#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

[wingfleur]

# — calling mark grayson "small."

got fried as fuck and this shit came to me like a prophecy. a dream. i know i have my to-do list, but it’s hard for me to write stuff i’m no longer in the exact headspace for. like, i need to wait until i can get into it enough to feel it the way i did when i first thought of it. anyways, this is set in a universe that’s pretty canon-compliant: mark and amber broke up, but he hasn’t dropped out of college (yet) or ended up with eve. you also have no clue he’s invincible, just that he’s had a glow up and your cute, dorky friend from high school is now fine as shit. i also listened to “party favors” by leon thomas and big sean the entire time i worked on this.

lastly, i'd like to give a humongous shoutout to @omniphilic for beta-reading this monster for me! much love, sunshine, and godspeed, my children. enjoy! | wc: 7.9k words.

cw: nsfw mdni (18+), afab!reader, a lot of porn with a lot of plot, light angst, confessions, banter, friends-to-lovers, mentions of amber (i love you girl but it’s so easy to use you as a plot device </3), oral sex (f!recieving), explicit sex (p in v), missionary, squirting, dirty talk, praise, soft!dom mark, consider this my apology for the hurt/very little comfort v!card mark x reader fic <3

thinking about you joking around with mark grayson and calling him… small. you know where.

it sounds like such a silly scenario, but walk w/ me: you and mark have an… odd friendship. looking back on it, you two were an unlikelier pair than winning the lottery. you’re from completely different worlds– you were more on the straight and narrow: the academic side of things. all you did was bust your ass, and you had plenty to show for it– friends, awards, this air of recognition that followed you from classroom to classroom.

and mark? well, he fell more into the category of incredibly average. average grades, average social life, even an average reputation amongst the student body– the kind that makes you easy to remember and always gets you labeled as a “pretty cool guy,” but keeps you out of any real trouble. maybe that’s part of his charm– the fact that everything about him is initially so unassuming, so run of the mill that you don’t even think twice. not until you start to get to know him.

there’s plenty that sticks out once you get to know him.

then, somehow, at the start of your senior year, you two ended up partnered together for a project in the same upper-level english class. y’know, the college freshman one everyone takes because it’s a cheap credit, regardless of if they’re going to harvard to study law, or to the local community college to save a bit of money. neither of you had many expectations, but you and mark became fast friends. mark’s awkward charm grew on you, and he already had a decent opinion of you from seeing you around, but finally being in a situation where he could talk to you and not feel like a nuisance only made him think of you more highly than before. you were cool as shit; he has no idea how you two hadn’t spoken sooner.

but it’s no surprise that you two absolutely nailed the project. with your smarts and mark’s willingness to learn, the grade on it ended up being so good that it made you jump into mark’s arms out of pure excitement. mark caught you effortlessly, spinning you around and giggling alongside you without a second thought. the intimacy of such a reaction didn’t dawn on you two until long after he set you down, you grinning giddily in his face, while he could do nothing but grin back.

that’s how you ended up here– lying in mark’s bed, long after graduation, and visiting home from campus on a long weekend. you’re wearing one of his t-shirts and reading one of his copies of seance dog as he works on a paper. when you found out you two would be attending the same university, you were more than stoked. mark was stoked too, but he was so sure you could’ve gotten into one of chicago’s finest, or, better yet, move away from illinois entirely, rather than attend upstate university. he gave you a hesitant look when you said you were more than content with your choice, saying that a degree is a degree no matter where you went and that as long as you could be with mark, it would be worth it. deep down, though, mark swore something bloomed in his chest that day. he doesn’t really know what that feeling was– is, to be more accurate, because he still feels it sometimes– but that’s the least of his worries. 

his main worry is getting this paper in by 11:59 pm tonight. 

and just like that, the rhythmic clacking of mark’s fingers against the keyboard fills the silence and leaves you to bask in this comforting sensation of warmth. you’re so relaxed that you can’t bring yourself to move. not that you would have wanted to, anyway.

it’s peaceful. so, of course, you have to ruin it. 

“you ever want to fuck a cartoon character?” you suddenly say, the copy of seance dog in your hand and your foot crossed over your knee. you hear the way mark’s typing pauses for a moment, and imagining his reaction forces you to bite back a snicker. a pregnant silence fills the room before the typing begins again, just as rhythmic and hypnotic as before.

“i know you’re not saying that about seance dog,” mark finally quips back, his voice dripping with an absurd amount of mirth. you can hear his smile in his voice– you always can, because mark rarely doesn’t smile. it’s one of your favorite things about him.

you can’t help but take the bait.

“you think i could be?” you ask, tone scandalized and brows raised. neither of you move to face each other just yet– you don’t need to. you can tell exactly what face mark’s making from the sound of his voice, and mark can do the same for you. it’s how he knows that you’ve stopped biting back that smug smile of yours– the one that creeps across your face when you’re clearly up to something, but he doesn’t know what. you’re a troublemaker; it’s one of his favorite things about you.

“yeah,” he replies without missing a beat, “i clearly know nothing about you. i was once dumb enough to think you were intimidating.”

“i’m still intimidating!”

“yeah, maybe on occasion,” mark teases, his typing ceasing completely so that he can spin around in his chair. he leans against it with his head tossed back and his arms on the armrests, eying you gleefully as you put the comic face down on the bed. “most of the time i forget because you’re too busy saying shit that’s uncomfortably close to ‘i wanna fuck seance dog.’”

“eat shit and die, mark.”

“i don’t wanna.”

“then shut the fuck up and answer the question!”

“fine, fine!” mark laughs and lifts his hands up lazily off the chair in mock-surrender. “���course i’ve wanted to fuck a cartoon character. who hasn’t? i’m not a nun.”

something flashes in your eyes, and you shift to lean forward towards where mark’s sitting, propping up on your elbows on the bed. you grin mischievously; it’s clear you’re up to nothing remotely good. 

“who?” you ask.

mark replies immediately. “koriand’r.”

“wha– from the titans?”

“no, from the avengers. yes, from the titans. who else would i be talking about?”

“alright, down, boy,” you say amusedly, making mark roll his eyes. “i was just checking. but you obviously can’t handle that.”

mark raises an eyebrow. “says who?”

“uhh, says me?"

the two of you are still for a moment, and you start to fear you said something wrong until you see mark’s eyes darken in that telltale way they do when he starts to feel challenged. then, as if that wasn’t enough to give you goosebumps, he does that stupid, mindless thing he does with his tongue, where he runs it along the inside of his cheek. your breath stills in your chest when mark pushes up off the back of his chair and leans forward towards where you lie on the bed, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped between his thighs. 

it’s hard to keep your gaze from dropping to the veins in his hands.

“oh yeah?” mark asks incredulously, tilting his head. you were joking about being the intimidating one earlier, but the real intimidator is mark. when he gets serious, you swear you can feel something in the air shift. maybe that’s why it feels like the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up right now.

“why not?”

the question, in its simple nature, catches you off guard, and in a brief moment of confusion, you tilt your head. “why not what?” “why couldn’t i handle her?”

you stare at mark as if he’s joking, but instead of him laughing and waving you off, mark stares back at you expectantly, brow arched and lips quirked up at the corners. it’s like he wants to smile, but he can’t. won’t. 

this dickhead must have a death wish.

“what do you mean ‘why couldn’t you handle her?’” you say casually– like what you’re saying is most obvious thing in the world. “it’s koriand’r, mark. she’d chew you up and spit you out before you even had time to undo your belt.”

you swipe up your copy of seance dog and busy yourself with trying to find where on the page you last left off. honestly, it doesn’t matter where you start reading. you’re willing to do anything to help get your mind off the weight of mark’s eyes boring into you.

“besides,” you huff, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, “koriand’r has standards, and you probably have a small dick, anyway.”

the second those words leave your mouth, the room falls deathly silent, and you swear it’s as if the air has been sucked out of the room. you fall still where you’re at, hoping that somehow, someway, you not moving will make mark want to kill you less. you really don’t know what possessed you to say that– it was a poor attempt at deflection, considering the growing amount of tension you began feeling in that room– but you don’t mean it. didn’t mean it. not one bit. 

you’re doing mental gymnastics to figure out how you can take it back without sounding like a total loser before mark starts laughing, and the joyous and boisterous sound gives you pause.

he couldn’t have found that funny… could he? 

okay, yeah, after a little bit of consideration, he very well could have. this is mark grayson, you’re talking about– not one of the insecure guys you were used to dealing with, who were more likely to blow a blood vessel than a load at the idea of being perceived as “unmanly.” mark’s the type of guy to wear one of your crop tops because he knows you’ll whine about him stretching them out, or wear a maid dress as a punishment for losing a bet, masking his embarrassment with quips about how good his legs look. you also know mark enough to know he’s not a virgin, nor is he a prude, but not well enough to know intimate details about his sex life. sure, jokes are fine, but a play-by-play on how he screwed his ex feels… invasive. beyond the scope of your shared comfort. it was just something you never thought of asking.

well, more like something you could never bring yourself to ask.

you set the comic back down on the bed just in time to watch mark wipe some tears from his eyes, twisting around to face his laptop with a smile on his face. he resumes typing like nothing happened, like you didn’t just obliterate his manhood and leave it in pieces for him to pick up off the floor. it’s hard not to gawk at him in disbelief, blinking rapidly for a few moments before speaking.

“that– didn’t upset you?” you say tentatively, voice a lot meeker than initially intended. mark huffs out a laugh and spins around, hands back to resting on the armrests.

“why would it have?” he says bemusedly, still smiling from before. “we joke like that all the time. honestly, i’m surprised you hadn’t said something like that sooner.”

you can only stare at him blankly, brows knitting in confusion as mark continues to regard you patiently. then, you sit up, pushing up off your elbows to swing around and upright, one leg dangling off the bed while the other stays bent in front of you. 

“why didn’t you get mad?”

mark pauses, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head. “...is this a trick question? why would i? you were joking around.”

“most guys would’ve gotten mad about me saying something like that.”

“yeah, well, most guys aren’t exactly confident about what they’re packing downstairs.”

“and you are?”

mark’s lips part for a second, but no words come out. he quickly shuts his mouth and stares at you, but you stare back, ignoring the way your cheeks start to burn with red-hot embarrassment. 

“well, yeah,” mark finally says, eyes flickering nervously to the side. he looks everywhere– the alarm clock on the dresser, his posters on the wall, everywhere but where you are, sitting prettily on his bed– but his eyes have no choice but to finally lock back onto yours, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. “‘course i’m confident about it.”

“...‘cause it’s not small.”

he pauses. “yeah. ‘cause it’s not small.”

your brain short-circuits right then and there.

you aren’t sure why you’re so surprised by this. it wouldn’t have taken a rocket scientist to arrive to this conclusion. you were around when mark started dating his ex-girlfriend, amber– around long enough to have seen the exact point in their relationship where they shed the last of their inhibitions and began interacting with each other much more comfortably. you were also around long enough to watch mark come into himself– to lose that dweebish, unsure aura around him and become more confident. muscled. tall. even if he was still pretty dorky most of the time.

perhaps that’s when the thoughts started: when you started to think of mark less as a boy, and more as a man. when you began wondering things about him that you desperately wanted to know, but were much too scared to ask.

at least you have an answer to one of them now.

“hey,” mark says suddenly, voice sharp enough to cut through all your overthinking and analyses. mark’s closer to you now– right next to you, actually, the scent of his cologne filling your nose– and he has your hand in his, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back. “you okay? should i not have said that–?”

you frantically shake your head. “no–! i mean, yes– god, fuck, no, mark, it’s okay.” you take a deep breath, letting your eyes fall shut. “i’m the one who asked. you just answered.”

you take in a shaky breath and let your eyes flutter open to find mark watching you adeptly, his eyes trained on your face. the expression he’s wearing is one of worry, those dark brows of his pinched in the middle to form a wrinkle you so desperately want to smooth out with your thumb. his plush, pink lips are parted, and in an attempt not to stare at them, your eyes fall to the floor, but not before momentarily catching on how his biceps strain against his sleeves.

for fuck’s sake, this is not the time to be focusing on how attractive you find your best friend.

“i wanted to know,” you finally say, voice soft and a little frayed around the edges. your eyes flutter shut again– something to give you a bit of extra courage to say what you need to say, and not cave under the pressure of your nerves. “i wanted the answer to that question. it sounds weird as fuck, and i totally understand if you want me to leave and never show my face around here again, but i’d be lying if i said i didn’t want to know.”

you open your eyes again to find mark still staring at you, eyes jumping all over your face, while sporting an unreadable expression. you find yourself swallowing hard as you steel yourself for what you want to say next, adjusting to sit and face mark completely. “i wanna know a lot of things about you, actually. and none of them are all that appropriate for two people who are supposed to be ‘best friends.’”

it’s mark’s turn to short-circuit.

“w–what?” mark stutters out, staring at you with a dumbfounded expression as his eyebrows shoot up in suprise. his mouth falls agape, opening and closing fruitlessly as he tries to figure out what to say. “i– jesus christ, i don’t think you understand what you’re saying–”

“i know exactly what i’m saying.” your interjection is quick and firm, your expression void of your previous nervousness and now completely serious. “and you know it. don’t insult me like that again.”

mark’s protests die in his throat.

“i want to know you,” you start. “honestly. intimately. fuck, to be honest, i want to see you– naked, in my bed– but i didn’t wanna make things weird, and then you had that whole thing with amber, and then i thought you were gonna date eve, so i kinda just kept it to myself, but–”

“you can know me.” 

you freeze. “what–?”

“you can know me,” mark says again, his hand squeezing the one that he has wrapped in his. “you can know me. and see me. and i’ll answer every other question you’ve had about me, ‘cause i wanna know you too.”

you can’t help but stare at mark , absolutely and completely dumbfounded. if he notices, he doesn’t judge. doesn’t acknowledge it at all, actually. he just continues to steamroll ahead.

“god, fuck, i really wanna know you like that, too,” he sighs. “always have– like, all the way back in high school. i’d see you in the halls with your friends and think, ‘man, they’re hot,’ then move on with my life because i thought there was no way i’d ever have a chance with you. then, we got partnered up for that project, and i learned that you were so much cooler and more approachable than i had ever imagined, and i wanted to make a move on you so bad, but i still thought there was no way you could ever like me. william can testify to this– i was talking his ear off about you 24/7. still do. he is seriously getting sick of it.” 

the way mark talks is fast– so much so that all his words bleed together, voice full of excitement and sincerity. it make your eyes sting. after he finishes, his quick way of talking tapers off into a hefty bout of silence, his beautiful brown eyes flickering down to your joint hands. 

“and then came amber.”

the quiet that follows drapes over the two of you like a blanket, heavy with the weight of everything you two are thinking, but ultimately remains unsaid. the fact of the matter is that it doesn’t need to be said. you and mark just… know– understand– that amber was the first person, aside from you, to treat mark as less of an expendable, and more like somebody worth knowing. she took the opportunities you were too afraid to– penciled her name in where yours was meant to be and slipped right on into that “partner” position, wearing it as if it was custom-fitted. it may as well have been, because it sure looked good on her. 

he looked good on her. that’s why you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad.

“i never would’ve gone out with her if i knew you wanted me even half as much as i wanted you,” mark says quietly, reaching up to rub a tear from your cheek that you didn’t even know you shed. “but i didn’t. and we dated, and i slept with her, and i loved her, but i feel all of that for you too, y’know.” he cradles your face delicately as he climbs up onto his knees, his movements slow, as if moving too quickly would scare you off. moving too quickly would remind you that this is real; remind you that you probably shouldn’t be doing this, causing you to hop off the bed and run down the hall, flying down the stairs, past debbie, and out the front door.

but you don’t have to worry. never have, actually, because the way mark treats you is careful. cautious. he’s kneeling on the bed and easing you onto your back with such rapt attention that it makes your cheeks warm, head turning to the side to shield it from him before he turns your head right back to where it was.

“i want you to ask your questions,” mark says slowly, large hands pushing your knees apart to make room for him between your legs. you can’t help but stare at him helplessly, any and all words dying in your throat, but mark moves with a confidence that makes it clear you don’t need to speak. not when he’s hovering over you like this. 

“i want to answer your questions, and i want you to do the same for mine. ‘cause i’ve thought about you. a lot. and not all of it was decent. actually, most of it probably wasn’t.”

mark lets himself laugh softly at the admission, but you can only look up at him in awe, the muscles of your brows twitching from the urge to knit in confusion. mark’s eyes catch this, and he reaches down to smooth his thumb over the spot right between your eyebrows– the same way you wanted to do for him earlier.

“so tell me that this is okay.”

mark trails his fingers across your skin, skimming over your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder, and all the way down your arm until reaching your hand. he tangles your fingers together and brings your wrist to his lips, a soft kiss being pressed to your pulse, which makes your heart stutter in your chest. mark doesn’t tease you for how vulnerably you stare at him, or for how red his actions make your face. he only looks down at you with a soft smile, peppering kisses to your palm.

“holy shit, mark, this is more than okay.”

mark’s grin is blinding when you surge forward to kiss him.

the thing that surprises you most about it isn’t how good of a kisser mark is, or how nice it feels for his big hands to come up and cradle your jaw. it’s how easy all of this is– how uncomplicated it is to be making out with mark, how your lips slot together as if it’s always meant to be this way, how raw his groan is when you tangle your fingers into his hair and tug. he has you pressed against the bed in seconds, one hand slowly slipping beneath your t-shirt as the other squeezes at your outer thigh. you feel dizzy when your lips part and he ducks his head down into your neck, sucking bruises into the skin with a fervor that makes you squirm.

“i– fuck, mark, not where people can see–!”

“does it matter if it’s visible? ‘s not like you’re fucking anyone else right now besides me.”

you hit mark hard against his back, but it only makes him chuckle, sitting up to look at you with messy hair and blown pupils. “what? you haven’t slept with anybody in a while, and you’re about to sleep with me. i didn’t say anything wrong.”

“how do you even know that, asshole?”

mark grins, sitting back on his haunches as he hooks the hem of your shirt on his index finger. he tugs it up enough to reveal your stomach. “‘cause you’re lying here in my bed, wearing my shirt, with me sitting between your legs. if i was the person you’ve been fucking, i’d definitely feel some type of way about that.”

you scoff, moving one of your legs to try and kick at mark’s chest. like the little shit he is, he catches it easily and presses a kiss to your ankle, setting it on one of his shoulders. “that doesn’t mean anything. i could have casual sex if i wanted to.”

“yeah,” mark agrees, both hands coming to smooth his shirt up the expanse of your body, “you could. if you wanted to. but you don’t, ‘cause you’re not like that.”

“bullshit.”

“is not. here, open your mouth for me.”

“wh–?”

“shut up and open it for a second, would you?”

you shoot mark a withering glare, but he just grins back, pushing your shirt up under your chin and offering the hem for you to bite down on.

“thank you,” he says gleefully, his words a little too airy and sing-songy for you to let slide. you try and kick him again, but he blocks your leg without much of a second thought, eyes laser focused on the sight of your tits in front of him.

“wow, you are so fucking pretty.”

the way he says it is so full of awe– so genuine– that it makes your mouth fall open. the t-shirt in your mouth gets stuck on your bottom lip in the process, and the sight makes mark chuckle, a boyish grin settling on his face. he reaches up to adjust it and pulls it back up so you can bite down on it again.

“i didn’t even say anything crazy yet,” he teases, laughing as you do your best to swear at him from around the fabric. mark ignores it to focus on the sight in front of him instead, though, fingers tracing up your rib cage before cupping the underside of each of your breasts.

your mind goes blank when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth.

“oh, fuck,” you gasp out, back arching off the bed and into his mouth. the t-shirt slips from between your teeth again, and you can feel mark grin around where his tongue swirls around your skin, popping off to look at you and chastise you softly.

“jeez, you really suck at following instructions,” mark playfully says. “and did you forget that my mom is downstairs? i’ve had her knock on the door during sex before, and trust me, it does not help to sustain the mood.”

“god, you sound like such a dork. ‘it does not help to sustain–’”

mark cuts you off with a groan, fingers curling into the waistband of your shorts and panties. “shut up and lift your hips already.”

you giggle. “fine, fine.”

you plant your feet and lift your hips off the bed enough for mark to tug your clothes off, separating your shorts from your underwear so he can tuck the garment into his pocket. You look at him with a flustered expression, mouth dropping open in bewilderment, but mark simply sticks his tongue out at you and flings your shorts to the floor, panties nowhere in sight. you hardly have enough time to process him keeping them for himself before he’s wrapping his hands around your thighs and tugging them onto his shoulders, putting him face to face with your cunt and lifting your lower back completely off the bed.

you knew mark was strong, but you never thought of him using his strength like this.

mark holds you firmly as he busies himself with eating you out like a man starved. those big, brown doe eyes of his look down at you, sometimes lingering on the rise and fall of your chest, and sometimes taking in the sight of your knitted brows and parted lips, both your hands tangled in the pillow behind your head. his eyes do fall shut every once in a while as if he’s savoring the taste of you on his tongue, and he probably is, knowing mark, but you don’t have the wherewithal to tease him. not now, at least. not when he’s got his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking in these sporadic little bursts that make your stomach burn with molten need.

“oh, f-uck,” you gasp, voice cracking on the expletive. in your defense, it’s the only word you currently feel like you know how to say, but mark doesn’t laugh or tease you for it. he just presses a messy kiss to your clit, then slides his tongue down through your folds to circle your hole, slowly and messily pressing inside of you. he pumps it in and out for a few moments, as if he’s trying to fuck you with his tongue, then flattens the muscle and drags it back up to your clit to press into it firmly. you untangle your fingers from the sheets and reach up to swat at mark’s thigh, twisting and turning frantically in his hold.

“oh my fucking god, mark, let go!” your whines are urgent, thighs beginning to quiver on either side of mark’s head. his eyes flutter open enough to look at you through his long, thick lashes, but his firm grip on your waist doesn’t let up in the slightest. his arms tighten around you, keeping your pussy to his lips and your body off the bed as he continues to ravage you like it’s the one thing he was born to do. “mark! ‘m fuckin’ serious– i’m gonna squirt if you don’t let go of m– oh, fuck!”

you realize your warning is a bit late as you feel that knot tighten and snap in your belly, but it would’ve fallen on deaf ears regardless of whether you said it earlier or not. your cunt gushes all over mark’s nose, lips, and chin, soaking the top of his t-shirt and dribbling a bit down onto the bed below. you’d think he’d have a concern of drowning, but mark’s tongue keeps moving as you cum, legs squeezing against his ears so tight that you’re sure he can hear absolutely nothing but his own heartbeat. you know you sure can’t– all you can hear is the distant sound of your own voice, and the way your breathing stutters in your chest, a series of tremors wracking your body so brutally that you’d liken them to an earthquake. 

“shit,” you gasp softly, limbs tingling once they regain sensation. you wriggle in mark’s grasp and he pulls back from your pussy with a pop!, lowering your hips down to the bed as he runs his tongue along his lower lip.

“you said you were about to squirt as if that was going to deter me,” mark says breathlessly, a soft laugh punctuating his sentence. his face is covered with your slick all over his lips and chin, the sun from the window catching on it in a way that makes it glisten. you’re embarrassed by his nonchalance, but it’s hard to be mad when mark looks this good. you did this to him– made his perfectly slicked-back hair disheveled, and soaked his lower face and chest in your cum. normally, you would reply to his quip right away, but right now, you don’t. you’re much too focused on watching how mark leans down to reach behind his head and grab at his shirt, shucking it off in one smooth motion to join your discarded shorts on the floor.

“it was supposed to,” you finally say, voice sounding just as breathless as mark’s. his lips quirk up at the corners, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. instead, he leans over you to open his bedside drawer, and you take that as an opportunity to continue. “didn’t realize i was sleeping with superfreak, over here.”

mark snorts. “i’m just a guy who prioritizes my partner’s pleasure over mine.”

“that’s a roundabout way to say you like to eat pussy. and ass. oh god, mark, you don’t eat ass, do you?”

mark wiggles his eyebrows in response, and you look at him with such a horrified expression that a giggle can’t help but escape from his chest. he shuts the bedside table with a soft thud and leans back over you with a strip of two condoms hanging from his mouth. your brows shoot up at the sight, but mark doesn’t see it. he’s much too focused on pushing his sweatpants and boxers down to his thighs, cock slapping lightly against his abs.

oh. you always knew mark looked good, but this? this is something else entirely.

“you’re staring,” mark says wryly, tearing one of the condoms from the strip, then opening up the wrapper with his teeth. you watch as he pinches the tip and rolls the condom onto himself with a level of precision that screams of practice. if you hadn’t just cum your brains out, you might’ve found yourself feeling a little bit jealous.

“‘course i am.” your reply is shameless, and it makes mark bark out a startled laugh. “you said it was big, not that you were carrying a weapon. now here you are, looking like asian adonis with my jizz on your face, rolling a condom on with the ease of a common whore. not to mention that you grabbed two of them.”

a giddy smile spreads across mark’s face in reply, but it’s not one of his usual ones: it’s bashful. it’s the kind of smile where he bites his lip to force it down, but it doesn’t work, so his bottom lip slowly unfurls from between his teeth. your ears burn bright red at the sight, but mark doesn’t comment on it. mark’s never been good at multitasking, and he’s much too focused on tossing the unopened condom to the side, then tugging you against him by your thighs.

“we don’t have to use them both,” mark says softly, the sweetness of his smile bleeding into his voice. it’s a bit jarring for him to be acting so adorably, like he’s not running his cock along the seam of your folds. the tip catches on your clit every so often, making your breath catch in the back of your throat.

“i like how that’s what you chose to comment on.” 

he shrugs. “didn’t have much else to say.”

“you’re a dog, you know that, mark?”

mark grins at you wickedly, leaning down to lick a stripe up your cheek.

“mm, yeah. ‘m guilty as charged.”

and just like that, he sinks into you, bottoming out in one smooth thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. your eyes screw shut, but you latch onto him immediately, hand shooting out in search of his. he takes it wordlessly, bringing your hand up so he can kiss your knuckles.

“you okay?” he asks tenderly, lips pressed to the back of your hand. you open your eyes, tears pricking at the corners, then nod slowly as a deep breath leaves your nose.

“yeah,” you say shakily. “just been a while. warn me next time.”

mark nods, doing his best not to get caught up on the fact that you want there to be a next time. “sure,” he answers. “sorry. here– put your legs on my shoulder.”

you lift your legs for mark to take, and he settles both of your feet on one of his shoulders like they belong there. then, he shifts forward, shuffling up so that his thighs bracket your hips, which slots him deeper into you than he has any business being.

it makes you feel crazy. you fucking love it.

once mark feels stable in his position, and any remnants of discomfort bleed from your expression, he starts rocking his hips in and out of you at a pace too quick to be languid, but too slow to be considered harsh. whatever rhythm he’s fallen into, it feels good. you’re clawing at the sheets at your sides and behind your head like a madman, that copy of seance dog he lent you long forgotten on the floor, along with everything else you two have taken off. 

“does this answer one of your questions?” mark asks lowly, eyes half-lidded and jaw tight. he’s got your legs pressed to his chest with one hand, the other splayed across your stomach to hold you in place. you can tell it’s not that simple, though; the firmness with which he presses down against your stomach is as if he’s feeling for something, and the realization makes you clench, cunt squelching lewdly around his cock inside you. “did you wonder how i fuck? if i liked it fast? or did it slow?”

in your day-to-day conversations, mark doesn’t swear all that often– at least, not compared to you– but the mouth he’s got on him in bed is a surprise that makes you flush down to your chest. you look up to see mark gazing at you with eyes that are almost black, a bright blush fanning across his freckled cheeks and nose. when he sees you struggle to answer, the gears clearly turning, but no words coming out, he grips your legs tighter and quickens the snap of his hips. mark’s lips fall open with a breathy moan as he watches the way your eyes roll back, and his abdomen clenches with the need to keep his own pleasure at bay. “c’mon, baby. tell me. tell me how you want it, ‘n’ i promise i’ll do whatever you say.”

“i– god, fuck, mark, yes, i wondered how you fucked!” your reply comes out breathy, whiny, and and rushed– a result of you making an actual effort to focus so it didn’t come out as a jumbled, inaudible mess. “i w-wondered if you’d treat me like glass, or fuck me like i had no self-respect. i don’t care what you do right now– swear t’god i don’t– ‘cause i just wanna cum. don’t fucking stop.”

mark huffs out a laugh at how desperate you sound, lips quirking up in a lopsided smile that shows off the cute little fangs he has in the corners of his mouth. he turns his head to kiss one of your ankles, then takes one to put it on the opposite side, making it so you have one leg on each of his shoulders. large, calloused hands slide down your legs and smooth over your thighs before taking your hands into each of his. you’re about to ask what he’s doing, but there’s no time for the words to come out. he’s already gripping both your wrists and tugging you forward, forcing your ass to smack against his thighs with every brutal snap of his hips.

your brain is about to melt out of your fucking ears.

“did you touch yourself?” mark’s asks breathlessly, dark eyes focused on your face. you try desperately to free your hands from his grasp, but your attempts are pathetically uncoordinated. the way his cock is rearranging your guts makes it impossibly difficult to focus. but despite your lack of success, your writhing makes mark tut at you disapprovingly, and he leans forward to keep you in place by resting a fraction of his body weight on your chest. “quit trying to run ‘n’ tell me. did you touch yourself thinking about me fucking you? imagining how it would be?”

mark leans down to lick a stripe up the side of your neck, voice dropping to a filthy, sultry whisper. “‘cause i did. thought about this all the time, what you’d feel like around me. it’s so much fuckin’ better than i imagined.”

you nod your head frantically, hands clenched into fists, and your nails dig so roughly into your palms that it’s a miracle it hasn’t drawn blood. mark isn’t completely satisfied with your response, but he takes it for what it is and releases both of your wrists in favor of grabbing onto your hips.

“if you touched yourself while thinking of me, then show me. play with it for me, hm?”

you don’t need much more coaxing than that.

your fingers fly to your clit at lightening speed, middle and ring finger rubbing in quick, tight circles that mark finds absolutely hypnotizing. your other hand comes up to palm at your breasts, pinching and tweaking at your nipples in a way that makes you whine. mark damn near growls at the sight, a string of expletives you’ve never heard from him before being let out into the ether as he doubles his efforts to fuck you into the mattress.

“open your eyes,” mark demands, his words oozing with a tone you’re very much not used to being addressed with. his voice is low, gravely, and deeply affected by the way your walls squeeze around him, and you find that you quite like having him like this: wrapped around your finger, barely hanging on, lost in everything pertaining to you. the sentiment is definitely shared, because as you force your eyes open, you feel your features pinch the way they do when you’re trying not to cry. it’s nothing bad– far from it, actually. it’s just that mark is fucking you so good that you feel like you’re losing your mind, and the pleasure is so mindboggling that it makes you wanna sob. 

“there y’go, baby,” mark sighs, “just keep lookin’ at me. i wanna see your face when you cum.”

his honest admission shoots straight through you and right to your core, pussy clenching around him tightly, your clit throbbing beneath your fingers. mark moans low and long at the feeling, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows hard.

“fuck, i like when y’do that– when you like what i say and you get all tight around me. just– keep touching yourself, pretty. look at me and let it happen.”

all you can do is nod helplessly. mark ducks down to press a kiss to your cheek, fingers pressing what will definitely be bruises tomorrow morning into the skin of your hips. his cock splits you open in a mindbending way, your fingers flicking at your clit so frantically that your hand has become nothing but a blur. 

then, the bubble bursts. your orgasm hits you like a truck, your head flying back, and the muscles in your jaw and neck pulling taut. the same goes for your legs– your knees lock up and your thighs pull tight, shaking with violent tremors as you gush again, this time, around mark’s cock. you do your best to keep your eyes open as you cum, but it’s hard. from what you can see, though, mark’s mouth drops open and his eyes flash with something bright– yellow, even– as he takes in the sight of you falling apart. whatever it is, you don’t give it much thought. your brain is much too fried to be trusting everything you see right now.

“you’re a fucking dream like this,” mark mutters, his tone oozing with awe and disbelief. dutifully, he fucks you through your second orgasm– all the squirming, pulsing, and wetness that’s stained his sheets twice in one night– and holds your unfocused gaze all throughout it before he feels you coming down and abruptly pulls out. your twitching legs drop unceremoniously to the bed, and mark swings his thighs over you to settle over your chest, fingers peeling off the condom and tossing it lamely to the side. all you can see past your wet lashes and teary eyes is mark’s fist moving in an urgent blur before he cums all over your chest, the orgasm hitting him so hard that he has to grip the headboard to stabilize himself. his super strength causes it to splinter just slightly as his legs shake, so much so that he can hardly hold himself up.

his cum paints your tits in hot, thick, pearly white strands, and mark clambers up from over you to lay down on the other side of the bed. you find it unfair, the way that he’s panting and shaking much less than you, but you don’t comment. you just stare up at the ceiling, the sound of your breathing filling the air.

“i hope that was good,” mark says earnestly, rolling lazily onto his side to look at you. you take another deep, grounding breath, then turn your head to look at him. your arm comes out too weakly to swat at his chest.

“there’s no way you just asked me that when your cum is drying on my chest.”

mark stares at you for a moment, then busts out into a fit of laughter, reaching behind his head to take the pillow so he can drop it casually onto your face. you can’t help but laugh too, arms coming up to shield yourself from the pillow, and you toss it back to mark where he catches it, then tucks it back under his head. “fuck me for trying to make sure you’re okay, i guess,” he says dramatically, rolling his eyes.

you flip over onto your stomach and bunch the pillow up under your chin, careful to ignore the wet parts of your chest as you widely grin and quip back. “i just did.”

“more like the other way around. this was me fucking you. into the mattress, might i add.” mark grins mischievously and reaches out to place his hand on your lower back, smoothing over your ass before dipping between your legs to find your folds. he trails his fingers up and down your wet and puffy slit, tongue darting out to wet his lips when he feels you shiver in reply. “but we can go again with you on top if you wanna fuck me. not like i’d ever say no to that. plus, it’d answer one of my questions.”

you’re part your lips to reply, but the sound of feet padding up the stairs, partnered with a soft call of mark’s name, makes you both freeze exactly where you’re at. you look at each other in panic, then scramble to get rid of the proof of what you two just did. mark leaps off the bed and onto his feet with impressive athleticism, tossing you your discarded copy of seance dog that you catch effortlessly with one hand. you tug your t-shirt down over your chest, ignoring the fact that there’s still cum on it you’ve hardly wiped off, and he busies himself with pulling his pants back up and slipping his t-shirt on. the fact that it’s still damp around the collar doesn’t matter– not when there’s much more incriminating evidence like his used condom on the bed, alongside the wrapper and the new one he was about to use on you again ten seconds ago.

you barely manage to get under the covers to hide your lower half by the time debbie opens the door, your shorts haphazardly kicked under the bed, and your panties in mark’s pocket. you double-check to make sure your comic isn’t upside down and open it to a random page, holding it as inconspicuously as possible, right in front of your face. mark’s hands are stuffed into his pants, the condoms and the wrapper fisted tightly in his hands.

“hey, you two,” debbie says sweetly, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of you. you swear, even if you two didn’t look suspicious as hell, debbie would still be looking at you two like she knows you did something wrong. “just came to let you know that dinner is ready. and that you two shouldn’t stay up too late tonight. i’m driving you two back to campus early, so i can get to work on time.”

mark smiles tightly. “okay, mom, thanks,” he says, pulling a hand out of his pocket to wave at her goodbye. debbie eyes him amusedly, taking in both of your disheveled appearances one more time before nodding and moving to close the door.

“oh, and mark? it’s been a long time coming, so i don’t mind if you two are having sex, as long as it’s safe and i don’t have to worry about becoming a grandma.”

the color drains from both of your faces, but debbie only laughs, a smile as sweet as her son’s spreading across her face. “but next time, if you’re gonna try and hide it, make sure the panties are tucked all the way into your pocket. i’m not judging what you’re into, but it’s kind of a dead giveaway when blue lace is halfway hanging out of your sweatpants.”

# — navigation

[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.

˚₊‧꒰ა paid readings available ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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

Thank you for reading;

@northopalshore

@northopalshore Juno asteroid 2025 all rights reserved. Disclaimer

[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.

[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

[bingbongsupremacy]

Everything Happens For A Reason

Pairing: Hangman x Fem!Reader, Ex!Bob Floyd x Ex!Fem!Reader

Warning: Drinking Alcohol, heart break, pet names (darlin', sweetheart)

Summary: Your break up with Bob hit you hard. He was your first love, now he's gone. It takes work to get over him. Years later you run into him and his friends at The Hard Deck. The question is, has Jake always been this charming?

*Not Proofread*

No description of reader's weight/body type or race.

You always imagined heartbreak would look the same on both sides. That if your chest ached, his would too. That if you couldn't sleep at night, he'd be tossing and turning, thinking of you.

But instead, you see him in photos. Bright, sun-soaked snapshots on friends' stories or the Navy's social media page. There he is, standing in front of his jet with that shy, soft smile that used to be pointed at you. There he is at the Hard Deck, laughing with Hangman and Phoenix, one hand hooked lazily around a beer. There he is on the beach, hair ruffled by the wind, his eyes crinkled at the corners in the way you used to kiss when he was half-asleep.

It's hard going from knowing someone entirely to complete strangers. Suddenly, you go from talking daily and spending every minute together to devastating silence. A silence that allows old memories to creep in and play back in your mind, shoving what you used to have in your face.

No more funny videos he'd send when they reminded him of you. No texts asking about if you wanted to stay in or go out for dinner. No sweet little encouraging messages to help you get through a tough day at work.

Just silence.

You shouldn't look. You know that. But late at night, you find yourself scrolling anyway. Curious. The glow of your phone is the only light in the room, harsh and unforgiving, illuminating the tear tracks on your cheeks.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, pausing on a video of him tossing a football, that dorky, determined concentration on his face. He looks alive. Happy. Like the version of him you fell in love with in high school, but... lighter, somehow. As if you were the heavy thing he'd been carrying.

The worst part isn't that he's moved on. It's that he seems so good without you. Thriving. As if losing you was exactly what he needed to finally breathe.

You try to convince yourself that he's just good at hiding it. That maybe behind that easy grin, he misses the way you used to tug on his uniform collar to kiss him, or how you used to lay your head on his chest to hear his heartbeat.

But you don't really believe it.

You wonder sometimes if he ever regrets the break up, and wishes you were still together. If he misses you just as much as you miss him.

Deep down, you know he doesn't. That's what kills you.

You wish you hated him. You wish he'd cheated or been an asshole, that when everything ended you were left with a sense of relief. You think that'd be a lot easier then dealing with the heartbreak. But the truth is, you don't. You can't. He's never given you a reason to. He was always kind and supportive, really the ideal boyfriend and your best friend. He was respectful and considerate, always thinking of you. Even when he started to realize his feelings for you were fading, he continued to treat you with respect by not stringing you along or cheating. It's not his fault he fell out of love. He couldn't control what his heart wanted or didn't want.

You just wish he still wanted you.

You both decided to mutually break up, a difficult decision after hours of talking about what was going on, but that didn't make you feel any better. How could you? You and Bob had known each other for years. The two of you shared so many firsts. He was your first kiss, your first love, your first heartbreak. You drank for the first time together, bought your first car and apartment together, and so many other big adult milestones. Your relationship with the man had spanned majority of your adult life. It was hard to let go.

When things ended, you watched all the plans you two made and hopes you had for your future shrivel away. No more buying a home together and planting a little garden. No having children a naming them after his grandparents or adopting a shelter dog. You weren't going to travel the world during retirement. You wouldn't be growing old together, taking care of one another until your last breath. Everything you dreamed for was ripped away along with your heart the day Bob took the last box of his things out of your once shared apartment.

Soon, all that was left of your time together were old texts, a camera full of years of photos, and your broken heart.

When your friends ask how you're doing, you say you're fine. You laugh at the right moments. You pretend you aren't checking his feed, pretending the ache in your ribs is just some leftover cold.

You continue to go out with them, forcing yourself to dress up nice and smile for their Instagram posts. You dance with them in the overly crowded clubs, and pretended you were having fun when bar hopping. You try to act as normal as possible, hoping your eyes don't betray you by exposing your sadness.

Some nights, you swear you can still smell his cologne on your pillow. You roll over, hoping stupidly that maybe he'll be there, arms open and warm and that this was all a terrible dream. But all that greets you is empty space and the echo of a door that closed a long time ago.

You thought heartbreak was supposed to be shared. But now you know.

Sometimes, love only cracks one heart open.

And sometimes, the person you'd die for walks away, and they learn to fly even higher without you.

You didn't just lose the love of your life when you broke up. You lost your best friend too.

-----

It's been a while since you've gone to The Hard Deck. For a while, it felt of limits. Like Bob's turf, a place you'd undoubtedly run into him and his friends. He was the person to show you the bar so you felt like it was only fair he got to keep it.

It's not like he explicitly asked you not to go to the bar, he'd never do that. It just felt like an unwritten obvious rule. Besides, you knew the building would bring up lots of bittersweet memories. So you decided to steer clear.

Your friends didn't know about your history at the bar. If they had, they probably wouldn't have suggested it for a change of scenery on a fun night out. All they knew was that the bar was home to a lot of cute sailors.

You hesitate for a moment, a brief flicker of old nerves wondering if Bob might be there, but it vanishes as quickly as it comes. It's been almost two years, and you've done the hard work of learning to moving on.

You don't stalk his posts. You don't read old texts until your eyes sting, you don't read them at all. You don't think of him when you hear love songs or see something funny.

You've gone on dates, learned how to enjoy your own company, and figured out what it means to build a life that's yours as a single adult woman. You bought your first apartment alone and even adopted your own dog. You still haven't fallen in love again, Bob set the bar high, and you're okay with that. What's important is you're not afraid of being alone anymore.

Tonight is about fun, not ghosts.

You get ready without hesitation, slipping into a dress that makes you feel beautiful. You let your friends fuss with your hair and swipe extra gloss on your lips. When you all squeeze into the Uber, you're already laughing, shoulders pressed together as someone eagerly asks the driver to put on a certain playlist.

The moment you step inside the Hard Deck, a rush of warm, salty air wraps around you. The bar is alive in that way only it can be; music spilling from the jukebox, laughter echoing between the walls, the occasional crack of billiard balls breaking in the corner.

It smells like ocean breeze and spilled beer, sunscreen and wood polish. Sunburned pilots crowd around pool tables, some still wearing their flight suits tied around their waists. Groups of sailors shout over each other, trying to be heard above the music. Penny's daughter, Amelia, zips past carrying a tray of empty glasses, expertly weaving through the crowd.

Strings of warm lights are strung along the ceiling beams, casting a soft golden glow over everything. You spot groups huddled over bar tables, the glow from their phones lighting up their excited faces as they scroll through photos or record each other dancing.

The entire bar feels like it's vibrating with life.

Your friends peel off quickly, already eyeing a group of sailors gathered near the dartboard. You watch them squeal and tug each other forward, all sparkling eyes and flirty giggles. You don't mind at all. You're happy for them, truly. You feel no tug of jealousy, no hollow ache like you once did.

You drift toward the bar, sliding into an empty stool. Penny spots you almost instantly, her head tilting in delighted surprise.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she says, her voice warm and teasing as she leans over to give you a quick hug. "Long time no see, pretty girl."

"Hey, Pen," you grin, settling in. "It has been a bit, hasn't it?"

The bar counter beneath your elbows is cool and slightly sticky from spilled drinks. Penny's hands move expertly, flipping a rag over her shoulder as she fills a line of pint glasses with local IPAs. She tosses you a bottle of water and slides your usual drink across with a wink. You're impressed she remembered after all these years.

You talk easily, catching up about her daughter's latest surf competition, her endless teasing about the pilots, and her quiet dreams of finally taking that sailboat trip she always mentions.

You fill her in on your life, sharing the good news of your latest promotion and photos of your dog.

You sip your drink slowly, feeling the alcohol bloom warm and sweet across your tongue. You glance around occasionally, eyes drifting across the familiar room. The scuffed dartboard, the framed black-and-white photos of past Navy generations, the trophy shelf gathering dust in the corner. It's exactly the way you remember it.

You don't feel haunted here anymore. You feel present.

Then, you hear it, a low, drawn-out whistle behind you, slicing straight through the music and the noise.

"Well, as I live and breathe… didn't think I'd see you around these parts again."

Your fingers pause on your glass. Slowly, you turn at the familiar voice.

Hangman stands there, leaning against the bar like he was born there, his tan skin glowing under the warm lights, eyes glittering with playful mischief. His grin is wide and lazy, dimples flashing as he cocks his head to the side.

Your heart gives one startled little kick, a reflex, more than anything, and then it settles. You find your lips curving before you can stop them.

"Hangman," you say, your voice smooth and easy, more surprised than shaken. "Still a regular, I see?" I tease.

One you you really missed about Bob is his friends. They were a fun group, loud but entertaining. They were quick to accept you into their friend group, treating you like one of them. You missed them a lot when everything ended, but you knew they were Bob's friends first, not yours. You didn't want to make things awkward for everyone by trying to hang out or make them feel like they needed to pick sides.

Hangman leans in, elbows propped on the bar beside you. "Guilty as charged," he drawls, that smooth, Southern lilt rolling off him effortlessly. "Can't stay away too long. Someone's gotta keep the rookies from embarrassing themselves."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I should've known you'd still be treating this place like your personal stage."

"Hey, it's not a bad stage," he says, eyes glinting as they flick briefly over you. "Good music, cold beer, and interesting company."

The grin he gives you softens for a fleeting second, just a crack in that cocky armor, before it returns to full wattage.

The conversation flows easier than you expected. You catch up like old friends, because in a way, that's exactly what you were. You tell him about your dog, your new apartment, all the fun things you've done over the past few years. He teases you about finally growing up and picking a place with "real adult curtains," jokes about your neighborhood, and grins at a picture of your dog that you show him.

At some point, it slips out naturally, tucked into a story about packing boxes. "After the breakup, I figured it was time for a fresh start, you know? New space, new chapter. Time to find me."

Hangman's expression shifts, his easy grin softening into something sincere. "Yeah, I heard about that," he says, his voice dropping, quieter and more careful than before. "I'm sorry. That's tough. Getting out of something long-term… that's a whole different beast."

You shrug, taking another sip of your drink. "It's fine. Part of life, right? Everything happens for a reason." You say casually, because it's true. It's something you believe firmly. Just because you and Bob weren't meant to be, doesn't mean your time with him didn't matter or teach you anything. You learned a lot from him.

His eyes stay on you a beat longer than you expect. Then he nods slowly. "Yeah. You're right. Things have a way of working out exactly how they're meant to."

You offer him a small, genuine smile, and for the first time, you really notice how green his eyes are and how they crinkle at the corners when he returns your smile.

Before either of you can say more, the door bursts open behind him. Laughter and the sound of heavy boots flood in.

Hangman straightens immediately, turning toward the noise. You glance over his shoulder, and your heart gives a quick, unexpected jump, but not the painful kind you used to feel.

Bob walks in first, laughing at something Rooster shouts behind him. He looks good. Relaxed and genuinely happy, his arm draped around a pretty woman with warm brown hair and an easy, open smile.

Bob spots you almost instantly, freezing mid-laugh. "Y/N?"

You smile warmly, no sharp ache hidden behind it. "Hi, Bob."

The woman at his side looks over, curious and kind.

"Hi," you say, stepping forward to extend your hand. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

She takes it quickly, her grip confident. "I'm Claire! Oh, I've heard so much about you." This must be his girlfriend.

"All good, I hope," you tease, earning a small laugh from her.

Bob recovers, his hand sliding comfortingly to Claire's waist. "It's really good to see you," he says, and you can tell he means it. "How've you been?"

"I've been good, just living life." you say honestly. "You?"

"Good. Really good," he replies, his easy smile genuine. "It's our first year anniversary tonight." He looks down at Claire with that gentle, earnest adoration you remember so well, and she beams back at him.

"That's awesome. Congratulations you guys." You say, happy that Bob was able to find someone who made him happy.

"Thank you." Claire says sweetly. She seems like a quiet girl, very kind. Someone who perfectly compliment's Bob.

"Look at this!" Rooster crows as he strides forward. His hair's a little messy, slightly longer then the last time you'd seen him, and his trademark sunglasses are perched crookedly on his head. He swoops you into a warm, quick hug. "Damn, been too long, Y/N."

"Hey, Rooster," you laugh, swatting playfully at his chest. "Still rocking that mustache, huh?"

"She loves it," he says, jerking a thumb toward Phoenix, who just rolls her eyes.

Phoenix steps in next, smirking as she pulls you into a side hug. "About time you showed up again," she teases. "Thought you'd gone off the grid."

"Hi, Phoenix," you laugh. "Good to see you."

Payback and Fanboy crowd in right after, both grinning.

"Y/N!" Payback calls, fist bumping you. "You still owe me that rematch on the dartboard!"

"Oh, you mean the one where I kicked your ass last time?" you quip, and he groans dramatically.

Fanboy steps forward, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. "Man, here I thought you finally joined a monastery or something."

You snort, elbowing him lightly. "That was plan B."

Fanboy throws his head back, laughing so loud it turns a few heads nearby. "Glad you didn't. We'd have missed your brutal honesty."

Phoenix tilts her head curiously, eyes sweeping the room. "You here alone tonight?"

You gesture toward your friends still at the dartboard, squealing and cheering. "I came with them. Just didn't feel like making small talk with strangers tonight."

Claire's expression softens immediately, her warmth matching Bob's. "Well, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to," she offers brightly. "You're more than welcome to hang with us."

Rooster nods eagerly, shifting his weight. "Yeah, we got a pitcher with your name on it."

Phoenix lifts her brows, smirking. "Besides, it's more fun when we have someone around who can keep Rooster in check."

"Yeah," Hangman adds, sliding his gaze over to you again, his voice low and smooth. "We're definitely not strangers."

You look at them all; at Rooster's goofy grin, Phoenix's sharp eyes, Payback's friendly smirk, Fanboy's bright energy, Claire's welcoming warmth, Bob's steady kindness, and Hangman's focused, unreadable gaze.

Your heart lifts unexpectedly. You realize just how much you've missed this, the loud jokes, the easy teasing, the effortless way they fold you in like you never left.

"Sure," you say finally, your smile breaking wide. "Thanks guys. I'd like that."

They lead you to a big booth towards the back of the bar, Phoenix practically dragging you into their orbit. Rooster shoves a fresh glass into your hand while Fanboy starts teasing Payback about losing at pool last week.

As you settle in, you catch Hangman's eyes across the circle. There's something new there- a soft flicker of curiosity and something else, something warmer, deeper. You feel your cheeks warm slightly, that gentle spark coiling low in your stomach. It's a feeling you haven't felt in a long time, one that catches you off guard in the best way.

You're surprised to realize you're seeing him differently now; the confident way he stands, the rough edge to his laugh, the steady green of his eyes.

And if the way his gaze keeps dropping to your lips means anything… maybe he's seeing you differently too.

But for now, you just let yourself enjoy the chaotic warmth around you.

The moment you slide into the booth, you're immediately folded into the easy chaos. Rooster slides in beside you, already halfway into a story that makes Fanboy snort beer up his nose.

"-and then Payback nearly flipped the entire kayak because he thought he saw a jellyfish!" Rooster crows, clapping the table.

"It was a plastic bag!" Payback protests, throwing his hands up. "I'm telling you, it looked exactly like one!"

Fanboy wipes his mouth, still laughing. "Bro, you screamed like a toddler in a haunted house."

Phoenix snickers, leaning her elbow on the table. "I wish I'd been there to film it. We could've made millions off that footage."

You giggle, shaking your head. "Next time, I'll come along just to document the chaos. I'll bring a GoPro."

"Oh God, please do," Fanboy gasps, still recovering. "She'd actually catch Hangman running from a seagull, too."

Hangman, who had been reaching for a fry, freezes mid-air and glares at Fanboy. "That bird was massive, man. Practically a flying bear."

You burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. "A flying bear? Really, Hangman?"

He narrows his eyes at you, but you catch the twitch at the corner of his lips. "Careful, darlin'. Don't make me challenge you to darts and ruin your confidence in front of your friends."

"Oh? You think you can take me?" you shoot back, arching an eyebrow.

His grin spreads slow and lazy. "I know I can."

Rooster throws his head back, howling. "Ohhh, she's in trouble now!"

Phoenix rolls her eyes. "Hangman, you act like you're some sort of pool shark. We all remember last month when you scratched on the eight ball and almost cried."

"I did not almost cry," he huffs, flicking a peanut at her.

Claire giggles beside Bob, leaning into him. Bob watches the banter with a soft, amused smile, his hand resting lightly on Claire's shoulder. He seems happy-and it makes you feel lighter, too.

"So what's new with you, Y/N?" Payback asks, leaning forward. "Besides planning epic documentary footage of our humiliations."

You laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear. "Oh, you know. Work's good. Adopted a dog, picked up some new hobbies, finally learned to make a decent omelet without setting off the fire alarm."

Fanboy claps, over-the-top. "Look at you! Functioning adult activities unlocked!"

Hangman lifts his beer to you, his gaze unwavering and a hint of pride shining through. "I'll drink to that."

You clink his glass lightly, feeling a small, unexpected warmth spread across your chest.

Rooster wiggles his brows. "So, any new prospects? Or is your dog still your main man?"

You roll your eyes, snorting. "Wow, way to put me on blast. My dog is a very supportive roommate, thank you very much."

Phoenix laughs, raising her glass. "Cheers to supportive roommates. They don't steal your fries or your hoodies."

"Speak for yourself," Fanboy says dramatically. "My roommate steals everything and then acts innocent. Looking at you, Payback."

Payback just shrugs, taking a big sip of his drink. "I don't remember that."

You cover your mouth to keep from snorting again, and when you look up, Hangman's eyes are already on you. He he realizes he's been caught looking, he shoots you a grin.

"You know," he says, leaning a little closer, voice low enough that it's just for you, "you look good tonight. Happy."

Your breath catches for a second, but you smile, meeting his gaze fully. "Thank you. I feel… good. It's nice to be back here with all you guys. I missed this."

He smiles back, slow and sincere, and for a moment, the rowdy noise of the group fades into a gentle hum around you.

Rooster smacks the table suddenly, jolting you both out of it. "All right! Enough sappy stuff, who's playing darts first? Y/N versus Hangman?"

Payback whoops. "Oh, she's gonna crush you, Bagman!"

Hangman's head tilts, his grin returning, sharp and challenging. "Careful what you wish for, Payback."

Phoenix leans back, watching with narrowed eyes and an amused smirk. "Fuck, I missed this. This is going to be good."

Claire giggles, leaning forward. "I want front row seats for this showdown."

Bob chuckles softly, looking around at all of you with that quiet warmth he always carried. "Just don't break anything. Penny will kill us."

You laugh again, feeling something bright and bubbly stir inside you.

As you rise to your feet, ready to follow Hangman to the dartboard, you catch his eye again, and this time, there's no denying the flicker of something electric there.

A part of you wonders if this is a good idea. If what you were beginning to feel for Hangman was crossing a line. He is Bob's friend. You're Bob's ex.

Would things be awkward? They haven't been so far. You've been looking looking over at Bob, checking to see if he looks uncomfortable with anything. You don't want to make things weird.

So far, he hasn't given any indication he's uncomfortable with you around. Even the dating comment from Rooster, completely unexpected, didn't seem to faze him. If anything, he seems happy you're happy. And he doesn't seemed bothered about you hanging out with his friend group.

But that doesn't mean he'll be comfortable with you crushing on his friend. That could change things.

You try to shove your worries down and focus on the game ahead of you.

The moment you step up to the dartboard with Hangman, the rest of the world seems to fall into a soft blur, background noise of laughter, clinking glasses, and music all melting away.

Hangman tosses you a dart with a cocky flick of his wrist. "Ladies first," he drawls, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

You raise an eyebrow, twirling the dart between your fingers. "Don't tell me you're trying to play the gentleman now. I thought you were here to win."

"Oh, I'm always here to win, darlin'," he shoots back, leaning in just close enough that you catch a faint whiff of his cologne, warm and sharp, like cedar and summer heat. "But I like to give you a head start. Makes the victory sweeter when I steal it back."

Your lips part into a grin, that confident, teasing edge slipping easily into place. You line up your shot and let it fly, the dart lands just shy of the bullseye.

You glance at him over your shoulder. "You're playing with the master, remember?" you taunt, tossing him a wink.

Hangman whistles low, his eyes locked on the board. "Shit," he mutters, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the word.

He steps up, rolling his shoulders and flexing his fingers dramatically, like he's about to perform open-heart surgery instead of throw a dart. You cross your arms, watching with mock impatience.

"Any day now," you call.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmurs without looking back. "Art takes time."

His dart lands close to yours; close, but not closer.

A spark of excitement lights you up from the inside, bubbling so high that you can't quite keep the giddy laugh from escaping your lips. You clap your hands together, nearly bouncing on your toes.

"Would you look at that?" you say, tilting your head, your voice sugary sweet. "Guess I'm better than I remember."

Hangman stares at the board, then at you, and shakes his head slowly. "I think I just discovered my new biggest fear," he deadpans. "Losing to you in front of an audience."

You scoff, stepping forward again, heart thundering. This time, your dart lands even closer, nearly dead center. You whip around, throwing your arms up in mock victory.

"I'm sorry, did you say something about stealing victory?" you tease, your voice light, eyes dancing.

He presses his hand to his chest, staggering back dramatically. "Cruel. Heartless." He recovers quickly, stepping close, until there's barely a breath of space between you. "Gotta admit though… watching you win is kinda fun."

Your breath catches, heat blooming beneath your skin.

Before you can answer, you feel a flicker of unease, the fleeting thought of Bob watching from the booth. You glance over your shoulder instinctively. He's talking quietly with Claire, a smile on his face. Not looking your way. Not tense or uncomfortable.

Still, a twist of guilt pricks at you. Would this, whatever this was starting to become, hurt him somehow? Would he feel betrayed if he knew what was stirring in you now when you looked at Hangman?

But then Hangman's voice pulls you back. "Hey."

You turn, and he's watching you closely, green eyes gentle, brow furrowed just slightly. "You okay?" he asks, low and careful.

You force a breath, then let it go, smiling. "Yeah. Just… thinking too much."

His lips curl into a softer, private smile, one that doesn't quite reach his usual cocky swagger. "Well, stop thinking. You won. Celebrate."

And he raises his hand for a high five, which you slap triumphantly, only for him to catch your fingers and tug you forward a little, his palm pressing warm against yours.

Your laughter stutters into a soft exhale. The bar noise seems to fall away again, like you're both in a bubble of your own.

"You really are something else," he murmurs, shaking his head slowly, eyes still locked on yours.

You bite your lip, your heart thumping so loudly you think he must hear it. "Told you I'd beat you," you manage, your voice low.

He grins, his thumb brushing over your knuckles before he finally lets your hand go. "Guess I underestimated you."

You step back, pulse still hammering, and find your eyes drifting back to Bob one last time. He's still laughing softly with Claire, completely at ease. Relief slides through you, slow and cool.

You realize then, maybe he really is okay. Maybe this doesn't have to be complicated. Maybe you're allowed to move forward, too.

Hangman bumps your shoulder lightly, snapping you back. "Don't think this means I'm letting you win next time," he warns, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You roll your eyes, but the smile pulling at your lips feels unstoppable. "I'll believe it when I see it."

He laughs, tipping his chin down to look at you in that easy, playful way, but there's something deeper beneath it now, something that feels like the start of a door opening.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel it too.

-----

Somewhere along the way the friends you came with left with the guys they were flirting with, leaving you alone with the group.

The rest of the evening passes faster then you'd like. You beat both Rooster and Payback at darts, earning promises of rematches in the future. You continue to catch up with everyone and get filled in on their lives. You really enjoy hanging out with everyone, being apart of their banter.

Throughout the evening you catch yourself feeling the urge to spend more time with Hangman. Part of you wonders if he's always been this funny and charming and you're only noticing it because you're single or if he's changed from the man you knew before.

You're patiently waiting near the bar for the groups last round of drinks. It's getting late and you're all just about ready to go. This is a goodbye shot.

It makes you a little sad at the thought of leaving soon. You don't know when you'll see them all again.

Bob appears beside you at the bar, pulling you out of your thoughts, just as Penny sets down the final tray of shots. He shifts his weight, hands sliding into his pockets before he speaks.

"Need a hand carrying those back?" he offers.

You glance at the crowded tray and nod, smiling. "Sure. Thanks, Bob."

He picks up half of the glasses carefully, and the two of you stand side by side as Penny finishes arranging the last few.

"You having fun tonight?" he asks after a moment.

You glance over at the group; Rooster and Fanboy wrestling over a pool cue, Phoenix tossing peanuts at Payback's head, Hangman laughing loudly in the middle of it all.

"Yeah," you say honestly, your smile warm. "More than I thought I would."

Bob nods, his gaze softening further. "Good. The group… they missed you. We all did."

Your chest tightens in the best way, and you glance down at the tray, cheeks warming. "Thanks. I missed them too. Missed all of you."

He watches you for a moment, then gives a small, thoughtful smile. "I'm really happy to hear life's been treating you well," he says softly. "That's all I ever wanted for you, you know."

You meet his eyes, surprised by the easy affection there. "I know," you say, your voice low and sincere. "And I'm happy for you, too. Claire seems… really great for you."

His whole face lights up at the mention of her, a gentle pride shining there. "She is," he says, almost shyly. "She's… she's the love of my life."

A comfortable silence stretches between you, filled with the distant thrum of the jukebox and the hum of laughter from the group.

Then Bob shifts slightly, glancing down at the tray in his hands. "I, uh… I noticed you and Hangman tonight," he says carefully, his voice low.

Your stomach flips, heat climbing up your neck. You open your mouth to protest or explain, but Bob lifts a hand before you can speak.

"Hey," he soothes quickly, a soft chuckle slipping out. "Don't worry. It's okay. Actually… Claire and I were talking about it earlier."

Your brows draw together, your heart pounding. "You… were?"

He nods, looking thoughtful. "Yeah. I think, deep down, I always thought there might've been something there. At least on his end, in the beginning."

You blink, your breath catching. "Wait… really?"

Bob huffs a small laugh, glancing past you toward the group. Hangman's rolling his eyes at something Rooster said, an amused grin playing on his lips.

"There was this one time," Bob continues, his voice soft and almost nostalgic. "Back when we all used to hang out a lot… I started to feel myself pulling away. And when that happened, I think it let me really see how he looked at you sometimes. The way I used to look at you. The way you looked at me."

He shakes his head, a small, knowing smile flickering across his lips. "Hangman never crossed a line. He never said or did anything disrespectful, never made me, or you, uncomfortable. But… I could tell he liked you. Even if he didn't admit it to himself or anyone else."

You glance toward the group again, your eyes catching on Hangman. His eyes meet yours and he sends you a warm smile, his eyes crinkling.

Bob shifts his weight, drawing your attention back. "We had our time. It was good and I think it taught us a lot… but it was right that it ended. I think we both knew that, even if it took us a while to say it out loud."

He pauses, and for a second his eyes search yours, as if making sure you're really hearing him.

"I think… everything that happened was meant to lead us here," he says quietly. "I want you to know… you should follow your heart, no matter what it tells you to do. Don't hold back for my sake. You deserve to be happy. The both of you do."

Your throat tightens, emotion pooling in your chest, warm and bittersweet.

"And hey," Bob adds with a soft, crooked smile, "I'll always consider you a friend. Even if we don't talk all the time. You're always welcome to hang out with us here. The others would love that. I would too."

You swallow hard, a tear threatening behind your lashes, not out of sadness, but relief and gratitude.

"Bob…" you start, your voice breaking just slightly. "Thank you. Really. You don't know how much I needed to hear that."

He smiles wider, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. "Anytime."

You nod, wiping at your eyes quickly before Penny can see and start teasing.

"I'm really happy for you," you say again, more firmly this time. "And… thank you for still being you. For being kind."

"Wouldn't know how to be any other way," he teases lightly, nudging your arm.

You both share a small, quiet laugh together, a moment of genuine closure, sweet and complete.

Then Penny calls out your name again, ready with the final tray. Bob gives you one last warm look before picking up his half.

"Come on," he says, tilting his head toward the group. "Let's not keep them waiting."

You grin, following him back across the bar, lighter than you've felt in years.

Bob broke your heart, yes. But if he hadn't it wouldn't have lead you to where you are now. Now that the pain has passed you see everything happens for a reason.

You make it to the table, drinks in hand, earning loud cheers from the group. You set the drinks down before taking a seat next to Hangman who carefully hands you a shot before grabbing his own.

The entire time a wide excited smile rests on your face as you finally allow yourself to really accept your feelings.

"What's got you grinnin' like that, sweetheart?" Hangman asks with a small laugh.

You gently grab his hand which is resting against the table between you. With a soft stroke of your thumb over the back of his palm, you reply. It's simple but forward. You don't feel like you have to hold back anymore. "You."

His smile grows wider and he flips his hand, interlocking your fingers. "I was hoping so."

All you can do is take things one step at a time and see where this leads you.

Bob wasn't meant to be the love of your life.

But maybe Jake is.

We'll see.

[ellitx]

Mother’s day had already passed and im sure venti would prepare a celebration for his dearest darling. The pain of having to carry your baby for nine months and still looking like a goddess? That deserves endless praise and at least three days of pampering, minimum.

This would be his wifey appreciation time and venti would go all out. He’d write a whole ballad dedicated to how beautiful you are, perform it right outside your window at dawn, and then burst in with breakfast (a little burnt bcs of how excited he was, but still made with love). He’s so sappy and dorky, but he’s your dorky bard <33

Venti would even invite dvalin to help him with the decorations. Giant windblume garlands hanging outside of the tower, floating lanterns at the archway of the sanctuary’s entrance, and glittering wind currents so you can walk easily without trouble.

And don’t be surprised if he cries mid-speech, hugging your belly and mumbling about how lucky he is to witness this miracle.

Then it clicked for him.

How about making a new festival in Mondstadt dedicated entirely to his beloved wife?

Oh, archons, the idea alone made his heart flutter like crazy.

A whole day— or better yet— a whole week where the city would celebrate the anemo archon’s kind, beautiful, charming, and smart wife.

And if his people ever dared to set up a statue of you somewhere in the city, venti would be camping there 24/7. Rain, wind, sun, it doesnt matter. That statue would become his second home. Ofc he still prefers staying with you and keeping you close to him.

Ugh, why didn’t they built it on their sanctuary? Venti’s grumbling, debating to himself if he should carry your giant statue to your home and let his people build another one at the giant empty space in windrise.

If there was even a minor lack of attention to detail to your statue, venti would completely lose his mind. Your eyes didn’t quite twinkle like they do in real life or the smile wasn’t tilted just right? He’d be climbing up ladders with brushes and tools, muttering under his breath.

“No, no, no… her nose is way cuter than this,” and “She has exactly three strands of hair that curl this way, how dare they forget?”

After all, if mondstadt was going to worship the goddess of his heart, they were going to do it right until they’ve received the anemo archon’s approval.

Next time, they should build a statue of you and venti together. And they should make it perfect.

[puma-riki]

Clear Crystal Roses ⭑.ᐟ

𝓷ishimura ��iki 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

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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

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Marked (MOC Dean x female reader)

Chapter 1 - Ten days

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

Mark of Dean series master list ⏐ SPN masterlist

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.

[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.

[gremlin-girly]

Dorky & Do-able

For @yenzys-lucky-charm 's Cranky! Grumpy! Stabby! Oh my! Challenge

Pairing: Jake Jensen x f!reader

Prompt: "Are you trying to turn me on or are you just that oblivious?"

Not beta'd and I don't give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine.

Tags/warnings: Highly Suggestive Content, no smut but hoe thoughts ✊🏻😔, fluff, a sort of confession, Jake being an oblivious dweeb (bless him), 18+

Summary: Aisha's cute friend Jake drives you insane with impure thots thoughts. And there's only so much a girl can take.

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: I had a few prompts lined up (because this was so fun!) But I just had so many wips I couldn't make it through 🥲 shout out to @bigtreefest who I word associated with Jake and @brandycranby for sandwich one snippet!

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Jake Jensen Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Alisha had warned you about flirting with her other friends - about Clay's Cassanova Cowboy charm, Roque's brtuish tough-guy facade, Cougar's silent sultriness, how Pooch was happily married... however, she had omitted to warn you about one adorably dorky and utterly do-able Jake Jensen.

He half trips over himself when he greets you and beams a smile so bright you swear puppies and rainbows magically surround him. You were smitten at first sight and tried so very hard not to flirt or flounce every time you saw him, per Aisha's warning glare.

That did not mean, however, that Jake made it easy on you for the week you spent visiting your best friend.

The first time it happens - you can kind of blame yourself. You were staring. It's not your fault he was a snack, or your fault you'd used your laptop as a bath bomb and asked him to fix it, but the way his tongue runs over his bottom lip ought to be a crime.

His eyes are fixed on your motherboard - you think that's what that is anyway - focused with an intensity that surprised you and it did things to you that was only spoken about in books.

"How did you learn to do this?" You ask more dreamily than you intend - not that Jake notices. He has to shake himself from his thoughts to give you a smile and an answer.

"Oh... you know - I was just always good at fixing stuff like this." He shrugs and turns back to the pieces of your laptop.

"Uh huh."

He picks up a tiny screwdriver and gently pries under a piece of metal. "It came in handy when my mom or sister needed me to do something."

"That right?"

Jake peeks up at you, smiling again and you want to tackle him. "It was nice to feel useful. Like a handyman or something."

"Well, it's nice to jnow you're more than a pretty face." You're about to wink at him, but the slam of Aisha's mug on the countertop startles you both, and you resign yourself to an apologetic smile her way and watch Jake's cheeks grow pink in your peripheral.

Chin in your palms you continue to watch him work, hoping he or anyone else in the room, didn't suddenly develop the power of telepathy.

You feel cursed. Wanting something you can't have is one thing but craving something you've never had is an entirely different ball game.

You had popped to the store for some snacks and had totally accidentally bumped into Jake. Well, he bumped into you. You were too busy trying to look nonchalantly to the snacks at the very top of the shelves - ones you certainly could not reach.

"Hey!" Jake greets, again with that goofy grin. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Hi." You try not too excited. "What a coincidence."

"Yeah!" Jake clears his throat and looks up to where you'd been staring before looking back at you. "Want me to grab those chips for ya?"

"Oh, if you wouldn't mind!"

You couldn't care less about the chips. They weren't even your favourites. Any excuse to talk to him without Aisha present was a chance worth taking.

However, as he reaches up, your eyes catch on his bright graphic tee just in time for the material to rise up and reveal his snail trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his jeans.

Time stops. You wish you could rewind time. The unbearable throb of want coursing through your body like a drug makes you want to scream in the middle of the store. You dont even notice, in your stupor, that Jake is holding the chips to you until he says your name.

"You okay?"

He looks so concerned, bless his cotton socks and you have to wipe your mouth to make sure you haven't drooled anywhere.

"Headache." You lie quickly. "I'll be fine."

"Oh, man, uh... do you want me to drop you back?"

You cant think of anything worse than being trapped in a close space with him at this moment in time so you wave your hand and tell him you'll enjoy the stroll back alone (with your impure thoughts).

The following day, everyone is gathered for a late lunch. Jake had promised the sandwiches from a local deli were the best around and the comment had gone uncontested so, suffice to say you were excited to try what was on offer. However, once again, you were only here to suffer.

"Oh fuck -" Jake moans around his sandwich loudly and as he moves it back, he's licking away sauce from his lips and fingers. "Tastes so good."

The table creaks under your white knuckle grip. You are close to your fucking limit with this guy. Your jaw sets, your thighs clamp shut and you beg for mercy on your soul. Someone this hot cannot know what he's doing.

You are seconds away from slamming your face against the table when Jake's blue eyes flick up from his sandwich (which does look ridiculously good) and meet yours with an innocently curious gaze.

"You not gonna eat?"

There is only one thing on your mind right now that you want to eat and that is one Jake Jensen.

"It's good I promise." He continues when you only stare at him wide eyed as he licks a finger again. "It'll blow your mind."

"Are you trying to turn me on or are you just that oblivious?" You blurt suddenly, causing Pooch to almost choke on his sandwich and Roque to gag on the straw of his drink.

Jake's cheeks go pink and he half gapes at you like a fish unsure of what to say while you continue to stare him down waiting on an answer. You then point at Aisha who's sat across from you.

"Did she put you up to this?"

"I - what - no!" Jake blunders looking around the table for help but his friends are either being rescued from choking or snickering to themselves.

"I didn't do anything." Aisha protests and fixes you with a sarcastic smile. "But watching your brain break has been great."

"I hate you." You say flatly, staring at your best friend in disbelief, trying not to let the corners of your lips twitch. "This week has been torture."

"Uhhh, can I ask what this is about?" Jake says quietly, taking another bite of his sandwich and looking between you and Aisha.

"To answer your previous question; yes he is just that oblivious." Aisha says, leaning back to pop a fry in her mouth. "And your ban is lifted."

"Oh wow," you raise your eyebrows. "That's.... wow."

Jake shakes his head slightly going back to his sandwich. He'll just have to make sure he asks you later.

Later, as you pad to the bathroom ready to complete your nightly routine, you bump into Jake on his way out; hair and skin sparklingly moist, taut muscles and tats on display all the way down to the towel cinched around his slutty waist like nobody's business. Without his glasses he looks just as good, if not better. You can't help as your tongue darts out across your lips, it's the best you can allow otherwise you would be licking him.

"Hey."

"Hi." You eke out, mouth dry. You force your eyes to stay on his face but there's taunting rivulets of water running down the lines of his muscles, following his snail trail and into the towel.

"I need to-" he points past you to his room and you jump out of his way.

"Sorry."

As you enter move to enter the bathroom, he calls your name and you turn back and he's studying you closely, as if trying to catch you out.

"Earlier today, at the table." He begins slowly. "What was that about?"

This is the worst interrogation ever.

"Uhhh... when?" Playing dumb was a dumb play.

"About me turning you on?" He presses, making both of your cheeks grow hot.

"Maybe don't... say it like that." You wince a little but somehow managed a smile. "But look at you! You're gorgeous! Who wouldn't want a piece of that?"

Jake's blush deepens, spreading pink splotches over his neck and chest too. But this was an opportunity to get it all off your chest, you couldn't not take it! Anything to make that boy blush...

"Aisha made me promise not to flirt with you - since I have a bad habit of collecting cuties." You lean against the doorway, hoping the shift in your legs draws attention to them (it does) but giving a half chuckle of relief. "I stuck to my promise but holy shit, you did not make it easy."

"I didn't?" Jake is a strawberry now, clutching his towel in a death grip.

"Nah," you snort. "But since Aisha lifted the ban; you're fair game now lover boy."

He blinks for a moment and then a grin spreads across his face. "You're gonna put the moves on me?"

"Not just the moves," you say proudly. "My moves."

"I think you're going to eat me alive." He chuckles, raking a hand through his wet locks; inadvertently flexing his muscles.

"And then some." You add quietly, glancing up at him to catch a delightful deer-in-headlights look. "But I should let you get to bed..."

You sigh dramatically before fixing him with a smirk and sultry gaze. "Unless you want to jump into mine?"

Jake swallows thickly and has to adjust his towel while you try not to giggle. "Yeah, um, that... that works."

"Let me brush my teeth and I'll see you in five." You wink at him and skip into the bathroom feeling higher than life. This week just got so much better.

End

A/N: if you haven't seen this post, @buckyys-babydoll and I are trying to boost engagement across fics in the writing community. If you liked this fic, please reblog - you dont have to leave a comment. You can leave a reaction image, gif or emoji(s)!

Support writers. Support artists. Support the fandom.

Love ya! 🫶🏻

A/N 2: I didn't think this was 1.6k - it was supposed to be a drabble! 😩 but that's 2 of 13 fics done 💪😌

Taglist - add yourself here

@stargazingfangirl18 @late-to-the-party-81 @irishhappiness @looking1016 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @almostglitterybear @blackhawkfanatic @peaches1958 @alicedopey @brianochka @steviebbboi

[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.

[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