#Just passing time cause I have read all of them

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Hangman Trying To Convince You To Go Out With Him

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Beer, flirtations, and teasing

Word Count: 1.4k

(A/N:) Wow! Look at me having a Top Gun idea in what seems like forever! I always love going back to movies I wrote so much for! But sometimes it takes a hot minute to get imagine ideas, but I had this idea a few weeks ago and it's been a little bit of a pain to get it from my brain into a post. But I finally succeeded and hopefully this makes the Hangman/ Glen Powell fangirlies happy! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Taglist: @chaoticcassidy, @the-marshals-wife, @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

The Hard Deck was more rowdy than it had been in awhile. With the Top Gun pilots celebrating a hard won victory, them and everyone on base had came in to celebrate. It was busy enough that Penny called in backup to help serve the rambunctious pilots who deserved every drink they ordered. It wasn't often that she called you in, but when Penny did you knew that the night was going to be a crazy one. You had a reputation amongst the pilots, as being no nonsense and out right refusing any advances towards you before the navy men even finished a sentence. While the rumors kept the majority of would be suitors away, it only made the top pilots in Top Gun more bold.

With drink orders coming in so fast that you were barely able to keep up with them. Penny stayed close by picking up the orders you couldn't handle and ringing up tabs. You didn't pay much attention to the people that came to the counter until a familiar uniform caught your eye.

"Give me just a second and I'll be right with you," you handed off two beer bottles before setting into opening several more.

"I'll wait all night for you if that's what it takes," the pilot replied.

You stiffened, recognizing that voice. He was a notorious flirt and never knew when to take no for an answer. It wasn't your first time dealing with him and this moment would not be the last either. No matter how many times you shot him down he always kept coming back, always cocky and sure of himself.

A few moments ago...

Hangman didn't know the definition of the word defeat and he had his eye on the prize. And that was taking out the most difficult female bartender in the Hard Deck's lineup.

"Dude," Coyote tugged on Hangman's arm stopping the pilot in his tracks. "When are you going to give up? She's shot down more pilots than Maverick has and Rooster crashed and burned just last night with her."

"That's Rooster," Hangman scoffed. "I'm different."

"No you're not. What is this the third time you've tried?"

"Fourth."

Coyote rolled his eyes but watched Hangman walk away.

Now....

"Oh great," you sighed, "it's you again."

Hangman chuckled leaning against the counter, trying to get as close as possible. You took a step back, removing the last bottle cap a little violently and passing the drinks out. Grabbing more you glared at him sending a cap flying in his direction.

"Aren't you glad to see me," Hangman asked.

"Not particularly. I don't have time for you."

"And here I thought that the whole world had time for me," he smirked.

Rolling your eyes you turned away, another group of people calling for your attention. But still though you had walked away, Hangman stayed. His eyes never leaving you, watching you closely. You tried ignoring him, but when that didn't work, you glared. That only made his grin widen and he gave you a little wave. You slammed glasses down a little harder than necessary as your patience was wearing thin.

"Why do we have to do this every time?"

"Because," Hangman purred, "I don't like taking no for an answer."

"I noticed."

Watching you intensely while you grabbed another bottle of beer, you removed the cap and took Hangman's hand. His fingers immediately curled around yours and you slapped them back open, causing him to jolt before you placed the cold glass bottle in his palm, then wrapped his fingers around it and waved your hand in a 'shoo' motion. Digging some money from your tip jar, you put the cash into the register, 'Shoo. It's on me. Have a nice life Bagman."

Hangman laughed, defeated once more but not done in the slightest as he made his way back to the pilots crowding into one corner of the bar. Laughing at him and pointing fingers in his direction. What they didn't know was he was wounded, but not crashing and burning just yet. He saw that glint in your eyes and he had to sink the hook in a little more and he would have you.

Hours later and Penny flipped the sign and locked the door. You were finishing cleaning up the last bit of the bar when a check was waved in front of your face.

"Thank you so much for coming in and helping out," she said taking a seat.

"No problem," you replied putting the check in your pocket.

"I see Hangman has taken quite a liking to you," she grinned mischeviously.

"Ugh," you rolled your eyes, "don't remind me."

"He's not a bad guy."

"Sure if you like egotistical pilot maniacs. He's very obnoxious."

"Isn't that what makes him charming?"

"Absolutely not!"

Penny laughed before taking the rag from your hands, "Go on and go home. It's getting late."

"Let me know whenever you need help again."

Penny waved and you made sure to lock the door behind you. She wasn't lying that it was getting late as the sun had long ago set and quiet had settled over the beach. It was always a little creepy, especially the walk to your car. Normally you weren't scared but it was just a little off putting when no one was around and anything could happen.

"Leaving already?"

A voice sounded close by your shoulder causing you to jump and spin around. Hangman started to laugh at your startled expression, causing you to start punching him in the shoulder.

"Don't do that to me!"

"I was hoping you'd jump into my arms instead, I wasn't taking into account that you're a fighter. Can you please stop hitting me now?"

"Depends," you were fuming, "are you ready to stop being a jerk?!"

"Not particularly."

"Then I'm not done beating you yet!"

He let you get in a few more whacks before grabbing your fist and keeping a firm grip on it. You sucked in a breath, gaze flickering from his face to your joined hands back again to his face. He never stopped smiling.

"C'mon let me walk you to your car," Hangman cut the silence. The tension eased from your body and you tried yanking your hand away, only for him to tighten his grip. You huffed but relented, though you did start to protest when he intertwined your fingers together.

You could admit to yourself, that you did feel better that you weren't walking alone in the dark. Hangman had been waiting, not wanting to give up just yet as he really did like you. He just enjoyed aggravating you because you were so easily riled up.

"If you felt uncomfortable walking alone you could have said something to me," he mumbled rubbing at his neck.

"I appreciate it," you looked away squeezing his hand. "Maybe you aren't that major of an egotistical jerk."

Hangman laughed, releasing your hand so you can grab your car keys. "That makes me feel better then."

You unlocked the door and he opened the driver side door before you could even reach for the handle. Ushering you in he closed the door, letting you get buckled before leaning against the door. You rolled the window down and he stuck his head in.

"Thank you," you picked at the threads on the steering wheel.

"You're welcome," he tapped his fingers against your arm. "Does this mean that I'm growing on you?"

"Possibly."

"Think you could stomach a date with me?"

"I'll think about it."

"A kiss for your knight in a pilot uniform," he pointed to his lips.

"Absolutely not," you laughed rolling the window up causing him to hurry up and yank his head out. You backed up leaving Hangman in the headlights as he waved at you. For such a smug Top Gun pilot he could actually be really sweet. He wouldn't give up and you could respect that so for the first time you broke down.

Quickly rolling the window back down as you drove away you yelled out the window.

"Hey Bagman! Pick me up here tomorrow evening and buy me dinner!"

He laughed loudly, "It's a date!"

"Sure it is!"

You drove off, leaving an extremely happy pilot behind.

#Jake Seresin X Reader #Jake Seresin / Reader #Hangman X Reader #Hangman / Reader #Top Gun #Top Gun Maverick #Jake Seresin Imagine #Hangman Imagine #Hangman #Not My Gif #My Writing

[ravenous-enemy]

Ranting about ACD Johnlock because these Victorian husbands need to be happy for me

What the hell happened between Holmes and Watson in 1902 and 1903?

Context: 3GAR is described as happening in July 1902, and ILLU happened in 1902. CREE and BLAN happened in 1903.

In 1902, Holmes and Watson were inseparable.

I don't even need to elaborate when I mention 3GAR. "It was worth a wound" should be enough to remind you of why. I was so touched when I read Holmes seeing his Watson injured and rushing to his side. He is terrified at the thought of losing his friend. It was amazing to read this seemingly cold, distant, and unemotional man threatening to murder the man who almost killed his best friend. There was loyalty, there was love, and it was beautiful.

According to ILLU, in 1902, they're also frequenting Turkish baths together. (which, I might add, was a common place for homosexual men to gather, do with that knowledge what you may) They're lying side by side on two couches with nothing but a blanket on either of them as they dry off. Watson hears Holmes is injured and nearly passes out, and he rushes to Baker Street to see him as soon as possible. He is terrified at the thought of losing his friend. He gingerly sits at his bedside to ensure that Holmes is okay. These are all very intimate things to do between friends. Indeed, this even suggests the possibility of the two being lovers.

IMAGINE that. These two are inseparable. Clearly, these two stories help to build on the idea that they love each other (platonically or romantically. To me, they seem romantically involved, but even as friends, they do love each other. It's all up to personal preference.) Their relationship is so strong, more than anything we have seen before. These stories showcase their love for each other and how passionate they are for each other.

Now, flash forward to 1903, when CREE and BLAN take place, and we are given an entirely different narrative. Watson describes himself as one of Holmes's "habits" in CREE, saying he felt as though he was an accessory to Holmes. Their relationship is "peculiar," and he is only called over to Baker Street as some kind of tool Holmes can talk to or use on a case. Holmes can rely on Watson, and he is, in a way, taking advantage of his reliability. Throughout the entire story, we can feel the tension between these two (remember how Watson had to stress over his practice in order to join Holmes on the case, and Holmes seemingly did not care at all). It seems partially resolved by the end, but there is still a feeling of bitterness that was fully apparent to me while I was reading it. It seemed like their interactions were angsty and passive-aggressive.

In BLAN, Watson does not even live with Holmes anymore, around a year after 3GAR and ILLU. Holmes explains he has "deserted" him for a wife, which he described as "the most selfish action I can recall in our years of association." Holmes was alone. In the story, Holmes cannot stop talking about how much he misses "his" Watson.

These four stories have such a sharp contrast. They have been absolutely terrorizing my brain a lot as of late. I feel like them being so close in ILLU, and *the* moment in 3GAR are some of their strongest moments together. They are both so terrified to lose each other. How is it that a year later, according to the canon, they are barely on speaking terms? My question is, if we are to trust the canon dates, what happened during those months that caused them to drift apart so terribly? How could Watson leave his Holmes for a wife so recently after these frightening events?

Another point about this supposed second wife. I don't think she even existed. (I do think Mary was really Watson's wife, and I might've reblogged a post about it somewhere) But about the second wife. As far as I'm aware, she's mentioned one (1) time in one (1) story by Holmes, and it was likely just a ploy by ACD to separate them (oh well, I'll just give him a wife. That'll separate them good enough.) It's easily enough ignored for that reason. Watson was, in fact, away from Baker Stret, but the idea of a wife was, in all probability, just made up by Holmes as an excuse for his absence.

I'd like to add my personal headcanon because the continuity in Sherlock Holmes is actually so messed up. John is called James in one story (TWIS, if you want to see for yourself.) October 9, 1890, is called a Saturday when it was really a Thursday (REDH) There's a story set in 1892, when Holmes was supposedly dead... etc, etc. Given the known unreliability of dates in these stories, would it be so unreasonable to suggest that the dates of the four I have talked about were swapped? That, in fact, CREE and BLAN were a falling out in their relationship and that ILLU and 3GAR was their healing? That the former were set in 1902 and the latter, in 1903? I can understand that after knowing someone and living with them for so many years, you may start to take them for granted. But after you narrowly lose them, you would not do such a thing again. (Especially not only a year after such a traumatic experience!!) Therefore, I believe CREE and BLAN were examples of how their relationship was beginning to fail and were actually set in 1902 (or some other date in the latter days of their relationship), and ILLU and 3GAR were reminders of how much they meant to each other, and they happened in 1903 (or, more simply, a year after CREE and BLAN).

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk. I know this is completely incorrigible and nobody's gonna read it but I just wanted to get it out there.

TL;DR: Late Sherlock Holmes canon sucks. No way that they had both near death experiences in 3GAR and ILLU, and less than a year latery they can barely stand each other in CREE and BLAN. My personal headcanon says CREE and BLAN were moments of stress in their relationship and that 3GAR and ILLU happened afterward to remind them of how much they appreciated each other and help reconcile them.

#acd holmes #acd canon #sherlock holmes headcanon #headcanons #sherlock holmes #john watson #this is lowkey angsty #ranting #im actually so pressed about this #canon sherlock #acd sherlock holmes #johnlock #the continuity errors help #if you actually read all this congrats #yippee #wowzers

[picturingchappell]

ditto — e. williams

!! PLEASE READ BEFORE INTERACTING !! - Its still imperative that you do anything you can to support Palestine. You can help by doing your daily click, or reviewing this masterlist. You can also help by not buying TLOU, and here’s why.

aestras notes: WOOOOO GUESS WHO FINALLY DROPPED??? THIS GUY!!!!!! 😝😝😝 tried something new for the banner this time, i think it looks okay. 🙂‍↕️ anyways!!! everyone thank @softlysunrays for encouraging me yawp yawp!!!!

tags: loser!ellie, theatre kid!dina agenda, modern au sorta?, i suck at tagging a year later, ellie is a nervous wreck, italics indicate internal monologue (most of the time), fluff(?), one small use of y/n, okay that’s it i think

Ellie might’ve had a little thing for you — probably more than just a little thing, because you’d occupy most of the space in her brain 99% of the time. And she was, unceremoniously, an incredibly big loser. She never speaks to you directly, instead stealing glances at you during passing periods or watching you from afar whenever you’d been hanging out with your other friends. 

The hallways always seemed to be cramped and crowded, but not crowded enough that she couldn’t see you. Something about you made her always recognize it was you. 

Standing at her locker, she’d been joined by Dina as she’d been grabbing some things from her backpack. The hallways were bustling with chatter and bodies, but it seemed to only be them right now.

Dina looks at Ellie as her locker shuts with a small smirk. “I saw you staring at her again.” She teases. “You’ve got it bad!” Dina pokes her softly. She sings a cheesy love song, to which Ellie groans and puts a hand on her forehead. “You’re gonna make me die of embarrassment.” She mumbles.

Dina laughs at her, putting an arm over her shoulders. “Look at you, all grown up and having a little crush.” She says theatrically, wiping fake tears. Ellie chuckles to herself as she looks down at her canvas sneakers. 

“Yknow, I could introduce you to her.” Dina mentions without much thought. If Ellie had water in her mouth, she would’ve spit it out dramatically. She stands as stiff as a board as she turns to look at Dina. “Really? I mean — you’re serious? Like 100%?” Ellie seemed excited, but god was she nervous at the thought. 

“Yeah, totally! You can sprinkle your little loser dust on her in hopes that you absolutely woo her.” Dina throws her head back dramatically with the back of her hand on her forehead. The pair chuckle slightly at Dina’s antics.

Ellie still couldn’t believe that Dina knew her. Like, a majorly pretty girl? “Pinch me.” Ellie says, clearly in some state of disbelief. “I think I’m dreaming.” Dina pinches her on the cheek and she smiles. “You’re awake, Ellie! It’s me — Dina in the flesh!” Dina smiles at her.

“Dina, I’ve been like, dreaming of this since school started. I will come to your house later. Just please don’t be lying about this.” Ellie did dream about you a lot, and she always wished she didn’t wake up before the good parts. But she always did, so she woke up sulking all morning.

Even when the passing period had ended, she couldn’t stop creating scenarios about the two of you in her head. Well, the two of you and Dina. Cause she’d be there too. Ellie would feel bad to leave her out.

She knew that this was super cliche but she liked how cliche it was in some odd way. 

She was staring out of a window with her earphone in, tapping her gnawed up pencil against a wooden desk as she listened to songs that reminded her of you.

Which was, obviously, most of the music she’d ever listen to now because she was just that in love with you. She had it bad. Super bad. Actually, no word could describe it.

Once she started dreaming about you, she knew she was doomed. Even more so now that she’ll actually talk to you.

The anxiety of meeting a pretty girl like you sets in. What if she thinks I’m too weird? But she’s friends with Dina.. maybe it’ll be okay. This is so stupid. God, just focus on her! Her internal monologue was a flurry of ‘you got this’ and ‘don’t be a total loser’.

All of that literally goes out the window the second she makes it to Dina’s house.

As usual, Dina’s home was cluttered but homey, and the walls were covered with Dina in various grades performing in school musicals. Ride The Cyclone, Heathers, all that kinda stuff that she has little to no knowledge of.

“She’s waiting in my room — and stand up straight or something. Body language is important.” Dina says, leading her up the creaky stairs. Ellie almost didn’t hear what Dina was saying as they got closer to her room.

She’s in there! Right there! She thought, a smile creeping onto her face. The door of Dina’s room swings open and there you were, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“This is who I was telling you about! Y/N, this is Ellie. Ellie, Y/N.” Dina smiles at both of you brightly. “Hi!” Ellie blurts out, her voice cracking slightly. She instantly feels embarrassed and clears her throat. “Hello. How are you?” She attempts to reapproach the conversation, but when she saw that you’d been already chuckling and smiling, all her affirmations were lost to her.

“I’m fine. And you?” You asked, smiling at her. “I’m.. I’m good. Totally chilling right now, yeah.” Ellie rambles nervously. 

She kinda just stands there awkwardly until she thinks about another question. “How’d you uh, meet Dina?” She asks, rocking back and forth awkwardly on her heels. “We’re in the same theater class. And you,” 

You point at her. “You’ve known her since like, forever, right?” She says to Dina, eliciting a soft hum from the girl. You smile at Dina. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while.” 

Upon hearing that, Ellie snaps her head around to look at Dina. Her eyes scream “don’t leave me here”. Dina smiles remorsefully before leaving the room.

So now it was just Ellie and you. Staring at eachother while birds chirped softly in the distance. Ellie smiles awkwardly. You chuckle at her. “Are you usually this nervous?” You ask, tilting your head to the side slightly.

“..Yes, but not really?” Ellie would never in a million years admit the big fat crush she had on you, not now that you were sitting infront of her. “Well, I’m not gonna like, eat you or anything. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“That’s easier said than done when you’re that pretty.” Ellie mumbled to herself. “What was that you said? You think I’m pretty?” You ask, smiling brightly. When she realizes you’d heard that part, she becomes incredibly flustered. She smashes her face into the palms of her hands as her cheeks become flushed. 

“I’m truly flattered! It means a lot coming from another pretty girl.” Ellie stood breathing for a moment. She thinks I’m pretty? She thinks I’m pretty?! She truly wants to jump for joy but she doesn’t. Instead she just stares at you.

Once you stand up and start walking towards her, she gets even more nervous because you smell like heaven. “I think we should get to know eachother more.” You suggest as you look at her. “I’ll give you my number.”

“Your number?” She blurts, excitement underlying her tone. “Yeah! It’s no biggie.” You say as you reach for your phone that was previously on the charger.

When you both eventually exchanged numbers, Ellie was staring at your contact in awe. Maybe you were talking to her but she was in her own little world.

She’d finally done it — talked to the girl she’d had a crush on literally all year. And somehow pulled it off enough to get her number.

Has Ellie wooed you? She didn’t know. Were you definitely looking forward to talking to her? Hell yeah you were.

“So I guess I’ll talk to you very soon then?” You raise an eyebrow at her with a smile on your face. Very soon? That could mean tonight! “Yeah, yeah totally. Call me whenever. I’m always free, yknow, never busy.” Ellie said, forming an awkward smile.

I basically just told her I have no hobbies or many friends! How charming is that? Way to go, Ellie. She internally cringes at herself. “Good to know. Bye Ellie.” You wave at her before leaving Dina’s room.

The door shuts and Dina runs up the stairs. “Oh she’s definitely into you.” She exclaims, holding Ellie’s hands. “I’m proud of you for putting your big girl pants on.” Ellie looks at Dina with a stupid smile. “She’s into me.” She mumbled with a starstruck expression. “She’s into me!” She repeats, smiling. I really hope that’s true. She thinks excitedly, squeezing Dina’s hands while looking at her.

#picturingchappell #aestras archive #tlou #the last of us #the last of us two #the last of us part two #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams tlou

[stormofdefiance]

True knowledge exists in knowing you know nothing || Dr. Ratio & Socrates

Okay, I legitimately laughed out loud writing that title, but listen. LISTEN.

Ratio's inspirations derive from many sources; from referencing Archimedes's brain-blast in the tub, to being doomed to have his head bonked by Newton's apple ad infinitum in his idle animation, to his ultimate line ('esse est percipi' / 'to be is to be perceived') a direct quote from Berkeley on Idealism - it's apparent that his design nods towards scholars across time periods rather than being a direct parallel to a singular academic.

Nevertheless, just for fun, I've been rotating Ratio and ancient greek philosophers around in my head and have had a great time chewing over how parallels Socrates in particular. I am in no way saying that Hoyo even thought about Socrates while they were designing Ratio, but I thought I'd share my thoughts. I think there are some worthwhile parallels to be drawn that touch on all aspects of Ratio's own philosophy regarding ignorance, the value of knowledge, and his deep appreciation of life. So, let's get into it.

Ratio is interested in humanity and curing 'ill minds with knowledge', that 'to turn a blind eye to the folly of others is not an etiquette, but a wicked worldly practice.' Ignorance is a disease - this is a concept that can be viewed through a Socratic lens. Socrates believed that that virtue and knowledge were impossible to separate from one another, and that virtue could be developed through acquiring knowledge and insight. If knowledge is virtue, then ignorance is vice. In Socrates's mind, no one would rationally choose to do something bad. People might choose to do bad things, but this is rooted in their own perception of the world - as in, someone would only choose to do something bad (for the world, or for themselves) because they believed (erroneously) that it was the right or good thing to do. To Socrates, the cure to this was knowledge: 'There are two kinds of disease of the soul, vice and ignorance.' & 'What does most harm in the world is not sinfulness but ignorance'.

To Ratio, 'If ignorance is an ailment, it is the duty of the scholars to weed it out and heal the universe'. He views his own ignorance as 'filth' that must be cleansed through methods such as reading. He also views knowledge as a method for humans to overcome their problems - 'Another day has passed. If your problem still hasn't been solved, is it possible the problem is you?' & 'You look distressed. Is something troubling you? if so, you can figure it out for yourself.' These statements sound harsh, but they also clue us into Ratio's philosophy - that through self-examination and improvement, one can overcome one's ailments.

Socrates was also known for being a trouble-maker, he was abrupt and tactless and did not care for someone's social standing nor decorum. He was also known for using what is now called the Socratic method, asking a series of questions that ultimately seek to show contradictions in the beliefs of those who posed them, and to move systematically towards a hypothesis free from contradiction. Socrates rarely made assertions himself - after all, he had no wisdom of his own. But he could interrogate others in order to expose their own foibles, much to the embarrassment and annoyance of those around him. He was once described as a 'gnat' chewing on the 'lazy horse of Athens', causing it to wake up and spring to life due to his persistent gnawing and prodding. Ratio also employs the Socratic method - 'I'm asking questions' - and also adopts sophist tactics such as playing devil's advocate and taking opposing sides (with both himself as seen a story quest, and with others as we see with his texts urging us to take up a side so he might debate us). Through questioning and interrogation, upsetting what we consider social convention and norms, we can dispel contradictions and thereby come closer to some form of truth.

To add to this - as highlighted in the replies below - Ratio’s skill ‘intellectual midwifery’ is a reference to the Socratic method. The idea being that Socrates helped those around him give birth to the knowledge that was already within them, rather than treating his students minds as empty vessels for him to fill with his own answers. Again this is beautifully echoed in Ratio - he doesn’t want to tell you how to live your life, he wants you to work out for yourself what it is you need, thus empowering oneself through self-examination and questioning.

Socrates did not believe in writing anything down. He believed that face-to-face communication was a far more effective way of communicating knowledge - which means, unfortunately, what we know of Socrates is primarily derived from secondary sources. Much of what we know about him today comes from Plato's dialogues, and Plato was known for liberally exercising artistic license.

Although Ratio is not dead, I find it interesting that his character story is told exclusively through secondary sources. To quote - '…There are no less than eight documentaries detailing his legendary exploits, and over a dozen memoirs about him. However, despite the plethora of commentaries, none of them seems to provide a compelling perspective.' It's as though there are no surviving fragments penned by Ratio's hand and all we have to go on is through the lenses of other people. This challenges us, perhaps, to try to think about our own interpretation of Ratio since secondary sources cannot be taken as a wholly unbiased account - and once again employing the Socratic method and empowering the reader to come to their own interpretation.

While Socrates left no writing behind, he was interested in spreading knowledge. Socrates spent most of his life in Athens, a city that was, during his lifetime (~470-399 BC), a hotpot of scholars, wisemen and philosophers. Athena, the Greek god of wisdom, was named after the city - her symbol the owl that is also appropriately perched on Ratio’s shoulder. Also in Athens at this time where the sophists. The sophists were a class of intellectuals who were known to teach courses in various subjects - but often for a high fee, and generally centred around the idea that persuasion and the use of knowledge as a tool was more important than wisdom or truth itself. There's some debate about whether Socrates could be characterised as a sophist himself, but, crucially, he is characterised as refusing to take payment for his teachings. He was born a plebeian (perhaps you might describe it as a mundane background.) He was known to dress in rags and go barefoot, speaking to and (often antagonising) people from all walks of life, preferring the marketplace as a center of debate than palaces or courtrooms. I can't help but think of the sophists as similar to the genius society (or at least Ratio's depiction of them in contrast to himself), cooped up in ivory towers and gatekeeping knowledge to the most privileged. He doubts if Herta's talent is always helpful to others, he compares Screwllum to a 'monarch'. Then again, the sophists may in fact be a bit of a parallel to the Intelligentsia Guild - from Ratio, 'when someone is willing to listen to knowledge that is being disseminated and circulated, a price is created'.

Socrates (or at least the Platonic depiction of Socrates) was at one time declared the wisest man in Athens by the Oracle of Delphi. Socrates balks at this assertion - how can he possibly be the wisest man in Athens when he in fact knows nothing at all? This was not a claim made of modesty - he truly believed that he had no wisdom, that he was unsure what 'wisdom' itself even was. Ultimately, Socrates concludes that the only way that the Oracle could be correct is that by actually acknowledging that he knows nothing he paradoxically is the wisest man in Athens. All wisdom, therefore, is rooted in wondering, with wondering only possible if one is open to admitting one's own ignorance.

What I love about all of this in relation to Ratio is that Ratio styles himself as a mundanite. The Intelligensia Guild advocates that 'all knowledge must be circulated like currency' and accepts 'all beings… who seek to learn'. Ratio has no time for the satisfied self-styling of intellectualism, he himself states that 'to speak knowledge, we must first make people realise their own folly.' No one is above criticism in this regard, even himself - again, to quote 'Whenever someone agrees with me, I feel like I must be wrong.' Again, I feel as though he would resonate with Socrates here: 'Smart people learn from everything and everyone, average people from their experiences, and stupid people already have all the answers'. With Aventurine, he is quick to mock his appearance as over-the-top and vapid - once again making it clear his distate for vanity and hollow displays of showiness (albeit he may have been acting for Sunday's sake here. Also, no comment about this coming from a man who runs around in a toga, lmao) Equally, with Aventurine, it is clear that Ratio is willing to learn from him - he apologises when he offends, he abhors his methodology and yet he still relies upon it and trusts in Aventurine's plan, he is drawn to him in some ways precisely because he is so different to himself. Aventurine (at least styles himself) as impulsive to Ratio's slow and steady methodology, Aventurine whose learning has been entirely self-made vs Ratio who has spent his life in classrooms, Ratio who scoffs at Aventurine's favourite games of chance yet adds slot machines to his simulated universe. And to Socrates, the experience of aporia – in all of its discomfort and disruption – is the very catalyst of wonder, and that wonder was not just the root of wisdom but also the way to live a good and happy life. There is something beautiful in this to me, and this extends to Ratio. Ratio fundamentally cares about life. For all his brashness, his lashing out against 'idiots', his harsh demeanour - he wants people to live good lives, he wants to contribute to the good of humanity - all people, even those he is annoyed by, he cares so profoundly and absolutely about life. The entire reason why he is obsessed with wisdom and learning is not to exalt or elevate himself, not as some kind of ritualistic expression of piety towards a deity, but it is instead an expression of devotion towards life itself. Ratio has a strict work out routine not so that he can show off his body, but because living healthily is living well and working out is a component of that. Even the way he fusses and worries about Aventurine, someone he is pointedly irritated by, reveals how deeply his care runs. So so much of his character is centered on caring for life, even if it is not immediately obvious.

Finally, I'd like to highlight some ways in which Ratio is not like Socrates. First of all, Socrates was repeatedly described as 'ugly' by fellow philosophers Plato and Xenophon - this is contrast to Ratio being repeatedly described as 'handsome'. This is an interesting subversion to me (albeit likely an indulgent one) as in both cases both men attempt to distance their physical appearance from the weight of their words. Ratio wears the bust for many reasons, but way to view it is that he is attempting to stop his appearance from bearing any influence in the subject of debate.

Socrates was also said to be blessed by a divine touch, and as we know, this is something that agonises Ratio as Nous has not yet turned THEIR gaze towards him.

Lastly, Ratio has - thankfully - not yet been ordered by the state to drink hemlock for all his trouble-making and blustering. Though perhaps he may someday be put on trial by the IPC if the theories that he is working alongside Aventurine to undermine the corporation are true - we will just have to wait and see.

Thanks for reading my little ramble. I'd be super interested in anyone's thoughts if they'd like to share, but regardless, I'll leave off on some of my favourite wee quotes from the Rat man:

'Even a life marked by failure is a life worth living - it is only in moments of solitude and despair, when help is absent, that fools grasp how to pick themselves up.'

'Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.'

#dr ratio #ratio #aventurine #hsr #honkai star rail #my witterings #i love the rat man so much idk #much of the information i describe about Socrates comes from the podcast History of Philosophy without the Gaps #which I highly recommend if this is your kind of thing lol #but mostly I just wanted to have fun spinning my hyperfixation around lol #Also I make a few declarative statements throughout this but know that I do not claim to be a scholar of greek philosophy lol #please check the verasity for yourselves before relying on what I have to say #for I know nothing u see u see? :P

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head

master list

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I ca

Synopsis: An old farm set on a couple hundred acres of land, surrounded by forest and wildlands. Lucy Maclean is now the new owner of her childhood home, much to her family’s dismay and anger. The land doesn’t feel the same without her Granddaddy around, the woods seem darker and much more vast. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s alone in the middle of nowhere for the first time in her life. Her great uncle Harris has stepped up to help her learn the ropes of the business, which is bigger than Lucy ever imagined. 

Her neighbor Cooper Howard, is happy to meet a new face in the area. Bonding over their shared grief and strife to make ends meet as the world is changing. Their worlds are shaken when Lucy’s home is vandalized, and secrets that were supposed to be buried forever begin to emerge from the woods.  Horror, mystery, and drama all rolled into one. There is something in the woods.

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Eventually: Older Man/Younger Woman, Horror themes, long form fic,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

Grandpa Tim passed yesterday, as much as Lucy wanted to say it was peaceful, it wasn’t. The man had always been tough as nails, but cancer was tougher. Though Lucy had fought hard to keep him comfortable, there was only so much the Doctors could do. His hand gripping hers as he gasped for breath, feeling his heart rate speed up as his body tried to fight it. But he had signed a DNR, there was no going back. So Lucy sat there with tears in her eyes as she watched the man who had raised her slip away. One of the nurses hugged her and told her she was brave. Brave for letting him go, for letting him finally be at peace. Lucy stayed as they loaded him up onto a stretcher to be taken to the funeral home. Remembering the disappointment on his face when they told him he wouldn’t be a viable organ donor. The cancer had spread too fast and too far for anything to be usedable. It was a final sting, knowing that his body wouldn’t even be able to help others. 

-----

The funeral was big, with everyone within ten counties coming over to say farewell to their favorite farmer. Tim had lived here his whole life and was born on the property where he raised his kids and grandbabies. His wife, Lucy’s Grandma, Shirley was buried in the same plot he would be now. Shirley had died six years ago after undergoing a complicated heart surgery. Now they could be back together again. It was one thing Tim had talked about the most as he neared his final days, how excited he was to see Shirley again. He often pondered if he would wake up in heaven and if she would look as pretty as the day she met him. Or maybe she looked as beautiful as the day she passed. 

Tears flowed all around, Tim was as big as life. He was always the first to help. Wildfire? He'd be there with his tanker trailer, pump, and hoses. Cow with a calf stuck?  He knew how to move the calf just right to get them out. Farmer got hurt? He was there with his tractor to make sure the work still got done. The school needs sponsorship? He'd be the first to give his dollar. He was a salt of the earth man. Tim was from this earth. As he was raised down into his grave, Lucy pulled out a mason jar of dark black earth. He had told her exactly where to go to get it. A little bit from the garden that Shirley had loved, a little bit from around where his favorite animals were buried, and a little from the first piece of land he had ever worked into a field. He wanted to make sure that a piece of the land he loved would be buried with him. 

Lucy could barely hold back the sob as she opened the jar and carefully sprinkled it on top of his grave. Others joined in, some had flowers, and others had their own dirt. A bundle of dried wheat, some oats, canola oil, and a pair of cow ear tags. As the items dropped the feeling of finality swept over Lucy. He was really gone. The man who had supported her through everything over the last twenty-five years was now in a box. Surrounded by the things and people he loved. On his right the love of his life Shirley, and on the left the two sons he had to bury before him. One was Lucy’s Dad, his headstone is where she went, placing another small jar of dirt beside it. Tears ran down her cheeks as she said how much she missed him, and that he needed to give Grandpa a big hug for her. 

—-

“I am not sure why there is even a discussion happening.” Shrilled Henry, the last-born son of Tim MacLean. He was a fidgety bird-like man who had been all too happy to get off the shit-hole farm. His words. 

“I am the only son, so clearly it should go to me,” Henry pipped, examining his perfect nail beds.

“Why would you think Dad would want you to have the farm? You haven't been here since Mom died.” Katie scolded. A favorite daughter, but still a middle child. She was a petite woman who had married a chicken farmer down south, she wasn't frequent to the farm but she always had made sure to phone once a week.

“Katie, you don't got much to say,” Theresa quipped, she was the eldest of six kids. She was three times divorced and spent most of her time in Europe. “You got your own farm and your own land.”

“Never said I wanted the land, Theresa,” Katie bit back at her older sister. “Just figured it should go to someone who could use it.”

“Who says I wouldn't use it?” Henry joined in, “I know plenty of people who would be happy to help.”

“Oh yeah, I am sure your closet of boy toys could be persuaded to help.” Theresa sneered, making Martha, Henry's wife, gasp.

“How dare you!” Martha gasps clutching at her purse.

“Don't you start, Theresa!” Henry added, grabbing his wife's hands and glaring at Theresa.

A roar began in the small waiting room. People arguing and yelling, and a magazine went flying. Lucy tried to tuck herself away from the madness. She was the only Grandkid there and the ‘adults’ were losing it.

“Alright.” A big man in overalls and a brown shirt stood up. Great uncle Harris MacLean, Tim's second youngest brother. The man was imposing and loud, and easily commanded the room. Making sure everyone settled back in their chairs without more damage. 

“What would your father think of all of you? Damn shame. Fighting over what isn't even yours.”  Harris came over and put a comforting hand on Lucy’s shoulder. 

“None of you were here when your Dad got sick. Didn’t hold his hand when he passed. When he asked for your Mama. But y'all sure show up looking for another handout.” Harris sat down beside Lucy. “Pretty sure the will has all the answers.”

The couples and their lawyers murmured between themselves.  Eyes glaring at each other from across the room, the coffee table scatters different papers.

“You doing alright Lucy?” Harris asked, glaring at his relatives, his voice low enough that only she could hear him. 

Lucy shrugged, “Was hoping it would be smoother.” Hoping was one thing, it was another to have this many MacLean's in one room.

“Thought your Mom would have come down.” Harris let out a huff, watching all his shifty relatives closely. 

“She's busy in Mexico with her latest fling.” Lucy sighs shifting uncomfortably in her seat, why were waiting room chairs always so uncomfortable? 

“Of course she is. Oh, Rosealy, you were never much for settling down.” Harris sighed, big hands rubbing against his dirty jeans. Margie would be pissed to know he showed up at the lawyers in stained clothes.

A striking man walked into the room, he was wearing a pinstripe grey suit that matched his silver hair. He was all long legs and a lean figure, the suit made him look imposing. Looking at the room taking in the rag-tag bunch and disheveled coffee table.  

“I am guessing you all are the Maclean family?” He says, a faint hint of British accent tinging his voice. 

“Yes that would be us,” Henry chirped, his eyes wandering over the man. 

The man let out a sigh, “Well I suppose if you are all here, we will read the will. I'm positive we do not have any other space-” He glanced around, “For everyone.” 

Lucy stood up and handed the man a folded envelope. The man opened it and read it through before reading it out loud. 

“Here is the Last Will and Testament of Tim Louise MacLean, of Rosewood, I make this will being in sound mind and body.” The man continued, going through the document quickly. “I leave an account to each of my five grandchildren held in trust till they turn eighteen. To my last daughter Lucy Rose MacLean, I leave all my property, and worldly possessions, as well as give her exclusive access to my accounts. To the rest of my children, I ask that you remember that you never had a want in this world. From schooling to houses, and though I love you into entirety. Lucy was my first grandchild, and my last child to raise, the one who loved the farm more than me or Shirley ever could. She will be the one to make any decision regarding the property and finances. “ 

Lucy’s mouth had fallen open as the room had erupted in an outcry. Her heart pounded in her chest at the realization that Grandpa had left everything to her. She watched as Tim’s kids stood and demanded that the will be read again. That their lawyers would have to read it, Henry going so far as to say he would contest it in court. 

“If everyone would please be quiet,” The man in the suit hollered, loud enough to be heard over the commotion. The room fell silent as they all turned to look at him. “I understand this can be hard news for everyone. But this will was originally formed a decade ago, it has been updated yearly. Including 6 months before Mr. MacLean’s diagnosis. I can assure you that he was of sound mind, it was notarized and signed by three separate witnesses.” 

Henry was sitting with his arms crossed, Theresa looked close to tears, Katie was bright red, and Great Uncle Harris just looked amused. 

“You are all within your legal rights to try and take this to court. But, I can assure you no judge in the area would not dismiss this case outright.” He made sure to look at each of them in the eye.

“As for Ms. Lucy MacLean. I have a large amount of paperwork to go over with you. As well as an appointment with the bank.” His green eyes locked on to Lucy’s.

“May I bring my Uncle Harris with me?” Lucy asked, her hands tight fists in her lap.

“Yes, of course, love.” The lawyer said, before turning on his heel and walking down a hallway.

----

It took three weeks to finalize everything, Henry had gone to the court, and he had tried several times, unsuccessfully to get the will reexamined. At the same time, Lucy was engulfed by phone calls, emails, and more. Most of these were tenants of Tim wanting to sort leasing arrangements, others were about moving cattle to new grazing homes. Lucy was never more grateful for her Uncle Harris, he had known most of these men and women. Was able to handle the negotiations and fill Lucy in on what she needed to do regarding cattle, seeding, planting, and more. There was also opening up the house again. When Tim had gone into hospice,  Lucy, Margie, and Harris had taken time to go through things. Tim had not had many worldly possessions, a fire had taken most of that less than five years before. But things like a new mattress, power hooked up, gas running, and the wood stove inspected all needed to be done. 

Lucy sat in the middle of a mostly empty house. She had decided at the last minute to leave her job as an x-ray tech and move to the farm. It wasn’t ideal, but she also had come into a fair sum of money. Her Grandpa had been a smart man and a frugal one too. He had kept most of his and Shirley’s money tucked away in investment accounts that had built a neat little sum of cash. Shirley had always wanted to travel once they had retired, so she had also stashed money away as well. It hurt Lucy’s heart knowing that they had never gotten to do that. 

But now it was in her hands, sort of kinda, she had leaned heavily on her Uncle Harris. He was so incredibly kind and made sure she never felt stupid about the millions of questions she asked. The first year they were leasing almost everything, the hundred head of cows Grandpa still had would be taken care of by Cooper, a neighbor down the way. Lucy had given herself two years to get herself sorted and get more acquainted with the workings of the farm. 

It wasn’t that she hadn’t known how to do things, she could run a tractor, cut down trees, med fences; she knew how to preg check cows and what to look for when tilling a lot. But the business end of things was a whole different ball game and she was diving headlong into it.

The trailer was doublewide, the living room had a couch and lazy boy, and the kitchen had a table with 4 chairs. The walls were mostly bare except where Lucy had put her artwork. She had also moved a handful of bookshelves in and her desk. It was surprisingly roomy and beat her eighties-era apartment she had lived in for the last five years. She had slid the desk and table together spreading out all the different pieces of paperwork, along with a large map of where all Grandpa’s property was. Her property, she corrected herself. It was hers now, somehow. Where she lived she was surrounded by almost 200 acres of forested land backed onto parkland. Besides the garden beds, barn, and shop it was wild land. It was one thing that Grandpa had asked to stay the same. That the land around the property be left untouched by man or machine, she planned to keep it that way. Even when several large logging companies had called knocking, for Lucy her grandfather's words meant everything.

A knock on the front door woke her from her musing. She also needed to go get a couple of dogs, not just for company; but also so she knew if someone was coming down the long drive. She walked over to the front door, steeling herself to be met with another person wanting to buy or hunt on the land. Opening it she was surprised to see a man standing there in a cowboy hat, fitted jeans, and button-up shirt. Scruffy face with a day’s worth of stubble, bright hazel eyes, and a blinding smile.

“Good afternoon,” The man said with a nod, “I’ve come over to introduce myself -’

“If you’re looking for hunting, logging, buying, grazing, or leasing, I am not interested,” Lucy said curtly, she really didn’t have a lot of time to dally. 

“Oh no,” The man said, holding up a large hand, “I am the neighbor down the road with your Granddad’s cows. And a friend of your Uncle Harris’. He said that you’d moved in just down from me, so figured it was only neighborly to come say hello.”

Lucy’s shoulders sagged a bit, she had gotten so used to people wanting something from her she had forgotten that most folks out here were friendly.

“I am so sorry,” Lucy sighed, “It’s been a tough month. Been a lot of folks wanting a piece of what’s not theirs.”

The man nodded, “I can only imagine. Not many people have morals these days. If there is a buck to be made they’ll take it. My name’s Cooper.” 

He extended a hand, and Lucy took it and gave him a firm handshake. “Lucy, I am Tim’s Granddaughter.”

“Pleasure to meet yah,” Cooper said with the same grin. “Tim was a good man and talked very highly of his last daughter. You meant the world to him.”

Lucy gave a half-hearted smile, it still felt so wrong that her Grandpa was gone. “Do you want to come in? I can make some coffee?”

“Oh, I will take a raincheck on that. Gotta go check on our newest heifers, see who all needs taggin’ and whatnot.” He said a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Want to come?”

Lucy looked back at the table full of papers, “I am gonna have to pass today,” She could see some disappointment flicker across his features. “But let me give you my number,”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he dug into his jeans for his phone, the two of you exchanging numbers. 

“Just in case, umm, you need help with the cows” Lucy felt a bit flustered, “Never know.”

The man smiled and tipped his hat to her, “I will see you around Lucy.”

** If you enjoyed the fic let me know!

** Want to be on the tag list let me know

** Yes this is fic number 3 please don't yell at me. I've had this one sitting for a while. Will mostly likely be updating this one once/twice a week along with all the others.. I DON'T NEED SLEEP. Sleep is for the dead.

#alternate universe #au #fallout au #fallout #fanfic #cooper howard #writing #fallout tv #writer #lucy maclean #lucy x cooper #cooper x lucy #horror #thriller #mystery #murder mystery #ghoulcy atomic blast

[johnnys-breastmilk]

just curious though what johnnys punishments include?🤔 NEED to know ‘cause i know that man spanks like no other and denies us orgasms on the regular🫣possibly puts some form of chastity belt on, likely made by hitchhiker or nancy…why does a bone chastity belt sound so fashion forward😭

but i would put that man’s needs before mine always…AND HE DEFINITELY IS INTO CHOKING-🎀

the way I got this ask from you twice,, I'M SORRY!! I'm a reblog addict but my posting has gone downnnn😅

Anywho--punishment headcanons!

~~~

I'm going to start with general acts then move on to objects.

His hands. His hands could honest be something entirely on their own because they're so multi-faceted. Spanking, choking, general roughness. All of them vary on intensity based on how much he thinks we deserve it. Part of me thinks that they would be done on the regular for fun, so the choking would leave bruises and be genuinely painful for the recipient. Same for spanking, he just goes harder, not letting himself hold back as much as he normally would. He would also not hesitate to hone in on general slapping on the face and body. Anywhere he can leave a mark.

Asking to masturbate in front of him while he's fully clothed and you're in nothing, seems like a good punishment for him.

Dare I say the silent treatment from him could be hot? His cold stare, the burning feeling you'd get from never knowing what he could do if left alone in a room with you. From dangerous to somewhat pleasurable, it's unpredictable. Just passing him during the day and wondering if he'll pin you against the nearest wall. The only thing you can read is what he exudes. To top it all off, he only speaks when he's going to say something rude or demeaning until he's no longer upset at you. Until then, it's all grunts and heaving breathing during sex, grunts for commands in his shack.

Now for objects! (Under the cut cause the bone chastity belt got a little graphic!)

Okay, so as you said, the homemade chastity belt would be the first punishment. Johnny having a significant other that isn't into biting or marking? Well, this is the next best option! Now, it depends on how brutal you want it to be. Nubbins and Nancy seem to have a common theme of barbed wire being their main use of damage in their traps, with Nubbin's using bone's collected for some extra tagging on his victim's feet. So, the "belt" part of it could be bones strung together with barbed wire, or the part that loops around the waist/hips could simply be barbed wire. One is very stiff with little snags on the skin and the other is more flexible, but will leave scars and requires the person to be very careful about their movements. This is sounding like a saw trap! The component blocking someone from having sex varies depending on what they're packing of course. For someone with a dick, I'm picturing some kind of small animal ribcage that's chipped to size and strung to the other bones. For someone with a pussy, I'd think that some long flat bone-shaped piece could go there. Maybe the piece of an antler? This sounds really illogical but I'm like 3d printing the image in my head lmao. The main point is that it's uncomfortable for the wearer and prevents sex, and any iteration of a bone chastity belt, less or more extreme than this, would work.

Obviously, I'd be remissed if I didn't mention his belt too! Him using that to achieve harder spanking against your ass, using it for choking when his hands are occupied holding your hips, tying your hands or legs together.

Kind of a weird one to add, but I headcanon that Nancy has vibrators since they've been around for a long time and she hasn't had a husband to satisfy her in ages... So, Johnny occasionally busts them out since I know he wouldn't know where to get them to use on you.

Lastly, his beer bottles! This ties into the whole silent treatment thing with Johnny, where he deprives you of his dick and instead makes you pleasure yourself with a freshly finished off glass bottle. Still slick around the rim with his saliva, so it's not too bad, but it's not him.

#informal #johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter x reader #x reader #x male reader #johnny slaughter #johnny tcm #johnny #johnny slaughter x male reader #johnny slaughter x you #johnny sawyer x reader #johnny sawyer x you #johnny vibes #johnny sawyer x male reader #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre game #the texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre #my headcanons #bd/sm kink #suggestive #nsft

[bloodyymaryyy]

Gossip girl xoxo

Part 4

Part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / masterlist

Warnings : mention of underage drinking but other than that don't know

((Side note : apparently you guys like the series so what you want you take my beautiful people! I love you guys! Anyway I saw what happened with lando and I had to make that in here! Also something is coming soon I don't know if you will like it but I will enjoy writing so 🤷‍♀️))

Texts with lando

You : hi lan!

Landinio : hey!

You: I heard that you are going to King's day tomorrow with Martin

Landinio : yeah I am what's up?

You : well I got invited for some reason too and wanted to know if you will go with martin or you could carpool with me! I have the lambo here!

Landinio : OH SHIT! I am texting with will rn to cancel on him! There is no way I am missing the lambo ride with you!

You: okay sweet just text me when are you meeting and here you are staying at to come get you because I am out rn. Ttyl x!

Landinio : oh 😏 with who?

You : none of your bizz bye!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

Texts between martin and lando

Lando : hey martin sorry to cancel last minute but y/n is coming and she has her lambo here and I won't find another chance to rice that thing so... Sorry again!

Will : oh it's nothing I understand I would too!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

After picking up lando from his hotel we headed out towards the boat that the party is held taking empty wide roads to really drive the thing, drifting and doing a few donuts in an empty parking lot just for the thrill of it but making sure to actually arrive in the boat party you both got out of the car talking and laughing entering and finding Martin by the dj booth.

Greetings were exchanged talking and laughing until the second round of drinks that started to kick in hopping around, dancing and sings to the rhythm being surrounded by the Dutch men.

You two weren't fazed by the phones recording your every move because you were having fun and a little tipsy, not that you would admit it both to anyone that in fact you were drunk continuing with the drinks and having fun and just as you were getting drinks you got elbowed in the face not really hard but enough to cause a little mountain the next hour not really noticeable.

Lando in the other hand just as you were nearing him again was hit or something because his nose was bleeding you drank both of them quickly and ran up to him while near you can see the bloody roll down in this lips and teeth he smiled at you teeth bloody, you started to laugh at the situation. Someone had a first aid kit and you cleaned the wound putting a plaster on the cut and a bandage wrapped around his head loosely because you were drunk it was going to be messy.

When you finished you started to laugh again at his stupid look he looked like a mummy but who cares? You two didn't nor did the men around you so you both continued dancing, bouncing, shouting lyrics and drinking again. You weren't piss drunk you could think and walk straight and so was lando, playing some songs with martin lando djing for a bit so will could take a break, talking to you laughing and gossiping about news lately and having fun and creating the mood for the actual club that Will, Lando and you will be going to after the pre party in the boat. You were sure you will regret going to another club but current you don't care about it, future you maybe.

You weren't a light weight by any means, starting drinking from a young age and in your teenage years going out drinking almost everyday drinking made it hard for you to get drunk so you were good by half of the actual party in the club but you wouldn't say lando was the same...

Cutting your night in the what you seen fit as to lando wouldn't start throwing up but you could see he was ready to do anyway calling a taxi and telling him the directions of your hotel so you won't drive while drunk.

Taking him by his bicep and wrapping one hand around his shoulder and the other in his arm you payed for the drinks you ordered and left, waiting for the taxi to arrive he was talking to you, whispered things, making sentences up that made no sense, talking gibberish almost falling in his face while you were laughing and loose the grip around him and quickly regaining strength keeping his upright the taxi finally arrived.

Getting him inside and going arout the car so you could take care of him he laid his head in your lap while you slowly and softly graced your hand through his brown curls and stroking his cheek softly while he closed his eyes smiled and opening one eye to look up at you periodically while you made small conversations with the driver which was a fan of the sport and you learned his daughter's favourite driver was you from a young age looking up at you and asking for a photo with you, he wanted a photo with lando but he was asleep so you decided against it, when you arrived you took his phone got a selfie with him and one alone from a high angle so he was visible but not his face just his hat and hoodie that he got out with, you paid the driver and slowly got out of the car and went around the car again opening the door taking his hand waking him up a little so he can get out but he feel asleep again on you as you closed the door.

You again wrapped a hand around him and holding his other firmly you opened the hotel door and getting inside the building, the receptionist was eyeing you but you didn't care you were determined to get him safe and tugged in, heading in the elevator you waited for the doors to close and pressing the button of your level.looking at the mirror you see on your dress a bit of blood from lando's nose you looked a bit disheveled with your eye sparkly eyeshadow somehow under your eye, the lipstick long gone now in its place your lip pencil a bit smeared around the corners of your mouth, in your forehead a little knob and in lando having his head buried in your neck seamingly asleep by his slow rhythmed breathing that was hitting your neck practically hugging you, the elevator pinged letting you know that you got to your floor you started trying to wake him up to stop hugging you but he didn't budged you decide to just carry him to your door which was easier taking out your card key which luckily you took out of your wallet in the taxi and opened the door.

Upon entering you left him to the bed trying once again to gently wake him up so he could change, you left the club at 4 :30 and now you read the clock it said 5 : 30 so you did all of this in an hour and in heels... He is gonna pay fro this but for now you laid a hoodie that you had oversized and long shorts again oversized that you knew that would fit you took your pj's and headed to the bathroom, you washed your face to get rid of the make up and changed out of the dress and heels.

Going again the the bed you saw lando's clothes messily tossed around the side of the bed he was occupying and in your clothes, the hoodie was one of your merch with a red bull logo in the back and you are not gonna tell that to him, wanting him to walk out with it, he was lying in your bed the covers covering most of him but his back and head out you took a picture and tugged him in and walking to your side of the bed pulling up the covers and getting in falling asleep almost instantly, felling a pair of hands wrapping around you and a head to your neck going closer to lando cuddling up on you and falling asleep peacefully

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

Waking up in the morning was a struggle, you wouldn't say it was really a morning but evening waking up at 1pm by calls on your phone. Lando still asleep but starting to stir awake too by the annoying ringing of your phone you took your phone from the night stand you answered the phone without looking who it was

It was max

( the convo went like this)

Red : max / pink : y/n

Y/n? Why aren't you answering my calls? I have been calling you non stop from the morning where are you?

Max lower your voice... I have been sleeping what do you want? I am in my hotel room rn sleeping

Why are you still sleeping? What time did you leave the club last night?

4:30

Why? How did you get to the hotel?

Omg max can you interrogate me later? Let me sleep man...( a raspy voice could be heard in the background : stop talkinggg and then a sigh) shut up. Anyway I will call you back lat-

No! No don't fucking hang up! Are you with someone I heard a man! Who is he?!

Omg max! It's lando what do you want? I will talk to you later good bye!

I said and hand up the call not waiting for max to reply and rolled over now cuddling lando and falling asleep again for a few minutes then waking up by lando leaving the bed.

After he got a shower he came back and by then I dressed up to get food because I was starving waiting for lando you go together. We did you got a few pictures with fan and got food.

After that you called max and explained everything at some point max came with us to a few stored and hung out together and took max's plane and went to Monaco each to their own homes.

That's it thank you! ( not the end of the series tho)

#x reader #f1 x reader #drive to survive x reader #marriswriting #max verstappen x reader #my writing #max verstappen x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris #Lando's nose #mary's blog #bloodyymaryyy #send asks #i don't know what tags to use #i dont know #send help #x reader fanfiction #Fluff #lando x reader #lando norris x y/n #gossip girl #Just passing time cause I have read all of them #help #lando norris x you #red bull racing #mclaren #f1 x driver!reader #fake tweets #fake texts #f1 grid x driver reader

[liquidstar]

sleepovers save money on hotel rooms while on missions 👍

#finn's ocs #finn's art #sorry i was super offline the past few days but i had some time to draw between stuff so. them :) #besides i might as well draw all them hanging out like this after drawing PJ designs. but unlike in those i gave polaris and saiph pants #let them at least be decent while hanging out LOL #i want to draw lots more misc oc stuff now that i have all the refs done #but somehow i have too many ideas and yet none at all at the same time! if you have suggestions lmk 😅 #anyway polaris is annoyed at saiph here because he wont stop moving his head even though the braiding was his idea lol #bella passed the fuck out shes one of those ppl who have a very set sleep schedule #wakes up at 6am falls asleep immediately at 9pm #lets all pray she doesnt wake up with something stupid drawn on her face tomorrow #mira is just having fun tho shes reading to everyone every cute :) saiph interrupts with commentary (causing further annoyance from polaris #al is mostly observing like hes just happy to be hanging out. also having al be the most in the shadows because of course #but he likes watching his friends interact. but also hey man his eyes are up there #anyway i tried my best w the colors here so hopefully it looks okay. i wanted something warm but also kinda dark to give off late night vib #i hope tumblr doesnt kill the quality tho! it looks kinda blurry rn but it might be ok when i hit post #if it fits well i might make it my new blog header too? maybee #^_^

[evilmagician430]

who up sinning their fest

#one of my worst recent hyperfixations i'll admit #and i dont even have an excuse like ohhh i used to read this back in the late 2000s before all the terf shit #no i got into it in late 2023 this school year cause i stumbled across the tvtropes page #and i was like 'sinfest'? isnt that the name of that terf Twitter comic? but the cover image showed a sick ass artstyle so i read it #and im just obsessed with it now its such a strange spectacle. its like a political cartoon and a newspaper comic at the same time #my fav era has gotta be late 2000s maybe early 2010s sinfest... hell maybe even mid 2010s sinfest if i ignore the sisterhood #now every strip is just about jewish people or calling trans women groomers #and almost every once-likable character is now canonically a terf and/or racist and/or antivaxxer etc #or theyre just not in the comic at all anymore like my dear criminy and fuschia #i hope we never get another appearance from them godbless #cause last time we saw criminy he was helping squig and slick break a terf out of she/her penitentiary. with fuschia's permission #theyre definitely the best part of 2010s sinfest. a bygone era #the best part of 2000s sinfest is the sharp artstyle and lil e just being evil #and the best part of 2020s sinfest seems to be. um. laughing at how ridiculous it is? its kind of hard to enjoy though. #i intend to stay updated on it because i like being able to say i've read all of sinfest start to finish #but man i gotta get an adblocker soon cause i read it on the official website cause idk how else to read it online and the ads are constant #really funny when ur reading a strip criticizing the prevalence of ads in our day to day life #not as funny when you remember tatsuya is probably making money off of them. so yeah im gonna install ublock #but the problem is i usually read it on my school computer to pass time. and that technically isnt my computer so i cant download ublock #anyways. i could ramble on about how much i love and hate and am obsessed w sinfest all day but heres some fanart of the characters. #id like to make my own headcanon version of sinfest aka sinfest if it was good #but headcanons arent enough... i need to kill tatsuya ishida #sinfest #squigley sinfest #monique sinfest #lil e sinfest #the devil sinfest #tangerine sinfest #images that are horrid to see and look at #mspaint

[arklay]

DIANA x ALBERT WESKER / template.

#mine. #pair: ewskers #oc: diana #click for better quality ♡ #posting this before i start changing more things lmao but yes i went nuts and made my own psd from scratch... don't look at me #changed ages to birth years cause of how much time passes in the story!! and also gives cheeky fc for you hehe runs away #the checkboxes make me scream like he almost had a clean sweep it's so funny. and he could've had one more i'm not even joking. cause their #first kiss was technically both of them... like idk how to explain this but they were already standing close then diana moved even closer #and was tracing his jaw and such and they were just lingering while holding eye contact but he was the one who actually closed the distance #so i mean... yeah. she was just about to and he beat her to it!! but diana made the move to get them into that position in the first place #is what i mean. i just couldn't give him more it was already too hilarious lmao #can't tell if i like the lil icons but i can't doodle so peace and love on planet earth but yes i'm happy with how this came out hehe #clueless levels are cause they are clowns <3 i have a lot of thoughts about all that but yes they both take hints in some aspects but i #think they both have trouble telling if they are genuine or not or if they are misreading the situation or whether something is romantic or #not (unless ofc it's over the top and ridiculous. ahem. excella. cough. explodes her with my mind) but yeah hit him with the tism so he's #learnt how to read people very well as he's gotten older but i think when it comes to actual just genuine like wanting to get to know #someone and not just someone wanting to get in his pants he seconds guesses it a lot. and diana's all stems from being rattled by her past #experiences oughguhh and i mean her not actually having experienced proper feelings for someone until him lmao but she's got trust issues #also there were so many tropes i could use (thank you to bestie elliot for helping me finds names of things) but i had to do i got you a #drawer specifically because that moment has such a special place in my heart!! like i need to finish the wip where i talk about that cause #it makes me so silly i'm not even joking #anyway omg i hope the mentions work because doing this on the legacy editor after copying the html for beta one because the image just #didn't want to work in the beta image for some reason rip

[roseapov]

Feeling nostalgia rn

Today honestly reminds me of the time in *let me check the date* 2022?!?!?! HOW WAS THAT SO LONG AGO??😭😭

Well, anyway- Today reminds me of the time when I was supposed to be sleeping, during a night of the return to my home from visiting family (it is a very long road, and I'm coming back after this night too-), back then I found @genshinluvr 'Not What You'd Expect' and stayed up to 3/4 am reading the chapters!

Ever since then I was checking up on them everyday, and then started checking them every Sunday, not skipping a week FOR MONTHS (I think I started a bit before 'By The Seashore' until around 'Happily Ever After?'), and reading everything with such a fascination. Later on I also started reading her HSR x Reader, and got super into it too!

So I wanted to share with everyone thede amazing pieces of art, a literal masterpieces that I want to thank greatly for lots of memories and good moments! Seriously, her writing is so professional and good! I'll never forget this work, it's truly one of a kind, thank you for writing it!

PLEASE go check it out!

Time to repeat history with reading and re-reading new things from Aaliah on the night before my return to home! (And being tired the day after-) Love you!

#just felt nostalgic today that's all #But i really do love these works so please if you are in any of those fandoms go check it out #honestly wow #it's been so long since i've read them and i still think nothing can top them #truly a wonderful experience #my everything #Okay let's stop cause it becomes idk moody ig #Once again #These works are great so you won't regret checking it out! #Not what you'd expect has over 600 000 words! #W O W #it honestly blows my mind so much #how much time passed #God bless her #I hope she'll have everything she could ever want! #(I hope it isn't invasive if it is then I'm sorry I just love these works so much) #roseapov #roseatalks #rosea talks #genshin impact #honkai star rail #hsr #genshin #gi #honkai: star rail #hsr x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

[milo-is-rambling]

Who was gonna tell me that reading is fun sometimes

#I will bring shame to my eight year old self NO MORE!!!! I LIKE READING AGAIN!! YIPPEE!!! #I think I seriously enjoy reading about the brain and body and trauma like it’s so strange to spend two hours laying in bed with a book but #it’s so nice #I really enjoyed science growing up even into high school I just didn’t have the patience or motivation to finish essays #and my freshman year science teacher got fired halfway thru the year after they found out she didn’t have a teaching license and then my #class got split up into an advanced science teachers class who was way ahead of everything we had learned and then I hated the class and #science in general then in sophomore year I had another shitty teacher who didn’t care about teaching and I literally would find recourses #and send them to the teacher to put on the projector and then I would talk thru the resource that’s fucking real I literally had class #periods where I TAUGHT my sophomore year science class. GAHHHH I still get so bad at that fucking teacher I don’t even remember her name but #she pissed me off so bad cause she paired me with the two guys who always made fun of me just bc I was smart and they were annoying. anyways #depression and adhd and boredom happened and I almost failed that class but still passed in the end and then in junior year during covid #I was taking a biology class and an anatomy class that was supposed to be seniors (seniors did the advanced class and they offered regular #class to select juniors) and I ended up being the ONLY junior who wasn’t doing the advanced course. like. everyone else got assignments and #I had to ask hey what’s the easy version of that assignment cause I’m technically in the easy class even tho we’re in the same class period #and then Covid and I stopped caring at all about anhthing and then dropped out of school and moved down the entire coast so yknow. #I never stood a chance at being good at science but I’m realizing I might actually be passionate about it cause I have been since I was #little I just kind of ignored it and forgot but like. for one birthday I got a telescope and for one Christmas I got a microscope. like it’s #well known to everyone but me that I like science apparently oh my god what’s wrong with my brain !!!! anyways. #I like science now it’s weird to feel passionate about learning I haven’t done that in a long time #oh my god when I took my GED test my highest score was in SCIENCE AND NOT ENGLISH #THIS IS ALL SO OBVIOUS I LOVE SCIENCE WHY AM I NOT DOING SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE RELATED TO SCIENCE

[neon-angels-system]

in primary school I used to pick cicada shells off of trees n put them on my shirt. cause the lil legs were good at sticking onto things + my shirts usually had pretty good grip. one time I collected a whole bunch n stored them behind a tree. but then I forgot where the tree was. sad

#the majority of my memories from primary school are reading cause I had no friends for 4 out of 6 years #and my twin did have one or two friends #I spent a lot of time wandering around the school finding neat spots to sit at and/or play #and of course. the swing. #also note that I'm say I but legally speaking it was in fact a mixture of multiple other alters etc etc #in my defence I did get the memories passed down to me okay #uhhhh #second to last year I befriended another autistic kid and spent all my time trying to impress him #I remember trying to befriend other kids my age and completely failing cause I couldn't pick up on any social cues #and their friendship groups were already established #I immediately made several friends the moment I got to intermediate so?? not sure what that was all about #anyway yeah my primary school memories r a little scattered since there's nothing to really anchor them to. 2/3rds of it was just reading

[seelestia]

✧ i'll show you (if you'll let me).

⎯ there is a certain touch of beauty to witnessing a side of theirs revealed to you so naturally. it becomes as easy as breathing if you just let it happen... so, will you? ( or in other words, a way you enable them to be themselves. )

#STARRING. aventurine, dr. ratio, sunday, dan heng ft. gn!reader. { 4.2k words }

#TAGS. fluff, established relationship. more: minor spoilers for aven's backstory (described mostly abstractly), ratio is referred to by his first name, i called sunday a nerd (sorry), dr. ratio & dan heng are certified workaholics.

#P/S. i think i may have yapped a little considering the word count but i hope it ends up being a good kind of yapping. tysm for reading! ♡

© seelestia on tumblr, may 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

will you let aventurine hold you close when he sleeps? . . . whether it's an arm slung over your hips or his nose buried in your shoulder or fingers tracing shapes onto your skin. he doesn't ask for too much; only that you grant him the permission to cradle you in his arms, somewhere within his reach. it's a habit, he hopes you don't mind.

you have to wonder, though. considering the plenitude of pillows on the bed, why do his hands still seek you out? with all the credits he spent on those cotton-stuffed angels, you thought aventurine would relish them a bit more. but ah-ah, see? that is where you're wrong. sure, the pillows are extremely comfy but he always has a preference for things with much, much more value.

and the truth — well, his truth — is that even the softest cushions from oti mall couldn't compare to the privilege of laying his head on your chest, he'd say. especially when you brush his hair with your fingers - oh, one of the easiest ways to paradise. truly, the best value there is! can you blame a man for being honest and a little lovesick?

(“sappy,” you accuse. he pouts, offended.)

but aventurine has a flair for theatrics, you know that. his witty quips are as feather-light in weight as light-hearted they are in intent. but his touch - in the forms of kind caresses or rhythmic taps to a tune from his forgotten culture - lingers on your skin, with a yearning so heavy. you question whether it could be nostalgia or instead, silent awe at a reality he never imagined could ever be his.

(kakavasha remembers. clinging onto you for warmth like he once did to his sister, falling asleep with her prayers to mama fenge in his ears. the avgins believed gaiathra triclops to be the symbol of humility; so naturally, their prayers to her should also be humble, not too quiet but not too loud. all in moderation. for a frail child like him, those gentle prayers alone were enough to let him drift into a dreamless slumber and to ignore the shackles of reality if not for the briefest moments.

time passed. came a time where the melody he associated with slumber was no longer a soft voice lulling him but pure static, a noise to distract his mind from the chains around his wrists. they burned themselves onto his skin, searing, but he was already too familiar with the sensation to care. the mark on his neck was unwelcome, laughing at him, but he too laughed at his own pitiful reflection so what's the difference, anyway?

time passed again, the call of slumber then turned into clattering noises of chips doused in gold and dice thrown onto a surface. he thought it'd stay that way forever but before long, it morphed into up-and-down waves he couldn't decipher initially. they're gentle, faint like a human's breathing: your breathing as you allowed him to lie beside you for the first time, he realized back then. although he deems himself unworthy, an ugly grime on your pristine existence that still insists on cradling him — but despite it all, he finds this last melody to be his favorite so far.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

ticklish.

the sensation, minor yet still impactful enough, causes you to stir out of sleep. the light of noon greets your eyes and you become vaguely cognizant that the root of it all is the tufts of blond hair brushing against your neck.

there is a solid weight on your torso and a pair of slender arms loosely wrapped around your waist - but they're nothing you haven't grown used to. you comb your fingers through the messy locks licking at your skin, instinctively, and the fragrant scent of what you register as penacony's limited edition perfume kisses your nose.

“...ugh, what system time is it?” you let out a grunt, shifting around slightly to let your limbs breathe. you don't get an answer to your question, instead, aventurine's arms reestablish their hold on you. hooking you closer to him as if to wring out whatever proximity is left, if there is even any. his simple proclamation of “who cares?”, in a sense.

there it is again, that ticklish feeling. you feel soft lips grazing feather-like kisses against your collarbone. oh, he definitely isn't letting go just yet. truly merciless, a dozy morning thought accompanied by your tired sigh. the noise still comes out fond, however, so your feigned act of annoyance is fooling no one.

“it's warm, you know,” you grumble. but the yawn escaping your mouth right after betrays whatever stern image you're trying to adopt. not like you can ever be too stern with him. aventurine knows this, yes, and he gives you an A+ for effort each time.

“mhm,” he finally speaks, snuggling into your chest with no care about anything in the world, “g'morning to you too, lovely.”

his favorite mornings aren't his favorite if not thanks to your innocuous complaints and delightful attempts at pushing his pretty face away, no? a lazy grin graces the stoneheart's lips and eyes like exquisite gems, although sleepy, flutter open to gaze at you languidly. he takes the sight of you in then lets out a sigh - a fond noise just like yours earlier; the both of you really are two peas of a pod.

you must look a terrible mess right now and yet, the sight of you has aventurine smiling dazedly. “ah, what a spectacular sight. i really am the luckiest man in the galaxy,” he hums in approval. you want to roll your eyes but stops as he leans up to pepper (ah, one necessary correction: smother) kisses all over your face, arms dragging you closer to his chest like a cage. your eyes widen comically. what a nefarious trap, he has the advantage!

every remnant of sleepiness clinging to your mind evaporates. you squeal with laughter, shoving at his shoulder using the strength of a baby deer because no, you don't really want him to stop. he knows that too, of course.

“mwah, mwah, mwah—”

“pfft...! kakavasha, i can't breathe!”

(he has half a mind to pinch his skin, as if to remind himself that this is real. he can feel your giggles tickling his skin as if to tell him in return: yes, you are.)

will you let veritas pour his heart out after a long day? . . . well, that could count as too much of an overstatement. others say, “that man is like a brick wall!” some more dare to whisper, “doesn't his temper already exhaust whatever emotional quota he has?!” needless to say, everyone knows that dr. ratio is a man ruled by the mind, not by the heart. alright, that's quite true - but does that imply he has discarded the latter altogether? if so, then you beg to differ.

(not in the literal sense, of course! the heart is a vital organ of the body. saying otherwise would be akin to spitting on his shiny phd in biology... or his seven other phd's at that.)

the pedestal which the public places veritas ratio on reaches still great heights, even if it may not rival an ivory tower a member of the genius society resides in. it is so high up that mundane troubles of those below can't reach a genius like him, surely? well, as tall as he stands - somehow, the universe grants you a front row seat for a particular sight that proves otherwise.

if only they knew the doctor has a habit of mumbling these incomprehensible (more like barely intelligible) grumbles under his breath, striking a resemblance similar to a grumpy old cat. if you strain your ears hard enough, you might catch a “...this has to be it...” or “...i dare not think so...” from time to time as he roams around the room with materials in his hands.

(absurd, people would say. but you think it's extremely cute.)

veritas doesn't say it out loud - but you can tell by the hunch in his stiff shoulders, by the one or two sighs he huffs every six minutes - that he is itching to tell somebody of all the tomfooleries he has encountered today. of course, the topics he laments about vary; it's only when you hear him exhaling the loudest sigh that you get to find out.

mostly though, it's about his students and remarks on how they can further improve their performance — sure, he could phrase it a little gentler — but you still find it sweet that he cares. if not that, then it'd be about indolent colleagues, complicated formulae and more. on some days, he'll even let out an exasperated “truly mind-boggling! could you believe that?” to which you'd reply with an “uh-huh, go on.”

at the end of a ranting session, veritas takes careful note to leave a kiss on your person afterward. no matter where it is - on the lips, the cheek or your hand. no matter where you are - sitting on the couch beside him, behind the kitchen counter or across the room. the warmth that stays on your skin when he pulls away is somewhat tingly. appreciative, you think, especially when he looks at you with such loving eyes that his colleagues would be sure to retch in shock if they were a witness.

looks like you are right on the money; he has never discarded his heart, after all. so yes, to rephrase - will you lend veritas a listening ear when he needs it?

✧ a moment among the stars:

“...yet another headache.”

as unsubtle as ever, the doctor's complaint is barely hidden behind the guise of a mumble. those neatly styled violet bangs of his aren't doing an excellent job at concealing that frown strewn across his forehead either. veritas's posture is tense, a dead giveaway, as he goes over the piles of documents on his desk.

you cock an eyebrow upon seeing the stamp belonging to the intelligentsia guild on one of the papers. definitely work. it has been two system hours since he took a seat at the work desk, you concur, or lifted a finger to do something besides flipping through drafts. a mere glance at the stack of documents is enough to convince you that those researchers at the guild must really value veritas's input.

a perk of being a genius, maybe? the phantom of a weight lands alight on your shoulders. with a mug of black coffee in hand, you make your way to him. your footsteps are without a sound, only the noise of porcelain being placed down onto woodenware is enough to announce your arrival. “rough day at work?” you ask, peering down at his progress.

(a doctor's handwriting really is something. you resist the urge to squint.)

veritas doesn't seem to mind. if the way he smiles at the sight of you, albeit tiredly, is any indication. “hah,” he rests a hand on his temple and scoffs wryly, “so much grievances like you wouldn't believe.”

oh, he is teetering on the precipice of a tangent but stops himself. “...fret not, i'm fine. this is hardly something beyond my expertise,” he shakes his head, the motion causing his reading glasses to slide down a smidgen down the bridge of his nose.

you're too familiar with the self-assured bravado he puts on. you're quite endeared, actually. “okay, mr. i-require-no-rest,” you take the glasses off his face and he breaks into a frown. at the childish tone you're using or for having his reading glasses taken away, you don't know.

“why don't you take a little break?” you suggest. veritas sighs, “need i remind you that dilly-dallying is for fools who wish to waste their time?” and crosses his arms defiantly. he knows your strategy, he has come face-to-face with it several times.

“do you think a break with me is a waste of time?” you present him with a rhetorical question, quite the difficult adversary.

(and he keeps losing to it every single time.)

“well, that's—” the doctor nearly splutters, taken aback. “that's different if you insist on inserting yourself as a variable,” he infers, putting emphasis on the last part accompanied by an incredulous look.

“the answer is up for debate then,” you shrug with a cheeky smile. your hand then deftly lifts the mug you previously set down to your lips, veritas's eyes dilate in bewilderment. “so,” you hum at the rich taste of your handiwork, “wanna tell me about your day? haven't heard about the council in a while.”

“you—” he gasps in defeat, “i thought that was supposed to be my mug of coffee.”

(he has a slight pout on his face, but you dare not point it out lest it disappears in the blink of an eye.)

“our mug of coffee,” you take a few more sips with an innocent decadence. “all is fair in love and war, doctor.”

“i can never win with you,” he buries his face in his palm with a groan. you laugh heartily, a sound that chimes like quaint little bells in his ears - it elicits a reaction from his lips, for them to quirk up at the corners in the smallest of ways.

“regardless. . .” veritas relents and reaches for your free hand. you let him. “it seems a break wouldn't be so amiss, after all,” he then presses a kiss on the side of your wrist, affectionate.

(your heart skips a beat.)

will you let sunday regale you with facts you've never heard of before? . . . a man of eloquent words, no less a man of educated mind. you have no doubt that the books in the dewlight pavilion really aren't just there for show - not that you're allowed to browse through them at your own desire. a servant's voice would stop you in your tracks should your fingers ever brush against something in the family's secret bookshelf.

how mysterious.

but sunday makes it known to the staff that you, in particular, are allowed more access to the shelves - perhaps, not too much - but more than even mr. mccoy, at least. with the way you have to crane your neck far up to pinpoint the tallest height that the shelves reach, you wonder: has sunday gone through everything here personally?

your immediate answer is most likely. you know sunday fairly well; to have something that he hasn't scrutinized from the inside out in his possession will surely gnaw away at his psyche incessantly. not being in the know at all times is a looming fear for him. but of course, you have other ways to confirm the answer for yourself.

pick out a book from a shelf there, either intentional or purely arbitrary, and watch as sunday carefully traces his steps towards you. his curiosity is piqued, which topic has caught your interest this time? but he tucks it under proper cordiality. with a hand behind his back, he'd utter your name in the softest tone and ask the familiar question of “would you like to know more?” — asking for your permission to ramble, essentially — you find this tendency of his to be charming, so you nod each time.

(and he smiles when you do. a smile less refined at the edges, kinder and relaxed.)

the best place to start from is always the beginning. you think sunday agrees because he often starts by telling you the history and its origins before moving on to its impact on the galaxy, then his personal stance on the topic. it's a pattern, you notice, his ramblings have a pattern. and it's consistent every time, you might've believed he was reading off a script. and what's more? sunday is blissfully oblivious of it.

fascinating. you ponder: what kind of things you can do with this information? decisions, decisions, decisions. . . but ultimately, you opt for keeping it a secret like a treasure only you're allowed to see.

(that might be true in a way. you don't doubt that robin, his dear sister, is familiar with this side of him. does that mean he treasures you like he does her? your chest starts to feel a bit lighter.)

if you were to point it out, you fear you might never witness it again - goodness, to know that he has been displaying such foolishness or rather, what he viewed as an embarrassing freudian slip in front of you? his wings might as well resort to covering his face for good until the end of time.

as you listen to him talk (with such elegance at that), you can't help whatever tender look you have on your face. really, who would've thought the head of the oak family could be such. . . a nerd?

(you hope in secret that sunday will be more willing to show sides like these to you in the future. and that they're not a weakness at all, not when they're shared with you.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“it looks like you're fascinated by the dreamscape nursery rhyme this time.”

sunday spares the article in your hold no further inspection. one glance at the cover and walls of memorized information rush to the front of his mind. he looks familiar with it; could it be a part of his childhood too? but then again, everything found here is within his knowledge.

“i am,” you say with intrigue, “it got me ruminating for a while.”

you meet his gaze, stumbling upon yellow irises that glimmer akin to gold under penaconian chandeliers. you think you see a hint of affection in them, swimming around your reflection like a school of fish in a pond. it makes you smile.

he smiles back, oblivious to your thoughts but returns your gesture. he asks, “how so?” and you reply without delay, “i read through it and the morbid undertone took me by surpri—”

or at least, it's supposed to be without delay until you realize sunday has stepped closer in order to peer down at the page you're holding open. and suddenly, you're extremely aware of every minute detail like how his breath brushes against the side of your cheek and how his chest rumbles as he hums in acknowledgement.

(you flush in the neck and he perceives this reaction of yours with mirth.)

“my apologies,” sunday chuckles and pulls away, “i've simply forgotten the rhyme and wished to refresh my memory.”

“somehow, i feel that isn't the case...” you mumble accusingly. that seems to amplify whatever little amusement he gets from flustering you. “oh, my dove. i can assure you that it is,” he caresses your head, a little placatingly.

most times, sunday isn't so laidback about giving affection in public — since he has an image to maintain — so you assume the fact that the servants are out and about, leaving only you and him here, plays a role in his unusual boldness. you accept the gesture with a bashful pout.

“now, where were we?” sunday clears his throat, “ah, yes. some people have noted on the nursery rhyme's strange quality but still, it retains its popularity in penacony. it is also widely assumed that the hound resembles the bloodhound family while—”

you hold back an amused sigh, but it's more out of fondness than anything. he'll start from the history then the effect on the general public, as per usual, but you're not the only predictable one here. you'd listen to him anytime too, won't you?

(you do adore when the head of the oak family would put off his public figure mask around you. if only for just a while.)

will you let dan heng rest his head on your lap when it's just you two? . . . the sense of comfort it provides isn't something he can explain with words. as if he has ever been good with words in the first place. saying a sentence bereft of logical reasoning or witty remarks doesn't come easily to the express’ guard. neither does intimacy. . . but you know that already, don't you?

after all, it isn't a secret that dan heng prefers speaking with his actions. if to show one's intentions is the end goal, then actions are the fastest route to choose. words, although able to sweeten the trip like how a beautiful scenery can, will eventually lead to actions regardless so why take the extra step?

but you're different from him; you articulate what you think and what you mean. you're honest in ways that keep catching dan heng off guard without fail — just like the first time you offered your empty lap to him when his head was swirling in pain — but he supposes that is one of your charms. “words can be useful. we're not all born mind readers,” you told him once and he hummed, accepting of your perspective.

(“look at you two! opposites attract!” march chirped. he recalled shooting her a look of indignation and she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly in response.)

dan heng has learnt to grow used to your propensities - but by far, your shameless invitations are still one matter that can't be comprehended even with time. he cannot understand; how you smile as you sit on his futon in the archives (he doesn't mind), how you link gazes with him so effortlessly, how you pat your lap knowingly and say, “why don't you rest your head here?”

(he has to restrain himself from bursting into flames like a heliobus.)

sometimes, he'll accept reluctantly or he'll decline with an underlying tone of longing he doesn't want you to notice. because as much of a good hold dan heng has on nonchalance, he cannot deny that this particular gesture of yours has left a mark on him.

(it remains persistently.)

when he rests his head on your lap, he can't help but take a deep inhale - your fragrance fills his senses and he discards the selfish desire to keep it all to himself. your fingers are soothing as they thread through his hair gently. the feeling that washes over him is serene, almost comparable to submerging himself in the pure waters of scalegorge waterscape.

when overcome by such a tranquil state of mind, dan heng wonders what expression he might be making at that moment? he always keeps his eyes closed, so it's a shame he may never know. but you do, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so at peace before like he does now.

(perhaps, that's why you keep offering him this in the first place.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“someone looks tired,” you state with a pointed stare. the archives isn't a room too spacious and the only ones here are you and him. the target of your sentence is obvious.

but dan heng doesn't take the bait, barely looks away from the entry he is currently authoring. still, he spares you a glance and hums glibly, “are you projecting? if so, feel free to use my bed in the meantime.”

you let out a noise, something gibberish that conveys disappointment but it is effectively drowned out by the typing noises. “you haven't even touched the food i bought you,” your voice becomes mellow, “why don't you rest for a while?”

he isn't convinced, you think, since his fingers are still hard at work. the new info the team brought back must've been a lot if he's that focused.

“dan heng?” you try again, hopeful for the last time. you don't take him for a fool, of course, he'll know when he reaches his limit and have proper rest then. but would that really be ideal? a second passes and that hope flickers like a dimming light. but just an inch before the edge of giving up, the typing slows to a stop.

“. . .alright,” he murmurs. finally, after a good hour spent drawing patterns on his backside with your eyes, dan heng turns around to face you. he look tense, you note with abject concern.

“here,” you usher him to your lap, empty and conveniently so. dan heng shoots you a blank look - this isn't the first time you offered and this isn't the first time he reacted like that. you try to suppress a laugh, failing gloriously at it. “just for a little bit,” you utter through a stifled fit of chuckles.

dan heng shakes his head, not in rejection but in defeat. his eyes slip close, second nature, as he leans to situate his head on your lap. you welcome him with a hum and let your fingers card through his hair. a calm sigh falls from his lips like a water droplet in springtime.

“this. . . is nice,” he admits, sudden and unprompted. you nearly doubt your ears for a moment there. did he— “i don't hate it is, uhm, what i mean to say,” dan heng adds and it dawns on you that your ears are still working. his eyes are still closed, not that you'd expect anything else, he prefers to treat it as a shield from being face-to-face with embarrassment.

(or to avoid your ecstatic gaze. he can feel warmth rushing to his cheeks already.)

“i know,” you smile, brushing away a few messy strands from his forehead. he isn't an open book but you think you've read the pages enough to remember all the little details. “but thanks for telling me. i'm no mind reader but i think i can read yours pretty well.”

“i shall provide no further comment,” he holds back an incredulous exhale, yet his lips still curl slightly at the corner. you feel the teeniest desire to trace the curve of his lips with your fingertip but settle for silently admiring them instead.

“it's fine. i know the answer already,” you say, words dripping with affection. such a shame dan heng never looks up at you during a time like this. because if he did, he wouldn't have missed seeing the sheer fondness in your gaze that rains down on him in light showers. a true shame.

(one day, he'll gather the courage. maybe.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. ♡

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #sunday x reader #sunday x you #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #hsr fluff #hsr headcanons #hsr imagines #seelestial.inks

[supercutszns]

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky. 

This year, there were two. 

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls. 

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love. 

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day. 

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen. 

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility. 

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him. 

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away. 

“You alright there, sunshine?” 

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile. 

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.  

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you. 

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes. 

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls. 

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does. 

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him. 

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice. 

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you. 

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer. 

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt. 

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh. 

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on. 

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear. 

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.” 

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is. 

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink. 

You haven’t talked to him since. 

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too. 

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale. 

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you. 

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next. 

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin. 

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?” 

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both. 

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers. 

He will not. Stop. Looking at you. 

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there. 

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way. 

Luke, calling your name. 

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him. 

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear. 

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks. 

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.” 

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it. 

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!” 

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm. 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly. 

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.” 

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in. 

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth. 

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell #perrie's requests #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo fic #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #heroes of olympus #percy jackson

[hintsofhoney]

Ladies With Experience

Paring(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean makes an off-handed comment about "preferring ladies with experience", you try (and fail) to not let it get under your skin. You're a virgin, but you've done just about everything else, and when you talk to Dean about it, he offers to be your first. He's your best friend, and you've been in love with him forever... who are you to deny him?

Tags: smut, first time, virgin!reader, dom/sub dynamics, dom!dean, p in v, oral (female receiving), spanking, fingering, not-so-innocent reader

Word Count: 5k

A/N: As always, thank you to my loves @wayward-dreamer and @makeadealwithdean for beta-ing. Would be nowhere without you two 🥰

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“Anyways, let’s say you’re right, fine. Who would want virgins?”

You know Sam didn’t mean it like that , and you felt stupid for letting it bother you. For letting this case bother you.

“You got me,” Dean replied with a shrug. “I prefer ladies with experience.” 

And there it was, like a punch straight to the gut. You hated that it hurt you as much as it did. So what, you’ve never had sex. But you’ve done almost everything else. You knew what you liked and what you didn't. You’ve been around the block a few times with the various sex toys in your nightstand drawer. It’s not like you weren’t experienced at all . But that didn’t make Dean’s words hurt any less. You swallowed down the burger and fries from lunch that were threatening to come up, before standing up from your seat at the small motel room table. 

The brothers looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“I — bathroom,” you managed, before quickly making your way there, slamming the door shut behind you. 

Staring at your reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror, you let the tears fall. Silently, you wiped them away as Dean’s words echoed in your head, and you hated that you loved him. Hated that you’d never be ballsy enough to admit it to him, especially now.

Something like five minutes passed and you knew you didn’t have long before one of the boys — likely Sam — would come knocking to check on you. You flushed the unused toilet so they wouldn’t suspect anything and turned on the faucet, splashing your tear-soaked face with cold water before using a hand towel to wipe it dry. When you emerged, the guys were packing up their duffels.

“Did you find them?” you asked, hopeful.

Dean checked his gun, before flipping the safety on and stuffing it in the back waistband of his jeans. 

“I sure as hell hope so, ‘cause if I’m about to crawl through the goddamn sewers for nothing —”

“They’re down there, Dean,” Sam replied, giving him a pointed look. He turned his attention to you, and if he had noticed anything off, he hadn’t let his face show it. “You coming?”

You grabbed your gun off the dresser and holstered it in reply.

Six hours later, the three of you were sweaty, panting, and splattered in blood after a close fight with dragons in the sewers. Thankfully, you hadn’t had to wade in any actual sewage. You hadn’t said a word to either brother since you had gone to the bathroom six hours ago, and to keep them from growing suspicious of your sudden silence, you opted to take a nap in the backseat of the Impala on the way back to the motel. 

You stirred awake as Dean pulled into the parking lot, barely conscious enough to catch the end of the brothers’ conversation.

“I’ll get her,” Dean said. 

Sam nodded and got out of the car, gently closing the passenger side door before heading inside. 

You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them as Dean’s face came into focus. He was looking at you over his shoulder, one arm resting on the top of the front bench seat. 

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

It took a moment for the feeling you had been filled with prior to your nap to come back to you, his words from earlier echoing in your head. I prefer ladies with experience . You shot him a cold glare.

“Alright. What’d I do?” he asked, turning in his seat to better angle himself towards you. 

The question caught you off guard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You haven’t said a word since we left for that hunt, Y/N.”

“How do you know Sam didn’t do something?”

He replied with a knowing look.

You stared at your hands, clasped together in your lap, and muttered, “It’s nothing. Stupid.”

“C’mon, talk to me,” he urged.

You hated this. How easy he was to talk to. How you had always been able to tell him what was on your mind.

But not this . You couldn’t tell him this. 

You shook your head. 

“Hey,” he said softly, shifting in his seat. He was fully turned around now, reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at those green eyes. “Talk to me,” he repeated, no room for argument in his words.

“I can’t,” you whispered. You wanted to throw up. He was your best friend, and you were utterly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with him. He preferred girls with experience, and you had none. Not in the way that it mattered. And he had known that, thanks to a late-night stake-out game of Never Have I Ever . 

His jaw clenched. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

You briefly met his gaze. You couldn’t hold it for long. 

“Was it something I said?” he prodded. 

You stared at the buttons of his open flannel, your eyes quickly darting up to meet his in silent confirmation. 

He sighed, pulling his hand away from your face and folding his arms on top of the backseat, resting his chin on his forearm.

“Do I at least get a hint?”

“Dean, I —”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’ve never not told me anything.”

“Why are you pushing this?”

“Because I can’t stand not talking to you.”

Your heart leaped at that confession, however innocent it might have been. 

“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”

“Because I’m making you. You would have silent treatmented me into next week.”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed again, defeated. “Y/N, c’mon. Please? Whatever I said, I’m sorry. I’m sure I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean that you ‘prefer girls with experience’?” you retorted quite sassily. The question tumbled out before you even had time to think of the implication that came with asking it. 

Dean opened and closed his mouth like a damn fish. 

“Thought so.” You began to move to make your way out of the car, when Dean reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“No,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay if you do. I told you, it was a dumb thing to be upset about.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t stop to think about how this case might have been affecting you. You know I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, right?” 

You swallowed, nodded. His hand felt like fire around your wrist.

“But for what it’s worth, I wasn’t serious. I don’t prefer anyone one way or the other. Sex is sex. If anyone’s willing to have it with me, I consider myself lucky.”

“Romantic,” you quipped.

A smile tugged at his lips. “I could show you, y’know.”

You almost threw up right there in the backseat. Your eyes grew wide.

“What?” you croaked.

“Well, if you’re worried about not having any experience… I just mean I’d be happy to, y’know. Show you the ropes.”

“… Of sex?” Really, you thought it was cute that he had this misconception of you. You knew about the ropes. You’d just never been tied up with them. 

“Of whatever you want.”

“You think I want to have sex with you?” It came out harsher than you meant it to, like part of you still thought you could hide the fact that you were in love with him. Like if you just joked it off it would go away, and you wouldn’t have to cross this line with him, even though you so badly wanted to. But you had to protect yourself, your heart. 

You didn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“No, that’s not what I —”

You suddenly felt the need to clarify your question.

“No, I — I didn’t mean it like that either.”

Dean’s face morphed into one of confusion. “…So you do want to have sex with me?”

Your cheeks flushed red, and your throat bobbed. “Uh…”

“Forget it, stupid question, you don’t have to an—” 

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper. Fuck it. Who were you to hold yourself back from the one thing you’ve been wanting for years? You cleared your throat. “Yeah, I really, really do.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Seriously?”

“Oh, cut the shit, Dean. Like you’re surprised. Everyone wants to have sex with you.”

He scoffed. “ Everyone , Y/N, really?”

“There are literally smutty fanfictions written about you,” you replied, reaching into your back pocket for your phone, dead set on proving your point. 

“Gross. And Becky doesn’t count as everyone.”

“Actually, Becky only writes for Sam.”

You realized what you said at the same time he did, and he eyed you suspiciously.

“Why do you know that?”

God dammit. “I don’t. I mean — I — like, she obviously loves Sam. So, like, she wouldn’t write porn about you. Obviously.”

“Uh huh…” There was an uncomfortable silence for a beat or three. And then, “How much smut have you read about me?”

Your face felt like it had just been rinsed with fucking lava, and you knew it probably looked as red as it, too. 

“None!” you exclaimed, way too quickly. 

Dean smirked. “You do really wanna have sex with me,” he remarked, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Trust me, the urge is fading by the second.”

His grin disappeared almost instantly. “Would it help if I told you that I think about fucking you all the time, too?”

“Well, I don’t think about it all the —”

“Y/N.” He said your name like a warning, and the tone of his voice settled right in your core. 

“Yeah,” you squeaked. “Yeah, that helps.”

“Good,” he smirked, before grabbing his phone from beside him. 

“Uh… What are you doing?” You watched as he scrolled for a second, pressing a button before putting the phone to his ear.

“Telling Sammy to beat it.”

Your eyes grew wide. “What!?” you whisper-yelled. “No! Just — we can just do it back here!”

He gave you a pointed look. “I’m not taking your virginity in the backseat of my car, Y/N.”

“Why not!?”

“Because we’re not sixteen, for one. And for two… I wanna make it special.” He rushed the last bit out, like he was embarrassed to say it. And he should be. You cringed as you heard it. 

“Oh my God,” you began.

“Shut up.”

“You did not just say that.”

“Shut up. Sam, answer your phone, God dammit!”

“I have done, like, almost everything else, you know. In the backseats of many, many cars. You don’t need to make it special for me, Deano,” you teased. 

“For the last time, shut your mouth, or I’m gonna shut it for you,” he said, the look he gave letting you know he wasn’t in the mood to play. No, he wanted to fuck you. Beyond that, he wanted to dominate you. And you were more than happy to submit.

You might have been a virgin physically, but mentally? Mentally, you’d probably give Dean a run for his money. 

Sam didn’t answer. Naturally. He was probably in the shower, but you were kind of grateful because as much as you wanted Dean, you didn’t want to make Sam uncomfortable. Or worse, give him any reason to give you the talk . Because he totally would. After trying his brother two more times, Dean decided it would be better to just get a room of your own, and you were much happier with that decision. 

You watched as he unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping aside, gesturing for you to go ahead. 

“Ladies first.”

“You mean you’re not gonna carry me over the threshold?” you joked. “Thought you wanted to make this special .”

He gave you an unamused look, and you shot back a sarcastic closed-mouth smile before you were being swept off of your feet and over his shoulder faster than you could process.

“Dean!” you squealed, as he carried you through the doorway, kicking the door shut behind him before practically throwing you onto the bed.

He was hovering over you seconds later, his face a few inches from yours, and the mood shifted from playful to serious.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

You nodded, your fingers coming up to play with the collar of his flannel.

“If I tell you something, you promise you won’t make fun of me?” you questioned, your eyes glued to the plaid pattern on his shirt.

“Promise.”

“I was kinda… holding out for you.” You drew your eyes up to meet his.

“Seriously?” he asked, half laughing. You could tell it wasn’t because he thought it was funny. It was because he couldn’t believe it.

You swallowed nervously, nodding again as you stared into those green eyes, and you hoped that this meant as much to him as it did to you. Something told you it did.

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he said.

You tilted your head in question.

“About making it special for you. I know it’s like, the grossest thing I could have possibly said but, you deserve so much better than me, and so if —”

“There’s no one better for me, you idiot.” And you almost told him everything. That you’ve been in love with him ever since you met one summer at Bobby’s, back when you were just kids. That everything felt like it led up to this moment. That you wanted him to fuck you and make love to you all at once. That you didn’t want this to be the only time he did. But instead, you grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him towards you, your lips meeting in a kiss that felt like it could have powered an entire country’s electric grid. 

He deepened it, and the two of you were nothing but tongues and teeth and lips — it wasn’t sexy. It was hungry. Starved, more like. Like he had been thinking about kissing you just as long as you had been thinking about him. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down towards your denim-covered core, down until you felt the hardness underneath his jeans pressed up against the spot where you needed him most, down until you couldn’t help but grind against it. He moaned as he kissed you, so you did it again. And again. And again. And —

“You need to stop that.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. You noticed that your arms were above your head, his hands pinning your wrists against the mattress. You don’t know when that happened, but you weren’t complaining. In fact, it spurred you on. 

You smiled mischievously and rutted against him once more. 

“What’re you gonna do about it, Winchester?”

He dropped his forehead to yours, steadying his breaths.

“I can fuck you like it’s your first time, or I can fuck you how I actually want to.”

“And how’s that?”

He took a shaky breath, like he was actually having a hard time controlling himself. You felt a sense of pride shoot through you at that.

“Like the fucking brat you are.”

You almost came from that alone. 

Wanna know some common misconceptions about virgins? That they don’t have kinks. That they don’t watch porn. That they don’t have a plethora of sex toys  in their nightstand. That they sit and crochet in their convent dorm room all day. Sure, you were years past the age when girls typically lose their virginity, but you were no saint. In fact, you enjoyed being quite the opposite. And you enjoyed being put in your place. 

“Do your worst.”

It was like something in him snapped. His eyes were lust-blown and hungry and you didn’t miss the way his jaw ticked, and then he was undressing you so fast that you could’ve been part of a quick change act. He muttered something about a light system as he took off your clothes, and you nodded in a way that let him know that you already knew how all of that worked. 

When you were down to just a black lace bra and panties, he paused as his fingers hooked under your waistband. He stared at you, his expression serious, and you knew that he was going to give you one more warning. One more opportunity to say, “Actually, I’d like to have a totally normal, non-kinky, first time experience, please.” But that wasn’t what you wanted. 

“You sure you know what you’re asking for?”

You rolled your eyes. “I trust you. Put me in my goddamn place, Winchester. You’ve only been wanting to do it for the past two hours.”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting to do it for a lot longer than that, sweetheart.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, huffing a small laugh before pulling off your panties in one swift motion. His hands came to rest on your bare thighs as he locked his eyes with yours. “Any hard limits?”

You shook your head. “I trust you. I mean, like, don’t pee on me or —”

“Not gonna happen. But… most everything else?”

“Dean,” you began, looking at him pointedly, “I trust you. If it helps, I’ve used like, toys on myself before. And I don’t mean just a vibrator, I mean like… well, you get the gist.”

“So I don’t have to go easy on you, is what you’re saying?”

“Put me in my place,” you repeated.

“Alright,” he replied, his hands gripping the underside of your thighs as he roughly pushed them apart, “but just so we’re clear, that’s the last order you’ll be giving tonight.”

Your throat bobbed and you nodded. “Yes, Sir.” 

You meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come out that way. No, the title came out in a way that made his jaw clench and his eyes darken and it stoked the fire raging in your core. 

Dean didn’t waste any more time talking after that, his tongue moving through your folds seconds later, drawing gasps and soft moans from your lips. You arched into him, your hands in his hair, silently begging for more. It wasn’t the first time a man had gone down on you, but it was the first time it felt like this . 

He pinned your hips down to the bed with one hand splayed over your abdomen and then his tongue was inside you and “eating you out” didn’t come close to describing his ministrations. He was devouring you like his life depended on it, like the sounds you were making were a goddamn Zeppelin song that he wasn’t anywhere near done listening to. And then he added a finger, and then another, and it didn’t matter how many times you had imagined him doing this while you had your own fingers inside you — nothing would have prepared you for how good the real thing felt.

“Oh — fuck,” you gasped, and he chuckled into your sex and you had to actively think about not coming on his face and ending this whole experience early. 

“You’re close,” he observed, flicking his tongue over your clit as he continued to pump his fingers in and out, and it was so fucking hot how he just knew that. It was like he had been fucking you for years, the way he knew your body, your tells.

You nodded. “Mmhm,” you confirmed, unable to form words with the way the coil in your abdomen was tightening. 

“Hold it,” he ordered.

Your eyes shot open, because it wasn’t the command you were expecting, and you tried to lift your head to shoot him a cold glare but you couldn’t. And he just kept pumping, flicking, licking, chuckling — fucking asshole.

“Mm — fuck — please!” you cried out.

“When you come tonight, it’s gonna be on my cock. So hold it.”

You didn’t think you could. You had played this game with yourself and your vibrator and your self-control was majorly lacking and God his mouth and fingers felt so fucking good and you were there, the coil wound so goddamn tight, it would take nothing for you to let it snap, and then — 

He stopped.

He pulled his mouth away from your core, his fingers out of your pussy, and you were writhing underneath him, because you had been right there and you needed him to be touching you again right the fuck now.

You whined.

He spanked your pussy. Not hard or anything, just enough to see if it was okay with you, and fuck, was it. 

“Stop whining,” he demanded. He positioned himself so he was hovering over you again, his face inches away from yours as he stared into your eyes. “Or I’ll give you something to whine about.”

You were curious as to what that something would be, but sensed that right now wouldn’t be the best time for that question. You nodded instead.

“Good girl.” He smiled when he said it, like he knew exactly what those two words would do to you. 

You squirmed underneath him, it had been too long since he’d last touched you. Too long being thirty seconds at most, but still. It had felt like hours.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he began, dipping his head to place a soft kiss on your collarbone, “that you are very,” another kiss to the other side, “very,” one more to the middle of your chest, “impatient?” He slowly pulled down the left cup of your bra, your breast spilling out of it. “Makes me wanna take my time.” 

His eyes stayed glued to yours as his head moved down to your hardened nipple, taking it into his mouth at a goddamn snail’s pace. You arched your back, and he let you this time, chuckling at how easy it was to make your body react. His other hand slipped underneath you, unclasping your bra in a way that reminded you that he had a lot of experience doing so, and you refused to water the seed of jealousy that had sprouted from the thought. It didn’t matter that he had done this a million times. All that mattered was that he was doing it now, with you. 

He pulled your bra off and threw it haphazardly over his shoulder, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were completely naked, and he still had 87 fucking layers on, the outermost of which was still speckled with dragon blood, and it’s not that you were anywhere near clean, but you certainly didn’t want those clothes touching your bare skin.

“Dean?” you rasped, and he pulled away from your nipple to give you his full attention.

“You okay, sweetheart? Do you want to st—”

“No! God, no. It’s just —” you sighed, exasperated. This was dumb. You were going to stop him for this? Your eyes landed on a spot of blood on the shoulder of his flannel. Yes, yes you were, because that’s gross. “It’s just that your clothes are covered in monster blood and I’m like, totally naked, and I don’t want —”

He chuckled like you were the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. “I gotchya, baby.”

Baby. Baby ? You tried not to overthink the pet name as he climbed off the bed to take his clothes off, watching you the entire time. Sweetheart, you’d been called a million times. He called everyone sweetheart. But baby? Baby was his car, and no one else. Unless, that’s what you were to him now. His, and no one else’s. You filed the thought away under “Things to Think About After You Lost Your Virginity to Dean Winchester”.

He was in nothing but his boxers now, his cock already hard underneath them, and you bit your lip as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband and slid them off. And then, there he was, exactly like you’d imagined him but also better, because this was real and happening. You gaped at him, at his size. He wasn’t any bigger than the fake one you had in your nightstand, but that one was nine inches and you could never fit it all the way in. He was perfect. All of him. 

“You okay?” he asked again, crawling back onto the bed.

“Mhm,” you managed, gulping.

He was on top of you again, his forearm holding up his weight as his free hand came to grab your thigh, hooking it over his hip and leaning down to kiss you. You could feel him against your core, his cock moving between your folds as he moved his hips, teasing you with it. 

“Dean,” you breathed.

“Hm?”

“I want…” you couldn’t find it in yourself to finish your request.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered.

You decided you liked “baby” better. 

“Please.”

“I thought you wanted me to put you in your place?”

You shook your head. “N-next time. Just, please .”

His eyebrows shot up, and you realized what you had said. 

“Next time, huh?” he asked, with that shit-eating grin of his. 

You rolled your eyes. He stopped moving, the smile wiped off his lips as he gripped you underneath your chin, somewhere between rough and gentle, the look on his face telling you he wasn’t messing around. 

“Roll your eyes at me again, and next time I’ll really do my worst.”

You bit back a smile, and you just knew he was thinking, Brat. But you asked your question anyway.

“But not this time?” There was a devilish gleam in your eyes. You were tempting him, and he knew it.

“Do you ever get tired of being such a brat?” 

“Dunno,” you shrugged. “Do you ever get tired of it?” 

His jaw tensed, and he forced a sardonic, closed-lip smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Hm. But not this time, right?”

“Y/N —” he warned.

“Afraid you’re gonna hurt me? Scare me? What’s really keeping you from putting me in my place… Sir?”

For the second time that night, something in him snapped. You yelped as he flipped you over and grabbed your hips, dragging them upwards so your ass was in the air and your chest was on the mattress. Four hits to your cheeks came down in quick succession, and when you reached your hand behind you to block them, it was quickly pinned to the small of your back. Three more hits followed, accompanied by a pathetic, “Ow!” from your lips.

“Color?” he questioned roughly.

“So fucking green,” you replied, dazed.

Seven more hits followed, each one harder than the last, and you didn’t think there was anything better than the sting you were feeling right now. There was nothing more you wanted than for him to mark you up like this.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he commented. Five more hits. 

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out at the last hit, one that felt like it reverberated through your entire body. One that definitely left a handprint behind. 

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” It was a rhetorical question. He spanked you four more times. “You just wanted me to mark you up, is that it? Think of me every time you sit down for the next few days, hm?” Three more. 

“Mmph!” Your cries were muffled by the comforter. 

“Yeah, I can tell. Look at this fucking mess.” He dragged his fingers through your soaked folds. “Jesus Christ,” he said under his breath, and then he was flipping you back over. He nestled himself between your legs, his tip teasing your entrance. His expression softened as he stared into your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you replied breathily. 

He slid into you slow and easy, your mouth open in a silent moan as he bottomed out. 

“Good?” he asked.

“So fucking good.”

When he started to move, you thought you were going to die. In a good way. In a way that made you decide right there and then that when the time did come, this was how you wanted to go out. 

“Harder,” you encouraged, and he obliged. “Faster.”

He was properly fucking you now. Hard and fast and dirty. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his ass, forcing him to go deeper. His head was buried in your neck, your nails were clawing up his back, and the room was filled with moans and pants and expletives that put a sailor’s mouth to shame. 

“Shit, baby,” he panted into your neck. “God damn, you feel good. So fucking tight.” He sped up his thrusts, and the bed was squeaking so much that you thought it was going to fall apart underneath you, but you were too far gone to care. He reached a hand down in between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, circling it expertly. You were on the precipice of your release in seconds. And then —

“Come. Soak that fucking cock, baby. Come for me.”

And you screamed loud enough to get both you and him kicked out of the motel if they cared enough as your orgasm ripped through you. He fucked you through it, his pace only faltering moments later, right before he pulled out and painted your stomach white. It looked like a Jackson Pollock on your abdomen. Kinda hot, actually. 

“You okay?” Dean asked, looking down at you as he finally caught his breath.

“More than,” you smiled.

He mirrored the look on your face before crawling off the bed and heading to the bathroom. He came back moments later with a damp washcloth, gently cleaning his masterpiece off of your skin. When he was done, he threw it across the room, aiming for the bathroom, and it landed on the tile in front of the toilet. He laid down next to you, pulling you into his chest as he pressed a soft kiss into your hair, and you wanted to ask so many questions, all at once. What were you two now? How long had he been wanting this? Would there be a next time? Instead, you opted for —

“You know in fanfictions, they write you as a submissive most of the time.”

He snorted. “They’re half right.”

“A switch?” you asked, surprised. “Lucky me.”

He chuckled softly. “Sorry about your ass.”

You shrugged. “I was asking for it.”

“Oh, you were definitely asking for it. Still, I… I dunno. It was your first time, I didn’t want to get too —”

“It was perfect, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, smiling, dozing off already. “Yeah.”

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