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eoieopda · 9 months

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all my dreamin' | hjs

all my dreamin' is only put to shame / and darlin', all my dreamin' has only been given a name / but it came easy, darlin' / as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame.

pairing: joshua hong x reader summary: your LA boyfriend wasn't built for midwest winters. ⇢ insp. by hozier's "to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuarithe)" type: one-shot | fluff 'n smut wc: only 2.5k! au: established relationship rating: 18+ (minors do not have my consent to interact) cw: afab! and american!reader; cuddling (👀) for warmth; gropin’ and grindin’; k*ss*ng; slow, unprotected morning sex; p in v penetration. a/n: i love two (2) men — andrew hozier byrne and hong jisoo. idk what else you want me to say, lol. barely proofread (sorry!) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Slatted shades don’t stand much of a chance against the blinding white outside your window. It seeps through the cracks, sunshine refracting harshly off of knee-deep snow and stinging eyes that haven’t yet consented to opening fully.

Even though that laser-focused beam of light hits you between your eyebrows, it’s not the reason you’re awake in the first place. The real reason is next to you with his head ducked under the covers, rubbing his flannel-coated legs together like he’s trying to start a fire.

“Cricket?” You mumble.

Still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of, your head lolls to the side. If your boyfriend was still topside, you’d be nose to nose; but he’s not, and he doesn’t seem to hear you from inside the cocoon he’s made for himself.

A little louder, your gravelly voice makes a second attempt. “Are you alive under there?”

“No,” comes the world’s most pitiful whimper from somewhere near your rib cage.

You don’t know what you expected.

With a muffled grunt of effort, you pull the edge of the covers away from your chin and wiggle your way down. In the half-light, you can’t make out Joshua’s face in its entirety. His sweatshirt strings are pulled tight and knotted, hiding most of his features from the air his breath has already started to make hot. All that’s left is the tip of his nose, one eye, and a single, loose wave between the two.

There’s also a hint of a frown in there somewhere when he peeps, “I’m cold.”

You shift even further until he’s within swaddling distance. Wrapping one leg over his topmost thigh, you pull him closer and allow him to nestle his face into the spot below your chin. From where he’s hiding, he can’t see you smirking. It’s for the best, really.

“Hi, Cold.”

“Don’t.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you snicker, more to yourself than him, “I’m Dad.”

Joshua lets out a long groan in reply, but that’s no surprise; you’re huddled so closely together that you felt it building in his chest.

When it grows quiet again, and you’re no longer laughing at your own joke, the two of you each deflate against each other. Yesterday’s journey from LAX was exhausting in and of itself, and the several-hour leap in time hasn’t made things any easier since you landed. Neither has the weather surrounding your family’s cabin, although you’re faring much better than Joshua is.

His groggy voice comes out of nowhere, startling you. “I don’t know why people live here on purpose.”

From the sound of it, he’s already halfway back to sleep. His arm slips over your waist and pulls you closer, and you get the sneaking suspicion that he’d slip into the front of your sweatshirt if he thought for sure that he could fit. Frankly, you’re shocked he hasn’t tried. His clinginess increases exponentially when he’s exhausted.

“The midwest isn’t a choice; it’s a consequence,” you sigh. “I think being born here was a penance for crimes I committed in a past life.”

Without opening his eyes, Joshua mumbles, “Bleak.”

“Bleak indeed, cricket.”

The third time really must be the charm. Joshua snorts, much too tired to laugh any harder than that, and asks, “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Biting back a smile, you tilt your head backwards enough to kiss his forehead — what little you can see of it, anyway.

“That your self-warming violin legs kept me up all night?” Your amusement only grows when you peek down at him and find him glaring up at you. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Lower lip poking out, he scrunches his eyebrows. As offended as he pretends to be, he can’t hide that ever-present twinkle in his eyes. “You could have saved me, you know,” he sniffs.

You mimic his tone with a smirk. “I turned the thermostat up as high as it goes, you know.”

The most you get out of him is a grunt acknowledging that he heard you. Normally, you’d accept this lack of retort as a demurrer, but then you feel his cold fingertips slink below the waistband of your sleep shorts, chilling the bare skin at your hip bone; and it finally hits you.

The thermostat wasn’t the remedy Joshua had been praying for.

As you untie the strings of his sweatshirt hood, you tell yourself that it’s retaliation that motivates your movements — paying him back for his freezing hands by exposing his face to equally cold air. That’s bullshit, though, and you know it. The truth is that you can’t card your fingers through hair that’s covered in thick, grey fabric.

You can’t steal kisses from hidden lips, either.

When Joshua’s mouth is finally on yours, you giggle without meaning to because he still tastes like last night’s spearmint toothpaste. You’d love to tease him for it, but your mind goes blank before you can try. He licks into your mouth, and your snark turns into a breathy little moan instead; he swallows it eagerly, smiling against your lips.

Pinch me. I’m dreaming.

The sudden snap of your elastic waistband against the small of your back makes you jolt. You pull back, lips swollen and kiss-bitten, and balk. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to scold him, however.

“You’re insane for wearing shorts when it’s this cold,” Joshua insists. When you don’t bother to justify your decision — you’re not as much of a freeze baby as he is — he nips at your bottom lip. “I’m grateful, though. They’re easier to work around.”

You’re grateful that his hands have gotten warmer, the longer they cling to you, but you don’t say as much out loud — your body responds for you. His fingers knead into the flesh of your ass, and you roll your hips forward, chasing friction. You find it easily; it’s growing thicker by the second.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He’s still so tired that his words come out slurred — adorable — yet rough around the edges, which drives you the slightest bit wild. “Please do that again.”

“You just want me to do all the work.” You nudge the tip of his nose with yours. The sharp contrast in temperature isn’t lost on you; in fact, you adore it. His sensitivity to cold is one of a million endearing things about him. “Isn’t that right, cricket?”

The half-expectant, half-sheepish look Joshua sends you confirms that yes, he does. But he asked nicely, and this isn’t on the shortlist of things you wouldn’t do for him, so you grant his wish without complaint.

It’s more than a little bit pathetic that such a lazy motion — a fully-clothed one, at that — makes you both moan in tandem. It’s haphazard, the way your fumbling fingers reach for the knot of his waistband. Your motor skills are still asleep, it seems, making an easy task infinitely more difficult. It only gets worse, the more frustrated you get.

You snag a fingernail on the stubborn flannel and hiss, “Jesus.”

“It’s pronounced Jisoo,” he supplies unhelpfully.

To avoid the consequences of that quip, Joshua ducks his head down to leave a smattering of lazy kisses along the length of your neck. Whatever you might’ve clapped back with is replaced with a relieved sigh when the drawstrings’ vice grip on one another finally gives.

Tugging unsuccessfully at the waistband in your hands, you pout. “Help.”

With the way he whines, you’d think you asked him to move a mountain.

Melodramatically, Joshua’s head drops sideways. It lands with a muffled thump against the scrunched-up comforter that still surrounds you. He doesn’t move another muscle until you open your mouth to nag him; still frowning, still uncoordinated, his hands take the place of yours. His hips lift just enough for him to shimmy his pajama pants down — just enough to provide access.

You roll your eyes at his refusal to undress any further, but before he can remind you of how cold he is, you catch him by the mouth. Successfully placated, Joshua accepts your lips on his with an appreciative hum. That sound transforms into something bordering a groan when your hand claims his length and starts stroking him slowly.

Just like that, Joshua melts under your touch, like putty molding to your frame. His leaking cock is the exception; the only part of him that seems awake enough to beg for you. He’s throbbing in your hand and — once again — you can’t help but laugh.

Joshua’s incredulous eyes widen, silently demanding an explanation.

“Some of you is warm,” you offer with a cheeky grin. To ease that wrinkle between his brows, you envelope the crown of his cock with your palm and roll your wrist. The gentle squeeze prompts him to grind forward into your fist, making your stomach flip. “Must be thawing out a little bit.”

“Not fair,” he says, even though he’s moaning with screwed-shut eyes. “Can’t tease me until I’m adequately caffeinated. The Keurig is a million miles away.”

It’s one room over.

The cabin you’ve borrowed from your parents is a mere six-hundred square feet.

You digress.

The prospect of coffee makes it even harder to fight off the urge to yawn, but you manage to do so. You manage to shimmy even closer to him, too, until the only barrier left is a thin layer of damp cotton. It’s his hand that drops down now to push it aside, making you shiver; and it’s him looking at you through half-lidded eyes that stokes the fire simmering in your belly.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Joshua whispers.

If his words weren’t invitation enough, the come hither motion of his fingers is. The brush of his fingertips against your clit is so enticing that you decide right then and there to follow wherever he leads.

You’re the one melting when the tip of his cock replaces his fingers, flicking over that same spot, then gliding through your slicked folds. Each pass pulls another needy sigh right out of you. He takes every little sound he can tease out of you, as if he’s collecting them.

When the target switches to your entrance, however, you go silent. Your fingers grip the sleeve of his sweatshirt, your forehead drops to lean against his, and your gasp dies on your tongue. It comes out of Joshua’s mouth instead, spearmint breath cooling as it fans across your face.

He might never say so out loud, but this is his favorite way to fuck you — holding you close against him, holding eye contact, holding his eagerness back to slide into you slowly. When he watches your breath catch, his pupils dilate; and he licks his lips, as if he tastes the moans you can’t quite vocalize.

For what it’s worth, you love him like this, too. Him and the drag of his cock; the way it makes pleasure course through you like molasses. The way he capitalizes on the angle of your leg draped over his hip, tilting up to graze your g-spot with a dizzying precision.

As hard as you try, you can’t think of anything better than this. There’s nothing as perfect as his hand’s light hold on your ass cheek, guiding you up and down his length; so fucking deep, but in no rush at all.

Mornings were made to be spent tangled up with him.

“Do you hear that?” Joshua murmurs against your lips. You thread your fingers through his hair and nod, whimpering as you cling to him even tighter.

How could you not?

Your arousal floods with every languid thrust, and you know without looking that he’s completely coated in you. And if his satisfied smirk tells you anything, it’s that he can feel you dripping from his shaft down to his balls. You have no reason to doubt it; your inner thighs are a mess.

Joshua takes his hand off your ass just to hitch your leg even higher up on his side. Immediately, you see stars. You can’t even articulate how fucking incredible it feels, having him this deep, so you kiss him with more desperation than you ever have; and you hope he can guess how close you are to unraveling.

It’s impossible to say whether he can read your mind or just your body, but Joshua picks up the pace ever so slightly. As he does, there’s a subtle swirl to his hips when he thrusts into you that has every one of your synapses lighting up like a switchboard.

“Fuck,” is your eloquent, shuddered response.

It’s the best you can offer when you're falling apart like this, clenching tightly around him to push you both closer to the edge. No better off, Joshua seems like he’s barely surviving the way your cunt grips him. His voice sounds as shaky as you feel:

“I l-love it when you do that.”

To prove it, he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip and begs you to open up for him. You comply automatically, earning a pleased hum from him that tingles down your spine.

You’d kiss him like this all day if you could, but the wildfire burning through the pit of your abdomen is becoming impossible to fight. Ironic, you think, given how completely you’ve soaked through your sleep shorts and how much you’re shivering.

Involuntarily, your head tilts backwards as the pleasure blooms. Joshua traps your bottom lip between his teeth — not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough to keep you from disappearing. You know him; you know how much he loves to watch your pupils blow when you cum all over him, and that dead-set determination is crystal clear in the way he fights to keep his heavy-lidded eyes open.

He loses that battle mere seconds after your choked gasp, when your walls flutter around him and you start trembling. He’s twitching inside of you, release spilling, and now he’s the one who starts to laugh.

“What?” You’re still floating somewhere in the stratosphere, but you manage to snort, landing a playful swat on his bare hip. He doesn’t react at all, but you massage your palm into his flesh to soothe him anyway. “What’s so funny?”

In a sudden burst of energy, Joshua’s hands fly up to grab the comforter resting over your heads. With a grunt, he flings it off of you both, thrusting your unsuspecting body into cold air. He doesn’t even notice your startled yelp.

“So hot in there,” he pants. For emphasis, he runs the back of his hand over his forehead. He wasn’t lying; there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his knuckles when he pulls them away again. “Jesus. It’s like a fucking sauna.”

You reach out to unstick a strand of hair from his slicked skin, then you let your arm flop limply back against the pillows. Grinning, you tease, “I thought it was pronounced Jisoo.”

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cursedwoman1859 · 11 months

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Arm Candy (Silco/F!Reader)

“I need someone who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.” Silco needs a plus-one for a fancy topsider party. You don't really have a choice but to agree.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Words: 5.8k

Content: Resolved sexual tension; semi-public sex; vaginal fingering; dirty talk; dubious business ethics

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It wasn’t often you got called into Silco’s office first thing in the morning. You were a paper-pusher, not one of the battle-hardened henchmen who usually hung around the Last Drop, and your work mostly kept you at your desk. Calculations came as naturally to you as breathing, and you could crunch numbers faster even than Silco himself. In the few months you’d been working for the Eye of Zaun, you’d made yourself indispensable. You helped keep track of the Shimmer shipments going to and from Zaun, you effortlessly slipped the profits from the drugs business into the earnings from the various factories and bars and properties that Silco owned, and once a week you’d spend the evening alone in the office with your stern, exacting boss while you went over that week’s financial reports. Silco needed someone to cook his books, and you prided yourself on being the best damn chef in the undercity. You kept to yourself, you prayed he never noticed your furtive glances up at him when he was absorbed in his work, and you did not cause trouble.

So it was only natural that your stomach twisted itself into knots as you stepped into his office, and that those knots tightened when he looked up from the paper he was reading, his bicoloured stare pinning you and making your walk to stand in front of his desk feel like miles instead of metres.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you said when you were near, and the way his eyes flicked over you, almost too quickly for you to notice, did nothing to calm you.

“I did,” he said, his chair creaking as he leaned back in it. You’d definitely never wondered if it could hold two people. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You could swear that sentence made your brain fritz like a faulty wire. “I, um—” Absolutely nothing was the real answer, but for some reason you didn’t want to admit that. “I made plans with…Ran and Dustin,” you said, saying the first names that came to your mind even though you’d never shared more than small talk with either of them.

Silco’s eyebrow raised as if he could see right through your lie. Which he probably could, because it was completely transparent. “Then cancel them. I need your help at an event.”

“What kind of…event?” you said, your mind reeling with all the things Silco could be alluding to. Shakedowns, back-alley deals, assassinations…

“Don’t look so frightened,” Silco said, taking a cigar from his ashtray and lighting it. He took a deep drag, letting the smoke billow around him as he spoke. “Are you familiar with Ko Shosu?”

It took you a moment to remember the name from some of the background research you’d carried out on Silco’s competitors. “Doesn’t he own that factory that makes gears or something?”

“The very same. He’s hosting a party at his residence topside tomorrow night and unfortunately, I’ll need to make an appearance. Shosu seems to think we’re acquaintances. And on top of that, I happen to know that one of his associates has run into some financial trouble as of late. His factory makes components that are essential to the Shimmer-tanks we’re developing. Now isn’t that a stroke of luck?”

“You want to get to this associate so you can get him to work with you?”

“Exactly. His name is Rupert Torek and he’s run up gambling debts with some very unsavoury people. I’m sure he’ll be cooperative once he realises I can lend him enough money to get himself out of debt before his wife finds out.”

You decided not to ask how Silco could have information like that on someone he’d never even met. For your sanity’s sake, it was better not to know. “And why do you need me, sir?”

It might have just been your imagination, but you could swear Silco looked you up and down again. Slower this time. “I thought that would be obvious. I cannot exactly show up to something like this alone. I need someone who can distract Torek’s wife so I can get five minutes alone with him, and who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.”

“I, um—” you floundered for a minute – the words look pretty on my arm setting your heart racing, which was stupid, he’d literally just said he wanted you to be his arm candy for a night, it meant nothing – and Silco raised an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“You’ll be paid overtime for your trouble, of course,” he said.

“That wasn’t—thank you, sir,” you said quickly.

“Good,” he said, flicking through some of the papers on his desk, his focus already slipping back to his work. “Meet me outside Ko Shosu’s house at eight sharp. Wear something nice and do not be late.”

It was a struggle to focus on your work for the next two days. The figures that usually came so easily to you seemed to blur together until you had to triple-check your spreadsheets in case you’d made an error while your mind insisted on screeching Silco think’s I’m pretty over and over like a stuck record. You were sure he’d meant nothing by that offhanded comment, but that didn’t help anything.

It was almost a relief when the next evening rolled around just so you could focus on doing something.

But that relief didn’t last long when you realised you didn’t have the first clue what you should wear to a party at a topsider’s fancy estate. There wasn’t time to hit up the markets even if you could justify the expense, so you settled for a black dress that was simple, but showed off your figure without showing too much of anything else, as you could at least guess that anything shorter than the knee-length hem of your dress might not go over well among the stiff, buttoned-up topsiders. You’d had the dress a long time and had to stitch it once or twice, but surely nobody would notice a little thing like that.

You felt strangely buoyant as you made your way through the upper districts of Zaun, where at this time in the evening business was just starting to pick up. Lines were forming outside the nicer clubs, the street hawkers were packing up to make way for the crowds, and the air nearly sparkled with Shimmer residue as you passed the open doors of some of the edgier establishments, where topsiders went to get a taste of the undercity without actually having to venture below. You couldn’t even find it within yourself to be annoyed at the arrogant topsiders who came to Zaun to indulge in all the things they couldn’t in Piltover before returning to their cushy homes and easy lives. Tonight felt like an infiltration, and it was you who would be inserting yourself somewhere you could never belong.

You met up with Silco outside the gates of Ko Shosu’s estate. He’d gone straight there from a meeting with some topsider businessman, and he was dressed as elegantly as he always was. As you approached you glanced at the people milling around on the wide driveway, and you suddenly felt underdressed.

“You’re almost late,” Silco said by way of greeting, and the nervous knot in your stomach only tightened.

“Sorry, sir. Border guards held me up. You know how they are.” The Enforcer at the checkpoint on the bridge had made a huge fuss over your ID photo having a slightly different hairstyle than you did now, just being an asshole because he was an Enforcer and he could.

“Hm,” was all he said as his eyes raked over you, and your mind instantly went to those little stitches in your dress. You suddenly felt as if he could see every little flaw in you, and the feeling only worsened when a couple of women in glittering floor-length gowns swept past, arm-in-arm and laughing airily.

“Do I look all right?” you said just to break the tense silence. “This is the best I have.”

“You look perfectly acceptable,” Silco said, and that was almost worse than if he hadn’t said anything. Acceptable. You’d be lucky if you weren’t mistaken for a servant. “Shall we?” he said then, offering you his arm. When you hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “Take my arm. We have to at least appear as if we both want to be here.”

“Do you want to be here?” you said as you curled your hand around his elbow, trying to ignore the jolt you felt at touching him, even if he was wearing a coat.

He scoffed. “Of course I don’t. But needs must.”

As you made your way up the long driveway, you couldn’t help but gawk at your surroundings. You knew this wasn’t even close to being the grandest house in all of Piltover, but at that moment you could have believed it. There were at least four floors, the upper two ringed in balconies spilling over with hanging flowers and vines. The next closest house had to be at least a hundred metres away, and in the dark space between you could make out the open expanse of a lawn lit by a ring of ground-level lamps, and manicured trees on each side. You couldn’t imagine what the topsiders would do with such a space – you could probably fit a whole other house in there, even one as large as Shosu’s.

And when you entered the house itself, you actually gasped. “Someone lives here? It looks like a palace.”

Silco shot you a glare as you stared at your surroundings with wide eyes, barely even registering the doorman who came to take your coats. “Remember how I said you were the only one I could trust not to fill your pockets? Don’t make me regret it.”

But you were hardly listening as your eyes roved over the crowded ballroom. It was a sea of fine suits and jewel-toned gowns, with servants darting through the throngs like the quick little fish that lived in the shallows of the river, trays of drinks and tiny pastry-like things balanced on their fingertips. Music drifted from somewhere you couldn’t see, almost drowned out by the chatter, and diamonds glittered at fingers and throats – and even on the ceiling, you noticed as your eyes drifted upwards, or at least it seemed like the chandeliers were draped in strings of gemstones that scattered the lights in every direction.

“Concentrate, girl,” Silco muttered close to your ear, making you shiver. “Remember why we’re here. Torek is over there,” he said, though you couldn’t possibly guess which of the guests he was indicating. “Do you remember your task?”

You dragged your eyes away from the spectacle before you to meet his mismatched eyes. “Keep his wife distracted while you get him to consider working with you. I’ve got it.”

“Good. We won’t need to stay long – an hour at most, then you can go home and do whatever you’d like. Maybe you can even catch Ran and Dustin.” As he said this the corner of his mouth tilted up, and you realised with some shock that the Eye of Zaun was teasing you.

You shrugged in what you hoped was nonchalance. “It takes as long as it takes. You know I’m not one to rush a job.”

“I’m aware,” he said as you started to make your way through the crowd, weaving through the throng as if you weren’t aiming straight for your unfortunate target. Perhaps it was because people knew he was from the Undercity, or maybe whispers of the things his people did in dark alleys and dingy establishments travelled ahead of him, but the dense crowd of people seemed to loosen before him, as if people suddenly remembered they had other places to be when he approached. If it offended him, Silco gave no sign, but instead he leaned in to you again. “He is close now. Laugh like I’ve said something terribly clever, you look petrified.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, but you did as he asked anyway, and it seemed to help. The tension you had felt in the air around you receded a little, and before you knew it Silco was shaking hands with a tall, portly man. You barely heard as he introduced you as his guest for the night, your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears. Rupert Torek had an open, kind face, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiled, and he didn’t seem surprised that Silco had sought him out. You wondered if he had any idea how fucked he was.

“We haven’t met before! I’m Liana, Rupert’s wife,” a voice at your side said, making you start, though you quickly smoothed it over with a smile as you turned to the woman who had appeared next to you, introducing yourself and hoping you sounded like you knew you belonged here, just like she did.

Liana glanced between you and Silco, who had already captured her husband’s full attention. Her brows lowered slightly, and you wondered if she had suspicions about her husband’s gambling. “I didn’t know Silco had a partner,” she said carefully.

“Oh, we’re not…together,” you said, laughing airily. “I’m just accompanying him tonight.”

“I see,” Liana said, though now her smile seemed frozen in place, and you wondered if you’d offended her somehow. But nevertheless she called over a couple of her friends, whose names you quickly forgot, and for a moment you were very pleased with yourself. There was no chance Liana would try to join her husband’s conversation while you had her distracted like this.

It was at this point that things started to go wrong.

In hindsight, you should have realised what Liana thought you were implying when you’d said you were accompanying your boss, and what a topsider would think of that particular occupation. But you were a few minutes into a banal, vapid conversation with Liana and her friends about something that you weren’t really paying attention to before you realised that they all thought you were a whore he’d hired for the night, and apparently found this very offensive judging by the bladed smiles and barbed compliments that started heading your way. It didn’t help that you were inadvertently showing much more skin than any of them – and how you were supposed to know the current fashions topside, you had no idea. Pretty soon your fingers were itching to take off one of your high-heeled shoes and beat Liana’s face in with it, but you couldn’t exactly square up in the middle of a ballroom as if you were in a Zaunite dive bar.

So instead, you just played dumb.

You let the thinly-veiled insults, the insinuations that you didn’t belong among them, glance off you. Nobody spent their whole life in Zaun without growing their own kind of armour. Right now yours was keeping your smile frozen firmly on your face, and so Liana was too busy with you to notice that her husband was making a business deal with the Eye of Zaun himself, right under her powdered nose.

That thought made you glance over at Silco, and the second your eyes met his, you felt a strange sort of calm descend over you. Rupert Torek was still chatting away, not even a hint of discomfort on his round face. Silco gave you a minute, almost imperceptible nod, raising his glass of wine slightly.

It had actually worked.

You tried to keep your face blank. That only became harder when Silco turned his attention back to Torek and you realised that when you’d looked over at him, he’d already been watching you.

Soon after, you excused yourself to go to the ladies’ room. You were pretty sure Liana and her friends forgot all about you as soon as you were out of sight – or at least you hoped so. You didn’t want to know what they’d be saying about you as soon as you were out of earshot.

You didn’t head to the bathroom, though. Instead you went out the way you’d come in, not bothering to collect your coat from the doorman as you went down the stone steps as fast as you could without running.

As soon as you were outside, away from the glare of the house’s lights, you felt the tightness that had settled in your chest loosen. You hadn’t even noticed the anxiety creep under your skin with every barb Liana and her friends had thrown your way, but when it finally dissipated you wondered how you’d been able to breathe at all.

You should go back now that you’d got your fresh air. You couldn’t just disappear.

But one glance back at the shadowy figures moving through the ballroom windows had you moving away from the house, into the shadows of the grounds where nobody would notice the Zaunite girl who was hilariously out of place among them.

The pathways were lit by low electric lights, and there was nobody else out here. You chose a path along the edge of the grounds, shielded on one side by a high wall and on the other by a huge rosebush bordering the lawn. You weren’t sure whether you were really supposed to be out here, but nobody stopped you as you wandered further into the grounds.

Eventually you found a bench and you sat down, tipping your head back to watch the stars in the sky. You’d only ever seen them when Silco sent you up to Piltover on business, and on those nights there was never time to stop and really look at them. Down in the Undercity it was difficult to see the sky at all through the smog, let alone the dozens of stars that shimmered through the haze of Piltover’s lights.

For some reason you couldn’t name, tears sprang to your eyes unbidden, and you tried to blink them away without ruining your makeup.

Of course, that was the moment you heard footsteps approaching.

“Drinking alone already?”

Your head snapped up to see Silco strolling towards you, and it was then that you realised you still had your glass of wine in your hand. You sighed, taking a sip as your boss sat down next to you.

“Just needed some air,” you muttered as Silco slung his arm over the back of the bench. It didn’t escape you that if you leaned back, he would have his arm around you. “How did it go with Torek?”

“I expect we’ll be getting a visit from him or one of his associates in the near future. His wife wasn’t too much for you, I take it?”

“I handled it. But they’re all just so…ugh.”

Silco chuckled as he pulled a cigar from somewhere in his coat, and you tried not to let the sound startle you. You’d never heard Silco laugh before, not even a little, and the sound was surprisingly warm. “Don’t worry, we won’t have to do this again for a while.” You watched as he held the cigar between his crooked teeth as he flicked his lighter, the strange angle of the lights highlighting his sharp cheekbones as he took a long drag.

“You know, I don’t think we’re allowed to smoke out here.”

“I don’t care.” He blew a long puff of smoke out into the crisp night air, staining it with a rich scent of tobacco and spices. “Is something bothering you?”

You searched for words to explain the anger tightening your throat, but came up with nothing that made sense. You were a numbers girl. Words were Silco’s thing. You shrugged. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m asking, so I would say it does.” His voice had hardened, and you glanced over at him in alarm, though he didn’t look angry.

You didn’t want to push it, though, so you sighed and took a sip from your wine to buy a few seconds, feeling Silco’s mismatched gaze on you the whole time. “It’s just…all they did in there was bitch about things. What I was wearing, how I acted, their husbands, their lives. And yet…” you gestured vaguely at your surroundings. The gardens that must have needed a whole team of people to maintain. The lawn that sat empty when it could have grown enough food to feed a whole street of hungry Zaunites. The house. “They have all this, but it’s all they’ve ever had, so they can’t even see how privileged they really are. Meanwhile we have to scrape every penny just to put food on the table and some people in Zaun don’t even get that. If I lived up here I’d never complain about anything ever again,” you finished, and by now you were speaking into your wine glass, your eyes fixed on the ground.

Silco was quiet for a moment, and you didn’t dare glance up at him to see if you could gauge what he was really thinking. You’d never been so candid with your boss before, and you half expected him to leave and pretend tonight had never happened. The very last thing you expected him to say was, “What if I told you that tonight had been something of a test of your loyalties?”

Now you did look up, and he was watching you with that kind of calculated detachment he was so good at, though something in the hard lines of his face had softened. Or maybe it was just the moonlight.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

He took his time answering, taking another long drag of his cigar and releasing the smoke in a ring. “You’ve been with me a short while now, and you’re a very talented accountant. With your skills and some forged papers you could easily find work topside. Something with less risk and more pay.”

You flushed at his insinuation. “You pay me just fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “All wages are higher topside, you know that. You could have walked out of that house with a whole list of people who would pay you far more than I can for the same work, but you didn’t. Instead you stood there and allowed me to work on Torek while everyone in that room thought you were just some girl I’d hired for the night.”

You started to splutter a protest, but it died on your lips when you realised Silco was right. If you’d revealed your real job it would have raised Liana’s suspicions.

“It’s a long road ahead of us until Zaun is an independent nation. The topsiders won’t let us go without a fight,” he said, his voice dropping in case you weren’t alone in the gardens. “There will be times when you are tempted by offers of money, better jobs in better places, employers who won’t ask you to break the topsiders’ laws every day. I needed to know that you were true to the cause, that you would remain loyal to me even when you had the opportunity to make things easier for yourself.”

“You were giving me an out,” you said as it clicked into place. “Why now?”

“Because by now, you know exactly what you’re getting into by staying. Your choice to work for me is a genuine one.”

“So did I pass? Your test, I mean.”

“We would not be sitting here now if you had failed.”

You weren’t involved in the…bloodier side of Silco’s business, but you weren’t ignorant to it, either. You knew what he did to people he suspected of disloyalty. Would he really have let you go if you’d wanted? Or would you have disappeared into the shadows of the Lanes, never to be heard from again? You wouldn’t be the first. But then you realised that you’d never been afraid of that, because you would never give him a reason to doubt your loyalties. Zaun had to break free of Piltover, and he was the only one with the wits, the resources, and the sheer bloody-mindedness to finally cut the undercity free.

A sudden cold breeze blew in off the river, making the hedges surrounding you tremble, and you became acutely aware that you had left your coat inside. Before you could give yourself the chance to think better of it, you leaned back, and as you’d suspected, Silco didn’t move his arm. He didn’t quite put his arm around you, but he traced a circle on your bare shoulder with the back of his thumb, almost as if he was reluctant to touch you in case he scared you off.

“We can return to the party if you wish,” he said, and now he was near enough for his warm breath on your ear to send shivers along your skin that had nothing to do with the chilled night air.

“I prefer it out here.”

“As do I.” He held his cigar between his teeth as he reached into his coat and produced a small metal hip flask.

You couldn’t help but snort as he uncapped it and the smell of whiskey hit your nose. “You brought your own alcohol?”

He took a swig and then passed the flask to you. “Better than the swill they’re serving in there.”

“That swill is probably very expensive.”

“So is this. Drink.”

You took a small sip and were proud of yourself when you didn’t cough, even though the whiskey was strong enough to make your eyes water. A pleasant warm sensation spread out from your chest as you swallowed, though, and you shivered as you licked a drop off your lip. “Definitely tastes expensive.”

You looked up at him, and Silco’s eyes quickly snapped away from your mouth as he made a vague hum of agreement. For a while neither of you spoke, and you only passed the flask back and forth in companionable silence. The music that drifted towards you on the wind picked up in pace, and you heard the occasional drunken shout in the distance. Still nobody ventured into the dark grounds.

“Earlier I told you that you looked acceptable,” Silco said all of a sudden as he tapped out his half-smoked cigar and put it back in the tin. “I believe I should have told you that you look lovely instead.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, and you risked a glance up at your boss – who had told you that you would look pretty on his arm, who had trusted you with this mission and had noticed when you slipped off to be alone. Nobody ever did that.

Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe you were delusional or perhaps just stupid. You didn’t really know why you did it, but before you could think better of it, you leaned over and kissed him.

It was only a quick, chaste press of your lips against his, and you instantly regretted it when Silco stayed completely still against you. You jerked backwards, already apologising. “I’m so sorry sir, I shouldn’t—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence. Silco’s hand was firm on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him and kissed you. Properly this time. It was your turn to freeze in shock, but you quickly got over it as his tongue danced against yours and you tasted whiskey and smoke. You eagerly let him in as he deepened the kiss, shivering as his hand slid up your leg from your knee to your thigh, and for the first time that night you were glad of your too-short skirt.

You gasped in surprise as he pulled you onto his lap, barely breaking the kiss as he made you straddle him, your skirt riding up as your thighs spread. Feeling bold, you ran your hands through his soft hair, and he hummed in approval as you raked your nails through the short hair at the base of his neck. In response he gave your ass a firm squeeze, grinding you down onto his lap.

And onto the hard length beneath you.

You circled your hips against him as he moved down to your neck, holding you in place with a hand in your hair pulling just tight enough to hurt as he bit more than kissed you, leaving marks that would definitely be impossible to hide in this dress. You couldn’t give a shit. No way were you going back into that stupid party after this.

“Tell me how long you’ve wanted this,” Silco said, emphasising his point with a sharp snap of his hips up against you.

“I—” you started, but you could only focus on his hands creeping up your thighs again. Except this time, they didn’t stop.

“Go on,” he coaxed, as if you were supposed to focus on anything except his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. You hissed as he tugged them down and the cold night air hit your pussy, and it faded into a whimper as he trailed his fingers along your lips, pausing to circle your entrance in a way that made your back arch. “And don’t you dare try to lie to me, sweetheart, because you’re already wet for me.”

“Um…” you tried to focus on anything but the soft, barely-there brush of his fingers against your pussy. Every time you tried to grind against his hand he moved away, keeping his touch just a little too soft, the bastard. “I think – maybe…”

“A few weeks?” he prompted.

“Mm – no…”

He raised an eyebrow, but rewarded your answer by pressing his thumb against your clit, though he still refused to give you what you wanted. Needed.

“Months?”

“Longer. Since… I wanted this since my first day working for you.” Finally, Silco slid one long finger into you as his thumb drew an agonisingly slow circle over your clit, and your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.

“Do you want to know a secret, my lovely?” he said, his fingers moving faster, obscene wet noises filling the air.

“M-hm.”

“I have you beat. I’ve wanted this since I interviewed you.”

Your eyes flew open at his admission just as he sank another finger into you without warning. Later. You could think about what he’d said later. For now you just let yourself enjoy the curl of his long fingers inside you, the expert ministrations of his thumb on your clit that sent waves of warm pleasure up your spine.

Until the bastard stopped.

He withdrew his hand from you, and his fingers glistened in the moonlight from your wetness. Your eyes widened as he licked them clean, then he motioned for you to stand. “Get up. Go and stand at the end of the bench.”

You followed his directions on shaky legs, and Silco followed, casually strolling around to stand behind you. You had a good idea of what he intended. He trailed his fingers up your bare arms, then fisted one hand in your hair while the other held your bicep in a bruising grip. “If you want this to stop,” he purred in your ear, “say the word now.”

You only pushed back against him, feeling his hard length behind you.

“I thought not.” Then he bent you over the arm of the bench, the ornate steel armrest digging into your hips as he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties down to your knees. You weren’t sure if you shivered with the cool breeze or the anticipation as you heard him unbutton his pants, his hand still in your hair. Then you hissed as you felt the press of his cock against your centre, arched your back as he slid it through your wetness before finally sinking into you as his free hand started playing with your clit once more.

Your voice rose in a high, keening cry as he sheathed himself inside you, easing the ache of his entry with his fingers on your clit. He stopped abruptly, pulling you up by your hair. “Hush now,” he hissed in your ear as he let go of your hair and shoved his fingers in your mouth. You could taste the echo of yourself on his skin. “You don’t want them to think you really are my whore, do you?”

You choked around his fingers for a moment before you relaxed your throat enough that you could shake your head and make a garbled nuh-uh sound, which earned you a low chuckle.

“I didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart,” he said as he started to move, setting a quick, urgent pace that reminded you that anybody could come around the corner and see you bent over a bench with the most powerful man in the Undercity driving into you from behind as you gagged on his fingers. Every thrust of his hips ground yours against the metal armrest, and you knew you’d surely have bruises in the morning. “I wish we were somewhere I could fuck you properly. Take you apart piece by piece until you’re nothing more than a writhing, crying mess in my bed. But perhaps you do like the idea of someone seeing you, seeing how well you’re taking me. How wet you are.” His breathing was becoming shallow as he fucked you, but that didn’t stop the stream of filth from his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I would kill to see the look on Ko Shosu’s face when he realises we used his party to lure his friend into our web and then defiled his rose garden right under his nose.”

He said something else after that too, but you’d stopped listening to his words and let the low, rough cadence of his voice be the final push you needed over that peak you’d been approaching, once interrupted and now higher than ever. Even Silco’s fingers in your mouth weren’t enough to muffle your cries as you came, your thighs shaking from the strain of standing while your walls clamped down on Silco’s cock, over and over again in waves of agonising bliss. He followed soon after, and you felt a warm rush as he spilled himself inside you with a groan he muffled in your neck.

For a moment you both stood there, catching your breath. You sighed in relief as Silco removed his fingers from your mouth, and after tucking himself away he cleaned you up with a handkerchief before pulling your panties back up for you. “You felt just as good as I’d imagined you would,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your abused scalp.

“Is that something you imagined often, sir?” you said teasingly.

“Most nights,” he murmured into your hair. “And perhaps some days, too.”

Well, damn. You had no idea what to say to that, other than, “Me too.” Maybe you had actually drank too much. “Take me home,” you said, leaning back against his chest as he straightened out your skirts. You felt him smile against your hair.

“It would be my absolute pleasure.”

#arcane x reader #silco x reader #silco x you #arcane x you #arcane x female reader #cursedfanfic #ive been dipping in and out of this for months and now im sick of looking at it so here you go lol

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itshype · 1 year

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Work Experience (DC x DP)

Before he can take his place as King, Danny has to familarise himself with his peoples' cultures. Most ghosts are made knowing all sorts of things about ghost law (for example the Christmas Truce), ghost etiquette and ghost history. Danny got none of that because he's not technically dead.

He spends a year working on maintenance for the Ghost Colosseum in Pandora's Haunt. She offered for him to do exhibition matches as a gladiator but he knew all he needed to about fighting already, he really wanted to learn something in his time here. He didn't know it but that had constituted the passing of Pandora's little test.

He spends a few months working as an Orderly for the Far Frozen as it would take far to long to learn enough to substantially contribute to healing even a single blob ghost.

He spends one week with Undergrowth and Nocturne examining the forces that governed the natural world. Unfortunately, Danny was physically incapable of seeing 'the threads connecting all things across all dimensions' and they kicked him out. Undergrowth filed an official petition to take Sam as his apprentice after her death. Danny said he would consider it and put it aside to show her next time he was 'topside'.

He was slated to spend the greatest amount of time as a Grim Reaper. Unlike humans thought, the dead could get to where they needed to be without any difficulty. It was the not-quite-dead who needed more help. Help to decide if it was worth going back, help to cross the final line if that was what they really needed, help coming back again and again for metas and aliens with preternatural healing.

Once Danny figured out there was a whole species of Ghost who should have helped him through the portal incident, he'd reached out to CW demanding answers as to why he'd had to muddle through on his own. The god of time was ironically, ghosting him, though.

Funnily enough, the Grims are thrilled he's there. As never-alive ghost beings, they often struggle with the best way to complete their work - they've never felt the pressures of being alive or confronted the fear of death or had to assimilate the truth of the afterlife into their worldview. So they basically immediately give Danny all their hardest jobs.

People who really, really should be moving on, their time is up but they just won't let go? People who are ready to depart but their body won't let their soul depart? That one asshole who's soul is cursed to be immortal? Those are Danny's cases. He handles it with as much humour and compassion as he can.

In an unrelated matter, several months into Danny's newest jobs, at a Justice League casual event, several heroes get to talking. Turns out several of them have had near-death experiences recently and they all shared the same hallucination as they went towards the light. Time to investigate.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #ghost king danny phantom #grim reapers #the justice league #dc comics #batman #jason todd #constantine

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akystaracer22 · 4 months

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So I kept seeing designs of Sinner!Adam around and most of them kind of reminded me a little too much of Mammon so I took my own crack at it focusing more on his human appearance.

And I’m not sorry about the results

Design notes and Adam without eyeshadow under the cut!

Design notes:

His left wing is ruined as a way to keep him in hell. Unlike most fallen angels I feel like Adam would actively try and just fly back to heaven, this stops that

The single ruined wing is also a fuck you to Adam. He can’t fly but he still has wings, even gliding would be problematic because of a lack of balance. It’d something he’d quickly grow to hate

The actual coloration of the wings is inspired by fire, since fire has an association with Rock and Roll. Furthermore this follows one of the kind of inspirations: Icarus. The boy who flew for the heavens only to burn and fall. The embers and orange on the topside reflect this as does the underside of the wings. So does the jacket.

With his eyes, I initially just did the normal yellow and black, looked at it, decided he looked too much like a homesick character, and gave him his light yellow iris as a nod to him being a fallen angel. The red fuzz around them is the sinner bit.

His horns come from his mask, but I muddied up the gold part as a way of saying “they’re real this time” the base was uh… kind of maybe inspired by Karlach horns? Don’t judge me.

His face looks incredibly similar to his winner one for a reason! He never took his mask off, even in heaven. It’s something that bugged me so I decided that’d be the main thing he hates, his face is exposed. He probably has some insecurity around his looks (losing both wives to the same man will do that to you) so he’s no longer allowed to hide behind a mask.

The rocks on his cheeks also help with this, he can’t really get a mask made for him because they get in the way, same as the horns.

The sharp teeth are a tie in to Lucifer actually! They both get to have shark teeth

He gets to keep his punk rock jacket, as a treat.

Here’s him without eyeshadow/makeup:

#adam hazbin hotel #sinner adam #fallen angel adam #fallen angel #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel fandom #he’s still a dick #I can drag him into redemption kicking and screaming

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vidavalor · 6 months

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Hi! I loooove your blog. What's an underrated GO moment that you like?

Hi! Thank you. :) Nice to meet you. I have green tea and raspberry scones for snacks today as I just got back from the bakery. *sets up plates*

You know what little scene I love? I love the bit where Shax comes to the bookshop when Aziraphale is in Edinburgh and, in the middle of threatening Crowley, asks him how to fix the hot water boiler in the apartment. It's a little moment and funny in your first pass watching it but it plays even better on rewatch and once you think about it a little beyond just the initial laugh.

In the attack on the bookshop, we see that Shax is one of those demons that is like the angels in that she thinks of food as human and beneath her. She makes fun of Aziraphale for his human hungers-- for food, for Crowley (who isn't in the bookshop when she's saying this stuff.) So, she's not exactly teaching herself to become a gourmet chef in that apartment now that she's on Earth. She doesn't cook and she doesn't do dishes, really, but... she needs the hot water working badly enough that she's willing to swallow her pride and ask Crowley for help in fixing it, which means her human indulgences are hot showers and honestly? If I'd spent millennia in Hell and got to escape to Crowley's place in Mayfair, you couldn't drag me for a hundred years from whatever tropical rainforest paradise shower Crowley had in that place lol so I can't really blame her. Not to mention that there's not exactly a lot of privacy in Hell, if ya feel me? A lady demon who has finally escaped topside of the fiery pits of Hell might be reluctant to admit it but she might have found one or two things about having a human corporation are not completely horrible... maybe so not completely horrible enough that she's desperate enough to go to the being who has not taught her what Google is for his own amusement for assistance with getting that hot water boiler operational again as soon as is demonically possible lol. (Crowley's canonically excellent taste in showerheads is absolutely the most top of mind meta you're going to find today, I know lol.)

Anyway, this means that Shax interrupted Crowley's afternoon of Operation Lovebirds: Shop Lesbian Vavoom to ask him to make it rain for her in the apartment.

He really hasn't done this much weather in ages.

It's also funny to me that the hot water boiler has rebelled against Shax by giving her two yellow lights (Crowley's eyes) and the solution for it, according to black-clad, silver necklace Crowley, is to turn a black tab on a silver loop. Whether Crowley's apartment is just in revolt against Shax or whether we're poking fun at the fact that Shax appears to have a little thing for Crowley or both, it's amusing.

Not to mention that Crowley's little lesson in locating the "hot water boiler tab" involves finger movements the likes of which have never been used to fix a hot water boiler in all our days lol. Crowley's a free-thinking Cupid. You gotta vavoom with your own damn self sometimes-- he gets it, girl. He's all the flavors of Baskin Robbins, Shax, and he's been on Earth for ages. He knows what he's doing. Take notes lol. If you find the black tab on the silver loop, it'll turn the hot water back on and then if you follow his non-verbal instructions here...

Besides the humor, though, this little moment is also happening in the segment of the story in which Crowley and Gabriel have been puzzling out the origins of gravity together. The heaviness of watching Crowley unable to remember building the universe is balanced a bit here, when they remind us through this scene in which he appears to be explaining something he built to fix his problematic hot water boiler that his curiosity and his need to take things apart to see how they work are not things that can be taken from him and that he rebuilds by literally rebuilding things.

(Aziraphale, we all know you've been breaking things around the bookshop for the last two hundred years and then calling Crowley and telling him that you couldn't possibly use another frivolous miracle to fix it or Gabriel will send you another strongly-worded note and would he please come over... and yes, it is a pipe under the sink again, how did he know? lol)

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziracrow #shax #shax good omens

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doggone-devil · 3 months

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How (Not) To Summon a Demon: Chapter 1

I’m attempting to write my first Hazbin Hotel fanfic. I don’t know how it’s going to go as I don’t normally write so much as I draw. I’m nervous but I’m also having fun with it so here’s the first chapter of my first fanfic titled “How (Not) To Summon a Demon”. Also, I’m writing this solo with no beta reader so sorry for typos, mistakes, etc. If you point them out, I’ll go back and fix them. Thank you!

Alastor x Reader

Warnings: demon rituals, stupid decisions, ghosts, paranormal activity

Feedback is welcomed! I might also move this to Ao3 depending on how well it does. 😊 Enjoy! 😊

Summoning rituals have been a pain in the ass for demons everywhere in Hell. Even lowly sinners with barely a sigil to their name could be summoned should a mortal find the right way. It was worse for those with higher power, demons who ruled over certain humanely aspects such as fertility, hearth, or revenge. Throughout the decades, as humanity build past the spiritual and focused more on science, less and less demons were being summoned. Now, the denizens of hell could roam peacefully, spending their miserable afterlives how they saw fit without the worry of being dragged topside.

That is, until one curious mortal just so happened to stumble upon such a book.

—

“Veronica, this is stupid!” you claim, cringing at the dust covered debris you were stepping over. For some god awful reason, you had decided to entertain your roommate and follow them into an abandoned house. Normally, old houses didn’t bother you. You were intrigued in the history, thinking about the people who might’ve lived in them before Mother Earth took them back. Yet this one in particular was just unnerving.

Nestled in one of the many bayous of south Louisiana, this old plantation looking home was wrapped in moss and vines, the swampland quite literally devouring the structure. The floors were barely holding your weight, groaning with every step you took forward as you tried to keep up with your very enthusiastic friend.

Veronica turned her flashlight at you, blinding you momentarily. “This isn’t stupid! It’s experimental!” she moved the light off you, using it to scan the room you were in, a bedroom on the second floor. It was filled with a bed, a dresser missing drawers, and a nightstand. The wallpaper was peeling and the light fixture had fallen years ago. You mindfully step over the glass.

“Just imagine what could be in here,” she spoke, examining the nightstand. “Not just the memories, but the potential of ghosts!”

“Ghosts,” you scoff. “The only thing here is trash, trash, and more trash.” You wonder why you even came. She thinks so, too, as she glares at you.

“You didn’t have to come you know,” she comments.

“And miss you pissing your pants? Fat chance,” you joke, making her smile. True, you were reluctant to come along when she had asked, you still felt reluctant, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying this even if just a little.

“Oh hey! Check this out!” You move over to where Veronica is hunched over. Just below the nightstand, tucked in between it and the bed frame, is a book. She brings it out and sits it on the bed, using her hand to wipe away the dust. The cover is old, leathered, and the markings on it are too faded to read.

“Maybe it’s a dirty novel,” you say, wiggling your brows at her. “You know, some chicks back in the day had to get off with those. They didn’t have internet like we do.”

“That’s just gross.”

“Honey, that’s truth.” You chuckle as she rolls her eyes, opening the book. The pages are worn but readable as she flips through them. You watch from over her shoulder, frowning at the contents. There’s pictures depicting people being beheaded, of demonic creatures drinking blood. It creeps you out.

“I think it’s a book on summoning,” Veronica says. “Look.” She points at one of the pages, a paragraph instructing on how to set up a circle. It then has some kind of image on the next page, a circle with a bunch of symbols that you can’t recognized. A cold shiver runs up your spine.

“I think we should put it back,” you state. It’s suddenly very cold in the room and you swear you can feel something watching you.

“Don’t be such a pussy!” Veronica closes the book and tucks it into her bag.

“What are you doing?”

“Duh, I’m bringing it back with us!” She looks at you as if she didn’t just say the dumbest thing ever.

“Have you not watched horror movies?” you ask in disbelief. “Two dumb chicks find demon book in abandoned bayou home and then get slaughtered as sacrifices to Satan. Am I making any sense to you?”

“You make it sound like you believe it’s real.”

“No,” you defend, “I’m still a hardcore skeptic, but even I ain’t stupid enough to invite that shit into my home.” You turn to head towards the door, ready to leave this hell hole behind. “Put it back and let’s go.”

“Fine,” she sighs. You leave the bedroom and quickly make your way down the stairs, checking behind you to make sure she’s coming. When you confirm that she is, the two of you make your way out of the house and back to your car that’s parked a few feet away.

—

The ride back home is quiet and within minutes, your entering your shared apartment. You go to make your way to your kitchen when Veronica speeds past you to the living room. She’s quickly flittering around, grabbing spare candles and setting them up. You eye her with suspicion and groan when she pulls the book out of her bag.

“Veronica, you didn’t.”

“I did,” she giggles, tapping the seat next to her. You cross your arms over your chest.

“I am not participating in this,” you state, firm in your decision. You didn’t believe in ghosts or the paranormal, or even demons, but you’ve seen plenty of horror movies to know that this is how it starts. In no way were you going to be another victim in a paranormal mystery compilation.

“Please,” Veronica pouts, giving you the puppy eyes. You bite your bottom lip, trying to resist. She even goes as far as clasping her hands together, blinking up at you. You give in with a deep sign.

“Fine. But I’m waking you up if something comes into my room later tonight,” you declare. She nods in agreement as she moves to let you join her on the couch. You eye the book, then the candles. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Not a clue!” she answers. “But, the book has clear instructions. I just need three candles,” she pauses to point at the candles, “and two participants!”

“Well would you look at that,” you mock. It’s a coincidence, is all, as candles are in nearly every home and most households consist of two people.

“Stop being a party pooper and hand me that lighter.” You lean over the couch and grab the BIC, placing it in her open palm. She lights the candles one by one, then straightens up, suddenly looking serious. It takes effort not to laugh.

Veronica starts reading from the book, something about calling the corners and inviting those who wish to join as witnesses. You look around, waiting for something to happen, but so far, nothing does. She continues, beginning to speak something in what you guess is Latin. It sounds wrong as you remember your old high school Latin teacher being strict on pronunciation, but you don’t correct her. When she finishes, she claps her hand and looks expectantly to the empty space in front of her.

Nothing.

A minute passes.

Nothing.

“I don’t get it,” she sighs, slouching back into the couch. “I did everything it said to.”

“Have you thought that maybe it’s just not real?” you offer.

“Ok, but just once, I was hoping it was. I mean, look at the book! It’s so old and weird, I thought it could be legit, ya know?”

“Yeah, but sadly, we live in a place I like to call reality!” you say, using your hands to make a fake rainbow in the air. She huffs a laugh and sits back up, standing off the couch.

“Well, since a hot and sexy demon didn’t appear, how about I go grab us some food?” she asks, already going to grab your keys.

“Oh, pizza?”

“Pizza it is! I’ll be back in like, thirty minutes.”

“Cool, drive safe!” you call out as she leaves. Once it’s just you, you look back at the book, smiling at how silly it all was. Demon summoning. As if. You pick up the book and look at the Latin she had read. It was fuzzy and you’re only able to recall a few phrases. It’s less an incantation like you thought and more of further instructions. It tells the reader to place their finger once pricked on top of the signal and recite the summoning phrase.

You look at the front door then back at the book. It’s silly. You know for a fact demons aren’t real. This book was just some kind of occult hoax. So then, why did you want to give it a try?

Sighing, you reach into the drawer of the side table next to the couch, pulling out of the mini sewing kits you had for emergencies. You pull out a needle and prick your finger, wincing as a drop of blood pooled to the surface. You pick the book up with your other hand and press your finger down into the middle of the sigil. With a deep breath, you recite, “Daemon avaritiae, voluntatum et actuum, te voco. Veni et da mihi desideria mea.”

You close your eyes, waiting for something to happen. There’s just silence and still air. You can faintly hear the hum of the refrigerator. Your shoulders relax and you let out a nervous laugh. “Knew it,” you mumble to yourself, “just a stupid - .” You stop as your eyes stay fixated on the candles. The flames are flickering, raising higher then dropping back down, higher again, like they’re dancing. You feel the temperature drop, just like it did at that house.

“Ok, this isn’t funny,” you whisper, moving your legs to that they’re pulled up to your chest. You gasp when the flames go out, along with the electricity, submerging you into darkness.

“Oh, darling, I can ensure you I’m not laughing,” a voice deep responds and you scream, jumping off the couch. You can’t see anything, trying desperately not to trip over furniture. Of course an intruder decides to show up now when you were attempting to summon a demon.

“W-Whoever you are, I-I have a gun!” you shout, trying to sound tough but failing as your voice cracks and falters. You weren’t lying, you had a gun for just this occasion, but it was tucked safely away. In your bedroom. Where you were not. Great.

A deep chuckle rumbled in the darkness and you gulp, reaching around blindly to try and find purchase on anything. You felt your back press against something cold and felt behind you, relieved to find the wall. Now you just had to find a door, something to bring a barrier between you and whoever the fuck was in your house.

You’re searching for a knob when light suddenly fills the room, a figure stepping in. You scream, making the other person scream, too.

“The fuck is wrong with you!” Veronica shouts angrily, flipping on a light switch. You squint as light hits you. “Are you trying to scare me half to death?”

You run over to her, trying to push her out the door. “We have to go! There’s someone in here!” you warn her, pushing harder, but she won’t budge.

“Girl, what are you talking about? There’s no one here!” You turn to protest, to point at the man who had been talking mere seconds earlier, but she’s right. As you scan the room, there’s no one to be seen.

“No, no, no. He was just there. I was on the couch, doing the ritual, and he -“

“Wait, you actually tried it, too?” she asks but you ignore her.

“- he spoke behind me when the lights went off! He was, he was…,” you trail off, feeling frantic, panicked. Had you just imagined it all? Had you paranoid yourself that badly from the ritual that you hallucinated the whole thing?

Veronica called out your name, making you look at her. “I think you need to go lay down. You don’t look to good.” You nodded slowly, agreeing with her. You did feel tired.

“Y-Yeah, I‘ll just…go lie down.” She sat down the pizza and held your hand to your bedroom, making sure you made it to your bed before bidding you goodnight. Once the door was shut, you were left alone in your room. You looked around it, suddenly aware of the darkness creeping in around the edges. It unnerved you and you quickly turn on your lamp next to your bed. It fills in the empty spaces, bringing clarity as you took note of every little detail of your room. It eased your mind, being able to see everything.

You shoved the blankets back and crawled under them, exhaustion hitting your hard once your head laid on to the pillows. With a stifled yawn, you close your eyes and attempt to forget about the whole thing as you fall asleep.

Masterlist ; Ao3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #the radio demon #alastor hazbin #Alastor x reader #Alastor x you #Alastor fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfic #fanfic

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coffeeghoulie · 10 days

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Mushy May Day 24: Acts of Friendship

Dew's been a little cold to the new ghouls. He aims to fix that.

Thank you so much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for making the dividers <3

Dew's quiet around them for the first few weeks. Testing the waters. Two new faces shoehorned into his pack only a few Topside years after the last time his pack had been turned upside down. Nobody can blame him for being a little cold.

It's easy enough to do, he just holds onto his stage personality a little longer, spine straight, arms crossed behind his back. He grits his teeth as he watches them slot into the spots his mate held, his Sunshine held, and he knows it's not their fault, but it's still like rubbing hand sanitizer into a paper cut you don't know you have.

Dew misses Aether, misses the way things were, swallows past the lump in his throat. His packmates seem to be having an easier time accepting Aeon and Aurora than he is.

He watches Swiss sidle up to Aeon, watches him get on his knees for Aurora. The ghoulettes, ever the tight knit group, accept Aurora as one of their own from the moment she had been pulled from the summoning circle. Mountain and Rain ruffle Aeon's hair, the new bug eager to please.

Rituals are surprisingly still the same, minus the vacuous hole that resides out of the corner of Dew's right eye where his mate would be standing. Aeon is a remarkable guitarist, and they do their best to fill their role with exaggerated stage presence.

The amphitheater is stubbornly warm long after the sun's gone down, heat clinging to them and their heavy uniforms. Dew has never felt out of his element here. This is what he was summoned to do, and Lucifer be damned, he does it well.

The fans scream as he steps up to the edge of the stage, glaring menacingly through the lenses of his helmet, fingers flying over the strings of his Stratocaster. If he shuts his eyes, it all feels the same.

There's a lull, Papa addressing the masses, and Dew stands statue still, scanning through the crowd. A ritual-goer, wide eyed in awe, gestures up at him with a bouquet of flowers. He cocks his head, lips quirking up underneath his balaclava.

Dew reaches, bending down as the fan tosses him the flowers, squealing all the while. He actually manages to catch them this time. The breatheable fabric does dull the scent somewhat when he sticks his entire face into the bouquet, but thanks to his ghoulish senses, it's still incredibly sweet.

He nods, thanking the fan, their eyes wide and reflecting the stage lights. Dew takes a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder at the ghoulettes behind him, turning on the heel of his boot to walk towards their platforms.

Dew stops at the foot of the platform nearest his mark, staring up at the littlest ghoulette, one arm behind his back.

Aurora's not muzzled like him, Rain, and Aeon. Dew can see the way her glamour slips just a little bit, fangs on full display as she grins delightedly. Worlds away from them, the crowds scream, desperate to watch the ghouls interact.

"Aw, Dew!" she squeals, thankfully far enough away that her mic doesn't pick it up. She presses her hands together in front of her mouth, the bright teal-lined cape swaying behind her as she bends down to accept the flowers. "Thank you," she whispers, and her dark green eyes meet his through the lenses of their helmets. "Seriously, thank you."

He nods, bowing a little bit. Dew opens his mouth to speak but doesn't trust his voice right now, just brings his arm back behind his back.

Aurora sets the flowers down on the back of her podium, where they're not in danger of her accidentally stepping on them when she dances. Dew smiles as he makes his way back to his spot. He glances over towards Aeon, who's staring raptly at him, and Dew doesn't need to actually see their expression to know how eager they are that he's reaching out to his summon mate

The two of them are growing on him, worming their way into his heart, and he finds he doesn't quite mind letting them in. There's room.

#i need to write rory and dew more they are an underappreciated pair together #dot's writing #mushy may 2024 #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #dewdrop ghoul #aurora ghoulette

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greycaelum · 1 year

Text

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters { Blue }

—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Synopsis: a date with Satoru and finally knowing your Sunshine's gender

𑁍 Genre: family theme, fluff, very mild angst if you squint, comfort

𑁍 CW/TW: (2.6k)—pregnancy, domesticity, suggestive content, kisses, mild profanity, mentions of pregnancy fear, overall fluff

𑁍 Grey ✒️☕: this chapter is dedicated for { @afortoru } thank you for being here pretty one, I'm delighted to meet you and know you even in such short time! So for now let this be your bookmark in this lil'corner and my good luck charm for you —XOXO

Satoru diligently packed several tumblers of the chilled fresh orange juice in the bag along with some packed lunch and oranges. He knows how cute you look whenever your cravings are satisfied. After all, no one wants a grumpy pregnant wifey.

Now, he just has to wait for you to get ready, so both of you can go.

Having two children, naughty ones at that, and with an incoming one or more, people often wondered how the two of you are doing in your marriage. Hopeless as he is, Satoru knows he's often away and he has to make up for it.

"Love, helpppp!" You hollered from upstairs sending him to a mini heart attack, traversing the kitchen to the bedroom in one warp.

There you are standing in front of the mirror in a powder blue maternity jumper dress, holding a pair of socks with a pout on your lips. He could see the little beads of sweat forming on your temples, telling your struggle before you called out for him. Your 26 weeks bump, which he could say is a little bigger than usual, is making it harder for you to bend.

Pretty little thing. You're gonna make him crazy with your antics.

"Really? We're inside the house and you go warping around?"

"Well, someone's trying to give me a scare with her bloody scream." Satoru chuckles and takes the sock in your hand, guiding you by the hip to the nearby chair while he kneels and holds your swollen foot.

He has seen you swollen with his child two times and still seeing you waddling around with your pretty baby bump gets his nerves giddy and his heart fluttering.

"What are you grinning about, Love?" You owlishly blinked at him.

"Mnnn, that you're really beautiful." Satoru smiled. And he meant it, so much that after all these years he thinks his crush on you never faded. The way you giggled at his compliment as he kisses the peak of your bump is so calming he wants to keep you in his arms all day long.

But that's for another time. He's got plans for you today.

"Could you now tell me where we are going?" You stare at Satoru and huff. He never told you anything about this date. Only telling you to dress comfortably and dragging you to walk somewhere you don't know.

"Later you'll see."

Your arm loosely hang around Satoru's waist, while the other held your orange juice occasionally sharing a sip with Satoru while waiting for the green lights at the crossroads. Satoru held your shoulders to keep you from bumping into anything, while his other arm carried your bag.

From time to time gazes fall on the two of you, walking past the neighborhood. It's not usual to see a couple walking around leisurely. Satoru paired your look with his loose white button-up shirt tucked in his blue chinos and a pair of white topsider going for a cutesy blue and white palette for your date.

"Oh, is that your first? Such beautiful parents for a little one." One of the grandmothers in the neighborhood greeted the two of you. Walking around, there are times pleasant people greet you for small talk, especially seeing you with a baby.

"Thank you, it's actually the third." Satoru grinned proudly, his hand that was on your shoulder slid down to rub your belly.

Show off. You snorted and thanked the lovely lady.

"Really 'Toru, where are you going?" It's not the usual district you go strolling around. It's been a while since you had a walk around the town. Being swollen and pregnant easily exhausts you, opting you to be a couch potato in the house after sending off the kids to school.

Satoru knows that that's why he arranged this little excursion for the two of you. Away from looking after the kids, and just simply as a couple.

"We're..." Satoru trailed off and halted in front of a tall building. "Here it is, ta-dah!"

"Palettes & Paint" you read the artistic signboard of a cozy-looking cafe with floor-to-ceiling window walls and inside is a vintage brown vibe space.

You let him pull you in, donning the apron over you, and sat on a corner with different kinds of paint and paper. While you're not particularly inclined to do this, watching Satoru focused on his canvas, mixing paint and all is a sight in itself. Besides you are snacks and some creamy drinks Satoru ordered.

"Why painting, Love?" Mindlessly you brush the stray hair over Satoru's forehead and propped your elbow to support your cheeks.

"Nothing, just thought it'd be nice for Sunshine to enjoy art." Satoru turned to you and grinned. "You're staring, Baby"

"Uh-huh, which baby do you mean?." You smiled and went back to your canvas.

"My first Baby."

Satoru inches closer and press a kiss on your cheeks, and went back to his work with a boyish grin. Satoru watch your lips pursed, hiding the smile blooming on your face.

"I'm going for a doctor's appointment, they said we can finally see the gender. Do you have time this Friday, Love?" Carefully you draw a cute snout on your painting.

Satoru has been looking forward to this moment. Kouki and Saika have been bantering about the little one's gender. For Satoru, he is fine in any way, he's just so happy right now that he can't think much of the gender.

"Of course, I need to be there. What do you think of our Sunshine's gonna be?"

Your hand froze, and setting down your brush you look at the painting you made. It's a cute white wolf, with equally blue eyes as Satoru has.

"A boy... I guess." You chuckled lightly. Poor Saika if that ever happens, she'll have a riot every day with all the boys in the house.

A boy huh? Satoru brushed his chin.

Lately, he has been visioning a little girl looking so much like you. Crawling all around the house. Saika and Kouki would fawn at her so much, knowing those two were asking for a sibling that has your hair. And he too, wants to see a baby looking so much like you.

"Love? You're spacing out."

Satoru snaps out of it and laughs to himself. Thoughts of babies with you are his distraction.

"I think it's a girl."

"Really?" You laughed. "Kouki's gonna be overpowered by his sisters."

Looking at you right now. Glowing and happy like this, he thinks that maybe he should bring you out more often. There's that trend going on about a babymoon. Going to the ocean with you and the kids sounds nice. But he thinks that if he sees you in a bikini, Satoru would go batshit feral. Seeing his wife is all sexy and pregnant with his baby, even for him is too much.

You're the best mother for the kids and the best wife to him. Always making sure the house is ready when they get home. Arranges stuff that he can't handle in the Gojo Estate. Your patience must be that of a saint, knowing Satoru is often away and you have to deal with more than you can handle. Having obligations is already enough, but watching over two kids as well...

You're really strong and smart to handle it all and still love him without hating his lacking.

"We should go together in your Lamaze classes." Satoru brush away the stray hair on your cheeks. "I only got to do it thrice with you."

Once with Kouki, and twice with Saika. His schedule back then was such a mess that even on weekends he has work. Satoru's eyes landed on your baby bump.

But for this little one, time couldn't be more perfect with the relatively peaceful period.

"Oh, by the way, what are you drawing Love?"

"Hmmm?" Satoru showed you his canvas. "Hey! What's with your constipated face? This is art y'know!"

"No matter what you say it looks more horrible than a grade 3 student's doodle." Perhaps it's time Satoru accepts the only thing he's good at mixing colors is his curse techniques.

You promised the two munchkins that you'll pick them up from school after the doctor's appointment. Satoru has to slip in a little more bribing just to ease up the two cats who were ready to sulk after hearing they can't come with you to see their baby sibling.

"Hi Mrs. Gojo, are you ready to know your baby's gender?"

It was a split second but you certainly felt someone stiffened. You turned to see Satoru smiling at you, except that his forehead is a little sweaty even with the air conditioning.

Silly one...

The sonographer applied the gel and the transducer and let you relax. Satoru held your hand, while his eyes are so focused on the monitor. The sonographer is explaining the position of the baby.

"Is that the eyes?" Satoru's jaws fell open. "He just opened his eyes!" Satoru looks at you, shock written all over his face. You could swear he grew pale by several degrees. You have to hold his hand a little tighter because Satoru is too blown away that he doesn't notice his palms are sweating coldly.

"Ah yes, the baby's eyes are partially open by 26 weeks, but don't worry it's not yet the final shade of his eyes." The sonographer kindly explains this to your flabbergasted husband.

"Hey, Love. Are you okay? You're so pale." You chuckled as Satoru brought the back of your palms to his lips, kissing it over and over again. It's not like it's his first time, but damn does it makes him so nervous.

Seems like the sonographer can tell as she finally asks the question.

"Would you like me to write down the gender—" but the sonographer froze all of a sudden, all eyes glued to the screen.

"Uhm, is that another head am I seeing?" You blinked several times to confirm your vision.

"Uh, I think we need a second opinion here." The sonographer looks at you, nodding at your question.

There are cases of pregnancies where you're pregnant, and got pregnant again, maybe days or weeks apart, but certainly carrying two babies at the same time. There are very rare cases called superfetation. In most cases, it was made possible by artificial reproductive technology, but yours was simply a miracle.

"So I'm technically pregnant at the same time, but it's not twins?" You look at your ob-gyne. The fear starts to creep in with the sudden revelation.

"Yep, that is right. And judging from your ultrasound, they're growing one week apart. The little one here has successfully hidden behind the older one until now." Your doctor smiled at you.

Satoru has been listening, and he's blown away by this.

"What do we need to do to keep my wife and babies safe? Complications? Treatments? Does she need medicines? Listen the money doesn't matter. I just need my wife and kids, safe." He's adamant about this. Desperate is an understatement. There's no way he'll gamble about you or his kids.

"Love calm down." You reach for his hand. Even if your mind is reeling too.

"To be honest, the thing that we should look out for most is the babies' growth. The older one may be ready for birth while the younger one is still not. But seeing that they're only one week apart, that lessens our worries." You Ob-Gyne assured you with a bright smile. "I know this sounds very daunting, but despite this unseen situation, it's possible for both babies to be born fully developed and completely healthy."

Several thoughts are running through Satoru's head. This is fine, he has to support you. This is totally fine. There are cases of mothers pregnant with four kids at the same time. That's right, he should be more mindful so he can keep an eye on you and your delicate situation.

But damn, were his little swimmers that strong to get you pregnant twice? Guess, staying up all night romping on the bed really did a number on you.

Flick

"Owww!" Satoru rubs his forehead and looks at you, your brow raised at him.

"Seems like Mr. Gojo is too excited to even listen." Your OB chuckled and opened a small paper. "So, would you like to hear the gender?"

"Can you just write it Doc? We wanna open it with our kids." Feeling the way Satoru grips your palms. You couldn't agree more with him. Satoru discussed more with the doctor while you waited. He was meticulous about your vitamins and symptoms he should look out for. Seeing him going through almost everything somehow eases your nerves.

But really you're scared. Can you handle two children at the same time? What if you can do it? You'll end up neglecting one or the other, or your body can't take all at once that you'll—

"Shhh, I'm right here." Satoru brought your head to his chest, feeling the reality sinking in as the clinic doors close. "I'm right here, Baby."

You nodded, just listening to Satoru's heartbeat and cooing until your emotions and hormones calm down.

Leaving the hospital you're feeling clammy with the sudden news. You're never ready for this. Is this why you're more adept at your cravings? Or feeling more clingy with Satoru in the morning...

The chauffer discreetly pulled up the partition to give his madame and sire privacy.

"Baby." Satoru brought you out of your trance. "The kids are in the house, do you want me to pick up a cake or something on our way?"

You nodded absentmindedly. Satoru could see your thoughts are still suspended in the air.

"I know this is scary for you, for us. But I couldn't wish for more, and just so y'know, I would do everything in my power to protect you, the mother of my kids, and these little ones here." Satoru protectively laid his palm over your belly, caressing the bump before pressing a soft kiss on your lips. "And you two in there, better not give okaa-chan a hard time or else otou-chan's not gonna share my strawberry daifuku with you anymore." Satoru huffs seriously.

It's gonna be alright...

Your lat your head on Satoru's shoulder, inhaling his scent. This time he really did took a bath with the soap you gave him, so he's not stinky.

"I want to eat chiffon cake 'Toru. I'm so hungry."

"Hai, hai, anything for you Honey."

"And we should make a bet, the loser will change the diapers."

"Yes Ma'am." Satoru shakes his head. Even if he wins he knows he'll be the one to change the diapers anyway.

The car didn't even pull up but the front door busted open with Kouki and Saika running to greet you both.

"Mama! Mama! How was it? Is it a sister?"

"It's a brother, right Mama?"

Satoru ushered you three inside the house while holding the chiffon cake.

Kouki immediately ran to the genkan and help you out on your slipper while Saika held your hand to keep your balance. Kouki did the same for his Papa.

"Mama are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?" Sai look at you with a worried look on her face as she climbs on the couch beside you.

"I have orange juice Mama," Kouki ran to the kitchen bringing you a tumbler of chilled fresh orange juice immediately lightening your mood.

"Mama's fine, sweetie. Thank you sweetheart. You see, Mama and Papa has a surprise for you!"

You glance at Satoru bringing out the cake with a lit candle on it. Totally unnecessary but who are you to question your husband's shenanigans? Even if you said no, he'll do it anyways.

You brought out the envelope from the ob-gyne and the kids are squealing in excitement. Kouki clung to your arm so tight and Saika was giggling as she waved at her Papa to sit down.

"Let's see." Satoru set the cake down on the table and joined the huddle, putting Saika on his lap while Kouki curled under your arm.

"It's a girl..." Saika gasp.

"It's a boy!" Kouki cheered.

They were jumping up and down, realization finally sinking in until they stopped and looked at you and their Papa smiling so wide.

"Why is it two?!" They chorused.

You hit Satoru's chest, keeping your laughter contained, while Satoru chuckled sweeping in to kiss you senseless.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey

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queenendless · 5 months

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🪶❣️🪽This Bird's Beauty (Keigo Takami/Hawks x Adult!Fem!Reader)🪽❣️🪶

A/N: Testing the waters and getting back to writing BNHA stuff. This time on my recent simping/comfort character.

AU time, already established relationship, tickle fluff, and emotional stuff cause I'm an emotional wreck right now.

Plus I have read a lot of tickle fluff with this man and now I want in on it! There is some in here so I count that!

The past month and so this bird man has been on my mind. And I need new anime husbandos to write for!

PLEASE DON'T PLAGARIZE STEAL COPY TRANSLATE AND OR REPOST MY FANFIC CONTENT. Rather reblog like and follow please and thnx u.

Another day in Kyushu.

Another busy patrol.

All to attain his long-term goal of heroes having too much free time on their hands.

Worn out, scuffed here and there, and gliding slowly above his hometown, the #2 hero Hawks was heading back to his favorite spot in the city.

A conversation from earlier surfaced in his mind.

“No villain stands a chance against you, Hawks!” One of his sidekicks ego boosted him.

“And no hero for that matter.” His other sidekick remarked.

Hawks chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Endeavor would disagree on that last one. Even the fastest hero alive can't handle the flames so well.”

“And does the fastest youngest hero alive have their eyes set on anyone lately~?”

“I've got my whole life before this young bird settles down in the nest.” That was his ending remark before saluting off to his crew and flying on outta there.

“Still …” He murmured to himself as he took a certain familiar route through the air. “I've already got my sights set on a particular birdie~”

A precious light amongst the seas of blurred smudges.

Saving you on more than one occasion.

Just a regular quirkless person.

Coincidence turned into a kinda sorta reason.

Spotting you between patrols and breaks.

An instant curiosity turned to intrigue.

Walking with you, talking with you about anything besides hero work, getting some fried chicken together.

This new constant of his day-to-day life as the #2 hero of Japan became the one constant he wished to keep hidden from the rest of the world.

One minute you're the breath of fresh air that he gladly partakes in. The next thing he knows, seeing you waving at him one day had his stoic face burning up at how much his heart was racing.

Your genuine gaze, your comforting scent, your infectious laughter —

Razor sharp vision spotted your apartment a mile away as he arrived at the more tranquil suburbs set against the rowdy cityscape.

He could immediately visualize you reading something curled up on your fuzzy soft rug in your bedroom, laying on your tummy as your bare legs crisscrossed in the air, your balcony door cracked open to let in the fresh air.

“All too easy.” He snickered as he sent several of his small feathers to zoom in through the opening.

Your recognition of the tough supple fuzziness that is his feathers stroking your bare soles had you rubbing away those tingling touches only to giggle absentmindedly as those feathers split up to stroke your heels, your topsides, and your arches.

Viewing your smile growing and picking up your melodious giggles through the sound vibrations in the air his feathers received had him relishing in his newfound hobby on top of winding down with you.

“Beautiful, inside and out.”

Your concentration on reading crumbled as you squeaked from those feathers wiggling against your toes, having you roll over and pull your legs to your chest, rubbing your feet together as your narrowed gaze homed in on those feathers floating back to the big bird man perched outside.

“Hey birdy!” Hawks' cheery face and tone had you at a loss between glee and frustration. “I've missed ya!” He was met with a pillow thrown at his face, taking the plush smack, catching it right after. “I take it the feeling’s not mutual?”

“It's been a week.” You stood up and brushed out your wrinkled attire as he hopped down from his perch on the railing before you, his ruffled feathers straightening themselves out. “And the first thing you do is a sneak attack!”

“Well, performing my heroic duties comes first, of course. Didn't stop me from thinking about you, though.” His flattery could only get him so far out of the doghouse, tossing the pillow aside. “And your lovely voice.”

“Can't see why though – EEK~!” The feather tickling your neck had you squealing and smacking your skin for not catching said feather as Hawks snorted in his gloved hand, smirking his ass off.

“Well cause I like everything about you … and you being ticklish is just a bonus.” He laughed as you playfully smacked his arm. “This is the thanks I get for saving you all those times?”

“Yeah, thanks a lot. I owe you my life.” Your sarcastic remark trails off when his tough supple wings draped around you, pulling you flush against him as his pouting lips and downtrodden eyes made you sigh in exasperated admittance. “Okay okay.”

Grabbing both sides of his fluffy collar, you pulled Hawks down enough for you to gently peck his lips. “Seriously … thank you.”

He blushed bright as a rose, grinning all dopey like. He cupped and brushed your cheeks as he returned the kiss tenderly, murmuring between breaks. “How lucky am I to have a gem like you in my life?”

“Flattery will only get you so far, #2.” Your airy remark was short lived as his golden-brown eyes gleamed with mirth.

“And your teasing will just keep getting you this~!”

His wings scribbled against your backside, causing a stream of squeals to come out, sounding so melodious to his own ears.

“No fair!” Your frantic pushing against his chest only drove him to have his feathers strike your nape. “Stahahap!” You felt your feet slip over your forgotten book, leaving it up to Hawks’ quick reflexes to keep you standing as his arms and wings protectively wrapped you up in his fuzzy cocoon, increasing the tingling sensations rubbing every inch of you. “Hahahahahawks!”

“So sensitive.” His faint stubble brushed the side of your neck, grinning against your skin as you squeaked louder. “So squishy~” He swooned, his arms flexing as he squeezed your waistline, wiggling his fingers into your sides plus squeezing them for good measure. “So squeamish!”

“I hahahate you – AAH~!” Him lifting you by your thighs had your arms and legs instinctively hugging his neck and waist.

“That's not what I see here, beautiful~” His smug smirk made you hide your flushed whining face in his neck, feeling the rumbling of his laughter seep through you. “But okay, I'll stop with the tickles … if you help me strip~”

“God you tease.” Your complaint was betrayed by your heartfelt emotion. Gingerly taking off his visor, his amused affectionate eyes watched as you also took off his headphones with slow tepid care, keeping you steady with his hands pressed to you tight.

“Ya know … you can call me by my real name … if you want to, that is.” He mused as he plopped down on your bed and helped you take off his jacket. “Seems only fair since I always call you by yours.” He pried his gloves off with his teeth, tempting you with his actions. “I wanna hear my name coming off your lips~” He purred.

Tenderly setting his removed items down on your nightstand table, you cupped his own cheeks just so you could look him straight in those golden-brown hues. “Keigo.” His eyes lite up right away. “K … Kei.” He audibly gulped as rose red tinted from his ears to his neck for indeed his blushing face spoke volumes of how overjoyed he was. “Can I call you that? Kei?”

He cheekily grinned. “Anything for you, angel.”

You peppered kisses all over his own giggling face. Prying his boots off with help from the heels, Keigo delicately pushed you to lie down on your back, legs intertwined, as some of his feathers tugged the balcony slide door closed before returning to his wings draping you both in their cozy protective warmth.

“I really did miss you, baby bird.”

He froze up as the sounds of sniffles reached his ears. The sight of tears making your e/c eyes shimmer like jewels are as mesmerizing as they are heart wrenching.

“I missed you too, Kei. So much.” His butterfly kisses to your eyes and cheeks were his way to cheer you up and show you just how much he cares for you, smiling as his stubble tickled your sensitive face enough to make you giggle and smile yourself.

“This optimistic guy is just glad to finally be home with his beauty again.” He sighed deeply as you brushed through his unruly messy hair, relaxing and leaning in to your heavenly touch.

Lulled by your caresses, he felt himself falling asleep, whispering as his droopy eyes turned to you.

“Y/n, thank you.” His lazy kiss gets returned by you, having his tired smile still radiating endearment as you both pulled away. “For coming into my life. Letting me be myself around you. Just … everything.”

“I feel the same way, Kei.” You confess as you too felt the embrace of sleep taking you in, using his chest as a pillow, slacking as having him back in your arms made it that much easier to settle down and unwind, straight to sleepy town. “I love you.”

Keigo's heart beats right outta his chest at that confession, admiring your sweet sleeping self, giving your forehead a kiss, curling into you, lulled by your soft breathing as it became his favorite lullaby. “I love you too.”

His wings settled back, pulling away to rest behind him as Keigo pulled you two to lay on your sides, still enraptured in each other, as nighttime swept throughout Kyushu.

For their winged protector took a nice long rest.

With you, his beautiful partner, safe and sound in his arms.

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hikarry · 5 months

Text

Girl, sit down. I'm about to slap you with another imagine

*claps hands*

Ready?

Imagine: 1802, Russia. Czar Alexander I in power

Crowley infiltrated the palace as a war General.

A maid just handed him an envelope while he was walking around the gardens, and he was quick to open it with his finger. It was Aziraphale's, from Soho, London. A long one, as they usually were.

He scanned it quickly, just taking the general idea - he would read more calmly when he was home, by himself, and not feeling like he was being watched.

At the end of the second page, finally, something actually caught his attention. Aziraphale was going to Krasnaya Polyana, around a day away from Moscow. Apparently, there had been a spike of demonic activity there, and Heaven had sent him to investigate. He was asking if Crowley had anything to do with it, but he clearly didn't. He had been stuck in Moscow for 7 months now. But, alas, he also had no idea who it could be. He was not informed that another demon was topside in this region. And, for some reason, the angel going to the encounter of an unknown demon was not sitting well with him. He folded the letter and hid it in his jacket's pocket.

Aziraphale was a big angel. He could look out for himself... yet that did not mean Crowley couldn't try and find out who was causing mayhem in Krasnaya Polyana, did it?

As soon as Crowley got home that night, he wrote a quick note to one of his contacts in Hell, asking for information and readied himself to wait for at least 3 days before he got an answer. Surprisingly, it took only a night. When he woke up, there was a small note on his bedside table. He picked it up and turned it around, reading quickly. He sucked in a sharp breath before re-reading the note, just to make sure he was understanding correctly.

Asmodeus was topside. Along with Vine. A Prince and a Duke of Hell, and Aziraphale was walking right to the lion's mouth by himself.

Right. Okay.

Crowley read it one last time before burning it in his hands.

He had to find an excuse to get himself sent to Krasnaya Polyana as soon as possible, preferably before Asmodeus and Vine caught Aziraphale's scent around. The angel might be an ex-cherubim, but Satan knew what a real Prince of Hell could do to him and Crowley was surely not going to sit in the sidelines to find out.

A week and a half later - way way later than he expected - he got himself in Krasnaya Polyana. As soon as he got out of the train, he was hit with the smell of sulfur and a heavy feeling of evil all around.

With no bags to carry or to worry about, he just closed his eyes and reached out for Aziraphale's essence. He could feel it, barely. If his senses weren't mistaken, he was somewhere in the mountain.

Could Crowley help it, he wanted to avoid meeting both the Prince and the Duke. He only hoped Aziraphale was still off their tracks.

It was snowing heavily. The mountain was covered in ice, and the wind was frigid and white, somehow. It made it very, very hard to see or even focus enough to grasp Aziraphale's essence and keep following it.

His boots sank in the snow, and it didn't take long for his legs to start hurting and his insides to feel raw from the cold.

At the peripheral of his vision, he could also feel two very distinguishable demonic essences. The stronger one was in the city, which Crowley had already left behind, and the other was barely visible, somewhere on the top of the mountain, but considerably far away from Aziraphale.

The angel was alright. Probably he was in one of those ski places slightly up the mountain. And, confident in that thought, Crowley forced himself to stop and enter a bar nearby. Exhausting himself would not help the angel, so he needed a little break to recover and be able to continue to climb the bloody mountain.

He was sitting at a table, half full glass of vodka between his hands, when a loud groan was heard outside and the whole building shook, all the lights going out. People around him gasped and yelled, holding themselves to the furniture and each other until the tremor stopped.

"Oh goodness, what was that?" A woman asked near the bar with a very heavy French accent, both her arms around a man that held her just as close.

"An avalanche." The bartender answered, walking around to light up some candles. "And a strong one at that. There might be replicas, so everyone should stay put for at least an hour or-"

Yeah...so, Crowley didn't exactly hear the rest. He just tossed the vodka down in a single swing and got up from his seat, slithering around the people in the bar until he reached the door. He felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him back when he reached for the doorknob, but he shook it away, finally getting outside.

The layer of snow outside was so thick now that his boots didn't dig into it. So he ran. Which didn't help with his respiratory system and, consequently, the rest of his body feeling raw and frozen all at the same time in less than few seconds. It took longer for his legs to get tired, but he was already tired, regardless. Still, he soldiered on, all riding on adrenaline and low-key panic.

"Aziraphale!" When Crowley started feeling his essence more clearly he started calling out for him, trying to see through the fog and the snow still falling. Not even his demonic eyes were helping on that task.

Eventually, he got to a spot where he could feel the essence so strongly that he actually felt its warmth, so he stopped and looked around, his heart hammering against his chest and his breath rasp and heavy.

"Aziraphale?" He turned on himself. There was no sign of Aziraphale anywhere... but he could swear the angel should be right here... and suddenly, it clicked. "No..." He was under the snow, wasn't he? "Fuck. Aziraphale!"

Crowley took a few steps to the left and fell to his knees, his trousers getting ice cold soaked as he dig the snow as fast as he could. He had no idea how much time had passed, but finally, he found some cream fabric under the snow.

"No, no, no, no. For fucks sake, Aziraphale!" Still digging, he started talking to himself, mainly not to let the panic spiral and keep himself grounded. "Why is it always you?! Don't those wanker archangels have any other angel to throw into a frozen nightmare after their bloody death?!"

From there, it was rather easy to dig his torso and his face from under the snow.

Aziraphale was frozen to the touch, his lips were an awful shade of bluish-purple and his corporation was not breathing.

Okay. Crowley. Just. Don't. Panic.

He held Aziraphale by the shoulders and pulled him the rest of the way out of the snow.

"Angel?" At some point he had thrown his gloves to the side to make digging easier, so now he placed his equally frozen, wet and trembling hands on Aziraphale's cheeks. With his demonic essence, he tried to reach out for Aziraphale's and the angel's essence reached back instantly like a cougar attacking its unattentive prey, surprising the demon, who staggered back, hands away from the angel, snapping his essence back inside his own corporation.

Alright. Aziraphale was quite clearly still here, and he was either so out of his mind he pounced on Crowley with the default intent to smite him, or he was just plainly terrified.

Carefully, both his hands once again on the angel's face, he slowly reached out, this time more prepared for when Aziraphale's essence jumped on him.

Aziraphale wasn't trying to smite him. He was reaching for warmth.

Crowley's corporation shallowed as he sat back and pulled Aziraphale to his lap, upping his body heat as much as he possibly could. It didn't feel great. In fact, it felt like he was having a very bad fever, and his mind swam a bit with the sudden difference in temperature, but he had to try and keep the angel warm. On a metaphysical level, Crowley's True Form surrounded Aziraphale's, as tight as metaphysically possible, trying to keep him stable. Keep him here. His essence was flickering a bit, and Crowley wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you dare discorporate, you bastard."

Crowley looked around. There was nowhere warm where he could take the angel close enough. Try as he might, this was only a temporary solution. One that wasn't doing much at that.

Suddenly, his head snapped back to attention as he felt a demonic presence getting closer.

Fucking Heavens, that was exactly the last thing he needed right now. There was nowhere to hide, and even if he found some place, the Duke would feel Aziraphale's essence and hunt like a starved dog.

Right. Think. Preferably before Aziraphale fucking discoporates in your arms.

The only idea that came to mind was miracling a small cabin or whatnot into existence right then and there. It would be a big ass miracle, and he would be exhausted afterward, but his priority was keeping Aziraphale here. So he took a long breath and snapped his fingers, a small wooden cabin showing up right behind them.

Gently, Crowley got up and took Aziraphale in his arms, walking them both into the cabin. At least inside there was no more wind or snow, and whatever body heat his body produced would remain trapped between the four walls.

Sitting Aziraphale on the floor with his back against the wall, Crowley detached his cape from his shoulders and wrapped it around the angel before turning his attention to the door.

Vine would find a cabin in the middle of a bloody mountain suspicious, as he should.

Crowley was tired, both physically, mentally and metaphysically, and his miracle reservoir was quite affected by that and the big ass miracle he just performed, but he had to put up wards around this place that not only masked the cabin, but both his and Aziraphale's essences from the Duke's radar. It was easier said than done, but he had no time to dilly dally. With each snap, he felt his mind go foggy, and his vision tilt to the side. Yet, he kept going until everything was more or less in place. All he could do for now was pray. Or not pray. He was a demon. Demons didn't pray

He sat on the floor next to Aziraphale and pulled him into his lap, hugging him against his chest and upping his body temperature once again. This time, he was invaded by a sudden nausea, and his eyes unfocused, but he kept it up, trapping Aziraphale's True Form with his own once again.

"Stay with me, angel." It was more a wordless request than a whisper.

There they stayed, Crowley with his head leaned against the wall and Aziraphale unconscious on his arms.

Slowly but surely, Aziraphale's skin started warming up, and his lips changed to a very pale pink, but pink nonetheless.

Crowley was exhausted. Part of him was begging him to close his eyes and sleep, but if he did his body temperature would go back down to normal and his essence would spring back to his corporation, letting go of Aziraphale and that wasn't an option. Not until he was concious.

In the back of his mind, he noticed when the demonic presence got dangerously close to where they were. Instinctively, he hugged Aziraphale more tightly, holding his breath. He felt truly frozen in place while the Duke slowly walked by them and only allowed himself to somewhat relax again when he was far away enough. Yet, he didn't put down the wards. They were consuming a lot of his energy, and his body was growing somewhat numb, but he refused to let go.

Aziraphale's corporation took a deep breath and slowly started shaking.

Good. That was good. He was coming back to himself.

It was a slow process, but when the night fell outside, Aziraphale finally stirred, opening his eyes with quite the effort.

"Crowley...?" His voice was sluggish, but Satan was it good to hear it. The demon was too weak to answer with words, so he only hummed, gripping him more strongly. "What happened...?"

Gradually, Crowley let his body heat fall to its normal temperature, and he let the ward hidding the cabin fall. It was like someone had taken a boulder off his chest, but his mind was still somewhat slow. He looked down at Aziraphale, his sunglasses lost somewhere in the snow outside while he had been digging.

"There's was an avalanche. You got trapped in it. Buried yourself 7 feet under a block of ice."

Aziraphale moved slightly on his lap, straightening himself up so he was actually sitting.

"You're supposed to be in Moscow."

"Observant."

"What are you even doing here, Crowley?"

He thought about dropping his arms from around Aziraphale, but he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"Saving your arse once again, obviously. If I had stayed in Moscow, right now your corporation would be a popsicle and you would be upstairs getting an earful from Gabriel or that wanker Michael. So, you're welcome."

The angel didn't say anything else. Instead, he let his head fall on Crowley's shoulder, and both of them stayed in silence, only their ragged breathes and the wind outside making themselves heard.

"You need to leave Russia. Or, at least, Krasnaya Polyana."

"I can't." His hand was gripping the front of Crowley's jacket, the demon wasn't sure he was aware of that. "I have an assignment to complete."

"It's completed." Aziraphale's head snapped up, looking the demon in the eye. "You came here to figure out why there was a spike of demonic energy here, yes? There's a Prince and a Duke of Hell. Asmodeus and Vine. That's why."

"I can't just leave these people in the hands of two demons! I have to find out whatever it is they are trying to do!"

"That's not part of your assignment. You had to know the cause, now you know. You will write your report as soon as you can and get the heavens out of here before they sniff you out."

"Crowley, you're being ridic-"

"You are leaving, Aziraphale." Now it was his turn to look the angel in the eye, his voice as cold as the ice outside. "You've never dealt with a Duke of Hell, much less a Prince. You've mainly dealt with me and, let's be honest with ourselves, I give you little to no trouble. You are not prepared to face either of them. Asmodeus could easily discorporate you on sight. Or kill you. Actually kill you. Destroy your essence. They are not some random demons you can waltz to and have a polite conversation with." Aziraphale stayed quiet, unmoving. "You are leaving and that's final."

"You can't order me around."

"I'm trying to save your bloody life, Aziraphale!" His arms let go of the angel, and his hands came up to grab his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "This is not a joke. They will not stop by to have tea and biscuits and discuss the weather while you convince them to leave. Stop being fucking stubborn for once in your damn life! You did what you came to do. Just tell Gabriel that they are here and leave." Aziraphale looks down to his hands. "I'm serious, angel." He held the angel's chin, pushing him to look up at him again. "I'm not leaving you here with them. You either come with me to Moscow or go straight back to London to the bookshop."

Crowley feels the vibrations of Aziraphale humming on his fingers.

"Very well, my dear. Whatever you say." The angel got up from his lap and the demon followed him, swaying on his feet. Aziraphale held his arm, stabilizing him. "Are you quite alright?"

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments until his mind stopped feeling sluggish. Probably because he took too long answer, Crowley felt Aziraphale's fingers brushing his. He finally let down the two last wards and took the deepest breath.

"I'm fine. Just. A lot of big miracles. And you grabbing at my essence and True Form like a dehydrated man in the desert." Aziraphale's hand flinched away and he was about to open his mouth to say something, but Crowley cut it, holding his hand, squeezing it. "I said I'm fine. Let's go back to civilization, shall we?"

They did go back to civilization. To Moscow in the first train out from Krasnaya Polyana, to be more precise.

Aziraphale stayed with Crowley in his flat at the capital for 3 days. He wrote the report as soon as they arrived, and both waited to hear something from Gabriel in the next few days, but silence was all they got. On the 3rd day, when Aziraphale had his train back to Paris and then to London, Crowley insisted on seeing him out, so he had to leave the palace in quite the hurry, with no chance to switch out his uniform.

"Thank you for seeing me out, dear. Or should I say..." Aziraphale tapped Crowley's hat. ", General?"

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly, smiling in response.

"Shut up."

"I'm not jesting. You've always looked rather... fetching in a uniform. When was the last time you wore one? American Revolution?"

"I believe so."

Aziraphale hummed, fixing Crowley's left shoulder pad.

"You always wore them much better than I did."

"Usually you are at the hospitals saving lives, angel. Not in the battlefield."

The angel snorted.

"Not like you are in the battlefield actually fighting yourself."

"Oi! I have fought!"

"Mmh. I've never seen you holding a gun. And the last time I saw you brandishing a sword was back in the Gallic Wars, back in 58 BCE."

"Ngk."

Aziraphale chuckled, taking a step back, grabbing his suitcase.

"Will you be back in London?"

"Myeah. Should be done here in another year or so."

"Shall I keep watering your plants?"

"You've got the key, don't you?"

"Indeed." They heard the train making the last call and both looked towards the noise before looking back at each other. "Do try to not get yourself discorporated."

"Likewise. I'll see you in a year, angel."

Aziraphale nodded and started walking away, dragging his suitcase behind him. Before stepping through the train's entrance, he looked back, spotting the demon exactly where he left him, still watching him. Crowley winked and saluted him, pulling a chuckle out of Aziraphale's throat.

Crowley was ridiculous.

And so the angel went back to London. Alive. And out of the rather of any demonic entity, apart from the one he wanted to stay in the radar of.

#yes i was watching Anastasia and this got stuck in my head. i had to offer yall my little vision #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley

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moxfirefly · 5 months

Note

"Of course I want them. I want them so much I can barely breathe but I'm not going to force it. If they come to me, it'll be on their terms. Not mine."

For Donnie or Mikey x reader (F) please? Maybe reader is the one saying that line 👀 jealous, fluff or smut scenario, you can choose! Thank you for opening your requests, you always deliver great pieces! ♥️💫

Oh this line hits! And I think Mikey is the guy for it and I think I’ll tweak it a bit if you don’t mind. Thank you for your kind words! Means a lot 🖤

Rated Feels

Mikey wanted to believe that his eyes were deceiving him at most, maybe not working at worst.

Because he really saw some peculiar stares on your behalf.

This whole crush thing was trickier now as an adult. When he was younger, crushing after April had been easy and fleeting.

Now? Some days he couldn’t chase away your scent to safe his life, he couldn’t remember what life before your proximity to him used to be. When had a song sounded better than the ringing of your name, carefully collected consonants and vowels crafted to melt on his tongue.

What had life been before the ache of watching you leave? The insane joy of watching you come home to grace his presence with honeyed bliss?

He felt silly, somewhat dumb, over all hopeless.

This all felt like a curse some days too. Not having the luxury of being topside with you, getting to experience the city night through you.

The wind picked up, cold little pin prick reminders of what he was. Mikey was fond of this roof, maybe because your building was across it, maybe because if he squinted hard enough he could see what your little life in your little apartment was like, and how he could fit into it.

“You plan on sulking all of patrol?” Raph’s deep baritone carried the chilly air as he sat on the ledge.

“I’m not sulking, that’s your job bro.” He was hugging his knees, chasing away the chilly air or maybe because he was truly sulking.

“That broad’s got you bent outta shape, you never got like this with Ape.” Because that had been childish puppy love, and somehow Raph couldn’t see that this ached for real.

It especially ached because there were too many moments where he swore you’d say something first, that you’d cave in and say something about the elephant in the room.

“I like her, she’s—she’s different.” It doesn’t do it justice but he doesn’t want to get mushy with Raph right now, not when his head isn’t cooperating and his heart feels heavy.

“Different alright, wants to hang around with a brat like you, laughs at your shitty jokes, caught her staring at your biceps once.” Raph numbered the facts on each of his fingers, nonchalant but aware of the gas he was pouring.

“Where ya going with this dude? Aside from giving me hope.” And hope was a tragic little word for their kind, something more akin to a light sprinkle of salt on a small wound.

“What I’m saying is, just go after her, tell her the truth. Ya want her, right? She probably wants ya.” Raph popped a toothpick in his mouth, an old habit dying too slowly.

“Of course I want her. I want her so much I can hardly breathe but I’m not going to force it. If she comes to me, it’ll be on her terms. Not mine.” It hurt to say it, it hurt to admit out loud that this was a luxury he couldn’t afford due to what he was.

Raph’s gaze soften, it wasn’t fun seeing his baby brother going through something that had his head spinning this badly. He reached out and clamped a hand on his shoulder, an affectionate squeeze of sympathy.

Mikey watched the building, swore he saw the light on your apartment come alive. Flooding the modest little living room, he could picture you tossing your stuff with a huff and a sigh, before settling into the normalcy of your routine. He felt his phone vibrate, pulling it out to see your name on the screen. It was enough to lift the black cloud.

Not enough to chase the storm away in his chest.

“Hey, angel, outta work finally?” He greeted you, that perfectly timed sigh of ‘fuck yes’ not (yes) sending a jolt through him.

“Are you still out on patrol? I got those disgusting heart attack inducing burgers from the bodega you like, wanna come over when your done being a superhero?” You cooed affectionately, he could hear the rustling of the bay.

Raph watched the smile, a smile only you were capable of sculpting out of Mikey.

He hoped, he hoped for a chance.

A chance at you two enjoying this little life.

#ask #whygz #tmnt bayverse #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt mikey x reader #michelangelo x reader #mikey x reader #tmnt michaelangelo #tmnt mikey #emotional? prompts

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archangeldyke-all · 1 month

Note

Picking Sevika up from a wisdom teeth removal. I'm imagining her being all goofy and confused (because she's absolutely blasted), but every couple conversations or so, she reminds herself that she's a serious person.

Like :) then >:(

PLEASE THIS IS CUTE

men and minors dni

singed can do a lot. genetically mutate living creatures? sure. resurrect the dead with the power of shimmer? no problem. construct a fully functioning, shimmer fueled, sword wielding, prosthetic arm? you gotcha.

but a simple wisdom tooth removal?

apparently that's too much for singed. so you have to drag sevika up to piltover.

as if she wasn't already in enough pain from her teeth coming in-- the only place your wife could go to get some relief is her least favorite place in the world.

she's a grumpy, pissy mess on your way up.

"i'll just fuckin' pull 'em out myself." she whines as you buy tickets to the elevator out of the lanes.

"god, babe, just grab a brick and smash it against my head, okay?" she mumbles as she buries her head into your shoulder on the tram ride into town.

"next person who looks at us like that's gettin' my foot up their ass." she growls when several wealthy piltover citizens scatter as the two of you walk down the sidewalk. you chuckle.

you give her a kiss when her name is called, and she groans before she follows the nurse into the back office.

you spend the next two hours flipping through magazines and thinking about your wife. you hope this is the extent of her dental issues-- or that singed teaches himself dentistry. piltover makes you antsy. you know it's ten times worse for sev.

but then, two hours later, the nurse calls you back to be there as sevika wakes up. "she did really good." she says. "we were in and out in no time."

"oh, good." you sigh, relieved. "is she gonna be in much pain?"

"not when she wakes up." the nurse chuckles. "we got her on the good stuff right now. but, in a few hours it'll wear off and she'll start having pain. we're gonna give you some pills to take home, give her one every twelve hours for a week to help with the pain." she says. you nod.

"thank you so much." you say as she opens a small curtian. she nods, hands you the little bottle of pills, and then waves as she walks away. sevika's on a reclined dental chair, knocked out and snoring, drooling on the head rest. you burst into giggles as you approach her, gently reaching out and starting to stroke your fingers through her hair. "sevikaaa..." you sing.

her face scrunches up. "mmmbaby?" she mumbles around the wads of cotton in her cheeks. you chuckle, then duck down and kiss her forehead.

"goodmorning, sunshine." you whisper. she huffs.

"my teeth all gone?" she asks. you giggle.

"yep."

she finally blinks her eyes open to look at you. "hey, pretty." she says, smiling. you grin.

"hey, beautiful. ready to get home?" you ask. sevika nods, nuzzling against your palm as you stroke her face.

"'m so fuckin' high ri' now." she giggles as she struggles to get out of her chair. you laugh as you help her stand.

"you're so cute." you laugh, wrapping an arm around her waist as you start to guide her out of the room. her cheeks--stuffed with cotton-- bulge as she grins at you. you can't help yourself from darting forward and pressing a kiss to both.

she's pretty steady on her feet, but she keeps giggling as she walks, trying to press kisses against your head. with her entire jaw and mouth numb, though, she can't tell that she's kissing you-- and she keeps huffing in frustration as she smacks her lips all over your head.

"sev!" you laugh as the two of you stumble out of the dentists' office. the bright light of piltover hits you-- and you both scrunch your faces up in the light. sevika's goofy mood leaves in a flash when she remembers where she is.

"fuckin' topsiders." she grumbles as the two of you walk toward the tram. you giggle.

"what happened to my happy high sevy?" you ask, wiping up a bit of drool on her chin.

"pil'over. shitheads." she explains. you chuckle.

"we'll be home soon." you promise her. she studies you, a smile slowly growing on her lips as she does.

"we gonna fuck?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows. you burst into laughter, and sevika's smile only grows.

"absolutely not!" you laugh. she gasps.

"why not?" she whines. you giggle.

"you can't even feel your mouth right now!" you say. she furrows her brow, then reaches up to poke at her jaw, her eyes widening when she realizes you're right. you chuckle and continue. "and you just got outta surgery-- don't you want a nap?" you ask. sevika pouts.

"i want you." she whines, nuzzling her nose against your neck. you snort. a few strangers walk by, giving you judgmental looks as sevika's hands wander up and down your body and her nose rubs against your pulse. you're just happy she's not grumpy-- and she hasn't tried to strip you yet.

"you'll have me baby. i'll hold you all night, make you milkshakes for dinner, play with your hair..."

"but no sex?" she pouts. you laugh.

you're saved by the bell-- literally. the tram rings it's little bell, and you tug sevika into the cart, pushing her into a free seat and standing in front of her, holding the bar. the tram starts its way down the streets of piltover, and sevika's back to glaring at the people and buildings all around her.

she's hilarious, trying to act tough while she's simultaneously drooling down her chin, a wad of cotton slowly sliding out of her cheek. you snort, wiping up her chin again. "you're a mess." you say fondly.

an old woman sitting a few seats down smiles sweetly at you and sevika. you smile back. sevika takes your momentary distraction to her advantage, reaching out and tugging your wrist so you stumble and fall into her lap. you squeal. sevika hums happily as you squirm to get comfortable in her legs, hooking her chin over your shoulder.

the old woman's grinning now. she's the only one-- the rest of the passengers seem mortified. you just muffle your laugh into the side of sevika's head. "you're a mess." you whisper. she hums.

"tired."

the tram drops the two of you off a few minutes later, and as you ride back down to piltover, sevika gets progressively sleepier.

it starts with a hand around your waist, then it's both. then, it's her head resting against your shoulder, then it's her hanging off of you as you trudge through the streets.

you catch a few familiar eyes on your way home. a couple of regulars at the last drop gawk at the sight of a giggly, sleepy sevika clinging to you. some of them open their mouths to ask or say something-- you just glare at them to get them to shut up.

at one point, sevika must catch some of the looks. she doesn't stand up from her slumped over posture against you, but she does growl out a slurred "fuck're y' lookin' at?!"

you laugh as the man who had been staring quickly turns around and runs in the opposite direction.

"be nice, sev." you whisper. she huffs.

"they're starin'."

"maybe 'cause they're shocked to know you're a cuddlebug." you say. sevika huffs again.

"shuddup." she mumbles against your neck.

the second you get home she collapses against the bed. you try to get some work done around the house, you want to get some water and painkillers by the bed, get sevika in her jammies. but before you can walk away, she reaches out and grabs your wrist, then pulls you ontop of her on the bed. you giggle against her.

"sevika--"

"'y said you'd hold me." she whines. you just huff, kick your shoes off, and curl up on top of her. she hums, and tries her best to kiss you with her numb mouth. you giggle against her slobbery, bloody, cotton-filled mouth, and then fall asleep on top of her.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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thatfuckinjester · 2 months

Text

The Countdown

TW: self hate, slef isolation, harmful thoughts, believing that one's gonna die

there's always been a countdown in his head, since he could remember himself, at first phantom thought that it was the countdown until he would get on someone's nerves too much and wouldn't be able to protect himself.

then he got summoned.

phantom was so sure that that's it, he got released from the timeless countdown. until the first sibling told him about the plans to send him back.

the thing about the topside is, time is different, it isn't liquidy, every second counts. and every second did in fact, was counted.

and then it got to 354600 seconds.

or 5760 minutes.

or 96 hours.

just 4 days.

that was when they got back to the ministry, that's when phantom knew that this time, this countdown is final for him.

his room was empty, it only had a bed that he barely had time to sleep in and a half empty closet, the blinds in the window above his bed were wide open, through which orange rays of sunlight came in and he could see the sunset in all its beauty.

phantom hated how much he loved it.

he left his bag next to his already locked shut door and looked at the sunset a bit more. It was so disgustingly beautiful.

he slammed the blinds closed, couldn't bare the sight of the sky anymore.

he sat down on his bed and sighed before he fell on his back and looked at the celling tiredly.

the tour is over. his life topside ended with it.

at least it seemed like papa would give him a few days to mourn the stars he won't see again.

'would they even miss me?' he thought as he sat up on the bed. 'no, of course not. aether will be back soon, why would they need me?' he, or maybe it was just that little voice in his mind, said back.

and he sighed as he closed his eyes, trying to imagine how it would feel like to be nothing again.

his dreams were full of stars, and maybe that's why he missed the bearly heard knock on his door.

or maybe phantom lost himself between the stars.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

when he woke up, panic possessing his every sense, he didn't know what the time was, just the sense of a new day.

and in those last 259,200 seconds,

those last 4,320 minutes,

those last 72 hours,

those last 3 days, it started to drip, like two clouds that the wind had carried towards each other. like blood from nose.

like phantom's own tears.

it's not like he wasn't already panicked about that, phantom remembers how draining it was to be summoned, he knows how horrible it was. he knows that he won't survive being sent back, that it'll kill him.

he has had way too many panic attacks about it, curled into the tiniest, tightest, saddest little ball in his bunk, his tail wrapped around his middle in some sort of self soothing and the blanket swallowing him whole, sobbing onto his fist, the tears staining his face while the pack sat together, doing whatever, either actually not hearing him or pretending not to.

but that was while he was on tour. while the countdown didn't feel that close, didn't really had a set date, just time that always changed. but now... now it was different. now he only has four more days.

the numbers are so vivid in his mind, phantom thinks it's nicer to count in seconds, four days are way too little, in hours the numbers are double-digit, in minutes they're double of that.

but the seconds are much more, even if they ran down faster. it gives some sort of comfort, like it gives him more time.

not like it helps really, he still paincks, especially when he opens his phone.

he hates it, that little stupid device, the light always annoys him, he never really understood how to use it, nobody truly cared to teach him, they didn't want to talk to him face to face, why would they bother to even send a text?

his hands trembling while he held his phone, it could have been just because he's cold, he's always cold lately it already became comforting, or maybe it's the pain in his, well everything, he doesn't really know, or cares enough about it, he's already doomed anyways, it doesn't really matter if he suffers a bit too.

tapping twice on the screen to light it up, squinting at the too bright light, phantom doesn't even know why he's doing it.

it didn't matter, nothing really matters anymore. nobody cares about him, aether is coming back, he isn't needed. and aurora...

aurora.

maybe it's just stupid, maybe it's just for his own comfort, maybe it was because she asked him to say goodbye, maybe it was for a whole nother reason. maybe.

he still opened her chat, few messages that she sent him, unread for unknown time, the time didn't truly have any more meaning, just those last few days.

'please'

'phantom'

'?'

'be okay'

'you promised.'

he doesn't even know what she's asking, he isn't okay, she knows he doesn't like this stupid phone... maybe she grew tired of him too, maybe she sent them all just to feel better about staying when he can't.

just as he was about to turn it off another message popped up.

'you know how much you mean to us, talk to me? please'

and it all rushed to the front, he typed, regreted it, threw the phone away, his heart beating way too fast, his breathing stuttering until the sob forced itself out of his throat.

phantom cried himself to sleep, not knowing, or caring ,if he actually pressed send to those two words.

it has felt like they were burnt to his skin now, just two simple words that hold way too much weight, just 'i don't'.

he didn't hear the knock that night too, maybe he never will.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

phantom woke up because he couldn't breathe.

all he had left are 172800 seconds,

2880 minutes,

48 hours,

just 2 days.

phantom was on the floor, his head hurts, his chest rising and falling way too fast, legs tangled in his blanket, everything felt upside down.

his face felt dirty, skin itching, hair falling onto his eyes, he could feel his blood in his veins, hear his heartbeat in his ears. maybe he's going crazy, maybe it's just panic that he never truly felt until now, that his time is almost up.

phantom kept laying on the floor.

there's no reason to get up, no reason to even open his eyes, he is doomed anyways, it doesn't really matter if he opens his eyes or no.

and maybe, if he won't move, won't blink, won't breath he will die before they'll drag him out, before he'll be sent back, just to be a little more productive, papa always was nice to him, he shouldn't waste energy for sending him back if phantom can just... be gone by his own body.

and maybe, if he dies on the topside he will turn into stardust. maybe he will be great if that will be his fate.

so he just lays thete, swallowing any and all sobs that threaten to escape. his heartbeat never actually slowing down, his tears always reappearing, his panic is now engraved in his bones.

this night he doesn't miss the first knock, not the second or the third, one after the other.

he just ignores them, it's just his brain playing tricks on him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

he hasn't slept.

86400 seemed like a big number, but it was just seconds, they pass faster than a blink.

1440 was also a big number, if it wasn't minutes phantom would have felt better with it.

24 wasn't a big number, it was also the age that he died as a human, he didn't like that number at all.

just 1 last day.

phantom's face felt sticky, or maybe he was still crying, he couldn't really tell when he was crying or not anymore.

his legs hurt, like he was walking on shuttered glass, even though he wasn't walking at all.

his hands were shaking, he looked at them, holding them up to his face before letting them fall back to his sides, letting them shake.

phantom doesn't remember much from his time as a human being, and maybe it's better this way, but he wished that human him didn't feel the same way he does on the day he died.

61200 seconds,

1020 minutes,

just 17 hours.

maybe he shouldn't do nothing today, but he couldn't bring himself to get up, his body was aching, it knew that this is it, that's the end, there isn't much time at all.

maybe he should cry some more, sob, yell, he only has 54000 seconds,

900 minutes,

15 hours left.

maybe he should panic, he's going to die, he knows for a fact that he won't survive being sent back, he bearly survived being summoned.

phantom doesn't feel anything, just letting the pain in his body embrace him completely.

the floor was warm beneath him, maybe all of his body heat sipped onto it, he closed his eyes. not sleeping, but not awake. just letting his last seconds, minutes, hours, his last fucking day, slip away from him.

7200 seconds,

120 minutes,

2 hours.

it doesn't feel real.

maybe he's scared, he's pretty sure he let go of all of his feelings though, as a defense mechanism against, well, death.

the seconds ticked by, taking away minutes with them and phantom stood up. slowly, using the wall to support him as his whole body shaked from he doesn't even know or cares to know. his head felt like it was floating before he blinked a few times, clearing his vision a bit.

stumbling out of his room in the dead of night, while everyone else is asleep feels like a crime, something that he'll be punished for, but he's already getting punished for existing so it's okay.

the cold air hit his face like a slap, or maybe getting iced water thrown at him, and suddenly he felt awake, not quite alive but halfway there, he won't allow himself to feel alive so close to his death.

just 3600 seconds,

60 minutes,

one last hour.

he was walking slowly, he knew that, but it was raining and his body, legs especially, were aching and screaming at him to not walk at all, he was scared that he'll fall.

he only had more 3120 seconds, 52 minutes, when he reached the old tree that he saw from his (not his anymore) bedroom window, he doesn't know why he was looking for this tree specifically, there was just something comforting about it.

phantom leaned against the tree, letting his quintessence sip into it until he could feel every branch, every leaf, every one of the tree's roots.

he felt like his body was melting into it before he slowly say down, letting his head lay against the wet tree.

oh, he let out a sad, unaudible, laugh as he realized how little he actually had left.

1320 seconds, 22 minutes.

he doesn't truly knows what's going to happen when the time's up. maybe they're looking for him right now, maybe that's when they'll find him. maybe that's when his body and quintessence will give up on him.

maybe.

he just looks at the stars for now, silent tears falling down his face, a laugh bubbling in his chest, it's not a funny situation but he just wants to laugh at it all.

and as he looks at the stars, he can see the pack's faces in between them, he blinks and they're gone.

and maybe it's okay, he realizes, maybe it's okay if he'll never see the pack again.

if he and aurora will never cross paths again.

if he and swiss won't ever make eye contact again.

if he and dewdrop won't ever look at the same star again.

if he and rain won't ever be in the same room again.

if he and mountain won't ever breath at the same time again.

if he and cumulus won't ever sit at the same table again.

if he and cirrus won't ever look at the same thing again.

if papa won't ever smile at him again.

if he will never meet sunshine, aether and omega.

it's okay if he was never part of the pack, he isn't so sure that he wants to be part of it anymore.

three,

two,

one,

phantom loses himself between the stars.

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