#im trying to trace the path to how i got here...

[birdkittenn]

i think its funny how until pretty recently, i didnt care for robots, or i even disliked them. i liked animals and creatures hell of a lot more than artificial constructs

now? oh my god

[veichua]

how many licks is it gonna take for ellie to reach your meow?

oral sex. fingering. hickey. marking. playful. licking. teasing

“this is stupid.” you scoff, a smirk tugging at your lips as you prop yourself on your elbows, she’s got your leg in her hands, her lips pressed to your ankle, leaving a trail of hickeys.

“just behave.” ellie mutters, her voice muffled against your skin, she’s been at this for a while, her tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path up your leg. “you’re gonna get bored before you even get close.”

“bored?” ellie scoffs, her voice dripping with mock offense. “with this view?” she drags her tongue along your inner thigh, tounge flat on your skin, leaving another hickey that stings just right.

“you’re the one gettin’ all squirmy, can’t handle a little attention?” you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your breath hitches as her lips move higher, her hands spreading your thighs wider.

“im handlin’ it fine.” you say, but your voice betrays you, a little too breathy. “you’re the one takin’ forever, lost count yet?” she smirks, her teeth grazing your skin, and you feel the heat pooling between your legs.

“not yet.” she lies, her voice low and teasing, as she kisses closer, her breath hot against your inner thigh. “but you keep talkin’ shit, and i’ll make you count for me.”

“big talk,” you shoot back, but your smirk falters when her tongue flicks just shy of your panties, her fingers tugging them aside. “fuck, ellie, you’re such a—”

“tease? yeah, i know.” she cuts in, grinning as she presses a kiss to the crease of your thigh, so close you’re trembling.

“but you love it, now shut up and let me focus.” her tongue darts out, finally reaching your clit, and you gasp, a soft moan slipping out as she licks slow circles.

“fuck,” you whisper, your head tipping back, hands gripping the sheets, she’s good—too good—and the way she’s looking up at you, all smug and focused, makes it worse.

“mmm, there’s that sound.” ellie murmurs, her voice vibrating against you, sending a jolt through your core.

“knew i’d get you loud.” she licks again, firmer, her hands holding your hips down as you try to squirm. “how many licks was that, huh? you keepin’ track?”

“you’re—you’re supposed to be counting,” you manage, voice shaky, but your hips buck up, chasing her mouth, she laughs, pulling back just enough to make you whine.

“lost count,” she admits as she leans back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “guess i got distracted.” her eyes flick to your flushed face, your parted lips, and she tilts her head, mock serious.

“what’s that look? you mad at me now?”

“you can’t just leave me hanging like that.”

“leave you hanging?” ellie raises an eyebrow, crawling up to hover over you, her hands bracing on either side of your head.

“i'm gonna make it up to you, baby. promise.” her voice drops, all cheeky confidence, and she leans down, kissing you hard, her tongue tasting of you.

“you want me to keep goin’?”

“obviously.” you snap, but your smirk mirrors hers, and you pull her closer, your hands tangling in her hair. “but you better not half-ass it, williams.”

she scoffs, pulling back to tug your panties off completely, tossing them somewhere across the room. “you’re talkin’ to the pro here, watch me.” she slides back down, spreading your thighs wide, and dives in, her tongue working your clit with quick, precise flicks that have you moaning loud.

“fuck, ellie!” you cry, your hands tightening in her hair, and she groans against you, the vibration making you shudder. “don’t—shit—don’t stop.”

“of course baby, not a fuckin’ chance,” she mutters, her voice muffled as she sucks your clit gently, then licks harder, her fingers sliding to your entrance. “you’re so wet, baby, all for me?” she slips two fingers inside, curling them, and you screamed.

“yes—fuck, all for you.” you gasp, your hips bucking as she pumps her fingers, her tongue never slowing. “ellie, i'm—fuck���i’m close.”

“yeah, i can feel it,” she says, pulling back just enough to smirk up at you, her fingers still moving, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. “c'mon, let me hear you.” she dives back in, her tongue circling your clit, and you’re gone, moaning so loud it echoes.

“ellie—fuck!” you cry, your orgasm crashing through you, your body shaking as you cum hard, her fingers and tongue working you through every wave.

she doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, gasping, pushing at her head because it’s too much, she pulls back, grinning like she’s won something, her lips shiny with you.

“that’s how i make it up,” she says, crawling up to kiss you, slow and deep, letting you taste yourself. “still think i'm a dick?” you’re panting, still dazed, but you manage a weak laugh. “yeah, but a talented one,” you say, voice hoarse, and she laughs, flopping beside you, her arm slung over your waist.

[reiderwriter]

hii I absolutely love your writing!! I was wondering if you could write a one shot with gun kink? maybe not really something *aggressive* but just gun kink in the plot !! and please smut with no angst, also maybe aftercare in the end? it's totally okay if you're not comfortable. im loving your kinktober one shots! have a good day :)

A/N: This being one of like... three gun kink requests I've received, we are all not seeing the pearly gates lmao. If you enjoy reading this, even 50% of how much I enjoyed writing it, then I'm happy 😚

Warnings: Undercover FBI Agent reader, gun kink, interrogation room sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, some BDSM themes, Spencer has to 'rough up' the reader etc.

Masterlist

Being rough-housed by a group of FBI agents and pushed against a wall before being handcuffed was never your idea of a fun Tuesday night. It wasn't exactly high on the list for any night of the week, really, but here you were. 

“Caitlyn Grant? You're under arrest for being an accessory to a felony and evading law enforcement, whatever you say…” You drowned out the rest of the statement. It was nothing you didn't have memorized. 

“You're not the usual drug crew, and you don't look sturdy enough to be on most of the other teams either. What part of the Bureau are you in?” You asked the lanky man currently pinning you to the wall as he made sure your handcuffs were aptly tight. 

“You have the right to an attorney, if you can't afford one-” 

“I waive my rights. It's not human trafficking. You wouldn't be working this case if you were human trafficking.” 

The man just stared at you in vague disapproval as you grinned back at him. His closeness meant you could see every detail of his face up close, the five o'clock shadow, the dark circles from lack of sleep. On most of the agents you'd encountered, it had the effect of making them look older, a little haggard, and depressed. On this man, it was honestly very hot. 

He started your pat down by spreading your legs, though honestly, if he'd asked nicely enough, you'd have done just that for him. You near enough told him just that as he reached the two pockets on the ass of your jeans. 

“Watch it, Agent, my bite is worse than my bark.” 

“Turn around.” 

You pouted at his solid resolve, wondering what it would take to get the man to crack a smile or even a frown. Something that wasn't just disinterest slapped on a face and called a day. 

You did as he asked, making sure your body pressed nicely up against his the entire way until your shoulders were resting on the wall and he was feeling along your waist. 

“Come on, what kind of weapon are you going to find there?”

“Standard protocol, please let me do my job.”

“Standard protocol is calling one of your female agents over here to maintain the boundary, Agent. This feels more like you're just trying to cop a feel.” 

Those words finally got a reaction. The subtle clench of the jaw as his hands tightened slightly on your waist had you suddenly regretting your decision to be put in handcuffs. Your hands should've been free to tuck the stray lock of hair that had fallen in his eyes behind his ear, free so your fingernails could trace a path down his face and neck and chest. 

His gaze landed on the simple silver chain you wore around your list and he delicately pulled it out of your shirt, careful not to touch you (and avoiding you even as you arched your back into him). 

With a quick tug, he pulled the necklace clean off your neck, not pausing to bother with the clasp at all. 

“Clever boy. I'll see you in the interrogation room, shall I?” He said nothing as the female agents you'd mentioned earlier stationed themselves on either side of you as you walked away. You didn't break eye contact until the doors to the police van closed behind you. 

Six months undercover on a case, and this was the first time you'd stepped foot in a police precinct since you'd ditched your real name and life. 

The interrogation rooms hadn't changed in that time, at least, still grey and depressing. Time felt void as you waited for company, and thankfully, you weren't waiting long.

“Agent Y/N, sorry about the arrest, we wanted to make it look as real as possible while pulling you out.” The woman who greeted you obviously held the authority, and while you wanted to respect that, the sight of the man trailing behind her actually caught her full attention. 

“Pleasure to meet you….?” You let the question hang open for both of them but kept your gaze fully focused on the man, who stood himself next to the door, keeping surprisingly quiet. 

“I'm Unit Chief Emily Prentiss, this is Doctor Spencer Reid, we're from the-” 

“Behavioural Analysis Unit, of course. I was close, you know, earlier. A face like yours wouldn't last five minutes in cartel land. I almost guessed cyber, but you looked a bit too bookish. Doctor Reid, hmm.” 

“This interview is taking place with Agent Prentiss. Please direct all your questions to her.”

“Oh shit, sorry, where are my manners. I didn't mean to disrespect you like that, Agent Prentiss. It's just been a long few months.”

The other woman just chuckled and shook her head, leafing through some documents to pass you over the information on the case they needed assistance on. 

“We think there's a serial killer in the drug ring you infiltrated,” the woman explained, passing over the files with the case details. You took a moment's breath before opening to the crime scene photos, steeling yourself for what you might encounter. 

“There are probably a lot of serials in the organization. It's a drug ring. What makes this one worse?” You said, just as you flipped the file open and answered your own question. 

“Shit- Okay, that's what makes this one worse. He can't be more than 15, right?” 

The answering grimace on the two agents' faces suggested you'd been generous in your estimate. “Okay, how can I help?” 

xxxxx 

A few hours passed in the interrogation room, and you'd walked them through all of your up to date information on your case and cover. The chair wasn't exactly comfortable, but you were glad to be finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. The interview was ending, and you could see an end to your undercover work swiftly following too with the BAU's assistance. 

You weren't looking forward to having to acclimatize back into the real world. You'd gone from pushing papers at a desk 9 hours a day to rubbing shoulders with drug dealers and junkies, a lot of whom were kids, young people like you who had no other options than the streets and crime. 

You made a mental note to give a few warnings to the younger kids on the streets to stay alert and then started getting back into character. 

“Thanks again for your help, Agent. We appreciate your time.” Prentiss nodded at you as she gathered the folders, getting ready to leave. 

Spencer Reid stood, too, stretching himself out as he rose from the chair, giving you quite the show as your eyes dragged from his face, down his chest and down further still as you appreciated the view. 

The last few hours had been strictly professional, and you'd enjoyed bouncing ideas off of him, running through theories. Now, trying to get back into your ‘lusty barmaid’ persona, you thought instead about how much you'd like to bounce on him yourself, possibly while running your hands through his hair. 

A girl could dream. 

“Hold on a second, I'm still in cover, I can't go back out there looking this pristine, it's too suspicious,” you said, the two agents turning back to you curiously. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Someone needs to throw me around a little. Rough housing, you know, a few bruises will do it.” 

Prentiss looked at you, caught halfway between impressed and amused. The good Doctor however seemed to darken slightly, covering his shock with a tensed jaw. 

“She's all yours, Spencer,” Wmily winked at the man, turning the door handle and beginning her exit.

“What? Why?” 

“I don't hit women.” 

“And I do? Emily, wha-” 

But the door to the interrogation room has already closed with a small cackle, and you're already being drawn closer to the man like a moth to a flame. 

Turning to face you, you see the shock of the situation on his face before he looks away in a flash, refusing to meet your eyes as he keeps himself close to the door. 

“Doctor Reid, I'm not actually a criminal, you know?” 

“I thought you wanted one of us to treat you like a criminal now.” 

“You make a good point, shall we begin?” 

He signed and rubbed his temples as you advanced, letting you get a little bit closer before holding his hands up in surrender. 

“Wait, wait, tell me first, what should we be doing?” 

You took a deep breath and expelled it, then took the time to think about it. 

You would need some visible marks of the FBI's unkindness - wrists red, a bruise or two on your knees, maybe, from falling. The problem was, you couldn't think about how to get the marks without driving yourself insane. 

There was a quick and easy way to get tender knees, an even easier way to mark up your neck and chest, but you couldn't figure out how to ask Spencer Reid to do those things without spreading your legs and letting him do whatever he wanted. You weren't sure you wouldn't do that eventually, anyway.

“Let's start with my wrists. You were too generous with the handcuffs earlier - just grab them really tight, pin me against the wall if it helps.”

He nodded and took a hesitant step towards you, thinking for a second, before grabbing one wrist and spinning you around. Before you could even process the action, he had you pinned, chest against the wall, arms above your head. 

“Is that okay?” He asked, his grip tight  but not bruising yet. 

“A little tighter, I want the marks to last a while. Why is my face against the wall?” 

He gripped tighter, the pain sending a jolt through your wrists that trailed all the way down to pool between your thighs. 

“I thought you'd be less uncomfortable like this.” 

“With your dick pushed up against my ass? Yes, Doctor, great decision.” 

He let out a cold, quick laugh, leaving you flushed as he pushed your upper body into the wall, too, finally getting to the grip strength he needed to get attention. 

“I'm sorry to disappoint, Y/N, but that's my gun,” the words whispered in your ear were the last straw as you shuddered in his grasp, his hands releasing your wrists as he stepped back a little. 

You shook out your hands a little, trying to momentarily relive the stiffness in your joints. 

He took a few paces to the desk and upholstered his weapon, placing it on the desk before joining you again. 

“So you don't get confused again,” he explained at seeing your raised eyebrow. 

“Oh so next time, it will be your dick?” You whispered, moving back to the desk and sitting yourself on the edge or it, picking up the gun and studying it for a few minutes. 

“Y/N, put it down.” 

“Ooh, possessive, are we?” You giggled, aiming it at him for a second before grabbing it by the barrel and holding it back out for him to grab. 

“Hold it, point it at me or whatever. Maybe it'll help you rough me up.” 

His brow furrowed, but he grabbed it anyway, not immediately slipping it into the holster as he stepped forward. 

“What now?” He asked, and you shrugged. 

“Whatever feels natural. And looks visible, I guess.”

It took him a few minutes to decide, surveying your body like it was a puzzle. Professionally, of course. You were about to speak up and urge him to get on with it when his hand shot out and wrapped around your throat. 

You tried to gasp, but the grip was firm, and boy, was it driving you crazy. Your legs had naturally parted as you sat yourself on the edge of the desk, and he walked into that space now, his free hand still holding the gun. 

Your body pushed forward into his, suddenly awash with arousal as your chest heaved with tiny breaths, lungs burning. 

“Are you enjoying this, Y/N? Or is it Caitlyn Grant that's enjoying this?” 

You felt the gun touch your thigh gently, and you moaned, just as he softened his grip on your throat. 

“Answer me, please. This is an interrogation room, after all.”

You met his eyes, checking to see how far he would take this, how far you could push back. 

“I'll admit, I'm not against mixing pain and pleasure.” 

His gaze flicked down, slowly pushing his gun up the skin of your thigh, raising your skirt with the barrel to catch a quick glimpse of your panties. 

“I can tell.” 

If it weren't for his grip on you, you'd have lunged for him right then and there. The cool metal against your thigh had you shuddering against him, growing wetter by the minute. 

“I read somewhere once that we can't pretend to be someone else without actually becoming them in some small way. You've been a cartel whore for six months, I wonder if this is a lasting effect.” 

He was so close now all he needed to do to close the gap was change the angle of his head, but he kept you in place with that gun, pointing up from your pussy, flush against your stomach. 

“I'll tell you a secret - the part of me that's aroused right now definitely predates this cover.” 

His lips drop to yours, tongue clashing with yours furiously as he grabs the back of your head to angle you better. 

Letting his hand drop back to your thigh, he gently coaxed you further open, skirt riding up. Putting down the gym momentarily, he pressed a wandering finger against your pantie-clad pussy, feeling your arousal before he used it to coat his fingers. 

A second later and the offending pair of underwear lay discarded on the floor. 

“Fuck, Spencer,” you said, gasping for breath as he again picked up the gun. 

“You wanted this so badly, didn't you? You've been needing someone to treat you like this for months now. It didn't even have to be me.” 

He traced circles on your thigh with the gun, and you twitched, years of training not letting you relax around the weapon and months of sexual frustration, making you desperate for something to touch you. 

“Yes, yes, please touch me.” 

The hand at your throat slid down to your chest and pushed gently  urging you to lie back and let him do whatever he wanted with you. The desk was cold - metal biting at your bare skin - and it only sent more shivers down your spine as he lowered himself to his knees and parted your legs for his tongue. 

The first touch was heaven, a state of bliss you'd been without in what felt like forever. His tongue danced across your folds as he tasted every inch of your exposed cunt, grip still strong on the gun pointed now to your chest, pinning you between the machine and the table. 

You tried to be as still as possible, to take the pleasure he gave calmly, but you couldn't. You writhed, moaned, chest heaving as you tried to hold off the first orgasm you'd achieved with someone else in probably a year.  

Like a man on a mission, Spencer Reid did not care. He gladly suffocated between your thighs as you squeezed them together, wrapping them around his head so you could keep feeling the insurmountable pleasure of his tongue on your pussy. 

“Spencer…Spencer, fuck-” you said as he finally pried your legs apart, lifting them just slightly so his tongue could reach further inside of you, curling with each wave of passion. Your hands fisted his hair, desperate for something to ground you to the moment as your pleasure spilt out of you, orgasm jolting through you in tiny sparks of pleasure. 

The gun moved first, coming level with your chest as you untangled your fingers from his hair. Spencer stood, wiping his face with the back of his hand as he kept the gun on you. 

“I think this turns you on even more. You've been ruined by this cover, Y/N, you're so used to being in danger that you can't even get off without someone threatening you.” 

You attempted to scoff, to brush off his words somehow, but his hand was suddenly back around your throat, picking you up off the desk and pulling you instead towards the room's one-way window. 

“Look at yourself,” he said, again twisting you around so you were pressed into the wall, wrists above your hair, raising your shirt to expose the cold skin underneath. He ran the barrel across the fresh skin, leaving a field of goosebumps along his path. 

“I don't think it would've mattered who came in to rough you up. I think you'd just as happily have convinced Emily to fuck your little pussy raw, right Y/N? As long as there was a gun…” 

Your moan was the only response as he used the weapon to spread your legs. You naturally arched your back and kept your hands in place as he holstered the weapon momentarily to unzip his pants and let his cock free. 

You couldn't see it, but you saw his reflection in the mirror as he slowly stretched you out with it, mouth dropping in a lustful ‘o’ as he fed his dick to you, hard and thick. 

As soon as it was in, the gun came back out, this time to rest against your temple. 

“Get yourself off,” his voice was so low it was practically a growl. “Use my cock, and pleasure yourself.” 

Your body listened immediately, beginning to move back and forth on his cock as he held himself in place. His moans and groans were all the encouragements you needed, the gun at your temple was just made the pleasure more profound as you approached your release. 

But he kept you pinned to the glass, your full range of motion limited, and you whimpered in frustration that you couldn't feel every inch of him. 

“If you need something, use your words, Agent.” 

“More, need more, please..please,” you gasped, breathing ragged. 

The hands at your wrists released, and he fisted a hand into the flesh at your hip, your wrists resting on the glass next to your face as he took over your thrusting. 

“Can't even do this anymore, what a spoiled little whore,” he said as his hips began snapping into you, reaching that spot deep inside you as you drooled against the glass, wondering if anyone had just happened to step into that room and what they must think about you. 

“Cum for me, Y/N. Cum on my cock,” he said it, and entranced, your body did just that, your orgasm taking the last breath of strength you had as he too plunged himself deeper and stilled there, his cum coating your walls. 

Neither of you moved for an eternity, but the first sign of clarity returning was the careful return of the gun to the holster. 

Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Spencer minimized the mess you made together, cleaning you up as he slipped out of you. Discarding it momentarily on the floor, he pulled your clothes back into position and led you back over to the chairs. Just as he moved to sit you down, though, you turned and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug. 

His arms hung suspended for a minute or two before he let them rest on your back, stroking your hair. 

“Sorry, it's been… it's been lonely, and I didn't realize how hard it had been until-” 

“It's okay. Take your time,” he said, sitting down in the chair and letting you curl up in his lap, burying your head in his neck

“We’ll catch this guy, and then you're out, okay Y/N? We'll come back and get you out soon.” 

Lifting your eyes to his, you nodded, pressing your lips to his with a smile as you again worked yourself back into character, regaining your earlier composure and lifting yourself from the man's too comfortable arms. 

“Well, Spencer, what do you say we get me back into panties and handcuffs and cut Caitlyn Grant loose?” 

[hurts2think]

hi im the one that sent the red x fem reader request earlier and I was thinking that the reader (cheshire cats daughter) is really mischievous like kitty cheshire from ever after high ?

♥️Red Hearts x Reader♥️

Reader pronouns: She/her

Pairing: Red Hearts x Fem!Reader

Plot: Red wanders off to the heart of wonderland—the forest—and runs into her trickster friend. You're the daughter of the Cheshire Cat and always glad to help a friend feel better.

Word Count: 1.3k

Extra: I didn't have a definite plot for this one so it kind of just wrote itself without any real direction. But two people suggested this so I did it anyway!

Though the kingdom in Wonderland is where most lived—the real heart of Wonderland is the never ending forests. Down cobbled paths that seemed to lead wherever it desired, large trees with twisted trunks surrounded.

Pink, purple, and blue, colors that you’d never see above the rabbit hole in nature. But in Wonderland, any vibrant and unreal color was natural and very real.

Red occasionally found herself walking out this far when she got the chance to sneak away. It was like a completely different world than the castle. Flying spade shaped fish, talking flowers, animals bigger and smaller than they should be, it was something Red loved. She loved the crazy colored mushrooms that danced on the floor and she loved to get away from the tyrannical reign of her mother.

Now you, the daughter of the Cheshire Cat, never had to worry about falling victim to the tyrant that ruled Wonderland. Really, she only ruled part of Wonderland. Wonderland was huge and impossible to control everyone, though the Queen did try. But you and others always managed to slip from her grasp and live your own ways.

Sprawled out on a branch, up high in a tree you sat looking down awaiting for anyone to walk by. Just like the Cheshire before you, you were always playing pranks. Always causing mischief and trouble whenever you could. So stalking out your pray from up high in a tree was how you spent any afternoon.

It didn't take long for you to notice the princess walking down the path with her bright red hair. Red wasn't someone you got to see very often, but she was your favorite person to mess with. She always knew just how to get back at you instead of just taking any prank you threw her way. You always appreciated a good prankster.

As Red walked down the path, she seemed to be a little too distracted to notice the spiraling weeds by her feet. It was just what it sounded like, weeds that spiraled. Specifically latching onto anything that got a little too close.

One wrong step and Red’s ankles were wrapped by the vines and swept off her feet, letting out a grunt as she hit the floor.

You couldn't help but giggle at her fall and annoyed expression.

"Kitty..." Red muttered, eyes darkening after hearing your giggle.

"Oh, hi Red." You grin, lounging in the tree above as she looks up to meet your eyes. "Have a nice trip?"

"Not really." Red grumbled, stomping until the weeds let go of her and she hopped back up to her feet.

You then disappeared, only leaving a trace of your grin before appearing beside Red in just a moment, "Oh my, I wonder who left their spiraling weeds here? They're in such good condition too." You said innocently but your grin was anything but innocent.

"Ha-ha, very funny, kitty." Red said sarcastically, putting her hands on her hips.

You clasped your hands behind your back and tilted your head, the grin never leaving your face, "So, what business does the Princess of Hearts have this time around?"

Red let out a frustrated sigh. It was easy to assume that her mother must've done something yet again to make her upset. That was typically the reason Red said she came out this far. But it was obvious she liked to come see you. You were mad like anyone else in Wonderland, but at least you never judged her.

"Just my mom being the most controlling person ever." She complained, finding a large mushroom to sit on and sulk.

You slid over to sit next to her on the mushroom, tightly sat against her, "Well, she is an evil tyrant." You giggled.

Red looked at you from the corner of her eye. She always tried to act annoyed with you but it was hard. Even if you were very annoying, you were never as bad as anyone else Red was forced to be around. You and Maddox were her only friends and the only people she could bare to be around.

"You know what I bet would cheer you up? Going to the tea house." You suggested.

Red didn't seem entirely thrilled with the idea. But it wouldn't hurt to go, so she shrugged, "Sure. You're paying, right?"

"Anything for my purr-fect princess." Your grinned widened.

"The cat puns will never be funny." Red crossed her arms, raising a brow.

You hopped up from where you were sitting and started rummaging through your pocket. You pulled out various things that definitely shouldn't fit in a pocket. A ruler, a houseplant, a rabbit, and then finally a large paintbrush. "Let's not waste anymore time." You painted a stroke of paint in the air as tall as yourself and a door suddenly appeared.

You opened the door and held it open for Red, she walked in and you followed, leading into the tea shop.

The shop had flying tea cups, stripped walls, and a ceiling so high up you couldn't see it. There wasn't anyone else at the shop currently, there weren't really regulars either. The tea shop moved every couple hours and it's impossible to find. Luckily for you, you didn't have trouble finding things.

You sat at a table and Red sat in front of you. A couple menu's with wings flew by and you both managed to catch one.

"The options are never as good as I remember them." Red declared as she gazed over the menu. She decided on what she wanted and let the menu fly away.

"The kit-tea is always good," you remarked. Though Red seemed unimpressed by the name of the drink.

"I'll just have what I usually get." Red leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving yours.

Once you two had both determined what you wanted, a tray flew down on the table with both of your requests. "Hmm? The hipster tea? Must be drank before it's cool? I thought you hated puns." You teased, picking up your tea cup and saucer.

"I do. And I especially hate that pun. But it tastes good." She replied, taking her own and drinking it.

The two of you enjoyed your time drinking your respective drinks. Red would complain about something happening in her life while you responded with riddles that didn't quite make sense with a grin. This was your favorite thing in the world. Even more than pulling any type of mischief, you loved being with Red and listening to her talk and talk about whatever she wants. It was comfortable and filled you with more joy than your body could contain.

Once the two of you were done, you pulled out a wallet to pay. Not your wallet, of course. Why would you actually be the one to pay when Red is a princess?

"Hey! That's my wallet!" Red exclaimed, snatching it from your claws.

"Is it? Not sure how it ended up in my pocket." You grinned mischievously, your hand already managed to swipe a spade from it and paid for your drinks.

Despite just being stolen from, Red chuckled, "It is strange how my wallet just happens to mysteriously appear in your paws." She said sarcastically with a smirk.

"It's a wonder." You leaned forward across the table, your faces almost touching. "I suppose I'm lucky you never do anything about it."

"Hmm... Really? I do expect you to pay me back." Red's smirk grew.

Your grin always somehow managed to grow bigger and bigger everytime, "I'm sure we could arrange something." You teased. Then you leaned in closer for a moment and pecked her on the lips, "How's that for payment?"

Red leaned back and tapped her chin, mock thinking, "I guess it'll do... For now."

"You always never could settle for less, could you?"

The two of you laughed together. Sometimes Wonderland wasn't so bad. Sometimes Red liked it there. And sometimes she found comfort. Even when her friends are just as mad as the land itself.

[bellobambino]

The Safe House - Part 3

luigi x unnamed reader fluff (a kiss?)

summary: fluff ! luigi and reader wake up in the vermont cabin, spend the morning together <.< coffee, showers, painting? its short lol

1,206w

PART 1

PREV FIC: PART 2

AN: jimmy butler to the warriors im sorry i feel like these are all trash but lmk what you think.

The Safe House - Part 3

How did I sleep longer than him? He was dead on his feet last night. Practically sleepwalking. But now he’s gone.I fling the blanket off of me and put my feet on the floor, cold against the worn-out wood, and I hear the shower running down the hall.

I get up, padding to the kitchen in my socks. There’s a box of muffins on the counter, one of those assorted grocery store packs. I grab a random one along with a banana, peeling it open and taking a big bite.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes me look up.

Luigi steps out, steam curling behind him, wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips. His curly hair is damp, beads of water trailing down his toned shoulders and back. He doesn’t even look in my direction, just walks across the hall into the guest room. I barely catch a glimpse before the door clicks shut, but it’s enough to leave me breathless.

Jesus.

I swallow, finishing my banana too fast, nearly choking on it.

i turn back to the coffee maker and try to focus on making a pot. Im distracted by the sudden heat creeping up my neck. i shouldn’t be this flustered. By the time Ben shuffles out of his room, I got a few mugs lined up.

He takes one, mutters a half-hearted, “Mornin’,” and sits at the island counter, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Did you sleep?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

He grunts in response and takes a sip of his coffee.

It’s not long before Luigi reappears, fully dressed now, in some random clothes i swear are ben’s.. He moves toward the counter, right next to me, smelling like fresh body wash and warm skin. It’s too early for this. My pulse is already doing something stupid

“You woke up before me,” I say, still a little thrown by it.

“Yeah,” he says, voice quieter. “It’s hard to stay asleep.”

i glance at him, his dark curls still damp and defined.

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks, “Have you painted anything yet since getting here?”

I blink, caught off guard. “Actually, yeah. I’ve finished two pieces and have a few others in progress.”

Ben smirks around his coffee. “You gonna paint a tragic portrait of this idiot?”

“Maybe.” i shoot back.

Ben snorts, shaking his head as he pushes off the counter, mumbling something about how we’re both weird, and heads upstairs, leaving just me and Luigi in the kitchen.

Luigi turns toward me fully now, his expression softer, brows pulling together. “Can you show me?”

"Yeah," I say, nodding quickly. "Yeah, c’mon."

I lead him toward the makeshift studio space I’ve set up in the loft, where canvases lean against the floor to ceiling windows, some finished, but most are half attempted ideas.

He steps past me, looking at all of it. and i get nervous. 

I bring him to an easel where my most recent piece is sitting, just finished.

“This one is newer. It’s supposed to represent feeling … out of control. Like there’s an unstoppable force, moving.” I point at the broad, deliberate strokes. “And this is the subject, whos anchored.”

He tilts his head toward the painting, eyes narrowing slightly 

“This is the movement?” he asks as he follows the direction of a brushstroke with his finger, tracing an invisible path in the air. 

I nod, excited. “Exactly! It’s like…”

Then it happens. He lowers his hand but his finger gets too close. 

 A streak of deep blue smears across the entire thing. Immediate and irreversible. A dark, muddy streak where my careful layers once were. We both gasp in unison.

“Oh my god,” he says, freezing like he just set off a bomb. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m-”  He looks at his hand, then at the painting, then back at me. “Shit. I ruined it.”

He tries to somehow put the paint he smeared back onto the canvas, but it just ruins it more. 

Luigi panics and looks at me, making a noise like he’s in physical pain from guilt.

I should be mad. This took me days. But he looks so horrified, like he just committed an actual crime, which, considering his actual crimes, makes this even funnier. He doesn’t feel bad about putting three bullets in Brian Thompson, but smudging some paint is unforgivable.

I can’t help it. I’m laughing. And somehow, the only thing I feel is affection. "Luigi, it’s fine."

"It is not fine! Oh my god…" He looks like he wants to throw himself into traffic, it’s pleasuring me.

And then, on impulse, I drag my finger right through the smear, making it worse.

His mouth falls open. “What are you doing?!”

“Adding to your idea.” I step back. The painting is different now. Not how I intended it to be, but it doesn’t look half bad. “It actually looks kinda cool.”

He’s still watching me, unsure if i’m messing with him. I smile and nudge him lightly with my elbow. “Wanna sign your name in the corner?”

His brows pull together. “I’m not an artist.”

I shrug. “Now you are.”

Something shifts in his expression. Like what I said actually got through to him in a way he wasn’t expecting. He stares at me, really stares, like I just handed him some kind of truth about himself that he wasn’t ready for.

Then, slowly, he nods. “You’re right.”

He picks up a brush, dips it into the paint, and scrawls his name in the bottom right corner.

Luigi.

I stare at it, then at him. “It’s kinda surreal seeing that.”

His voice is quieter now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean… you were gone for months,we all thought you were dead. And now we’re making art together..”

Theres a beat, he leans against the wall, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Did you miss me?”

I scoff. “No.”

He smirks. “Liar.”

I roll my eyes, but my face is hot. “Where were you, anyway?”

He looks at me, probably gauging how much to say. “A few places.”

“Thats real specific, Lu.”

He diverts, “Last time I saw you, we were at that party.”

I blink. “Yeah. We…” I gesture awkwardly, a bit embarrassed, “ you know”

“We kissed.”

His gaze flickers to my mouth, just for a second. Then, so softly, like he’s testing the words, he says, “You’re the only person who knows I’m alive right now.”

My pulse is too loud in my ears. “I know.”

His hand lifts slightly, like he might touch me, but he hesitates. “That doesn’t freak you out?”

I shake my head. “No.”

His hand finally moves, fingertips tracing the back of my arm. He leans in just enough that I can feel his breath when he speaks. “You sure?”

I don’t get the chance to answer.

because then, he kisses me.

It’s hungry, needy, like he’s been thinking about this for a while and won’t wait another second.. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers curling just enough to make me shiver. I press into him, and he groans into my mouth, deep and low, like this kiss is pulling something out of him he didn’t even know he had, and hes holding it back.

I grasp at his shirt, tugging, pressing, needing more, and he gives it to me, kissing me deeper, harder, until my knees feel weak.

We break apart. His breathing is ragged, pupils huge.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “I missed you.”

[blkbbyprincess]

"DONT BE A BRAT" -mikasa!ackermann x blk!tumblr

synopsis: your girlfriend mikasa insists that you're being a brat infront of your friends by teasing her and seemingly everyone else; so she's taking you home to teach you a lesson.

warnings: veryy suggestive content, heavy language, use of the n word once, kinda proofread? and just connie and ony being chismosos lol

"damnn mika you not gone put no work on that?" connie teased while taking a long drawn out hit of his joint that he was sharing with eren; who was sitting directly across from him; eyes low and barely coherent as he threw the gold colored dice across the circular dining table; snapping his fingers in frustration at getting a bust.

both boys turned their heads almost in sync, eyes locking on the way you stood by the kitchen island, chatting it up with your homegirls like you weren’t fully aware of the show you were putting on. that oh so little black skirt you had on? it was barely doing its job, short enough that if you bent over just a little more, your thong and everything else would’ve been on full display. the same thong, mind you, that you swore matched your girlfriend’s outfit. a lie if mikasa ever heard one, considering she was wearing an entirely different color. you knew damn well the difference between black and grey. this was just another excuse to be a slut in her opinion. and honestly? it was working.

mikasa wasn’t paying too much attention to whatever her homeboy had goin on. she’d already peeped your game ever since you two got to connie's small house party; from shaking that ass in that sorry excuse for a skirt with your girls; the same ones she always said you were too good for, to hitting the pole in the middle of the living room like it owed you money.

you knew exactly what you were doing. connie’s thirsty ass boys were eating it up, practically drooling, probably counting up how much it’d cost to get a second of your time. and when your jeweled nails tracing the path down your neck, eyes locked on mikasa while one of your girls poured warm henny down your throat? yeah. she definitely knew.

"pay up nigga, yo' dumbass lost again after i told you im undefeated." connie's best friend onyankopon, or "ony" for short; barked as he stood upright from his seat to place his hand right in connie's face in a "gimme" motion.

"tch, you a bitch anyways, always takin' a mothafucka dinero."

before ony could even gather up his words to say something slick back to his friend, the clicks of heels against the ground could be heard as you walked towards the table and here you came; tracing around the table with a smirk on your face as you made your way to the second to last seat where your girlfriend; mikasa was sitting in a manspread with her fingers pressed at her temple in frustration.

you slid into the empty seat next to mikasa like you belonged there. like the whole damn night had been building up to this exact moment. your knee brushed hers and she didn’t pull away.

you leaned in close, voice soft but laced with tease.“you miss me?”

"don’t come over here and perform in front of these people; save that shit for later."

your eyes widened and you gasped in faux shock; as if you didn’t know what she was hinting at. but the glint in your eye said otherwise. still, you played innocent, batting your lashes like you weren’t just out here putting on a whole show for the whole house to catch an eye to with intentions full of mischief.

"girl, i’m just watching yall play." you purred, voice low and sugary, dragging your acrylics across the table slow and deliberate. "don't get a stankin' attitude."

mikasa’s jaw flexed just a little; as if she was trying real hard to keep her cool. her homeboys caught the shift in energy, the way the air thickened like smoke between y’all, but none of them said a word. ony just chuckled under his breath, nudging connie like "watch this shit."

"nah, you wanna act up," mikasa said, leaning in close enough for only you to hear, her lips ghosting your outer ear, "don't make me take you home." she said; a little louder after realizing what kinda game you were trying to play with her.

you contemplated about how you should respond in front of your friends; but fuck thinking about being good, because the way she was speaking to you made you wanna do nothing but keep digging yourself in deeper trouble so she would have no choice but to get you right later.

"take me home, then," you murmured, sweet as syrup but sharp underneath. "show me how you want me to act."

connie's lil sassy ass make a "clock it" motion with one of his hands; adding a small "ouuuuu", while ony balled up his fist, and covered his mouth as best as he could; tryna hold in the laugh that was about to burst from his chest.

but mika didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, she didn’t even smile.

she just stood up and pushed the chair she was previously sitting in back in its place under the table, then reached out; her whole hand catching your cheeks; squishing them together like you were something she wanted to break, but goddamn; she never would because oh how she loved how pouty and swollen your lips looked right now

"finish your drink." she said finally, stepping back; letting go of your face with that same unreadable expression. "and tell everyone you'll see 'em next weekend."

you knew better than to ask where you were going.

you downed the rest of your drink without breaking eye contact, the burn of the hennessy barely registering beneath the way mikasa’s gaze froze your body in time.

then you stood slowly, letting her watch how your skirt rode a little higher with each sway of your hips as you took each step of the way towards connie and ony to give them a small hug

"yall, she bout to tear my shit uppp." you told them followed by a bite of the tongue in excitement; obviously pissing ony off by telling him obvious information that he still didn't want to physically hear; and connie groaned like he was watching the trailer unfold for a movie he’d never get to see.

mikasa was already halfway to the door.

you followed.

when you got two outside, the cool night air kissed your skin gently, which made you tense up a bit; distracting you from a catcall that flew from the tongue of a partygoer that mikasa definitely heard; and once they saw her look back. she didn’t need to say a word. that glare? it did all the talking.

she opened the car door for you and stepped back; hands refraining from ghosting the small of your back as you slid in. before closing the door, she pulled her hoodie over her head; revealing a crispy white wife beater that stuck effortlessly to her gorgeous abs, tossing it into the passenger seat where you sat. "shouldn't have worn that dumbass skirt, here."

you sat in silence with yourself for a moment cold as a rock; even covered with the hoodie, you wondered what the hell happened to your liquor coat; as mika closed the passenger seat door and stepped off the curb to get to the driver's side of her car.

you snap out of her senses when you hear the door on the left open and the lights inside the car turn back on again. she eases her way in her seat and adjusts it to her liking a little, before turning to close the door back.

she waits for a second before turning to you,

"the hell you got goin on?" she questioned; cocking an eyebrow in what would have looked like genuine confusion to someone who wasn't familiar with your behavior, but she was and she knew you only did shit like this when you were horny. "going in there acting like you can't handle not being fucked for a few hours." she mumbled, but you could hear her loud and clear.

you watched her grip the steering wheel, her expression set on one you knew too well. "you’re being dramatic." you said, shifting in your seat; trying to gain a little more comfort.

"am i?" she wasn't looking at you in that moment; instead looking up with her hand on her chin acting as if she were genuinely thinking she was the problem; which in her book was never the case. "funny how you only act like that when you know someone’s watching."

you shrugged, pulling the hoodie tighter around yourself. "don't know, maybe you’re just paranoid."

she finally turned to look at you once more; eyes narrowed as if she were preparing to take a jab at her prey. "right. paranoid." she scoffed with a little more sass than necessary. "we’ll see how much of a game you think this shit is when i toss you in that backseat and show you some decorum."

ayeeeee pt 2? like & reblog pleaseee!

[tosterstrudell]

Hello...

It's a rainbow sanic here, TIS IS MY FIRST EVER REQUEST ON A BLOG YIPEE IM FROTHING RAHHHHH

If you pretty please with a cherry on top don't mind....

-Any Hetalia character(ur choice who fits this well) x reader

-Scenario:How would they love with a hauntingly beautiful reader? But a forgetful face?....Someone you CLICK with instantly, every time they look at their direction the light and things around them just seems to be perfectly highlighting them...EXCEPT their face...like it's so blurry...and at the end of the day when the reader bid's farewell, they dissapear, no contact after, no information found, no matter how hard they try.

-In a bad summary: Reader is 'The One That Got Away' for the chosen Hetalia characters..

(My English is horrendous... Sorry for yapping too long 😔)

---🕯️

Of course!!! I did both Hetalia and Latin Hetalia characters for this because I found it interesting!

I hope this is good, Rainbow Anon!

Characters featured, (Hetalia) America, Norway, Russia, Lithuania and Prussia!

(Latin Hetalia) Argentina, Chile, Bolivia and Paraguay!

America—— Alfred was used to loud, flashy people, but for some reason— he noticed you, you could’ve been loud and flashy, but everything in his memory was a blur. Especially your face. He truly believed you were a soft starlight in human form. Pure and beautiful, and yet he couldn’t remember much about you. Everything was easy, your conversations melted so easily like velvet, the laughs, the little comments, the spark. But moments after your departure, he was at a loss, your face was just a blur. A single goodbye and you just disappeared, like stardust.

Norway—— There was something quiet about you, something still. You didn’t try to stand out — you just existed, like you were a magical creature of his imagination. Lukas wasn’t someone easily shaken, but you got under his skin in the gentlest way. He remembered the way your presence felt like a shift in the air. Soft. Strange. Familiar. But your face? It never came through. Even in the moment, it was like trying to remember a dream while still dreaming. And after you left, there was nothing. No name. No trace. Just a lingering feeling, like someone had whispered your name to the fairy’s before they pulled you away.

Russia—— Being near you was like stepping out into spring after a long winter. Ivan didn’t expect it — not from a stranger, not from someone who made him feel so oddly safe. He remembered how calm everything felt around you, your raw and haunting beauty. You spoke softly, but the words carried weight. Like they were meant just for him. And then, you were gone. He tried to replay your voice, the warmth of your smile — but your face? Always lost in the blur. Like a ghost of something precious, impossible to hold onto. It felt cruel, how much it hurt to forget someone he never really knew.

Lithuania—— There was a comfort in your presence that Toris couldn’t explain. Like you’d always been meant to cross paths, like he already knew you — just didn’t remember how. He still hears little delicate shards of your laugh, the way you listened like every word mattered. You made him feel seen. But your face was always slipping out of focus, like water through his hands. The moment you said goodbye, it was as if the world swallowed you whole. No trace, no name, not even a shadow left behind. And yet, he still finds himself looking for you in passing crowds, hoping.

Prussia—— You weren’t supposed to mean anything. Just another awesome person, a fun conversation, maybe a little flirting. But you got in deep, and fast. Gilbert remembers how everything felt easier with you — no games, no masks. Just real. He swears you laughed at his dumbest joke like it was the best thing you’d heard all day. He felt… known. But now, the memory’s like a book with the pages ripped out. He remembers the feeling, the beauty, the connection — but not your face. Not your name. You disappeared before he could admit it mattered. Now it’s too late. And he hates that.

Latin Hetalia

Argentina—— You burned bright — not in a loud way, but like a quiet fire that draws you in without trying. Martín remembers being pulled toward you from across the room, like gravity had decided you were more important than anything else. Everything felt natural. He didn’t need to try. You teased him, challenged him, laughed with him like you’d known each other for years. But when he woke up the next morning, all he had was this ache in his chest — and a blank where your face should’ve been. He’s tried everything to find you. But people like you aren’t meant to stay.

Chile—— You were calm. Steady. Like the sea before a storm — the kind of quiet that demands attention without making a sound. Manuel didn’t talk much, but somehow you made the silence feel full instead of awkward. He remembers watching you speak, listening more than he ever does. And then, just like that, you were gone. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a simple goodbye and an emptiness that followed. Your face? He never really saw it. Even now, it’s a beautiful blur, like the edges of a dream he can’t pull back into focus. And yet, you’re still the only person he’s thinking about.

Bolivia—— You weren’t flashy, you didn’t have to be. There was a quiet kind of pull about you — something real, something warm. Julito remembers the way you made space for him without asking anything in return. Everything about you felt genuine. But even then, he struggled to place your face. It was like his memory skipped it on purpose. After you left, he realized he didn’t even know your name. And still, it hit him harder than goodbyes usually do. He keeps thinking he’ll spot you again — that somehow the universe will give him another chance. It never does.

Paraguay—— Daniel wasn’t looking for anything. He doesn’t usually feel things this fast, not really. But you? You got to him. You didn’t demand space — you had it. Effortless. The way you looked at him made him feel like he mattered, and he hadn’t realized how rare that was. But the moment you were gone, everything unraveled. Your voice stuck around in fragments, but your face? It never stayed. Not even in his dreams. Just a feeling. A weight. Dani doesn’t talk about it much, but he still looks around every time he walks down that street, just in case you come back.

Sorry that it’s all males, I can do an all female version if requested!

[lovelytsunoda]

sweet creature// pato o ward

summary: pato is in a romantic mood and wants to make love to his sweetheart around all of her favourite things.

pairing: pato o ward x female reader!

warnings: smut!! pato being an absolute sweetheart. he fucks her in front of a window so she can watch the sunset but the window doesn’t actually overlook and spots where they can be seen

authors note: why do I keep writing other stuff while the arthur leclerc first time fic rots in my drafts and the last two tina series fics are starting to collect dust-

all was calm and quiet in the reading room as she sat with her book, manicured fingers gently flipping the page before she turned to the end, trying not to read the last sentence as she counted how many pages she had left.

truth be told, the smut scenes in this book had been a little much for her. she loved the story and she loved the characters, but the rough intensity of the sex just wasn’t doing it for her. sure, it still had her clenching her thighs together, but if anyone ever spoke to her in the bedroom the way that the male lead spoke to his girlfriend, she was likely to burst out into tears.

sure, she and her boyfriend had experimented with tons things before and they’d probably had sex on almost every surface of the house, but the one reassuring constant was that pato always spoke to her like she was the most important person in the world, how he looked at her like she’d hung the moon, even when he was balls deep inside of her.

and how he was willing to recreate almost any scene in a romance book, putting his own little flair on every scene they tried.

she really didn’t know how she had gotten this lucky.

she had just turned back to the trials and tribulations of josh chen and jules ambrose when she felt two hands clamp down on her shoulders. she jumped, screaming as the book fell from her hands.

“patricio! what the fuck?”

behind her, pato laughed, coming around the ikea couch to settle in beside her, nuzzling his nose into her chest.

“you’re all sweaty.” she whined, but made no move to push him away. “what have I said about taking a shower when you were done conditioning?”

“I just wanted to see my girl.” pato argued halfheartedly, peppering kisses to her neck while he muttered sweet nothings in spanish. “I love you most.”

“love you too, darling.” she smiled, leaning over to kiss him. “I’ve got a new book scene I wanna try.”

patos eyes lit up, and he sat ramrod straight before he leaned down to pick up the abandoned copy of ‘twisted hate’. “can i tell you something?”

“mhm.” she nodded, fingers playing with the hem of her sundress.

“I’ve read this one already.” pato laughed. “I borrowed a copy from coltons girlfriend.”

she laughed, brushing her hair behind her ear. “honey, why would you do that?”

“because I knew that you’d read the first two and I wanted to know why you loved them so much.”

“so you know what scene I want to try?”

“fuck yeah I do.” he grinned, scooping y/n into his arms as he gets up from the couch, spinning gently in a circle before placing her back on her feet, his hands sliding up the skirt of her dress to grip her ass gently. “lean back against the bookshelf, corazon.” he kissed her softly, his nose tracing a path across her skin until his warm breath touched her ear. “just let me make you feel good.”

she backed towards the bookshelf, pulling pato towards her by the hem of his workout shirt. feeling the shelf hit her back. she leaned up to kiss him, all tongue and teeth as his wandering hands gripped her skin, his tongue exploring her mouth.

“you’re so sexy.” pato muttered, trailing kisses across her collarbone as she moaned gently, resting her head against the ikea shelf, one leg curling around her lovers.

patos hand slipped between her legs, cupping her core in his palm, her breath hitching at the contact.

“I hear you, love. im right here, just relax for me.” pato murmured, hands slipping under the waistband of her floral panties as he sank to his knees.

he looked up at her with his wide, hazel eyes, hair mussed as he began to slowly trail her panties down her legs. the look in his eyes made her heart melt. the look of love, the look he gave her when he was so utterly smitten that he didn’t even have the words to explain it.

she rested one leg over his shoulder, her face flushed as pato threw her panties off to the side, the whole world shrinking down to the point where all that mattered was the two of them. he kissed up her thigh, gently massaging her skin with the hand that was holding her leg in place.

“babe, be careful, what if I lose my balance?” she laughed lightly, taking her fingers through his hair, using the other hand to hike up the skirt of her sundress.

“I’ll catch you before you hit the ground.”he answered matter of factly. “you know I’d never let anything happen to you.”

the moment his tongue touched where she needed him most, every worry or apprehensive thought evaporated. she leaned back against the bookshelf, moaning as her lover moved his tongue in slow, deliberate circles. she felt every sensation in nerves down to her toes.

as he picked up the pace, adjusting his angle to suck her clit into his mouth, she dropped the hem of her dress, nails scraping against particle board as she tried to keep herself steady.

“fuck, right there. god, I love your tongue.”

“it does so many wonderful things, doesn’t it?” pato laughed, pulling away to look up at her with a cheeky grin, his hair messy and staticky from the fabric of her dress.

“yes, now please put it back inside me.”

“you’re cute. I just want to give you things. like kisses and orgasms.” pato hummed, slipping his tongue between her folds, closing his eyes in a moment of bliss as he worked his tongue inside of her.

she moaned, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, gently grinding against patos face, his tongue still working in and out of her as one of his hands came up to hold hers, her fingernails digging into the back of his hand.

“oh, babe, I think I’m close.”

“just let go, darling. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

pato held her tightly, moving her hips gently against his face as he helped her through her high, evidence of her orgasm coating his face as he let her go, placing her shaky leg back on the ground as he stood up, wiping his face off on the bottom of his workout shirt before kissing her softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” she laughed gently, pressing her body against his. he was hard, his cock poking at her body through his under armour sweats. “look at the sunset. it’s beautiful.”

pato smiled, pulling away from the hug to look out the picture window, where the sky was lit up in pink and orange as the sun began its descent. “it’s not as beautiful as you are.”

“aren’t you romantic.” she laughed, leaning over the back on the couch to watch the sun sink behind the trees, propping up her chin with her hand.

pato hugs her from behind, gently pressing kisses to her shoulders. “I have an idea.” he says in a sing-song tone.

“oh yeah?” she asks, a lilt of nonchalance in her voice as she places one of her hands over his. “what is it?”

“this.” pato says simply, pressing his hard on up against her bare ass, hiking her dress skirt up her waist. “let me make love to you in the sunlight, pretty girl. let me make you feel pretty.”

she giggled, leaning back against him as he started to undo the drawstring on his sweats. “take it away, lover boy.”

“with pleasure.”

he rolled his hips, slipping his cock inside of her in one solid movement. she braved her body against the back of the couch, their bodies illuminated by the setting sun as pato pulled her in by the waist, resting his head on her shoulder.

“fuck, pato, I love your cock.” she moaned, reaching behind her head to tangle her fingers in his hair, bucking her hips back against his.

he kept the gentle, soothing pace, thumbs rubbing circles on her skin as he kissed her neck.

“te amo, querida” pato spoke soft, sucking a hickey into her neck.

they would keep it up until the sun went down, going for another round tangled in the plush blankets on the floor, staring at the stars and laughing about nothing and everything.

and she knew that this was the way she would want it to be forever.

TAGS

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @thatsdemko @oconso @lorarri @httpiastri @clemswrld @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh @scuderiasundays @silverstonesainz @userlando

[infernafiresword]

Im really curious about "Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?" Anything you would like to share?

Sure! :D

That’s the working title (that will probably become the real title, knowing me) for a one-shot set in @watcheraurora’s Perfection/Saint series, focused on Impulse and Skizz’s past :)

Here. Have a look at the first section.

Skizz wasn’t sure how far he’d gone. His sight still hadn’t returned from his Fall. All he was doing was stumbling, occasionally crawling, across the ground of the Material Plane. Chasing that sense of a great power on the horizon that could maybe give him his vision again.

His toes got caught on something stubbornly unyielding and he crashed back down onto his hands and knees in a mockery of supplication.

A rock? A root? Didn’t matter. His bare feet hurt all the same.

He shifted his hands to try and stand. His fingers touched paving stones — not laid like a road, but like a path.

The power felt like it was coming up from the path. Skizz stumbled back to his feet, and forced himself to ignore the feeling of the sharper edges of the stones digging into his skin as he made his way up the path.

Still blind, still guided by his senses.

His toes hit another raised stone edge and he couldn’t get his balance back fast enough. Flapping his wings just made the nerve endings shriek and made him ‘feel’ how crispy his feathers had become.

His body hit uneven stones and planks and he groaned in complaint at the impact.

There was a sound of a door opening and then closing ahead of him. The sound of boot heels on wooden planks, carefully advancing towards him.

The source of the power he’d been chasing glowed in front of him.

Skizz reached out weakly. “I can’t see,” he rasped, hating how shaky his voice was. “Please …”

Whoever was there, they knelt and muttered something in Common. Skizz felt their fingertips trace a pattern on his forehead, and then pain tore through him, but in comparison to his Fall it didn’t hurt as bad.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and then cautiously opened them.

Shapes began to blur into focus, and he wanted to cry with joy as he regained his vision, letting him see who he had stumbled across the Material Plane to find —

Skizz’s ichor ran cold.

The last time he’d seen that face, the Archdemon had been clad in Infernal Steel armor painted black and gold, wielding a sword with a blade sharp enough to cut the sky. 15 feet tall, with massive leathery wings and a cadre of warriors at his back.

Even shrunken down to be the size of a human, his old nemesis’ face hadn’t changed even over centuries.

His ichor went from freezing to boiling in the space of a heartbeat, the long-dormant hatred flaring up in his heart and mind; all higher thoughts replaced with the primal desire to finally see his enemy broken before him.

Skizz pulled his hand back as a snarl twisted his mouth, calling on the magic innate within him — he was Fallen but still an archangel —

His grasp came up empty, a pitiful sparkler burst of light being the only result instead of the holy fireball he was going for.

His actions did not go unnoticed.

The Archdemon grasped his throat and hoisted him up, and Skizz’s vision swam, from abruptly going from lying horizontal to being vertical. His enemy’s mouth was twisted in a nasty mirror of his own, glowing yellow eyes narrowed at Skizz and sharp canines bared; all the old grudges painted plainly on his face.

Skizz tried to take a swing. If he was about to die to his old enemy, he refused to let himself die without landing a blow first.

The strike connected, but not strong enough to bruise. He doubted the Archdemon even felt it.

The Archdemon tilted his head at his feeble attempt at fighting back.

Darkness welled up in the corners of his vision, and Skizz felt alarm at the idea of losing his sight again — an absurd notion, when he was about to die.

A short sentence chased him into darkness. Blunt and biting.

“I still hate you.”

[sunrae08]

so I haven't been feeling very good, mentally or physically. im going through a really hard time right now. my romantic partner lives very far away from me and the long distance is killing me. they're my biggest supporter and i can't even see them 😭

but anyways. as a way to cope with my problems i did some writing. here's my short fic about Gale <3

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fic name: You're Perfect

characters: Gale/genderqueer Tav (they/them)(AFAB)

tags: explicit (MDNI), oral, sex

(I wrote this about my own insecurities, but I hope others can relate)

Tav walked through camp, wishing all of their companions a good night. They were grateful for the protection from the Shadow Curse that Last Light Inn was providing them. The group had set up camp just outside of the inn, pitching their tents just under the glow of the protective spell from Isobel. It was a nice break from the seer horror of the curse around them. When Halsin had spoken of the Shadow Curse before, Tav did not expect it to be this terrible. Shadows so thick and so dark that you can barely see, barely breathe.

"Making the rounds are you?" Shadowheart said with a smile as Tav approached her, "Come to chat with me?"

"Just wishing you a good night. Gods, we really need one after the day we've had." Tav replied with a forced laugh.

"The shadows aren't that bad, you know."

"Shadowheart, you're protected from them by Shar- but I'm not. These shadows are really bringing me down."

The cleric shrugged, then gave Tav a pat on the shoulder. "Perhaps it would be wise for you to go right to bed then, hm? Don't waste time talking to me. Get some rest."

It was a good idea. Tav nodded and made their way towards their own tent, when they saw something flickering in the distance. They turned towards it and noticed for the first time that Gale wasn't in his tent like normal. There was some sort of shiny illusion that looked like Gale- but it wasn't actually him. Odd.

They approached the illusion, in awe of how detailed the spell was. To an untrained eye, one might actually believe that this was Gale.

"Hello, where's Gale?" they asked the spell, reaching a hand out to try and touch the illusion. Their hand went right though it, a tingle of weave touching their skin.

"Good evening, I'm here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep. He wishes to invite you to a private conversation in a more suitable location." the illusion spoke, it's voice almost identical to the wizard's.

Tav smiled, a private conversation was exactly what they needed to cheer up. Gale never failed to brighten their mood, just by simply talking to them. The man had a way with his words, a soothing voice, and they couldn't get enough of it.

"Just follow yonder path, and you will find him." the illusion spoke again, gesturing back towards some trees.

"Thank you, magic spell Gale."

The path through the trees was potent with traces of the weave. Tav was not a wizard by any means, but there was something about this magic- any time that Gale got in touch with the weave it was like they could sense it. Ever since that night long ago when he had taught them how to channel the weave, when the magic connected them and their minds. It was like Tav was still connected to him somehow, to his magic. And the feeling was only getting stronger the further they went into the forest.

As they stepped into the clearing of trees, the pull of the weave was strongest. The air was thick with it, and as they looked up they saw a beautiful star lit sky. No shadows, no darkness. It was breathtaking.

"Did you do all this?" Tav wondered aloud, their gaze dropping to where Gale sat on the ground. The sight of him sitting there, watching them, that was breathtaking as well.

"Indeed. The curse is still upon us, but I've put it away for now. This might be my last night alive, I wanted it to be under a canopy of beauty and with company to match." Gale smiled at Tav as they sat down beside him.

"Please don't say that, you don't have to die." They said quietly, looking back up at the magic sky. "I don't want you to do this."

"What choice do I have? It's better to meet my end, on my own terms."

"Are you not afraid?"

Gale turned towards them, lightly placing his hand on their arm. "Afraid? No, I am- terrified."

There was a moment of silence, the heaviness of the conversation was thick between them. Tav tried to say something, but no words came out. They didn't know how to comfort this man that meant so much to them. This wonderful man who was ready to give up everything- sacrifice everything- in order to save others. It broke their heart to see him like this.

"Gale I-" they started to say, placing their hand over where his rested on their arm.

But the look in eyes stopped whatever they were trying to say. His gaze was soft, hus brown eyes wet with unshed tears. He was looking at them in such a way that no one had ever looked at them before, and it took their breath away completely.

"I know none of this is real," he gestured around them at the magical scene, "but I created this for you. You must know- you're very special to me."

Tav's heartbeat began thumping in their ears, and they started to fiddle their fingers on the edge of their shirt. Where was this going?

"If things were different, if we were home, I would have taken the time to do things properly. To say things better. But time is short- and- I'm in love with you."

The breath once again left their lungs and Tav stared at the wizard in shock. Love? Me?

"I- I love you too." they whispered, almost afraid to admit it.

"Hmm good, I didn't want to spend my last night making an ass of myself." Gale laughed a little, his eyes twinkling.

Tav giggled in response, then leaped into his arms and embraced him. They wrapped their arms tightly around his waist, dipping their head into the crook of his neck and kissing him there. The wizard let out a soft "oh", his arms coming down to deepen the embrace. He titled his head to look down at Tav, then pressed his lips to their forehead. His beard tickled their skin, the sensation bringing out another laugh from them.

"I want it to be perfect." he said to them, bringing a hand around to tilt their head up towards him.

"You want what to be perfect?" Tav asked shyly.

Gale smiled softly, leaning in to kiss their lips. His breath was hot against them, his lips tasted sweet and delicious. Tav hummed, returning his kiss, their lips parting to allow his tongue to slip in. This brought a moan out of them, and they raised their hands up to tangle into his hair.

Gale gasped, breaking the kiss, but not moving an inch. His mouth twitched into a smile, his eyes fluttered open to gaze upon his love.

"I want to bond with you, the way the gods do. Intertwining our spirits-"

Tav chuckled again. "You don't need to impress me, Gale. I'm not a god."

"Oh, I could do more than impress you. I can show you things that you can't even imagine."

"I'm sure you could. But I don't need that, Gale. I like the man before me. This Gale." Tav poked his chest for emphasis. "Just as you are."

A look of surprise crossed the wizard's face. He studied Tav for a moment, pondering what they had said. He looked as if he didn't believe them.

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Very well, we'll do it your way. The traditional way."

Suddenly a large bed appeared out of nowhere, covered in soft blue blankets and pillows. Tav climbed onto it, sighing at the comfort of it. It had been so long since they had used a bed, real or magical. It was nice.

"Comfortable?" Gale asked, crawling up next to them.

"Very much."

"Good."

Tav had no time to respond, as Gale climbed on top of them and crashed their lips together. His kiss was hot and needy, his tongue pushing into their mouth and colliding with their own. They moved their hands to grab at him, but he pushed their arms down- pinning them above their head.

"Gale-" they groaned, heat building in their abdomen.

A mage hand appeared and replaced Gale's hands, holding Tav's arms firmly above their head. His hands then made their way down their torso, grabbing at the bottom on their shirt and slowly tugging it up.

"Wait-" they exclaimed, their eyes going wide. "Gale, wait."

He immediately stopped. "What is it? Are you alright?"

Tav nodded slowly. "I'm alright. I just- I'm sorry, it's silly of me but-"

Gale cut them off with a finger pressed to their lips. His eyes were locked onto theirs, and he shook his head. "Whatever it is, it's not silly. If you have something you need to say, I will listen. Your wish is my command."

His words brought tears to their eyes. It was overwhelming, the amount of comfort and compassion this man was capable of giving them. He was so perfect- he almost didn't seem real.

"I- okay. Can I please keep my shirt on? I'm not- I don't like taking my shirt off." they looked away as they said this, embarrassed by it.

Gale's hands immediately let go of their shirt and grabbed their face instead. He softly turned their head to look back at him.

"That is not a silly request. I wanted to see you, but if you do not wish for me to see then I will respect that." he leaned in and pressed a kiss to their lips. "May I remove any of your clothing?"

A few tears slipped from their eyes, but Gale quickly wiped them away. Tav smiled at him, then nodded.

"Everything except for the shirt?" he asked to clarify. Tav nodded again. "Please speak up again if I need to stop."

"I will."

With consent given, Gale slid his hands back down their body. His fingers grabbed a hold of their pants and tugged down, pulling away everything. The cold night air on their revealed skin made Tav gasp.

"Oh, you are perfect." Gale whispered, taking in the sight of his half naked lover.

His head dropped down, his mouth lightly touching the inside of their thigh. Their breath hitched in response, and they squirmed a bit. They tried to bring their hands down to touch him, to tangle their hands in his beautiful hair, but the mage hand held them down.

"Gale- please-" they whimpered, very aware of how wet and needy they were.

The wizard responded immediately, his tongue diving into their hot wet cunt. He licked at their slit, drinking in the wet juices. The sound was obscene, and they moaned in response. Their back arched, their legs twitched. Gale's mouth sucked at their clit, the bud swollen and throbbing. He pushed it, circled it, sucked it, abused it with his tongue.

"Gods-" Tav cried, feeling a climax begging to release. "Gale- fuck me please"

But the tongue continued to ravish them, diving deep into their cunt and pressing into their hole. The sensation sent a chill up their spine and they yelped, tugging against the mage hand that held them down. It was no use, they were stuck.

"Please- I want to touch you so badly-" they begged.

Gale stopped, lifting his head up to look at them. He licked his lips, the slick of their pussy dribbled on his chin.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." he teased, flicking his wrist- the mage hand disappearing.

Tav immediately sat up, their hands grabbing at his clothe, messily tugging at his shirt. Gale chuckled at their attempts, then helped out by pulling his shirt all the way off of his head. They drank in the sight of him, a hand gently touching his bare chest. The mark of his orb began to lightly glow purple underneath their touch.

"Does that, hurt?" they asked quietly.

"The opposite, actually. Your touch feels very nice." he whispered in response.

They took that as an invitation to continue to touch him, their fingers dancing across his chest and down his stomach. They traced the line of hair that led to his pants, stopping at the waistband.

"Please don't stop." he whimpered, reaching down to grab their hand. He helped them pull his remaining clothing off of him, tossing it aside with the other discarded clothes.

The sight of him naked before them was beautiful. Tav gaped at his cock, hard and waiting for them. Lightly they touched it, rubbing their thumb over the tip.

"You are perfect." they cooed, repeating what he had said about them.

Gale moaned and grabbed their hand once more, guiding it up and down his dick at a more quickened pace. They understood what he needed, and took his awaiting cock into their mouth.

"Ah!" he cried, twitching inside of them.

They licked up and down his length, swirling their tongue around the head. Then they took the whole thing in at once, the tip pressing into the back of their throat. Tav gagged around it, then sucked.

"Tav I will not last long like this-" Gale muttered. "Allow me to- ah- please, let me continue pleasuring you."

Tav came off his cock with a pop, then laid back down onto the bed. They spread their legs open, revealing their dripping cunt to him.

"Go on then, pleasure me~" they teased.

The wizard hungrily crawled over to them. His lips crashed against theirs once more, while his hands gripped their hips. They bucked up against him, feeling his cock pressing into their thigh. They took into into their hand and guided it to their awaiting hole. Gale immediately thrusted into them. They moaned into the kiss. His hips rocked as he began a steady thrusting motion into them. Tav clenched around him, taking him further inside. Their pussy throbbed, and they reached down to touch their clit.

"Allow me-" Gale hummed, grabbing their hand and moving it to touch his chest. He cast mage hand once more, the magic hand going to pleasure their needy clit.

"Fuck" they cried, the stimulation becoming intense. "Faster please-"

Both Gale and the mage hand responded, quickening the movements. The bed squeaked as he pounded into them. Tav was certain that tomorrow they would have bruises but they did not care. They were nearing their climax and Gale was so close to hitting that sweet spot inside of them.

"Gods! Gale-" they shouted, his thrust deepening, touching that sensitive spot.

Knowing what he had found, he dug into the spot over and over, his pace becoming sloppy. Every time he hit that spot- Tav yelped and grilled the bedsheet beneath them. Close- they were so close-

Hot waves of seed burst into then as Gale reached his own climax. He panted, rocking his hips, riding out his orgasm. The mage hand continued it's touching, and the feeling of it combined with the fullness of Gale's cum was enough to send Tav over the edge. Their legs shook and they cried out.

"That- that was perfect -" they gasped, out of breath.

"Couldn't agree more." Gale nodded. He pulled out of them, falling onto the bed beside them.

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is this fic perfect? no but I wrote it to help me feel better and it did. so I thought I'd share in case it helps anyone else feel better <3

[212-apricity]

mastermind, part ten

(guys i just realised i’ve had this thing marinating in my drafts for like a day i swear i posted it omg i’m so sorry anyways💀💀💀)

i go back to school on monday im literally gonna cry i cant do this any more like💀💀

anyways i just kind of wanted to say that bc its literally depressing me now but heres part ten of mastermind😍🙌🙌

i hope you guys enjoy it and i kinda hate the ending but i have too man things ti revise for in school so…

anyways love you guys😘😘😘

warnings: kinda gruesome in the beginning (like a tiny bit) and hurt/comfort but i think thats it!!

masterlist

theodore nott masterlist

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His hands are frantic inside the sheets, trying to find your body. The damp hair falling into his eyes makes it difficult to see and his labored breathing isn’t helping either.

He sits up after feeling the cold side of the bed and shoves his hair back. His nightmares have only gotten worse the closer to Voldemort you get, memories from his father, leaving you, from the manor and fears of losing you plagued his mind every day. You were normally the only one to drag him from this kind of torture, keeping him close to your chest and speaking soothing phrases into his hair as your fingertips traced their own tattoos on his skin. But ever since he left that night he hasn’t felt that warmth and any progress you two had made in helping him get better was quickly washed away. Sometimes he’d be so distracted from the horrors he’d still think you were there; however even when his eyes adjust to the moonlit room you’re still nowhere to be seen, the spot on the bed empty and cold.

He throws off the blankets and grabs his wand on the desk next to the bed, frantic. He shakes the thoughts from his head. This was exactly like his nightmare, he’d awoken to discover you missing from his bed, only to find your bloody body laying on another bed.

He doesn’t even bother calling for help, his focus is on finding you, and quick.

The tent is eerily quiet tonight…or was it early morning? He couldn’t tell. He has a death grip on his wand, clenching so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He goes down the stairs, the cool air of the house causing the hair on his neck to stand and his fear grow. He tries to calm down, assume with a clean mind how and where to find you, but the nightmare was too vibrant, everytime he’d closed his eyes to try to take a chilled breath all he noticed turned into your lifeless eyes.

He can hear the crackling of the fire in the living room when he reaches the lowest of the steps, the warm light drawing him closer.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding while he sees you curled up on the massive sofa under a warm blanket with a book in your hands. You look up on the sound, alarmed, but your eyes quickly soften once they see Theo.

He watches your eyes go from adoring to confused when you notice the wand in his hand, pointing straight at you. 

Something’s wrong. You can immediately tell by his stance, rigid and stiff, not like he always is when hes just woken up, all soft and cuddly. His hair is a mess and from where you’re sitting across the room you can see his chest heaving.

“Theo?” your stomach drops. What’s going on? Was someone hurt? You quickly throw the blanket off, ready to rush over to him when his shoulders drop with relief. He tosses the wand to the armchair next to him as he stalks forward quickly.

You walk toward him as he comes in contact with you, holding you tightly, engulfing you into him as he kisses the top of your head and buries his head in your neck. You can feel his heart racing a million miles an hour as he breathes in deep, trying to calm down before his breathing got worse.

You tuck him into yourself, dropping the book you were reading to the floor beside you as your hand immediately finds his back, beginning your path, soothing circles into the firm muscle, the other carding through his wet and tangled hair. He pulls away for a second, eyes erratically scanning over you like they’re checking for wounds. And maybe they are, maybe he just needs to know that you are unharmed and in one piece, unlike whatever he had witnessed in his sleep.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You murmur when his heart rate has slowed down. His grip on you is still tight, clinging to you. If there was something wrong with Harry, Hermione or Ron or an attack on your tent he would’ve said already. You hadn’t completely forgiven Theo for that night but your heart still pangs with guilt for not being there for him when he tore himself from the nightmare, that while he was in pain, you were sitting here reading comfortably.

He shakes his head. Maybe not now, but tomorrow, when it’s not as fresh he’ll let you know what transpired in his terror, what shook him to his very core.

“It burns,” he says, pointing to his mark. You move your hands from their place on his back and trace the skin around the mark, providing relief that courses through his body.

For now though, on the comfortable sofa in the sitting room, he nestled closer to you, letting your hands soothe him back into a peaceful slumber.

For the first time in months, Theodore Nott had finally found comfort being back in your arms.

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The next day, Hermione and Ron had made milkshakes, chocolate and strawberry. They had also made a massive mess in the kitchen with their incessant arguments.

These were the only times you’d get to enjoy some times with your friends, you’d discover.

You sat on the kitchen counter next to Theo as he made burgers and fries for the two of you, the other three had left after finishing their milkshakes to talk to Mr. Lovegood.

“No add extra cheese on mine, it’ll taste good.” You added from your place up high, sipping the shake as Theo nods and says,

“Yes ma’am,”

Before walking over to the fridge to get extra cheese slices out to put in your burger.

“Do you think things would’ve been different if we hadn’t had this whole war?” You speak up, inturrepting the music in the background.

“In what sense?” Theo asks, plating the food.

“Like…do you think we would’ve still like…” you stall trying to find the polite words as Theo raises his eyebrows, looking confused.

“Hooked up, there I said it.” You say rolling your eyes at his laughter over your choice of words.

“Oh my gosh baby,” He says between laughs as you eventually join in, “Yes! Of course we would’ve. What, do you think it took a war for me to come back to you? I would’ve come anyway, there’s no way I’m letting you go like that. Wouldn’t have left anyways. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you but you’re it for me Y/n. You’re it.”

His watercolour eyes stare deeply into yours as he comes closer, the food and laughter long forgotten as you engulf him in a hug as he apologies again for leaving. His apologies are unending, as are your kisses on his neck in final acceptance.

After what feels like hours, you two finally break away from the hold as Theo brings the plates to the living room where you’ve already set up a movie and picked a place on the sofa.

You both lay next on opposite sides of the sofa, watching the movie as you eat, legs tangled together in comfort as you warm up your body with his.

“Can I have a taste of your burger?” You ask after a few minutes.

He nods and leans over and helps you take a bite of his food, he watches as your eyes light up and you smile at him sheepishly. He rolls his eyes with a grin before trading your plate with his.

“Thanks Teddy, yours tastes a million times better!” You give him a kiss on the cheek as he trades the plates and return to your movie, completely missing the adoration in Theo’s eyes at the nickname.

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It’s a few hours after and you are now comfortably napping in Theo’s arms as the movie plays in the background.

Harry, Hermione and Ron had returned ages ago but thought it’d be best to give you two some time alone.

As always, your comfort is cut short when you hear Hermione’s shrill scream, awaking you with a jolt, doing the same to Theo as he instinctively tightens his grip around you.

“What’s going on?” He asks as Ron runs in, the two of you quickly standing and grabbing your wands, “They’re back. The Snatchers are back, run!” Ron shouts as the three of you run out to help Hermione.

But she’s long gone. As is Harry.

“Ron! Theo!” You shout in panic, turning to your left to find Ron gone as well, only deepening your fear.

You shoot spells at the Snatchers until you hear, “Crucio!” from your right.

Everything’s moving too quickly and you barley have any time to react before something, or rather someone pushes you to the ground.

As you get up off the autumn leaves, wand ready to shoot at anyone in sight you see all the Snatchers disapparating. You shift your eyes down to the ground to see who had saved you from the unforgivable curse.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you quickly stumble to his place on the grounds, shaking and thrashing around in pain, trying to console it best he could as he claws his mark in agony and soft, painful whimpers escape his pink lips.

“No no no no no, Theo what have you done?” You whisper, straddling him and holding his face in your hands to try lessen the pain as tears escape your eyes.

“Shh, it's okay, it's okay Theo, they’re gone now, you’ll be fine.” You try comfort him, bringing his head into your chest, remembering that providing comfort is the only way to ease the cruciatus curse.

His breathing calms down after a while as you try and shield him from the cold air fluttering around you as you both cry into each others arms. Theo pulls away, staring into your eyes with his ever-captivating ones and says determinedly, “I’m not losing you. Not like this, not now, not ever. Never again, you hear me? I’ve already lost you once and I’ll be damned if I ever let you get hurt or lose you again. God baby, I just got you back I can’t let go of you now.”

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part ten done! lmk what you think and maybe repost if you want to it really helps🤡🫶🏽🫶🏽

taglist: @timmytime17 @cherry-hoe @jetblackpayne @ash-tarte @coolestgirlhere @ama1a2 @kezibear @randomgurl2326

[ladyjang09]

Lovely Runner Fanfic | The Very First Night

Synopsis: Reimagining on what happens after the sofa scene. ‘Coz my smutty filled mind convinced me that they can’t get off their hands from each other. Im Sol is the first one to initiate “things”, ‘coz why not, she’s been suffering and longing for Sun Jae for 15 years. Expect a fluff on the first chapter then smut on the succeeding ones.

CHAPTER 1

Sun Jae and Sol lay intertwined on Sun Jae's luxurious leather sofa, the muted light of the setting sun casting a warm, golden glow over their faces. The apartment, a penthouse suite with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city, held an air of opulence and sophistication. Their breaths synchronized as they reminisced about the many lifetimes they had shared, both together and apart.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Sol's voice broke the comfortable silence. "How many times we've met and parted, only to find each other again."

Sun Jae chuckled softly, his fingers absently tracing patterns the necklace that’s now lay on Sol's graceful neck, now on its rightful owner. "Fate has a strange way of bringing us together, no matter the circumstances."

Their memories flowed like a seamless river, transcending time and space. There were lifetimes where they were lovers, others where they were merely friends, and some where they were strangers who crossed paths briefly. Each memory was vivid, etched into their souls like an intricate tapestry.

Sol's phone buzzed, disrupting their reverie. She glanced at the screen and sighed. "It's my mother. I should probably let her know I won't be coming home tonight."

Sun Jae watched as Sol typed a quick message, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the screen. Despite his wealth and fame, moments like this grounded him, reminding him of the simpler, more meaningful aspects of life. Yet, he felt a pang of anxiety in his chest. What now? What did he do with Sol in his apartment? He had longed for this moment for so long, yet now that it was here, he felt a strange, paralyzing fear.

He thought back to all the silly, embarrassing things he had done just to be with Sol, not having the courage to talk to her in person. Patiently waiting for her on their gate, silently following her to go to school, her, not aware of his presence. And acting cold when she showered her with her unexpected attention.

Still, the nagging feeling of not knowing how to act in her presence gnawed at him. He didn't want to make any more embarrassing mistakes, not now that they were finally here together. Desperate for advice, he discreetly pulled out his phone and texted his bandmate and best friend, Baek In-hyuk.

Yah, what do you do to impress a woman you like? he typed hurriedly.

In-hyuk's response was almost immediate: Finally getting over your Sol-itude, huh? I told you, don’t be a lovesick puppy on Producer Im, you’re just embarrassing yourself. How many times that she declined you, man!

Sun Jae winced at the irony. If only In-hyuk knew. He glanced at Sol, who was now scrolling through her own phone, blissfully unaware of his internal turmoil.

Yeah, something like that. Any tips? Sun Jae texted back, hoping his friend wouldn't pry too much.

Be yourself. Make her laugh. Show her you care in small ways. And whatever you do, don't try too hard. Women can sense desperation a mile away, In-hyuk replied.

 Sun Jae stared at the text, frustration gnawing at him. Be himself? Make her laugh? Don’t try too hard? He already did those things— embarrassing himself in the convenience store, following her around just to get her approval on him being part of her movie, riding the Ferris wheel with her, invading her space, taking her to his apartment when she got sick, hiding her shoes the day after just to have a breakfast together, driving in the middle of the night to her neighborhood just to give her, her medicine, an excuse just to see her beautiful face and just bask on her presence.

Sun Jae sighed, his friend's advice both comforting and unsettling. He slowly went to Sol and hug her from behind, his head automatically sniffing her citrusy scent. He fought the primal urge to bite down on the delicate skin exposed at the nape of her neck. It was a place he’d dreamt of exploring, a secret haven he yearned to uncover since the day he got a flashback on their intimate kiss on the foyer of her apartment.

He loosened his hold slightly, his voice a husky whisper against her ear, “You smelled like a rain shower and a sunshine at the same time.”

Sol giggled, a soft, melodic sound that sent shivers down his spine.

As they lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Sun Jae made a silent vow to confront his insecurities. He has lot of practice in his numerous movies. Surely, he would apply a thing or two. This is their first night as a couple, he only wanted to feel her embrace and kiss her senseless. Nothing more. Knowing she isn’t ready for the next step of their relationship.

He nearly got a heart attack when Sol moved her head and kissed his open palm. The gentle gesture shook him. His heart pounding, he watched as she kissed her way up his arm to his lips.

Sun Jae froze, caught between surprise and a surge of unfamiliar desire. He felt a blush creep up his neck as he hesitantly met her kiss, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

The unexpected intimacy left Sun Jae breathless. His carefully constructed plans for the night, filled with practices charm and gentle flirtation, were thrown out the window. In their place, a delicious confusion bloomed in his chest.

He wasn’t complaining. Far from it. As her soft lips grazed his palm, a warmth spread through him, chasing away the lingering chill of his self- control. He watched, mesmerizing, as she ascended his arm, leaving a trail of tingling kisses in her wake. By the time her lips met his, a million questions danced on the tip of his tongue, but all he could manage was soft, surprised sound.

Im Sol stopped on her ministrations. She hastily got up from the sofa, blushing and stuttering on her embarrassment. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t know what comes over me to do that.”

What had I just done? Panic clawed at her throat. We’d just confessed our feelings for each other, and here I was throwing myself at him like a lovesick teenager.

“Sol”, Sun Jae said, his voice low and careful, breaking the silence that stretched between them. His eyes were dark, searching for hers, and she saw a flicker of understanding there. A flicker that made the heat in her cheeks travel down to her center.

“I—I’m sorry,” she fumbled for words, tripping over her tangled emotions. Im Sol desperately wishing the sofa would swallow her whole. “I just…got carried away,’ she stammered.

Sun Jae reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he brushed a strand of hair away from Sol’s face. “Don’t be sorry, love,” Sun Jae whispered. “I want this…love this more than you do.”

[quitealotofsodapop]

Im sobbing and jsut imagining MK and the Noodle Gang doing a visit to FFM during Slow Boiled (either not the version where DBK dragged Wukong to live st the palace or a version where Wukong managed to convince them to let him live in the conforts of his own home) and see him working on building a shrine. First, they immediately stop him because "Wtf you're pregnant! Put the hammer down!" before asking what the shrine was for.

"Ah, it's a bit... personal. I'd been meaning to rebuild this old thing for a while after it got destroyed in... the Burning..." Wukong's face faltered a moment here at the memories, "but hadn't been able to bring myself to do it. I figured I'd finally get around yo it."

It doesn't take long to realize this shrine was to honor an ancestor of some sort, although with Wukong being well known for not having parents (as far as they knew) they were confused and asked who the shrine was for. Wukong had a sad, almost nostalgic smile as he calmly, yet somehow enthusiastically, explained.

"He was the Elder of the troupe that led us when I was a cub, before I became the Monkey King. He-"

"Wait! You weren't always the Monkey King!?"

"*sigh* Yes, kid. Once upon a time, I was a cub just like anyone else. Anyways! He was a storyteller at heart and ancient, like, old enough to remember the Great Floods ancient! See, the thing about him is that he was like me, a stone monkey. So when I hatched, he took me in and raised me, taught me about our people. As much as he could, anyway. His memory was going, and he wasn't long for the world even when I was still a cub."

"THERE WERE MORE-"

"Yes, scholar... I was not the only Stone Monkey."

DBK can't keep his little bro locked up at the Bull palace for long. Red would sneak Wukong out if he asks nicely. PIF and DBK just sigh, they can't cage a free spirit.

Wukong getting the drive to fix things up around FFM, only for the Noodle Gang to stop him from doing heavy construction. You know Pigsy makes a choked squeal the first time he sees Wukong trying to climb a ladder unassisted.

When Wukong finally explains what he was trying to fix, the gang's hearts just drop. Is it well known that The Monkey King did in fact lose people in the War - to think that he lost the closest thing to a parent even before that surprises them.

Tang ofc is nosey and must known More.

Wukong: "He was called Elder Shítougùshì. He was the only other Stone Monkey I had ever met." Tang: "Another stone monkey!?" Wukong: "Yes. He stayed behind on the island after the Great Flood even as the other survivors left for higher ground. He wanted to make sure no one forgot the original troupe." MK: "Then... you were born into a whole troupe of monkeys like you..." Wukong: "Not exactly. I still popped out of a stone egg - the "Boulder" that held me... it was my mother." The Noodle Shop Gang, thinking hard about the King's current Egg issue: "OH." Wukong: "Yeah... Elder and my Stalwarts had been the ones to find me when I finally hatched. He tried his best to raise me with help from the monkey demon troupe, but he still passed on sometime after we rediscovered the Stone Palace. Then I set out to find my first immortality." Tang, jttw-brain firing: "HE! He was the old monkey that passed away and set you on the path to find Master Subodhi!" Wukong, smiling sadly: "Yes. Yes he was." Sandy: "He sounds like a fine man- monkey Mr King. Hope he's happy to see where you are now." Wukong, tracing the old shrine with his fingers: "So do I big guy."

After the convo takes place, the Noodle Shop gang conspire to fix up some of the shrines and statues around the island. They get DBK involved since he remembers what the island was like pre-Burning. The Bull King would also jump to help honor the man that raised his little brother into the King he became!

Wukong comes home one day and finds that the shrine to Elder Shítougùshì has been reparied - not exactly how it was before the Burning, but finally clean and completed. A little ceramic monkey figure sitting on the altar.

Wukong cries like a cub when he realises MK and his friends fixed it.

[drivinmeinsane]

i want that essay about six x k!! im curious to know what your favorite ryguy ships are because you write some interesting ones. what about your least favorites too?

Thank you for the question! I'm not sure I can ethically subject anyone to that essay, anon, it'd just be the ramblings of a madman. However, I'll let some of it slip through in response to your ask. Just for you. ♥

I narrowed my favorites down to three and provided explanations of sorts for all of them. Spoiler alert, they're not short and probably don't make a lot of sense. (；′⌒`)

»{ Driver x Ken

Ken desperately needs to be provided for. He withers and dies if not wanted, sincerely or not. He’ll accept someone’s false desire no matter how hollow it leaves him. He snaps up scraps of affection like a starving dog. He's bossy and flashy as a show of false bravado to cover up his deep insecurities and abandonment issues. There's that desire in him to be a little plaything, to let someone else call the shots. He’s very susceptible to being molded into whatever form someone else desires. He wants to be the “and Ken” even as he tries to figure out what it means to be himself. Driver has a deep seated need to be needed, being wanted is just a cherry on top. He's obsessive and territorial. He never got to keep anything for himself. The effect his parents had on him is clear. There’s traces in him of the way that his mom kept bugs trapped under drinking glasses until they suffocated rather than let them go. There’s flashes of casual brutality in him that echos when she took two knives to his father’s throat at the kitchen table. His father’s only need of him was to aid him in stealing, but found himself discarded the moment he hit his growth spurt and became too tall. He latched onto a childhood friend, carries pieces of his time with him and his family with him (his love of Mexican food among other things). His foster family didn’t need him, not really, so he left to find someone who did. He lets Shannon undercut him because Shannon finds him useful. He’s the best wheelman in the city and an excellent mechanic because it means people rely on him. He can taste being the most important person in their lives for just a moment. He's made himself as indispensable as possible, always chasing the dragon. He would destroy himself to be needed, never mind anyone else in his path. Driver latches onto Ken, because Ken needs him in order to survive in the real world. He’s needed more by him than anyone has never needed him, and oh, he revels in that need. In return for Ken’s reliance, Driver wants him, wants him so badly that he would throw any semblance of sanity out the window. He doesn’t ask questions of Ken’s circumstances, doesn’t want to know the hows and the whys, lest it break the spell. Ken can place the fragility of himself in Driver’s hands and know that Driver still wants him despite it. He can trust Driver to shape him with the careful touch of a mechanic, fine tune all the parts of him until there’s nothing else but tender maintenance. There’s no scraps here, it is a sickening feast of devotion and Ken will gorge himself. Driver will suffocate Ken under a glass and Ken will help Driver place it over him.

»{ Officer K x Sierra Six

There’s nothing truly real in K’s life. Everything is pretend, playacting, a pantomime of something greater. He is so wrapped up in the desire to be a real human being to the point where he does stop to consider the ways that he already is. He has his own humanity, his own soul, his own emotions. He doesn’t address the human quality of the drive to want. Instead, he yearns until it kills him and what is more human than that? He craves a family, craves connections. K patches together what he can. He finds a mother, a father, a wife. He collects things from replicants that he’s retired. He’s trying to make up a soul from pieces of others. He’s desperately reaching out only to hit walls. No one is reaching out for him in return. He’s nothing more than a means to an end, a tool. Six sacrifices himself, goes where he’s pointed, throws himself in the path of destruction over and over for people that he loves. He lets himself be injured, lets himself be thrown away, lets himself be used. All in the name of love and duty. He does not stop to contemplate what he is or what he might be. There is no chase for a deeper meaning of what it means to be human. He just simply is what he is because there is no time to be anything but that. He doesn’t have the time to examine his feelings. Tools don’t think. They are reflections of each other. Two men without human names, treated as objects. Their autonomy is of no consequence. They were two scared boys standing up for what was theirs only to become two scared men willing to die for what matters to them. K would be forced to see Six as a person. Perhaps he would realize that if the other individual is human, K must be as well because they are the same. Six would finally be able to open the lid on the swirl of thoughts inside him, to share a part of himself with someone who would understand. They could gather up the scraps of their lives and put them together to make something meaningful. Family. K would reach out to his mirror image only for it to do the same and meet him palm to palm. Flesh to flesh. Interlinked at last. Maybe the burden of what he has have done wouldn’t weigh so heavily on Six with someone else’s equally tainted hands on the stone beside his. Maybe the boulder wouldn’t roll back down the hill.

»{ Henry Letham x Sam Foster

No matter what, Henry is hell bound. He can’t imagine a happy ending for himself. He has woven a tangled web of destruction and self-flagellation that I think holds true even if he hadn’t been going through the events of the movie. He’s an artist with the flair for the extreme. He’s obsessive and ruminates over the same things over and over, wringing out every ounce of meaning. He assigns significance where there is none. Sam is a fixer. Despite his own mental well-being, he has to try to save others. He cannot sit by passively. It’s that kind of attitude that gets him crouching beside a dying man on a bridge at night. Outwardly, he has it all together, sensible. He is likely the model image of a good doctor, going above and beyond for those under his care. Henry would haunt Sam, consume his thoughts. Sam would let Henry infect him. They are intertwined and neither wants to truly break free. Henry finds a captive audience in Sam. He’s able to admit things to him he would never say to anyone else, couldn’t say to anyone else. Henry is Sam’s destruction in any reality. Sam will never not be too late to save Henry.

+ Shoutouts to Holland March x Jackson Healy. I really like the ship but would never write for it without my bestie, @danime25, collabing with me. It just doesn't scratch that itch in my brain in a way that makes me want to go solo.

Also, I'm not going to dive into ships I dislike here. I might be a hater, but I'm not going to hate publicly. This sideblog is for fun. We're all just celebrating the RyGos boys here so I just want to focus on what I do enjoy. ♪(´▽｀)

Feel free to share your thoughts. I'm always down to talk about these guys.

[bullet-prooflove]

Past Mistakes Part Thirteen: Lost Time - MIke Duarte x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @nessamc @jayblackpanther @mysoulisasunflower @littleone65 @thesandbeneathmytoes @katluke25 @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87 @wooshwastaken @hearthockey @justreblogginfics @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @rosaliedepp @storiesofsvu @smellsliketeensspiryt @legit9thlunaticwarrior @xoxabs88xox @kiwiithecrazybird @spooky-pomegranate @chavez-ashley @telepathay @weiwei0210 @spaghettificationandpretzels @plaidbooks @irishavengersassemble

Past Mistakes Series:

Part One: Try - Mike turns back up in your life after three years apart.

Part Two: Hope (NSFW) - Mike and you get reaquainted.

Part Three: California - Mike and you discuss the past.

Part Four: Favours - Mike asks Liv for a favour.

Part Five: Choices - Mike comes face to face with someone from his past.

Part Six: Truth Hurts - Mike begs you to tell him the truth about what happened three years ago.

Part Seven: Sharing - Mike and Joe have a conversation.

Part Eight: Buried - Mike discovers that McGrath’s misdeeds go far futher than he thought.

Part Nine: Complicated - Mike discusses moving forward.

Part 10: Feral - Mike returns to the apartment to find you’ve disappeared.

Part Eleven: Torture - You wake up in the basement.

Part Twelve: Fire - You and Joe discuss moving forward.

Mike finds you sitting on the porch outside his house, smoking a cigarette as you watch him walk up the path. You recognise the pinched expression on his features, the way his lips purse together. You shoot Joe an apologetic look before he pushes himself up off the porch to intercept the other man. You blow out a stream of smoke as you watch the exchange. Mike’s clipped, fierce tone, his hands on his hips pushing back his jacket. Joe’s jaw clenches before he jabs his finger at you, his dark eyebrows furrowing. You see Mike exhale, the muscle in his cheek twitching before he turns his head to look at you.

Joe takes his leave, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket before he walks back towards the SUV.

“Don’t be too hard on him.” You say softly as Mike sits down alongside of you. “I made him bring me.”

“Mi vida.” Mike chides you. “You’re supposed to be on a plane to California.”

“You still hide your smokes in the same place.” You say instead, ignoring his words as you offer him the cigarette. He plucks it from between your fingers before taking a long drag.

“If they’re not in the house, I feel less inclined to smoke them." He tells you before hanging his head. “I wanted to be there tonight. I listened to everything over the radio. I’m sorry. I…”

“Mike.” You say softly, your fingers threading with his. “It’s ok.”

“No it’s not.” He says forcefully, his eyes stinging as he stubs out the cigarette in a half empty plant pot.  “I wasn’t there for you. Now and back then, when all that shit happened with McGrath. I can’t stop thinking about it, how you handled it all by yourself and I…” He trails off, his lips pursing together in a grim line. “I wasn’t there.”

“You’re here now.” You remind him, nudging him with your shoulder. “You found me; you got me out of there, you have no idea how grateful I am.”

“You don’t need to be grateful.” He tells you tilting your head towards you, his gaze meets yours. “I just want you to be safe, I want you to be able to live your life again without this thing hanging over you. It’s why Velasco was supposed to take you to the airport, why you’re supposed to be on a flight to California.”

“I can’t leave you Mike.” You whisper as your forehead comes to rest against his. “He’s taken so much from us already; I can’t let him take anything else.”

Mike’s fingertips trail along your jaw and you sigh as his thumb traces over the apple of your cheek, savouring the sensation of being in his presence. For the first time the two of you have nothing to hide, your relationship doesn’t have to be a secret, you can just exist in the same space with one another. You hadn’t realised how freeing that could be until this moment. He kisses you softly, there’s a tenderness in his kiss, one that he reserves only for you.

“We’re gonna be alright you know.” You murmur against his lips. “He can’t break us; we won’t let him.”

Mike kisses you again and this time there’s a little heat, just enough to ignite something inside of you. Your fingers thread through his hair, drawing him closer. He whines into your mouth before drawing away, his cheeks flush.

“Come inside.” Mike whispers against the corner of your mouth. “I wanna make up for lost time.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[acelestialorca]

Who am I, and What am I meant to do?

or

Why is Salted Caramel so good?

Hello! My name is Sky, and I have no idea whats going on

TW//brief mentions of alluding to suicide and death later

Script to read along below

Wow well done Sky, very profound and new idea you’ve had there, oh whats this? ancient Greece called they want their obvious philosophical statements back. But it is and like most people on this rock I can't help but think about it, talking more than my woke transgender identity too here buckaroo, we gonna be talking about the whole shebang, who am I, why am i here, why is salted caramel so good (not identity related I just want to know), all important questions im gonnaaaa uhh have a good think about for sure I’ve always kind of struggled with grasping hold of a rigid sense of identity, I’ve never been too sure of who I am y’know, obvious things come to mind like how I’ve still not settled on a specific gender, more just vaguely ointing in a direction and saying “yea its over there”, but also weird stuff like aesthetics, I have a whole identity crisis anytime I need to design something to represent me, website styles, tumblr layouts, fucking minecraft skins. I never know what is ‘right’, everytime I’d try something it wouldn’t be me, I can easily list things that aren’t, but what is? So how does anyone find out their deep personal sense of identity? Online quizzes of course! So I took a bunch: -My MBTI type is INFP-T -I’m a Pisces moon capricorn rising…I don’t know what that means -If I was any Doctor Who character I’d be checks notes The Doctor (really out of all of them? ok?) -My warrior cats name would be Medic AppleFace…. What? -The big 5 called and said im 73% openness, 25% conscientiousness, 69% extraversion, 54% agreeableness and 60% neuroticism -If i were a clown or mime i’d be a Pierrot mime -I’d be a psychic type pokemon -and a random quiz defined my entire personality as ‘The Poet’

So there we go, essay over, we know who I am and we can all leave, sit back down, we're not done here at all.

These things aren’t me, if i pointed to them and said to someone “look do you get it, do you understand” they wouldn't, because the bit of ourselves that these reveal are basically just pin badges to stick on your backpack so people can start conversations from common ground. “Omg you’d be a Psychic type pokemon? Me too! Lets get dinner Medic AppleFace”. They’re nice ways to connect to people because we as a species fucking love labels and little boxes we can fit into with other people.  

So what is identity if not that, why do we care. It probably differs for everyone but the general sense of identity is made up of what we like, How we act, what we think of things, what we think of and how we got here, the thing is none of these are stable or set in stone, they all change over time and yet I’m still me, I think? But to what degree? If we consult the ship of theseus (My 1 year of Philosophy undergraduate coming in clutch) there's a few different answers to this, I could still be me, just no doubts about it it’s all me, this usually comes from a temporal continuity standpoint, you can trace a path in both space and time from the moment I was born to now without either line breaking (I dont know what would happen if I had time travelled or…fallen into the fucking backrooms but thats besides the point), this means that as long as that line remains intact the being at the start and end are the same, no matter how much of me has changed, my likes, dislikes, personality, its still me! Another possibility is that I’m not the same person, ever, every second we are changing so every second a new me is destroyed and born from the ashes, a constant cycle of changing forever, never truly able to settle on a rigid sense of self, quantum beings always in infinite states, only standing still for a moment when observed by another, their limited views of who you are, that limit allowing for an image of you to last longer than when viewed in a mirror

I think it's a mix of the two (I know very brave of me, oh sky how do you sit so well on that fence without tumbling into the field on either side, but shhhh). While I think it is true that technically because we are always changing in minute ways we are never the same person for more than a fraction of a second, I dont think it's helpful to this conversation because at the end of the day I am still me, my memories are all there, my continuity, and I am aware of how I have changed overtime, you can trace the lines over and over again and you wont find a breakage because from birth to now, i am me.

But what about other people? We are all so unique and different, is everyone feeling this way? If someone asked me to describe my sense of identity I truly wouldn't know what to say, so I did just that. I asked people to describe their sense of identity, whatever that meant to them. What I immediately found upon saying actual words to real human beings rather than talking to myself outloud in my room, parroting a cycle of identity themed questions until I happen upon the answer like it's the goddamn one piece, is that everyone's interpretation of personal identity is very different, and I don't mean their identities are, i mean what they consider to be the important parts. When I asked people to describe their personal identity the themes that popped up were vastly different, one friend went into detail on her traits and ideals, the type of person she sees herself as and what she aims to accomplish as well as her drive to work hard and how punishing that can be, whereas another brought up a topic that I, the very white british girl, didn’t even think about cause its so far from being an important part of my identity, culture! They went into great detail about their sense of culture based on their heritage and its links to family names with such excitement to talk about it that it clearly is a core part of their identity, mix that with 60’s and 70’s era of music spiritualism and a religious/spiritual upbringing and these key parts of their identity all made sense knowing who they are. So I wonder how it is that so far of the people I’ve asked, most of them had a grasp on their identity that I cannot seem to comprehend, when they all look inwards they see a marble, its center swirling with these different parts of them that they all hold dear, ready to point to and show off to the world. “This! This here, this is me! You understand right?” and I feel like I do as much as an outsider can, and with this realisation further into the spiraling rabbit hole I went to find the center of myself, if there even is one. When someone asks who are you I look inside to try and present my marble, its cracked exterior from which the contents leaked out reflecting the light of their expecting gaze “No no there’s something there, look closer I promise” But maybe there isn’t At least not that I can see What about them? What do they all see?

I find thinking about how people see me as both deeply interesting and deeply terrifying, of course the idea of people seeing me and thinking about me when i’m not around is quite endearing (Wonder what it says about me that just knowing people think about me is enough to make me blush) but their perspective of me is scary to think about. Not in a “oooh i'm scared of what people think about me, what if they think im cringe” way because i luckily started to shed that recently and i don't really care if people think i'm odd, no i mean their limited view of who I am, their reductive sense of me and if it's wrong, or the scarier reality. What if its right?

Sometimes a friend will say to me or about me while i'm around “Sky seems like the type to do so and so” and honestly a lot of the time they are way off, I think at one point a friend said I was the type to have personal beef with a specific squirrel??? Like I don’t think that's accurate to me at all and yet people agreed, it could be that we are beings that cannot be self reflective because the truest version of ourselves is the one in the minds of those we love, our internal sense of selfhood is all well and good but your actions speak a lot louder about who you are, you can't be a kind person because you think you are, you need to be kind, and that comes naturally to some and is worked on by others. How right are our own ideas of who we are anyway? Sometimes I do and say things that are the complete opposite of who I imagine myself to be, mirrors are flipped and photos are two dimensional, is the only way to truly know ourselves to ask those around us? I also asked people how they view me to see what the image in their head of me looks like, and I got responses I was not expecting, one described me as bounding joy shifting and changing with spiritual vibrato, 90s bus seat mixed with LSD, I thanked them for this because it sounded like a compliment, that seemed like an energy that I would be happy to be imagined like, but is it actually me? How could people know who I am when they only see glimpses, sick masked performances designed to wow people and inspire feelings of “she is so funny and well put together”, while I hide the truth of my reality behind the closed doors and turned off lights, lest they illuminate that I don’t have a clue who I am or what I’m doing. The difference in rigidity also stood out to me, when asked about ourselves people come up with their own interpretations of what the question means but still seem to grasp and link to more tangible concepts to represent themselves, culture, religion, ideals, goals, traits. All things you can observe and comment on, but when asked about other people we lean abstract, compare to old friends, 8-bit kirby theme songs, and terrible 90s design choices, maybe because thats all these little windows into our souls we show people can be, i said our sense of selves are akin to being quantum, that seems to be more true than I originally thought, not only are we ever changing and only stopping for moments in the eyes of those we hold dear, but when we are observed we are not the same, our identity is altered by the simple act of being around people (see the observer effect). So can it be trusted? If you ask people what you are like in their eyes and you get conflicting answers, is anyone involved lying? They’re not that's just how they see you, so is it us? Am I lying to people, grabbing anything I can find to jam into the marble anytime someone is around, oil and water to bound around each other the way a soul should in order to feign identity, to pretend to be a real person. Am I a real person?

I can’t talk about and explore my sense of identity without mentioning the wooly mammoth of an elephant in the room that is gender. So I’m trans, if you’re new here and that's news to you hiya! I’m very open about this and would basically tell anyone, I don't hide it, its something I’m proud of and more importantly its something I feel I need to be open about, when I first came out to myself every trans person I saw living unapologetically as themselves spurred me to keep going, and thats partly why despite the years of thinking about not being alive anymore, whether I wanted to see to that myself or the majority of times where I just thought of all the ways it could happen to me instead, smiling as I think of the car, Swerve smash gone. Or the late night walks home gone right, despite all of that I’m still here and so I owe it to the world to pay that back. So is being transgender part of my identity? As I’ve been writing this introspective piece the main wall I keep hitting is I cannot define identity for myself, I don’t think being trans is part of what I would consider my identity, I wish I did cause then it would be much easier to get the answer to it all but its not. It’s just something I am, being Bisexual isn’t a part, my love of doctor who isn’t, salted caramel being a damn good flavour isn’t either, maybe this whole problem is that I just need to learn to define it differently than I unclearly do, but if I do that then nothing would feel right ever again, those things aren’t my identity because if at the gates of oblivion I bare my soul and death looks inside and sees it stuffed full of pieces that we both know don’t belong, who am I then? Could I go gentle into that goodnight when the marble I take with me is patched with tape and bluetack

“Everyone wants somebody to understand their personality, and their childhood, and what each of those things have done to the other one” -Savannah Brown, Closer Baby Closer. And I do, that’s what all this comes down to, the need to be known. My pull towards understanding my identity lies further than just a desire to better understand myself, its a desire to be better understood by others. I want there to be someone who truly knows me and understands what it’s like to be me, how I feel when I’m happy, when I cry, how my love feels. When I leave this place I want to have had some kind of impact, and I dont mean a great, long standing legacy for the history books, I just need someone to have known what it was like, and until I know myself, I can’t get that.

So why write and record all of this, what's the point, am I doomed, are we all doomed? Did everyone just listen to me rant this whole time for the ending to be hopeless and sad? No of course not I wouldn’t just leave things there, here’s your answer: It’s really good because despite it just being caramel and salt, theres a new sense of identity within it once you begin to combine in the right quantities that goes beyond the physical, the image and idea of salted caramel’s identity is what matters, and it’s never the same each time. Sorry, actually though, what’s the point of it all? Well what I left out earlier in order to bring this whole thing back around onto a kind of lighter ending, is that when I asked people about their identity, for every person who gave me a well thought out essay of who they were, there was another who didn’t even know what I meant or  where to start, like me to them the question is too vast and complicated to even begin to write down what could be the “correct” answer. The ocean is oh so full of fish to reel in and proclaim as your prize but half of us don’t even have a rod, nevermind the fact we’ve never seen a fish. If you, reading or listening, also have no idea who you might be or where to begin the definition of you, then let me tell you based on what all of this thinking and writing has shown me, with or without a clear structure of identity you can translate to others. You are enough.