#just without the dorky charm

[ivarismaybecrazy]

what the fuck did they do to maruki

why is his hair GELLED. NASTY. go back to the messy cute hairstyle oh my god my poor guy

[sunsburns]

clark kent and those damn glasses (18+)

one of the most endearing things about clark is his glasses. and it’s not just the frames themselves—it’s the way he wears them.

they’re charmingly imperfect, a little too big for his face (funny since he’s already so huge), the wide frames sitting just slightly askew over his eyes. they’re always slipping down his nose when he’s focused on work, and you adore the way he absentmindedly pushes them up with his finger.

it’s such a dorky gesture, pressing his pointer finger to the bridge and nudging them back into place, sometimes scrunching his nose without even realizing it.

his glasses are rarely ever straight. they always seem just a little crooked, as if they have a mind of their own. you find it endlessly charming, especially when he’s flustered, rushing to adjust them in the middle of a conversation.

and the way his glasses fog up? it’s honestly the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. in the winter, it happens all the time, especially when he’s bundled up in one of those thick scarves his mom knitted for him. he doesn’t just wear them; he practically swaddles himself in them, wrapping them up so high they cover half his face, his chin tucked snugly inside.

and it wasn’t like he needed them, that man never really gets cold.

but when the cold air meets the warmth of his breath trapped behind the scarf, his glasses fog over completely.

and he doesn’t even notice right away.

“oh,” he’ll mumble, sheepish, pulling the scarf down just enough to blow warm air into his hands or wipe the lenses with his sleeve. and you can’t help but stare, heart melting a little more at how utterly unassuming he is.

but the best part is when they fog up because of you. when you kiss him—really kiss him—the lenses go misty, blurring the edges of his face until all you can focus on is how soft his lips feel against yours.

you tease him about it sometimes—“superman can’t even keep his glasses clean?”—but the way his ears turn red when you say it makes you kiss him again, and again, and again. and every time, he’s the same—pink-cheeked, slightly embarrassed, and completely perfect. sometimes he won’t even bother cleaning them, his hands sliding back to your waist, pulling you closer, because really, all he wants to see is you.

all he wants to feel is you.

clark kisses like the end of the world is coming. his lips are parted, hands everywhere—gripping your waist, cradling your face, sliding down your back as if trying to memorize the shape of you. his mouth slots against yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless. and when his knee nudges between your legs, he waits—waits for that gasp, that little sigh you can’t hold back—before slipping his tongue into your mouth to taste more of you, to pull you even closer.

and then there’s the glasses. sometimes, more often than not, you’re the one reaching for them, fingers brushing over his temples, trying to fix them on his face when they’ve slid down his nose. he’s too caught up in you to notice or care, but you can’t help yourself. it starts as a simple gesture—your hands reaching for his face, for his hair, for anything you can anchor yourself to. you nudge the glasses back into place, only to watch them fog up again as he groans against your mouth, his breath hot and heavy between kisses.

and sometimes, clark forgets to take them off when things get messy. one kiss turns into another, and another, until clothes are being pushed aside, his hands roaming, touching, claiming. his lips trail lower, over your jaw, your throat, your stomach, until he’s kneeling before you, arms wrapped tight around your thighs, his mouth hot and relentless against your cunt.

his glasses are still there, perched on his nose, slightly crooked but somehow still clinging on. the lenses catch the faintest glint of light, fogged over from his breath, smudged from the mess he’s making of you. his tongue drags through your folds with deliberate precision, teasing and tasting, and when his nose nudges your clit, you jolt, a whimper spilling from your lips.

“oh, baby,” you gasp, voice shaky and half-laughing when he moans at the sound of you calling him ‘baby’. the vibration travels through you, making your thighs tremble in his grip. his free hand slides up the outside of your leg, fingers splaying over your skin before grabbing a handful of your ass. he uses the grip to rock you against his mouth, his tongue dipping into you again and again, insistent and unrelenting. every movement, every touch, feels deliberate—he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s determined to ruin you.

his glasses slip further down his nose, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause to fix them. his focus is entirely on you, on the way you’re gasping and squirming, your hands tangling in his hair, your hips bucking against his face. the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on you fill the air, and you’re half-delirious with pleasure, your body trembling as he pushes you higher and higher.

it’s only when you’re shaking, your thighs trembling around his head, that he finally pulls back. his face is flushed, his lips shiny and swollen, and those damn glasses—crooked, foggy, and smudged—still cling to his nose. he grins at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before finally pulling the glasses off and tossing them aside.

he rolls his eyes at your sad whine once they’re gone.

you’ve always liked his glasses for some reason.

[songbirdseung]

𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻 / 𝑺𝑰𝑴 𝑱𝑨𝑬𝒀𝑼𝑵

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝? 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

Jake was used to the attention. It came with the whole student body president territory. Being reliable, charming in an unintentional way, and, unfortunately for you, a magnet for every girl who thought they had a chance.

And you got it. Really, you did. He had that perfect balance; smart, responsible, but also just dorky enough to be endearing. The round glasses that framed his warm brown eyes, the way he’d push them up with his index finger when he was deep in concentration, the slightly disheveled hair from running his hands through it one too many times. It was a look, and apparently, it worked.

But no one knew Jake like you did.

None of those girls saw the way he rambled about sci-fi theories when he got too excited, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses as he excitedly talked about intergalactic civilizations and paradoxes. They didn’t know about the little quirks he had, like how he absentmindedly tapped his pen against his desk when deep in thought, or how he always had to have a cup of iced coffee when he studied, even at night. They certainly didn’t know about the late-night conversations where he let his guard down, where he stopped being the golden boy everyone admired and instead became just Jake... your Jake, the one who buried his face in your shoulder after a long day, mumbling about how he didn’t ask to be this responsible.

Most importantly, none of them had the right to look at him the way they did.

Which is exactly why you were here now, sitting next to him on his dorm bed, watching him type away on his laptop, glasses slipping down his nose as he muttered under his breath about an upcoming school event. His focus was unwavering, fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced ease.

You, however, were growing impatient.

"Jake," you called, waiting for him to look at you.

He didn’t. "Mhm?"

You sighed, shifting closer. "Jake."

Still, no reaction. His brows furrowed slightly, clearly too engrossed in whatever he was working on to pay you any mind.

That wouldn’t do.

Without another word, you moved, straddling his lap and successfully pulling his attention away as his hands immediately froze over his keyboard.

"Y-Y/N?" His voice cracked slightly, and it made you smirk.

"Hi," you greeted innocently, fingers trailing up his shoulders to play with the collar of his sweater, your touch feather-light yet intentional.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands hesitating before finding a tentative place on your hips. "W-What are you—"

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below his ear, your voice dropping to a whisper. "You know, Jake… I’ve been thinking."

"A-About what?" His breath hitched, his fingers tightening their grip on your waist.

You hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, feeling the way he tensed beneath you. "About how everyone keeps thinking you're available."

Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his grip on you tightening even further. "I—I mean, I can’t exactly control how people think."

You hummed in response, but you weren’t really listening anymore. Instead, you focused on the way his skin felt under your lips, on the way his breathing turned uneven as you sucked lightly on the delicate spot just beneath his jaw. You made sure to take your time, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle, your fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as you continued your work.

"Y-Y/N—" His voice was strained, his body going rigid beneath you.

But you didn’t stop, not until you were sure that the mark you left was deep and noticeable, blooming across his fair skin like a brand. Satisfied, you finally pulled back to admire your work. A pretty, flushed bruise that was going to be impossible to hide.

Jake was still catching his breath, dazed and flustered beyond belief. His fingers dug into your sides slightly, as if grounding himself, his lips parted as he tried to process what had just happened.

"Now," you whispered, leaning in again, this time to press a soft kiss to his jaw, your tone dripping with satisfaction. "Let’s see if they still think you’re up for grabs."

It took him a second to fully comprehend what you had just done, but when he did, something shifted. His dazed expression morphed into something else, something darker, something more mischievous. His warm brown eyes, once filled with innocent shock, now burned with something deeper, something more knowing.

"Oh?" he murmured, his hands sliding up your back in a slow, deliberate motion. "So that’s how we’re playing, huh?"

Before you could react, he moved—flipping you over so that you were beneath him now, his face inches from yours as his weight pinned you down against the mattress. The air between you shifted, the teasing atmosphere giving way to something much more charged.

"Well, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice lower now, smoother, as he trailed a single finger down the side of your jaw. "I think it’s only fair I return the favor."

[northopalshore]

Juno in the

Ascendant persona chart

Juno (3) here tells you what people think of your partner, but also how they view your relationship. It's your partner & relationship from the outside looking in. Unlike the MC persona chart though, this is more "real" i.e the non-grandiose version of your life.

୨୧ Please do not repost without consent ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔฅ🔉

☆ Juno Masterlist | Main Masterlist

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

☾ Aries (°1,°13,°25) | 1st House

People view them as someone rather child like or at times childish. It's not an insult don't worry, it's just that they seem so youthful and energetic regardless of their age. They view your partner as someone energetic, charismatic and resilient, but also have a bit of a class clown or dorkiness to them. They are also quite attractive in the eyes of other people; eye-catching, and bold. They may also seem like a heartthrob to others as well. Youd relationship will seem just as fun & energetic as your partner is.

Example: Zendaya & Lisa Marie Presley have this placement, both Tom Holland & Michael Jackson have this sort of energetic, almost childlike energy to them.

☾ Taurus (°2,°14,°26) | 2nd House

Your partner is very kind and approachable to the eyes of those around you. People will say that your partner is very goofy, but still careful and attentive to those around them. They have this sweetness & groundedness to them that people will like. They are relaxed and may be taking the "back seat" when it comes to you doing things in public together i.e they may appear more relaxed than you. People may think you have an easygoing relationship (but you may be seen as lazy in some cases).

☾ Gemini (°3,°15,°27) | 3rd House

People will see your partner as a very talkative and silly person, but also someone extremely smart and multifunctional if that makes sense. Your partner may be a social butterfly and easily mix in with those around you . They could be seen as the one doing a lot of work in the relationship depending on other placements. People may always see you with each other as well or think of the other when they're talking about you or your partner. Your relationship will seem somewhat all over the place, or both of you may seem quite busy together. It might seem a little "messy" too depending on other placements.

☾ Cancer (°4,°16,°28) | 4th House

People will see your partner as a shy, innocent and almost fragile being. Someone with a genuinely kind heart and appearance. They may think they look or seem very young and childlike; pure. They may seem very feminine or motherly even if they are a man. Very sweet and caring; someone that should be protected at all costs lmao. People think that your relationship is strong and endearing, and that you are very supportive of each other. There is this relatable aspect to your relationship that people find easy to connect to.

☾ Leo (°5,°17,°29) | 5th House

People see your person as someone beautiful, inspirational and someone to look up to. They exude a friendly but infatuating charm. Someone with a lust for life and a funny/ entertaining quality to them. People will think that your spouse is attractive and may be quite flirtatious or artistic (like they may burst out singing a Disney or theater song sometimes). They are very friendly to others and people usually find your dynamic very entertaining, romantic and extra.

☾ Virgo (°6,°18) | 6th House

People see your partner as someone very reliable, down to earth and practical. They may seem like a neat freak or always seem put together. They may come off as quite nerdy and reserved. People think that they are smart and very hardworking, but also fussy and critical sometimes. People tend to be critical of your relationship. Virgo here is also one of those "inseparable duo" placements; people will usually always see you together and always think of the other when discuss either one of you.

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*

☾ Libra (°7,°19) | 7th House

People see your partner as devilishly charming. Someone who is incredibly romantic & attractive but also smart and cunning at the same time. Tactical but approachable. Hrs & Hrs by Muni Long keeps playing in my head when I think of this placement. You may be very physical with them, people will think you just look good together. People will think that they are well mannered and attractive. Your relationship will also be an "ideal" one in the eyes of those around you. They just know that you both work well off each other.

☾ Scorpio (°8,°20) | 8th House

People may view your partner as a bit of a negative Nancy, or like .. a shy chill guy in the corner of the room with either their hands crossed or in their pockets. They may think your partner comes off a little too serious or intense at times. They could come off rather sketchy as well, or people may just assume that from their appearance. They may seem reclusive or uptight to some as well, (and maybe scary to some lol). They are also seen as someone very tactical and know exactly what they want and how to get it. People will say that your relationship is quite private or you don't share much about that aspect of your life.

☾ Sagittarius (°9,°21) | 9th House

There is this larger than life quality to your person. People will think that they are chill, funny, wise and also reliable. They also come off as someone enthusiastic, open-minded, and witty. People will say that your partner has an infectious energy that draws others to them. Others will think that your relationship is healthy, a little bit wild and free spirited but both of you are always down to do whatever. You could be the "smart" couple that people look to when things start to go south or when others need some sort of reassurance. You two seem to have it all figured out.

☾ Capricorn (°10,°22) | 10th House

People see your partner as a very practical ,stable, loyal but stern individual. They may seem quite closed off or overly rational at times. People think they are extremely trustworthy and capable. People may look up to your partner, admire them for their personality or their work. This can also give your partner a somewhat cold look to them when you are in public or around other people, your partner may choose to keep to themselves or be the one looking over everyone else for example. They may have a "talk to me only when necessary" aura to them lol. People see your relationship as something stable and long lasting but also somewhat traditional.

Ex: Beyoncé has Juno in Capricorn °9 Sagittarius in the 10th house. I think of Jay-Z as the chill & funny big baller lol. (Updated birth time).

☾ Aquarius (°11,°23) | 11th House

People see your partner as someone very sociable, smart and influential. They likely are very innovative in some way shape or from that others can see and go " They sure are amazing". I've noticed that Juno here also gives a popularity boost to the partner & relationship. To others, your spouse is very creative and have a special drive to them. Your relationship is very friendly in their eyes, but it also can have a better than yours type of feel i.e people may think that you are very different from the usual type of relationship that they see.

Ex: Jay-Z has Juno (23° Aquarius) in Taurus in the 9th house.

My father has Juno in Scorpio (°1 Aries) in the 11th house. My mom is a very friendly person and also has this youthfulness to her; young at heart. She's quite talkative too but she's also a doer/planner/a leader especially in social situations.

☾ Pisces (°12,°24) | 12th House

Your partner is seen as a prince or princess. Someone dreamy, polite and sentimental. People will see that they radiate a very delicate aura which can either come from their personality, their facial structure or their personal aesthetics. The knight in shining armor, or the damsel in distress. People will think they are very kind and precious, someone with a good heart. They may look like they are always in some sort of fantasy world of their own. Your relationship will seem like a dream come true. Many people will find your relationship almost too good to be true or may strive to find a relationship like yours. Though they may also have some assumptions about your relationship as well.

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*

Thank you for reading;

@northopalshore

@northopalshore Juno asteroid 2025 all rights reserved. Disclaimer

[miumura]

BE MY LUCKY SEVEN STRIKE! 𖦏 H.TAESAN !

THE CHARM BEHIND IT ALL ◟ ⟡ with even the amount of times you seem to show “disinterest,” that doesn’t stop taesan from trying to be with the one he considers as his “lucky one”.

LUCKY ONES ( 🍀 ) skater ! taesan x fem ! reader ───

(MIS)PLUCKED CLOVERS ╱ fluff ∿ use of petnames, reader kind of plays hard to get, taesan is confident/cocky (?) but he simply just has a massive crush 🫠

REACH YOUR DESTINATION WITHIN ｡ ｡ 2.4K+ WORDS !

─── MESSAGE FROM LUCKY CLOVER ◟ ⟡ hihi this is a taesan fic dedicated to @htaesan , my gongfourz half 🤍🍀 simply because i’m lucky to have her in my life ( lucky charmz in action !! ) . . and for lili — i may or may not have went through one of your blogs and gathered inspo through your reblogs… i’ll make better fics for you soon ♡♡

❛❛ 💬 ❞ 𝗦𝗢𝗣𝗛 > 𓂃 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗖𝗞 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗕𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗙 ⋮ 🪽

Taesan didn’t spare a single second—once he saw the clock hit 6 P.M., he was immediately out of the door. He barely managed to grab all of his belongings, let alone spray that favorite cologne of his–the one he swore he could never leave without. None of that really mattered though.

There was only one thing on his mind.

The wheels of his skateboard hit the pavement as he hopped on, quickly weaving through the streets. With the speed that he was going at, if anyone had seen him, they’d know instantly–Taesan definitely wanted to be somewhere.

Now, what was he that eager for?

His wheels immediately screeched against the floor, signaling his abrupt stop, his gaze looking at the entrance of the large building ahead. The crowd of people spilling out could have been overwhelming, but with Taesan, none of that seemed to faze him.

His eyes scanned the crowd for only a second before landing on you. It was almost too easy to spot you—your bag slung casually over your shoulder, your head turning from side to side as though you were searching for something.

Or maybe…someone.

There you were—the very person who made his heart pound harder than his feet hitting against the pavement. The one that made him rush out of his house without a second thought.

His pretty girl—well, at least, not yet.

The corners of his lips twitched into a smile as he stood there, watching you from a distance for a moment longer than he probably should have. Something about you had just enough to distract him.

But when you turned to walk away, Taesan snapped out of his trance, immediately pushing off to catch up. The familiar sound of his skateboard’s wheels rolling against the pavement filled the air, and he couldn’t help but grin, knowing you’d recognize it instantly. After all, it had practically become a daily routine for you to hear that sound whenever he was around.

“In a rush, today?” Taesan finally broke the silence, his voice light as he effortlessly glided beside you. He couldn’t help but notice you subconsciously picking up your pace after hearing the skateboard.

“Maybe,” you replied curtly, throwing him a sideways glance, eyes fixated on the street and the street only.

Taesan couldn’t help but chuckle. This was practically routine for him by now—leaving his house just to see and greet you, while you did everything in your power to ignore him. Yet somehow, your attempts to brush him off only made it harder for him to stay away.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it was the way you tried so hard to keep your walls up, only for them to crack ever so slightly, that made you so utterly distracting to him.

Not that he would complain, though.

Before you could get too far, Taesan hopped off his skateboard effortlessly, soon tucking it under his arm as he jogged a few steps ahead. In one swift move, now ahead of you–or in fact, right in front of you, which forces you to come to a sudden halt.

“Hey,” he said, his dorky grin on full display, his free hand giving you a small wave while the other kept his skateboard secured in one arm.

“Are you seriously doing this again?” you blinked, clearly unimpressed.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to walk home with me every single time,” you deadpanned, your eyes slightly narrowing at the sight of the guy’s grin never faltering from his face. “Do you have nothing else better to do?”

He shrugged, the spark in his eyes seemingly getting brighter. “Other than the skating competitions and skate hangouts I have with my friends, nothing is better than this.”

With nothing to say, you simply walked around him, continuing on with your path. It didn’t take long for him to be right back where he was as you heard the faint footsteps behind you.

There he was, catching up again, as persistent as ever.

“And those two things still can’t beat walking with you,” he added smoothly, finishing what he was supposed to say before he could let his words slip out of your mind.

You scoffed at his remark, shaking your head in disbelief. The audacity. Yet somehow, the tiniest smile tugged at the corner of your lips, though you made sure to keep it hidden from him.

Taesan let out an audible laugh, the sound light and carefree, clearly pleased with himself for earning a reaction. He slid right back into his place beside you, matching your pace effortlessly, as if walking together was the most natural thing in the world.

It was quiet for a few seconds–emphasis on the word–few–since Taesan couldn’t wait any longer and started to open his mouth again.

“Need me to carry your bag for you?” he asked, his voice light and teasing, just like the expression on his face. It was the same playful look he always wore whenever you two walked—though the walk back home together wasn’t exactly by your choice.

You shifted your gaze to him, eyebrows furrowed. He’d caught you off guard, as usual. While it was true you’d brought home more paperwork than usual, it was nothing you couldn’t manage.

“I am capable of carrying it myself,” you shot back, gripping the strap of your bag tighter as if to prove your point.

“I know you can, but I just want to,” he replied, his voice softer now. When you looked at him again, his face wasn’t teasing this time—it was warm, genuine, and entirely disarming.

Your mind stuttered at the change. That look… It was rare. At least, it seemed rare to you, given how hard you tried not to meet his eyes these days. But now you couldn’t help but wonder: just how many times had he looked at you like that before?

You were mentally cursing yourself–both for having your thoughts stray off, but also remaining silent on the other end. After all, why were you thinking so heavily about this?

It’s not like it mattered, you reasoned. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to care. But, why did your chest feel tight all of a sudden? Why couldn’t you shake that look from your mind?

“So—pretty girl—can I help you carry that?” Taesan asked once more, breaking you out of your train of thought. There was that look again–the way his eyes grew slightly wider but softer, and the usual smirk turning into a normal expression, but it still carried so much weight.

You hesitated, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag for just a second longer. Then, with a faint sigh, you gave in, slowly slipping the strap off your shoulder and holding the bag out to him. “Don’t complain if your shoulder starts hurting,” you muttered. “And stop calling me that.”

Taesan took the bag with ease, adjusting it onto his shoulder before flashing another grin—this one bigger, showing a hint of teeth. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, even as your own focus remained fixed on the road ahead.

He couldn’t help but find your stubbornness endearing. What might come off as irritating to someone else only made him more drawn to you.

After all, things were only fun with you.

Sure, Taesan had experienced plenty of thrilling moments before—winning first place in a skating competition, nailing a trick he’d practiced for weeks, or hearing his friends cheer him on. But none of those feelings came close to this.

Being with you was something else entirely. It wasn’t loud or wild; it wasn’t the rush of adrenaline he was used to. It was softer, quieter. The determination he felt when skating still lingered, but now it was different. It didn’t come with pressure or nerves—it transformed into something calmer, something that let him breathe freely.

Taesan always felt comforted whenever he was around you. No matter how many times you brushed off his attempts to ask you out or tried to ignore his presence, he couldn’t shake the feeling that, deep down, you felt the same way he did. Although he could be reckless, there are moments where his eyes lingered more attentively on you. He notices the way how your signature scowl softens the longer he was around, or the way your flustered reactions betrayed the walls you worked so hard to keep up.

With that alone, those small glimpses of signs were enough to keep him going.

If he could put it into words, he’d call you a clover–four leafed one at that. Meeting you felt like fate to him; he considered himself impossibly lucky to have crossed paths with you.

Ever since you entered his life, things ended up falling right into place. It’s like how people search for four-leaf clovers, having the desire to hold onto them forever; Taesan felt the same way about you. In his mind, you weren’t just someone he liked–you were truly his lucky charm.

So, if he were to be compared to those who hope and search to find these rare clovers, he would be just as focused on being able to have you in his life. His determination only showed that he wanted to hold on to this, to you.

Silence had stretched between you both, but it didn’t seem to bother Taesan in the slightest. For Taesan, he has always been involved in lively environments and movement; he found a sense of calmness in these moments with you.

“Will you stop staring at me like that?” You say after peeking at Taesan through your peripheral vision, feeling as if the silence was almost a little too much. You always expected him to say something, so any silence that was longer than five minutes was almost unbearing.

"Are you paying attention to me now?" Taesan teased, his voice a little too pleased with himself.

"Huh… as if," you muttered, doing your best to ignore him.

Taesan smirked, dragging out his words just enough to make the tension build. "I don’t know, it seems like you’ve been a lot more interested in me lately."

“Was your ego always this high?” you turned to raise your eyebrow at him, trying to maintain an indifferent tone in your voice.

“Maybe only around you it is,” he admitted with a grin, earning another scoff from your lips. Your footsteps, once perfectly in sync with his, came to a halt, the quiet sound of your steps now the only thing breaking the silence.

You turned around to face Taesan, your expression etched with confusion—or at least, that's what you wanted it to seem like.

"So, speaking of which," he started, his grin unfaltering as he closed the distance between you, "pretty girl, will you finally give me a chance?"

“A chance for?” you questioned, although knowing exactly where this was going.

“For us—you know, for me to ask you the very question you hate.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

“It’s not my fault that you act like you do,” he countered, his teasing tone shining through.

For once, you didn’t throw a scowl his way. Instead, you let out a small chuckle, crossing your arms as you tilted your head slightly. "Alright, then. Tell me."

“What?” Taesan’s eyes dilated slightly, his usual confidence wavering as he carefully gauged the sudden shift in your demeanor.

“Tell me the question I hate.”

“Do you want to…” His voice carried a hint of hesitation, making him wonder if this was even a right moment to ask you this–he had never felt like this before. His lips felt almost parched, leading him to press his lips together before he continued, “go out with me?”

“If I go out with you,” you trailed off, making Taesan’s curious eyes wander on your lips. “What’s in it for me?”

Taesan froze for a moment, the quick-witted remarks he usually had at the ready slipping from his mind one by one. His mouth opened, but all that came out was a soft, uncertain, "Um." Everything felt new to him.

He had never gotten too far with his confession before.

"Do you even know where you’d take me for our first date?" you teased, chuckling lightly as you stared at Taesan’s fidgety figure. You could see the way his grip on his skateboard tightened as his eyes almost carried a far-off, blank look–like his mind was racing but still empty.

If Taesan had to be honest, his brain had fixated entirely on two words from your question: first date. Were you actually considering it?

Wait, no—scratch that. He had to think back to your question.

Did he even know where he wanted to take you?

He was there, almost frozen, his brain malfunctioning. His mouth was parted, almost like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out of his mouth.

That was when you took the chance to grab the bag strap off his shoulder, sliding it back on yours with ease.

“Have a proper plan next time,” you said, replicating the same smile he’d been giving you the past few weeks, giving him a tap on his shoulder. “and maybe I’ll have an answer you’d want by then.”

You continued to walk your way home as if nothing had happened, leaving him standing there, completely dumbfounded. For a moment, Taesan didn’t move. His stunned expression lingered as your words echoed in his head, but it didn’t last long.

You knew he would’ve been right behind you again, talking your ear off again.

And that’s exactly what he did.

His disbelief would soon melt into a grin—an extremely wide one this time—before he jogged after you to catch up.

You didn’t turn to look at him, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to suppress as his voice filled the air again. His usual stories about his day—filled with compliments that always seemed to flow in the (one-sided) conversation effortlessly—were becoming longer. His energy radiated a cheerful feeling, as if the world around him had suddenly grown brighter and lighter with every word he spoke.

Taesan didn’t mind your silence–he usually never did. However, hearing what seemed like an answer–at least to him–only fueled his determination even more.

He wanted to turn your exasperated sighs and annoyed glares into soft smiles and loving eyes. He wasn’t naive enough to think it would happen simply overnight, but Taesan had always thrived on challenges.

With this challenge, he also knew one thing for sure: he’d get his lucky clover soon.

‘💬’ ─── tws songs are too good …. and ohh to be considered as someone’s lucky clover 🍀

BND PERM TAGLIST ( OPEN ) — @juyeoz @j4d @itsactuallylina @rizzwoos

[puma-riki]

Clear Crystal Roses ⭑.ᐟ

𝓷ishimura 𝓻iki x 𝓻eader fluff ~ skinship ~ kissing ~ est. relationship ~ not proofread

𝒮ynopsis ~ bf! riki with an s/o who wears glasses. thats it. thats the post. send tweet

ℒ illy's note ~ have this draft while I, again, work on the next no one noticed update. Can you tell I didn't know how to end this drabble LMAO

────────────────── .✦

Ni-ki is absolutely in love with your glasses

like you give him so much cuteness aggression and teasing material

He thinks they make you look extra cute, and he never shuts up about it in the most teasing, yet affectionate way.

He likes pushing them up for you but in the most unnecessary dramatic way. If they slip down your nose, he'll use one exaggerated finger to push them back up for you. Sometimes he'll boop your nose after too.

When you're making him feel particularly soft, he'll gently push them back up by the corner, and caress the side of your face or a strand of your hair.

He's definitely the type to steal them to put them on and then ask you how you see in them and then hold up a hand and ask how many fingers he's holding up. I'm sorry.

He gets a kick out of seeing you rush after him to get them back. The way you huff and get annoyed and have to pry on his arm to even be able to reach the hand he has them in.

After he's had his fun he'll give them back, "You look better in them anyway"

AHHHHHHHHBKSAHSKJD$%%WQ&

He also likes reaching behind your ears where the arms of your glasses sit and pushing them up and down so they'll move up and down on your face. You don't understand why but it makes him giggle so you just let him.

He also complains when you don't have them on. He thinks they make you look extra you, and he adores how they add to your charm. It's not that he thinks you look bad without them, he just prefers you with them. They're such a staple in his mind that seeing you without them feels almost wrong— like something is missing.

So he is the #1 contact hater and when you step out of the bathroom while he's waiting just outside the door, asking if you're ready to leave and you come out without your glasses, he literally gasps

"Where are your glasses? Did you leave them on the nightstand? I'll go grab them." He's already turning on his heel, ready to retrieve them like its an emergency.

You manage to catch him by the arm before he disappears. "Riki, I'm wearing contacts. It's fine"

He stops, eyes flicking to yours, registering the difference. And then, the smallest, most genuine pout forms on his lips. "Oh."

There's something so disappointing in that tiny syllable. You blink up at him, suddenly feeling self-conscious, reaching your hand up so your fingers rest just below your lower eye lid. "Do I look bad with contacts in?"

His head snaps up. "No! Of course not!" His words come out so fast, so earnest, that you almost laugh. "And I'm not saying you shouldn't do what makes you feel comfortable or confident..." His voice trails off and you can tell he wants to say more. "But?" You urge, hands clasping around one of his.

"But... you should wear your glasses... for like... ever. And never take them off becauseyoulooksoprettyinthem." His voice drops a little at the end, like he's admitting something embarrassing, but his gaze is steady— completely sincere. While you just stare at him, unsure how to respond, he exhales dramatically, flopping against the door frame.

"I just like them. They make you look really cute and dorky, and I can't imagine you without them." He gives you a look, like you're personally inconveniencing him by not wearing them. Then, just as you're about to open your mouth to tell him how stupid he is— "Wait. Can you even see me properly right now? Do contacts even work as well as glasses?"

You roll your eyes and swat at his arm. "Yes, dummy. I can see just fine"

If you're not entirely convinced that he doesn't think you look bad without your glasses, well you've got another thing coming

because there's been a time or two he's absolutely hated your glasses.

Ni-ki's trying to focus on kissing you, but your glasses are making it damn near impossible.

The frames keep digging into his cheek, pressing uncomfortably between both of you, and every time he tilts his head to get closer they dig in more. He ignores it at first, too caught up in the way your lips are moving against his, in the way you have a fist full of the fabric of his hoodie like you need him just as badly as he needs you.

But then you pull away abruptly with a sharp hiss when he pushes just a bit too hard, and the bridge of your glasses dig into your own face.

He mutters a quick apology before he brings his hand up to the side of your face and carefully, but without hesitation, curls his fingers around the corner of the frames and pushes them up, settling them on top of your head, where they're finally out of the way.

His eyes flicker over your face now that nothings blocking the view, and something about it makes his stomach flip. He exhales softly, hands sliding down to cup your jaw as he murmurs, "You're so pretty."

And before you can even process the warmth in his voice, he's kissing you again— hungrier, deeper— like he's making up for lost time.

Jesus, I NEED HIM SO BAD

Moving on....

Whenever you say something dorky or correct him, he will always put a finger up in the air and repeat what you said in the most obnoxious voice he can muster.

Yeah, he thinks it's peak comedy.

You give him a deadpan look every time, and he'll ruffle your hair or kiss your cheek to make up for it.

He also points out anything that has glasses and immediately associates it with you.

like this teddy bear has glasses? that's so you! There's an edited picture of some animal with glasses on his phone? That's literally you and he's sending it to you to let you know.

He also hates that one movie cliche where the love interest takes off the female MC's glasses to show her that she's "pretty"

and when a character gets a make-over/glow-up and they take away their glasses

like he cannot express how irritated it makes him.

anytime it shows up in a movie, whether you're there or not, he's rolling his eyes, arms crossed, already muttering under his breath before the scene even finishes.

"Oh, wow," he deadpans, voice dripping with sarcasm. "She took her glasses off, and now she's pretty? Crazy." he's already turning towards you to complain further.

"Do people even actually think like this? Like, does anyone actually believe that glasses make someone less pretty?"

"Maybe you just like glasses too much." He shakes his head, arms flailing in exasperation. "No, it's just dumb! They always act like wearing glasses is like some kind of curse, like, 'Oh no I can't see too well! Now I'll be ugly forever!"

And god forbid some guy in a movie takes off a girl's glasses to tell her she's beautiful. Ni-ki will literally pause the movie/show, Jaw slack with disbelief.

"What the fuck? Why did he have to take them off to see she was pretty? They were just sitting there on her face! She was already pretty!"

He actually gets heated about it. Genuinely offended

He watches you laugh at his mini-meltdown over a silly cliche that only exists in movies. Ni-ki just really likes your glasses. Of course, he thinks you're pretty with them, and without. They're a big part of who you are, even if you don't think much of the frames that sit on your face every day.

────────────────── .✦

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧!)ᯓ★

Taglist | @jiiyen @yangjungwonnie @amoressb @chrrific @stvrriki @hyukabean ...loading

[bvrnesher]

Hey!! I just stalked all of your jason grace fics and omg they’re all so wonderful!! I was wondering if i cohld request some headcanons for jason grace and a daughter of hades/pluto? sfw and nfsw if you’re comfortable? if not don’t even worry i will take whatever you feel comfortable with writing cause i love how you characterize him in your fics/headcannons! thank you so so much and no rush 🫶

❝ Jason x Hades child ! ❞ ― jason grace !

tap here for chb masterlist ! here for reqs info

summary: jason grace x child of hades/pluto (both sfw and nsfw) ! dating/sex

— ✦ pairing: jason grace ! hades/pluto reader.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ SFW ㅤ

Jason is intrigued before he’s even in love. You’re not loud or flashy, but something about you lingers—like the moment after a thunderstorm, like silence that means something. He notices the way people pause around you. The way you hold space. The way your gaze is quiet, not cold. And he wants to know more.

You make him feel safe without even trying. It’s not that you’re overly nurturing or soft—it’s that your presence is anchoring. When Jason’s mind spirals—when he’s overwhelmed by expectations or the weight of his title—you’re the one who grounds him. One sentence from you, one glance, and it’s like the storm settles.

He’s the sunshine. You’re the shelter. He’s warm and golden and kind, always smiling for everyone else. But you? You don’t need him to perform. You’re the one person he doesn’t have to be "okay" around. You don’t demand vulnerability—you just make space for it. And that changes everything.

You’re both more alike than people assume. People expect you to be cold, just like they expect him to be perfect. But Jason has his quiet edges, his pressure points, his cracks—and you have your dry humor, your loyalty, your love for the little things (grave flowers, quiet walks, warm drinks). You get each other.

Jason notices every soft thing about you. The way you hum when you're distracted. How your lips curve in this barely-there smile when you’re amused. The careful way you close doors. You’re the daughter of death—but to Jason, you’re life in every small, specific way.

He’s a little in awe of your power—but not afraid of it. You could summon ghosts, split the earth, send nightmares running—but Jason sees the way you carry that strength like it’s a responsibility, not a weapon. He respects it. He respects you. That quiet reverence runs deep.

You have a secret soft spot for his dorky charm. When he smiles too wide, when he gets flustered and rambles, when he brings you flowers he clearly picked in a panic before meeting you—it melts you. You act unbothered, but your heart’s doing somersaults.

You’re very still. He’s always in motion. So sometimes, he lays his head in your lap just to be near your calm. You run your fingers through his hair while he talks through battle plans or childhood memories or nothing at all. And when he falls asleep there? You let him. Every time.

You balance his guilt. Jason carries so much of it—failed missions, fallen friends, mistakes he blames himself for. You don’t try to “fix” it—you just sit with it. A quiet, comforting presence beside him. And slowly, with you, the weight gets a little lighter.

Dates with you are simple—but unforgettable. Stargazing on rooftops. Reading together in the library. Sharing silent walks through the forest or the Underworld garden you tend. No noise, no pressure—just two souls finding comfort in each other’s company.

When he’s with you, Jason feels known. Not as a hero, not as a son of Jupiter, not as a leader—but as himself. You see through all the layers. And the fact that you stay, that you choose him—not for who he’s supposed to be, but who he really is—that means more than he could ever say.

Your first kiss doesn’t come after a battle—it comes after a quiet moment. Maybe you’re sitting by the fire after curfew, sharing warm drinks, just existing in that soft silence the two of you fall into so easily. Jason’s telling you something real—not dramatic, just personal—and he turns to look at you like he always does: steady, gentle. And something in you just clicks. You lean in. He meets you halfway. The kiss is slow, careful, like neither of you want to startle the moment. When you pull back, he smiles—really smiles. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

The first time he sees you laugh—really laugh—he falls a little harder. You rarely show that full, open emotion. So when something catches you off guard and you laugh so hard you have to cover your mouth, Jason just stares, stunned and totally in love. You tease him for it. He denies it. But later, when you're alone, he admits, “That sound could raise the dead.”

He’s fiercely protective—but never possessive. Jason is used to being the shield, the sword, the protector. But you? You’re capable. Powerful. So his protectiveness shows up in other ways: bringing you tea when you forget to eat, brushing snow from your shoulders after a quest, standing quietly beside you when someone’s trying to intimidate you—just being there without taking your agency away.

You wear his hoodie. He wears your ring. You love the way his oversized Camp Half-Blood sweatshirt smells like cedar and ozone. He never takes off the obsidian ring you gave him—even if it’s lowkey enchanted to keep spirits away. “You just want me safe,” he says, rolling it on his finger. “That’s enough for me.”

You two are the definition of the 'silent understanding' couple. You’ll catch each other’s eyes across a crowded camp event and know exactly what the other is thinking. Jason’s the only one who can read your “I’m overstimulated and need to leave” look; you’re the only one who can spot his “I need help but won’t ask” face. One raised brow from you, one tiny nod from him—that’s all it takes.

He gets along surprisingly well with your Underworld aesthetic. Jason didn’t think he’d be into bone rings and black lace until he saw them on you. Now? He’s helping you shop. “This one’s cute,” he says, holding up something dark and dramatic with zero shame. You arch an eyebrow. “Cute, huh?” “Terrifying. But cute.”

You kiss like it’s sacred. Not in a performative way—in an intentional way. Your hands on his face, his arms around your waist, his body leaning into yours like this is the only thing that matters right now. And when he murmurs your name between kisses? You melt. Every. Time.

He introduces you as “his favorite person.” It makes you blink. No dramatic “girlfriend,” no title-dropping “daughter of Pluto,” no possessive “mine.” Just: “This is my favorite person.” You tease him about it for weeks. You love him for it forever.

He has dreams about you before he admits he loves you. They’re always small: you sitting beside him, reaching for his hand, pulling him into warmth. When he wakes up, heart pounding, he knows. The next day, you’re sitting beside him like nothing’s changed. He says, quiet and breathless, “I think I’m in love with you.” And you just smile, like you’ve been waiting for him to catch up.

You show affection through actions—he shows it through words. You fix his armor. You brush hair from his face when he’s resting. You carry an extra water bottle just in case he forgets. Meanwhile, Jason is out here calling you “gorgeous” and “love” like it’s your name. He’ll hold your hand in public without thinking. Whisper soft affirmations when you’re lying together, half-asleep. “You make me feel like I can finally breathe.”

Your relationship is built on earnest trust. You let him see the parts of you that feel too heavy for anyone else. The darkness. The fear. The grief. And Jason? He listens. He stays. He doesn’t try to fix it—just holds your hand and says, “I’m right here."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ꪆ ✦ 𑊁 ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

— ୨ৎㅤ˳ NSFW

He shouldn’t want you this much—and that makes it worse. You’re power wrapped in darkness. Ancient blood in your veins. The very opposite of everything he was trained to worship. And yet? Every time you touch him, every time you look at him like you could drag his soul to the Underworld… he gets harder than he’s ever been.

Jason is such a service sub and he doesn’t even realize it. He’ll start with his usual confidence—pressing you to the wall, whispering that he wants to take care of you—but the second you grab his jaw, tilt his chin up, and say “On your knees, storm boy,” he obeys like it’s instinct. Lightning cracks in the distance. His pupils blow wide. His knees hit the ground. How could he ever deny you something like that?

Your aura turns him on. The cold that follows you. The faint scent of cypress and pomegranate. The way your eyes glow like the River Styx when you get possessive. He acts unaffected—straight back, tight jaw, ever the soldier—but when you touch him? His breath hitches, and his cock twitches like it knows what's about to happen.

He lives to worship you. Slow kisses on your thighs. Hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to keep from floating away. He’ll eat you out like it’s sacred—eyes closed, lips soft, moaning into you like your pleasure is prayer.

He gets rough when you let him lose control. You tug his hair, whisper “Show me what that Roman training taught you,” and suddenly he snaps. He pins your wrists above your head, growling “I’ll give you everything.” And he does—thrusts punishing, kisses bruising, your name a mantra on his tongue.

He’s got a hand kink. Your rings. Your long, cold fingers wrapping around his throat. The way your thumb brushes his bottom lip before you push it into his mouth and say “Suck.” Jason whines. You find his hand in yours after the fight, during missions, before bed—and you know: this boy is yours.

Aftercare is holy. Jason craves your softness after the chaos. Your lips at his temple. Your hand on his chest, grounding him. He needs to feel your power in quiet ways—your arms around him while his body still trembles, your voice calling him baby like it’s the only thing that matters. His world narrows to you, every time.

He has recurring dreams about you in full god-mode. Crown of bone. Voice like velvet death. A trail of spirits at your heels as you beckon him to kneel. He wakes up panting, cock straining against his shorts, and the next time he sees you, he can’t meet your eyes—because, aww, he's too flustered for that.

He lets you mark him. Teeth at his neck. Fingernails down his back. A faint bite over his heart.

Jason adores the power struggle. One second he’s slamming you onto the bed with lightning crackling in his fingers—and the next, he’s begging beneath you, your hand in his hair, your voice a promise: “You’ll never leave me, will you?” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Never. I’m yours.”

You don’t overpower—you unnerve. There’s something about the way you watch him when he’s talking, or the way your hand drifts low on his back when you’re alone. It’s not forceful—it’s the slow, creeping certainty that you want him, that you’ll take your time getting there, and that when you do? He’ll be wrecked.

You make Jason work for it—but not in a teasing way. You’ll kiss him until he’s breathless, pull away, and just look at him like you’re not done yet—but he has to ask. And gods, he does. A soft “please” against your throat, his fingers tightening on your hips, his forehead pressed to yours while he breathes out, “I need you.”

You don’t need to be loud to be in control—you guide. Tilt his chin up with two fingers. Slide onto his lap with slow, deliberate confidence. Say “Stay still.” Not because you’re demanding it—because he wants to. And when he whimpers, when he bucks his hips despite himself? You just smirk and whisper, “I said still, baby.”

You like making him flustered. Not humiliated—just undone. You pull him close, mouth at his ear, and say the filthiest things in your softest voice. Tell him how good he makes you feel. How hard he is for you. How pretty he looks when he’s this desperate. He hides his face in your neck and moans like he’s praying.

You match his intensity—not with force, but focus. Eye contact that doesn’t break. Movements that are deliberate and intimate. Sex that feels like a shared language—one where you both speak in touch and tension and want. He’s used to being in control. With you? He surrenders because he chooses to.

You don’t shy away from mess, from need. You kiss him through the whines. Grip his hands when he grabs at you. You ride the moments when he’s too overwhelmed to think. And when he looks up at you with dazed, wide eyes like you’ve ruined him? You just say, “You can give me one more.” And he does.

[queenendless]

*°◇■¤ SHAPE OF YOU ¤■◇°*

A/n: Yeah the same English VA voiced all these dudes, and his B-Day is TODAY!

Tbh though, I wanna take a break from this one sided infatuated hellhole I dug myself into and write for other series again, that aren't dubbed with him in it. The irony of me saying that when I wrote this of all things. I ❤️ that madman though. Ah, the mess of a crush!

Pairing: Adult! Makoto, Anos, Jiji, Mash, Nagumo, Mikey, Lighter, Jinwoo, Ryoji X Fem!Adult!Reader.

CW: SPOILERS FOR ALL THE FANDOMS INVOLVED SO BE PREPARED.

Characters aged up 21+. Isekaied reader. All shows coexist in this anime world AU.

SFW and NSFW CONTENT INVOLVED. Kinda headcanons/daily life with the various tagged dudes, mushy fluffy romance with eventual brief short smut. Voice kink, lovesick/lovestruck reader, reverse harem vibes.

Getting reborn in a world choked full of anime characters would be any weeb’s greatest dream. Your inner wish finally gets granted, at last!

So many cameos, easter eggs, references serving the overstimulation you craved.

Urban dystopia, cyberpunk, fantasy, and even classic and modern day Japan structures this conglomeration that is the capital of this anime city in this anime world.

In one way or another, you yourself seek out such dashing men that all had their unique quirks and styles straight out of the gate. Even in this new life they still hold a place in your heart.

Unlike most leads in reverse harem stories, you wanted to embrace this fantasy. Your lovesick self literally gave off such an intense lovestruck aura as is. You crave that kind of affection and attention, in this life as the last.

Someway, somehow, it worked.

Your bois … them dudes … ah what a lineup.

Mash, the magicless exercise buff, secretly likes you watching him doing weight lifts with one hand and eating cream puffs with the other. While workouts with him are more casual, he still appreciates you wanting to bond over it, inspiring him to do his push ups and sit ups with you kissing him when his face gets close enough as his motivation and reward. That and sharing slash feeding each other cream puffs together whenever you get the chance.

“You don't have to dote on me so much. Even without magic, I will use all of my strength to keep you safe. And bake cream puffs for you every day. I'll dote on you all to show you just how much you mean to me.”

Jiji, the goofy quirky red-head that he is, despite the Evil Eye yokai of hatred using him as its vessel, slowly but surely wormed his way into your heart. The stupid jokes paired with those face expressions laced with the boundless energy he has despite the hell he's been through grew on you over time until his beaming smile got you turning to mush. Being able to wind down and relax when he started gaining control over his alternate self, taking naps with you got you being the big spoon for this cutie. Cuddles are inevitable.

“Your laugh is infectious. Getting you to smile is my daily goal. It really does make my day. Gets me smiling every single time. I never want this feeling to end. So let's have more bright filled days ahead together, Y/n~”

Lighter, the red scarfed honor bound Champion, rightfully won your heart with his protective romantic dorky self. Meeting each other through your shared friends that are legendary Proxies, you become entangled in each other's lives. Giving you rides on his motorbike went from convenient transport to enjoying the scenic drive together. Sharing some Nitro Fuel together as he quipped out some dorky puns all to make you smile. You keep him grounded in return. Kissing every single scar his past left him with, being able to let down his walls and be open with you, it all means so much.

“You can count on me to get the job done. Whatever it is, whenever you need me, I'm there. I'll fight for you until my dying breath. Hey now, don't cry. I'm not going anywhere. Not for a long time.”

Anos, the misfit that is the Demon King of Tyranny, exudes natural charm and strength that is indeed OP. Building bridges, ending divides, bringing everyone united in a new age for his descendants. So of course the strapping reincarnated man bewitched you as well. Sure he has his own group of comrades on the side – a harem in a sense from others perspective – but from his self awareness, you have an actual harem. He was amused, intrigued even, that you would see him as another potential mate, so he humored you. His parents were more than welcoming to meet a bride he wouldn't mind marrying one day. You're just that interesting to him.

“Did you really think that just because I was part of your little court, that I would be outdone by my competition? I'll be as savage as well as benevolent to my rivals. Why am I going along with it? Well … I'm enthralled by you, my lovely human.”

Nagumo, one of the strongest assassins there is, would deem crossing paths with you during a mission not as a coincidence but as fate. He felt light as a feather, walking on air, as he made small talk with you after finishing his tasks for the day, that elated smile that came with blood stains. The fact that you reciprocate his assassin lifestyle had the arrow of love striking him true, mirroring Sakamoto's reason for leaving the Order all to be with his own special someone. Introducing you to said former comrade at his convenience store came soon after.

“Getting close to me will put you at risk, no doubt. And I barely have time to see you as it is due to my job. But I'll gladly kill anyone that dares harm a hair on your pretty little head. I really like you, after all.”

Mikey, the leader of his own biker group, can be quite the handful. Being overprotective about keeping his family safe, blood bound and found, you were no exception. He'd do anything for you, day or night. He is as loyal as he is a kid at heart. He wears his heart on his sleeve in your honest opinion. Giving him PDA really lifts his spirits; loved fill squeezing hugs, smooching him senseless, and being a shoulder to cry on for those tough days.

“Oi. I'm grateful to you. Ya know that, right? When this city sees delinquents in a better light through the Tokyo Manji Gang, my brother's dream will finally become a reality. And I hope you'll be by my side when that happens. I can't imagine anything else worthwhile.”

Jinwoo, an E-rank hunter reawakened to become the next Shadow Monarch took the world and beyond by storm, sweeping all off their feet. Slaying magic beasts all around you to show off his growing strength and speed. Saving those that are genuinely worth it helped balance the OP aura he gave, winning your heart in his favor. Seeing his former self in you brought out his overprotectiveness, aiding in winning him over in turn. This Ruler rather carry you princess style himself than his shadow generals.

“We've both been at the bottom. But while I've been fortunate to have agency and power to lead a better life, you haven't been so lucky. If you wouldn't mind, I want to look after you. I … I care about you. Very much. I want to be there for you like you have been for me.”

Ryoji, the Appraiser of Nyx herself, could not believe it himself. He was back together with his friends, making new memories with this second chance. And he had you to thank for that. The anomaly that is many worlds meshing together to create this one has you literally radiating at its core, having him hone in on you. You're an angel in his eyes. Hence, serenading on the piano for you, affectionately swaying you over with his wise words about embracing life to the fullest, and wrapping his scarf around you for you both to share. You got Death wrapped around your finger.

“I didn't expect to be in the presence of an angel, yet here you are. Knowing you had a hand in making all this possible, allow me to thank you personally. Beneath this moon, beside this sea, will you share one dance with me?”

Makoto, the savior literally tied to Death itself, willingly gave up his life to save his world from the literal end. In this alternate life, he too had been given another chance to live a long life. And like his close friend, he gets drawn to your presence. But unlike the former, you're the affectionate one. Petting him, sharing headphones in exchange for letting him rest against you, even looking unto his big blue eyes had him blushing and ducking his head in embarrassment. This silent loner boi is not immune to your smitteness.

“You're strange. Putting yourself out there … because you like me? Sorry. I've had admirers before, but I've never wanted to ruin those friendships. So why …? Maybe Ryoji was right. You're like a kindred soul to us … to me. We've all died yet came back. All to meet one another. I've dealt with stranger things … but I don't mind. You, that is. I mean it.”

While they were all different, the similarities when it comes to their bond with you are all there.

Shaking their warm calloused hands, no other kind of handshake could ever hope to top it.

Those marvelous eyes fascinate you.

Their modest encouragement sends your heart ablaze.

The many things they do to make each day easier, comfy, worthwhile.

Their fingers rubbing sensually along your cranium down to your tense neck. Massaging the rest of your stressed sore body followed suit. Of course they'd flex for you as you return the kind act, giving their lean builds love bites and smooches in the process.

Your drained hum of thanks reaches their ears as you use their lap as your pillow. They would do the same if they're too drained to go to bed or they need your presence to cheer them up for whatever reason.

Their hand brushes through your hair strands, pushing them aside to trail along your flushed cheek, causing it to darken further because it's their touch.

Many times you fall asleep against them, whether leaning into their side or using their lap as a pillow, it always ends with them rearranging yourselves to sleep on the couch together with you on top on them or they carry you to bed and keeps you in their arms still as you cuddle amid la la land.

Their laughter, whether deep or light, is a musical score you cherish to hear much more.

Lounging together with you sitting up against his front, your legs in between his own, his arms wrapped around you, he held the console controller in your lap with his hands overlapping yours as you played whatever video games piqued both your interests.

Spotting you squeezing the life out of chibi plush doll versions of themselves always brought out their envy. But it was your comfort whenever you couldn't hug their real life counterparts due to work or any other occupying situations. But you do get the chance to see them again, cuddles and kisses come in tenfold.

Even being able to spend time with them along with their comrades and friends always ends up with you staying glued by their side.

Days turned to weeks and then months, for each passing moment you were interweaving a web of bonds that got you attached to these fine nine beings.

For they share the same voice.

God that voice …

Such versatility and tenor. So sultry, sensual, and sexy all at once. It should be a crime to sound that fine. Of course it will slide. That kind of voice times nine. Like a soul split into nine sublime forms.

Comforting words. Encouragement. Goofy impressions. The puns. Saying your name. Pet Names. Any and every word. You could never get enough.

Then there are the salacious moments.

Them whispering in your ears to utter any and all such things. Dirty, romantic, primal. Whatever suited the mood. Whichever made you both comfortable.

“Does my voice really make you come that much? Interesting~”

That exact sentence would become like a motto – a slogan perhaps – to these guys. Teasing you in that tempo and timbre all to make you melt. Never letting you live it down.

“The ways in which you talk to me~”

Your own tease earned you being pushed up against the wall, your free hand supporting you since your other hand was pinned behind your back. His free hand grasped your chin, tilting your face around all to devour you. Just one of many scenarios that play out between you and your many partners.

Your first time with each of them is equally special, ingrained into your mind and your core.

Whether decent or long, wide or thick, so much variety with every cock that stuffs up your needy pussy.

Smooth and sly or sculpted and rough are such fingers that get to touch you, trace patterns along your sensitive flesh.

To pinch and rub your pearls, leaving love bites on every inch of you to remind one another who you belong to.

Fondling and massaging your frame, suckling on your stretch marks along your fine as fuck dumpy, stuffing their fingers in both your mouths to lather up your essence, licking from your ass crack to your clit.

They all share the intoxicating crave for your addictive taste, devouring your cunt for hours on end, their faces squished between your quivering sweaty thighs, their noses buried in your pubic hair while they're sloppily making out as their dexterous fingers and skillful tongues went to work on having you come so many times.

Missionary, backshots, the mating press, against the wall, on the floor, across tables and couches, even on the roof — when there's a will there's a way.

They love replacing the pearls around your neck …

Titty fucking. Throat fucking. Ejaculating all over your sweaty sheen self. Jacking off through your thighs, your peachy hills, all to tease you so close to edge yet striving to be within you.

Of course, they let you have your way with them in kind. Their egos and hearts soar as you claim them, the bite marks and bruising sucks litter their lean firm vessels to match yours. The tattoos, the scars, those get you showering smooches like mad.

Whether hugging their waist or throwing them over their shoulders, they love to rub and grip your legs enough for fingertips to be left behind as your latch onto them is ironclad.

Weaving hands through each other's haphazard hair while tugging on them hair strands roughly amiss lust, interlocking their hands with yours that need that tether to keep hold onto through the hectic ride of orgasmic paradise.

Massaging your ever tight gummy caverns all to see your expressions of vulnerable passion, falling apart easily while stuffing their cream in you, hitting that sizzling bundle of nerves all to tip you over the edge.

Those feral groans, them unhinged moans, such breathless cries of euphoria with your name reading such a crescendo off their swollen wet mouths as they could never get enough of your vice grip firm enough to leave their fingerprints behind.

Your curling, squirming self crying and breathless as creamy goodness dripped down your valleys, their comforting warm bodies draping over your beautiful self, holding you while the highs of sex would soon calm down.

“Let me fight for you.”

“Laugh with you.”

“Cry with you.”

“Reshape the world for you.”

“Kill for you.”

“Protect you.”

“Rule with you.”

“Live life with you.”

“Love you.”

In this alternate universe, in a world full of vibrant people, with limitless possibilities and potential …

The shape of them — their very existences — ingrained in your type of mate. Partner. Perhaps the shape of their souls are all one in the same. All intense, driven and outrageous.

Maybe because of your preference in your former life. Through their voices all stemming from one. Perhaps your rooted desire for a significant other with that boundless voice created so many options and you finally hit the jackpot.

When the day comes you wake up amongst all nine men strewn about, bare to the bone the same as you, in sheen gleaming ecstasy, soiled sheets and pillows thrown about all over the spacious bedroom, as you smiled all dopey like at those peaceful sleeping dreamboats.

The shape of you might as well be a heart because you too wore it when you're with your favorites.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Marked (MOC Dean x female reader)

Chapter 1 - Ten days

Mark of Dean series master list

18+. 8.6k words. Explicit sexual content. Some graphic violence. Dubious consent. Unhealthy relationships. Age gap. Sad ending.

It’s been ten days since you and Dean had sex for the first time. Ten packages of twenty-four hours, neatly stacked beside each other, like birthday presents. Every hour filled with sixty minutes. Every minute with sixty seconds. 

You’re pretty sure not a single one has passed without you thinking of him.

Something always brings you back to him. It’s difficult to avoid him, first of all, living together in the bunker, or the signs of him. A dirty coffee cup. A sandwich wrapper. Sometimes his smell wafting in the air, telling you he’s been there – a smell you got to know intimately. A smell you washed off yourself afterwards. 

Standing in one of the large, tiled showers, water so hot it flushed your skin running over you. You try not to remember how long you stood in front of the shower, how hard you had to convince yourself to step in, knowing you wouldn’t be able to smell him on you afterwards. How you scrubbed at yourself, in the end, frantically, once doubt and shock at yourself started pouring in. How it still feels like he’s all over you.

To pretend you went to Dean’s room not hoping for exactly this would be to lie. You did, although you’re not sure you were even aware of the wish. You went there for something completely different. You could claim ignorance, but the way Dean has been looking at you, studying you, is something you’re violently aware of. The crush you’ve had on him for as long as you can remember – try convincing a jury that there was no premeditation and you would land behind bars. You’ve carried a flame for him for a long time, but it was always just that, a crush. You had no idea it could turn into a wildfire.

You assumed Dean was out of your league, but then Dean’s pretty much out of anyone’s league – even the beautiful, breathtaking women you’ve seen him with seem to shrink in his presence. There’s something about that you don’t wish to explore, how a beautiful man holds so much power. But it’s not just Dean’s looks, of course – though they would be enough to make him the most mesmerizing person in any room. It’s him. His presence.

The first layer: charming, funny. A little silly, dorky, but in a way that makes his good looks bearable. He could be vain, could be vapid. He’s not. He’s engaged. He’s present, yet careless. He’s a horndog and a jokester and it’s easy to roll your eyes at him. It’s like Dean gives up a little bit of his power by being himself, maybe because in a way, he doesn’t see himself as powerful, or he didn’t. Not until he got the Mark.

The second layer is his fierce loyalty. His love. Being in Dean’s inner circle, part of his chosen family, his tribe, is like having the sun shine on you and only you. It always made you ache violently, to be loved like that by him. He’s protective. No, that word doesn’t encompass it. There is no word. He will protect you and Sam and Castiel and Charlie and a few chosen others even while he is bleeding and dying and crippled. It’s what he does. And when he did, looked after you, enquired about you, protected you on a hunt, you felt a need so deep inside yourself it made you want to bend over and sob. Not arousal, but something sadder, yet still similar. Need. Want. You’d lie in bed with one hand between your thighs, the other pressing your pillow into your face as you wept from both ends. The knowledge that you would never be loved as fiercely and protectively by anyone as you were loved by Dean Winchester, and that it still wasn’t enough.

The third layer is the one that has all the hate for himself. Dean’s the exception to the rule, or maybe the exception to prove the rule. He should have everything in life with how he is, how he enters the stage. Nothing should be able to stop him. But he himself does. He’s his own worst enemy. You see the way he isolates himself sometimes, the way he’s decided he needs to carry everything on his own. There’s no convincing him otherwise, not at this point. When you say something nice to him, genuinely tell him about his goodness, he waves it off in a way that isn’t just politeness, or pretend humbleness. It’s deeper. It’s uncomfortable for him, painful, because his own idea of himself is so far from what you’re telling him.

It makes your love for him burn that much brighter. Dean evokes that distinct, ever famous I can fix him urge, the one that has been the downfall of many a great woman. The belief that maybe he can be unknotted, in some way. He would be the perfect man, if only he didn’t get so angry at himself and in turn the world, if only he could be a little softer without scaring himself, if only he could settle for something rather than panic the moment any kind of standstill happens. If only he was a completely different person with a different set of experiences, he would be perfect. You’re pretty sure that’s what Dean thinks about himself, too.

And the Mark has done something to him. Sure, it’s old, it’s ancient, it’s biblical, it’s the ultimate symbol of evil and murder and fratricide. But it has flipped a switch in him and suddenly all those voices that have made Dean question who he is, kept him down, suddenly seem turned off. It’s like there is another, louder voice, that tells him it's okay and you are right and this is just. 

Quod erat demonstrandum: him sleeping with you.

You feel a little silly at calling it that. Sleeping together. You didn’t do any sleeping, and the only connection to those words is that you did it in his bed. You had a moment, Dean buried deep in you, his sweat mixing with yours, your brain almost melting out of your ears, where you thought: Dean wouldn’t do this, while he was, quite literally, doing this. It must not have been real. But it was.

You came, harder than ever before, and not just once. No doubt that Dean Winchester knows what to do with a woman’s body - not that you had any doubt about that. It’s the kind of experience you would laugh at fantasizing about, because while it’s a good fantasy, it’s so unrealistic as to be embarrassing. But it still happened. 

Still, it’s not how you imagined it, not quite. It wasn’t your first sexual experience, but close enough to it to almost count as it. But the Dean you imagined being with, all those times before, was, well, the Dean you know. Silly, a little shy maybe in the face of it. He would enjoy you and you him and you would fall down on the bed afterwards, satisfied, laughing. Whole.

But this man who ravished you, opened you up - it’s still Dean, of course, but it was someone else as well. It wasn’t the man who got excited at a pair of boobs, who thought a red thong was the height of eroticism, who bought his almost juvenile skin mags at the gas station, like the world of free online porn had never been invented. He wasn’t just scratching an itch, and he wasn’t making love. He was fulfilling something - something so deep and primal that you don’t have the words for it.

You don’t know whether that’s better or worse. If it had been the Dean you know, the silly one, you know you’d be even more in love than you already were. If he had held you, caressed your cheek, maybe kissed your forehead - what woman wouldn’t have become a vessel with the sole purpose of making this man hers? 

But it was different. He wasn’t dismissive, or rough in a way that you didn’t like, and he didn’t make you feel like he didn’t care. While he was deep inside you, fucking you from behind, you asked him to kiss you - and he did. It was your first time kissing him, after he’d already been fucking you for a while. But he did kiss you, once you requested it. He kissed you, gently, while he fucked you like an animal.

And that’s the thing. On the spectrum of how you expected the sex to be - one end: loving, gentle, soft, the other: rough, hateful, impersonal, not loving - it falls somewhere in the middle. You like to think you don’t have any puritanical views on sex, but you don’t know where to put it. The neediness and passion, yet it was definitely fucking, not sleeping together, and not making love. But Dean doesn’t hate you, doesn’t think less of you for giving yourself to him the way so many men would in his place. 

You lean forward, elbows on the library table and lay your face into your hands, rub at it. 

This is exactly the circular madness you have been going through for the last ten days. Back and forth and back and forth, constantly, on what does it all mean? You’re young, you know that, but not clueless. Still, you’ve been taught enough that you know a sexual relationship with a man almost twice your age carries a certain power dynamic that should make you run the other way. And the fact that you can’t place the act, can’t qualify it - is that your lack of experience causing it, or should you trust your gut? Trust that voice inside you that is telling you to stay away? The one only surpassed by the voice telling you to find Dean right now and tear at his clothes and make him do all the things he already did again.

So this is how you’ve spent your days - fluctuating, unsure, nervousness buzzing under your skin. You’ve avoided Dean, because of the urges it sets free in you - what you wouldn’t do to take his hand, shove it into your underwear while he grunts into your ear - and also because the way Dean has been looking at you, talking to you when you are unable to avoid him, is sure to set you on fire.

He’s not flirting. No, flirting is suggesting, is saying something without saying something, is getting the other person to consider you a certain way. That’s not what Dean has been doing. What he has been doing is much less subtle. 

He stares at you. Stares at you and when you catch him at it, it’s you who looks away, blushing, not him, and something about that isn’t right. He mostly doesn’t say anything outright, because usually Sam or Castiel are there, by your design, and he doesn’t resort to innuendos, double meaning, licking at the rims of cups or stroking cylindrical objects or finger fucking any soft, pliable surfaces. He’s not trying to seduce you. It’s like he knows he doesn’t have to.

Instead, he just looks at you. Which shouldn’t be as effective as it is, but it is. Not stolen glances. No brushing past each other, backs of hands accidentally touching. It makes arousal twist in you so violently you think you’ll be sick.

One morning, he caught you alone in the kitchen - Dean’s usually the one who sleeps the longest, so you didn’t think you’d meet him at that hour. You were pouring coffee and he walked in, stopped in his tracks while you turned to look at him. Then he kept walking towards you. A million perverted fantasies went through your head in one go - was he going to push you against the wall, take what he, maybe rightfully, considered to be his? Kiss you? Pry you open?

Instead he stopped just a step short of you, looked down into your eyes, you half turned to him, coffee pot in one hand, cup in the other, waiting for whatever he was going to do.

“Take your clothes off,” he said, like that was a viable option, like you were going to put down the coffee and then get naked, in the kitchen, where anyone could walk in, only for Dean to– what? Fuck you there? On the table? Fast and hard and hand pressed over your mouth so no one would hear the sounds he drew from you? Not a viable option. Still, exactly the thing that went through your mind. Your breath stuck in your throat when he stepped closer to you, his scent all around you suddenly.

“I wanna see your skin again,” he said and you needed to swallow. Not pussy or tits or ass, or anything like that. Your skin. How absolutely unsexual, and yet the most erotic thing anyone had ever said to you. Surely, it wasn’t depraved if Dean only wanted to see your skin?

“I–” you stuttered, unsure what to say, then settling on: “We shouldn’t.” Which didn’t mean you didn’t want it. Which didn't mean you weren’t craving it. Only that by some outside law, it was bad and wrong. A soft smile played on Dean’s lips while he watched you intently.

“Says who?” he asked. You just had time to wonder who, indeed, before Sam came barreling into the kitchen, sweaty and breathing hard from his morning run. Dean took a step back, switching to his jovial self, leaving you standing there breathless and wet.

Who, indeed? Who is saying you shouldn’t? And so your thoughts make their inevitable rounds. You love Dean, really love him, and as much as the thought that he wants you - he wants you, needs you, he wants to see your skin - is making you fall apart at the seams, you’re also sure it’s not real. Not really. It’s the Mark. It has to be.

And that, in itself, makes it wrong. Makes it bad. Because Dean’s not himself. He’s driven by this thing, by this power. You’ve seen him act out, more violently than ever before, and that’s really saying something. He enjoys it now. Maybe he always has, but he sure doesn’t feel ashamed about embracing it now. Is it the same with sex? You don’t think he’s been hooking up as much when you’re out on a case, which seems contradictory to your theory that the Mark is magnifying all those primal needs. It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

You press your fingertips against the skin of your temple, trying to get some of the tension out. Trying to think of anything other than the way the muscles under Dean’s skin moved when he was over you, the way he kept looking into your eyes even when he pressed his cock down your throat, the way his strong hands felt on your most sensitive parts. You felt beautiful. How sick is that? And you felt safe. Thrilled, nervous. But safe. 

As if summoned by your thoughts, the three men you share the bunker with - well, two men and an angel - walk in, and from Sam’s tone alone you know he is talking about a case. The laptop he has balanced in one hand while gesticulating with the other is a dead giveaway too. Castiel is wearing his usual frown and walking behind the tall hunter. And then there’s Dean.

He’s sauntering more than walking, the way he does. It’s not arrogance. It’s a put-on display of coolness, because Dean meets the world with a balled fist and a charming smile. He has to. It’s the way he’s survived.

He looks at you and your gazes meet before you can avert your eyes. You look away, breath catching in your throat, stare at the table in front of you. As the three come closer to where you are sitting, you look back. Dean is still looking at you, the slightest smile on his lips. God, he’s so beautiful. After how much time you’ve spent with him, you’d think the novelty would wear off at some point. It hasn’t.

“I’m not totally sure it’s something for us,” Sam says while he sits down but two chairs from you, putting the laptop on the table without taking his eyes off it. “But the first death looks suspicious, and there is a witness for it.”

“But you said they didn’t see anything,” Castiel says with that rough voice of his as he sits opposite Sam - it’s still strange to see him casually lounge around, something you’re gonna have to get used to. Sam raises his hands from where they’re resting on the table, his face saying well? Meanwhile Dean positions himself somewhere between the two at the head of the table. Man of the house, you involuntarily think as you try to zone into the conversation.

“Care to fill me in?” you ask, and both Sam and Castiel turn to you. 

Your relationship to both of them is good. They treat you the way Dean used to treat you - like a junior tribe member, a younger sister, not that the age difference really checks out for that. Everyone in this cobbled together family takes care of each other. When you joined them a few years ago - insistent, no family you could go live with since they had all been killed - Sam called you stubborn, and according to your role, you rolled your eyes at him. But Dean just shook his head. She just knows what she wants, is all, he said, and you blushed under his gaze. The gaze that, back then, you’re sure, wasn’t what it is now. 

You’re distracted from your thoughts when your phone buzzes. It’s lying on the table, screen down, and you pick it up, unlock it in one swift motion without even looking who the message is from. 

You look beautiful today. Sexy. Good color on you.

You swallow, eyes going immediately up to Dean. He’s standing there, watching you, phone in one hand, other arm tugged across his chest. Without breaking eye contact, you lock your screen, but keep your phone in your hand while you try to focus on what Sam has been saying. 

“So it looks like they drowned, even though there was no water nearby,” Sam says and turns to you just as you force your gaze back to him.

“Some kind of water spirit?” you hazard, even though you’ve only heard the last little bit of what Sam said. Sam pulls down the corners of his mouth a little. It’s the look he gets when someone’s wrong but he’s too nice, too polite, to say how stupid what they just said is. That’s Sam for you - so friendly and empathetic that it makes your insides twist. It used to not bother you - quite the opposite. It’s Sam you would spend long evenings talking about loss and grief with, not Dean. The perspectives he gave you and how intently you listened to him made you love him wholeheartedly. 

But since you and Dean, Dean and you, that thing, the thing that happened, you realize you’ve been avoiding him. And you know he can tell. He’s been throwing you looks too, but a very different kind than his brother. He seems worried. Only a little over a week that you’ve been feeling strange and already Sam’s picked up on it. It would move you if it didn’t annoy you so much. Fill you with so much dread.

Like now, him considering your suggestion of the water spirit when clearly he’s already ruled that possibility out. If Sam thought it could be a water spirit, he would have said it could be a water spirit. The fact that he hasn’t means he’s already pretty sure it’s not. Still, he acts like it’s a legitimate solution, and that in itself makes your blood run hot. 

You’re good at this. The hunting, specifically. The interpreting the lore and understanding what monster it is this time. You are, and more than once you’ve made the three men give each other impressed looks at your words. Look at you, big brain, Dean once said, grinning. Proud. He was proud of you. You don’t think that’s an emotion he feels regarding you anymore.

Just then, your phone buzzes again and without thinking about it, you look down at it. The preview of the message shows. It’s from Dean.

Too bad Rizzoli and Isles are here. I would love to have you on that table, right where you’re sitting. I could go so deep if you’re be…

The screen goes dark again before you finish reading, and you don’t wake it again. You need to swallow, a delicious, almost painful twist somewhere in your lower abdomen. You can see it, almost as if Dean beamed the images from his head into yours.

Shirt pulled up, jeans pulled down, no time for full undressing. Bent over the table, Dean standing behind you, one hand on your hip, one… in your hair, maybe? Your chest on the smooth wooden surface. You’ve never had your cheek pressed to it, but you’re sure you know what it would feel like. And Dean maybe wouldn’t thrust but grind into you, twist himself around in you. It would take a long time for you to get there, but it wouldn’t matter, because Dean would take his time and you could explore that rise of pleasure, how his body makes your body feel exactly. You would explore it together while he’d hold you like a taut string, calling you baby girl and good girl and my girl and who knows what else.

You blink yourself out of your reverie, try to focus on what is happening. Heavens, you feel like you’re running a fever. You look up and just catch Castiel looking at you too. It makes you clench your teeth just as the clenching between your legs lets up. God, why can’t everyone just stop looking at you? Why are you under such constant scrutiny? Your eyes shoot up to Dean, who is looking at Sam who is talking again. Is that what you want? For everyone, including Dean, to stop looking at you?

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks, and Sam stops talking in the middle of a word, looks at Castiel, then, following his gaze, at you. Dean does too and you quickly look away from him, focus on the angel. He cares too, is kind and sweet, but a little less concerned with everyone’s feelings when it comes to staring into your soul with those baby blues.

You almost want to shake yourself. Why are you so dismissive of their care, of their worry for you? It’s something you’ve always loved, something that always made you feel safe, looked after. Why the sudden antagonism?

Because you have a dirty secret, a voice inside your brain offers. And if Sam or Castiel found out, found out what you have done, no, what Dean has done to you, or what you have done to him, with him, they would look at you differently. You clear your throat.

“I just, I have a headache,” you say, then clear your throat again. 

“Maybe you should lie down for a little,” Dean says and you whip your head towards him, eyes wide. A perfectly innocent suggestion. Except of course it’s not.

“Yeah,” Sam says, looking at the laptop screen, then at his watch. “Look, this is pretty inconclusive, so even if it is something for us, we won’t be leaving for a couple of hours. Why don’t you take a nap?” Your shoulders tense, but then you stand up.

“I will,” you say, feeling a little breathless, “thanks, guys.”

With that, you stride out of the room, not looking back. You walk down the hallway to your bedroom, quicker than you need to. Like when you used to need the bathroom in the middle of the night as a child, and even though you were too old to think monsters were real - ironic, now, looking back - you still couldn’t help but hurry on your way back to bed. Just in case something snapped at your heels. Just in case something was about to breathe down your neck.

You’re almost at your door when your phone buzzes again. You shouldn’t look, you know that. It could be anyone, in theory, but you know it’s not. But you still look. Of course you look.

When you get to your room, I want you to touch yourself. Think about me. 

Your palm lands on the door to your room, throwing it open, then throwing it shut behind you. You think about locking it for a moment - but that would be an overreaction, right? That would be mad? That would imply you don’t feel safe living there. Is that what this is? Do you not feel safe?

Walking to the bed, you put your phone on the small night table, then lift up the comforter, slip under it. No thick boots for you to kick off, you leave that to Sam and Dean. You’re a creature of comfort and you refuse to tie up your feet all day long in what is supposed to be your home.

Tugging your legs up, you wrap your arms around your knees. Ignore that you want to stretch out. Ignore that you want to feel the fabric against your skin, running over you. Imagine it’s someone’s fingers. You close your eyes, try to ignore that tight fist inside of you.

Go to sleep, you think. And when you wake up, everything will be fine.

Dean stands there, listening to his little brother blab about the case, throw theories back and forth with Cas, and the only reason he doesn’t rush right after you is because he’s imagining you on that table.

You’re naked, fully naked, bared for him and only him, and you’re on your back, ass at the edge, your ankles somewhere near his ears while he bends you in half as he fucks you deep. You whimper, but you also spur him on. Fuck yes and keep going, harder and oh God, you’re so deep, Dean. And he would. He would do it all.

He can feel himself grow hard in his jeans, shifts a little to hide it. He likes the chase, it’s not that he doesn’t. He loves walking in on you unexpectedly when you’re in the kitchen or the library, loves the look on your face when you’re surprised when you see him. He knows that you think about him then, about that night, about the ways your bodies sang together. Maybe you’re thinking up some new things, too, but whatever it is, you’re thinking about him. That’s really all he cares about.

Because he thinks about you. Every second, every minute, every hour. He goes to bed, freshly emptied, your name on the tip of his tongue as he finishes himself off with quick and rough strokes, and he wakes up achingly hard, already seeing your face before he has even opened his eyes. It’s like he’s a goddamn teenager all over again, except without all the confusion and shame. 

There’s no shame he feels when he sends you a message telling you he wants to fuck you on this table, or when he goes to the washing machine and your laundry is waiting in a nearby basket and he presses a piece of clothing of yours against his face, inhales. No shame when he once had to take care of himself right there when he found a pair of your panties, buried deep in the pile, a dried white smudge right there. No shame when he walks past you, brushes close by on purpose. No shame when he eye fucks you across the room. No shame when he’s sure, so sure, he can smell your arousal in the air every time you’re close. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or not, and he doesn’t really care, if he’s being honest.

He raises his phone, checks the message he sent you. You haven’t opened it, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t seen it. Doesn’t mean you don’t know exactly what he wants you to do. 

He latches back onto the ongoing conversation. He’s better at it than you, maybe exactly because of the lack of shame, so he waits until his brother has said something, and then Cas, and then taps his hand against his arm.

“Didn’t we have something like this in storage downstairs?” he asks, making his voice sound curious. Sam raises his eyebrows.

“I don’t know, did we?” he asks. Dean nods.

“I’ll go take a look,” he says and before anyone can ask any further questions, he turns around and walks away, straight to your room.

You try to go to sleep for a whole thirty seconds, but you know immediately it's useless.

Somehow your hand has found its way between your legs, and with the comforter still over you, you can almost pretend whatever is happening there under it has nothing to do with your head peeking out from the covers. Never mind how quickly your fingers have warmed you up. Never mind how you’re slowly rolling your hips. Never mind that it’s Dean’s head you’re imagining moving under the covers.

You just want to come. You just want that tension out of you, let the tiredness of it carry you to sleep. A quick nap, a case. Exactly what you need to focus yourself. And if thinking about Dean working away at you is what gets you there quickest - well, you’re just being practical, right?

Right then you’re imagining Dean unlatching his plump lips from your clit, and kissing his way up your body. Deep, open-mouthed kisses with his breath fanning over you to warm the coolness left behind by his spit. He nips at your throat when he reaches it and you hum at it.

Then he’s over you and both your imagined and your real version drop their legs open. To receive him, to let him in. No barriers, already wet and glistening, and he slides in so easily, yet there’s rapture on his face at feeling you. You make a sound in your throat and when you hear another sound, you freeze.

Eyes flying open, you look. A part of you expects Dean to simply be standing at the foot of your bed, but he has not crossed that line - as far as you know, at least. But he’s not standing there, and you wonder what the sound was. Until you hear it again, and your eyes go to the door.

Someone is standing on the other side of it. You just catch the slight movement, the change in how the light from the hallway outside falls in through the gap at the bottom, the slightest creak, maybe of shoes. It can’t be the floor, since the hallways are tiled, but maybe a leather boot?

He’s standing there, you realize. Dean is standing on the other side of the door. He could come in, right now. He could. See you here, making yourself come to the thought of him. 

But he doesn’t. He just stands there. Unmoving, or almost. The shadow and light interplaying under the door only slightly moving. Is it possible you can see him breathe? No, there’s no way. You must be imagining it. And yet…

For a moment, it leaves you cold and freaked out. For a moment. Then you imagine him there - he was wearing that shirt with the brownish, yellowish pattern, the one that would look grievous on anyone else, but that made his eyes pop. Swampy, you told him only a few weeks ago, making him smile. Swampy in a good way.

The light stubble. The one you now know, intimately, the feel of. Against your cheek, your lips. So many parts of your body. You can almost feel it now, at the top of your breasts, scratching along the skin while he works his way up, or down, or wherever. You don’t really care.

His hands. Compact and strong. Good, honest hands, you always thought. Hands that can squeeze your flesh, the thumb that can press down on your tongue, the fingers that can roam your insides and undo you.

Your own fingers twitch, there, between your legs. Twitch, then move a little, only testing. Oh, who are you kidding?

He’s right there, behind that door, as your fingers explore your wetness, find all the places you know will make you warm. Another sound comes from your throat. The shadow moves.

Is he maybe touching himself? Could it be? Right out there, in the hallway? For anyone to see, anyone to walk by suddenly? Castiel’s eyes would probably burn out of his skull, and Sam’s too, only more violently. But no, you don’t want to think about them.

You want to think about Dean. About his hand, rubbing over the bulge in his jeans. About his breath hitting the door, because he stands so close to it, too eager to hear every single sound you make. How he’s staring at that door handle - should he or shouldn’t he? He wants to, that’s for sure.

You imagine he doesn’t. He needs to stay outside, but he can’t stop himself, because you hear clinking, metal on metal, you’re sure, maybe a belt buckle being opened, maybe a zipper being pulled down. Maybe a skilled hand pushing inside.

He finds himself, just like you found yourself, and he’s so hard. Just from thinking about you, just from hearing a single sound on the other side of the door. How pathetic. How good. How right. You know what he feels like, what his softest skin felt like under your palm, and that’s what you feel now, in the hand rubbing you, like some sort of strange, phantom double sensation.

He can’t wait. He’s too hard, needs you too badly. Still, the first stroke is excruciatingly slow, because it’s the one he imagines sinking into you on. Velvety, wet softness greeting him, you so open and ready for him. He doesn’t even have to put in any work, although he would be happy to. 

He drags his hand up to his balls, pushes against them just a little, imagines it’s you, it’s the natural stop of how deep he can go, even though he wishes he could go deeper. He wishes he could fill up all of you, until he’s coming out of every pore. He wishes he could become the essence of you, crawl under your skin.

Emotion, deep in your throat. Love, need, want - one of them, or all of them. The shadow shifts again but then your eyes fall closed so you can focus on the sounds, focus on the image of Dean on the other side of the door.

He begins stroking, pulling out of you and in. He goes slow, even though it’s hard to control himself now that he’s inside you, but he wants not just to fuck, but to learn. Learn about every single bump and crevice and part of you. Commit it to memory. Not that he needs to. Not that this isn’t just the first time of a million.

Your breathing is chopped as your bodies get used to each other, as he finds that perfect rhythm, the perfect angle. It’s almost like he’s exploring you, like some new exotic continent he’s come to claim and make his, to own and pillage, and when on one stroke, one round of your fingers on your clit, you pivot your body up, throaty sound bursting forth from you, he knows he’s found the way to you.

He focuses on that, tests it again, and it elicits the same reaction from you. There you go, he says, the concentration on his face breaking in favor of a soft and knowing grin. That’s where you need me, isn’t it? 

It is. It’s where you need him, need to have him, exactly like that, how is he doing this? So sudden, so expertly, but now that he knows where, knows how, there’s no stopping him. He pushes that part, over and over, and there it is, that first taste of pleasure, spreading outside from that spot like a tidal wave. Into your lower abdomen, the tops of your thighs. You’re clenching, searching for him, but there’s no point in you taking control, not when he is taking you high so perfectly. 

His hand tightens on your thigh, or maybe it’s your own, it doesn’t matter. He’s adding a twist to the hand stroking him, the inside of his index finger pressing into the sensitive spot under his cockhead. Except it’s your pussy instead, dragging this pleasure from him. He’s fucking you, but the way you look at him, the slightest smile on your face, clenching down on him, allowing him to pleasure you - you’re the one in charge. Or he is. It’s not clear. Maybe it’s too complicated for that.

He picks up his speed, and you moan. His mouth is open, lips parted while he’s breathing hard, and he looks down at where your bodies are meeting. Oh fuck, baby girl, look at you taking me so well. This tight little pussy taking me so well, huh? Maybe you want him to say something else. It’s too pornographic, too on the nose, right? But it feels so good to hear it. How he makes you small small small but you never diminish.

He huffs. Your body is so good and perfect that even though he’s calling the shots, if that's what he's doing, it’s almost too much for him. He’s fucked a thousand women but you, you are the one who’s gonna ruin him. The only one he ever really wanted.

Faster, deeper, there is no upper limit, not in your imagination and certainly not in his, standing behind that door, now breathing through his nose in an attempt to make himself more quiet, but it’s like he’s all you can hear.

Dean, you moan, over and over, his name so often expelled from you that he should grow bored of it, but he doesn’t. Yes, please, oh God, you feel so good. So f-fucking good. 

You’re gonna come. You’re about to, it’s there, it’s behind your eyelids and in your toes and in the backs of your knees. You’re gonna come, so your hands shoot to his ass, push him harder against you, or trying to, while all these uncontrolled sounds leave you, your fingers on your clit so fast it’s dizzying, his hand moving so fast he won’t be able to stop, even if he wanted to. But why would he ever want to?

Yes yes yes you cry out, teeth clamped shut, body shoved back and forth by his hard thrusts and Dean pulls his upper lip up, like an animal about to strike, his balls and pelvis slapping against you, bruising you, but only stimulating you more, his cock thick and filled with blood and so close to bursting. You want me so fucking deep inside of you, huh? Want me everywhere all over inside of you? he pants, but it barely makes sense. How could it, with his brain having turned into a melting reactor core?

He comes first, but only just. Throws his head back while his hips keep working on their own accord, snapping back and forth, painfully hard now, perfectly hard now. But you are right behind him, aah aah, could be pain, could be horror, could be lust. At some point, all three become the same. The muscles on the insides of your thighs twitch hard, out of control and your stomach muscles tense, so perfectly, eyes rolling up. Your hand grabs the pillow under your head, twists it, while the other keeps working away at you until you need to stop, the feeling becoming too much.

Your body goes slack, blissfully, buzzing, perfect, excruciating. It’s done, it’s over, and it’s the deepest relief. You feel like you ate your fill off a table of rich foods after days without a morsel. 

The pull of sleep is so strong behind your eyes, and you almost miss the shuffling sound over your own breathing. You move your head, eyes blinking open, which is hard work, the hardest in the world. There’s the slight tackiness of sweat under your armpits, and other parts of your body. You need to shower before you leave, you remind yourself, or, if there’s no time for a shower, apply some more deodorant. Change your underwear, that unhelpful voice in your head suggests.

The shadow under the door is gone. Only a thin strip of light, one that you can never turn off as the lights in the hallway don’t turn off. One you had to get used to when first sleeping here. A little bit of light is fine, but the fact that it comes in so concentrated, on that spot, made your eyes go to it over and over instead of close for sleep.

But there’s no one standing there. Or not anymore, at least. There was someone there, right? 

You should care. You should worry. But you can’t. You roll to your side, and fall asleep.

Dean stumbles to his room. Jesus, he almost painted your door white. Not entirely untempting, but not the erotic present he wants to leave you, his come dripping down the wood of your entrance. He snorts at the idea, his brain still scrambled from the intense orgasm that, luckily, ended up in his boxers. 

He just has the energy to kick closed the door behind him and pull all of his clothes off himself. He almost stumbles as his jeans end up stuck on one leg where his boot didn’t fly off when he kicked it away. Life long hunter skills and the Mark, but the way his brain leaks out of his dick when he comes thinking of you makes him trip around like an idiot.

He pushes off the urge to fling himself on the bed for just another second, grabs one of the tissues from the box next to his bed, wipes it over himself, grimacing at the expected sensitivity. Distantly he’s aware that he should feel more done, or that he used to after busting it like that. And he is, done, he means, but also, if you were to walk in right now, he’d be hard and fucking you again in a few seconds.

No, not again. He didn’t fuck you. But it felt like it when he heard you, listened to you. He could have sworn he felt you wrapped around him.

He just manages to pull off his shirt and t-shirt, then falls down on the mattress, groans contentedly, eyes already closing. The air of the bunker’s a little nippy on his ass, so he blindly feels around for the blanket, finds it, drags it over himself as best he can without actually, really moving.

He’s snoring before he can form another thought.

There is time for a shower, and it’s good, because it’s what you need to do, to do what you need to do. You need to feel clean. It’s important.

You raise your hand, only hesitating a moment before knocking on Dean’s door.

Shuffling inside, and a moment later he opens the door, handsome face peeking through the widening gap. He looks a little surprised, cheeks sucked in slightly. You love his face like that, curious, boyish, but then you love his face in pretty much any way.

You smile at him. You haven’t smiled at him in so long, too worried it would feel like encouragement, too worried it would open you up to his advances. But you don’t worry about that anymore.

“Hey,” you say, and your voice is clear. “Do you have a minute?” Dean blinks, then nods, opens the door wider.

“Sure, come in,” he says, and you can’t deny the small thrill inside yourself at how surprised he sounds. No trace, right now, of the dark seducer. He’s just Dean. 

You walk in, and he closes the door behind you. You look at the bed, the bed you spent that night in ten days ago. It doesn’t look as scary now.

“Sammy and Cas ready to leave?” Dean asks, and it’s almost like he’s making conversation. You turn around, arms not crossed in front of your chest, no guarded look on your face. You’re open. Because you love this man. 

“Yeah, we can leave in a little bit,” you say, then intertwine your hands before your body. “But that’s not what I came here to talk about.”

It’s Dean who crosses his arms over his chest. He looks interested, now, intrigued, but also you don’t miss the slight flick in his gaze going over your body.

“What did you want to talk about?” he says, just the slightest twist of irony on the word talk, like you’re using it as an excuse. You can’t blame him. But you’re here to be honest, straightforward. 

It’s the one thing you haven’t done. No actual conversation was had over what happened between you two. Only looks and messages and silent need. But Dean’s not himself. He isn’t, no matter how much he likes to spin the whole the Mark only makes you more of yourself idea. He’s not. 

He’s not capable of saying no. He has biblical forces working against him. But you don’t. You’re the adult in this situation, as strange as it may sound. And you need to make a decision. 

“What happened between us,” you say, then press your lips together, almost chuckling at yourself, your own inability to come straight out with it. “Us, having sex? It shouldn’t have happened.”

Dean drops his arms, looks down, one corner of his mouth going up, a little huff escaping him. It makes him look perfectly charming. He looks back up at you, some softness in his gaze accompanying the knowing spark.

“Cause it was wrong? ” he asks. “Bad? Naughty? Immoral?” You can’t help but shake your head a little. Figures he would try to turn this into dirty talk. How would he know he shouldn’t do that if you’ve never told him?

“Because you’re not yourself,” you say, voice gentle. “Because I took advantage of you.”

Dean blinks, then blinks again, his smile slowly vanishing, dropping off his face. It sounded strange to you too, until you thought about it more, really thought about it. But it’s the truth. 

“You might say that the Mark is a means to an end,” you continue before Dean can say anything. “But it has changed you, even you admit that. It might just be removing your inhibitions, but that’s still changing you.” 

Dean still looks dumbfounded. A slight frown is all that’s left on his face. It’s free of expression otherwise.

“It’s like you’ve been magically roofied,” you say, then incline your head. “Or magically viagra’d, maybe more fitting.” You shrug. “The point is, you don't have the capacity to control yourself. Or to say no.”

Dean blinks again, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. It makes him look young. Like he’s in trouble and expects someone to yell at him.

“So what does that mean?” he says finally. You give him a sad smile.

“It means, Dean,” you say, slowly, the words not easy to bring out despite your mind being made up on this. “It means it can’t ever happen again. It means that no matter how much I care for you…”

You stop, feeling awkward for the first time. Now it’s you shifting around.

“No matter how much I might want you,” you continue and Dean inclines his head at that word. “It’s not right. Because you can’t say no. Because whatever… urges you have that made you do this, they aren’t your own. Not really.”

It might be your imagination, but Dean looks sad, you think, maybe a little disappointed. It surprises you and tugs at your heart. So you do something that might be a huge mistake. You step forward and take his hand.

He looks down at it, then up at your face again. You run your thumb over the back of his hand, your gaze briefly flicking to the Mark on his arm. It looks like a scar, like a thick, ugly scar.

“I care about you so much,” you say, and you’re surprised at the emotion in your voice. No, you’re not surprised, actually. Of course it’s there. You look up at Dean. 

“And I think I hurt you,” you continue, swallow. “And that’s worse than anything else in the world.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Dean speaks up. He’s still looking at your hands holding his, but then he looks at your face too. “You didn’t.” You force a smile onto your face. Of course he would take the blame for himself.

You bring your hands up, and Dean’s with them. You press the knuckle of his thumb against your lips, kiss it. Then you look up again. There’s tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” you say. “I’m really, really sorry.”

With that, you let go of him. Dean doesn’t stop you when you walk around him, out the door. It’s difficult not to look back.

When you’re halfway down the hall, a single sob leaves you. Your heart hurts so much it threatens to burst out of your chest. But there’s another feeling as well. The feeling that you have done the right thing, even if it is hard. 

You love Dean. You always will. But not like this. Not at this cost. Never at this cost.

Dean stands where you left him, the hand you kissed flexing open and closed over and over. There’s two things happening inside him.

One is the mangled, dried out throat of his old self, his real self, whatever one wants to call it, moving because it’s trying to speak. 

You think you took advantage of him. You of him. It’s seven kinds of fucked up. It’s not the truth, and the fact that you think that, makes Dean want to rip down the walls, smash the furniture. He was a kid who thought every bad thing that happened was his fault. He’s an adult who thinks the same. And you’re not a kid, not anymore, but you think that. About him. It makes him sick. It makes him panic.

A hand goes over the mangled throat, squeezes. It quiets. Dean’s chest rises and falls. His gaze, slowly, wanders up, past the place where you stood only a minute ago and to the door, as if he’s following your path.

This is unacceptable. How can you not see that? How can you not understand that what happened between you two, how he’s been thinking about you, every night, all the time, every goddamn waking fucking moment, is special? You’re not stupid, so how the hell do you not see it?

Is this a trick, he wonders briefly, a trick to get him to storm after you, claim you? It doesn’t seem like something you’d do, but maybe he got it all wrong? Maybe it is?

No, he thinks, no, it’s not. You genuinely believe this. He hoped you would just come to your senses. He’s so tired of waiting on everyone to finally get it, the things he already got a long time ago.

Fine, he thinks, his hand flexing again. He’ll find a different way.

He hears Sam call down the hallway, saying they’re ready to leave.

A small smile builds on Dean’s face. He’ll get you there, he knows he will.

And woe to anyone who stands in his way.

[sagesskies]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ ʙᴏʏ

✒ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜱɴᴀᴋᴇ

☏ - ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇᴍᴀɪʟ: ᴍʀ. ꜱᴀɢᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɴᴇᴡ

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ: ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ɴᴇɢʟᴇᴄᴛ (ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ), ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ɴᴜᴅᴇꜱ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ɴᴏɴ/ᴅᴜʙᴄᴏɴ. ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟꜱᴇ!

Yandere Popular Boy, who is cheerful, extroverted, intelligent, effortlessly perfect, and handsome to boot.

Yandere Popular Boy, who is the student council secretary, the captain of the basketball team, and the top student in his department. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who everybody knows, everybody loves, and who everybody wants to be with. Well, except you. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who used to be your best friend. You were each other’s only friends, never apart, as thick as thieves. That was how it used to be at least, till high school came, and suddenly he was the hottest person in school, literally and figuratively. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who seemed to become interested in you again, after years of silence between you two, suddenly he’s all over you. Talking about wanting to ‘bond’ and ‘rekindle your friendship’ or whatever he’s going on about. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who was actually dared by his friends to take your virginity. The lonely nerd who never spoke to anybody, always on their own. He feels bad, you’re his childhood friend! The only person who knows what he’s really like, before he became popular.  But if he wants to maintain his position, he has to do what he has to do. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who’s starting to become flustered around you. He stumbles over his words, starts making dorky puns and jokes like when you were both in middle school, and is getting awkward around you. His suave smile and silver tongue are replaced with sheepish grins and excited rambling about all his interests.

Yandere Popular Boy, who feels his heart race when he’s around you. Who finds himself constantly thinking about what you’d think about this or that, who finds himself thinking, just randomly, out of the blue, things like: ‘[Name] would absolutely love this!’ and ‘I should take [Name] to see this movie!’ 

Yandere Popular Boy, who smiles genuinely whenever he’s around you. Though he still filters his words, it’s all to please you, you know? He wants to impress you, to make you fall in love with him and to have your heart like you have his. 

Yandere Popular Boy, whose friends all started to press him for info and any little piece of gossip about you. 

“Dom, yo, did you fuck [Name] yet?” Dominik can’t even remember the guy’s name, but by God, the way he spoke about you made him want to slit his throat open. 

But Dominik simply sighed, and shook his head, he can’t let something like this bother him, at least not in front of others, “Nah, unfortunately they’re like, a huge prude.” He wrinkles his nose, “You’d think somebody like them would be more desperate, but nope.” 

Another one, laughs. The sound is nothing like yours, which makes him feel like he’s on cloud nine every single time he hears it, without fail. On the other hand, this laugh is loud, and crude, and makes his stomach clench and has him forcing down the bile steadily creeping up his throat. 

“Ha! Little freak probably thinks they’re too good for you, or some shit,” Oh, if only this simpleton knew the truth. You are too good for him. You deserve only the best, and unfortunately he’s not perfect, yet. 

Dominik lets an easy, charming, smile form on his face, and a laugh of his own forces its way past his lips, “Oh well, I’ve still got a few months before break,” He watches with cold eyes, as all these oafs grin and chuckle dumbly at his words, but keeps a smirk of his own on, “I’ll pop their cherry, heck, I’ll even send you guys some nudes.” 

Dominik wants to slam his head against a wall till it cracks open, but at least he got the desired effect. His ‘friends’ all cheer, and the conversation branches off as they start talking about their own dirty conquests. 

He lies seamlessly, saying something about promising a professor to help with grading the freshy’s papers. Dominik chuckles and endures the heckling and teasing from the others, and then leaves the room. 

Taking out his phone, he sends you a text, asking if you can meet up. After what he just said about you, he’d feel dirty speaking to you. But if he spent another moment away from you he feels like he’ll tear his skin off. 

When you send him a thumbs up emoji, he sends the details and then heads to his apartment. 

He needs to scrub off the filth those pigs spread to him before he sees you. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who realizes you have him completely wrapped around your finger. If it were anybody else he’d be disgusted with himself, but it’s you. Beautiful, perfect, you. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who invites you out to dinner. He assures you it's just a hang out between friends, but maybe he shouldn't be saying that while he's dressed to the nines in a fancy restaurant that needs you to book a reservation a month in advance, as a waiter pours you two red wine in fancy glasses that're probably worth more than your kidney, all the while a band plays slow, romantic music in the background.

Yandere Popular Boy, who, after a few more glasses of wine, tells you he loves you, and waits as you recover from this truth bomb, and tries to steady his nerves as he braces himself for your response.

“Nik, I’m sorry… but I don’t feel the same way.” 

Yandere Popular Boy, who can’t believe this. Sure, he knows he doesn’t deserve you, but he thought that he at least had somewhat of a chance. He was a fraud, and a liar, but he was still better than everybody else on this campus. So who? Who could be the one who owns your heart?

Yandere Popular Boy, who's causing a commotion with how he's crying. People are staring as he asks you, with tears in his eyes, why you don't love him. Is he not enough for you? People are whispering about how cruel you are. You're probably playing with his feelings, maybe even using his money. When you call for the cheque, the waiter shoots you a dirty look, and things get even more awkward when he's the one who pulls out his credit card and pays for the meal. You hear an old lady whisper to her husband, "See! They are a gold digger!"

Yandere Popular Boy, who refuses to believe that you simply don’t want him. Everybody loves him, everybody. You’re obviously not like everybody else, but you were still human. You still felt love. If he wasn’t the one you loved, then who? 

Yandere Popular Boy, who fixates on improving himself further. Who pushes away his friends and everybody else in his life, to become perfect. Okay, sure, maybe it’s simply because you didn’t like him, but that means he has a chance, doesn’t he? If you didn’t want him, then he’ll simply have to fix himself so you’d finally see him as somebody worthy of your love.

Yandere Popular Boy, who’s starting to experience burnout. He’s exhausted, is zoning out more, he’s falling behind in class, and his facade is starting to slip. He snaps more frequently, there are dark circles around his eyes, his hair is messy, his skin is gaunt, and his clothes are always wrinkled. People are starting to notice, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who only cares about what you think. Screw everybody else, he left you for popularity in high school, for shallow friendships and people who never truly understood him, and look where that got him. Sure, he was popular, beloved by everybody: his family, fellow students, and even the faculty. But he didn’t have you. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who feels his heart flutter with joy when you confront him, and tell him you’re worried for him. You’re so sweet, really, you are. But he tells you there’s no need, because he’s doing it all for you. If you really want him to finally relax, then you should just accept his love. Pretty please? 

Yandere Popular Boy, who starts smiling more, brighter than he did before. His skin is radiant again, he’s back on top of his classes, and his friends feel like he’s a different person entirely. Of course he is, he’s dating you now! Who cares what his friends think? Do you? If it matters to you that much, he doesn’t mind getting his hands a bit dirty. 

Yandere Popular Boy, who eventually does manage to make good on the dare and take your virginity. Too bad his friends aren't getting any nudes, those are for his eyes only. He loves being able to embrace you, you're so warm and soft, he could just lay with you forever. That night, he falls asleep with a smile on his face, and ignoring your silent tears.

Yandere Popular Boy, who feels like he's living in heaven. You and him are the cutest couple on campus. Sure, he has to coax you to smile sometimes, and you always squirm whenever he has his arm around your waist, but it's fine! This is your first relationship, you'll get used to it, eventually.

Yandere Popular Boy, who promises that he’ll never leave you again. He made that mistake once, and he’ll never make it again. He’s learned his lesson, he promises.

“You’re the only one who gets me, [Name],” He holds your hand in a gentle yet simultaneously firm grip, and kisses the back, “I’m never letting you go again, mkay?” 

☏ - ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇᴍᴀɪʟ: ᴍʀ. ꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ.

[magical-reid]

Return of the Date (A New Hope Part 2)

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Popular!Reader

Word Count: 1.7 K

Summary: After Stiles unexpectedly scores the game-winning goal in a crucial lacrosse match, his reputation at school shifts, and your friends start pushing you toward him as a potential date. What starts as a reluctant agreement leads to a surprisingly fun evening, where you discover Stiles' sweet, genuine side, and before you know it, you're seriously considering a second date with the awkward yet endearing boy.

Part 1

The first date had been… unexpected. Not in a bad way, but not in a way you’d ever imagined. Stiles Stilinski, the guy who’d always been on the periphery of your social world, had somehow managed to surprise you. His awkward charm, his surprising chivalry, and—admittedly—his endless Star Wars knowledge had left you thinking about him far more than you wanted to admit.

So when he’d texted you a few days later asking if you’d want to go out again—just the two of you this time—you’d surprised yourself by saying yes.

“Okay, so I was thinking,” Stiles began as he pulled into your driveway on the night of your second date, “that since we did the whole group thing last time, this one should be more low-key. You know, something chill.”

You climbed into the Jeep, glancing over at him. “Like what?”

“Well,” he said, drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, “there’s this spot just outside town. It’s kinda dorky, but I think you’ll like it.”

That was all he said before pulling out of your driveway, leaving you both curious and slightly apprehensive.

The “spot outside town” turned out to be an old drive-in theater that had been revamped into an outdoor movie night spot. A large screen stood in the middle of an open field, surrounded by cars, lawn chairs, and blankets. A few food trucks lined the edges of the lot, serving everything from popcorn to burgers.

“They’re playing a double feature tonight,” Stiles said, a mix of excitement and nerves in his voice. “The first one’s Back to the Future, and the second is The Empire Strikes Back.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to hold back a smile. “Of course it’s Empire Strikes Back.”

“Hey, if you’re going to do a second date, you might as well make it legendary,” he said, grinning as he parked the Jeep.

Stiles had thought of everything. He pulled a plaid blanket out of the back, along with a cooler filled with snacks—because of course, Stiles Stilinski would never settle for just popcorn.

The two of you settled onto the blanket, the sounds of the pre-show advertisements humming in the background. As the first movie started, Stiles kept sneaking glances at you, clearly trying to gauge how you were feeling.

“You’re staring,” you said without looking away from the screen.

“I’m not staring,” he protested, though the way his cheeks flushed under the glow of the screen gave him away.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I just… I wasn’t sure you’d actually want to come. After the first date, I mean.”

You turned to him, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the corner of the blanket. “I don’t know. You’re just… you. And I’m… me. This isn’t exactly a fair match.”

Your heart twisted at his words, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out and nudged his shoulder. “Hey. Give yourself a little credit. The first date wasn’t that bad.”

His face lit up, the doubt in his expression fading slightly. “Wasn’t that bad? Wow, Y/N, don’t get too sappy on me.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face was hard to hide.

The first movie flew by, the two of you sharing a bowl of popcorn while exchanging quips about Marty McFly and Doc Brown. By the time The Empire Strikes Back started, you’d moved closer, your shoulder brushing against his.

“You’re going to hate me,” you whispered halfway through the movie, your voice low so as not to disturb the other viewers.

“Impossible,” Stiles said immediately, his eyes glued to the screen.

“I’ve only seen this once,” you admitted, biting your lip.

That finally made him turn to you, his jaw dropping in mock horror. “What?!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. “I mean, I know it. Everyone knows it. But I’ve only actually watched it once.”

Stiles shook his head, feigning deep disappointment. “This is worse than I thought. I have my work cut out for me.”

“Oh, please.”

“No, no,” he insisted, his tone playful. “I’m serious. I can’t date someone who’s only seen The Empire Strikes Back once. This is a crisis.”

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He paused, as if considering your point, before breaking into a grin. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and the moment they did, his eyes widened in panic. “I mean—uh—”

You blinked at him, startled, before breaking into a laugh. “Did you just call me cute?”

“Maybe?” he said, his voice pitching up nervously.

You leaned closer, smirking. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

That shut him up.

By the time the movies ended and the lot started clearing out, you found yourself lingering, neither of you quite ready for the night to end.

Stiles leaned against the hood of the Jeep, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he glanced at you. “So, uh… did you have fun?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “It wasn’t bad.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “Not bad? Y/N, you’re killing me here.”

You laughed, stepping closer. “It was fun, Stiles. Really.”

His face lit up, and for a moment, you felt the same warmth that had surprised you on the first date.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I’d really like to do this again.”

You smiled, letting the silence stretch between you before nodding. “I think I’d like that, too.”

His grin was wide and unguarded, and as he opened the passenger door for you and climbed into the driver’s seat, you realized something you hadn’t expected:

You were looking forward to the next one.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Beacon Hills High wasn’t exactly known for its subtlety when it came to gossip, and your relationship with Stiles Stilinski was proof of that.

It started small: a few people noticing the two of you sitting closer during lunch, walking to class together, or laughing over something only the two of you understood. But then, Stiles—Stiles, of all people—had decided to hold your hand in the middle of the crowded hallway between third and fourth period.

It was like setting off a firework in a quiet room.

By the time you made it to your next class, you could feel the whispers following you like shadows. And you didn’t need superhuman hearing to catch what people were saying:

“Wait—Y/N and Stiles? When did that happen?”

“Is she, like, okay? What’s going on here?”

“No way. That has to be a dare or something.”

“Honestly? Kinda cute.”

The lunchroom the next day was worse. You’d barely made it halfway to your table when you caught Jackson Whittemore’s unmistakable voice cutting through the chatter.

“Hold on,” he said loudly, standing up and gesturing dramatically as you and Stiles walked past. “Am I hallucinating, or are you two actually a thing?”

You paused mid-step, sharing a glance with Stiles. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, but you straightened your shoulders, gripping his hand tighter.

“Not hallucinating,” you said simply, giving Jackson a tight smile before continuing toward your usual spot.

But Jackson wasn’t done. “No, seriously,” he called after you, ignoring Lydia’s warning glare. “Is this some kind of joke? Like, am I being punk’d?”

“It’s real, Whittemore,” Stiles said, his voice firmer than anyone expected. “Deal with it.”

Jackson stared, caught completely off guard. “Huh,” he muttered, sinking back into his seat. “Weird.”

At your table, Lydia and Allison were grinning like Cheshire cats.

“You guys are so cute,” Lydia said, leaning her chin on her hand. “It’s almost disgusting.”

“Almost,” Allison added, smirking. “But not quite.”

Stiles groaned, slumping down in his seat. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this.”

“Oh, honey,” Lydia said, her tone dripping with amusement. “It’s already a big deal.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a warmth to their teasing that made you smile. “You guys are the worst.”

“And you love us for it,” Lydia quipped, winking.

The comments from the lacrosse team started during practice that afternoon. Stiles had barely stepped onto the field before one of the guys clapped him on the back and said, “Dude, you’ve gotta teach me your secret. How the hell did you pull this off?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Stiles stammered, his ears turning red. “She… likes me?”

“Yeah, why though?” another player chimed in, earning a sharp look from Scott.

“Hey, leave him alone,” Scott said, though he couldn’t quite hide his grin. “It’s not that shocking.”

“Yes, it is,” Jackson muttered from across the field.

Coach Finstock chose that moment to stroll by, his whistle swinging around his neck. He stopped, squinting at Stiles before glancing at you, standing by the bleachers waiting for practice to end.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Coach said, his voice loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Stilinski, how did you manage to score the prettiest girl in school? Did you blackmail her or something?”

Stiles froze, his face turning bright red. “No, Coach!”

“Hmm,” Coach said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Whatever it is, keep doing it. Maybe it’ll improve your game.”

The team burst into laughter as Stiles groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

By the end of the week, the buzz around your relationship had reached a fever pitch. Some people were genuinely happy for you, while others—Jackson included—still couldn’t wrap their heads around it.

“Seriously,” Jackson said one day, cornering Lydia in the hallway. “You’re telling me this isn’t a prank? A long con? Some kind of social experiment?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Get over it, Jackson. They’re happy. Isn’t that enough?”

“For who?” he shot back, crossing his arms. “For you? For me? I mean, come on. Stilinski? Really?”

“Yes, really,” Lydia said sharply, her voice leaving no room for argument. “And for the record? They’re adorable together.”

The truth was, you’d been bracing yourself for the judgment. Stiles wasn’t like the other guys in your social circle, and you knew some people wouldn’t understand what you saw in him. But none of that mattered when you were with him.

He made you laugh when you least expected it. He listened when you needed to vent. He treated you like you were the only person in the room, even when the entire school was watching.

And when he walked you to class, carrying your books and rambling about his latest Star Wars theory, you couldn’t help but think:

Let them talk.

Because at the end of the day, you wouldn’t change a thing.

[urhoneycombwitch]

just thinking of artist!eddie x muse!reader meet cute. cw reader dresses femme in this

“um… excuse me? pardon me. you can’t be touching that.”

Eddie spins to see someone walking across the room towards him (a very hot someone. in clicky heels and a tight black skirt that shows off a gorgeous slip of thigh.)

holding a clipboard against one waist, you point at him with your work-supplied ballpoint pen, sounding lightly flustered but firm all the same- “sorry, it’s just- you can’t touch the art. I know there’s no red rope around here, but not touching the artwork at a gallery, that’s kinda… just courtesy.”

Eddie takes his hand from the now-straightened framed photograph, then spreads his hands in a placating gesture, sheepish and charming smile fixed on you. “sorry-“ his eyes flick down to your name badge, and he says your name in that husky voice, “-must’ve gotten mixed up, thought this was the petting zoo area.”

You snort, intending to let him off the hook with just a warning. then you tap your pen against your clipboard, trying to maintain a professional composure without drooling.

flicking up and down his frame, you take in the tight black ripped jeans, black vine tattoos curling out from a cut-off tank, over the milky expanse of his broad shoulders, alongside the veins running up and down his forearms. smattered with hair.

Eddie’s looking at you the same way. like he’s hungry. the attention calls to you, makes your spine perk up, a little flare of excitement kicking at your heart rate.

you take the bait. turn to the wall of art, point at one of the other frames just to fill the charged silence. “so! um. do you like this body of work? I think it’s the best in the series so far.”

Eddie crosses his arms, gives you a look that you can’t quite decipher- amusement? suspicion? hard to say. you’re tracing the ridge of his ear with your gaze, sunlight streaming through the main entrance windows glinting off the multitude of rings nestled there.

under your attention, Eddie’s preening, and also hoping you keep talking to him as long as possible so he can memorize the way your tits look in that blouse and paint ‘em from memory (😵‍💫) “fancy yourself an art critic? go on, sweetheart- I’d love to hear your take.”

and those doey eyes almost drive you to distraction !!! but you give a very genuine review of Eddie’s newest work (having no idea you’re flattering the artist in person), and he’s smiling by the end of your impassioned response.

“wow. sounds like you really like this artist.”

“I really do!”

“…and if this artist asked you for your number, you’d say yes, right? ‘cuz you like him so much?”

and he’s got that same sweet and silly smile from earlier, eyebrows raised. and when you realize, you’re mortified. bringing up the clipboard in front of your face to hide like “oh my god. you’re Eddie Munson. the artist. and I yelled at you for touching your own art!! why did you let me do that!!”

he laughs, hand over his heart, earnest- “no, don’t apologize! it was a huge ego boost for me, didn’t know they’d have such a beautiful personal bodyguard for my stuff. you gotta let me take you out for a drink as thanks for your service.”

and he does this dorky off balance bow low to the ground and you’re looking over the top of your board giggling. his humor is just your type and you fall for each other before round two of drinks after your shift that night (and fall into each others BEDS. ayooooo.)

[froggibus]

Pool Party - Obey Me

Includes: Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo, Beel & Belphie

Genre: fluff, crack

Summary: what better way to spend a hot summer day than at the pool with your favorite demons?

CW: swimming, sunburns, lots of sunscreen, kind of a crack fic ngl, alcohol and drinking, crocs, chicken fights, reader = mc

this is a part of my Summer Suntacular Event, come check it out!

guys i am SO BEYOND EXCITED TO FINALLY POST THIS!!! ive been waiting a WEEK...anyway sorry for starving my obey me followers for almost a year...my bad

Lucifer:

surprisingly not wearing his dorky scuba suit

hovers around the grill while Beel cooks 

brings extra water and sunscreen in case anyone forgets theirs 

pesters you about reapplying your sunscreen like every 20 minutes 

tries to beat Beel at chicken but almost instantly loses 

brings his extra paperwork and refuses to participate in anything until he finishes it

the only one who’s jaw doesn’t drop when he sees you in your bathing suit

he still thinks you’re hot—he just doesn’t show it like everyone else

insists on getting a group photo of everyone but it takes like ten tries before he gives up because everyone keeps squinting at the sun

wants to be the “responsible” one and not drink so he fills his thermos with sangria to be sneaky

literally everyone knows it's sangria cause who brings a thermos to the pool

Mammon:

asks for your help taking pictures of his brothers in their bathing suits so he can sell them

does not burn and refuses to put on sunscreen unless you beg him to

and then acts like he’s not doing it for you but just protecting himself

doesn’t bring his own beer or anything and just leeches off of everyone else’s

has another, secret mission of trying to push Lucifer in the water without getting caught

succeeds and blames it on you like the bastard (affectionate) that he is

thinks you look too hot in your bathing suit and tries to cover you the whole day. does not succeed.

will cause a fight if anyone compliments you 

“Mammon are you jealous or something”

“tch the Great Mammon doesn’t get jealous. you’re crazy.”

Levi:

a miracle that he even came outside i'm afraid

wears his dorky ass hawaiian button up and goggles around his neck

burns SO easily please slather him in sunscreen

hates that the other brothers get to see you in your bathing suit and pouts about it like the baby he is

lays on a lawn chair and plays on his switch + refuses to get in the water

however as soon as you ask Beel for a piggyback in the pool, he’s Michael Phelps

carries a water gun and pretends like he’s assassinating people

accidentally ruins Asmo’s makeup and starts a brawl

super blushy and flustered if you come near him in your bathing suit

and if you touch him his system does a hard reset

refers to the whole day as a ‘filler episode’ much to everyone’s confusion

eats about a thousand different popsicles with increasingly weird flavours

wears a pair of purple crocs with anime charms (he’s been begging you to get a pair for months so you guys can match croc charms)

Satan:

does not care much for swimming but he’ll lay on a lawn chair and read his book

talks to you at least three times about the dangers of UV rays and the importance of sunscreen

has a really dorky sun visor that he wears anytime he’s in the sun like an old man

brings an extra matching one for you 

needs to challenge Lucifer at absolutely everything

the second Luci steps in the water to play chicken, Satan is throwing you on his shoulders

has one of those lounge floats decorated with cats that he lays on while he reads and sunbathes

only drinks moscow mules and insists that you try them

has a meticulously maintained pair of Birkenstocks that he wears everywhere

tries to wear them into the pool and has a five minute argument with Lucifer about why he can’t

lays out your towel in the sun for you so it’s nice and warm when you get out of the pool

bonus points if he wraps you up in it

Asmo:

comes an hour later after everyone else because he had to shave everywhere and paint his nails to match his bathing suit

takes a thousand and one pictures of himself 

and about a million more of the two of you together (his favourite of which he sets as his lock screen)

has an incredible collection of cruelty free, reef friendly, non-comedogenic sunscreens that he applies liberally

goes in the water but refuses to get his hair wet and WILL cause a fight if anyone splashes him

weirdly good at chicken but only because he doesn’t want to fall in the water

loves aesthetic cocktails served in fruits and drinks them the whole day

probably the best at making cocktails too

has a timer set for when he has to reapply sunscreen and asks you (and only you) to help him apply it

also forces you to wear sunscreen 

Levi uses his expensive face sunscreen on his body and Asmo almost kills him

Beel:

the absolute grill master

he’s got 10 different things on the go, a beer in one hand and tongs in the other

challenges everyone to a game of chicken and refers to you as his ‘secret weapon’ to win

the Satan/Asmo duo get surprisingly close to winning but Asmo chips his nail and concedes

has one of those floaties that you can put drinks and snacks in and drags it along with him in the pool

lets you hang off his back while he swims

if you’re laying down on your towel he WILL come and shake the water off of himself on you like a dog

will only throw you in the pool if he 100% knows it won’t upset you

threatens the other brothers to do the same or face the consequences

forgets to put on sunscreen but somehow doesn’t burn???

comes out looking like a greek god

Belphie:

spends 90% of his time lounging on a pool float like the lazy mf he is

bats his eyes at you and asks you to bring him drinks everytime he finishes his

did not inherit Beel’s ability to tan and burns

five minutes in the sun and he becomes a lobster

only leaves his pool float to play one (1) round of chicken (that he loses) and if he gets too hot

also his pool floaty is definitely black and white like a cow

everytime he hears Satan lecture you about sunscreen he repeats it in a high pitched nerd voice 

belphie pls wear sunscreen

probably falls asleep on the floaty at least once until Beel comes and flips him into the water

if anyone splashes him he WILL retaliate to the fullest extent

compliments how you look in your bathing suit just to annoy Mammon 

steals everyone’s drinks if they leave them by the edge of the pool bcs he’s too lazy to grab his own

Summer Suntacular | Masterlist | Obey Me Masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[northopalshore]

Hii💝💝

I'm curious, based of your experience, what is your first impression of each rising sign ??

♀Hello 🌝

Personal experiences with the rising signs

Note that these do not reflect the entirety of those with the rising signs mentioned, these are just my personal opinions of people I've met in real life with these placements.

๑ஓ Aries risings:

All the aries risings I've met up to this point are very direct. They look like they bite but really don't. Also, a lot of them kind of look & act like a dumbass (in the best way possible). The edge lords with no filter, no patience, no tolerance, but most of all no bullshit.

If they call you an ass that's a term of endearment lmao. Sarcasm is their love language, jokes and wit are their strong suits. They're the ones that will debate you just for fun (the guys especially).

Intense, passionate and lively. They always look mad for some reason but they swear they aren't. It's like their eyebrows are just angled that way naturally. I love being around them though. It's always refreshing.

First impression in a single sentence: Annoyingly charming.

๑ஓ Taurus risings:

Literally the most patient and chill people I've ever met. Super friendly, slightly dorky. Perhaps it's because I have Taurus in my 3rd house, but I'm usually at ease around them. Although, sometimes it's rather awkward when we run out of things to say lol.

I'd say they are the goofiest people I've ever met.

First impression in a single sentence: Fun but kind of awkward.

๑ஓ Gemini risings:

Very talkative. Very friendly. Always seem to have some sort of new gossip or topic to think about. They do tend to be a bit two-faced at times especially when it involves gossiping, however I've noticed that if they have sun or moon here they are rather passive aggressive. By that I mean they don't "split faces" or pretend to like something as much compared to those without it. How do I say it .. they have more integrity?

It's not like all the gossip is bad, sometimes they comment on the right stuff but just hide their distaste rather than facing any sort of confrontation.

Maybe it's because my 4th house is Gemini, but I sort of have a hit or miss relationship with Gemini Suns & risings. They tend to "mother" me quite often. Perhaps they remind me of some traits my mother has? Both good & bad. I tend to have a love hate relationship with them for some reason, but I don't dislike Gemini.

There's sometimes this codependent feel whenever I'm around them. But Gemini moons? Those are my bffs lmaoo.

First impression in a single sentence: Gretchen Wieners

๑ஓ Cancer risings:

The sweetest most genuine people I've ever met, regardless of their gender. They are always honest with what they're trying to communicate. (Although most cancer risings I know have either sun or moon in the first house)

Note: I'm realising now I know quite a handful of people with sun/moon in their 1st house.

First impression in a single sentence: "I can't believe people like you still exist."

๑ஓ Leo risings:

Omg. They are super friendly & very caring. They definitely are divas in their own right. Very expressive especially when it comes to their makeup or looks. They love accessories, and outfits that stand out.

I have a leo rising friend with moon & jupiter in her 1st house. Girl, lemme tell you she is extra. Contact lenses, head accessories, heels, the works. She's very confident of herself as well. Posting videos & photos of herself often.

There is a bit of a temper but it's not that prominent & doesn't really last long either. Still, I've never met a single Leo rising that is selfish. Self obsessed yes, but not without the heart to match.

First impression in a single sentence: The bigger the hair the bigger the heart.

๑ஓ Virgo risings:

Edge lord II. There are three types of virgo rising that I usually meet. The self deprecating, the self obsessed perfectionist & the one in the middle.

On one hand, they are a super deadpan, no bullshit typa person then on the other, they are extremely self focused and sensitive towards judgement but super judgemental themselves. Then on the otherr other hand, they couldn't care less about what you think.

Very analytical, as you'd expect from Virgos. I always notice them looking around or at me trying to evaluate their surroundings lol. I appreciate their sense of thoughtfulness.

If they're nice, they're really nice but if they're immature or have issues with confidence or control especially then it's very evident. Still, I don't dislike them by any means. Virgo is my descendant I guess I'm a sucker for an edge lord lmaoo. Maybe that's why I keep marrying Sebastian in Stardew Valley.

First impression in one sentence: Okay Sasha Fierce/ 'cause tonight will be the night that I will fall ferr yeww ovar againn— ♪

๑ஓ Libra risings:

They are usually very sweet & open to communication. The ones I've met in real life are very intuitive, or at least are somewhat of a deep thinker. However, some of them tend to judge things based on looks quite fast lol. Other than that though, they usually have very good (fair) judgement & good values.

They are usually very pretty (conventionally attractive). With symmetrical oval shaped faces and a gorgeous resting face. They just look like an ad.

However, I have a housemate with a libra rising & aquarius degree and she's.. well you wouldn't expect her to be a Libra rising based on her looks. It's not like she's ugly, no. Her features just differ from what you'd expect from a Libra rising.

Also, she tends to be rather biased at times. Saying that one thing is bad, but she acts on something else which isn't "applaudable" by any means.

First impression in a single sentence: Clueless' Cher meets Karen Smith

๑ஓ Scorpio risings:

These are the asian baby girls or "goth chicks". Their favourite colour is usually black or purple. Normally I see them with tattoos or dyed hair. These are my people though, they are very inquisitive. A lot of the scorpio risings I know like to ask questions. Sometimes very.. strange or intense questions.

I love how genuine they are to themselves however, speaking their mind and expressing their feelings through their expressions. Some of them tend to be... Reclusive? They see themselves as this dark entity, either too smart for the others to comprehend or dismissive of what people have to say about them.

Although, I've never met a scorpio rising who isn't slightly obsessed with themselves lmao.

First impressions in a single sentence: I bet they listen to Mitski & Lana Del Rey.

๑ஓ Sagittarius risings:

I feel like people tend to sleep on how attractive Sagittarius risings are. Like, they're giving face, body, curves and everything in between. I have an older friend (27-28) and she's just so pretty. Especially when she smiles. Ngl but I did side eye her man a couple times during their wedding.

Usually very active outdoors as well.

Most of the guys I've met with this placement are rather religious. Like, the type to debate over it. The men are quite preachy (at least the ones I've met are). Most of them are reliable and fun to be around. Certified yappers.

First impression in a single sentence: The bigger the brain the hotter the person, I just hope they don't get too big now.

๑ஓ Capricorn risings:

Usually, the people I met with this placement give a pretty cold attitude towards the things around them. Their muscles on their faces are usually tense or there's this resting b face there. Sometimes they look like they're in a hurry to do something but you see them doing nothing in particular after lol.

They look like they've got shit to do & their lives together. Either that or they look rather unmotivated lmao. When you're talking for the first few times, there's usually no expression on their face. They'll just blink every now & then.

They are competitive too which is something you'd normally expect from an Aries more than anything.

First impression in a single sentence: "They are so practical."

๑ஓ Aquarius risings:

Weirdest mfs alive. Both male & female. Also tend to be the loudest (but differs depending on the degree it's in), though still charming in a way. They tend to be very chill and always down to hang with whoever. Usually always laughing at their own jokes or something they thought of randomly. They tend to be very intuitive, although it manifests differently with every aquarius rising I've met (whether their focus is on society or themselves). There's this tunnel vision aspect as well. They are genuine to a fault lol. The ones I've met personally are a little wild or quirky, always doing their own thing.

Very opinionated usually. Always trying to look at the big picture.

First impression in a single sentence: "I mean, if it works for you great."

๑ஓ Pisces risings:

They are a little erratic, a little strange and other worldly in a way. When you look at them, at times you'll notice that they aren't really there. Their interests are always different from the people around them.

Some of them tend to have this victim mentality to them, but I think it's just because most of the ones I met were when I was younger. They're probably just as immature as other kids at the time.

Very spiritual regardless if they follow any specific religion or not, I've never met a pisces rising (or w the degree) that isn't open to the idea of a higher power or karmic cycles. This seems to be true especially as they grow older. They also always have some sort of connection to music.

First impression in a single sentence: "I wonder if their mind is at Jupiter right now"

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

***entertainment purposes only, reader discretion is advised***

Hope this was entertaining ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔ◜⁠✧

@northopalshore

[midnightanxietytm]

I have a silly idea :3

imagine Mabel recounting the “accident with the leaf blower” to the reader, who then proceeds to make sure Ford isn’t around and tells her about the “kissing practice robot” incident from high school (which they witnessed) if you don’t know what I mean watch the land before swine commentary video

meanwhile Ford is down in the basement and suddenly stops what he’s doing and is like “I feel a disturbance in the force.”

A/N: Oh my god the kissing bot is so iconic, Ford is such a dork for that one lol. Hope I met your expectations with this one , its been a while since I've written something more lighthearted. Thanks for the request!

Contents: Mabel and Reader spilling tea, talks about kissing and romance and other sappy things. Ford x Reader more implied than anything. Short and fun.

Word count: 500

You know something is wrong because Mabel isn't smiling, Mabel is always smiling. She walks through the gift shop door and goes straight to sit on the counter next to you with a big sigh.

“Alright, spill it, sunshine.” You say with a small smile, putting down the book you'd been reading in order to give her your full attention.

She looks up at you with big round eyes. “I dunno… The date went well, he even kissed me!” You gasp in pretend shock and that gets a small giggle out of her. “I know right?! But like… It felt weird! It wasn’t bad! Just weird… maybe I need more practice…”

That makes you laugh as you prop yourself near the checkout; “Mabel, darling, kissing isn't really some equation you can figure out, maybe he just wasn't the right person.”

She lets out another big sigh, but you can tell is more resigned and hopefull this time. “Yeah, I guess… Besides, I really don't want another leaf blower accident.”

You laugh again, Mabel has that charm. “The what accident now?”

“Oh my gosh, I never told you?! It's so embarrassing; I was obsessed with that boy, who turned out to be a bunch of gnomes by the way, and I wanted our first kiss to be perfect, so I stuck a photo of him on a leaf blower on suction made and used it to practice.” When she said that, both of you started to laugh so hard tears formed in your eyes. “I-t left like this huge bruise on my face!”

You lean your head on the table, trying to stop laughing, but the mental image of Mabel with a leaf blower stuck to her face is too much.

“Oh gosh you're just like your grunkle!” You say in-between wheezing.

“Wait which one?” Mabel asked, rubbing the tears off her eyes.

“Okay so…” You began, looking around just to check Ford wasn’t near. “Your Grunkle Ford, back in high school he built this robot…” You look around again, holding back laughter and bringing down your voice. “It was this mannequin head with a rubix cube for a mouth and it had an alarm that wouldn’t stop playing until he…” And you did quotation marks with your hands. “...kissed it right.”

And you both started laughing all over again. “That's so dorky oh my gosh!”.

“Right!? He's such a nerd.” You say, and there's a softness to it that eases Mabel's worries about romance all together. “It fell from his locker once and it started blasting the darn alarm! He couldn’t go anywhere for a week after that without people mimicking kissing noises. It was gross.” You chuckle and sigh, sitting back down on your stool. “Compared to that, a leaf blower is no big deal!”

“Compared to what?” Says a third voice.

You and Mabel snap your heads, seeing Ford standing on the doorway behind the vending machine.

Crap.

[amoreva]

girl i beg you i need reader x luke based on gorgeous by taylor swift... its been on my mind for like past week

FESS UP!

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

pairing: luke castellan x reader

summary: you still have some unresolved feelings about a certain Hermes counselor.

warnings: cursing, implied reader is halfblood, sexual innuendo, dorky, drinking, kinda loser!reader

a/n: is it dorky? probably, lmk with feedback in the comments. every one is appreciated and helps me write towards your liking.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

You were a coward.

Not with everything, because gods forbid you’re afraid of monsters despite having demigod-blood in you.

No, you were a coward with confrontation. With emotions, with love. Mainly love. You couldn’t even confess to a someone without your stomach churning.

And how you expressed attraction was…not ideal, according to Silena. You kind of, sort of—just a tad made fun of some things you found attractive of them.

Ideally, you wanted to leave yourself out for the harpies to maul you when your crushes give you a look (you knew you fucked up).

Which is why you have stuck to the tactic of watch and admire from afar and be happy with just friendship.

A classic.

The bonfire burned high and orange as many of the older campers and counselors, including yourself, were hanging out without the responsibilities of taking care of your younger siblings.

The typical red solo cups were in the hands of every demigod. A mysterious mixture made by Dionysus’ twins, Pollux and Castor, occupied the container. They never told anyone the recipe or what’s in it, but it left a warm feeling in your chest.

“You keep staring and he’s bound to notice.” Silena sat next to you. “Or your eyes fall out.”

“I hate him. Why does he have to look like that?” You groaned and sipped your drink to distract you from your current crush.

Luke Castellan. The golden boy of Camp Half-Blood. He could charm anyone’s pants off with a smile. It was frustrating how good looking and friendly and cool and kind he was. Fuck him.

He was talking the Chris and Beckendorf about who knows what. Somehow, the Hermes counselor has yet to have a girlfriend. He’s probably a virgin. You could fix that.

“Honey…” Silena looked at you with concern in her eyes and a polite smile. “The whole sit and admire tactic is redundant. Talk to him.”

“Silena…” You whined and the girl was preparing herself to listen to your list of excuses of why you can’t.

“No, no—don’t whine like a baby!” Silena dumped the rest of her drink into your cup. Taking initiative, she made your chug like half. “Fess up or mess up! Take some liquid courage and go talk to him.”

“Silen—” You sputtered as your chest grew as warm as the bonfire. Your throat burned in a good way.

Whoever said Silena was the Camp’s Cupid was right and she was quite determined to get a start on pairing you and Luke. Just to see how it turns out, of course.

Next thing you know, you’re dragged over to Luke, Chris and Beckendorf; interrupting the boys’ conversation. Silena made up some lame excuse and said a quick introduction before shoving Chris and Beckendorf away from Luke and you.

Gods, he’s so gorgeous. His curly hair tosseles over his head. His eyes meeting yours as he sipped on his own drink. That amused smirk that paired so well with his scar—both working in favor of his boyish charm.

And suddenly he’s moving his mouth.

“Hey.” He said normal and polite as one would do. Obviously.

And you can’t help but think of Tangled. Specifically, the scene when Flynn Rider is tied up to a chair with Rapunzel’s hair. She interrogating him and all he could muster was a smolder and the word “Hey”, to try and charm his way out.

Luke looks out quizzically as you poorly try to stifle a mix between a giggle and a snort behind your hand. He must’ve thought you were crazy for laughing or extremely rude.

It’s frustrating how nervous you can be in front of your crushes.

“Hi—sorry…” You managed to quiet your laughs and awkwardly sip your drink. The words began flying out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop. “I was thinking about how you remind me of Flynn Rider from Tangled. How are you?”

“Tangled?” Luke tilted his head in confusion. Oh gods, has this boy never experience Disney movies? This just made it even more terribly awkward if he didn’t get the reference.

“Y’know…the girl with the glowing hair locked in a tower until Flynn Rider gets her out to see the lanterns in exchange for the crown?” You explained.

“Oh! Rapunzel.” Luke nodded. “Yeah I remember that. I always loved the lantern scene.”

“Me too! I’ve always wanted to experience something like that.” You agreed and looked over at the bonfire. Silena and Beckendorf encouraging you to keep talking to him.

Though Luke and you fell silent. Your mind wracking topics to talk about with him, but all you can think of is how handsome he is. Now looks aren’t everything, but his personality was a gorgeous as Elysium.

“Gods, you are just so handsome.” You find yourself admitting without even thinking about it. You find the words to talk to him about anything and everything, but your stumble.

Luke grabbed your arm. Stars dotting your vision. The “liquid courage” Silena forced down your throat catching up to you. “Hey, I think that’s enough drinking. Yeah?”

“Yeah…” You mumble as Luke leads you away from the bonfire and towards your cabin.

“Let’s get you back to your bunk, yeah? S’not good to be so drunk now.” He cared enough to walk you back to your cabin! It left a warm feeling in your body, or that was the Dionysus twins’ special drink.

The cabin door creaks open and Luke procures some water. You drink it as Luke crouches to get your converse off. Again, your heart is warm inside, but that could just be the alcohol.

Luke laid your blanket over your body. An amused smirk on his face. He found you drunk, cute. So, he decides to admit something hoping you’d remember tomorrow. You’re already half asleep when you hear this.

“I think you’re cute too. Let’s start out with watching Tangled first before we do anything, yeah?” Luke laughed quietly, trying not to wake your siblings. He wanted it to take it slow with you. Was this some drunk dream?

“Yeah…” You find yourself mumbling. Your eyes drooping shut before opening again. Struggling to stay awake to keep talking to Luke, you fall asleep.

Silena was a damn good Cupid.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–