#yes he takes any and every substance available

[inanthesis]

sense  and  other  specific  headcanons

I will take any and all rare opportunities I get to talk about this bitch so let's go.

what does your muse smell like ? above all else Daisuke smells like an expensive cologne any normal person would pass out at the price of that has a woody scent with notes of exotic flora. it's pleasant on the nose and blends nicely with the high grade tobacco from his imported cigars and and the scent of leather from his bespoke accessories.

what do your muse’s hands feel like ? not as soft as one would expect from a blue blood who isn't often seen getting his hands dirty. years of boxing despite the great care he's put into his hands has left them rougher than he'd like and the burn scar covering a great deal of his right palm still feels tight and hard as it's only recently healed.

what does your muse usually eat in a day ? his breakfast for the most part is always determined by Suzue or his private chef and varies with whatever fresh ingredients are available. lunch can also be quite varied as during lunch he is often at work or out in the field with his partner who isn't inclined to want to visit a fancy restaurant and has tainted Daisuke's diet with konbini staples such as cheap sandos, instant ramen, and onigiri. dinner is when he'd prefer to lean into his expensive taste and make reservations at a high class restaurant, but if his partner invites him over or he feels inclined to show up on the man's doorstep, Haru's home-cooked dinner is his favorite every time.

does your muse have a good singing voice ? yes. along with his classical training in piano he had growing up he always enjoyed singing with his mother and has a lovely, deep voice.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks ? smoking and drinking. the smoking is self-explanatory as he always keeps cigars on his person and used to partake in other recreational substances but he did develop a drinking problem and turns to alcohol to cope with his turbulent emotions and trauma.

what does your muse usually look like/wear ? Daisuke will almost always be seen in dark, bespoke suits from designers only the ultra wealthy would recognize. none of those tacky luxury brands with names splashed all over their product that the average millionaire finds attractive, he's always put together in tailored outfits perfectly suited to his frame that compliment his handsome appearance. He also will always have his hair slicked back neatly when he's out with a bit of subtle makeup to highlight his baby blue eyes and hide any imperfections on his face as he is rather shallow and cares a lot about his appearance.

is your muse affectionate ?  how so ? nope, at least not toward just anyone. Daisuke is man who has always kept himself at a distance from others both physically and emotionally outside of a fling here and there. The only people who will ever experience his affection in any way, shape, or form will be Suzue and Haru but even with the former he still keeps a polite distance.

what position does your muse sleep in ? most of the time he sleeps in a fetal position, curled up under his covers to shut out the world as he only really sleeps once he's crashing after unhealthily long hours awake. nightmares and negative thoughts have plagued his sleep for twenty years and he's always found himself restless at night.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room ? nope. Daisuke isn't one to raise his voice much, most often speaking in a cool, calm demeanor. it's only if he really gets riled up you may be able to hear him shouting from another room but you're more likely in those instances to hear the yell of pain from whoever pissed him off because he's not shy about throwing a punch if he feels it's deserved.

tagged by: @primegrim tagging: steal it idk i'm ill atm

[5sosxqueen]

Luke Appendicitis

~Part 1~ , Part 2 >

I have been busy the past few days. I am trying to maintain the schedule, but it can be difficult. Apologies if it happens in the future. I'll try to do better.

I am also aware now of the inaccuracies of this story/part.

Warnings: graphic depictions of illness, vomiting, scat, blood, mentions of hospital

Written in 2018

Published (Wattpad) - Jan 26, 2018

Word Count: 1537

Updates are every Tuesday and Thursday

Also Available on Wattpad and AO3!!!

Part 1:

Luke's POV:

     "Ash... Hey Ash..." I feel bad for trying to wake anyone up. It's only 1:46am, but I haven't been able to go to sleep due to some mild stomach cramps. It's not really that they hurt really bad because they are so dull. I just really want someone with me right now. "Ashhtoon..."

     "Mmm, what Luke... Go back to bed..." Ashton groaned as I woke him up from his beauty sleep.

     "I haven't been to sleep. I feel kind of poorly Ashy..." That woke him up.

     "Awe Luke, what's wrong?" He got up from his bunk and walked over to mine and sat on it. I instantaneously snuggled onto his lap when he leaned back into the wall.

     "My tummy hurts."I stated plainly.

     "Buddy, you're going to have to give me a little more information than that. Are you nauseous at all? Or does it just hurt?" Now that he mentioned it I did have a small ball of nausea starting to form in the pit of my stomach. I sighed.

     "Bit of both, although neither of them are bad at the moment. Can I have some water?" Ash smiled down at me.

     "Of course babe. How about I bring you some toast as well?" I hestatantly agreed, although putting food in my stomach wasn't my current idea of fun. Ashton sent into the kitchen and put the toast into the toaster before grabbing a water bottle and waiting for that dreaded, obnoxious, pop of the toaster. Once it did he placed them on a paper plate and came back over to me.

     "Thank you." I reluctantly took a small bite out of one of the slices of toast and smiled lightly up to Ashton.

     "Welcome." He said returning the small gesture. "So you said you haven't been to sleep yet. Has this pain been keeping you up all night." I nodded taking another few bites of the toast. I ate one piece before I felt entirely too full.

     "I'm done Ashy. Sorry." I pushed the plate away. I took a couple small sips of the water.

     "It's fine Luke it's just some bread, it's no big deal. So how long have you been having these cramps now? I mean it's about to be 2:10am." He looked at his phone mid sentence.

     "I believe it started around 7pm, but I'm not super sure of the time." I suddenly felt the need to use the bathroom, which was great, just one more problem added to the list. I sighed and sat up slowly raising myself up from the bunk. "I'll be back I have to go to the bathroom." I briskly walked over to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I quickly pulled my pants down and let them pool at my ankles. As soon as I sat down my bowels began to release themselves. Eating even one slice of toast hadn't helped my stomach any. I felt worse, if anything. The pain in my stomach was quite worse and I felt kind of gaggy.

     I pulled the small bin next to me onto my lap just in case my stomach decided to reject the small amount of substance. Unfortunately, as soon as I did that my nausea skyrocketed and I found myself breathing heavily over the bin. My mouth started to water and I held my mouth open letting the salivia string and fall into the bin. I gagged and cocked my head to the side, trying everything not to be sick. I took deep breaths and rubbed my stomach, but neither seemed to be working. I gagged again, only this one leading to a wretch. I heard a semi panicked tapping on the bathroom door and Ashton asking he could come in. Before I could answer I wretched harshly. Ash took that as a yes, I suppose, because he was at my side in an instant. He rubbed my back as I gagged. I felt bile rushing up my throat and I tightened my grip onto the bin as I heaved up what little I consumed. "Damn Luke... Get it up bud, you're ok." Just then I saw the door crack open a bit at the corner of my eye.

     "Is he ok?" I heard Michael ask.

     "I mean, I think he will be, but he's pretty sick right now." Ash answered grimly.

     "Do you guys need any help?" I heaved again just after the question. "I'm opening the door." He popped his head in. I didn't really care about my best friends seeing me on the toilet, it's not like they haven't seen my junk before. "Man buddy, you've got it bad don't you?" I nodded slightly, still overly nauseous. "Hey Ash would you like to go back to sleep? I can watch him for a little while?" Ash looked over to me and I nodded. I did want to Ash, but I knew he needed sleep as well.

     I'm still breathing heavily over the bin. "Sorry I woke you up Michael. Please tell me I didn't wake up Calum as well." I said slightly out of breathe looking up and the nausea passed slightly.

     "No buddy, we woke up on our own." I put my head in my hands after placing the bin down and sighed. I knew he was just saying that to make me feel better. "And besides, even if you did wake us, it wouldn't have mattered because we would still take care of you."

     "But you still need sleep. No one else should be suffering along with me by staying up." Michael crouched down.

     "Luke we don't care if we get sleep or not. We truthfully I just want you to get better. Even if it means staying up all night." I nodded before quickly grimacing as sharp pain and nausea crept over my stomach. I was forced to grab the bin yet again. I didn't even have a chance to get it into my lap, before I was vomiting into it. Michael rubbed my back as I was sick. "You're ok Luke."

     I was in the bathroom for about 2  hours, before I got a break. Once I got a break most of my head back up. "Why does my stomach hurt so much?" I was in so much pain after throwing up for the 9th time. "This fucking hurts... Gaaaahhh Michael...mmm..." I screamed and cried as a bad cramp ripped through my stomach. Both Ashton and Calum ran into the room.

     "Luke, I need you to tell me where it hurts. I want to call Matt, and tell him to come here. We need to go to the hospital." My breathing was ragid and painful. Each breath was causing my stomach to feel like it was being torn open. I was whimpering shakily with each breath. "Luke! Hey buddy come on tell me. Point if you have to, but I need to know?" Pointed to the left side of my stomach and Ash suddenly had a look of confusion etched onto his face. "That's -but... The appendix is always on the right side... Hmmm. Luke lift up your shirt for me buddy." I lifted up my shirt carefully not as to not touch my stomach.

     "Mmmmm Ashyyyy.... It hurts.." Ashton's eyes grew wide with panic and Calum ran back in and told us Matt was on his way.

     "You see this redness and the swelling... That signifies appendicitis, but-" I bawled my heart out at hearing that. "Listen to my buddy it might not be, but we need to get you to the-"

     "AHHHHHHHHHHHHH FUUCKING SHIT..... Owwwwwowowow." I was panicking as the pain in my gut escalated to a pain I couldn't imagine even in my wildest dreams.

     "Step on it Matt!!!" Calum yelled into the receiver of his phone as I continued to scream. I suddenly jerked forward slightly, bloody bile pouring out of my mouth. "Fuck Matt hurry!" He and Michael were crying now Ashton was the only one semi collected since he had an idea as to what was going on, but he was still mumbling something.

     Within 5 minutes Matt came running in. Matt scrambled to pick me up, being as gental as possible and everyone piled into the van, rather than his car. The hospital was only a 10 minute drive away, luckily, but we needed to get there as fast as humanly possible. "F-feel so sick A-Ashyy..." I leaned over the side of the seat and vomited. This time it was different.

     "Shit Matt blood... A lot of it... Hurry!!" Ash and Michael both yelled. I rolled back onto my back, knowing I would not be able to keep myself from falling forward any longer. I was coughing up more blood and it splattered onto my shirt, along with the blood and bile that was already on it. Everyone felt so helpless. If they moved me the wrong way it could cause me to pass out. I was honestly already on the verge of doing so without any help.

     "Luke, hey no keep your eyes open!" Michael yelled with tears in his eyes. I closed my eyes for a moment and the pain finally went away.

[puniyo]

On why Kinn is one of the most interesting characters in Kinnporsche (and also why he is not that inhuman machine that people take him for)…

*contains spoilers for episodes 1 to 5*

Because no matter how one reads Kinn, one is reading only one of the layers that we as viewers have managed to shred so far.

I’m in love with Kinn since his first appearance in the series, the long stride of his back view only, the confident posture and shooting to kill without blinking (don’t have me started on the threat about traitors in Italian). He seems to be this oppressive and exude this dominating aura whenever he passes by. And yes, the show seems to convince us that he is so, but also so much more. That is the layer that is easiest to be seen and also the easiest for viewers to somehow feel alienated. But this is also what makes it more meaningful when we start to understand why Kinn is playing this, dare I say, arrogant persona.

Humans are shaped by the environment around them. Our personality is not fixed. Alas, nothing is permanent in the human psyche. The “nature” in each one of us is just a set of genes that predetermines us to particular characteristics and traits. It is “nurture” though that elevates or muffles our biological inheritance.

Kinn is a product of the environment surrounding him. Kinn is the way he is because of the mafia background of his family. Do we really want a meek and all-understanding Kinn when we take into account all the things that have been told, and not exposed to the viewers? Let us count what we (don’t) know. And a disclaimer here that all these are based on what I have observed from the available episodes, together with my mom. Yes, you read it right, my 60+ mother is a lover of BL dramas and we have a blast every weekend watching them. So:

Kinn grew up and is also living in a mafia family. There are no roses and rainbows here. We are dealing with black market, shark loans, possibly drugs and illegal substances, gambling, and so forth. The purpose is not to make a social criticism. Art for art’s sake.

Korn has three children but he can only rely on Kinn to continue the family’s legacy. The expectations and pressure on Kinn’s shoulders are immensurable.

Tankhun suffers from social anxiety and most likely PTSD due to the times he was kidnapped and tortured in childhood. Kinn, being the middle child, most likely grew up seeing Tankhun crying at night alone, going hysterical over loud noises, breaking down and having meltdowns for no apparent reason in the middle of the day. Kinn witnessed all that and most likely came to two conclusions: he will protect Tankhun from further harm and he does not want to go through the same. Both conclusions lead to the same outcome: one must be strong, even if that means creating iron walls and wearing a steel armor around himself.

If Kinn doesn’t like to see Tankhun suffer, he must also be very protective of Kim. I think all three brothers are actually very protective of each other, just in their own respective ways.

The family compound is literally a factory to foster fighters and killing machines. Imagine a child being taught that in order to survive this grim world, he needs to be at the top of his physique, learn how to fire a gun, how to use different weapons.

Because of factor (5), maybe it’s not the Kinn never had any friends. Maybe it’s not that he doesn’t approach others. Maybe it’s the others who are afraid to approach him.

We have not heard anything about Kinn’s mother. He says he resembles his mother most, but that could have been just a taunting statement. Is she still alive? Has she been present in his life at all?

Kinn most likely had a lover in the past that betrayed him. I’m more inclined for this route than the lover dying or leaving him for safety reasons. Death and breaking up will lead to grief and sorrow, which can be overcome through time (I’m not saying that it is easy though). But betrayal leads to loss of trust and trust is one of the most fucking difficult things to ever recover. Once trust is lost, one is forced to grow up, to mature, and it scars people. Kinn is a scarred person without any doubts.

Based on point (9), it was really painful to see that Kinn has a gun with him when he goes to sleep. Even at his own place. Even with the bodyguards around, one might be a mole and harm him. Imagine what is like to be in a state of constant alertness because you never know if you will be able to open your eyes a next time when you close them. This incessant stress unbearably takes a toll on one’s sanity. Porsche was starting to show signs of being mentally fatigued after only one month of working for the Theerapanyakul, after killing (only) one person. Kinn still sane is a very good indication of how mentally strong he is.

So, without delving into more points, we can see that, although Kinn is gorgeously tall and with a body to die for (damn Mile, the man is perfection in person – both looks and also his personality – but I will leave the Mile rant for another day – he deserves it, his acting in the series has been phenomenal, natural, full of nuances – one can barely believe that this is the first time he is acting), it is still not enough, and perhaps never enough (cue to Loren Allred’s singing) to contain all these multitudes and be what some viewers want him to be: the perfect lover, the understanding boss, the generous mafia lord.

This is not possible. It would be very unrealistic of him to be all these. Because Kinn is flawed character and it is because of all these flaws that he is this enigma that you want to dig deeper to know more about. It is because of these experiences that you might never know what Kinn will do next or react next. Sometimes it feels like Kinn is learning how to be a “normal” human being. But seriously, what can we consider to be “normal”? Be the average student, the average worker, apologize when doing wrong and smile and thank you when doing good? Hasn’t keen done all that?

Kinn might not have wanted to pursue any studies related to his family business and yet he did. He did not have the luxury of Kim to pursue music and live relatively safe. His father wouldn’t have allowed so. Kinn himself tells Porsche that he had no choice but being thrusted into this world. Kinn is a good patron from that we get from the other characters. Pete says he is the most normal one. Big and Ken seem to love to work for him and always looking for an ounce of his affection. He goes to press conferences and seems to mingle well with people. He does not seem to use unnecessary violence. In the fight with Porsche on the boat, did he ask his bodyguards to hold Porsche so he could massacre him? No. Did he aim constantly at Porsche during the fight, or to vital places in the body? He seemed he was trying to restrain Porsche until Porsche started using dirty tactics. Was he really going to shoot Porsche in the boat? He could have done so, not to kill, but a shot on the leg would have immediately stopped Porsche from jumping. Would he ask Porsche to put the apple on his head if he knew he would miss the target? I do not think so. It felt more as a warning than him proving that he could shoot. Did Kinn slap Porsche besides that time to SAVE him from the second family, which inadvertently put him under the Kan and Vegas’ radar? No.

Kinn owes an apology to Porsche, that is for sure, for underestimating him as a bodyguard and also for not valuing him as a proper human being since the first episode. Also for the events in episode 4. But let’s also think. Kinn is not unaware of apologies. Kinn has the words “I’m sorry” in his mental lexicon. Kinn knows that what he does hurts Porsche. Kinn defended Porsche fiercely in front of his father until the passive aggressive warning/threat (and damn, Korn’s gaze on him was so sharp and truly scary). If Kinn shows preferential treatment to Porsche (and as Pete said, they are already the talk of the town), Porsche will suffer even more. The more Kinn protects Porsche, the more Porsche will be targeted both inside and outside of the compound. Why doesn’t Kinn then protect Porsche in the shadows? Because people live on what is explicit shown to them. People trust what they can see and discern with their own eyes. People do not believe in what they cannot see or hear. This is not faith, this is reality. Where is the credibility of a closed-door, unseen punishment? Wouldn’t people read between lines if Kinn was soft-spoken and all forgiving to mistakes Porsche has done (unfortunately not all on his own volition but still a mistake nonetheless)?     

Pete tells Kinn that Porsche is actually a very sensitive person despite his outgoing and smiling persona. I think this is also true of Kinn. Although Kinn looks like an infallible tower from the outside, he is very sensitive, and as hurt as Porsche is. And because the two of them are so similar to each other, it is also more difficult for them to communicate properly. We always say that we get along better with people who are similar to us, true, I don’t doubt that. Porsche and Kinn fighting in synchrony and complementing each other is a sign of that. But if you think about, because you know what you don’t like and that you don’t like to have your flaws addressed (nothing personal, just that no likes to have their flaws rubbed on their noses), when two people who are very similar have to address personal problems, it becomes very difficult because you are seeing a mirror of yourself. As a mental defense mechanism, people try to avoid feeling vulnerable because of their own shortcomings. Being in denial is actually a very natural human reaction. And vulnerable is not a word that both Porsche and Kinn want to be associated with.    

Let me stop here before I write an even longer essay. I wish I had all this muse power for my daily paperwork. But short story long, I cannot simply label Kinn as this or that. Labelling Kinn as a single-faceted character is basically destroying the essence of what he is. I’m really bad at metaphors and the only one that is popping in my head now is an onion. Kinn is an onion. He is all about layers. And I absolutely enjoy every single one that he is allowing me to peel (with or without tears).     

[tracygrimshawketogummiesau]

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[medslikestore]

What exactly does erectile dysfunction entail?

Answer another question if you do not know the answer. By "ed," what do you mean? Stop scratching your head because both are identical. Yes, ED and erectile dysfunction are synonymous terms that address the same problem that affects males (adult men) all over the world. Therefore, you might not find this page very beneficial if you are not a member of the adult men's group. For newbies, the problem that prevents adult males from getting a good erection is erectile dysfunction.

You could think it's absurd because, on certain days, men simply don't have a specific amount of erection. Do we then become ED patients as a result? No, not. It is completely normal to go days without an erection due to stress, being distracted, or being out of the mood. But what should you do if you consistently have low erections for around a month whenever you and your lover decide to have sex? The definition of erectile dysfunction is created by the persistence of inadequate erections.

And this is the situation where people take tablets like Fildena 200. You might be relieved to learn that men have committed suicide, suffered from sleep attacks, and gone into depression as a result of erectile dysfunction. So let's examine the article carefully to learn what causes erectile dysfunction, what we can do, and other topics that are relevant.

Describe Ed.

We have already covered what erectile dysfunction is in the introduction section. The official definition could be a medical condition that causes an unsatisfactory erection and causes an orgasmic reaction in sexual engagement. Most individuals are aware of everything up to this point. What happens in education, however, is unknown to the public. Why is it that one day a man had a strong erection, but the next day he doesn't have the same intensity? What has changed within the body?

It's exciting and could help readers learn more about their bodies. Typically, a man's penis gets heavy blood flow as directed by the brain during sex stimulation. This fast blood flow causes the penis to become extremely hard, which is what we refer to as an erection. But in cases of erectile dysfunction, the body experiences a few harmful situations that limit the blood flow to the penis when it is aroused. As a result, there is no lessening of sex-related excitation, yet the penis still does not react as it ought to.

Therefore, a shortage of circulation in the penis causes erectile dysfunction, also known as ED. Therefore, the primary issue that needs to be addressed is blood pressure, which by itself could treat ED. The common objective of all ED remedies available on the market is to ensure that there is a substantial amount of blood in the penis.

What Causes ED?

When discussing obesity,

The word frequently conjures up images of chubby men, young people, and even kids. You can end up taking pills like Vidalista 20 every time you go to bed as a result of your habit of eating foods like burgers, French fries, pizza, and other such luxuries. You don't want to live a life where taking medication is required even for satisfying sex.

Less blood can flow into the penis as a result of fat buildup in the arteries' mouths. And less erection is achieved with less blood.

Since the mind serves as the primary controlling mechanism for all bodily functions, it also has a significant impact on how fulfilling your sexual experience is. And the majority of the time, Additionally, the majority of sexual disorders—including ED—have mental health problems at their heart. There would be no need for Vidalista 60Mg and similar medications if you could train your mind to avoid being carried away or burdened with expectations. In order to make your sexual life as thrilling as a butterfly, get enough sleep, reduce your stress levels, and maintain a positive outlook.

Addiction is one of the key factors that contribute to ED. Addiction to any substance, whether it be alcohol, tobacco, or illicit narcotics has a bad impact on blood circulation. The degree of addiction's harm is demonstrated by the fact that even erectile dysfunction medications won't work if you drink alcohol either before or after taking them. So while smoking or drinking may temporarily give you a cool look, they will ultimately hinder your effectiveness in bed.

Conclusion

It is our duty as men to not completely rely on ed medications for better sex. This is the direct route to enslavement and ultimately drug addiction. If you are looking for a good medicine to fight ED you should once visit medslike a pharmaceutical online store. Our goal should be to treat ED with the least amount of medication. This would necessitate making the appropriate dietary, psychological, and behavioral modifications.

[hopperhopper74]

Encounter Your Spirit Guidebook When Trying To be able to Figure Out Getting Unstuck In Life

When we're feeling trapped in life much of the world lives by a new thought system of which teaches us that will our body have to be regarded while our temple. This specific is true; however , it applies simply to the surface regarding who we convey ourselves to be, where winning plus gaining are important. With regard to the most part, honoring your body is only a minor help answering that a single question much associated with the world battles with when being in a rut. That may be, "Who really am I? " read more in Miracles shows that, "Our brow is not some sort of structure at just about all, such as the building or each of our body. Every serenidad has its altar where holiness abides; otherwise, it more than likely be a brow. " Rather compared to viewing our body as the serenidad, let's consider the structure of each of our temple as our own "true essence" or even "being. ". Your current Life's Purpose Deep within that design of a lot more exactly where our altar is located, and it is as of this altar where we see our life's purpose. This will be "what" emanates the particular light, or will be the true essence associated with who we usually are. This is certainly our "being, " if you will. Someone informed me, and I agree, they liken this inner substance as being a spirit guideline, in the event you will, although not in the "woo, woo, woo" discomfort or ghostly concept. More so, I realize that when you meet your nature guide, it's love what the Course in Miracles states, "The Holy Spirit will be invisible, but you can see the results of His Existence, and through them you will understand he is there. very well. I'd started my personal writing projects entirely in longhand by behind bars in a great overcrowded, overbearing, in addition to obnoxiously overloud penitentiary environment. It's a terrible on earth in which inmates are feeling trapped in existence, surviving in one another's faces all night time and all day long. The atmosphere has been volatile and awfully violent. What is it that will save you? Often I believe this is what brought these words from my mind via the pen and even onto the papers. I 'd take a seat there trying to see how to obtain unstuck and hold out to be launched by a determine who said they used me because an example. The waiting was incredibly difficult, but I knew it was momentary as I served 7 of any 10 12 months prison sentence more than a foolish securities violation. I bear in mind while saying and writing the first project to personally how this job has saved me in more methods than one, and it also grew as I did. Yes, this was for me, just how to get unstuck. I 'd compose solely by myself, with helpful pointers by an Oneness of which we all will be a part. The Oneness I call God. Writing this specific book had kept me busy daily, and at conditions I might lose rest during the night, anxiously ready to get where I actually left off typically the day before. It had consumed us. Have you at any time felt spirit instructions signs? Everyday My partner and i received like a gift idea words that I may not seem in order to discover the previous day time. We would often wake up during nighttime, plus think, That's that: A sentence that was needed to be able to complete a metaphor or even a paragraph in order to help explain a good idea. Something to support within an area We seemed being found in a rut over would appear to my way of thinking. Was it soul guides signs? If the first project was basically nearing its completion, a blissful sense continued to circulation through me. That i knew of I was planning to miss this particular project. I was sad, too, because I actually could not find it to experienced beyond the written by hand stage, due to no computer usage whatsoever with this backwoods prison system. My personal only other resource was not good resource at just about all, unfortunately he available when I wanted to endure in line to make use of the ancient, poor-quality prison typewriter. Require I say, not nearly up to be able to a publisher's specifications. This was a feeling like not necessarily being able to be able to send your valued kid to college-- a kid that desperately desired to be able to replace the world and even never feeling caught in life. Getting Through Being Stuck in every area of your life Regardless, my words did mature into book form, handwritten into an expanding pile of magazines. This could be fine with regard to the time getting. "Help will be on its way in due time, " a new voice, or the spirit guide, within me continued to assure me. Because the journals sat within the bottom of our footlocker, that similar voice of my spirit guide motivated me to keep writing. I remember thinking how these types of projects surely are usually children in my opinion, in addition to in many aspects it has recently been like the experience of watching my children grow to prime. I remember asking an appropriate question them in a joking and even affectionate manner, about their birthdays when they were little, to promise myself not to increase any older. I actually would declare I wished they can stay cute little young ladies forever. Inevitably they were doing grow up.

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited���as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The Black Fleet Part I

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“After the final battle of Singapore the last vestiges of human resistance on the planet was all but broken.”

Martel listened to the automated message as he looked at the exhibit.

Behind the thick plasteel window laid the burnt remains of a human goliath tank. Scorch marks from plasma weapons dotted along its hull with a deep scar like gash cutting through the turret and revealing the insides. If Martel peered closely enough he thought he could almost see the human driver’s remains still where at the controls.

He was so caught up with the tank he failed to notice his son calling for his attention.

“Come on!” Pael called to his father as he ran into the next exhibit.

Martel had promised to take him to the museum for his birthing day though he had underestimated how overly dull it was. He passed by several others who were looking over the battle remains and went into the next room as the automated narrator continued.

“Within the next five solar rotations the planet was entirely free from the warlike humans and work on building a new paradise soon commenced.”

Martel found his son looking over a diorama of the first Ethereal city plans that were laid out shortly after the war with humanity had ended. Their scope was awe inspiring as he noted the size of some cities spanned entire continents and were planned to perfectly balance nature and the ever growing new population.

“Did we really wipe out all the monsters?” Pael asked his father as he joined him over at the diorama. He was amused that he still refused to call them by their name and would only address them as such.

“Yes, all of the monsters were destroyed on the planet.” Martel chuckled.

“But what about the ones not on the planet?” his son asked as he walked over to a picture showing an Ethereal fleet over the once proud human homeworld.

“They fled into space with what ships available.” Martel began before he saw his son becoming anxious and decided to ease his mind. “But they were poorly made things and in the last five hundred years not a single one of them has been seen since.”

Pael’s smile returned and he was about to go into the human fashion exhibit when the automated narrator cut out and an announcement was played.

“Attention all visitors,” the pa began, “we apologize for the inconvenience but we are closing the museum early today; please head to the nearest exit and return to your homes.”

Martel listened as the message repeated itself when something outside the window caught his eye.

Across the garden square in front of the museum Martel could see others begin led out of buildings and a line of armored vehicles driving down the streets.

He made to grab hold of Pael and follow the other visitors out of the museum, but when he turned around his son was nowhere to be seen.

-----------

“Unknown vessels, you have entered Ethereal Domotatus controlled space, respond immediately.”

The communications officer waited for a response but was met only with silence. They looked over their shoulder at their commander and shook their head.

From his command throne the station keeper Leptonious sat with growing frustration.

Not more than two hours had passed since outlying sensor beacons started sounding off as a large number of unidentified vessels began appearing at the edge of the system. Closer analysis had come up largely negative across the board for identifying the ships and were it not for their engines thermal signatures the sensors may not have even registered them at all. When Leptonious ordered a visual display of the ships the images transmitted back further confounded the station command staff.

The ships exteriors were painted entirely in a black like substance that appeared to suck the light in as if it was a black hole. There were no windows or docking ports of any kind and in the dark vacuum of space their very outline was barely visible against the starry backdrop.

In all his years running the orbital station of Sigma 7 he had not once come across a species with such ship designs and the fact that they had approached this close without a challenge further infuriated him as his record would surely be stained.

Station Keeper stood up from his command throne and strode over to the communications terminal and pushed the officer there aside.

“This is Station Keeper Leptonious,” Leptonious announced loudly into the terminal communicator, “you will halt your progress into our territory and iden-“

A loud screech of static cut off Leptonious and drowned out the rest of the room as it overloaded the speaker systems. The bridge crew dropped what they were doing and covered their ears from the sudden violent assault; some even collapsing to their knees weeping as the screech fluctuated pitch and tone rapidly.

After nearly a straight minute of this Leptonious was about to manually cut the transmission when the screeching stopped.

The bridge crew slowly recovered and resumed their posts when the communications began transmitting again.

“We……are here.”

Sounding soft and distant at the same time many of the bridge crew could not even register what had just been said after the previous screeching. Thankfully Leptonious could and reacted immediately.

“Unidentified vessels,” Leptonious began again, “you have entered Ethereal Domotatus territory and-“

“No.”

The single word cut off the station keeper mid-sentence like a knife through hot butter. Leptonious infuriated with the interruption and was about to unleash a lethal dose of obscenities when he noticed his sensor officer waving him down.

Switching the view screen from a visual image to tactical display Leptonious’s eyes went wide in horror.

Whoever these unidentified vessels were they weren’t just approaching from a single approach into the system; they were appearing around the entire system at once. One by one ships began registering one after another coming in from every angle, even from below and above the galactic plain. Soon the entire sensor display was awash with a swarm of red icons, all seemingly making for the station itself.

“Not your territory;” The voice sounded off again from the communicator, “ours.”

Leptonious gathered what pride he had still and challenged this claim.

“And by what right do you believe you can claim ownership of this system?

There was a long silence before the communications lit up with the response.

“By right of birth…..”

Leptonious dropped the communicator and took a step back in shock while the rest bridge crew looked on in confusion as the red icons slowly continued their progress to the core world. The final message was transmitted before the bridge crew broke down into urgent panic and began issuing a series of mobilization orders to the surrounding system fleets and the planet below.

“We are humanity, and we have returned for our home.”

[yourboyfriendimagines]

Can ya boy get some fluff smut perhaps,,, surprise me - ☕️💚

Yes you can!

Content: Smut, unsafe sex(wrap it before you tap it, yall), Peter is a sweetheart with secrets

~~~~~~

You and Peter had only just gotten into your apartment when he started kissing you desperately. Your attempt to get to the bedroom was in vain, Peter couldn't seem to wait...

"I love you, darling...", he lovingly whispered to you.

He started to strip off your clothes, kissing and nibbling at any exposed skin he saw. The pace that Peter was taking left you dizzy; your eyes were pleading for more than kisses. You were fully in the moment and enjoying Peter's intimate attention, then suddenly he picked you up and placed you on the kitchen counter.

"There you go...much better..", he said with lips pressed against the flesh of your collarbone.

Finally, he got to your pants; they were quickly removed unlike the treatment your other articles of clothing got. Peter got on his knees and rested his head on your thighs, basking in the plush warmth they provided for his cold hands. You could tell that he could barely contain himself...

"Peter...please", you mewled out.

You didn't have to tell him twice, he immediately got up and tugged your underwear down to your knees. He shuddered as he teased his fingers around the heat between your legs, he couldn't contain his eagerness anymore. He inserted one finger into you, being extremely gentle as he thrusted the entire thing into your heat.

You, of course, responded to this attention with ample amounts of moans and pleads to recieve more while Peter would happily oblige. He added fingers gradually, not wanting to push his luck with you; the last thing he'd want to do is hurt you and then lose the privilege of being intimate with you.

He pulled out his fingers and began fumbling with his belt, the desire in his eyes evident. He finally unbuckled his belt and freed his length, every inch that could only be described as 'filling'. He grabbed your knees and spread them apart, both of you were quivering in want and desperation.

"Wait...Peter.", you said in a small panic.

"Yeah...?", he responded, his voice dripping with lust.

"Did you bring a condom?", you asked.

He kinda froze for a second, then he spoke once again.

"I uh...I didn't.", he sounded really anxious. You guessed that he really didn't wanna stop.

"Shit, whatever. Just this once.", you sighed.

Peter beamed at your response. He got too excited and quickly shoved half of his length into you, warranting a pained squeak from you. He knew that wasn't a good noise and kept still.

"I'm sorry darling...", he said, sounding like a guilty puppy of a man.

He comforted you with kisses as you adjusted, not daring to push any further. He was hoping the pain you were feeling came from virginity, the thought of being your first made him higher than any substance could make him.

You tested the waters a bit by rolling your hips, and you were met with hot, burning pleasure in your nether region. Peter picked up on this, finally putting his entire cock into you. You both moaned at the new feelings, prompting Peter to start thrusting gently.

The sounds of repeated skin to skin contact filled the room. You pleaded with any higher power to not let anything interrupt this. Meanwhile, Peter was having the time of his life. He looked like he'd been waiting for this moment for years, but you've both been dating for a little under a month at this point.

You and Peter locked eyes, his eyes pleading with you to let him go faster. You nodded, and Peter didn't wait for a second before thrusting faster. You cried out, getting closer to the edge. You tried to hold back because of how early it was, but to no avail. Your body shook as that knot in your stomach broke.

You were just about to apologize when Peter kissed you. When he pulled away, he muttered, "Don't worry...we've got a whole night to ourselves. I'm not stopping anytime soon."

~~~~~~

You both happily screwed the night away, Peter took the liberty in carrying you to your bedroom and laying you down. He laid down next to you and pulled you close to him. He peppered kisses all over your face and neck, not as desperate but with a lot of enthusiasm.

"Goodnight, darling.", he whispered so sweetly.

...

How did he know where your bedroom was?

[yostresswritinggirl]

and, if Albedo have his own personal botanist, what about xiao have his own personal chef, or something like that? the reader working at wangshu inn as the chef or maid 👀 (this the request... If you want to make something from this absurd idea 👀👀)

Hehe I like your thought process, anon. Albedo and Xiao really just: 😏👉👉 *finger guns* 👈👈 😑 for having reader assistants in my masterlist huh.

Making this solely a personal chef/maid thing would defo make this response hella short so I added in more info and background just like I did with Albedo's, so I hope you guys end up enjoying this one too!!

It isn't an absurd idea, but I sure as hell made an absurd answer to it kek

Xiao's Devoted "Chef"

Xiao with a Reader who is not only his Personal Chef but assistant

Background (let's gooo)

The arrival of the Adepti Yaksha in Wangshu Inn was really something I've been intrigued about for a while now, but I won't make much assumptions here because his banner is coming and more info would be given to us.

Xiao had long since been residing in and spends a majority of his time in this Inn yet its owners, Verr Goldet and Huai'an, barely knows anything about the adepti or his lifestyle.

So on a sunny, quaint day like any other where calmness passes through the lands without worry, they expected the Adepti to resign himself to a moment of peace and rest too.

So color them surprised when they save the familiar silhouette of the adepti ascending to the top floor. Porcelain white skin and clear tank top glittered with fresh blood as a broken and bruised figure lays unconscious in his arms. The couple was thankful that there were no customers out and about that day, because it would be a disaster for an audience to witness such a thing. Also bad for business, but they'll hold that in at the back of their mind.

Skilled workers were quick to work with their seemingly extensive experience with such a protocol. As they tended to the victim, the Boss stayed behind to tend to and inquire with the Adepti. Yet such a conversation between them came out strained:

There were no visible wounds that require immediate medical attention but there was a look in his eyes that feels much more broken than anything they can fix. Verr's hands hover over him in an attempt to urge him to clean up his still bloodied form. His amber eyes that were usually sharp looks through a distance light-years away.

"Xiao," the woman started and the eyes snapped out of its reverie, subtly looking around to ground himself. "What happened? And are you okay?"

"Their- the parents died from a Hilichurl ambush, I was only able to save the child," his crossed arms gripped at his forearm in the realization of his utter mistake. "32 seconds."

"32 seconds?" The Mondstadtian offered a fresh set of hot towels he had taken, and he had flinched when he saw the carnage that stuck close to his skin.

"I was 32 seconds late."

Your parents were adventurers who brought you with them as big fans of traveling and nomadic lifestyle, no set home yet freely living by. You were in your younger teens and you'd clarified you had no other family to go to.

The death of your parents came as an obvious shock to your young self yet you grieved in silence and sobs, as the only person you trust hovers next to where you rest in silent contemplation.

Verr knows that look, and it was something she hasn't seen on the Adepti before. Of pure guilt and a sense of responsibility.

That night you rested surprisingly nightmare-free as your savior stands his ground next to where you rest.

Present Times

The couple had adopted you into the Inn family without a second's hesitance and you were thankful for them as you were to Xiao. You were no heavy expense or disadvantage and that made it all the more easier to adapt into your new lifestyle.

Despite no words or explanation, you were perfectly aware of the deeds your savior had done to save you and keep you alive, and with that you had sworn to serve him until the end of your time. A life for a life, equivalent exchange.

Coming into terms with being in Liyue and the Inn, your life choices were meddled with commerce and the importance of livelihood. You were young but your guilt of being under the care of such people forced you to take on any and every responsibility you can handle.

Despite your background you were expertly skilled with cooking. Your mother and father always taught you the importance of a meal for adventurers whenever you'd camped out. And your special touch on dishes that saves adventurers had drawn in many appetites.

Business boomed and the Inn wasn't just famous for being a temporary residence, but a sanctuary that offers tastes paired with the divine sense of Celestia. You became Wangshu Inn's Head Chef, with your sous-chef Smiley Yanxiao.

At times where Xiao is forced to make rounds to seize looming threats, he'd find himself picking fresh and healthy ingredients he'd find on the way back and present to you for new recipes to experiment on.

But you also pride yourself with a different title, or titles: The Adepti's Personal Chef, Tender of the Yaksha, Adepti's Devotee.

This title was emphasized by the Sigil of Permission sewn into an armband hanging by your right arm, something you proudly wear even beyond the walls of the Inn.

You found out the Adepti's favorite during your daily visit and breaks, usually done so by hanging out in the balcony with him with a brand new recipe you recently made and wanted to test out.

While he sat parallel to you, he eyed the transparent syrup and the gelatinous substance in the obvious curiousity he shows for all your new creations, silently awaiting your opinion by watching your expression: whenever you show even the slightest distaste, he'll pointedly ignore his curiousity and the dish altogether. And if you express such pride and achievement, his interest will get the better of him, if you haven't offered the dish quickly enough.

"What is this?" He'd finally ask after your delighted moans, indulging on your own creation.

"Mmm, Almond Tofu... do you wish to try it?" Without an answer he'd pick up the only spoon on the plate and tasted it himself. And just like that, he'd froze, eyes full blown in surprise and awe.

"Do you like it?" He can only hum in response as he scarfs down the plate by himself, chewing respectfully yet with a hint of vigor in every scoop. "It tastes... like dreams..." the way he looked at you, with eyes possessing such childlike wonder, you couldn't help but fall.

After that, Xiao had requested a daily plate/offering of it. It became a routine to the point that all workers heard of the favoritism and are encouraged to learn the recipe. But it's usually your dish that is served, unless special occasions calls for someone else.

There has been an influx of dormers and adventurers recently as citizens around Teyvat flock to the Liyue continent in hopes to watch the most extravagant celebration of the new year, the Lantern Rite Festival.

Your best efforts manning the kitchen together with Yanxiao took gruelling hours just to prepare for the dinner's first course even with hours of prep time available. Even both bosses had to lend some hands as your sous-chef can barely keep up with your stride. And after the dishes are finally distributed to the dining hall, you were already set in cleaning up the kitchen, and before you knew it-

"It has been an hour."

"It was a busy day, I'm sorry, Xiao." You could only muster a mumble in guilt as you kept your head down on the usual table, refusing to look at the disapproving expression he definitely wore, except he doesn't. His face has the slightest hints of worry and wonder at your deflated composure.

But his focus now was on the food he has been craving the whole day, already digging into his dessert. And you just tried your hardest not to fall asleep on the cold, wooden tabletop. Until your tummy rumbled through the silence.

A hum. "You haven't eaten?" You shake your head as you lift your head, gazing at the cute sight of your guardian tilting his head to the side in slight distaste for your lifestyle. You open your mouth to retort until you felt the cold utensil touch your bottom lip. "Here, I saved you the last bite. After this, get yourself a meal and retreat to your quarters, I don't want to hear any excuses." He softly urges a little push with the spoon so you get the hint, and you wrap your lips around it, chewing and gulping down cold dessert. He offered his favorite food, used the same spoon, and spoon fed you with it—

"Wha... don't- don't bite the spoon," you squeeze your eyes tight from the embarrassing thoughts in your head.

When people wish to have an audience with Xiao, most of the time they head to you for guidance after inquiring with Verr. They require a sigil of permission, and most of the times, your own sigil has been under fire a lot in their desperation.

An old merchant who desperately wants to hire the adepti to aid his caravan with personal security once tried to claw at your armband, but a split second after the tip of his fingers had touched the cloth, he was blown away to the nearest wall.

"What-," a pressure on your left shoulder pulls your other against a lean chest, protectively squeezing as a polearm materialized in front of you. You can feel the ragged vibrations of the Yaksha's unusually heavy breaths, his amber eyes sharp and dangerous, dilated like a predator.

"What gives you the idea that you had the authority to lay a hand on my assistant?" Black and teal embers conjure around you two as a dark shadow slowly creeps up from the ground. "That is their sigil of permission; I want nothing to do with you mere mortals."

If not for Verr and the other staff, things would have gone gruesome and unsightly for the business. Yes, business. Everyone disliked the guy enough to care more about the Inn than his actual well-being. When he'd come to, he was forced out of the Inn (he would have done so himself anyways as he was already traumatized).

"Sir Xiao, why did you do that?"

"He didn't have a Sigil, he was pretty much asking for it. And why have you gone formal?" You pouted at him and his only response was a quirked eyebrow. Walking over to stand behind him, you slowly wiggled your arms through the gap between his waist and slack arms, finding it easy enough with how thin his waist is as you wrapped him in a hug.

He tensed from the secretly ticklish feeling before letting down his guard in your arms. This was one of your leeway as his most devoted follower. Your constant exposure with the aid of the divine sigil has made you immune to the negative effects of Adeptal energy, enough to make him nigh worry about your safety around him anymore.

And him letting you hug him like this... let's just say it's from your mannerisms of comfort when you were still young and around him.

"Take an indefinite leave," Xiao broke the silence a few minutes after, forcing you to crane your head to the side to look at him. He meets your gaze with an amused glint. "You have no debt to pay here, you shouldn't be holed up in a place like this."

"It is true that me leaving wouldn't have majooor repercussions, but what's with the sudden idea?"

He huffs. "You're my only follower and yet you divide your attention serving temporary mortals that will pass by without remembrance. And besides," you tense at the sight of an upturn on the edge of lip, pearly whites subtly peeking, "personal does not mean sharing."

You were an adventurer at heart and it's time you indulge in that glorified life of excitement, with your guardian by your side. It was the only gift he can come up with for your undying devotion.

Holy - I had to cut this thing A LOT because I wrotE A HECKIN LOT WTF?! It's not even done in my mind, my goodness, there should be an adventuring unit here too but hhhh I got too conscious of the length sksksks I'm so sorry! P-Part 2-?

I enjoyed writing this a tad bit too much sksksks but now that the second to the last installation of this even is published, the next request should be the last one! And that means I'll have to stop the poll and start working on the requests for the 100 followers one! So if you haven't voted there, you should before it's too late!!

[themuseandantarctica]

* 𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒑𝒕. 10

change however necessary.

“One must keep right on drawing; draw with your eyes when you cannot draw with a pencil.”

“Drawing is not the same as form, it is a way of seeing form.”

“The most accomplished monkey cannot draw a monkey, this too only man can do; just as it is only man who regards his ability to do this as a distinct merit.”

“People who see a drawing in the New Yorker will think automatically that it’s funny because it is a cartoon.  If they see it in a museum, they think it is artistic; and if they find it in a fortune cookie they think it is a prediction.”

“Drawing is the honesty of the art.  There is no possibility of cheating.  It is either good or bad.”

“Practice by drawing things large, as if equal in representation and reality. In small drawings every large weakness is easily hidden; in the large, the smallest weakness is easily seen.”

“All good and genuine draftsmen draw according to the picture inscribed in their minds, and not according to nature.”

“We should talk less and draw more.  Personally, I would like to renounce speech altogether and, like organic nature, communicate everything I have to say in sketches.”

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”

“Anyone can escape into sleep, we are all genuises when we dream, the butcher’s the poet’s equal there.”

“Dreaming is an act of pure imagination, attesting in all men a creative power, which, if it were available in waking, would make every man a Dante or a Shakespeare.”

“I dream my painting and then paint my dream.”

“Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.”

“I have dreamed in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.”

“He dreamed he was eating Shredded Wheat and woke up to find the mattress half gone.”

“All men dream, but not equally.  Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible.”

“Only in our dreams are we free.  The rest of the time we need wages.”

“Once, I was forced to live for days on nothing but food and water.”

“The sway of alcohol over mankind is unquestionably due to its power to stimulate the mystical faculties of human nature, usually crushed to earth by the cold facts and dry criticisms of the sober hour.  Sobriety diminishes, discriminates, and says no; drunkenness expands, unites, and says yes.  Not through mere perversity do men run after it.”

“One reason I don’t drink is that I want to know when I am having a good time.”

“There is nothing wrong with sobriety in moderation.”

“I don’t do drugs.  I am drugs.”

“I’m in favor of legalizing drugs.  According to my values system, if people want to kill themselves, they have every right to do so.  Most of the harm that comes from drugs is because they are illegal.”

“Any musician who says he is playing better either on tea, the needle, or when he is juiced, is a plain straight liar.”

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”

“Don’t do speed.  Speed turns you into your parents.”

“I don’t like people who take drugs.  Customs men, for example.”

“Cocaine isn’t habit-forming.  I should know, I’ve been using it for years.”

“Researchers have discovered that chocolate produces some of the same reactions in the brain as marijuana.  The researchers also discovered other similarities between the two but can’t remember what they are.”

“A drug is a substance that, when injected into a rat, produces a scientific paper.”

“Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.”

“I drink too much.  The last time I gave a urine sample it had an olive in it.”

“I drink no more than a sponge.”

“I saw a notice which said ‘Drink Canada Dry’ and I’ve just started.”

“Actually, it only takes one drink to get me loaded.  Trouble is, I can’t remember if it’s the thirteenth or fourteenth.”

“You’re not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.”

“I once shook hands with [name] and my whole right side sobered up.”

“If you drink, don’t drive.  Don’t even putt.”

“Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk.  That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.”

“What is said when drunk has been thought out beforehand.”

“Duty is the most sublime word in our language.  Do your duty in all things.  You cannot do more.  You should never wish to do less.”

“I think a man’s duty is to find out where the truth is, or if he cannot, at least to take the best possible human doctrine and the hardest to disprove, and to ride on this like a raft over the waters of life.”

“Do something every day that you don’t want to do; this is the golden rule for acquiring the habit of doing your duty without plan.”

“It is better to do one’s own duty, however defective it may be, than to follow the duty of another, however well one may perform it.  He who does his duty as his own nature reveals it, never sins.”

“Conscientious people are apt to see their duty in that which in the most painful course.”

“We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak.”

“Students of evolution in the animal world tell us that the ear was the last of the sense organs to arrive; it is beyond question the most intricate and the most beautiful.”

“It is all very well to be able to write books, but can you waggle your ears?”

“Among the mammals only man has ears that can display no emotion.”

“Men love with their eyes; women love with their ears.”

“For women the best aphrodisiacs are words.  The G-spot is in the ears.  He who looks for it below there is wasting his time.”

“Earth—God’s golf ball.”

“The world, when viewed from above, resembles a ball sewn from twelve pieces of skin.”

“How inappropriate to call this planet Earth when clearly it is Ocean.”

“The Earth was small, light blue, and so touchingly alone, our home that must be defended like a holy relic.  The Earth was absolutely round.  I believe I never knew what the word round meant until I saw Earth from space.”

“The colors were so vivid and the snow and the clouds were the whitest white.  The land was brown in stark contrast to the crystal blue of the oceans.  It was breathtaking.  None of the pictures we took capture the emotion we had looking at the Earth.”

“What is the Earth most like?  It is most like a single cell.”

“What is the good of having a nice house without a decent planet to put it on?”

“Economics is extremely useful as a form of employment for economists.”

“There are three kinds of economists.  Those that can add, and those that can’t.”

“I want a one-armed economist so that the guy could never make a statement and then say ‘on the other hand...’”

“An economist is someone who will know tomorrow why the things he predicted yesterday didn’t happen today.”

“Making a speech on economics is a bit like pissing down your leg.  It seems hot to you but never to anyone else.”

“The worse the economy, the better the economists.”

“All the great economic ills the world has known this century can be directly traced back to the London School of Economics.”

“Wall Street indices predicted nine out of the last five recessions.”

“In all recorded history there has not been one economist who has had to worry about where the next meal would come from.”

“We spend the first twelve months of our children’s lives teaching them to walk and talk and the next twelve years telling them to sit down and shut up.”

“All you have to do to educate a child is leave them alone and teach them to read.  The rest is brainwashing.”

“I pity unlearned gentlemen on a rainy day.”

“Learning is the only thing the mind never exhausts, never fears, and never regrets.”

“To teach is to learn.”

“Let early education be a sort of amusement.  You will then be better able to discover the natural bent.”

“A teacher is one who makes himself progressively unnecessary.”

“My education was interrupted only by my schooling.”

“Sixty years ago I knew everything; now I know nothing; education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance.”

“Children are educated by what the grown-up is and not by his talk.”

“Men are born ignorant, not stupid; they are made stupid by education.”

“A child educated only at school is an uneducated child.”

“Education… has produced a vast population able to read but unable to distinguish what is worth reading.”

“Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper.”

“When a subject becomes totally obsolete we make it a required course.”

“In the first place, God made idiots.  That was for practice.  Then he made school boards.”

“Genius is a nuisance, and it is the duty of schools and colleges to abate it by setting genius-traps in its way.”

“College isn’t the place to go for ideas.”

“The fighting in academia is so vicious because the stakes are so low.”

“The trouble with most men of learning is that their learning goes to their heads.”

“You cannot teach a man anything, you can only help him find it within himself.”

“Education is not the filling of a bucket, but the lighting of a fire.”

“It is important that students bring a certain ragamuffin, barefoot irreverence to their studies; they are not here to worship what is known, but to question it.”

“If one cannot state a matter clearly enough so that even an intelligent twelve-year-old can understand it, one should remain within the cloistered walls of the university and laboratory until one gets a better grasp of one’s subject matter.”

“Anyone who tries to make a distinction between education and entertainment doesn’t know the first thing about either.”

“About the only thing that comes to us without effort is old age.”

“Nobody ever drowned in his own sweat.”

“It is the greatest of all mistakes to do nothing because you can only do a little.  Do what you can.”

“You don’t drown by falling in the water.  You drown by staying in there.”

“God doesn’t require us to succeed; he only requires that you try.”

“I have always tried to hid my own efforts and wished my works to have the lightness and joyousness of a springtime which never lets anyone suspect the labors it cost.”

[myrulia]

"Are they bothering you love?" - Kokushibou x Reader

.｡.:*✧Synopsis: You are out with your demon of a lover, hiding in plain sight in modern times as you both are simply walking in public to enjoy the night sky. All comes crashing down when a bold male approaches you, yet Kokushibou is there to protect you for he is your one and only.

.｡.:*✧Warning: Stranger with no filter

.｡.:*✧Word count: 1,647

It was such a beautiful night, unlike any other for that fact. After endless amounts of begging to Kokushibou, he finally agreed to going out with you. The moon seemed to radiate brilliantly in the night sky, all the while beaming down on the two of you who had a rather hard time struggling to hide the fact that you were demons. It went as far as Kokushibou closing the top and bottom pair of his eyes just so that the two of you could wander around safely. It was awkward to say the least - since you are used to seeing all 6 of his inscrutable eyes look at you with such love and adoration - but it was something that you adjusted to quickly.

Now walking side by side, out in the wake of the night, you both were simply enjoying each other's company, disregarding anyone else who was also out in the bustling area of the city, for there was multiple fairy lights hanging above the certain street you chose to wander about on that caught your attention, so you basically dragged Kokushibou along with you.

`` It is very pretty this time of night, `` you stated in your usual soothing voice to your much taller lover who was staring bright eyed and bushy tailed at the sheer amount of lights above your heads. It was bright to say the least but it really caught his attention, which made it the experience mean so much more to him. `` I must agree with you, it is beautiful, but I do not think it is as beautiful as you. ``

To Kokushibou, the compliment was normal and he said such words with ease as the poetic statement rolled off his tongue without struggle. You on the other hand was notably having a hard time keeping your composure, for the end of your ears became a scarlet red at his words. `` You believe that wholeheartedly? I mean look around, this place is absolutely beautiful. The sakura trees are even blooming. ``

`` [Y/N], how could you believe I do not actually mean that? You are beautiful and that's that. `` Looking down at your smiling face, the demon could not help but to smile ever so slightly in return at your flushed ears. He knew just what to say at just the right time to make you a flustered mess in a matter of seconds. He really did have a way with words.

Time seemed to fly by effortlessly, due to the both of you spending most of it window shopping and actually entering the multiple ones available for entering. Courtesy of your behavior, you dragged Kokushibou along with you into a plethora of stores that had all types of clothes to choose from. It was mainly due to the fact that you have never seen him smile this much before when the both of you are out. Usually he does do a pretty good job of keeping up a stoic expression, but this time, watching him struggle was adorable.

In a particular men's clothing store, you had your demon of a lover try on many different styles and options that you picked out yourself. It was almost like a mini fashion show with how much you really made him wear - but the Upper Moon One could not complain one bit. Your smile itself never faltered and so his resisted doing the same. Seeing you so cheerful just made him want to make sure you never stopped, even if it meant embarrassing a big man like himself in public by wearing a few questionable items of clothing.

After your little fashion montage, you both exited the store once the less than approachable store manager seemed to become aggravated with how you only tried on things instead of buying them. Just as you were finishing letting out a small giggle in reaction to the chain of events that occurred, you eyed a particular shop that seemed to have colorful clouds on a stick. What were they? You had no idea.

`` Cotton candy, `` you heard a testosterone-heavy voice say. You knew all too well who it was so looking up at Kokushibou, you eyed his gaze, but to your surprise he was looking at the same colorful clouds you were also looking at. `` Lets try it then! ``

And with that, you grabbed his hand, intertwining your much smaller fingers with his and, and soon enough the both of you were now entering the store with bright eyes, even brighter than earlier. You looked around hurriedly, trying to see what others in the store were doing so you could understand what you are supposed to do with the cloud-looking objects. Kokushibou unfortunately looked just as confused as you, who eyed anyone else in the store until it finally hit him - and his senses for that matter.

`` Love, "cotton candy" is a food. You are supposed to eat it, `` he said in a calm manner, all the while pointing at a certain mother and her son indulging in the sweet smelling treat. `` Then I guess we are trying something new..~ ``

Pulling out your wallet, you walk up to the counter and swiftly paid for the sweet treats you yourself was definitely excited about trying. The sweet smell flooded your nose and it was becoming unbearable, so turning around, you are met with the shocking sight of Kokushibou already holding a [F/C] one and a purple one. He held an obvious smile on your face that really allowed you to appreciate how handsome he looked when he wore his emotions on his sleeve. `` You seem eager to try them, `` you teased while grabbing the stick that held up the cotton candy from him. 

`` How could I not? It smells wonderful. `` Now having your sweet treats in hand, you both exited the candy shop, now being back on the bustling street that had many pedestrians who looked just as happy as the next person. It was refreshing to say the least, being out with the one you love the most and being able to enjoy your time together. It felt utterly amazing.

`` Lets bite at the same time. 3, 2, 1- `` as soon as you hit one, Kokushibou pulled off a chunk of the cotton candy and placed it inside his mouth, allowing the once soft substance to melt on his taste buds and overflood his senses once more. He lets out a surprised hum of satisfaction and turned to you taking a rather large bite out of the cotton candy instead of pulling a piece off. Your eyes doubled in size at how it melted inside your mouth, the sugar taking over on your tongue, and so you also let out a hum. `` It is delicious! Let me try yours! ``

Lowering his arm, you grab a piece from Kokushibou's cotton candy and stuff it into your mouth as well, letting out another content hum that made your husband smile. `` Enjoying yourself? `` He teased.

`` Yes indeed I am!- ``

`` I can make you enjoy yourself in other ways. ``

Your eyes left from Kokushibou's to where the mysterious voice originated from. Looking wide eyed, you swallow a hard lump that clogged your esophagus as you tilt your head to the side, being obviously confused with what you just heard. `` Excuse me? ``

`` Aside from being sexy, what else do you do for a living? We might have the same profession. ``

At that point your eyes actually tripled in size at the boldness of this complete stranger. To even think someone would have the audacity and mindset to do such things really ticked you off, so letting out an obviously sarcastic laugh, you were about to say something until he spoke up once more. `` Come on beautiful there's no need to say anything. How about we go on a date here? ``

You felt sick to your stomach and before you could properly react, Kokushibou's hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you moderately behind his body, giving you his cotton candy afterwards. He was now standing in between you and the random stranger who damn near ruined your date. Kokushibou is both obviously tall and intimidating, and being 6'3 does have its perks - especially in situations like now. Although, he did have to lean down, just a bit, so he could properly speak to the douche bag. 

`` Are they bothering you, love? `` He spoke in that same aggressive tone that sent shivers down your spine with just how heavy and deep it was. You peaked from behind your lover's shoulder to really see what was going on, and to your surprise the male who was previously doing a horrible job and hitting on you now had his eyes damn near pop out of his socket. `` Yes, they are actually. ``

Kokushibou now changed his smiling expression to a more darker one, now having his 3 pairs of eyes open only for the double bag to see. He leaned forward and that caused for the stranger to step back, huffing out and crossing his arms. `` Who the hell are you? ``

`` This beautiful woman's husband, `` and that was all that came from his lips before Kokushibou took another step forward, and just like that the stranger is suddenly running in the other direction. It took every nerve and fibre in your being not to laugh at the situation that just unfolded and ended just like that, and so stepping out from behind your husband who hid his other two pairs of eyes once more, you look up at his expression once he is finally standing up tall and proud. `` Well thank you darling..~ ``

`` Do not say it in that tone or I will make you thankful for another thing in a few seconds, `` Kokushibou teased back while grabbing his cotton candy from your hand, going back to indulging in yet another piece as you two continued your walk down the bustling street.

`` You enjoyed that, didn't you? ``

`` How could I not? I had to tell him you are mine, and mine alone. ``

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Fun fact; I looked up pick-up lines to use🏃🏾‍♀️

[reidyoulikeabook]

Invisible String

Ship: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: None, this is just fluff.

Word count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Spencer Reid don’t know it, but you’ve almost met quite a few times. What happens when you do?

A/N: This is potentially a bit on the wrong side of the cheesy line, but I was listening to invisible string by Taylor Swift and couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Pls bare in mind I’m from the UK and my only understanding of the US college system is from Google searches, so pls be forgiving of any misunderstandings about that.

November 6th, 2007

Dr. Spencer Reid. As you sat, thumbing through the article he’d written about the formation of ionic compounds in a chemical whose name you could not for the life of you spell or pronounce, you couldn’t help but resent the man.

Sure, the paper was very well-written and as cohesive as possible given the complex subject matter. But Dr. Spencer Reid, whoever he was, was the current source of your resentment at selecting chemistry to make up your science credit. Highlighting the name of a substance you’d have to look up later, you sighed. It was getting late but you had to hand in a critical summary of the paper on Friday.

It didn’t help that Dr. Reid was: a) a triple doctorate holder by the age of 22, or b) that your chemistry lecturer was none other than his old chemistry lecturer from Caltech and practically glowed with pride whenever he got to bring him up.

You chew on the end of your pen, having now distracted yourself from the notes. Not that you were particularly focused anyway.

In another life, maybe you’d have been a budding chemist who could describe an ionic lattice off rote. In this one, however, you’d just have to settle for slogging through the list of chemical processes and hoping you understood it well enough to please Dr. Reid’s biggest fan.

***

April 16th, 2008

Spencer hated flaking on commitments. It caused him a great deal of anxiety, the feeling of disappointing someone. He didn’t have much choice in this circumstance though.

Diana had taken ill over the last weekend. Nothing serious, some stomach bug or other. She’d become severely dehydated though, and had been hospitalised as a precautionary measure. Truth be told, he might not have gone if she hadn’t caught him on the phone. He was already feeling guilty for not having visited since Christmas. He wrote her letters everyday, yet still felt like he was neglecting his duties as a son. Rubbing his hands over his face, he lets out a deep sigh. Then takes out his laptop, to send another email.

Dear. Dr Abraham

I sincerely apologise again for my last minute cancellation. Excluding any unforeseen circumstances, myself and SSA Hotchner will be available to present the lecture on May 12th.

Yours sincerely,

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

May 12th, 2008

Considering this was your third year on campus, you sure were bad at finding your way around. In your defence, they were doing maintenance in one of the main buildings, meaning that lectures got shuffled around and relocated. You probably had a higher change of attending the right lecture by accident than on purpose.

It doesn’t help that you’re running a little late this morning. You rush into Room 203. A lot of the seats are taken, you have to meander your way past quite a few people until you end up sat almost directly in the middle. Only moments before the lecture starts.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, and this is SSA Reid. We’re members of the BAU which is based at FBI quarters in Quantico. Today, we’ll be talking to you about profiling.”

This is not your forensic linguistics lecture.

Panic hits you, hot in your gut. Scanning the room anxiously, you suddenly become conscious that you’re drawing attention to yourself when you feel the eyes of the man who is not SSA Hotchner on you. Fuck.

There’s no way for you to escape now, not without disturbing half the lecture hall.

So you sit back in your seat, resigning yourself to sit awkwardly in the lecture you’re not supposed to be in and hoping nobody notices.

But then, it’s really interesting, actually. The work that Dr. Reid does sounds similar to work you’ve done in forensic linguistics, analysing patterns of speech and minor phrase formations that can give things away about the perpetrator. By the end of the seminar, you’re sat leaning forward. Enraptured by almost every word coming out of their mouths.

It seems to be the general mood: everyone is enamoured. People are clammering to speak to them at the end. After a brief inner battle, myou decide that you should talk to them too.

What’s the harm?

You’ve decided that you’ll speak to Dr. Reid, since he seems to share more of a field focus. However, as you’re heading down, you spot him. Dr Adams, your chemistry lecturer from last year. Oh shit, it’s that Dr. Reid.

Speaking to SSA Hotchner will just have to do instead.

----

“I’ve been majoring in forensic linguistics and criminal psychology,” You tell him, “Do you think ... I mean, I know it’s a pretty exclusive team to get on to. But is that the kind of thing that could maybe get me there one day?”

Hotchner nods, “Forensic linguistics is something that comes in very useful in the investigative aspects of cases. The FBI is always looking for new angles and perspectives, those are both good subjects to study if you were thinking of signing up to the academy.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner,” You say, suddenly a little bashful as you notice the queue of people lingering behind you, “That was a really interesting lecture. It’s definitely something I’ll think about.”

“You should talk to Dr. Reid if you have a particular interest in the linguistic aspect of profiling. He’s more specialised in that area than I am. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss any research you’re conducting at the moment and suggest materials that might be helpful in furthering your understanding of the area.”

“Thank you,” You smile, and he nods at you again.

Stepping away from Agent Hotchner, you look to your right. Dr. Reid is still engaged deeply in conversation with Dr. Adams. You glance at your watch. There was time before your next class, you supposed, so you could wait. It couldn’t hurt to find out more, could it? It wasn‘t like you were getting your hopes up or anything.

It’s then that you feel a pair of arms around your waist, a familiar scent of cologne.

“Hey!” You whip around to see your boyfriend, grinning widely.

“Hey,” You reply, “How’d you find me?”

“I was walking past when I saw you talking to that FBI agent. Seriously, FBI?” He asks, with a disapproving quirk of his eyebrow, “You want to grab a coffee before Psych?”

You want to say no. But he’s got his hand on the small of your back, leading  you out of the room before you even get a chance to reply. You glance back over your shoulder, making eye contact with Dr. Reid for all of two seconds before you’re swept away.

“Seriously though babe, FBI?”

Unsurpisingly, you don’t mention your potential change in career path to him.

***

March 8th, 2009

“Come in,” Hotch calls. He looks up from the paperwork on his desk to see Spencer entering the room, clutching a report in his hand.

“That last case we were on. I was doing some more research, just for future reference about linguistic patterns. Have you read this?” He asks, sliding a copy of your paper across the desk.

Hotch gives it a cursary look over, nodding, “Yes. It’s interesting. She’s signed up as an NAT. I believe I actually spoke to her at one of our lectures last year.”

"Her work is really impressive for somebody whose only studied this at a master level.”

Hotch almost smiles, “Yes. That’s exactly why I’ve recommended to the bureau that she signs up for profiling classes. Her work shows a lot of promise. They’re sending over a copy of her completed thesis, if you’d like to read it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, thank you,” Spencer says, struggling to conceal the smile playing on the corner of his lips.

“I’ll email it to you as soon as I receive it.”

Spencer nods, smiling properly to himself as he leaves the room. It wasn’t unusual, exactly, for him to share new research that was relevant to cases. It was important that they all kept themselves fresh and acquainted with new theories about the field. Hotch, however, didn’t miss the excited way Spencer had presented it to him. Talking about how impressive you were, as if to subtly hint. He thinks it’s quite typical, actually, that Spencer could take such an interest in someone he only knew via an essay.

Although Spencer’s response does get Hotch to send a follow-up email, inquiring about whether you’d agreed to the classes. If Spencer was this impressed with your work, it must be good.

***

June 1st, 2009

The Metro that morning is packed. It doesn’t help that you’ve not been living here long, and don’t exactly know the route from your flat to the station off by heart yet.

You'd also had to make a detour to the post office. Your, firmly ex, boyfriend had mailed over the last of your things. Really, it was good riddance. His hounding you about your choice in job had only worsened. The relationship had been hanging on by a thread long before you’d moved away last month. You were more than a little grateful that it was finally over, that you could draw a line under it all and focus on your career.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped you having a little cry to yourself on the way over.

Rushing, you make it onto the Metro just as the doors are about to close, falling against the railing on the left side. You grip onto it for dear life.

On the other side of the carriage, Spencer notices someone hurrying for the train. He had been buried deep in the paper he's reading, but the bustle had pulled his attention. Your back is to him, and there’s a scarf at your feet. He wants to say something, to try and get your attention, but he can’t from where he is.

“Miss, I think you’ve dropped something,” The woman you’re standing in front of says, gesturing to the scarf pooled at your feet.

You meet her eyes, sniffling slightly, “Thank you.”

Spencer watches as you pick it up, back still to him. Crisis averted, he turns his attention back to what he's reading: the published copy of your thesis Hotch had emailed him last week.

***

September 2nd, 2009

"This is SSA ____, the newest member of our team. She’s recently graduated from the academy and has an excellent knowledge of linguistics that the bureau feels will be a great advantage to this team. She’s had her induction and now will be joining the team on a probationary basis. She’ll be spending a little time with each of you in between cases to make sure she forms well-rounded knowledge of all aspects of what we do.”

It’s a little overwhelming, having everybody’s eyes on you.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Emily is the first over, offering her hand for you to shake.

“You too, it’s really nice to meet all of you,” You say, shaking hands in turn with her, Morgan, Rossi, J.J, and Garcia.

“Hi,” Spencer calls from behind you.

You turn around to face him. You remember what Hotch had mentioned to you about him being a bit of a germaphobe, so you keep your hand by your side.

“Hi,” You say, “Dr. Reid, right?”

“You can call me Spencer,” He says, a little bashful, “I read your thesis, the study about you did about the construction of passive clauses as an indicator of guilt in adolescent offenders. It was fascinating.”

You feel yourself getting a little warm under his gaze, “Thank you. I'm surprised you’re even aware it existed.”

Hotch interrupts then, “Reid, do you want to sit with ____ while she goes over the case file? It’d be useful if you could go over how you’d go about constructing a linguistic profile.”

That’s how you end up spending much of your first day: with Spencer, huddled up over case files as he explains his profile-building process to you. Spencer’s an incredible teacher, you think. He explains his thought process without ever being condescending, leaving little gaps for you to answer.

You’re incredible, Spencer thinks. You seem to grasp exactly what he’s saying, filling in the gaps based on the clues that are actually in front of you, not letting yourself be guided too much by bias.

***

October 29th, 2009

Spencer loves everyone at the BAU. They’re all the family he never had, and he has relatively good friendships with all of them. Just, they aren’t quite the same as they are with you.

He struggles to put his finger on it, exactly. It’s a unique relationship. He shares very familial bonds with a lot of them: he and Morgan are brotherly, Rossi is fatherly, Garcia’s somewhat like an overexcited little sister.

The friendship he has with you is special. You always listen to him, even as he rambles on about inane things that anybody else would tell him to shut up about. In fact, sometimes about the exact things that they do tell him to shut up about. Just last week, he was rambling on about Star Trek when Morgan told him, not altogether unkindly, to “give it a rest, kid.”

“What was that you were saying?” You’d asked, sidling up to him, “I’ve never watched Star Trek but I thought the quote was beam me up Scotty.”

He’d looked at you, considering you for a moment, “You don’t have to-”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know Spence. You think I’d ask for a 15 minute lecture on Star Trek if I wasn’t interested in it?”

A warm feeling flooded his chest. The look on your face was so genuine, and you’d perched on the edge of his desk as he gesticulated, getting deep into the lore and how the misconception had come about. He still didn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, until he got to the end of his spiel. And then you asked him a question. You asked him a question to make sure you understood what he was talking about. You were listening the whole time, and you genuinely cared about the point he was making.

It's then that he realises, it was hard to pinpoint because it wasn’t friendship. He likes you. Shit.

***

November 2nd, 2009

You like everybody at the BAU. They’re all quite patient with you, really, happy to walk you through how they do things. Morgan’s taught you quite a bit about the tactical side of things already, and Rossi has been working with you on your interrogation techniques. Emily’s generally just a great mentor, always happy to listen and support however she can. She’s more experienced, but still relatively new to the team too, so you feel like there’s a certain understanding between you.

However, you’d definitely be lying if you said the person you hadn’t learnt the most from, or spent the most time with, was Spencer.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, either. You seemed to gravitate towards one another, forever sitting side-by-side on the plane. Sharing a line of thinking that usually led to devolved rambling, and scribbling, until you came up with something coherent.

It isn’t until November 2nd that you realise you have feelings for him.

You’re sitting at your desk, filling out a case report that Emily had promised to go over with you before she left for lunch.

“Hey,” Spencer’s familiar soothing voice comes, as he sidles up to you, “I got you something.”

Looking up, you notice the coffee cup in his right hand, “You are my caffeine lifesaver.”

He hands it to you, smiling a little nervously, “It’s actually not that.”

“Oh?”

His other hand is tucked behind his back, and he pulls it foward towards you, brandishing a red sweatshirt.

“I know you uh, left your red sweater behind at the hotel on the last case. And I know it was your favourite one, and I was shopping yesterday and I saw this and...” He trails off, embarassed, “It’s not the exact same, but it’s the same kind. I just thought you might like it.”

You swallow, hard, “Spencer that’s so sweet. C-Can I hug you?”

He nods. Standing up from your desk, you wrap your arms around his frame.

“That was so thoughtful.”

He squeezes you a little, really leaning into the hug, his face pressing against your shoulder. His tousled hair tickles your nose a little and you smile, clinging onto him, relishing in the feeling of safety and warmth.

It hits you then. When you realise you don’t want to let go. When you realise he makes you feel fuzzy. Loved. Cared for in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. Eventually, you have to let him go, and it’s in a daze that you return to your desk. You’re so concentrated on your overwhelming realisation, you don’t realise how reluctant he is to let you leave his embrace.

***

December 22nd, 2009

Driving Spencer home from the office was really just an excuse to get some time alone with him. You’d said something about the Metro being busy, one of the services being cancelled. He hadn’t factchecked you on that.

The BAU had tentative plans for boxing day, with the caveat being that no emergent cases arrived in the meantime. It was only really four days you wouldn’t see him, but that was longer than you’d ever gone without seeing him in all the time you’d known him. You worked together everyday, and it was unusual for you to go a full weekend without seeing each other. Recently, you’d got into the habit of going out for Sunday brunch together.

Pulling up outside his house, you hear him sigh.

“I know it’s only four days, but I’ll miss you.”

Smiling, you turn to him, “I’ll miss you too.” 

Something in you changes then. He’s looking at you. You may be relatively new to profiling but you can see something behind his eyes, feel the charge of unsaid words electrifying the air.

“Can I hug you?” He asks.

“You can always hug me,” You reply, undoing your seatbelt and opening your arms for him.

He embraces you the way he always has: tightly. Like he doesn’t want to let go, couldn’t imagine ever letting you go. His face nuzzles to the crook of your neck, and then you feel his thumb brush your chin. Tilting your head down.

You exchange a look. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, and back. You nod your head, just slightly.

He kisses you then. Tender. You melt into one another, lips moving quickly as you drink one another in. Kissing each other breathless, your fingers intertwine in his hair and his hand comes up to cup your cheek. Nothing has ever felt so right.

***

June 10th, 2011

Neither of you have ever really believed in fate. It’s hard to - especially in your line of work - to want to interpret the workings of the universe as deliberate. Maybe you’d think a little differently though, if you knew about all the near-misses. All the times you could have met. But fate knew better. She waited until you were ready.

And as you exchange vows, promising each other your forever, you both know you couldn’t possibly deny that this was meant to be.

------

Taglists: @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician

(let me know if you would like to be added to/removed from this list!)

[tact-and-impulse]

Literally, my outline for this one was “beach, sunscreen, *eyes emoji*”. I did not account for how much awkward this turned out to have, but I had a lot of fun with filling the ‘temptation’ prompt, @shepherds-of-haven!

weak

She should be thrilled. She’s in Courtshore, with her friends and free to enjoy what the city has to offer. The charming array of shops, the expanse of turquoise ocean, the colorfully painted restaurants and houses. The weather’s fair and cloudless, and this part of the beach is isolated enough for only the Shepherds to do as they will. It’s supposed to be a relaxing, well-deserved vacation.

At the moment, she’s feeling rather exasperated. With the midday sunshine beaming down on her hair and exposed shoulders, she lifts the small jar of ivory cream in her hand and tries again. “Blade, you can think of it as another kind of protection.”

Since their arrival, he hasn’t moved from his seated position upon a beach towel. He did remove his shirt, like the other men had, and his physique is impressive as always. The inked tattoo over his heart is revealed to the world. However, any appreciation is soured by his current glower. “As I said before, I don’t need it. The umbrella is enough.” He nods at the navy blue fabric over his head.

“I lived here for a few years. There’s always a tourist who regrets not using it the following day.” A thought strikes her. “Have you ever been sunburned?”

“…My work never allowed me to spend overly long in the heat. So, I have not.”

“It really does hurt.”

His mouth quirks in amusement. “It must, if you say so. You never complain.”

If possible, she feels a touch warmer. “Then, can you trust me?”

The seconds stretch, before he finally sighs. “Yes.”

She grins, readily handing the jar over. He removes the lid, and his biceps shift with the action. Two fingertips roughly apply the substance to his face, before scrubbing it over his arms. She stands by, to make sure he doesn’t miss a spot, of course. Her gaze follows his hands, gliding over the hard plane of his chest, down to his abdominal muscles. There are faint scars, not just on his knuckles, but also a particular nasty-looking one on his left side. She can’t help feeling curious…

“Isn’t there a faster way?” He grumbles.

Blinking, she forces her mind to catch up. “If someone helps.”

The insinuation makes him freeze. His grip on the jar tightens.

“Well, I have your back, right?” She tries to play it down. “At least, during missions. It’s okay if it’s not me, I can ask Trouble-”

“No.” He immediately refuses and offers the cream with a rigid arm. His voice lowers to a raspy mutter. “Come closer, you said you have my back. I may not be able to reach it all evenly.”

“Then, I’ll go around you. Excuse me.” She takes the jar and ducks under the umbrella, maneuvering behind him. Entrusting one’s back to another is a tremendous act from any Ket, and she knows she shouldn’t take this lightly. She notices the puncture scar first, presumably made from the exit wound of what had pierced his right shoulder. Otherwise, the rest of his skin is surprisingly unblemished. The muscles here are defined too, and his spine is perfectly straight, leading to the indents just above his shorts.

Oh. She’s going to be touching him. She presses her lips together, for fear that nervous laughter will betray her and Blade will think there’s something funny she’s seeing. Not that there is, he looks very good.

It’ll be too awkward if neither of them speak, so she begins talking as she works the cream between her palms first. “Courtshore is usually busiest around summertime, when the nobles return, so the rest of the year has events to make up for lost revenue. The market is fully decorated for Wintersun, and the main square has a fashion show on Lovelace Day. My favorite was always the arts festival though.”

“And when is that?”

“The exact date changes every year, depending on available venues, but it was in Loa.” Her hands hover over his upper back. “I’m starting, just letting you know.”

His expression isn’t visible but he does nod, and she makes contact. He’s as solid as he appears, yet he’s actually quite warm. She can sense the coiled strength, just under her fingertips. It’s his control that she admires though, and there is tension, which she attributes to his vigilance. She should be quick, for both of their sakes. Her motions are brisk, horizontal, and wide.

“Did you ever go with anyone?” He prompts. The vibrations of his voice are palpable.

“To the arts festival? No, I went alone. I usually trailed behind the crowd, listening to the performances. There were musicians competing for the audience’s attention, and one act plays, and poem recitations.”

“And you enjoyed the books most.”

“Yes, you know me well. Ah, wait, hold still.” He’s twitched, and she’s initially worried she might have scratched him. The way he ripples under her hand sends a jolt of electricity through her, shooting to her belly. Despite herself, she blushes. It’s the proximity to Blade, she decides. And her own inexperience with anything physical other than combat, but that’s better left for a different day.

He clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She takes a steadying breath and keeps going. At this point, she’s reached his lower back, the tapering of his waist. It just feels significantly more intimate. She fixes her line of sight on the nape of his neck, struggling to be professional and friendly about it. “When I was younger, I had to limit myself to the free or discounted books. I’m looking forward to the next arts festival, with whoever wants to come along.”

“I will.” He says, with quiet certainty. “You don’t have to be alone or hide behind the crowd. You can be yourself. I have your back, just as much as you have mine.”

Her heart pounds, and she murmurs something grateful that pales in comparison to his words. Then, her thumb brushes against cloth, not skin. Too close to dipping under his waistband. Flustered, she moves her hands away, holding them up. “Alright, all done!”

Abruptly, he stands. He doesn’t meet her gaze, only inclining an ear in her direction. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So, do you want to head down to the water? It was cold this morning, but it should be much warmer…now…” She trails off, watching him sprint to the shoreline and dive right into the glittering sea. The resulting splash causes a few gulls to fly off.

And just as he resurfaces, she thinks there’s a hint of color in his face.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : a sweet truth

— word count : 2.1k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : you get an overwhelming need to share with John how you feel, unable to keep it to yourself anymore, leaving only the good to follow.

— warnings : none, issa soft one

note: my first one shot back and it’s john of course! anyways i need to binge the movies again because this man’s voice was difficult to master this time around, now i will be getting to requests now i have indulged myself oops

                    ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open !   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The dull crackle that runs mindlessly beneath the audio of the radio is the only sound that can be heard illuminating the space of the bedroom where you and John lay contently together. He’d offered to repair the object, or even buy another but you refused stubbornly — remarking that it gives it a certain endearing charm. You had joked that it reminds you of him. In the sense that while it has a flaw, it was able to bring joy and amusement to a person’s life. It’s humbling to know that even the John Wick was human, that he had his flaws despite being difficult to witness them in the flesh.

It took a lot for John to bare the darkest and most damaged parts of his conscience. He couldn’t go another day where his mind leapt endlessly to conclusions, his mind conjuring haunting images of your departing body that would eventually come to pass — to him, it was inevitable. He fully convinced himself he was hallucinating when you had not retreated in fear, with the look of disgust cosying up to your reflection, but the opposite. He is still a man greatly feared by a whole world beneath yours, yet you still gaze upon him with nothing but warmth.

You will your mind to focus on the words from the small object, yet it’s the heat that is emitting from his body in waves that prevent you from fully taking in what is being said, its presence doing more to provide white noise than entertainment. The minor glint in your gaze turns upwards to drag your sight across the body that half lays on top of you.

Like vines, to be found in a twist of limbs that would be almost difficult to distinguish what belongs to who is a common occurrence, the sense of shielded from the scorching realities that the world bares boldly is an addicting concoction that you can only find with him. Your heart swells tenfold at the mere thought of him and being here in such a simple way that holds so much affection just for two people.

“ What ? “

The suddenness of his voice lifts you from your thoughts that run their own race, a shy lift of your lips can be seen twirling gracefully in response.

“ Nothing, I’m just thinking. “

“ Thinking? “ he asks you, a light hint of laughter gently coating the question with a feather-like touch. “ Are you trying to scare me? “

Eyes widen in response to what he says, a heavy burst of air plummeting to the soft mattress below the two of you. “ Don’t be so rude! “ A short chuckle trails behind your reply, secretly loving the cheeky side of his personality coming out to peek out.

You’ve realised that he has a warmth whenever you’re together, but even still he maintains an air of such seriousness you’re surprised he has not collapsed under the pressure of holding such a wall up with his bare hands, these moments are the kind that you paint mentally — a still of this moment in a thousand shades of gold. Upon your first meeting of his, you’d never associate that with him, with how intimidating and stone faced he was, it would be a honeyed lie if someone would have described him in such a way but here he is. Not a honeyed lie but a sweet tasting truth that you never want to be without again.

“ I’m sorry. “ he apologises as the amusement in his tones still very much present that would aim to refer to him as a hypocrite, but it’s not spoken with vitriol, his words directed towards you rarely contain any harshness. “ Tell me, I’m curious. “

It’s a minor debate that dances with only itself, zig zagging with a biro pen that creates a mess of lines converging at multiple points to create a tangle plot point that should not be as complicated as it’s being made out. Neither of you have muttered the L word, not even under your breath in passing and the one dominating emotion you can feel overwhelming your body entirely is incredibly close to it.. but is it too soon? Even as a description? It’s a fear you can feel tickling your neck from behind, whispering stained words of discouragement, but if you have learnt anything, it’s that hiding your feelings will be worse off in the long run. Never can a human being strive for the euphoria of authentic happiness clutched in their fist when they lock away their thoughts and their desires in a box to gather age and dust — leaving behind a hollow shell of what could have been had it the opportunity to bud and grow.

“ Well.. “ you begin, your sight lowering to meet the sight of his neck, unable to look him in the eyes fully and you approach the topic. “ I was thinking about you. “

“ Yeah? “

“ I’m just.. happy. More than I thought I could be and it’s you I have to thank. “ Your shoulders shrug as best they can from your position laying down on the bed.

“ I think I should be the one saying that. “ he replies softly, his words ringing truer than they could ever be realised to be as he leans down to leave behind a ghost of a peck behind your ear. It’s an action that is short and sweet.

Never did John imagine himself being rewarded for being the architect in more tragedies and more horrors than he could ever recall. Though, he soon realised your presence was rather the opposite, a ticket to a greener field void of bloodied bargains and death, and should he keep you in his life that would be an opportunity he would not let pass him by in a sea of missed chances left to drown due to his lack of motivation. He gazes upon you fondly in affection, a hand reaching up to draw mindless circles in the back of your hair, memories of his last bargain to leave his previous life playing before him as if an old gritty movie.

“ Stop it, John. I haven’t done a thing! “ your nose wrinkles as you refute what he says with a bashful glint that explodes in your gaze. After all the time you’d spent together and you still refuse to see yourself in the way John has painted you in —

“ You’ve done more for me than you realise. “

It feels like yesterday you shared your first kiss, fondly remembering how you’d mentally remarked that it’s so unfair that what is between you should be so perfect, a cruel joke were it not to work out. Though your heart is full of gratitude when you still tell yourself that not a worry should be had, your need for a physical reminder as you move your hand to his clothed back — bringing him closer as if to burn a permanent reminder into your fingertips.

“ I guess that’s why we compliment each other so well, huh? “

A wispy sigh plummets, your thoughts and emotions mixing more and more into a blend of intensity as you fully realise just how much you have fallen and adore the man who shares your bed. It has been such a long time you have had these emotions to this degree rouse from, what has felt like, an endless slumber. Yes, there had been a few who had caught your eye, but compared to the substance that has been created and nurtured from you both, they had nothing more than a water drop in a boundless and enduring sea. It’s a hope of yours that you don’t look foolish before him, getting so emotional over something like this, you scold yourself mentally — trying to pull yourself together before you completely crumble.

“ What’s wrong? “

“ It’s nothing, really. “ you shake your head, accompanying the almost denial. You want to let everything in your heart free, but the question is how to without scaring him off. There’s not much that can scare him, but you’d rather not throw a spanner in the flawless equation.

“ You don’t have to tell me, but it might help if you do. “ John lends a soothing weight in your hand as he interlocks your fingers together, leaving the choice completely up to you, refusing to force you to share something that is so personal to you. “ it’s your call. “

“ It’s nothing crazy.. “

The side of John’s brain that has been hardwired to jump to every scenario imaginable — good and bad, is running rampant. Itching to be prepared so nothing is able to disrupt the perfect day dream of a life that had only been made available through television shows and movies, now that he has it, every day he promises to never let it be ruined. Nothing good can ever occur from ripping away the first drop of water that touches a person starved of it for days, only a troublesome path of anger can walk that path on its twisted and turned limbs.

“ I think it’s time that I tell you how I feel, “ you state, your lips almost devouring your lips by how hard they bite them, a lost thought of how you have not drawn a drop of blood seeping into irrelevancy. “ how I really feel. “

“ Right? “

For the first time, John is completely unable to get a read of you. The apprehension that is emitting off you in strong waves is not something that comforts him fully, though the fact that you speak not from anger and have opted to stay in your current position as opposed to fleeing is the only source of relief he can continue to draw energy from. Curiosity is the only thing that dominates his mind, wanting desperately to hear the next part of your statement.

In his silence, your brows furrow purely from your own thoughts. Mainly in the wonder of how you can approach this while sounding as if you have capacity and are not obsessed with him as some are with their idols. You know that would be something that would probably scare him off. Your fingertips lay a random beat on the top of his hand, you nestle closer to him as to make yourself comfortable — this does feel like the right time. Should it not? You remind yourself that it is part of a plan that the universe has for you, that it is part of a bigger picture you are not allowed to know until the final moment.

“ I just, “ you pause, blinking as you gather your thoughts and your words further. “ It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything remotely close to this. “

Your words are like a cozy kiss goodnight before two lovers depart until the next time they see each other, a warmth that slowly grows in his heart overspills at the sentiment you individually wrap with each word you speak. He can’t help but tip his head ever so slightly, to take in every detail on your features — in his mind, nothing is more so perfect than this moment.

“ What I’m trying to say is, and you don’t have to say anything — “ the rambling leaves your lips so effortlessly, as if to savour the last few moments of normally before the inevitable confession. “ I can’t help but realise how much I am in love with you. “

His eyes widen instantaneously as his features follow suit, his lips part in surprise. With how your speech had begun, it should not have come as a surprise, yet to hear it from your lips is as pleasant as the final summer’s day, surrounded by warmth and an impenetrable energy that shields you from any harm that would befall you. He’d lived the life of a haunting ghost story that it soon became a belief that he was a monster, to hear you in this moment recite something so real is something that is difficult for him to wrap his head around. Maybe he isn’t a monster that has made its peace with the darkness, that there is more for him as a person.

The emptiness is soon replaced by a soft weight on your lips, he has leans down to join you — unable to fight the desire to savour the taste of him as you often do when you kiss. It’s a fight you have not yet one, and it’s a fight you imagine you would prefer losing. Time is no longer a concept, you’re too wrapped up in the concept turned reality that is John Wick, only are you able to concentrate on the burning that his free hand leaves as they slide up and down your waist. If this is a dream, neither of you want to awaken.

“ Who says I’m not feeling the same as you? “

[nagipops]

can i request a naruto x reader frenemies to lovers? i’ll leave the rest up to you 😘 love your writing.

“BUT WE HATE EACHOTHER!”

FEATURING: naruto uzumaki!

SUMMARY: in which you catch feelings for a certain yellow-haired nuisance. what you didn’t know? the feeling was mutual.

WARNINGS: this is a modern school au!

A/N: thank you very much, anon! i had some fun with this one :)

“Naruto!” you cried, fisting the collar of his shirt and dragging his face mere inches from yours. “Give it back!”

The blonde in front of you grimaced in pain, clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut. “Hck— okay! Jeez!” Raising his arm up while dangling in midair, your phone shimmered within his firm grip as he held it out to you helplessly. You dropped him from your grasp and reached for your phone, when all of a sudden, he sped off at the speed of light in the opposite direction.

“NARUTO!!” you seethed, taking off after the hysterical blue-eyed boy.

You lay in bed that night after a wild goose chase to retrieve your phone from your sworn enemy when you turned on your device and gaped at your lock screen.

A blonde head and a familiar peace sign stared back at you, illuminating the dark room in a warm glow. Your initial furious reaction slowly gave way as you continued to stare at your lock screen, noticing how... maybe he was kind of... cute? His cheeky grin, bright eyes, and youthful demeanor charmed just about anyone. You had no idea how he did it, but it was somehow starting to have an effect on you.

A tiny smile on your face, you unlocked your phone to find every single app cover displaying Naruto’s shit-eating grin.

“NARUTO!!!!!” you shrieked, throwing your phone at the wall and pulling the covers over your head.

Biting your lip to keep a laugh from bursting out, you silently zipped up the front pocket of Naruto’s busted backpack, sliding his nearly obliterated phone into the sleeve of your hoodie. You slipped quietly back into your seat, hiding his phone behind the book you were pretending to read while you got to work unlocking it.

Shoot. A password.

Trying to recall his birthday, you realized that he probably wasn’t smart enough to set his password to something cryptic like that, so you punched in the age-old code: 0000.

And just like that, you were in his phone.

“Yes!” you whispered, swiping through the various screens in attempt to find any juicy secrets, but his screen was so broken that it was futile to read anything with the naked eye. “Kami, how the hell does he see anything? No wonder his texts are always so incoherent.”

An idea popped into your mind as you headed over to the messaging app to try and dig up some scandalous gossip.

His texts had absolutely zero substance.

A lot of nagging Shikamaru to hang out with him, walls of bizarre emojis to Sasuke, spamming random words to Sakura, and so forth. You facepalmed yourself at the thought of Naruto actually having the brains to have a real conversation with someone over text.

You sighed as you scrolled mindlessly through the thread of texts between him and Sakura, when something caught your eye. Words like “crush”, “confession”, “tell them”, and “cute” stuck out to you, piquing your curiosity.

After taking a closer look, you spotted your name amidst the frantic texts from Naruto. Examining the screen even closer, you read a few of the messages between them.

Hehe, sakura chan, i took (y/n)’s phone today 😝

baka, they’re gonna hate you for that now! do you want them to neglect you forever??

I ALSO CHANGED THEIR LOCK SCREEN, do you think they’ll like it??

ARE YOU STUPID??!!!! DONT COME CRYING TO ME WHEN YOUR CONFESSION DOESNT FRICKING WORK

I THINK THEY ALREADY KNOW I LIKE THEM!!!!!!! YOU TOLD ME TEASING MAKES THEM HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU, RIGHT????

WHAT EVER. DON’T COME CRYING TO ME WITH A BROKEN HEART.

Naruto’s phone slipped from your fingers as your eyes glazed over in shock. The merciless teasing, the endless phone stealing, the ceaseless name-calling were all just Naruto’s crappy attempts at... flirting?

You then recalled all of the times he playfully patted your head a little too hard, to the point where you thought he was just abusing you for fun. You recalled all the times you caught him staring at you before he stuck out his tongue, when you just thought he was being an annoying brat. You recalled all the little tiny hints here and there, masked by his immature quirks and behaviors.

Before your thoughts could run any further, you felt a strong, familiar hand grab the top of your head, and you were suddenly all too aware of the cracked phone sitting in your lap and the warmth of your cheeks.

Oh shit.

The hand tilted your head backwards until you were staring upside down at a blonde haired, blue-eyed boy with an irritated scowl on his face. “What are you doing?”

“Hey, it’s only fair, you plastered your own face all over my damn phone, alright?” You felt the blood rush to your head from being tilted backwards, the roots of your hair stinging from Naruto’s grip. “Let me go, I didn’t even find anything good!”

“Uh-huh.” He released your head, leaving your scalp aching and your vision blurry as he reached to grab his phone from your lap. His eyes squinted at his screen, examining it for any weird changes to his device. “Hey, you cracked it even more here!”

You gave him an incredulous look. “I— what?” You followed his gaze to the right side of his phone, searching for the crack to no avail. “How can you even notice that crap?!”

After huffing a sigh, a devilish grin spread across Naruto’s face as he shoved his phone into his pocket before smacking the back of your head with his palm. “Payback!”

“Hey!” you cried, rubbing the stinging nape of your neck. “First you pull my hair, now this?!”

He chuckled, flashing you a cheeky close-eyed grin. “It’s only fair!” His expression slowly grew serious as he turned to look you directly in the eyes. “Ah... hey, (Y/N)-chan, how would you feel about going on a date with me to Ichiraku today?”

You snorted in half surprise, half disbelief. “Are you crazy? We...” your mind traveled back to the strange text messages between him and Sakura. “We... we hate each other.”

Naruto’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening before he broke into a bashful laugh. “We-well... yeah, right. We hate each other.”

The two of you stared into eachother’s eyes for what felt like an eternity. You noticed the tiniest bit of affection in his blue eyes and the lightest blush on his cheeks as he held your gaze.

Slapping your desk and shooting to your feet, you broke the insufferable, lingering silence. “Well, can’t say no to free ramen.” Smirking, you brushed past him, throwing a teasing glance over your shoulder. “Well? What are you waiting for? Your treat!”

Naruto stood paralyzed behind your desk, his stunned face frozen in shock before melting into an exasperated yet affectionate grin.

“(Y/N), you idiot...” he muttered before chasing you through the city all the way to his favorite ramen shop.

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