you remembered feeling his determination and his caring. Even if he didn’t say it in words, or even in his thoughts, you knew what you’d felt from his soul connecting with yours. He wasn’t going to let you go over the bridge. 

By Wednesday afternoon, you were standing in front of your last class of the day. Helena High School was large enough that you didn’t have every junior upperclassman in your classes, but your 12th grade Honors English class had to be your favorite. The kids were sharp, and they actually paid attention and took notes when you spoke, even if it was on Wuthering Heights.

“Bye, guys. Have a good day,” you waved at them after the last bell of the day rang.

“Bye, Miss!” the last few of them called back.

So polite, you smiled. That was also what you liked about the honors class. The last girl was struggling to pack everything up into her backpack. A book fell off her desk and tumbled to the floor. She looked up at you sheepishly, strands of her light brown hair slipping out of the ponytail and into her honey brown eyes.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I got it,” you said, and you slipped between the rows of desks to help her. John Grisham. Interesting…

“Legal thrillers, huh?” you noted. “Not your typical reading for a seventeen-year-old, but I dig it.”

Internally you wanted to slap your own forehead. Did people even say dig it anymore?

Emily didn’t seem to mind. She just laughed.

“I know. I’m just not that into…you know, sexy vampires, and sexy werewolves, and…sexy fairies.”

Your brows rose of their own accord. “Sexy fairies?”

She nodded, with a blushing smile. “Yeah. But um, anyway, my dad’s on his way, so I’ve got to get out front.”

“Oh, I’ll go with you,” you said. “It’s my turn to supervise student pickup with Mr. Harrison.”

You leave your classroom with Emily and head down the hall with thoughts other than lesson plans running through your head.

I can’t believe that man. You couldn’t keep the frown from crossing your face. Three days, and the Sheriff couldn’t be bothered to keep his promise? What, he couldn’t get my information from the paramedics? The hospital? My damn police report?

You’d gone to the Lewis & Clark Police Department the very next day after the incident to file it, but the Sheriff hadn’t been in his office. You’d asked a Deputy there, a pretty blonde woman, and she’d told you that he was on a case.

“Do you want to leave a message?” she’d asked, when she noticed you hesitating to leave.

“No,” you’d replied. “No, it’s okay. Thank you though.”

You sighed. It was kind of sad, really. You were an English teacher who couldn’t write a simple note…even if it was to your actual soulmate.

“Are you okay, Miss?” Emily asked, breaking you out of your reverie. You gave her a smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just thinking about everything I have to do before tomorrow’s class,” you lied. In fact, you lied through your teeth.

You two made your way outside the building and to the pickup and drop off area. You monitored most of the kids getting picked up, but Emily sat on one of the benches with her headphones in while she continued reading her John Grisham book. You smiled at the sight. It was nice to see kids reading of their own free will.

But you became a little concerned as the hour ticked by.

Geez, where’s her father?

You didn’t know much about her family, but you did remember that her parents were divorced. Her private attorney mother went to the PTA meetings whenever she could, outside of her busy schedule. Come to think of it, you supposed you knew where the interest in legal thrillers came from.

And suddenly, it hit you.

Emily Arlen…Arlen.

You gasped out loud, remembering the pair of green eyes that stared into yours so intensely, and the light brown hair that matched his daughter’s.

"Sheriff Beau Arlen, ma'am."

You jolted out of your thoughts when a red truck pulled into the pick-up zone and stopped at the curb. The man at the wheel honked twice, grinning at his daughter through the rolled down window. Your mouth fell open in soft shock.

“Finally,” Emily muttered, but she smiled when she looked up at her dad. She took out her headphones and stuffed her book into her backpack so she could go over to his truck.

She glanced at you as she passed by, about to tell you goodbye. Noting the spaced-out look on your face, she frowned and stopped short.

“Hey, aaaare you okay?”

It was the second time she was asking, but this time, you couldn’t lie to her. Because her dad followed her line of vision and finally found you standing there. His eyes went wide as well.

He quickly parked the car where it stood. He climbed out, and when he came around the hood toward you and Emily, his foot almost missed the curb and made him stumble.

You broke your frozen limbs out of the proverbial ice and reached out a hand, even though you weren’t even close enough to help. You held your other hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

Beau righted himself, clearing his throat. Then he took measured steps over to you and his daughter. The cut of his beard, short brown hair that swept over his dark brows, and kind green eyes…he looked exactly the same, if with a different jacket. This one was beige and suede. It matched well with his blue jeans and boots. His shiny gold-on-leather badge hung on his belt.

“Hey, there,” he said, with a short wave.

Your smile grew. “Good afternoon, Sheriff.”

He smiled too, setting his hand on Emily’s shoulder.

“Dad, this is my English teacher,” she said.

Beau’s brows raised high. “Really. Small world.” His eyes were set on you, and they didn’t leave your face. You bit the inside of your lip as your face began to heat up in a blush.

Emily gave him a confused look. “What?”

Blinking, as if coming back to himself, he patted her back.

“Ah, you know what, I actually want to ask your teacher something. Mind waiting for me in the car?” he said. “Just don’t blast the music too loud, kay kiddo?”

Emily gave him a slightly suspicious look, but she did as he asked, waving goodbye to you. You waved back as she went over to the car. It left you with her father.

Beau swept his fingers through his hair. He was a bit nervous, and you were now picking up on it as the connection between you two flared to life. You felt it deep and warm and thrumming in your chest. At least you weren’t alone in your nerves.

“Looks like you’re doing well. I’m real glad for that,” he said.

You nodded. “I am, thanks to you.”

He smiled at that. It was genuine at first, before it turned rueful.

“I uh…I owe you an apology though,” he said.

“That’s a good place to start,” you replied, though you softened it with a somewhat playful gleam to your smile.

He chuckled, and it pulled at the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. Somehow, you thought it just made his smile all the more charming.

Then, he seemed to pause. His lips tugged harder at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, me and my charming smile are most definitely sorry,” he said.

Your face fell. Shit. Did he hear that?

Oh, he most definitely did. His grin kicked up into a smirk.

You covered your mouth when a snort bubbled up, your face flaring with a hot blush.

“So we’re basically human lie detectors now. Great. Just…great,” you said, giggling a little.

Beau’s amusement soon faded. “Look, I can’t excuse myself. First I just…I thought you might want some space after what happened. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Then…well, maybe I just started second-guessing, letting myself get busy. I had no idea you were Em’s teacher.”

Your head tilted as you considered him. After a moment, you softened with a sigh.

“She’s a good kid. Really smart too,” you said, taking a cautious step closer to him. “Think I know where she gets that from.”

Beau snorted. “Definitely from her mother.” But he drew closer to you too, with a meaningful look. “Who I’m civilly divorced from.”

“I know,” you nodded, “but thanks for that footnote.”

He was a bit hesitant, but he reached out and grasped your hand. You took in a deep breath through your nose at the shiver that ran up your spine. That feeling was different, like the burn of smokey, rich whiskey filling your chest. Your heart leapt as you looked up at his face.

Safe. That was the feeling.

“Do you think I might be able to take you out for dinner tomorrow?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t want to go too fast for you, but considering our situation—”

“Beau,” you stopped him with a gentle hand over his. “You literally saved me from falling off a bridge, not to mention a hailstorm of bullets.” You smiled up at him more brightly. “I already know what kind of guy you are. You also happen to be my soulmate. I think I would very much love to have dinner with you.”

When your words finally registered, Beau’s shoulders loosened in relief. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he glanced back and realized that Emily was still waiting in the front seat of his car and watching you two curiously.

Beau sighed. He knew he was in for a full spotlight interrogation on the way home, but he fished out his phone and texted you his number. Somehow he had it without asking for it first…

“So, can I call you later?” he asked, with another one of those smiles that set your insides fluttering.

“Ah, so you did get my cell number off my police report. And still you couldn’t manage to call me?” you teased.

Beau chuckled, ducking his head in embarrassment. Was he even starting to blush?

“Well, you got me there. I really am sorry, darlin’. I just—”

You reached out for him this time, squeezing a hand over his wrist.

“It’s okay, really,” you said. “You’re here now. Let’s just…figure out what this can be.”

Beau peeled his gaze from your hand and looked back into your eyes. He had to smile. If he let himself, he could feel you. Your relief, your good humor, and your hope. It all felt sweet as pie to him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do that.”

Despite lingering insecurities and the remnants of past mistakes threatening to dampen the moment in his mind, he had just one thing winning out above them all.

I’ve got a feeling this is gonna be good, he thought.

He hoped you could hear it.

AN: Bridgerton fans who have also seen Queen Charlotte will get one of those little references in there. 😘

I have a couple of ideas on how to continue this, so if you guys want to see at least a Part 2, let me know! 💜

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[starkeysbunny]

the kook's girl [rafe cameron]

pairing - rafe cameron x kook reader

summary - being the only girl in the kook friend group, you were always taken care of. especially since you and rafe started dating four months ago. safe to say, everyone on the island knew not to mess with you if they valued their life at all. so, when the tourons came to town in the summer, the kook boys always got their bit of fun.

warnings - swearing, fighting, just our fav protective!rafe

"Sarah, it's our song!" She slurred, grabbing onto her best friend's hand, pulling her onto the dance floor.

Rafe and Sarah are never on good terms, but Rafe knows no matter how much he hates his sister, she'll always be his girl's best friend. He's grateful for it sometimes, as annoying as it can be, it's just one more person who cares about her and is always looking out for her when Rafe can't be.

But tonight, as both kook girls are drunk off their asses, Rafe keeps a close eye. He spots John B doing the same from across the club as he sits next to Kiara, still keeping a close eye on his girl, Sarah.

Rafe sits in a booth at the club, nursing a glass of whiskey in his palm. Topper and Kelce sit next to him, talking about things he could not care less about at the moment. For example, the girls on the dance floor they want to take home, golf, etc.

No, Rafe's attention is solely on the girl who lights up the dance floor in her sparkly pink dress which Rafe bought for her just three days prior. Her gold necklace with the letter 'R' hanging from her neck shines brightly as the club lights hit it. Her baby pink kitten heels travel her elegantly across the floor as her arm remains tightly latched onto Sarah's as they dance in tune.

He barely even notices the slight smile etched onto his lips in affection as he takes a slow sip from his glass.

"Yo!"

Rafe's attention is abruptly moved from his girl to his dumbass friends as Topper pulls on his white half-way unbuttoned shirt.

"What?" Rafe spits, rolling his eyes at their antics.

"Tourons, 12 o'clock." Topper warns.

"What the fuck? I think they're looking at Y/n and Sarah, man." Kelce points out, suddenly sitting up straighter as they both snap out of their previous conversations to keep an eye on the situation.

This catches his attention as he clocks the three sun burnt tourists waltzing in wearing khaki shorts, polos, and flip flops. Idiots. He notices one of them point in Y/n's direction as the other's snicker, laughing as they spoke to each other.

Rafe’s eyes dart back to Y/n, oblivious as ever, in her own little world.

"I've almost been waiting to pick a fight," He confesses. "Just wait till they get too close."

The three morons make their way in the direction of Y/n. One particular guy, wearing a blue tropical button up, comes up behind Y/n, tapping her shoulder. Rafe is just close enough to overhear the conversation.

“Hey, I’m Ethan,” he smirks, hungry eyes looking her up and down.

She turns around, her smile slightly fading at his stare. “Um, hi.” She spins back around, grabbing onto Sarah.

“You two are pretty little things, out here by yourselves.” He chuckles, his hand moving to her shoulder.

“You gonna go out there man?” Topper asks, getting anxious for the girls.

“No, just wait. I want a real excuse to kill em’.” Rafe responds, his fists clenching.

Ethan’s grimy hands near Y/n’s neck, his index finger latching onto her gold ‘R’ necklace. “What’s your name, hm? R…?”

“You’re gonna regret that,” Y/n whispers, her eyes meeting Rafe.

Rafe stands, marching over to Ethan. Rafe’s fist latches onto the back of his collar, pulling him back as Y/n’s necklace slips from his grasp. Rafe turns him around, knocking a punch to his jaw, blood spurting from his lips onto Rafe’s face.

Rafe lets go aggressively, the boy falling to the ground forcefully. Rafe smirks, his ringed hand coming up to wipe Ethan’s blood from his jaw. “The ‘R’ stands for Rafe. Her boyfriend.” He states before knocking one more punch to the boy’s cheek.

“I-I’m sorry,” He pathetically whimpers, begging for mercy.

“She clearly had zero fucking interest in you, yet you continued,” He chuckles. Rafe leans down, pulling Ethan’s neck up by his collar. “You better hope your flight out of here is tomorrow morning. If not, watch your back man.”

Topper and Kelce come into view, peering at the man below Rafe, only inciting more fear into the poor tourist. Ethan’s two friends quickly pull him up, scattering out of the club as fast as they can.

Rafe turns to Y/n, his demeanor immediately turning soft, a side of himself only she gets to see. “You okay, baby?” He asks, his eyes scanning over her face for any discomfort.

“I’m okay, just some asshole tourist.” She rolls her eyes, manicured fingers grasping onto her necklace.

His eyes flick down to her hand, she only fidgets with her necklace when she’s uncomfortable or nervous. He feels more rage and anger boil up inside him thinking about how that guy ruined her night of fun with Sarah.

“Wanna go home, baby?” Rafe whispers softly, fingers pushing her hair behind her ears.

She bites her lip in debate, turning toward her friend Sarah. Sarah nods her head, “It’s okay, I’m gonna have John B take me back to his place too, it’s getting late anyway.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s go home. I’ll text you Sarah, we can hang out tomorrow, yeah?” Y/n feels guilty, her and Sarah haven’t gotten to spend as much time together ever since she started dating John B and hanging out with his friends more.

Y/n had nothing against the pogues, she thought the rivalry was stupid and childish. She actually found them quite nice, but she spends every minute with her best friends, Rafe, Topper, and Kelce.

Rafe slings his arm around her shoulder after giving his goodbyes to Topper and Kelce, walking you to his truck. He opens the door for you without a word, buckling you in and shutting the door.

When he gets in on his side, starting the truck, he looks over at his girl at her sad eyes. “What’s wrong, angel?”

She sniffles, “I just miss Sarah. Wanted to hang out with her tonight but those guys ruined it.”

Rafe’s hand slips around her thigh, patting it lovingly. “I know, hon. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure Sarah gets her ass off the cut tomorrow to hang out with you, okay?”

She smiles, her hand finding comfort atop Rafe’s. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.