#and what book smells like....... no reason................

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

There's Sam girls and Dean girls (Sam Winchester x female reader x Dean Winchester)

A case leads you to a Supernatural convention. You can't help but tease Sam and Dean about their notoriety, but then it turns out you are in the books, too. And there's some stuff in there you don't want the brothers to know about.

Read it on AO3

Rated T. 3.7k words. Sam x reader x Dean. Sexy thoughts but no sexy actions. Supernatural book series. Conventions. Awkwardness. Cheesy book covers. Secret crushes.

“It’s so… lifelike,” you say, moving your head a little so you can see better through the reflection of the glass.

“Very funny,” Sam says, and his voice tells you that he doesn’t think it’s funny in the slightest.

“I mean the hair, the shoulders, the ripped jeans, blood-dripping axe, the…”

You narrow your eyes, trying to see. “Is that a harmonica?” you ask. Sam leans over you, so close you can smell his aftershave.

“I think it’s supposed to be a knife?” he says, but he doesn’t sound sure.

“I think it’s a harmonica,” you say, turning around and he leans back, while he looks at the glass case behind you with pain in his eyes. “I mean you’re famous for your mouth organ skills,” you conclude, grinning proudly at making that sound as dirty as it does.

Sam doesn’t appreciate the joke, his face full of horror while he does the cutest little pout.

“I hate this,” he says, still looking at the book in the case behind you. Supernatural, by Carver Edlund. Whichever volume this is, it has Sam and Dean on the cover in worrying and completely impractical states of undress, fighting hordes of what are meant to be demons but look more like gremlins.

It has been your utmost pleasure in the last fifteen minutes to torture Sam with how he is portrayed on these covers. They’re ludicrous and over-the-top but if anyone could pull off the no shirt, ripped jeans, harmonica playing look it would be Sam. Or Dean.

Speaking of, he walks up in just that moment. “I hate this,” he says, echoing his brother. You don’t. You actually love this.

Sam looks at Dean. “Anything?” he asks. Dean shakes his head.

“I guess Chuck isn’t here so he can’t help us,” the older Winchester replies, and then asks immediately, voice annoyed: “How in the world is this happening again? The second time people are getting attacked by ghosts at a Supernatural convention? How?”

Sam nods, then scans the crowd moving around you in the lobby-turned-fan-shop of the hotel you’re in.

“At least Becky’s not here this time,” he mutters.

“Guys, guys, guys,” you say, raising your hands, “you are looking at this completely the wrong way.”

Both brothers look at you, Sam still like he is about to panic, Dean like he is about to punch someone in the face.

“You guys are legends here,” you tell them. “Rockstars. WWE champions.” The last one you direct at Dean, but the angry look doesn’t leave his face.

“Except nobody knows that we are real,” Sam says, “and no one can know.” You shrug.

“But still,” you say, “don’t you think it’s kind of cool? That all the people here adore you?” Another shrug, and then you add: “At least in theory.”

Sam gives a deep sigh and Dean looks at the book on display behind you.

“Alright,” he says finally, slapping his hands together. “I say we go with journalists. We’re here to cover the convention for a local paper.” Sam nods.

“Sounds good, let’s get going,” he says and starts walking.

Dean hangs back just a second, turns to you. He points at the book cover.

“My hair doesn’t look like this, does it?” he asks, voice lowered. You suppress a grin.

“No, of course not,” you say, giving an assuring nod as you pat him on the shoulder. Dean doesn’t look convinced and then you follow Sam.

Several guests in the hotel have reported sighting of people in their rooms at night, some saying they were flickering, like on an old TV. There’s been cold spots and things moving, but no one’s gotten hurt yet, except for one guy who got freaked out and fell down a few stairs, spraining his ankle.

The only reason you’re even checking it out is because you were just a few towns over, finishing up a case.

When you pulled into the hotel parking lot and saw the banners, Dean nearly turned the Impala around on the spot. It was only after you told him that innocent people might be getting hurt that he begrudgingly parked the car. Sam meanwhile had gone quiet and a little pale.

So often, they’re so similar but so often they’re not.

“It’s easy for you, you know,” Dean is saying to you while you are walking through the lobby, “it’s not like your every thought and private life is just put on display, for everyone to read.”

“Hey!” you say, sounding a little offended. “I must be in there somewhere, right? I’m your trusty sidekick, I don’t at least get a mention?” Sam chuckles a little.

“Probably,” he says, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Would be weird if you weren’t.” You nod.

“Damn right it would be,” you reply. “It would be downright—”

“Oh my God, you guys look great!” you hear a voice close behind you. All three of you turn around.

There’s a couple standing behind you. He’s got his arm around her shoulder and she has a hand on his chest and is grinning at you, eyes wide. They’re not in costume like the majority of the other convention goers are, but they are merched the hell out. His t-shirt has one of the book covers on it and hers the words Winchester Family Business. It’s actually kind of nice.

“Thanks,” you say instinctively, although you’re not sure why. The guy points at Sam, and goes: “Let me guess, you’re Sam, right?”

You think duh before you understand what he means. He thinks he’s cosplaying as Sam.

Sam takes a second to get it as well. “Uh yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

“Makes sense because of the height,” the girlfriend says, “but I think you’d be a better Castiel, looks-wise.”

You look at Sam just to see an entire identity crisis go over his face.

“And you,” she says, looking at Dean now. “You look great!” Her boyfriend nods. “Real strong on the whole Dean vibe.”

Dean actually looks flattered and you make sure you remember to tease him about that later.

“But,” the girlfriend says, and then her eyes land on you and you panic for a second. She shakes her head appreciatively. “You know a lot of people don’t manage to pull it off, but you’re rocking it.”

“Rocking…it?” you ask, feeling your mouth go dry.

“Yeah!” she says, her face excited and she says your name. When she sees that you’re not picking up what she’s putting down, she waves her hand, gesticulating towards you. “I mean you got her down perfectly. The hair, the outfit, the devil-may-care attitude while still being a little cutie.”

And yeah, okay, it is flattering, so you can’t really blame Dean, especially not when the guy says: “Like Faith and Buffy had a kick-ass baby! Basically the perfect woman!”

His girlfriend pokes her finger into his side, but she’s laughing. You shrug, the comparison definitely getting to you.

“I’ve often thought so,” you say. The girlfriend squeals. “That’s totally something she would say!” Looks like your character work is on point.

Of course Sam has to ruin the rainfall of compliments. “We’re actually here from a local paper,” he’s saying, and if there was a subtle way to throw him an annoyed look you would do it. “Anything… unusual happen since you guys have gotten here?” The couple look at each other.

“Not really,” she says, “but we only got here this morning. We couldn’t get time off work earlier.” So they probably can’t tell you anything regarding the sightings.

“Thanks anyway,” Dean says, and you’re about to turn away, when the woman says: “It’s a fun idea, by the way, going as the love triangle. Just makes sense.”

You freeze and you’re pretty sure so do Sam and Dean.

“The love what now?” you say after a second.

“Love triangle?” she confirms, looking at you. When she sees the clueless look on your face, she puts her hand over her mouth.

“Oh crap,” she says, “are you not that far in the books?” Then she’s motioning towards her boyfriend’s shirt. He pulls the strap of his bag away so that you can see better as you take a step closer to him.

Like you already saw earlier it’s one of the book covers, the number telling you it’s a recent one. It has Sam and Dean on it, again, half-naked, looking like they work for Rent-a-Highlander. But there’s a third figure on the cover. You step even closer to see.

It’s a woman. She’s wearing a red, skin-tight dress that’s flayed in places and has a sword in her hand. She’s also leaning her back against one of the guys, the one who’s supposed to be Sam, long hair blowing in the wind, his hand on her hip and his sculpted chest pressed against her back, while the other guy, who’s supposed to be Dean, ripped shirt barely covering anything, is facing her, cupping her chin.

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. My. God.”  

“Oh my God,” you say, again.

You can’t stop saying it, as the three of you weave your way through the crowd, Sam leading since he can see best where you’re going.

You say it again because what you just saw isn’t sinking in.

“What’s the matter?” Dean says behind you, snarkiness in his voice. “Isn't it nice to be adored?”

You whip around to throw him an angry look and promptly walk into Sam’s back, since he’s stopped. You almost jump back. Any kind of physical contact seems loaded right now.

“Let’s go over here,” Sam says, pointing to a seating group in a quiet corner. When you reach it, you plop down in one of the chairs. You’re tempted to say oh my God again but luckily Sam starts talking first. “Okay, we gotta find some people who have encountered the ghosts, assuming it is ghosts.”

He’s purposefully not looking at you, instead scanning the room. “Maybe we should split up, meet up again in an hour and see what we found.”

Okay, so he is just completely ignoring this. Very Sam. Dean, on the other hand, is not.

“That dress would just be so unpractical,” he says, apropos of nothing. “But damn, it was ripped in all the right places.” You look at him, eyes wide as saucers.

“Seriously?” you hiss at him.

“What?” he says, raising his hands. “You’ve been making fun of us from the moment we got here. I can’t do the same?”

You’re lost for words because as uncomfortable as it is, he’s not totally wrong. You’re kind of reaping what you sowed. You make a secret vow to yourself to never, ever do any sowing again.

“Guys!” Sam says, making you and Dean look at him. “Focus?” You shake your head. “Yes, you’re right. Ghosts. Hauntings. Work.” Then you take a deep breath.

You can’t get that cover out of your head. It’s so cheesy, over the top. Silly. But damn it if the idea of being between Sam and Dean like that isn’t making you feel some things. Clearing your throat, you bring yourself back to reality.

“Maybe splitting up is a good idea. And like you said, we meet back here in an hour and compare notes,” you say. Sam nods.

“Okay,” he says and then he is walking away. No see you later, no good luck. He is just walking off. What the hell?

You look back at Dean and you are about 99% sure you catch him looking at your boobs.

“I really hope you’re not imagining that dress on me, Dean Winchester,” you say, and Dean makes a face that tells you that is exactly what he was doing.

You huff, then get up and walk away too.

Love triangle is ridiculous.

For a love triangle to happen, there would need to be flirting. Maybe kissing. There hasn’t been.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

Flirting with Dean is easy and you slip into it all the time. Sometimes it’s just teasing, but other times…

Other times it takes on a different quality. Dean looks into your eyes a second longer than he needs to, until you feel your breathing getting a little heavier. He checks you out and compliments you but some of his compliments are so specific, so genuine that it flusters you.

Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t flirt with you at all, but then you don’t know what it would look like for Sam to flirt. Instead, he does small things he doesn’t need to do, pays attention to things that would escape anyone else's notice. He helps you take off your jacket when you’re hurt and can’t move your arms or shoulders so well, his fingers grazing your skin lightly, making it feel like they’re shooting off electricity. He stands close to you, closer than he needs to, so that you brush up against him when you move.

But love triangle? you think, as you’re talking to the third group of people that hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. Love triangle is just ridiculous.

The group you’re talking to is two young women and a guy. They’re nice and are happy to talk to you, but no ghost sightings.

Ironically, one of them is dressed as a ghost. “Old Halloween costume,” she grins when you complimented her on it.

You’re chatting about the convention and that everyone’s waiting for a new book to come out, while you hold a little pad and a pen in your hands, to look all journalist-y. They’re talking passionately amongst themselves about where the story is going. You can’t help yourself – you have to ask.

“So what do you guys think about the love triangle?” you ask, trying to act as unaffected as possibly.

“I know some people don’t like it,” the girl dressed as a ghost says, “but I love it.”

The guy, dark hair and glasses, nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I think she’s a great addition to the story. I mean, no offense, I like the old books too, but geez, I think we all had enough of that sausage fest.”

The second girl, short bob and freckles, laughs. “There’s only so many scenes you can have with the brothers miscommunicating while they are in emotional turmoil. These books need some sex!”

You all laugh. The books aren’t the only ones, you think.

“Plus,” ghost girl says, pointedly looking at you, “she is super hot. Have you seen those covers?”

You remember the cover, of course, remember the way Sam was grabbing your hip and Dean tilting up your face. Well, not your face, not your hip.

Whatever. This is confusing.

“But isn’t it awkward?” you ask, still not able to stop yourself. “I mean someone’s bound to get hurt, right?”

Freckles shrugs. “Maybe,” she says, “I just hope she ends up with Sam. I mean, Jesus, he’s so controlled and then there’s that scene where he thinks about what he wants to do to her? How he just wants to let his control slip, press her against the wall and make her his?”

You swallow, just as Freckles makes a head-exploding-sound. “Too hot.”

“I don’t know,” Glasses says. “I like her with Dean.”

“Dean’s too much of a playboy,” Freckles interrupts him. “He’ll never settle down.”

“That’s what makes it so romantic,” Glasses responds, leaning forward. “He’s never been in love and then he meets her and he can’t have her? Duuude.”

He sighs, then grins, before he adds: “Plus you know he must be a beast in bed.”

Laughs all around again while you pretend that you are totally fine and not turning into molten lava. To distract, you turn to ghost girl.

“Who do you think she should end up with?” you ask. Ghost girl shrugs.

“Why pick one?” she says. “She should just take both. She fantasizes about it, after all.”

You just have enough time to think holy crap, your spank bank material is in these books, when you hear Dean behind you: “Who fantasizes about what?”

You whip around, and Sam and Dean are standing right behind you.

“Nothing,” you say immediately. You turn back to the group.

“Thank you,” you say, raising your note pad that you have written absolutely nothing into. “I appreciate you talking to me.” The wave at you and then you get up.

“Anything?” you ask Sam and Dean in a low voice, hoping they won’t ask what you were talking about.

“I think I got something,” Sam says. He fills you both in: the people who have notices the cold spots are all on the same floor. So that’s where you go.

The hallways of the hotel are abandoned since everyone is downstairs at the convention. There’s no sign of any ghostly activity, at least not until you walk ahead, scanning the hallway in front of you, and suddenly Sam says your name and you feel his hand wrap around your arm.

He pulls you back and you just see a presence appear in the exact spot where you were standing a second ago. It shrieks and then disappears.

It would be scary but you are very much distracted by the fact that when Sam pulled you back he pulled you towards the wall and you are now between it and him, his heaving chest at the surprise right in front of you.

How he just wants to let his control slip, press her against the wall and make her his.

You need to take a deep breath. Sam looks down at you, his big hand still around your arm.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmh hmm,” you reply, since words are hard.

“That wasn’t a ghost,” Dean says, stepping closer to you two. Sam turns to him and lets go of your arm.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“Death echo,” you just manage to mutter. They both look at you.

“It was quick but I think I saw a gunshot wound,” you add, sort of proud of how steady your voice sounds now that you're saying more than two syllables. “If it was a ghost it would have attacked me. I mean, I basically walked through it.” Sam nods, thinking.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Dean nods as well, looks at you. “Smart. That’s our girl.”

He must be a beast in bed.

And yeah, your voice probably wouldn’t be so steady after he says that, so you decide to just smile and nod.

“Death echoes are harmless, right?” Dean asks, turning to Sam. His little brother nods. “They are. They can be reminded that they’re dead, but it usually just works if someone they have a connection to does it.” You swallow to steady yourself.

“I think I might have an idea,” you say.

It's a minor spell that you learned years ago. The ingredients are basic and easy to get, and Sam says the incantation while Dean draws the pentagram on the wallpaper in the hallway.

“They’ll just think it was some fans,” he shrugs at you.

The death echo makes another appearance and the spell helps to remind it of its death. The spirit passes on, the cold spots disappear and it’s another day of work well done.

You’re almost sad to leave because the people you were talking to were nicer than the folk you run into on your normal cases.

But you’re also glad to be getting out of there. You don’t need anymore reminders of how hopeless and complicated your crushes on the two brothers are, and you certainly don’t need any more sexy ideas put in your head.

You climb into the back of the Impala, sitting in the middle, while Sam and Dean get into the front. A big sigh leaves you involuntarily.

You gotta put this behind you. Nothing good lies that way.

You notice then that Dean hasn’t started the car, so you look up, and you see both of them looking back at you.

“What?” you ask, already defensive.

“Look,” Sam says, sounding a little uncomfortable, “do we need to talk?” At your wide eyed stare, he adds: “About the love triangle thing?”

Oh God, you cannot even express how much you do not want to talk about that. So you decide to just lie.

“It’s just part of the book,” you say, doing your best to sound convincing. “I mean I know Chuck’s a prophet and all, but come on, he must have made some stuff up, you know? Besides, sex sells! Everyone knows that.”

Sam nods, but Dean doesn’t drop it.

“Right,” he says, and then sort of looks down, you don’t know at what, “so you’ve never dreamed of two pairs of strong, calloused hands running over your body, exploring every inch of you, making you feel small and desired?”

Your eyes go even wider, if such a thing is possible, because, yes, absolutely you have, but how in the world does Dean know that?

“Or,” Sam adds, suddenly not so awkward-looking anymore. He reaches his hand and Dean hands him whatever he’s been holding. Sam brings it up over the seat where you can see it, and it’s an edition of the book that has the three of you on the cover.

Sam reads from it, eyebrows raised. “Or lying between two big, solid bodies while their practiced mouths make you shudder in ecstacy, screaming your lust to the heavens as their manhoods undo you again and again?”

Dean guffaws.

“Damn,” he says, “you have a dirty mind.”

He turns and starts the engine, music blaring from the stereo.

You slip lower in your seat, your hands going over your face, hoping the earth will simply open up and swallow you down as the car starts moving.

“This can’t be happening,” you mutter.

You peek between your fingers and Dean is drumming on the steering wheel, while Sam grins at you.

“Pretty hot,” he says, and then turns forward as well.

You can’t help but grin a little.   

[bunnyinthecherries]

𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕥𝕪

𝐼𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝐿𝓊𝒾 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝑒𝓍𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊. Based on this request.

TW: smut

Luigi has quickly become your own safe space. You've read countless poems about someone turning into a home, somebody becoming your secret hide away.

Sometimes, you can't believe how much you love him. Your love started ordinary, no spectacle and no special occasion. You weren't perfect, you still had to heal, you didn't fully love yourself. But Luigi made you see how much that did not matter at all. You had him and that was enough.

Some dinners, a hug only for you and always the right word to calm your mind. Only one thing was missing: sex. Not that it was required. You and Lui had touched on the subject. You told him you'd never had a boyfriend - no one had ever been worthy of your time. He laughed, feeling honored to be the chosen one to step into your mind and soul.

He said he'd done it a few times, but only when he really liked someone. You agreed too. Like both of your consciousness were made out of the same material. He says he doesn't want you to feel like he will take something off of you. That you're complete and that, after you have sex, your life will be the same.

It will be more like giving something to each other. Like loving someone so much you want to bite them. You looked at him weird. Sure, you were horny and your boyfriend was hot. But that talk made no sense. You were still nervous. How would it even happen? Where? How do you ask to be touched and where do you touch? How do you compete with him?

You'd been dating for a few months and, of course, some make out sessions were heated and his hands would travel up your back. But he always sensed your discomfort and would laugh, kissing your forehead. You were frustrated: you wanted it, but every time it was about to happen, you wanted to run and hide.

He was, of course, understanding and a sweetheart about it. He told you the moment would just come. You would just feel it. He was sure you loved him and he would die for you. So it was only natural that, one day, you'd just fuck. Easy for him to say.

You had sleepovers at his house, sometimes to cuddle and sometimes to crash after a party. In the beginning, you bought new underwear and meticulously shaved and applied moisturizer, knowing you were too nervous to even look up to him every time his arms picked you up when he kissed you.

Eventually, you were just comfortable with him. You had called countless friends: some had booked a hotel, others had done it drunk, others in a car and one even said "I just got it done with".

That was absolutely not what you wanted. There were a lot of worries in your head as you accepted another night at his place. He picked you up, smelling delicious and wearing a sleeveless white shirt that made his skin look golden and your insides turn. He followed the routine: placing a hand on your tight and occasionally switching to hold your hand and kiss each and every one of your fingers.

You had an expectation. You wanted him. It had to happen, because it was all you were thinking about. His little stubble, the curve of his neck, his chest and his tummy, it all made you tingle in all the right and new ways and you wanted more. You finally understood what he meant about wanting to bite someone.

You wanted him to be so close you'd cease to exist individually. You loved him so much you wanted to give him pleasure. You craved him so much you wanted to be the reason for him to lose his mind. You were almost sure he could hear (and feel) your thoughts.

It happened quickly. It wasn't, again, a big moment. You didn't press a button. You didn't have your fancy lingerie on and there were probably a lot of places in your body you felt like you should have shaved. Blame it on the media.

But Lui seemed pleased, in a trance even. He'd been over his kitchen counter, brewing some coffee for you, when you just hugged him from behind and kissed his back muscles. "I think I want to do it now", you whispered. You weren't dumb. Your body was responding to him, to his pretty face and all his masculinity. You felt wet and hot even before he touched you. He asked you, of course, if you were sure, but as he kissed you, he could feel the answer inside him too.

He confessed how he always wanted to do this, how he's been trying to control himself. He says how he's always strived to not need much and to live independently and how you came to change that. How you were his most precious thing.

You were laid on his bed, messy between the sheets, in scent intoxicating you. Not just his cologne, but him, the smell of him and his voice is like another soft touch, as he asks you.

Will you let me, pretty?

His hands push your shirt up and you can't help but laugh. It's an involuntary reaction to the excitement you feel. How amazing to be here, with him, just you two. Nobody would ever be able to take this sweet moment from you and as his hands cupped your face, lifting your chin to kiss all over your neck, you were sure. You were about to be his, in the most freeing way possible.

I'm wearing embarrassing underwear, Lu.

You comment, almost in a whisper, as he looks at your chest. It seems like he's not even listening to you.

You actually should just be naked all the time.

He places a soft kiss between your chest, using his right hand to slide off your bra straps, taking it off. He takes time with your nipples and the wetness and warmness of his tongue are enough for you to make your first ever sound. You're immediately taken aback by it, apologising.

Why'd you ever need to apologise for something like that, baby? Please, don't be quiet. I want to know how I'm making you feel.

You smile softly at him, but still too shy to reach out and touch him. He takes his shirt off and, for the first time, you're skin on skin and his warmness seems to pick you up and embrace you. He's smells so distinctively him that you're moaning again, muffled by him kissing you and biting your lip.

He's trying hard to take it slow, for he has thought about his a lot. You look down at his jeans and you see the outline, you know what it means. It feels good to be the one to make him hard. He catches you staring, his attention leaving your chest for a moment. You laugh, embarrassed again.

I...would like to touch you.

You whisper and, right after, you hide your face in your hands, mortified. Lui smiles, cupping your face again.

I will help you princess, tell you what I like. But first, it's about you.

He asks over and over if you'll let him and you're just nodding in anticipation. He's taking off your pants now and his fingers feel electric. It's amazing how he seems to always know the next step. There's a spot on your not so sexy panties, and he's thrilled. He laughs. You worry.

Is...is that gross? Or like, wrong?

Lui's smile fades and he feels like a little bit of an asshole.

No, angel, no. I'm just so amazed that this is happening. I can't believe we're about to do this.

He should be used to it, no? You think.

I think you don't really know how much I want and love you. And the fact that you want this, making you so wet, is driving me insane.

You smile, and it's really all you can do as he's gently pulling your underwear down and you can see him slightly tremble. He pulls your legs apart.

Will he like it? Will you feel and taste good? You don't dare to look him in the eyes as soon as you feel his breath between your legs. He's grabbing your thigh, making you lift your right leg a bit. Just the feeling of being there, exposed, is enough to make you smile again. You're so excited.

I can't believe how pretty you are.

The next second, his nose is on your clit and you feel the warmth and wetness of his tongue. You feel like you've entered a new world. All you can do is really let your head fall back on the pillow, his smell hitting you again.

You don't know how he can be so good at this, how he sees to know exactly where to trace his tongue. His licking and moaning into you and it's making you want to grab onto him. He was right, it was instinct.

He moans a little louder when he feels your hands on his curly hair. His left hand - the one that's not grabbing at your flesh, leaving a mark - he slides it up, meeting yours. As his tongue drags circles, you grab his hand.

You're being louder and it's getting deliciously louder to breathe. He stops for a second, looking up at you. Your wetness leaves his chin glistening in the soft light and his eyes are kind.

Does it feel good, princess?

You're catching your breath and nodding, grabbing his face, desperate for a kiss. But not yet, he seems. He looks at you, face red and flushed, full lips from biting them so hard and he knows he needs to give you your first orgasm.

I think you could make me cum just from looking at you like this.

He breathes out, getting back to his mission.

You taste so good, I thought about this so many times and it's so much better, you're so perfect.

You wish you could talk back and articulate how good his tongue feels reaching your insides, but you can't. When the the texture of his tongue meets your clit, it doesn't take long for it to be over. You feel it at the bottom of your tummy, but the sensation starts at the tip of your feet and ends in your head. It's so intense that you just sit up and grab his head harder, closing your legs on his head. You can hear him moan louder when you collapse on the bed again.

You took that so well, you're my perfect girl. Was it good, baby? Did I make you feel good?

Yes, Lu. It was really good.

You could cry.

Do you want more?

You nod in desperation. He smiles sweetly again and lays on his back. You look at him, unsure about what to do.

Come here.

You obey, reaching out to him again and you kiss him. You really can't think so you hope your kiss will tell him how much you want him. His boxers are wet and he grabs your hand.

Do you still want to touch me, honey? I'd like it...a lot.

You nod again, no thoughts in your head as you feel the wet fabric and the warmth of his dick. This was it. You pull his boxers down, biting your lips and focusing on the painting on his wall.

You can look at it, you know?

He's messing with you as he grabs the back of your head.

Just feel it, baby. I need you to touch me, so bad. Your hand is going to feel so fucking good, I know it.

You cough a little. His words, on his velvet voice, make you all ready for another orgasm. You have to control yourself too, but it's hard. You look down at him.

H-help me.

You whisper. He grabs your hand and, suddenly, you're touching him, feeling every vein and his length. He's warm, wet and big. And he's closing his eyes as he guides your hand to move. His brows are furrowed and soft moans escape him.

Slowly, you learn a pace he likes and he lets you do it alone. You can just focus on his beautiful face and feel how much he wants you. You've never seen him so vulnerable. At your mercy.

You take a deep breath and, remembering every fan fiction you've read and movie you've watched, you reach down. He's staring. And his cocky smile tells you he knows what he's about to do.

Lu, don't look, please.

Baby, how can you forbid me of the most beautiful sight of my life?

Just let me...

You're closer now, and he feels your breath on his dick and you feel more drops of his wetness on your fingers.

I just want to try it.

The thought of you wanting to taste him sends Lui into a spiral and he nods, closing his eyes.

I won't look, pretty. I promise. Just, please...

He tastes salty and it sends a shock of pleasure into you. He's muttering curse word after curse word. You can tell you're making him feel good.

Slowly, you lick him and he's being very vocal about how nice it feels. You keep a hand wrapped around him and try, as much as you can, to take him in your mouth. It feels you up deliciously and, after a few tries, Lui is gone.

God, please, baby. Just let me fuck your pretty mouth. Ok? I'll be so careful. Please.

You nod and he finally looks at you and he feels like he's going to finish right on your face. But he can't. He grabs your hair very gently, sitting up. His other hand cups at your ass, still carefully.

He pushes the back of your head and soon enough, he's hitting the back of your throat, making your eyes water. It's strange but still delicious to feel him filling you. You can feel yourself getting wet again, especially when you hear him moan.

You're being so good to me, angel.

He whispers, wiping the tears in your eyes. After a few thrusts, always soft, he pulls you up and you catch your breath. You're laughing and crying at the same time, overwhelmed with pleasure. You wish you could do more.

You're so big.

He smiles, wiping your mouth and bringing his finger to his mouth, sucking it. You feel a rush of love and just hug him, kissing each of his moles on the side of his face.

Please tell me you're ready for me, princess. I can't wait to have you.

You nod.

We'll do it together, ok? It's just me and you, honey.

He leans back on the headboard. You're straddling him now, as his dick is right between your legs. You're shaking. You want him so badly.

You're just going to sit on it, ok? I'll help you and we'll go at your pace. It'll be perfect baby, I promise.

You look at him and his hands are on your waist. You lift yourself a little, enough so his tip is right at your entrance. He's so excited you can see his mouth slightly open. He's quite literally drooling for you.

He grabs your hand and places your other one on his shoulder. Then, he grabs your waist, pulling down. Just his tip feels like an explosion. You moan in a little bit of pain, your insides burning.

He waits. And you're the one downing yourself on him, slowly. You're soon crying, choking on all the emotions. It burns, he's big and it's so amazing to feel yourself so complete and full.

You were made for me, I swear. You're going to take it all, aren't you pretty?

You desperately want to, so you cry and moan at the same time, a sound you've never made before.

Take your time, sweetheart. We have all night.

Slowly, he's moaning louder, as he's deeper and deeper inside of you. When his dick is completely buried in you, you cry again, your legs shaking. You grab his neck.

Lu, it's, it's so good.

You're panicking. He hugs you tightly and adjust himself, hitting you just at the right spot, making you moan his name. He's in heaven.

I know baby, I know. It feels so good, right? I'm going to fuck you so good, I promise.

You can only nod, feeling him warm and pulsating inside of you. Without pulling out, he lays you down and, finally, you feel all his weight on top of you.

He grabs your hands above your head, intertwining your fingers. He kisses all over your face, whispering praise after praise.

Lu.

You call.

Tell me, my love. You're so tight around me, I just want to pound into you, I swear. You're so soft and you smell so good, I can't believe you're mine.

He's moaning. You can't believe he's yours either and that, again, you're the one making him feel like that.

Please, you...you can move.

He looks you in your eyes.

You want me to move? Yeah?

He does, slowly.

You nod, crying and moaning again. A mess beneath him.

Tell me. Let me hear your pretty voice telling me you want me to fuck you.

You laugh, too shy to say it. It's dirty. It feels almost profane to ask that. He looks at you, smiling.

Please, fuck me.

You whisper in his ear, and you both laugh, because you're desperate for each other and it's all so primal and intimate.

Soon, he's thrusting into you. He moans your name over and over. He fits into you perfectly. He grabs your leg, to wrap it around him, which makes him cry out a moan to. You're closer than ever, as close as possible.

It doesn't take long for your orgasm to hit you. It's perfect, because now you're full of him. You bite his shoulder, crying, tears spilling, his name lingering on your lips. He feels you tightening around him, but he doesn't stop.

He cums minutes later, like a gentleman should, on your tummy. You feel his and marked forever, but in the perfect way. All he can do his kiss you and hold you close.

A bath and lots of water lately, you're back on his bed and he's massaging all over you back and tummy. You'll wake up sore and, from then on, want it all the time, all over again.

Gang, I fear this sucks, forgive my soul, I've never done this. Was listening to Father Figure while I wrote it. Thank you George Michael and I hope this lame ass thing can live up to your expectations, dear @mmtoner. Send me some requests!

[ghouljams]

i don’t know why people use your inbox as a sexual health question drop box, but since you have a good energy and i have a slightly embarrassing question that i feel like i haven’t gotten a good answer to online.

i know vag is gonna have a smell no matter what but i feel like i have a strong smell. it’s not fishy which i’ve heard is the sign of an infection? but i feel like there’s A Scent no matter if i wash or not (i wash gently outside with neutral unscented soap etc etc) nobody has ever commented on it but i SWEAR i have a smell and i can smell it all the time. do i sound paranoid or should i book with my gyno?? if you’re not comfortable answering that’s totally fine

People come here with sexual health questions for exactly the reason you did!

As always I am not a doctor and if this is something you're concerned about then you should talk to your gyno! They're there to answer questions, remember YOUR DOCTOR WORKS FOR YOU.

First off I want to say this is totally normal. Vaginas do have a smell to them, sort of musky, but for the most part we(the person owning the vagina) notice it more than others. Other people probably don't smell you.

Anyway. My initial thought is that it's probably sweat. Good to hear you're washing, but sometimes things just get sweaty down there! There's a lot of nooks and crannies that trap heat and if you cross your legs tightly or wear constrictive pants then it might just be sweat. You could try wearing more breathable clothes or not crossing your legs as much. Some people stop wearing panties/underwear to curb sweat, and giving your vagina some time to breathe is never a bad idea.

If you have a lot of discharge it could be that. Anything coming from inside you is going to have a scent to it, and it you tend to have a lot of it or your underwear gets sticky then that could be it. You'll just have to clean up in the bathroom, not really a big deal. But one thing that helped me (lotta discharge girly(gender neutral) here) was "airing out." Basically I don't wear any bottoms to sleep so that the vagina has to exist without anything bothering it. Idk if it's just placebo but this has helped a lot also with getting a little musty down there!

Also the timing of your cycle could make you smell different. I always notice I'm getting a little musty around my period just because my hormones are doing things.

Bottom line is, your bits are gonna be kinda smelly but also everyone's bits are kinda smelly. You got a lot of holes cohabitating down there so keeping everything clean and smelling good is a learning process.

Also just as a reassurance, other people aren't smelling you, the reason you smell your vagina is because you're close to it. Other people aren't going to be getting up in there to sniff you unless you let them.

[blueiscoool]

Research Discovers Ancient Egyptian Mummies Smell Nice

At first whiff, it sounds repulsive: sniff the essence of an ancient corpse.

But researchers who indulged their curiosity in the name of science found that well-preserved Egyptian mummies actually smell pretty good.

“In films and books, terrible things happen to those who smell mummified bodies,” said Cecilia Bembibre, director of research at University College London’s Institute for Sustainable Heritage. “We were surprised at the pleasantness of them.”

“Woody,” “spicy” and “sweet” were the leading descriptions from what sounded more like a wine tasting than a mummy sniffing exercise. Floral notes were also detected, which could be from pine and juniper resins used in embalming.

The study published Thursday in the Journal of the American Chemical Society used both chemical analysis and a panel of human sniffers to evaluate the odors from nine mummies as old as 5,000 years that had been either in storage or on display at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo.

The researchers wanted to systematically study the smell of mummies because it has long been a subject of fascination for the public and researchers alike, said Bembibre, one of the report’s authors. Archeologists, historians, conservators and even fiction writers have devoted pages of their work to the subject — for good reason.

Scent was an important consideration in the mummification process that used oils, waxes and balms to preserve the body and its spirit for the afterlife. The practice was largely reserved for pharaohs and nobility and pleasant smells were associated with purity and deities while bad odors were signs of corruption and decay.

Without sampling the mummies themselves, which would be invasive, researchers from UCL and the University of Ljubljana in Slovenia were able to measure whether aromas were coming from the archaeological item, pesticides or other products used to conserve the remains, or from deterioration due to mold, bacteria or microorganisms.

“We were quite worried that we might find notes or hints of decaying bodies, which wasn’t the case,” said Matija Strlič, a chemistry professor at the University of Ljubljana. “We were specifically worried that there might be indications of microbial degradation, but that was not the case, which means that the environment in this museum, is actually quite good in terms of preservation.”

Using technical instruments to measure and quantify air molecules emitted from sarcophagi to determine the state of preservation without touching the mummies was like the Holy Grail, Strlič said.

“It tells us potentially what social class a mummy was from and and therefore reveals a lot of information about the mummified body that is relevant not just to conservators, but to curators and archeologists as well,” he said. “We believe that this approach is potentially of huge interest to other types of museum collections.”

Barbara Huber, a postdoctoral researcher at Max Planck Institute of Geoanthropology in Germany who was not involved in the study, said the findings provide crucial data on compounds that could preserve or degrade mummified remains. The information could be used to better protect the ancient bodies for future generations.

“However, the research also underscores a key challenge: the smells detected today are not necessarily those from the time of mummification,” Huber said. “Over thousands of years, evaporation, oxidation, and even storage conditions have significantly altered the original scent profile.”

Huber authored a study two years ago that analyzed residue from a jar that had contained mummified organs of a noblewoman to identify embalming ingredients, their origins and what they revealed about trade routes. She then worked with a perfumer to create an interpretation of the embalming scent, known as “Scent of Eternity,” for an exhibition at the Moesgaard Museum in Denmark.

Researchers of the current study hope to do something similar, using their findings to develop “smellscapes” to artificially recreate the scents they detected and enhance the experience for future museumgoers.

“Museums have been called white cubes, where you are prompted to read, to see, to approach everything from a distance with your eyes,” Bembibre said. “Observing the mummified bodies through a glass case reduces the experience because we don’t get to smell them. We don’t get to know about the mummification process in an experiential way, which is one of the ways that we understand and engage with the world.”

[forcebookish]

and the forcebook lavenderverse expands

[aweirdbugcreature]

Hello, in celebration of winning the Book Club's price in college and getting "The Book of Bill" as a gift. These are my favorite snippets translated in spanish (also Billford) (Also, some of these are probably the same in english, but they are the ones that made me go, "HUhhh????" the most)

First one is the cover, which can be translated to for adult readers or mature audiences (Somehow i feel like if i showed someone the cover they would think is like... suggestive content lmao)

"GET GATSBY'D, IDIOT!"

Lolipop: Logistics/masochism

My hole can be yours

Losing my sanity

Pig hard go shovel / ask crazy dora / go give raw hair / to say it hard / give fast star(?) / chime burly dollar. (The one on the left says "Burly dog tail" it says "di" instead of "de" but idk if is intentional or not)

Now the ones with Ford:

No, no. I took a look at his possible future's, and i laughed with joy. He was destined to do much more than that. And those hands... suddenly, everything made sense.

-Bill... ¿Can i call you that?

-You can call me anything except <<my love>>! Ha, ha! It's a joke! Everyone loves me!

-Can i call you <<braniac>>?

-You can call me anything except <<my love>>

Am i really going to destroy everything due to heartbreak? No, i won't GIVE HIM the pleasure!

Who else will make you feel like this? Admit it, you'd miss me. I'm your favorite mistake.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

I'll see if there's some changes in the codes, but i'll do that later cause i'm lazy lol.

[randomrabbys]

Me and Alex’s striped pyjama pants against the world

[zlobonessa]

hm. i feel like I'm not unhinged enough for the past few days. here's my old-but-reworked omegaverse headcanon tier list.

[palms-upturned]

.

[willinglyghoulified]

What I Imagine the Fallout 4 Companions Smell Like

Don't ask me why I was thinking about this.

Cait - locker rooms, leather, salt, worn fabric

Curie - chamomile, fluoride, fresh linens, sterile supplies

Danse - faint shaving cream, musk, metal polish, a woodsy scent, a hint of snack cakes

Deacon - mint or eucalyptus possibly, cut grass, dust (from hiding places)

Gage - sweat, dirt, beer, cigarettes, rust, faint smell of honey

Hancock - also cigarettes, Jet fumes, moist earth, anise

MacCready - gun polish, a summer day, bourbon, popcorn somehow

Nick - Grey Tortoises specifically, fresh rain, worn plastic, musty fabric

Old Longfellow - fresh coffee grounds, sea air, homemade soap, pipe tobacco

Piper - newsprint, pencil shavings, chocolate, cherry candy

Preston - wind off a thunderstorm, something like cork and cedar, fresh cotton, idk mf smells good af

X6-88 - just has that "new car" smell

Bonuses:

Ada - oil, metal, rust, the snacks you told her to pack

Codsworth - rust, the outdoors, freshly cut plants, dish soap, Abraxo cleaner probably

Dogmeat - just wet dog

Strong - probably piss and dead animals, mf stinks

[mortalityplays]

talking about impenetrable accents/dialect just reminded me. when I was in Milan a couple of years back I was staying in this little rathole hotel and I had the biggest fucking migraine, so I was like non c'è problema I'll just go buy painkillers. of course every pharmacy on the map in a three block radius was closed, so my stupid ass just starts wandering around trying to figure out on the fly if you can get OTC from supermarkets in italy.

I walk into this little everything store (to my foreign eyes the kind of place that back home could sell you a bunch of carrots, a 6-pack of beer, pantyhose, bleach and a screwdriver set) and I see some household basics in the back but not what I need. with the confidence of a person who is only in the city for 3 days because he got bored and packed a bag and booked the cheapest flight available the week before (<= MENTAL ILLNESS), I was like no worries I know some italian, I can just ask.

I grab a bottle of water, walk up to the counter, and I'm like Ciao, hai il paracetamolo? And the guy is like che, and I'm like paracetamolo. Per la mia testa. And he's like che?

This is where I would have said 'aspirina' except I can't take aspirin for medical reasons, or 'antidolorifico' except I don't know that word and I've got no phone data for google translate and also I'm stupid. So in my fucked up leith-glasgow-italian accent I'm like paaa-ra-cetta-mollll-ooo. He's like ohhh bene, bene, and he calls another guy out of the back and asks him to go get something. Other guy then walks out of the store into the street, and before I can be like hey, che la fuck, he comes back and hands me a huge bundle of herbs.

At this point I'm like okay this entire interaction has been a bust, but these guys have been very nice and patient and they're both smiling happily at me because they've been of service, so I'm like ahh perfetto, grazie, pay them a couple of euros and leave.

EVENTUALLY I find a pharmacy that's open, and my head is fucking killing me, and my phone still isn't connecting, and now I have this small shrubbery poking out of my coat pocket, so I don't even bother looking around the shelves. I just walk straight to the counter and I'm like uhh ciao, scusi. And hearing my nightmare of an accent the guy answers in english and I'm like thank christ, do you please have paracetamol. Not aspirin, I can't take aspirin. And he's like yeah yeah hold on, goes into the back, comes out with what I need.

Only when he comes out he gives me this look, and then he starts laughing. And then he pretends he's not laughing and rings me up and I pay, and as I'm leaving I can see him losing it. But I don't care, my head is going to explode, I'm going back to the rathole to close the blinds and fall comatose for four hours.

When I get back to my hotel room I take off my coat and remember the huge bouquet of herbs in my pocket. They smell amazing, and I'm like I'm pretty sure this is parsley in which case I can just get some tomatoes and mozzarella later and make it work. but since I have no idea what that interaction was, I want to make sure. I bring out my phone to get a visual reference of what parsley leaves look like, and because I was using it for google translate earlier I put 'parsley' in the wrong box like a dope and translate it to italian.

prezzemolo

I wish I could have been the pharmacist in the moment he looked at my tired pissed off anglophone ass, heard me say 'paracetamol' in my fucked up accent, and turned around saw what was in my pocket. I'd have lost my shit too.

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most “tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[endursent]

My Partner Turned Into A Cat And I Don't Know How To Fix It (2)

【 content; established relationship , fluff , humour , slight shenanigans , gn!reader 】

【 characters; alhaitham , arataki itto , baizhu , cyno , dainsleif , diluc , kaedehara kazuha , kaeya , kamisato ayato , kaveh , neuvillette , tartaglia , thoma , venti , wanderer , wriothesley , xiao , zhongli 】

【 premise; " Your partner has been struck with a curse of some sort which has turned him into a cat, you have no idea how to fix it nor how long it might take. Yet you also cannot help but be rather amused by the situation despite the uncertainty…" 】

【 note; made the genshin version... no reason for this to be like 19 pages 😭 】

【 word count; 8.723 | read on ao3 | hsr ver | hsr reader ver | gi reader ver 】

Alhaitham ;

Kaveh gaped at you when you brought a cat into the house, one that… looked eerily similar to a certain blockhead. “I can explain,” you say as you set the cat down on the floor, he doesn’t enter the house further than you do, instead sitting down by your feet and observing the interaction with… interest? Amusement…? 

  Kaveh didn’t need much to be convinced, and immediately he thanked the Archons for giving him a few days of respite. Even just a few days of Alhaitham being unable to comment on what he does or nag him is a blessing.

  For you, it’s a bit of a hassle… because he keeps disappearing! Not in an alarming way, because you find him again in the most secluded, quiet spots you would never even think of. Under your laundry, in an empty box that Kaveh hadn’t put away after getting a delivery, and even under the desk in the study—Kaveh accidentally kicked him and got a feisty scratch on his ankle. He learned his lesson. 

  He follows you around and—though he let you pick him up the first time—doesn’t let you carry him around, preferring to walk on his own… and wander off to explore nooks and crannies he has never been able to see, but he always shows up again before you reach your destination. 

  He has also claimed your pillow as his own and refuses to let you use it, loafing on top of it exactly when you thought you could get there before him. Which… in hindsight is fine, you’re not opposed to using his pillow, it smells like him after all. 

  You decided to test how much of a cat he really is, whether it’s appearance alone or instinctual as well and bought a cat toy with a whisker on the end as well as a small bell below it. You expected him to perk up and try to whack or catch it as soon as you wriggled it beside him… but his grey furred ears just lowered in annoyance and he hopped off the kitchen counter, it seems like having even more sensitive ears in this state makes his dislike for uncomfortable noises more intense. 

  He forgave you when you spent ten minutes scratching the itchy spot behind his ears after tracking him down. A small, rumbling purr left his chest as you moved your hand to scratch under his chin—he was, however, more curious about this instinctual reaction and demanded you continue after you drew your hand back.     Despite it being very much an unspoken rule between the two of you that neither of you should be disturbed ‘needlessly’ when reading or working at home, when you borrowed a few books from the Akademiya to try and figure out how to turn your partner back to normal, Alhaitham decided it would be very reasonable for him to lay down over your book… which you are very much trying to read.

  But when you ask him what he needs, he just blinks at you three times, very slowly. You’ll likely never be able to crack that brain of his, even in a form that is somehow far more expressive.

Arataki Itto ;

It’s difficult enough to keep track of him—and keep him out of trouble—on a normal day… now? You took your eyes off him for a second, and he’s gone. Shinobu split up with you to cover more ground while the rest of the gang scoured the streets of Inazuma City, at least as much as they could.

  You peek between baskets, crates and stalls, walk through tight alleys and even squint into a few windows… nothing!

  You had been very close to giving up and returning back to the meeting point by the bridge… until you heard a very distressed, very loud meowing. Following the sound, you come to a tree stretching over the gardens of a teahouse. What looks to be the owner of it stands below the tree with a basket, trying to ask Itto—stuck up on a wobbling branch—to jump into it.

  Exasperation is one way to describe what you feel as you approach the old lady, you put your hands on your hips and Itto notices you immediately. His meowing turns from frantic and panicked… to a sheepish pleading. Every movement he makes causes the branch to sway and wobble, and it looks like it could easily bend and break—and you don’t want to cause any trouble for the teahouse owner. “Itto, come on, hop down.”

  He meows and shakes his head, white fur swishing dramatically. 

  A sigh leaves you as you step closer and hold your arms open. “I’ll catch you, trust me,” you encourage him… and he finally relents, with wobbling paws, he leaps from the branch—fur shining in the sun as he practically flies in the air towards your open arms… and lands on your head. He panics and tries to adjust and not fall off, and you try to pry him away from your face as his belly nearly suffocates you—it’s a scene from a comedic play.

  Shinobu is glad for her mask, because when you return with Itto under your arm you have scratches on your face and forehead, and Itto is whining and meowing sorrowfully. 

  He spends the entire evening licking your ‘wounds’, dragging his coarse cat tongue over every spot so often that the licking starts to become more painful than the scratches themselves. But you let him, it makes him feel much better than you—and you don’t particularly need comfort, but if he doesn’t get it, he will whine all night. 

  So you let him knead your thighs and stomach even as his claws prick through your clothes and you make sure to pet him and stroke his fur when he snuggles against you… and then you wake up in the middle of the night, suffocating with his furred belly against your face when the lies on top of you.

Baizhu ;

You’re very happy that Baizhu is catching a break—something you often try to convince him to do—despite the strange way of being forced into it… however, it’s very difficult to focus on running the pharmacy in his place by yourself while also trying to make sure he doesn’t roll off the shelf he’s napping on… especially because Changsheng wriggles in her sleep and keeps nudging him closer to the edge.

  You decide it’s easier if you have them sleeping on separate surfaces and reach up to pick up your pliant partner-turned-cat. He effectively falls into your arms and blinks lazily, slightly confused by the sudden transport. “Just moving you so you don’t hit your head,” you dodge around Qiqi as she runs past you with an armful of jars and set Baizhu down on the counter, his tail sways lazily and he immediately flops on his side as a beam of sunlight sneaks through the window and directly onto his fur.

  Every time a customer comes by—with approval—they give Baizhu a small pet or scratch before leaving, as if paying tribute to the good doctor. He doesn’t seem to mind.

  Unfortunately, you’re not fit to take Baizhu’s place for consultations, and thus they all get delayed—which was a hell of a lot of work to contact everyone and change scheduling—until Baizhu is back to normal. The usual hours of consultation in the morning are therefore replaced with longer opening hours of the pharmacy and by pulling some strings, an increased stock of rarer products at a discounted price. 

  Changsheng does not let poor Baizhu catch a break, she wiggles her tail and swipes it in front of his paws, and unable to control the feline instincts harbouring his body—Baizhu chases after her tail like a kitten playing with a toy. He whacks at it and tries to capture it, but the white snake is far quicker than even you expected her to be as a sudden game of cat and mouse (snake) takes over your living room.

 The feline form, however, doesn’t come with free stamina—and Baizhu is not in good shape. He flops down on the carpet, exhausted from the play even as only seven minutes have passed. You feel a bit bad and scoop him up for some cuddling, which seems to be just the remedy he needed. 

  Baizhu is very careful around the clinic, he doesn’t knock anything over—even though he REALLY wants to sometimes, and is mindful of not getting fur or saliva on anything that could potentially be consumed by anyone with allergies. Changsheng has taken to wrapping herself around your shoulders instead, and though you’re used to her, it’s a little annoying to get a comment on every little thing you do. 

  But at the end of the day, Baizhu curls up next to you and you wake with him lying over your chest, belly to the skies and paws in the air, comfortable and content. Though you will always prefer him in his normal state, he is very cute like this.

Cyno ;

You look around the large front hall of the House of Daena, panting slightly as you try to catch your breath… that damn Cyno! Making you chase him across the entire city! 

  You spot some pawprints and squint as you look around… he’s not bringing all that dirt into the house—you were just going to rinse him a bit, but he’s run off! You finally spot dark and creamy coloured fur… perched up high on a massive decorative piece of the wall. He looks down at you with a swaying tail, completely at ease knowing that you won’t be able to catch him all the way up there.

  You almost consider inquiring about one of those massive ladders the library has to reach the high shelves, it might be long enough…

  But very well, he wins this round. 

  Once he turned into a cat, you were very excited about petting him, rubbing his ears and stroking his tail—but he’s not having any of it. Sometimes, you wonder if someone stuck a firework in his ass and lit it up, because the bouts of zoomies he gets is so frequent you wondered if there was something wrong—but you couldn’t catch him to take to a vet either! 

  After the first few days, Cyno seems to calm down… a little. He still prefers to survey the area (your living room) from above (your bookshelf) and watch you go about your day. It’s quite cute how his perked ears twitch every time you make a noise, as if he’s completely focused on what you’re doing.

  You soon find out after stepping a bit too close to the bookshelf that he might have just been waiting to strike, because he leaps onto your head as soon as you’re in range. 

  The only reason you know he’s fully conscious in that furred head is because while you were cleaning up after dinner, you spotted him sitting next to a cup of tea that was half-filled. You tense as you watch his paw raise to knock it off. “Cyno! Don’t,” you try to sound scolding.

  He looks up at you, he lowers his paw… then raises it again, making you glare at him. He lowers it again, turns away… you turn back to wiping the dishes and look over your shoulders after a few seconds—his paw is raised again!

  This back and forth continued until he finally knocked it over.

  And then he has the audacity during the next day’s dinner to sound like he has never been fed in his life while you’re trying to eat in peace. Meowing at you so loudly one would think he was terribly injured, eyes wide and mouth open. You hope your neighbours don’t think you’re trying to starve him, or treat him horribly.

Dainsleif ;

He’s not happy about it, he has things to do—places to be and investigations to make. Thankfully you’re familiar with where you were going next… but Dainsleif is very limited in what he can do. You decide to give him the task of scouting and sneaking around, something he’s used to doing anyway… but he finds that it’s much more effective to do so as a cat. His footsteps are completely silent and his senses are much sharper.

  Though, he had an instinctual need to swat at a glowing orb that you found in a strange vault half-buried in a cave in Fontaine before he could stop himself—which closed the two of you inside the vault. Thankfully he is now small enough that he could slip out between the bars and unlock it from the other side.

  It is quite cute how his ears flattened as you walked out, as if he was sorry. Though he seemed okay after you scratched behind his ears and assured him it was okay, he was here to help you out after all! His tail swayed in satisfaction to your assurance.

  You start to set down camp for the night, having just one pair of hands makes it a bit more of a lengthy process, and Dainsleif can only sit and watch as you put it together. He’s usually quite distant, even in a relationship—but as you straighten from squatting to fit something down, you feel something press against your leg and see him rubbing his furry cheek against you, then walking around your legs, tail trailing behind.

  He’s usually quite wary and alert, even during the night when you try and convince him to sleep—and it’s no different now. He sits poised and ready… for what? He’s a cat. But you appreciate the effort. 

  Surprisingly, he’s very active at grooming himself, the two of you usually have to bathe often anyway as you frequent dusty caves and muddy backwaters, but every time you make a stop, he sits down and starts licking his fur—at first you wondered if he was frustrated by something or had hurt himself, but as you picked him up to examine for any injuries or strange patches, he just blinked at you, tongue still half-hanging out.

  Dainsleif is rather laid-back when it comes to your relationship, there are times where you want to stay in a larger city for a few days or weeks in between travels, to have a soft bed and four walls around you—which Dainsleif doesn’t mind, there are places he wants to look into where he’d prefer you are safe elsewhere. He knows where you will be and will stop by to ask if you’re ready to continue days or even sometimes a few weeks later, to which you—recharged and rejuvenated—jump at the chance to follow him out of the city.

  But now, as a cat, he doesn’t leave your side for a minute—not even when you need to use nature’s bathroom. You went into a small village in Sumeru when passing through and a vendor was particularly pressing about selling you some type of perfume that you had shown brief interest in—Dainsleif had enough of you being pestered and whacked his paw at the man’s leg, hissing. He would usually be more subtle about guiding you away, but he doesn’t have the presence he usually does as he is now, so he must utilise the aggressiveness given to him in feline form. You take the chance to scoop him up and hurry away before the vendor can get upset, petting between his ears and thanking him for the help—he rubs his cheek against yours. He’s surprisingly more affectionate like this as well.

Diluc ;

Your nose itches… you try to hold back—achoo!!

  Diluc jumps, claws scuttling against the ground and he leaps from his resting spot and hops down to the floor. You sniffle and shake your head. “Sorry, it’s not your fault,” you stand from his chair and round the table to squat down next to him, reaching a hand out. “Did I startle you?”

  He makes a ‘hmph’ sound, fur red as freshly bloomed roses. Diluc bumps his snout into your palm and huffs into it, you turn your hand and pet along his back. “Aaah… you’re so cute~ so soft,” you near coo as you scratch behind his ears—

  Diluc shakes himself and ducks under your hand to walk past you—how dare you baby-talk him?! He’s not an actual cat! The scritches felt too nice, and his ears flicked when you cooed at him—it’s embarrassing…

  He sits down by the door, tail swaying lazily as a small meow leaves him. Let me out. 

  You pout, how can you not convey how cute he is? You want to rub his cheeks. But fine, you  walk over and open the door for him to slip out of. 

  Diluc likes the lounge around the fireplace in the estate, there’s not much work he can do  while you try to figure out how to turn him back—preferably without alerting his brother or any of the knights… or just anyone in general. Unfortunately, he can’t hide it from the staff of the Winery as he is a spitting image of himself in cat form, and you’ve caught more than three people trying to feed him expensive cheeses. 

  It’s only in the recent days that you’ve convinced him to settle down and use the time to rest and nap as much as he can, but Diluc was extremely restless at first, you had to trap him inside a room and trick him into lying down with you.

  One day, Jean came by looking for him, and you had to think fast to come up with an excuse while he had just leapt under the sofa to hide. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to need him urgently, so she just left a message behind and went back to her day.

  You fell asleep in Diluc’s study, trying to keep up with his paperwork—Adeline offered to help you, she’s very familiar with his work, and it’s not like it’s been a long time since he wasn’t there to do it… but you wanted to help, and as the sun sank below the horizon, you laid down on the sofa in his study next to a tall bookcase—only closing your eyes was enough to pull you into deep sleep.

  Diluc hops onto the sofa next to you, he carefully walks over your thighs and settles on the armrest where your head is. His fluffy tail sways and strokes your chin and nose—nearly waking you as you almost sneeze, you don’t have to work so hard for him, he knows you want to help. He wishes he could tell you, and he will, when he’s back to normal. For now, he rests alongside you, head leaning against the top of yours and tail tucked against your neck.

Kaedehara Kazuha ;

Kazuha is a very chill cat, he doesn’t get into trouble, he doesn’t cough hairballs on the floor and he doesn’t knock things over.

  (Instead of coughing hairballs on the floor he swats them off-deck with his paws, Beidou caught him doing it once).

  There’s not much trouble to get into on the ocean, and he’s rather good at keeping out of trouble overall on land, sticking by his side is a sureway to a boring day of exploration or lounging around—which is your perfect type of day.

  You help him into your bag as the Crux ‘boards’ by Liyue Harbour (it stops a bit away and tucked by a cliffside to avoid attention) and you make sure he doesn’t accidentally fall into the ocean as a few crewmates row to land. You’re stopping for a few days, so you make sure to use the time to relax and take in landside air and wander around the expansive Harbour. 

  Kazuha likes to take life at a slower pace, and thus your walk to the Harbour took longer than you expected… as you thought Kazuha was doing his normal meditation on a warm, sun-kissed rock along the road…

  But he was asleep, sitting up and enjoying the sun. It took you thirty minutes to realise—a sitting cat with its eyes closed and a sleeping cat in a sitting position is the exact same.

  He very much likes to people-watch, but in this cat form, he seems even more engaged—he can hear sounds more clearly and he seems even more perceptive than usual. Watching a tea maker brew a cup on a teahouse table you had sat by to rest and ordered some snacks. He sniffs at the tea as it’s placed in front of you—he’s perched comfortably on your lap, you’re surprised the teahouse even allows him inside—and seems to appreciate the detail he gets from this new perspective, af if it smells different in this form.

  He tries to taste it and your food, but you have to block his snout with your hand, you’re not sure if the food you were having would give him a stomach ache or not. 

On a walk on the outskirts of the city, you look back and see Kazuha carrying a stick in his mouth…?

  He’s not a dog, so you’re not entirely sure why he’s doing it, maybe cats do that too? The dogs that hang around the bridge leading to the southeast outside of Liyue Harbour try to approach him with the stick, thinking he was playing, but he hops into a tree to keep it to himself. You’re not entirely sure what’s happening, but he seems to be having fun.

  Kazuha wanders off oftentimes, just in his normal, usual body… so you’re not sure why you’re surprised when you suddenly find him missing from your side—perhaps it’s because he’s a cat and you’re unsure if he can defend himself as well in that form, but you hurry to look for him.

  You practically run in circles until you find him pressing his paw to a brown, crusty leaf… again and again, as if listening to the crunch of it in a rhythm. You sigh and scoop him up into your arms. “Don’t wander off like this,” you scold and poke his nose. Kazuha sneezes from the poke, but blinks up at you and nods his little furry head.

Kaeya ;

Unbothered, in his element. Kaeya sleeps in your windowsill and bathes in the sunlight all day while you scratch your head over how this could’ve happened. You try to leave for work and he practically screeches at the door, likely pleading you not to leave—he does that normally as well, except without the loud meowing. 

  Kaeya finds appreciation in the flexibility and grace that comes with this new body, he easily leaps up on shelves and dives under the sofa, he chases flakes of dust and seems to be having quite a good time—perhaps it’s because he has no responsibilities in this form, he can’t go to work like this and has no control over it. And the loss of control is strangely freeing. 

  You scoop him up into your arms and his tail swishes happily, he grabs his claws into your shirt and purrs as you rub his ears, happy and content with the additional affection. He loves all affection he gets from you no matter what form it takes, and being a cat has given him the opportunity to be pampered in ways he never could experience as a human. 

  He does need his free time as well and he uses it well while you’re out of the house—though you were very optimistic to think that closing the windows would keep him contained, Kaeya easily flips the handles and slips out of your home. He enjoys the attention he gets from any passersby, but is careful not to be too affectionate and get picked up by someone who thinks he’s a stray. 

  His usual guarded front lowers in this form, he feels like he could slip out of any situation—and he doesn’t have to be careful with his words or actions. No one expects a cat to have alternative intentions. 

  He jumps up in surprise as he hears footsteps rapidly approaching—he had fallen asleep on a ledge and the sun was already down. Kaeya blinks as you pick him up, breath heaving. “There you are, I’ve looked everywhere for you! I thought something happened when I couldn’t find you around the plaza,” you sigh a breath of relief and practically crush him to your chest. Kaeya wriggles a little but gives up and nuzzles into you, pushing his forehead into your cheek. 

  After a number of days, Kaeya gets bored, as fun as lounging around and being pampered it… he misses real food, and dragging you away from your work to have lunch—and holding you properly, he can only lay on top of you like this, which doesn’t exactly feel like holding.

  And Kaeya being restless… he gets whiny. 

  He would usually be more subtle, but now that he feels the rush of freedom his feline form gives him, he uses it to protest by loafing on your clothes after you fold them to put away, laying over your lap when you need to get up—even though he’s not really a cat… kind of, you still get the same feeling of not wanting to move him off no matter how much space he’s taking.

  But that’s okay, because he just has to slow blink at you and nuzzle into your hand and you forgive him, how could you not?

Kamisato Ayato ;

Ayato is an unreasonably pretty cat. His fur is soft and silky, he has this… smug kitty-smile at all times, and it makes you want to pinch his ears. He sits on your lap and peeks onto the low table inside his study as you go through paperwork. Just because he’s become a cat doesn’t mean his workload just miraculously lessens. 

  Thankfully, after a few days of trying to juggle his work—how does he do it?!—even with him by your side, albeit in a form that can’t properly communicate… Ayaka decides to lend a hand, she takes it upon herself to attend meetings and represent the clan and Commission in Ayato’s stead. Thankfully no one has questioned where he is yet.

  Or why there is a suspiciously similar cat trotting around the estate in his place. 

  You fish into a bush in the courtyard gardens, hand feeling around—until you find fur and yoink it up. Ayato blinks at you, tail swishing as he has a piece of grilled fish in his mouth that he stole from the kitchens. “You know… you can have all the fish you want—you don’t have to steal it,” you say as you lift him into your arms.

  His ears flick as you talk, but he eats the fish happily regardless. You shake your head in mild exasperation. Looks like he’s using the opportunity to engage in… more mischief than usual. Perhaps a different kind. 

  Ayato likes to use his newfound stealth and agility to his advantage… to torment you.

  You put away some laundry and turned to a shelf to fetch something—only to come face to face with Ayato’s cat-face, making you jump as he meows happily—as if happy to see you! He knows he’s just trying to startle you!

  He winds around your feet when you walk around the estate and purrs happily when you squint at him.

  Ayato knows the limits, he stops before you can lock him inside a room for the remainder of the day. His fur is so soft as you pet him and a rumbling purr leaves him, he knows it’s silly—he’s not really a cat, at least, hopefully not for long. But you keep petting and stroking him while he does. 

  He takes good care of himself on normal days, and as a cat, it’s no different—he grooms himself meticulously, though finds it rather embarrassing if you’re looking, so he tries to do it out of sight… it's very instinctual, but he also likes to feel clean and groomed. 

  You once passed the great hall and saw Thoma wriggling a toy with a bundle of feathers on it while Ayato chased it… it was pretty cute to watch, but you hurried along before either of them could notice you. 

  He hogs the futon, you don’t want to push him to the side and get pushed to the edge of the mattress yourself. Ayato doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. 

Kaveh ;

Distressed, not having fun, he wants to go home.

  A series of meows in varying states of distress and confusion follow behind you as you walk, you stop and turn around, peering down at the strange cat that’s been following you around since you left the Akademiya. You were about to ask what he wants… but as you squint at the cat… doesn’t it look familiar?

  Kaveh doesn’t stop when you do, he raises on his hind legs by your feet and sinks his claws into your pants, a shrill, distressed meow leaves him.

  You reach down and pick him up, holding under his front legs as you inspect him… hm, golden fur with tints of a darker, sandy brown… those big red eyes.

  “... Kaveh?” you must be crazy, there’s no way your partner is a cat, and followed you around without you realising, but you know those eyes very well. It’s him.

  Alhaitham just stares at you like you grew three additional heads, he looks at Kaveh in your arms and then back at you. “... it looks like him, but that’s not proof enough—have you asked him to write his name?”

  You look at Kaveh and he tilts his small head to look up at you. Write his name…? He doesn’t exactly have thumbs… but Alhaitham has a good point. What if it’s just a very persistent cat? 

  Then again… where would Kaveh be? He’s usually home by this time.

  Alhaitham fetches a pen and some parchment and you put Kaveh down on the table. He tries to use his paws at first but just spills ink all over the place—but as he grabs the pen with his mouth and clumsily scribbles his signature, Alhaitham just hums while you scoop Kaveh up again, holding him up. “It is you! What happened to you, Kaveh?”

  Of course, he can’t give a proper answer, he wriggles his paws around and meows in a long dialogue—but it’s entirely incomprehensible. 

  While you and Alhaitham try to figure out how to get him back, Kaveh tries to adjust to his… predicament. He doesn’t do it with any grace, though… his leaps and jumps across furniture are miscalculated and he falls to the ground or hits his head more often than you can count.

  But your worried petting and rubbing the aching area makes him purr and nuzzle into your arms.

  He does hate the heightened senses, he jumps at the smallest noise and scuttles across the room if anything startles him—and he gets startled very easily like this.

Neuvillette ;

You call his name, looking around his office… you scratch your head, he can’t have gone far, you just left to fetch some tea for a few minutes. It’s not like he can open the door or window and slip out—why would he anyway?

  You hear a very… pathetic meow, from next to you—but there’s nothing there, just a sofa. You hear it again—under the sofa…?

  Ducking down, you see that Neuvillette is stuck, he seems to have been trying to squeeze himself under the sofa, and rounding the furniture, you see his hind legs and tail flat on the floor… it’s a bit amusing. “There, I got you,” you say soothingly as you lift the sofa up a little so he can back out. Neuvillette stands up and shakes his body.

  You squat down and smile. “How’d you get stuck under there?” you hold out your hand and he presses his head into your palm, nuzzling against your skin for comfort as you turn your hand to scratch and pet him.

  He’s not very good at resisting the instincts and temptations that come with this form—you’re unsure why he seems to struggle so much, but you try to help him as much as you can, and not laugh.

  You saw him chase a shadow, there is an ornament on the raised blinds that hang above the large window in his office. It's attached to the strings that lower and raise them and it sways slightly—casting a shadow across the floor.

  Another time he was grooming his fur and struggling, he has a thick, long coat and had to lean far back to reach the end of his fur as his tongue dragged along the hairs… causing him to roll backwards off the arm of the couch and into the pile of pillows.

  Innocent, small things that make you smile, but you’re careful that he doesn’t see it.

  He loafs over a stack of court documents as you organise his desk—might as well use the opportunity to clean up while he won’t be making a mess. He doesn’t seem satisfied with his place on the desk and stands… and spots a box on the ground, it’s stacked halfway with old documents to be taken to storage… but it also looks like the perfect spot to rest. He hops down from the desk and circles a few times on the papers to get comfortable. He wriggles a little before sitting down.

  It takes him a minute to realise that he was kneading into the paper when he hears the sound of it tearing under his claws in an instinctual need to make the bottom of the box comfortable. 

  Safe to say, he was mortified to have destroyed the top four documents, but thankfully they weren’t shredded and you managed to salvage them with some memory of what had occurred as well as piecing them together.

Tartaglia ;

You look towards the window above the kitchen counter, cold air brushes into the house as Childe enters through it—with a mouse in his mouth.

  You leap up and push the book in your hand against his face and push him straight back outside. “No! Absolutely not! Leave it outside, not in the house!!” You close the window behind him and sigh in relief, brushing stray snow into the sink. When you look up again, He’s sitting there, big eyes and ears flat against his head… but no mouse.

  Sighing, you open the window a smidge so that he can step inside, where he shakes himself and tosses flakes of melting snow all over. 

  Childe sits down, tail swaying—as if waiting for something.

  You set your haps on your hips. “What?”

  “Mrrow…” he wriggles his head, he wants a pat. 

  … fine, just because he took the mouse outside because you ‘asked’, you raise your hand to stroke his head and he tilts it to lick your palm—but you pull back. “No, you just had a wild animal in your mouth, wash your mouth!”

  What is this?? He feels like a criminal, all he did was bring you a prize… to be fair, he realised how silly it was to bring you a dead animal when you leapt up to push him back out, but it felt completely natural up until that point!

  He whines and meows for forgiveness for the rest of the night, and you do eventually ‘forgive’ him and let Chile lounge around on your lap while you pet him and continue reading.

  He picks fights with swaying curtains, chases your broom when you’re cleaning and even whacked your cup of coffee off the dinner table—spilling it everywhere. He’s a nightmare in this form, because no matter the scolding, he just stares at you with excited, large eyes and a swaying tail.

  Nothing you say gets through his head. In one ear and out the other. 

  He does not give up either, if he wants affection, he will get it one way or the other, even if he has to whine and meow endlessly, follow you around—fake a limp! You shake him a bit after he worried you and you almost went out in the middle of the evening through the snow to take him to a vet when he just wanted scritches. 

  In all fairness… this is just typical behaviour, but now he has the kitten eyes to break your self control and composure within seconds. 

Thoma ;

He tries to do his job even in cat form, using his tail to sweep, he even takes his duster into his mouth and tries to sweep on surfaces he’d usually need ladders to reach, and now he can just leap to them.

  But he also has a problem…

  He has an instinctual need to create a mess, knock things over or sit on things—when he catches himself in an act of pushing Ayaka’s discarded tea off a table, he nearly leaps away to stop himself. 

  Thankfully, everyone around him doesn't mind—and it’s a bit relieving to see that Thoma retains a sense of himself. He finds time where he would usually go into town to instead nap—and the Kamisato estate has perfect napping spots. He lies sprawled across the engawa surrounding the eastern part of the estate near the back gardens, and lets the warm beams of the sun warm his belly—only to shoot up in surprise when he hears footsteps, embarrassed to be caught lounging around. 

  Ayato sometimes plucks him away to keep on his lap for hours while he sorts through paperwork, petting and scratching behind his ears while his other hand signs documents. Thoma gets a bit restless just loafing on his lord’s lap and meows in relief when you come along to fetch him. 

  Ayaka leapt at the opportunity to sew a few accessories for him, guised under the excuse of “practise for smaller bodies” and Thoma ends up with half a wardrobe by the end of the week. 

  But he prefers to be around you, you don’t trap him on your lap (even though Ayato gives very good scritches) or make him model for three hours (even though Ayaka gave him snacks). As you work around the estate, he gets tired—curse this cat body and it’s perpetual need for napping!—and you tuck him gently into your eri*. Thoma lays nestled against your chest warmly, his body light and still as you continue your work. 

  The gardens of the Kamisato estate is a disaster zone, and after the first few days, thoma knows to avoid it. 

  He had strolled past, early in his transformation—and been startled by his own reflection in the pond he passed by, the fish swimming away in a hurry as he ran across the gardens in surprise. A second time, he had spent twelve minutes chasing a butterfly while Ayato watched with a signature smile… he will likely not let him forget it. 

  Thankfully, he’s not needed much in the gardens, and he sits perched atop a high shelf in the kitchens, his tail sways as he leans forward… very much ready to leap and steal some food—before you pluck him up and raise an eyebrow.

  His ears flatten in realisation, but you rub his cheeks and tuck him back into your clothes—grabbing some leftover pears from the dessert the kitchens were making, letting him munch on it while you get back to work. 

Venti  ;

You didn’t think Venti could become even more of an airhead on a typical day as he does when he becomes a cat. He gets distracted by the smallest things and wanders off—leading to a wild goose chase where you have to ask around for a small darkly coloured cat with blue highlights on its ears and tail—a very distinct cat!—and being pointed in every direction possible.

  Only to discover him napping in a crate full of apples in an alley you walked past at least six times just in the last fifteen minutes. 

  He is also very vocal, Venti says anything that comes to his mind… which is unfortunately nothing but meowing nonsense to your ears, but you nod along as if you understand, having a halfway conversation with the lively cat. 

  Somehow, he very much likes to play and nap like he’s being paid to do it at the same time. In one moment, he’s swatting at your clothes and trying to get to play with your fingers—which he accidentally bites and scratches in his excitement, quickly rectifying it with some licks and nuzzles—and the next, he’s passed out cold in a box or on a shelf for five hours.

  He doesn’t seem embarrassed by these new catlike instincts, such as the need to groom himself—he even starts grooming you halfway through his coat, you’re sure your skin is very much clean by the time he finally turns back to himself. 

  Unlike normal cats, who move and settle down elsewhere when the person under them gets up… Venti is not happy about being disturbed nor that you’re trying to get up, he whines and kneads on your clothes to try and get you to stay a little bit longer, giving you the best big kitten eyes he can muster.

  And damn him, it works. He knows what he’s doing. 

  You had been looking for him one morning, thinking he just wandered off again and you’d find him napping in some corner of the city… when Diluc approaches you with a sheepish looking Venti-cat, holding him by the scruff of his neck. “This yours?”

  Diluc doesn’t even seem surprised that the bard is a cat. At least he isn’t an allergy risk when he’s human-like and trying to get into his wares. 

Wanderer ;

He is very aware of himself, he knows he looks stupid (cute) and that everything he does will be looked at through the lens of a typical cat and not someone stuck in its body.

  And thus, he does all he can to be as eerie and unnatural a cat as he can be.

  He doesn’t make a single sound, no meowing, no purring, nothing. He doesn’t walk like a cat—thankfully he doesn’t walk on two legs—nor does he exhibit any of their typical behaviours.

  At least, that was the plan. 

  Every single time Wanderer catches himself doing anything that could be considered “cat-like”, such as grooming himself, chasing a loose string, or gods forbid… kneading—he will immediately stop and compose himself again.

  As opposed to some others, he absolutely hates the loss of control that follows becoming a cat. 

  He can’t write properly, he can’t communicate—and if he tries, no one but you and perhaps Nahida takes him seriously—he’s always sleepy and aware at strange times… he hates it! 

  And once when he was just trying to have some grapes for snacks—you suddenly leapt towards him to stop him, taking the bowl off the table with a relieved huff when you noticed he hadn’t swallowed any of it… after you pried the grape out of his mouth. At his hissing, you explained that cats can’t have grapes. 

  He gave you the cold fur-shoulder for at least two days. 

  You brought him out one time to get some fresh air—since he’s fully aware of himself, he shouldn’t run off and get lost, or into a dangerous situation like an indoor cat might. But when you gave some other cats around the streets of Sumeru attention, he quickly meowed in protest and whacked the other cats away. 

  It’s a bit cute… he doesn’t normally act so forthcoming, and as he bumps his head into your knee afterwards, you rub his cheeks and pinch his ears despite further protest. How cute!

Wriothesley ;

At first, you weren’t even sure if Wriothesley was just a “cat”. He’s huge*. 

  You put a bowl in front of him, filled with foods that are okay for cats to eat but also not… gross, as Wriothesley is very much aware in that cat-head of his. “C’mon, there’s nothing wrong with this, I even tasted it—it’s a bit bland ‘cause we can’t put any seasoning, but it’s food.”

  He leans down, and for a second you think that he’s going to eat it—but as his whiskers brush against the sides of the bowl, he lifts his head abruptly and swats at the bowl, clattering it to the ground—he didn’t mean to hit it at all, but also not this hard. 

  You scratch your head, you just can’t figure out why he won’t eat—you’ve tried everything!

  It took you several hours of back and forth questions and meowing to realise that it was the shape of the bowl that was the problem and not the food itself.

  On another day, you reach down to pet his soft, thick fur—only to get a static shock, it zaps your fingers and both of you jump back. You always have to be careful with petting him, as there’s always a risk of getting zapped at any time. Worst part is, it’s not even every time! It catches you off guard!

  He likes to climb and jump on the pipes that web around the fortress, getting into places he’s never even considered before—and sometimes you look around for him for hours before giving up… only to suddenly be leapt on from above by a nine kilogram heavy cat half your size, knocking you over.

  Siegwinne noticed that he had been brooding lately, he had been stuck as a cat for five days now and it was beginning to frustrate him. So she decided to soak a small blanket in tea mixed with catnip—after it was dry and she rubbed some more on it, she laid it out in his office…

  You watched him for a good long while as he rubbed against it, meowed and rolled on the blanket. It was unbearably adorable, but you eventually pulled him away after a while—worrying it might be too much.

  He’s so large that it’s almost like sleeping with a person, just a very furry one. He lies halfway over you and as you wake in the morning—he refuses to get up. You give in and relax in bed for a while… until he starts kneading your cheeks, leaving small scratches with his big paws and claws. You don’t stop him—it doesn’t hurt, he looks so focused, like he’s trying to squeeze something out of your cheeks. 

Xiao ;

He meows and wriggles in your arms, but you try your best to hold him until you reach the top of the inn—he swats at you and you finally let him go when you enter his usual reserved room. Despite being paws up when you let go of him, Xiao lands perfectly and immediately hops up to the highest vantage point in the room he could reach. 

  You don’t get him down by yourself, he only comes down willingly after a few hours when he’s calmed down and adjusted a bit to this form. You’re not entirely sure what happened, you had just been exploring a cave that was strangely entwined with a temple of sorts, when a bright light appeared behind you, and Xiao—who had been accompanying you—was suddenly a cat. A very small cat. 

  He loafs on the windowsill in the night, his tail wrapped around his paws as he peers towards the sky—at the slightest noise, his ears flicker towards it and he squints at the roads below that pass and surround the large inn. 

  He is unbothered. Firm. Stoic.

  … after getting wet under a pouring rain that persisted all day, he pretends not to be bothered by his wet fur and the uncomfortable existence he leads under this blanket of wet fur…

  But he can only pretend for so long. You turn away and pretend to busy yourself to allow him some privacy to reluctantly lick along his fur and smooth it down, trying to clean or groom it in a way that makes it less sloppy. 

  He hates it, this weird satisfaction that comes with this very primal instinct, and yet, he does still feel the satisfaction.

  Xiao is difficult to read on an average day, he’s very used to controlling his emotions and maintaining a front that’s difficult to get past.

  But as a cat… he’s an open book, he approaches you with a curled tail, he slow blinks at you when you drag your fingers through his fur as he loafs on the windowsill. 

  But he does. Not. Meow. 

  Except for that time you hauled his ass back to the inn… and when Zhongli makes a sudden appearance, he hops from his perched position and snakes around the former Archon’s legs, purring and meowing as he’s being petted and spoken to. He doesn’t notice his own behaviour…

  Not until the following night after Zhongli leaves, and Xiao is mortified that he behaved like an affection-depraved cat in front of Morax.

  Thankfully you sliding a comb through his fur and untangling some knots from the day distracts and calms him down in the evening.

Zhongli ;

At first, you weren’t even sure if Zhongli was actually aware he was a cat, he follows you around, sits on a bench and licks his paw to clean it while you shop for groceries… he chases anything shiny that you come across and swats at it with his paws, leaps at it and tries to capture it—usually rocks or mora people drop. Maybe he likes the mineral, maybe it’s the shine. You can’t really know.

  You try to give him some nice food, cut down nicely so he won’t accidentally choke on it… but he won’t eat it, not unless you plate it properly…? At least, when you rearranged it better and separated the meats from the greens, he seemed to like it more. Maybe he thought you were treating him a bit too much like a pet rather than a partner that’s unfortunately become a cat for a (hopefully) limited time.

  After a long day of… not doing much, Zhongli realised he had left scratches on the sides of some furniture and he tries to hide or cover them up for the time being, dragging a blanket over the arm of a divan in the living room… hopefully you won’t discover them and he can fix it after he’s back to normal before you notice.

  You do notice that he very much prefers specific textures, he doesn’t like walking on the hardwood floor of your home and instead prefers to lie down or sit on blankets or the silken sheets in your shared bedroom. 

  Despite the strange predicament, Zhongli is very calm, he’s both patient and has a good sense—if this was a dangerous curse or spell that was difficult to reverse, he would likely sense it. Instead, he considers using this time to show and receive affection in a way you haven’t been able to before. 

  He often sits by your legs or thighs, he winds around them and rubs his furry cheeks along your clothes and pretty much anywhere he can reach. Your legs when he’s winding around them, your hand when you reach out to pet him, your cheek when he stands on your chest when you’re trying to read in bed before sleeping. 

  He purrs and cuddles with you, laying in your arms or over your lap—he even hid in your bag once when you went out for the day, and you discovered it too late to take him back home (you did wonder why your bag felt heavier than usual) and thus, he has the pleasure of accompanying you to your work—something he doesn’t often get the excuse or time to do. 

  Thankfully, Hu Tao didn’t question it when you came to her and said that Zhongli couldn’t come to work for a few days (hopefully just a few days). If anything, she sighed in relief and said something about him finally using his paid time off and sick days. Then thanks you for taking him out of commission??? 

  You pour over some scrolls and papers to try and figure out how to turn Zhongli back, and he hops onto the desk in the study, nuzzling against your arm before sitting down, tail swaying as he joins you in searching for ways to bring him back to you in a more familiar form. Despite how cute he is like this. 

* eri is the collar-flap on the front of a kimono/yukata that crosses over the chest, he's tucked into it and lying on his back. if you know about the nioh cat clock scene, yeah.

* wriothesley is supposed to be a maine coon type of cat, just huge and heavy. but not wild cat huge.

[gghostwriter]

One Single Thread of Gold

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 2 Summary: The three times Penelope tries to solve a Spencer Reid riddle and the one time she (and the team) meet the reason behind all the changes Trope: Fluff! Just fluff and team banter! w.c: 4.0k a/n: For some reason, my earlier post on this disappeared dunno why. But this is a very self indulgent fic as reader’s background is basically based on the industry I work in. I had a lot of fun writing the team banter and I hope you enjoy it too! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💗

The first clue presented itself on a dull Wednesday night as the team, minus Hotch and Rossi, were leaving the bullpen after a full day of pushing papers. Penelope in all of her sunshine and colorful glory was buzzing about these accessories that she once spotted on a storefront window.

“I saw a pair of earrings and a matching necklace that would look so good with that top you bought the other day, JJ. You know, the blue one with those soft sleeves—they would look great with it. It’s tres boho chic.”

JJ smiled, opening her mouth to reply, but Spencer beat her to it.

“Did you know that boho chic was actually a response to political and social movements?”

“Wait, what?” Emily interjected.

He took her disbelief as a sign to continue on. “Yeah, yeah. There’s an article written about it in Vogue—softness and femininity historically appears in moments of political stress and war. Just like in the 70s with the hippie and anti-war movement that defined their style as a generation.”

They all piled into the elevator and turned to face the boy genius like he grew another head. For all they knew, this could be a clone and a very bad one at that. The Spencer Reid that they knew had absolutely no interest in the realms of fashion.

Penelope was the first to break the silence. “Vogue?”

“Kid, what gives? Just the other time, you didn’t know how many shoes a woman owns and now you’re some kind of expert?” Derek asked with both eyebrows raised.

“Did not knowing activate some kind of button that made you want to read about it?” Emily added on, feeling like she was in some kind of TV prank show.

“What?” Spencer licked his lips, nervous with all the attention on him. He felt like he was about to slip something up that he had been keeping to himself for a while now. A hidden precious gem that was you. “I—I like to read.” A believable excuse except his voice went up an octave, giving him away.

The three women shared a look.

“But you read academic textbooks and classic literature,” JJ stated.

Penelope added on. “Not fashion magazines.”

He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I don’t discriminate when it comes to reading. If it’s interesting—” he shifted his weight one side to another, thinking that the ride down on the elevator seemed to be taking slower than usual. “—I’ll read it.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes. She was no profiler but she could smell a lie from a mile away way. That wasn’t the whole truth. Dr. Spencer Reid was hiding something.

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” he squeaked out as he ran out of the elevator once it hit the lobby.

She turned to the three profilers, stunned with the boy genius’ erratic behavior. “Huh, did anybody else get the feeling that Spencer was hiding something?”

“Maybe, but the kid does read a lot. Maybe he just ran out of books.” Morgan shrugged.

The other two profilers tilted their heads and slowly nodded in agreement. It wasn’t far off on something Spencer would do. He did once pick up a pamphlet in the airport to read as mentioned before to her by Derek, granted it was for a case but still, Penelope couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else.

So when she arrived home that very same night, she propped up her laptop and got to digging. Boy Genius was hiding something big and Little Miss Oracle of Quantico can find anything with her tech skills. She’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all.

———

Spencer was glad to be coming home to your presence. Having spied the lights still on from the outside of the apartment, he took the steps two at a time, excited to see his 2nd favorite person after his mother—you.

“Spence?” You called out, having heard the mahogany front door open. “Is that you, baby?”

“Hey, love. I missed you,” he deposited his satchel to the nearby sofa and ran to give you a hug.

You burrowed yourself into his arms. All the muscles in your body relaxing as you caught a whiff of his cedar wood perfume—the same scent you’ve gifted to him during the early stages of dating. “I missed you too. How was your day?”

“Better now with you,” his words coming out muffled as he refused to detach himself from the embrace. “Actually, I almost slipped up today.”

You extricated from his arms to give him an inquisitive look. The slight scrunch on your nose and raised brows made his heart flutter. How expressive, free, and trusting you were. It reminded him of your first encounter. How you teasingly asked him if he was a serial killer when he offered you a ride home in the pouring rain and how you easily accepted regardless.

“Yeah? Did any of them catch on?” you probed as you pulled him by his belt loops to the direction of the bedroom.

He laughed, finding your aggression cute. “No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Maybe we should schedule dinner with them sometime,” you coyly suggested as you slowly started to unravel his tie. “I mean, we’ve been together for over a year now and I have moved into your apartment, under the guise of watering your plants while you’re away. Which is a lie, by the way—”

“I have plants!” he protested. His hands divesting you out of his sweater, bringing to view his favorite silk set in deep purple that accentuated your skin and the blush on your cheeks.

“—that I brought over, Spence,” you quipped back. “But don’t worry, I won’t spill how the intelligent FBI agent fooled naive me into moving in with him.”

There was a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. “Love, I wouldn’t exactly call you naive—” his voice going an octave lower. “—not when you’re looking at me with those tempting eyes of yours.”

Giggling, you leaned in for a kiss, one that he quickly took over. His calloused dominant hand wrapped around the back of your neck, effectively caging you in while his other cradled your cheek—a stark contrast to the other. Kissing Spencer had always felt like a religious experience that you never want to part from.

Reluctantly pulling away, you caught glimpse of his need for you. His hazel eyes now dark as ink, nostrils slightly flared, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and his dominant hand dug into the fleshy nape of your neck. It made you feel desirable, like the goddess that he would call you when he’s on his knees tasting nectar from the source.

The discussion of inviting the team out for dinner was long forgotten. No other words were spoken as you pushed him on the bed—only the cries of his and your name and moans of ‘yes’ echoed well into the night.

***

The second clue was uncovered when Spencer walked into the cold windy bullpen with new black cardigan adorning his lithe body. It was non-descriptive to the untrained eye but for fashion enthusiast Penelope Garcia, she knew what those four white lines on the sleeve meant—luxury label and priced well above their pay grade.

She narrowed her eyes. The Spencer she knew wouldn’t dare spend his salary on anything besides limited first edition books. Something was truly up and she planned to get to the bottom of it as her initial online search turned up nothing.

“Reid, that’s a really nice sweater,” she complimented, throwing in her bait.

He smiled. The thought of who gave it to him warmed his heart. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks Garcia.”

Her sparkly pink kitten heels clacking on the floor as she came closer. “Can I see it?” she innocently asked.

The request threw Spencer off the loop but thought nothing of it as he shrugged and handed it to her—still warm from body temperature.

Her squeals caught the attention of the other profilers filling into the office.

“What is it, baby girl?” Morgan deposited his bag on the table and stationed himself beside her. “It’s Reid’s new sweater. Are you seeing something I’m not seeing?”

Garcia rolled her eyes. This was why females are considered more observant that their sex counterpart. Her chocolate thunder was a profiler but how could he not notice what she was deducing?

“Huh,” Emily surmised. “Based on the fibers, it’s definitely not polyester. Possibly a 100% wool, what do you think, JJ?”

“It says here on the tag—100% virgin wool,” she read out loud. “That makes it very expensive, right Garcia?”

The colorful tech analyst smiled. Her girls could never let her down. “Right you are, girlfriends! But it’s not only that, this—” pointing at the four stripes on the sleeve. “—this is a signature Thom Browne detail. Their prices go up to at least 600 dollars—” they all turned to Reid who seemed clearly agitated. “—now why does our boy wonder have a piece that could buy at most five cute heels?”

With his vast intellect, he couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of this impromptu interrogation. He couldn’t very well say that it was a gift now could he? If he did, that would lead to another hard hitting question ‘from who?’ He raked his hand through his curly hair, taking the same path as yours did just earlier as you gave him a kiss goodbye.

When you gifted him the cardigan from your last New York business trip, he really thought nothing of its material equivalence, besides feeling grateful and loved. It was proof that you paid attention to even the littlest details about him.

“Hey Spence, I got you something,” you looked up at him with sparkling eyes. The first thing you had done when you got home was run into his arms. A simple act that healed his aching heart from missing it’s other half.

You reached into your luggage, enthusiastically pulling out the black clothing wrapped in tissue paper like some magician pulling out a rabbit from a hat. “Here you go!”

“A new sweater!” He exclaimed.

You rocked on your heels, looking bashful as you explained the reasoning behind it. “I noticed you fidgeting when you wore the cardigan JJ gifted you last Christmas, the polyester fibers used on it must have been really itchy so I got you a new one—” your eyes widened at how your explanation could be taken the wrong way. “—not that her gift wasn’t great! No, it was very cute! It’s just—I want you to be comfortable and protected during your cases in cold states. Polyester is a good insulator of heat but wool is still the best.”

He loved how unabashed you rambled about your interests. That was one of the first things he piqued his notice. How you liked to share your knowledge about the fashion industry that you work for but never coming across as stuck up or snobby, you just genuinely wanted to educate anyone who had a wrong perception of the billion dollar commerce. Admittedly, he was one of them but hearing you rave about it’s nitty-gritty details and socio-economic movements changed his mind. It also helped that a beautiful and intelligent woman, such as yourself, was educating him.

He pulled you in for a kiss, stopping all the worries that ran through your head. “I love it. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing at all, baby. I like taking care of you. Just like how you take care of me,” you reasoned. “Plus I got it on sale courtesy of the magazine connections.”

A tap on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. It was Penelope with an eyebrow raised at the subtle smile that graced his face while he replayed the moment in his head.

“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “What’s got you smiling, Pretty boy?”

“Nothing,” he squeaked out, turning to see Hotch make his way across the office. Spencer hurriedly collected his things and started to move even before their unit chief could call their attention.

“We have a case,” Hotch announced.

The remaining BAU members all looked at each other, silently communicating about Reid’s irregular demeanor, before piling into the conference room for another grueling scene of murder.

“He’s been acting weird,” Garcia rushed out. “Definitely hiding something. What do you think, Em?”

Emily nodded. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“A girl?” JJ guessed.

“Yes, must be a special one for him to keep secret for so long,” Garcia surmised. “Do you think he’ll hate it if I go further digging around to find out who she is?”

“Further?” Emily clarified.

JJ laughed. “Probably, let’s wait for him to volunteer the information. Okay, Garcia?”

She sighed, shoulders drooping, before nodding in agreement.

***

The third clue was quite literally handed to Penelope Garcia on the jet after a case when she accompanied the team.

“Cold Alaska is so not good for my skin,” she grumbled as she rummaged her bottomless bag for her favorite hand cream. “I love going with you all on trips rather than being stuck in my own tech cave but the weather wasn’t it.”

Morgan chuckled. “Aw c’mon baby girl, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy our time together?”

“You, my sculpted hunk, and the fireplace were the highlight,” Penelope turned to the other female profilers. “My beauties, do any of you have lotion? I think I lost mine.”

Before JJ or Emily could even utter a word, a tube made its way to her lap courtesy of her seat mate, Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, since when do you carry lotion?” Emily inquired.

He shrugged. “Hand cream has it’s benefits besides from moisturizing the skin, it also provides an additional layer of protection. Depending on it’s properties, it can also repair and undo damage.”

The females all shared a look. This was another unexplainable behavior from their resident genius.

“We know that,” JJ stated. “We just thought you didn’t.”

His brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, besides from the fact that you’ve never shown interest about skincare before, isn’t it a stereotype for men not to know? Unless—” Emily slyly smiled and nodded at Garcia to continue.

“Unless you have a girlfriend that we don’t know about,” Garcia bounced on her seat.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Spencer’s eyes widened in alarm. He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap before it was too late. “What makes you say that?”

They laughed.

JJ started. “Besides from you suddenly being knowledgeable in fashion—“

“—or having a pricey sweater you’d never buy for yourself—” Emily added on.

“Or, or—“ Garcia reached out to touch his hand. Which made Spencer react with a high pitched call of her name. “—having a shea butter lotion with rough hands!” She waved the tube up in the air. “Plus, this is half empty. So either it’s not working which I doubt since this is a good brand or you keep this in your bag for a special someone to use!”

Derek chuckled. “Baby girl, you could be a profiler at this point.”

“Oh tell me something I don’t know,” she quipped back. “So Reid, want to tell us the truth?”

He sighed, finding no escape. “Yes, yes I have a girlfriend.”

The girls all shrieked with laughter and their own corresponding questions of who is she? How did you meet? How long has this been going on? What does she do for a living? Is she pretty? Oh I bet she is!

“Looks like that cat is out of the bag,” Rossi nonchalantly stated.

Four sets of eyes turned to look at one of the BAU founders. “Rossi, you knew about this and didn’t tell me?” Garcia gasped, a hand to her chest at the thought of betrayal.

He laughed. “I caught them on a dinner date once and our boy wonder over here—“ nodded in Reid’s direction. “—begged me not to out him yet, said he wanted to be the one to tell the team the news but that was like what, six months ago?”

“Six months ago?” Emily repeated.

“Wait, wait. Hotch, don’t tell me you also knew?” Morgan asked.

The unit chief smiled. “She was added to Reid’s emergency contact last February.”

“February? That’s almost a year ago!” JJ sputtered out.

The tech analyst turned to glare at the youngest member of the BAU. “Reid, you better start spilling all the details or so help me, I will stalk all your digital footprint when we land until I find out who she is, where she lives, and what her deepest darkest secret is.”

“What about hearing it all from her, instead?” He rubbed the back of his neck. The secrecy had gone on for so long and there was no time like the present to introduce his chosen family to his chosen partner—hopefully until the end of time. “She wants to treat you all out for dinner tonight.”

All four nodded vigorously as they watched him pull out his phone and send a quick text to which you readily replied and agreed to.

“My man,” Derek sighed. “Can’t believe you got a girlfriend without me being your wingman.”

“Answer me at least this, is she pretty and does she make you happy?” Garcia asked. No matter how nosey she may be, she only wanted the best for Spencer and if the recent lightness and smiles were all caused by his mystery girlfriend, she already approved.

“The prettiest,” Spencer gushed out. “She’s my own personal sunshine.”

The three girls melted into their seats. Their youngest was all grown up waxing prose over his lover.

“She makes you sappy too,” Derek teased.

***

[EXTRA - When the mystery was uncovered]

Spencer had never felt any more nervous that this moment as he, with the rest of the team minus Hotch and Rossi, wait for your arrival. He sat with his back to the restaurant entrance and his cardigan laying on the empty seat beside him as a reservation mark. His eyes had been going back and forth to his idle phone and to the conversation the team was having.

Morgan noted his state of distress and chuckled. “You okay there, lover boy? She’s still coming right, your mystery girlfriend?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she was on her way 9 minutes and 24 seconds ago and based on the route and traffic, she should have been here 45 seconds earlier. Just worried that something might have happened.”

Penelope leaned in, picking on her bubblegum pink choice of drink as she did. “You know, if you just told me her name I could have tracked every movement by now and you wouldn’t be sitting here worrying.”

“What—no Garcia, I don’t want her tracked plus she didn’t want you to know everything about her even before meeting her,” his voice going up an octave in your defense.

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. I mean we don’t know a single thing about her—”

“We do know she exists and you’ve been together for almost a year now,” Emily interjected.

“Actually, it’s been more than year—one year and 124 days to be exact.”

“Buttercup, all I’m saying is we don’t even know how she looks—” Garcia gasped, having spotted a passerby on the window and what she was wearing. “Oh my gosh, that maroon coat is to die for and that textured leather bag—I wonder if I could track her down and ask where she got it.”

“Oh she’s pretty,” JJ noted.

Derek smirked. “Baby girl, tell me if you plan to ask her ‘cause I wouldn’t mind asking for her number.”

The tech analyst’s eyes further widened as she noted the attractive woman going inside the restaurant.

“You weren’t kidding about that coat, Garcia, it looks really nice,” JJ appraised.

Emily squinted her eyes, taking note of the garment in question. “It looks high quality, probably vintage and—is she going near us?”

“Oh gods, she is! Act natural, act natural!” Penelope chanted as she repeatedly slapped Derek’s arm.

The stranger stopped behind Spencer. “Hey handsome,” your melodic voice was a siren that called to his every being. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped as she took in Derek’s flustered reaction.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, getting picked up in such a public setting was new even for him—the ladies man of the BAU.

You laughed. “Well, you too but I was more of talking to this lover of mine—“ you bent down, kissing your boyfriend’s cheek. “Hey, Spence.”

A series of gasps were heard all around the table.

The youngest stood up and turned to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “Hey, Y/N. I was starting to get worried.”

“I missed the train, sorry I forgot to send an update,” you explained as he helped you into your seat.

Promptly seating back down, he angled his body to yours—all attention on you as if you were the only one in the room. And in a way you were, with how molten his doe eyes stared, alternating between yours and your painted lips that begged to be kissed.

He always felt breathless when you were near. It was as if he found his very own Aphrodite to worship here on earth. Spencer was no believer of fates or destiny but he would pray and light a candle if he needed to, just to keep you his. Your intelligent mind complimenting his, your outgoing personality that draws anyone in, and your face that could launch a thousand ships.

Those eyes that could read the deepest crevices of his fiber of being. Those cheeks that begged to be caressed by his calloused hands. Those soft lips that deserved to be kissed and devoured until you, in turn, were as breathless as he was. He suddenly wished you both were anywhere else but here—specifically in the confines of the apartment where he was free to express his love, devotion, and adoration until you scream his name and beg him to stop. His hand, having found it’s way to your thigh, squeezed the flesh three times—communicating his promise to have your hair laid around you like a halo as you lay under him, bare and writhing with need.

The blonde on the other end of the table cleared her throat, cutting through the tension.

“Okay, Spence,” she smiled. “Mind introducing us to your girlfriend?”

He brought your hand to his lips, leaving a series of sweet kisses on your knuckle. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is the rest of the team. Morgan—“ he gestured to each one. “Emily, JJ, and Garcia.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you!” You exclaimed. “So sorry we’re only meeting now. We wanted to stay in our little bubble for as long as we could plus this handsome FBI agent—” you nudged Spencer’s shoulder. “—wanted to keep me to himself. But where’s Aaron and Dave?”

Emily whispered under her breath. “Aaron? Dave?”

“They had prior commitments, love. They did send their regards and Rossi wants to invite you to the next gathering at his mansion,” Spencer explained.

“Love?” Penelope squeaked out. This was really starting to feel like Twilight zone for the team members.

You nodded. “I’ll definitely plot it on my calendar. Now, I heard you had some questions for me?”

“How’d you two meet?” JJ asked.

“When was the first date?” Emily inquired.

Penelope brought out a pen and paper. “What’s you social security number?”

Derek snorted at that. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Spencer’s eyebrows raised further and further up with each question while your shoulders shook with laughter.

“She has all the time in the world to get to know each of you,” Spencer laid out. “No need to make it sound like an interrogation.” He was wishing to keep you forever, if you’d let him.

You smiled as you caressed his cheek, having caught on to the veiled meaning behind his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[babeforjjmaybanks]

orange soda crush ༊*·˚

pairing: popular!rafe x shy!femreader ౨ৎ

summary: rafe's grades were slipping, to say the least. your school assigns you as his tutor, hoping maybe you could save him. one afternoon, rafe shows up to your house with in need of some help.

warning(s): dry humping, fingering, finger licking, mentions of biting (hickeys), thigh riding, marijuana use, swearing, size kink if you squint, mentions of scratching, slight overstim, rafe becomes whipped so possessiveness, innocence corruption(?), praise, slight perv!rafe, titobsessed!rafe, dni if you don't like!!!

mentions of: rafey, rafe is called a "sex symbol", y/n, sweetheart, good girl, baby, sweet girl, dumbass, needy girl, slut, doll, cute, pretty ౨ৎ

a/n: if not known already, this is basically a obx highschool au, pogues and looks still exist but it's more like jocks and nerds. both reader and rafe are seniors, not minors! I don't have much experience with writing fics but here's my current fixation, enjoy & leave notes! <3

word count: 4168

divider by: @issysh3ll

y/n had been sitting quietly in her history class, the bell signaling the end of the period ringing in the distance. she was gathering her books when the overhead speaker crackled to life, interrupting the usual noise of students packing up.

"pardon this interruption, y/n l/n, please report to principal phelp’s office immediately."

the announcement hung in the air, drawing the attention of a few nearby students. she froze, a slight chill running through her. she wasn’t the type to get into trouble—her grades were impeccable, she kept to herself, and she was always on time. so why was she being called to the principal’s office? her mind raced through all the possible reasons, none of which seemed likely. had she missed an assignment? was there a mistake with her records? or was it the skirt she decided to wear today that definitely didn’t meet the dress code?

her heart pounded as she made her way down the hall, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. as she approached the principal’s office, she noticed the usual hustle and bustle of students outside. some of them exchanged glances, their curious eyes following her every step, looking her up and down with whispers and sly looks. when she reached the door, she hesitated for a moment before knocking lightly.

"come in," came the deep voice of principal phelps.

she opened the door to find him sitting behind his desk, a manila folder in front of him. the room was neat, almost too perfect, the smell of old books and polished wood filling the air. but what really caught her off guard was the figure sitting across from him.

rafe cameron, the school's golden boy.

her stomach dropped. rafe was sitting with his arms crossed, his signature smirk plastered across his face as he looked over at her. His messy curtain and athletic jacket seemed almost out of place in the sterile office, like he didn’t belong in this space. she had always known of him, of course. he was the star quarterback, the guy everyone knew by name, the one who seemed to glide effortlessly through life. and now, here he was, looking at her as if he had all the time in the world, while she, on the other hand, was caught off guard and confused.

"there she is, come on in we were just talking about you." principal phelps said with a warm smile, though she could detect a hint of urgency in his tone. "take a seat."

she sat down hesitantly, trying to avoid looking directly at rafe. the tension in the air was palpable, and she was acutely aware of how out of place she felt in this situation.

"y/n," principal phelps began, folding his hands in front of him, his expression turning serious, "I’ve called you here because I need a favor. you know rafe, right?"

you glanced at rafe again, his eyes diverted to something else in the room as if he wasn’t staring at you. he seemed unfazed by the situation, though there was a subtle flicker of something in his eyes. "um, yeah," you said quietly, not sure where this conversation was going.

principal phelps nodded. "well, rafe here has been struggling in a few subjects. he’s having difficulty with math, english, and history.” principal phelps cleared his throat trying to ignore the fact that he named almost every class. “and unfortunately, his grades are slipping dangerously low. If he doesn’t get his grades up, he could lose his eligibility to play on the football team, which would jeopardize his scholarship opportunities." he paused, giving her a moment to process the gravity of the situation.

she blinked, her mind racing. rafe? struggling? the same rafe who could probably get away with doing the bare minimum and still pass every class? the same rafe with the fancy sport cars and the fancy mansion he threw ragers in? (allegedly, she’s never been to one.) the same rafe who had never so much as acknowledged her existence in all the years they’d been in school?

"I’m asking you," principal phelps continued, leaning forward slightly, "to tutor rafe for the next few weeks. he needs to pass these subjects to stay on track. and I know you’re one of our top students, y/n. you’re smart, diligent, and patient—exactly what rafe needs right now."

rafe shifted in his chair, his smirk faltering for just a moment. "yeah, sweetheart," he added with a lazy grin, "I could use your help. think you can handle it?" he glanced down at her thighs, and then back up at her. she felt her face flush at the sudden name.

her mind was spinning. she had never thought of rafe as anything more than the popular guy—someone she’d seen in the hallways but never really interacted with. actually, that was a lie, the thinking part. she actually would think about rafe alot when she was bored, specifically his toned body and the way he bit his lip when he was thinking. she had no idea how to deal with someone like him.

"I—I don’t know," she stammered, feeling her face flush. "I’m not sure I’m the right person for this."

principal phelps’s voice softened, but there was still a sense of urgency in his words. "I’m sure you are. rafe, here, is a good kid at heart, but he’s under a lot of pressure. If you help him out, it could mean a lot to him—and to his future."

rafe’s eyes met hers again, and for a split second, she thought she saw something other than cockiness—a hint of desperation, maybe even embarrassment. but it was gone before she could fully understand it.

she took a deep breath. she had never been one to shy away from responsibility, even if the situation seemed overwhelming. she didn’t want to be the one to deny him help, especially when it could affect his future.

"okay," she finally said, her voice steady but unsure. "I’ll help."

principal phelps smiled, relief flooding his face. "thank you, y/n. I know this is a lot to ask, but I think you’re exactly what rafe needs."

as she stood up to leave, she felt the weight of the task ahead of her settle in. she glanced one more time at rafe, who was still sitting there, his posture slightly more relaxed now. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel the tension between them already starting to form, a mix of uncertainty and something unspoken.

"see you tomorrow, then," she said, her words more for herself than for him, before leaving the office to prepare for what was about to be an unexpected and challenging journey.

over the past two weeks, y/n and rafe had settled into a rhythm, though it was far from smooth at first. their tutoring sessions started awkwardly—rafe's usual cocky demeanor clashed with y/n’s quiet, no-nonsense attitude. he would slouch in his chair, often cracking jokes or making sarcastic comments, testing her patience. but y/n, determined to get him through the material, refused to let him off the hook. slowly, she found ways to get through to him, breaking down complicated equations and historical events into relatable, bite-sized pieces. rafe, surprisingly, started to respond. he still struggled, but he began showing up earlier for their sessions, staying later, and even asking questions without the usual bravado.

as the days passed, the tutoring sessions shifted from strictly academic to more personal. one evening, as they were going over a particularly difficult history assignment, rafe let slip that his father had been pushing him to be the perfect athlete, to always be "the best." "It’s not just about football," rafe admitted, his tone more vulnerable than she had ever heard. "I just don’t want to disappoint him, you know?" y/n was taken aback. she had always seen rafe as the confident jock, but here was a side of him she hadn’t expected—a young man weighed down by more than just his grades. she listened quietly, offering a rare, understanding smile that made rafe pause for a moment. after that, their sessions felt different. the walls that had once separated them began to crumble.

In the weeks that followed, their conversations drifted beyond just homework. rafe started sharing bits of his life with you—how he used to love painting when he was younger, how he struggled with anxiety before big games, and how he was terrified of failing his senior year. you, in turn, opened up as well, telling rafe about your dream of becoming a lawyer and how you often felt like an outsider at school. the two of you discovered common ground in your shared feelings of pressure, and the lines between tutor and student began to blur. with each passing session, you became more comfortable with one another, a connection forming that neither had anticipated—one built on mutual respect, trust, and the quiet bond of shared struggle.

it was a quiet evening when y/n heard the unexpected knock on her door. she glanced at the clock—there was no study session scheduled for that night, so she wasn’t expecting anyone. her parents were out, and she had been planning on catching up on some reading. she opened the door, a little confused, only to find rafe standing on her porch, looking uncharacteristically disheveled. his usual confident posture was gone, replaced with an uneasy slouch. his eyes were almost bloodshot, and he wore an unfamiliar look on his face—vulnerable, even fragile.

"rafe?" y/n asked, surprised. "what are you doing here?"

he ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a small, strained laugh. "I—I know this is weird. but I, uh... I had a fight with my dad. a big one. he’s pissed about my grades and shit again, and he’s been on my case all week." rafe hesitated, biting his lip as if trying to hold back a wave of frustration. "I... I got high. like really fucking high I know I shouldn’t have, but I just couldn’t handle it. and I needed to get out of there." he looked down at his shoes, his words a little rushed. "I just—" he sighed, clearly frustrated with himself. "I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d—just let me hang out for a bit. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn't wanna seem like a pussy to all of my dumbass friends."

y/n stood frozen for a moment, processing his words. she had never seen him like this. the rafe she knew was always in control, always surrounded by his friends, the football team, and the unshakable air of confidence. this version of him—lost, raw, and uncertain—was a stark contrast. her heart softened at the sight of him, and despite the oddness of the situation, she stepped aside and motioned for him to come in.

"come in," she said, her voice gentle. "let’s sit down."

rafe walked in slowly, his movements sluggish, still unsure of what to say. she led him to the living room and handed him a glass of water, sitting down next to him, a soft hand placed on his back. the room was filled with the low voice of lana del ray and soft hum of the evening, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. rafe finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a look of quiet gratitude mixed with embarrassment along with something untraceable. "I didn’t mean to show up like this, but I didn’t know who else I could trust with this."

y/n’s heart tightened. she had no idea how much weight rafe had been carrying, how much pressure he was under from his father and the constant expectations of being perfect. In that moment, she realized how little she had truly known about him, and yet here he was—vulnerable, raw, and seeking comfort from the one person he had never expected to rely on.

"you don’t have to explain," she said softly. "I’m glad you came." she gave him a weak smile, rafe felt his heart flutter. "so.. how'd you get high? is that stupid question? sorry, you know people are bringing cocaine back into school." he chuckles, she lets out a giggle. "no cocaine here sweetheart, just this." rafe reached into his pocket and pulled out a weed pen, but y/n had never seen anything like it. it was super colorful and weirdly shaped, not like the ones she would see in the bathroom. "can I hold it?" she glanced at rafe, her doe eyes dimly lit with the faint lighting coming from the lamp in the corner. "why? you smoke? no way." he raised his eyebrow at her, but handed her the pen anyway.

"no, I don't smoke but.." she pauses, biting her lip, "I'm tempted. maybe you're just a really bad influence." he scoffed at her, "give it a try, just hold the button and pull it." y/n stood at the device in her hand uncertain. "what do you mean pull?" rafe held back his laugh, she shoots him a glare. "I'm serious." she playfully shoved him.

"yeah yeah I can see that, by pull I mean, suck on it I guess." her face heats up, cursing herself for letting such innocent words cause a fluttery feeling in her stomach. "okay, I'll try." she focused her attention of the pen and did as rafe said, she put the pen up to her lips and "sucked." rafe watched intensely as her lips wrapped around the tip of the pen, he swallows hard. trying to keep his composure, aka stop staring at your boobs in your thin strapped top or imagine your lips wrapped around his dick like that.

you slightly inhale the smoke and it immediately gets caught in your throat. you're now in a coughing frenzy, embarrassed as rafe pats your back. "atta girl, that's how you do it don't try to hold it in, let it out." y/n found herself coughing even more at the sly remarks. she stands up and walks over to the kitchen hastily grabbing an orange fanta from the fridge. she struggles to open it due to her latest french tip set, rafe notices her struggling and walks over. he opens the can with one hand with a sizzle pop! noise, she brings the drink to her lips hoping to relieve her dry mouth.

after taking a couple minutes to calm down, y/n offers rafe to come up to her room. it comes off as a surprise, rafe had never been anywhere in y/n's house except the living room and kitchen, never upstairs. but with no complaint, he follows behind her, watching the way her ass moves as she climbs up the steps. they make it to her room and it's safe to say, it was tidy. everything seemed like it had a place, and the room was lit with purple led's. but the best part of it all, was her bed. the mattress was extremely comfortable and she had an abundance of pillows as well as plushies.

"yeah this fits you, like a doll in a dollhouse." he walks around her room a bit before sitting on her bed getting comfortable.

meanwhile, y/n on the other hand was in a whole other world.

her ears were burning almost, she could hear her heartbeat and her whole body was tingling. she felt nothing short of amazing, euphoric even.

the usual walls between them had melted away, and now, as the evening dragged on, the space between them felt more intimate than it ever had before. there was movie was playing on her TV, but neither of them seemed particularly interested in it. they were both laughing at the silly dialogue and weird moments on the screen, but most of the time their eyes kept drifting back to each other.

rafe broke the silence, his voice softer than usual. "you know," he said, arms wrapped around her waist as she sat on top of him, "this is the most chill I’ve felt in weeks." his eyes were a little glassy, but his smile was genuine, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. "It’s nice being away from everything… away from the pressure."

she nodded, her head slightly spinning from the effects. the room felt warmer, the air thicker, and rafe’s presence seemed to fill the space between them in a way that felt new. he shifted, his chest brushing against her back, and neither of them pulled away. It felt like a small moment of intimacy, unspoken yet undeniable.

"yeah," she replied, her voice quieter now, "it’s nice not to think about all the things we’re supposed to be worrying about."

"I wonder, do you ever worry about me? think about me at night?" his tone was teasing, but there was something more behind it, something she could feel but couldn’t quite place. It was an invitation, but also something more—like a question she wasn’t sure how to answer. "so much goes on behind those pretty eyes."

y/n felt her heart beat a little faster as she considered it. part of her wanted to stay upright on his lap, maintain the little distance they had been keeping, but something about rafe’s tone, the way his eyes held hers, made her hesitate. she wanted to trust this moment, to let it unfold without overthinking it. she melted into his touch, resting her head in the crook of his neck, thighs pressed together. "I do."

rafe shifted to make room as he breathed in the scent of vanilla, the bed soft beneath him. the air between them was electric now, charged with a tension that neither of them seemed willing to break. the movie was still playing, but neither of them were paying attention to it anymore. they were closer now, the space between them reduced to nothing and for the first time in a long time she wasn't sure of something, she wasn’t sure if she was just feeling the effects of the weed or something more.

rafe leaned back against the pillows, his arms still wrapped around her body. "we don’t have to watch the movie," he said, his voice almost too smooth, like he was testing the waters. his eyes didn’t leave hers, his gaze intent and heavy, and in that moment, the world outside her room seemed to disappear.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat as the tension between them grew. every inch of her body was acutely aware of him, the way his presence felt so overwhelming, so magnetic. she had always seen rafe as someone distant, someone who belonged to a world she could never quite fit into. but now, with the smoke being blown in her face, taken in by slightly parted lips, she felt like they were on the same level.

she opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she just looked at him, her pulse racing as her mind swirled in the haze of the night.

"I wanna touch you."

rafe's breath fell heavy on her ear, sending a slight chill down her spine. her breath hitched, and there was that same flutter in her stomach. she didn't exactly have any experience in things like this but she wasn't entirely clueless, but never dealt with it hands on.

but rafe? he was a fucking sex symbol. several girls would literally leave notes in his locker with their address begging him to fuck them. but he would only rack up two bodies, or so it's said.

both of those girls transferred schools due to death threats.

but y/n doesn't understand why he would choose her.

"touch, me?" her voice was soft, but not afraid. infact, she was more relaxed than ever. "I wanna make you feel good, you're gonna be the fucking death of me. so innocent you don't even notice how you're straddling me, do you?" y/n took notice of how firmly planted on his thigh she was, no longer fully in his lap. "um, well.." rafe placed his hands on her hips, slowly guiding her back and forth. a jolt of pleasure shooting through her body, "rafey." a mewl creept from her lips, rafe was fucking aching in his sweats at this point. hair sticking to his forehead, lips parted slightly. "shit, you want me to stop? just give me the word i'll stop." he halts his movements, earning a disappointed whine.

"I don't want you to stop."

rafe curses under his breath, he slides her onto his lap and grinds his hips up into her, letting out a low groan. "you're a needy girl aren't you? so stressed and pent up. you can let go, I got you." rafe coo'd into her ear, placing soft kisses on her shoulders and moving to her neck, biting and sucking, hands rubbing all over her body, palming her boobs through her top, fingers brushing over her nipples.

rafe turns her head twords him, pressing their lips together. a mix of cherry lipgloss and orange fanta settling on his tongue. the kiss is sloppy and heated, the air in the room is thick as the movie in the background gets drowned out by moans and heavy breaths.

"such a sweet girl, you know that? all the shit you do for me? you deserve a fucking trophy." rafe showers her with praise has he goes back to kissing her neck, hands never leaving her body as she caught the rhythm on her own.

her brain was foggy with pleasure, lips parted but could't respond with anything but moans and "mhm's." rafe plays with the hem of her pajama pants, "can I?" she nods, "words, baby I need to hear you say it."

y/n, almost frustrated lets out a defeated sigh. "yes, but.." she hesitates. "can you take your shirt off?" she says quietly, as if she wasn't already in such a vulnerable state.

rafe chuckles at the sudden request, but does as she says. he pulls his black shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. y/n does the same. rafe is practically drooling at the sight of the pink lacy bra. his hands cup her breasts through the fabric, she arches her back against his chest. he slides his hand into her pants, glancing down to see that her underwear matched her bra. "so fucking cute."

he rubs her through the fabric, dampness seeping through the material. he teases her with long strides and rubs circles around her clit. he slips his hand into her underwear, almost moaning at the slick. y/n bites her swollen lip in an attempt to save her embarrassment.

"I want you to watch me."

her eyes slowly moved down to rafes hand in her pants, her face heated with embarrassment as she watched rafe's forearm and wrist flexed as he worked her clit, finger teasing her entrance. "I need you to relax, open your legs for me." rafe slowly parted her thighs with his free hand. "good fucking girl, so obedient." he kisses her cheek as he slides a digit into her sopping cunt. she inhales sharply, her head is thrown over his shoulder and her nails dig slightly into his arms.

"shit, just sucking me in. if I didn't know any better i'd think you were a slut." rafe's teasing manner never seemed to stop, he was two fingers, knuckle deep, in his supposed to be tutor. the only thing they were studying were eachothers body movements.

he found a steady pace working his fingers in and out of her, her moans becoming more high pitched, rafe could tell she was close. her hips bucked up into his hand, an unfamiliar knot forming in her stomach.

"rafey— 'm gonna— fuck!"

rafe was in genuine disbelief, not only did he cum in his pants but this was the first time he had ever heard you swear, tonight was a lot of firsts. the girl that he had been crushing on for weeks was about to cum on his fingers, moaning his name. he was never letting her go after this.

almost like it was on cue, y/n's orgasm hit like a truck. her entire body was shaking and she swore she saw starts. on top of that, rafe was still working his fingers in and out of her riding out her orgasm. she swatted his hands away and he took his hand out of her pants, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking them clean. she falls off of his lap onto the cool comforter beside him, chest heaving. he lays beside her and wraps his arms around her waist.

"want me to go run a bath, sweetheart?" he kisses the nape of her neck and cages her in. "'n a minute, just stay here for a second."

"didn't plan on leaving." ౨ৎ

[spookyvalentine]

fifty questions for rook

(no spoilers!)

Round two (spoilers)

veilguard is finally here yall!!!!! and now a set of character building questions for rook, because i wanna know all about them! there will be more question lists as I play the game, but those will be marked with spoilers and under a readmore for the next sixty days

1. How old is Rook?

2. How did Rook get the nickname? What do they think of it?

3. What was Rook’s life before their faction?

4. Which faction did they join, and why? How long has it been?

5. What was life like for Rook before joining the Veilguard?

6. What was the reason that brought Rook to Minrathous?

7. Why does Rook agree to join the Veilguard?

8. What makes Rook a good leader?

9. What is Rook like on the battlefield?

10. Does Rook know their history? Do they know of the HoF, Hawke, the Inquisitor?

11. Does Rook keep up with current events? (How aware of the situation are they at the start of the game?)

12. Does Rook have any family? Do they keep in touch?

13. Did Rook bring any trinkets/sentimental items to The Lighthouse?

14. What does Rook see when they look in the mirror?

15. What’s the first thing people notice when Rook enters a room?

16. Got any tattoos? What’s the story behind them?

17. How’d Rook get those scars?

18. Their fondest childhood memory:

19. What is Rook’s love language? What love languages do they respond best to?

20. What’s it like to see them smile? Their laugh?

21. What does Rook’s voice sound like? One of the voice options available, or do they have a different accent/voicecast?

22. Most embarrassing memory as a teenager:

23. What does Rook wear in the off hours? Do they like dressing up?

24. Does Rook have any nightly rituals before bed?

25. How does Rook like to spend their free time?

26. Rook is in charge of the grocery list. What’s on it?

27. When was the last time they cried?

28. Does Rook have any pets/animal companions?

29. Any vices?

30. What is Rook’s class? Did they choose it?

31. What specialization does Rook pursue? What called them to it?

32. How would a desire demon tempt Rook?

33. What do fear demons look like to Rook?

34. How does Rook begin their day?

35. Ultimate comfort food meal:

36. What would Rook say are their flaws?

37. Does Rook ascribe to a faith?

38. Did Rook have any relationships before Veilguard?

39. What is their room at The Lighthouse like?

40. Describe Rook’s bed:

41. What’s on their nightstand?

42. Something Rook regrets:

43. Is Rook the type to gossip?

44. What is Rook really good at?

45. Who was Rook’s closest friend before joining the Veilguard?

46. What does it take to earn Rook’s trust?

47. What’s Rook’s temper like?

48. A color, flower, animal, and weather to describe Rook:

49. What will always make them laugh?

50. Are they a mystery, or an open book?

+1 What does Rook smell like?