#now i REALLY need to read the book to figure out which it is there

[stargirl-mo]

Ghost X Cam Girl part three <3

CW: Ghost x fem!reader, masturbation, swearing , breeding kink, p in v!, dirty talk, cunnilingus, mask kink a lil plot and porn , some angst if you squint (and more sorry if I didn’t get them all 💋) MDNI 18+

Part one <3 Part two <3

Sorry about my hiatus guys but this will be the last in the series I wouldn’t mind writing little drabbles but that’s it with them lol. Besides me writing other Ghost stories. I would really like for you guys to comment any other COD characters for me to write about . I also will be doing black fem readers too in the future thank you for reading <3🫶🏾.

It’s been 24 hours since Simon has, in better words, graced you with his presence.

Imagine your total surprise when the hunk of a man who obliterated your guts is now standing in front of you. You thought the last time you would see him would be in the cool, crisp white sheets ( they were changed, of course …) of the expensive hotel you booked.

But you were incorrect, as you saw the same amber brown eyes looking back at you. Not the same this time, they were tired but also content. Now lacking the hunger and lust they were once filled with, but another emotion you couldn’t place your finger on. Heavy bags under them and streaks of black war paint smudged around his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose. And of course wearing his signature black balaclava with his skull on it.

You were shell-shocked, your mind completely buzzing with a thousand and one questions, “how’d he know where I live?” “Is he okay?” “What the fuck is going on?”, just being a few of them.

He gently moved you aside and placed a kiss on your forehead, and mumbled something that you couldn’t quite hear. He took off his boots and began to strip, taking off the heavy gear and all his black fabrics.

Now he stood in just his boxers and no mask, he flopped on your couch, making it groan under his sheer size that was not big enough to fit the hulk of his body, so much so that his feet hung off the arm. He immediately fell asleep and started snoring.

You had to catch your breath because the room was starting to spin. You breathed in and out and listened to the sound of your heart, willing it to slow down. Was this happening? You looked at his serene sleeping figure again, watching his breathing. You hated how this was the only way you were calming down, but his breathing was deep, slow and even, and you caught yourself matching it, feeling a lot more relaxed.

The sight was comical, this big man that could and should be on a Men’s Health magazine on this pink couch that had flower throw pillows, squishy mellows and fluffy blankets that now piled around him.

Black swirls of ink touched his ghostly skin as well, making him look like living art as he breathed in and out slowly but steadily. His body was still rugged and Greek God-like like with his healthy layer of fat making him look biteable.

As you still tried to take everything in, you realized his uniform smelled rank, and everything he brought into your house needed to be sanitized.

So you put away the whole random man in my house thing and cleaned. You cleaned until the next thing you knew you were washing, drying and folding his laundry.

Now your whole house sparkled and shone, and Casper the ghost was still snoring his life away. You took the opportunity to take in his face and took a good look. You only got a couple of peeks the last time.

So you scooted closer, deathly afraid he would catch you being a creep, so you held your breath. He was sleeping so soundly as you took in his features. He was just as handsome as you remembered. Pretty white blonde lashes fanned his closed eyes. They were to kill for, and you would, as he had your dream set. His crooked nose, which was broken too many times, gave him a charmed look.

You remembered how it felt against your clit, bumping and prodding as you screamed and pushed his face more into your soaked, wet heat. You shook your head as you willed the thoughts away, feeling like a pervert.

He shifted and groaned, and you could swear you felt your heart drop to your ass, but he went back to breathing softly.

His lips were full and slightly parted as he breathed. he had a scar that parted through his top lip, taking a small sliver out of his flesh, leaving a small gap that probably showed his teeth through it when he smiled.

You backed up and looked at the time on your phone, realizing that you had a fan video to make, pulling you away from the snoozing oaf.

.…………….…………….……………..…………………………….

You emerge from your room, sweating and sticky hoping you weren’t too loud. Wait a minute, you coulda been as loud as you wanted; this is your house. What is this man doing to you?

You sigh and peek your head at the couch, he’s still there, looking like a picture of serenity and peace. Besides his feet hanging off the pink couch, you chuckle to yourself, still not believing the giant man on your couch.

You went to the bathroom and got in the shower, taking a long, hot shower, washing everything off.

You stepped out into your teddy bear slippers and wrapped a towel around you. You cracked the bathroom door, still seeing him sleeping. You scurry out of the bathroom and into your room.

As you flop into your big bed after doing your bedtime routine, the last thing you think about is a pair of amber brown eyes.

.…………….…………….……………..…………………………….

You woke up to the smell of tea and pancakes. I gotta be delusional, you thought, or maybe just hungry. Pancakes do sound good, though, you thought. You laugh and put on a white silk dress that stops right at your mid-thigh.

You walked out of your bedroom and didn’t check the couch because subconsciously you thought the giant would still be there. You walked into the kitchen, going into the cabinet, trying to get a bowl so you could make the pancakes you thought you smelled earlier.

The batter was way up high on the last shelf, the shelf you never use, the reason being that it’s too high for you. You did remember the stepping stool you brought, just in case you needed it. Always good to be prepared, your mother said to you. You shook your head at her nagging that turned out to be right in that motherly way.

Your bare foot stepped on the rough material and as you were about to get that damn forsaken box of pancake mix, you felt a warm yet damp wall, the next thing you know a pale huge veiny arm is pulling you into them, and the rough prickly feeling of overgrown stubble now on your shoulder.

“ You know we should throw this thing out now since you’ll have me get things for you right, doll”. His warm, minty breath fans your face, lips dangerously close to your ears. His voice was still laced with sleep, making it extra gravelly. You felt an involuntary shiver go down your spine.

Making you cringe cause now he knows he affects you. You push him off you, stumbling down, almost twisting your ankle, trying to back away from him.

“ How the fuck did you find my apartment?” You blurted, your heart beating wildly and your brain scrambling.

Fuck did you forget that fast? He was in your place. That was the pancakes and tea you were smelling earlier. Damn Brits and their tea should have known from the strong tea smell alone.

“ Calm down lovie, don’t want you to hurt yourself,” He said, catching you expertly. He sat you back down on your feet and gently backed away from you. His voice was stern yet gentle, making you melt a bit. You weren’t expecting that tone.

His eyes were full of concern was all stalkers as caring as mine, you thought.

Fuck you sound as delusional and crazy as he is. Damn, you were attracted to your stalker. This is nuts, but could you blame yourself as you look at him now…

His whole body was exposed beside your pink towel, low on his slutty waist. His blonde wavy hair dripping wet, water droplets fell down his face onto his body. You were mesmerized as they lazily slid down his body.

You looked up and felt his eyes eye fucking you too your nipples cold showing through your silky white dress, and your hair making a halo around your head, making you look like an angel.

His angel, you were just as gorgeous as he left you. The only thing getting him through his deployment was making it home to you.

“ I’m calm ghost but were not gonna skip over the fact your in my house like the last time I saw you-“ You pause and looked down flushed cause the last time you saw him indeed being him making you look at your yourself in the mirror as he fucked you nine ways into next week Sunday.

“ Finish your sentence, princess, cause last time I remember seeing you, I was balls deep in your tight cunt” He said, smiling wolfishly. You were right, his teeth showed through his lips, and you hated how your cunt pulsed.

“ Ghost, please put some clothes on and let’s have a discussion,” You said sternly. You were happy it didn’t come out like a whimper.

“ Whatever you want, babydoll.” He took the towel off, leaving him as naked as he came into this world.

He walked passed you, putting the hot pink towel in his hair. You were watching him hungrily when you said put on clothes you didn’t mean right in front of you. But were you complaining, no, not really…

You left his bag of laundry right by the head of the couch. As he went through it, he was pleasantly surprised that it was washed and cleaned, smelling like fresh laundry and something sweet that only you smelled like. He grabbed a pair of black boxers and black sweats, leaving his shirt off.

He sat down on the couch, looking comfortable and content. His legs spread thick and wide like he was a king, you scoffed in your head and rolled your eyes.

“ Alright baby, what’s the matter? “ He said, looking at you with the utmost interest. His eyes were trained on you, the sun hitting them, making them look like pools of honey. His blonde hair was sticking up everywhere, making him look boyish.

His arms rest on the top of the couch, his forearm veins look lickable, and you want desperately for his bicep to choke you as he slams- no, no no you gotta stay strong he’s a stalker for Christ's sake.

“ Don’t baby me, you’re a stalker, how did you find me anyway?” You put your hand on your hip and sternly demanded an answer.

He smirked slightly, amused as you looked cute with your pouty mouth, you also would look cute with your pouty lips around something else, too. His dick was chubbier than before; seeing you all riled up turned him on. He re-adjusted his pants and sighed.

“ Listen, I couldn’t quit you I had to make you mine, plus let’s not forget I’m in the military, and I remember you promising to be my wife .” He said with a dry chuckle.

“ W-whatever I was acting, it’s sex, okay, everyone says whatever comes to mind or what their partner wants during it.” You said as you raise your voice now and talk with your hands.

You couldn’t help it; you tried to be calm and composed, but the more you think about the words coming out of your mouth, they sound like a lie.

You weren’t acting that was the best sex you had in your life. And what you hate is that you felt a spark between you two; it didn’t just feel like sex. But you wanted to prove him wrong…

“ You can’t even look at me when you're saying it was an 'act', you know you felt something." He said, now he’s pulling you into him, chin on your belly, arms around your thighs, stroking them gently, looking into your face, searching for any answer he could find.

You didn’t look at him because you knew you would crack, so you placed your hands on his and moved them off your thighs. You immediately missed the heaviness and warmth they provided. You stepped back.

“ I-I have to record a video, okay you don’t have to leave or get out, but I need space from whatever this is,” You said as you looked down at your pretty French white toes.

“ I was hoping you’d let me stay I wasn’t keen on leaving, doll face, and when you're talking to me, you look at me,” He said, rough and sternly in that damn accent.

He wasn’t telling you he was commanding you…

But you couldn’t look at him; something in you didn’t want to obey. So you continued looking at your toes until a shadow came over you. A hand now gripped your neck softly, yet it applied pressure.

Your eyes snapped up, you didn’t even hear him move off the couch, he was standing in front of you in a nanosecond.

He made not one sound.

That’s why they call him Ghost, you thought foolishly to yourself as you beat yourself up in your head, you felt the pressure tighten slightly, and it made your panties wet.

“ Still not looking at me, sweetheart, I don’t want to have to spank you right before a call,” He said smoothly, looking at you hungrily.

“ I don’t care you showed up here unannounced and now you think-you know what, I’m not arguing with you, let me go.” You look at the giant and gather the courage you need to look the man in the eyes and not fold under pressure.

If it were up to him, he would take the silky little “dress” off and show you who’s boss, but he was feeling stupid after all; he never felt anything about any other woman but you.

“You’re right, very stupid of me. I’ll give you your space, and I’ll figure out my living arrangements soon.” He backed away from you and sat back down.

“ Wait, I did n’t-okay. “ You didn’t say you wanted him to leave, but fine if he wants to act like that, whatever.

………………………………………………………..

It’s been a month since you and Simon’s argument, and he’s not letting up on his end of the bargain. He’s been saying nothing to you, and frankly, ignoring your very existence except for basic manners like thank you.

But the thing about this is that he’s been fixing things in the house, the leaky pipes in the bathroom fixed, the creaky door fixed. He’s been the perfect gentleman; he just won’t talk to you …

You even heard him on the phone talking to someone about getting a one-bedroom soon. You didn’t say anything about wanting him to leave…

You get out of the bathroom and think about how to get him to say or do anything to you, your pride is too big to tell him you wanna have a conversation.

You grab the shea butter and begin your after-shower routine. As you slip on a t-shirt, you realize that it’s too big; it reaches past your thighs.

It’s Simon’s.

You flop on your bed and pull the shirt to your nose, inhaling deeply. It had a twinge of sweat. But you didn’t mind it. You must have missed this shirt when you were doing the laundry. You take another inhale and this time you smell the earthiness of his favorite tea and something sweet.

It was just him, plain him.

So why was it making you so feral? The more you inhale, the more you feel like it is your drug, making you feel so light and airy.

Your mind began to wander, thinking about that night in the sheets, the way your sweat-slicked bodies pressed and pushed together.

How, even after filming the original video, you and him had more rounds…

His raw strength and power he gave you, yet you think about how gentle he was, how he wiped down your body, kissed your feet and worshipped you, making you feel like you were the only thing that mattered.

You think about the last month of being with him, how you would catch him staring at you with such an intense energy. How he fixed the things you ramble about when you thought he wasn’t listening to you.

You both were just stubborn.

Your clit pulsed , and it dawned on you his smell alone was making you horny…

You remember feeling otherworldly, you felt like time didn’t exist, your hand was down your panties before you knew it.

The familiar feeling of your warmth and the firmness of your clit, you wasted no time as you began working your slicked fingers, pumping them in and out of your wet heat. The more you thought about him, the more you gushed out your essence.

Your eyes pressed so tight no light could come in, blissed out in your little world, unaware of the fact that Ghost was watching you since you put his shirt on…

He could have come in his pants right there.

He planned on coming in there and asking about the workout shirt he planted in your room. He was getting tired of this not speaking shit.

He thought maybe when he had Johnny pretend to be a realtor on the phone, you would say something about him leaving, but there was nothing from you.

So as he was about to storm in and sell the bullshit story on the shirt he planted.

But to his surprise, you presented to him in your most vulnerable moment, your back arched blissfully just from his smell alone…

Lying in his shirt smelling it so deeply, almost greedily, your fingers pumping so vigorously in your tight cunt with whispers of his name leaving your honeyed mouth.

His dick was hard, and his mouth watered. Here he was plotting on you, yet you present yourself to him in your truest way, perverted and stubborn just like him.

You were made to be his wife.

“ So I guess I’m a stalker, but you’re a thief and a pervert,” He said as he stood in your doorway leaning looking smug.

You stop your moments, eyes opening wide to see the British man leering down at you, his smile wide and lascivious. As he looms in your doorway, wide and sturdy like a brick house.

Embarrassed was an understatement as your cheeks flushed, you went to grab your pajama pants, but before you could, he barked out an order.

“ I swear you touch those pants, your ass cheeks are gonna be redder than your face now," He said as you stopped mid-reach. You took this moment to take in his appearance.

No mask on his face, no shirt, just sweats hanging low, showing off everything. You wanted to combust right there. He was beautiful, yet you hated yourself more than ever in this moment.

For a month, you were being a bitch and he an asshole, and yet this smug bastard found you with your hands in your cookie jar.

“Now, since we’re here, we are going to talk the way I want to, and Simon says you’re gonna take my shirt off," he said as he shut the bedroom door with his foot as he walked to the foot of the bed.

Your heart was beating fast, but you did as you were told. Maybe being a brat for a month wasn’t a good idea.

“ Spread your legs and hold them to your chest,” He said low and breathy, his gaze never leaving yours.

You spread your legs and bring them to your chest. He stares at your sex like a wild man who has never seen pussy before. You can see his dick in his grey sweats chubbing up. He takes the monster in his Goliath-sized hands and tugs at it. You see it form a wet patch showing the amount of pre-cum already.

He drops to his knees, looking at your fat, puffy folds, shiny and slick with your juices. He began to rub your clit slowly and agonizingly. Your breath hitched as he touched you. You could have sworn you heard him groan as he slid a thick digit in. Your hole is as tight as he remembers it, he pumps in and out, reaching your G-spot effortlessly.

You began moaning, if not louder than before, your juices spilling, if not more like a ripe peach, all wet and sticky. He stares at you, drinking you in like a greedy boy who watched porn for the first time.

He slides another finger in, stretching you out even more, scissoring his fingers so lewdly. You feel the pleasure-pain of his fingers stretching you out. He felt your pussy tighten and flutter, signaling him that you were about to cum. Your jaw formed an O as you almost feel your release.

Yet it was snatched as fast as it came.

“ Why did you do that? I was almost there,” You said as you sat up and looked at the cruel bastard.

Before you could finish your sentence, his giant hand smacked your cunt hard, making you clench around nothing. You let out a sob and a moan mixed. It stung, yet it felt so good since it was directly on your clit. You looked up to see those warm brown eyes staring at you, hungry, wild and primitive in a way. You weren’t scared you were intrigued, and that’s what scared you most, cause you want all of this and more.

“ I told you we were gonna talk in my way, now lie down.” He pushed two fingers back in, making you moan loudly. “Now, why did you lie and say that you were acting during sex?” He said while pumping slowly, not exactly hitting your spot, but enough.

You didn’t know how to answer between his large fingers pressing so good in your gummy walls you weren’t sure you could form a thought. But as you felt his fingers stop moving, you started thinking.

“ I couldn’t put my pride to the side I-I couldn’t get past thinking maybe you didn’t want more from me than just sex.” You gasped out, making him move faster, now hitting your spot. You felt your release coming, but it was once again swiped from you.

“See, good girls get rewarded, now what makes you think I wanted only that from you?” He said as he kept a pace that felt good but not enough to make you cum down again, making you frustrated.

“ I don’t know, s-sir, maybe my own insecurities, I didn’t think it would work." You moan sinfully as he sped up, content with your answer.

The more he bullied his fat, thick fingers into that sweet spot, the more you felt your orgasm build. And without a warning, you felt it coming in waves like a strong current. You felt your jaw slack and your eyes roll back, as he pulled his drenched fingers out, you opened your eyes, seeing him suck them filthily.

“Now, is it gonna take another month for you to convey your feelings to me, or are you gonna steal all my shirts and be a perv?” He said, smirking all smug like his face wasn’t dripping with your essence, he looked wild and unhinged.

You blushed, and before you could come up with a lame comeback, he stood up and took off his sweats; nothing was on underneath them.

This wasn’t your first time seeing his dick, but oh my that isn’t something you could ever get used to.

His cock was long and thick, resembling a bat, swinging low in between his gaudy legs so heavy it couldn’t even stand up to be erect properly. His tip was painfully red and pre cum oozing out like a river.

He began rubbing the head against your soaked sex, focusing on your clit the most. All you could do was moan slightly overstimulated from the mind-numbing orgasm before.

But you wanted it all.

He pushed in all in one go, you screamed in pleasure and pain as your hole stretched to his girth. He grunted something primal, his eyes blackened as he dropped his forehead to your neck, kissing your collarbone, planting love bites to distract you.

You kissed his forehead to tell him you were ready for him to move. He began rocking slowly at first, then moving to a brutal, unforgiving pace as he bullied his cock over and over again into your gummy walls.

You were sobbing and hiccuping as you clawed his wide and muscular back. He fucked you like his life depended on it. He never moved from your g-spot, making you cum over and over again, giving up as your legs began to shake.

He lifted his head and put your legs on his shoulders fucking you even deeper. You genuinely felt him in your guts, ruining you for any other man. Simon Riley was molding your pussy to his cock.

He threw his head back and closed his eyes as he fucked you, losing himself in pleasure and your tight cunt, his eyebrows scrunched up and his mouth slightly open, his hips never stuttered, he was like a machine.

“ Who pussy this is, huh, tell me, bird,” He said as he looked back at you in your eyes.

You couldn’t speak your climax, almost hitting it was so overwhelming, he was everywhere at once, you were suffocating on his presence.

Before you knew you he had you in a mating press, his body against yours, no space, just him everywhere, draping himself over you. Your knees to your chest as he fucked you almost cruelly. He took his hand and pressed on the bulge on your belly. You felt him in your cervix.

You felt the air knocked out of you as he fucked you at an insane and inhuman level. You made a choked-out noise as you came, your ears ringing and your eyes rolled back so far it hurt. Your pussy spasmed and clenched as you felt wave after wave hit you.

“ Now I’m going to ask you again, brat, whose fucking pussy is this?” He growled, never slowing or faltering.

“ Y-yours it’s only for you, sir.” You choked out, you feel your tears falling down your face as you gripped his hair, yanking it, you needed something, anything to hold on to.

He groaned and flipped you over on your belly, his arm around your neck as he choked you and slammed his cock over and over again. You felt something weird coming on.

“ I feel weird ghost something,” You said as it hit you hard, you squirted as he fucked you through it, drenching your bed sheets and him.

You felt yourself slide into that same hazy headspace as you floated from the pleasure.

“ Awww my lil bird cock drunk like a whore huh gonna take my dick till I’m done ain’t you doll” He said as he tightened his arm around your neck, digging in your guts, making sure you were ruined for anyone else.

“ Yessshh gonna t-take it promise sir.” You said, slurring your words, drunk off his dick.

You felt his hips stuttering, he was close, you threw your ass back to his punishing pace fucking him back now too, working hard for your cream pie you wanted so bad.

He grunted as he came deep inside you, rocking through his orgasm and yours. He stayed inside you as he lay you down, you being on his chest, as you hear his heart beat dying down. He played with your hair as you traced his tattoos and breathed in tune with him.

“Do you know now that I’m serious about you, or was this just acting too?” Ghost said as he broke the comfortable silence, you felt the vibration of his deep voice , as he rubbed your back gently.

You sigh and kiss his chest, gathering your words.

“ Yes, I know now, and no, it’s not acting. I’ll admit that I was stubborn, but you were too. We can’t just fuck every time we get into an argument,” You said, laughing softly, still tracing his tattoos and scars.

“ You don’t have to worry about that anymore just be mine I’ll never forsake you” He said as he looked at you slowly tracing your face with his eyes he looked vulnerable and you knew that this wasn’t fake he was real and a man like Simon can’t or won’t fake those emotions.

“ I’m yours, Simon. Mrs. Riley has a nice ring anyway, “ You said softly as you smiled at him.

“ The only bird I want to have my name” He squeezed you and kissed you softly.

“ Now sleep, I’ll take care of everything,” He rumbled, still rubbing your back soothingly.

So you did, knowing that he’d be there in the morning and the ones after that one.

[dawn-the-rithmatist]

I have finally started Nona the Ninth! Here’s the live react for act day 1, formatted weirdly because I wrote this with no service in my notes app and I refuse to take the time to reformat for tumblr.

* I already love whoever this birthday party is for. Anyone whose guest list starts with dogs is already amazing

* Noodle??? Has six??? Legs???

* Why is chapter 1 a Bible verse

* Okay, so M, A, and C are probably Mercymorn, Augustine, and Cytherea. But what the hell is this project? I’m seeing medical, environmental, something about freezing… am confused. But hey, it’s chapter one.

* Oh they’re freezing people. It’s the sci-fi classic!

* Okay so let me get this straight. Environmental crisis is happening, so they’re trying to freeze people to suspend them in the classic sci-fi way. Then the rich people that were funding them cut and run on their own getaway ships.

* “You always say that, Harrowhark”??? Wild, idk who I thought the “she” was in this but I didn’t think it was Harrow. Good to know she’s still alive, for some definition of alive

* FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE TOMB OPENS?!?!?! ERM

* wait didn’t harrow already open it tho?

* “The person who looked after her” is Camilla, as established at the end of HtN. I’m tracking, I’m tracking…

* Was she dreaming about the pool scene?

* WORM WITH PROBLEMS, Camilla I love you

* Pyrrha is her also!

* “I love you Palamedes, from Nona” 1) PALAMEDESSSS, 2) hi Nona it’s lovely to meet you and I love you already

* Nona can’t read, which is apparently fascinating. Insert Ghost Trick meme here.

(Ghost trick is great, everyone play ghost trick)

* This apartment is so obviously not anywhere we’ve seen in the setting so far. Ladies where ARE WE

* Nona’s casual I Love You’s are so sweet and also so incredibly different from the insane relationship dynamics that have been going on in every other book.

* Oh shit, Cam and Pal have figured out body sharing

* Okay so let’s see. We’ve got Pyrrha in G1deon’s body, Camilla and Palamedes in Camilla’s body, and Nona. I’m noticing a trend here. “Have you figured out who I am yet” combined with the name (Nona, like anonymous?) makes me wonder if Nona has accidentally bodysnatched someone

* Why are we counting ass jokes

* Let Nona keep the dogs!!!

* “She was not simply a person, but probably one of two people” I’m guessing either Harrow or Gideon, but she doesn’t really act like either of them???

* Okay so she has Harrow’s body and Gideon’s eyes, but doesn’t really seem like she’s either of them

* So Nona can’t read, but she can speak every language that’s spoken to her. I’m now starting to get why not being able to read is a bit odd

* She’s six months old and she’s so full of love and life, I can’t 🥺😭

* The child. Is named. Hot Sauce.

* Nona can’t lie? That sounds like A. L. from when the Lyctors were going off on John. Did she snatch Harrow’s body when Gideon/Harrow were dying???

* Witch burnings? In my sci-fi book?? It’s more likely than you think

* Okay, do the blue light in the sky is hunting necromancers, and Palamedes is doing a kind of reverse-Lyctor setup with Camilla

* Hdnsnsndbdbdkdnjfnfgk Camilla and Palamedes are very important to me I fear

* The hand kiss, I-

* Anyways

* Oh shit when they found Nona they lost “something important” in an attack. Please please please don’t be Gideon’s body

* Another Bible verse, except it seems sequential with the one from before in terms of content even if the numbers don’t line up in the chapter title. Puzzle Brain is activating on this one I fear

* Okay John keeps saying “you” when it seems like he’s talking about the Earth. “You were so sick” “You weren’t going to last the distance”. But he’s also talking to Harrow. There are dots, I need to dot the dots here

* The way I’m cross referencing the dramatis personae in HtN with the redacted names in NtN. C is Cassiopeia, not Cytherea!

* Oh we’re cutting off mid sentence now. Is this Nona’s dream, and she’s waking up abruptly? That would make some sense with the timeline of day one.

And that’s day one! So many questions and so few answers. I’m mad curious where this is going next!

Tag list: @pastelsandpining @sycadadrawsstuff @scoundrelwithboba @turtletotem @g1ngan1nja @dammit-tazmuir

[woodfrogs]

while were talking about javert. "est-ce qu'un âme se rachête? est-ce qu'un homme peut changer? (can a soul be redeemed? can a man change?)" from the paris revival is SUCH a funny line. this guy would have an awesome political blog with the most rancid opinions youve ever seen

[ismyteadoneyet]

"ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜsᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴋɪʟʟ ʜᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ," ɪ sᴀɪᴅ. [...]

ᴀ sʟʏ sᴍɪʟᴇ sᴘʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴄʀᴏss ʜɪs ғᴀᴄᴇ; ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴅᴇғɪᴇɴᴄᴇ. "ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴡʜʏ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪ ᴋɪʟʟ ʜɪᴍ? ʜᴇ's ᴅᴏɴᴇ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ."

~ 'The Song of Achilles' by Madeline Miller, page 161

•

I finally got around to reading that one book everyone always posts pictures of themselves crying over while reading, and I'm here to tell you that the internet is in fact telling the truth on this one 💀 I was sobbing throughout the entire last part 😭 Beautifully written book from the very first page to the very last, but my god is it HEARTBREAKING.

I also feel like reading this book at the same time as me being obsessed with Epic: The Musical and Legendborn is such a fun and weird coincidence tho. What is the third big mythology-thing I should get into to complete the triforce of myths and legends, hm?

More fanarts from this book to come! 🩷✨️

[benevolenterrancy]

*glances at svsss' vol 4 worth of extras, aka 'the whump and smut pile'* you haven't seen anything yet

You guys are seriously taking an axe to my self-control;;; I'm trying to make this series last longer than a single month!! I'm trying to savour things!!! I'm trying to read something else and give the series a bit of breathing room before I pick up the last book but I want the "whump and smut pile" I want that so much I feel like a dog that's getting a treat waved in front of its face .·´¯`(；´д｀)´¯`·.

[xplicitviewz]

“Who’s calling?” Your husband, Nanami, huffs from above you, his hips snapping into you. Your teary eyes glance at your phone while you let out small whimpers. “I-it’s our son.” You breathe out, your thighs tremble beneath his hands holding them down beside you.

Nanami groans and stuffs his dick fully into you, a whine escaping your lips as he picks up the phone. Between his work schedule and your 4 kids, there isn’t time for you and your husband to partake in a your shared activities other than the few times you guys got creative.

There was this one time you guys had your oldest watch the kids while you guys went to the pharmacy to pick up some medicine, which ended in a quickie in the dark parking lot before heading home.

Or the other time you guys had a pool day and you went inside to start getting the snacks ready. Nanami followed shortly after to have himself his own quick snack. Both of your days are pretty busy, but Nanami never fails to make some time for you and your pussy. You can admit sex hasn’t really been a priority, until tonight. Upon realizing all the kids would be gone, you immediately called Nanami to be sure he brings his ass home when he is off and not do any overtime- yes you used your mom voice too. Nanami agreed not wanting to be scolded.

When he did get home, he noticed a few things, there was any tv on, or music blasting from your two oldest rooms. There weren’t toys scattered in the living room or the dining room table from your two youngest, no yelling or screaming from all of them in general, it was just quiet. He smelt food in the air, he usually does every night he comes home but it’d be already eaten, or everyone will be eating at the dinner table (he insists not to wait for him because he often stays late) but since he left early from work, it isn’t ready just yet. He quickly rushes up the stairs, starting to feel the panic seep in just a bit, all the kids rooms are empty.

He opens his shared bedroom to see you just laying on your stomach, in the silky robe he got you, reading a book. He calms down because if you were okay, surely, the kids were too. His eyes gaze down your figure, your feet are in the air crossed, while you read. The robe sits at your upper thigh, and since it’s so thin, your ass pops out in the most desirable way possible. “Honey?” He eyes you suspiciously, taking a breath as he starts to settle down, “Where are the kids.”

You heard the front door shut, squeezing your thighs together, feeling the arousal hit you even more. The book you have been reading had been in your mind, and hearing your husband come home really made you ready to take him, full. You had dinner cooking in the oven, almost ready to serve for just Nanami and you. Your oldest son is at a movie with his friends and they are going to go eat after. Your second oldest daughter is spending the night with her best friend, and your two youngest are sleeping over with their grandparents. To say you were practically rushing your oldest son to leave already, since he was the last one to go, was an understatement.

“They are busy and safe.” You closed the book and turn your body towards him, your eyes hungry before you looked at him, but damn near starving when you did. That damn suit and tie. You explained where they all were as you sat up in the bed, impulsively pushing your chest out as you leaned back on your arms. Nanami didn’t ignore the lustful look in your eye, the way your nipples perked against the thin fabric, only assuming you had nothing on underneath. He quickly put a few things together, why you called him to not do overtime. He knew what his wife wanted, at least he thought so.

When your sweet loving husband started off kissing your neck, waiting to use the few hours to just worship your body, you, your hands cupped his chin and looked him dead in the eye, “Honey, I love you so much and I know that you do but tonight-right now I need you to fuck me like you don’t. I want y-“ His eyes darkens more at your plea, how desperate you were truly. How can he ever say no to his gorgeous wife. He cuts you off with a kiss before he started fucking you every way loose. Yes exactly what I said. But of course no matter what time it is, you guys are parents after all….

“What?” Nanami answers the call, still buried deep inside you, grinding against you as his thumb circles your clit.

“..Oh Hey dad, where’s mo-“

“She’s busy, are you okay, why are you blowing up her phone?” Nanami cuts your son off, his eyes focused on you squirming around, biting your lip to keep any lewd sounds hushed while he was on the phone with your son. He speeds up his movements on your clit, softly sucking in a breath when you clench tightly around his dick.

“I wanna buy some snacks and get some food after the movie, mom said she’ll send me m-“

“How much?” Nanami asked wanting him to get to the point so he can get back to his wife. He slowly pulling out before pushing himself back in. Your hand quickly covers your mouth as you shut your eyes. Your legs were shaking crazy. Your husband wasn’t one to always be rough in bed, but the times he is, you would feel it for days, in the best way possible. (He has that dog in him😞) Nanami definitely isn’t holding back, not when it’s been this long you guys were kid free for a few hours and together at that. Nanami was making up for lost time, fingering you until you couldn’t talk properly, eating your pussy like it personally offended him, fucking you left, right, up, down, diagonal, all up until your phone kept blowing up.

“Like about $40.”

“Okay, give me a moment.” Nanami grunts, as he bottoms out again, the way you squeezed his dick nearly knocked him out cold. He feels his dick throb inside you and pulls the phone away from his ear, breathing heavy.

“Thanks d-“

Nanami hangs up the phone and tosses it beside you before leaning in closer to you, peeling your hand away from your mouth and pulling it above your head. “Tell me something honey.” He hums kissing your swollen lips.

You whimper as he fucks you again, slow but rough this time, ”y-yes?” You gasp as he hits your cervix.

“When the kids ask for money, do you send it to them from my account?” He looks into your eyes, sweat dripping down his head watching your reaction to his question really his dick.

You’re screwed. Both literally and physically.

“Not alwa- o-ooh shit.” You moan, his hips moving faster than light. Nanami absolutely hates when you use your own money, hell, even when you were working. When you guys first started dating he already knew you were going to be his wife. Nanami would always say you didn’t need to work but you didn’t want him to be the sole provider. Eventually, you guys moved in together and you were still working. Though, he convinced you to work less hours and took you out on a date when you agreed. It wasn’t until you got pregnant with your first baby, did his wish come true. Shit, he was more excited when you both went down to your job to quit than he was to see the 2 pink lines.

“All the hours I work, being kept away from our family, my perfect wife -ngghh- my perfect wife’s pussy. And you still insist on usi-fuck- using your own money when you have access to my money- no our money, shit your money.” He moans grabbing your other hand and pulling it above your head with your other.

“Y-you pay for e-ever-“

“I’m supposed to baby. I want to.” He interrupts you, lifting your legs to his shoulders, and grabbing your phone with his free hand and sending your son $100 from his account. “Why must you make things complicated, love. I am the man, it’s my job to take care of you, our family. Let *thrust* me. Use my money for the kids, the house, the cars, whatever it is, I have enough, more than.” He kisses your lips softly, opposite to his thrusts. “Use your money I give you for you, whatever you want for you- shit for you. Everything I do is for you, everything I make, it’s yours, ours on paper, but it’s all yours. All for you.” He grunts into your ear, as if he’s teaching a lesson. Technically, he is.

“Don’t let me find out you aren’t using my money first again, okay hun?” He hums at you, a moaning teary mess.

“Now where were we?” He smiles before pulling out and flipping you on your stomach, lifting your ass up and spanking it. “Oh, right.” He chuckles as he spreads your cheeks apart, seeing your drooling sensitive pussy, clenching on air.

*edited but not proofread*

More:

Pussywhipped!Choso | part 2

Married!Eren x Maid!Reader

Ex-husband!Eren

Sylus mini

Nerd!Armin x reader x boyfriend!eren

Best friend!jean x reader

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[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.

[rafesslxt]

⋆˚࿔ reading 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

summary: mattheo finally get‘s to see what you‘re really reading

warnings: fluff, mention of smut in books, cursing, kinda dirty talk, little grinding against each other, reader making fun of mattheo at the end

words: 691

notes: love reading dark romance so that‘s where i got the inspo from 🫠 english is not my first language

Mattheo had always thought you were the smartest girl on the planet. Always studying, writing good notes even If you didn‘t.. your nose was always in a book with those dark mysterious covers.

When he asked you what they were about, you always answred something like oh just a silly romance or oh just some thriller stuff, with a blush on your cheeks which he had thought came from thinking he might find it corny that you read such things.

That‘s when your birthday was close and Mattheo wanted to buy you the biggest book boquet you had ever seen. He looked for someone who also lived in the muggle world like you and your family did to get you some of them. He just had to figure out what you were reading exactly and what you already had in your gigantic bookshelf.

So imagine his wide eyes and dropping jaw, when he opened one of your books and read right into it, landing on a page he almost wanted to get a priest for.

"Oh hey Matty, what are you – oh my god put them down!" you screamed at him in shock when you realised what he was doing. "Why the hell are you reading literal porn?" he gasped, taking his eyes away from the book, meeting yours.

"It‘s not porn! It‘s a romance, dark romance.", your corrected yourself. His eyes went back to the pages in front of him and he started to read something off of it. "His fingers toyed with my already dripping pussy –" "Mattheo!" you gasped and ran towards him, slapping a hand over his mouth so he couldn‘t continue reading.

Your boyfriend pushed up his eyesbrows, looking at you with a expression that was supposed to look like as If he had just proved a point. You took your hand away, his mouth opened instantly, "Wow here I am thinking my girlfriend is so smart for reading all of these books.." he gestured towards your full bookshelf, "and here she is just reading two people fucking over pages the whole damn time."

You rolled your eyes and walked towards your bed, dropping your bag down next to it and letting yourself fall onto your soft bedsheets. Mattheo continued to look through the pages, his face changing between shock, confusion and being surprised.

He put the book away and walked towards you, climbing on top of you. "Do you want to try some things from your books? Is it that why you read them? Because you want them too?" He smirked arrogant and just as you wanted to fire back a comment, he grabbed your wrists with one of his big hands, the other one on your hip and turned you onto your stomach with one swift motion.

He grabbed you unter your stomach and pushed your ass up, your back arching almost automatically. His hips grinding slowly and teasingly against your ass, slowly pushing your skirt up.

A gasp left your lips. "Mattheo!" "Be honest.. you just wanted someone to fuck you like they do in the books right? I always had thought that you were satisfied enough from all of the fucking we do."

You pushed your ass more against his scrotch, making him groan in a primal tone, feeling the heat rising in his stomach. "I am!"

He leaned down over your shoulder and whispered into your ear, voice dark and controlled. "I‘m gonna pick out one book per day now and you‘ll tell me what you wanna recreate from it. We‘re gonna do this until you need new books."

You bit your bottom lip and slowly nodded, knowing there was no use to tell him no. "So.. tell me what‘s first baby."

You had to tease him at least a little bit so you thought about the books you had and let out a quiet giggle before telling him. "They‘re fucking with his best friend.."

You looked over your shoulder and started laughing loudly when Mattheo looked at you as If you had three heads and were the devil itself. "Fuck no."

Thank you for reading, every like, comment and reblog is appreciated! <3

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xoxo sarah <3

[mariasont]

I know youre working on a fic right now but can you sometime make a fic where a new agent comes to work at the bau (the reader) and early seasons Spencer catches her interest, to which he's completely oblivious? Like just a cute little fluffy fic where two genius idiots can realise they like each other throughout their case together.

(also a lot of jokes from Morgan lol)

Reading Between the Lines - S.R

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: reader just being in love with dr. reid

wc: 1.2k

The two of you were alone in the police station break room, which had become something of unofficial workspace for the team during the case. You'd been sitting there for a while, mostly pretending to read through a file while Spencer, across the table, actually read his — flipping through pages faster than should be humanly possible.

You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes, trying (and failing) to keep your focus on your own. You couldn't help it. He was enthralling to watch. His long fingers moved smoothly over the paper, turning each page with that ridiculous speed-reading technique of his.

And when he tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the words so quickly it looked like he was barely reading at all, you were sure you'd never seen anyone more unfairly attractive in your entire life.

And you did mean unfairly in the purest sense. It was undeniably unfair — no, unnatural — for a man to possess such a perfect plethora of qualities, like Spencer Reid did.

You hated how obvious you were being. Every time Spencer glanced up at you, your face grew hot, and you had to fight the urge to duck your head like a nervous schoolgirl. It was absurd. You were a grown adult — a professional in the FBI, for gods' sake. You had no business mooning over someone this hard. But... it was Spencer. How could anyone not?

Eventually, you gave up trying to work and leaned forward on the table, resting your chin on your hand. "How do you do that?"

Spencer glanced up, blinking. "Do what?"

"Read that fast," you said, gesturing toward the file in his hands. "I mean, it's like you're just flipping through the pages for fun, but you're actually... reading them, right? You're not just pretending?"

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smile. "No, I'm not pretending. I'm absorbing the information. It's called speed-reading."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just... taught yourself how to do that?"

He nodded, setting the file down in front of him. "It's not as hard as it looks. Anyone can learn it with enough practice."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone," Spencer said, leaning back into his chair. "It's all about training your brain to recognize patterns in the text and absorb information in chunks rather than word by word. It's just a matter of rewiring how you process what you're reading."

You stared at him for a moment, then a grin spread across your face. "Teach me."

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Teach you?"

"Yeah," you said, sitting up straighter. "If anyone can learn it, prove it. Teach me how to speed-read."

For a second, he just stared at you, like he wasn't sure if you were serious. But then his expression morphed into something that looked almost... excited. "Okay. I can teach you."

You tried not to look too pleased as he reached for a book sitting on the nearby counter and slid it across the table toward you. It was some dry academic text about linguistic patterns across extinct languages — typical Spencer reading material — but you figured it didn't really matter what the book was. You weren't here for the content.

"Alright," Spencer said, pulling his chair closer to yours so he could see what you were looking at. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours, and every single coherent thought you had ever had evaporated into thin air. You swallowed hard, staring at the page but unable to actually read anything. "The first thing you need to do is stop subvocalizing."

"Sub... what?" you asked, already lost.

"Subvocalizing," he repeated patiently. "It's when you say the words in your head as you're reading them. Most people do it without even realizing it, but it slows you down. If you can train yourself to read without subvocalizing, you'll process the text much faster."

You nodded slowly, though you weren't sure you entirely understood. "Okay. So... how do I stop?"

Spencer smiled. "It takes practice, but one way to start is by using your finger to guide your eyes. Like this."

He reached out and gently took your hand, guiding your index finger to the first line of the text.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. His hand was warm, touch light as he moved your finger along the page. Did he notice the way you tensed up? Did he feel how clammy your palm was? If he did, he didn’t mention it, his focus entirely on the page. Meanwhile, your focus was entirely on him.

"Try to keep your eyes moving with your finger," Spencer said. "Don't focus too much on each individual word — just let your brain take in the whole line."

Every time you inhaled, you caught the faintest hint of soap and coffee — clean, warm, him — and it was becoming impossible to think straight.

"Okay," you said softly, moving your finger along the line as he'd shown you. "Like this?"

"Exactly. Now, try to pick up the pace. Keep your eyes moving."

You tried, but your focus kept slipping — not because of the text, but because of the way Spencer was leaning so close, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watched you. You could feel his breath, soft and even, against the side of your face, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that this was probably the closest you'd ever been to him.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Mostly," Spencer said, his hair brushing his forehead as he leaned even closer to point at a section of the text. His long fingers hovered just above yours, and your heart stuttered at the proximity. "But try not to pause at punctuation. Just keep your eyes moving in one fluid motion."

"Okay," you said again, though honestly, you weren't sure how much you were actually absorbing. Your brain was too busy screaming Spencer Reid is touching me. Spencer Reid is this close to me.

For a few more minutes, Spencer guided you through the process, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he helped you adjust your pace. You couldn’t tell if you were actually improving or if you were just doing your best to survive the moment without completely embarrassing yourself.

"You're doing better already," he said. "It just takes time to get used to."

You smiled back at him, cheeks warm. "Thanks. You're a good teacher."

Spencer’s ears turned pink, and he glanced down, his fingers brushing idly at the edge of the book. "I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. A good teacher, I mean."

You couldn't stop smiling.

"Maybe next time, you can teach me," he said suddenly.

You laughed. "I don’t think there’s anything I could teach you that you don’t already know, Spencer."

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, his eyes met yours, before flicking back to the book.

Correction, you wouldn't be able to stop smiling for the next 3-5 business days.

Morgan was leaning against the hallway wall just outside the break room, holding his phone and scrolling casually, when you finally stepped out of the room.

You didn't see him at first — you were too busy floating on a cloud, practically glowing as you replayed the last few minutes with Spencer over and over in your mind. You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt, and you could still feel Spencer's hands on yours.

"Well, well, well," Morgan voice cut through your daydream, startling you so badly you almost tripped. You snapped your head toward him, your heart jumping to your throat. He was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a mouse. "What's got you all smiley? Pretty boy say something sweet, or are you just thinking about those magic hands of his?"

You felt your face burst into flames. "What? No! It's not —"

Morgan held up a hand, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Save it, girl. I know the look of a lovesick rookie when I see one. Trust me — you've got it bad."

You sputtered, desperately trying to come up with a convincing rebuttal, but Morgan was already walking away. "Better make your move before he speed-reads right past you!"

You groaned, burying your burning face in your hands as Morgan’s laughter faded down the hall. Lovesick rookie? Was it really that obvious?

Yes. Yes, it was.

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join my taglist here!

[chow0w]

I’d honestly love to see your take on fashion for all of the tribes! I always love seeing world-building in the fork of fashion!

Thank you so much!! I'm trying to branch out and tie fashion in with lore/culture - I genuinely lost the plot with this one but you have to walk with me like WALK with me right now. come here.

Scarlet and the Skywings: A discussion on fashion, politics and culture

About this image: Queen Scarlet crawls out of her own self-portrait, looking down at Tourmaline and the Skywings in fury. She does not notice the Guillotine above her or the fire below her, focused only on her daughter who looks up in defiance. The words 'Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité' are repeated in the background, and Tourmaline's wings are drawn to look like rays of sun.

Setting the scene - Skywings and the French

I won't pretend to know the Skywing kingdom inside out, but tailwind's section in guide to the tribes gives good insight to the kingdom's situation during Scarlet/Firestorm's reign. the extract suggests that the Skywing kingdom was an economically thriving center for the arts, as well as a kingdom which followed some semblance of an aristocracy with noble families and an upper/lower class divide - similar to the situation of pre-revolution France.

We must also consider the scope of how bad things actually were before/during Queen Scarlet's reign. Social class is never directly mentioned in canon, but it could easily be reasoned (from her + Queen Firestorm's behavior) that Scarlet's rule created tons of problems for the kingdom's commoner. between fighting 20 years of sandwing succession war, uprooting major cultural practices and dumping heinous amounts of money into self-portraits, it's safe to say Scarlet and her mother were probably the two worst things that could ever happen to the average working Skywing. Like this is the Queen who threw Osprey (A public figure old enough to be long loved) into a ravine for... teaching Peril the law.

Starved of kingdom funding, ripped from their culture and sent off to die in a sandwing war, I really feel that the Skywings deserved to crash out French style on their high society.

(That's not to say that I dislike the canon plot of the kingdom: in fact, I think it's good - it completes its duty as a plot device and still manages to make sense and be cool. If I was Tui, I would absolutely call it a day there. Lucky for me, I'm a tumblr artist and not a bestselling author. I get to write about violent revolutions.)

The revised timeline

Given the context on why I think the Skywings needed a good revolution, here's how I personally would've structured the timeline after Scarlet's rule, including the events of Escaping Peril. If you haven't read that book, I suggest skipping down to the next image.

Scarlet comes into power. Bad things happen to everyone. Skywings are pissed for 20 years, but between the war, economic issue and the fire demon (Peril) nobody really has the energy to revolt. They stay quietly angry, and (perhaps) form something similar to the chrysalis.

One day, the dragonets of destiny arrive - something happens in the arena and the tyrant is gone. The kingdom sits in aftershock for a moment, before springing into gleeful celebration. The real bloodbath is never for Scarlet - presumed to be dead or missing, they turn to the Skywing nobles who supported her instead. The WoF wiki states Skywings enjoy entertainment and fighting alike, so I like to think their last gritty celebration of freedom was making the (oppressive) aristocracy their last arena victims. Dragons like Tailwind (born into nobility but low-lying or unsupportive) were probably spared.

Queen Ruby is elected to be the new skywing ruler by default - some Skywings may feel hesitant or reluctant to have Scarlet's daughter in power, but tradition + scares of another sandwing-type war keep them from kicking her out. She does a great job, so it doesn't matter anyways and they love her.

Scarlet comes back in Escaping Peril, and for a brief moment the kingdom is turned upside down. Stories spread like wildfire, and the Skywing population are ignited with a new sense of rage at their old Queen's return. At this point, I don't even think Peril's presence would be able to stop riots and uprise on the streets.

Ruby challenges Scarlet and the canon ending happens, or Peril (somehow) realizes Ruby is Tourmaline another way and the fight can be avoided altogether. Instead, the nature of Tourmaline's erasure (using animus magic, changing her identity) is so offensively un-Skywing that the population snaps and jump Scarlet together, right then and there. She dies like Scar from the lion king.

Back to the fashion - high society

Plot lost, plot recovered. I will talk about fashion now - starting with that of the aristocracy (specifically during Scarlet and Firestorm's reign.)

Extravagant garments crown the nature of upper-class fashion: big bows, long dresses, feathered headpieces and fur wigs are what make you well-dressed here. Curiously, upper-class Skywing attire is not very Skywing at all: imports are in, tradition is out! The dragons of the aristocracy order pearls from the sea, pelts from the north and the finest tailors to put it together. As the sandwing succession war starts, trade deals are interrupted and these garments become rarer: more valuable.

Function and Logistics

These garments are generally viewed as unisex, with the urge to be best dressed outcompeting the urge to have gendered clothing within society. Most of them have intricate mechanical makeup, which is a landmark to the Skywings and their long history of design. Copper wires braided together are bent to form skirt cages, and headdresses are fashioned in place using a complicated network of leather bands and iron clips. Putting these outfits on would undoubtedly require a team of assistants: maids clip the headdress in place while tailors edit the radius of the skirt cage, fixing it in place with a small plume of flame. The final result is a splendorous, inconvenient piece of clothing meant to show your wealth and absolutely nothing else. I imagine that flying is near impossible with these garments (or - one can fly, at the expense of their gown) so most dressing and undressing is done within palace walls.

Queen Scarlet and her mother, obsessed with beauty, would likely uphold these garments as a uniform standard within balls and celebrations. Skywings were expected to look as best as they could, with absolutely no exceptions and a very deadly consequence for disobedience. Fashion is always, in some aspect, political; seeing this type of needless extravagance as a working-class Skywing would've undoubtedly sparked anger, and I'm sure the French revolutionaries would agree.

Clothing for the Skywings: past and present

As it tends to, the fashion of the elites will bleed into the world around it - and with the removal of their culture and tradition, the Skywings of the kingdom would most likely follow suit in how they dressed themselves - abandoning traditional garb in fear of Queen Scarlet, and adopting new fashion trends.

These trends would include simplified, practical versions of High-class clothing: petticoats and puff sleeves replace pearl necklaces, fitting in with societal expectations while still being functional. These coats could be used to store day-to-day necessities like gold coins, trinkets or herbal medicines, with the sleeves made from thinly stretched fabric. Some Skywings may choose to embroider their coats and shirts, or even wear a hat - a slightly impractical item which could be used to flaunt one's financial security. While this fashion is nice, I'm sure lots of Skywings would be old enough to remember their traditional wear: some may even have it in their home, tucked away in the attic with other relics of home.

I imagine these garments were much more fluid in shape: made to be beautiful and flyable, they consisted of long fabrics trailing down from the base of one's neck, made from local materials found on the mountain - feathers, wool, flower dyes etc. The clothes themselves were beautifully detailed through pattern, not shape: beads, embroidery and stitching could be used to create a high-class garment, which would be used during weddings or balls. Some hats may have also been present, although these would still be largely difficult to fly with. These clothes probably returned as the Skywing kingdom began to heal, alongside the old traditions buried under tyranny.

When sketching these garments, I looked to traditional Kazakh clothing for inspiration, as both cultures share their mountainous location and use of local material. I understand that Kazakh and French clothing are different fashions from wildly different cultures, and the only reason this really works is because I'm writing in the context of fictional dragon world and not real human world. I considered keeping the fashion solely French, but honestly they're both so beautiful I had to include Kazakh clothing too!

Choosing which cultures to investigate is always the hardest part about making these posts, and so I'm trying to incorporate a lot of diversity as I plan - and maybe even explore one tribe in the lens of multiple cultures.

If you made it all the way down here, thank you so much for reading along! Writing about lore and culture is SO fun, and I really appreciate all of you who've inquired about fashion/culture within the other tribes! These posts take a little bit longer to make, so I'm aiming for one a week but we'll see. To anyone interested, my art contest is still going until the end of June! If you're a regular on this blog you will have heard this too often and want to jump me, but please have mercy.

You can find more info and enter here, in my discord server!

later ヾ(`ヘ´)ﾉﾞ

[the-autistic-vulcan]

So Loud, Yet so Hushed (Thunderbolts x Mute!GN!Reader Headcanons)

Request: For a heacannoncrequet please for Thunderbolts: Being the youngest member who is mute? Really like your stories! - Anonymous

Description: Headcanons on being the youngest member of the Thunderbolts and being mute

a/n: Reader is a Thunderbolt, Reader is mute, except able to express themselves through making noises. Reader isn't a specific age, but we'll say they're between 18 - 21 I've done as much research as I could, so I hope I do this justice!

gif credit: @princesssunderworld, @scorpiovelaryon

You are an assassin, just like the rest of them, so you already ticked the box on that part. But one thing that the team wasn't really made aware of, was your mutism (which we'll say Valentina neglected to let them know that)

They appreciated the quiet, especially Yelena and Ava - they got annoyed with the men bickering over stupid stuff, but liked you were to yourself

Until they realized you were too quiet

You were sat in your room in the tower one evening, Yelena, Ava and Bob went to go crash there just to hang out

Until Bob unceremoniously asked "...hey...you're really quiet...why's that?"

Before Ava could scold him for being insensitive, Yelena stopped her and asked you herself

Hence you wrote on your notes app "I am mute. I cannot speak at all."

They were there to give you full support, and also debrief the others - with varying success

Bucky kind of went into 'parental mode' when he heard the debrief

John was...John. He just patted your shoulder and moved on - but he was going to try

Alexei, being Alexei, despite having a very chequered past, was also willing to try

Yelena likes to sit with you and listen to music together - especially if it's anything rock or metal related. Even if it isn't, she likes to see you swaying or making some sort of happy noise

Bucky likes to spar with you, offering words of encouragement and even trying to ask for criticism from you on his technique. With a little time, you both learn to communicate via signs that he used in the army back in the '40s

Ava and John help you in a more cognitive sense, in that they teach you some skills that maybe you hadn't acquired yet - they figured cooking would help with your communication skills. And when the food is burning, you three just laugh at it all, earning a few huffs of relief from you

Alexei tells you stories of his glory days, even complimenting your style of fight and comparing them to his own. Other times, he offers you a sympathetic shoulder - it's mostly for him to make up for being a bad father, so he'd thought he would try again. But you let him know in your own way that he is doing his best

Now you and Bob are the closest in age and predicament - he struggles just as much as you do - even if you both don't suffer with the same things. In his case, Bob reads with you. He'll take time to try and get to know the types of books you read - and considering he had lost so much time out in the world, he wanted to catch up on the latest books

There are days where not even a sound would leave you - whether due to high levels of stress, a mental health episode or something completely out of your control happened

Bob, Yelena and Ava are the first to notice. Bucky and John take note also, and Alexei just straight up asks you what's going on

You write in your notes app that you're just not up to socialize, no matter how much progress has been made to accommodate you

The good thing is that they understand that feeling, and give you the space you need

If you still want to be around them, you guys just watch a movie together or sit in silence

The Thunderbolts are a strange bunch, nothing in their minds would tell them otherwise

You were basically the little sibling. And they would do anything to make sure you were happy, healthy and safe.

Like, Comment and Reblog! Have an idea? Drop it in my inbox!

[simpurnatural]

"Together Forever" | Oneshot

Sinners | Bo Chow X Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "Don't even look in my direction guys. I'm just down bad but I hope you all enjoy this oneshot hehe!"

Warning(s): Spoilers, Smut, Language, Semi-Proofread

Pre-Read Summary: You’re a cashier at Bo Chow & Co and have been tasked with taking care of business while the Grace and Bo are out the opening night of Club Juke. However, the night takes an unexpected turn.

🚧undergoing minor rewrite revisions🚧

You tapped your foot impatiently as the clock hands moved to indicate that it is almost well into the night. The Chows had entrusted you in watching the shop and cleaning up, promising to be back in time to take pick up Lisa.

“Now we’ll be back by eleven, which is just enough time for Bo and I to enjoy ourselves,” Grace explained with a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Y/n gets it honey,” Bo called from the back room, trying to calm his wife’s worries. “No need to be a worry wart now,” he ensures, emerging from where his voice could be heard.

Grace, on one hand, was showing off in a pretty party dress with her hair done up all nice. But Bo, his look was something that had to be forcibly taken from your imagination. Not that he’s never dressed up all fancy, but the dress shirt, khaki slacks, and navy blue vest really did a number on you. The way his sleeves were rolled up just to show the veins so evident on his forearms. Or how his hair was groomed and parted so nicely, but nothing compared to his sweaty and hard-worked figure after a long afternoon.

You felt a sudden wetness across your lips, not realizing for a split second that you had dragged your tongue across so provocatively. In an instant, you turned scarlet and quickly dabbed your apron across your lower lip.

“It just may be a lot for one girl to take care of,” Grace justified as she flattened the skirt of her dress for what seemed the millionth time.

If you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t so sure how Grace scored someone like Bo. With her ‘by the book’ behavior and his laid back demeanor, a feeling deep inside you wondered if he ever wanted something more. Someone who could offer more.

“We won’t keep you out all night Y/n,” Bo swore as the couple got settled into their truck.

“Take care baby,” Grace waved to Lisa, who was manning the check out counter.

She gave her parents a small wave, not knowing it would be last time she’d see her mother. But neither did you, arms crossed as they drove off down the road.

Grace seemed like a safe choice, the right choice. Straight forward and easy love. But the thoughts that kept your mind working all night didn’t mind if you could be the wrong choice, the dangerous lover. Forever in the shadows, not ever daring to step into the light.

Bo always reminded himself to not give into you. Though you had no clue of his true feelings nor did you know of the thoughts that plagued his mind. Hell, he has a wife and kid-a whole life he was already living. But he itched to know the life he could live if he had you.

That’s why when he turned, and Grace couldn’t fathom joining him. Even though an eternity with her husband was right at the door, Bo decided on you.

“Why don’t you catch some shut eye,” you said, turning to Lisa who’s tired eyes met yours. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” you assured.

“It’s been hours,” she groaned like the teenager she was, trudging her feet as she made her way to the backroom where a couple chairs were.

You wouldn’t lie and say you weren’t worried yourself, with the klan and other evil entities out there-you could only hope that Grace and Bo were alright.

That’s when you heard a car engine getting closer, cautioning you to move from behind the counter and check the window. Before you could reach it, the sound of a car door opening then shutting. The couple finally returned, or so you thought.

Tilting up one blind with your finger, there stood Bo who you weren’t able to make out his face. But the familiar muscular slim build was enough to identify him. He tossed his head back slightly, gliding a hand through his dark hair as if to settle it back into place.

But just he alone walked up to the store doors, promptly knocking slightly. Your eyes looked for Grace but perhaps she was still in the truck. When you decided to move toward the door lock, Bo’s voice called out.

“Y/n Darlin’, mind letting me in?” He asked which stopped you dead in your tracks. Bo not once ever called you anything but your name.

So when your legs buckled slightly at the pet name, your knee knocked into the newspaper stand right beside you. The weekly newsletter was scattered across the floor.

“It’ll only be a minute, and I’ll be on my way home,” he added, a smile evident in his tone.

You didn’t wait a second before opening the door for him. But when he was finally in the proper light, you realized how disheveled he looked. His dress shirt was slightly untucked, a button was knocked off his vest, and there was a noticeable silver glint in his eyes.

“Bo-Mr. Chow, are you alright?” You asked as your eyes glazed over him in worry.

“Nothing but a good time at the juke joint,” he waved off before stepping a little closer towards you but not exactly in the store. “How about you let me on in there?” he asked, glancing around behind you.

“Of course,” you breathed, clearly shuffling out of the way.

“And let’s get this cleaned up,” he sighed as he got on one knee and began collecting the newspapers on this floor.

You gulped hard with Bo basically at eye level of your womanhood. He was close, you could’ve sworn he could hear your beating heart. Once he gathered all the papers, he placed them back on the stand.

“Did you and Ms. Chow have a good time?” You asked trying to make kind conversation.

“You’d just have to be there to see how grand the whole thing was,” Bo said, pondering on the moment for a second. “Folks from all over coming to dance, drink, and eat-nothin' better than that,” he commented.

He noticed how your hands fumbled together as if trying to come up with the next thing to say. The same half smile still plastered on your face, unsure of what to do next. Chuckling at this, Bo moved past you and towards the back room, as if he knew Lisa was resting there. As you waited for the two of them to come back, you had collected all your belongings from the counter.

“Where’s mama?” Lisa questioned sleepily, walking along side her father.

“She’s still at the joint cleaning up with Miss Annie,” Bo muttered back almost like it was rehearsed.

Your brow perked up at this. He left Grace on her own this late at night? But you decided not to ask any questions that weren’t your business.

“You comin’ Y/n?” Bo asked, glancing over to you.

“I could walk,” you replied as if the thought alone didn’t give you the least bit of creeps.

“All the way home with no help at all?” Bo scoffed. “Come with us and you can spend the night n’ we’ll take you home tomorrow,” he said, a bit more like an order than a suggestion. “Too late for a young pretty woman to be walking alone,” he added.

“If it’s no problem,” you said, not wanting to inconvenience them for a last minute house guest. “Mrs. Chow won’t mind?” You wondered.

The three of you made your way out to the car after you switched off the lights-making sure to lock the front doors as well.

“Don’t worry about her, it’ll be fine,” Bo ensured.

You couldn’t help but worry on the ride back to their home. What if Grace thought of you as disrespectful for staying the night? But Bo suggested you could and how could anyone decline an offer from someone as charming as him.

It felt as though you took a long blink and then you were right in front of the Chow’s home. To which Bo turned to you and handed you the keys.

“Could you open up the house and I’ll carry Lisa on in,” Bo instructed already getting out of the truck.

“Alright,” you said quickly, fumbling with the keys as you headed towards the door. “There we go,” you huffed and reached to switch on the porch light.

You motioned to Bo that the front door was open as he approached with Lisa in his arms. You knew he was strong but he seemed to carry his daughter in with no problem. Kindly, you held the door open as they stepped inside.

Upon placing the keys on the front table, you slid off your sweater and purse. The house seemed very in place and had Grace written all over it. The wildflowers in vases around the house. Colorful fabric curtains and family photos adorned the windows and walls. It was clean and tidy, nothing out of place.

“I’ll just put this little one to bed then I’ll help get you settled in Y/n,” Bo announced in a hushed tone before heading up the stairs.

You moved around to the living room area, taking a seat on the sofa. Part of you felt like this was a bad idea, that Grace was gonna be coming in hot any second now. As if your anxiousness hadn't already been at a high, your eyes set on what seemed to be Bo and Grace's wedding photo on the table across from you.

A young couple grinning ear to ear, the photo probably taken right after the ceremony. Grace with a beautiful bouquet of roses and Bo with a matching boutonniere on his suit jacket. Now you were in their home with the farthest from pure thoughts about the man of the house.

The photograph alone was enough to sway you, making you want to leave right then and there. Placing the framed photo back on the table, you moved back towards the front door where your belongings were. Slinging the purse on the shoulder and your sweater in the crook of your arm. Your hand reaching for the front door-

"Thought you were stayin' the night?" a voice called out, almost tauntingly.

"I-I really shouldn't Mr. Chow," you insisted with your hand now firmly resting on the door knob. "Grace isn't even home and I would hate for this to be improper," you added nervously.

"Now you shouldn't be letting your pretty little head worry about her," Bo sighed, emerging from the stairs.

"Isn't she coming home soon?" you gulped, glancing at all the photos on the wall.

Bo didn't answer but rather slowly sauntered toward you. He almost loomed over you like a shadow bigger than the figure casting it. Your hand wavered from the door know, turning to fully face him. Eyes registering the fact that there was a bit of blood on the corner of his lip.

"Y-you're bleeding," you blurted out quickly, a quivering hand pointing to the crimson liquid.

"It seems so," Bo played off, rubbing it off with the back of his hand. "Too damn drunk to remember knocking into anything on my way down," he chuckled trying to lighten the mood. "But honestly darlin'," he sighed looking you up and down. "You ain't goin' no where."

"What?" you muttered, blinking quickly.

"Seeing that it's late and all," he explained with a shrug, "I'll show you to our spare room," Bo said as he tilted his head-motioning for you to come upstairs with him.

The floor boards creaked as you both ascended to the second floor, a dimly lit hallway with a couple candle lights. Bo showed you to the bedroom at the end of the hall which included a smaller room for bath, sink, and toilet.

"Hopefully you find this of comfort for the night," Bo smiled from the door as you placed your things on the dresser where a mirror carefully set atop.

"Yes. Thank you again Mr. Chow." you smiled back politely.

"Bo is alright," he said, "You can call me Bo," he clarified.

"Bo." You nodded, his name rolling off the tongue smoothly just like how you'd say it while lying in bed. Eyes shut to welcome the dirtiest of dreams, fingers in your panties, and your body twisting in pleasure.

The shutting of the bedroom door ripped you out of your daydreaming. Taking hold of the candle dish on the nightstand, you used it to guide you into the bathroom to freshen up before bed.

After changing out of your dress and into your undergarments, you shuffled back into the bedroom, noticing another door next to the bed. Curiosity took control and it felt as though you floated towards it, opening it quietly as to not alarm Lisa or Bo.

In front of you hung both clothing that belonged to a man and woman-obviously Bo's and Grace's. You decided to check the dresser as well and found another framed photo tucked away under a couple pairs of boxers. This confirmed that you were staying the night in the couple's room. An odd feeling felt as though it was crawling up from under your skin.

Why would Bo give you the main bedroom when his wife was to arrive home at any time? Why did he dismiss your worries about Grace? Where was Bo and Grace supposed to rest tonight?

Millions of these questions raced around your mind, but you decided to get the answers. Checking out the windows, you saw no other cars except Bo's truck outside. You could still see dim lighting from under the bedroom door. Perhaps Bo was just waiting in the kitchen for Grace?

You decided to check for yourself, just for peace of mind. You started with the door across from yours. No soul in sight through the hallway, but lights seemed to be on downstairs. Twisting the door knob quietly, you pushed it open to reveal that you were in Lisa's room.

She laid snoring softly while not even being tucked under the covers, remaining in her day clothes. Stepping closer, you saw that her wrist hung off the bed, something dripping from it resulting in a soft tapping sound. It was too dark to make out what the liquid was without getting closer so you reached your candle beyond and realized that it was blood.

Alarmed, you swiftly turned on your heel and made way in search of Bo. However, your whole body halted abruptly when he mysteriously came into view out of the darkness.

"Sweet of you to check on her, darlin', but she's just resting," he said with an almost evil tone in his voice.

"Bo-Lisa is bleeding," you replied, turning back to the point at her.

"I was just making sure my little girl was gonna be taken care of," he uttered as if the sight wasn't anything to worry about. "It's all part of the plan-the vision," he said coolly.

A bit shaken, you step out of the room with Bo, allowing him to shut the door behind you. He wordlessly took your hand and brought you back to his and Grace's bedroom.

"It's time to turn in for the night I suppose," he sighed as he began to remove his vest.

"This is isn't proper." you voiced, placing the candle dish on the table. "Grace would-"

"She ain't coming back," Bo declared as if tired of the mentioning of her name. "She didn't see the vision, despite me offering a life that wouldn't end-she just couldn't accept it".

"What vision are you even speakin' of?" you remarked and in an instant the silver glint in Bo's eyes grew heavy and his sly smile you knew all too well revealed his sharpened set of teeth.

"The vision I'm offering to open your eyes to darlin'," Bo stated like it was simple as he went back to the shedding his clothes. "The kind where you and I don't gotta worry about what others may think. The life we can live together-forever," he said, kicking his clothes to side and making his way to you. "Wouldn't you want that?" he prompted.

"I don't know," you replied flustered at the intimacy in the question.

"You don't know if you'd want me to care for you, to love you, to treat you the way you've been itchin' for late at night?" he asked as if he had known all along. "I know what my Lisa knows, she catches the looks you give her daddy when you think I ain't lookin'" he smirked.

Bo stepped closer, hands on the hem of your undergarments. You turned your head slightly to avoid his gaze, resulting in mistakenly giving his access to your ever exposed neck. He leaned in and inhaled your scent. His lips barely grazing your soft skin as his hands moved to place themselves at your waist.

"Baby, I could give you that life," he whispered. "Then no one could take you away from me," he added before pressing a kiss along your neck, earning a gasp from you.

"Bo-" you moaned, egging him on to plant more kisses across your exposed skin.

His arms moved to lift you into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist securely as he walked over to the bed. Bo placed you on the cot gently, watching as you let out of a breath and your eyes widening at the solid state of his manhood underneath his boxers.

"Want me to give this to you?" he asked, his hand softly stroking his clothed cock.

You sat up slightly as you wordlessly nodded, unsure if there was even a wrong answer to his question. Bo smirked at your eagerness and ridded himself of his remaining clothing and you did the same.

"Darlin' you sure are pretty," Bo sighed in awe at your perky tits. "You're everything I imagined you'd like underneath all that ruckus," he admitted as he joined you on the bed. "C'mere baby," he motioned from the head of bed whilst on his knees.

As you scooted closer, Bo turned you around so that you'd be facing the mirror. Your eye lids grew heavy at the sight of the two you naked, skin to skin.

You heard a moan leave Bo's lips as your ass rubbed against his cock. Suddenly it came to you that you've never done nothing like this before. Now the man that you could only imagine of doing this to you was staring back at you from the mirror.

"Bo I ain't never done anything like this with someone before," you rambled anxiously.

"Baby you ain't gotta worry, I'll be real careful." he said, calming you instantly, "Just lean on me and let love on ya," he insisted and pressed his palm to your chest.

You watched as Bo fondled your tits, rubbing your nipples which allowed for the most erotic noises to leave your throat. His hands drifted down south and right where your button was and began rubbing it in a circular motion.

With you back arched, Bo used his other hand to ensure that you were still looking into the mirror. Both of you moaned at the sight, your slick let him know just how bad you wanted him.

You leaned forward slightly as Bo moved your hair onto one side, giving himself access to suckle on your neck. He didn't mind leaving marks that would remain for the next couple days. Neither did you at this point.

Bo was feeding off the explicit noises you let out and the sight alone could've made him come undone. But he wanted to take his time on you, after all, you both waited so long for this.

"Let me in baby," Bo huffed, the thick tip of his length teasing at your folds. "Tell me it's alright that I do darlin'," he pleaded as your slick began coating his tip.

You let out a guttural moan as his face rested on the crook of your neck, the feeling of sharp teeth dragging along your skin. Part of you acknowledged that once Bo turned you, there wouldn't be one bit of normalcy to return to. But you were willing to give it all up. To give everything to him, to have him for eternity.

"Yes," you whimpered as you watched Bo's jaw begin to open. "I let you in," you sighed.

It felt synchronized, the feeling of Bo as he slid his cock passed your folds and into your pussy along with his teeth sinking into your neck. You gasped at the intense pain and pleasure you felt in that moment, Bo's thrusting up into your cunt as he held your arms captive.

Bo loved the taste of you and watching as you gave your entire body to him. Your eyes fluttered continuously as he sucked your lifeline diligently.

"This what you've been wanting darlin'?" he whispered into your ear. "For me to fuck you and make you mine?" he asked, not caring that your mouth was left agape letting all the noises you were making escape.

"Mhm," you mumbled, your body rocking with every thrust.

Bo looked down and watched your pussy take every inch of him. Every time he pulled out the wetter the coating of your slick became. He was in control and finally he was able to have you all for himself.

"How about you let me fill you up baby?" he asked, feeling himself grow closer to cumming with every thrust. "I would love to see myself drippin' out of you like a faucet." he groaned at the mere thought.

"P-please yes Bo," you gasped as his hips snapped into your. "Fill me please," you yearned.

Your moans copied the slamming of his cock, your hair becoming more a mess. A knot began to build up in your stomach as Bo re-adjusted himself and aimed for that sweet spot.

"Oh Bo," you cried as he repeatedly fucked into the spot with no sign of stopping.

"I'm gonna fill you to the brim darlin', don't you worry." he snickered into your ear. "But I wanna make sure come undone for me baby." he said, "Can you do you that for me?"

"Yes b-baby," you assured, which sent Bo over the edge.

Your walls clenched around him as your knot released and hot seed began pouring into your cunt. Bo's thrusts faltered before your both fell back onto the mattress.

"You're mine. Forever darlin'. "

MAY 2025

[twisted-broth]

A Human's Touch

Mr Gap x Reader

(Anything in bold is other world language)

It had been a while now since you had returned to the other world. It was hard to tell time here, but at least you knew that this was where you belonged. It was almost laughable to think that you once tried to leave this place.

You would never admit it, but you really owed a lot to the shit eating grin that always manages to pop up whenever you need him. Even now, with you life no longer in constant peril, he pops up somewhere nearby quite often. It could be from the crack of your closet, inside your bag, or a random hole in the wall that you swear wasn't there before. As annoying as Mr Gap was, he was probably the closest thing you had to a friend. He would even bring you things from the human world if you asked. For a price, of course.

You sigh as your "friend" holds one of your favorite books from the human world just out of reach. He was playing his favorite game again.

"Give leg." He demanded.

"Give foot." Was your counter offer. Most of your body parts would grow back, but it takes longer for bigger parts and more complex organs. Luckily there didn't seem to be a word in their language for liver or spinal column.

His expression twists for a moment, but the smile quickly returns. "Yes." He agrees.

The pain that radiates from your ankle would have made you pass out a few months ago, but now it only elicits a stifled grunt. You snatch the book from Mr. Gap's hand as he smiles at the newfound treasure that appears in his grasp. You sigh once more and put the book to the side before pressing an already bloodied towel to your ankle.

With the bleeding successfully stopped, there was nothing else for you to do but lie in bed while you waited for it to grow back. You spared a glance towards your new book, but couldn't muster the energy to read it. The isolation of this world had been wearing on you. You had been spending time with Mr Silvair and Mr Chopped lately, but there was another recent earthquake that blocked off your path to them. You had yet to find the time to search for a new one.

With an arm draped over your eyes, you fell back against your threadbare pillow. The covers rustled around you, giving away the presence of another with you.

"Why sad?" You opened one eye to look down at your covers. The face of Mr Gap blended in with the darkness above your legs. If he had a body, he would be nearly lying on top of you. The part of your brain that was still human couldn't help but think that some actual physical touch would be nice.

"I one. Sad. Friend not here." Elaborating on the concept of loneliness using a lexicon of 100 words wasn't really a task you wanted to undertake at the moment.

You had thought Mr Gap would either leave or laugh at you, but to your surprise he looked confused. "I here." He responded.

Now it was your turn to be confused. If you weren't mistaken, he seemed almost offended that you hadn't called him a friend.

"You friend?"

"Yes." If this language had some equivalent of 'duh', you imagined that would be what he would say instead.

All you can do in response is blink at him. You really never imagined that Mr Gap would hang around you because he considered you a friend. If anything, you thought he just saw you as a an endless stream of various body parts. "Thank you. I like friend."

Hesitantly, you lifted a hand to reach up and stroke his head. He looked mildly disgusted (which was often his expression anyway), but didn't react otherwise. His hair wasn't exactly pleasant to touch- it was greasy and weirdly damp in places- but at least it was something of what you had been missing. He continued to humor you, but you decided not to push your luck on how long he would allow you to continue touching him.

"Why touch?" He asked when you were done.

"Human like touch. Make sad go away." It wasn't exactly what you wanted to say, but you figured it would get the point across.

Hesitantly, one of his arms reaches out from beneath your covers. Your current working theory was that his arms just appeared whenever he needed them, but you haven't gotten around to asking him yet. Your positioning is a bit awkward, so he can't reach your head to return your pats. Instead, he pats you on the shoulder for a few seconds. His hands are cold and clammy, but those few seconds of touch are something you've been missing for a while.

You smile. Mr Gap could be annoying at best and cruel at worst, but it would seem that he does have a sweet side to him after all. You distantly wonder if some semblance of a normal relationship would be possible here. Unlikely, but it may not be as out of reach as you once thought.

"Thank you. You good friend." You said after a beat of silence. For a moment it appears like he isn't quite sure how to feel about your declaration. You don't imagine it's something people tell him often. After a second of thought, he returns your smile.

"Me good friend. You give heart?"

Well, you can work on that.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine

[originalwinnerfanfish]

Well, I did it

Megatron - I love his tfp design. Probably one of the best iteration of Megs. He is huge, heavy armoured, his face covered with scars… He doesn’t looks like an ordinary military leader who is only capable of giving orders, but like real warrior who can destroy any enemy with his bare hands.

So, in the WOF version, he definitely shares some features with Princess Burn, not only because of his might, but also because of his horns shape and dirty-dark scales (that absorbed blood of his enemies)

Starscream - Boy, I hate him so much 🤣… but in the good way, trust me! In my opinion, when the show's creators make you feel such strong negative emotions towards a villain, it means they've done a great job. Also, I think that his animation in the show was absolutely incredible, because even though he's a 3D model, he still manages to move like a 2D character, which is amazing!

I feel that in my design he still looks more like a skywing, than an icewing (which is kinda logical)

Soundwave - This one was tricky. I couldn't figure out what his mask would look like, so I just made his face a really dark color. I think Soundwave has both gifts of the nightwings, and he’s equally great at telepathy and a future vision. So he doesn't really need equipment to predict enemy movements, which makes him an ideal communicator in the WOF setting. His Laserbeak is part of the armor enchanted by Shockwave, and it might also allow him to open portals (but I'm not sure with this one)

Shockwave - My favourite evil genius. He would definitely have animus magic and mind reading. I think Shockwave is the only one who has advanced the study of magic so far, precisely because he combined it with scientific knowledge and created safer methods of using it, that don't damage the mind. It's like if a Mastermind got animus magic in books.

I also like to think that he didn't heal the damaged part of his face just so that his enemies would fear him more)

Dreadwing - This man deserved better! It's really a shame that he was removed from the show so quickly due to financial problems. It would be great if his arc got a proper conclusion in season 3.

Considering that I didn't want to make him a hybrid, it was difficult to choose a suitable color palette. So let’s just say, that I tried my best😅

I don’t think that he would have any nightwing powers, but honestly it doesn’t even matter - this guy can make a bombs, what else does he need to be cool

Arachnid - Did anyone even doubt that she would be a hivewing? Damn, she even got her own “Othermind” virus. Her design was the easiest to work with - just a little poisonous ass (suspiciously similar to Maleficent).

Just like Starscream, I hate her, but in a good way. She's one of the creepiest characters in the entire series, who’s acting like a fucking heartless monster, especially with Arcee, but even so, there's always was something mesmerizing about her. I just really like strong female villains

Knockout - Wery bright and charismatic guy, definitely one of my fav cons!

I tried to draw him as handsome as possible. Worked a lot on the face shape and coloring, and as for me it turned out pretty nice (finally).

Most decepticons think Knockout is as stupid and lazy as all the other rainwings. And it's not like he completely disagrees with that. Of course he’s not stupid and lazy, but if it’s means less dirty work on the battlefield, well, he’ll continue act like a tipical rainwing

(I also believe that Megatron keeps him as an “art”)

Breakdown - Fun fact: "Operation Breakdown" was the very first thing I saw in this series. And it was an interesting experience for 8 year old me. Maybe that's why I'm so scared of eye gouging scenes in movies now…

I think that he didn't have any siblings initially due to his parents nature, and even after meeting Bulkhead, he felt uncomfortable among the other mudwings. And this is why he later chose the side of the decepticons. And maaaaybe because of one cute rainwing influence)

P.s.

I think that, being mostly nightwings and icewings, the decepticons are much more concerned about purity of their blood and rarely accept half-breeds into their ranks.

During the war, there were many animus dragons among decepticons, which is why they have so many artifacts that allowed teleportation and communication at a distance. But, honestly, I still can't imagine what Nemesis would look like in this AU