#they’re the softest and I miss them
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Somehow it’s already and only been two months since Warrior Nun S2 dropped and I’m still very much stuck here. This show, these two and the way the fandom has continued to rally around it has my whole heart.
#warrior nun#avatrice#save warrior nun#they’re the softest and I miss them#this has become my ultimate comfort show#I don’t know what that says about me but I’m not letting go anytime soon#ava silva#sister beatrice#give them hell#in this life
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tits, ass or thighs w/ ateez
words - 🤠
genre - fluff/smut
warnings - groping (consensual), size kink (yunho), manhandling (yunho, kind of yeosang), kind of somnophilia in sans, mingi is always eating pussy in my fics…, spanking (mingi and wooyoung), i think that’s the major ones…
kim hongjoong - ass
so my theory is that hongjoong likes having you on his lap; more specifically, straddling his lap. whether that’s during sex, cuddling, or just to chat, he wants you sitting on his thighs, staring into his eyes. of course, half of it is about the intimacy of it all - face to face, eye to eye, all that good stuff - but he can’t deny that he really does love the way it gives him the perfect opportunity to grope your ass.
his arms are always wrapped around you to hold you close, and your ass is just the natural place his hands fall. you can’t expect him not to cop a feel when his hands are already there in prime position. besides, your ass is just too nice not to squeeze; it gives his hands something to do whilst you’re telling him about your day… and that’s not even mentioning the way it makes you squirm whenever he’s balls deep inside of you, using his grip on your ass to guide your pace as you ride him into oblivion.
park seonghwa - tits
seonghwa is a gentleman except when it comes to your tits. he is always just touching them, giving some sort of shitty excuse as to why he needs to. ‘oh, i slammed the breaks too hard and didn’t want the seatbelt to hurt you,’ he says as he slowly draws his hand away from where it was just sitting on your breast. ‘i meant to touch your shoulder but i missed,’ he smiles prettily as if that excuses the way he’s pawing at your tit. the way he sees it, he shouldn’t even need an excuse to feel you up at any given moment in time…
because you can’t really blame him for wanting to touch them constantly. he likes soft, cute things are your tits? well they just happen to be the softest, cutest things around! sue him if they’re like magnets for his hands! he can’t help the way they draw them in now can he?
jeong yunho - thighs
BIG HAND ON THIGH I REPEAT BIG HAND… ON THIGH!!!! like when he’s driving you places?!?!? or even when you’re just watching a movie together?!?!?!? UGH!!! it just makes you feel so small and protected and the thought of you being so small and fragile for him? that shit makes yunho weak at the knees. it’s even better when he gets to squeeze your thighs and feel your plush flesh under his fingertips. he likes the way it never fails to make you wriggle in your seat.
and i’m sorry but it all comes down to the fact that this man definitely has a size kink and whatever he can do to make himself feel like the big strong knight and you his tiny little damsel in distress, he will do it. unfortunately that means that he literally always has his hand on your thigh just to show you how big he is compared to you, and just how easy it would be to manhandle you into any position he wants…
kang yeosang - thighs
i think i’ve spoken about yeosang being a dom enough on this account, so i won’t go into any more details about that. all i will say is that he loves pinning you by your thighs. pretty boy is so strong and he just adores the way you helplessly squirm as he holds you to the bed by them. he will literally torture you for hours with his face between your legs, but you can’t even buck your hips with how tightly he’s holding onto your shaking thighs.
and don’t get me started on the bruises he leaves in his wake. he’s spend hours kissing and admiring the fingerprints left on your skin the day after, trailing over them with his fingers and his tongue until he has you squirming and begging for him to give you more. there’s rarely a day goes by where you don’t have tiny purple marks painted up and down your thighs…
choi san - tits
san likes to cuddle something when he sleeps, right? since sharing your bed, that something has become you. he likes his arms wrapped around your waist and his head pressed to your chest, your soft flesh acting as the fluffiest pillow in the world. it’s even better when you play with his hair, sending him into a sleepy daze in minutes.
and it’s not his fault when you wake up to him rutting against your thigh, face pressed between your tits as he incoherently mumbles about how gorgeous you are. actually, it’s yours for sleeping without a bra on. how is san supposed to not be horny when he wakes up every morning to your pretty nipples poking through his tshirt that he let you sleep in. it’s only right that you help him fix his problem, right? that you let him drool over your boobs as he dribbles cum onto your thighs?
song mingi - ass
with the amount i talk about mingi being a slut for eating pussy, i think we all saw this coming, right? like your ass is just the perfect place to hold onto while he tucks in to his favourite meal. he especially likes it when you’re sitting on his face and he can just grab it, using it as leverage to pin you to his face when you start to become oversensitive from his rough licks.
and don’t even get me started about how feral he gets when he eats your pussy from the back. literally eyes closed, moaning like a whore as he licks at you from behind. loves to just grope you while he eats you out, pinching and smacking it every few seconds because he adores the way it makes your pussy clench and squeeze out even more of your precious fluids. he’s literally a bitch in heat when it comes to eating pussy, you will never convince me otherwise
jung wooyoung - ass
he’s a smacker… that’s all i have to say. any time, anywhere, you always need to be on guard because you never know when wooyoung is going to come up behind you and just smack! he likes the way it makes you squeal and blush, thinking you look the most adorable when you’re pouting and scolding him for spanking your ass in the middle of a grocery store! most of the time he just gives you a cheeky smirk before promising - with his fingers crossed, of course - that he won’t do it again.
and he can’t lie, he likes the way it feels in his hand too. the way it jiggles from the impact hypnotises him, and it’s always a struggle for him to pull himself away and not do just one more. but it’s fine, because you never complain when he has you face down ass up in bed, hands raining down spank after spank on your pretty cheeks until they’re red from the impact.
choi jongho - tits
i’m 90% certain that if you’re in a relationship with this man, your tits will become his new favourite thing. whether that’s to look at, to play with, to suck on, it doesn’t really matter. what does matter is they’re his and he will never leave them alone. like he always insists that you wear no bra at home so he can see your pretty nipples; even better if you’re wearing a thin white tshirt too so he can see the colour of them through the material.
the no bra thing also helps when he has his hand slung over your shoulder and he’s pawing at one of them like it’s a stress ball. he won’t even be paying attention to you, yet his hand will be rhythmically palming your tit, his finger flicking against the nipple every so often. and then after all that, when you inevitably ask him to deal with the mess he’s made between your thighs, he’ll have the audacity to act like it’s your fault that you’re horny! he’ll still fuck you though, and you’ll still end up with a nice selection of new purple hickeys across your chest…
#ateez x reader#ateez fic#ateez smut#jongho x reader#jongho smut#wooyoung x reader#wooyoung smut#mingi x reader#mingi smut#san x reader#san smut#yeosang x reader#yeosang smut#yunho x reader#yunho smut#seonghwa x reader#seonghwa smut#hongjoong x reader#hongjoong smut
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Light On - single mom/neighbor fic - PTSD, mentions of death, trauma
Simon Riley/female reader
Simon’s boots are sticking to the floor.
He had scrubbed and scrubbed them, scratched a sponge against the sole and up over the toe, used coiled wool to try to scrape the bits and pieces from the bottom, digging deeply into the cracks to try to dislodge anything leftover from the last month. The heat made it a particularly difficult task, melting together the dirt and blood, sealing it to the rubber in a congealed mess that he couldn’t clean off.
It’s spring now, and his breath doesn’t fog through the air like it did before he left. The mornings are coated in a prickly frozen dew that sparkles just right in the sunrise, refracting orange and pink hues into the building’s front lobby, washing over the bland egg white walls and coloring them into a spectacle, cold shadows of night chased away by the long fingers of warm daylight.
His boots scuff along the hallway, squeaking like they’re trying to announce his arrival, trying to give up his position before he deems it necessary, before he gets inside the entryway, blasting a signal through the flat that he’s home, that he’s made it. The sound of his boots competes with the buzzing that’s bouncing around in the back of his skull, sawing through the soft, pink mush of his brain, trying hack away at the only good pieces he has left. It’s gotten louder since he parked the car, competing with the drum beat of his heart, the churning of anxiety and anticipation in his stomach. He’s so, so close, and still a thousand miles away from you, even though he’s in the kitchen. His fingers grip fast to his bag, canvas straps twisted around his wrist, and he holds his breath, world rotating in slow motion as he listens for you, catches the musical note of your voice in Emma’s room. His spine stays stiff, unsure, and the buzzing that bites at his synapses gets louder, fills his head with the low rumble of fear that’s been simmering beneath the surface since he stepped out this door a month ago. You’re safe. You’re here. You and Emmaline are fine. You’ve been texting him everyday. You’re safe. You’re-
“Simon?” He blinks. You’re in the kitchen with him, eyes sleepy, Emma in your arms. One of his t shirts sits at your hips, plaid robe half falling off your shoulder. She’s more awake than you appear to be, and he begs his mouth to work, encourages his tongue to move so he can talk to you, so he can say “good morning, sorry I didn’t call, wanted to surprise you.” Or “hi, good morning, I missed you so much.”
But he can’t. Because all he can see, all he can taste, is blood. He doesn’t see his girl, he sees you broken and limp on the floor. He doesn’t see his baby, he sees Joseph’s lifeless body. He sees the carnage of this last op, hears the dying draw of a last breath, over and over.
“Hey.” Your fingers tentatively skim along his forearm. “You’re still dressed.” You note, and he nods, locked up, trying to push the buzzsaw in his brain away. He didn’t change, showered at the safe house before the flight home, and then immediately headed your way, his uniform clean, untouched by the gore and misery, still starched and formal unlike his tac gear, all of it made to wring the blood from its stitching over and over again. “Simon, someone wants to see you.” Emma’s now half in his arms, cooing at him, carefully supported in your hands, and he instinctively curls around her, swooping low to nose along her scalp.
The reverberations cease. The buzzing and gnawing and stabbing into his brain silences, just like that, and he fills his lungs with air, one hand now cradling your face, the other warm beneath Emma’s weight.
“Welcome home.” It’s a whisper, the softest, sweetest thing he’s ever heard, and he smiles beneath the balaclava, pressing his lips to your forehead. “We missed you.”
“I missed you too.” He murmurs. He wonders if the moment has passed, if he should be stepping away now, and he flexes, testing- only to be pulled back, an arm sliding around his back, anchoring him closer, tighter.
“Just stay here for a minute.” Stay. Stay here with you, stay with his girls. His voice roughens as he croaks out an answer.
“Always.”
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❛ i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making. ❜ with isagi and any kink !!!!!!
☆༉ — YOICHI ISAGI: 0-800-HOT GUY-HOTLINE.
line. ❛ i’m sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making.❜
extension. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. public humiliation, free-use, voyeurism + fem!reader, nsfw.
things to note. RAAA !!! luna im sorry this is so late but i was excited to do this one pls enjoy i missed isagi saur much !!!! <3
your boyfriend, isagi, is sometimes prone to selfish tendencies.
being the japanese football league’s diamond in the rough and all-star player has meant that all the best and softest parts of him have become more rigged and hard around the edges. he takes what he can get, even if it means leaving other people behind — you have to be selfish to be at the top, it’s something that you understand.
your boyfriend is never selfish when it comes to making you feel good.
if yoichi can help it, he has you creaming on his tongue, fingers or cock at least twice a day when his games are at home. it’s almost double on the days that you visit him while he plays away or accompany him to tournaments. he can’t keep his hands off you, can’t stop himself from needing you or claiming you — his good luck charm. especially after he wins a match, even more so if he loses one. come rain or shine, isagi is selfish with how he teases and uses your body…even in front of his friends and fellow teammates.
“y-yo…yoichi s-stop!” you gasp, face hot and voice strained.
“stop? oh i don’t think so,” isagi growls, speeding up his skilled fingers as they dance over your slit and press his name into your clit. “i don’t think you want me to stop, precious. whatever happened to ‘yes, yoichi.’ ‘whenever you want, yoichi.’, hm?”
choking on your own words, the spit that weighs down your tongue as you drool dumbly from the pleasure — you relax back into your boyfriend, fluttering around the circumference of his leaky cock as it breaches your tight, wet walls. “good girl, relax for me. let me fuck that princess hole open, hm?” he kisses the side of your face, peering down between your soiled shaky thighs to watch the way you selfishly suck him in, your cunt dribbling slick down his shaft and balls. “i love you. so fucking much.”
isagi’s hands slip up your shirt, exposing your perky nipples, all hard for him, to the rest of the van to see. his teammates, your friends. as far as locker room talk goes, all of the blue lock boys know that you and yoichi have a particularly wild and active sex life — but they’ve never been around to see it. except for bachira, and sometimes rin.
from across the van you can see ten sets of eyes watching you as if you’re a fountain of cold water isn’t he middle of a scorching desert — a sweet mirage for them to drink in as if they’re dying of thirst. kunigami respectfully looks out of the window when he catches your teary bambi gaze, though he does nothing to conceal the fat erection he’s sporting. nagi writhes in his seat with pink cheeks and parted lips, the front of his joggers already soiled by his leaking cock. and if you squint hard enough, you can see the way that bachira already fists his painfully hard dick to the rhythm of isagi’s shallow thrusts.
shame intertwines with the lust that simmers in your lower tummy, coursing through your veins and spreading like a cloud over the thoughts in your brain. you like this, you like being watched while your boyfriend ravages you in front of his friends, cream frothing at the base of his shaft as it twitches inside of you.
you’d be absolutely miserable right now if you weren’t getting fucked a million ways to cloud nine — isagi’s hand on your blistering hot mound, spreading your folds and exposing your budding clit to the cold world and cruel stares. “‘ichi,’” you whimper pathetically despite bucking your hips down on him, chasing the delicious burn of his girth stretching out your sloppy walls as his cockhead glides over your g-spot. “i-ichi please…’m embarrassed… they’re watching!”
“what’s that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making.” he seethes, teeth sinking into your earlobe as he forces you to listen to the salacious, sticky sounds your pussy makes as he fucks himself into you. “listen to her cryin’ for me, you’re tellin’ me you want me to stop?” you can only imagine how long isagi would keep you on the edge of orgasm if you said yes.
when he was like this, fuelled by his excitement for the next match — he would get mean, toy with you like a cat with a ball of yarn. he twists his fingers along your sensitive clit you, winds you up from the inside and you let him. “you’re so naughty, baby. letting them look, pretty girl. you want them to see what they can’t have. what winners get when they play right.”
gasping, your head falls against isagi’s shoulder — followed by his breathy chuckle. his hands cascade along your body, pinching and pulling, tracing your dips and curves and scars. he might be selfish enough to take you in front of the people who know you more innocently, but he’ll still prioritise your orgasm over his own. he knows just what makes you tick, how to get your pretty hole spluttering and clenching around his thick dick like there’s no tomorrow.
“you gonna cum for me, baby?” yoichi breathes hotly, his sticky fingers, the ones coated in your juices, coming up to grab your neck tenderly — guiding your gaze up to meet his feverish midnight blue stare. his cherry bitten lips slip into a soft smirk while he languidly rolls his hips into you — feeling your arousal slide down your slit, his balls and even between your cheeks to create a slick slapping sound with the intensity of his thrusts. “go ahead, you’re such a good girl. wanna see it, make me proud, ‘kay?”
that’s all you really need to hear before your vision starts to shake and your body siezes up all at once. feathery and high pitched moans bubble up on your wet lips, your hand tangling in isagi’s sweaty dark locks while he rocks into you through your high — your juices splash out against the seat in a never ending stream — only fuelled by the team’s grunts and accompanying moans from watching you cum.
“yoichi…” you whine, back arching away from his chest and hips lifting away from his.
his lips drop to your neck in a loving and reassuring kiss as his hands settle on your waist to pull you back down onto his aching cock. “so good, precious.” he goads condescendingly. “‘m right behind you, keep that orgasm going for me.”
it’s not long before your fluttering cunt is flooded with a pool of thick, white seed — tacky and warm against your ribbed walls. isagi muffles himself by biting down on your salt-licked flesh, panting happily against you as whe rubs approving circles into your hips.
a silence in the van follows, only interjected by the bother boys and their own highs. “s-she just lets you use her like that?” kunigami mumbles, red in the face and embarrassed by the fact that he just nutted to his best friend’s girl.
isagi wraps his arms around you, soothing your fatigue with sweet kisses. “i mean yeah, we talked about. it’s something she likes.” he squeezes you possesively as you drift off. “we both do.”
“lucky,” bachira grins sickly, tucking his own wet dick away. “when do we get a turn, isagi?”
“when you’re dead.” your boyfriend retorts, selfishly, which makes you smile sleepily into his chest. “she’s mine, and will only ever be mine.”
sometimes your boyfriend can be selfish — but you’re mostly grateful for it because it means your chest fills with love and warmth whenever he’s possessive over you.
꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
#bllk x reader#bllk smut#blue lock x reader#blue lock smut#isagi x reader#isagi smut#isagi yoichi x reader#isagi yoichi smut#isagi yoichi x you#isagi x you#bllk thirst#bllk imagines#blue lock x you#blue lock thirst#✧ ₊˚੭ — writing#tteokdoroki#✮⋆˙ 0-800-hot guy-hotline#✧ ₊˚✉️੭ — new notification#✧ ₊˚੭ — close friends story#♡︎₊˚luna.🌙#tw: free use
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jjk hcs: the jjk boys as boyfriends
characters: yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, yuta okkotsu
warnings: none (i think?)
AN: if there’s anymore boyfriend hcs that you’d like to see lmk!! read gojo & nanami as boyfriends HERE
YUJI ITADORI
oh girl i am JEALOUS
he can be a little air headed at times but he’s the sweetest bf ever
i say he’s air headed but he’s actually very attentive
you get half an inch trimmed off your hair?
he notices immediately
“babe your hair looks great!”
notices everything about you actually
from your favorite color
to the brand of PENS you prefer to use
who tf notices the brand of pens people use?!?
yuji does
yk the tiktoks of boys picking entire BUSHES of flowers for their girlfriends
that’s him.
he straight up rips a whole bush out of the ground from the front of jujutsu high to give to you
principal yaga was not amused
gojo was tho
HE PRINTS OUT YOUR INSTAGRAM PICTURES TO REPLACE THE POSTERS OF MODELS ON HIS WALL
he’s so proud that your his girl fr
oh and he’s gotta hella pet names for you too
they’re all super basic
babe, sweetheart, cutie, etc.
he flirts w u like y’all aren’t together
awful pickup lines and everything
“do you have a mirror in ur pants? cause i can see myself in them.”
if u don’t think he’s the cutest then u can go argue with the wall bye
MEGUMI FUSHIGURO
he has me in a chokehold
anyways
at the beginning of y’all’s relationship he’s awkward as fuck
but he eases up pretty quickly
veryyyyyy private with y’all’s relationship
if you somehow get him to hold your hand in public let alone give you a kiss?!?
girl count ur blessings fr
and it’s not bc he’s embarrassed of your relationship or anything no ma’am
it’s bc he would NEVER hear the end of it from gojo, nobara, and yuji
valid excuse
but when you two are alone?
oh girl it’s like he’s glued to you
when i say clingy? i mean it
also
king of nap time!!
he’s kidnapping u, bring you to his dorm room, dropping u on the bed, and laying completely on top of you
swear it’s his solution to everything
ur tired? it’s nap time
sad abt something? it’s nap time
a curse beat ur ass? it’s nap time
gojo is being annoying? it’s nap time
nap time cures everything ong
he’s not too crazy w the pet names
in private he’ll call you babe
in public you’re lucky if he adds a -chan to ur name lol
he’s so pretty boy
also can we appreciate his gorgeous luscious eyelashes?
no? okay
YUTA OKKOTSU
i would give my first born to make him feel happy, safe, and loved
KING OF MY HEART
he’s so baby
he’s the type of bf that no matter how long y’all have been dating he still gets flustered over you
y’all been together for an hour? he’s blushing when you give him a kiss on the cheek
y’all been together for a week? he’s blushing when you give him a kiss on the cheek
y’all been together for a year? he’s BLUSHING WHEN YOU GIVE HIM A KISS ON THE CHEEK
HE. IS. BLUSHING.
which is so incredibly endearing and innocent
but don’t get me wrong
mess with this man too much?
oh he’ll snap
he has the patience of a saint. but when it runs out?
oh ur in for it miss gurl
period.
teasing him a lil too much tryna make him flustered
when he finally snaps he is switching that dynamic up real quick
now he’s the one smirking and feeling all smug while you’re the one with the bright red face
ahem…
anyways
yuta’s love for you is very intense
now don’t start thinking HE is intense cause no
i mean yuta loves you so much that he might just crawl up inside ur body and live there
that type of intense
you occupy his mind 99.9% of the time
he’s on a mission and has time to stroll through the mall
“oh y/n would like that” aND HE’S BUYING IT
he’s chit chatting with inumaki and panda
best believe he finds a way to bring you up in conversation
“oh! that reminds me y/n said something the other day about…”
he is the softest ever when it comes to pet names
sweetheart, my love, princess, etc.
i’m so soft for him he deserve the world
#jjk headcanons#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk x y/n#jjk yuji#itadori yuji x reader#yuji itadori#itadori x you#itadori fluff#jjk megumi fushiguro#megumi fluff#jujutsu kaisen megumi fushiguro#megumi fushiguro fluff#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi x reader#yuta okkotsu#yuta x reader#yuta okkotsu x reader#jujutsu kaisen itadori#jjk itadori#itadori x reader#jjk megumi#jujutsu kaisen megumi#megumi fushiguro#megumi x y/n#yuta okkotsu x y/n#yuta okkotsu x you#itadori yuuji#jujutsu itadori
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Welcome to My Collection of Random Thoughts during my nth* rewatch of Good Omens Season 2
*only amazon prime knows the exact number at this point but I’m fairly certain it’s in the double digits
Episode 1: Gabriel’s fly lurking in the box when Aziraphale first takes it inside 👀
Crowley’s promise of “two minutes” basically means that he’s been homeless and living in his car for the past 4 years strictly so that he can be within 2 driving minutes of Aziraphale at all times in case his angel needs him I’m not crying you are
So here I think the key word is “fragile,” Crowley knows they are ostensibly safe from their respective sides but that could change at any moment so he’s basically spent the last 4 years in anxiety-ridden terror hovering as close to Aziraphale as he can to try and protect him from heaven, hell, and anyone else that would want to bring him harm after all that business they pulled in season 1 with stopping Armageddon
Episode 2: I just happened to pause the episode while Aziraphale is lying to the angels about his miracle and LOL Michael really outdid himself here (Sheen, not the Archangel)
Gabriel trying to swat flies and almost smashing the repository of every single one of his memories
I’m cAckling
So if Good Omens exists in Good Omens, does that mean Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett exist in Good Omens?? Do you think they based their Aziraphale and Crowley characters on Aziraphale and Crowley??
Episode 3: So I’m trying to find any hints or foreshadowing of the Gabriel Beelzebub thing bc tbh I did kind of feel like it came out of nowhere which is really the only issue I have with them. I found this one scene where Beelzebub almost ?? seems to be concerned about Gabriel ?? But it’s blink and you miss it and there could be lots of other reasons why Beelzebub doesn’t want to fail in locating Gabriel (pressure from/leverage over heaven, etc) so idk
More Foreshadowing Fly content 🪰
Episode 4: So here we’ve seen that Shax can just appear inside the Bentley bc she did it earlier to talk to Crowley. Shax only pretended to be a hitchhiker so she could be invited in because Azirpahale was driving so technically she needed permission to cross the threshold of an angel 👀
This scene will never not destroy me the 1941 flashback is the absolute sOFTEST thing ever to happen on this show
We really need more context here I need to see the Crowley-Furfur Monkey Rides
Episode 5: ahahaha thank you google translate for absolutely destroying my sanity this evening
POP goes the Ziraphale
Okay I know you can’t hear it in the gif but just before Nina takes Maggie’s hand, there’s a very quiet miracle noise, like Azirpahale literally MADE Nina dance with Maggie, he said I’m writing a Mina Jane-Austen-Ball-AU and my otp will KISS godDAMMIT
Azirpahale seems lowkey kind of manic this whole scene tho, he’s controlling literally everyone to force Nina and Maggie together and whenever Crowley says anything that pokes holes in Aziraphale’s Magical Jane Austen Ball Fairytale, Aziraphale just straight up denies it. He wants Nina and Maggie to dance and he wants him and Crowley to dance and he refuses to acknowledge anything beyond that.
Is this just Shax insulting Crowley for how much of a nuisance he’s been or a reference to his former status as an angel ???
They’re both completely dismissive of each other when they’re trying to say something important and that’s the main issue they’ve been having this entire season tbh
Episode 6: I think it’s funny that Crowley describes the angels as bees here because in the book, Neil/Terry describe humans the same way. Guess we have more in common than we thought huh?
So the metatron was the one who originally decided Gabriel would be memory wiped and not sent to hell, and he was also the one that decided not to sound an alarm about Gabriel for some reason and said ‘just go find him yourself’ instead. The metatron has definitely got his own agenda and you can bet he doesn’t want Aziraphale up there in heaven because he’s a “leader” and he’s “honest” like that’s exactly what Gabriel was and look where it got him 👀
There’s just something I can’t quite put my finger on about the metatron bringing Aziraphale a coffee from “give me coffee or give me death” and then asking Aziraphale if he’s going to take the coffee he’s giving him…
I have not seen a single person talk about this since s2 came out but Nina literally calls Maggie “angel” because that’s the term of endearment they hear Crowley using for Aziraphale !!!! I’m still going fERAL over this and I can’t believe no one else is eitHER
Something about this part of The Final Fifteen compared to this scene from the first episode is so representative of the entire season. Azirpahale keeps saying “my way or get out” and Crowley finally hits a wall and can follow Aziraphale no further. So he does just that. He goes.
I’m sure a lot of us by now have seen this post that brings up how Aziraphale literally pushes the remains of Crowley into his mouth and swallows and it’s the only thing I see when I watch this now
We still don’t know for certain if Crowley queued up this song to play on their way to the Ritz or if the Bentley started playing it all on its own and it’s driving me insane
Basically how I am doing after my Truly-Alarming-Number-th watch of this traumatizing episode/season. WELP hope you enjoyed this garbage dump of my thoughts and feelings time to go cry for a bit again BYE
#good omens#good omens 2#good omens season 2#my season 2 rewatch aka: I Went Insane#i am unwell#I haven't slept properly in 44 days and counting#ineffable husbands#aziraphale#crowley#angel#demon#armageddidnt-blog#armageddidnt-gifset#armageddidnt-screaming#armageddidnt-pain#good omens 2x06
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Little White Lies
18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader
Summary: Readers sister is having an Engagement/Christmas party this year and her cousin will be there. With her new fiance. Who is reader's ex. The only logical thing to do is to show up with her own new boyfriend... who isn't really her boyfriend. He's her boss.
Warnings: fake dating, mutual pining, idiots in love, flirting, teasing, there's only one bed, love confessions, getting together, oral sex (fem receiving), condom use, p in v smut, meeting readers family
Word Count: 5.3k
She sits in the corner of the jet, facing Aaron in the two-person seat near the entrance to the cockpit. She’s sat there with him on almost every trip for the past 3 years. He’s good company, not too talkative, he gets her drinks and he gives her little smiles every so often. It’s relaxing to sit with him… however, tonight, she’s not in a good mood and he can tell.
He looks at her all concerned and then looks around at the others to assure they’re all busy. “Are you alright?” He whispers. Keeping her business between them.
She shrugs, “My sister’s been texting me. Her engagement party is coming up and I promised I’d go but I just found out that my cousin and her fiancé are going to be there…”
“Do you not like her?”
She shakes her head, “it’s complicated.”
“I’m all ears?” He reminds her.
She sighs, “Her fiancé is my ex-boyfriend. She slept with him while we were still together… I was in the academy and he was apparently lonely all by himself and didn’t have the time to travel here to see me so he fell into her bed instead.”
“I’m so sorry,” Hotch says, concern all over his face and disbelief in his voice. “That’s awful, why would your sister invite her?”
“Because my parents are paying for it and all the family gets to go, no matter what,” she scoffs. “It’s to show off, nothing more.”
“You know…” he tilts his head to the side and his brows go up as he thinks, a pondering look on his face that’s quite amusing. “You could bring someone with you, someone to prove to him that you’ve moved on and you’re in a much better place now?” He suggests.
“Yeah, like who? Morgan?” She teases, laughing slightly.
“Or me?” He offers. His brows were still raised but the softest, most sincere look on his face. She’s never seen him look so… so affectionate. So careful. Unless he’s with Jack. This is his ‘I love you like family I’ll do whatever you need me to’ look.
“Yeah,” she gives in. “That would be nice… it’s December 22nd. Would you be able to take time away from Jack that close to Christmas?”
“Where is it?”
“they’re having it in New York, that’s where my sister lives now,” she explains. “I’m taking the train up the night before, I have a hotel room booked but I could stay with my sister and you could have the room for the night?”
“Could we switch to a double queen?” He suggests.
She shrugs, “I can call and find out?”
“Okay,” he nods. “Jack’s with Haley this Christmas, I see him boxing day till New Year's Day and then he goes back to her.”
“We’ll have to bring him home something,” she suggests. “We can even go a bit early or stay later if you want to go shopping a bit in the city?”
“He’s always said he wants M&M’s with his face on them,” he teases. “It’ll be fun.”
“I’ll tell my sister to expect another person,” she says as she pulls her phone out. “Do I tell her you’re my boyfriend?”
He nods, “Whatever you want to call me, I’ll be it for the weekend.”
—
She tells him to pack a suit and obviously an overcoat to stay warm in the cold New York air. The party they’re going to is going to be on the top floor of this really expensive restaurant, they’ll have rooftop access and there’s free drinks. It’ll be the fanciest non-FBI party he’s ever been invited to.
The team doesn’t know they’re going together, everyone has the next two weeks off unless there’s something serious like terrorism or multiple bodies dropping, or a kid going missing. But it’s not often their Christmas breaks get disrupted. So they pack up on the 20th, everyone takes the elevators down to the garage together and they say goodbye before their vacations.
He meets her at the train station the next day at 11am, their train leaves at 11:20, and he comes with snacks and coffee. Always in dad mode, he knows what it’s like to go on a long trip with someone who’s hungry, it’s not always fun. They have a little booth together, the trains are mostly empty this close to Christmas. Everyone’s either where they want to be already or taking last-minute flights. So it’s quiet, they get to look out the window together and she shares an earbud with him, with her phone on shuffle, exposing him to a whole bunch of new music.
And she has a nap, head on his shoulder and wrapped around his arm. It’s not the first time this has happened, he’s let her sleep on him on the Jet and they’ve had to share beds in hotels before. He’s hugged her after rough cases and when she’s just sad… she’s his family. Everyone on the team is. He just feels it a little stronger for her.
He rests his cheek on her head, looking out the window with a smile on his face. Excited to pretend to be her boyfriend for the next 2 days. To have her hang off his arm, to dance with her… maybe even steal a kiss or two to really sell it. And he can’t wait to see her dress, or how she does her hair or if she’s going to wear makeup? She doesn’t get all dolled up for work, but he’s seen her dress up for the bar and events for the bureau and he thinks she is so, so beautiful. Always, but especially when she puts on lipstick and her good perfume.
He’s been harbouring this little crush on her for so long that he’s not really sure how much longer it can stay a secret.
They arrive in New York at 6pm. The hotel they’re staying at has a restaurant and Y/N, being the genius she is, booked a reservation for 6:30. They have enough time to put their bags in their room and head back downstairs, but their room is wrong.
“They told me they could switch to two queens?” She complains as she sees just one bed. A King bed.
“Did you specifically say two queens or a double queen?” He teases. “Cause a double queen might make them think you want a bigger bed…”
She groans, holding her hands over her face, “Oh god, I fucked up.”
He gently rubs his hand on her back, “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t mind sharing for 2 nights, there’s lots of room in there. Plus… it might be good for playing pretend.”
She smirks, “my boyfriend would sleep in the same bed as me.”
“and enjoy it,” he pulls her in for a hug and rests his chin on her head while she snuggles into his chest where she feels safest.
—
After dinner, they walk around the city a bit. She still has to get her sister something and she has a registry at some fancy store nearby. They get hot chocolates and stand close together as they walk, hands brushing each other but not holding, no matter how much she wants to hold his hand. So she rubs her knuckles against his and waits for him to be the one to finally give in.
It takes a while, they walk down the block and explore two stores but he finally takes her hand in his, fingers interlocked, as they cross the street. And he doesn’t let go once they’re safely back on the sidewalk. He simply guides her towards the store her sister is registered at and they head inside, closer than ever before.
“Hi, can I help you with anything?” One of the workers asks with a genuine smile on her face.
“my sister has a registry here,” Y/N explains. “It should be under Lindsay and Connor Higgins?”
She’s taken to the register and handed a list, everything they want is on it. Some crossed out as they’ve already been purchased, but a decent amount of things are still there. A lot of it is pointless, fancy shit but she likes to think she knows her sister well. She knows what would actually be used by her and what would just be a decoration to prove she had good taste.
Her sister works really hard at a very important publishing company, she’s gone to work by 6am and home no later than 8pm most nights. She lives on coffee and wine to wake her up in the mornings and relax her at night. So she gets her an espresso maker and some crystal wine glasses. But when she goes to pay for them, Aaron reaches out and pulls the wine glasses towards himself. “I’ll get these, I can’t go without a gift.”
She smiles, “you don’t have to.”
“I want to,” he assures her.
They pay, they get a decorative gift bag each and head back outside to the cold. He reaches for her hand again and she lets him, smiling over at him. “You’re taking this assignment very seriously.”
“Have you ever known me to slack on the job?” He teases.
She bumps her shoulder against his, “No, I guess not… and I guess this is helping, it’ll look more real in front of everyone tomorrow.”
“It won’t be that hard,” he assures her.
“Why, 'cause I’m so loveable?” She jokes, not believing the words that leave her mouth.
“Yes, actually,” he nods, smiling over at her.
She just laughs, not thinking he means it as anything other than familial. “Thanks. You’re pretty great too when you’re not telling me what to do.”
“I don’t boss you around that much,” he laughs too. “Dave teases me all the time about how much nicer I am to you than the others.”
“Well, I am your best agent,” she shrugs with a proud smirk. “You wanna go back to the hotel or is there anything you want to do tonight?”
“We can go back,” he agrees, leading them in the direction of the hotel already. “I’m going to need some good beauty sleep to make your ex jealous tomorrow.”
“Ha!” She laughs, raising her hand that’s carrying the bag to cover her mouth as she giggles. “Yeah, no you don’t. You’re like a million times hotter than him, it’s not a fair fight at all.”
“Yeah, okay,” he shakes his head in disbelief.
“What?” She looks at him like he’s crazy. “Do you not think you’re hot?”
“Not exactly…”
“I knew you were funny but that’s hilarious,” she jokes. “You’re very, very hot. One of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in my life, like People magazine should be reaching out to you for sexiest man of the year. You’ve been on the news enough times, surely the public will agree.”
He laughs at the compliment, “Thank you, I guess… I guess I should trust your judgement here the way I do everywhere else.”
“Yes, 'cause I’m never wrong,” she reminds him.
They keep joking around, teasing each other until they get back to the hotel. Up the elevator and into their room. They leave their gifts by the door and Aaron lets her take the first turn in the bathroom to get ready for the night.
She takes off her makeup, she washes her face and does her skincare routine and he knocks, “Are you okay in there?”
“Yeah, you can come in,” she announces, still fully dressed.
He opens the door slowly, “You’ve been in here 10 minutes already I thought you were just changing?”
“Nope, skincare is important,” she smiles at him, massaging the moisturizer into her face. “Want some?”
He smiles, “Sure, why not?”
“Wash your face first, get a new face cloth over there,” she points and steps out of the way of the sink. “My face wash is right there.”
She watches him wash his face carefully, smiling at him through the mirror with so much affection behind her eyes. He’s so cute when he gets soft like this, she could easily see them having a life like this together. Getting ready for bed together, doing their nighttime routines and falling into the same bed. Night after night. Forever.
Once his face is washed he looks to her, “How much moisturizer do I use?”
“Want me to do it?” She offers.
He nods, “please?”
“Sit down on the toilet lid,” she instructs and he moves over there quickly.
She opens the jar again and takes a decent-sized amount onto her fingers, she puts the jar down and smiles at him, “It might be cold.” She dabs it on his forehead, cheeks, nose and chin and then starts to rub it in for him. He closes his eyes and sighs as he leans into it. “Like it?”
He hums, nodding slightly, not wanting to talk incase he accidentally got cream in his mouth. She just smiles, adoringly, loving that she gets to have moments like this with him. “You’re so cute…” she whispers.
He chuckles, finally looking at her again. She cups his face in her hands, “all done.”
“You’re cuter.”
“What is happening here?” She asks, completely serious. “Are you just a good actor or—
“I was in a few plays,” he teases. “But no, I’m not acting.”
“Do you have a thing for me?” She lights right up. “Oh my god, you do?”
“And you call yourself a profiler,” he shakes his head. “Yes, okay? I like you. I think you’re wonderful and beautiful and everything I want— is that what you wanted me to say?”
“Get up,” she says, pulling at him.
“Why?” He asks as he stands.
“So you can be taller than me when I kiss you,” she teases. Grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him in.
The kiss is soft at first, cute and sweet… but then they get needy. Years of close proximity and bubbling feelings and “what ifs” all coming to the surface. He cups the back of her head with one hand and holds her lower back with the other, holding her flush to his chest as his tongue makes her acquaintance.
She accidentally moans as his hand goes down to cup her ass and he smiles against her. He pulls back slightly, noses brushing. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to do that.”
“Really?” She can’t believe it.
He smiles before he steals another kiss, and another and another and before they know it he’s backed her out of the bathroom and all the way to their king bed. He has her on the mattress, hand on her back and the nape of her neck as he cradles her and hovers over her. His tongue on hers, their chests pressed together, and her hands on his back with her nails desperately clinging to the cotton.
He eagerly moves to kiss her neck and while it feels so good, she’s worried about what is about to go down. Sure, she hoped for this. She thought maybe they’d have a few drinks at the party tomorrow and stumble home and fall into bed together and regret it in the morning but this… admitting to liking each other while completely sober, was not on her mind at all.
“Aaron,” she whispers, hesitation in her voice.
He pulls back, “something wrong?”
“Are we going to regret this?” She worries.
He cups her face gently, his body weight still on top of her, it’s oddly comforting to feel so trapped under him. “I know I won’t, but if you will, then we stop. I never want you to regret your time with me. I never want you to be uncomfortable with me. I never want to lose what we have… so if that means we never have more than a friendship, I'm perfectly okay with that.”
“I have tried so hard not to love you for the last year and a bit that we’ve been friends,” she admits. “If we go further and you change your mind, I’ll never recover.”
“I won’t change my mind,” he says, confident as ever. “I want you to love me as much as I already love you.”
His thumb caresses her cheek while he talks, he looks at her with the most affectionate look she’s ever seen on him. He’s so handsome all the time, but this look. The softness, his big brown eyes, the way he smelled like her face cream and he kept looking down at her lips like he was dying to taste them again… she’s always believed him when he speaks, but this is different. He’s opened his chest and handed her his heart and he wants her to hold it and keep it safe... forever.
“I love you,” she admits, tearing up because this is so unreal. “I love you so much, Aaron.”
He kisses her again, so gently, breathing her in and savouring every moment. Sure, it’s not their first kiss, that happened 10 minutes ago, but this is the first kiss they’ll have being openly in love with each other.
She kisses him again and again, never wanting this to end. She wraps her legs around him, she holds him closer than ever and he lightly moans against her. She starts to work at his shirt, unbuttoning it so she can get her hands under it. She wraps her arms around him, touching his hot skin as he breaks the kiss and moves down her neck.
“I love you, so much,” he reminds her again.
“Show me how much?” she whispers right into his ear.
He pulls back, delicately looking into her eyes, “are you sure?”
She nods, “more than I’ve ever been before.”
He gets his shirt off, and he pulls her forward to pull hers off too. Through kisses and rolling around, his pants are off, then her’s. Behind her, he kisses her spine while he unclips her bra, pushing each strap off her arms with kisses to her shoulders, he cups her breasts and kisses up to her ear again, “lay down.”
She listens, he gets between her legs and peels her underwear off. Raising her right leg, he kisses her knee and down her thigh, as he gets on his stomach, he looks up at her for permission and all she can do is nod because this seems unreal. His big beautiful brown eyes are looking at her from between her legs as he kisses the most intimate part of her body and she’s in heaven.
She’s died and gone to heaven. The train must’ve crashed and she’s in her own personalized forever with the man of her dreams…. But it didn’t. This is real and happening and she should be enjoying it.
She grips his hair, and her back arches as she moans into the contact, he’s so fucking good with his mouth because of course he is? Is there anything this man can’t do?
Full of love and zero expectations or worry, she feels herself getting closer to an orgasm so much faster than she has with anyone else ever. Not even herself. Normally she’s so in her head, so nervous and worried or barely being taken care of… this one just sneaks up on her, trembling through her, she grips his hair a little tighter and moans out his name, “Oh, oh I’m cumming, I’m— oh!”
He laps up every last drop as she rides it out, overstimulating her slightly, and he can tell. He pulls back with a grin, proud of himself and enjoying the way she looks so fucked out like this.
He kisses back up her tummy, between her boobs and then hovers over her while she’s still catching her breath, “hi…”
She smiles, “Hi?”
“Ready for me to show you the rest?”
“There’s more?” She teases, “You love me more than that?”
He laughs, “Yeah, that was just a taste…”
She pulls him in for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. “Mm, a good taste.”
“You’re telling me,” he growls. “I could do that every day for the rest of my life.”
“And I’d let you…”
He kisses her again, cause if he doesn’t, she won’t stop teasing him.
Kissing him while coming down from her high, feels unreal. She’s floating on a cloud, and might as well be on drugs— it feels too good, she moans against him, legs wrapped around him, she never wants to let him go. He kisses the side of her mouth, “baby—
She hums, pulling him back in for another kiss.
He pulls back, “I can’t fuck you with my boxers still on.”
She sighs, pretending it’s more work than it is, “Fine, take ‘em off.”
He shakes his head with a smile as she lets him go and he’s able to push his boxers off. “And I need to grab a condom—
“did you bring condoms?” She sounds shocked.
He nods, “yeah… I didn’t expect anything, I just always have some in my toiletries bag.”
She watches his cute ass jiggle as he walks towards his bag, he squats to undo the zipper and she tries not to laugh at the view of his balls dangling but it’s so endearing somehow? He’s real and there and he’s about to rock her world.
He’s quick to grab what he wants, he rips the condom open with his teeth and tosses the wrapper to the floor as he rolls it on right beside the bed. She watches carefully, eyes scanning his whole body. She hasn’t really had a good look at him while naked yet, he’s been pressed against the bed or on top of her. But damn.
“Jesus,” she whispers under her breath.
He smirks, “what?”
She waves her hand around in his general direction, “You just walk around with all that under your suits every day?”
He shakes his head again, “I could say the same thing about you.”
He crawls back onto the bed, between her legs again, one hand on the bed as he hovers over her, “you okay with this position?”
She nods, “perfectly okay with it. It’s a very underrated position.”
“Mhm,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss her again. One hand on her hip, he grinds himself against her, “Ready?”
She nodded, watching as he lets go of her hip to grip himself at the base, she spreads her legs a bit more and he taps her clit once just for fun but it makes her whine, “Don’t tease me.”
“But you can tease me?” He asks, head right at her entrance, about to push in… she nods and that’s when he does it. Watching her head tip back with a silent moan. “Now I know how to get you quiet.”
He goes back to rest his hand on her hip but she reaches for them and interlocks their fingers, instead. He bottomed out and dropped to hover over her once more, bringing their interlocked hands over her head.
She reached up to kiss him, but Aaron pushed into the kiss and made her settle into the pillow once again. It honestly felt like a movie scene, the first time between two star-crossed lovers. He pulled out ever so slightly before thrusting in again, she gasped against his mouth. Aaron trusted more while she pushed her hips into it as well, an offbeat rhythm developed in pure ecstasy. She let go of Aaron’s hands to snake them around his waist, to run her fingers over the soft and slightly chilled skin of his back. Feeling the bump of his spine Aaron ducked into the crook of her neck, placing kisses along her collarbone.
He changed the position of his thrust as he wrapped his arms under her, arching her back ever so slightly to reach the bundle of nerves that left her a quivering mess. She, in response to the added pleasure, ran her sharp nails down Aaron’s back and he groaned at the feeling, “do that again.” he requested.
“Like that?” She asked, dragging his nails down him once more.
“Yeah,” Aaron moaned, dark and deep. “Mark me… where no one can see it, only you know tomorrow.”
So she does, she runs her nails over his back with more intent, knowing there will be 8 red lines spread down his back in the morning. Just then, he starts to kiss lower, down to her boobs, where he sucks a mark that shouldn't be visible in her dress tomorrow… he wanted to mark her just as bad. But his kisses quickly return to her neck and lower ear.
“Aaron,” she moans out. “Go a little faster?”
He does as she asks, keeping that loving feeling but picking up the pace. The feeling of pure bliss overtook her body with each thrust, warm chills ran through him with each brush of his thumb on her clit. Every kiss to her neck and squeeze around her waist made her feel like she was on fire. The hairs on her arms stood up, and goosebumps formed along his forearms. Aaron kissed from her neck to her nipple and took the hard nib into his mouth causing her to moan like she never had before.
“Aaron,” she panted, pulling Aaron’s face back up to his.
His eyes were absolutely blown out in pleasure, those chocolate wonders he used to stare into were now replaced solely by the pupils. She ran her thumb across Aaron’s cheek before reaching to the nape of his neck to pull him into another kiss. Open mouths pressed together, hot air on each other’s faces as they panted to the pleasure.
She was in heaven.
Her orgasm bubbled in her stomach, “are you close?” Aaron whispered right beside her mouth, kissing her cheek lightly after.
She hummed, unable to speak with the mass amount of pleasure coursing through her body. Aaron fucked into her a bit harder, a tiny bit faster, hitting her G-spot dead on each time to the point the nerves in her thighs were quaking uncontrollably.
She was so close, Aaron used 3 fingers to quickly rub over her clit before she threw her head back with a shout. Cumming with her eyes pressed shut, pleasure coursed through her body stronger than she’s ever felt before.
Nothing had ever made her cum that hard, ripping through her like her soul was leaving her body. She dug her nails deep into Aaron’s skin holding him close to his body while he kept thrusting.
A high-pitched gasp left his lips, close to her ear as his hips sputtered into hers one last time. She still hadn’t opened her eyes, her breath rigid, she felt winded. Aaron had stilled as he came inside of her and then collapsed into her, deadweight lying on her.
But she didn’t mind. Not in the slightest. She wrapped herself around him even tighter and kissed the side of his head, “I love you, too.”
He kisses her neck, “I can’t believe I was afraid to tell you…”
“Silly man, we could’ve been doing that the whole time,” she teases him again the first chance she gets.
He huffs a little laugh out of his nose, smiling against her. “We can do this all the time now.”
“Mhm,” she squeezes him a little tighter. “I hope you know this means we’re dating now. I don’t just fuck anyone. Especially not my boss…”
He manages to push himself up to look at her, and the look on his face says it all. “Yeah, I know… and I’ll handle the paperwork when we get back.”
—
They get all dolled up together, between kisses and flirting and teasing… they end up fully dressed, presents in hand, on their way to the party. They hold hands the whole cab ride over, up the elevator and into the booming restaurant.
It’s entirely booked out for her sister’s party, on the top floor of a fancy building. It’s completely catered, there are fancy waiters walking around with trays of hors d’oeuvres and expensive champagne. They have their gifts taken from their hands upon arrival and their hands are instantly filled with a drink. She looks around, looking for the first person she knows well and spots her mom and dad over on the other side of the room.
“Come with me, I have some people I want you to meet…” she says as she leads him through the crowd.
He’s nervous but more excited. She gets to show him off and this isn’t a lie. He really is her boyfriend and they are in love and happy and this is everything he’s ever wanted. With his hand around her waist the whole time, shoulder to shoulder, he meets her parents and her sister. He shakes hands with her dad and her new brother-in-law, he gets hugs from the mom and sister, they’re looking at her with eyes that he can hear. They’re saying how much of an improvement he is to the last guy, they’re amazed at how handsome he is, and he blushes slightly in response.
“So how long has this been going on?” Her dad asks.
She looks up at him and smiles, “Not long, but we’re really happy.”
“The happiest,” he agrees, stealing a quick kiss from her that makes the women swoon.
“You know, this is fantastic,” her sister announces. “I was worried you’d be upset to see Brad and Cameron here together but now you have Aaron and they’re not even coming anymore. Something happened… I don’t even think they’re together anymore.”
“Oh?” She’s completely shocked to hear that.
“Once a cheater always a cheater,” her brother-in-law says under his breath with the roll of his eyes.
“We see it all the time at work,” Aaron agrees. “It’s pathological. They crave attention so intensely that they’ll do anything to get it, to the detriment of the people they love. They cheat because for a moment they’re the most important person, they’re attractive enough to get who they want and powerful enough to get away with it. And even when it blows up in their face they can play the ‘you wouldn’t be this mad if you weren’t so obsessed with me’ card.”
“That’s Brad,” her dad agrees. “Good riddance, honestly.”
“Let’s just leave it there,” her mom announces. “We’re here for Lindsay and Connor.”
“It’s been lovely to meet you Aaron, but we have a lot of people to mingle with,” Lindsay announces and Connor sighs. “We’ll talk again later?”
“Sounds good,” Y/N lets them head off and then she’s just with her parents. “Um, I’m hungry… Aaron, did you want to go raid the snacks?”
“I’d love to,” he agrees. “It was lovely to meet you both.”
“We hope to see you again regularly?” Her mother throws in.
“I don’t plan on going anywhere,” he assures, “you should get used to me.”
She manages to pull him away from them, a little overwhelmed and so in love with him. She gets him to an empty corner and looks up at him like he’s crazy, “did you seriously say that?”
He nods, “What part of last night didn’t you understand? I’m madly in love with you. I would marry you tomorrow if it wouldn’t take the attention off your sister.”
She just laughs, shocked and amazed that he just said that. “Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
She shakes her head in disbelief, “o-okay… but you still have to ask me. I don’t need anything big and extravagant and I’d like to maybe pick the ring out with you if you want but—
“You want to?”
She nods, that teasing smirk he loves so much plastered on her face, “I don’t just want to be your work wife, Aaron.”
“We’ll revisit this in the new year… I need Jack to know about this and be okay with it before I spring a step-mom on him,” he explains.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
General Taglist
@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch x you#hotch smut#hotch x reader#criminal minds smut#criminal minds imagine
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for the red rooms in devildom, imagine lucifer finally deciding to give red rooms a shot when he realizes mc will soon leave devildom and/or keeps rejecting his affection
Lucifer being the avatar of pride means he can’t exactly handle rejection. Maybe a few times at first, seeing it as a way to chase and have fun and to prove himself to you and sweep you off of your feet, but after a while it really gets under his skin.
Why? Why are you denying him? Sure he can understand being scared of him, he’s one of the most powerful demons after all, and sadly you were more than once on the wrong end of that ire and anger when you first arrived. He won’t deny that your emotions with those incidents are possibly why you wouldn’t want to be with him, but surely now you see hes trying to make amends? That he’d kiss the ground you walk on and make sure to keep you safe?
It seems you were serious about denying and rejecting his affections. You tell everyone at dinner what a wonderful time you’ve had, and how in three days time you’re expected to leave, back to the human world, leaving them to wallow in your absence.
Well, you won’t get away with that. He won’t let you make this mistake. He just gives a soft smile, a gentle hug, and tells you that he’ll miss you, but as you head up to bed and listen to Mammon and Levi’s blabbering and sobbing, Lucifer decides to make a rather last resort call.
The Red Rooms. The last place he ever wanted to bring you. While they care for the darling's experience, he doesn’t want to have to force this, but you’re really leaving him no choice!
He’ll make sure the rooms are to your tastes. Stuffed animals to cry into when overwhelmed, softer gags to be easier on your jaw, padded cuffs to make sure your delicate human skin isn’t bruised unless he decides to bruise it himself.
The demon chuckles on the other end of the line but once they hear who’s making the call, they shut up and show respect.
“Nothing rough. This is to prove my devotion and how I’m better than my brothers. I want only the best, the softest, the cleanest and the safest. I won’t hesitate to kill you and wring your blood into my food to devour. Do we have an understanding?”
He goes through the list, his mind getting even more perverted than Asmo as he pictures how he’ll make you moan and whimper for him. “Oh? Well I must admit that golden hellfire newt syrup would be a nice touch but I'm as ready as ill need to be. Yes, I'm aware it's a potent aphrodisiac but I assure you, my love and lust know no bounds when it comes to my sweet little minx”
The call goes on a little longer, Lucifer giving some final details on safety measures, only giving Diavolo's emergency number in case he completely loses himself, and so on. Who woulda thought the demons in the seediest parts of the underworld would be so caring? Then again it’s rumored Barbatos and Diavolo run the palace in disguise so…
When asked how they are to bring you in, Lucifer just smiles and tries not to break the phone in an angered crush. To think they’d touch you, it just sent a pang of anger through his core. But he knows they’re simply doing their job, so he can’t exactly kill them just yet.
“I’ll use the spells you have on hand, or ill bring them in myself under a guise of a last dinner together. You’ll know it's me by what I'm wearing. None of this better go wrong, or I assure you, you wont live to warn the others of my wrath”.
-Mommabean (HI! I hope you likes this bean!!)
#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#mommabean#yandere obey me#yandere lucifer#yandere demons#yandere red rooms au#yandere red rooms#yandere male#yandere x reader#pride bean#bean asks#bean confessions
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My Angel
IMAGINE: MY ANGEL ~ SUKUNA X READER
GENRE: FLUFF
WARNINGS: MENTION OF BLOOD AND GORE.
Nova's Notes: this is set during the Heian Era. So Sukuna is in his true form.
************************
They say opposites attract.
Sukuna has never heard the biggest bullshit in his life so far.
That was until he met you.
He was honestly going to kill you upon first sight. He thought your caring personality was so disgusting. He hated how you took care of everything you came across. A dying plant? You would nurse it back to health. An injured animal? You would also nurse it back to health.
He really found no use of you. Why would he need a caretaker when he could heal himself and take care of himself?
But when he saw your eyes paired with the softest smile he has ever seen, he faltered. And that falter made him question a lot. He has never faltered before, so why would it happen now?
Of course it made him angry. Mostly angry at you. He blames you for making him falter like this. He couldn’t even kill you because of it. If he tried, it was like some invisible force was stopping him.
That wouldn’t stop him trying to make your life a living hell though.
He took any chance to belittle you, say a snarky comment, or do anything rude. He wanted to see that cheerful personality break. Then maybe he would be able to kill you.
That’s why he kept you with him at all times. The moment he sees you falter, then he would end your life right then and there.
“Let’s go.” He tells you.
“Where are we going?”
“Out. I gotta do something.”
“Okay.”
He hates how you were so cheery, even when he was bossing you around.
With a scoff, Sukuna turns around and leaves the castle, knowing that you were already following close behind him.
About ten minutes into the walk, you stop walking to gaze at flowers.
“Look at these flowers! Aren’t they beautiful?”
Sukuna turns around to see that you were squatting while touching the petals of some flowers.
His lips pull into a frown, “no. Those are the ugliest shits I have ever seen.”
“Well, that’s not nice.” You say without even missing a beat.
You look at Sukuna, a dumbfounded look on his face. Of course he wasn’t nice. He was the most evil being on the planet. And you had the nerve to say ‘that’s not nice’. Any normal person would have been killed as soon as those words left their lips. But again, he couldn’t kill you.
Sukuna scoffs, “unbelievable. Let’s go.” He turns back around, continuing his walk.
You follow next to him now, keeping up with his pace. Usually if anyone dared to walk next to him, they would be severely punished.
However, as he glanced at you from the side of his eyes, he could swear that there was a halo around you. If he could describe you right now, he would say that you looked like an angel.
But he knew that angels didn’t exist. Maybe it was lighting messing with his eyes. Yeah, it was definitely the lighting messing with his eyes.
“Stop.” He says causing the both of you to stop in your tracks. You were quiet, trying to listen to your surroundings. You didn’t hear anything, but Sukuna could definitely sense something.
Suddenly there was a shot of curse energy. You stumble back, hand clutching onto your shoulder. You realize that you were hit. But you didn’t know where the attack was coming from.
Sukuna looks at you, eyes widened just a fraction. You didn’t notice it, but Sukuna was furious that you got hit. His hands now free from his robes, ready to kill anyone that caused you harm.
Finally someone steps out into the clearing. The man was wearing traditional clothing, and it was obvious that he was a sorcerer.
“Move aside. I have no use of you.” Sukuna became confused.
All sorcerers that he has encountered tried to exorcize him. But this one was saying that he had no use for him?? Sukuna follows the sorcerer's gaze, seeing that it landed on you.
What use could he have for you?
Sukuna barked out a laugh. “Them? You’re here for them? But they’re weak!”
The sorcerer laughs, “oh… King of curses. How foolish are you? Are you that stupid to be tricked by that thing?”
Oh, that pissed Sukuna off. How dare he call him foolish and stupid.
He was about to kill off the sorcerer until your voice made him freeze.
“How dare you!” Your voice was booming and it echoed in the air. This voice demanded respect. Something that Sukuna has never heard before. It was safe to say that he was intrigued. He looks back at you, his eyes widening at the sight.
Your shadow was different. There were wings on your shadow… but the wings looked different. They looked mangled and broken. There were feathers falling off the twisted wings.They moved ever so slightly causing the shadows around you to flicker.
“I am an angel of the Lord. How dare you attack me! You people disgust me. Always destroying and hurting the innocent and good.”
The sorcerer lets out a mixture of scoff and laughter.
“You’re delusional! We’re not hurting the innocent. It’s creatures like him that are hurting the innocent.” The sorcerer points at Sukuna and you glare at the man.
Before the sorcerer could release another attack, his head was clean off. Blood splatters everywhere, staining Sukuna’s robes, your clothes, some even getting on your skin.
A sinister smile creeps onto Sukuna’s face. He didn’t realize how powerful you were. All it took was a snap of your fingers and the sorcerer was dead.
It didn’t take him long to figure out the situation here. You were indeed an angel, but it looks like you didn’t realize that you were a fallen angel. A powerful one at that.
Maybe this is the reason why he couldn’t kill you. He was glad that he couldn’t make himself kill you. He wanted you to be by his side. And he would do anything to keep it that way.
He walks towards you, one of his hands coming up to wipe the blood off your voice. You didn’t move, allowing him to continue to free your face from any traces of blood.
His blood red eyes look into yours, “you did a good job, my angel.”
A large smile paints your face, a hand cupping the one that was clearing your face.
“Thank you!"
#oneshot#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#ryomen x reader
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Hey, so...
My rabbit, Sir Galahad, died last Friday. I’m trying to find a way to live with this, so. Here’s ten things about him.
1. His favourite “healthy” food was kale. He wasn’t allowed to have it all the time, coz it’s too high in... something. But every now and then he would get some. His favourite non-healthy food was sultanas; we would share a box every now and then.
2. He looked like a ball of fluff when he was sitting normally, but when he stretched out, he was so flat. I used to call him flat-rabbit when he did that. He could change his shape a lot, depending on how he was sitting.
3. He and I shared a room, and for the first few months, when I went to bed at night, he would jump up next to me and try to groom my hair. This was extremely painful, as he would dig his teeth into my scalp and drag them down. But I appreciated the thought.
4. He went nuts for food. He would get so excited, jumping around me, whenever he thought food was on offer. One time, he figured out how to climb onto my desk and helped himself to a few nibbles on some biscuits I had up there, which were definitely not for him.
5. I haven’t had a rabbit since I was like four, so the first time he flopped, I thought he’d died or passed out or something. I was frantically shaking him, trying to “wake” him up, while also googling madly trying to figure out what had happened. He was unconcerned.
6. He didn’t like to be picked up or held, but he loved pats, and would often snuggle next to me. If I was lucky, he would put his front feet on my leg while I rubbed his face. He liked it when I cupped his head between my hands and rubbed, like I was trying to start a fire or something. That was his favourite.
7. If he felt that he hadn’t gotten enough pats recently, he would charge at my ankles and grunt. As he weighed less than two kilos, this was not particularly intimidating, but it got the point across.
8. He had the softest fur I’ve ever felt. He was very meticulous about keeping it clean, though sometimes I had to help him shed. But it was so soft. A lot of people commented on it, when they met him. That and how sweet and friendly he was. Most people didn’t expect a rabbit to be so friendly.
9. While he did get scared sometimes, he was so brave. We’d be at the vets, and he’d poke his head up and look around. When the kids wanted to pet him, he didn’t shy away, even if they got too excited and made sudden moves. He was 100% willing to throw down with our 30 kilo labrador puppy (who wouldn’t hurt him, but did get a bit over-enthusiastic).
10. He trusted me from the beginning. From the moment I stepped into my front yard and saw him, where he’d likely been dumped by his previous owner, he seemed to know. I’ve seen videos of people trying to catch rabbits, even domestic rabbits, and they’re so hard to catch. But he let me walk right up to him, and pick him up, even though he hates being picked up. It was like he knew I loved him, and from the second I saw him I did. He would follow me around, when I let him free roam the house. Sometimes when I’d come into our room, he’d startle and hide. But then he’d see it was me, and come over for a pat.
I miss you Gali. My sweet boy. It hurts so much. I love you. I’m sorry. Our time together was so short. But know I love you.
Goodbye.
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back it up - myg
pairing: producer yoongi x female reader (established relationship)
genre: smut, fluff
mdni!
summary: after a long day of work, yoongi tries to find a way to make the both of you relax, what better than recording your moans to go on his backing track.
warnings: yoongi is lowkey a workaholic but will do anything for reader, spanking, overstimulation if you squint, unprotected sex, recording of moans, little bit of dry humping, dom! yoongi, dirty talk, they should totally get married, the softest yoongi ever
Yoongi was fed up with work. He’d woken up at the same time as you this morning, had gotten ready alongside you, he even had breakfast. He’d kissed you before you left, smacked you on the arse as you walked out the door. Then he tried to work. He had worked for ten hours and had nothing to show for it. Ten hours of reshaping the same song again and again, but it wasn’t right, would never be, there was something missing that he couldn’t quite figure out.
Sitting on the sofa, feet up just waiting to hug you the second you got in, Yoongi contemplated all of this. He thought about the missing part to the track, and how he would need to figure it out soon, the two of you relied on his income, without it you wouldn’t be able to afford this place. Yoongi didn’t want to let you down. He couldn’t seem to be able to move on from the song either, his brain was totally stuck on it.
He’d show you. You, with no musical knowledge would have the answer. He’s shaking his leg anxiously when the door opens and you step in, your bags weighing you down completely. You'd taken more shifts. Because of him, because he couldn't sort his shit out. He rushes to you, taking your bags and kissing you on the forehead, if he had the choice, you'd never suffer that stupid job again. Selfless when it comes to Yoongi you ask "how did it go today?" an understanding smile on your face, this wasn't a ridicule it was a kind question, to show you cared, hadn't given up on him.
Instead of disappointing you, Yoongi takes your hand "I want to show you."
Your face lights up, he felt bad for giving you hope, but he was so convinced you knew the answer. You wash your hands, wiping them on the towel before following Yoongi upstairs.
The genius lab sign seemed to be a little bit of a joke as he opened the door, he was no genius these days. But you had gotten him that sign, you trusted him.
Leading you through the door, he takes prime seat on his chair, holding your waist to lead you onto his lap where he cages you between his arms, resting his chin on your shoulder to view his computer. Setting up the speakers, making sure they're not too loud for you after a long day at work, he pulls up the file. You look at it in awe, unsure how all the layers and levels work. Proudness consumed his body.
As the beat shakes the floor, Yoongi holds onto you tight. Pulling your ass onto his crotch, he leans back for a moment just to look at the way your bodies fitted together. When his voice starts playing over the track, he almost wants to turn it off straight away. There was no way this was good enough. You don't say a thing, only sucking in a breath when his laugh cuts all the music and vocals. That was a good reaction at least. He'd spent five hours getting that laugh right. You tap a foot to the beat, leaning back against him as you watch the track run across the screen. Yoongi is glad when it's over.
"Oh my goodness Yoongi,'' you say, and instantly Yoongi assumes the worst.
"It's bad?" He asks you, frowning.
"No! No! just so vulgar" You raise your eyebrows at him. You hadn't missed the sexual references. He hadn't intended for it to be so sexual but that's how it ended up. Maybe that's what was wrong with it. "I really like it, Yoongi, but maybe there's something missing?"
Damn. He's not mad, but he had hoped you would have more than that. "Maybe it's a beat or something in the backing track, considering it's so sexual, maybe it needs to be slower? or add more laughs in?"
He looks at you wide eyed. "I like that idea." he kisses you on the neck "thank you for listening, love."
You almost melt into his touch, sighing as his hands caress your body. "Go have a shower, clean off and cool down, okay?" He says to you, "I've got a surprise for you when you come out."
You giggle, not knowing what this surprise was. Happy nonetheless, and Yoongi wonders what he did right to have a living ball of light like you to brighten his darkness.
Walking away, swaying your hips on purpose Yoongi tries his very best to ignore you, focusing on his computer and slowing down his voice and the track. It was much better, but he would have to re-record his voice later, though it seems you were right. Though slower and definitely fitting the vibe better, the backing track now felt empty. He facepalms. He’d have to re-work the backing track and his vocals.
Just as he contemplates opening up his microphone, you appear in the doorway, hair wet, tits pressing against a thin nightgown you had put on after your shower. “Yoongi, need you to come hug me.” you say, and you would always come before his work, so leaving his computer and set up open he heads towards you. Grabbing you gently around the thighs he prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist. You do, and as you hug into his neck, he carries you down the stairs, being careful not to trip and hurt you.
“Long day?” he asks, though fearful of your answer, your extra hours were proving to be the bane of his existence.
“Just busy, would have been the same no matter how many hours I worked”
He’s laying back on the sofa now, letting you lay against his chest. “I am sorry” he admits, just saying what he had been thinking.
“Don’t apologise Yoongi, I really don’t mind”
He strokes your hair, running a hand though the wet strands. He lived to comfort you. “I’ll sort it out soon, I promise.”
Yoongi knows he will do anything. “I would work 23 hours a day Yoongi, but as long as I got to spend the other hour with you, it would all be worth it.”
He really needed to sort his shit out. Though, until he could do that, he thought of another way to make it up to you. “Let me help you relax,” he says. All you do is hum, running a finger over his bicep. “Wanna make you feel good” In response to this, you move slightly against his crotch. Hissing, he shifts his hips to rub against your core. “Want you moaning around my cock.”
You hum again, though this time it’s more of a moan. Heat rushes to his core.
“Whose cock are you gonna moan around?” he asks, halting his dry humping until you respond.
“Gonna moan because of Yoongi.”
Proud, he starts moving again, then he freezes. Moaning.
A slowed version of his song. With moaning in the background. Not a lot, but enough to make it obvious to someone who knew how to please, or had been pleased.
“Y//N” he says, and you whine. “How do you feel about recording your moans”
Instantly, your head snaps up to look him in the eyes. With your chin on his chest he can’t help but miss how tired you looked. “Huh”
“The song. I think that's the answer.”
“And you want my moans on the track?”
His eyebrows shoot upwards, “why wouldn’t I. You’re my girlfriend.”
“My moans aren’t very pretty.” you tell him, and he wants to call you a fool.
“Your moans are the prettiest moans I have ever heard.” he says, rocking his hips back up into yours again, your eyes go wide.
“Yeah, we can record my moans, if you make me feel good enough.” you taunt him.
“Do you doubt my ability, love?” he replies to you, his little brat. You shake your head, suddenly compliment after your previous comment.
Carrying you back up stairs he kicks his foot against the genius lab door, it swings open as you grind yourself against him, your dress has ridden up and your smooth thighs are all he can see. God, he's so drunk on you, he hasn't yet figured out how he's going to do this though. He hits the microphone button with his hand, it opens up and a new recording starts. Now he needed to find a way to get you comfortable where the microphone would pick up on all your little sounds. "I'll be alright like this Yoongi" You tell him when you see him faffing about.
Here, is bent over the microphone, mouth practically on the soft foam, legs slightly open, hands on the desk in front of you. "Fuck this is hot" he tells you, instantly dropping to his knees and lifting your dress up around your waist.
As always, when he sees your cunt, his jaw drops to the flaw. You are so beautiful. He would always be amazed when he saw you. Then it hits him that you're not wearing any pants. "Little slut" he calls you and he watches you shift on your feet.
"Only for you, Yoongi." You respond and Yoongi is more turned on than he'd like to admit when he realises all of this will be recorded, not just your moans but your words for him. Knelt on the ground behind you, he watches your entrance glisten as he parts you with his fingers.
"So wet for me Y/N"
Moaning in response, you struggle to hold yourself up as he presses one finger against your clit and one against your entrance, slowly pushing it inside of you. Your body makes squelching sounds as he enters another finger, then fucks them into you. Every time he pushes back into your pussy the wetness can be heard throughout the room, the sound definitely picked up by the microphone. Yoongi just sits and watches your ass jiggle everytime his palm presses against it. When you begin to uncontrollably moan, he stops, knowing you're close to orgasm.
"Yoongi-" you begin.
"You know the rules, only around my cock" he says, standing up and gripping your waist to press his clothed, hard cock against your ass.
He unzips his trousers, pulling them down and stepping out of them, his cock bounces up and hits him in the stomach. Yoongi hisses through his teeth at the freedom.
There was no way he was going to give you the satisfaction of fucking you straight away, so he presses his palm against the soft flesh of your ass, squeezing it in his hand. He raises it into the air and brings it back down quickly.
He would find a space in his song for the sound of his hand hitting your ass, and the moan you let out even if he had to redo it completely. Smoothing his hand over the reddened skin he comforts you until the skin has calmed down, then he does the same on the other side. The sound music to his ears. This time, your moan is almost a short confined scream. Damn.
He'd have this recording to play back for himself whenever he wanted. At the tip of his fingers. He slaps your ass three more times on each side, sending you flying forward each time until there's tears falling down your face.
"Are you okay, my love, do you need to use the safe word?" He asks, his number one concern is always how you were feeling with the situation, but you shake your head, happy to carry on.
The weight of his dick in his hand is a gentle release, he was immensely hard and horny and desperately needed to be buried to the hilt inside your cunt. "All this cunt just for me."
"I'm all for you Yoongi." You sigh, compliant to his need to possess you, to make sure the world knew you were his. As an artist, he had to share many moments of his private life, but he would never share you. He grabs your waist, his nails digging crescents into your skin. His cock rests against your ass, sitting snugly between your reddened cheeks. He could orgasm just like this, but it wasn't about him, it was all about you. It was always about you.
Gripping the base of his cock he glides it though your folds, you sigh, moaning into the microphone. Everytime he entered you, even if he did it three times a day, would be exactly like the first time for him. The two of you were made for each other, he fits inside of you so well and you squeezed his cock so wonderfully. He felt so comfortable inside of you, and he knew that you felt the same. "Fucking hell, I love you Y/N" is all he can manage to say before he's thrusting his hips into you, deep and slow, threading a hand though your hair to make sure he could hit the deepest spots inside of you. This was making love roughly, the way he held you so hard it hurt, compared to the gentle but deep thrusts of his cock against your walls. Everytime he bottoms out, you moan sweetly into the microphone, he almost forgot that that's what all of this was about. Your moans on his track everyone would know you were his.
He fucks you deeper, loving the way your pussy fluttered around his cock, he could tell you were close, moaning every time he pushes into you. “Are you gonna cum around my cock?” he asks, dying to feel you milk him of his cum. When you don’t reply, he spanks your ass once, kneading the skin afterwards.
“I’m close Yoongi” you moan “I love your cock.”
That was going on the track. Maybe he’d change professions and become a porn star.
When you cum, you let out such a guttural moan he’s not sure if it's the most perfect moan to add to his track, or if it's just too vulgar, you weren’t over exaggerating as you came around him, your walls clenching him into your pussy as he came as well, shooting his cum as deep into your pussy as he could manage. He pulls out, loving the way both of your juices coated his cock. “Even our cum looks good together.”
He can tell you’re still feeling your orgasm, so he reaches up and slaps you on the pussy once, you flinch, shooting forward on the table and complaining “sensitive”
This only made Yoongi laugh. “Come on, lets get you tucked up into bed huh” he says, walking past the microphone and clicking the save button before he picks you up bridal style and walks the two of you across the hallway to your room.
“Need a hug” you mumble, kissing at his jawline.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
mini tag list:
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#yoongi#yoongi smut#min yoongi#min yoongi x reader#yoongi x y/n#bts#bts smut#bts fanfiction#bts fic#bts x reader#yoongi imagine#bts imagines
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This gon be real dark but hear me out
So during hanky panky, dbf!Horangi finds there are like… cuts on reader’s wrists? Like s/h? And then he goes to tell stepdad!König. What would happen? Will they comfort or belittle them?
Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, self-harm, âge difference/gap, suicidal thoughts, tell me if I missed any.
It was an accident, a complete accident that he stumbled into the bathroom as you were cutting yourself, crimson ichor or rolling down your forearm. The small blade you used gleamed under the yellow light, the sharp edge stained in a familiar red that he knew from the many times he bit you. His body moved without much thought, ripping the thin blade from your hands and gripping your cut arm in the softest hold he’s every used on you. He fussed about your self-inflicted wound, tender words spilling from his tongue to smooth your pained moans when he cleaned and wiped your cuts —new and old.
How had he not seen them? They stood out on your skin, red and inflamed, a throbbing wound that pained him to look at. There weren’t any similar cuts, each scabs aged differently, a shade too light or too dark from each other. None were made on the same day, and it hurt him to see so many lines of scabs and dried blood. He knew he was demanding, unfair and a possessive and bad man, but he ached whenever he was too far from you, when he lacked or hungered for your presence. He gave a part of himself to you and took your whole being. Perhaps that drove you to harm yourself, to feel something other than… loneliness, was it? Was that what he and König caused?
He knew the feeling well enough to call it an old friend, no one in the army was a stranger to cutting themselves, he used to do it before he was forced into therapy, they called it. It was to help his mind and body. It hadn’t worked on him, he was too stubborn to give up an ounce of his past to a person who wouldn’t understand him, but it had worked for others, he simply found something else to put his mind to it.
“Come,” he spoke slowly, guiding you out of the bathroom when you wouldn’t look him in the eyes, finding the carpeted ground so interested, “We need to talk.”
He sat you on the kitchen table, bursting into König’s office while he worked, singing off papers and typing away at something on his laptop, and asked him for König’s medkit. Blue eyes rove over his body, confused but still handing him the kit he kept in his drawer, König inquired about his use of it since he wasn’t wounded, no scrape or redness on the skin König could see.
“Who is it for?”
Horangi grunted out your name and that was all König needed to leave his office, strutting to the kitchen with long legs and even longer steps. He too, fussed about your arms, harsh hisses and worried frowns as he moved around to patch you up with the bandage Horangi pulled out, fixing you up as gently as he could with his giant fingers. You wouldn’t look at any of them, staring intently at your lap, your fingers sinking into the meaty fat of your thigh.
“We need to talk, Schatzi,” König grumbled, blinking away the worry and meeting Horangi’s eyes, sharing a single thought when they watched you shake you head, adamantly staying silent with your troubles.
“And someone else? We know someone,” Horangi tried, closing in on you with a warm palm over your waist, “A therapist, someone who knows what they’re doing, hmm?”
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Hello hello, @chaoticgouda! It is I, your very very (very) late Secret Santa! Terribly sorry for keeping you waiting as long as I did — the story got away from me, and by that I mean I went slightly over the necessary wordcount.
You mentioned a love for horror, angst, and hurt/comfort, which I consider myself quite versed in, so I pulled out all the stops for this one. Hope you enjoy it! But, uh...do heed the warnings.
Dream-Eater!Moon x Insomniac!Y/N
Word Count: 8,540
Warnings: Fear and anxiety, isolation trauma, unreality, eye and mouth horror, body horror, (brief) gore, psychological horror
Three days, now. Three days since you’ve slept. Three days since that unblinking stare first crawled through the gap beneath your bedroom door, eyes like scarlet diamonds in a deep pool of nothingness and narrowed with an ire you couldn’t explain. Three days since you showed some spine and told it to go away. You’ve never suffered with sleep paralysis before, and you saw no reason for it to start now, yet you failed to come up with any better explanation for the thing at the foot of your bed.
A flicker of motion draws your eyes to the far side of the room. The sweetgum outside waves with the breeze, gnarled branches contorting like ugly, knotted limbs, their shadow dancing across your wall under the full moon.
You’re acting like a child. No one else would flinch at a tree tapping its spindly fingers against the glass, or feel their shoulders tense in the stillness of an otherwise too-quiet room, the perpetuation of which is immediately interrupted by the softest ting of a bell. This brief distraction is all it takes. Your gaze snaps again toward the familiar set of eyes as if on cue only to find them missing. A bleak, damning emptiness in their place.
Three days since the eyes first appeared to watch you strife with a good night’s rest.
Not once, in that time, have they ever moved.
It isn’t as though they possessed a body to carry them between positions, after all. The eyes were discarnate. Incorporeal. They had appeared in the darkness and in the darkness is where they stayed, with not head nor tail of any proper frame.
Yet you are unequivocally aware of the hands that draw from the darkest part of your room to flatten against the foot of your bed — painted in a blue so deep it challenges the very night itself — and the gangly wrists that follow, knuckles sharp like jutting bone under stretched skin. Narrow shoulders that taper into a waist almost skeletal, pinched around a ribcage that doesn’t exist, digitigrade legs that go on for longer than they should. A ghastly body that wafts between tangible and formless, its crude excuse for flesh coming away like smoke and fading into the surrounding darkness of your bedroom. It is a struggle to see the ghoulish thing among the shadows, even as it climbs ever higher along your mattress, yet you find yourself incapable of looking away.
Perhaps this demon has you paralyzed, after all.
It certainly feels that way as the creature looms closer and closer, still, ascending your body where it lies frozen, scarlet eyes fixated ahead, until its smooth, expressionless face comes to rest dangerously close to your own. Again, that foreign bell rings out as it goes still.
You swallow your tongue and taste nothing but dread. Words collect uselessly behind your teeth as it raises a hand from beside your torso and brings it against your jaw, claws — carved into a needlelike point and inky blue as the fingers they’re attached to — trace a path along your cheek. A whisper on the skin, and only that. The strange sensation might even tickle if your heart weren’t threatening to squeeze between the bars of your ribcage and burst through your chest altogether.
This creature, whatever it is, awkwardly thumbs against the skin beside your eye and back down again. A bizarre hush, “Shhh shh,” spills between lips that aren’t there.
The tenderness it performs is decisively unpracticed. Even still, at the third and final ring of an invisible bell you suddenly find it entirely too difficult to keep your eyes open. Time appears to slow, a warm grogginess seeping between your bones as you continue to fight a losing battle, the siren call of sleep luring you in. Lower and lower do your eyelids fall, heavy with exhaustion, until you are able to convince yourself that the cold and unfamiliar weight against your chest is nothing more than a dream.
Then its maw comes open with silent resolve.
You aren’t sure how you missed them before; the teeth. Two rows of jagged canines that grin impossibly wide, its poor excuse for skin stretching upwards, eyes rolling to sit at the back of its scalp to accommodate a mouth that opens like a serpent’s unhinged jaw.
Adrenaline surges through your spine like thunder and ripples along the skin of your palm as it rushes through the shadow’s body and bashes into the switch of your nearest lamp. Yellow light floods your room in a blink, shooing darkness back into the corners as you look frantically for a demon that isn’t there.
You are unbearably alone.
-
The following evening starts with the last cup in the coffee pot — it falls from the pot’s mouth with a sluggish dribble that heralds the emptied bottom, four mugs worth of the stuff with three chugged down already over the course of the afternoon.
It has been four days since you last slept.
This self inflicted torture is not without reason; regardless of how ridiculous said reason is. Nevertheless it had you doing everything in your power to stay awake. Currently, that meant surviving on a frankly excessive amount of caffeine and running circles through your apartment, desperate for any task that stimulated the brain and kept you from giving in to the sweet embrace of your bed.
These tribulations are not meant to be endured alone. The companionship of someone — anyone, be it friend or family — surely eases the burden of such a daunting task, but it isn’t that simple.
And you aren’t sure where to look for the camaraderie you so desperately seek.
The sun has already begun its downward path when you finish washing out the emptied pot and set it in the rack to dry, your drink forgotten save for the one gulp you savored before deciding that dishes needed to be done. The water runs too hot as you bow the head of a fork under the spout and scrub it clean between the bars. Even now you remember the static which paraded down your fingers the night before, rushing through your skin until it singed, the taste of fear so thick on your tongue that not even the coffee could outrun it.
You dreaded the thought of returning to your bedroom later in the night and contesting with the thing that tried to devour you whole only a matter of hours prior. Maybe you could keep to the couch tonight, instead. Or, better yet, not let yourself rest your feet in any way to begin with.
Rest led to idleness and idleness led to sleep and sleep led to—
Thwack!
Your head snaps upward from the sink where your hands have begun to prune, watching through half-lidded eyes as the steller's jay outside your kitchen window throws a second twig against the glass.
It’s a pretty little thing. A head and beak black as onyx, vibrant blue blooms proudly across its chest and down its back to the very base of its tail, which extends further than the average. Actually, the longer you look, the more it seems…off, somehow. Wrong. Its body is too large, its beak far sharper than necessary, and the eyes—
You break away from the window with a fierce shake of your head and firmly reprimand yourself for thinking that the eyes which stared back were scarlet. That isn’t possible. You’re sorely in need of a full night’s rest and it is this fact alone that prevents you from thinking clearly, already jeopardizing your ability to tell what is and isn’t real, apparently. You needed to get a grip.
The faucet bleeds money down the drain as you turn from it and find your beloved mug on the counter again, hands tender from the scalding water and trembling slightly as they bring the ceramic to your lips.
But your coffee returns cold.
You’re confident that no more than a minute or two had passed since you last abandoned the mug — certainly not a lengthy enough time that your coffee should feel like ice against your lips.
Just another delusion brought on by fatigue, you decide. Time begins to lose its meaning when you refuse to keep your internal clock on track. You’re lucky this is the worst your symptoms have become with the strain that’s been collecting in the bags under your eyes already.
Nothing the microwave can’t fix, at least. It’ll lose the wonderful bite of a freshly poured cup, which is always unfortunate, but it’s better than trying to doctor this thing into a proper iced latte.
You turn on your heel, narrowly brushing the sharp divide between your illuminated kitchen and the dark room beyond it, shadowed furniture staring back at you — dusty from a lack of guests — and make for the small radioactive box on your kitchen counter.
Narrowed eyes watch your back. A shred of the night comprised of knobbly joints and a starving mouth hung slightly ajar, scarlet gaze unblinking. It remains in place as you walk past it, just out of reach, keeping still like a wandering corpse in the corner of your livingroom.
It’s better that you don’t immediately sense its presence beyond a shudder at the base of your spine.
The microwave door opens with a pop, the slide of your mug along the plate grating against your already strained nerves. You slam the door shut harder than you mean to and see a scarlet glow staring back at you in the reflection.
Twisting on your heel exposes nothing but a dark, empty room.
You are unbearably alone.
The microwave screams at your back, announcing the completion of its task — beep, beep, beep
beep
beep
beng
ting
ting
Silverware on a wine glass; a toast. The hurried look over your shoulder reveals an extravagant ballroom where your kitchen once stood. Mahogany furniture carved with intricate detail that stands over a polished floor, radiant and brilliantly gold under the eyes of an enormous chandelier. A crowd in lavish gowns, masks adorning each stranger’s face. Their waltzes slow to a stop as a glass of chardonnay lifts into the air.
Startling, you blink in rapid succession and peer from side to side in an effort to find the subject of this beautiful tribute, only to see all eyes turning in your direction. The stranger congratulates you to the sound of an uproarious applause — for what, you aren’t sure.
A familiar pair of eyes stares at you from the reflection in the glass.
Your heel swivels for the umpteenth time, neck snapping to catch a glimpse of the figure you know is there, now, refusing to be fooled a second time.
For whatever reason, the creature does not bother hiding itself from your stare. Perhaps because, despite its inherent familiarity, the form it takes now is nothing like the nightmarish frame it boasts in the shadows.
Rather, it — he? — dresses in regalia akin to the rest of the masquerading crowd; sleek trousers and a poet's blouse, deep blue, cinched neatly under a bone-white corset at his waist. An enormous cloak hangs over their shoulders, bridged with silver chain, black as night on the outside with the promise of vibrant color hidden underneath.
A silvery mask carved into the shape of a crescent moon is fitted atop their face, and blue silks flow from behind it, spilling down his shoulders and tapering into a point like a vibrant comet, its end adorned in a large, pearlescent bell.
His scarlet eyes are damning on their own, but the ring of that bell is all you need to confirm his identity — you could recognize its song in your sleep.
The irony of it all is lost on you.
The orchestra continues, the stranger's waltz continuing with seamless fluidity around you. A spinning pair blocks your line of sight for only a moment and just like that, he is gone.
Nevertheless, the bell persists. Louder than boisterous laughter, sharper than the click of heels and clinking glasses, it echoes from every angle until you're made dizzy from spinning yourself in circles. Round and round you go, following each chime and always finding him just a second too late. Your effort to hunt him out of the crowd becomes desperate until you drive yourself mad with the sound, until its formerly pleasant ring becomes overwhelming.
You throw yourself into the thick of the party at the barest whisper of its silvery voice and run yourself directly into a guest, their mask coming loose from the impact and falling with an ear-shattering clatter, harsher than it ought to be.
The instruments halt their song, heralding a pin-drop silence.
You're quick to stutter an apology and quicker, still, to crouch and pluck the thin decorative wood from the floor. It is light as a feather between your fingers, hardly weighing a whisper for the violent sound that pours through the room a second time as your eyes raise to meet the guest's and the mask falls again from your hand.
A smooth face stares back. Barren, colors bleeding together where the eyes, nose, and mouth are meant to be, like an oil painting — but the artist forgot to draw up the features, or there was an accident and their hand smudged through where the face normally goes.
You shake another apology from your tongue and stumble backwards, your back meeting with the shoulder of another guest. The incessant thump thump thump of your heartbeat quickens still as you turn around to face the stranger, who shares the same fate. So, too, do the remaining guests lose their masks, each and every one of them falling away in comparative silence to reveal nothing behind them but stretches of empty flesh.
A scream climbs up your throat and rattles your teeth, trapped behind tight lips. You swallow around it like bitter liquor and squeeze your eyes shut, blocking everything out as best you can despite still feeling their voiceless stares burning into you, pleading for mercy between shaking breaths as realization strikes. You need to wake up. Wake up.
WAKE UP.
Your eyes snap open to the chime of a bell.
Scarlet eyes watch you from the back of the room. The figure turns, seemingly indifferent to what is happening around you, and makes for a door that hadn't been there a moment ago, disappearing through it without so much as a secondary glance in your direction.
A way out. Perhaps your only way out. You had no choice but to follow him.
Your knees threaten to buckle as they take you through the faceless crowd, idle bodies who turn to follow your escape but thankfully make no move to stop you even as you burst through the door and spill out the other side.
A single room greets you, empty of furniture and only half as bright. No bell accompanies it, the masked figure having disappeared already, and that remains true until you tiptoe forward and hear the click of the door shutting behind you.
The figure — Moon, you decide —stands before it, scarlet eyes wide and hungry as they settle on your trembling frame. He narrows the space between you with one smooth step and you respond in kind by replacing the distance with one step back, so on and so forth with increasing persistence to bridge the gap until he's walked you against the wall.
“That was almost too easy,” they hum.
The voice that answers you isn’t the one you were expecting. Actually, you weren’t expecting a voice at all. Thus far this creature has been nothing but growls and metallic rings. They’ve never encouraged the idea that they are capable of words.
“Why are you following me?” You swallow the quiver in your voice to demand.
“You followed me through the door, did you not?” He asks, and you can feel the way his grin splits behind the mask. “Come, now, don’t give me that look. I’m only trying to help.”
You can’t help the scoff that cuts from your throat. “In what way is this helping?” You exclaim. Then, thinking better of it, you shake your head, “Actually, don’t answer that. If you’re so willing to talk, suddenly, then I think I deserve to ask some questions myself.”
He stops in place where he had been encroaching on what small distance remained between you, the click of his heel lapsing into silence, as though the notion actually surprised him. Then, inevitably, the smile returns. He offers you a slow nod and gestures wordlessly for you to continue.
“Who—” your cheeks puff out in frustration, “what are you?”
His eyes light up, an expression that twists your gut in the face of his excitement. “I am a star,” he answers easily, “extraterrestrial dust, or something akin to it. A collection of atoms. Memories, thoughts, and concerns. A construct which underlines that which has happened, will happen, and is never meant to be.” He takes a bow, extending the cloak’s wing in his right hand to expose the whirling galaxy that shifts and stirs on the underside. “Somnium devorator, as your kind call me.”
The edge of your fear is replaced with the barest notion of curiosity — and beyond that, anger. This guy is talking straight nonsense as far as you’re concerned, and it doesn’t provide the answer you’re looking for, it’s only created more questions.
“Why should I believe you?” your eyes flicker between him and the remaining three walls, hopeful for another escape route — you don’t miss the way he moves forward each time you aren’t busy with words, “Better yet, why decide you’re going to take on an appearance like this,” you gesture vaguely towards him, “when you’ve been all too content with imitating a walking shadow until this point?”
Their head tilts sloooooow to the side, fingers twitching. The resemblance to a cat stalking prey is almost uncanny. “Thought this form might be less frightening,” he answers, notably skipping right over your first question, “are you not charmed?”
You dislike his choice of wording. More than that, you hate the laziness in his gestures, as though he has all day to play with you. If you were to believe him even in the slightest it would mean you were running around in his mise en scène — he has every reason to take his time.
It’s your turn to refuse him an answer, instead swiftly moving on with your long list of questions. “Alright, let’s say you’re telling the truth. Why go through all of this effort?” Your search for an alternative door returns with terrible news. Only the one exists. Effectively, you are trapped between two nightmares. You need to keep him talking. “What is it you want from me?”
Their mask begins to splinter, a sharp cheshire smile shining through the cracks. Moon’s voice lowers into a pitch that makes your stomach curdle. “I’m hungry, little dreamer,” shrill laughter escapes between his teeth, “and I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”
Alright, screw talking.
You break past him and shoulder your way through the door, more than willing to relive the horrors on the other side if it meant getting away from a creature that would have you for dinner if you stuck around any longer. Only when you’re past the threshold do you spare a glance behind you to see him stood in place, only those same, scarlet eyes following your path as the door shuts again. Turning around, you are met with the presence of an entirely different room.
Rather, a hallway. Bright and vibrant as the ballroom itself, it stretches on endlessly with no clear escape in sight, offering a parade of doors on either side, each door no different from the last as you pace forward.
The door you first came from opens with an audible click, and you need not waste time looking behind you to know who enters through it. The chime of a silver bell sings to you outright.
Your brisk walk turns into a run.
The hall goes on for miles, still, offering you no relief in the form of escape when you enter through a door at random only to end up on the other side. An endless maze that leads you no further away from the masked creature, who follows you down the hall at an easy, nonchalant pace, happy to let you run yourself ragged like this.
Behind him, the room begins to crumble. As though the strings of reality were being snapped one by one, step by heel-toed step, the dream is devoured in his wake — it leaves nothing behind.
The small flame which started in your chest has crept between the gaps in your ribcage and set fire to every limb, now impossible to ignore, it burns and burns and burns. Your lungs spasm in a desperate attempt to suck in air as though every breath will be your last. Your legs plead for relief as they carry you through another door and this one, against all odds, leads to a room most familiar to you.
You’re right back where you started.
The empty room is different this time if only by the secondary door across from you, and although you are just plain sick of doors, by now, you aren’t going to curse a gift when it’s given. Instead, you march forward, pausing at the door you exited from only briefly to lock it in place. You aren’t hopeful that it will stop a reality devouring demon, but you can buy yourself some time at the very least.
Or maybe not. The doorknob twitches when you’re not two steps away from it, a low and frustrated growl slipping through the gaps, and suddenly you can’t get across the room and to the other door fast enough.
Your hand catches on the knob and gives it an earnest twist. Nothing. It refuses to be turned more than half an inch, evidently locked from the other side, and in a brief moment of outright hysteria you wonder if you’re struggling uselessly with the same door that stands behind you, having just locked it yourself only a moment ago. How cruel, in that case, to give you a false sense of hope.
The door at your back rattles and splinters at its sides as Moon rages just beyond it. Then it stills, all at once, and everything falls silent.
You dare not allow yourself to think they would give up so soon, your sigh of relief held hostage until you know for sure that you're in the clear only to hear the telltale ring of a bell echo through the gap beneath the door. So, too, does the shadow follow. A misty presence that you're more familiar with which pries its way into the bright room and recollects itself once its through, mask and all, and you are left trapped for what is likely the last time.
"Silly, silly me, thinking you might make this easy for me," Moon tuts, "are you quite done running now?"
“I wouldn’t be running if you weren’t chasing me,” you retort, nose wrinkling at the accusation. Your back presses up against the door as he ventures a step closer, but only that. You don’t bother trying to hide the noise you’re making as your hand wrestles fruitlessly with the doorknob behind you.
“You’re being ridiculous,” the demon sighs, “this could all go away if you would only let me help you.”
Back and forth, back and forth, the metal twists in your palm like your life depends on it. “Sure, I’ll just lie down and let you eat me, then,” you scoff, “I’m not stupid!”
Scarlet eyes blink behind the mask, quick with surprise. He stares at you with a look as though maybe you are a little stupid. If he believes it, he has no intentions of vocalizing the thought. Instead he deflates at the shoulders with another long, tired sigh and moves the cape aside so he can better reach for you — that is, he extends a hand in your direction, palm side up. Fitted in masquerade regalia like he is, it almost looks like he’s asking you to dance.
“Don’t be scared,” their voice lowers into a murmur, small and harmless when compared to the sharp grin that splits their cheeks. “I need you to trust me.”
You hardly have the time to consider it.
The silver knob finally gives in with a violent crack of metal screws and the door flies open behind you, pulling you back that final step into the embrace of nothingness — not a hall nor a ballroom nor anything at all catches you, rather, an endless abyss carries you down, down, down.
Moon watches your plummet from the illuminated doorway until you fall out of sight.
Your body jolts awake with a start. You’re back in your house again, sitting on your kitchen floor and slumped against the cabinets. Just a dream. Just a really, really weird dream.
Looking up, you notice the microwave still awaiting your input. The cup remains cold where it sits on the other side. Despite hearing its digital response clear as day — and the rhythmic beep beep beep that follows — you evidently never even got around to punching the numbers in.
When had you fallen asleep?
You rub the remnants of shock and crusted sleep away with the heel of your palm and then use the counter for support to force yourself back to your feet, fitfully ignoring the way your muscles groan with a soreness that has no sane reason to be there.
A quick glance at your microwave lets you know that you were out for just under an hour. An alarming discovery, really, because at the time it felt as though you had been trapped in that hallway for years, and plunging through darkness for centuries.
You can’t risk falling asleep a second time.
You decide against drinking that last cup of joe, thinking better of it, since it’s bound to be stale by now and, anyway, all that caffeine might have been what gave you such vivid dreams in the first place.
Still, you can’t help but wonder just how real any of it was, and the first thing you do upon picking yourself up from the floor is warily check around the corners for any signs of the shadowy figure…finding nothing and no one. How silly; it really was just a dream.
You make your way out of the kitchen and into the livingroom, instead, turning on the lamp beside the wall on your way in so it basks the small room in light. The couch springs bounce as you slump against them, eyes already scanning the area for the television remote after deciding that you need some kind of distraction from whatever the hell all of that was.
The feeling of its eyes on you still lingers.
Determined to ignore it, you continue digging along the seams until you find the remote between two cushions, and bring it forward with an exhausted sigh, hopping through channels one by one with no clear intent in mind and for only a few seconds before the screen abruptly cuts to black.
Confused, you try again, digging your thumb into the power button and getting about as far as you had the first time before the power cuts. Again, you turn it on, and again, the same thing happens. You’re less patient with the third attempt and must remind yourself that throwing the remote into your screen won’t solve the issue when it inevitably fizzles out before your eyes.
Irritated, you spring from your couch on borrowed energy and pace forward to look behind the television, just to see if maybe the cord is hanging halfway out of the outlet, seeing as that’s the only conclusion you can think to come to. Everything looks to be in its place, though, and this does nothing but frustrate you further. You just wanted to relax, damn it.
Behind you, the familiar ring of a bell.
You turn around to find nothing there at all (a party trick that doesn’t exactly surprise you, anymore) and march back to the couch on tired legs, adamant to pretend the creature isn’t watching you from somewhere as you slump against the cushions again and reach for the remote. But it’s gone — of course it is — and you search everywhere for it; between the cushions, on the floor, even peering across the room to see if you brought it with you to check out the television, but no. Nothing.
It is with a great and mighty sigh that you leave the couch for a third time, lowering yourself to the floor and climbing onto your hands and knees, deciding to check the space under your couch as a last ditch attempt at finding the damned thing.
A pair of scarlet eyes stares back.
You scramble backwards with an ear splitting shriek, narrowly avoiding the shadowy claws that swipe at your retreating form and tear a stripe through the hem of your pant leg when they catch.
From a safe yard away you see the creature withdraw back into the darkness under the couch, its eyes narrowing in unmasked frustration. A thin line of shadow paces behind it like a metronome, left, right, left, right, the chime of its bell following suit.
A cat lashing its tail in agitation. Charming — cute, even, if this thing weren’t trying to eat you.
Perhaps it is the delirium from lack of sleep or perhaps only spite that drives you to do what you do next, which is to laugh. A noise that has the demon’s eyes losing their beautiful scarlet color, pupils dilating into pinpricks and leaving behind empty pools of black.
“Look who’s trapped now,” you sneer. “Can’t get me in the light outside of in dreams, can you?”
Thoroughly invested in your patronizing, you're much too distracted to notice the way he slinks further into the darkness, disappearing entirely only to resurface a moment later in the extended shadow of your lamp.
The laughter dies in your throat, replaced with a wary silence as you watch the demon slink formlessly around the light's base and up its long neck, careful to stay on the side bathed in darkness. A spindly body peels itself from the shadows and clings to the wall by the palm of its hands, then — with one smooth kick from half-formed legs — your only source of light meets the floor with an enormous clatter…plunging the room into darkness.
Well, shit.
Moon is at your throat before you can think to crawl away, a towering presence that pins your back to the floor and snarls low into your ear. Strings of inky drool collecting between his teeth are the last thing you see before your head turns away, eyes squeezing shut, resigned to becoming the dreaded beast's next meal.
Until the presence of its hand at your cheek brings you to look again.
A noise not dissimilar to a purr dribbles from his throat as long, disjointed fingers comb through your hair, razor-sharp nails kept at bay with each slow, careful stroke.
"I nnnne—" Moon's head shakes from side to side, words drawn with a sharp and tedious hiss, as if each one requires effort to form, different from the ease with which he spoke in your dream — after all, a shadow isn’t meant to talk. "Need you to trussssst me."
That was easier said than done. Still, they make no move to lash out at you, keeping, instead, to brushing his knuckles along the roof of your scalp and down the other side. If you didn’t know any better you would think he was attempting to soothe you, like a parent might comfort a child after a nightmare. And then it dawns on you.
That's exactly what he's doing. Or trying to do, anyway, as awkward and unpracticed as it is. You wonder how many times he watched humans perform this song and dance — if maybe he considered it a ritual, or just something that made the tears go away.
You search his eyes for anything trustworthy, and find the smallest twinkle of light within. "You...you aren't here to eat me, are you?"
Again, Moon shakes his head. "Jussst the nightmare," he promises, "I will not hhharm you."
Swallowing around what small amount of fear you can, opting to trust him, if only for now, you answer the demon with a slow and wary nod. "A-And you’ll leave, after? When you’re finished, um—”
“Devouring, yesss,” His mouth parts to make room for a wetted tongue. It protrudes from the back of his throat to swipe over hungry teeth — glistening like stars in a midnight sky — drips of sticky black crawling down his jaw to land soundlessly against your skin.
You resist the urge to close your eyes again, decisively holding firm, even if your voice is anything but. “I — I can’t be the only one having dreams, even nightmares, around here. Why not move on to someone else?” You watch them pause, considering. It’s hard to keep the chastizing tone out of your voice. Demon or not, this thing is acting ridiculous, if not a little childish. “You could easily find someone else to hunt, right?” A grimace pulls on your face at the poor choice of words but, well, that’s basically what this whole week has been. Endurance hunting. They’ve only been waiting for you to tire yourself out — while exhausting themselves in the process. “I just don’t understand. Why are you starving yourself of a meal?”
An annoyed chitter clicks from between their teeth. “Why are you starving yourself of sleep?”
You bite the inside of your cheek hard, not wanting to let the ‘touche’ be spoken aloud. “You know why,” you say instead. “You saw the nightmare too, didn’t you? It’s worse than anything my brain has come up with in years. Worse than the ballroom, and the faceless strangers, and the endless hallway. Worse than—” your teeth clack painfully under the force with which your mouth snaps shut, decisively keeping that thought tucked behind you, but it’s obvious by his flinch that Moon knows what you were going to say, regardless.
The nightmare that crept into your mind four days prior was worse than even him.
Silence answers you. You aren’t sure what you expected, really. Why would a demon, even the tailed, belled, poor-attempts-at-comfort kind, have any sympathy for a bad dream? If anything, you’re sure he encouraged its existence.
“What about it scares you so much?”
His voice jolts you from your thoughts, catching you off guard. Your answer is interrupted by the quiet voice of a newscaster as your television roars back to life and blue light pours from the screen — forcing him back under the couch with a weak hiss. Evidently, his strength to mess with your electronics is finally all used up.
“It’s…stupid,” you begin, attempting to sound bored as you lift yourself by the elbows and shrug. You consider twisting around to power off your television manually, but the short length of distance between you isn’t terrible. It allows you some breathing room — and an excuse to not look him in the eyes as you continue.
“There’s no monsters or faceless crowds. It’s just me in this big, empty space, and I’m…alone. Unbearably alone.” You smile; a wry and pathetic attempt at pretending even as your own words betray you, hushed into a whisper. “That scares me more than anything.”
Your eyes search his own for any sign of empathy. You’re sure the implications are not lost on him; the single pillow on your bed, the absence of texts from friends or calls from family, your furniture left to grow dusty with no one around to impress. The lack of evidence that you aren’t already living the nightmare you’re so desperately trying to avoid.
The bell rings through their continued silence, tapping gently against the floor where their tail sways, his expression unreadable from under the couch. You fidget awkwardly with the torn hem of your pants and decide to continue, if only to fill the silence. “I don’t expect you to understand,” you admit, “it’s natural for you to be alone — hazards of your line of work, right?”
The words come off as a joke — lighthearted, even if the laugh that follows is dry — but his bell falls silent.
“...It can get lonely, sssometimes.”
Your mouth goes dry, all attempts at humor dying in your throat at once, and you frown. Their awkward form of comfort immediately comes to mind. How long have they been watching humanity from the sidelines, you wonder. Curious if not hopeful for a glimpse of that life. What it might feel like to be comforted, or to hold someone’s hand, or even just have someone to talk to. Even in the crowd — even in your dreams — he kept his back against the wall, entirely alone.
Maybe he understands more than you think.
“You know why, then. Why I don’t want to risk falling asleep and— and going back to that.” Your eyes betray you. Despite your best efforts you can not stop the tears that brim at the corners, thick with frustration and a bone-deep exhaustion, they burn hot against the dark circles beneath your eyes. You swipe at them with the bottom of your shirt, refusing to let them carry down your cheeks. “Even if you promised to get rid of the nightmare for good, I— I cant. I don’t want to experience it again.”
More silence answers you. God, this is humiliating. You begin to wonder if it was childish of you to assume the monster under your bed would pay your worries any mind. Those scarlet eyes only stare, apathetic and cold as the day you first saw them. You decide he isn’t going to give you the answer you want and so move to stand, but his throat offers a whine, halting your retreat, and his eyes are suddenly wide with thought.
“What if I show you something scarier?”
A funny noise slips between your teeth; something between a laugh, and a scoff. You crawl forward to lie down beside the couch, stomach to the floor, placing your head on your arms so you can stare him down at eye level. “Scarier than my nightmare?” You ask, “I doubt even you would be able to pull that off. I’m desensitized to all of your tricks, already.”
The creature’s grin is wide and sharp, that of a truly frightful thing. You wonder, then, why his eyes look so terribly sad. “Not all of them,” he tells you. “How about we ssstrike a deal?”
Your mother had always warned you about making deals with demons. Well, she hadn’t, but it’s common sense not to. That said, your common sense left the stage three nights ago, at minimum, and your curiosity currently ruled the intermission. You wanted to see where they were going with this. “What did you have in mind?”
There it is, again — that shrill laughter. “If I scare you, mmmore than even the nightmare,” Moon begins, “you will sleep for me.”
Your brow creases, eyebrows pinching together. “And if you can’t?” You ask, “If my nightmare is still worse than whatever you manage to come up with?”
“Then I’ll leave,” he promises, “and I won’t return.”
Oh. Well, that certainly sweetened the deal, didn’t it? Especially since you’re completely sure he’s just talking out of his ass. He might have scared you a few days ago — and admittedly, he still does, now — but nothing compares to the dark recesses that have kept you up for three straight nights, of that you are certain. With this confidence in mind, your answer comes easily.
Your hand extends toward them, disappearing into the shadow beneath your couch, and cool, boney fingers snake around your palm in turn.
“You have a deal.”
-
The curtains in your bedroom are pulled shut, the door closed, and the overhead light turned off. Moon crouches like a stone-still gargoyle in the far corner of your room where the soft light of your bedside table lamp can’t get to him.
Lastly, you climb into bed. “Remind me again why I’m doing this?” The covers are pulled back, but you don’t yet get under them. “I don’t like the idea of being a sitting duck, you know. When you told me to turn the lights off I didn’t think you meant all of them. Silly me, I guess.”
“Hushhh,” Moon hisses. They nod towards the bedside lamp. “That one too.” Seeing your eyes narrow with suspicion, they have the gall to sneer, showing their teeth as they finally stands to full height. Even slouched as he is, his shadowed head brushes along your ceiling, too-long limbs hanging limply at his boney sides. They watch your hand reach for the light and hesitate, still, only risking one step forward to plead their case, scarlet eyes aglow. “You trust me, don’t you?”
You very much do not trust him, though you want to. In fact, in order for this to work, you need to. He knows this as well as you do, and you believe he is hoping you’ll cut him some slack, maybe. It’s fortunate, then, that you’re too deep into this mess to turn back now.
“Just this once,” you tell him, and with the flick of a switch your bedroom lapses into darkness.
It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and it is for this reason that you hear the transformation before you see it.
A sound like stretched wires and loosened, plucked seams carries through the room, his shadowed form beginning to lose its shape all at once. Scarlet eyes liquify cartoonishly, dripping like candle wax down his cheeks, mouth sagging in tow like a burlap sack coming undone. The space between their eyes purses open with ease, a gap just wide enough for tapered claws to snag against the flesh on either end and—
Their skin is split open and shred like a viscous cocoon, peeled away to reveal something inchoate, a grotesque assembly of viscera, blackened entrails wrapping around a wiry frame of jagged, mismatched teeth, thin like cords and cables, bleeding together into a blistering excuse of a carcass that drips and oozes and spills along your floor, and it is alive, pulsing along his anatomy like winged insects smothering the bark of a tree
— and from every bend there is a humanesque face, featureless as the masked strangers and protruding as though they are trapped behind skin, and between each shallow crevice there grows an eye, swollen and frantically looking in all directions, the veined tissue stretched thin across the expanse of their chassis, each a vibrant red like the blood pounding in your ears. His macabre torso swings forward on backwards legs, crawling forward on all fours, the remaining six limbs dragged behind like deadweight as he reaches the foot of your bed.
You are not winning this bet.
The mere sound they make — a long, suffocated groan — is enough to make your blood run cold. Goosebumps swarm your arms, every hair standing on end. You retreat against the frame of your bed and face them with a whimper as the tears begin to pour, you can do nothing but sit there, knees tucked to your chest, confused and pitifully lost for what to say for fear that you’ll simply open your mouth and gag. A cold sweat builds along your skin and soaks into the sheets that are pulled taut under daggered claws as this—this thing ambles onto your mattress.
A pleading, vehement shake of your head makes them freeze in place. Your heart hammers out of your chest as all eyes twist forward to meet you with a hideous squelch, and suddenly the very act of breathing feels impossible.
Moon — or whatever has become of them — extends a single hand in your direction. Throbbing bone meets your cheek and brushes away the tears, stilling only when you flinch, and though his ever changing face gives nothing away you can tell, near-immediately, that you’ve wounded him.
You finally understand the careful wording behind his proposal. ‘If I scare you’, they had said. Indeed — worse than even the nightmares, Moon was a terrifying, monstrous thing.
Again does that familiar, shrill laughter fill your ears. "I wwwin."
It's bitter. There is no victory in his voice. He knew the odds and played them well in his favor even at the cost of exposing the uglier side, and now you’re here, pressed against the headboard and faced with a dripping maw that is just ghoulish enough to make you forget about the way he smiled at you only a short while ago.
Your head shakes for another reason entirely, this time. “I—I’m not scared,” you insist, desperate to ignore the tremble lining your throat, “I’m not.”
Admitting it would mean losing and losing meant having to face another nightmare all together, but more than that, you force the lie between chattering teeth because the way he looks at you is devastating, as though he’s realized only now the damage that’s been done. You will never look at him the same way again.
Yet he remains firm, answering you with a murmur. "Come nnnow, firefly, a deal is a deal,” he tells you, “it’s time for bed."
The demon in your bedroom, heinous and ugly and towering, guides you softly beneath your many covers. He fluffs your pillow. He tucks you in. He considers another stroke through your hair, a kiss to your forehead as he’s seen time and time again — he decides against it. Instead, Moon draws himself away from you, imagining that you can’t bear to look at him for a moment longer. Prepared to wait by the empty corner of your room, instead.
You reach out — catch him by the hand. One of many. Viscous muscle dribbles over your fingers, cold to the touch, but your hold remains steadfast.
The sight he is met with when he turns around is that of you propped up on one elbow, eyes wide with fear of another kind, and he can’t help but return to your side.
"Stay here?" You ask. "...I don't want to be alone."
His motley of eyes blink in perfect unison, though he says nothing, at first, thoroughly shocked to silence. Why call a nightmare to the foot of your bed? Was it a trick? An excuse to smother your guilt? They can’t imagine another reason. Yet, undeniably, they watch as you lower yourself against the mattress again and use your other hand to raise the covers, inviting him inside.
And he nods too eagerly — climbs onto the bed in a hurry as if scared you will change your mind, and only then does he squeeze your hand back.
“You’re not,” they promise, “I’m right hhhere.”
Inky puddles trickle against your sheets as they tuck themselves under your offering of blankets, disappearing to the space at your feet if only for a moment, and returning, again, with familiar scarlet eyes that blink at you from the darkness.
Smooth shadow fits against your palm and curls between your fingers, refusing to let go, and as you hold hands with this strange creature — who has brought himself to the very brink of starvation for your sake — you begin to wonder if your nightmare isn’t so impossible to face after all.
“Promise me,” you cram the words around a yawn, “you have to swear to me that you won’t let the nightmare go on for long.”
Moon smiles with both sets of teeth, extending a shadowed hand to you, and offering his pinky. “I won’t leave a crumb behind,” he says, “you have my word.”
Your laughter is wary, but there all the same, a weak and hopeful smile playing on your lips. You want to believe him. You have to believe him.
An unavoidable weight tugs at your eyelids as your pinky curls around his own, four days of exhaustion catching up with you at last, and finally, tucked against shadow, your eyes fall shut. And everything
goes
quiet.
This abyss is dreadfully familiar. The expanse around you is black as the night without any stars to offer relief, and when you cast your voice into the darkness, looking for someone — anyone — to call back, not even your own voice returns.
You are unbearably alone.
A cold chill runs through you, aching within your chest like a broken heart. Your body makes itself terribly small, arms tucking around themselves as tears threaten to spill over your cheeks once more, the feeling of isolation too much, already. It eats away at you until even the darkness feels like a comfort, and you want nothing more than to be swallowed up by it, so that you might never have to feel this loneliness again.
How wonderful it is, then, to hear the chime of bell.
Your whirl on your heel to see Moon before you, dressed again in masquerade regalia, bent at the waist and with his arm outstretched, a charming grin splitting his cheeks behind the mask. His offer to dance is left unspoken, and he will wait as long as you need, but you hardly hesitate for even a moment this time before accepting with a smile of your own.
He sweeps you into a dance immediately, humming the tune of a familiar waltz and he carries you around the dark expanse, hand braced against the small of your back, whisking you this way and that until laughter builds in your throat and the room doesn’t feel so empty anymore.
The stars beneath his cloak escape from the fabric to dance overhead. Galaxies of purple and blue and orange, nebulas that are red and brilliant gold, constellations which illuminate the darkness until the surrounding color reflects underfoot, and you dance across a sky of stained glass.
He dips you with a flourish, cloak tails soaring above their shoulders like wings pulled straight from the night sky, and as his chin tilts to look your way you want nothing more than to draw the mask from his face and see the smile that lies beneath.
He is visibly wary as your hand reaches for its silvery frame, though he makes no move to stop you. Perhaps he is scared that you will hate what you find on the other side ��� scared that he is too frightening, too monstrous without something to cover his face.
But as it comes away, and you are met again with those scarlet eyes, you think of nothing more than how happy they’ve made you. Your hand frames their cheek with another bout of laughter as you mind the many eyes and teeth under your thumb, and when his smile widens so, too, does your own, because for the first time in forever you don’t feel so alone.
And you think that maybe, just maybe, you never want this dream to end.
#DCAH2023#moon x reader#I hope you enjoy it! sorry again for being so tardy#I really really enjoyed playing with this concept/au#might toy with it some more in the future#merry christmas and happy new year!#dream eater au
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Band!141 x Reader - Subway
Just a little something I've had rattling around my brain this week~
You've never run faster in your life, you're not even sure your feet are hitting the ground between your frantic steps as you race towards the open subway car. You can't miss this train. Not today. Please, not today.
Today is the most important day of your life. The day you audition for a spot in the city's most prestigious ballet companies. If you miss your chance, you won't be able to try again for another year, and you don't know if you'll be able to afford to stay in the city if you don't get into the company. And you refuse to go home a failure.
From the open train car you hear shouting. Voices calling for you to hurry. The train was about to leave. Nononono. The door starts to close as you run up to the train, just a split second too late. Then it opens again, a large black boot keeping the door from closing completely.
You look up and see four large men, one of which has stuck his boot out to hold the door open for you. He smiles down at you, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling. He’s older, handsome. His dark brown hair and beard sporting some specks of gray.
“Y’made it love,” he says in a deep, warm voice that makes your heart race.
“Thanks,” you say quickly, slipping past him and the three with him. The car is packed with nowhere to sit and almost nowhere to stand either. Except right near the group you pushed past on your way onto the train. Sheepishly you make your way back towards them.
The one that stopped the door for you smiles again and another one, younger with dark curls, waves you over. You’re hesitant, but you go over.
“One seat left ‘ere,” he says, beckoning to a seat he’d been standing in front of. You mumble another thanks and slip into the seat, trying your best to make yourself as small as possible, missing the way the group smiles at each other.
“Where you rushing off to love?” the first one asked. The word burly comes to mind as you look up at him. He’s wearing a white tshirt under a well-worn leather jacket, a pair of beat up black jeans and a black beanie. Slung over his back is an instrument case, it looks like a guitar, but you don’t know much about instruments so it could be a bass.
“I have an audition downtown,” you say, fidgeting with your duffle bag in your lap.
“‘At Danc’n Knights place?” another one chimes in with a Scottish accent. This one is the shortest of the bunch, though he still towers over you. He’s broad, dark stubble on his pierced face and a mohawk. He’s wearing a spiked leather vest over a black sleeveless shirt and a kilt. He’s standing closest to the largest of the bunch, a large, blond man wearing a privacy mask that resembles a skull.
You nod. You hadn’t wanted to tell them, but the decal of a ballerina on your duffel bag, along with the tight bun you wore your hair in, was definitely enough to give it away. “Dancing Knights, yeah,” you say. “They’re looking for new ballerinas.”
“We’re heading to a recording studio near there,” the second man says. Getting a better look at him, he’s darker than the rest of the group, his eyes are the softest though, dampening the nervousness in your chest. He’s dressed similarly to the rest of the group, another instrument case on his back and a plaid shirt tied around his hips. “Maybe we’ll be seeing you around there.”
You can’t help but smile up at him and nod. He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small black card, handing it over to you. “We’re I4I,” he says. “I’m Kyle, everyone calls me Gaz.” He went around pointing to the oldest man first. “That’s John.” Then to the Scottish man. “Johnny, we call him Soap.” And finally the largest of them. “And big guy there is Ghost.”
“Ghost?” you can’t help but ask, looking over the card in your hand. It’s a thick black stock with the band name and a logo featuring a skull with a sword running through it wrapped in a pair of white feathered wings.
Kyle shrugs at you. “Doesn’t like anyone knowing his name,” he says simply. You nod quietly, then give them your name with a polite smile.
“You’re all in a band then?” you ask, relaxing a little. You were certain whatever they played, it wasn’t something you were into, but they seemed nice enough to at least check out their social media. It was the least you could do after they stopped the subway for you.
“That’s right lovie,” Kyle says. “Next big thing.” He gives you a wink. “Better keep your pretty little eyes out for us.” Your face feels warm at his shameless flirting and he chuckles at you. “We always post when we’re playing next, you should come to one of our shows. We’ll give you the VIP experience.”
“Oh!” you say. “Uh.. sure.. Maybe.” You tuck the card into your duffel. “I’ll keep an eye out if I make this audition.”
“You better make it then little one,” John says, smiling at you as the subway pulls into your stop. “For our sake.”
#141 band#band!141#141 x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#john price#john mactavish#soap#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#gaz
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Title: Mentor Tim
So we all know how similar Tim is to Bruce, I feel like as Tim gets older he promises himself not to become like him, in regards to his closed off-ness and anti-social behavior, gets therapy (boy was that something else), matures as a person and learns to take care of himself properly (not everyone has an Alfred lying around y’know).
So older Tim, who does not want to be Batman (who does at this point?), and considers Red Tornado (Aka; the only adult who really cared) his idol, makes an intellectual decision.
To mentor 10+ young vigilantes, that are basically neglected or ignored by their mentors, that he met once on a mission, apparently they’re the new Young Justice members (why do all the unwanted ones end up there, seriously, has everyone learned nothing??).
It’s not that he planned to mentor the young superheroes, but he couldn’t really ignore them when they took to him like little ducklings to water all because he was nice to them.
The were very undertrained and uncoordinated, and in desperate need of guidance, and Tim who has caused or been apart of some of the craziest shit known to man has a lot of knowledge to spare:
Tim: Leo, for the love of god. Put. That. Down. Number one rule of dealing with magical artifacts or magic in general is don’t touch it and run, don’t walk away if it starts to glow.
—————————
Tim: Keith, seriously dude, if you need any new equipment, swords, knives, anything at all, just tell me. Y’know what I can set it up with one phone call, hold on.
—————————
Tim: Peter, if that jerk at school talks to you like that again I give you my permission to beat his ass, I don’t care what your school or “mentor” have to say, they clearly know nothing about teenagers.
—————————
Tim: Of course you can skip training next week for your recital Sofia, and actually, I cancelled training for everyone when they told me they all wanted to go to support you, thanks for inviting me by the way, I can’t wait.
—————————
Tim: Oh, you’ve had an argument with your parent, Nick? Hold on just a sec.
Tim: Yeah, I just freed my schedule so we could have the whole day to ourselves, I remember those movies you told me you wanted to marathon, let’s go watch them in the big screen room, bundle ourselves in the softest blankets and eat a sh- heck ton of ice cream, while we talk about it, if you feel like it, of course.
—————————
Tim: I noticed how much extensive energy you have even after a full training session, Mateo, so I thought you and I could stay and spar, even after everyone’s done. I’ve brought new training equipment for you to try and researched a few new techniques that correlate with your abilities.
—————————
Tim: Don’t worry about not being able to speak, Amara, I know plenty of sign, in many languages, in fact.
—————————
Tim: *on a phone call*
Tim: What do you mean you’re in a burning building?
Tim: What do you mean you set it on fire?!
Tim: Send me your location, Amber, I’ll be there in ten, no- five.
—————————
And that’s how the hero community noticed how the newly proclaimed Young Justice mentor Red Robin nowadays often had one, if not all, of his ducklings kids students standing proudly next to him.
Bonus:
Tim: Red, I am so sorry for all the years you had to put up with my bullshit.
Tim: I’m basically the only adult- no, person, who cares about them!
Tim: I don’t know how they’ve been alive for so long!
Red Tornado: You are forgiven, Tim, although I must admit, it is quite satisfying that you know of my pain.
Tim, with haunted eyes: You have no idea.
Part 2??
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。MISSED — CYNO.
contents. gn! reader, birthday kissies 4 the bday boy, established relationship, morning cyno = soft cyno, slight hints at his past / allusions to being an akademiya test subject, more kissies 4 the bday babie <3
notes. happy birthday to the man i quite literally started genshin for. i love you king. you are hilarious don’t let anyone tell u ur not >:(
cyno wakes up to a trail of kisses along his cheek, then his nose, then—to his disappointment—his forehead. his lips twitch into a frown and his eyes are still closed as he murmurs, “you missed a spot.”
“oh, i didn’t realize you were awake,” you say in mock surprise, “how lovely of you to join me.”
“do you plan on getting the spot you missed?” he finally cracks his eyes open, meeting yours as he stares at you expectantly. and, well—it’s his birthday after all, so you giggle and lean in, pecking his lips a few times before kissing him slowly.
“happy birthday,” you hum, brushing hair from his face.
not many people get to see the general mahamatra without his head piece, much less without his bangs covering his face. but you? you get to wake up to this—sleepy eyes and messy hair, sun kissing the tanned skin and leaving a honeyed afterglow, that rare relaxed expression on his usually serious face.
you grin, cupping his cheeks and squeezing them slightly as you murmur, “has anyone ever told you how adorable you are?”
“no,” he says in amusement, “you’d be the first. they’re usually a bit intimidated.”
“i don’t see it,” you tease, “enlighten me great general mahamatra—why would anyone be intimidated by you?”
“perhaps because they don’t understand my jokes,” he sighs, “which is a shame. they’re pretty good.”
“i don’t know about that one,” you giggle softly. he raises a brow, and if you didn’t know any better, you might say cyno is pouting—just a little, though.
“you laugh at them,” he points out.
“well, that’s because you’re my boyfriend,” you grin, earning a crinkle in his brows, “it’s my duty to laugh at them.”
“a pity laugh is hardly your duty,” he huffs, hands squeezing your hips as your chin rests on his chest. you hum, pressing another trail of kisses along his collarbone, along the faint scars that litter his skin. “you missed a spot again.”
you giggle, thumb stroking over a thin, jagged mark on his chest. cyno is no stranger to old wounds, to the faint marks that paint over the softest parts of him. the most vulnerable.
he tells you about them, sometimes—when it’s dark and lonely at night, when it’s easy for nightmares to crawl into the sutures of his skin. but then he’s reminded that there’s still a body beside him when your hand reaches for his. so he tells you, quietly with his lips against your forehead as you listen, sharing the stories behind every lingering mark—some from the hard battles for justice, and some from darker moments in his past, ones that remind you that knowledge isn’t always wisdom.
not when it costs so much, not when it bleeds along the skin of the youth.
“i guess you do make a good joke here and there,” you admit, “or maybe i just have a poor sense of humor.”
“it can’t be poor if you laugh at my humor,” he insists, sighing softly when your lips meet his neck, trailing up until you find his jaw.
“it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” you murmur against his skin, pecking the corner of his mouth, “at least you make up for not being funny.”
“i am funny,” he argues, glaring at you when your lips barely conceal the grin they fight back, “i’ll prove it. what’s the difference between a poorly dressed man on a tricycle and a well-dressed man on a bicycle?”
“don’t,” you groan, “please don’t—”
“attire.” you close your eyes and sigh—he takes it as a chance to explain. “get it? attire like your clothes? and a tire, because tricycles have an extra tire? it’s like a play on—”
“i got it,” you snort, “you don’t have to explain.”
“see? you laughed?” he says proudly, earning a huff from you as you slap his chest lightheartedly.
“that wasn’t a laugh at your joke,” you roll your eyes, “i was laughing at how bad it was.”
he doesn’t seem to believe you—and you don’t think you mind. maybe you do think he’s a bit funny here and there, but you can’t let him know, not when it enables him even more. so instead, you go back to leaving tender kisses along his jaw, celebrating every year he’s blessed you with as you press your lips against him, seeping warmth into every crevice and every corner you can find along his skin.
“we should get up,” he mumbles—but his body betrays his words when his eyes close and he tilts his head to give your better access. “i’ll be late.”
“no,” you whine, “it’s your birthday, can’t you go in late on your birthday?”
“that’s not how that works,” he chuckles, “you can’t have your cake and eat it too—”
“okay, never mind,” you roll off of him, “you can go.”
but he catches you with an arm curled around you, pulling you back into his chest as he smiles brightly at you. it’s soft, the corners of his lips, the way his eyes stare into yours, the way his hands grasp you. everything about him is soft—from the way he holds you to the way he loves. in a short bit, he’ll leave your home as the general mahamatra, hard and strict and ever so serious—but he comes back home to you as cyno, gentle and kind and just a little bit lame with those corny jokes of his.
and you love him—through the scattered scars and harsh battles, through the gentle smiles and soft touches, through the cheesy jokes and lengthy explanations.
maybe you can have your cake and eat it too. maybe anything’s possible with cyno.
“you still missed a spot,” he insists. and it’s his birthday, so you decide to lean down and press your lips to his, slow and happy and desperately in love.
“did i get it?”
“i don’t know,” he pretends to think, “try again.”
so you do, again, and again, and again.
hi guys i spent all of the last few days reading fics about cyno being a test subject at the akademiya to study hermanubis until cyrus shuts it down and adopts him and this is my new truth. i love him so dearly and i love cyrus for taking in that lil boy i’m going to sob and scream and die
#teepods.writings#drabbles.#cyno x reader#cyno x you#cyno fluff#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin fluff#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin impact fluff
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